The Dragon and the Force

by FenrisianBrony

Rating: teen
Tags: Star Wars, Gore, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Alternate Universe, Human, Other, Spike, Adventure, Crossover
Length: 409370

Spike disappears from Equestria, and ends up surrounded by Jedi

The Force is what gives a Jedi his power. It's an energy field created by all living things. It surrounds us and penetrates us. It binds the galaxy together.

Obi-Wan Kenobi. 0BBY

[img]https://i.ibb.co/2FKMjfP/Spike-smaller.png[/img]
(Higher rez image here)

Artwork by a good friend of mine, Nina Ward

The force. A ubiquitous power of untold potential. Both the Jedi and the Sith look to the power for guidance, believing it to be the ultimate embodiment of all that is in the universe. But what is the true extent of its power? What is its reach, and how many species can it touch?
Spike. A baby dragon raised in Equestria by the personal protégé of the monarch of the sun. He is looked to for friendship and compassion by scores of ponies, as well as providing the bonds of a sibling to one pony in particular, and often the one source of sense in a group of eccentric friends.
Can a dragon from a back water planet truly master the ways of the strongest power in the galaxy?

[img]https://i.ibb.co/2FKMjfP/Spike-smaller.png[/img]
(Higher rez image here)

Artwork by a good friend of mine, Nina Ward

Comments may contain spoilers. You have been warned.

Ok, so this thing is going to be the longest story I've written. By far. Hope I can keep your attention.
Rated teen for some gore and swearing.

Black-Light Library approved.
[img]http://i2.kym-cdn.com/photos/images/original/000/377/554/bd5.png[/img]

Published 2013-10-09 19:00:02 UTC
Last updated 2023-07-25 11:42:17 UTC

Only the Force

The room was as long as it was wide, stretching on for almost five hundred meters, before abruptly transitioning into a wall, completing the perfect cube that the designers of the room had strove to create at its inception.

Spread throughout the room were hundreds, if not thousands, of small, crib like structures, each one holding a single infant child.

Each one of these children were potential candidates, and would be subjected to small tests by one of the five creatures walking between each one of the cribs.

Occasionally, one of the creatures would stop by a crib, turning and facing the child that lay within. Even more rarely, they would pick up the child, holding two fingers against the side of the infants head for a moment, before either replacing it in the crib and moving on, or removing the baby to a cordoned off part of the room, before continuing on their search once more.

Slowly, one of the creatures picked up a small wookie nestled within one of the cribs, and placed his fingers against the child’s temples as he had done with the other potential candidates that day. After a few brief seconds of consideration, he transferred his hands to the waist of the Wookie, cradling the baby in his arms, before walking over to the side of the room, where three more similar creatures awaited, watching over the children that had already been picked out.

“A Wookie? Are you sure Marcus?” One of the females asked, looking quizzically at the new arrival.

“The force is impartial to species Varnk.” The male identified as Marcus said, placing the tiny wookie down in a small play pen with three other chosen babies. “Master Frout can attest to that.”

“Yes, members of my species are rarely force sensitive.” The red skinned male mused.

“It’s not that Devaronians aren’t force sensitive.” the final Jedi spoke, his voice ringing out with a mechanical grating sound, and his face hidden by the hood of his cloak, “Males never seem to be able to stay still for more than a few months at a time, and females are almost universally stubborn when it comes to moving from where they have laid their roots.”

“As always, your insight is most welcome master Norik.” The Devaronian bowed, before casting his gaze upon the children behind them. “That was the last potential no?”

“It was.” Agreed Marcus, sighing as he looked over the room. “By the force. The number we select seems to shrink every time I oversee the proceedings.”

“Maybe you’re missing some in your advanced age?” Varnk smiled.

“Laugh it up. You’ll get to my age one day.” Marcus shot back. “Are we ready to go?”

“I believe so. Norik, Frout, are you ready?”

“If this is it.” Frout frowned, picking up a small Twilek and smiling down at it.

“It’s really creepy when you smile like that.” Marcus smirked, picking the Wookie back up.

“Wait.” Norik commanded, holding up a hand.” I sense something is about to happen.”

The three other Jedi looked at each other, before back at Norik.

“I can’t sense anything.” Frout said slowly.

“No, I can sense it to.” Marcus said, putting his hand to his head as if he was suffering from a headache.

No sooner had he uttered the words, then the thing they had sensed arrived. In the centre of the room, a glowing sphere of light appeared, spreading out and encompassing all the cribs around it in its glorious light.

In an instant, the Jedi had placed the children back down in the play pen, and had set off towards the light, Norik summoning his Lightsaber hilt from its position on his belt, holding the weapon tightly, but not activating it yet.

Slowly, the light began to fade, and the four masters approached its epicentre, their eyes alighting on a small crater that had been formed in the floor, and more importantly, the tiny creature that lay within.

“Norik, what do you make of this?” Varnk asked, slowly sinking to one knee and placing her hand palm down over the small green and purple creature.

“I’ve never seen anything like it.” The Jedi said, throwing back his hood and revealing his face, and the mass of cybernetics that lay beneath it.

“So this is a new species?” Frout asked.

“Brilliant. A new species, which may or may not be sentient, and the first thing it sees is a devil and a cyborg.” Marcus laughed.

“Don’t forget a sarcastic, narcissistic idiot of a human.” Varnk shot back with a grin.

“Touché.” He laughed. “Anything?”

“Whatever it is, it’s alive. In seems to be in some sort of coma though.” Varnk said, removing her hand.

“You can sense that though, yes?” Norik asked.

“You seem to be much more in tune with the living force today.” Frout observed. “What do you sense?”

“This creature is a child, perhaps between five to six galactic years in age. That means he is within the more extreme boundary of the age for training.” He explained.

“Ok, and?” Marcus prompted.

“And surely you can sense the potential that he holds?” Norik continued.

Thinking quickly, Marcus placed his hand directly on the creatures head, and closed his eyes, as the small creatures eyes cracked open.

***

Spike slowly cracked his eyes open, groaning in pain as he tried to raise his right arm slightly, and dislodged what felt like small pieces of debris from it.

Eventually, his vision began to actually focus, and he looked around, staring at the odd shapes of several bipeds.

“Twilight?” He groaned. “Why are there Minotaur’s or Diamond Dogs here?”

One of the creatures spoke something in an unintelligible slur, and snapped Spike out of his stupor.

His eyes finally came into full focus, locking onto the creature that spoke. Instantly, he was on edge, scrambling about and managing to get out of the crater he found himself in.

Edging backwards, he felt himself touch a set of legs, and craned his head back until he was looking directly upwards, and looking straight at another creature, this one sporting bright red skin and a set of horns.

“Buh…ah…wha” Spike stammered, freezing up as the creature looked down at him.

The red creature opened its mouth, and spewed out more of the unintelligible sounds that the other creature had made.

Spike slowly pushed himself away from the four creatures, backing up until he hit a wall. The four creatures advanced towards him, one of them brandishing a strange tube in its hand.

Spike tried to speak again, but found himself unable to make a sound.

***

The four Jedi looked at the odd creature as it backed up against the wall, clearly terrified of its new surroundings.

“I believe it would be best if we sought to comfort this creature.” Norik said, re-attaching his Lightsaber to his belt.

“Well it mumbled something when it first woke, but I couldn’t hear if it was any known language.” Marcus mused.

“Perhaps if we could get it to speak again, one of us may have heard the language before. We do know the majority of the galactic languages between us.” Varnk suggested.

“That could be possible.” Frout agreed, before turning to spike.

“Hello, do you understand me?” He said slowly in normal galactic basic.

The small creature didn’t move a muscle, his eyes staying glued onto the four Jedi.

“Do you understand us?” Norik asked, slipping easily into the language of Selkath.

The result was once again the same, and the Jedi broke into a variety of different languages.

“How is this?” perfect Shyriiwook, no response.

“This?” Dosh, no response.

“Bothese?” Still nothing.

“This is ridiculous.” Frout exasperated, slipping into his mother tongue.

Spike suddenly focused on the red skinned alien, before opening his mouth to speak.

***

Spike watched as the creatures in front of him all made unintelligible sounds, varying from odd mumbles to growls and barking noises.

Finally however, the red devil creature spoke.

“This is ridiculous.” It said, speaking in near perfect ancient draconian. The dialect was slightly different than the dialect that Spike knew, but it was still similar enough for Spike to understand it.

“D-draconian?” He stammered, and instantly, the creatures fell silent as the red skinned one came forward.

“You speak Devaronese?” He asked.

“Deva-what?” Spike asked, not taking his eyes off the alien.

“Devaronese.” The creature repeated. “The language of Devaronians. Now, I am assuming by your grasp of language, you are sentient?”

Spike didn’t understand what ‘sentient’ meant, but he simply nodded in confusion.

“Very well. What is your name, and the name of your species?”

“Spike.” Said nervously. “Dragon.”

“Dragon?” The alien asked. “Does your species have any genetic relationships with the Arkanian dragon?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“You seem afraid.” The creature asked. “If it makes you feel better, I am a Devaronian. Jedi master Frout at your service.”

“Frout?” Spike asked.

“Yes. With me is Jedi master Norik, Jedi master Varnk, and Jedi master Marcus, all of whom are humans of different planets. Specifically, Corellia, Coruscant and Alderaan.”

“I am assuming you can speak to the creature? The creature identified as Norik asked in the same unintelligible language as before.

I can. His name appears to be Spike. Frout replied, turning to Norik.

“Spike?” Marcus asked. “And I am guessing he speaks Devaronese?”

“He calls it ancient Draconian, but yes. His species is also called ‘Dragon’, but has no known relationship to the Arkanian dragon.”

“That is interesting.” Norik mused, before turning to Spike.

“Where do you come from?” He asked in slightly disjointed Devaronese.

“Equestria.” Spike said slowly.

“And the galactic coordinates?” Norik asked.

“The what?”

“One question, at what technological level is your species?” Frout asked.

“Well, we have trains, they’re pretty new.” Spike said.

“And what do these trains run on? Magnets, electricity, crystalic fusion?” Frout asked.

“Coal.” Spike said simply.

“Then I am assuming your species is at a relatively low technological state.” Norik said softly, before turning back to the others.

This makes this an official first contact scenario. Norik said. One of the first the republic has had to do for a while.

I can sense it though. Marcus said. The potential of this child is significant.

But his species has never been discovered or documented by the republic. Surely the senate would be interested in hearing about this development. Varnk asked.

The Jedi do not answer to the senate. Norik pointed out. They make requests, but they do not need to be heeded on everything. In this case, I believe that our need for initiates is greater than their need to study a new species in depth.

Then we are in agreement that this, Spike, will be taken back to the temple with us? Frout asked.

I guess. Varnk said after a moment of contemplation.

Very well. Frout said, before bending back down to Spike. “Spike, I would like you to come with us. The order that I am part of is in need of potential initiates, but only a few individuals in the galaxy have the potential to join. As it turns out, you may have that potential.”

“But…what about Twilight?” Spike asked, tears suddenly springing to his eyes.

“Who is Twilight?” Frout asked.

“My, sister.” Spike said, sobbing. “She’s the only family I’ve got.”

“Family.” Frout smiled. “As part of the life of the Jedi, you must surrender emotional ties. You will be forbidden to marry, but in doing so, you will serve the Jedi, and the republic, as both emissaries and negotiators.”

“But I’ve got to get home.” Spike sniffed.

“I am sorry, but I don’t know a planet ruled by dragons.” Frout said with a slight smile.

“It’s, not ruled by dragons.” Spike sniffed again. “Equestria is the largest country, and is ruled by ponies.”

“Ponies? As in, old Coruscant horse, type ponies?” Norik asked.

“I…” Spike began, before Frout helped him out.

“I doubt that if he does not even know about hyperspace travel and the republic, that he will know about ancient creatures on a core world.” Frout replied.

Very well. Norik said, standing up. We should make our plans to leave. The Selareco is standing by to take us back to the temple.

With that, Marcus reached down, and picked Spike up. Initially, Spike struggled, but after finding that he couldn’t escape from the grip of the human, and the fact that if anything, if was comforting, he stopped struggling.

As it had before, his mind flitted back to Twilight, and tears once again formed in his eyes. The reality of his situation hit home hard.

His friends didn’t know where he was.

He didn’t know where he was.

He had no idea how to get home.

He was alone.

With this thought dominating his mind, he suddenly realised how tired he was, and slowly, slipped into a dreamless sleep.

Author's Note

Just a heads up, the italic text means it is spoken in a language that Spike does not understand.

Engulfed

***

1 Hour prior. Equestria

***

Spike smiled as he led Rarity down a narrow path, surrounded on all sides by hills of pure whiteness.

“Oh Spike, this is so romantic.” Rarity smiled, planting a kiss on Spikes cheek.

“Just wait milady.” Spike smiled, holding Rarity’s hoof and leading her forward.

Eventually, the pair crested the hill they were on, and looked out over the landscape. As far as the eye could see, large scoops of ice cream dominated the landscape, being both of the ground and stuck on oversized Popsicle sticks.

“Is that a…” Rarity began, her voice coming out in an amazed whisper.

“Yes.” Spike smiled, pointing to a large house in the distance. “It’s my gingerbread castle in the land of ice cream.” He said dreamily. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

Beckoning for Rarity to follow him, Spike jumped forward, closing the large gap in a single bound, before turning and effortlessly catching Rarity and embracing her in a tight hug, his face hovering a few inches away from hers.

“Oh Spike, kiss me.” Rarity breathed.

“As you wish.” Spike said humbly, before moving forward and covering the last few inches.

For a moment, the pair lost themselves in the moment, as they both closed their eyes to enhance the moment further.

***

“Oh Rarity.” Spike moaned, rolling over in his bed and throwing his arms around his pillow, pulling it tighter to his chest.

For a moment, Spike was lost in the imaginary moment. Eventually though, all good things have to come to an end, and Spikes eyes flew open. Sighing, he relinquished his grip on the pillow and sat up in bed, glancing out of the window to judge the time.

The outside world was still gripped by Luna’s night, and Spike sighed a second time. Once again, he had awoken in the middle of the night over Rarity. One of these days he was going to have to bite the proverbial crossbow and confess his true feelings to her.

“In fact, I’m going to do it right now.” Spike said to himself.

Jumping out of his bed, Spike marched over to the door, reaching to grab the handle, before stopping and considering his options.

“Or…I could wait another couple of days.” He reasoned, withdrawing his hand and walking back over to his bed.

Jumping back into bed, Spike wrapped the covers back around himself, snuggling back into his pillow and drifting back off to sleep.

Instantly, his vision was filled with the image of Rarity, and he smiled as he saw the light of his world appear again.

Speaking of light, Rarity did seem to have a certain, glow, about her.

“Rarity, you’re glowing.” Spike said uncertainly.

“Why thank you Spike.” Rarity smiled.

As Spike watched, the light emanating from within Rarity continued to grow, and Spikes confusion grew in equal proportion.

“Rarity…” Spike continued, before she completely disappeared into the light.

Sighing, Spike realised he had probably forgotten to put out a candle somewhere in his room.

Cracking his eyes open, he looked around his room, looking for the wayward candle.

Instead, his eyes focused on a small ball of pure white light hovering just at the end of his bed.

Throwing the covers off himself, he crawled to the end of the bed and looked at the strange ball. It wasn’t doing anything, or changing in anyway, it was just, floating there.

Curiously, Spike raised a finger, extending a claw towards the sphere and slowly, with the upmost caution, touched the sphere.

Instantly, the sphere changed, taking on a much darker pallor, and emitting a small burst of energy, which pushed Spike away from it and smashed him into the headboard, dazing him slightly.

“Ugh…Twilight, is this something to do with you?” He mumbled.

Slowly, the sphere began to grow, expanding outwards and beginning to advance up the bed towards where Spike was lying. As it did this, something began to exert a force on Spike, and small objects from around the room began to shake violently, before beginning to move towards the sphere.

“Twilight?” Spike asked, his voice getting slightly louder.

The sphere continued to grow in both size and as it did so, the force it was exerting on everything else grew as well. Grabbing hold of the Headboard, Spike held on for dear life as his feet were pulled towards the energy.

“TWILIGHT!” He screamed, now truly terrified, before beginning to lose his grip on the headboard.

“Ugh…what is it Spike?” Came the voice of Twilight from a few rooms over.

“HELP!” He screamed, his claws scraping deep furrows into the dark wood as he was pulled harder by the invisible force.

“Hold on.” She shouted, before a crash was heard around the house, and emanating from Twilights room.

“NOOOOO!” He screamed, finally losing his grip on the bed as the wood splintered under his claws.

Flying backwards through the air, he desperately tried to grab onto anything he could, but for once, his claws were working against him, as everything he tried to grab ripped under his grip.

As soon as his feet touched the energy, a burning sensation travelled up his body, as smaller tendrils of energy snaked up his body, engulfing him fully, before with a final last scream, he was dragged into the ball of energy, disappearing from the room.

A moment later, Twilight burst into the room, just in time to see a small white ball fade from existence at the end of Spikes bed.

“S…spike?” She asked uncertainly, looking around the room.

Darting around the room, she took in every aspect of the room, including the large amount of new bits of stuff littering the floor, ranging from a few pencils to whole notebooks worth of parchment.

“Spike?!” She shouted, tears forming in her eyes. “Spike!”

When there was no reply, tears began to appear in ever larger numbers in her eyes. Quickly, she ran out of the room, checking the whole of the library for something, anything, that could help her in her time of need. Finding nothing, and with tears freely flowing down her, she sprinted for the door, teleporting a second before she hit it and materialising on the other side.

Stepping back from the door, she stared up at the tree. From the outside, it looked exactly how it always looked. No structural damage, no magical residue floating around it, nothing.

“Spike?” She uttered mindlessly.

She thought about that for a moment, stunned. Sluggish. Suddenly, a thought hit her, and instantly, she decided on her next course of action.

Taking off at a sprint, her horn lit up, and she covered herself in a purple aura, casting her cloudwalker spell, and continuing running, before disappearing in a soft pop.

Re-appearing again, she found herself on Rainbow Dash’s porch. Not wasting time with knocking, she burst into the house, sprinting up to Rainbows room and shaking the Pegasus awake.

“Rainbow! My library! Now!” She screamed, before vanishing again.

Rainbow looked perplexed at the area that Twilight had just been, before rolling out of bed and moving sluggishly towards the door.

***

A few miles away, Twilight reappeared directly outside of Applejacks bedroom, before repeating the process she had done with Rainbow.

Twilight repeated the process three more times, before rematerializing outside of her library, and waited for her friends.

Spike may have disappeared, but she was not going to give up looking, and she would tear the world in two, before she gave up on her non-blood little brother.

The Guardians of the Peace

***

Hyperspace sub-route 5-epsilon-72

***

Spike awoke with a start, looking around the room that he now occupied. It was long, and dominated by ten bunk style beds. None of the other beds were occupied, and Spike sat up, rubbing his head and looking out of the window. Momentarily, his heart caught in his throat as he stared out into the dark blue void beyond the door.

It wasn’t like the night sky back home, it was all encompassing. The stars could be seen above his eye line as always, but what chilled Spike to his core was the fact that beneath his eye line, there were also stars.

Slowly making his way over to the window, he looked out, searching desperately for the ground beneath the window.

There wasn’t any.

From his view from the window, Spike could see nothing but more of the same oddly mountainous blue tube. Looking around the window, Spike could see nothing but a wall of metal, painted with a mixture of bright red and yellow paint.

“Hello master. 5Q-X9 M-TD series translator droid at your service master.” Came a voice from behind Spike, and he whirled around to locate the source of the voice.

His eyes settled on an odd small metal sphere hovering around his eye level. The odd ‘droid’ had a grill on the front of it, and it was from here that the sound of its voice emanated from.

“I have been loaded with four languages for your convenience. Devaronese, Huttese, Shyriiwook and galactic standard basic.” The droid intoned, somehow conveying feeling in a voice that was near monotonous.

“Huttese? Shyriiwook?” Spike asked in confusion.

“Huttese: The native language of the Hutts, although it is spoken by many races around and in Hutt space, including Twileks, Humans and many others beside. Because of the commercial and criminal influence the Hutts hold throughout the galaxy, Huttese is the second most common language in the galaxy after basic.” The droid began. “Shyriiwook: also known as Wookieespeak, it is the main language of the Wookies. In Basic, Shyriiwook translates to ‘tongue of the people’. It is not the only Wookie language, but being the main trade language, it is the language understood by most non-Wookies.”

Spike stared at 5Q-X9 for a second, before his jaw dropped in awe.

“Are you magic?” He asked in a hushed tone.

“Negative. Magic is a superstitious force conjured up by primitive species, or alternately, a colloquial term to describe certain aspects of the force that the Jedi wield.” The droid said simply. “I am powered by a mark fifty two beta series internal fusion power source, and am equipped with a type seven repulsor seraph class engine, manufactured on Corellia.”

Dumbly, Spike nodded in awe at the droid, before putting two and two together, and once again remembering where he was, or more specifically, where he wasn’t. Instantly, tears began to roll down his face and he sat back down on the bed, curling up in a ball and sobbing silently.

“Unknown organic process in progress.” The droid spoke, more to itself than Spike it seemed. “Alerting Jedi master Varnk.”

A moment later, a doorway at the end of the room slid upwards, revealing one of the human creatures from before.

“<5Q-X9. Report.>” She said as she walked towards the droid, before spotting Spike and sitting down on the end of his bed.

“” The droid began, but Varnk cut it off.

“”

“” The droid said, bobbing slightly, before translating exactly what Varnk said from galactic basic to Devaronese.

“I apologise for anything that may have been done to upset you, and I realise it must be hard for a species as young as your appears to be to be thrown into, this.” She said, the droid repeating her a micro-second behind.

“Where am I?” Spike asked suddenly, the droid translating what he said into the human’s language.

“You are currently aboard the republic ship Selareco, bound for the Jedi temple on Coruscant.” The droid translated.

“Can you help me get home?” Spike asked hopefully.

“I am sorry Spike, truly I am.” Varnk said, moving closer to Spike and wrapping an arm around his shoulder. “The world you described, one ruled by Dragons and Ponies, it is unknown to my companions and I. It may be that the temple archives have more information on it.”

“Then I can go home after that?” Spike asked, jumping up in excitement.

“I am afraid I am not in a position to answer that.” Varnk said slowly. “The Jedi order, the order I belong to, is in need of potential initiates. In an ever growing galaxy, we need every force sensitive being to help us keep the peace. The council will be the ones to decide what happens next. The other masters are currently in contact with the council. I must get back to them shortly.”

The smile on Spikes face faded, and he flopped back down onto the bed, his smile now well and truly turned upside down.

“I realise this must be hard for you Spike.” Varnk said comfortingly. “If you would come with me, I can introduce you to the other potential candidates. Maybe you can find solace with them.”

Spike opened his mouth to speak, but Varnk cut him off.

“The droid, 5Q-X9, it has been informed that it is to follow you for the duration of this flight. It will translate the languages that the others speak to allow you to understand them until we ascertain if you can learn basic or if another option is more prudent.”

Spike attempted to say something, but Varnk had already stood up, and was walking towards the door.

Sighing, Spike jumped off the bed, and rubbed his eyes, clearing away some of the tears, but leaving his eyes red and puffy. Dejectedly, he followed the human out of the room.

Trudging down yet another metal corridor, Spike stuck close to Varnks legs worried that if he lost sight of her for a second, he would get lost in this weird and terrifying place. Luckily, he didn’t get lost on his journey, and eventually, he was led into another room, this one almost as large as the room he had awoken in, but without the beds, and dominated by a single massive window, showing a large panoramic view of, whatever lay beyond.

“I will take my leave from you now.” Varnk said, before turning and leaving the room.

Spike turned to speak to Varnk quickly, but the door had already begun to slide down, and emitted an ominous hiss as it slid back down from the roof, and sealed Spike in the room.

There were four other creatures in the room, two of them looked to be smaller versions of Varnk, and Spike assumed that they were human children. The other two, were different.

The first creature looked kind of like the humans, but at the same time, might as well have looked like a completely different species. For a start, its skin, instead of being a pale pinkish colour, was a deep blue colour, punctuated by swirls of white, that spread all over her body, including around her eyes. What really drew Spikes eyes however were the two tentacle type things that were sprouting out of the back of her head, and reaching down to her shoulder.

The second creature was also similar to the humans, but was once again, different in just as many ways. First of all, it was taller than any of the others in the room, and was on par with Spikes height, which amused Spike slightly, as usually he was one of the smaller ones in any given circumstance. The next obvious difference between this creature and the human, was its body was covered in dark brown fur, kind of like a small Minotaur or a Diamond Dog.

“H…hello?” He ventures, the various droids in the room translating what he said instantly into a variety of different languages. Instantly, the others were looking directly at Spike, and the fur covered approached Spike, another droid thing floating behind it, although this one was red rather than a simple metallic colour.

“Tarhal. Wookie” The droid at his shoulder spoke, as he roared in what Spike assumed was his own language, bringing his fist into his chest as he said the word, before pointing at Spike.

“Spike.” He said softly, nervously bringing his own fist to his chest, trying to fit in with the new arrival. “Dragon.”

“Dragon? Like the Krayt dragon?” The blue skinned alien asked, or more specifically, the droid asked, in astonishment, before shaking her head. “I’m sorry. Asho Tawl.”

“And, what…are you?” Spike asked slowly.

“A Twilek, from Narshada.” Asho smiled, bowing her head and extending her arms out to her side in a graceful cross between a bow and a curtsey.

“Umm, it’s nice to meet you.” Spike smiled back, extending a claw.

“Likewise.” She said, respectfully shaking Spikes hand.

As this happened, the two humans had walked over, and were standing behind Tarhal and Asho. One of them was a male, and had short brown hair, with a small black tattoo on his face. The female however had beautiful red hair, which flowed down her back and stopping halfway down it.

“Zule Thanos.” The boy said, extending his hand towards Spike.

As Spike reached out for it, he withdrew it quickly, laughing at his own joke.

“Too slow Spike.” He laughed, before grabbing Spike and pulling him under his arm and rubbing his hand against his head in an attempt to give Spike a noogie. Spikes scales on his head however put pay to that, and Zule quickly stopped, shaking his hand in pain. “Note to self, don’t rub his head.” He smiled.

“Don’t worry about my brother.” The girl smiled, shaking Spikes hand. “Corinna Thanos.”

“Brother?” Spike asked, looking between the two.

“I know, we don’t look much like.” Zule said, throwing his arm around Corinna. “Especially since we’re twins.”

“Wait, twins?” Spike asked in amazement.

“Yeah. None identical obviously.” Corinna said.

“So how did you end up on Corellia?” Zule asked.

“Slaver took me.” Tarhal growled, and his droid translated. “Rescued by republic.”

“You were a slave?” Asho asked in amazement.

“They try. They no get collar on me.” He growled.

“I wish.” Asho said wistfully.

“How long?” Zule asked.

“Three years.” She admitted softly.

That cut the conversation short, and for a moment, everyone was silent. Eventually however, Spike broke the silence.

“How old are you?” He asked uncertainly.

“Seven.” Zule and Corinna said instantly.

“I’m older.” Corinna said, sticking her tongue out.

“By like, a second.” Zule grunted.

“Six.” Tarhal growled.

“Almost nine.” Asho replied. “What about you Spike?”

“Twelve.” Spike admitted.

“But I thought the Jedi only took children under five.” Zule said slowly

“They do?” Spike asked.

“We do.” Came a voice from behind the five, and they all turned to look at its origin.

The four Jedi, led by Marcus, entered the room, spreading out as the door slid back into its groove.

“Normally, Jedi initiates are chosen from children of ages five and below.” Norik said almost casually.

“Then, why are we all older than five?” Asho asked.

“The Jedi council has decreed that an experiment in increasing the numbers of our order would be conducted. We were ordered to pick out potential candidates over the age of five. Usually initiates over this age do not take to the training as well as our younger initiates, but if you five are successful, we will be able to open training up to older candidates and increase the number of knights ready to safeguard the Republic.” Marcus informed them

“Now, I am sure you are all wondering what you are doing here.” Varnk said, stepping forward. “The five of you have more potential than your fellows for being able to wield the greatest power in the universe. The force.”

“We, the Jedi, wield the force in our goal for peace.” Frout continued. “The Jedi are guardians of harmony and peace across known space. With the force at our command, we can diffuse conflicts before they even arise.”

“Training to become a Jedi is not an easy challenge, and eve if you succeed, it is a hard life.” Norik said. “Remember, a Jedi may carry a Lightsaber, but they only fight as a last resort. If you are forced to draw your Lightsaber, you have already forfeited much of the advantages gained by the mastery of the force. A Jedi must trust the force and seek other ways to resolve problems, before resorting to violence. Patience, logic, tolerance, attentive listening, negotiation, persuasion, calming techniques. A Jedi must embody all of these things, but there is a time a Jedi must fight.”

“If violence is what you seek from the force, know this. Its power is unmatched, and mastery over it shall make you powerful, but these temptations will sway you to the dark side.” Marcus said. “The dark side shall lead you down a path of anger, and hate. Fear, and aggression. To conquer it, you must conquer your own emotions. You must hold no ties. Not to your past family, nor to a wife. Your life shall be given in its entirety to the Jedi order.”

“What if I don’t want to join the Jedi?” Spike asked, pushing his way to the front.

“I am sorry, but that is no longer a choice left open to you.” Frout said, bending down. “Our masters of the order have shared visions. The visions tell of an oncoming darkness, unseen since the Great Hyperspace war. The Jedi refuse to be drawn into another conflict, unprepared. We are preparing ourselves, and every child who has the potential shall be taken for training.”

Spike opened his mouth to protest, but was cut off by Norik.

“This is not something in which you can sway our minds. The high council has decided upon this course of action, and has the blessing of the republic senate to do so.”

Crestfallen, tears began to form in Spikes eyes, and he ran out of the room, tears streaming down his face once more. Spike had always been good at directions, and he soon found himself back in the bunk room. Throwing himself onto his bed again.

Spike sobbed once again. He would never be able to go home. He would never see Twilight again. His old life was gone. Suddenly, Spike felt a furry hand touch his back, and he turned to see Tarhal standing over him.

“I know feeling.” The droid said disjointedly, as Tarhal growled softly into his ear. “I taken from home to. Me and you. We get through this together.”

Spike wiped his eyes, and looked up at the Wookie.

“You and me?” He smiled. “You’d be my friend?”

“You strong Spike. You big, like me, not small and squidgy like human or Twilek. Me and you, we fight together. We become strong, together.”

Tarhal put a hand out towards Spike, and Spike grabbed it, pulling himself off of the bed, and standing by the Wookie. The pair stared at each other, before the Wookie moved forward, and grabbed Spike, pulling him into a hug.

“We stick together.” Tarhal said.

“The Jedi said we couldn’t have emotions.” Spike pointed out, sniffing.

“Emotions and friends are different. We can be friends.”

Spike considered for a minute, before returning the hug, pushing his face into Tarhal’s fur. Maybe, just maybe, he could find some happiness here.

Rapidash

Twilight stood in absolute silence outside of her library, looking at the tree with a determined glint in her eye. She replayed every second of the last few hours in her head while she waited for the others to arrive. Every time she did, she achieved the same outcome in her metal projections, Spike had been there one moment, and the next, he was simply gone, his room in disarray and his possessions scattered around the room.

“Twi? What’s all this about?” Applejack asked, catching Twilight unaware and causing her to jump almost three feet into the air.

“Settle down there scardy cat.” Pinkie laughed, bouncing up and down in front of Twilight.

“Sorry. I was thinking.” Twilight said concisely, before turning to the others, revealing tears brewing in her eyes. “Spike’s gone.”

“Whatever do you mean darling?” Rarity asked, putting her hoof around Twilight in a comforting manner.

“Spike, he called out, and when I got there…” She broke down into sobs. When she had been thinking about it, she had manage to keep her composure, but now she had actually vocalised it, the full reality of what was happening hit her like a slab of bricks.

“Don’t worry Twilight.” Rainbow smiled, nudging her friend reassuringly, “I’m sure he’s just playing a prank on you.” With that, she raised her head and shouted in the direction of the library. “Hey Spike! Good one, but jokes up now!”

Rainbow crossed her forehooves and waited, a smug grin on her face as she thought that she had solved the problem. A full minute passed, as the four other consoled Twilight. Rainbows face fell consistently throughout the minute as well, before she shakily called out again.

“Spike?”

“He’s not there!” Twilight shouted at Rainbow.

“We need to find him then.” Fluttershy squeaked. “He’s only a baby dragon after all, remember what happened when he left after the whole incident with Owlowiscious.”

“I’ll search the house for you darling.” Rarity said softly, before slipping away from Twilight and moving towards the library.

“I’ll get ma brother to gimme a hoof with the search around town.” Applejack said, taking off at a run towards Sweet Apple Acers.

“I’m searching the Everfree.” Twilight said softly, gently pushing Pinkie and Fluttershy off her as she did. “He may have wondered off I guess.” She finished the last bit in an extremely unenthusiastic tone.

“I’m coming with you.” Rainbow said, swooping down and landing next to Twilight.

“Me too.” Fluttershy said, moving forward with an unusual vigour.

“You would voluntarily go into the Everfree forest?” Rainbow asked.

“I can’t let Spike be there on his own.” She defended. “I can get my animal friends to look as well.”

“Guess I’m coming too.” Pinkie beamed, running to catch up with the group, before taking the lead and producing a pirate hat from nowhere. “Follow me crew.”

“Where did that even come from?” Twilight asked, smiling despite herself.

“Whenever you ask me a question like that, you forget one very important fact mate.” Pinkie smiled.

“And what would that be?”

“I'm Cap’n Pie Pan, savvy?” She said, adopting an odd pirate accent.

“Cap’n Pie Pan?” Rainbow laughed. “Where did you get that from?”

“Oh, some weird hairless apes made it up. Apparently I’m quite crazy.” Pinkie smiled.

Shaking her head in despair at the antics of her friend, and even found herself having fun, despite herself. The others did similar actions, as they all walked towards the Everfree forest.

***

The four ponies walked through the near pitch darkness of the early morning Everfree forest. The sun was still a few hours away from cresting the horizon, and long shadows were being created by the low hanging silhouette of Luna’s moon.

“Where should we start?” rainbow asked, looking around the forest.

“None of my animal friends have seen Spike in the forest, and he isn’t with that big, ferocious dragon either.” Fluttershy added.

“We should go see Zecora.” Pinkie said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“That is…an excellent idea Pinkie.” Twilight said, sounding surprised at the normality of Pinkies suggestion.

“I often have good ideas, and yet ponies are always surprised.” Pinkie grinned.

Setting off with a newfound purpose, Twilight lead the group in the direction of Zecora’s hut. She often wondered how she could find the hut whenever she wanted to, where ever she happened to be, but pushed the irrelevant thought from her mind. All that mattered, all that she needed and wanted to do, was find Spike. Everything else was a secondary concern, even her own wellbeing.

That final thought only crossed her mind as a thin branch whipped back, leaving a scar across her left cheek.

A short while later, the four caught sight of Zecora’s hut, and despite the ungodly hour that they had approached it, Twilight banged loudly on the door.

“Zecora! We need your help!”

From within the hut, a thud was heard, as a skull connected with a wooden floor, before hoofsteps were heard approaching the door, and slowly, it inched open, revealing the zebra behind it.

“Twilight Sparkle and her friends, what bring you four to these ends?” Zecora asked, gently rubbing the side of her head, although whether it was from banging it on the floor, or simply because she was tiered, was unclear.

“Spike’s missing!” Twilight said ungently, fixing the Sharman with an imploring eye. “We…”

“…came to see if I know where he went? I assume he is moving without your consent?”

“He cried out for me. Then, he wasn’t in his room.” Twilight explained, the frown coming back onto her face.

“I am sorry Twilight.” Zecora said, and instantly, Twilight was alert. “I can’t help you.”

“You’re not rhyming.” Fluttershy said uncertainly.

“There are some things that are not a joke, and these must be said without my note.” She replied simply. “I wish you luck on your quest, I hope it turns out for the best.”

“Thank you for trying Zecora.” Rainbow smiled. “We’ll let you get back to sleep.”

Twilight looked ready to burst into tears as the door shut in her face, and she slid down to the floor, sobbing silently.

“I don’t know what to do.” She said softly. “I’ve asked everypony I know.”

“Really Twilight?” Pinkie asked. “Really?”

“I’ve got to side with Pinkie here.” Rainbow said, looking at Twilight. “For a smarty pants book worm, you really can be dense.”

“What do you mean?” Twilight asked, sniffing.

“Now let’s think. Who do we know who routinely sends ‘messages’ to Spike through magic? Somepony who is extremely powerful and knows more about the world and the ‘sun’ than anypony else?” Rainbow asked, labouring words to get her point across.

“Oh of course!” Twilight shouted, smashing her face with her hoof in exasperation. “Why didn’t I think of it?”

“Because you,” Pinkie said, bopping Twilight on her nose “are too smart.”

“We need to get going.” Twilight said, getting up and sprinting forward. Sighing, Rainbow, Fluttershy and Pinkie Pie shook their heads, before taking off after Twilight.

***

Once again, Twilight stood in front of her library, contemplating what to do next, and praying that whatever she did would be enough to save Spike. Around her, Rainbow Dash, Pinkie Pie and Fluttershy shared similar feelings. Applejack was on her way back to the library, and Rarity was finishing what felt like the millionth sweep of the house for any clues as to where Spike had gone.

“I found nothing.” Rarity said sadly, walking out of the house.

“And ah didn’t find nothin’ either.” Applejack said, walking towards the group. “Big Mac is still lookin around town, but ah don’t think that he’s gonna find anything.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Twilight said, scrunching her face up in concentration. “We are going over everyponies heads, and going to the princesses.”

“We catching the train then?” Pinkie asked excitedly. “I love the train.”

“No.” Twilight said, before opening her eyes again. As she did, the magenta glow that surrounded her horn increased in size to encompass all five of her friends. A split second later, all six ponies disappeared.

***

The six appeared almost instantly in the Canterlot throne room, stunning the ponies present, and even taking the two princesses who were sat on their thrones stunned for a split second, before regaining their composure and looking at the six.

“Twilight Sparkle. What is the meaning of this interruption?” Celestia asked, rising from her throne and making her way down the steps to the main floor of the throne room.

“Spike is missing.” Twilight said simply, stepping forward to meet Celestia.

“Auntie, what is the meaning of this?” A white stallion asked, stepping out from the crowd of shocked ponies.

“You!” Rarity shouted, moving forward and standing in front of the stallion.

“You!” He shouted back, staring at Rarity. “Auntie, I insist that you remove these commoners at once.”

“Hold thy tongue blueblood.” Luna growled. “You are addressing the element of Generosity, and thou wilt show more respect in her presence.”

“The element of Generosity?” Blueblood asked, looking between Luna and Rarity, before the colour drained from his face, leaving him looking gaunt and grey.

“Yes, prince.” Rarity said, smiling in a sickly sweet way.

Blueblood shrunk back, slinking back into the crowd.

“Leave us.” Celestia ordered, and instantly, the ponies in the throne room began to file out, unwilling to disobey a direct order from the princess. Blueblood hovered on the edge of the room for a while longer than the other ponies, before relenting and walking out of the room. Eventually, the elements of harmony and the two princesses were left alone.

“Now Twilight.” Celestia said soothingly. “What is the problem? You said Spike is missing?”

“He called out for me from his room, and when I got there, he wasn’t there.” Twilight explained.

“Are you sure Miss Sparkle?” Luna asked. “He could just be hiding as a joke.”

“We searched the library, Ponyville and the Everfree Forest for him.” Twilight insisted. “He wasn’t there.”

“This is worrisome news.” Celestia said, before her horn lit up, and she summoned a roll of blank parchment. “However, Spike is not ordinary, and I have a way to contact him anywhere on the planet, through the enchantments I placed upon him as a child.”

“So you can find him?” Twilight asked in excitement.

“Precisely.” Celestia replied with a smile, before her horn glowed slightly brighter.

Instantly, the parchment was engulfed in flame, as it had been so many times before. This time however, instead of the green flames that usually heralded Spikes messaging system, a bright yellow and orange flame engulfed the parchment, consuming it almost instantly, and reducing it to a pile of ash that landed in front of a stunned Celestia.

“Princess?” Twilight asked uncertainly.

“I…I don’t understand.” Celestia admitted, staring at the ash on the floor. “That spell has a range to reach across the entire planet.”

“But, it didn’t send.” Rarity pointed out.

“Precisely.” Celestia said gauntly. “There are only two reasons as to why this would happen.”

“And those reasons are?” Applejack asked.

“Either he is not on this world anymore…or he is dead.” Celestia admitted, after what felt like years of silence.

Twilight stared at her mentor , both unable and unwilling to believe what she had just heard.

“That can’t be true.” She said softly, staring straight at Celestia.

“It is not something I take pleasure in declaring.” Celestia admitted, “But it is something that I must say as both your friend, princess and mentor.”

Twilight stared at the princess, her jaw hanging open in a lopsided leer, as she fought with her own self-conscious to process exactly what Celestia had said.

Then she raised her face, opened her mouth, and screamed.

It was a wordless scream, pure sorrow perforating the ungodly sound that emanated from her.

Twilight was strong, as far as magic went, and her magical reserve was possibly more expansive than any other unicorn on the planet. The scream however, unleashed a psychic backlash unlike anything she had ever experienced. Barriers that she did not even know existed around her magical reserve were encountered by the scream, before being overcome, the force of the scream disintegrating them in an instant, and unleashing a strength unlike any Twilight had ever known.

Her horn glowed a bright purple, brighter than ever before, as the glass in the windows of the palace shattered under the influence of a spell that was streaming unbidden from Twilight’s horn, and exploded inwards, ripping towards Twilight herself, and causing the others in the room to duck to the floor. Even Celestia and Luna looked stunned, as glass flew past them, before Celestia surrounded herself, her sister and the other element bearers in a shining white translucent shield. The shield however, could not reach out towards Twilight quickly enough, and Celestia stared on in horror as the deadly glass sped towards Twilight.

Twilight however was not a weak unicorn, and was not going to be caught off guard, even if the spell itself was not intentional and unbelievably powerful. An instant before the glass shards hit her, a thin purple shield, perfectly matching the shape of her body, flashed into view, and the glass melted as it hit the shield.

The spell continued to grow in strength, and as it did so, the glow around her horn grew in tandem, and slowly, bigger objects in the room started to move, scraping across the floor, slowly at first, but gaining in speed. Even Celestias shield was not exempt from the forces affecting the rest of the room, and the eons old Alicorn felt herself being dragged inch by inch towards the purple unicorn, and for the first time in almost a millennium, true fear shot through her spine.

Twilight on the other hand, was feeling fear of her own. The spell was growing at an alarming rate, and she was struggling with every ounce of her ability to control the growth of the spell, but still it grew. With the last ounce of her strength, she did the only thing she could do, and let down her defences, allowing the spell to grow tenfold, while simultaneously casting the only spell she could think of that would help.

In a purple flash, Twilight vanished.

***

One thousand miles away, on the mountain ranges holding the Griffon territories and Equestria apart, an identical purple flash lit up the dawn sky, depositing Twilight Sparkle on a plateau. She let out one final scream, before she was tossed into the air by her errant magic, spinning wildly away from the mountain.

A massive ball of fire erupted outwards from the plateau, engulfing Twilight, and the top of the mountain in a firestorm, and for the briefest moment, a second sun lit up Equis, briefly shining across the surface of the planet, before fading again.

Twilight fell to the ruined remains of the mountain top, the intense heat having melted the rock, twisting it into odd shapes, as the burnt and battered form of the purple unicorn lay on the floor. Twilight’s chest rose and fell slightly, but other than that, she was dead to the world, held deep within a fitful slumber of hellish nightmares, only some of which had anything to do with Spike.

Welcome

Spike lay on the bunk he had been assigned in the dormitory, staring impassively at a small datapad thing he had been given. It turned out that while he could speak Devaronese, the written language was completely different from written Equestrian, Draconian or ancient Draconian. All he had managed to learn from the datapad in the two weeks he had been aboard the Selareco, was that he hated learning new languages as much as when Twilight had first taught him ancient and new Draconian.

His talks with the others on board the ship, well the other Jedi aspirants at least, they weren’t allowed into the rest of the ship as it was a military vessel, had been much more fruitful. While he had not learnt much about the galaxy as a whole, the views being that of children, and while useful, Spike was slightly unsure of their validity. What he had learnt about however was their pasts.

Like she had said, Asho had been a slave for nearly three years managed to escape from the Hutts, stowing away on a freighter bound for Corellia. Apparently, slavery was fairly common with the Hutts, and she had been used as a dancer girl. Luckily for her, she wasn’t old enough to be used for anything else. She didn’t specify what ‘anything else’ was, but Spike had a sneaky feeling that she had dodged a stampede of buffalo. Spike still couldn’t grasp the fact that an entire civilisation was built on slavery. Just imagining millions enduring the treatment that Rarity had with the Diamond Dogs, or the Crystal ponies had at the hooves of Sombra disgusted him.

Zule and Corinna were, for want of a better word, odd. Spike had met twins before, Pumpkin and Pound cake for one, Aloe and Lotus at the spa for another, and they had all seemed closer than normal siblings, but those two, it was like they knew exactly what the other one was thinking, acting on it before they had even had time to speak. Spike had watched them in amazement for almost an hour while they had a play fight. Each time one threw a punch at the other, it was instantly intercepted and parried, before a counter was thrown to the same result. The only reason it had stopped had been because Norik had walked in to take them to the room where they ate their meals, once again, separated from the rest of the crew.

And then there was Tarhal.

The Wookie had been the only thing that had made Spike life bearable for the first few days on the ship, his constant friendship and compassion had been a pillar for Spike to hold onto. In return, Spike had given the Wookie someone more like himself to talk to. The Wookie wasn’t like the humans or the Twilek, or even the Devaronian. He was, for want of a better word, a savage, possessing more brute strength than any of the others, save the adults. Along with that, he was very blunt and to the point, calling shots like he saw them, and not pulling verbal punches for anything. Spike had found that despite their few differences, his tendency to augment the truth to avoid hurting the others, they were similar in a lot more ways. Spike was the only one who could give him a run for his money in terms of pure strength anyway.

He had never really been given the opportunity, not needing to show his strength off back in Equestria, but when he wanted to, he could move far more than his body size would suggest. He was a dragon after all.

He sniffed once, tearing his mind away from Twilight for what felt like the millionth time that day alone, but it was hopeless, and his mind drifted straight back to the purple mare. It would be like Zule trying to forget about Corinna. Impossible. But that seemed to be exactly what the Jedi were trying to advocate, and whenever he had brought the subject up with one of the masters, they had told him of the Jedi’s stance on relationships, and the dangers they posed.

“Attention all hands.” A voice crackled in basic over the intercom system, and his droid translating nearly so Spike could understand nearly instantaneously. “Prepare to exit Hyperspace at jump point Alpha-niner-niner-zulu. Eta to touchdown at Coruscant ship yards, one hour, twenty two minutes and counting.”

As soon as the Intercom had crackled off, the door to the bunk room slid upwards with a slight hiss, and Master Marcus strode into the room.

“Well you heard the captain.” He said. “Get anything you need and prepare to disembark.”

The four aspirants quickly moved about the room, gathering the few, if any, belongings that they had, before meeting in front of Marcus.

“Are you fit?” He asked, looking around. When no one said anything to the contrary, he turned and walked out of the room, leading the others through the ship.

In short order, they reached the room that Spike had first been taken to when he boarded the Selareco. This time however, the window was not simply leading onto empty space.

Spike stared out of the viewport of the starship in awe as they descended towards the planet, passing the other ships in orbit as they approached. Beside him, the other potential aspirants and the four Jedi masters also looked out of the viewport.

“Coruscant.” Frout said, causing translation droids to burst into life. “The capital of the entire republic. Home of the Jedi order, and the galactic senate.”

“How big is the city?” Asho asked, looking down in disbelief.

“Ha.” Marcus grinned. “It doesn’t end. The whole planet is one, massive city. If it can be found, it is likely you’ll see it somewhere on the planet. Even if you have to go down a thousand levels.”

“How far down does it go?” Spike asked in astonishment.

“All the way.” Norik said cryptically.

***

Spike and the others had assembled in the hanger bay of the ship, the one the Jedi had commandeered for their own use, and were confronted by another craft, this one open topped, and clearly just for transport across the planet, not between them.

Without needing a command, they filed onto the transport, and as soon as they had taken their seats, the craft shot out of the hanger doors, pinning Spike to the seat, and causing him to be glad that he hadn’t eaten much that morning. Even so, he felt his insides turning as Marcus weaved in and out of other ships in the sky.

“Slow down you maniac.” Norik grunted, but Marcus either didn’t listen or didn’t care, probably the latter, and continued to fly like a man possessed.

Spike still couldn’t get used to the idea of flying, let alone spaceships, and instead, placed his head in his lap and his claws over his ears, in an attempt to block out the roars of the engines. Beside him, Tarhal looked like he was having a similar experience, rocking on his seat and moaning slightly.

“Chin up big guy.” Corinna smiled, placing her hand on Tarhal’s leg, before turning to Spike. “You too. We’re going to be Jedi!”

“Don’t want to be a Jedi.” Spike groaned. “Want to go home.”

“Well, maybe you can do that then.” Corinna grinned. “Be sad to see you go though. I’d love to know more about your home.”

Smiling slightly, Spike doubled over again, groaning louder.

“Hey. The seats have just been cleaned. Hurl over the side if you need to.” Marcus yelled back.

“His neck’s a better target.” Varnk laughed.

“I will turn this ship around missy.” Marcus snorted back, before the two burst into laughter, drawing a withering glare from Norik.

“Grow up.” He growled.

The rest of the journey passed quickly, and eventually, Spike felt the ship slow down, before touching down and stopping all together.

“We’re here.” Frout said plainly, before standing up and gesturing for the aspirants to exit the room. Slowly, the four aspirants made their way out of the craft, and instantly, Spikes jaw dropped.

“Where are we?” he asked in amazement.

The area they had landed in was absolutely massive, the ceilings soaring to the point where Spike was sure that the whole of the castle in Canterlot could have fit within it with room to spare. The only thing that would stop that from happening were the multitude of pillars, as thick as the Ponyville library, and reaching up to the ceiling.

“This, is our tower from which we can guard the galaxy.” Varnk smiled, looking around with a look of comfort on her face. “Our fortress to watch upon the dark.”

“This, is the temple of the Jedi order.” Marcus finished.

Spike continued to stare around in awe as he was led through the temple, not even looking at the other Jedi that wandered around the temple, but feeling their stares burning into him. He hadn’t known what to expect when he had been told he was in the temple of the Jedi, but he had been expecting something…smaller. The Jedi gave off an air of minimalism, and he had expected their home to convey that feeling as well. Clearly he was wrong.

All nine of them, plus the two translation droids, filed into a weird glass plated room, and the doors slid closed.

“What…” Spike began, before he was suddenly thrown to the floor as the entire room shot upwards.

“What is going on?” Tarhal roared, his droid translating for everyone else, but not really needing to.

Eventually, the room stopped moving, and Spike and Tarhal pulled themselves off the floor, looking around at the grins of the other aspirants.

“I thought they had lifts on Kashyyyk.” Frout asked.

“They’re slow.” Tarhal replied.

“And I’m guessing you don’t have lifts on Equestria?” Frout asked, turning to Spike.

“There’ nothing like that on Equestria.” Spike clarified. “What’s it for?”

“Moving between floors quicker than walking up flights of stairs.” Frout explained.

Shaking his head in confusion, Spike followed the others out of the lift, walking through another massive hallway, this one leading towards a large set of stairs, and beyond, a room that looked circular from here. Spike could see a single human sitting on a seat, and wondered if this was the leader of the Jedi temple. If he was, he must have been powerful.

In short order, they got to the opening, not yet going in, and Spike couldn’t make anything else other than the human male.

“Inside, is the high council of the Jedi order. You must enter alone, and be judged. Good luck. The next time we meet, you will know if you are to be Jedi, or be returned to your home.”

At this, Spikes heart leapt. He could go home, he just had to see this Jedi council person.

Not thinking, Spike sprinted past the others, running into the room, before stopping, looking eagerly at the man in front of him. Only then was he aware of the others in the room, looking at him with interest. Slowly, the others walked in, crowding around Spike and looking around nervously.

“So you five are the potential aspirants who are allowed to go against the Ruusan reformation?” One of the council members, an odd human like creature, but bigger, and with a massive forehead.

“What are your names?” The human that Spike had first seen asked.

“Asho Tawl.” Asho bowed deeply, spreading her arms out to the side.

“Zule…” He began

“…and Corinna Thanos.” His sister finished, the pair acting theatrically, which Spike had learnt they did when they were nervous.

“Tarhal.” The Wookie growled.

“Spike.” He finished nervously.

“Do we frighten you?” Another creature asked, this one like the human, but with small horns on his bald head.

“No.” Tarhal said, unconvincingly.

“You do not need to lie to us, Tarhal, son of Kashyyyk.” A female human said kindly. “Allow us to introduce ourselves. I am Master Luma.”

“Master Plagun. I am Muun.” The large foreheaded Jedi spoke.

“Grand Master Garton Brine. I am the head of the Jedi order.” The male who Spike had first seen said.

“Master Bao-hak. Zabrak.” The horned creature said.

This continued as each member of the council, eleven in all, introduced themselves, before Garton addressed the aspirants again.

“Do you know why you are here?” He asked.

“To become Jedi.” Asho answered instantly.

“And is that what you want?” Plagun asked.

“I want to go home.” Spike said softly, drawing all eyes to him.

“Ah yes, Marcus mentioned a new species would be joining us here.” Luma smiled. “Tell us, what are you?”

“I’m a dragon.” Spike said, puffing his chest out ever so slightly.

“And which planet does your species call home?” Plagun asked. “is it within the core worlds? The outer-rim? Further afield?”

“Um…Equestria.” Spike said softly. “I don’t know where it is, I was hoping…”

“…that we would know where it was.” Bao-hak finished.

“Yeah.” Spike said weakly.

“If anyone on this council can shed light on this planet, speak now.” Garton asked.

No one spoke, and Spike’s eyes filled with tears. The silence cut into his stomach like a knife, ramming home the fact that he was here, and as of now, there was no way he could find his home.

“I am sorry Spike.” Luma said with a sad undertone in her voice. “I know this must be hard for you.”

“Hard!” Spike shouted through his tears, shocking the other aspirants at his sudden outburst. “That’s my home! My friends! My family! They’re all gone! Don’t tell me you know what that’s like.”

“Spike. Everyone on this council knows some of what you are feeling. In becoming Jedi, we cast off our old lives, leaving families behind, and yet here we are, members of the order of Jedi. Defenders of the weak and innocent across the galaxy. This is what we offer you all.” Bao-hak said simply.

“I don’t care!” Spike screamed, before turning from the council chamber and sprinting out, tears streaming down his face.

Without a second thought, Tarhal tore after him, racing from the council chambers, and leaving the members of the council shocked.

“I told you.” A Tulz spoke up, looking at Garton. “They are too old, they will not take to training well.”

“I agree.” Plagun nodded. “Running out of the council chambers. Has that ever been done before?”

“I do not believe so.” Luma said thoughtfully. “But surely you cannot doubt the potential of the candidates. The Wookie, for a member of his species to be able to feel the flow of the force, I do not believe there has ever been another. And the dragon, this Spike. He is interesting. I can sense the flow of power through him, but there is something deeper, hidden from me.”

“The dark side. It hides itself in the darkness. He should not be trained.” The Tulz insisted.

“I do not believe so.” Bao-hak shook his head. “The dark side can manifest in creatures, but I sensed no taint upon him. I believe he should be trained. Such a creature would be taken advantage of by slavers in the universe if left to his own devices, being unique as he is.”

“We should bring him back them.” Plagun relented.

“No.” Garton said simply. “This is something he and his friend must settle. We do not own them, and cannot force them to join us. It is a choice they must make of their own free will.”

***

Tarhal ran down the massive hallway, his translation droid bobbing obediently behind him, stopping halfway down the steps as he saw Spike sitting on one, his head in his lap, sobbing gently. Sitting down next to him, Tarhal put an arm around Spike.

“Hey Tar.” Spike sniffed, looking at the Wookie.

“Spike.” Tarhal nodded.

“Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be with the council?” Spike asked.

“Perhaps. Would rather be here with you. You’re upset. Makes me upset.”

“Thanks, but, you could be throwing your chance at being a Jedi away.” Spike pointed out. “I thought that was what you wanted.”

“It was. When I was young, I dreamed of being Jedi. To climb the tallest trees with ease. But now, if you don’t join, I don’t join.” He said with conviction.

“You’d give up your dream for me?” Spike asked incredulously.

“Would rather you stay, and share dream with me.” Tarhal replied.

“But…” Spike began, but was cut off by Tarhal.

“If you leave. Where would you go? Your only hope of finding home is the Jedi. Stay with me. We learn together. We search for your home, together. Then, you can go back to where you came from.”

Spike looked at Tarhal for a moment, before relenting. The Wookie was right of course. He was alone in this galaxy, perhaps indefinitely. His only hope, his only friend, was here. Making the only logical choice that he could, Spike nodded.

“I’ll stay here, as long as you stay as well.” Spike said simply.

“We need to go back to the council. Apologise for running out.” Tarhal pointed out.

“I know. I doubt anyone has done that before.” Spike smiled.

“Already made our mark on the order.” Tarhal grinned back, before turning, and walking back towards the council chambers.

***

The council watched in silent apprehension as Spike and Tarhal re-entered the room in silence, before Spike finally went to speak.

“We understand Spike.” Garton said, cutting him off before he could speak. “Honour to your family made you leave, and honour to the temple brought you back.”

“My friend brought me back.” Spike pointed out.

“I didn’t say it was your honour.” Garton said tersely, before turning to the other masters. “What say you, members of the council, to these five aspirants? Shall they be trained in the ways of the force? Guided along the path of the light side as Jedi, to someday hold the rank of Padawan?”

“Aye.” Luma said, raising her hand.

“Aye.” Bao-hak agreed, raising his hand.

One by one, the other masters in the room raised their hands and expressed their approval. As soon as the last Jedi had spoken, Garton addressed the five again.

“Very well. It is by unanimous vote of the high council of the Jedi order, that you five are to be trained in the ways of the light side of the force, as Jedi. A Jedi lives their life for the Republic. Not for a king, nor a lord, nor the honour of this house or that house, neither for credits nor glory nor love, but for the Republic, and all those who are citizens within it. A Jedi takes no wife or husband and parents no sons or daughters. Our wife is duty. Our mistress is honour. And you are the only children we shall ever know.” Garton said, speaking loudly, and getting up from his chair for the first time.

“Hence forth, you are initiates of the Jedi order. You shall be trained to wield the powers you possess. As five you were, and as five you will train. Henceforth, you shall be known as members of the Vrelt Clan, until such time as you pass through the crystal caves of Illum, and complete the Apprentice Tournament, and earn the right to be known as Padawans.” Luma continued, following Gartan’s lead and standing up.

“Those who will train you, are already known to you.” Plagun stood up as he spoke. “Master Norik, has been assigned to your clan. He will teach you the ways of the force, and help you to pass the trials ahead.”

As he said this, Spike saw Norik enter the chambers, even though he hadn’t seen him when he had run out of the chambers.

“Mater Norik. These initiates are now yours to train. I leave them in your capable hands.” Garon said, before every member of the council stood up, looking directly at the five new initiates.

“We, the council, recognise these five, as members of the order of Jedi. Act in the interests of the weak, and oppose violence, wherever it may be. These are your tenants.” The council spoke, each one in perfect unity with the others.

Master Norik walked in front of the five as the council finished speaking and sat down again, gesturing for the five to leave the chamber. As they did, they were met by Marcus, Frout and Varnk, all of whom were waiting by the lift.

“Well?” Marcus asked.

“They entered as aspirants. They leave as initiates.” Norik said, his mechanical voice portraying neither pride nor distain.

The others looked at the five initiates, who were still looking dazed at the council’s verdict. As Norik spoke however, it truly sunk in.

“We did it!” Zule laughed, clapping his sister and the back, before pulling her into a hug.

“We are in the order.” Asho smiled, although not raising her voice, a trait that she had picked up while she was enslaved.

“We did it Spike.” Tarhal laughed, picking Spike up and pulling him into a hug of his own, a much more crushing one than Zule was giving Corinna.

“Yeah.” Spike chuckled, smiling at the Wookies antics. He still wasn’t quite sure what he was going to do, but Tarhal had made a compelling point. He now at least had somewhere to stay, people to look after him, and even if they weren't Twilight, they were good people.

He frowned slightly at the thought of the purple mare that he thought of as his sister, and mother, but managed to hold back the tears he was feeling. He would probably cry himself to sleep again that night, as he had every night so far, but he was getting better. That is to say, he was getting quieter, to the point that it was near silent, and didn’t keep anyone up. At least he wasn’t alone in his actions. Asho did similar things, and even when she was asleep, she tossed and turned and occasionally screamed, as she remembered what her life was like before the Republic.

Not all of the group were broken, but two of them were. It would take it all their strength to overcome the shattered parts of their psyche.

Maybe though, just maybe, the aspects of harmony ran as strong in this galaxy, as it did in Equestria.

Ascension

Twilight groaned as she struggled with her nightmares she was entangled in, tossing from side to side as she struggled in vain to wake herself up. Something was wrong, that much she could tell, but she couldn’t place her hoof on it as she rolled around on the soft surface.

In her mind, she replayed the moment of Spikes disappearances, but this time, she saw him go, a monster stealing him away. The last thing she saw before the…thing…jumped out of the window, was the look on Spikes face. That was what was scaring her the most. The look she was given. Spike was pleading, begging her to save him, but deeper than that, he was blaming her. ‘Why didn’t you save me?’ he seemed to ask, even as he was ripped away from her.

Part of her knew that Spike wouldn’t say that, that it was just her imagination punishing her, but that part of her mind was being squashed by the rest, and its voice of reason went unheard.

“Oh my goodness.” A voice spoke softly, a familiar voice. “Do you think she’s ok?”

Twilight knew that voice, it was her friends. She had to be strong. To wake up and tell her that everything was fine, that she was fine, but she couldn’t, her mind forcing her to stay unconscious.

“I don’t know.” Another voice spoke, this one even more familiar than the last. “My student is strong, and she will not give up easily, but the level of magic that she displayed, it has done things I did not think possible. Magical exhaustion can be a deadly ailment to Unicorns.”

“But, to melt rock.” The voice of Applejack said.

“Would require temperatures far exceeding what a normal Unicorn, or even an Alicorn like myself or Princess Cadence should be able to produce. Only my sister should be able to conjure that sort of power.” Luna said.

“Exactly. The possibilities and consequences of this, I don’t know what will happen.” Celestia replied.

“Nggh…a…wake.” Twilight managed, grunting with the effort of just speaking, as she finally put her hoof on what was wrong.

When she had passed out, she had been in a mountain range, not a bed, or anywhere near civilisation. She had made sure of that. So how had she got into a bed?

“Princess.” Another voice, this one a male that she didn’t recognise. “I believe she is waking up, or at least trying to.”

“What do ya mean tryin’ to?” Applejack asked.

“In cases on extreme magical exhaustion, the mind often shuts down. I have seen lesser cases than this where the Unicorn simply never awoke. We have wards dedicated to them in case they manage to break through and wake up. We always remain hopeful but…” He trailed off.

“Twilight won’t give up. She’s stronger than an Ursa Minor, she picked one up, remember?” Pinkie giggled. “Plus this would be a short story arc if she just never woke up.”

“Story arc?” Luna asked.

“Don’t ask.” Rarity replied. “It’s just Pinkie being…”

“…Pinkie.” Twilight cut her off, rolling over again, trying to open her eyes again, and managing to force them open just a crack, enough to let light in, but not enough to see the room she was in.

“That’s it Twilight. Just keep fighting. You can do it.” Celestia urged

Grunting with effort, Twilight forced her right eye open, fixing her pupil on Celestia, who was just a few inches away.

“Come on.” Celestia said softly, looking at her student.

With a scream of effort, Twilight forced her eyes open, focusing on the Princess and smiling weakly.

“Princess…Celestia.” She said softly.

“Oh my dear Twilight.” Celestia beamed.

“Alright Twilight.” Rainbow cheered, jumping into the air above the bed that Twilight was in.

Looking around the room, she saw that she was in a hospital. Not a big surprise, all things considered, but what was surprising was the fact that she had never been here before, and she had visited both the Ponyville general hospital and the royal Canterlot hospital in her time. This room was neither of those two.

“Where…” She began.

“Are you?” Rarity asked. “In the castle in Canterlot. The princesses offered the use of their personal medical facilities.”

“Yep. Super-duper amazing in here. And that doctor, quite a hot piece of…” Pinkie began, but was cut off by a hoof being placed in her mouth.

“I believe we get the picture Pinkie.” Rarity smiled awkwardly, before removing her hoof.

“You know, with the amount of times ponies put their hooves in my mouth, I should invent flavoured horse shoes. Maybe cupcake flavour.” Pinkie smiled thoughtfully.

“Ha.” Twilight grinned, laughing at her friends antics. “So you allowed me to use your private chambers?” She asked, looking at Luna and Celestia.

“Of course.” Luna smiled. “For the first week you were in Ponyville general hospital, but for the past few weeks, you have been here. It is more comfortable here for prolonged stay.”

“Did you say weeks?” Twilight asked in astonishment.

“Four weeks, three days and fifteen hours.” Celestia confirmed. “All that time, your friends have been here. One of them was always by your side, usually more than one. Even through the night.”

“But…but…it was only one of my episodes.” Twilight said, looking around desperately. “I’ve never passed out from one before.”

“How big do you believe the fallout from your episode was Twilight?” Celestia asked uncertainly.

“Maybe a bit bigger than normal.” Twilight admitted sheepishly.

“Another question then.” Celestia continued. “What do you know of the Cawstone mountain ranges?”

“Easy. The Cawstone Mountains are a range of fifteen mountains that separate the northern boarder of Equestria from Gryphomry. The largest mountain in the range is Mt Turg, named for the famous king Turg. It stands eight thousand nine hundred and sixty four meters high.”

“Not anymore.” Celestia said solemnly. “As of this moment, the Cawstone range consists of eleven mountains, and Mt Turg now stands at only six thousand three hundred meters.”

“What?” Twilight asked in confusion.

“You had a magical outburst. One more powerful than I have ever seen, even more powerful than the one during your entrance exam. In the resulting fallout, the mountain range was altered. You blew the top of Mt Turg to pieces, and the rubble fell in between the other mountains in the range. In your usual manner, although in a much more spectacular fashion, you were engulfed in flames, the fireball melting the rocks together, and hence fifteen mountains being made into eleven.” Celestia explained.

“The Griffons were less than pleased, but relationships have been smoothed over for now.” Luna added.

“But nopony’s that powerful. Not a unicorn anyway.” She insisted.

“You are right.” Luna nodded. “Even I am not that powerful. Nor is Cadence. The fact that you could do something on that level of power…”

“That can’t be right.” Twilight sobbed.

“Twi, we’re here for ya. As long as it takes.” Applejack said, walking over to the bed.

As she did, the other four followed suit, and soon they were all standing by the bed. Smiling, Twilight sat up and reached for them, pulling into a hug.

“I’m so glad…” Twilight said, tears forming in her eyes.

“Umm…Twilight?” Rarity asked, looking at a spot just behind Twilight with a look of fear on her face.

“What?” Twilight said, looking behind her, her back turning with her head.

“This.” Rainbow said, grabbing something from beneath the covers that Twilight had thrown off, and holding it up for everypony to see.

It was a purple feather.

“What is that?” Twilight said in despair.

“A feather.” Celestia said, her voice sounding as if her heart was heavy just from speaking the two words. “Your feather Twilight.”

“But I’m a Unicorn!” She yelled, leaping out of bed and standing straight in front of Celestia.

“I am afraid, that part of your life is over.” Luna said sadly, gesturing for Twilight to look behind her.

Without moving her back this time, Twilight twisted her neck, looking at her own body, and the wings that now adorned it.

“What?!” She screamed, looking at the wings, her wings.

“Why does Twilight look like an Alicorn?” Rainbow asked in confusion.

“Because she is an Alicorn.” Celestia said, lowering herself to look at Twilight directly. “Since you were sent to Ponyville, I have been watching you, preparing you for ascension. You’ve come so far since that day. And you made me so proud. I had not planned for it to be this way.”

“What do you mean?” Twilight asked, no longer sobbing, but her voice wavering all the same.

“My sister and I had made a plan, one that involved you finishing Starswirl the bearded’s legacy. He had created a spell that could change destinies, but it was never completed. It was our belief that your lessons in the magic of friendship would allow you to finish the spell, and for it to be the catalyst of your ascension.” Celestia said wearily.

“But I never completed any spells.” Twilight pointed out.

“Exactly. This was a shock to my sister and I as well. When we pulled you out of the mess of the mountains, your body was in a touch and go state. Bruises, burns, lacerations from where rocks had cut into you, along with two gashes on your back. We realised what they were, what they had to be, and took steps to hide them until such a time that you would be awake to see them.” Luna said, kneeling down so she was on the same level as Twilight and Celestia.

“A simple illusion spell managed to hide them well enough, even as they grew from you. If everything had gone according to plan, this would not have been needed, but with the way you transformed, they needed to grow from scratch. It is a blessing that you were unconscious for that period. From what Luna has told me from her own ascension, a transformation of that nature is much more painful.” Celestia continued on.

“That still doesn’t explain why Twilight is like this.” Fluttershy chipped in. “I mean, if she had to complete the spell to transform into an Alicorn, why did she transform without it?”

“We…don’t actually know.” Celestia admitted. “We do not know everything about the elements of harmony and the transformation process.”

“What we have deduced is that the sudden burst of raw emotions that resulted from…losing Spike, gave your body the final kick that it needed to complete the final stage of your training, that started when you first donned the tiara of command over harmony.” Luna finished.

“So, because she cared so much about Spike, she was turned into an Alicorn?” Rainbow asked.

“From what we have summarised, yes.” Celestia replied. “And until we have another break through on the process, we cannot be so sure.”

“So…does this make me…a…” Twilight said slowly.

“Princess?” Pinkie finished.

“Yeah.” Twilight agreed.

“What this means is up to Twilight.” Celestia said. “All that is certain, is you cannot change back. If you had been changed in the way according to the plan, perhaps you would have that option, but as of now, we do not believe you can return to your Unicorn state. However, being an Alicorn and being a princess are two different things. While one is expected to lead to the other, it is possible to shirk the duties expected of you.”

“I…I…” Twilight began, looking around at the others for an option, but unable to find any inspiration. “Fine.” She said reluctantly.

“Are you sure Twilight?” Luna asked. “This is not a decision to be taken lightly. Being a princess of Equestria is something you will have to commit yourself permanently.”

“I…am.” Twilight said, smiling weakly. “If it is what I have to do, then I will do it. I won’t shirk my duties.”

“Thank you Twilight. You have no idea how proud you have made me.”

***

1 week later

***

Twilight stood in the throne room of the castle in silence, looking out of the window at the far end. She was dressed in a long flowing black dress, specially designed by Rarity for this exact occasion. Originally, Celestia and Luna had planned for this occasion to be marked by a colourful ensemble, but Twilight had dismissed this idea, saying that given the reasoning behind it, it was not right to be treating it just as a celebration.

“Twilight?” Celestia called, walking into the empty throne room slowly, and walking towards the new princess at the end of the room. Like Twilight, she was wearing her own royal regalia, but with a much larger element of black than her usual one.

“Yes Celestia?” She asked, using the princess’s name for once rather than her title. It was something she had begun to do shortly after discovering her new status.

“The coronation is due to start in a few hours. Is there anything else that you would like to be done?” Luna asked, following her sister.

“I don’t think so. Just remember, while this is a coronation, it is also a day of mourning.”

“Is that your first act as a princess?” Celestia asked, her lips curling ever so slightly into a smile.

“It is. Every year, this day is going to be a day of mourning, for those lost in the past, and those who will be lost in the future.”

“I believe that that would be prudent.” Luna smiled.

***

“We are gather here today, in celebration and in mourning.” Celestia said, addressing the assembled ponies who now filled the throne room. Beside her stood five of the elements of harmony, as well as Luna and Cadence. Everypony present had changed their ensemble for the day, and dark colours were the main theme of the event.

“My faithful student, Twilight Sparkle, has done many extraordinary things since she has lived in Ponyville. She even helped reunite me with my sister, Princess Luna. But a week ago, something extraordinary happened to Twilight. She created new power, stemming from the raw emotions she possessed deep within her. Her assistant, and pseudo-child, Spike the dragon, disappeared. She used every part of her being to find him, but it was in vain. The effort she put into that, is what caused what you see today. This dedication to those she cares for proves without a doubt that she is ready to be crowned Equestria’s newest princess! Fillies and Gentlecolts. May I present for the very first time, Princess Twilight Sparkle!”

As soon as she finished, the doors at the other end of the hall were flung open, revealing Twilight, who was followed by a long procession of attendants. The first group were all mares, carrying a black banner with Twilights cutie mark emblazed on it. What was strange about them however, was the fact that they all looked identical, each one sporting bone coloured fur, and long, flowing black manes.

“An illusion spell.” Luna whispered to Applejack, who looked confused by the identical ponies. “The banner they carry is similar to the guard’s helmets. Once it is donned, it creates a spell to make them look identical beneath it.”

Behind the banner carrying mares, were six newly created Twilight guards, members of Celestia's guard, who had been transferred for this occasion. Instead of the normal golden in silver armour that the guards of the other princesses usually wore, they were garbed in a two toned armour, the back being fully segmented, and coloured purple, with a green spine down the back, while the belly of the armour was made of enchanted fabric, and coloured in the same green as the spines. It was clear to anypony who knew Twilight and Spike, what the colour scheme represented.

In silence, punctuated only by the sounds of hooves striking the floor, the procession advanced towards the front of the room, Twilight alone walking up the stairs, before stopping in front of Luna and Celestia. Quickly, an attendant rushed over, bearing a cushion, upon which, the element of magic tiara rested.

In a golden glow, the tiara was levitated upwards, before being placed slowly on Twilight’s head.

Turning to face the crowd, Twilight flared her wings, and stood for a moment, observing the crowd, and capturing each face in her memory. From the crying forms of her parents and brother, to the happy face of Midnight Dasher, her old friend from Canterlot, at the rear of the hall.

***

Twilight led the other two Alicorns out onto a balcony in the palace, reaching the edge and looking at what lay below. Beneath her, thousands of ponies were congregated, waiting in anticipation to hear their newest princess speak.

Twilight cleared her throat, before she began to talk.

“A little while ago, my teacher and mentor, Princess Celestia, sent me to live in Ponyville. She sent me to study friendship. Which is something that I didn’t really care much about, save for one individual, Spike, my number one assistant, and one who could have easily been my brother, except for the difference in species. While I learnt everything that is possible about the magic of friendship, and for that, I will be eternally grateful to these five mares,” she indicated the other elements of harmony standing behind her, “they are not the reason I stand before you today. As mentioned, Spike was my first friend. On a night, almost six weeks ago, Spike was taken from me by something. Spike taught me something about friendship that I could never learn any other way, and while his loss is the most painful experience of my life, it will not be taken in vain. I swear to you, the ponies of this great nation, that I will never allow ponies that have been lost to be forgotten by the annals of history. His loss, was the catalyst for my ascension, and as such, I henceforth name this day the day of remembrance. Now, and for evermore, this day shall be a holiday to remember those that we have lost, be they new or old. From this day, to the end of days, this will hold true, never to be undone, and never to be forgotten.”

At this, the ponies in the courtyard erupted into cheers of admiration for their new princess. Turning around, Twilight walked back towards the throne room, only to see her brother, mother and father walking towards her. Shining Armour had tears running down his face, while her parents simply looked happy, the blotchiness around their eyes portraying the fact that they had been crying, but had managed to curb their tears.

“Twilight.” Shining Armour said, moving over and embracing his sister in a hug. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Are you crying?” She smiled, knowing that despite the situation, she may be able to get something to hold over her brother in the future.

“Of course not.” He said, frantically rubbing his eyes. “It’s just…ugh…liquid pride.”

Shaking her head at her brother, she turned to her parents, who were smiling at her in a sad way.

“He’s really gone, isn’t he?” Her mother asked.

“Yes.” Twilight said, straightening up and looking directly at her mother. For a moment, her bottom lip trembled, but she steeled her resolve, and pushed on. “Spike is gone. And while it will be hard, I will get past this. His loss will strengthen me, and give me the resolve I will need to be a princess of the country. Never again shall the lost and the fallen be forgotten.”

“I never imagined you would do this.” Her father smiled. “Even when you were accepted into Celetia’s academy, I did not expect you to one day be a ruler of a country.”

“Neither did I.” Twilight smiled. “But it has happened, and I will make the most of this opportunity.”

Turning from her parents, Twilight walked over to the clear window at the end of the room, staring out over the countryside of Equestria. She admired its beauty with a new eye, one that was more critical of all the wasted space that was there.

She continued to stare at it, standing in such a way so as to make it clear that she did not wished to disturbed. Slowly, she blinked as she looked over her new domain.

When she opened her eyes again, she once again surveyed the countryside. Her yellow pupils glinting in the setting sun.

Lessons in the Force

Spike followed the other initiates out of the lift, quickly moving after Master Norik as he strode down the corridor, before stopping just in front of a large opening, and turning to face them.

“Inside.” He said simply, gesturing for the others to enter before them, before following, and shutting the door behind them with an almost ominous bang.

Spike was instantly cowed by the majesty of the room. It was circular, and like all rooms that Spike had seen in the temple, it was massive. However, what really drew Spikes attentions were the four massive statues of kneeling men that held the roof up, each one bearing different symbols upon their carved stone flesh.

In the centre of the room, a series of rocks of varying sizes were arranged in order of their weight, ranging from the simplest pebble, to massive boulders that even Twilight would have struggled to lift.

“Sit.” Norik said simply, before dropping to the floor in a cross-legged fashion just in front of the rocks.

Quickly, the others crowded around him, taking seats so that they were in a semi-circle around Norik.

“For the next ten weeks, you shall train in the ways of the force, in preparation for your final trials in the caves of Illum.” Norik said, looking at each of the initiates in turn. “But first, before any of that, you must learn the ways of the force.”

At this, Norik extended a hand, and one of the larger rocks rose above him, before being slowly lowered again.

“A Jedi is allied with the force, as the force is allied with the Jedi. We Jedi draw on its power, to further enhance our capabilities, and to perform feats of skill and strength that would be impossible for any others.” Norik continued. “From this day forward, your days will be structured to the highest level. Mornings shall be early, as shall the morning meal. Morning rituals shall consist of studies in the Force, as well as classes in the history and political sciences of the thousand worlds of the Republic. Following the midday meal, you shall be led in physical training, and I will personally hone your bodies into the physical condition required by the Jedi.”

“Early mornings?” Tarhal whispered softly to Spike. Unfortunately, the translation droid did not understand the concept of subtlety, and blurted out the thought for everyone to hear.

“Yes Tarhal.” Norik said pointedly. “Early mornings. The path of the Jedi is not for those who wish to lie around all day.”

With that, Norik got up, and began to walk around the initiates. For a while, he did nothing but pace around them, before he finally spoke again.

“The Jedi Code is the code of conduct that establishes the rules, tenants, and modes of behaviours that all Jedi must follow. As initiates, you must learn the code in its entirety.”

With that, Norik grabbed a pile of datapads, and distributed about the initiates. Glancing down, Spike was confronted again by the illegible language of the Devaronians.

“Master Norik.” Spike said, turning to face the cybernetically enhanced human.

“What is it initiate?” Norik asked, walking over.

“I…don’t know how to read this.” Spike admitted, feeling slightly embarrassed now that he voiced his concerns.

“You do not read the language you speak?” Norik asked.

“No master. I never learnt to read Draconian, only to speak it. I can read Equestrian, but…”

“I understand.” Norik said, before clapping his hands once to draw the attention of the others. “The code you read, is not the original one, and was created by Odun-Urr. I do not support this reworking, but the council does, and so it shall be taught.

There is no Emotion, there is Peace.
There is no Ignorance, there is Knowledge.
There is no Passion, there is Serenity
There is no Chaos, there is Harmony.
There is no Death, there is the Force.

“Study this code. Learn its tenants, and take its lessons to heart. In the days to follow, this shall be your only training.”

“Master, can I have something to write with?” Spike asked.

“Here.” Norik said, grabbing a datapad and stylus with the force, and moving it over to Spike. “What is it for?”

“I want to write the code in Equestrian.” Spike said looking up at Norik for approval. “If that is allowed master.”

“It is.” Norik said, before walking off, talking to the others as he did, and giving instruction where it was required.

Picking up the stylus, Spike began to tap on the datapad, getting a feel for the new writing style. Quickly finding his stride again, Spike scribbled down the code, before looking back at it, and comparing it to the code written in Devaronese.

“There is no Emotion, there is peace?” Spike said softly, looking at the first line of the code. He re-read it, just to make sure that he had understood it properly, but each time, he reached the same confusion. “Master Norik?”

“What is it Spike?” Norik asked, walking over.

“You said that the code was re-written.” Spike asked slowly. “What was it before?”

“Why do you ask such things?” Norik asked, sitting down next to Spike, interested in what the young Jedi had to say.

“I’m interested.” Spike said, not completely falsely.

“The Jedi are scholars in history, it is your right to know if you so wish.” Norik began.

Emotion, yet Peace.
Ignorance, yet Knowledge.
Passion, yet Serenity
Chaos, yet Harmony.
Death, yet the Force.

As Norik spoke, Spike quickly jotted down the older code.

“Now tell me Spike. Why did you really want to know of the old code?” Norik asked.

“I was interested.” Spike insisted, but Norik’s features remained unchanged, as he was unconvinced of the sincerity in Spikes words. Relenting, Spike sighed, unsure of how to continue. “It’s just, the first line. ‘There is no Emotion, there is Peace’.”

“What of it?” Norik asked in interest.

“Surely emotion and peace are not exclusive of the other.” Spike said thoughtfully.

“But the want of emotion can lead to hatred for any who would also seek the emotions of the same.” Norik countered.

“Yes, but if emotion is returned, then surely peace can be achieved as well.” Spike said.

“And where does this opinion come from?” Norik asked.

“Just observations.” Spike said simply.

“You speak with knowledge far beyond someone of your years. This similar conversation has been had between masters for years.” Norik smiled. “Where did you learn to hold your own in an argument like that?”

“Twilight, my…sister-slash-mother figure, was, very knowledgeable, and enjoyed long debates. We used to talk into the small hours on everything.” Spike admitted.

“You cared for this Twilight then?” Norik nodded.

“With everything.” Spike said. “But, the Jedi…”

“…deny you emotion.” Norik finished. “Yes, the code does forbid it.”

“Only the one that has been redone.” Spike pointed out.

“The council would not be pleased if they learnt that I allowed an initiate to take lessons from the old code.” Norik said simply.

“Then I will do as the council commands.” Spike said, slightly dejectedly.

“If you believe that wise.” Norik said, with just a hint of suggestion in his voice.

With that, Norik once again began to circulate the initiates, his eyes alighting on Zule, as he looked around in confusion.

“Emotion, yet peace.” Spike muttered under his breath.

***

Almost three hours later, Norik brought the attention back to him, ceasing their learning of the code.

“Jedi don’t fight for peace, no matter how much some say we do. We fight to uphold civilisation, because only through civilisation, can we create peace. We fight for justice, because this allows for civilisation to flourish. If a civilisation is built upon the sands of the unjust, it will crumble when the storms hit.” He said, looking around the initiates. “For us, the Jedi, this strength, and that of the code, is built upon the three core tenants. The Force, Knowledge, and Self-Discipline. Can anyone tell me what any of these mean to the Jedi?”

“Knowledge. Jedi are supposed to be clever?” Zule asked slowly.

“Close. The pillar of knowledge maintains that the Jedi cannot fulfil our role in the galaxy without the study and wisdom that we are taught, and that is held in the Archives. The Force. It is a Jedi’s power, and in return, we swim through it in our every moment, breathe it, taste it, and ride its currents to our own destinies. The final pillar is Self-Discipline, and advocates the study of combat. These classes must take a second seat to the first two pillars, lest you find yourself drawn to it.”

“But the Jedi are great warriors.” Tarhal pointed out.

“We are.” Norik nodded, “But not through focus on combat, but through our mastery of the force.” Norik said, before turning, as the door swung open. “Dahgon.” Norik nodded, before turning back to the initiates. “This, is knight Dahgon. He is to accompany you, and show you to mid-day meal.”

Nodding in agreement, the initiates stood up and followed Dahgon out of the room.

“So you five are the new initiates?” Dahgon asked, before continuing, not waiting for an answer he already knew. “What do you think of Master Norik? He was the one who trained my clan.”

“Master Norik is, scary.” Corinna smiled.

“Is it the cybernetics?” Dahgon asked with a slight smile.

“Kind of.” Corinna said nervously.

“He got them fighting for the Republic. One must always remember how much he gave in this regard.” Dahgon nodded, before stopping at another door. “You will receive meals here while you are in the temple.”

With that, Dahgon turned and left, leaving the others to walk into the canteen, led by Asho.

“So, do you reckon they have any gems here?” Spike asked.

“Nobody else eats gems.” Corinna laughed. “I thought we had this discussion on the Selareco.”

“We did.” Spike nodded. “But a dragon can dream can’t he?”

“Tell you what Spike.” Zule grinned. “You ask a Jedi to give up a Lightsaber crystal and eat that.”

“The thought had crossed my mind.” Spike agreed, before grinning. “Seriously though, let’s go. I haven’t eaten since we got off the Selareco, and I’m hungry.”

“It’s good to see you happy Spike.” Asho smiled.

“Well, there’s no point being sad all the time. Pinkie could back me up there.”

“Pinkie?” Asho asked. “Wait, isn’t she one of your old friends? The element of honesty or something?”

“Close. Pinkie Pie’s the element of Laughter.” Spike smiled, reaching the counter and asking for a pile of fruit and vegetables, before walking over to a table and waiting for the others. It didn’t bother him that the others ate meat, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Maybe one day he would try, but not yet.

“Your home sounds like it’s tribal.” Tarhal said, sitting next to Spike and grinning at him.

“I guess you could say that.” Spike nodded, biting a chunk out of a piece of fruit, before swallowing and speaking again. “Not as much as Kashyyyk though.”

***

Finishing up in the canteen, Spike and the others made their way back towards the room where they had been before, being met by Norik, who was sitting cross legged in the middle of the room. What was odd however, was the fact that he was hovering a good three feet off the ground, his eyes tightly shut, and his mouth moving silently. As they entered, his eyes flew open, and he looked at the initiates, while lowering down to the floor and getting back to his feet.

“You have begun to learn the steps of the Jedi, in the form of our tenants and our Code. Now, I shall gauge your ability in the force, before finally ascertaining your physical capabilities.”

With that, Norik levitated a series of small rocks over to the five initiates, placing one before each of them, before stepping back.

“The force requires nothing more than the will of a sensitive individual to be used. Focus your efforts on the rock placed in front of you, and attempt to move it. Visualise it rolling away from you, or levitating upwards.” Norik instructed.

Nodding, the five initiates began to stare at the rock in front of them. Spike crunched his face up, trying to empty his mind of everything but the rock. Extending his hand outwards, he pushed with his mind, imagining the ball rolling forward slightly, before opening his eyes, only to find that the rock had not moved an inch. Looking around at the others, they were doing similar things to Spike, and were being met with similar results.

Again, Spike tried to move the rock, this time just imagining it rolling a tiny bit, but being met with the same result.

For almost an hour, Spike and the others tried to get the rocks to show even the slightest bit of movement, but being met with nothing but annoyed sighs as no one present found any success.

“Yes!” Asho suddenly shouted, as the rock that she was focusing on suddenly rolled away from her, moving at a very slow pace, but moving none the less.

“Well done.” Norik nodded, picking up the rock again, and placing it back in front of her. “Again.”

After that, the others managed to move their rocks consistently, until only Spike had not seen success.

Trying one last time, Spike closed his eyes, and extended both his hands towards the rock, willing it to lift, before peeking out of one eye, and seeing that he was getting nowhere. Closing his eyes again, Spike focused, when an idea came into his head. Instead of focusing solely on the rock, Spike focused on something that he knew would be able to pick it up. Instantly, the rock in his mind’s eye was surrounded in a purple aura, and rolled away from him. Opening his eyes quickly, he watched as the rock rolled quickly away from him.

Norik looked at Spike for a moment, before retrieving the rock, and replacing it. “Again.”

Once again, Spike closed his eyes, and imagined the familiar purple aura surrounding and lifting the rock, before watching it roll away in his mind. Opening his eyes, he smiled, as he watched in skid away from him.

“It seems that you are all at similar levels, with Asho perhaps showing more natural aptitude towards the art of telekinesis.” With a flick of his wrist, the rocks were pushed away. “Now, we have ascertained who among you can wield the force with the highest degree of untempered skill, but now, we must find out what you are all physically capable of. The Jedi must be able to hold their own in contests of strength, as well as to have the stamina to continue on your journey, with nothing but the force to sustain you.”

Beckoning for them to follow him, Norik led the five across the room, over to a small area, set on top of mats, rather than stone. On the far side of the mats, were rows of weights and padded benches.

“We will start with simple press-ups and sit-ups, until I can ascertain how much would be safe for each of you to lift.” Norik said. “Does everyone know what a press-up and a sit-up is?”

When nobody said that they didn’t, Norik indicated that they should all assume the position.

“Ok.” He said, looking around and making sure that everyone was in the correct position. “And down.”

***

12 reps later.

***

“And up.” Norik said.

Suddenly, a thump was heard, and the group looked to see Asho on the floor.

“Well done Asho.” Norik nodded. “Please come and stand over here so as to not distract the others. Down.”

***

16 reps later.

***

“Can’t.” Corinna muttered, before she to failed.

“Up. Norik said.

Zule pushed himself up, struggling to keep going, before collapsing beside his sister. Spike and Tarhal looked at each other and grinned, as the twins moved over to stand by Norik and Asho.

“Down.”

***

15 reps later

***

Spike struggled to push himself up, his muscles burning with the constant strain he was placing upon them. He had never used to pride himself on his strength while in Canterlot, but after he had moved to Ponyville and met Rarity, he had been slowly trying to build his figure to impress her.

Beside him, Tarhal looked as if he was also struggling, but also looked as if he could keep going for a bit longer.

“Down.” Norik commanded. “Up.”

Spike tried to do another press-up, but his arms simply wouldn’t obey, and collapsed from beneath him.

“Well done Spike.” Norik smiled, before beckoning him over, and looking at Tarhal again. “Down.”

The Wookie continued for five more reps, before he finally dropped to the training mats, panting slightly.

“Forty eight press-ups.” Norik nodded. “For a child, that is well above average, although for a member of your species.”

He trailed off, before addressing everyone again.

“For now, your training is over. Follow me, and I will show you to your dorms.”

With that, Norik swept out of the room, the others trailing behind him. The six of them wound through the Jedi temple, Norik pointing out various places on their way, and stating that they would need to memorise and learn all of these areas in the coming weeks, before finally, they reached a small door.

“Here you are. From this day forth, you will be known as Nexu Clan.”

With that, Norik turned and walked away down the corridor, as the others walked into the dorm, being met with a small room, just wide enough to hold five beds, a footlocker at the end of each of them, and a free standing locker for each of them against the far wall.

“Well. It’s getting late.” Asho said, looking at a clock on the wall. “I think we should all turn in. Looks like we’ll be getting up early for the next ten weeks.”

“Next ten weeks?” Zule asked, stripping down to his underwear, before getting into a bunk and pulling the covers around him. “Try the rest of our lives.”

“Great.” Spike muttered, lying down, before turning to his translation droid. “5Q-X9, power down.”

Instantly, the droid landed on the footlocker at the end of Spikes bed, and after emitting a single beep, powered itself off, effectively cutting Spike off from communicating with the others. Closing his eyes, Spike remembered Norik’s words about learning the Jedi code, and taking its message to heart.

“Emotion, yet Peace. Ignorance, yet Knowledge. Passion, yet Serenity Chaos, yet Harmony. Death, yet the Force.” He said softly to himself, before quickly drifting off to sleep, already knowing who he would dream of, again.

Duel & Closure

It had been weeks since Spike had first been brought to the temple, and already, he could feel that he was stronger than he ever was in Equestria. His control of the force, while still rougher than the backside of a Diamond Dog, had grown exponentially, along with that of the other members of Nexu clan. No more was it an effort just to move the small boulders in the training room, and no more did Spike have to visualise a Unicorn’s magic to use the force, although when he did, he found it much easier. Now, he could lift multiple of the boulders at once, forming them into a rough proxy of the Coruscant system planets, all eleven of them, orbiting around Spike like he was Coruscant Prime.

“When the drug Ryll was first created, the Neimoidians of Cato Neimoidia brought the near exclusive rights to distribute it. Soon afterwards, the Porporites, who had only recently been discovered, were exposed, and became addicted, to this drug. When under the influence of the drug, the Porporites entered a homicidal frenzied state.” Norik said, walking around the seated initiates, all of whom were making notes, some in basic, and some in their mother tongue. “The Republic and the Jedi attempted to stop the sale of this drug to the Porporites, as well as stopping the violence the Porporites were spreading, but the Neimoidians, scared at losing their best customers, hired several Gank bounty hunters. Unfortunately for the Neimoidians, the Ganks decided the best way to stop the Republic stopping them taking the drug, was to exterminate the Porporites. This, led to the Ganks declaring a full scale, but ill attempted war against the Republic, a war that they lost. Now, who can tell me what this war saw the production of?”

“Sir.” Spike said in broken basic, sticking his hand up. “Introduction Juggernaut War Droid, and modern Lightsabers.”

“Correct, and well done on learning basic.” Norik nodded, before walking on. “Now, who can tell me what this war teaches us?”

“That challenging the Republic and the Jedi is impossible.” Tarhal roared, his translation droid buzzing as he did so.

“True, but that is not what I was meaning.” Norik said, his eye twitching in what Spike and the others had equated to be his way of smiling with his ruined face. “No, the lesson to learn here, is that mercenaries and bounty hunters, should not be trusted completely, and to always expect the unexpected, no matter how terrible the unexpected may be. It is better to prepare for the worst, and receive the best, rather than prepare for the best, and receive the worst. Remember this lesson, and it shall serve you well.”

Turning off the holo-projectors around the room, and the initiates stood up, placing their datapads away for the time being. Spike looked around at the others, once again admiring the simple, yet functional clothing that they had all been provided with. Twilight would have been proud of whoever had designed them.

The human twins, Zule and Corinna were clad in identical short brown robes, placed over a baggy set of light beige trousers. Corinna had a single braid running partway down her back, taking advantage of her already long hair. Zule on the other hand, had a single extension placed in his cropped hair, until such a time as he could grown his hair to a long enough length to braid it.

Asho on the other hand, had forgone the use of robes, instead following the tradition of her people, swapping out the baggy trousers for a much more formfitting version in the same dark brown as Zule and Corinna’s robes, and secured with a black leather belt. On her top half, she wore a simple half top that covered the top of her chest, and finishing off the outfit with a small waistcoat. Due to the lack of hair, she had been provided with a simple headdress, complete with a stand of beads that hung down the back of her head.

(This, but younger, and without the Lightsaber, for obvious reasons.)

Spike and Tarhal were attired differently again, their physiology making robes impractical, Spike’s tail and sharp scales ripping most fabric placed upon them, and the Wookie being to0 furry to really need them. However, they still needed something to both store equipment on, and to tie them into the Jedi order. To that end, they had both been given brown leather kama’s, complete with a bandoleer made of the same material, and going over their left shoulders, stretching down to their right hip on both their front and backs.The only difference between the two was their padawan braid. Tarhal, due to his furry nature, had found it easy to receive the braid like Corinna had, while Spike on the other hand was like Asho, and had been given a near identical headdress.

It felt odd to wear anything, after so long of only wearing clothes for formal occasions, but Spike had to admit that it felt good. Turning to face the others, he watched in amusement as Tarhal once again practiced with the force, lifting up a series of rocks, and trying to keep each one steady. The rocks rose unsteadily from the floor, before one simply dropped back down.

“Argggh!” Tarhal roared, the other rocks dropping to the floor with a loud ‘crack’.

Out of all of them, Tarhal was still struggling with his control over the force. He had no problem with lifting a single, large object, but his control of multiple smaller objects was substandard by far. The failure was eating away at him, it was plain to see to everyone.

“Hey, don’t worry big guy.” Spike said, slipping back into Draconian so as to better communicate his point. “You’re still stronger than the rest of us. I couldn’t pick up that boulder that you did.”

“But I can’t even pick up four rocks at the same time.” Tarhal growled dejectedly.

“You’ll get the hang of it eventually.” Asho smiled, walking over.

“Asho is right.” Norik nodded, walking over and placing a hand on Tarhal’s shoulder. “The force is a difficult thing to master. Some Jedi practice for a lifetime, and still never achieve mastery over it. You cannot expect to become an expert in its usage overnight.”

“Fives.” Spike said, turning to his translation droid. “Don’t translate this please.” Afterwards, he turned back to Tarhal, and switched into the third language he had been learning for a while. “Listen master Norik.”

“You can speak Shyriiwook?” Tarhal asked in amazement.

“Basic.” Spike nodded. “Language of friend. More interesting than basic.”

“True.” Tarhal nodded. “I can help you if you want?”

“Could use help.” Spike nodded.

The pair smiled, while the others looked on in confusion, watching as Spike and Tarhal roared and growled at each other. From their faces, Spike realised that his command of Shyriiwook had surprised them as much as it had surprised Tarhal.

“You managed to pick up Shyriiwook in four weeks?” Norik asked in amazement.

“Bit.” Spike nodded, switching back into basic, before deciding if he wanted to have a proper conversation, he would have to use Devaronese and 5Q-X9.

“So not only have you managed to learn basic basic, but also managed to make a start on learning Shyriiwook?” Zule asked.

“Kinda. I can understand it well enough, just speaking it’s hard.” Spike nodded, as his droid buzzed back into life. “Thanks fives.”

“Ok, next question…how?” Corinna asked.

“Oh, when you live with a mare who for most of her life was an introvert who focused on learning more than anything else, then it’s not too hard to learn new stuff. I got my GCSE’s when I was six, straight A’s as well. Most ponies take them at fifteen.” Spike said nonchalantly.

“So…you’re actually smart?” Asho asked with a slightly smirk.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Spike asked with an indignant tone, but a small grin.

“Oh, nothing.” Asho said, looking around and whistling softly.

“How about we settle this on the mats?” Spike grinned, glancing over to the series of mats that served as an area for physical exercise.

“You’re on.” Asho grinned, before she suddenly stopped and looked at Norik. “That is if it’s ok with you, Master.”

“It could serve as an interesting display of what you have learnt.” Norik nodded. “I had planned on doing something like this in the days to come, but I see no reason to postpone now that you have your blood up.”

“It was master Norik. What did she expect?” Zule whispered to Spike, causing him to grin. Zule was right, Norik did like to put emphasis on physical training, more so than the other Jedi masters, or at least, that’s what they had gathered.

Leading the group towards the training mats, Norik turned to face them again.

"Right, this is how this shall work.” He said, looking at each of them in turn. “Two of you step into the ring. The first one to set foot outside of the ring, loses. Anything goes while in the ring, and you can use either your physical bulk, or your new knowledge of the force, to force your opponent out. Any questions?”

“Is there a time limit?” Spike asked, stretching his arms out above his head, and arching his back.

“When one of you leave, that’s the end. Not before.” Norik replied, before glancing around. “Now, Asho and Spike. I believe that the pair of you started this, so, take position.”

Norik stood back, as Spike and Asho moved into the ring on the training mats, taking their position on opposite sides and turning to face each other.

“Ready?” Spike growled in basic.

“I am.” She nodded, flexing her hands. “You.”

“Always.”

“Begin.” Norik said with a slight smile.

Instantly, Spike and Asho began to circle around each other, gauging the others movements before committing to an attack. Patience, as Norik had taught them, was a Jedi’s friend, and a powerful ally in both battle and negotiations.

Suddenly, Asho sprung forward, diving towards Spike, and grabbing hold of both his arms, attempting to use her momentum to toss Spike from the arena. Spike barely moved as she did so, grinning, before flexing his arms, breaking her grip. Taking a step back, Spike thrust his hand towards Asho, and called upon the force.

Asho was forced back by the blast, but it was not enough to force her from the ring, instead, just driving her to her knees. Without a sound, Spike dived forward, copying Asho’s first attack perfectly, and this time, the move worked perfectly.

Grabbing his lighter, and weaker, opponent, Spike used his own forward momentum to spin her around, pulling her off the floor, before tossing her from the ring with ease. Asho sped towards the ground, before Norik lazily extended his own hand, and Asho suddenly stopped mid-air, before being lowered back to the ground.

“Spike wins.” Norik said simply, before turning to the rest of them. “Zule, Corinna, let’s see what you’ve learnt.”

Nodding, the twins took the same position as Spike and Asho had occupied just a moment before, and turning to face each other. Spike already could see that this fight was going to be different from his fight. The pair knew each other perfectly, and would be able to match the others moves blow for blow. All that would have changed between now and the constant fights that ended in draws aboard the ship, would be their command of the force.

As expected, the two lunged at each other almost as soon as Norik had nodded for the fight to begin, clashing in the middle of the ring. Zule brought his hand whipping around, but Corinna knew what he would do, and rolled on the balls of her feet, avoiding the blow, before she lunged again, bringing her knee up into Zule’s chest. The brother grunted slightly, but had prepared for the blow, and rolled backwards, before jumping back at his sister.

The pair seemed so opposed now that they had unlocked their true potential. One, Zule, used the power of the force to augment his own abilities, his speed, his strength, everything, while Corinna had focused on learning to channel the force. Conversely, she had almost no grasp over physical augmentation using the force, while her brother was almost as weak in the physical applications of the force.

Zule once again swung his fist at his sister, moving faster than Spike had thought possible. Clearly Corinna had not expected it either, as the fist impacted with her jaw, and sent her flying, skidding to a halt just inside the arena.

With a groan, she got to her feet, just as Zule sprang at her, jumping higher than he should have been able to. Throwing her right hand forward, Corinna scrunched up her face in concentration, before her brother was thrown backwards, crashing to the floor, just outside of the ring.

“Corinna wins.” Master Norik said, looking impressed at the young Padawan. “Now, only Tarhal hasn’t had a chance to prove himself…”

“Master, if I may.” Tarhal said, raising his hand.

“What is it Padawan?” Norik asked, looking at the Wookie.

“Can I prove myself against Spike?” Tarhal asked, turning to look at the purple dragon.

“Spike?” Norik asked, turning to face the dragon. “What say you?”

“Tarhal asked, and I’ll answer.” Spike grinned, looking at the Wookie.

“Very well. Take position.” Norik said, standing aside.

“You sure you’re up for this?” Tarhal asked in Shyriiwook.

“Ready to beat you.” Spike grinned, speaking in disjointed Shyriiwook.

“Begin!” Norik shouted, as the others crowded around the ring.

Rushing forward, Tarhal swung his fist at Spike, only to find it blocked by Spike. Not giving the dragon a chance to react, Tarhal lashed out again, catching Spike on the back, grunting in pain as he hit the hard scales there.

Taking advantage of his opponent’s momentary pain, Spike brought his head forward, smashing it into the bridge of Tarhal’s nose. The Wookie grunted in pain, but didn’t react any more than that, bringing his hands up to protect his face from the barrage of blows Spike was throwing at his friend. Spike realised he wasn’t getting through the Wookies solid defence, and changed his tactic, dropping low, and sweeping his leg around to try and trip Tarhal up. Tarhal saw the attack coming, and instead of facing it, jumped back, before raising his hands. Spike knew what was coming next, and instinctively raised his own hand, extending it palm forwards towards Tarhal’s palm.

The two grunted in exertion, as each tried to push the other one away with the force, but being unable to find their way through the others use of the force.

Growling, Tarhal extended his other hand towards Spike, and the dragon suddenly felt himself being forced backwards, having to step back to avoid being forced to the floor. Forcing his arm to move, he extended his hand towards Tarhal’s, managing to reduce the amount that Tarhal was pushing him back, but not stop it completely.

With a sudden jolt of realisation, Spike realised that Tarhal was stronger than him, and that if he stayed like this, he would lose. Even if this was only a practice fight, Spike was not going to let Tarhal have an easy time of it.

Diving forward, Spike managed to grab hold of Tarhal, knocking him to the floor, before rolling off him. As the Wookie got to his feet, Spike balled up his hands, before thrusting them towards Tarhal, catching him just as he started to get back to his feet.

Tarhal was caught unaware, and was thrown from his feet, skidding across the floor, and stopping just before the edge of the ring. Not giving him a second, Spike ran over, and quickly rolled the dazed Wookie out of the arena.

“Spike wins.” Norik smiled. “You did very well padawan.”

“You throw one heck of a punch, you know that Spike.” Tarhal grunted, getting up and grinning at the dragon.

“You thank.” Spike panted in Shyriiwook, before coughing, and switching back into Devaronese. “That was hard, Tarhal.”

“Fun though.” The Wookie laughed, grabbing Spike and pulling him into a hug.

“Now that that is all out of your system, I believe it is almost time for dinner.” Norik said, looking at a chronograph on the wall. “As soon as you have finished, we will meet back here for the final lessons of the day. I have a feeling you will find it…interesting.”

With that, Norik turned and left the room, leaving the others to make their way towards the dining hall.

***

Equestria

***

Twilight stood in silence with the other princesses of Equestria and the elements of harmony. Behind her stood the rest of Twilight’s family, Shining Armour at the front, with her parents just beside him. Another few tears rolled down Twilight’s muzzle as she saw where Spike should have been standing, and for briefest of moments, Twilight thought she saw him, before the apparition faded, along with her horn. Turning around, Twilight looked on mournfully her surroundings, refusing to look directly in front of her.

She was standing in the Ponyville library, the one she had renamed as Spike’s library, but the books had all been covered up with black fabric, interlaced with dark emeralds, courtesy of Rarity, who was also crying. In fact, now Twilight looked around, everypony had tears in their eyes, whether they were running down their muzzle or not.

Finally, Twilight let her eyes fall on the, object just in front of her. It was a small brown casket, the wood inlaid with purple and green swirls. On top of the casket stood a photo of her pseudo-brother, and just the sight of it almost made Twilight burst into a full blown sobbing fest again. Stepping forward, Twilight turned to face the gathered ponies. There were not many at Twilight’s command. Spike would have preferred it that way.

“Spike, was a friend to all.” She said, forcing herself not to sob or sniff as she did her number one assistant justice in his leaving the world. “Out of all of us, he was the only one who embodied five of our elements, and given the chance, I am sure he would have mastered mine as well. If you want to remember Spike in the years to come, remember this. Spike the dragon was unique amongst his species. He alone was loyal to anything other than his own desires, he was generous to a fault, and he laughed at others humour, not their pain. He was honest when it mattered, and he was beyond kind. Remember Spike as the dragon that all others should look to.”

Standing back, Twilight glanced over at Celestia, Luna and Cadence, all of whom were silently crying. Nodding, each one of them illuminated their own horn, and surrounded the empty casket in their combined magic. Twilight gently levitated the picture off, and stood it beside some lit candles, before turning to face the casket and adding her magic to the other three Alicorns.

Slowly, all four Alicorns marched out of the library, being met by a specifically organised deluge of rain, courtesy of Rainbow Dash and a letter of intervention from Celestia. Walking through the town, the ponies of Ponyville flocked onto the streets, wishing to pay their respects to the funeral procession.

By the time they had reached the hill that they had decided upon, they had already amassed a large crowd, who followed the four princesses in silence. Stopping, Twilight looked down at the hole in the earth and sighed. This was going to be his final resting place.

As the Alicorns began to lower the casket into the hole, Luna began to speak softly, yet somehow, could be heard clearly by everypony, even over the rain.

I cannot say, and I will not say,
that he is dead, he is just away.
With a cheery smile, and a wave of hand,
he has wandered into an unknown land,
and left us dreaming, how very fair,
its needs must be, since he lingers there.

As Luna finished speaking, the Casket reached the bottom of the hole. As the other Alicorns stopped the glow around their horns, Twilight kept hers going, looking over at a large pile of dirt. Surrounding it in her magic, she quickly picked it up, before softly placing it atop the casket, smoothing it over, so that the bare earth and the grass were perfectly even. Casting a quick spell, Twilight assured that no grass would ever spread onto the graves, before nodding to Fluttershy.

The timid butter yellow Pegasus moved forward, and slowly knelt down, scraping away a small patch of earth, and placing a single flower in the hole, before packing the earth back in around it.

“Rest Spike.” She sobbed softly, before returning to the crowd.

At this, Applejack and Rainbow moved forward, holding a large slab of polished obsidian between them. They were struggling and panting as they placed it at the head of the grave, but had refused to let Twilight take it from them, wanting to do their part for the funeral.

Finally, Pinkie Pie moved forward, and untied the single black balloon from her hoof, reattaching it to the headstone, before moving back, tears in her eyes.

Moving forward again, Twilight addressed the crowd.

“Here lies Spike. A friend to all, a brother, and the best assistant a Unicorn could ask for.”

As she spoke, the words were carved into the blank obsidian by Celestia, before the three princesses turned to face the new addition to their ranks. She would get through this, of that there was no doubt. What was unsure however, was the actual health of Twilight. In the weeks since Spike had disappeared, she had grown gaunt, and her eyes had slowly begun to take on a yellow pallor. Celestia was worried about Twilight, but attributed it towards the sudden ascension to Alicornhood, and the loss of someone close to her. She was sure that, given time, Twilight would return to her old self soon enough.

The Weapon of the Jedi

Laughing, the five younglings made their way back towards the training hall where they had been before dinner, discussing between themselves what the ‘interesting’ lesson Norik had planned for them.

“Maybe he’s going to teach us how to blow stuff up with the force.” Zule grinned.

“I doubt it. More than likely it’s going to be some history lesson on the Great Hyperspace War or the ancient Jedi order.” Asho mused.

“I hope not.” Tarhal growled. “History kind dull.”

“Those that forget history are doomed to repeat it.” Asho muttered.

“Hey, look on the bright side.” Spike smiled. “Maybe it will be another round in the ring. I could beat your arse again.”

“Try it little dragon.” Tarhal grinned.

“Um…Spike’s scales make him taller than you.” Corinna pointed out.

“Game. Spike.” Spike laughed, before ducking a soft blow from Tarhal. “Missed.” He laughed in a sing song voice.

“No fighting, the pair of you.” Asho smiled. “Anyway, we’re here. Guess we’re going to find out what Norik has in store for us.”

Nodding, the five made their way inside the large room, quickly moving across it to where Norik stood. Behind him was a table loaded with small spherical droids, as well as a series of odd looking helmets.

“Younglings. I trust you ate well?” Norik asked, looking over the five.

“Yes master.” They answered in near unison.

“Good. Now, can anyone of you tell me what this is?” Norik asked, picking up one of the strange droids.

“It’s a marksman class-B combat remote.” Asho said quickly. “They are being brought in to replace the old mark-A, and has a more efficient targeting computer and repulsor technology.”

“Very good.” Norik nodded, placing the droid down and picking up one of the helmets. “And this?”

“A blast helmet for artillery operators.” Zule said simply.

“Good. There is one for each of you, take one and put it on.”

Doing so, each of them clipped the helmet to their head, grumbling softly under their breath as they discovered the helmets were exactly as heavy as they looked.

“Good, good.” Norik nodded, before reaching behind him and unclipping a small tube from his belt. “And you all know what this is?”

“A Lightsaber!” Spike all but shouted, realising what training would be.

“Yes and no.” Norik nodded. “This Lightsaber is not like mine, and has been designed for training purposes only. The electromagnetic containment field has been intensified more than in a standard Lightsaber, which makes it harder to do more than bruise or slightly burn the target.”

Handing it over to Asho, Norik drew out four more lightsabers, handing them out, before drawing his own.

“This is the formal weapon of the Jedi order. It is elegant and has poise, unlike the clumsiness or randomness of a blaster. It needs more than simple sight to use, but it is more than a weapon, it is a symbol. Any thug can use a blaster, and any trained soldier can use a sword. But a Lightsaber, only a few can use these things without killing or maiming themselves.”

Igniting his own Lightsaber, Norik showed off the bright blue blade, swinging it slowly in front of the others.

“Press the stud on the hilt to ignite the blade.” Norik instructed, and instantly, five blue blades sprung into life before the Jedi.

“The blade is made of plasma, and is capable of cutting through nearly any other material, as well as deflecting blaster bolts. Normally, this would be impossible, but with the force as your ally, you will learn to do it. Today, I will teach you the fundamental points about the first form of Lightsaber combat, Shii-Cho. It is a simple form, one that every Jedi learns as an initiate.”

“So is this thing like a sword?” Tarhal asked, spinning the Lightsaber experimentally, and lightly brushing his arm against the blade, yelping as it singed his fur.

“It is similar.” Norik nodded, smiling slightly. “Shii-Cho was developed after we transitioned as an order from swords to Lightsabers. I will teach you the fundaments of this technique, but it will be up to your future masters to decide which form you will train further in. Now, these droids are going to activate, one for each of you. The bolts they will be firing will be set to light only for this exercise. Intercept the bolts with the blade of the Lightsaber, and direct them away from you. Do not think about it, but use your instincts and the force to guide you.”

Quickly grabbing a droid, he pressed a button on its underside, and instantly, the droid hummed into life, springing out of Norik’s hand and floating over towards Spike. Repeating the action, the other droids sprung into life and hovered over to their own initiates.

The droid beeped once, before a red light sprung out of one of the holes, speeding towards Spike. The dragon barely had time to raise his Lightsaber, managing to deflect it from its original path, but not enough to make it miss him, the beam impacting harmlessly on his arm.

A moment later, the droid fired again, catching Spike unaware and impacting on his back at an odd angle. Growling, Spike readied himself for another shot, and when the droid fired this time, he was ready. Bringing his Lightsaber up, Spike managed to force the shot away from himself, sending it across the room, where it eventually fizzled out.

“Good Spike.” Norik complimented, walking slowly around the initiates. “Now, again.”

“Why are we wearing these helmets anyway?” Spike asked, bringing his Lightsaber across and deflecting another bolt, before a second hit his leg.

“All in good time Spike, for now, just concentrate on the task at hand.” Norik said, before walking off.

Nodding, Spike squared off against the remote again as it flitted around in front of him, before it fired two shots in quick succession. Spike managed to catch the first one, but the second one caught him off guard. It was going to be a long lesson.

***

Almost two hours later, Spike and the others had picked up the fundaments of deflecting the blaster bolts, managing to stop them from touching them ninety nine times out of a hundred. Asho was undoubtedly the best of them, quickly figuring out how to angle the Lightsaber in just the right way so as to deflect the shot back at the remote.

“Now that you have learnt the fundaments, the power levels of the blasts will be increased. These blasts will no longer be simple light, but will be set to stun. Much like the training lightsabers, the bolts will be painful, but not lethal.”

“You still never said what the helmets are for master.” Spike pointed out.

“Ah, yes. Thank you for pointing that out Spike.” Norik nodded. “In order to be sure that you are only reliant on the force, and not on your eyes, the blast visors on your helmets will be lowered.”

“What?” Corinna asked in confusion. “But…”

“The force will guide you, but you must trust it.” Norik said smoothly. “Place yourselves fully into its hands, and you will be well led.”

Nodding, Corinna pulled down the heavy metal visor, covering the majority of her face. Following her example, the others pulled down their own visors, plunging their world into darkness.

“Reach out with the force.” Norik ordered. “Feel where the shots will come from, and…”

“Ow!” Zule yelled, obviously being hit by a bolt.

“Focus.” Norik ordered.

Reaching out with his mind, Spike felt for the tell-tale waves of the force, feeling about for the strands that held the universe together. Sensing them subtly beginning to move apart, Spike quickly brought his Lightsaber up, feeling the impact bounce off the plasma blade.

“Very good Spike.” Norik complimented. “Tarhal, good form, poor execution. Be more precise in the future.” He ordered, looking over at the Wookie, who was rubbing his arm from where he had struck it with his own Lightsaber.

Glancing over to where Spike thought Tarhal was standing, Spike didn’t focus on the droid.

“Spike, focus.” Norik barked.

“I am master, the droid isn’t doing anything.” Spike replied.

“A shot just hit your back.” Norik pointed out slowly.

“No it didn’t, I didn’t feel a thing.” Spike said, before moving his Lightsaber to intercept another bolt.

“Interesting.” Norik mused, before looking at the others. “Asho, well done, but keep the blade in the upright position when you are not blocking or parrying, it will make it easier for you to reach the different positions around your body.”

Sensing another flurry of shots were about to be launched at him, Spike blocked out the conversation, and quickly brought his Lightsaber up. Holding it horizontally, Spike felt one shot hit it, and quickly moved it round to intercept the next flurry, feeling six more shots strike the blade.

“Spike.” Norik said, pulling Spikes visor up and looking at the initiate. “How did you do that?”

“Do what master?” Spike asked.

“Deflect that amount of shots?” Norik asked. “Not many initiate can do that. It is not unheard of, but it is rare.”

“I just moved the Lightsaber logically to catch them in order, master.” Spike informed him.

“And tell me, which do you find easier, one shot, or many?” Norik pressed.

“I have more difficulty sensing single shots, but I can do it.” Spike admitted.

“Interesting.” Norik mused. “Most initiates have trouble differentiating between single shots and a flurry. Even some knight’s struggle with the subtle differences in the disturbances caused.”

“I have an eye for detail.” Spike admitted with a smile.

“I saw.” Norik nodded, before pushing the visor down again. “I’m increasing the shot frequency and power, not that the second one should trouble you much.”

“Why?” Spike asked, bringing his Lightsaber up.

“Call it a hunch.” Norik said, before walking away again.

***

It had been almost a week since Spike had begun training with the Lightsaber, and he and the others had increased quickly in skill, being able to block a majority of shots even with the helmets down. One thing Spike had learnt in the week, was the strength of his scales, especially those on his back, but even his softer belly scales were nothing to be sniffed at.

Today though, Norik had said he had something different planned for them. As they entered the training room, they instantly realised what was different about today’s training. Instead of five remotes hovering around master Norik, five bipedal droids surrounded him instead, each one holding a long baton that Spike recognised as a Jedi practice blade.

“Gather round.” Norik ordered, quickly distributing the training lightsabers. “Today, you will learn duelling practices. The first thing you must know are the zones of combat. Who knows them?”

“Master.” Corinna said, raising his hand. “Zone 1, the head. Zone 2, the right arm and side. Zone 3, the left arm and side. Zone 4, the back. Zone 5, the right leg. Zone 6, the left leg.”

“Very good.” Norik nodded. “Now, these five droids have been inloaded with a high level knowledge of the Shii-Cho. Today, we will test your skill against them. Succeed, and I will increase their level of skill, perhaps even to another form.”

“When do we fight each other?” Spike asked.

“When I decide to.” Norik answered bluntly. “That will be your final test. Stand up to a living target, and I will clear you to go to Illum to complete your final test there.”

Nodding, Spike moved towards one of the droids, noting that each one was scaled slightly differently from the others. Asho had a much smaller droid than Spike and Tarhal, while Corinna and Zule had near identical droids. This was probably owing to the physical sizes of each of them. Over the weeks, Spike had grown tall, overtaking Tarhal, even without the aid of his scales. The twins were still identical in size, and Asho was perhaps an inch or two smaller than Zule.

“Greetings Spike.” The droid said, its mechanical voice grating against Spikes ears. “I am Jedi training droid three-epsilon-delta. Prepare your weapon.”

Nodding, Spike ignited the blade of his weapon, bringing it into a steady guard position. Instantly, the droid moved forward, raising its weapon high, before bringing it down in a vertical Sai tok strike, aiming to strike him on the top of his head. Brining his Lightsaber up, Spike caught the blade, before pushing upwards. The droid however was quick, and darted forward with a shiak stab, hitting Spike’s chest.

“Dead.” It said simply, before Spike began again.

Bringing his weapon down in a diagonal strike, Spike aimed to cut off the droids arm, but the droid anticipated the move and blocked the strike, before swinging its own practice blade and stopping an inch away from his waist.

“Dead.” It repeated.

Rushing forward, Spike attempted to overpower the droid, forcing it to block two strikes, before it twisted and swung its practice blade down on Spike's wrist. Instantly, the young dragon let go of his Lightsaber, as the droid moved closer, holding its blade against Spike’s neck.

“Very dead.” It said, releasing Spike.

“Oh great, a droid with a sense of humour.” Spike said wryly.

“Try again.” The droid said, picking up the deactivated hilt of Spikes Lightsaber and passing it to the dragon. “Master Norik has informed me that I am to tutor you in the ways of Shii-Cho until you can face a proper opponent. Now,” It said, raising its weapon, “again.”

Illum

It had been weeks since Spike and the others had been given their training lightsabers, weeks of hard training and no small amount of pain from the amount of losses Spike had endured. Nevertheless, Spike had gotten better since he had first began, not at the level of the others, but better all the same. Out of all of them, he was the only one to not stick rigidly to a single strategy, allowing him his few victories against the powerhouses that were Zule and Tarhal. His control of the force however, was still growing, gaining in both strength and control at exponential levels.

Asho and Corinna were equally matched able to match each other blow for unsteady blow, and while their grasp on the Shii-Cho form was only just above what was expected, it was still within acceptable levels to advance to the final test.

Tarhal, on the other hand, had proven that he had finally found his element, using brute strength to batter down his targets, and although his actual skill was little more than brutal hacks and slashes, it was good enough to not injure himself, or anyone around him, save for his enemies. Norik had initially expressed concern over the ferocity of his attacks, but conceded the point that Wookie problem solving usually involved two steps; find the problem, then beat it over its head with as large a stick as possible.

In fact, only one person amongst their merry group could ever hope to match Tarhal in a purely physical Lightsaber duel was Zule. While the human was not nearly as strong as Spike or Tarhal, he was much more skilled in Shii-Cho than either of them, following the way of the Sarlac further than the others. If Norik was to be believed, he was a natural at the form, and if he stayed on his current path, he could someday master the form.

Now though, after almost ten weeks at the Jedi temple, the five member of Nexu Clan were ready to undertake their final test, a fact they all knew, but were still eagerly awaiting true confirmation from mater Norik. To that end, the five of them were in the Jedi training room for what would hopefully be the last time when they were all together. After today, it would simply be a case of completing the Jedi temple apprentice tournament and gaining the attention of a master, and they would be out in the galaxy at large.

“Gather round apprentices.” Norik said, as the five of them walked into the room. “No more training, no more lessons, at least not from me. Today, you will travel to the ice planet of Illum, accompanied by Jedi knight Siphous.” As he said this, a Jedi entered the room behind the apprentices, and Spike turned to look at the new arrival.

He was a Selkath, his skin a mottled blue colour, offset by the slight shine of his skin. He wore a tight robe on his body, held around his body by a thick black belt, hanging from which was his own Lightsaber.

“Master.” He said in near perfect basic, a difficult fact for a Selkath, before bowing deeply.

“Siphous was my padawan when he yet stood as one.” Norik informed them. “On Illum, you will face numerous trials to your own psyche, but more importantly, you will find the crystals for your own Lightsaber. I will allow Siphous to explain more on the journey.”

As he said that, he turned on his heels and quickly walked from the room. Siphous nodded as Norik left the room, before beckoning for the initiates to follow him.

The six figures walked through the winding hallways of the temple, before they finally reached the one part that had been strictly off limits to them during their training, even when they were with master Norik, the hanger bay. Quickly entering the room, Siphous walked towards a small craft with its loading ramp down, before turning to face the initiates.

“You have proved to be the top of the others clans in skill, and so now is the time of the gathering.” He said, slowly walking in front of the initiates. "For a Jedi, there is no greater challenge, or honour. Now, Tarhal, Zule, Corinna, Asho, and Spike, the time has come to build your own Lightsabers.” As he said this, he drew his own weapon, allowing them to see the smooth hilt. “But be warned, finding your crystals inside the caves of Illum will be no easy task, and many perils will lie ahead of you. That being said, where we are going, there is no place more sacred to the Jedi.”

The initiates smiled, looking between each other in excitement, before following Siphous up the ramp and into the ship. Shortly afterwards, they felt the ship move, as slowly, it rose into the air, before speeding off towards the ship in orbit that would take them to Illum.

“Master Siphous.” Spike sniffed, tapping the Jedi on his back.

“I am no master, Spike.” Siphous smiled.

“Apologies.” Spike said, his voice sounding blocked. “But can you do anything about colds?”

“I believe there is a medical droid on board the maiden ship.” Siphous nodded.

“Th…tha” Spike began, sniffing, trying to stop himself from sneezing. “A…choo.”

As Spike sneezed, a huge gout of flame spewed out of his mouth, only narrowly missing Siphous, who dived to the side in fear. The others all looked at Spike in utter shock and confusion, but none more so than Spike himself, who was staring at the singed area on the floor.

“How the buck did I forget that?” Spike whispered to himself, completely confused about how he could forget something as integral to his anatomy as the ability to breathe fire.

“What was that?” Zule shouted in amazement and confusion.

“Agreed.” Corinna nodded, looking as confused as her brother. “Knowing that you can breathe fire would have been nice to know like, I don’t know, when we first met?”

“It should have been something that you said when we first met.” Asho nodded. “Hi, I’m Spike, I’m a dragon, I can breathe fire. Something like that.”

“Hey…I forgot.” Spike said, still in confusion. “There’s been a lot going on, and…it just slipped my mind.” He finished weakly.

“It’s not a problem.” Tarhal growled. “Just would have been nice to know.”

“Well, that’s something.” Siphous laughed. “Not something many on the gathering have to deal with I’m sure.”

Laughing to himself, Siphous turned and walked towards the cockpit to discuss something with the pilot, while the other initiates crowded around Spike.

“You’re full of surprises.” Tarhal laughed.

“I can send letters home!” Spike suddenly whooped in joy, surprising everyone again.

“What?” Asho asked.

“Err…Celestia, she enchanted me as a baby.” Spike said, looking around for something to write on, before groaning and pulling out a note he had written himself. “This will have to do.” He muttered, before taking a deep breath. “I can send messages to her through my fire.” With a massive smile plastered on his face, he unleashed a gout of flame.

Orange flame.

The paper was instantly reduced to ash, falling to the floor of the spaceship, but most definitely not being sent to Celestia.

“Oh.” Spike said, his face falling.

“I’m guessing it didn’t work perfectly.” Zule asked.

“No…no it didn’t.” Spike said sadly. “I guess it only worked in Equestria.”

Shaking his head, Spike cleared his thoughts, before smiling once more.

“Ah well, I can get over it. I already knew I couldn’t go home, at least now I’ve remembered about it.” He laughed.

“Glad to see you’re not a quivering wreck over the thought of home anymore.” Tarhal smiled.

“Thanks to you guys.” Spike laughed, pulling them all into a hug.

***

After a few days of travel, the five members of Nexu Clan, as well as Jedi knight Siphous, descended towards the surface of Illum. All of them, bar Spike and Tarhal, were wrapped up against the bitter cold that covered the surface of Illum. Apparently, Tarhal’s fur would keep him warm, and whenever Spike had tried to put on one of the fur coats, the spines on his back had cut through them, eventually necessitating that he go without. He had assured the Jedi that he knew what cold was though, he had been the saviour of the Crystal Empire after all.

As the ramp to the spaceship opened, Spike realised he may have been slightly mislead, as the cold whipped into the ship. It was not unbearable to him, but he would be lying to say that it was comfortable.

Wrapping his arms around himself, Spike ventured out into the icy weather, glad that there wasn’t a storm wracking the surface as they walked towards a massive ice wall. Getting closer to it, Spike saw a beautifully crafted arch way, made entirely out of ice. The inside of the arch way was also filled with ice, but with a wave of his hand, Siphous moved the ice aside, revealing a large cave inside the wall. Walking in, they quickly caught sight of Grandmaster Garton Brine, sitting cross-legged on, or rather, above, a plateau of ice. Slowly, he got to his feet as the initiates gathered around him.

“A Jedi, is the force made physical.” He began, slowly looking from Jedi to Jedi. “With this power, come great responsibility. With this power, we can protect others, but how can we do that? Through the force, and this.” He said, drawing out his Lightsaber and igniting it, showing off the bright yellow blade. “To build your own Lightsaber, you must harvest a crystal from the caves behind me, with it, you can construct the heart of the Lightsaber, allowing you to focus the force that flows through you into the blade.”

He re-attached his Lightsaber to his belt, before raising both his hands towards a large closed window near the top of the room, sliding it open, and allowing glorious sunlight to stream in, falling on a massive crystal in the middle of the roof. Using the force, Garton spun the crystal, until a smaller crystal aligned with it, focusing the light into a single beam, which shot out towards a part of the ice wall. Instantly, the ice melted, streaming across the floor, before vanishing once again.

“If you are to become Jedi, you must enter the cave, trust yourself, trust your friends, trust the force. Do this, and you will succeed.” Garton said, turning back to the initiates.

Nodding, the initiates moved towards the now open archway, climbing a small flight of stairs on the way. As they were about to enter, Siphous approached, bidding that they turn to face him.

“Once you have recovered your crystal, do not remain inside the caves. When day turns to night, the door will have frozen over once more, and you will be trapped.” He said, looking between the initiates.

“For how long exactly?” Spike asked.

“Until the sun comes back up in a single planetary rotation.” Siphous said simply. “Become trapped, and all we can do is wait, there will be no help to those caught inside.”

“So…how long’s a rotation then?” Spike asked again.

“The sun rises over Illum every nineteen days.” Siphous said with a slight grimace.

“Luna would like that.” Spike muttered.

“Are we going to encounter anything living in the caves?” Zule asked.

“Gorgodon’s, if anything. Keep your wits about you, and even on your own, you should be able to protect yourselves from them.” Siphous replied.

“How will we know which crystal to pick?” Tarhal asked, Asho quickly translating when Siphous looked confused.

“Only you can decide that. As master Brine said, trust in the force. Now, hurry, daylight is already ticking on.” Siphous said, turning and walking away. Stealing themselves, the five members of Nexu clan quickly made their way inside the cave system itself.

The cave was dark, but eerily beautiful at the same time, the ice of the walls sparkling off the lights emanating from the sunlight. Small parts of the wall were twinkling more than the rest, and Zule pointed them out.

“Do you think those are the crystals?” He asked.

“No, they’re just denser ice than the rest of the wall.” Spike summarised. “Water crystals maybe, but not suitable for use in a Lightsaber.”

“You still don’t strike me as someone who would be clever.” Tarhal laughed.

“And you don’t strike me as someone who would be compassionate.” Spike shot back with a grin.

“We should probably get a move on.” Corinna pointed out.

“That’s a good idea.” Zule agreed. “How are we going to do this?”

“Split up to find the crystals, then get back before it freezes over?” Asho suggested.

“Are we all sure we can do it alone?” Spike asked.

Receiving a unanimous nod from the rest of the clan, Spike placed his hand out in front of him. Quickly, the others placed their hands on top of his.

“Alright. One…two…three…Nexu!” They all shouted in unison, before turning and quickly entering one of the many tunnels leading off from the main entrance, heading deeper into the main crystal caves.

***

Asho

***

Asho ran down the passage way, drawing her fur coat around herself tighter to conserve what warmth that she had. She quickly scanned the walls as she ran, searching for anything that looked or felt different from the never ending sheets of ice, but instead, all she saw was more ice.

Suddenly, a thought hit her, and she skidded to a halt, emerging into a large circular ice room, and looking around herself in fear. For the first time she could remember in her life, she was alone, the master of her own destiny. There were no slavers towering over her making all the decisions for her, there were no Jedi masters teaching her every second of the day, there weren’t even her friends to comfort her from the memories that plagued her. She was truly alone.

Pure, unrivalled terror gripped the young Twilek as she looked around the room, trying to remember which identical passage way she came down. Spinning around frantically, she lost her footing, and fell heavily onto the ground. A sickening crack sounded out as she smashed onto the floor, and resounded around the room, bouncing off the walls.

Before Asho could do anything, the ice beneath her cracked, forming a spider web like pattern around her. A split second later, the entire floor smashed, plunging Asho the darkness below. As she fell, she heard a rumbling sound, as sheets of ice fell from the ceiling, crashing over the entrance to the tiny cave, forming cruel bars across Asho’s makeshift cage.

Covering her head, Asho curled herself up into a ball, protecting herself from the physical blows that always came after she was put into her cage, briefly wondering whether it would be the whip or the rod this time. She waited for what felt like an eternity for the blows to land, assuming that the long wait was another one of the master’s cruel tricks to catch her off guard. Eventually, Asho cracked her eyes open, taking in her surrounding once again. Instantly, the mental images that had been forming in her mind about her past were dispelled, as she saw exactly where she was.

Looking around herself, she took in her new surroundings. She was in a tiny ice cavern, barely two meters by two meters back, giving her just enough space to move around if she stooped. Above her head, ice shards covered the hole she had come in from, forming bars to complete her prison.

Reaching up, Asho made to push the ice away, before pulling her hands back. She knew that touching the roof of her cage would result in punishment. She still bore the scars from all her ill-fated attempts. Shaking her head, she tried to push the thoughts out of her mind, telling herself that it wasn’t real, and that she was no longer a slave, but try as she might, she couldn’t bring herself to touch the bars.

Sliding back down the walls, Asho put her head in her hands once more, and began to cry. She had been stupid to believe she was free, or could ever be a Jedi. At heart, she knew her masters would always own her, and try as she might, she wasn’t going to be able to get over that.

Sobbing, she glanced up, looking at the ceiling above her, forcing herself to get at least one last glimpse of her newest surroundings before she froze to death in this hell that she found herself in.

A tiny glint caught her eye.

Wiping her eyes with the back of her sleeve, she looked up at the ceiling more carefully, hoping against hope that it wasn’t just her mind playing tricks on her again. For a moment, she couldn’t find the glint from before, and her heart sank again. As she was about to give up hope once more, she spotted it again, a small glinting speck in the ceiling, shining out against the ice surrounding it.

Quickly getting to her feet, being careful not to smack her head on the bars as she did so, she looked up at the ice keeping her captive. Unsteadily, she reached up, and gingerly touched the bars, flinching as she waited for the pain that would surely follow. When none came, she gritted her teeth, and pushed.

The ice scraped against the other bars, and began to rise slowly, before Asho slipped, falling to the floor and letting the bars fall back into place. Not allowing herself to be deterred, Asho rose again, grabbing hold of the bars and pushing. Slowly, they began to rise, but as they did, she felt herself slipping again. Thinking quickly, she shot her hand out, pointing it at the walls of her cage and channelling the force to push into the wall. The wall didn’t move, but Asho accomplished her goal, and steadied her footing, using the force to steady herself as she continued to push the bars up, before with one final effort, she cleared them away, and opened up the pathway to her escape.

Quickly climbing out of the make-shift cage, she made her way over to where she had seen the glinting crystal, quickly finding it, and inspecting it closely. It was small, so small that if she hadn’t known exactly where it was, she would never have seen it in and amongst the other bits of ice. If fact, the only reason she hadn’t walked straight past it was because of the fact that she had fallen into the cage, and looked upwards.

Reaching out, she plucked the crystal from the wall, before slipping it into her pocket, and turning on her heel, running back down the passageway she instinctively knew lead to the entrance.

***

Corinna

***

Corinna made her way down the ice passage, checking at different intervals to see if she could find the crystal that she was looking for. Truth be told, she didn’t actually know what she was looking for, having never seen what a Lightsaber crystal looked like, and even if she had, knowing that it would be unique to her and her alone. She smiled briefly at thinking how her brother would be getting on in this, so stymied by his rules in a situation that couldn’t be described in any manual. It was almost poetically ironic.

It felt odd to be doing this without her brother, they hardly ever parted, they worked better when they were together, but it wasn’t the first time they had been separated, and she wasn’t worried. She could work on her own quite well, and unlike her brother, she wasn’t bound body and soul to rule books, in fact, she hated the things, always trying to tell you what to do in a situation that required a bit of free thinking. She’d never been able to apply it in any meaningful way yet, unlike Spike, and had actually quite enjoyed the regimented style of Shii-Cho. Apparently, Shii-Cho was a very randomised form when it was taken to its highest level, and that was something that appealed directly to her own opinions of how things should be done.

Finding a fork in the passageway, Corinna stopped, deciding which way to go.

“Hmm. Eenie meenie miney mo, catch a Wampa by its toe. If it roars, you should go, eenie meenie miney mo.” She said to herself happily, pointing between the two paths, finishing on the left path. “Well then, right it is.” She smiled, before running off down the right hand path.

Giggling to herself, she quickly found herself in a massive cavern, and walked around in awe at the soaring walls and pillars of ice rising all the way to the ceiling. What really captivated her though was the massive waterfall at the end of the room, replete with large chunks of ice thundering along with it, before smashing apart on the surface of the water to join the thousands of other tiny shards that were already there.

Glancing up, she saw a large piece of ice reflecting something, and glanced further down the wall, her eyes falling until they finally alighted upon a small crystal object, resting on the surface of the ice shards down in the bore hole the waterfall had carved out.

Smiling to herself, Corinna extended her hand, reaching out with the force to grab a hold of the crystal and pull it to her. Finding herself unsuccessful, Corinna tried again, closing her eyes and scrunching her face up in concentration, willing the crystal to come towards her, but was once again found herself unsuccessful.

Groaning in frustration, Corinna looked around the room, looking for anything that could help her reach what she instinctively knew was her Lightsaber crystal. Walking around the pit to the waterfall, she quickly looked behind it, assessing the wall to see if she would be able to climb down and retrieve the crystal by hand. Gingerly, she put a hand on the wall, testing it to see if it would take her weight. The hand-hold was freezing cold, and creaked as she stepped onto it, but it held, and Corinna smiled to herself. She could imagine Zule freaking out at this blatant disregard of the established rules, and smiled as she slowly made her way down the wall.

It was slippery, and more than once she almost lost her footing, but the handholds that she found held, and that was good enough for her. That was until she reached the halfway point. Stepping down, she placed her foot on an icy outcrop, before lifting her other foot to find another foot hold. As soon as she rested her entire weight on the outcrop though, there was a sickening cracking sound, and Corinna only just managed to pull her foot away and place it back where it was originally before the ice broke off the wall, plummeting downwards and sliding into the water with a loud ‘splash’.

Relenting, Corinna began to climb back up, making sure to test each hand hold before putting her weight on it. She managed to make her way back to the top of the hole without incident, and sat on the edge, looking down at her crystal. It was cruel really, being able to see it, but it might as well have been a million miles away for all the good it was doing to her.

As she looked down, she noticed almost dismissively, that the water had risen quite a bit since she had been climbing. Dismissing it as irrelevant, she racked her brains for what to do, thinking up and dismissing numerous strategies, before falling back and groaning in frustration. Wracking her brain, she thought back for anything that could help her.

‘A Jedi’s greatest asset is patience.’ Norik’s voice echoed in her head, and she nodded, knowing that for once, she was going to have to do the expected.

Getting to her knees, she sat back, closing her eyes, and meditating upon the force.

***

She stayed in the exact same position for what felt like hours, thinking upon all she had learnt since she had come to the Jedi temple, and how far she had her brother had come since their time on Corellia. She had loved every moment of it, and reflected on all the decisions that had lead up to it, the good and the bad, and smiled, knowing that she wouldn’t have changed any of them, just in case it lead to her not being here today.

Opening her eyes, Corinna’s grin grew even wider as she saw the water level. The water had risen to almost the top of the hole, and Corinna quickly went over to the edge, looking down at the crystal that lay on top of the ice. Reaching out, she brushed her hand through the water accidentally, pulling it back as the cold shot through her, before trying again, this time making sure not to touch the water. Grabbing hold of the crystal, she placed it in her pocket, before running back the way she had come, towards the entrance.

***

Zule

***

Zule slowly made his way down the passageway, inspecting the walls carefully as he went. He smiled as he imagined his sister simply running around like a headless chicken looking wherever she wanted to for her crystal, rather than screening each area slowly and methodically. As he always said, ‘Slow is smooth, and smooth is fast.’

Moving further down the passageway, Zule ran his hand over the smooth surface of the ice, reaching out to sense if he could find anything that was out of the ordinary, a blip in the ice, a tinge in his brain as he pushed the force deep into the wall, anything. He tried everything he could, everything he had learnt about using the force to sense something, and yet he still felt nothing.

Sighing, he took his hand off the wall, and pulled his coat around himself, before heading off deeper into the cave, periodically stopping to check the surrounding area with the force, before moving further in after finding nothing once again.

Not giving up, Zule moved forward, reaching a dead end, and placing his hand on the wall for the millionth time, pushing his mind deep into the fabric of the wall, feeling for anything. Finding nothing, he pushed deeper into the wall, trying harder than ever before to try and find something, anything, even if it was just a direction towards where his crystal was, but once again, he came up blank.

Sighing, he removed his hand from the wall, before looking around. Everything looked the same, the ice walls blending into the ice-covered floor, and stretching up to the frozen roof. Nothing was standing out, and nothing he was doing was making anything any clearer. Everything that master Norik had taught him, everything he knew about the force, which granted wasn’t much, had failed him. Nothing was working, and he was crack out of ideas, not able to think of anything that he hadn’t already done.

For the first time in his life, he was envious of his sister. She could always figure out what to do in a situation, and then she would do it, even if it went against everything that she should have done in the situation. Knowing her, she had probably already figured out where her crystal was, how to get at it, and was probably already waiting for the rest of them outside the cave, getting to have a personal lesson from the grandmaster.

Giving his surroundings one more look over, Zule turned back to face the dead end, trying again to find something in the wall, but coming up blank. Stopping for a moment, he visualised his sister, trying to figure out what she would do in a situation like this. Corinna would probably just run through the caves, hoping to find it, rather than searching methodically, she had probably then found it, and instead of doing what she had been taught, she would do what she thought.

Closing his eyes, Zule tried to think about what he should do in this situation, not what he was told to do, but what he actually thought he should do. He wracked his mind, trying in vain to think about the situation in a non-logical way, but finding no answers. Growling he placed his hand back on the wall, and channelled the force through it, but this time, it wasn’t searching for anything, it was just pure power.

Instantly, the wall fractured, cracking from floor to ceiling, before collapsing at Zule's feet, revealing a large cave, dotted with massive crystal protrusions.

Zule smiled in amazement, walking around the room and looking at the different crystals, before one finally caught his eye.

It was big, and instantly knew that it was the crystal for him, but also that it was way out of his reach, being over the other side of an ice canyon that was slowly being filled up with water from a small waterfall.

His first instinct was to focus on what he knew, and on what the Jedi had taught him, and use patience. The hole would fill up and freeze over, and he would be able to walk across and get his crystal. But would he have enough time to then get out before the ice wall froze over again? He also knew that the distance was too great for him to simply grab the crystal with the force, so that lesson was also out.

Deciding that he had got this far by emulating his sister, he closed his eyes, and once again thought about what Corinna would do in this situation. Knowing her as well as he did, it was not difficult to deduce what she would do, and Zule opened his eyes, looking around the room for anything that might help. Smiling, he caught sight of exactly what he needed, and walked over to a large pillar of greyish ice.

Placing his hands on the base of the pillar, Zule channelled the force into the frozen substance, pouring it into the structure for almost a full minute, before finally, the pillar began to wobble. Stepping back, Zule tapped the pillar lightly with a single finger, and slowly, the pillar toppled forward. With a loud crash, it slammed into the ravine, bridging the gap, and landing nearly directly underneath where his crystal was lodged.

Smiling to himself, Zule unsteadily stepped onto the pillar, before making his way across, arms outstretched for balance. Quickly crossing the gap, he reached the wall, and used it to steady himself. The crystal was still out of his reach, but with the reduced distance from being on the pillar, Zule knew what he could do now, and quickly extended his hand towards it.

Instantly, the crystal shifted in the wall, coming loose, before whizzing across the gap into the outstretched palm of Zule. The boy looked at his hand in confusion for a moment, before grinning widely. Switching the crystal to his other hand, he quickly unbuttoned a pocket, slipping the precious sliver inside, before buttoning it back up. Grinning widely, he set off back across the pillar, before breaking into a run back towards the entrance to the cave, hoping against hope that the ice sheet hadn’t sealed up completely yet.

***

Spike

***

Spike quickly made his way down one of the passages, weaving through the stalagmites that festooned the floor, before darting down another side passage. Truth be told, he didn’t know what he was looking for, neither did he have a particular strategy, but if there was one thing the dragon knew, it was the fact he would only know where his crystal was by getting close to it, so going slow was not going to help him. He was sure that not all of the others would share his philosophy, Zule in particular, but that didn’t matter to him, this was his quest, and only he could decide how best to complete the challenges that lay ahead.

Skidding to a halt, Spike saw a large room ahead of him, and slowly walked inside, checking the corners of the room for any sort of movement. Finding none, he nodded to himself, before walking around the room, checking the walls to make sure that nothing was hidden within them. Rounding a corner, he gasped as he saw what was in front of him.

Rising up from the ground was a huge pillar of ice, reaching half way up the room before flattening out. Above that, a stalactite hung down from the ceiling, stopping just above the first pillar, and in between the two huge chunks of ice, hovering in place, stood a small, glinting crystal. Instantly, Spike knew that it was the crystal for him. Looking around the room, Spike searched for anyway to get to the crystal without risking his neck in a fifty meter climb. Realising that short of climbing higher up one of the equally dangerous walls and jumping towards the pillar in the hope of being accurate enough to hit the pillar, he had only one choice.

Sighing, and smirking to himself as he remembered his first adventure in the Crystal Empire, Spike extended his claws, and walked over to the pillar. As he rose his hand to dig his claws into the frozen substance, he was suddenly aware of another presence in the room, and whirled around, expecting to see one of the other initiates.

Instead, what he saw both sent his heart soaring higher than the ship that was waiting to take them back to Coruscant, as well as terrifying him to his very core.

“T…T…Twilight?” He asked in complete confusion, terror and happiness.

The purple mare looked just like he remembered her, right down to the smallest detail, and slowly, she walked over towards Spike, nuzzling up to him softly. That was the final straw, the final crack that unleashed the deluge of emotions hidden behind the mask he had been forcing himself to wear for the past few weeks.

“Mummy.” He sobbed, pulling Twilight closer, and burying his face into her soft fur.

“I’m here Spike.” She said, her own tears making the words difficult to decipher. “Where did you go?”

“I…I don’t know.” Spike bumbled, not knowing what to say. What could he say after this length of time? “I’m so sorry.”

“No I’m sorry Spike.” She sobbed. “I’m so sorry. I failed you.”

“You didn’t fail. You didn’t, just…no.” Spike managed. “Look at me now. I’m so different now, better than I was before.”

“So what now?” Twilight smiled, breaking off from the hug.

“If I get that crystal up there,” Spike said, choking back his tears and pointing towards the pillar of ice behind him, “then I’m a Jedi padawan, they won’t let me up and leave.”

“Do you want to be a Jedi?” Twilight asked.

“I couldn’t leave you again.” Spike laughed weakly.

“I didn’t ask if you wanted to leave, I asked if you wanted to be a Jedi.” Twilight reiterated.

“I have friends here, Tarhal, Zule, all the others.” Spike said slowly. “So, yeah, I guess.”

“Then let’s go.” Twilight smiled. “We get that crystal, and you become a Jedi.”

“You mean you’d help me?” Spike asked.

“Oh course I would.” Twilight nodded, before walking over to the pillar.

Smiling, Spike grabbed onto the pillar, digging his claws in, and gesturing for Twilight to garb on to his back. Nodding, she wrapped her hooves around him, and slowly, Spike began to climb up the pillar, slowly pulling both himself and the purple mare up the ice tower, Twilight whispering words of encouragement into his ear all the time.

It was long, hard, arduous work, digging his claws into the ice before hauling himself up another few inches. Hand over hand he worked, struggling with every move he made, and all the while receiving encouragement from the mare on his back.

“You can do it Spike.”

“Just a little more Spike.”

“That’s it Spike.”

On and on it went, until finally, Spike managed to get near to the top of the pillar. Reaching up, Spike stretched out towards the crystal, trying to push his arm up as far as it could go. His other claw dug deep into the ice, keeping the pair steady. In the end, it was only a matter of time.

As he stretched out, the ice fractured, and for a heart wrenching second, Spike was weightless as his claw sought to find purchase on something. Slipping down, Spike felt the grip on his neck recede, and looked around to see Twilight falling in slow motion. Giving up on the crystal instantly, Spike smashed his free claw into a solid piece of ice, before reaching out with his other claw, grabbing hold of one of Twilights hind legs. As he did, he watched as a crack spiralled up the ice, hitting the crystal, and beginning to collapse the tower above it. It would only be a few minutes before everything was buried in a wave of ice, forever dooming his attempt to get a hold of the Lightsaber crystal.

He roared in pain as he suddenly took up the weight of the purple mare, his head slamming back into the ice and momentarily dazing him.

“Twilight!” He yelled, but the mare looked dazed herself, her horn sparking but failing to ignite properly.

“Spike?” She slurred, her eyes focusing on the purple dragon.

“Just hold on!” He screamed, trying to pull her up slightly, but instead, slipping down slightly further.

“I wasn’t planning on letting go.” She slurred with a smile.

“Can you use magic?” Spike shouted.

“N…no.” She grunted, shaking her head and trying to light her horn again, but failing as she had before. “Are you ok?”

“Can’t hold on much longer.” Spike grunted, his muscles starting to scream in protest as he struggled to stay attached to both the purple mare and the ice pillar.

“Let go.” She said, so softly that if Spike hadn’t seen her lips move, he would never had known she said anything.

“Tell me you didn’t say what I thought you said.” Spike growled.

“You want this? You want your own life, a new one, you have to let go of the old one.” Twilight said softly. “You can’t get the crystal and hold onto me.”

Deep down, Spike knew that on a level, Twilight was right, but he refused to accept it. He wasn’t the same dragon as before, and he wouldn’t just give up.

“I am not letting you fall!” He shouted, struggling to raise her up even slightly.

“You know you can’t do both!” Twilight shouted. “Choose! Down and lose the crystal, or up and lose me! Choose, NOW!” She screeched.

“I will not choose!” Spike enunciated simply.

“Then you’ll lose both!” Twilight screamed.

“NO!” Spike screamed, but the scream was not just a physical sound, it was laced with power.

Continuing to scream, Spike looked down at Twilight, and without moving his hand at all, wrapped her in a cocoon of telekinesis, a faint green aura, instantly reducing the weight on his arm, before removing it entirely, as Twilight floated up beside him.

The purple mare stared in a mixture of shock and approval as Spike turned back to the wall, digging his second hand into the ice, and quickly climbing again, making sure to keep Twilight near him. Without the added weight on his back, Spike quickly scaled the last few meters of the pillar, snatching the crystal just as the pillar finally began to collapse.

His goal achieved, Spike pushed himself from the collapsing tower, diving towards one of the walls. It was a long jump, and if he hadn’t been so high up to begin with, he would have hit the floor long before he hit the wall. As it was, he managed to dig a claw into the wall, sliding down until he gently touched the floor, lowering Twilight to the ground beside him.

“That was…” Twilight began, but Spike silenced her.

“Stop.” He smiled sadly, shaking his head. “You’re not her.”

“What are you talking about?” Twilight asked.

“You’re not…you can’t be. She can’t be here.” Spike said, tears forming in her eyes. “You were part of the test, the cave, whatever.”

“You were supposed to drop me.” Twilight said, the damage done, and her body starting to flicker as the illusion came apart. “When did you realise?”

“Twilight would have thought of some way to save both herself and let get the crystal, she always does, that’s what makes her amazing.” Spike said with a smile, even as the tears fell to the floor.

“Like I said, you weren’t supposed to be able to do both.” The not-Twilight said. “You were supposed to give up on one life and choose the other one in its entirety, yet you did both.”

“So what are you really?” Spike asked.

“I’m part of the cave, part of the test. I’m not even real, not really. The Force works in mysterious ways Spike, that’s all I am, an illusion in your mind.”

“So you’re not even here?” Spike asked. “Nothing is?”

“You’re alone. I’m in your head.” Twilight smiled, fading faster now. “It is an interesting head, I will grant you that, such emotion, such power. Be careful young one, the allure of power has lured many a great Jedi to their ends. Even as we speak, the mighty are preparing to fall to the lowest aspects of the force, to give themselves over to it. Do not follow them in their pursuits.”

“What do you mean?!” Spike shouted urgently, realising that this could be valuable to the Jedi.

“You are going to go far, little Jedi, further than anyone can imagine.” Twilight said cryptically, before finally, disappearing completely.

And like that Spike was alone again, nothing but the small sound of the last bits of ice falling to the floor. Sighing, but knowing deep down that this was always going to be the only logical explanation, Spike placed the crystal in a pouch on his belt, before running towards the entrance.

Quickly reaching it, Spike saw that the door was almost closed, perhaps having only ten meters left to go, before it touched the bottom and sealed the cave for another nineteen days.

Skidding underneath the door, Spike caught sight of Asho, Corinna and Zule, all standing around. As they saw him, they quickly gathered around him.

“Did you do it?” Asho asked excitedly, holding out her crystal so he could see.

“Yeah, let’s have a look.” Zule nodded.

“Where’s Tarhal?” Spike asked, looking around for the Wookie, but not finding him.

“He hasn’t come out yet, he’s the last one.” Corinna said, holding her own crystal in awe.

Spike didn’t reply, instead turning on his heels and sprinting back into the cave, sliding underneath the ice sheet, which was still descending at an alarming rate. He knew that if he went back in now, he was definitely running the risk of being sealed in the cave until the sun rose again, but right now, none of that mattered. He had already had to say goodbye to somepony that he cared about today, even if it was only a vision from the force, he was not about to lose Tarhal as well.

Reaching the crossroads that they had separated at in the first place, Spike looked around, trying to remember which fork the Wookie took. Looking around, he closed his eyes, delving deep into the force, before setting off at a sprint in pursuit of his friend.

***

Tarhal

***

Tarhal made his way down the icy passage, taking care not to slip over, he’d rather not go back to the others with bruises all over his back and arse, he could just imagine how much Spike would bring that up.

Smiling at the thought of his draconic friend, the Wookie made his way further into the freezing cold cave, searching high and low, mostly low, for his crystal. Briefly he wondered if the others had already found their crystals, knowing that he was probably going to be the last one to get back, not that he cared about being last, he just didn’t want to get trapped in the cave for a couple of weeks.

Still grinning, Tarhal forged onwards, finally reaching a fork in the passage, and instantly deciding to go right. He always went right at times like this, and whenever anyone asked him which way to go, he always said right, owing to a bad experience going left.

Instantly, he knew he was going the right way, and sped up his pace, quickly breaking into a run, albeit an unsteady one which threatened to send him tumbling towards the floor at any second. He managed to keep his footing however, and eventually skidded to a halt, stopping just before a corridor full of ice spikes.

The spikes criss-crossed the corridor, only leaving tiny gaps between them, and effectively cutting off forwards access. Deciding that this wasn’t the way to go to find his crystal, Tarhal was about to turn around and head down another pathway, when something at the end of the blocked corridor caught his eye.

Turning back towards the corridor, and squinting down the dark passage, Tarhal straining to catch sight of what he saw, when it glinted again, right at the end of the passage.

Whooping in joy, Tarhal knew that he had found his crystal, and tried to squeeze his way through the ice spikes. Unfortunately, Tarhal was far too big to slip past the ice, and stood back, looking at the way ahead.

Grinning, Tarhal lashed out with his foot, smashing through the first piece of ice with ease. As he moved forward however, he heard something above him, and only just managed to dive backwards to avoid another ice spike falling from the ceiling, slotting almost exactly back into the place the spike Tarhal had just smashed had occupied.

Not getting deterred, Tarhal lashed out again smashing the ice aside, before quickly moving in, smashing the second one. As he did so however, another spike slid downwards behind him, narrowly missing Tarhal, and effectively trapping him. Growling, the Wookie forced his way backwards, getting free from the ice prison, before looking back at the corridor.

Already, the ice had fallen back into position, and if it weren’t for the ice shards littering the floor, nobody would ever know that Tarhal had already smashed four of the spikes.

Thinking for a second, Tarhal realised that he was obviously not going to be able to smash the ice aside with brute strength, it was probably destabilising the surrounding ice which was causing the other spikes to fall into position. Instead, he decided to fall back onto the force, and brought his hands together.

Thrusting them forward, Tarhal sent a wave of energy outwards, shattering the first few spikes. When nothing happened after a few seconds, the Wookie grinned, before making his way forward. As he did so however, a cracking noise sounded from the roof, and new spikes slid into place, once again blocking the way to his crystal.

“Oh come on!” He roared, looking in despair at the ice in front of him.

Slowly, the Wookie walked over to one of the spikes and ran his hand along it, seeing the grooves that had been cut into it as it slid down from the roof. Stepping back again, he evaluated what he knew.

First, he couldn’t smash his way through, as that just shook more loose. Second, he couldn’t blast them apart with the force, as it had the same result. Finally, and most importantly, his future Lightsaber crystal was at the end of the pathway, and if he didn’t get it soon, he would be entombed in the caves.

Sighing, Tarhal leant on one of the spikes, searching for any answer. As he did so, the spike moved, and slowly began to slide back into the wall. Instantly, Tarhal was alert, and continued pushing the ice, slowly but surely pushing it back until it was flush to the wall. Tarhal waited with bated breath, expecting another spike to slide into place and seal the gap he had just made, but after almost five minutes with nothing but his own breathing sounds echoing around the cave, he relaxed. Smiling to himself, he moved forward, and carefully started to push the next spike out of his way, making sure to only move slowly.

***

It was long work, but it was not particularly difficult. After almost thirty minutes, Tarhal had almost got to the end of the passage, and to his crystal. He would have been further on, but he had gotten cocky when he had first got to the halfway point, and had tried to go faster. All that had accomplished however was collapsing yet more ice spikes into his way, forcing him to duck backwards, and adding at least another ten minutes to his journey. Nevertheless, he had now almost reached his goal, and just had three more spikes left. Unfortunately, these three spikes were much bigger than the others, and even Tarhal was worried about his ability to lift them.

Pushing the doubt from his mind, he grabbed the first one and heaved, trying to lift it up. The spike shifted slightly, but even with Tarhal straining with everything he had, he could not push it up any further. Roaring with effort, Tarhal was forced to drop the spike, which clanged back to the floor with a loud ‘thud’. Briefly, he wondered if it would be worth trying to break the spike, but knew that that would only make things worse, and probably force him to do all his work again.

Trying again, Tarhal grabbed the spike, struggling to lift it, when he heard heavy footfalls coming from behind him. Whirling around, he expected to see a Gorgodon running at him, and prepared to defend himself. Instead, he saw someone who made him grin.

“Spike!” He roared.

“Tarhal!” Spike roared back, switching to Shyriiwook to better facilitate communication without Tarhal’s droid. By this point, Spike had become nearly completely fluent in the language, much to the surprise of both Tarhal and Norik, who both assumed that to learn such a language would take years of study.

Spike skidded to a halt before the Wookie, and looked around.

“Find your crystal?” Tarhal asked.

“Yes, yes I did.” Spike nodded quickly. “Have you found yours?”

“Back there.” Tarhal muttered, pointing over his shoulder. “It’s blocked by some heavy ice.”

“No time to waste then.” Spike nodded, walking towards the ice. “I can help with ice.”

Breathing in, Spike prepared to unleash some fire at the ice, but Tarhal quickly stopped him.

“NO! It’s unstable. If you’re too rough, more collapses in. We’ve got to be slow.” He explained.

“Fair enough.” Spike nodded. “We need to move quickly though, the entrance is almost sealed.”

“Then why are you here?” Tarhal asked, running over and grabbing the chunk of ice.

“To help you.” Spike grunted, lifting with Tarhal, and slowly moving the ice aside.

“Thanks.” Tarhal nodded, moving forward and grabbing hold of the next one.

The pair pushed it out of the way, their combined strength making the once impossible task possible. Moving forward once more, the pair lifted the spike up, finally revealing the crystal.

“Grab…it.” Spike grunted, taking the weight of the ice off the Wookie.

Nodding, Tarhal ran the last few meters and grabbed the crystal, slipping it into pouch on his belt, before running back to Spike.

“Time to go buddy.” He smiled.

“Right behind you. Run, then I can drop this.” Spike grunted.

“You better be.” Tarhal nodded, before setting off at a run, stopping at the end of the passage and turning to look at Spike. “COME ON!” He screamed.

With one final grunt, Spike threw the ice spike up, before darting forward as it crashed down. The falling spike sent vibrations reverberating around the room, and instantly, there was a huge rumbling sound, as more ice began to fall into the passageway. Dodging the falling ice, Spike ran towards Tarhal, who was screaming encouragement, but Spike couldn’t make out what he was saying over the din of the ice falling. As he neared the Wookie, the avalanche intensified, and suddenly, two spikes fell down in front of the dragon, blocking his path.

Not stopping, Spike roared as he crashed through them, tumbling to the floor. More ice fell around him, and cut him off from Tarhal, who had already moved forward to help him. Sticking his arm through one of the gaps, Tarhal tried to reach Spike, who was reaching towards Tarhal, but they were just too far away.

“Go!” Spike roared, lashing out at some of the ice, trying to force his way through.

“I am not leaving!” Tarhal roared back.

“GO NOW!” Spike roared. “I’ll be behind you!”

“But…” Tarhal began, but Spike cut him off.

“NOW! GET HELP!” Spike roared, before turning away from the Wookie in time to stop a shard of ice impaling him.

Slowly, reluctantly, Tarhal turned and ran for the entrance. He knew that on his own, he couldn’t help Spike, but maybe if he got the others he would be able to help his friend.

***

Tarhal rounded a corner, and managed to catch a glimpse of the light streaming in from the almost closed door. Pushing himself harder, Tarhal moved faster than he had ever moved before, before sliding on his back under the ice, just narrowly avoiding it, and getting back to his feet quickly.

“Need…help…Spike…cave.” He panted as the others gathered around him.

“Whoa there big guy.” Zule said, patting Tarhal on the back. “Catch your breath.”

“No time.” He said, before taking a deep breath. “Spike’s trapped in a load of ice, we need to help him.”

“But…the door.” Corinna said hollowly, pointing to the ice sheet behind Tarhal.

Slowly, the Wookie turned around, looking at the massive wall office, his eyes instantly darting to the bottom, where it met the floor.

“NOOOO!” He screamed, running over to the wall and smashing his fist against it. The wall cracked, but almost instantly, the crack froze over again.

Again and again Tarhal smashed his fists into the wall, each time sending thousands of shards of ice flying, but before he could follow up again, the holes he made would freeze over.

“We need to help him!” Tarhal yelled, looking at Brine and Siphous.

“We cannot.” Brine said simply.

“WHAT?!” Tarhal screeched.

“The test must be completed only by the initiate’s taking it.” Siphous explained.

“Screw the test! Spike’s going to die if we don’t help him!” Zule roared.

“I am sorry Tarhal, but the rules are clear. Only those taking the test may help.” Garton said softly.

“Guys!” Tarhal bellowed, looking at the other members of Nexu clan. “Come on, we can still help, even if they’re too afraid!”

Turning back to the wall, Tarhal began to beat it with his fists again, receiving numerous cuts to his hands in the process for no visible gain. Quickly, Zule and Corinna restrained the Wookie, pulling him back. Tarhal roared, but Asho placed a finger on his lips.

“Not like that Tarhal, use the force," she said briefly, before running over to the wall.

Nodding, Tarhal and the others ran towards the wall, following Asho’s lead and placing both their hands on the wall, and channelling the force into the wall. Though the wall fractured and cracked at their touch, the fractures in its surface spider-webbing out from their hands, the wall stayed solid, the cracks disappearing faster than they initiates could make them.

Sliding down the wall, Tarhal brought his hand into the wall one last time, gouging out a massive crater which was quickly filled in.

“I am sorry Nexu clan.” Siphous said solemnly, speaking the truth. “But you cannot longer help Spike. Only he can free himself from the cave now.

***

Spike roared as he lashed out at the ice in front of him, looking forward as he saw Tarhal running out of sight round the corner. He knew that his friend wouldn’t give up on him, but he also knew that he would be getting help, to do which he would have to leave the cave. By Spikes calculations, by the time he had reached the entrance and told them what he needed to, the cave would be sealed, and his friend would be safe.

Spike was not going to just roll over and take this new development like a dog however, no matter how much strange dreams told him he would look awesome as a dog. In fact, his whole plan to get out of here hinged solely on him being alone, and now that he was, he could put it into action.

Taking a deep breath in, Spike tried to breath fire on the ice, succeeding, but only in a minor capacity, his ability having depleted in the weeks when he hadn’t used it. He mentally kicked himself again, wondering how in the name of Celestia that he had forgotten that, but instead of dwelling on it, pushed it to the back of his mind. He would deal with it later.

Undeterred, Spike tried again, melting more of the ice, only to have more slide in to take its place. For his plan to work, these small gouts would need to up their ante and truly show Spike as a dragon.

Taking a deep breath in, Spike put everything he had into it, all his memories of home, the faces of Twilight, Rarity and the others, and his friends at the Jedi temple.

Emitting a roar louder than any he had done before, Spike unleashed a torrent of flame, licking at the ice around him, before turning it to steam instantly. Looking up, Spike saw the ceiling was melting as well, giving him the time he needed to dart forward, narrowly avoiding another shard of ice as it fell towards him.

Not stopping, Spike sprinted through the cave system, turning down random paths and hoping against hope that he was heading towards the entrance, all the while keeping just a few steps away from the falling ice behind him.

Finally, Spike caught sight of the entranceway, completely frozen over, but still definitely the entrance way. Sprinting towards it, he saw a blurry shape on the other side, and recognised the brown fur of Tarhal.

Trying to breathe fire, Spike found that even attempting to now hurt his throat, the strain of doing it after such a long time without practicing taking its toll. Nevertheless, he did managed to shoot out a small fireball, which sped towards the ice wall, impacting on it and burning through, creating a large crater in the ice, but more importantly, creating a tiny hole in the middle of the crater, allowing him to glimpse the outside world once more.

He watched as Tarhal scrambled away from the wall, though if it was out of fear, or knowing what would come next, Spike couldn’t say, and at the moment, didn’t really care.

Roaring as he ran, Spike jumped forward, leading with his feet as he sped towards the weakened ice wall. Already the hole was beginning to freeze over again, and Spike just hoped that when he hit it, it would be weak enough for him to smash through.

Still roaring, Spikes foot impacted with the ice, smashing straight through, and barely even losing momentum. Whooping in joy, Spike tumbled to the floor, messing up the landing and skidding along the floor on his back, his scales carving small grooves in the floor as he skidded along.

Looking at where he was sliding towards, Spike saw the pedestal that Garton Brine had been sitting on when they first entered the temple rising up above him, and smiled, closing his eyes.

His head smacked into the ice, and if Spike had been a weaker being, he probably wouldn’t have survived it. Instead, it simply knocked the tired Dragon unconscious, allowing him to slip into the comforting embrace of sleep and dreams.

The Lightsaber

Spike groaned as he finally stirred from his slumber, slowly cracking his eyes open so a sliver of light seeped in.

“Siphous? Siphous!” A voice called out, one that Spike quickly identified as belonging to Zule. “I think he’s waking up.”

As he said this, Spike managed to open his eyes fully, getting a better look at his surroundings. He was in the medical bay on the ship, the gun metal ceiling and the smell of antiseptic confirming that. Pushing himself up, he looked around properly, looking at the occupants of the room, namely Jedi knight Siphous and Zule.

“You had us worried there Spike.” Siphous Said, looking over to a screen, before nodding and looking back. “How are you feeling?”

“Like the morning after one of Pinkies parties.” Spike groaned, clutching his head. “How long was I out?”

“About fifteen hours.” Siphous said absently. “You took quite a hit on Illum.”

“Tell me about it.” Spike laughed weakly, rubbing his head, before shaking it and looking up. “So are we still on Illum?”

“No, we are currently in transit back to Coruscant. The others are waiting for you in the main training area if you feel you are fit to move around.” Siphous said, looking Spike over to check that movement hadn’t opened up any cuts around his head, before moving back, satisfied with his findings.

“It’s just a headache. It will pass.” Spike smiled, before sliding off the bed and standing up, arching his back until he heard a satisfying series of pops, before looking at Zule. “Why are you not with the others? You hate medical wards.”

“It was my shift.” Zule said simply. “We each said we’d take an hour at a time so that as soon as you woke up you could come and see the others.”

“Sounds good.” Spike nodded. “Well, lead on then.”

Turning on his heel, Zule quickly keyed in the door code, before walking into the rounded corridor of the Redoubt. The Jedi cruiser was old, and had been in service to the Jedi for over five hundred years, ferrying initiates of the order to and from Illum as well as providing an environment within which the padawans to be could build their first Lightsabers, all under the instructions of the one that Siphous referred to as Huyang. Spike had found it surprising that on the way out, they hadn’t seen or heard from this mysterious figure, but had reasoned that he probably liked to be alone. Maybe he was a powerful Jedi Sage, and had been meditating on the force on the journey out there, or maybe he was a mighty battlemaster, and had been developing a new form of combat.

Allowing his mind to wonder for a brief moment, Spike followed Zule until they reached another door. As they approached, the door slid open, revealing the circular training room beyond.

In the centre of the room, Tarhal was busy training, his eyes covered by the visor on his helmet, and training Lightsaber in hand, deflecting the laser shots that were being shot at the Wookie.

“Sleeping beauty’s up.” Zule smiled.

Instantly, the others looked over, including Tarhal, who received a sharp jolt of pain in his arse as the droid landed a shot on the preoccupied Wookie. With a slight growl, Tarhal tried to grab the droid, but missed, the droid quickly moving out of the way of his hand. With a smirk, Corinna raised her own hand, and the droid flew to it, quickly being deactivated and placed aside by the female Jedi.

“How’s your head?” Corinna asked, turning back to Spike.

“Throbbing, but I’ll live.” Spike smiled.

“Thank you Spike.” Tarhal said, pulling the dragon into a tight hug. “Without you, I would still be in the cave.”

“What? Big guy like you? Nah, you’d have broken out easily.” Spike said with a laugh that was quickly adopted by the others.

“I am glad that you are awake Spike.” Siphous said, walking into the training room. “But we have already gotten behind schedule. If you could all please place the crystals that you harvested on this table, then we can begin.”

Quickly, they each got out their crystals, placing them on the table next to Siphous.

“Very good. Now, I would like you to meet Lightsaber designer and architect, Huyang.”

As he said this, he stepped back, indicating a small alcove filled with shelves and drawers. Listening closely, Spike could hear the sound of servo motors whining, as a tall humanoid droid stepped into view. The droid was about the same height as Siphous, perhaps a bit taller thanks to the large head it sported. On it back lay a large metal rucksack type storage unit, with two arms resting upon it.

“Huyang’s a droid?” Asho asked in surprise.

“Is that a problem?” The droid asked, it soft masculine voice echoing around the small hold.

“N...no master Huyang.” Asho said, realising she had been rude. “It’s just…”

“I know, not what you expected.” The droid said, nodding to her, before turning to Siphous.

“They have all passed the gathering then?”

“All of them. Some in a particularly spectacular fashion.” The Jedi smiled, looking at Spike.

The droid followed Siphous’s gaze, his optic sensors resting on Spike and Tarhal.

“A Wookie?” he asked, approaching Tarhal. “I do not believe I have ever had the pleasure of instructing a member of your species.” He said in a kind voice, before turning to Spike. “And you must be the dragon that I have heard about. Interesting that you should be able to wield the force as the only discovered member of you race.”

“I didn’t ask for it.” Spike chuckled nervously.

“Of course not.” Huyang said, before straightening up and walking around. “From the fields of Trandak nine to the battles of Corbos, the Lightsaber has been the Jedi’s weapon of choice, and is a Jedi’s only true ally, unique to each Jedi who wields them. But how do they work?” He asked, picking up the crystal that belonged to Corinna and inspecting it closely. “The crystal is the heart of your Lightsaber, but right now it is simply a rock. To activate it, one must imbue it with the force, pouring their own power into it. I will show you how to do that while knight Siphous leads you in meditations. It is my job that before you leave this ship, you will not only have constructed your own blade, but be able to repeat the process if the need arises.”

Giving the crystal back to Corinna, the droid indicated that they should all pick up their own crystals, which they did. Walking in front of them, Siphous sat down and addressed the group.

“Sit. Clear your minds. Focus on the crystal in front of you. The act of empowering your crystal shall take many days. Let the force guide you as you attune it to yourself, making it your own.”

Nodding, Spike sat down on the floor, crossing his legs. Focusing on the crystal, he made it rise to his eye level, before holding it steady and closing his eyes, emptying his head of all images apart from the crystal. Even the sounds of the ship drifted away, as Spike slowly entered into the trance like meditation stance. The last thing he felt before slipping inside his own mind was his body lifting just a few feet off the floor, before all his senses became numb to the outside world.

***

Spike found himself in a perfectly black area, neither standing nor floating, rather, he simply was, a part of his own self-conscious. In front of him, the semi-transparent crystal floated, and he focused his force on it, steadying it as he pushed his force into it, attempting to channel no emotions into the precious stone.

“You are progressing well.” Came a voice from beside Spike, and if he had not recently heard it, he would of jumped in shock. Instead, he kept his focus on the crystal.

“You are still the form of Twilight?” He asked as the force-made image of Twilight moved into view.

“It is a form that resonates within your own mind. I have no say over the form I take, that is down to your subconscious.”

Slowly, Spike nodded, being careful not to lose his focus on the crystal.

“You are supressing your emotions.” Twilight said, stopping next to Spike.

“I learnt to, and now I know that you’re not real, I can keep my mental barriers up.” Spike said slowly.

“Who says I’m not real?” Twilight asked.

“You’re in my head.” Spike pointed out.

“Of course I’m in your head. But why should that make it any less real?” The image asked.

“I guess.” Spike nodded. “So what are you then? Memories? The Force? My conscience?”

“All of the above.” Twilight said. “I am simply an avatar of your own force powers, I can offer advice, but not knowledge of things outside your mind or the force.”

“Why Twilight?” Spike asked.

“Isn’t it obvious? This mare Twilight, she meant more to you than anything else, so that’s what your mind imagines the force as looking like. Some see the force as simply that, an invisible energy source, and while that is true in your normal perception, it does not have to hold true in your own mind. Some see loved ones, others see siblings, you see Twilight. She is what you focus your power through. Like a sub-conscious power matrix that enhances your capabilities and powers over it. I am simply an avatar that you create to give a face to the force.”

“Makes sense.” Spike said, keeping his mind firmly on the crystal.

“You do know what you are supposed to be doing yes?” The avatar asked.

“Imbuing the crystal with the force.” Spike replied.

“Not just the force.” The avatar said cryptically. “The crystal is becoming attuned to you, and you alone. The more of yourself you pour into it, the more powerful it, and subsequently you and your saber, will become.”

“I thought you of all things would be telling me about supressing my emotions.” Spike said with a slight smirk. “Being the actual force and all.”

“As I said before, I am the force, I know all about myself, but about the outside world? I can only know what you know. Deep down in your mind, you don’t believe that emotions are bad, do you?” The avatar asked.

“Harmony made Equestria strong.” Spike nodded. “And we only got there by accepting emotions. The idea of rejecting emotion is more alien to me than anything else I’ve seen since I’ve come here.”

“Then open your mind.” The avatar said softly, whispering straight into Spikes ear. “Pour your emotions into the crystal, the memories of who you honour when you protect the week, and in whose name you will bring forth the light to the universe.”

Stunned, Spike looked around, looking for the avatar, loosing focus on his crystal, which lost the faint blue glow that it had been taking on before. Looking around, Spike hunted for the avatar, but saw nothing but blackness, not darkness, but pure black.

Turning back to the crystal, Spike decided to act upon the information that the avatar had told him, and began to focus on the crystal again. Once more, it rose in front of him, until it was just in front of his eyes.

Once again, he poured the force into it, but this time, did not supress his memories, and slowly, he could feel them slipping into the crystal. They started off small at first, but slowly got bigger and more important to him.

Burping up his first letter for Celestia

His time as the official castle dragon in Equestria

The first time he had ever eaten a fire ruby

Moving to Ponyville

Meeting the residents of the town

Rarity

Twilight

As the last memories burst forth, the crystal began to pulse with a faint purple light, getting brighter and brighter, and the pulses getting closer together, until finally the crystal emitted a rich purple glow of its own volition, instantly reminding Spike about Twilight.

“It is done.” The avatar said, suddenly appearing at Spike shoulder again.

“Where do you keep coming from?” Spike said, looking at the avatar.

“When you need me, I will be here. Always.” The avatar said.

“Well if that’s the case, you’ll need a name. I can’t call you Twilight when I know you’re not her.”

“That is understandable.” The avatar nodded.

“Moonstone.” Spike said after a moment of deliberation.

“A gem, and a name evocative of the word twilight.” The avatar nodded.

“What do you think?” Spike asked.

“I am a construct of you mind Spike, if you like the name, then I like the name.” Moonstone smiled. “Now, I believe your crystal is done.”

“But Siphous said it would take days.” Spike pointed out.

“It has already been one and a half.” Moonstone smiled, as she began to fade once again.

“Why am I not surprised?” Spike smiled as the avatar faded completely from view. With a sigh, Spike opened his eyes once more.

***

Opening his eyes once more, Spike stood up, grabbing the crystal out of the air. Around him were the others, not all of whom had finished meditating on their crystals, namely Zule and Asho, while Tarhal and Corinna were conversing with Siphous in hushed tones.

Quickly making his way over to the trio, Spike made himself known.

“You are done then Spike?” Siphous asked expectantly.

“I am.” Spike nodded, holding out his crystal for the Jedi to see.

“Purple?” Siphous asked in surprise. “How did you do that?”

“Do what?” Spike asked in confusion.

“Illum usually only yields green or blue crystals, other colours are harder to come by, hence their rarity.” Siphous explained.

The word played on Spikes mind as he smiled at the thought of his love, before simply shrugging his shoulders.

“I just poured my force into it. The force works in mysterious way I guess.” He smiled.

“Done!” Zule shouted, before covering his mouth in shock at the loud noise. “Sorry.” He whispered.

“It is no trouble.” Siphous said. “Now we are just waiting on…”

“Finished.” Asho called, walking over.

“Good. Now that you have meditated upon your crystals, Huyang will instruct you on the proper design of your Lightsaber.” Siphous said, before turning back to the table from before. “Please place your crystals back on the table.

Nodding, each of the initiates placed their crystals on the table once more, and Spike saw the each of them now glowed with a soft inner light. Besides his purple one, there were three blue crystals belonging to Zule, Corinna and Asho, and one green crystal, belonging to Tarhal. With the same whine as before, Huyang came into sight, slowly walking towards the crystals and inspecting them, his sensors being drawn towards Spike crystal, which he picked up to inspect more closely.

“Curious.” He said, turning the crystal over. “Tell me, which one of you is responsible for this crystal?”

Quickly, Spike put his hand up and Huyang walked over.

“The dragon. How fitting that your blade will match your own scales.” He mused, before placing the crystal down. “Now, please hold out your hand, and describe what you see your Lightsaber will be.”

“Well, I want it…” Spike began, but was cut off by the droid.

“No no, not what you want it to be, but what you feel inside. What connects with your own force, and will make you strong in battle, and humble in retreat?”

Concentrating, Spike half-closed his eyes, focusing on what he could feel in his hand. After a moment’s concentration, his hand contracted involuntarily, gripping around an invisible object.

“I see a Lightsaber with a handle off from the main body.” He said slowly.

“A second handle?” Huyang asked, releasing Spikes hand. “Are you sure? I have helped designed hundreds to thousands of lightsabers, and I have never heard of a design like this.”

“It is what I feel.” Spike insisted.

“I see. Let me see what I have then.” Huyang said, walking off and heading over to the shelves and drawers at the back of the room.

Grabbing hold of some of the drawers, the droid began to open them, looking inside them while unfolding the two arms on his back and opening other drawers. Quickly, he searched through numerous drawers, before nodding and grabbing a few pieces and walking back over towards Spike. Placing the parts down, Spike saw that he had brought over both a normal handle and a throttle style activator, as well as various innards of the Lightsaber.

“These are all the parts that you should need for your saber.” Huyang said, before the droid moved away from Spike, walking over to Tarhal and beginning to repeat the process. Scooping up the parts, Spike moved over to a work station, placing the parts down and looking over them. From what he could feel, his Lightsaber was going to be very different from the normal design, making it even more unique than the purple blade that the others said was rare enough.

Sitting down, Spike crossed his legs again, focusing on the parts and raising them up. Slowly, they began to circle around each other as the crystal moved into the middle of the swirling mass of parts, quickly slotting in to the primary crystal mount. After that, the other pieces began to slot in to place, slowly covering up the emitter matrix with the outer pommel. It was slow work, but it was work none the less.

***

Spike breathed fire into the furnace again, standing within the sealed metal room as he continued to heat it up. He had been in there for the past day, trying to remodel the parts of his Lightsaber from the generic into something that only Spike could imagine at the moment.

The Redoubt had been in orbit over Coruscant for the past few days, staying near the planets defensive fleet while the Jedi on board sort to work. Apparently it was part of the tradition that until they had completed their work, they would stay on board the ship.

Spike breathed out again, covering the white hot casing of the Lightsaber with flames once more, heating it to temperatures that would be next to impossible with conventional means. The parts that he had been provided by Huyang were good, and he didn’t doubt that on their own, they would have made a fine weapon, but to make the weapon that Spike saw himself wielding would require much greater crafting skills on his behalf.

Grabbing hold of the soft metal, Spike began to smooth the gap between the primary handle and the main body. He had already welded them together with a blowtorch provided by Huyang, but considering the fact that if it broke he would lose his weapon, he had decided to fuse them in a more permanent state. Now, after hours of in the sweltering heat, Spike was almost finished. He mused silently that if any of the others had wanted to build this weapon, they would have had to settle for just a simple weld or rivet job.

Nodding, Spike decided that the weapon was as good as it would ever be, and grabbed hold of it, making sure that he didn’t squash it at all. Opening the door to the furnace room, Spike quickly slipped out, before sealing it up and activating the coolant system in the room, before placing the hilt in a trough of water, drawing a nice hissing sound from it as the hot metal touched the cold water.

When Spike finally pulled it out, the hilt was unrecognisable compared to what it had started as when Huyang had provided the parts just a day earlier. Sighing to himself, Spike made his way back towards the central room, flexing his neck to get the kinks that had been building up in it. Reaching the door, Spike slid it open, walking inside and looking around at the others.

They were all working intensely on their own weapons, tweaking various parts of their weapons under the watchful gaze of Huyang and Siphous. Spike coughed slightly, causing the others to look around.

“Have you finished remoulding your hilt then?” Huyang asked, walking towards the dragon.

“I have.” Spike nodded, holding out his hilt for the droid to inspect.

“Interesting. The design is fluid.” He said, taking the hilt, before trying to bend it slightly, failing. “And strong. You have done well Spike. Now, place the innards in the Lightsaber, and show me your work.”

Nodding, Spike moved back over to his old workbench, placing the hilt down, and reinserting the crystal into the emitter matrix. Focusing on the other parts, they began to float around each other, before slowly slotting together.

***

It took almost another day for everyone to complete their weapons to a standard that Huyang was happy with, but eventually they were all finished, and congregated in the centre of the room. The droid hadn’t been kidding when he had said that each weapon would be unique, as none of them were even vaguely the same.

Asho’s for instance was a fairly standard hilt, with black leather wrapped around the hand grip. However, unlike most hilts, it sported a large blade protector sweeping up away from the handle, serving the secondary purpose of acting as a knife in certain situations.

Then there was Corinna’s weapon. This one did not have any sort of blade guard, but was instead a much more elegant design of two shades of brown flowing into a curved blade emitter.

While these two weapons were similar in many ways, the others were all completely unique, and while they probably worked the same, someone not versed in the ways of lightsabers would not see it that way.

Zule’s for example was not a straight hilt like the others, instead having a curve in it. Apparently it made it much more comfortable to hold, and was also easier to move around in combat, as well as allowing for near perfect flexibility and precision when wielding it, especially, as Zule was fond of saying, against others wielding melee weapons, although who these people might be and how any non-force user could beat a Jedi in close combat was beyond Spike.

That was when the more standard designs stopped, Spike and Tarhal both wielding lightsabers that even Huyang had never even dreamed of. Not that that was anything to be expected, as the droid had said that Jedi before them had devised their own designs.

Tarhal for instance, wielded something that at a glance didn’t look anything like a Lightsaber, but was apparently modelled off his ancient family weapon back on Kashyyyk, now forever denied to the Wookie due to his status as a Jedi. The handle was made entirely of wood from the Brylark tree, which was apparently the only known wood in the galaxy that was as strong as metal. However, that was not made it unique. The handle itself was long, necessitating a twin handed grip on it as if it was simply a quarterstaff, before the ends linked into two metal orbs, each one housing a separate emitter array pointed towards each other. Once the blade was activated, it would be a Lightsaber, but not in the conventional sense. Certain moves such as stabs would be impossible, but blocking shots and blades would be so easy for the Wookie, as well as playing off his strength.

Spikes however was much closer to a standard weapon, but was still unique, both in design and materials. At the advice of Huyang, Spike had constructed the Lightsaber from an alloy of two different materials that usually wouldn’t be able to be fused together, but under Spikes dragon flame, flowed together like water. A combination of both Songsteel and Neuranium gave the Lightsaber a decent weight, as well as giving it a metallic colour with black detail. However, the final detail that Spike liked was the small series of gems inserted in the hilt in the perfect shape of Twilight’s cutie mark. The rest of the weapon was normal, except for the main handle and the large red activator stud on the end of it.

Looking between the initiates, Siphous smiled, before drawing his own Lightsaber.

“You embarked on this ship with nothing but the objects imparted to you by the Jedi. Now though, you return with the most valuable item in the galaxy, each one unique to you, and you alone. Now, draw your weapons.”

At the command, each member of Nexu clan drew their own weapons, Tarhal slipping it off the holster he wore on his back, before placing it in the middle with the others.

“Ignite your blades, and show me that Huyang taught you well.”

Nodding, each of the initiates thumbed the activation studs, causing the room to be instantly lit up by the blades. Smiling, Spike looked to Siphous, who had activated his own green Lightsaber.

“Rise anew, Nexu clan.” Siphous said with a broad smile. “Arise, Padawans of the jedi order.”

The Apprentice Tournament

Spike grunted as he brought his Lightsaber arcing down towards the practice droid, clashing with its outstretched weapon and forcing it downwards, driving it to its knees. Not giving it a moments respite, Spike grabbed hold of the second handle of his Lightsaber, using both arms to bring the weapon around again, cutting the droids head off in a single stroke.

Panting heavily, Spike looked around the practice room, the floor littered with the remains of the five droids he had been practicing against. Glancing up, he saw the others watching him from a balcony. Nodding to them, Spike deactivated his weapon, before walking out of the room and ascending the stairs to greet them.

It had been almost a week and a half since the members of Nexu clan had completed their Lightsabers and officially been granted the rank of Padawan, but the new rank had not meant that they had any respite from training. Every waking moment was now dedicated to honing their skills for what lay ahead, whether that be in the ways of the force or duelling. In two days, every youngling that had passed to the rank of Padawan would be arriving at the temple, leaving any support roles that they may have had around the galaxy, all coming for one thing in particular. The Jedi Temple Apprentice Tournament.

Every new Padawan dreamed of this day, most thinking of little else from the time they built their Sabres. Spike and the other members of Nexu clan had been no different, and had been training non-stop. This tournament would decide their role in the Jedi for the rest of their lives, and everyone wanted to make a good impression. Any Jedi could come and watch the tournament, but the ones without their own Padawan learners were the important ones. If they could catch their eye, those the Padawan would find themselves under a new teacher, travelling the galaxy beside their new master.

Reaching the top of the stairs, Spike pushed the door open and stood next to the others, who were already watching the next round of training.

"Anyone interesting?" Spike asked, looking down at the combatant. From here, Spike could tell that they were a male humanoid, but nothing more.

"Some member of Aclay clan." Tarhal replied, looking over at another balcony around the room.

Spike followed the Wookies gaze and looked at the rest of the clan. There were twelve of them in total, ranging from the tall Muun to the diminutive human. Once again, it struck Spike at how young they all were, each one only having been taken at the proper age. He had to remind himself that they were all abnormal in their age, not the other way around.

"So how did I do?" Spike asked, turning back to his clan mates.

"Good." Asho said, grabbing a datapad. "Your use of the force was strong as always, but you faltered when you used your Lightsaber. Only for a second mind you, but it is a weakness that could be exploited."

"Your weapon is unexpected though." Zule continued. "That should. Give you an advantage if you can't win using the force."

"Alright." Spike smiled, nodding slightly. "When is the next member of Nexu allowed to train?"

"Six more Padawans from other clans have scheduled rounds before Tarhal is registered to go in." Corinna said, glancing at the balconies datapad, before turning to the Wookie. "Looks like one heavy droid."

"Damn." Tarhal growled. "I need practice against groups, not single opponents."

"Don't worry about it." Spike said, lightly punching the Wookies arm. "As long as you can get through this and find yourself a master, then it doesn't matter. You can get group training with them. Right now you need to beat single opponents."

"I guess you're right." Tarhal conceded.

"When am I not?" Spike laughed.

"Let’s see." Asho said, placing a finger to her mouth in mock thought. "There was that time you thought that the Jedi were superheroes, the time you forgot that you could breathe fire, and of course, the time you almost shot yourself out into space in an escape pod on the way to the temple because, and I quote, 'you thought it was a bathroom.'"

"Twice." Zule said with a slight smirk.

"Hey, in my defence I'd never been on a ship before, let alone a space ship, and I was upset at being lost in a faraway galaxy." Spike said in indignation, but couldn't hide the smile at the memories.

"Sure." Asho smiled. "But other than those, you're never wrong."

"Alright fine." Spike chuckled. "I make mistakes, same as everypo...everybody else."

"Still speaking like at home eh?" Zule asked.

"You try breaking a habit of a lifetime. Let’s see how you do. Personally I think I've done pretty well at it." Spike said, glancing down as the Padawan finally managed to finish off the first droid and moved onto the final opponent.

"Good point." Zule nodded. "I'll just but out."

"Thank you." Spike nodded, before studying the Padawan below more closely.

He wanted to know how each one of them fought, what their weaknesses and strengths were, and how he could beat them. His eyes darted around as the Padawans switched over, taking in each swing of their own Lightsabers, any variation in their weapons, and any other details he could use. Spike watched in silence, committing each note to memory. When the time came to face them, he would be ready.

***

Spike stood uneasily in the Nexu clan bed chamber, staring out of the high window across the planet wide city that made up the capital world of the Republic. It still baffled him that an entire world could be nothing more than a single city, even stretching down further into the planets crust that had been excavated. If memory served him correctly, there were currently just over a thousand levels on the planet, with new ones being closer to production every day. Spike knew that they planet would only stop growing once they had reached the outer core itself, and they could literally not dig any deeper.

The sun had not yet risen over the planet, and Spike had been as surprised as anyone would have been that he was up so early, the dragon usually sleeping until one of the others woke him up. Not today however. Something had kept him awake last night, twisting his stomach into knots and making sleep next to impossible. After lying in bed for hours, and only managing to snatch a brief few minutes of sleep, he had decided to leave the room, not wanting to risk waking the others with his fidgeting.

Even in the dead of night, the temple was still bustling with activity, either from Jedi whose jobs within the order necessitated that they be awake now, such as the temple guardians, or from species that simply preferred the night and the dark to the day time.

In the time before the Gathering, Spike and the others had been placed under a curfew at night, instructed to stay in their rooms until Norik came back to them for their training again. Now however, they were 'allowed' out of their rooms. Whether they were supposed to was another matter, but considering the fact that they had never been told that they needed to go back to their rooms, Spike and the others treated it like a grey zone.

Eventually though, after swinging by the medical ward to get something to help with the pains, Spike had returned to the dorm and walked over to the window where he now stood. Turning away from the window, Spike slid down the wall and sighed. Glancing around, Spike looked at the others, silently, except for Tarhal of course, sleeping. Casting his mind around for something to think about, Spikes thoughts finally rested upon Norik.

Since they had come back from Illum, he had not seen any sign of the aged, mechanically enhanced Jedi, and had initially wondered where he had gone. He had even shared his thoughts with some of the other Jedi around the temple in an attempt to find him, but had quickly learnt that the Jedi had been sent off on a mission of high importance. Nobody knew what it was, but it was rumoured that it had something to do with the Empress Teta system. He had been assured that he would be back today however, and would be present during the tournament, and would possibly choose a Padawan if any impressed him enough.

Spike was unsure whether any of them would, and silently hoped that he didn't get picked by Norik if the Jedi did decide to take on an apprentice, not that he didn't like Norik, but it would be nice to get a master who he didn't already know. At the very least they would be easier to impress.

The minutes ticked by, but eventually the others woke up, stretching and sitting up in their beds. Spike kept quiet as they slowly woke themselves up properly, before watching as Tarhal leaned down towards his bed.

Knowing what was coming next, Spike sneaked up behind the Wookie, gesturing for the others to be quiet as they sought to stifle their own giggles, knowing what Spike was going to do.

As he always did when it was his turn to wake Spike up, Tarhal took a deep breath, before letting out an almighty roar that echoed around the room. When he had finished, Spike took in his own deep breath, just loud enough for Tarhal to hear and turn around, before Spike let out his own roar, surprising Tarhal and causing him to jump back in surprise and fright.

Recovering quickly, the Wookie jumped forward again, determined to save face. With a grin, he roared again, and so began the Wookie tradition of posturing.

Since he and Tarhal had become friends, they had swapped much about their cultures, Tarhal revealing more due to the simple fact that he knew more about Wookie culture than Spike did about draconian culture. Even when he was in Equestria, Spike had loved to learn about different cultures, no matter how much he had tried to portray a stark indifference to any sort of education, and had even gone it alone while trying to learn about dragons, so naturally, Spike had jumped on the opportunity to learn about Wookies.

Instantly knowing what Tarhal was doing, Spike roared back, standing up to his full height and making himself as tall as possible, stretching above Tarhal by almost half a head. While the others may have not noticed the subtle change in Tarhal, Spike picked on it, and bore down on the Wookie, forcing his advantage further, until the Wookie finally stopped roaring and bent down, conceding defeat to the dragon.

"Alright Spike, you win." He growled.

"You know it." Spike smiled back, extending a hand as was the tradition.

"I tell you," Tarhal said, grasping Spikes outstretched hand and hauling against it, "if you had been born a Wookie, you would have made village chieftain almost as soon as you passed maturity."

"Maybe, maybe not." Spike smiled. "Guess we'll never know."

"If you two are quite finished being typical men," Corinna said scathingly, "we should make our way to breakfast. Big day ahead of us."

"You know something." Zule said thoughtfully as the five of the, walked towards the door.

"I know lots of things." Corinna laughed. "What exactly where you implying little brother?"

"If everything goes according to plan, we'll each get masters before the day is out." He pointed out.

"Yeah, so?" Asho asked.

"We won't see each other again, will we?" Spike asked, picking up on what Zule was driving at.

"I don't think so." Zule said wistfully. "We may still see each other in passing, but not to this extent."

"We all knew this day would have to come eventually." Asho sighed. "We can't hold back anyway. If we don't get picked by a Jedi to become their apprentice, then we may end up joining different parts of the Jedi anyway. Better to do our best and get the best surely?"

"That's a good point." Tarhal agreed. "If we must be split, then we will show them what Nexu can do."

"Here here." Zule said with a grin. "Now come on, let’s go get some breakfast."

***

The room was filled with the various unaffiliated Padawans from the past galactic standard year, each hoping to catch the eyes of various individuals in the course of the tournament. Around the main floor was a large amount of tiered seating, within which the Jedi Knights and Masters would be sitting and watching the show, deciding which Padawan, if any, would be suitable for them. Spike quickly caught sight of a few that he knew, and smiled as he saw both Master Marcus and Master Norik, currently deep in conversation.

High above the assemble Padawans, on a small balcony on the far side of the room, Grand Master Garton Brine stood up, and instantly, the room went silent as everyone present focused on the Jedi, eager to hear what he had to say.

"Gathered Jedi. Friends, Padawans, Masters and Knights." He boomed, his voice echoing out across the room. "Today marks the beginning of another Jedi Temple Apprentice Tournament. Gathered before you are all those who have been deemed worthy of competing today and have completed their trials on Illum. Without further ado, it is my great honour to introduce the clans that will be competing today. Aclay clan!"

As he said this, the other lights in the room dimmed, leaving the members of Aclay clan as the lightest part in the room.

"Rancor clan!"

Another one of the clans was thrust into the spotlight.

"Arcadian clan! Sarlacc clan!"

Brine continued to rattle off the names of the various clans competing, naming four more of them, before finally reaching the final clan.

"And finally, Nexu clan!"

As the light switched to shine on them, Tarhal let out a loud roar, raising his hands into the air and cheering as if he was a gladiator on stage.

"Every name you will need to know is on the datapads you were provided with upon entering." Brine said, addressing the Masters and Knights. "As for you Padawans, this will be your final step on the road to apprenticeship. To win, all you must do is land three hits upon your opponents that could be translated into a killing blow. The arena is surrounded by an energy suppression field, which will reduce the power of your Lightsabers to non-lethal levels. Anything goes within this hall, there is only one rule, the fight continues until one members has one, or every presiding Master or Knight has decreed that the fight is over."

Brine gestured for a few of the overseeing Jedi to move onto the main floor, directing the members of the clans to different parts of the stands, where they were seated to await their turn.

"Each of you will have a minimum of two fights," the Grand Master continued, "after that, your ranking and point ratios will determine where you stand for the final rounds. Now, the first pair. From clan Sarlacc, I give you Padawan Freyt!"

As he said this, a nervous human female arose from her clan’s part of the stands, and made her way down to the centre of the hall, before turning to face Grand Master Brine.

"And her opponent," Brine said, glancing down at his data slate, "Padawan Yoriyl of Aclay clan!"

As the Muun that Spike had seen earlier walked down onto the hall floor, Spike let out a sigh of relief. After watching both of the combatants, Spike was glad he didn't have to face them. At a push he reckoned he could come out as the victor, but he knew that he wouldn't be able to do it without points being allocated against him. Better to get the 'weaker' opponents and get a better place in the finals.

"Begin!" Garton Brine shouted, before sitting down to watch the bout.

***

Time seemed to stretch on for hours as the other Padawans duelled against each other. Both Asho and Zule had been victorious in their rounds, if only just in the formers case, but neither Corinna, Tarhal or Spike had been given the chance to show themselves off.

"An excellent showing." Brine said, standing up and clapping as the recently finished pair bowed and made their way off the arena floor. "Next up, Padawan Quinlay of Arcadia clan."

As he said this, a large Zabraak stood up and quickly made his way down the stairs to the centre of the hall.

"Arcadia!" He bellowed, looking around and raising his lightsabers hilt above his head.

"And his opponent. Padawan Spike of Nexu clan!"

Nodding, Spike stood up and made his way down the steps, standing next to Quinlay and turning to face Master Brine. Recollecting everything that he knew about the Padawan, Spike began to draw up his own plan.

From what he had seen, the Zabrak was strong in comparison to most of the other Padawans, as well as being skilled at fighting numerous opponents at once. Where he faltered however was chaining both his Lightsaber attacks and his force attacks together, meaning he would probably be relying totally on one, rather than a mixture of both. That was where Spike could take the advantage.

"Begin!" Brine shouted, before sitting down to watch the unfolding duel.

Quickly, Spike ignited his Lightsaber, holding it like a normal blade, and watching as Quinlay followed suit, showing off a bright blue blade. Standing back, Spike waited for Quinlay to make the first move. He didn't have to wait long, as Quinlay sprung forward, the smaller Padawan bringing his Lightsaber around in a blow aimed at his lower stomach.

Quickly, Spike moved his own Lightsaber to intercept the blow, before physically pushing Quinlay, using his own momentum to send him stumbling behind Spike. Following up, Spike shoved the faltering Padawan with the force, sending him sprawling on the floor, before jumping after him, and bringing his Lightsaber down on his back.

"Point, Spike. Reset and begin." Brine said for what felt like the millionth time.

Nodding, Spike let Quinlay up, who nodded at Spike slowly, before charging again, this time making sure to go slightly slower. Brining his Lightsaber up, Spike intercepted a downward strike, pushing back and bringing his knee up.

Grunting, Quinlay lost focus as Spike winded him, even with the dragon pulling his blow at the last second. Once again however, Spike managed to take the advantage, and quickly worked his way inside his opponents guard, bringing his Lightsaber across the Jedi's neck.

"Point, Spike. Reset and begin."

Moving backwards, Spike watched as Quinlay slowly began to circle the dragon, and followed suit, watching his opponent. Deciding to take the initiative, Spike transferred his grip to the second handle of his Lightsaber, holding it so the blade jutted out in front of his hand. Darting forward, Spike stabbed at Quinlay's chest, who only just managed to avoid the blow, before changing his grip again, swinging the Lightsaber around so the blade was pointing backwards along his forearm.

As expected, Quinlay had tried to follow up with a slash of his own, but Spike caught the blade on his own, angling his arm so that it was deflected away from him, before thrusting his other hand forward, sending the unfortunate Padawan flying backwards, impacting with the low wall that surrounded the arena. Just as Spike was about to leap forward to deliver the blow with his Lightsaber, he heard Brine stand up, and looked over towards the Jedi.

"Point and round, Spike."

Nodding, Spike bowed deeply to the assembled Jedi, before hurrying over to Quinlay and helping the slightly dazed Zabraak to his feet.

"No hard feelings?" Spike asked anxiously.

For a moment, Quinlay did nothing but silently study Spike.

"No." He said tersely, before turning on his heels and stalking away, returning to his clan, who were all glaring at Spike.

Shaking his head, Spike quickly returned to where Nexu clan were seated and flopped down into the spare seat.

"Nice." Zule said with a smile.

"Yep." Spike nodded, before leaning forward to watch the next round.

***

The day progressed slowly once more, as Spike watched the fights with a critical eye. He wanted to know who could be one of the ones to get into the final contest. They had started on the second round, so those who had already fought were going again, and he had already seen Quinlay fight his second round, managing to scrape a win. Still, Spike was anxious to get out there again. Zule, Corinna and Tarhal had already had their second fight, seeing victory in one capacity or another, but both Asho and Spike had still got theirs to go. As the number of potential opponents fell, Spike was getting more and more concerned about who he would fighting.

"Another excellent showing." Garton said, looking down at his roster once more. "Next up, two members of Nexu clan, Padawans Asho and Spike."

Groaning, Spike looked over at the Twilek as she quickly made her way down to the centre of the room and ignited her own Lightsaber, holding it in a high guard position. Quickly following her lead, Spike ignited his own blade, and at a command from Garton lunged forward, his blade pointing straight at Asho.

Parrying Spikes thrust, Asho spun on her heel, attempting to bring her blade down on Spikes back. Barely managing to avoid it, Spike spun his Lightsaber around to reverse where the blade was pointing and caught her slash, easily holding up her blade. Again and again the Twilek bore down on Spike, using her speed to keep the dragon on the defensive, not allowing him any chance to bring his strength to bear.

Growling, Spike dropped his stance, sliding backwards slightly and overbalancing Asho just a fraction. Quickly, he spun round, bringing his tail whipping towards her legs, and snatching them out from beneath her. Following up, Spike brought his Lightsaber down towards her.

"Point, both. Reset and Begin." Garton said simply, and Spike looked down to see Asho's own blade against his chest.

"Dirty trick." She smiled, getting up and gripping her Lightsaber in both hands.

Not replying, Spike held his own weapon aloft, his entire stance being low to the ground and his left hand steadying him as he prepared for an assault. Asho dived towards the dragon, but this time, Spike was ready, and rolled aside, before focusing on her and shoving her away. Quickly, Spike lunged after her and slashed at her back.

"Point, Spike. Reset and begin."

Shaking her head, Asho got up, before jumping over Spikes head and bearing down in his back. Awkwardly twisting out of the way, Spike deflected another blow from Asho, before reaching up and grabbing her wrist with his free hand.

A look of shock flashed over Asho's face, before Spike twisted it slightly, not enough to do any permanent damage, but enough to make her drop her weapon.

As it clattered to the ground, the blade deactivating as it went, Spike prepared to finish off his now weaponless opponent. Asho had other ideas however, and lashed out, catching Spike in between his legs, before leaping backwards.

Spike grunted in pain as he staggered backwards, before getting up and looking at Asho. The Twilek was standing in a fighting stance, prepared for Spike to come at her, despite having no weapon of her own.

Grinning, Spike lunged forward, swinging his Lightsaber at her neck. Ducking low, Asho avoided the blow, bringing her palm forward into the Dragons stomach. Grunting slightly, Spike attacked again, each time missing his faster opponent by inches.

Growling, Spike lunged forward, feinting to the right, and drawing the next move out of his opponent. Grinning as she did as expected, Spike revealed his own plan, and stuck out his hand, drawing Asho's dropped weapon to him, and slicing upwards, catching the Twilek completely unaware. With nowhere to dodge to, both weapons collided with her, knocking her to the floor.

"Point and round, Spike." Garton said, clapping slowly, before standing up and addressing the Jedi. "My friends, all that remains now is the final. The rankings will be announced in five minutes."

Nodding, Spike deactivated his weapon, along with Asho's, before handing the hilt back to her.

"Now who's using dirty tricks?" She laughed, taking the weapon and reattaching it to her belt.

"Well it was either that or fight with my fists." Spike reasoned.

"Well I'm glad you didn't." Asho smiled, before walking back towards the Nexu clan seating area.

***

"Padawans, Knights, Masters." Garton said, addressing the crowd. "The time has come to watch the final round. After this, you will be allowed to select your Padawan, if any have caught your eye. But until then, allow me to announce the final round. From clan Nexu, Tarhal, the Wookie!"

Whooping with joy, the Wookie quickly made his way down to the arena.

"And his opponent, also from clan Nexu, Spike, the dragon!"

For a moment, Spike froze, unsure of what he had just heard. When he had been watching the other Padawans train, he had made notes on how he could overcome their various strengths by playing against their weaknesses, but Tarhal had been different. He hadn't really looked at Tarhal in any serious way, but he knew that out of everyone taking part in the tournament, Tarhal was the only one who could match him in strength, and was strong enough with his mental barriers to stand up to all but the most powerful of Spikes force attacks. Coupled with the fact that he didn't want to risk using his flames meant that this contest would simply come down to a Lightsaber duel.

Making his way down towards the arena for the third and final time, Spike took up his position and looked towards Garton for instructions. He did not have to wait long.

"The final contest shall be different from all others. There shall be no draws, and shall only end when one of the pair falls. Only one kill point is needed to secure victory. Now, begin!"

Growling, Spike ignited his Lightsaber, holding it in a normal grip for now, while Tarhal ignited his own, holding the haft in both hands. As the pair began to circle each other, Spike began to form a rough plan in his mind.

He knew that Tarhal couldn't stab with his weapon, which was certainly a weakness, but he also knew that he would be able to deliver brutal swipes, as well as having the strength to defend against Spikes attacks. Also...

Spike never got any further with his planning, as Tarhal lunged forward, slashing towards Spike and attempting to bisect him. Jumping backwards, Spike avoided the worst of the blow, while blocking with his Lightsaber to protect himself from anything else.

As the two blades clashed, tremors travelled up Spikes arm, threatening to shake his weapon from his claw. Diving backwards, Spike rolled across the floor, getting back up and rising to his feet quickly as Tarhal ran at him again.

Thrusting his claw forward, Spike shot a burst of telekinesis at the charging Wookie, forming a ball of air that impacted on his chest. Predictably, Tarhal was not stopped completely by this attack, but it did slow him down just enough for Spike to roll to the side and get back into a stable stance.

Bringing his weapon up, Spike switched his grip to the second handle, holding the blade along his arm and charging at Tarhal. The Wookie turned around just in time to raise his own weapon, before Spike was on him.

Moving the handle in his hand, Spike sent the blade arcing around, almost catching Tarhal completely off guard. At the same time, Spike twisted his waist as well as flexing his wrist, sending the blade through the air faster than most people would be able to see.

It was only by blind luck that Tarhal caught the blade, but was still knocked back by the ferocity of the blow. Still reeling from the attack, Spike brought his Lightsaber around, spinning past Tarhal, and brining his weapon down again. The pair clashed once more, locking their blades together.

Both Padawans growled as they each tried to overpower each other. Spike pushed down harder, while Tarhal grunted with the strain of keeping the weapon up. Realising that if this kept up, he would be the one at the disadvantage, Spike decided to try something that would end the duel, one way or another. Whether that would be a victory for him or for Tarhal, Spike didn't know.

Releasing his grip on his Lightsaber, Spike allowed it to fall from his grasp, grabbing hold of the end of Tarhal’s weapon with his now free weapon hand, keeping it from completely decapitating him, but still scraping across his head, scoring a non-fatal wound. Even as he felt the blade slide off his face, Spike grabbed the free-falling weapon with his other hand, activating it again, and slicing it across the Wookie's stomach.

"The round is over." Garton said, standing up and clapping slowly. "Gathered Jedi, I give you the victor of this year’s Apprentice Tournament, Spike the dragon of clan Nexu!"

Panting hard, Spike looked up at the Grand Master, taking his eyes off Tarhal for a second. Suddenly, he found himself on the floor, as a balled fist impacted with his face.

"Sorry!" He shouted, bending down and looking at Spike. "I was moving before the round ended!"

"It’s fine." Spike groaned, trying to get to his hand and knees, but slipping as his head spun.

"Come on, I'll help you up." Tarhal growled, trying to portray sorrow, but finding it difficult due to the complexities of Shyriiwook.

Nodding in gratitude, Spike wrapped his arm around Tarhal's neck, as the pair made their way back towards the seats to await the announcements of who had been chosen as an Apprentice for a master or a Knight.

***

The minutes ticked by as every one of the Padawans waited with bated breath, eager to find out what their role in the Jedi would be from this day forward. Every one of them wanted to be taken as an Apprentice, they didn't even want to think about what happened if you weren't. Apparently the alternative was mind numbingly boring.

After what felt like forever, Garton stood back up, cutting through the din and causing a silence to fall over the room.

"Padawans! Today you have shown us who you truly are. We have compiled the final list of what your role within the order shall be after today. Now, please, make your way to the center of the hall."

Quickly, the Padawans moved back to the arena floor, jostling to get a better position. Moving to the side, Spike leaned against the wall, still trying to get the ringing out of his head.

"When I call your name and position, please make your way out of the hall. You will be met by the respective members of the order. You are to receive further instruction from them."

Reaching down, Garton grabbed a datapad, and began to read off it.

"Padawan Quinlay, Arcadia clan." He called, and the Zabraak from before walked forward. “Master Ionra has chosen you as his apprentice."

Nodding, Quinlay walked out of the room, as Garton began to speak again.

"Padawan Yoriyl, Aclay clan. You are to be a member of the Jedi auxiliary corps."

Spike could visually see the disappointment in the Jedi's eye as he made his way out of the hall.

"Padawan Freyt, Sarlacc clan. Jedi Knight Cornelius has asked for you."

***

The announcements dragged on, and Spike watched as first Zule was chosen by Master Marcus, then Corinna, and finally Asho, although she was chosen by a Knight. Soon, it was just Tarhal and Spike left on the arena floor once more.

"Padawan Tarhal, Nexu clan. Master Norik has decided to train you further as his apprentice."

The Wookie looked up at the bionically enhanced Jedi, before moving over to the door to meet his new Master.

"Finally, Padawan Spike, also of Nexu clan. Master Solaris has won the right to take you as her personal apprentice."

Nodding, Spike quickly hurried out of the room, eager, as well as slightly apprehensive, to meet his new master.

"Padawan." A voice called out, and Spike turned to see a tall female human walking towards him, her long flowing robes billowing out behind her as if they were caught in their own wind.

"Master." Spike said, bowing deeply.

"You know who I am then?" The woman asked.

"Master Solaris I presume." Spike replied.

"I am. And you are Padawan Spike, formerly of initiate clan Nexu. The pair of us will get to know each other very well."

As she said that, she stuck out her hand, and Spike grasped it, making sure not to cut her with his semi-sharp claws.

"I hope that you live up to the expectations that you set in the tournament." She said, shaking his hand.

"I will, Master." Spike nodded happily.

The Final Frontier

Spike followed Solaris through the halls of the Jedi temple, staying a step behind her as she led him to wherever they were going. Eventually, she stopped and turned around to face him.

"You can walk beside me you know." She said with a smile. "You're going to be my apprentice for a long time, you and I might as well start as we mean to go on."

"Yes Master." Spike said with a slightly embarrassed smile, taking a stride forward and catching up with Solaris.

As he moved up beside her, he realised that even though he was clearly a lot younger than her, he was only slightly shorter than her, something that surprised him. He had been confused about his sudden growth spurt since he had been taken from Equestria, and had tried on many occasions to wrack his brain as to why he would grow more here than he did back there. While he couldn't remember anything concrete, and couldn't research anything about his species for obvious reasons, he had remembered one possible explanation for his growth.

When he had gone on the dragon migration to try and find where he belonged, he had been his usual short self, yet even though he had only been with other dragons, and more importantly, taller creatures, for a day, when he had returned he had found that he had grown nearly two inches. This had baffled both him and Twilight, but eventually the purple unicorn had come up with a plausible explanation for what had happened.

Dragons, or so she said, had certain innate magics that they could tap in to. Most of the time, this was the ability to breathe dragon fire, which was the reason it was hotter than normal flames and could send messages, if enchanted properly. They did however, have certain passive abilities, in the same way earth ponies and pegasus did. Twilight had summarised that one of these passive abilities helped the dragon fit in with their companions, and who they found themselves spending most of time with. This materialised in the fact that to fit in with the ponies of Equestria, most of whom were four foot or smaller, and didn't often see huge Dragon, Spike didn't grow much, giving off the aura of being simply a baby, despite being nearly a teenager. Now however, Spike was with species that easily exceeded four foot, some even stretching towards eight or nine feet. Coupled with the fact that they wouldn't be completely freaked out by seeing a larger, more mature looking dragon, and Spike had theorised that the passive magic was finally allowing him to grow.

Spike had been proud when he had finally come up with this explanation, even more so when he had presented it to Master Norik as part of his training about researching pressing issues. Norik had agreed with most of his findings, and while he couldn't say for certain if they were right or wrong, he did agree that it was the most plausible excuse.

Now that he was walking beside Solaris, Spike finally got a better look at his new master. She was young for a master, being younger than a lot of knights that he had seen during the tournament. Her long brown hair flowed down her back, tapering out just before it reached her waist, while the few braids rested on her shoulders.

Other than the robe that Spike had instantly seen, Solaris was wearing a form fitting outfit, the trousers and top being separated by a thick leather belt. Her Lightsaber hung from the belt, and Spike instantly saw that it was a 'standard' design. What was interesting was the strand of hair that was attached to the pommel, which Spike quickly identified as a Padawan braid. How it kept looking like new was a mystery to Spike.

The pair of them quickly reached a small room, moving inside and closing the door. The room was dark, blinds half covering the windows, with controls to adjust the amount of light they let in. Other than that the room was barren, apart from two small round stools, being little more than large cushions surrounded by a ring of metal. Spike quickly recognised them as meditation chairs, and after watching his new Master walk over to one, he moved to the other one and got on, crossing his legs and looking across at Solaris.

"Before I begin your training, I am going to bring you in line with my own knowledge. First, please show me your Lightsaber." She instructed.

Nodding, Spike removed the hilt from his belt, and held it out towards Solaris.

"It is an interesting design." She nodded, taking the hilt from him and looking surprised by the sudden weight of it. "Heavy isn't it? What have you made it out of?"

"Huyang said that the hilt was a mixture of Songsteel and Neuranium." Spike said, thinking back to the droids words.

"Neuranium? No wonder it's heavy. But as a positive it should be able to withstand all but the most crushing blows dealt to its casing." She said, before handing the weapon back. "Now, disassemble your weapon, and remove the crystal."

Nodding, Spike reached for the weapon, before levitating it in front of his eyes. Slowly, the casing unscrewed itself, revealing the crystal matrix, and within that, the glowing purple crystal, which Spike removed and showed to his Master.

"Good. Not what I expected from my first Padawan at all." She said, more to herself than to Spike.

"What's not what you expected?" Spike asked, confused by her words.

"You are unique, your Lightsaber design is unique, and your crystal is even more unique than usual. I expected that the force would guide me towards someone more.."

"Ordinary?" Spike offered.

"Standard." She replied, before focusing back on the crystal. "Now, I want you to reassemble your Lightsaber, slowly, if you will. I am going to recite the crystal code, and I would like you to repeat it after me, do you understand?"

"I do Solaris." Spike nodded.

"The Crystal is the heart of the blade."

"The Crystal is the heart of the blade." Spike said, positioning the crustal above the hilt.

"The heart is the crystal of the Jedi."

"The heart is the crystal of the Jedi." He intoned, slowly slipping the crystal back into its housing within the lighstabers hilt.

"The Jedi is the crystal of the Force."

"The Jedi is the crystal of the Force." As he continued, the crystal seemed to begin pulsing slightly more than before.

"The Force is the blade of the heart."

"The Force is the blade of the heart." Spike began to move the outer casing back into position.

"All are intertwined."

"All are intertwined." The outer casing slowly began to slide back on to the rest of the hilt, coming to a halt with a tiny 'click,

"The crystal, the blade, the Jedi."

"The crystal, the blade, the Jedi." Spike said breathlessly, taking hold of his weapon by the perpendicular handle.

"We are one."

"We are one." Spike intoned, and ignited his blade.

Instantly, Spike felt the slight difference in the blade and the crystal within. It seemed as if it was even more attuned with his own force now, and Spike briefly wondered why they didn't teach this as standard practice.

"What you have just done will have either done nothing, as it does with most," Solaris began, "or it will have increased the connection you, your Lightsaber and your crystal share. Tell me, which is it?"

"The second one." Spike said simply.

"I knew that my Master was right when he taught me this." Solaris smiled.

"Who was your Master?" Spike asked in interest, deactivating his Lightsaber placing it back in his belt.

"The now Grand Master Garton Brine." She smiled. "Of course, he was just a knight when he took me as his Padawan."

"You were trained by the Grand Master?" Spike asked in amazement.

"I was." Solaris nodded. "But enough about the past, now we must look towards the future, and how mine and yours are now intertwined."

"As you wish." Spike said, crossing his legs.

"Your duels, specifically against the members of your old clan, they were impressive." Solaris began, slowly beginning to pace around the room.

"You flatter me." Spike smiled.

"I return in kind." Solaris replied simply, before continuing on. "Both times you displayed the ability to clearly think even in the midst of combat. More than that, you seemed to be able to incorporate rough force techniques into your blade work. With a little honing, I believe you could become proficient in the sixth form of combat, in the same way my master taught me."

"Form six." Spike said, thinking slightly. "Niman, also known as the moderation form, the diplomat form or the way of the Rancor."

“Well done.” Solaris nodded. “Yes, Niman is at heart moderate. It combines aspects of all the forms that came before it, taking their strengths, but not being saddled with any of their weaknesses.”

“Then why does everyone not use Niman if it’s so much stronger than the other forms?” Spike asked.

“No, like I said, it is a moderation form.” Solaris said. “The form has no true disadvantages, but at the same time has no real advantages. It can be used for duelling, but against a form II specialist they will lose ninety percent of the time. It can be useful against blaster opponents, but a practitioner of form III will always do better.”

“So, Jack of all trades, master of none?” Spike asked, nodding as he took in his master’s instruction.

“Precisely. But to compensate for this moderation, this form specialises in incorporating force techniques into the blade work.” She said.

“Do you use this form?” Spike asked.

“Among a few.” She nodded. “It was not the first form I was taught, Garton believed that Shien was the ultimate expression of the Jedi, but I disagree, and learnt Niman when I passed my trials of Knighthood. It has allowed me to focus more on what the Jedi should strive towards, diplomacy and meditating upon the force.”

“What happens if diplomacy doesn’t work?” Spike asked.

“That is why it still has blade work. Now, before I start your training, I have a question for you.”

“What?” Spike asked.

“Do you know what a Stinger is?” She said with a smile.

***

“What is that?” Spike asked, looking at the thing in front of him as Solaris walked over to it, rubbing her hand against the sleek surface of the machine in a manner that was bordering on reverence.

Solaris has led Spike down the corridors of the temple, finally emerging into the hanger bay where the Jedi kept the small amount of ships that were always on standby at the capital. He had only been here a few times before, but never before had he been to the section Solaris showed him. It was much more expansive, with a vast amount of smaller partitions. Inside each smaller bay was a small, single seated craft, some sleek and modern looking, while others were blocky and looked as if they wouldn’t be able to fly. Moving around the hanger were a few droids, periodically checking some of the ships, doing general repairs and maintenance.

Only one ship seemed to interest Solaris however, and she quickly strode over to one, shooing the droids away that were checking it over. The ship was tiny, and Spike could only make out a single seat through the proportionately large cockpit viewport. Extending down from the main body were two wings, ending in massive engines, each with a vertical vain attached to them, ending abruptly in a stubby laser cannon. The craft was finished with a bright red paint job, with a single black line down the middle, in what he had gathered was colloquially called a ‘go-faster stripe’.

Looking around, Spike caught sight of four more ships that looked nearly identical to this one, but with subtle differences. Firstly, their engines were smaller, while underneath they had a large tube device, as opposed to a slim laser cannon, and finally, the biggest difference between the ships, they were all a dark yellow, with no other defining marks.

“This is an S-100 Stinger-class Starfighter. Manufactured by Corellian Engineering Corporation, it is normally equipped with a 2.0 class hyperdrive and a mark seven delta sub-light drive, as well as a minimal ray shield array. It has laser cannons and a single proton torpedo launcher.” She said without looking around.

“You said usually.” Spike noted.

“I did.” She smiled, looking around at Spike with a smile. “This is not a standard, run-of-the-mill S-100, it’s mine. The hyperdrive has been replaced with the older 1.8 model, increasing the jump distance while reducing the time, at the cost of storage space. The torpedo launcher has been stripped out, allowing the shield array to be boosted in power, giving it nearly three times the strength of the norm, and giving me space to mount a third laser cannon, and the added bonus of cutting the weight down. She’s faster than a normal model, she’s lighter, she’s more protected, but most of all, she’s my baby.”

“She?” Spike asked.

“The Cyclone.” She smiled, before stepping back and looking at her ship.

“It’s nice master.” Spike said, nodding, before looking at the female Jedi. “But I’m sure you didn’t bring me down here to discuss your starfighter.”

“Right again Spike.” She smiled. “No, you see that ship there?” She asked pointing to another, normal S-100 in the bay next to hers, currently being worked on by droids.

“Yeah.” Spike said slowly, ideas forming about what was coming next. Looking back around at his master, he was just in time to see her throw a bundle of fabric at him. Looking at the bundle, he realised it was a one piece jumpsuit of some kind.

“Suit up Spike, we’re going flying.” She grinned maniacally.

***

Spike grunted as his master giggled over the headset, her craft swooping past his cockpit as she secured another ‘hit’ on his craft.

Solaris it seemed was a very ‘feet-first’ teacher, preferring to throw those she taught into a situation without much briefing to see how well they could cope under pressure. Spike didn’t know how effective this method would actually turn out to be, but he was interested to see what happened.

After she had helped him to suit up, careful to not cut the reinforced suit open on Spikes back spines, she had helped him into the cockpit and given him a crash-course on basic flying techniques. Spike had really wished she hadn’t used the word crash. The last thing she had done before she had done before she jumped in her own ship was to strap a full face helmet onto his head, sealing it to the suit and creating a second atmosphere inside the suit system, completely separate from the inside of the ship and the atmosphere outside of it. Spike hated it.

As soon as they had reached high orbit, and Solaris had secured permission from the fleet to conduct war games nearby, she had instantly begun the training that she had alluded to. She would attack Spike using light only spectrum lasers, and he would try to see how long he could survive for. So far he was up to fifty three seconds.

“Are you even trying Spike?” Solaris’s voice crackled over the communicator in his helmet.

“It’s this damn helmet.” Spike complained, shaking his head slightly. “Plus the fact you’re more experienced, have a better craft and the advantage of being on the offensive.”

“But you’re learning. You’re up five point two seconds according to my computer readout. You should get used to the helmet though, especially as a newbie flyer. Your cockpit decompresses and you don’t have that on, and you would have precisely nada seconds to live.”

“I believe you master.” Spike said, before pulling on the stick in front of him and flipping his ship around, darting away from the shrinking from of the Cyclone.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Solaris asked with a chuckle, and Spike saw the blip on his ships scanners heading towards him, and cursed, thinking he may have had a few more seconds before she realised he was heading the other direction.

Backing his craft, Spike tried to avoid what he knew was coming, and watched as a single laser streaked past his cockpit. Unfortunately, Solaris had three cannons.

“Two hit. Life support and portside engine. Dead in your cockpit and dead in space.” Solaris laughed.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you master?” Spike asked in a disgruntled tone.

“Flyin’s what I do boy.” She laughed. “You’ll get used to it I’m sure.”

“I doubt that.”

An Unsavoury Empire

Spike rolled over, yawning as he rubbed his eyes as the light from a nearby star streamed in from the viewport. Rolling out of the bunk he had been assigned, Spike looked towards the other bunk that Solaris had occupied the night before. Unsurprisingly, his master was not in her bed. She always woke up early.

Spike quickly made his way out of room, nodding to a technician as he passed him in the corridor. He’d lost count of the days since the tournament on Coruscant, and the last time he’d been on a planet for that matter. Solaris was, odd, to say the least, and not at all what Spike thought a Jedi master would be like. He hadn’t had many preconceptions before he had become an apprentice, but he could categorically say that whatever he imagined, it wasn’t her.

She loved space, everything from flying around in the Cyclone, or just being on some sort of ship or space station. If she had her way, Spike was sure she wouldn’t set foot on a planet. She even had a permanent place of residence aboard Fireshot Station, a Republic deep space military installation. Parsecs away from any habitable planet, the station was a perfect zone for free fire testing and training.

Since he had come aboard, Solaris had been drilling him relentlessly, making his training at the temple seem like a walk in the park. If she wasn’t training his skills in starship piloting, something Spike was slow to grasp at, she was teaching him more about Niman, the force, or basic maintenance and upgrades on ships. Spike was pleased with his progress in truth, even if he was progressing slowly in Niman, and Solaris was pleased, but Spike didn’t think he had impressed her as much as it could. Personally, Spike thought it was because of his lack of enthusiasm towards fighters. He wouldn’t go as far as saying he hated them, and he liked space as a place, but being in a fighter just felt…wrong.

Finally reaching the control room, Spike keyed in the pass-code, before walking inside, snapping a salute off to the commanding officer, before walking over to the massive transparisteel window overlooking the dry-dock facilities of the station and standing next to Solaris.

“Master.” He said, announcing his presence. “Any interesting arrivals today?”

“Nothing of note. A few Praetorians and a battleship testing out a new turbolaser configuration.” She said, before looking around at Spike. “Sleep well?”

“No better no worse.” Spike smiled.

“Good, that’s good.” She mused. “The council has a message for us, I told them that you would be awake in five demi-cycles. That was four demi-cycles ago. They’ll be back with us in a moment.”

“Lead on then.” Spike said, following his master out of the room, and towards the communication room.

Moving into the circular room, Spike waited as Solaris punched in the transmitter key, before standing back and waiting. Soon, the surface of the table was disturbed as a translucent wave travelled across it, before collating into an image of the council chamber on Coruscant.

“Master Solaris. Padawan Spike.” The small image of Garton Brine spoke.

“High council.” Spike said, bowing deeply, before getting back up and listening intently to what they had to say.

“To business. What, if anything, do either of you know of Lady Herank Kalia?” Brine asked.

“She was the head of a slaver ring on Coruscant, shipping those too poor to have any options away to spice mines and dancing bars in the outer rim.” Spike said quickly, thinking back to his history lessons.

“That is correct.” Garton nodded.

“I thought we shut that ring down and caught her.” Solaris asked.

“We shut the operation down, yes.” Garton agreed, “And yes, we did apprehend Lady Kalia, and were transporting her to a Republic penitentiary facility on Jax.”

“Let me guess, the ship never arrived?” Solaris asked.

“Oh no, it got there all right. It wasn’t alone though. It seems Ms Kalia is part of something much bigger. A larger syndicate that could stretch across over half of the galaxy if survivor’s are to be believed about which crime families were there.”

“Survivors from what?” Spike asked.

“Jax is gone. The facility was the only thing on the planet, it’s uninhabitable other than the shielded facility, that’s what made it such an ideal location. Now that’s gone, it’s just another lifeless rock floating around in space. The inmates and Republic staff are either dead or missing, presumed to be slaves. The few that were left, who were obviously missed by the slavers, told us that it was over before it began. This is a highly organised, well equipped and smart syndicate, and we need to stop this before they hit another planet. The Republic is mounting a full investigation, and as keepers of the peace, we have been tasked in finding another solution.”

“Do we know where they are?” Solaris asked.

“No. If we did, then the Republic would have already moved in themselves. The pair of you are to go to Jax, investigate the ruins, find out anything you can, and either investigate further or report back to the council. We already have a team on route, but we feel it would be better for all parties to have backup.” Garton said.

“We’ll leave immediately.” Solaris said, before bowing deeply.

“May the force be with you.” Garton said, before the holocommunicator went dark once more.

“Get breakfast, meet me in the hanger bay in thirty.” Solaris said, before turning and leaving the room.

Solaris usually left Spike to his own devices during meal times, only having shared a few meals with him in the past few standard weeks, usually just slinking off to the hanger bay. When she ate was a mystery to Spike, but it didn’t overly bother him.

Quickly reaching the mess hall, Spike walked up to the counter and nodded to the chef behind it, before grabbing a plate of the vegetarian slop mixture. It was good, but something about the texture just didn’t sit right with him. Then again, given the choice between that and meat, and in the absence of gems, he guessed he was going to have to live with it. He couldn’t envision himself eating meat anytime soon, so for now, he was going to have to live with the substandard vegetarian options.

Walking over to an empty table, Spike began to shovel the food into his mouth, when a shadow fell over his table. Looking up, Spike saw the familiar face of trooper Loas, flanked by another couple of pilots.

Loas was a pilot in the navy, flying S-100’s and XC-01’s both on missions and testing out experimental ideas. Young and brash, he was a career pilot, having already served with the navy for six years, and apparently getting ready to take his officers exam in another year.

In the time Spike had been on the station, Loas had flown over half of the training missions with Spike, allowing him to get extra practice in areas that Solaris on her own couldn’t manage. He was loud, vulgar, and bragged constantly about his accomplishments, most of which were actually true from what Spike had gathered. Never the less, Spike had hit it off with him almost instantly.

“So, you and your master joining us on exercise today?” Loas asked, sitting down with his own tray.

“Not today I’m afraid.” Spike said in between mouthfuls.

“Ah, come on. We got some new Saber pilots to run through their paces, could be good practice.” He smiled, taking a bite of whatever type of reconstituted meat he had got from the cafeteria today.

“Sounds like fun, but we got a mission. You know Jax?” Spike asked absently.

“The prison complex? What about it?” One of the other pilots asked.

“It’s gone. Slavers hit it, there’s nothing left. The Jedi and the Republic are going to get to the bottom of this, which means I’ve got to go.” Spike said, finishing up his plate.

“Shit, you mean the whole things gone?” Loas asked.

“Yeah, lot of lives were probably lost.” Spike said solemnly, before getting up and grabbing his plate. “You be here when I get back, you hear me?”

“Find the fucks who did this and rip their head off.” Loas growled.

“That’s not the Jedi way.” Spike said with a smile, before turning, and after dumping his tray, walked out of the cafeteria.

“Hey Spike, wait up!” Loas called, and Spike turned to see the pilot running after him. “I’ll come down with you.”

“Well just to the flight deck. I doubt you’d just be allowed to come with us on a mission.” Spike smiled.

“You're kidding, they wouldn’t fire me.” He laughed.

“Yeah yeah, you’re too good to be fire, I’ve heard your stories.” Spike deadpanned, before grinning at the pilot’s optimism.

“You weren’t at Selro Spike, if you were then you’d know they could fire the survivor’s.” He grinned.

“If you say so.” Spike said, before stopping at a door. “Well, here’s the hanger. I’ll see you when I get back, don’t crash while I’m gone.”

“Good luck Spike, you’ll need it.” Loas laughed, clapping Spike on the back, before turning and walking away, leaving Spike to enter the hanger.

Walking over to the far side, Spike stood next to Solaris, who was doing some last minute checks on the Cyclone. Receiving a nod from his master, Spike walked over towards his own Fighter. Compared to Solaris’s, it was hardly modified at all, and even the modifications that he had put on were simply cosmetic. He had wanted to name it, but Solaris had told him that until it had seen battle, it didn’t get a name.

So far, Spike hadn’t made any actual differences to the ship, but it was easily identifiable from the others. The standard yellow colouration had been changed to match his scales, now being a deep purple. Taking after his master, Spike had painted a stripe down the middle of the saber as well, this one being a bright green stripe that matched his eyes and his back spines.

Giving the ship a final onceover, Spike walked back over to where Solaris was waiting. His master was also wearing a full flight suit, although Spike knew that this was just for the end of the journey, and was not what she liked either.

“Are you prepared Spike?” Solaris asked.

“As soon as I get my suit and helmet on, yes.” Spike nodded.

“Good. Suit up then. We leave on your go Spike.” Solaris smiled, before turning and getting into her cockpit, pulling the cover closed with a slight hiss.

Nodding, Spike walked over to the wall behind his ship, and grabbed hold of his flight suit. Pulling it on, Spike smiled as his back spines slipped through the suit. He had asked for it to be changed, and the Republic had obliged, placing holes along the back of the suit just for him. They sealed tight once it was on, creating an airtight seal around them, and keeping the suits environmental integrity. Slipping the helmet on which had undergone similar modifications, Spike sighed with content. Now his spines were no longer being crushed down, the outfit was much more comfortable for him to wear. He still didn’t like it, but it was better than before.

Clipping the air hose from his backpack to his helmet, Spike climbed into his cockpit, flipping a switch to close it behind him. Looking over to Solaris, Spike gave her a thumbs up, before thumbing the ignition.

Instantly, the engines roared to life, and Spike heard the Cyclone do the same, quickly raising off the deck. Following behind his master, Spike shot out into space, quickly accelerating and forming up on his master.

“Comm check, go for sound.” Solaris said over the radio.

“Green checks, five by five.” Spike said, looking over his crafts readouts and his helmets head up display.

“Good. Punch in hyperspace coordinates and wait my mark.” She ordered.

“Standing by.” Spike said, pressing a few key on his ships control panel.

“And….mark.” Solaris said.

Pushing the control stick forward, Spike felt the familiar feeling of accelerating past normal sublight speeds. This was only the third time he had jumped to Hyperspace in his fighter, but he knew the principles of controlling it.

With a slight queasiness in his stomach, Spike watched as the stars around him seemed to stretch out, before he rocketed forward.

***

Spike eased the controls back on his ship, and felt the sudden deceleration, the straps digging into his chest.

“Spike. You copy?” Came the voice of Solaris.

“Aye. All systems nominal, ready on your go.” He replied.

Glancing up, Spike took in the planet of Jax in front of him. Compared to a planet like Coruscant, it was tiny, barely half the size of the capital world. Unlike the capital however, this planet was not covered in a single city. Instead, the entire planet was black or red, the lava streams flowing across its surface. The only part of the planet that seemed like it wasn’t natural was the small grey splodge near the northern pole. It too was covered in bits of fire, but this fire was also not natural.

“There. Grid seventy two by fifty six. Is that it master?” Spike asked.

“I believe so. Keep your suit tight and an eye on your air gauge.” Solaris ordered, before she sped up, leaving Spike in her cosmic dust.

Sighing, Spike accelerated behind his master, quickly reaching the upper part of the planet’s atmosphere. As he descended through the denser air, Spike could feel the winds gusting against his craft, and had to fight to keep himself from veering off course.

“Spike? How are you holding up?” Solaris’s voice crackled over the radio.

“Fine. My instruments indicate winds of one hundred and twelve miles per hour, please confirm.” Spike asked, glancing down. “Sorry, one hundred and thirteen miles per hour.”

“Confirmed. Close your flaps and increase speed. We’ll get under it and land as quickly as possible. I don’t like this wea...” Solaris ordered, but before she could finish, the radio suddenly cut out.

“Master? Master?!” Spike shouted, flipping a switch on his control panel. When he got no reply, he switched through the other frequencies on his communicator, but received nothing but static. “Damn it!” he shouted.

Looking around him, Spike tried to see through the black clouds of smoke, trying to find his master, but finding nothing. Cursing again, Spike glanced down at his instruments. His entire view of the outside was obscured, so he was going to have to do this completely by instruments. Just his luck.

Spike descended through the cloud layer, keeping an eye on his altimeter, and his other eye on his way point. He was only five hundred meters away from it now, and reduced his speed accordingly. Nervous that he still couldn’t see the ground, he brought his ship in closer to the ground, making sure to keep his eye on his altitude.

One hundred meters

Fifty meters

Ten

Spike felt his entire craft shake as he touched down, and quickly shoved his engines into reverse, slowing to a stop quickly. Flicking another switch, Spike opened his cockpit, before getting out and jumping to the ground, peering through the haze. The smoke was thinner here, and Spike could see again, but he still couldn’t catch sight of the Cyclone.

“Master!” He bellowed, his helmet speakers amplifying his shout.

“qzzzcchhhh Spi..ke chhzz” His helmet crackled.

“Master?” Spike asked, adjusting his frequency.

“Not…quite.” The voice came again, clearly not Solaris, but not being clear enough to tell who it was.

“Say again over.” Spike said.

“Look behind you.” The helmet said, now clear, and the voice being very familiar.

“Norik!” Spike yelled, turning around and seeing a figure wearing a full hazmat suit, the helmet showing off his lower bionic jaw.

“It’s good to see you as well, Padawan.” Norik said, his voice taking on the tone that Spike had associated with his version of a smile.

“Wait, if you’re here, does that mean Tarhal’s here as well?” Spike asked excitedly.

“He is on the planet, but he stayed with the ship. He doesn’t like hazmat suits.” Norik replied.

“You have one ship between you?” Spike asked.

“Yes. One Crescent X-9. It’s landed just outside the ruins of the complex. Now, where is Solaris?” Norik asked.

“We got separated during the decent, and I can’t raise her on the communicator.” Spike said.

“Let me try.” Norik said, raising his arm towards his mouth. “Solaris? Solaris come in, over.”

“qzzzch Norik?” A garbled reply came.

“Affirmative. I have Spike, and the pair of us are heading to my ship. We have landed just outside the prison complex on the westward landing pad. We will await you there.” Norik replied.

“I…hear you.” The radio blurted, before going dead again

“Come Spike. My ship awaits.” Norik said, before walking off into the haze.

Taking the time to ensure his ship was locked, Spike followed Norik.

***

Spike and Norik stood together in the airlock of the ship as it slowly cycled the air to be breathable again. Taking lead from Norik, Spike removed his helmet, unscrewing the air hose and taking a proper breath. Shaking his head and smiling, Spike followed Norik inside the ship.

Instantly, he was tackled to the floor by a large mass of brown fur.

“Spike!” Tarhal roared, clearly happy to see his friend again.

“Tarhal.” Spike growled back, smiling at the Wookie.

“What are you doing here?” Tarhal asked, releasing Spike.

“We got the mission from the council to help in the investigation of Jax. No idea you were part of that.”

“We were nearby when the first distress call came in.” Norik cut in. “By the time we got here the battle was over. We called for a medevac and went down to check it out.”

“Master Norik? Come in, over.” Came the voice of Solaris, now much clearer.

“Affirmative Solaris, come on in.” Norik said, before turning to Tarhal. “Tarhal, the airlock if you please.”

“Master.” Tarhal bowed, before walking over to the airlock controls and pressing a few buttons. A few seconds later, a hiss was heard around the ship, and the airlock slid open, admitting Solaris into the ship.

“Spike. It is nice to see you found your way here.” Solaris nodded, removing her helmet and shaking her head to let her hair fall again.

“Master. Sorry about losing you.” Spike said, bowing, before walking over to stand beside her.

“It is not your fault Spike. Conditions are not good for flying as it is.” She said, before turning to Norik. “What have you learnt so far?”

“The ship loyal to Lady Herank Kalia were meticulous in their attack, not much left, and any wrecks were towed away.” Norik said slowly.

“So. Any ideas?” Spike asked.

“A few. Tarhal found something on the scanners that isn’t in the schematics, and we think it could be a wreck they missed.” Norik replied, bringing up a small holo projection and pointing out a blip. “It’s in the middle of a collapsed prison block.”

“Well then, we need to get to it. If its black box is still intact then we can find out where it came from.” Spike said with a smile.

“Precisely. Spike still has his brains, eh Solaris.” Norik said, looking at the female.

“That he does Norik, that he does.” Solaris smiled. “Come on then, suit up, we’re going back out.”

“Tarhal, keep the ship ready, and the scanners up.” Norik ordered, before slipping his helmet on.

Nodding, the wookie walked over to the controls, as the three stood inside the airlock as the door slid down.

“Stay safe Tarhal.” Spike said over the communicator, before heading back out to the inhospitable surface of the planet.

Turning around, Spike followed Norik and Solaris as they made their way towards the blasted ruin of what had once been a high prison wall. Spike saw that the blast door was still locked securely, but the rest of the wall was not as secure, a massive hole being blasted straight through it just to the left of the metal door.

Picking their way over the rubble, Spike gasped as he saw the bodies of hundreds of republic guards, their weapons lying uselessly by them. Quickly running over to one, Spike placed his gloved hand over one of the corpses, trying to sense for any damage to him, and to find out what killed him.

“He’s got no wounds.” Spike said over the radio, looking at the two masters.

“They didn’t need to shoot him.” Solaris said simply. “They just took out the shield and let the planet do the rest. Innocent, guilty. Criminal, guard. This planet makes no distinction.”

“Come on. We need to find that ship.” Norik said, pointing to what was once a square building, but now had a large amount of rubble covering a hole that had collapsed one of the corners.

Carefully picking his way through the dead bodies, Spike was, for the first time, thankful that he was wearing a helmet. Just looking at the dead made him uneasy, and he was not sure he would be able to keep down his breakfast if he could spell this many as well.

Reaching the building, Spike began to make his way up the rubble. Being the smallest member of the group, he took the lead to find a safe path up the rocks. Quickly reaching the top, Spike looked in at the dark interior of the ruin.

“It’s a ship all right.” Spike called back, looking back at the others. “Not one of ours either.”

“Good. Just…” Norik said, before slipping over, sliding back down to the bottom of the slope.

“Spike. Go and see if you can find the black box. The rubble is too unstable for Norik and I.” Solaris said over the communicator, before clambering back down to stand by Norik.

Nodding, Spike began to make his way down the inside of the building, Sliding down and steadying himself on the rear of the ship’s hull. It was a systems monitor by the look of it, or possibly a Skiff of some sort. Defiantly nothing that should have been in this area, meaning Tarhal had been right about it being one of Lady Kalia’s ships.

“I’ve found a hull breech.” Spike said, informing the others of his progress. “Heading inside now. Let’s hope that the black box is intact.”

Clambering inside the Ship, Spike was pleased that there was only a single body inside, strapped into the pilot’s chair with a metal strut sticking through it. Spike guessed that when the hull was breeched, the other crew had been sucked into space.

“The cockpit seems mostly intact, bar the damage that killed the pilot. I think we may just be in luck.” He smiled to himself.

“Good, get it and leave. Wrecks are dangerous places.” Solaris said over the comm.

“Will do.” He replied.

Moving forward, Spike pushed the corpse over and away from the control panel, before he bent down and began unscrewing the control panel. Placing the metal plate to one side, Spike reached inside, grabbing hold of a small red rectangular box and pulling it out.

“The black box is red, makes perfect sense.” Spike muttered, before scrambling out of the wreck and back towards Solaris and Norik, before the trio returned to the ship.

***

As soon as Tarhal had cycled the airlock, the three of them removed their helmets, before Spike moved over to the console. Opening the box, he removed a small chip from the box, and plugged it into the receptacle on the cockpits panel.

“Such a big box for such a small chip.” Spike mused as the ship whirred to process the information stored inside.

“It has to be to protect it from a crash.” Norik replied. “Let’s just hope the information is intact.

“Let’s see what we’ve got here.” Solaris said, leaning over and inspecting the data readout.

“Well?” Norik asked.

“Looks like it’s intact.” Solaris said slowly. “The ship jumped here from the Utapau system, and came from the Wrek system before that.”

“Any idea where the main base could be?” Tarhal asked.

“Let’s see…the only system that the ship constantly returned to was the Dalchon system.” Solaris said, turning to face the others.

“Orvax IV.” Spike said simply.

“I’m sorry?” Norik asked, looking at Spike.

“Orvax IV. It’s a planet in the outer rims. Apparently it’s like a real life hell in the galaxy for slaves.” Spike replied.

“How do you know this?” Solaris asked.

“Asho.” Tarhal said, cutting in before Spike. “She was a slave there, before being brought. The rest you know.”

“Well then, it looks like we have our heading.” Norik said. “I’ll call in the Republic and they can take it out.”

“It won’t stop it. They’ll just come back.” Solaris said, straightening up.

“I know, but we can cut off the head now. It will take time for a new one to grow.” Norik said.

“We need to scope it out first.” Solaris said. “Come back to Fireshot and we can make proper plans. Don’t want to send any more troops into an avoidable slaughter.”

“No, no we don’t.” Norik agreed. “Very well, we will meet you at Fireshot station.”

“See you there.” Solaris smiled. “Spike, helmet on and back to your fighter, I’ll see you in orbit.”

“Master.” Spike bowed, before attaching his helmet again, grimacing slightly.

“Don’t crash.” Tarhal grinned.

“I won’t you overgrown rug.” Spike shot back with a grin, before the airlock cycled, and he began to make his way back towards his fighter.

Slavery

Spike and Solaris had arrived back at Fireshot station shortly after Norik and Tarhal, the pair waiting for them as they landed. Once they were all back aboard, and mercifully out of the flight suit and helmet, they headed up to the command deck of the ship, informing Captain Alec of the situation on Jax and their suspicions about where the raiders had gone.

“Drive computer confirms it.” Captain Alec said, walking back over to the four Jedi. “This ship made jumps to and from Orvax IV over thirty times in the past month, which is more than any other system in its navi-computer.”

"So then, we’ve got confirmation that they came from here, now what?” Norik asked.

“Now, we investigate, we get in and see what’s what, and then if we can’t do anything on our own, we jump system and get reinforcements, then come back and smash ‘em.” Solaris said simply.

“Fine, that could work. We can have a fleet on ready to move out in a day with just a word from Republic officers. You won’t find a bigger fleet any closer.” Alec nodded. “But how are you planning on getting in to their slaving ring without being noticed. I doubt that they’d just let Jedi in.”

“We don’t tell them that we’re Jedi.” Spike suggested.

“Interesting, go on?” Solaris asked with a smile.

“We go in, posing as slavers who want to purchase new property, they let us in. Once we’re there we can look around, before getting out and calling in the Republic.” Spike explained.

“That could work.” Norik nodded.

“One problem.” Solaris pointed out.

“Which is?” Tarhal asked.

“If we’re going to pose as slavers, and get enough access to the facilities to find out about their defences, we will have to get on the good side of the leaders.” Solaris replied.

“And how are you going to do that?” Norik asked.

“We need a slave.” Solaris said bluntly.

For a second, nobody said a word, simply looking at Solaris as if she was crazy. Finally, Alec broke the silence.

“Oh, that’s a good one master Jedi.” He chuckled. “I thought you were serious for a second there.”

“I was.” She deadpanned. “Fact is we need a slave, whether they are an actual slave or not doesn’t matter, but we need one to get in.”

“As much as it pains me to support such a reckless plan, I have to agree with Solaris.” Norik said softly. “But I will not have someone put their lives at risk because we hold their leash. I will not have an actual slave do this job.”

“I can’t believe you’re contemplating his.” Alec said in disbelief. “I thought other Jedi would be wise, even if Solaris is a bit rough around the edges.”

“Guilty as charged.” Solaris muttered. “We must though, and if we are to have someone who knows how to defend themselves, we only have two choices.”

“Master.” Spike bowed, picking up quickly.

“Who?” Tarhal asked.

“You or Spike, my Padawan.” Norik elaborated.

“No, I won’t support this action.” Alec said adamantly.

“You don’t have to support this, this is a Jedi operation. All I ask is that you contact republic command and get permission to move a fleet to move in as clear up.” Solaris beseeched.

“Alec, at the end of the day the choice is down to Tarhal or I, and I say it’s the only plan we have.” Spike said, before turning to his master. “I’m with you master.”

“Good.” Solaris smiled. “Now, here’s what we’re going to do.”

***

Orvax IV.

***

Lady Herank Kalia sat on the command throne in the control room of the Cityscape station that orbited her planet, looking out of the main viewport and smiling to herself. Hundreds of small ships were moving about, or else ferrying the recently acquired slaves down to the prison facilities on the planet itself.

The recent raid on Jax had been phenomenally successful, not to mention a good bit of revenge. As soon as the Republic dogs had loaded her onto that ship, her contacts had relayed her position to her allies, and had intercepted her prison ship. They had then gone on for a good spot of revenge. Now, the guards were all dead or slaves, and the prisoners were either free, and working for her, or slaves beside their old guards.

Getting up from her chair, Herank looked around the lavishly decorated room. She had always had a think for opulence, glancing in a mirror as she walked down towards the crew at the front of the ship. She stopped, regarding the face she perceived as beyond beautiful. Her bald tattooed head was a perfect mix of smooth beauty and angled intimidation, striking fear into those who were with or against her. She cared little for what her underlings thought of her. All she cared for was money, nothing else.

“Lady Kalia. Sensors indicate a ship jumping into the system. No records of them on the manifest. Should I prime the defence grid?” A crew member asked, not looking around for fear of inciting her wrath.

“Prime it and open a communication channel, lock weapons and prepare to fire on my mark.” She growled, before grabbing hold of the transmitter.

“Unidentified vessel, you have entered the space of Lady Herank Kalia and Orvax IV. Power down your engines and shields and identify yourself or be destroyed.” The crew men ordered.

“Cityscape station, this is Dick Vaughn, head of the Star-maxx cooperation, with me is Karana, my second in the ship Eagle. I find myself in need of some workers, and would speak to the head of your establishment to that aim.” Came a mechanically assisted voice through the speaker.

“Mr Vaughn.” Kalia said, purring into the transmitter. “This is Lady Herank Kalia. What makes you think that I would speak with someone that I don’t know? What can you offer me for the privilege of landing?”

“Lady Kalia, it is an honour to speak to you.” Vaughn replied over the comm. “I have in my possession on slave of excellent stock who I would happily trade in permission to look at your stock.”

“And what makes this creature more worthy than another slave?” Herank replied.

“This creature is unique. If you would permit us to come on board I will show him to you, and perhaps we can strike a deal.” Vaughn replied.

“Very well. Stand by for a flight path.” Herank said, before passing the comm back to the crew members.

“Eagle stand by for a flight path to docking bay G. Any deviation from the given path will result in your destruction. Do you comply?” The crew member asked.

“Aye, path received.” Came another voice, this one female. “Docking bay G it is, over and out.”

***

On board the Eagle

***

“Phew, that was close.” Solaris said, putting the transmitter down and putting both hands on the stick in front of her.

“You can say that again.” Norik nodded. “Remember to keep the parts up when we get there, you two as well.” He said, turning to face the two Padawans.

Both of them had been fitted with a metal collar, which sat locked around their neck. Tarhal’s legs and arms were free, the better to play the part of the body slave, but Spike on the other hand had a different role to play. Both his wrists and his ankles were joined together with shackles, preventing him from running anywhere.

“Easy for you to say, I’m the one in chains.” Spike deadpanned.

“You still have the Lockpick?” Solaris asked.

“Yep.” Spike nodded, before clearing his throat and showing the key between his teeth. “Hiding stuff in the throat lining. Always a good way to hide stuff from the ponies. Mostly my gems. Thank god for Asho teaching me how to do it.”

“Which is why you’re in chains not Tarhal. You can release yourself when the time is right.” Norik pointed out.

“I guess that makes sense.” Spike nodded.

“Communications?” Norik asked.

“As long as you are close, I can contact master Solaris.” Spike said. “Not much, maybe five or six words.”

“That is good.” Norik said, before looking out at the station as they approached it.

The thing was massive, easily bigger than Fireshot, but even with all the weapon batteries that were on it, it was not a military station. As they passed, Spike began counting the weapons on the station, as well as the ships that clustered around it. Around him, the other were doing the same.

“I count at least thirty turbolaser batteries, and ten ships of frigate class or less that could be pressed into service against are fleet.” Spike said, turning to the others.

“I count twelve, but it’s all the same.” Solaris nodded. “Tarhal, please radio the fleet and inform them to wait for our orders.”

Nodding, the wookie walked over to the bank of controls and began to key in the message.

“Hurry up Tarhal, Solaris is bringing us in to land.” Norik hissed, as the ship passed through the shields of the station and touched down. Clipping a chain onto Spikes collar, Norik handed it to Solaris, before opening the airlock and stepping out.

***

Herank watched from the bay control room as the ship touched down, before a ram lowered from the ship. It was a good ship, a Crescent X-9 if she wasn’t mistaken. This, Star-maxx corporation must have been fairly profitable if they could afford ships like this.

As she watched, a large figure walked out of the ship, the person that Herank assumed was Dick Vaughn. She now saw why his voice sounded mechanically assisted, considering the fact that the man must have been more machine than flesh. Behind him came a wookie of all creatures, a collar firmly clasped around its neck.

Next, a woman exited the ship, holding a chain in her hand, and behind her, attached to the chain via a collar, came a strange creature, the likes of which Herank had never seen. It was bigger than the wookie, both in height and stature, as well as sporting a large tail.

Nodding to the helmeted guards, they followed her as she walked down to greet the new entrants, eager to see what this creature was.

“Presenting Lady Herank Kalia, Warden of Orvax IV.” One of the guards announced.

“Lady Kalia.” Norik said, bowing deeply. “May I introduce Karana?”

“Mr Vaughn, you are not at all what I expected from the head of company. What is it that Star-maxx deals in?”

“Weapons my lady. Ships, blasters, disrupter tech.” Norik replied.

“That’s illegal.” Herank smiled.

“Precisely why I can cut corners on labour costs. You can always find someone willing to buy weapons, even if they are illegal ones.”

“Quite.” Herank smiled. “Now, tell me about this, creature, you have brought me.”

“Of course.” Norik nodded. “Karana, please bring it forward.”

Tugging on the chain, Solaris brought Spike forward. Spike growled, keeping in character as a reluctant slave.

“This creature answers to the name Spike. From what we have gathered it is unique, a dragon of all things, no idea where it came from.” Dick said. “It’s strong, tough and when you manage to break it, bloody clever.”

“It sounds like a catch.” Herank smiled. “What would you want for it?”

“Let’s call it a gift.” Norik smiled. “In hopes of seeing more promising wares down on the planet.”

“Get off me!” Spike roared, pulling against the chain, ‘trying’ to escape.

“He doesn’t seem very broken in.” Herank mused as Solaris yanked on the chain, bringing Spike to the floor, and drawing a hiss from the dragon.

“He is, but he knows he is being sold.” Solaris growled, standing Spike back up.

“I swear I’ll kill you.” Spike growled, playing the part of rowdy slave perfectly.

“He’s got a mouth on him I’ll give him that.” Herank snarled, before grabbing Spike’s face in one hand. “You will regret it. Mark my words, slave. Guard, bring me the tongue tier.”

One of the guards bowed, before walking back towards the wall, grabbing hold of something hanging there, before walking back over.

“My lady, I must advise against muting the subject.” Solaris said with urgency.

“Such concern for a slave Karana. He will be subjected to much worse before he is sold, why do I care if he can speak or not?”

“Like I said, he is smart. Him not being able to speak will hamper that.” She pointed out.

“Very well.” She growled, before turning to the guard. “Put it back, but gag him instead. We’ll have to teach him not to speak out of turn.”

Nodding, the guard replaced the tongue tier, before returning with a small length of chain and a lock.

“Open.” He snapped, before shoving the chain into the dragon’s mouth and locking it shut.

Inside, Spike smiled, knowing that this wouldn’t exactly be hard to bite through.

“Please, the day is growing old on the planet. In return for the slave, you can say stay on my station for the night, and enjoy my hospitality.” Herank offered.

“It would be my pleasure.” Norik smiled, bowing deeply. “Will my body slave be allowed to accompany me?”

“Normally slaves are not allowed on board this part of the station, but I will make an exception just this once.” Herank said. “It is interesting though, keeping a wookie as a bodyguard. They are frightfully hard to tame. How did you manage it?”

“There is a kill chip inserted in its head, connected to my own vital signs. If I die, it dies.” Norik replied.

“Ah, very astute.” Herank said, before turning to one of the guards. “Please take Mr Vaughn and our other guests to the top deck, I will meet them there. And you,” she said, turning to another guard. “take this slave to the holding pens for processing.”

“Processing?” Norik asked, turning around and looking at Herank.

“Of course, we have to make sure that each slave knows their place and who their masters are.” She replied.

Norik exchanged a glance with Solaris at this, but could only watch as Spike was dragged away towards whatever this ‘processing’ was.

***

Spike fought against the chain attached to his collar as he was dragged down the corridor behind the guard. Eventually, the corridor ended and the guards pulled Spike into another room. Before he could look around properly, the Guards removed the shackles around his wrists, before attaching chains to the sealing and locking him in.

“We’ll wait here until the Doctor comes.” One said, smiling cruelly

“Eh Dogter?” Spike slurred around the chain.

“Oh don’t worry, you’ll love him.” The other one laughed.

As he said this, the door slid open again, and another human walked in, this one in the same armour as the guards, but without the face covering helmet, allowing Spike to see his face. The man was uglier than a pig, scars littering his face, and his nose had clearly been broken several times, once recently if the blood on his face was anything to go by.

“Leave us.” He said, his voice sounding as sickly sweet as honey, but Spike knew that he would be like a bee caught in it if he let him get the better of him.

As the guards left, the Doctor began to walk around Spike, inspecting him. Due to the chains, Spike was unable to keep sight of him as he moved behind him. Suddenly, the man’s face was by his shoulder, and Spike instinctively flinched away.

“Scared? Good. Now, Lady Kalia, bless her name, said you don’t know when to shut up, so I get to teach you.” He grinned, before unlocking the chain around his mouth.

“Scared of an ugly son of a Rancor like you?” Spike asked.

“Heh. Heh heh.” The Doctor laughed, before slamming his fist into Spikes stomach, knocking the wind out of him. “Now, to business. I’ve got a day before you are sent to the planet, and I want some fun. You’re going to regret talking.”

Walking back over to the wall, the Doctor grabbed hold of a crank, giving it a few turns and tightening the chain, lifting Spike up until his feet dangled above the floor.

“I regret having ears at the moment.” Spike shot back, grunting as his arms took the strain of holding up his body.

“Of, you have a sense of humor do you?” The Doctor laughed, before walking away and grabbing a baton off the wall. “I wonder if you can laugh at this?”

Grinning savagely, the Doctor thumbed a button on the batons handle, and instantly the entire thing was encased in a red energy sheath. Bringing his arm back, the Doctor brought the baton cracking onto Spikes chest, just next to his left shoulder.

Spike grunted, but refused to scream, not wanting to swallow the Lockpick that he had in his throat. He just had to wait for the right time to use it.

Undeterred, the Doctor hit him again, smashing the energy baton into him again and again, but each time drawing nothing but grunts from Spike. It wasn't the worst pain he had ever been in, but it took a lot for him not to cry out.

“Resilient son of a bitch aren’t you?” The Doctor said, deactivating the baton.

“Say that again and you’ll regret it.” Spike growled.

“Hit a nerve eh?” The Doctor said, before turning around and placing the baton back on the wall, and looking for another tool to use.

Taking this as his chance, Spike began to wretch silently, not wanting to draw his attention, and finally managed to get the Lockpick in between his teeth. Taking it in the force, Spike guided it into the lock on his right wrist, quickly turning it and unlocking his wrist. Now that his hand was free, Spike set about unlocking his other wrist, conscious that if the Doctor turned around, he wasn’t going to get free, and the others would suffer for it.

Grunting, he finally unlocked his other wrist, dropping to the floor and trying not to make a sound. Unfortunately, metal floors and claws tend to make a clanging sound, and the Doctor whirled around, fixing his eyes on Spike.

“How dare you.” He growled, before drawing his arm back, before slashing through the air with a whip.

Raising his arm, Spike allowed the whip to wrap around his forearm, before he tugged hard, pulling the Doctor off his feet and sending him sprawling on the floor.

Standing over the prone human, Spike raised his head and snarled.

“I want to hurt you, but that’s not the Jedi way.” Spike growled, before head-butting the Doctor, knocking him unconscious.

Getting up, Spike looked around him, before leaning down and undoing the final locks on his ankles shackles. Looking up, Spike saw an air duct above him. Grinning, he jumped, using the force to assist him, and digging his claws into the metal.

Ripping the cover off the grate, Spike forced his way in, wriggling through the small gap into the more spacious tunnel beyond, and crawling off to complete the next part of his mission. Placing his hand to his temple and screwing up his face in concentration, Spike searched for his master. Quickly finding her, he willed her to open her mind to him, and upon feeling her doing so, sent the message.

“Free. Continuing with Plan.”

Unable to send anymore, Spike began to crawl through the tunnel, hoping that it wouldn’t get any smaller, and that he would make too much sound crawling through it.

Rescue

“So, Mr Vaughn, tell me more about this venture of yours that requires so much labour that you must come here from, where was it again?” Herank asked, sipping a clear liquid from a crystal glass.

“Montressa, lady Kalia, Montressa.” Norik smiled. “In the southern outer rim. We are currently working on a new type of disrupter technology that should outperform all current models at half the power. But we need labourers to make the weapons and some live test subjects.”

“How are these weapons different from the current market?” Herank asked.

“Trade secret.” Solaris said before Norik could.

“Of course. Now, I believe…” Herank started.

“LADY KALIA!” A guard yelled, running into the room and cutting into the conversation.

“You have ten seconds to explain your presence here, and have a good explanation, or you can become acquainted with the void.” Herank said, not raising her voice at all, and placing her finished glass down on a small table beside her.

“I am sorry, lady Kalia.” The guard panted. “But the slave, the one that Mr Vaughn gave you, he’s gone.”

“What?” Herank asked sharply.

“It seems he managed to get free from his shackles and incapacitated the Doctor, before escaping through the air vents.” The guard said.

“Fetch my guard, send them here. The rest of you are to search for the slave. Capture if possible, kill if not.” She ordered, the guard quickly turning and leaving, before pulling a hatch back on her chair and withdrawing a large pistol, pointing it at Norik. “So, you sought to sabotage my station?”

“Lady Kalia, I swear I had no intention to sabotage your station.” Norik said, raising his hands to show that he was unarmed.

“I’ll ask you again, why did you come here?” She asked, and upon seeing Norik’s facial expression not change, launched into another spiel. “Interesting culture, the Mandalorians. They make some amazing weapons, take this for example. A Mandalorian Ripper, energy based slugthrower that passes through all forms of personal shields. The only way to protect yourself from this would be a Jedi laser sword.”

“How convenient.” Solaris said simply, standing up and using the force to draw her Lightsaber into her hand, igniting the blade and walking towards Herank. “My name is Jedi master Solaris. Behind me is Jedi master Norik and Jedi padawan Tarhal. The dragon currently roaming the station is my Padawan, and you will answer for the crimes you committed at Jax.”

“Jedi?!” Herank said, her pistol wavering as she pointed it at Solaris. “Don’t come any closer, or I’ll shoot.”

“No you won’t.” Solaris said, before bringing the Lightsaber through the weapon, neatly bisecting it.

“Guards are coming.” Tarhal growled from the door, igniting his own blade and grasping the haft in both hands.

“Seal the door.” Norik ordered. “We can get out through the back way and meet up in the hanger with Spike.”

“Already on it master.” Tarhal said, before kicking a control panel and using the force to pull the door down into the slot in the floor. “Sealed!”

“Good.” Solaris said, not taking her eyes off Herank. “Please lead us back to the hanger.”

“You’re mad if you think you’ll get more than three steps before the guns take you down.” Herank snarled.

“You let me worry about that.” Solaris smiled, before gesturing with her free hand. “Tarhal, Norik, please bring up the rear.”

With a growl, Herank began walking towards the other door, opening it with a swipe of her hand on the biometric reader. Quickly following her down the corridor, the three Jedi could hear the door finally break as the guards swarmed into the room.

“Cover!” Norik yelled, bringing his Lightsaber up to block the incoming blaster shots.

The guards poured into the corridor, firing their blasters as they sought to gain ground on the Jedi. Growling, Tarhal caught one of the blaster bolts, deflecting it back nearly perfectly along its flight path, where it impacted just above the firers head.

Norik however was not going to stand by and take fire, and began to advance, blocking shot after shot as he advanced forward. Bringing his weapon up, he slashed down, slicing limbs from bodies as he went, taking care to not inflict any lethal wounds.

As he continued to cut the guards down, the remainder of them began to waver as the aged Jedi continued to cut them down.

“We almost at the hanger!” Solaris yelled, keeping an arm around Herank’s neck.

“I wonder how long it will take for your precious Padawan to die. Five minutes? Ten? You can’t escape, so what do I care if you cut down a couple of my guard?” She laughed.

“Spike won’t die, you can count on that.” Solaris snarled, before pushing a door open with the force.

“Do you think Spike has finished his part?” Norik growled, lashing out with a brutal kick and snapping a guard’s leg, his knee popping out of its socket and drawing a loud scream from the man, joining the wails of the other injured.

“Only one way to find out.” Solaris said, before pushing Herank through the door, sending her sprawling onto the hanger floor, before following her in, subconsciously flinching as she waited for the hanger defences to kick in.

“Looks like the dragon came through.” Norik yelled, before pushing a cluster of guards back out of the door and sealing it shut. “Tarhal, take Herank and secure her in the ship and prep for take-off, we will hold the hanger and wait for Spike.

***

Spike sprinted down the corridor, scrambling to keep his footing as more shots bounced around him, thank god that these guys were such poor shots.

Turning, Spike swiped with his hands, ripping one of the guards out of his cover and sending him crashing into another, bringing them both to the floor. Spike knew they would be back on their feet shortly, but for now it was two less guns on him.

Continuing sprinting, Spike finally saw a corridor that he recognised, and pounded down it, conscious of the guards behind him. Using the force again, Spike forced a water pipe to buckle above him, allowing water to spill out onto the floor. Continuing to move, he took a deep breath, before blowing fire onto the pipe, superheating the metal and the water inside it.

Screams echoed from behind him, and Spike winced. It still felt wrong hurting people, and he was worried that if it came down to it he may hesitate to directly hurt or possibly kill another, but he would have to cross that when he came to it.

Making sure to keep hold of the small chip in his hand, Spike skidded around a corner, and saw the hanger, and in it, his master and Norik, Lightsabers ignited and deflecting shots as Tarhal dragged Herank into the ship.

“Master!” Spike yelled as he ran forward, pushing another guard over who was trying desperately to set up a large cannon.

“Spike!” Solaris shouted back, looking over to him. “Catch!” She reached down to her belt, and hurled Spikes Lightsaber to him.

Running forward, Spike jumped up and grabbed hold of the haft by the perpendicular handle, igniting it and landing next to his master, deflecting a shot away from himself. Spinning his weapon around, he brought the blade forward, deflecting a shot perfectly back along its flight path, catching the guard who had fired it in the chest.

The woman fell with a grunt, and lay still.

“I…I” Spike began, but had no time to think of what he had done as more guards continued to flood into the room.

“Tarhal?” Norik yelled, pulling a guard towards him and lashing out with his fist, denting the helmet, before slashing with his Lightsaber.

“One minute, plasma drives are spinning up!” Came the reply from the ship.

“You heard him, hold the line damn it.” Solaris growled, looking at Spike. “Come one Spike.”

“I killed her.” Spike said hollowly, blocking another shot.

“And she was trying to kill you.” Solaris shot back.

Spike nodded, spinning to block another shot and exposing his back to the door he had come through. As he turned, he felt a curious heat in his back, and stumbled slightly. It felt like someone had kicked him hard, and he turned, fully expecting to see one of the guards bearing down on him. Instead, he saw nothing, just more guards aiming to fire at him.

Moving backwards, keeping his back towards the ship, Spike slowly made his way towards the ramp, Solaris and Norik following closely behind.

“Tarhal?” Spike growled, switching to Shyriiwook for ease, he knew that when Tarhal got flustered, he sometimes had difficulty with basic. “Time?”

“Engines ready, weapons primed and shields charging, get on.” Came the hurried reply. Funny, it somehow seemed choked.

“Ship’s ready!” Spike yelled.

“Get on then.” Solaris ordered. “We’ll finish off out here.”

Nodding, Spike quickly darted inside the ship, only to find a sight that chilled his bones. Herank was up, the chain that had been attached to her wrists now wrapped firmly around Tarhal’s neck. The Wookies eyes were full of fear as the chain was pulled tighter by the vengeful slaver behind him, sinking deep into his flesh, not yet drawing blood.

“Weapon down, or he dies.” She snarled.

“He dies, you die.” Spike snarled back.

“Such temper from a Jedi.” She laughed maniacally.

“Spike?” Tarhal asked nervously.

“Sorry about this.” Spike said, before shoving the pair of them back with the force, sending them crashing into the cockpit chair.

Tarhal roared with pain as he hit the chair, but it had the desired effect of getting Herank off him. With a snarl, Spike pulled her towards him, fully intending to kill her.

“No Spike!” Tarhal yelled, realising what Spike was about to do.

That yell managed to break Spike out of the trance like state he was in, and threw off his aim just a bit. Instead of cutting through her chest in a near perfect example of the pulling slash, his Lightsaber cut into and through her arm, severing the limb and drawing a scream from the woman.

“You’re lucky he’s here.” Spike whispered as he caught the falling woman and laid her on the floor. “No one hurts my friends.”

Spike was still kneeling over the shocked woman when Norik and Solaris came bursting in.

“Take off Tarhal! Spike, secure the…prisoner?” Solaris said, tapering off as she saw Herank.

“What happened?” Norik asked as Tarhal ran towards the controls, sealing the hatch and moving the ship.

“She escaped and tried to kill Tarhal, I had to act.” Spike said, breathing heavily as his actions caught up with him.

“We will talk more when this is all over.” Solaris promised, before picking the body up and taking her to the rear where a small room served as a medical ward.

“Spike, get on the comm to the Captain. Tell him the time is now.” Norik ordered.

Nodding, Spike ran over to the radio control panel, punching in a frequency code, before turning back to face the others. Placing his back against the wall, he slid down it, and put his face in his hands, contemplating what was going to happen next.

Tarhal on the other hand was concentrating on flying the ship, dodging the few ships that were floating around the station. Luckily, it seemed that no one had seen fit to tell the system monitors that there was a possible escape attempt going on, and they hadn’t tried to shoot them yet. The station however would not stay silent forever.

“Incoming.” Tarhal grunted as he threw the ship to the side just in time to dodge a shot from one of the turbolaser emplacements.

“Looks like the cats out of the bag.” Norik said, leaning down to Tarhal’s ear. “Get to the system jump point and look for the Arahmin”

“Will do.” Tarhal nodded.

“Incoming ships.” Spike said softly, looking at the screen just above him.

“Here we go!” Tarhal roared.

As the Eagle sped through the void, pursued by the red bolts of light from the cityscape and the few systems monitors that had identified what the station was firing at, all four of the Jedi felt something coming, and prepared for the arrival.

Suddenly, a trio of Republic battleships jumped into the system, flanked by frigates and destroyers of all kinds. Instantly, Tarhal steered the Eagle towards the lead ship, flipping a switch to bring the s-foils into landing position again.

“Arahmin, this is Eagle we are approaching the docking bay, we have wounded on board, please standby with a medical team.” Tarhal said, flipping another couple of switches.

“Eagle, we are currently hard pressed with medical staff, proceed with landi...Left side, left side! System monitor inbound.”

The radio cut off as an explosion was heard rocking through the ship.

“I guess we can land.” Norik said, looking over at Solaris who had just walked back in.

“She’s stable. Come on.”

As soon as Tarhal touched the ground, Solaris punched the airlock release button and jumped out of the ship, followed swiftly by Spike. Sprinting across the hanger, Spike caught sight of the Cyclone, and beside his masters fighter, his own.

“Suit up now!” Solaris bellowed, before jumping up, landing just behind her cockpit.

Nodding, Spike grabbed the suit from the wall and yanked it on, taking care not to rip it, before grabbing the helmet and shoving it on his head, pressurising the air inside his suit. Jumping into his fighter, Spike flipped a switch, sliding the canopy back over his cockpit and gunning the engine.

Steeling himself, Spike watched as Solaris soared out of the ship, followed closely by a whole host of other fighters, one of which he recognised as the one belonging to Loas, before taking off and following the out into the maelstrom of battle.

Loose Ends

Spike formed up on Solaris’s right side, holding his fighter in position as they moved forward, the republic pilots moving behind the two Jedi. As Spike watched, he saw the Eagle shoot out of the hanger, joining with a group of ships and shooting forward.

Looking out of his cockpit, Spike saw that there were a lot more ships here that seemed to be combat ready than they had originally thought, and even now ships were turning to face the republic battlefleet. Swarms of fighters were pouring out of the space station, and Spike knew that this fight was going to be brutal, much more so than their escape.

“Spike, stay tight on my wing and follow me. We’ll fly through the fighters and split them up.” Solaris ordered over the comm.

“Affirmative master.” Spike nodded, before gunning the engine in tandem with Solaris.

Spike breathed in sharply as the enemy fighters closed in, a few shots coming dangerously close to his ship. His heart beat intensified as terror gripped him, and for a moment, he seriously considered turning and fleeing. Then the fighters were on him.

Spike kept close to his master as the enemy formation split apart, firing wildly as they sped past each other. Spike saw at least one republic ship get hit, and saw the pilot struggling to regain control, before he smashed into a slaver fighter, destroying both of them in an all-consuming fireball, which was quickly snuffed out by the void of space.

“Spike, return fire.” Solaris grunted over the sound of her own weapons blazing.

“I’m sorry.” Spike whispered to himself, before pulling the trigger on the wheel, spitting forth a gout of lasers.

One of the beams struck a craft, causing it to falter, but before anything could finish it off, the two groups were past each other. Banking hard, Spike followed Solaris, slamming himself back into his seat as he came upon the fighter’s rear. Solaris opened fire, catching them unaware, and after a moment’s hesitation, Spike fired as well. The two laser cannons on either side of his cockpit spat death as he positioned his craft for a better firing position, hitting another craft square in the engines. The fighter began spinning, and Spike fascinated at the morbid spectacle. That was before the fighter exploded, and Spike was instantly disgusted by himself.

“Spike, corvette coming up on your six, come about and avoid its fire.” Solaris ordered, before arcing upwards with her ship, looping over Spikes head in his cockpit.

Following his masters lead, Spike spun the ship in a loop, getting another look at the battle. The republic battleships had already moved into position, and were pounding the space station with lasers, giving as good as they got from the cityscapes defences. The other ships however were not doing so well, and the republic battle line had been broken up, causing each ship to fight numerous one on one duels as opposed to assisting each other to take down single targets.

As Spike watched, a ship took a direct hit on its flickering shields, and began to break apart, the explosions being held in an magnified by the faltering shield that had once protected it, until finally it to gave out, and the ship became nothing more than an airless hulk floating in space.

“Spike! How’s the uplink coming?” Solaris yelled over the comm.

Glancing down, Spike looked at the little chip stuck into his cockpits control panel, checking the little read-out beneath it. “Two minutes!”

“Make it go faster! We’re getting torn apart.” Solaris grunted, before Spike watched a fighter catch onto her tail, following her as she attempted to shake them off.

“Master, one on your tail.” Spike said, rolling his craft to behind the second fighter, trying to get a lock.

Spike twisted his craft through the void, trying in vain to keep the fighter in his cross hair long enough to get a shot off, even as the fighter fired at his master. Solaris avoided the shot, rolling so she was flying completely inverted, before shooting away below her pursuer.

Diving, Spike followed the fighter as it levelled out, heading towards the planet thousands of kilometres away.

“Got a lock!” Spike yelled triumphantly over the radio.

“Push the damn button Spike!” Solaris yelled.

With a sigh, Spike thumbed the second trigger on his joystick, and a small missile spat out from underneath his craft, arcing towards the craft, before exploding and taking the unfortunate pilot with it.

“Good. How’s the upload coming?” Solaris asked.

Looking down quickly, Spike saw that the panel beneath the chip had gone green. “It’s green, systems nominal and checked out.” Spike replied quickly.

“What are you waiting for?” Solaris asked, banking her ship and avoiding another flurry of shots, Spike doing the same. “Take their guns off line.”

With a nod, more to himself than the others, Spike flipped a few switches, before flipping a final switch.

The result was instantaneous, and as Spike watched, the laser fire from the station cut out, leaving the struggling battleships unopposed. Taking advantage of the new opening, the battleships renewed their fire, now able to divert shield power to the weapons, as no other ship could hope to hurt the behemoths.

Spikes mission on board the space station had been simple, once he had freed himself, he had headed through the air ducts and corridors of the station, avoiding detection before finally reaching the fire control centre. With some help from Spike, the guards had decided it was the perfect time for a nap, and Spike had begun the process of uploading a virus into the system.

Unfortunately, the alarm had sounded before he could finish the upload, but he had made the link, and now it was just a matter of time before it was uploaded wirelessly. It would have been quicker with a hard link, but if he had left it then it would never had gotten activated. None of that mattered now though, as more fighters locked onto his position, separating him from his master, and forcing him to run.

Spike suddenly found himself in the midst of a pitched battle between fighters, all swarming above and around him, trying to catch their prey amongst the swarm of targets. Even in the few seconds Spike was watching, he saw a fighter explode in a bright flash of light, and silently hoped that it was not a republic ship.

Gripping his controls hard, Spike flew directly into the mass of fighters, searching for some way he could help. Within seconds, a fighter was on him.

“Blast. Master?” He called out, but he got nothing in response, there was no help coming for him.

His pursuer was good, it’s hail of shots only just missing Spike as he just managed to dodge out the way, cursing that he hadn’t spent more time learning how to fly this thing like his master. Twice, Spike closed his eyes while executing a move, sure that he was going to be hit and that that was it, before he opened them again to find that by some miracle he had survived.

Cursing, Spike tried to shake the fighter, but every time he made a move, it was just behind him, never managing to get a good shot off, but given time Spike was sure his luck would run out. Banking towards a duelling pair of ships, Spike was forced to duck underneath the pair as a hail of shots lashed out towards him. Pulling back hard, Spike shot up between the two ships, glad that their anti-fighter defences were more occupied with the larger vessel than him, and managed to buy himself some time from his pursuer.

Looping around, Spike watched as the confused ship sped past him, slowing a couple of kilometres away before turning back to get back towards the battle. Now however, Spike was on his tail.

It was not easy following a target in space where they could go any way they wanted to, and quickly reach high speeds or slow to a crawl. Using the force as his ally though, like Solaris had taught him, Spike managed to keep on the ships tail, keeping himself on target. However, actually hitting the craft was going to be a different matter entirely, and when Spike began to fire, his shots would always miss by hundreds of meters. It was like trying to catch a parasprite in his claws with his eyes closed.

Spike grunted in frustration as his quarry flew past another republic ship, blasting it apart without even slowing. Whoever this guy was, he was damn good, and couldn’t be left unchecked. As he watched, his enemy loop, drop and corkscrew through space, firing off the odd shot at targets, and either outright destroying targets or simply crippling them for others to destroy. Growling, Spike desperately tried to figure out if there was any pattern he could anticipate to allow him to take this guy out. He hated the idea of having to destroy the fighter, but its pilot had already killed at least ten others in the short time Spike had been chasing him. He couldn’t be let off.

With a start and a grin, Spike finally found something tangible that he could work with. Every time the fighter finished corkscrew, he would always instantly follow up with a loop to the right, before continuing. All Spike had to do was wait. With a snarl, Spike pulled the trigger once, spitting a single unguided missile out into space.

The fighter just pulled out of a corkscrew, and just as Spike had predicted, took a loop to the right. There was a blinding flash which filled Spikes vision for a second. When he could see again, only shattered fragments of the fighter remained, slowly spinning as they drifted lifelessly in space.

Disgusted with the feeling of satisfaction he felt, Spike caught sight of his master, and flew down beside her, forming up on her left side. Suddenly, a massive explosion lit up the void, and Spike pulled his ship around to look at the space station, or rather, what was left of it.

Without its guns, the two battleships had moved in closer, pounding it relentlessly as its shields began to fail, before cutting out entirely, allowing the battleships to rain death down upon its surface. Spike hoped that there were no slaves on board, he didn’t want any innocents to die.

As soon the station broke apart, it was like a switch had been flipped inside the heads of their enemies. No more were they fighting tooth and nail against the republic, now the fighters were fleeing back to their mother ships, landing as the ships themselves tried to break off from combat. Without the station occupying their guns, the battleships turned and began to harry the smaller ships with long range bracket fire.

Their spirits broken, the ships began to jump to hyperspace, fleeing from the losing battle, until only a single ship remained.

Its engines were shorted out, and it was burning in several places. The guns however, which had been firing not a moment ago, had ceased. A second later, Spike heard a crackle in his radio headset.

“This is captain Jarcob of the Resolute, issuing a general call to all forces in the area. All forces under the patronage of Lady Kalia, disengage and stand down. I repeat, all forces…stand down.”

The captain seemed genuinely upset by the order, and although not all the fighters gave up, some wishing to fight to the very last, it had the desired effect, and the majority of the craft stopped fireing, retreating to try and land in the damaged ship.

“Spike?” Came the voice of Solaris through the comm system.

“Yes master?” Spike replied wearily.

“Meet me on board the flagship. We have a lot to discuss.” She said bluntly.

As soon as she finished speaking, she turned her fighter and sped back towards one of the battleships. Spike didn’t know how she told the two apart, but decided not to question it, as he slowly followed his master back to the ship. If this was how space battles usually went, Spike could not see why his master loved them so much.

Debrief

Shaking his head to clear away some of the grey that had been forming around his mind, Spike brought the ship in to land on the deck of the battleship. Solaris had already landed, but he couldn’t see her anywhere on the flight deck, meaning that she had either gone to the bridge or maybe the mess hall. Either way, it wouldn’t be too hard to find her.

Flipping a switch, Spike shut the engines off and opened the cockpit, before hauling himself out, dropping down to the cool metal floor and shivering slightly. Pushing past it, Spike began to make his way towards the blast door leading to the rest of the ship, moving in to a long corridor and making his way towards the bridge. Thank Celestia that all of these ships were stet out the same, or he would probably have got himself hopelessly lost.

Reaching the bridge, Spike found it bustling with movement, but managed to catch sight of Solaris, who was engrossed in conversation with someone he didn’t know. Deciding that he didn’t need to interrupt her, Spike moved back into the corridor and leant against the wall, before deciding he might as well sit down, and sliding down it, resting his head against it and closing his eyes.

He didn’t know why, but he was completely spent, all his energy having gone on the battle, and now that the adrenaline had worn off, the effects were catching up with him, as were his actions in the past hour.

There were of course the deaths he caused directly, not to mention the thousands he had killed indirectly when he had shut off the stations defences, and they made him feel physically sick, but they weren’t what was really occupying his mind. No, what got that honour was what had happened with Herank on board the Eagle.

When he had seen someone threatening Tarhal with a weapon, and could have actually killed him if they had been so inclined, it was like something had just snapped. At the time, the thought of killing someone again was not at the front of his mind, instead, all he had wanted was cold hard revenge. He shuddered to think that if Herank had ended up killing Tarhal, there wouldn’t have been anyone to stop him, and he would have gone a lot further than simply cutting her arm off.

Closing his eyes, Spike tried to empty his mind completely, focusing simply on meditating upon the force. Instead, he sensed a presence in front of him, and opened his eyes to see Solaris looking down at him, her face unreadable.

“Master.” Spike said, getting back to his feet.

“Walk with me, we need to talk to the council and inform them of what happened, and you need to tell me what happened on the ship.” She said, setting off at a slow pace down the corridor.

“Fine.” Spike nodded. “Herank had managed to get herself up and had her manacles around Tarhal’s neck. I tried to get them apart, but all it did was push Tarhal over and leave Herank free. She ran at me, and I defended myself.” Spike lied.

“Is that really what happened?” Solaris asked, looking down at Spike.

“It is.” Spike nodded, tiny beads of sweat forming on the back of his neck.

Luckily, it seemed that Solaris didn’t notice, or else was satisfied with the answer, because for the rest of the journey to the holo-communicator, she did not say a word, blanking the questions that Spike asked her, until he too lapsed into an uneasy silence.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of not talking, they reached a small door and moved into the room, walking over to the circular holo-communicator that dominated the small space. Inputting the relevant code string, Solaris moved back to Spikes side and waited. They did not have to wait long.

As had happened the last time they had called the council, the flat surfaced rippled, before condensing into an image of the council chamber.

“Master Solaris. Padawan Spike.” Garton said, nodding at the pair. “I assume your mission was a success?”

“It was.” Solaris nodded. “Following a lead gained from the black box date from a crashed ship at Jax, we deduced the system that the ship had originated from, and travelled there after making plans with the Republic Fireshot Fleet. After gaining entry to the planetary defence station, Spike managed to begin a virus upload to the fire control centre, while Master Norik, Padawan Tarhal and I managed to apprehend Lady Kalia again and take her back to our ship. Unfortunately, she managed to escape, and was only subdued again after she attacked Spike and had her arm cut off. Leaving, we signalled the Fireshot Fleet, dropped off Lady Kalia and won the battle. The space station is destroyed, but landing in the planet proper would require a much large force, and the Republic are not willing to commit such a force. As such, we are returning to Fireshot station.” She said, summarising the events of the mission.

“That is all well and good in accordance to Master Norik’s statement.” Garton nodded. “But there is one thing. Did you allow Spike to pose as a slave to get on board?”

“So he told you did he?” Solaris muttered. “Yes, I did allow Spike to pose as a slave after deliberating any other plan and finding none. I believed Master Norik was of the same opinion that it was necessary.”

“He was.” Garton replied. “In fact, he praised the plan as working perfectly, and being executed as if it had been rehearsed. We, the council, however, do not support this type of action.”

“Of course you don’t.” Solaris groaned.

“Suppose something had gone wrong.” Garton continued, not hearing Solaris. “What would you have done if Spike had not been able to free himself, or perhaps he had been taken to the planet? Maybe he would have been tortured,” Spike coughed unsubtly at this, but Garton continued, “or if Herank had gone ahead with her plan to cut his tongue out? Did you think of…”

“Yes.” Solaris cut in. “I thought of everything that could happen and everything that could go wrong. You know that I wouldn’t let something like that get away from me, but we had no choice if we wanted to take her alive. If we had simply attacked the station, we would have lost a battleship, and she would have slipped out of the system anyway. We had to act.”

For a long time, neither side said anything as they processed what Solaris had said, before Garton finally broke the silence.

“This council finds your actions acceptable, if not amicable. Transfer Herank to Master Norik for transport to the temple. Session dismissed.”

As soon as he had finished speaking, the communicator cut out, leaving Spike and Solaris alone.

“Ass.” She muttered, before turning to Spike. “Now, what’s bothering you?”

“What?” Spike asked in confusion.

“Something is bothering you, even without the force I could tell that. Now, what is it?” She asked, smiling reassuringly.

“I…killed people.” Spike said after a moment’s hesitation. “And I…” He trailed off.

“Yes, sometimes we must kill, it is distasteful, but it must be done.” Solaris said smoothly.

“But they’re…” Spike began.

“Dead? It’s ok, don’t be afraid to say it. Dead, the dead, death, the fact isn’t going to go away if we avoid it, and if we do avoid it, it will only get bigger than it really is. You can’t live without death Spike, and you can’t die without life. Killing is not the answer for everything, but sometimes it is the only way, and at moments like that, a Jedi must accept their role to play.” Solaris said kindly.

“How can you be so calm about this?” Spike asked in amazement. “Aren’t Jedi supposed to uphold the peace?”

“Of course, but how do you think we often do that?” Solaris asked. “Spike, the Jedi are warriors, our weapons are more advanced than anyone else, our training is more extensive, and we control more powers than anyone else. We are warriors. Especially me.”

“You?” Spike asked in confusion.

“Yes.” Solaris nodded. “Why do you think I stay on Fireshot station? The Jedi are warriors, yet some of us, me included, see ourselves as soldiers as well.”

“So you fight all the time?” Spike asked.

“When I was alone, the Jedi called me, or one of the others like me, when they wanted to keep things quiet. I’m something of a dirty secret of the Jedi. Now you’re here though, I’m stopping that until you can make the decision on your own. The council didn’t like me taking you on, something along the lines of a bad influence, but you’re going to make your own choices Spike, if I can teach you one thing, it’s that. Always be who you are, not who someone else wants you to be.”

Unsure of what to say, Spike watched in silence as Solaris disappeared out of the corridor, before running after her. Before he could reach her however, she turned back around to face him, stopping him in his tracks.

“Go to the medical ward, find Herank and take her Norik and Tarhal in the hanger, then come find me, I’ll be on the bridge.” She ordered, before turning around and leaving again.

Nodding, Spike turned on his heels at set off down the corridor in the opposite direction from his master, heading towards the medical ward.

***

“My people will hunt you down to find me, and then I’ll show you what pain is.” Herank growled, straining against the cuffs around her leg and her one remaining arm.

“If you say so.” A disinterested medic said, checking on a clipboard, before walking off, looking over to the door as it slid open, allowing a strange upright lizard creature to walk in.

“I’m sorry, but you can’t be in here.” The medic said, holding his hands up to the lizard creature. “It’s authorised personal only.”

“Oh, he’s authorised.” Herank growled, looking up at the lizard. “Isn’t that right, Padawan Spike?”

“You’re a Jedi?” The medic asked, his eyes falling towards his waist and setting on his Lightsaber. “I’m sorry for trying to stop you.” Quickly, the medic backed away, walking down the ward to check on another patient.

“Come to see the cripple that you made?” Herank asked, lying back down as Spike walked over. “Or have you come to finish me off?”

“Actually, I came on orders, I don’t care what you think of me and what I did, but you owe one of the ones I’m passing you over to your life, cause if he hadn’t stopped me, they’d be transporting a corpse. Now,” Spike said, waving his hand at the key and bringing it over, unlocking the cuffs and pulling her out of the bed, “try and run, and you may lose a leg as well.”

“You know,” she said as she began to walk down the corridor, Spike following closely behind her, his Lightsaber hilt in his hand, “you’re nothing like any Jedi I’ve seen before.”

“I’m not any Jedi you’ve seen before, that’s why.” Spike said simply, reaching the door to the hanger and pushing Herank inside.

“Spike?” Tarhal called, walking over beside Norik.

“Got a prisoner for you two.” Spike said, pushing Herank again.

“Easy now Spike, she’s a prisoner, we can’t treat her badly.” Norik said, grabbing Herank.

“You going to be more observant this time Wookie?” Herank smiled, looking at Tarhal.

Tarhal scowled at her, but didn’t respond to her, instead turning to Norik.

“I’ll get the Eagle started. Be ready in about a minute.” He said tersely, before turning around and walking up the ramp to the ship, disappearing from sight.

“Now my Wookie’s a little rusty, but he doesn’t seem happy about this Dick, or is that Norik, I get confused.” Herank laughed.

“You know, when it comes to mind games, the Jedi are usually the ones playing them.” Norik said simply. “Plus the fact that I’m not a Padawan, you won’t be able to just wind me up like they can. Ah, the failings of youth.”

“Still here master.” Spike smirked, before scowling at Herank. “Don’t let her escape this time.”

“Oh don’t worry Spike, she’ll be safe.” Norik nodded.

“Great, last time I had Jedi ‘protecting’ me I had two arms.” She scowled, before Norik hauled her away towards the ship.

“Good luck out here Spike, this isn’t training anymore.” Norik called, before the door to his ship slid closed, and he disappeared from sight.

Turning around, Spike walked back towards the door of the hanger, hearing the ship behind him take off, and feeling the warm rush of air from its engines on his back, it felt odd, and seemed to last longer than it should have done, but before he could really think about it, it had disappeared, and Spike was back in the corridor and well on his way to the bridge.

***

“Master.” Spike called out as he entered the bridge, pushing his way through the crew and moving over to Solaris.

“Spike.” She nodded, turning to face him. “Did Herank give you any trouble?”

“She’s a little bitter.” Spike said with a slight smile.

“Yeah, what can you do? Someone cut off her arm.” She smirked back, before walking past him. “Come on, fleets about to jump, they’ve given us a window to leave before they go to hyperspace.”

“Aren’t we going back to Fireshot?” Spike asked in confusion.

“Nope, we’ve got somewhere else to be, you and I.” She smiled.

“Mind telling me where that is master?” He asked. “And could you not have met me in the hanger, I literally just came from there.”

“Where would be the fun in that?” She asked as they entered the hanger bay again, before walking towards their fighters.

“Will you tell me before we have to jump, or do I have to guess that as well?” Spike asked, reaching for his helmet and flight suit.

“I’ll tell you.” She nodded, looking over to Spike. “Oh, you can leave the suit this time. I think you can handle the flight without it.”

“You just made my day master.” Spike smiled, dropping the suit to the floor, before climbing into his fighter. “Will you tell me where we’re going now?”

“Illum.”

***

“Why do I not get any sort of coat?” Spike shivered, looking over to his master, who was wearing a long fur-lined coat over her robe, the hood pulled up over her head.

“You’ve got fire in your belly Spike. Literally in your case.” Solaris smiled. “You said you didn’t wear one on your first expedition, so you don’t need one now. Plus, the more important fact that you didn’t pack one.”

“Last time I was in the caves and out of the wind.” Spike said through chattering teeth.

“Don’t worry Spike, you can survive this, the force will keep you alive.” Solaris reassured him. “Plus, I’m going to turn the engines of my ship on, should keep you warm.”

“If you say so.” Spike nodded.

“I do. Now, get out your crystal please.” She said, before reaching into a bag that she had brought along with her, pulling out a part and showing it to Spike. “Recognise this?”

“That’s a Lightsaber hilt.” Spike noted, pulling out the crystal he had stored in the pouch on his belt.

“Not just any Lightsaber hilt though is it?” She asked, throwing the empty part over to him.

“No, it’s got the other handle on.” Spike smiled, looking up to Solaris with a smile. “How did you get this?”

“I remembered your fight with Asho in the tournament, your use of two weapons.” She said matter-of-factly. “You seemed to take to it well, so I had this forged for you. I just had to wait till the right time came along.”

“Thank you master.” Spike smiled.

“It’s fine my Padawan. Now, you know how to activate the crystal. It should be quicker this time, then we can build it and we can get off this frost ball.

Nodding, Spike sat down in the snow, shivering slightly, before he crossed his legs and concentrated on the crystal, raising it to his eye level and opening his mind to the force.

***

“Moonstone?” Spike called out as he looked over the black emptiness that he recognised as his meditating mind.

“My my my. You have improved.” Came the familiar voice, and Spike turned to see the familiar form of the not-Twilight look alike. “Already crafting a second blade?”

“Solaris believes it best.” Spike nodded.

“And what do you believe Spike?” Moonstone asked, sitting down next to him.

“I…I think that if I follow her that I’ll become like her. Desensitised that is. She seems to be so used to death, that it’s become as natural to her as life. Don’t get me wrong, she’s amazing as a master, she’s funny, almost as immature as me, and fair, but it’s just…” Spike trailed off slowly, failing to think of the proper way to describe her.

“And this frightens you.” Moonstone nodded knowingly.

“Frightens me? Amazes me that she can keep a positive outlook on life? I don’t know.” Spike admitted.

“That’s something you’ll have to decide on your own Spike, this is not decision I will be able to make for you.” Moonstone pointed out.

“I know, it’s just good find a place to get things out of your mind sometimes. Even if that place is…inside your mind.” Spike said slowly, realising the paradoxical statement he had made and smirking.

“If it helps.” Moonstone said simply.

“It does, it really does.” Spike nodded, before focusing on the crystal properly once more. It had already started to take on a very faint colour by now, but in the half light, Spike could make out what it was.

Focusing harder, Spike poured himself into it once again, finishing the process.

***

“Twelve hours and fifty two minutes in total. Three hours and six minutes since I turned the engines of the Cyclone on.” Solaris said, looking down at a datapad, before looking up at Spike. “Not bad Spike, not bad at all.”

“Thanks.” Spike smiled, showing her the crystal. It seemed to be glowing, but didn’t actually seem to be emitting a colour.

“Huh, I wonder.” Solaris mused as she looked closely at the crystal, before handing Spike the parts she had brought with her. “I believe you know what to do with these, and this time you won’t need spend days heating them to get them strong.”

“I’m glad. It was bloody hot in the furnace. Worked up a bit of a sweat.” Spike said with a slight grin, taking the parts from Solaris.

Working quickly, Spike inserted the crystal into the matrix, making sure it was in the right way, before attaching it to the power source and sliding it inside the casing. Even working quickly and knowing what he was doing from prior experience, it still took him over an hour, but Solaris didn’t seem to mind. While he worked, she simply sat there, her gloved encased hands behind her resting in the snow, and a look of tranquil calm spread over her face as the hot air from her fighters engines washed around her. Spike wondered if this was her preferred meditation stance, but decided it would be best to keep working on his weapon and get finished, so they could get out of the cold all together.

Finally, he stood up, holding the finished hilt in his hand with a look of triumph on his face. Instantly, Solaris was on her feet, looking pleased with him finally finishing.

“Done?” She asked, drawing a nod from Spike. “Good. There is one thing I forgot though, your old saber has small stones on the handle doesn’t it?”

“Yep. A purple starburst, Twilights cutie mark.” He smiled.

“Ah, yeah, there lies the problem.” She smiled weakly. “See, I got some gems so you could do it on this one, but…” She trailed off as she showed him some small blue gems. “I couldn't remember the colour.”

“It’s fine.” Spike smiled. “I can sort that out later.”

“Great.” Solaris nodded. “Well, what are you waiting for? Fire her up.”

Grinning, Spike grasped the Lightsaber by the secondary handle and thumbed the activator. For a moment, nothing happened, before suddenly the beam burst into life, solidifying into a pure white blade. Spike stared at the weapon, enthralled by the colour. He had only seen something this perfect once before.

“Master?” He asked, tearing his eyes away from the blade. “Can I have those gems after all?”

***

Spike checked over his fighter from the outside, scraping thin layers of ice off the engines and cockpit. At his side, already attached to his belt was his second Lightsaber, three tiny blue gems forming the cutie mark of one special pony. Smiling, Spike grabbed the two Lightsabers, placing them beside each other and admiring the cutie marks together.

He wasn’t alone out here, not any more.

The Word of the Empress

Spike sliced through a droid with his second saber, before deflecting a shot back along its path and sending the laser slamming into another droid, destroying its head, before turning to face another clutch.

Sprinting forward, Spike threw both Lightsabers at once, before diving into a roll, avoiding the fire now he had no weapons to defend himself. As he did, his Lightsabers flew through the air, easily cutting through the droids, before returning to Spikes outstretched claws as he finished his roll and got back to his feet, checking to see if anything had survived.

Setting his sights on the final droid, Spike pulled it closer with a flick of his claw, sending it skidding along the floor. Lashing out with his foot, he caught the droid in the chest and propelled it upwards just in time to meet his Lightsabers as they arced down, slicing through it in two neat lines.

Panting hard, Spike surveyed the amount of droid parts that were around him, counting at least seven heads, before he cast his eyes over to the ray-shielded observation deck where Solaris was standing. Usually, this place was saved for live fire weapon tests before they were mounted on the ships at Fireshots dry-dock facilities, but occasionally, Solaris managed to get hold of it for training of her own.

Grunting in discomfort, Spike made his way over to the door, opening it and making his way towards the observation deck. His back was still feeling odd, although now it was more like a constant ache rather than a burst of heat like it had first been. He had several theories about what could be causing it, but until he got around to going to the medical lab for proper analysis, theories were all he had, nothing tangible.

Turning a corner, Spike almost walked straight into Solaris as she walked the opposite way from him. Looking at his master, he cracked a smile, which was returned in kind.

“Not bad Spike, although you’re still being sloppy with your offhand, keep it up like your primary, and you’ll do fine.” She noted, walking off and bidding Spike to follow her, which he did, falling in beside her.

It had been close to three months since he had crafted his second Lightsaber in commemoration of his ‘baptism in fire’, as Solaris called it. Since then, he had been making sure to squeeze in training at every opportunity, determined to make sure he could use his second weapon as well as his first. He was far from perfect either, something he accepted as a natural part of being a student, but he wasn’t bad either.

Other than his skill in combat, and his growing knowledge of the force, Spike had been noticing much more physical changes in his body, to be honest it would have been hard not to. Firstly, he had grown, both upwards and in stature. No longer was he looking up at Solaris all the time, and he could now look her in the eye on her own level, despite being a decade and a half younger than her. That, and with the regime he had been doing, he had increased his muscle mass by a good proportion, being able to beat Solaris in a physical competition, although it still took all his effort, and when it came to skills, he was left in the dust.

“You know Spike, I still can’t get over your growth spurt. Weren’t you like, two or three feet when you came to the temple?” Solaris asked with a slight chuckle.

“Yep, I was a titch alright master.” Spike nodded. “Grown more in the past months than I did in years back home. Got a few ideas why, but no real idea, as with most things about dragons.”

“Tell me.” She asked, the possibility of hearing his theory peaking her interest.

“Well,” Spike began, thinking about how best to phrase it outside of his own head. “when I was in Ponyville, all the other ponies were roughly four feet tall. There were some exceptions like Big Mac, but he was an anomaly. Now Twilight once mentioned that it was a personal belief of hers that all creatures in Equestria and beyond its borders had magic of some sort. Earth Ponies can make plants grow quicker and farm better, while Pegasi can manipulate the weather. Other than in Unicorns and Alicorns, and to an extent dragon fire, this magic is passive and we have no control over it. Because seeing a full grown dragon, or even a six foot one, would scare the locals, my magic kept my size in check, which explains why the dragons I met on the migration were so much bigger than me and mistook me for a baby even though they were only a few years older than me.”

“Well, that sounds like it took a lot of thought.” Solaris nodded, running though Spikes reasoning in her own head. “So why do you think you’re growing now?”

“Well, now people would be afraid to see a tall alien, my body can take the limiters off and grow properly.” Spike explained. “Either that, or because of the lack of magic here, maybe it just stopped anyway.”

“That sounds plausible.” Solaris nodded. “How big do you dragons usually get?”

“Big.” Spike said simply. “Like, bigger than a small starship big.”

“That could be a problem.” Solaris pointed out.

“Tell me about it.” Spike smiled. “I’m still trying to figure out what to do about it.”

As the pair continued to converse, Spike realised that they were about to pass the medical ward, and stopped abruptly, almost causing a Republic fleet trooper to walk into his back.

“What is it Spike?” Solaris asked, looking at him quizzically.

“Oh, I want to try and sort out a theory in my mind, but I need a couple of scans to do it. Do you need me now, or should I catch up with you later master?” He asked.

“No, nothing pressing at the moment.” Solaris said after a brief moment to think. “I’ll wait for you to finish and you can tell me your findings on the way to the hanger.”

Grinning, Spike darted inside, quickly conversing with the medical officers inside, before lying down on the diagnostics table as a scanner passed over him. Lying perfectly still, Spike waited for what seemed like hours, but in reality was only a few minutes, before finally the arm stopped moving and the medical officer nodded that he could get up.

Grabbing the readout, Spike scanned through it, his eyes darting over the screen, and his brow scrunching up more and more as he read on. Finally finishing, Spike nodded his thanks to the staff, before walking out of the room, meeting up with Solaris again.

“Well? What did you find?” She asked, peering over to look at the dataslate.

“I’m…well, I’m growing wings.” He said weakly.

“Say that again, I think I had something stuck in my ear.” She laughed, scratching her ear to emphasis the point. “Did you say wings?”

“It seems likely, either that or my backs just dying.” Spike laughed weakly, still trying to take in the new information. “If you look at this scan, you can clearly see that something is forming just beneath the skin. It’s small at the moment, but given their position…”

“What- How!” She asked in confusion. “How is that even possible? You’re joking. You’re joking right? I know you’re you and all, with your freakily fast growth speed and all, but growing wings? One does not simply grow wings.”

“Like you said, creatures don’t usually double their height in under a year.” Spike countered.

“Explain it then, how does it work?” Solaris asked.

“Same principle as before I guess.” He shrugged. “I had no need of them before, so I didn’t have them. Now there’s no ambient magic to stop them from growing, I guess the process has started already. I just hope if I am right, that they don’t take as long as my growth spurt has, or is I guess, still ongoing.”

“Why not?” Solaris asked.

Spike didn’t even try to keep the whining tone out of his voice.

“Because it hurts. It feels like something is trying to push out from inside my body. If this discomfort is anything what it is like to be pregnant, I now sympathize much more with Mrs. Cake. If I’m correct, and I have no other theories so for now I’m going on the assumption I am, the wings have already begun to form in a tiny capacity, but need to break through my hide. Considering the fact that they only showed up as a tiny blip on the scans, and they’ve been forming for months, they could take ages to come through, and if they keep getting more painful, well. Oh and plus, I’ll get some really bug ugly lumps on my back before they grow through, which sucks.”

At this, Solaris burst out laughing.

“Oh, that’s rich.” She said in between snorts. “You could be growing an entire new part of your anatomy, and you’re worried about your looks? Only you Spike, Only you.”

“But darling.” Spike began, putting on his best Rarity impression. “The bulges will look so uncouth, how will I continue to look this fabulous with those things on my back?”

Placing his hand to his forehead, Spike pretended to swoon, falling backwards towards Solaris, before hitting the floor as his master let him drop, grinning down at him as he lay on the floor.

“You, Mr Spike, are a drama queen.” She said with a smirk, before beginning to walk off down the corridor. Grumbling to himself that she hadn’t caught him, Spike pushed himself up and followed her, quickly catching her up.

***

Two Weeks Later

***

Spike shifted uneasily as he stood on the bridge of Fireshot station, scratching around the top of a breastplate he had taken to wearing recently. His back was still acting up, and he was almost certain now that his prior hunch had been correct. Instead of waiting for the bumps to start showing however, he had decided to do something about it, and had forged this breastplate. It covered the top half of his torso, starting just below his ribs and ending at the top of his ridge cage. The important part of the armour however, was the rear of it, the metal bulging out just enough to make it simply look thick, but actually being hollow inside, giving the tiny bumps that had already started to form space to grow.

Only a handful of the crew, and by extension anyone in the galaxy, knew about the real reason he was wearing it, most notably Solaris and Loas, who had walked in on him while he was running more test on his back and wanted to know what he was doing.

“Spike? Master Solaris wants to see you. She’s in the briefing room.” Came the voice of Loas as the pilot poked his head around the corner.

“Thanks.” Spike smiled, turning and walking towards the cocky pilot, smiling as he followed on behind her.

“So how’s the back?” He asked, tapping on the dark metal plate. “That things looks brutal by the way. Could you not have made it look a bit, I don’t know, less intimidating?”

“Hey. I made this myself.” Spike said in mock indignation.

“Yeah, it shows.” Loas laughed. “I thought you said you forged your own saber. How can you be this bad with forging a single metal plate?”

“Forging stuff that has to fit perfectly sucks.” Spike muttered.

“Ah well. You heard the recent news about Empress Teta?” Loas asked, his face taking on a more serious tone.

“No, why?” Spike asked in interest.

“I’m sure Solaris is going to explain it.” Loas said, stopping outside the briefing room door.

“See you around?” Spike asked as he opened the door, looking at the man expectantly.

“I’m sure you will.” Loas smiled, before turning and leaving Spike to walk into the room on his own, catching sight of the only other occupant of the room.

“Spike. It is good that you are here.” Solaris said, casting her eyes over her Padawan. “Have you heard of Ulic Qel-Droma, and the rest of the Qel-Droma family?”

“Of course. Aren’t they investigating rumours around Empress Teta?” Spike asked.

“They were.” Solaris nodded. “Until recently it was part of the Republic. Now however, the Krath holy crusade has overrun the planet, placing it firmly under Krath control.”

“We’ve got to get it back.” Spike said instantly.

“It’s not that simple. However, Ulic’s brother Cay, Numi Sunrider and Tott Doneeta have a plan in motion. Ulic is in deep cover on the planet, but they are getting worried about his proximity to the dark side, and want to pull him out. That’s where we come in. They need extra pilots close at hand to help their plan, so we’re going in.” Solaris explained. “We will be briefed fully when we get there, but for now, we need to get moving. The plan can’t wait forever, and if we’re not there then they’ll be forced to go without us.”

“When do we leave?” Spike asked, scratching at the collar of his armour to alleviate some of the itch from it rubbing against his skin.

“Right now actually, I was waiting on you.” Solaris said. “We’ll go to the hanger, take with us two wings of Fighters and be off.”

“Which wings would those be?” Spike asked in interest.

“Umm…” Solaris said, looking down at a datapad. “Red wing will fly under my command, and you will be leading Green wing.”

Spike smiled at that, he knew who flew in Green wing, and he couldn’t wait to see if Loas was all he had cracked himself up to be.

***

“Green wing, check in and form up on my six and lock S-foils for transit.” Spike ordered over the comm, opening a secure channel to the six fighters following him.

“Green 1, standing by Green leader.” Came the voice of Loas over the comm.

“Green 2 standing by.”

“Green 3 ready.”

“Green 4, ready on your mark sir.”

“Green 5 standing ready.”

“Green 6 checking in.”

“Green wing checked in master, all formed and ready to jump.” Spike said, switching to his masters channel.

“Good. Red wing is ready to make the jump. On my mark…mark.” Came the voice of Solaris, speaking on the open channel.

Nodding, Spike pushed the lever forward, propelling his ship past the speed of light and jumping to Hyperspace, his wing following closely behind him.

It was not a long jump, Sunrider’s fleet was waiting in a system that was not too far away from Fireshot station, and was along a well-used hyperspace lane, but all the same, it was highly turbulent, more so than his other flights.

Nevertheless, the ships all exited hyperspace safely, quickly reorganising themselves on the two Jedi that were to be leading them. Ahead of the two wings was a small fleet, consisting solely of an old, antiquated carrier and a few escorts. Spike did not know why they would have something so small to attack a planet, when just a space station necessitated more than this.

“Spike, transmit to the fleet that we have arrived with the reinforcements as requested and get us a dock.” Solaris ordered.

Nodding to himself, Spike turned a dial to the channel of the carrier, before speaking into the headset.

“Republic carrier, this Jedi Padawan Spike, Green leader, with me is Master Solaris, Red leader. We are requesting docking birth be made available for fourteen S-100 class fighters.”

“We read you Green leader.” Came the reply after a moment of static. “Jedi Knight Sunrider has been expecting both of you, please proceed to the aft portside hanger of the ship, it has been prepared for your arrival.”

“My thanks. Spike out.” He said, switching back to Solaris. “We’ve got our hanger, aft portside.”

“Good. See you on board.” Solaris replied, before leading her wing towards the ship.

Allowing her and her wing to get closer to the ship and begin to land, Spike lead his own fighters towards the carrier, swooping inside and setting his ship down beside the Cyclone.

Clambering out of the ship, Spike ran over to his master, who was already making her way towards the door, while the other pilots began to organise the final checks on the fighters, making sure the torpedoes were loaded and the blasters charged and ready to go at a moment’s notice.

Rushing though the ship, Spike passed by numerous crew as he followed Solaris, eventually reaching what Spike assumed was the bridge and passing through the door. Inside were a clutch of Jedi, all standing round an archaic planning table.

“Sunrider.” Solaris said, walking over to the table.

“Master Solaris.” Nomi bowed, the other Jedi following her lead as the master walked towards them. “I am honoured that you would lean your aid.”

“You needed starfighters and the pilots who know how to handle them. I have those, plus I have my Padawan.”

“Yes, I saw that you had an apprentice.” Cay said, looking over at Spike. “You as good in a fighter as your master?”

“Eh, no master.” Spike said with a smile. “Not at all.”

“I’m no master.” Cay laughed. “And don’t be sorry, we can’t all be as good as Solaris.”

“True there.” Solaris smiled. “Now, I believe you have a plan you want to inform me of.”

“Yes.” Sunrider said, looking back at the table. “We need to get Ulic off Empress Teta, else he’ll fall to the dark side, but we can’t just force him to come with us, meaning that Cay, Tott and I will have to be the ones to make contact. To do that however, we need to breech the Iron Citadel.”

“With a name like that, I doubt it will be easy.” Spike said with a chuckle.

“Correct.” Sunrider nodded. “We have already managed to get an alliance from the beast-riders to transport us to the upper floors, but they will need a diversion to get close.”

“And that’s where we come in?” Solaris nodded slowly. “Risky, but not impossible.”

“Exactly.” Cay replied. “From the looks of things on our last mission on the planet, that place will be swarming with CX-133s.”

“S-100s are better.” Solaris shot back. “And the Krath ships aren’t piloted by Jedi.”

“The bottom line is Solaris, can you do it?” Sunrider asked.

“So can I just run over the plan, make sure I’ve got it.” Solaris asked. “We drop out of hyperspace, deploy and launch towards the planet. While the three of you go on ahead to meet up with the beast riders, we create a diversion and give you the window to get in. After that, we keep pressing the attack until you come out with Ulic, then we high tail it out of there.”

“Pretty much, except for the fact that we will be deploying from here. This old rust bucket would give us away as soon as we entered the system. For this to work we need surprise.” Cay pointed out.

“Yeah, I can make that work.” Solaris nodded. “When do we leave?”

“Now actually, we would have gone sooner, but we needed more than the ten fighters we had. Now we’ve got your reinforcements, we can actually pull this off.” Tott said with a smile.

“Well then, I’ll see you in space.” Solaris smiled. “Come on Spike, lets show them how it’s done.”

“Right behind you master.” Spike nodded, following her back to the hanger.

***

“Green wing, you ready?” Spike asked, looking around his cockpit to look at the fighters all around him.

“We are Spike, ready to go on your mark.” Loas replied.

“Sunrider?” Spike asked.

“Ready. You have the vanguard Spike.” She replied.

“Very well. On my mark then. Ready….Mark.”

Pushing the lever forward again, Spike felt the ship jump forward, watching as the stars seemed to stretch out in front of him, as he jumped forward into hyperspace again.

Up a Creek without a Paddle

Spike eased back on the hyperspace lever, dropping out of Hyperspace on the edge of the system overlooking the planet of Empress Teta. Behind him, Green Wing appeared, forming up behind him and waiting for Red Wing and the small transport carrying Sunrider, Cay and Tott, all of which jumped in mere seconds after Spike had arrived.

“Everyone ok?” Sunrider asked over the comm.

“Red Wing checked in.” Solaris replied.

“Green Wing standing by.” Spike confirmed, checking the lights that indicated his

“Prepare to move in on my signal.” Sunrider said. “Cay, Tott and I will head on ahead and meet our contacts with the beast riders. Be ready to move on my go.”

With that, Spike watched as the transport moved out ahead of the rest of the small fleet, moving towards the planet and hopefully staying out of sight, else this was going to be one hell of a short mission.

***

“I spy with my little eye, something beginning with…S” Loas said excitedly over the comm.

“Let me guess, space.” Spike deadpanned.

“Ah man, that’s sixteen times in a row.” Loas whined.

“He always does this.” Came the voice of Green four over the comm. “And when I say always, I mean every time we’re not in combat.”

“Oh, lighten up and let him have his little jokes.” Solaris radioed over. “Spike, anything on the long range scanners?”

“Negative.” Spike replied, glancing down at one of the small screens on his control board. “So far I’ve got no movement on the planet. Looks like they don’t know we’re up here. No word from Sunrider or the others either.”

“Keep your eyes open.” Solaris ordered. “We may only have a few fighters, but it’s still possible that they could see us.”

“Master Jedi?” Came the voice of one of Red Wing. “I believe I am picking something up from the surface. Cleaning it up and transmitting it now.”

The radio was filled with static for a second, before it cleared and became a tangible voice.

“Master Solaris come in, do you copy? Over.” Came the voice of Sunrider.

“I copy Sunrider. What is happening with your beastie friends?” Solaris asked.

“We’ve made contact with the beast riders, and the transports are being prepared now. It’s now or never for your force.”

“Roger, moving to engage the Iron Citadel and create you your diversion.” Solaris said, before switching the comm to transmit to the other fighters. “Green Wing, form up on Red Wing and follow us in, watch our six and stay frosty down there.”

Gunning her ships engines, Solaris shot forward, followed closely by the rest of Red Wing. Waiting for a split second, Spike followed his master, quickly approaching the planet.

“How long can we go until they see us?” Spike wandered out loud.

“Until we get pinged by the ground sensors.” Loas replied with a slight chuckle.

“Sound helps them ping us, keep it to a minimum.” Solaris ordered.

Approaching to the planet, Spikes ship began to shudder heavily, and he had to fight to keep the craft in formation with the rest of Green Wing. Finally, the fourteen fighters breeched the atmosphere, dropping until they were just barely above the ground, keeping as low as they could without risking crashing and burning. One thing he could say about Solaris, other than her skill in being a pilot, was her knowledge of exactly what her craft, and those with her, would be able to do, and how low they would have to be to avoid most of the sensors that would be trying to pick them up.

Cresting a hill, Spike finally caught sight of Cinnagar, marvelling at the sprawling city. Even after living on Coruscant for months, he still couldn’t get his head around the size of the cities here. By most standards, Cinnagar wasn’t all that large only covering about half of the planet, but it was still bigger than anything in Equestria.

“Eye’s on the Iron Citadel.” Loas said.

“Se…” Spike began, before catching sight of a pulsing red light on his cockpit board. “Master, I’ve been pinged, sensors tripped!”

“Same here!” Green two shouted, confirming Spikes worries.

“I’ve got alarms sounding in the city.” One of Red Wing said urgently.

“Stay tight and watch out for CX-133s. Remember, we’re a diversion, not an attack force. If we get seen, it means we’re doing our job.” Solaris grunted.

The cities defence guns spat death as the two wings roared over the city’s boundaries, the turbo lasers lashing out to try and swat the fighters before they could get any further. Luckily for Red and Green wings, they had had the element of surprise on their side, and the defence batteries were manned by organics, not droids, meaning by the time they had got to their stations, they had already lost the best angles of fire and their opportunity to shoot down the attackers had already passed.

“Iron citadel in sight!” Spike roared.

“Take out the defences before they can scramble fighters! This is going to be hard enough without dealing with both!” Solaris shouted back.

Nodding, Spike pushed his craft into a climb, angling upwards to take out the vulnerable underside of the turret emplacements where they couldn’t target him. His wing followed him, and as one fired into the gun, blowing it off its mooring and sending it crashing to the city below in a rain of debris. Spike pushed the thoughts of the operators he had just killed from his mind and gunned the engines of his fighter, streaking away from the building before he turned to make another attack run.

“Green One, take point.” Spike ordered, watching as Loas moved in front of him, his craft spitting out lasers and missiles at the citadel, the ordnance smashing against the wall of the Citadel, dislodging more chunks of masonry.

“Nice one Green one.” One of the other pilots said. “Wait, what’s…”

The radio was suddenly cut off as he pilots craft was suddenly engulfed in flames, smashing into the ground below and detonated.

“ARTHUR!” Loas screamed, nearly deafening Spike as the voice was channelled directly into his ear. “Chaos fighters!”

Spike watched as the enemy fighter streaked past, its engines howling as the pilot pushed his craft to its limits, before banking and turning again.

“Red Leader! We’ve got fighters, Green four is down, I repeat Green four is down!” Spike yelled, letting fly with his own lasers as he got behind the fighter.

In his peripheral vision, Spike could see the rest of Green Wing breaking off, no longer able to stay in a proper formation as they each gave chase to one of the enemy. As Spike watched, Green One fired a missile, before rolling and spitting out a flurry of shots, nailing two of the enemy in as many seconds. Whatever boasts Loas did give, he may actually be able to back them up.

Tearing his eyes away from the spectacle of Loas, Spike searched for his quarry again, before figuring out where it was. He sensed it before he saw it, and flung his craft to the left just as a stream of lasers passed through the space he had occupied a second before.

Growling, Spike dived and rolled his craft, trying to get the chaos fighter off his tail, but every time he managed to, another one would instantly be on him, firing more lasers and slowly draining his shields.

“Green Wing this is Green Leader requesting assistance.” Spike grunted as he was slammed back into his seat. Flying in gravity was a lot harder than in space that was for sure.

“Copy Green Leader, coming up on your six.” Came another voice, Green five if he remembered correctly.

Spike watched as Green Five broke off from his pursuit and rocketed towards the chaos fighter on Spikes tail, but couldn’t watch for long, as another blast of laser fire struck his craft, finally shorting out the shields.

“Shields down!” Spike roared.

“Get out of here Spike!” Solaris roared back over the comm.

Spike tried to follow Solaris’s order, pulling back on the control stick and starting to climb rapidly, but it was not enough, and that damn fighter was still on his tail. Spike jinked to the left and pressed the Stinger’s overtaxed engines to the limit, trying vainly to evade his pursuer. Green death streaked by his canopy and his gut clenched involuntarily, anticipating the hard strike that threw his fighter into an uncontrollable spin.

Spike struggled with the controls as his fighter billowed smoke, plunging into a dive as he fought for control.

“Green Leader is hit!” Green Five roared.

Grunting as he approached the ground, Spike hauled back on the controls, trying anything he could to stop the nose dive he was doing, using the force to try and stabilise the craft slightly. Gesturing with his claw, Spike forced the flaps on his right wing to invert, finally stopping the spin and managing to level the craft off just slightly.

Bracing his body, Spike was flung out through the canopy as his fighter smashed into the ground.

“Spike!” Solaris bellowed.

***

Spike groaned as he propped himself up against wall. His fighter was a burning wreck, halfway buried in the walkway he had smashed into. If he hadn’t been thrown out of the craft when he had, he doubted he would have been able to get out. Shaking slightly, Spike looked down at his left leg, and the shards of glass and metal sticking out of it. With a grunt of pain, he pulled one of the larger pieces of metal out of him, chucking it to the floor before shakily getting to his feet, steadying himself against the wall as he tried to keep the weight off his leg. Somehow, his chest plate had survived remarkably well, and Spike thanked the god of small mercies for that. Of course, this had to be the time his back started to act up again, his growing wings rippling underneath his skin and sending another jolt of pain through him, but in the scheme of things, his other injuries hurt more.

“Master?” He asked shakily, putting his hand up to his ear, only to bring it away slick with blood and small parts of broken communicator. “Shit.” He cursed weakly, drawing his Lightsaber. He didn’t know what was happening with the others, the buildings all around him were blocking out his view of the Iron Citadel, but he knew that if he ever wanted to get off this planet, he would need to get there and find out what was happening.

Limping forward, Spike rounded a corner, before catching sight of a pair of droids, both patrolling the street together, and walking towards the location of his crash site. They were ugly things, one being a tall grey humanoid, clutching a sword in one hand and an odd energy caster weapon in the other, while the second droid was on all fours as if it was sniffing the ground for something.

Grunting, Spike clutched his side as he grabbed hold of one of his Lightsabers, the one he had taken to calling Dusk in memory of the mare it took after, holding it by the side handle. As he rounded the corner, both droids stopped, and to Spike immense surprise, the one that had been on all fours stood up, revealing itself to be identical to the other one.

“Target identified. Jedi. Age, young. Species, not on record. Weapon, two Lightsabers, design not on record. Possible survivor of crash. Injured. Units MX-5 and MX-6 moving to engage.” The first droid spoke, before the pair of them began to advance towards Spike readying there weapons.

Igniting his Lightsaber, Spike took his hand away from his side, revealing the blood seeping from there and grabbed his second weapon, Elusive, igniting them and straightening himself up, preparing to fight the two droids. Even in this state, he could take them.

Suddenly, one of the droids blurred into motion, brandishing its sword at Spike while the other one readied its weapon, firing a burst of plasma at Spike, one that only just missed Spike, before the first droid was on him, bringing its sword down towards him and smashing him with the flat side of the blade, sending him flying.

Ok, maybe he couldn’t take the droids easily.

Pushing himself back up, Spike groaned in pain, but began to limp towards the war droid, moving faster than he would have liked as his side and leg screamed in pain, although on reflection, that could have just been his blood filled ear. The droid began to lope towards him, brandishing its sword again. Roaring in a mixture of pain and fear, Spike brought Dusk down on the droids blade, cutting it in two while forcing its arm away from its body. At the same time, he brought Elusive spinning around, using the handle as a fulcrum to maximise the power as he decapitated the droid. Who said mechanics didn’t come in handy every now and again?

As the droid fell to the ground, Spike stumbled slightly, luckily for him, as he avoided the blast from the other droid that had begun to move forward as well, firing its weapon as it advanced. Standing back up, Spike twisted his blades so that they facing backwards along his forearm and prepared to fend off the attacks. Each shot he blocked sent shivers down his arms, making his side erupt into more pain, and slowly but surely, he found himself being driven to his knees.

Lashing out at Spike with its foot, the droid kicked Spike hard in his face, stunning the young drake and sending him sprawling across the floor, his Lightsabers skidding from his hands.

“Jedi target disarmed. Preparing to…” The droid began, but got no further as it was suddenly lifted from its feet.

“Not quite disarmed.” Spike grunted, getting back to his feet one claw outstretched towards the now floating droid.

“Alert, alert, unit immobilised, send backup.” The droid said, its voice rising slightly.

“Too late for that.” Spike panted, before taking a deep breath and roaring, covering the droid in flames.

The droid seemed to scream as the fire washed over it, quickly heating it until its entire body was a brilliant white, before becoming completely molten and slipping from Spikes grasp, beginning to congeal in a boiling pool. Sticking his hands out, Spike used the force to retrieve his Lightsabers, reattaching them to his belt.

Making sure to avoid the pool of metal, Spike moved forward again, determined to keep moving until he could at least see the battle going on above his head. What he wouldn’t give for a communicator at this point, anything so that he would be able to find out what was going on. The lack of battle noises un-nerved him more than anything else. He was either too deep in the built up urban environment, or…they had left without him.

Pushing the thought from his mind, Spike rounded another corner, only to find himself face to face with five humans wearing long red robes, topped with brown leather armour and wielding spears and blasters. Behind them were yet more of the droids, and Spikes heart fell as he saw them. In his current state, he had struggled with two of them, let alone over double that and the same in Tetan Shock Troopers.

“It’s the Jedi!” One shouted, brandishing his spear.

“Don’t move.” Another growled, pointing his blaster at Spike.

Panting heavily, Spike began to raise his arms, before thrusting them forward, hitting the front soldiers with a blast of telekinesis. Unfortunately, with his injuries as they were, he couldn’t muster much more than a simple shove. Nevertheless, it gave him enough time to draw his weapons, holding the blades along his arm to help himself on the defence.

Sure enough, the soldiers and the droids were quick to recover, raining down a flurry of shots on him. Working quickly, Spike lashed out with blades, slashing one of the soldiers across the chest in an X pattern, before spinning and unleashing a gout of flame at another one of the soldiers, causing him to drop to the ground, screaming as his flesh melted from his body.

Turning away from the macabre spectacle, Spike began to retreat back down the street as the weight of fire increased, the Krath war droids taking point, advancing on Spike quicker than he could retreat. He continued to block the shots, his moves becoming more erratic and wider, before one of the droids spoke up.

“Jedi tactics assimilated. Injuries on left side. Left leg. Left side of cranium. Concentrate fire.”

The result was instantaneous, and the droids instantly altered their target areas, aiming for his leg and side. He managed to block a few more shots, before finally one of his assailants found their mark, the shot hitting his injured leg, knocking it out from underneath him and sending him toppling to the floor, again.

“Retrieve his Lightsabers.” One of the soldiers ordered, the order quickly being carried out by a pair of the droids who stepped on his wrists, causing him to cry out in pain and instinctively relinquish the grip on his weapons, allowing the droids to pick them up.

“Well well well. One of the Jedi trying to rescue their brother eh?” Sneered one of the soldiers, pushing Spike with a foot so he was lying on his back, panting heavily, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. “I must say, when the two droids reported a Jedi on the loose in the lower city, I had expected more.”

“Let me up…and I’ll show…” Spike began, before the soldier prodded his side, drawing a cry of pain from Spike.

“No no, my little Jedi.” He laughed. “I’m not stupid enough to fall for that. You are such a disappointment. I’m sure your master despises having to train someone as weak as you. And let’s not even start with your family. What, your family gave you up so they wouldn’t have to look at you anymore? Pathetic.”

“Get. Off. Me!” Spike roared, ripping his arms out from underneath the heels of the droids, throwing a shockwave out that knocked the soldiers flying, sending them crashing into the walls around him.

Spike was not done with that one soldier however, and while the others were still stumbling about, he pulled the offending soldier over, immobilising him with the force and holding him at his eye level.

“Never. Insult. Twilight!” He screamed, bringing his fist round and slamming it into the side of the man’s head, denting it and making the man go limp.

Panting, Spike looked around at the two remaining soldiers and the five droids. The soldiers looked terrified as Spike advanced on them, gritting his teeth as he tried to stop himself from crying out in pain. The droids however had no such emotion, and charged forward, their swords brandished as they bore down on him.

Using the force to augment his speed, Spike jinked, well, stumbled, to the side, avoiding the first of the charging droids and grabbing it with the force, slamming it into the floor and crushing it under its own weight. Spinning round, Spike screamed in agony as he brought his arm up, catching a sword blow that was aimed for his neck in his arm, the blade digging deep and sticking. The droid tried to pull back, but it couldn’t extract the weapon.

Unleashing a stream of flame, Spike hit the droid straight on, burning its head away in short order. Collapsing to the ground, Spike pulled the sword from his arm with a grunt, before facing the five remaining targets. He roared as looked at them, trying to scare them, but they were neither scared nor stupid, the soldiers having seen what happened in close quarters and the droids assimilating his tactics.

Forming a gun line, the remaining troops unleashed a flurry of shots at him. The first shot to hit him slammed into his shoulder, spinning him around. The next into his leg, forcing him to come to a halt as he was spun the opposite way, facing away from the enemy, before a final shot slammed into his back, sending him flying. He was dimly aware that those shots should have killed him, but that wasn’t going to be much more of a problem as he heard the droids approaching him.

His left leg was useless at the moment, his left side and his head felt like Big Mac had done a tap dance on them and his right arm felt like it had been cut in half. He was covered in blood, both his own and the enemies. He was finished.

Determined to at least look his killers in the eye, Spike forced himself to roll over, no longer even able to muster the strength to cry out as pain coursed through his body. One of the droids stood over him, raising its weapon until the barrel was just inches from his forehead.

“Neutralising targ...” The droid growled.

The droid never finished, a yellow Lightsaber erupting from its chest, before being drawn back, returning to the hand of the Jedi who had thrown it. Sunrider leaped forward, Cay and Tott by her side as the trio slashed at the remaining droids, before rushing to Spikes side.

“He’s alive!” Cay roared.

“Master Solaris, we have your Padawan, he’s alive.” Tott radioed. “Mission was a failure, fall back to rally point.”

“Hold on Spike, we’re going to get you out of here.” Sunrider said, lifting Spike onto her shoulders and breaking into a run, the other two hot on her heels.

As they rounded a bend, Spike dimly caught sight of a transporter, surrounded by a few individuals he assumed were the beast riders, before he finally allowed himself the mercy of passing out.

The Capital

Spike swam back into the waking world to the sound of a beeping heart monitor and the strong smell of anti-septic. He could feel something wrapped around his arm, binding it tightly and compressing it slightly, the same with his left leg and his side, telling him all he needed to know about where he was at present.

Forcing his eyes to open, even if it was just a crack, Spike took in his surroundings. He was in a large, spacious room, the walls a start gun metal grey interrupted by blue screens and power terminals. Spike found himself lying on a soft bed, his chest plate removed and his wounds bandaged over, small wires sticking out from underneath them and from other small pads stuck to his body.

As he watched, a droid moved into position beside him, running a scanner over him, before speaking up, its voice smooth and calming.

“Franoline. I believe the young Padawan is awake.”

“Excellent.” Came another voice, this one belonging to a female Togruta who walked into view, her red skin being something Spike could easily focus on. “Spike, it is nice to see you back among the world of the waking. I am Jedi healer Franoline, a member of the Medical Corp.”

“Where am I?” Spike asked, shaking his head slightly.

“You are within the Halls of Healing at the Jedi temple. Do you remember why you are here?” Franoline asked, looking over a clip board.

“I was on Empress Teta.” Spike said, sitting up and propping himself up on his uninjured left arm. “I got shot down.”

“That is a nice way of putting it.” Franoline nodded, reading off a series of injuries. “Broken left leg. Ruptured spleen. Three bruised ribs on the left side, one cracked. Numerous lacerations and bruises. One deep slash into your right forearm. Second and first degree burns covering sixty two percent of body, mostly your legs. Minor concussion and bleeding in the left ear canal. You really did a number on yourself.”

“The droids didn’t help my injuries.” Spike muttered, wincing slightly. “Wait, my side doesn’t hurt much, well, nothing does. How long have I been here?”

“Let’s see, you were brought in a week and a half ago, and you were in a bacta tank for four of those days. You drifted in and out of conscience for most of it, but it’s normal to not remember such fleeting moments of consciences after this length of time. Now, do you feel any discomfort?” She asked, pressing a button to raise the back of the bed upwards so he could sit up properly.

“My side’s pinching a bit, and my backs hurting still.” Spike replied.

“Yes, Master Solaris mentioned that you had problems with your back. She said something about growths, but until you were awake, I did not want to look at them. Would you mind if I looked at them now?” She asked.

“No, not at all.” Spike said, rolling over onto his left side and allowing her to get a better look at his back.

By this point, the two growths were extremely large now bulging out from his back, reaching from just below his neck to where his ribs stopped and stretching his hide until it was translucent. Picking up a small yet powerful torch from a side table, Franoline pressed it lightly against one side of the bulge and switched it on, causing the skin to begin glowing slightly as the light seeped through, showing the two bone structures as they moved with a life of their own beneath his skin.

“Hey, bolts.” Franoline said, gesturing for the droid to move over. “What do you think of this?”

“Running diagnostic scan. Scanning. Scanning. Complete. There seem to be two bone protrusions beneath the skin. From data received from Jedi Master Solaris, they have grown exponentially since they were first sighted. It is unclear what the next stage is.” The droid said, turning to Franoline.

“Umm…they’ll grow properly?” Spike offered.

“Re-clarifying. It is unknown if they will need surgery to free them from beneath your skin.” The droid said, turning to face Spike.

“Surgery?” Spike asked nervously.

“Affirmative. If the bones cannot emerge on their own, then they could be freed via surgery cutting your back open.”

“How about we see what happens.” Spike said nervously, rolling back over and pushing himself up so he was sitting on the side of the bed. “Where’s my Master?”

“Solaris has been staying at the temple for the past week and a half.” Franoline said, steadying Spike as he stood up, putting weight on his recently healed leg. “The Grand Master has had her helping out with the younglings apparently.”

“So where can I find her?” Spike asked, stretching slightly, feeling his side pull tight.

“I will contact her momentarily. Before that however, would you mind if I run more tests on you?” Franoline asked.

“Why do you want to run tests on me?” Spike asked, looking over at the female Togruta.

“You are a fascinating species Spike. Your scales are harder than most known metal, which is why you didn’t die in that crash, you can breathe fire, and soon you may even be able to fly. As of now, you are the only known member of your species to encounter the republic, making you a one in a kind opportunity.” Franoline replied with a slight smile.

“Before I say yes, what sort of tests are you talking about?” Spike asked, sitting back down on the bed.

“The density of your scales, both front and back. How your scales are arranged at an atomic level. Lung capacity. Brain wave signatures in certain situations. Heat of your fire. Things like that.”

“As long as they don’t hurt then fine.” Spike nodded, lying back down.

***

It took Franoline a few hours to run all of her tests, scans were taken, he had a sample of his blood removed via his weaker stomach scales when the needle had snapped against his arm, she had made him breathe fire into a room with a built in thermometer, before finally asking him to breathe out for as long as he could, keeping the fire going for as long as he possibly could.

“Impressive.” Franoline said as Spike continued to breathe fire, looking at a clock to see that he had been going for well over twenty minutes. “How long do you think you could keep going for?”

“Same again?” Spike suggested, cutting off the stream of flames. “Maybe more.”

“Fascinating. I would be very interested to find out how long would be your maximum time breathing fire. From your lung scans, I couldn’t detect any signs of deflation, it was interesting.” Franoline said, placing a clip board down. “But I feel as though I have already kept you for too long. Master Solaris is currently assisting the grand master in training some younglings in the top training room of the southern tower. If you go now you should be able to meet up with her there.”

“Thank you master Franoline.” Spike smiled, bowing deeply.

“I am no master Spike. I failed my apprentice test over two decades ago. Been with the Medical Corp for the same amount of time. Just call me Franoline, please.” She smiled.

“Well then, I guess I’ll see you around.” Spike smiled, walking over towards the door, grabbing his chest plate and Lightsabers from a table and slipping the items on.

“Yes and no. I’d rather you didn’t nearly kill yourself again.” She laughed, before turning back to the droid and becoming engrossed in a conversation with it.

As Spike walked down the corridor of the hall of healing, he caught sight of an open door, and a mirror just beyond. Curious about what he actually looked like, there being no mirrors on board Fireshot station, he pushed open the door and walked over to the full length mirror, standing in front of it and taking in everything about his new body.

He had grown, that was obvious, now easily being taller than Twilight, topping off at just over six foot tall. The spines on his head and down his back had grown considerably, adding another few inches to his height, while his scales had become much more defined, allowing Spike to clearly see each of the overlapping pieces of rock hard chitin. Even the frills around his ears had grown outwards, even becoming slightly harder, nowhere near the strength of his scales, but definitely harder than when he had been in Equestria. Even his eyes had changed, the pupils becoming thinner and all together more draconic.

Shaking his head with a smile, he turned and left the room, making sure to shut the door behind him, before walking off down the corridor again, leaving the hall of healing and entering the temple at large. Walking through the cavernous halls of the temple, Spike noted that there were very few Jedi walking around the temple in comparison to the last time he came here. There were still some, but not nearly as many as there should have been.

Finally reaching the southern tower, Spike moved into the lift, pushing the top button and standing stock still as the small compartment shot upwards, finally stopping when it reached the top of the tower, and allowing Spike to leave. He could already hear the voice of Solaris talking adamantly to what he assumed was a class of younglings, and made his way towards it, finally reaching a room and seeing his master inside, surrounded by ten children, all garbed in the robes of the Jedi.

“Now younglings, it is nearly time for the end of this session. Before we go, recite the code of the Jedi.” Solaris said, not seeing Spike in the doorway.

“There is no Emotion, there is Peace. There is no Ignorance, there is Knowledge. There is no Passion, there is Serenity. There is no Chaos, there is Harmony. There is no Death, there is the Force.” The younglings intoned, causing Spike to smile, and decide that now was the best time to reveal himself.

“Emotion, yet Peace. Ignorance, yet Knowledge. Passion, yet Serenity. Chaos, yet Harmony. Death, yet the Force.” He said, reciting the archaic code as he moved forward, wincing slightly as the scales around his side tightened and tugged at the flesh beneath.

“Spike!” Solaris beamed, looking over at her Padawan. “When did you wake up?”

“Just now.” He smiled back, before turning to the younglings. “I am sorry for interrupting your lesson.”

“Don’t be.” Solaris said, standing beside Spike, the dragon noting with a slight bit of pride that thanks to the spines on his head, he was now taller than his master. “Younglings, this is Padawan Spike, my apprentice. I sure he would be willing to answer questions if you had any.” She smirked, nudging Spike in the side slightly.

Looking over at his master with an exasperated look, he turned back and nodded towards the Younglings.

“What are you?” One of them, a small human girl, asked.

“A dragon.” Spike replied simply.

“Oh cool! Another youngling, this time a male human, exclaimed. “Can you breathe fire?”

Smiling, Spike let out a little puff of flames, making sure to aim way above the heads of the little ones, drawing more cheers from the class.

"Do you have a Lightsaber?” A Rodian asked, looking at Spike expectantly.

“Of course he has a Lightsaber stupid, he’s a Jedi.” The boy from early said.

“We’re Jedi, and we haven’t got Lightsabers.” Pointed out a red skinned Twilek.

“Yeah, but we’re still younglings.” Reasoned the boy.

“Younglings, younglings.” Spike said, holding up his claws to quiet them down, before reaching down and grabbing his two weapons from his belt and igniting the blades, holding them in an X pattern so they illuminated his face.

“When you came in, what was it that you said?” A student at the back of the class asked, moving forward. “It sounded like the code, but it was wrong.”

“Not wrong, just old.” Spike clarified.

“Alright, that’s enough questions for Spike. You all need to be somewhere, and I need to speak to my Padawan.” Solaris said with a smile, gesturing for the younglings to leave. Talking in hushed whispers to each other, the younglings filed out of the room, allowing Solaris to shut the door behind them and walk back over to Spike, sitting down on one of the meditation chairs and gesturing for Spike to do the same.

“Good lesson?” Spike asked.

“They seemed bored out of their minds until the end.” Solaris said with a sigh. “Anyway. How are you feeling? You have no idea how worried I was on Empress Teta.”

“Good actually. My backs hurting more, and my side feels tight, but other than that, well, the bacta’s done its work. What happened after Sunrider and the others found me?”

“Well, Tott picked up your Lightsabers after they found you, good think they were made out of Neuranium or they probably would have broken in the crash. Your fighter has obviously been destroyed, and after Sunrider and the others got you back on the ship, we high tailed it off the planet and came back here.” She said with a smile, before her face fell. “Ulic…the mission was a failure. Ulic has given in to the dark side. By all accounts he allied himself with both the Krath, I’m sure you’re familiar with and their war droids, as well as the Mandalorians. For all intents and purposes though, this is war. The republic has begun mobilising its fleets and armies, and the Jedi are moving to support them. There is one other though, the reason why the Jedi are taking such an interest in this conflict.”

“What’s that?” Spike asked expectantly.

“Ulic is not the leader, he is just an apprentice. The master is someone much more powerful.”

“Another fallen Jedi?” Spike asked incredulously.

“Exar Kun.” She said simply. “He has already caused more Jedi to flock to his side after travelling to Ossus. Reports indicate they have taken to calling themselves the brotherhood of the Sith. Yesterday, Ulic personally lead his Mandalorians to sack the ship yards of Foerost. He managed to make off with over three hundred ships and is heading for the jump outpost of Kemplex IX. A fleet’s being assembled now.”

“When do we move out?” Spike asked expectantly.

“No we, not this time.” She said solemnly. “Kemplex IX is a true battle, not a pacification or a raiding mission. You’re not ready for this Spike. You’re staying here.”

“What?!” Spike asked indignantly. “I’m your apprentice!”

“I know, and I am immensely proud of you. When you become a knight and I get stewardship over another Padawan, I only hope that they live up to your example, but if anything happened to you…” She trailed off, before shaking her head and renewing her conversation. “I can’t risk it. A lot of other Jedi are doing the same. I believe the old members of your clan are on the planet. I have to leave though. Can’t sit out the whole war, especially as you’re up and about now.”

“What do you mean?” Spike asked.

“While you were in the halls of healing, I was allowed to stay in the temple to await your awakening. Now you’re awake however, and I’ve got to go.” Solaris said simply. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s…” Spike began. “I’m sorry for trying to stop you master. I will stay. No complaints.”

“Good. I will see you when I get back. Stay out of trouble.”

***

It had been a few hours since Solaris had left to rendezvous with the fleet, along with the last of the Jedi who were going to accompany the relief force to Kemplex IX. Looking upwards, Spike had never seen so many ships in low orbit around Coruscant, and he knew that beyond the hundreds that were already there were hundreds more, all part of the Coruscant defence fleet.

Moving away from the window, Spike sat down on one of the poof like chairs, crossing his legs and concentrating on his mind. Slowly, he felt the force raise him off of the chair, before he felt himself lose himself to the meditation.

***

“You have questions for me Spike?” Moonstone asked, the purple mare sitting down and looking up expectantly at the dragon.

“You knew about this.” Spike said simply, sitting down next to the Twilight doppelganger.

“You’ll have to be more specific Spike. I’m not sure…” Moonstone began.

“Save it. You’re in my mind, hell, you practically are my mind. When you first appeared on Illum you said the mighty are preparing to fall. Who was that in reference to? Ulic Qel-Droma? Exar Kun? Someone else?”

“The two former.” Moonstone admitted.

“You Knew!” Spike roared. “You could have told me! We could have stopped this if you had just said something!”

“Temper Spike, keep it in check.” Moonstone said softly, un-phased by the dragon glaring down at her. “That’s how it starts, and from there it’s a slippery slope. Be careful treading it, or you may never reach the top again.”

“You still could have told me! Not some cryptic bullshit!” Spike roared.

“I couldn’t have stopped this.” Moonstone pointed out.

“You could have tried!”

“It wouldn’t have made a difference!” Moonstone roared back, standing up and trying to square off to Spike. “Exar Kun was already too far gone. Ulic wouldn’t have stopped unless the reason for his fall was prevented, and I didn’t know what that was, so how could I have stopped this.”

“A warning then.” Spike said, relenting slightly. “I almost died on Empress Teta. If you had warned me about Ulic not being returned to the light, maybe I wouldn’t have been.”

“You’re right. Maybe you would have been killed, or maybe he would have been killed to ‘save’ him from the dark. There are any number of things that could have happened if I took another path. Who are you to say that things would have been better had I told you?”

Spike sighed, realising she had a point, and turned around, walking away from the mare.

“Where are you going Spike?” She called out after him.

“I’m having an argument with my mind, while inside my mind.” Spike shouted back over his shoulder. “I’m going for some peace and quiet. Think you can allow me that?”

“If that’s what you want.” Moonstone nodded, before fading away, leaving Spike alone in his head.

Slowly, the dragon began to move in slow patterns, practicing the echani art. He had found that the flowing combat form helped to clear his mind, allowing him to forget the things troubling him for a while, as well as having the added bonus of being useful in the real world. He hadn’t tried to use it since he started practicing it, the form still being far too rough to be of any use in actual combat, but maybe someday it would help him.

Honestly, all he really wanted was for Solaris to return from Kemplex IX quickly, and safely. If it took a long time, he just knew his time on Coruscant would be heart stoppingly boring. He felt a bit of annoyance at Solaris for leaving him behind, but he guessed she had her reasons, especially as he had only just got out of the hands of the medics, and had no desire to return there in a hurry.

Pushing the thoughts from his inner mind, Spike thrust again, kitting an imaginary Krath War Droid.

“Hurry back master.” He thought sullenly.

This can't be Right...

Spike let out a laugh as Tarhal told them all about one of his first missions with Norik. Around him, the rest of the members of what had once been Nexu clan laughed with him, all listening intently to the Wookie’s story.

“…and then I said…” Tarhal continued.

“I knew we should have turned left!” Zule finished with a loud laugh.

“That’s my line!” Tarhal roared, lightly punching Zule on the arm.

“So what happened afterwards?” Corinna asked, controlling her laughter for a second.

“Well Norik grabbed his robe and ran out of there. I just piloted the ship while he got dressed again. Not a nice sight I can tell you.” He snorted.

“I can imagine.” Spike nodded. “So go on. How much of him is bionic?”

“Well, he says seventy four percent of his body is mechanical now. Personally I think it’s closer to eighty, but still. Compared to the rest of his body, his face is barely augmented at all.” Tarhal said.

“How old is he? He has to be fairly old to have received that many upgrades.” Asho asked.

“One hundred and sixty eight three weeks ago.” Tarhal replied. “And most of them are just replacements, apparently he got pretty fried in a ship fire.

“He moves like he’s younger.” Spike muttered. “I'm guessing your masters left you to?”

It had been four days since Solaris had left for Kemplex IX. If Spike hyperspace speed calculations had been correct, the fleet would be arriving sometime today, meaning the battle would probably be taking place today as well. As with whenever he had thought about it, as a pang of annoyance welled up in his stomach at being left behind, before he forced it back down, knowing that what Solaris had done was for the best.

“Yeah. Norik said it was going to be big. Said I would have to sit this one out.” Tarhal said disgruntledly.

“Same here.” Zule nodded, looking as annoyed as the other two males.

“I don’t know why you all seem so annoyed at being left out of a battle that could end up killing you.” Corinna said with a smirk. “If our masters say that we are not ready, we’re not ready.”

“Agreed.” Asho nodded. “I thought Jedi weren’t supposed to take pleasure in ending life anyway. Why would you want to go to battle? Especially you Spike. You almost died last time.”

“Because if Solaris dies and I’m not there, I’ll never forgive myself.” Spike said softly.

“Plus if this is a war, then we need everyone to make sure the Republic wins, not the Sith.” Zule pointed out.

“They’ll win.” Asho nodded. “Something this big won’t lose.”

“You say that now.” Spike muttered, looking up at a clock on the wall. “Tarhal and I have got to go, the remaining members of the council want me and him to show off the uniqueness of Lightsabers. Apparently our Lightsabers are the most non-standard in the order, at least those that are still here.”

“Is it that time already?” Tarhal chuckled. “See you guys later?”

“Sure. Nexu sticks together right.” Asho grinned.

“Always.” Tarhal nodded, before following Spike out of the room.

The two Padawans made their way through the temple, eventually reaching a lift and traveling to the top floor, leaving the lift and instantly being greeted by a human female Jedi, clad in the robes of a master.

“Master.” Spike bowed, Tarhal matching his movements closely.

“Padawans. I am assuming that you are the ones who are to be helping with a demonstration?”

“I am.” Spike nodded. “Padawan Spike, at your service.

“And Padawan Tarhal.” The Wookie added.

“Hello to you both.” She nodded back. “I am Master Shii’far. Now, before we proceed, I would like to see your weapons. I have been told that they are something to behold.”

Nodding, Spike grabbed his Lightsabers from his waist, holding them by the primary handle, but not yet igniting them. Meanwhile, Tarhal undid the strap that held his own weapon on his back, allowing him to draw the two handed monstrosity.

“Impressive.” Shii’far nodded, taking hold of one of Spikes weapons, dropping it slightly as she took the weight. “Heavy.” She muttered, returning the hilt to Spike and taking hold of Tarhal’s. The Wookie resisted for a second, reluctant to allow her to take his weapon, but relented quickly, allowing her to inspect his weapon.

“Wood? Interesting choice, but I guess for a Wookie.” She trailed off, before handing the weapon back to Tarhal. “Come along. My class is waiting.”

Leading the two Padawans down the hallway, Shii’far lead the pair into a room where a small group of younglings were chatting amongst themselves. There were not as many as there had been when Spike had met Solaris, but there were still more than in Nexu clan, seven to be precise.

“Tiger clan. As promised, today I will be teaching you about Lightsabers, and the uniqueness that they can possess.” Shii’far said, indicating the other two, before drawing her own hilt, a normal, if exquisitely tooled, thing.

“This is a normal Lightsaber. Each one is made by the user, to their own specifications. Mine is inlaid with ore unique to my home planet, marking it as my own hilt. No two weapons are the same. Oh some are similar, but none are identical.” She said, before gesturing for Spike to come forward. “Tarhal, please come forward and show them your Lightsaber.”

Nodding, the Wookie moved forward, holding his Lightsaber in one hand, and resting it against the floor as if it was a staff of some kind. As he hit it against the floor, he activated the blade, casting a green light across the room, and drawing gasps of awe from the on looking younglings.

“As you can see, this is a completely different weapon from mine, hardly sharing any similarities with the normal blade hilt. It is made of wood, not metal, and it requires two hands, not one. This weapon presents multiple advantages to one with the strength of a Wookie, allowing the user to place their full weight behind the weapon, and having a larger area to catch blows or deflect shots aimed at him.” She paused for a second, before continuing.

“However, for all its advantages, this weapon is saddled with its fair share of disadvantages. Because of its design, many techniques, most notably any form of stab, is unavailable to its user. It also lacks many of the utility aspects of a Lightsaber, such as cutting open doors. However, with enough training, and in the hands of one experienced in its use, will be able to overcome these short fallings. Tarhal here, has clearly begun to master it, as he is the first Jedi in history to wield such a weapon.” She finished, before bidding the Wookie to stand back, and gesturing Spike to come forward.

“By comparison, Spikes Lightsabers are much more standardised. The main difference they have with mine is the addition of a second handle, as you can see here.” She indicated the primary handles of his Lightsabers. “This allows Spike to gain an advantage over an opponent unprepared for his unique weapons. The weapons help him on the defence, but once again, have a weakness, and the weapons themselves make it difficult for one to get much power behind their blows.”

She finally finished speaking, before turning to face the two Padawans.

“I will not keep you any longer. Thank you for your assistance.” She said, before turning back to the class. Nodding, Spike and Tarhal walked out of the room.

“What a waste of time.” Tarhal muttered, heading back over to the lift.

“I guess.” Spike nodded, pressing the down button. “We never got anything like that. All we got shown is the few curved Lightsabers in the order.”

“Zule liked that lesson.” Tarhal pointed out.

“Yes, that he did.” Spike nodded. “He’s learning Makashi you know.”

“Yeah, I remember.” Tarhal replied, leaving the lift, the pair walking aimlessly down the corridor. “You’re learning Niman aren’t you?”

“Yes. Hard to master, hard to use.” Spike nodded, grunting as he felt his wings shift under his skin, scratching around the neck of his breastplate. “What are you being trained in?”

“Ataru.” Tarhal said simply. “Why are you wearing that?”

“Protection.” Spike said quickly, not wanting to tell him what was really underneath, because then the Wookie would want to see his back, and he wasn’t completely behind the idea of showing the ugly bulges off yet.

Seeming to accept that explanation, Tarhal continued to walk down the hallway, he and Spike engrossed in conversation. They had nothing else planned for that day, in fact for the past few days they had been doing little with the exception of a little training and some sparring between the old clan members, usually ending in either Spike or Zule coming out on top, the former being the strongest of the five friends, and Zule being arguably the most skilled.

“Excuse me, Padawans.” Came a voice from behind the pair, and they turned to see Master Plagun from the council, the Muun striding towards them.

“Master Plagun.” Spike bowed deeply.

“Padawans.” Plagun nodded. “Are you doing anything at present?”

“No.” Spike said uncertainly, looking at Tarhal for confirmation, before turning back to Plagun. “No, we’re not.”

“Good, I was wandering if you could help me out with a task that needs to be done, but I have been tasked by the Grand Master to keep the temple secure, and as such cannot leave.”

“How can we assist you?” Tarhal asked.

“We have been monitoring communications around Coruscant, and from the deep space monitoring stations placed around the system. The jump point station seems to be malfunctioning, we’re getting static and garbled messages that don’t follow any known coding frequency. Someone needs to check with the Republic military communication base to find out what is going on.” Plagun explained.

“Of course, we will leave immediately.” Spike bowed.

“Thank you.” Plagun said, before turning and walking off.

“Come on Tarhal.” Spike said, turning and walking towards the hanger bay. “There should be some speeders around. You’re flying.”

“Why me?” Tarhal asked out of interest, following behind the Dragon.

“Because I don’t have the best track record with flying small ships as of now, do I?” Spike laughed.

“No, I guess you don’t.” Tarhal nodded.

The pair continued to make their way towards the hanger, eventually making their way into the segment of the large area that housed the air speeders. There were of course the locked ones that belonged to one of the Jedi, but beside them were rows of other ones which were general use, and were unlocked and ready to go.

“What about this one?” Tarhal asked, pointing at a bright yellow speeder.

“Really? That colour?” Spike asked sceptically, before pointing to a dark red speeder. “That one?”

“Nah, the air intakes are too small, the cockpit will heat up.” He said simply.

“Fine, let’s just pick this one and leave.” Spike said, walking over to a small green air speeder.

“Sold.” Tarhal nodded with a grin, jumping into the pilot’s seat and thumbing the ignition.

Instantly, the speeder roared into life, and Spike dubiously climbed in, holding on tightly as Tarhal gunned the engines and shot the craft out into the Coruscant traffic. Placing his head in his hands, Spike tried not to think about crashing or burning, or any other sensation that would remind him of Empress Teta.

Tarhal grinned as he looked down at the Dragon, shaking his head, before concentrating on the air space ahead of him. Eventually, Tarhal caught sight of a large building with banners depicting the symbol of the Republic. Deciding that this was probably the building that he was looking for, Tarhal banked the craft sharply, before angling it downwards and bringing it into land in a free space on the other side of the street.

Climbing out of the speeder, Spike looked around, and realised that this was his first time on Coruscant when he had been out of the temple and with the general public of the capital world.

“Hey Tarhal, you ever been out of the temple on Coruscant before?” Spike asked, looking at the Wookie.

“Yeah, once.” Tarhal nodded. “Norik and I had to hunt down a smuggler. He was hiding on the lower levels. Anyway, let’s get this over with.” He grunted, before making his way across the street and up the steps towards the Republic base.

Quickly hurrying after the Wookie, Spike drew alongside his friend as they both reached the top. As they walked forward, a trio of guards walked out to meet them, their blasters held by their sides, ready to be brought up and fired in an instant.

“Halt. This is a restricted military installation.” The middle one, a sergeant by the stripes on his arm, said. “State your intentions or leave.”

“We are here from the temple.” Spike roared, drawing only blank stares from the guards.

“Can either of you speak basic?” The sergeant said, sounding exasperated, as if this happened often.

“I can.” Spike nodded. “We are here from the temple. The scanners are picking up a garbled message, and we were sent to check if it was the same here, or if it was a problem with our equipment.”

“Master Jedi!” The sergeant said, suddenly snapping to attention with the other two guards. “I am sorry I did not recognise you. Please, proceed inside. Jenkins here will show you to the commander.” As he said this, the guard to his left, this one a private, moved forward, saluting crisply.

“Follow me please.” He said before turning on his heels and entering the building.

As the trio moved through the building, Spike took in his new surroundings. This was clearly a military installation, troopers were moving to and fro with the occasional battle droid coming into sight on its patrol route or standing vigil over a door, flanked by guards or turrets of some description.

In short order, they had reached a heavy blast door, more droids and turrets keeping watch over it, even as the surface of the door glistened and hummed thanks to the ray shield that spread over its surface. Walking over to a small panel, Jenkins pressed a few buttons, before speaking into a small grille.

“Command, this is Private Jenkins, third squad second platoon, serial number alpha-alpha-foxtrot-4476, requesting the shield to be lowered for two Jedi.”

“Roger 4476, shields lowering now.” Came a voice over the intercom, and instantly, the shields flickered out as the door behind slid open.

Jenkins saluted again, before marching off down the corridor, leaving Spike and Tarhal to enter the command room of the base alone. Inside were hundreds of people, most of them sitting at various banks of terminals or were otherwise occupied with monitoring some form of equipment. Spying a command chair in the centre of the room, and the man sitting on it, Spike and Tarhal made their way forwards.

“To what do we owe the pleasure of the Jedi’s attention?” The man said, his uniform identifying him as an officer, but Spike couldn’t tell what the rank insignia on his arm was from this angle. “I thought most of you guys had gone with the fleet.”

“Most have, but there are still a few of us.” Spike said. “As for why we are here, the communications equipment in the temple appears to be malfunctioning.”

“Well we can’t have that now can we?” The commander chuckled. “How exactly is it malfunctioning?”

“Messages from the jump station are coming through, but they make no sense.” Tarhal replied.

“Translation?” The commander asked, looking at Spike.

“We’re getting something from the station at the jump point.” Spike summarised. “We can’t make out what it’s saying though.”

“I’m not that surprised.” The commander said, looking around quickly. “The equipment you Jedi use is ancient. Ah, there you are.” He said as he caught sight of a female Lieutenant. “Master Jedi, allow me to introduce you to Lieutenant Zam our communications specialist. Zam, please take these two over to the comm bank and give them a hand.”

“Certainly sir.” She nodded, before walking over to a free seat and sitting down. “Now, what am I looking for?”

“Any messages from the main jump station.” Spike informed her.

“Right, let’s see.” She said, more to herself than the two Jedi as she twisted a dial, pulling a headset into place over her ears. “Ah, here we go.”

She suddenly yanked the headset off, the sound of static filling the air as it blurted from the speakers within.

“Frak!” She cursed, holding her ears, before leaning down to pick up the headset, making sure to turn the volume down this time. “Right, this is just static.” She shook her head, looking at the Jedi. “I can ask for a droid to be sent over from the nearest station, should take a couple of minutes.”

“That works.” Spike nodded.

Turning back to the computer, Zam twisted the dial a few more times, before moving the headsets microphone down over her mouth.

“Republic deep space station Dim Sun, come in over.”

A few seconds passed where Spike assumed the crew aboard the station were replying, before Zam began speaking again.

“We’re getting a load of static from the jump station near your position. Please send a droid there to check it out. It’s probably just a faulty transmitter, but better safe than sorry.”

Listening for a few more seconds, Zam took the headset off and turned to face the two Jedi.

“Should be in visual range in about one minute. Honestly, we’ve all been scrambling around down here. Droids are going dark out there, not reporting back. Two stations have just stopped transmitting, but this is the first we’ve heard from the jump station.

“You don’t reckon…No, stupid.” Tarhal said, cutting himself off.

“What did he say?” Zam asked.

“He had an idea.” Spike translated, before turning to the Wookie. “Come on, what was it?”

“You don’t reckon there’s something coming do you?” He asked.

“He’s asking if you think something’s coming.” Spike said to Zam quickly.

“No, I don’t. The fleet will have only just got to Kemplex IX today.” Zam said.

“I think he means an enemy.” Spike said slowly.

“Sir! We’ve just lost contact with Paladin station!” A technician yelled out, effectively silencing the room.

“That’s right above us.” The commander shot back. “Someone re-establish connections now! Zam, status!”

“The droids coming into visual range now. Putting it on screen.” Zam said, pressing a few buttons before spinning round and facing the large screen in the middle of the wall behind the command chair.

After a moment of static, the image focused on a pile of debris, some of it still burning as blasts of oxygen were vented into space. The station that had been there was nothing more than a husk now.

“Get me visual of the planet, full spread!” The commander roared, standing up from his chair.

“Images coming in from Interceptor station now!” Another voice shouted across the room.

Instantly, the image changed, this time from a far of station looking back at Coruscant. The image sent chills down Spikes spine. Moving towards the planet were hundreds of ships, some were Republic, but not all of them. There was only one fleet that would be made up of those types of ship.

“They’re supposed to be at Kemplex!” The commander roared. “Get me everyone on the line, Coruscant’s about to come under attack!”

Before the commander had finished speaking, Tarhal and Spike had already sprinted from the room, quickly getting out of the base, even as a ship on the monitor turned and discharged volley after volley of shots as the planet.

Spike looked up as he sensed something, catching sight of hundreds of falling lights.

“GET DOWN!” He yelled, grabbing Tarhal and pulling him over the edge of the steps, crouching down behind a wall as the first wave of shots slammed home into the planet.

All hell broke loose.

Trapped

Spike cowered behind the walls for what felt like an eternity, the sound of explosions and laser fire filling his ears, drowning out the screams that came from those who hadn’t found shelter when the attack came. Beside him, Tarhal was covering his own ears, rocking back and forth as he screamed in terror, it took Spike a few minutes to realise he was doing the exact same thing.

Eventually, mercifully, the lasers stopped falling towards the ground. At first, Spike thought it was a trick, trying to lure people out of cover so that when it started again, they would be caught in the open, but after almost two minutes of nothing but the screams of the wounded permeating the air, Spike realised that if the hour long orbital bombardment was truly over, the ground invasion would be coming soon.

Sticking his head up over the wall, Spike balked at the sight that greeted him. The street, so peaceful just minutes before, was now covered in bodies, some of which were barely even recognisable as corpses, while the few survivors tried to pull the wounded and the dead from the fires that burning in the city.

“Tarhal?” Spike said hollowly, unable to tear his eyes away from the scene in front of him. “Tarhal!”

“Is it over?” Tarhal whimpered, standing beside Spike and slowly taking his hands away from his ears.

“We need to help.” Spike said, his voice wavering slightly.

Nodding, Tarhal followed Spike as the pair stumbled forward, the Wookie grabbing hold of a writhing body and pulling them away from the fire that was slowly burning their legs, placing his hands on the person and willing the force to help heal them.

Thrusting his hands out, Spike began to lift a chunk of fallen masonry off a body, before seeing the state the body, the corpse, was in and allowing it to drop back down. Placing his head in his hands, Spike glanced upwards, and looked at the hundreds of ships that were entering low orbit around the planet, tiny shapes flitting around them like pilot fish feeding off a shark.

“We need to get back to the temple.” He yelled over to Tarhal, who was still trying to bring life back to the body in front of him.

“I can still save him!” Tarhal roared back.

“There’s no time!” Spike roared back, slipping into Shyriiwook.

“There’s always time!” Tarhal shot back.

“They’re dead! We need to find other Jedi, link up with the defences!”

“Argggh! Fine!” Tarhal bellowed, allowing the lifeless body to fall from his grasp.

Following Spike, the two Jedi darted down the road, skirting around the burning wreck of the speeder they had arrived in and jumping over piles of rubble, using the force to increase their running pace beyond what would have been possible, and to jump higher than either of them had thought possible.

Spike could hear gunfire raging in the distance, and watched as more tiny figures plummeted towards the ground on tongues of fire, even as larger dropships floated downwards. The invasion of Coruscant had begun in earnest.

“Spike!” Tarhal growled, pointing to a small clearing where some of the figures had already begun to land, firing their weapons at an unseen target.

“I see ‘em.” Spike nodded, springing forward and using the force to bringing his Lightsabers into his outstretched hands, igniting both blades.

Even as Spike landed, the warriors had adapted, one of them throwing up a sword that to Spikes immense surprise caught his Lightsabers, bringing him into a blade lock so he was face to face with his enemy, or rather, face to helmet. The helmet looked brutal and organic, a single black visor in the shape of a T dominating it. The rest of the armour was much the same, looking as if it had been fashioned out of leather and bone. Only one army in the galaxy wore helmets like that. Growling, Spike forced his Lightsabers apart, pushing the Mandalorian back.

Glancing over, Spike saw Tarhal fighting another Mandalorian, while yet more landed, firing at a target just around the corner from where Spike could see. Not able to waste any more time looking around, Spike ran forward, meeting his opponent head on as the two of them clashed again. The Mandalorian roared behind his helmet, drawing a pistol with his free hand and trying to shoot Spike, clipping him in the shoulder. Snarling, Spike slashed with his free Lightsaber, cutting the blaster in half, before spinning his own weapon so the blade was along his arm, before thrusting forward, slamming the blade into the helmet of his opponent, cutting his head neatly in two.

As the warrior fell to the ground, Spike had already turned, slamming both of his Lightsabers into the back of the Mandalorian who was fighting Tarhal, grunting as he forced the warrior to the floor before pulling his weapons out.

“Come on.” Spike panted, running around the corner after the other Mandalorians, looking at the two bodies of the attacking Mandalorians, and the two Jedi who stood over them, slashing at the last Mandalorian still standing.

“Zule? Corinna?” Spike asked as Zule calmly and smoothly parried a strike from the Mandalorian, before Corinna stabbed at him with her own weapon, ending his spree.

“Spike? Tarhal?” Zule asked, just as surprised as the dragon was. “What are you doing here?”

“Can we discuss this somewhere else, like on the way back to the temple?” Spike asked.

“Fine.” Corinna nodded. “Zule, let’s move.”

“What about Asho?” He asked.

“What about her?” Spike asked, confused as to where she fitted into this.

“She was with us when the attack started.” Corinna replied, glancing up at the skies to make sure that no more Mandalorians were going to drop in on them. “When the ships fired, we all scattered, Zule and I went one way. She…”

“Went the other way.” Zule finished. “We haven’t seen her since.”

“Damn.” Spike grunted. “New plan, we find her, which way were you headed?”

“Back towards the temple.” Zule pointed behind him.

“Which is where we should be going.” Tarhal said forcefully

“We, find her, now.” Spike said simply, before taking off at a run in the opposite direction from the temple. If the others followed him, great, if not, he’d have to find Asho on his own.

“Come on!” Corinna shouted, taking off after Spike with Zule hot on her heels. Tarhal looked after the others for a split second, before following after the others.

“Heh, Nexu clan’s back together.” Corinna grinned.

“Not yet.” Spike pointed out. “Left side!”

Instantly, the four Jedi looked to the left, catching sight of what Spike had been shouting about. Beyond the rubble on their side, a drop ship was disgorging more troops, and not just Mandalorians, but Krath as well, droids snapping around the heels of their masters. Roaring, Tarhal started the charge, brandishing his weapon as he deflected the shots aimed at him. Taking up the Wookies war cry, Spike followed him, overtaking the Wookie, and being the first of the four Jedi to smash into the enemy lines.

Stabbing forward with Dusk, Spike gutted one of the war droids that was still whirling around trying to react to the sudden attack, before he parried a blow from another droid with Elusive, cutting the blade in two, and leaving the droid defenceless for Tarhal to decapitate.

“Catch.” Tarhal roared, grabbing one of the Krath by the arm, stopping his attack, before throwing him through the air towards Spike.

Bringing both his weapons up, Spike cut an X through the human, killing him instantly. Not allowing himself to get bogged down in the emotions of killing so casually, Spike slashed forward, watching as Zule calmly duelled with a Mandalorian carrying a large, two handed sword, his movements flowing into one another as was typical of Makashi. In short order, the Mandalorian lay dead on the floor, and Zule calmly stepped forward to engage the next warrior.

Suddenly, a flurry of laser fire shot over the Jedi’s heads, impacting with the Mandalorians and Krath as Republic troops ran forward, pouring fire into the drop ships interior, taking out those soldiers who had taken cover there. In a few seconds, the Republic soldiers had stopped firing, their targets lying dead on the floor in front of them.

“More Jedi?” One of the soldiers, a Lieutenant, asked quizzically.

“More?” Spike asked urgently. “Twilek, female, blue skin?”

“Padawan Asho.” He nodded.

“Where?” Corinna asked, standing beside Spike.

“She’s with second company.” He said, before suddenly snapping off a salute. “Lieutenant Reacher, acting commander third company, Forty Second Army Recon Commando Battalion.”

“Padawan Spike, Padawan Tarhal, Padawan Zule and Padawan Corinna.” Spike said, indicating each Padawan as he said their name. “All formerly of Nexu clan. The last member of the clan is Padawan Asho, who I’m guessing you already know.”

“Come with us, we’ll take you to Battalion command. It’s not safe out here.” Reacher said, gesturing from the direction he just came. “Front line’s moving, soon the Mandalorian advance is going to be over running this position, and trust me, you don’t want to be here when it hits.”

“Lead on then.” Spike said with a nod.

“You two,” Reacher said, indicating two soldiers, “torch the dropship, we’re moving out people.”

Following after the sergeant, the four Jedi followed the soldiers towards the final member of their clan.

***

After five minutes of running, the group eventually made it to a large building, the top of which had been reduced to rubble, but the bottom still looked stable enough. More soldiers were standing outside, each one ready to fire on a moment’s notice. Civilians were flocking into the building, most of them wounded and crying out for medical attention.

Following Reacher, Spike and the other Padawans made their way into the building, being greeted by the smell of blood and the screams of the dying as the few medics sought to treat the wounded. It didn’t take a genius to see that there weren’t enough of them to help everyone.

“It’s been like this since the attack started.” Reacher said, picking his way through the bodies as he spoke. “As soon as it hit, the Colonel managed to get out a message, said we were taking people in who needed help. Some managed to here. We’re not cut out for this though, we’re recon, not medics.”

“Right now we need medics, not reconnaissance.” A Colonel said, walking towards Reacher, who snapped off a salute. “At ease. Now, who do we have here? Another Jedi?”

“Padawan Spike.” Spike nodded. “You know where Asho is yes?”

“Come with me.” The colonel gestured. “Lieutenant Reacher, take your company out and run patrols, I want to know where the front line is at all times, if it gets within half a kilometre of here, I want to know.”

“Sir.” He nodded, before turning and running out of the building.

“Reacher’s a good guy, you’re lucky he found you.” The Colonel said. “Your friend wouldn’t let us stay here and not search for you though.”

“No, I wouldn’t.” Came the familiar voice of Asho, and Spike turned to see the Twilek walking towards them.

“Glad you’re safe.” Zule nodded.

“Same goes for you, luckily Colonel Samstag has some of the best recon troops this side of the galaxy.” Asho smiled.

“This is all very touching, but there is a battle going on.” Corinna pointed out. “We need to get into the fight.”

“We’re going to stay here and look after the wounded.” Samstag corrected. “I have one recon battalion and four Jedi, hardly enough to make a difference on the front, but more than enough to make a difference helping wounded civilians.”

“But…” Spike began.

“Incoming!” A voice screamed, just before a massive object smashed into the side of the building, skidding to the rear before exploding, throwing Spike and the others across the room.

As Spikes head stopped ringing, he was aware that the level of screaming had increased substantially, and he looked to see the remains of a Krath Chaos Fighter burning in the back of the room.

“Coln…” He began, before he saw the Colonels body, and instantly knew that he hadn’t survived. It hadn’t been the explosion though, the cuts on his body were wrong for that. It almost looked like…

Spike spun around, grabbing the spines that ran down his back, before pulling his hand away, shaking, as it came away slick with blood.

“Colonel Sir! Mandalorians have broken through the Republic lines, they’ll be here…” Reacher yelled, running over and seeing the dead body of the Colonel. “Damn.” He finished weakly.

“We’re moving out.” Corinna said, tearing her eyes away from the burning fighter. “This buildings coming down, the Mandalorians will be here any second, we need to move.”

“Who put you in charge?” Reacher asked.

“No one, but as Jedi, technically we out rank you.” Zule said, backing up his sister.

“In my books, experience beats rank.” Reacher pointed out.

“Then we best get moving so we can get some.” Spike said. “Where would these Mandalorians be trying to get to?”

“Umm…the Ion cannons. The bombardment took out most of the orbital defences, and we have no fleet, but some survived. If we’re going to hold them off, we’re going to need those cannons.”

“Fine, we move out then.” Spike nodded. “Is everyone OK?”

“Fine.” Tarhal nodded.

“Uh huh.” Asho grunted, rubbing her side for a second before nodding.

“We won’t make it, not if the Mandalorians follow us.” Reacher pointed out.

“We’ve got to.” Spike shot back.

“Doesn’t matter, someone’s got to hold them here.” He replied.

“You can’t defend here, there’s no cover.” Spike said. “Now come on, we need to go.”

“The third company will stay here. Get to the cannons and make them pay.” Reacher said, before turning and barking orders to the soldiers he ran past before Spike could say anything.

“Come on, we need to get to those cannons.” Asho said, before shouting at the top of her lungs. “First and Second companies with me.”

Sprinting towards the back of the building, Asho jumped through the hole created by the exploding fighter, followed by the remaining troops who were accompanying them. Following quickly behind her, Spike and the other Padawans leaped through the gap, the dragon taking one look back as he saw Reacher ordering men about and directing fire as the first Mandalorians began to appear.

“Asho!” Spike called, catching up with the Twilek. “You knew the commander?”

“My master and I ran a few missions with the Forty Second.” Asho nodded.

“Sir!” A trooper called out, catching up with the two leading Jedi.

“What is it Corporal?” Asho asked.

“The scanners picked up a wing of bombers coming in on this position. If they see us on the street it will be like shooting Hutts in a barrel.” He replied.

“Get everyone off the street, we’ll wait for them to pass and then continue.

Nodding, the trooper began barking orders, and the column of men began to slide off the street, all converging in one building, the doors already blown off, and easily large enough to fit in the eighty odd soldiers that had managed to get away with them.

“Keep quiet.” Spike hissed.

Holding his breath, Spike strained his ears for the sound of the bombers, wanting to have as much notice as he could. It didn’t take long, as he heard the whine of small ship engines getting closer and closer, followed by the whine of something else.

“We’ve got incoming!” One of the soldiers yelled, before an explosion lit up the street as bomb after bomb slammed home.

With a sick cracking sound, rubble began to collapse from the building above them, crashing down onto the street, sealing the entrance from the outside world. Eventually, the sound of bombs falling died away, and Spike uncovered his head, looking at the entrance, and the rubble that was strewn across it, blocking it to the extent that it would require a Jedi much stronger to free it.

“What now?” Corinna said, moving up next to Spike.

“What do you mean ‘what now’?” He asked back. “The plan hasn’t changed, we keep moving through the buildings till we reach the cannons, then we hold up there until we get contact from the temple.”

“Looks like we’ve figured out who’s in charge.” Tarhal smiled.

“I guess.” Zule sniggered. “Where to then Spike?”

Looking around for a second, Spike allowed a smile to grow on his face before replying.

“Rooftops. We go up.”

Defend the Cannons

Spike emerged at the top of the stairs and looked out across the landscape of the planet, the fires that were burning across its surface, and the ships that threatened to blot out the very sky beneath their immense numbers.

“Which way are the cannons?” Spike shouted back, having trouble making himself heard over the roar of battle raging across the surface of the planet.

“There sir!” A soldier shouted, pointing off to the side. “About two kilometres away.”

“Good.” Spike grinned, before jumping forward, using the force to make sure that he landed on the ruined roof of the next building. “Come on!” He yelled back.

The soldiers behind him looked across him at as if he was crazy, looking across the gap. Grinning across at Spike, Tarhal grabbed one of the soldiers.

“Let me help.” He smiled, before throwing the soldier across the gap to the waiting arms of Spike.

“It’s easy, now let’s go.” Spike chuckled, putting the soldier down.

One by one, the soldiers jumped across the gap, most making it easily, while one or two slipped and had to be hauled up by their friends and comrades in arms, until it was just Corinna on the other side.

“Come on Corinna.” Spike gestured.

“Umm. You know how some people have weaknesses?” She said weakly.

“Heights?” Spike asked.

“Yeah.” She nodded slowly.

“Oh come on, it’s not that far.” Spike said, jumping back across the building. “You can do it, just watch.”

Jumping across the building again, Spike started to sing, jumping back to Corinna before jumping away again.

“It's not very far, just move your little rump, you can make it if you try with a hop, skip and jump”

“A Song? We don't have time for this.” Asho rolled her eyes.

“A hop, skip and jump, Just move your little rump, A hop, skip and jump, A hop, skip and jump, A hop, skip and jump, A hop skip and jump, A hop skip and jump!” As Spike neared the end of the song, he continued to get faster and faster, until finally Corinna grabbed hold of him, stopping him jumping around.

“Stop! Just, stop, singing. I’ll go.” She said exasperatedly. “Just don’t sing again, please.”

“Alright alright, I get what you’re saying.” He said. “Now, get moving, we need to get to the cannons.”

Taking a deep breath, Corinna sprinted towards the gap, and letting out a scream, jumped across the gap, sprawling on the other side, but making it none the less. Hopping over the gap, Spike helped her up, before moving to the forefront of the troops.

“Come on then, let’s go!” He bellowed, before setting off at a run.

Quickly, the group made their way across the buildings, vaulting piles of rubble and jumping across small gaps on their journey towards the cannons. Luckily for them, it seemed like the first gap that they had crossed was the largest they would have to traverse, and eventually, they reached a tall building overlooking a large open square. Spike let a breath that he didn’t know he had been holding hiss through his teeth as he thanked whatever was looking out for them that they hadn’t lost anyone, or been attacked.

Looking forward, Spike could make out three large spherical objects with short, stubby barrels jutting out of the top, alone with other larger barrels. Nodding to himself, Spike knew he had found the cannons that he was looking for. Unfortunately, it did not look like he was the only one.

Mandalorians were swarming towards the cannons, blood still slick on their blades from where they had cut down the remainder of the third company. It was clear from the weight of fire coming back at them that there were only a few defenders left. As Spike watched, the cannons roared as they fired upwards at an unseen target.

“Do you have a plan Spike?” Tarhal asked, moving beside the dragon.

“Yeah, I have a plan.” Spike said, not sounding convincing in any way.

“Care to tell us?” Zule asked.

“I have a plan.” He said, holding his hands up defensively. “I am capable of coming up with a plan.”

“I’m sure you are. Any time you would like to…” Asho began, but was cut off when Spike suddenly jumped from the building, igniting his Lightsaber and plunging it into the building, using his weight to pull it down at a controlled but fast descent.

“…let us in on it.” She finished weakly, looking after the dragon.

“Did he just jump off a fifty story building?” Corinna deadpanned.

“Yes. Yes he did.” One of the soldiers nodded.

***

Spike grunted as his arm took the weight of his body, violently shaking it as he suddenly went from an uncontrolled free-fall to a slower controlled descent. He was so glad that his idea had worked, and the Lightsaber had actually resisted cutting into the building to slow him down. He didn’t much fancy falling this distance. The theoretical knowledge had been solid enough though, and now he had practical evidence that it worked.

Letting out a roar, Spike ripped the Lightsaber out of the wall, dropping the last few stories and rolling as he hit the ground. In an instant, Spike was back on his feet, Lightsabers in hands, one blade held along his arm while the other jutted forwards, his feet pounding at the ground as he sprinted towards the unaware Mandalorians.

In a moment, Spike was among the Mandalorians, hacking with both arms as he carved his way through the unaware soldiers. Finally, one turned to face him, raising a large sword to intercept the dragons downwards strike. Undeterred, Spike smashed his head into the Mandalorians helmet, using his taller stature to make the blow hit even harder.

As the blow struck, the helmets visor cracked, the Mandalorian wearing it falling back clutching his helmet as blood began to seep out of the cracks. Slashing forwards with his Lightsaber, Spike ended the man’s pain, before leaping forward, reaching the no-man’s land that had opened up between the two forces.

Vaulting the barricade, Spike turned and stared across at the Mandalorians in a momentary lull in the combat. They were wavering, Spikes intervention catching them off guard. For a moment, it looked like they were going to charge again, and Spike readied his weapons in anticipation.

Suddenly, a flurry of shots erupted from behind the Mandalorian lines, slamming into their backs and cutting them down in large swathes. Glancing back, Spike could see the others charging into the rear of the Mandalorian lines, and finally breaking the resolve they had.

Still staying in formation, the Mandalorians began to move backwards, fighting their way clear of the square and halting at the entrance. They held the advantage now, and while getting in for them would be hard, it would be worse getting out. For all intents and purposes, the Republic forces were trapped.

Turning from the sight of the Mandalorians, Spike turned to look at the garrison that was defending the cannons before he had arrived. There were barely two dozen of them, all of whom looked old and frail, their weapons shining from obvious disuse before today. It did not take a military genius to figure out that these men were not true soldiers, but were an honour guard, made to look good on a parade, not in battle. And yet, they were still here, they had stood when they could have easily turned tail and run. That was courage if ever Spike had seen it. It was easy to be brave when you had proper training, but it was another matter to be brave when you know you don’t stand a chance.

“Who commands here?” Spike called out, looking at the soldiers.

“Sir. That would be me.” An old woman limped over, saluting as she rasped her greeting. “Captain Rimler, third Telosian Honour Guard on a cultural exchange to the capital.”

“Padawan Spike.” Spike replied. “Is everyone ok?”

“Ninety Eight percent casualties in under an hour. No.” She deadpanned.

“You’ve got reinforcement now.” Came the voice of Corinna.

Turning around, Spike saw the Jedi walking towards him, as well as the hand that impacted with the side of his face as she slapped him, hard.

“Nice to see you to Corinna.” Spike grunted, massaging his face.

“You idiot, you could have told us what you were going to do.” She fumed.

“I guess. How did you all get down so quickly?” He asked.

“The stairs. Maybe if you had waited for a second before jumping, you would have realised there was an easier way down.” She shot back.

“But that wouldn’t have been nearly as awesome.” Spike reasoned.

“Keep doing things like that, and one day you’ll find yourself splattered across the ground.”

“Maybe not.” Spike said, shifting his back uncomfortably as he felt his wings shift beneath his armour. “Anyway, knowing me I’d probably miss.”

“Miss the ground?” Corinna dead panned.

“Yeah, that’s how you learn to fly, didn’t you know? You fall and forget to hit the ground.” Spike chuckled.

“Something’s wrong with your head Spike, seriously.” Corinna said exasperatedly, giving up on trying to talk some sense into the dragon.

“Yeah, quite possibly.” Spike agreed. “Where are the others?”

“The soldiers are strengthening the lines, the others are busy trying to help the wounded.” Corinna replied.

“Get them, and any soldiers who look like they are in charge and meet me at the main cannon there.” Spike said, pointing towards the central Ion cannon.

“Why?” Corinna asked.

“Because we need to figure out what we’ve got to help here.” Spike pointed out, before turning and walking to the cannon.

***

“Beauty isn’t she?” a man asked, wearing the armoured jumpsuit and helmet that marked him as a gunner for the cannons.

“She is.” Spike nodded, looking up at the massive Ion cannon.

Spike had managed to arrange for the commander of the battery, one Commander Herdsman, to come down and attend the meeting, something he had been reluctant to do as it would involve leaving his post, but he had done it all the same. He was young and wiry, his bedraggled dirty blonde hair falling haphazardly over his eyes from underneath his helmet.

“Yep, this here is one of the finest orbital defence batteries this side on the planet, we could put a hole clean through a battleship every sixty seconds.” Herdsman said with pride, before deflating slightly. “Well, we could if we were getting any firing coordinates from command. Shooting blind isn’t easy you know.”

“Shooting with sight isn’t much easier.” Spike pointed out. He had tried using a blaster once or twice, but he had never quite got the hang of it. He preferred his Lightsabers anyway.

“Spike.” Came the low growl of a Wookie, and the Dragon turned to see Tarhal leading a small group towards him, the rest of Nexu clan included.

“Tarhal.” Spike nodded. “Is this everyone?”

“Anyone who is in charge.” Tarhal confirmed.

“Good. Now, first things first, what are we looking at in ways of supplies?” Spike asked.

“Before you arrived, enough food and water to sustain my own troops for a week without compromising combat effectiveness. Now you’re all here, a day, two at most.” Rimler said quickly.

“Don’t look at me.” Herdsman said, holding his hands up. “We don’t get stocks of rations in the cannons, just enough to last the day before we rotate of duty.”

“Right, so we’ve got a two day window.” Spike mused. “Let’s hope the invasion doesn’t last that long. What are we looking at in defensive terms?”

“A few walls, some old turrets that look like they’ve burnt out their firing mechanisms and some old droids that look rusted together. Hardly an all conquering army.” Asho said quickly. “But the forty second are itching for a fight. They want revenge for Reachers’ company.”

“I expect they do.” Zule nodded.

“Herdsman, what communications equipment do you have?” Spike asked, turning to the commander.

“Enough to get into contact with Republic high command, but the channels are all full to bursting with cries for help. We can’t get through.” He replied.

“Keep trying, let them know that we are under heavy attack and have little in the way of supplies.” Spike ordered.

“Sirs!” an old soldier, a member of the Telosian Honour guard, shouted, running up and saluting hastily. “We’ve got movement from the Mandalorians.” He panted.

“Blast. I thought we’d have more time.” Spike cursed, before setting off at a run back towards the front line.

***

Spike threw himself to the ground as a blast of laser fire slashed through the air that his head had occupied only a moment before. Springing back to his feet, Spike used the force to help him spring up, bringing his fist into the face of a Krath soldier, before igniting his Lightsaber and blocking a blow from a large axe, cutting the haft in two, and leaving the Mandalorian wielding it weaponless.

The battle was chaotic, Mandalorians and Krath pouring into the square from one side and crashing against the barricades erected by the Republic forces, the soldiers crouching behind it firing into their ranks. Only the five Jedi had ventured past the barricade, hacking their way through the ranks of enemy as they pressed forward to engage the gun line.

Plunging forward, Spike fell in amongst the enemies, one Lightsaber held high while the other guarded his body from attack. One Krath War Droid swung at him, but he ducked under the arc of the short sword and stabbed upward, impaling the droid through the jaw, the Lightsaber slicing through until it came out the top of its head. He freed his Lightsaber, ripping it through the droids mangled head in time to decapitate a second Droid that was advancing upon him, spinning around just as a third enemy attacked him. Lightsaber and Mandalorian battle axe clashed as he parried attack after attack, slowly pushing his opponent back. The axe continued to stand up to the assault, and the Mandalorian managing to get in a few good swipes of his own as he was forced on the defensive.

A burst of fire exploded amongst the Mandalorians, close enough to knock Spike off his feet. He recovered quickly, but the Mandalorian he had been fighting had disappeared into a cloud of red mist, armour and all.

Spike leapt over the body of a fallen Krath Warrior before the flat edge of an axe collided with his face, sending him spinning. His attacker, a massive Mandalorian clad in red armour, towered over him, axe bloody from multiple slain enemies.

“Jetii! You dare to bring your magic into this contest of strength!?” The Mandalorian female raised her axe for the finishing blow, but Spike lunged with Dusk and buried the purple blade in the female’s chest. He quickly ripped his Lightsaber out of the mortally wounded Mandalorian before spinning and decapitating the Warrior, the white blade of Elusive hissing as it rent armour and parted flesh.

Spike panted heavily as Zule staggered over to him. The human was bleeding from several small wounds, but he was still fighting, a fire in his eyes.

“Any word from the Republic?” Spike panted heavily, parrying a blow before unleashing a gout of flames, sending Krath scuttling for cover.

“No.” Spike muttered a curse at Zule’s response.

“Send as many messages as you can. In the meantime just keep fighting, we ca- wait.” Spike looked up towards the sky, sensing something was approaching. Even through the encroaching darkness of night, he could spot the faint outlines of troop flying high over the battle on tongues of fire, and from the direction they were coming from he could tell they weren’t friends of the Republic. “Airborne troops incoming! Are any of the troops unengaged?”

“Don’t think so. Maybe the operators of the cannons.”

“Tell them to take up arms and engage, leave the cannons.” Spike panted.

“On it!” Zule nodded, running back towards the Republic lines and the cannons beyond.

As Spike continued to fight, he saw that the command has been carried out, and a few soldiers began to fire upwards at the approaching Mandalorians. Spike sprinted across the courtyard, focusing his mind for a telekinetic push to allow him to get to where he expected the Mandalorians would land. Thrusting his hands forward, Spike roared as he threw a group of Krath warriors from their feet, finding himself right in the path of the oncoming Mandalorians.

“So, the Republic sheb wants to play at being a Jetii?” the leader of the group as he slammed into the ground, clenching his hands into fists and flicking his wrists, a pair of blades extending outwards from the oversized gauntlets. “It’ll be all the more satisfying to hear her scream.”

“I won’t give you the satisfaction, Mandalorian!” Spike shouted, raising his Lightsabers into a guard position.

“Ooh, defiant are we?” the warrior said, and Spike just knew that behind the face covering helmet, the Mandalorian was smirking. “That makes this even better. Don’t come between us, this one is mine.” He ordered, looking at his troops.

With a sudden cry the Mandalorian lunged forward, sweeping his claws towards Spike’s head. Dusk parried, the claws holding up to the power of his Lightsaber and thrust his second weapon forward, but the Mandalorian dodged, before rising up and slamming his helmet into Spikes face. As he staggered back, blood seeping down his face from his nose, Spike barely blocked a second strike from the enemy, his claws scraping shallow gouges into her already damaged breastplate.

With a grunt, Spike threw his shoulder into his foe, the two combatants tumbling over one another. With his Lightsabers being too unwieldy to use in such confined quarters, Spike pulled back his fist and slammed them into the Mandalorians helmet. The enemy managed to kick Spike away, the Jedi landing in a heap as the Mandalorian got back to his feet and prepared for another strike. The warrior leapt for him, but Spike released a blast of force energy and stopped the enemy in his tracks, allowing him room to get back on his feet.

The two circled each other, occasionally lunging in for a probing strike. Their duel had driven the pair back towards the Republic lines which had been breached in numerous places, fights breaking out behind the defence line.

Around them, the Mandalorians and their Krath allies had pushed the Republic forces back, but not without the Republic soldiers leaving scores of their enemies dead. It was not much in the face of the onslaught, but it gave Spike some hope.

“Why do you persist, Jetii?” Spike’s enemy said as the Mandalorian blocked another strike. “Why keep fighting when there is no hope of succeeding.”

“I will not allow myself to become a slave to someone like you and your Dark Master.” Spike spat.

“You are near-sighted then, Republic dog.” The Mandalorian lunged again, gouging out a large hole in Spike’s armour. “I have seen the truth. The Mandalore has shown us everything, and given us his blessing so that we may spread his truth and that of the of the Sith amongst all. But you that oppose us must be cast aside, your bodies and souls sacrified to Mandalore’s Dark Lords.” The Mandalorian attacked once more, but Spike ducked underneath the attack, causing the enemy to expose herself. Spike spun his Lightsabers around and swung upward, the blades tearing through armour and flesh, lodging themselves in the enemy’s gut, and bringing his helmet next to Spike head.

“My body and soul will only be forfeit when the Republic itself falls.” Spike forced one Lightsaber upwards, bisecting the Mandalorian before he could give a response.

Spike looked around; the Republic forces were holding out, and had even managed to open up the gap between the two forces again, but they were in too few numbers to repel the assault properly. Even as Spike watched, more shapes began to bank towards them, and Spike recognised them as Chaos fighters and the odd war droids that some Mandalorians rode upon.

“Fall back to the cannons! Prepare to close the blast doors!” Spike bellowed, raising his Lightsaber high so everyone present could see that the order was genuine and not an enemy trick.

“Like hell!” Asho roared back, her Lightsaber flaring as it sent a bolt back along the path to impact with the Krath droid that had fired it. “We’ve got ‘em on the run!”

“Look around you!” Spike roared back as the last of the Republic troops rushed past him into the relative safety of the cannons. “We couldn’t hold off another assault outside, but maybe we can in there!”

“We’ll be trapped!” she roared back, but Spike could see that she had seen reason and was beginning to edge backwards.

“We’re already trapped here!” Spike bellowed.

“Grr, FINE!” She roared, turning and sprinting next to Spike as the pair of Jedi made for the cannons as the rest of the Republic forces provided sporadic covering fire from the blast door.

“Where do you get off ordering a ret…”

A single shot passed through the head of the Twilek, splattering blood and brains across Spike’s chest.

The Longest Night

Spikes world seemed to stand perfectly still as he watched the bullet travel through Asho’s head, unable to take his eyes off the moment of her death, even as her life blood splattered across his chest and face. Everything was silent, and colour no longer seemed to have any meaning upon the world. Inevitably however, the fleeting moment of awful clarity passed, and reality came crashing back down upon him.

“ASHO!” He screamed, his voice breaking as he clutched the dead body of the Twilek to his chest, closing his eyes and trying to convince himself that this wasn’t real.

When he opened them, they were no longer the same. No longer were they the large, innocent eyes of the happy-go-lucky Spike, now they were the yellow eyes of a predator, burning with rage.

“I’LL KILL YOU!” He bellowed, before roaring, his voice traveling around the square and shaking the very buildings around him.

Thrusting his hands forward, Spike screamed as he grabbed the offending Mandalorian in an iron telekinetic grip, ripping him from his position on top of a building and brining the sniper down to his eye level, struggling feebly as Spike applied force to him, his armour beginning to strain and crumple. Roaring again, Spike brought his fist slamming forward into the Mandalorians chest, denting the armour and drawing a cry of pain from his enemy. Spike was dimly aware of voices from behind him, but his own screams of rage were stopping them from reaching his ears.

Letting out a final roar, Spike unleashed a gout of flame at the suspended Mandalorian, drawing a scream from the enemy as the fire washed over him. Spike didn’t let up until his enemy was nothing but a burnt corpse, charred remains of what had once been a warrior, diving forward at a Krath soldier who had charged forward, a sword that was clearly not his clutched in his hands, and a mad scream gracing his lips.

In one swift movement, Spike darted around the blade, grabbing hold of the man’s weapon arm and twisting until a crack was heard, the man’s battle cry turning to a cry of pain as he dropped his weapon.

Not allowing his enemy any respite, Spike hoisted him above his head, before clamping his jaw around the man’s neck, ripping bloody flesh, muscle and sinew away as he tore his head back and spat the chunk of meat back into the man’s face, receiving only a gurgle and a spurt of blood as the man floundered like a caught fish, before falling limp in Spikes grip, and being allowed to fall.

Seething with rage, Spike stared out across the square, looking into the seething mass of enemies that had overrun the defences. They had all halted, starring at Spike in what he could only describe as fear. Right now though, all he cared about was keeping them away from the others. Asho had fallen, but he would die before any of the others would follow her, but to do that, he would have to open himself fully to the force, allowing himself to delve into the corrupting side of the malignant power. It was a price he would pay gladly.

Suddenly, Spike collapsed to the ground, landing on the charred corpse in front of him and letting out an unholy cry of agony. The world spun around him as he realized he was laying on his side, panting in exertion. His head throbbed as the pounding of the soldiers feet echoed in his ears. He could hear yelling. Some of it might have been his.

“Spike!” Could have been Tarhal, or perhaps Zule.

“Spike, you’re back’s bleeding!” Corinna?

“Force, going wild.” He spat out in between cries of pain. “Need to stop ene…arg!”

“You, don’t just stand there, drag him inside and seal the blast doors! Asho to!”

Spike felt numerous hands grabbing hold of him, dragging him across the stone floor onto something much cooler. Metal?

“You, help me get this armour off him. We need to see what’s wrong.”

The pounding of footsteps rushed away.

“That’s the last strap.”

“HURTS!”

“My god. Look at his back.”

The pressure was unbearable. Something was pressing against his skin from the inside. It wanted to get out. Spike rolled himself over so that she was sitting up. The sound of his hide tearing was drowned out by his scream of pain.

By the end of the day, the entire garrison of the cannons would know that Spike the fire drake, was now a dragon.

***

Spike looked around the darkness that now surrounded him. He knew he had seen this place before on his many meditative excursions into his own mind, but this time it seemed different, murkier and somewhat depressing.

“Moonstone!” He shouted, trying and failing to get up from his side. When you were unable to raise yourself in your own mind, it was clear that something very wrong had happened.

When he received no answer, Spike began to hyperventilate, his mind going into overdrive. What if this wasn’t his mind? What if he hadn’t died outside on the battlefield? Was this the afterlife?

“Moonstone! Please!” Spike begged, once again trying to move.

“This is it then?” A voice came from behind the fallen dragon, and Spike managed to turn his head enough to catch sight of Moonstone, the purple mare casually inspecting one of her forehooves. “Is this where the Dark Side finally takes you?”

“What are you talking about?” Spike asked, his voice wavering slightly.

“The Dark Side is a strong force, is this where it ensnares you as well as so many others?” She reiterated.

“I haven’t fallen!” Spike roared, writhing slightly.

“Of course you haven’t.” She said, laying a hoof on the immobile Dragon, stroking his head soothingly. “Not yet anyway. Continue though…” She trailed off.

“I. Have. Not. Fallen!” Spike roared again, putting emphasis on each word, before Moonstone placed her hoof on his lips, forcing him to be silent.

“Come now Spike, you did not think that your display outside the cannons was natural do you?” She said smoothly. “The anger you felt? The power you briefly wielded? This is the strength of the Dark Side. A path that you do not even know you are treading until you have slipped to the bottom of it, from which there is little hope of return. But hold steady now, keep your nerve, and you may yet remain on the path of the Light.”

“I hate them. The Krath, the Mandalorians, especially the Sith. I hate them, I just…I just wish that the Dark Side…wasn’t.” Spike finished weakly.

“Without the darkness the light means nothing. It is one of many. But in the middle of the darkness, when despair and death are all around you, the light means everything. It is hope.” She said softly, before beginning to fade, as Spike was hauled back to reality, and the pain that came with it.

***

“Hold him still. We don’t know what they’ve done to him.” A voice that Spike recognised as Corinna’s. “Do we have anything to dress his wounds with?”

“Nothing, I’m sorry.” An unfamiliar voice replied.

Spike could feel more hands grab onto him, holding him down on what seemed like a very small platform as his body twitched and jerked, before finally his eyes snapped open, the wide pupils contracting suddenly in the presence of the light streaming into them.

He panted heavily as he fixed his eyes on the people around him, trying to hold in a scream as more unbelievable pain washed around his body. Taking a deep breathe in, Spike clenched his teeth and pushed himself up, knocking the hands holding him down away with ease and keeping his eyes fixed on Corinna to keep his mind away from his back.

“Careful Spike.” She warned, but hurried to his side as he swung his legs off the table, collapsing to a kneeling position.

“Fine.” He muttered in return, grabbing hold of her and hauling himself up, nearly toppling her over.

Craning his neck, Spike looked at his back, setting his eyes upon the two new wings that sat there. They were tiny little things, hardly bigger than a Pegasus’s and covered in blood. However, unlike a Pegasus’s wings, these were not covered in feathers, instead being leathery and rough, not unlike that of one of Luna’s personal guard. The hide around his back however was not in as good a state. As the wings had burst forth, they had ripped the skin into bloody ribbons, making his back look as if he had been flayed for days. Blood was still oozing from it, but from the damage done to it, it should have been bleeding a lot more.

“How. Long.” Spike grunted.

“Blast doors were sealed one hour, twelve minutes ago.” Corinna replied.

“Where.” Spike began, groaning as he collapsed against the wall, barely keeping his balance on his feet.

“I’ll take you to her.” Corinna said solemnly, moving over to Spike and wriggling under his arm, helping the larger Dragon out of the room and down the corridor.

The inside of the bunker complex was tight for someone of Spikes size, especially when walking two abreast down the corridor, the Republic soldiers who had helped hold him down and provide medical help for Corinna as she tended to Spike.

Eventually however, the corridor widened out into a low ceilinged room occupied by what Spike truly hoped was not everyone that remained of the Republic forces, the room barely holding thirty men, as well as two Jedi in a corner, standing vigil over a single corpse. By the looks of things, it was the only one that had been recovered.

Slowly, the two remaining Jedi made their way over to their companions, Spike getting his first proper look at Asho without rage clouding his mind. The corpse was a mess, that was all Spike could say about it. Her body was covered in numerous cuts from the fight, although compared to the final injury she took, these were nothing. There was hardly anything left of her head, the sheer size of the round that finally killed her having reduced the back of her head to pulp, and scraped a lot of the front of it to, leaving an exposed hole through which Spike could see the table she was laying upon.

Tears filled Spikes eyes as he collapsed onto the body, holding the corpse tightly to his chest. He felt a paw touch him on the shoulder, and quickly turned, looking into Tarhal’s bloodshot eyes.

“It wasn’t your…” He began.

“Don’t say it wasn’t my fault.” Spike said softly, turning away the Wookies gaze. “Please.”

“It wasn’t Spike.” Zule insisted.

“Then whose was it?” Spike asked with a sniff. “I gave the orders to retreat. She would have been on her guard if I…”

“She would have died, as would the rest of us if we hadn’t got to the safety of the cannons.” Corinna said firmly.

“No, no, no.” Spike repeated, tears falling down his face, the dragon beginning to hyperventilate, the constant rocking breaking open the few parts of his back that had healed.

“Spike, your back.” Tarhal pointed out, grabbing hold of the Dragon by his shoulders and stopping him from rocking. “Let’s get him somewhere he can rest.”

“No, no.” Spike shook his head. “Just, let me see the blast doors. I want to know that…know that we’re safe.”

“Are you sure? Your back…” Corinna began.

“Isn’t in as bad a shape as Asho, or any of the other dead.” Spike said, before making his way out of the room, steadying himself on the wall as he went. Truth be told, his back felt like it was on fire, the bloody stumps that were his new wings fluttered back and forth seemingly with a will of their own.

With the others leading, and occasionally helping the largest member of their clan when he stumbled, the four Jedi quickly made their way to the blast doors, passing by the soldiers on guard duty as they inspected the massive metal door.

“Ray shielded, half a meter of durasteel.” Zule said as Spike leant against the wall.

“Good. Good.” Spike nodded, his voice getting fainter as he was pulled back to sleeps embrace.

***

Spike awoke again suddenly, finding himself back in the main room of the cannon complex, somebody, or multiple somebodies, having carried him back from the blast door and had lent him down against the wall, a jacket being placed behind his head. All around him he could make out the forms of soldiers, not many of whom were sleeping. To be fair to them, if he wasn’t weary from the wounds on his back, he doubted he would be able to sleep either.

“Soldier.” Spike muttered, touching a man on his shoulder. “How much food do we have?”

“Sir, the other Jedi said to tell you not to worry about things like this, they can keep command for…” he began.

“How much?” Spike insisted.

“With this number, two days water, three days food.” The soldier replied.

“Rough estimate anyway.” Corinna said, walking over. “How are you?”

“Pain.” Spike said simply. “How are the men?”

“Not good. Morale is low, numbers are just as low.” She replied.

“What are we doing about morale?” Spike asked, hauling himself upwards.

“Not much we can do.” Corinna said after a while. “How do you get morale up when an enemy army is knocking right outside your door?”

“You tell them a story.” Spike said with a weak smile. “You tell them anything that will help.”

“I have no stories that will help in that matter. Neither do the others.” Corinna said sadly.

“I do.” Spike said, a slight smile cresting his lips. “I do.”

“That’s your plan? To tell them a story?” Corinna whispered disbelievingly. “Why?”

“Because there’s nothing else left.” Spike hissed so as to not let the soldiers around him hear. “Because I ordered us to be trapped in here, and without hope, we have nothing.”

Moving past Corinna, Spike made his way to the centre of the room, standing to his fullest height, having to bend his head to allow him to do it, but never the less, he cut an impressive figure, even with blood dripping from his wings. Clearing his throat, Spike began.

“Gather round, listen in.” Spike said, drawing the attention of the remaining soldiers. “I realise that you are worried about our current predicament, and I promise you, I feel the exact same way. The situation seems bleak, maybe even hopeless.”

“You got that right, bloody fool.” A soldier muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear it properly.

“Stow that.” Tarhal growled from the side of the room, but to most of the soldiers, it probably just sounded like a menacing threat.

“I realise that you may blame me for this, and you may have every right to do so, but I know of darker situations than this which were stared down by a brave few.” Spike said, contemplating what he was going to say next.

“Long ago, in times faded to legend on my home planet, there were two goddesses, one who watched over the day and the sun, while the younger sister watched over the night and moon. Disillusioned by a foul daemon who infested her mind, the younger sister rose in rebellion, only to be defeated by her sister, and banished to her own dominion, locked in the moons embrace. Nightmare Moon, the mare in the moon, was truly created on that day.”

He paused, looking around at the soldiers who were now all staring directly at them, their troubles and worries momentarily forgotten, before Spike forged onwards with the tale. Now was the time to amend the truth, this was after all, supposed to be a story to rouse their spirits.

“She did not stay locked in her prison forever though, and soon, one thousand years after her imprisonment, she beseeched the very stars themselves to free her from her void cell, returning to enact her terrible vengeance upon the goddess who had banished her all those centuries ago. Weakened by the many years of peace that had followed her sisters defeat, the old goddess stood no chance against her sister, who had not been idle in her years away, and fell before her quickly wrath. For ten years, she ruled by world with an iron hoof, silencing any rebellion swiftly and brutally, plunging the world into darkness for a decade.”

“How does a planet survive without a sun for ten years?” A soldier piped up, and Spike realised that they were buying it. Desperate minds he supposed.

“On my world, things work differently. The goddesses walk amongst us, and we are fortunate for their grace, for they wield power beyond the scope of mortal knowing, strong enough even to rend the laws of nature asunder and force the moon to become life giving. Times were bleak, hope non-existent, as it is now.”

He paused once more.

“But now, as then, I can see heroes poised to take up arms against their oppressors. In the eleventh year of the Nightmare's tyranny, six brave mares, ponies from all walks of life, rose up and defied the daemonic goddess and her immense armies, uncaring of the consequences, for the rewards were beyond the counting. For the first time since the old goddess had fallen, ponykind, and indeed the world itself, had leaders, a force they could rally behind. And rally they did, rising in the first truly unified rebellion to follow the six mares example. From city to city, and continent to continent, the six mighty warriors lead their armies against the Nightmare that plagued their home, seeing victory after victory as more and more ponies rose up in arms with them. Finally, the heroes reached the centre of the Nightmares web of tyranny, striding into the fortress of a goddess unsupported and their heads held high. Six mortal ponies squared off against an immortal goddess who had command over nature itself, but they did not falter, willing to give their lives if that is what it took to free their home. But that was not needed, for their courage saw them through, and on that day, harmony overthrew tyranny, and cast the daemon back from the foul warp it had come from, allowing the old goddess to finally return, freed from her own prison as the wards around it slipped away. Six mortal mares proved that day that evil, will never triumph, as long as those with the courage to stand up, do so, regardless of the consequences. That is what you all did today. You stood up to a force of greater numbers, with surprise on their side. You stared them down as they threw themselves at you again and again, battering away at your comrades as surely as the seas mighty waves will topple even the largest of cliffs, but you did not stop to think of retreat, you did not run, you held the line, and for some, they paid the ultimate sacrifice, yet they died standing. That is all anyone can ever ask of you, and all your duty will ever demand, that you stand tall, you hold the line, and you die standing!”

Spike shouted the final few sentences, making sure that everyone could see and hear him as he praised them. He had got them into this situation, but he would be dammed if the last thirty two of these brave soldiers would die easily. His back was bleeding heavily now, and his world was beginning to spin, but he would not let up, not yet. He had to stay strong.

“When they come, if they have the courage to face us again, then none of you are allowed to die before you have taken ten of them with you! I, will always be ahead of you! I will lead you to victory,” he began to falter, stumbling slightly, “or I will proceed you to the afterlife, and meet you…” His world span, and Spike could feel himself tumbling towards the floor, only to be caught by three sets of hands, and looking around to see Tarhal, Zule and Corinna holding him up.

“WE will always be in front of you!” Zule corrected, bellowing louder than Spike had been able to muster. “And if Spike can talk of war, and fighting, and victory in his state, then none of us have any excuses not to follow his lead!”

“Reckon if they’re motivated enough?” Spike said with a weak chuckle.

“Yeah, you could say that.” Tarhal chuckled, but Spike didn’t hear him, his wounds overcoming him once more, and allowing him to slip from the waking world.

Breaking Dawn

Spike awoke to the sound of voices shouting back and forth across the room, the cold floor of the bunker making him instantly aware. Soldiers were running back and forth, a Corporal shouting orders and direction soldiers towards the entranceway. Instantly, Spike was on his feet, a sharp lance of pain causing him to grunt, but he pushed it away, knowing that this level of movement would probably only mean one thing.

“Corporal! Status!” He yelled across the din of pounding feet, his wings making a creaking noise as they moved on their own volition, the dried blood that had stuck on them as he slept cracking apart.

“Someone cutting through the doors!” The Corporal replied. “Jedi Padawan Corinna has ordered us to stand ready, Padawans Zule and Tarhal are with her. They ordered you were to be left sleeping until absolutely necessary.”

“Thank you Corporal, carry on.” Spike nodded, before making his way towards the entranceway, wincing as he moved quicker than he would have liked, but determined to make it to the door.

In short order, Spike moved into the hallway which over looked the blast door, marvelling at the speed with which an ad-hoc defence had been constructed. Rows of small barricades had been erected in front of the door, soldiers hunkered down behind them to provide them with some semblance of cover. Any enemy wishing to take this breech would be met by heavy resistance.

Moving past the barricades, Spike moved up beside the other three Jedi, towering above the two humans, and even stretching above the Wookies impressive height.

“What’s happening?” Spike asked.

“Someone’s cutting through the door, started about half an hour ago.” Corinna replied.

“Ray shields?” Spike asked.

“Shorted out.” Zule replied.

“Time until they’re in?”

“Five minutes? Maybe ten?” Tarhal growled.

“No time to lose then.” Spike smiled, although with his the pain perforating his body, it came off more like a grimace.

“The men are ready.” Tarhal replied as he watched the last few soldiers hurry into position and take cover behind the corner of the wall at the far end, their weapons pointing menacingly down towards the door.

Tarhal slowly drew his Lightsaber from his back, holding the hilt nervously in two hands, not yet thumbing the activation stud. Following his lead, the other Jedi also drew their hilts, refraining from igniting the blades just yet. As Spike watched, the little flame that was cutting through the doors neared the floor, indicating that they were nearly in, before turning to the men.

“The Mandalorians are coming, the Krath dogs snapping at their heels for attention and position. They will pour through this door, into this breach, our enemies, to be met by hellfire and death at our hands! I stand tall with you brave thirty at my back, and if I must, I will die proud because I have fallen for a cause greater than myself! You have enemies? Good! That means that you’ve stood up for something in your life! So let them come! This is our capital! This is our world! And they will have to drown us in blood, before they can have it!”

Igniting his Lightsabers, Spike let out a deafening roar, a cry that was taken up by the other members of the bunker as the remaining Jedi ignited their own Lightsabers. Whatever happened now, Spike could honestly say that he was proud to serve with these men.

He get the roar going as the tiny cutting flame finally receded, the door slowly being pulled open as multiple sets of hands became visible in the breech, straining to pull the breech open and allow the slaughter to commence anew. Spike was not going to wait for that to happen.

With a grunt of effort, Spike channelled the force into his hands, forcing the doors apart before sprinting forward, using the force to increase his speed beyond what he should have been capable of, and sending him barrelling into his enemy, or so he thought.

In a split second, Spike took in the surroundings as he burst from the bunker complex. The dead were thick around the complex, but that was not what caught his eyes, no, the living did that, and more importantly, the uniform they wore, and the Jedi leading them.

“STOP!” Spike yelled urgently, turning around to face the troopers in the bunker. “Stop, now! Don’t fire!” He really didn’t want a case of blue on blue action.

“Republic?” Tarhal asked slowly, walking out of the bunker, squinting slightly as the early morning sun streamed into his eyes, a far cry from the dim artificial light they had been in for the past night.

“Spike? Tarhal?” A Muun said, moving past the Republic troops.

“Master Plagun?” Corinna said in surprise, walking out of the bunker with her brother.

“Is all of Nexu clan here?” Plagun asked.

For a long time, none of the Jedi spoke, all looking around and thinking what to say, before looking at Spike, tears forming in the dragons eyes.

“I’m sorry.” Plagun said, picking up on the message that they were all reluctant to speak. “She will not be forgotten.” He paused, scrutinising Spike for a moment. “What is on your back?”

“Wings.” Spike said plainly. “What’s going on?”

“The Mandalorians retreated, the army is moving to re-secure any areas taken by the enemy and clear out any stragglers. To be honest, we didn’t expect to find anyone alive, especially here. By all accounts, this area had one of the largest assaults.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Zule muttered, before leaning against the wall and sliding down it, sitting on the floor with a weary look in his eye.

“You all look shattered.” Plagun observed.

“No one slept with the exception of Spike, and only then because of injuries.” Corinna said softly, sitting down beside her brother.

“Let’s get you all back to the temple.” Plagun said with a smile as he looked at the tired Padawans and the soldiers that were beginning to exit the bunker, most dragging their weapons behind them as fatigue finally set in. “Commander. Get these men some transport to somewhere they can rest. It’s the least we can do.”

“Thank you master.” Spike smiled, looking down at the other Padawans. Compared to the others, he was not nearly as tired, but he was still weary, the fatigue setting into his very bones.

***

“I thought I said I didn’t want to see you here again Spike.” Franoline said with a smirk as she walked into the room Spike was in, looking at the dragon as he floated in a large tank full of a clear viscous fluid.

Spike tried to laugh slightly, but all that came out was a few bubbles as he released air into the Kolto that surrounded him, knocking the air mask off slightly, a fact that went unnoticed by both Franoline and Spike. He had been in the Kolto solution for a day now, the healing sludge already doing wonders and healing his back. It was long work, and it wasn’t exactly the most stimulating thing he could be doing, in fact it was possibly one of the most boring things he had ever done, but at least his back had stopped hurting. In a few hours, he would be done, as opposed to a few weeks, stretching towards months if he had tried to heal himself with his own natural healing ability.

“Well as you are here, I thought I would allow some guests in. Don’t worry, they know you can’t speak back to them, but nodding should do fine.” She said, before whistling sharply.

As she did, the door slid open, and Spike caught sight of someone who made his heart leap.

“Mas…pher” He said happily, coughing as he inhaled some of the liquid around him, his eyes fixing upon Solaris.

“Thank you Franoline.” She nodded to the healer. “I am sure your other patients need your assistance.”

“Thank you Master Solaris, I will leave you with your Padawan.” She said, bowing deeply before leaving the room, closing the door behind her.

“Oh Spike.” She said softly, walking around the dragon as he floated in the Kolto. “You get out of the healing wing the day I leave, and when I come back you're right back in here, with a pair of wings to boot.”

Spike didn’t reply, nodding his agreement at his master’s words.

“What did you do?” She asked exasperatedly. “Scratch that, I can ask you when you get out. Should be some time later today, wouldn’t you think.”

“Uh huh.” Spike nodded.

“Well then, I’ll see you when you get out. I’ll be in the east wing primary meditation chamber when you come to seek me.” She said, before turning and walking out of the room.

Sighing to himself, Spike closed his eyes, allowing his mind to wander.

***

“Careful Padawan Spike.” A medical droid said as it helped Spike out of the tank, steadying him as he dropped down to the floor, dropping to his knees and hacking up a pile of flem and Kolto onto the ground. “That’s right. Get it out of your system.”

“Thank you.” Spike nodded, pushing himself back up to his feet. Was it just him, or were his wings larger than they had been when they had first sprouted. At least his back was no longer bleeding heavily.

After a few checks from the medical droid, Spike was signed off as fit to move about again, being dismissed from the healing wing. Stretching his arms, and trying to keep his wings from fluttering of the own free will, Spike began to make his way out towards the meditation chamber that Solaris had mentioned that she would be in.

As Spike walked through the temple, getting a few looks from the other Jedi that walked around the temple, most of whom were shorter than he was, he suddenly realised that his wings were actually quite heavy, the extra weight seemingly pulling him back.

Eventually however, Spike reached the meditation chamber, sliding the door back and slipping inside, laying his eyes on his master. Solaris was sitting cross legged on a stool, her eyes rolled back in her head and exposing the whites of her eyes as she looked upwards vacantly. Spike knew this to be her meditative stance, and although it had once freaked him out when he had first seen her do it, now he had gotten used to it.

Sensing the arrival of her Padawan, Solaris’s eyes rolled forward in her head again, her pupils contracting as she focused on Spike. Uncrossing her legs, Solaris got to her feet, walking over to her Padawan and looking up at him.

“You’ve grown.” She noted.

“You haven’t.” Spike replied simply.

For a few moments, Spike and Solaris looked at each other, their faces unreadable, before they both burst out laughing, Solaris embracing Spike in a tight hug. For a moment, Spike didn’t know quite what to do, Solaris never having hugged him before, before shrugging and returning the hug, lifting his master of her feet.

“Spike…can’t…breathe.” She muttered with a chuckle, the dragon quickly setting her down.

“It’s good to see you again master.” Spike smiled.

“As it is you, even if you look quite a bit different from the last time I saw you. Can you believe it was only a week ago?” She asked, clapping him on the lower arm.

“No, I can’t.” Spike smiled. “So what happened at Kemplex IX? Can’t have been much of a fleet there.”

“No, it was all here wasn’t it.” She said exasperatedly. “And to think, I left you here because I wanted to keep you safe. That really worked out didn’t it?”

“Not for anyone.” Spike agreed sullenly.

“I heard what happened with your friend. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” She said softly. “There is going to be a funeral in a few days for all the Jedi that fell.”

“That will make me feel great I’m sure.” Spike muttered. “What happened with the invasion force? I don’t really know much about the attack as a whole.”

“Well, the fleet that was supposed to be at Kemplex IX came here obviously, but we beat them off, you, beat them off. They were swarming over everything and they suddenly retreated. One good thing came from this though.” She said, smiling at the final sentence.

“What good could have possibly come from this?” Spike asked sullenly.

“Ulic Qel-Droma. We got him.” She smiled.

“Got him?” Spike asked quizzically.

“He was left behind. His trial is in a week or so.” She said with a grin. “Now come on, I was speaking to Tarhal earlier. He said that before the invasion, you’d never been out to Coruscant itself. I’m going to show you some of the wonders of the capital world.”

“Wonders?” Spike asked, cocking his eyebrow.

“Alright, not quite wonders.” She admitted. “There’s a little place down on level one thousand two hundred and sixteen. I’ve been there a few times, they still don’t know I’m a Jedi.” She finished with a slight chuckle.

“Why don’t they know you’re a Jedi?” Spike asked in confusion.

“Because I wear normal clothes and don’t take my Lightsaber with me.” She smiled. “Let’s get to my speeder. You can leave your weapons in there.”

“Lead on.” Spike said, trying in vain to put Asho out of his mind.

***

“Well then, here we are.” Solaris smiled, stepping out of her speeder and looking up at a neon lit building.

“The Ultra Ray?” Spike asked, walking up next to Solaris. “Why are we here mas…”

“Solaris.” She corrected, before lowering her voice. “I’m not a Jedi here, remember.”

“But why?” Spike asked in a similarly hushed voice.

“It’s nice to let my hair down and act normally for a while. When you get to my age, you’ll want to do the same thing.” She smiled, before pushing the door open. “Oh, and it’s not Solaris here, it’s Artemis.”

“Artemis?” Spike asked. “Why do I feel like these names should mean something to me?” He shook his head, before following ‘Artemis’ into the bar.

The bar was large and noisy, a group of musicians on a stage in the back of the bar busy playing music with a heavy beat, something that Spike would have associated with Vinyl Scratch back home. The patrons of the establishment were as diverse as the drinks they were consuming, ranging from humans and Twileks to Gamorreans and Bith.

“Hey Artemis!” A male Togruta called from behind the bar. “Where the hell have you been you lousy git?! I haven’t seen you for months!”

“Sorry, you know what it’s like.” She smiled, sitting down at the bar, and beckoning for Spike to sit next to her.

“Who’s your friend?” The Togruta asked. “More importantly, what can I get you?”

“Ray’nal, meet Spine. Spine, meet Ray’nal.” Solaris said by way of introduction. So, obviously Spike was to be known as Spine for the evening. He definitely thought that he should know these names from somewhere.

“Spine eh?” Ray’nal said, putting his hand across the bar and shaking Spikes hand. “Well, any friend of Artemis’s is welcome here. You in the merc business as well?”

“Ugh…yeah, mercenary, sure.” Spike nodded. “Artemis is my mentor.”

“Well, you’re learning from the best. Artemis has been coming here for years. But back to my original question, what your poison?”

“Poison?” Spike asked in a confused tone.

“Just, bring us a couple of beers to start with. You know what I like.” Solaris grinned as the barkeeper walked off. “Smooth.” She chuckled.

“I’ve never been in a bar before.” He hissed back.

“This ain’t just a bar.” Solaris chuckled. “You know, sometimes I forget just how young you are. You’ve been with me for what, three years, coming on four?”

“Five last week.” Spike corrected her.

“Yeah. First time to a bar then I guess.” She smiled, leaning back against the bar and sighing contentedly.

“The planet was just invaded, and they’re sitting here like nothing happened.” Spike said disbelievingly, looking around at the patrons.

“Welcome to the Undercity love.” She laughed. “The battle didn’t get down this deep, so it’s business as usual. Scratch that, it’s better than usual, ‘cause all the people who survived it are celebrating that they won.”

“Artemis, Spine. Drinks up.” Ray’nal said, sliding the drinks across the bar, Solaris catching hers as it was still sliding and raising it to her lips, taking a long draught and gesturing for Spike to do the same.

Tentatively, Spike picked up the mug, raising it to his lips and taking a small sip of the liquid inside.

“Hmm. Not bad.” He smiled, taking another gulp.

“Just wait till, it gets better.” Solaris grinned.

***

Many Hours later

***

“Blood rages down from an angry sky! My cock rages on! My cock rages on!” Spike bellowed, joining in with the countless other voices that were all drunkenly shouting the song.

Grabbing his glass from where he had left it, Spike downed the clear liquid within, the vodka tingling his throat as it slipped down. According to Solaris the drink burnt like a bitch, which was the main reason she preferred other stuff, but to someone who routinely breathed fire, this was nothing.

For the first time since they had sprouted, Spikes wings were still, drooping as if they were tired, or in this case drunk. Spike saw this as a good excuse to keep drinking. Beside him, Solaris was also drunkenly singing, sloshing her drink out of the mug as she swayed with a man who was equally drunk as her.

Slamming his glass down a bit too hard on one of the tables, Spike accidently created a dent in it, spilling the drinks of a group of muscular men, none of whom looked particularly happy that they were now wearing their alcohol rather than ingesting it.

“The fuck you think you’re doing?” One shouted, getting to his feet and moving over towards the slouching figure of Spike.

“Accident. Sorry.” Spike smiled.

“Yeah, you’ll be sorry when we break your face.” A second human jeered, pushing Spike back onto a bar stool.

“How could we tell? The bastards so ugly anyway. We’d probably be doing everyone a favour.” A third man said.

“You don’t want to be doing this lads.” Solaris said, staggering over and looking at the men.

“Oh no, we do.” The fourth and final man smiled, putting an arm around Solaris’s shoulders. “What do you care anyway? You’re not with him are you?”

“As a matter of fact I am.” Solaris nodded.

“You lose a bet or something.” The man laughed. “Why don’t you and I leave and I can show you a real man."

“You know, I’m going to have to pass.” Solaris said with a lopsided smile, the sarcasm still dripping from her voice.

“Suit yourself love.” The man laughed, releasing Solaris.

“Play nicely now Spine.” Solaris grinned, before turning and staggering back to her drink, her conscience clear. She had warned them after all.

“Hey babe.” The man said, slapping Solaris on the arse and causing her to stop dead in her tracks. “Something to remember me by.”

“Oh, how sweet.” She smiled, turning back around. “Allow me to return the favour.”

Lashing out, she caught the man in the stomach, sending him reeling to the floor as he gasped for breath.

“Spine, I think we should…” Solaris began, before a fist impacted with her face, knocking her back.

“Mistake.” Spike roared with a laugh, getting to his feet and standing at his full height, towering over the three men and glaring down at them, the men backing away a step.

Bringing his hand up, Spike backhanded the man across the face, making sure to pull his blow so he didn’t permanently damage the attacker. He was still thrown across the room however, smashing through a series of tables and spilling more drinks.

“BARFIGHT!” A Rodian roared, getting up from his chair with a laugh.

In an instant, the demeanour in the bar changed, the patrons changing from pleasant, if highly intoxicated, people, into those who were out for some good natured blood-letting. It was like a switch had been flipped as fists began flying. This clearly wasn’t that rare an occurrence, as the band barely even broke stride, switching to a much more upbeat song.

Spike roared as a large Gamorrean jumped at him, the massive boar slamming into his chest and wrapping his arms around Spikes torso as he forced the dragon back. Bringing his fists down on the pigs back, Spike sent him sprawling before diving forward. Unfortunately, in his current state he did not have the best focus when it came to his vision, and he ended up sprawling on the ground, feeling feet slam down on him, but hardly registering the pain.

Forcing himself to his feet, Spike saw Solaris fending of an attack from one of the men from earlier, all the while punching the face of a man she had in a head lock. Deciding that his master could deal with him, Spike turned, only to find a pair of female Twileks bringing their fists towards him, both impacting with his chest and head at the same time, the combined force driving him backwards.

Spike was driven back towards the door as he tried to fend off attacks from the two faster opponents, his inebriated state making it even harder to intercept their attacks. He wasn’t just a normal dragon however, he was a Jedi, and even if he was refraining from using the force for Solaris’s sake, he could still use it passively.

Lashing out, Spike used the force to subtly draw one of the Twileks feet to his outstretched hand as she spun for a kick, hoisting her off her feet and swinging her at the second and catching her in the stomach, sending them both sprawling across the floor.

Still savouring his small victory, Spike watched with interest as one of the men from before ran towards him, not realising until too late that he probably didn’t want a hug. The man collided with Spike, forcing him backwards as the pair crashed to the floor just in front of the door, and at the feet of a trio of droids who had entered the building, a human female following them.

“You’re in a whole heap of trouble boys.” She smiled sweetly as she bent down, grabbing Spikes wrists and slapping a pair of heavy stun-cuffs on Spikes wrist as another droid did the same to the man beside him. Neither of them could put up much of a struggle as they were led from the bar, more droids rushing into the bar to restore order.

***

Spike rested his head against the bars of the holding cell he had been thrown into and sighed. His head was throbbing as the alcohol wore off, but he shrugged it off. He had gone through worse than a little headache in the past few weeks.

“I’m going, I’m going.” A voice sounded through the police centre as a man was moved towards the holding cell, a CSF officer following behind him.

“Good, nice and easy, just how I like it.” The officer said, unlocking the door and allowing the man to walk in, removing the stun-cuffs as he entered.

“So, what you in for?” The man asked as he sat down on a bench opposite from Spike.

“Drunken brawl.” Spike chuckled, looking up at the man.

“No shit. I got done for a bit of possession. It was only a bit of Spice, nothing big.” The man replied. “I guess we all were out celebrating weren’t we?”

“I guess.” Spike nodded. “What did you do?”

“Home with my wife. Someone had to protect the family. Came down to me and my blaster. Luckily none of them came into my house.” He said thankfully. “Where were you in it all? Big guy like you, I reckon you were right on the front of it all.”

“No, no I was way at the back.” Spike said softly, not wanting to think about it.

“Get in there.” The CSF officer grunted, pushing another large man into the cell, locking the door behind him.

“Hey! I’m a soldier and I demand a lawyer!” the man shouted, kicking the bars.

“Settle down man.” The first man said, not getting up from the bench.

“Settle down?” The man asked, turning around quickly. “I am a…” he raged, before his eyes fell on Spike, the dragon fixing him with a similar gaze. “Padawan Spike?” He asked in amazement.

“Wait, you’re a Jedi?” The first man asked, looking at Spike in amazement.

“A Jedi? This guy led the defence of the cannons in the invasion.” The soldier said, walking over towards Spike and saluting him sharply. “Sir, it was an honour to serve with you.”

“Don’t be honoured.” Spike said softly. “I’m no hero. I just did what I had to, and a lot of men didn’t make it out.”

“Don’t say that, you did everything you could, you even gave a rousing speech.” The soldier smiled.

“You, big guy, your bails been posted.” The CSF officer said, unlocking the holding cell and allowing Spike out.

“It was an honour to see you again Spike.” The soldier said.

“You too.” Spike nodded, before following the officer down the corridor, emerging into a room where Solaris was already waiting for him.

“Spike.” She muttered, holding her head, clearly suffering more from a hangover than he was.

“Solaris, or is it still Artemis?” Spike smiled sweetly, relishing this opportunity to have some fun.

“Ha ha Spike.” She shot back. “Come on, we’re need to get back to the temple, we’ll swing by and pick up my speeder.”

“Let’s go then.” Spike smiled, following his hungover master from the building.

Up on Trial

Spike looked down at his feet as he sat in the small tiered room in the temple reserved for just this sombre occasion. He had donned a simple large brown cloak, as had all the other Jedi in attendance, the hoods pulled up and casting their faces in shadows.

Looking up from his feet, Spikes eyes fixed upon the six cloth covered bodies, the sheets each bearing the emblem of the Jedi order, his eyes focusing on one in particular. The body beneath the shroud was smaller than the other five, and Spike knew who was beneath it, the other members of Nexu clan who were sitting around Spike knew to. This would be the last time Nexu clan would be together, and they would have to make the most of this final moment with their ever sleeping friend.

As one, the Jedi present stood up as Grand Master Garton Brine entered the room, similarly garbed in a long brown robe, the only difference being his head was exposed as the hood was pulled back. Slowly, the man began to walk around the room, moving around the sheet covered corpses, before finally, he spoke.

“They are one with the force now, and although they are gone, remember that in time, we to will pass on, and also become one with the force.” He said slowly, moving around the bodies and addressing the assembled Jedi. “We are luminous being, filled with life and passion, but remember that we are only temporary vessels, are bodies are simply containers for the immortal force. I ask now for a moment of silence, to remember them, and to know that we must move on for them. We must live our lives for the living Jedi, and those that have become one with the force will live on through us, through our memories, forever.”

As he finished, he moved his hand slowly across the room, and the plinths that were holding the bodies began to lower into the floor. Eventually, the plinths reached the bottom of their journeys, and a set of stone doors slowly closed over them, sealing them in, leaving only a small hole in the centre over the corpses. A split second later, a beam of brilliant yellow light burst through the hole, and Spike knew that the mortal remains of Asho were even now being reduced to atoms to be scattered throughout the galaxy. In that way, she would always live on, touching more lives as her spirit became one with the force.

Spike closed his eyes and sighed, feeling a tear forming, as well as a hand gently rubbing his back, looking around to see Tarhal, the Wookies eyes were also swimming in tears. It seemed the rest of Nexu clan were holding their own tears back.

For a long time, Nexu clan stared in silence as the beam of light finally faded away, the doors sliding open and the plinth rising again. It was empty and devoid of a corpse, Asho was finally at peace, and was at one with the force.

“Go, spend the day with your friends.” Solaris whispered, catching Spike by surprise as he hadn’t seen his master.

“Thank you master.” He smiled.

***

“I still can’t believe she’s gone.” Zule said softly, looking around at the other members of Nexu clan.

They had moved out of the burial room, and were now sitting in what had once been their own dormitory, the small room brining back memories of a happier time, when they were the full Nexu clan.

“She’s finally at rest.” Corinna nodded.

“And we’ll all follow her someday.” Spike mused softly.

“Agreed.” Tarhal growled. “Isn’t the trial of Ulic Qel-Droma today?”

“The inquisition is having their final private questioning session with him before he’s brought before the senate.” Spike nodded.

“What do you reckon will happen?” Zule asked. “Jedi don’t kill their prisoners, but if they hand him over to the Republic…” he trailed off.

“Come on, it’s not like he wouldn’t deserve it if the Republic got to sentence him rather than the Jedi.” Corinna pointed out. “I mean come on, the guy just lead an invasion of the Capital of the Republic itself. I can’t see people going easy on him or giving him a kind word, can you?”

“No, I guess you’re right there.” Zule nodded. “Do you reckon all Jedi will be able to attend?”

“Probably not.” Spike said after a seconds thought. “Why, did you want to go?”

“I feel like we owe it to Asho to at least know what happens to the guy.” Zule pointed out. “I mean, if it wasn’t for him she could put her own input in.”

“I guess we could go along and try and find out if we can go.” Corinna said, agreeing with her brother’s logic. “Let’s be honest anyway, we just weathered an invasion. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“You did not just ask that did you?” Tarhal deadpanned.

“Universal bitch slap incoming in 5…4…3…” Spike began with a chuckle, before following the two siblings out of the room and towards the hanger bays. If they were going to get across the city to the senate building, they were going to need a speeder.

***

The airspace around the senate building was packed with traffic as the four Padawans manoeuvred their way down back towards solid ground. Spike thought Hearths Warming Eve had come early as he finally managed to throw himself from the tiny craft, landing on the floor in gratitude.

“Oh baby I missed you.” He smiled, running a finger along the ground the way someone might do to a lover.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Spikes first girlfriend.” Tarhal laughed, causing the others to burst out laughing.

“Let’s see how you feel about small craft when you’ve almost died in one.” Spike shot back scathingly.

“Point taken.” Corinna chuckled. “Come on, might as well head inside, you know, try and get in.”

“Agreed.” Zule nodded, tearing his eyes from the sky and looking at Spike. “You know Spike, you never really told us what, this,” he indicated the wings on Spikes back, “is all about?”

“Yeah, I know.” Spike said dismissively.

“Are you going to tell us?” Corinna pressed.

“Truth is I don’t know.” Spike said, turning around and facing the others, stopping them in their tracks. “As I’ve told my master, I have theories, but I have literally no evidence. It’s the same thing with my growth, and why I’ve grown more in my time here than all twelve years in Equestria.”

“Well then what is the theory?” Corinna asked.

“On my planet, there was ambient magic.” Spike began. “Now my theory is that while I was there, my own sub-conscious was projecting some of this magic in to me, which is what kept me small and able to fit in with ponies. Now I don’t need to be small to fit in, or because the magic in the air’s gone, I started growing and maturing into a proper Dragon, hence the wings.”

“So, you’re becoming a ‘proper’ Dragon then?” Tarhal asked.

“That’s the theory.” Spike nodded.

“And how big to proper Dragons get?” Zule asked.

“Big.” Spike said simply. “Like, really big. I want to try to run some experiments at some point, but I really have no idea where to start, and with the war and everything, I, I just have no time.”

“Huh, story of all our lives at the moment I guess.” Zule chuckled.

The four Jedi made their way through the halls of the senate, cutting an impressive figure thanks to the sheer size of Spike and Tarhal, those people walking around moving out of their way as they made their way towards the centre of the building. Even though none of them had ever been to the senate building, they found it surprisingly easy to navigate, and quickly found themselves at an entrance to the senate hall that lay at the heart of the building, as well as the two Senate Hall Guards that barred the way, their Force Pikes held across the door in a menacing X pattern.

“Halt. Only those with official business may enter the hall at this time.” The one on the right spoke.

“We’re Jedi.” Corinna said, taking the leader and gesturing to her Lightsaber.

“Padawans.” The second guard noted, looking at her braid.

“Yes, but we are still Jedi, here on official Jedi business.” Zule butted in. “The council ordered us here.”

“Bloody official Jedi business.” The first guard mumbled, but nevertheless raised his spear, his partner doing the same thing and allowing them to pass into the large hall.

The hall was massive, easily capable of holding a tens of thousands of people at its fullest capacity. All around them, seats rose up the walls, while in the centre stood a large open, rectangular space, only interrupted by a massive stone pillar upon which the Supreme Chancellor was already waiting, flanked by four of his own personal guard, as well as a much smaller pillar that rested just in front of the large one, a long staircase allowing access to its tip.

As they passed out of ear shot of the guards, climbing up so as to avoid being seen, Corinna leaned closer to her brother.

“And here I thought I was the one that improvised.” She whispered with a grin.

“I got us in didn’t I?” He muttered back, before managing to find an empty bench and taking a seat, receiving nods from the other senators who were already sitting down. The others followed his lead, and soon all of Nexu clan was passively watching the floor for the moment when Ulic would be brought in.

They did not have to wait long.

Only a few minutes after they had sat down, a door at the far end of the room entered and a procession of people walked in, one man being held in chains that connected his wrists, ankles and neck together in a heavy duty restraining system. It did not take a genius to figure out that the chained man was Ulic Qel-Droma. Even now, bound in chains and being presented for judgement in front of the Republic, he was defiant, walking tall as he was escorted up the stairs and being secured at the top by the guards, who proceeded to secure the chain to the floor.

As the stepped back, the Supreme Chancellor stood up from where he had been sitting, casting the hall into silence as he began to speak, his voice carrying easily across the massive room thanks to the microphone that was placed just in front of him.

“Ulic Qel-Droma, you are a threat to the peace and security of the Galactic Republic. Your list of crimes is long – the destruction of shipyards, the looting of supply bases, the enslavements of mercenaries, and even worse – you have betrayed you training as a Jedi knight – your vow to protect the Republic. How do you plead?”

Even from this distance, Spike could see Ulic look up at the chancellor, as if only know noticing him, or only just deciding that he was worthy of his attention.

“I don’t plead with fools.” He suddenly said, catching everyone of guard at the volume of his voice, the unassisted sound reaching across the room easily. “You are puppets of a tradition pretending to be important. The coming Golden Age has no place for you. Your Republic is an empty, self-indulgent diversion, signifying nothing.”

Spike was shocked at Ulic’s words, his defiance resonating deep within Spikes mind. He had heard from both Cay and Nomi that Ulic had once been a great warrior, devoted to the Republic and the Jedi, and even after all he had done and ordered, Spike had thought that he may be repentant, or being forced to act against his will. Now however, Spike had to think differently, the man on the plinth clearly did not want to be forgiven, nor did he see himself in the wrong.

“The lost glory of the Sith will turn all your accomplishments to dust!” he proclaimed.

“You there, stop.” Spike heard a voice from below him, and looked down to see a figure jumping through the air, soaring over the heads of the guards as he ran towards the platform holding Ulic. It only took Spike a moment to recognise Cay as he ran towards his brother, his head darting between Ulic and Chancellor Sidrona.

“Ulic, what are you saying? Wait! I’ll make them listen!” He shouted, straining to make his voice heard.

“Cay, stop this!” Ulic commanded, still giving orders even when he was on trial for his life. “I don’t need your help.”

Undeterred, Cay forged on, turning around and facing the senators that were watching the proceedings intently.

“Senators, I beg you, don’t listen to him. He is greatly disturbed by the death of Master Arca. He intended to infiltrate the Krath…but they have warped him somehow. He has done so much good service for the Republic. Please remember…”

“Cay, you don’t understand what’s going on here.” Ulic interrupted. You don’t understand anything!”

“I’m just trying to help my own brother.” Cay replied, and from the tone of his voice, Spike knew that tears were falling from the man’s face.

Suddenly, a large clang echoed around the room, and for a moment, Spike couldn’t tell what it was from, until he looked at guards atop the pillar upon which Ulic stood, and how they were recoiling as his chains fell from his wrists and neck, clattering to the floor.

In an instant, Spike was on his feet, his Lightsabers in his hands but not yet ignited, the remaining members of Nexu clan following his lead. As Spike sprang to his feet, he expected the senators around him to react in some way, but they all remained perfectly still, almost as if they were unable to move.

With a loud crash, the doors at the end of the senate hall were flung open, a single man walking through the massive gap left, flanked by a Mandalorian and a host of red warriors. Behind the man were countless other people, both more of the red warriors, more Mandalorians, as well as a whole host of other species.

The man was tall, easily half a head taller than the Mandalorian warrior who flanked him, his short black hair hugging closely to his head and accentuating his features. The man was garbed in a large cloak, the shoulder pads of which swept up to protect his neck, being made in a similar fashion to the Mandalorians.

“It’s about time Exar Kun.” Ulic said, looking across at the guard who was in the middle of trying to grab him, but was now as immobile as the rest of the chamber, with the exception of the Jedi.

“Didn’t Master Arca teach you patience, Ulic?” The man, now identified as Exar Kun spoke, seemingly not even bothering with the Jedi that were readying themselves for what could only end in a fight. “My Master Vodo was always truing to get me to learn.”

Watching as Numi jumped down to the floor and running over to Cay, followed by a host of others, Spike decided that now was the time to go, jumping from his place on stairs and landing heavily on the senate hall floor, his Lightsabers held inactive at his sides, ready to be fired into life at a moment’s notice as the rest of Nexu clan landed beside him. far across the hall from him, Spike saw Solaris ignite her own Lightsaber, looking at Spike with shock and confusion. Clearly she hadn't expected to see him here. As he watched, Cay ignited his own Lightsaber, only to have Ulic look down upon him in scorn.

“Cay, put that away. You can’t fight us.”

“Ulic, stop this!” Nomi shouted as she sprinted across the floor, her own Lightsaber flaring into life

“Nomi – I have told time and time again to stop interfering. I have…I have made my own choice. Don’t force me to hurt…”

Spike missed the last word, instead captivated by a strange cat like creature as she ran forward, diving at a group of the red warriors. Instantly, Spike began to move forward, not wanting to let the Jedi fight that many foes at once. That was until he saw her dispatching the last of the warriors, barely having broken a sweat, before looking up at Exar Kun.

“Where is my mate Crado?!” She yelled, and Exar Kun’s expression briefly turned to one of anger as he ran his hand along a series of scars on his face. “He always idolised you Exar Kun! What have you done with him?!”

For a moment, Spike thought Exar Kun was going to attack the female Jedi, before he simply scoffed, turning his back on the cat-like warrior and making his way towards the spiral stairs that lead to the chancellor.

“My friend Crado is learning ways to make himself strong – much stronger than you, Sylvar. I’ve sent him off on an errand.” The Sith master paused for a second, looking towards Ulic, a malicious smile spreading across his face. “Ulic, keep them occupied.”

With a roar, the forces that had entered the room with Exar Kun surged forward, leaping at the assembled Jedi with a feral, murderous intent.

Duel in the Senate

With a roar of his own, Spike and Nexu clan charged at the oncoming Sith forces, many of their number wielding Lightsabers of their own. All around the Dragon, duels and pitched battles raged, the cat-woman fighting with her Lightsaber in one hand and using the claws of her other hand to inflict horrific damage, while Zule was already engaged in a pitched Lightsaber battle, both opponents seeming to dance around each other as they duelled backwards and forwards across the floor of the senate hall, the senators still frozen in a state of paralysis.

Darting forward, Spikes Lightsabers flared into life as he brought his Lightsabers down towards one of the red warriors, only for a blue bladed Lightsaber to come between him and his red foe. The Lightsaber instantly sparked memories, and Spike looked along the blade, his eyes settling upon the Zabraak wielder.

“Nice to see you again Spike.” Quinlay spat, venom dripping from his voice.

“Quinlay?” Spike asked in surprise and confusion as he held his blades on the blue Lightsaber, unable to do anything due to the shock.

“I owe you a rematch.” He snarled, before lashing out with his knee, smacking Spike in the stomach and catching him off guard. Like that, the duel was on.

Fending off another attack, Spike tried to get back on the offensive by swinging is second blade at Quinlay’s leg, only for the Jedi turned Sith to lift his leg over it, converting the motion into another kick to Spikes shin, almost sending the Dragon sprawling. If Spike had been a lesser species, the duel would already be over. Spike was not normal though, and he would not be beaten easily.

Snarling, Spike darted forward, spinning his Lightsaber around so the blade was along his arm. As he had predicted, Quinlay moved to block the blade of the Lightsaber, but the blade was not the only part of the weapon.

With a grunt, Spike slammed the rear of the blade into Quinlay’s chest, the blunt force finally stopping his offensive, and forcing him to stagger backwards and Spike bore down on him.

Swinging his Lightsabers in wide arcs, Spike forced Quinlay to move long distances to block the attacks, and keeping him occupied and unable to regain the moment that he had been blessed with before. Finally, Spike lashed out with his tail, spinning and tripping his opponent up. While he was still falling, Spike channelled the force, and with a roar, threw Quinlay across the room, smashing him into the pedestal that Ulic had been on just minutes earlier.

Taking the time to look around for a moment, Spike caught sight of Solaris, his master slashing left and right at a pair of the red warriors, their axes standing up to her blows and keeping her from attacking either one of them. Quinlay was still dazed and on the floor after slamming into the stone pillar, but that wouldn’t last long, and when he got up, he would be coming after Spike again.

A voice sounded out across the hall, the commanding tone cutting through the din of the duels going on. For some reason, Spike felt compelled to look upwards, and from the look of things, the other warriors, both Jedi and Sith, felt the same, all eyes travelling to the pulpit of the Supreme Chancellors seat, eyes settling on the scene unfolding at the top. Supreme Chancellor Sidrona was suspended above the ground, held up by Exar Kun, whose fingers were digging into the man’s skull. Blood was dripping down and landing on the warriors underneath as Kun put more pressure on the aliens head.

“I just wanted to say that you, and the whole Republic Senate are irrelevant. The Jedi Knights have coddled you for centuries. You are outdated and ineffective…puppets to tradition…” Kun sneered, and to Spikes horror, Sidrona opened his own mouth, speaking slowly, as if every word was causing him unbelievable amounts of pain.

“We are…puppets…irrelevant.” He groaned.

“The Sith empire will rise again, and we are the spark!” Kun proclaimed.

“We…are…the spark.” Sidrona intoned.

“The flames will wash over the crumbling Republic and consuming all your works, establishing the glorious days of a long lost golden empire far greater than any of us can know.”

“Greater…than any of us…can know.” Sidrona said weakly, the blood dripping from his head slowing. Spike knew that this was not a good sign, and wanted to intervene, but found himself enthralled by the macabre spectacle.

“You can choose to be part of this rebirth, or you can stand in our way, we will succeed either way.” Exar Kun said, before releasing his grip on Sidrona, the Supreme Chancellor dropping towards the floor, still twitching slightly as the last vestiges of life slipped from his body. It wasn’t fast enough though, and Sidrona fell to the floor, the fall killing him before he could bleed out.

“We did this all to show how ineffective and useless the Republic is. We don’t want your cooperation. The Republic is not even part of our plan.” Kun said, turning and making his way down the stairs.

“No!” Spike screamed, finally being released from the spell he had been under, and running over to the dead body of the Supreme Chancellor, only to be intercepted by Quinlay again, his face bleeding and his eyes full of rage.

“Stand still!” He roared, his Lightsaber igniting again as he sprang at Spike, causing Spike to igniting his own blades, catching the blue blades on his own purple and white blades.

“What happened to you?” Spike growled, pulling the Sith in close, keeping their blades locked together.

“Exar Kun showed us the way.” Quinlay snarled back, trying in vain to release his Lightsaber from in between Spikes blades. “All I had to do was free myself from Ionra.”

“What happened to her?!” Spike roared, weathering another blow from Quinlay’s knee, refusing to let him go without knowing what caused Quinlay to turn to Exar Kun.

Quinlay screamed, forcing Spikes Lightsabers apart with a strength that the Dragon had not expected from the Zabraak. Almost instantly, Spike was flung back, skidding across the floor as Quinlay advanced towards him.

“Pathetic.” He spat. “Kun was right, the Jedi are weak, and your Republic is as corrupt as the order.

Spike staggered to his feet just in time, as Quinlay was once again on him.

Both men came together and brought up their Lightsabers. The blades sparked as they collided with each other, making an odd small ringing sound. Both men stepped back and circled each other. Spike could see the longing for blood in the Zabraak’s eyes. Spike stepped back allowing the man’s blood lust to drive him. Quinlay fell towards the expected pattern and jumped at Spike, the Dragon allowing himself to push him back.

Spike kept his body relaxed, while Quinlay brought up his shoulders, preparing for another strike. Tension was visible in both of the men’s jaws as they tightened into grimaces. Spike took a step back and controlled his breathing, just as Quinlay jumped at him again, bringing his Lightsaber across Spike’s chest, only being stopped by the smallest of margins. The man snarled and lunged at Spike again, but Spike again stopped his blade and pushed his shoulder into Quinlay’s chest, pushing him back across the room and following closely.

The two men circled each other again, both panting hard as they stared at each other. Quinlay jumped at Spike again and pushed him to the ground, but Spike planted his foot into Quinlay’s stomach and shoved him back. Even as he did so however, Quinlay lashed out, catching Spikes wrist and grabbing Elusive from his grip, ripping the Lightsaber from Spikes grip as he stumbled backwards.

Avoiding a slash from the two Lightsabers now arrayed against him, Spike stuck his hand out, tugging a Lightsaber from a fallen warrior and igniting the blade just as Quinlay attacked again, holding the green blade in a reverse grip. Spike couldn’t see who the Lightsaber had belonged to, he couldn’t even tell if the warrior had been a Jedi or a Sith, but right now it didn’t matter.

Quinlay bellowed in rage as he attacked again, both opponents raining a flurry of blows on the other, each one barely being parried or countered before the next one was coming in. Letting out his own roar, Spike slammed his head forward, knocking Quinlay back. Quinlay relinquished his grip on his Lightsabers as he clutched his face, before removing his hands, one eye now nothing more than a bloody mess as massive cuts streaked across his face. Letting out a feral snarl, Quinlay charged at Spike, using the force to augment his speed as he ducked beneath the Lightsabers and slamming into Spikes chest and knocking him to the floor.

Both men fell to the ground, Spikes weapons skidding from his hands as they sprawled across the floor. Quinlay jumped on Spike’s chest, latching his hands around the Dragons neck and squeezing, trying to strangle Spike.

For a moment, Spike struggled against the iron like grip of his opponent, before bringing his fists down on the man’s arms, forcing him to relinquish his grip, and allowing Spike to roll on top of the man, bringing his fists down on the Zabraak’s faces, reducing it to a bloody pulp.

Spike rolled off the man, panting heavily, and sighing in relief as he saw Quinlay’s chest rise and fall. He didn’t want to kill him, and was relieved that he didn’t, as well as being impressed by the aliens resistance.

Shakily, Spike got to his feet, looking around the room as he retrieved his Lightsabers with the force, drawing the blades into his hands. As he watched, Spike saw Exar Kun crossing blades with a red alien creature, somehow his simple wooden quarter staff holding up to the powerful slashes being unleashed on it.

As Spike watched, Exar Kun took a step back, a cocky smile stretching across his face.

“Time to make this more interesting.” He sneered, thumbing a button on the hilt of his Lightsaber.

Instantly, a second blue blade erupted from the Lightsaber, catching Spike completely by surprise. He had never seen such a weapon before, and by the look on the red aliens face, neither had he.

“Do you like the modifications I made to my Lightsaber, master?” He snarled, before lunging forward again.

Unable to gaze at the duel anymore, Spike ignited his Lightsabers again, diving at a group of warriors attacking Solaris and catching them by surprise. In a few moments, Spike was by his master’s side, fending off attacks before dishing out some of his own, unleashing gouts of flame mid attack to force the warriors to move to where he wanted them to so he could cut them down quickly and efficiently. In a few seconds Spike and his master were free from attacks. The red alien however, was not.

Even as Spike watched, Exar Kun slammed his double blade Lightsaber into the wooden staff, the weapon finally splintering, offering no resistance as the Lightsaber buried itself into the aliens shoulder, cutting deep and felling him without a word.

“VODO!” Solaris screamed, sprinting forward, only to be beaten to the punch by the cat-woman.

“Kun! Murderer!” She screeched, forcing her way through a group of warriors, only to be thrown backwards by a small gesture from Kun.

“Stay out of this Sylvar.” He said simply, before turning to Ulic and the Mandalorian who was standing beside him, treating the Jedi as if they were beneath his concern. “It’s time for us to leave, the Senate members may think they are running things, but they are only acting in a shadow play. We are tired of serving their weakness, and we will work toward our own ends from now on. The Sith Brotherhood controls the galaxy.”

With that, he turned and swept from the hall, his acolytes and minions following close behind him. Spike made to follow them, a snarl gracing his lips, only to be stopped by Solaris.

“Master?” Spike asked in confusion, looking at Solaris, his eyes also watching as Sylvar crouched low over the robe that had once been occupied by Master Vodo, clutching it tightly to her chest as she sobbed. “Why are we not following them?”

“We couldn’t do anything.” She said softly, holding Spike back.

“We can try!” Spike yelled back.

“No! We can’t!” She bellowed back.

“Get off me!” Spike yelled, ripping himself from Solaris’s grip at looking at his master with rage in his eyes. “This is Coruscant! If we can’t defeat him here, then where can we?!”

“It is not the right…” Solaris began.

“SPIKE!” Came a voice from behind the dragon, and Spike turned just in time to see Quinlay rising from the floor, sprinting towards Spike with an unbelievable amount of rage coursing through his ruined face.

Spike snarled, and unleashed a gout of flame, covering the Zabraak in fire, and causing him to drop to his knees screaming, before collapsing, nothing more than a charred corpse. The whole attack had taken less than three seconds.

“We are Jedi!” He shouted, even as the senators began to be released from their immobilised state. “We are the protectors of the Republic!”

“You are a Padawan!” Solaris bellowed back. “You know nothing of warfare!”

“No, I don’t.” Spike nodded. “But I know that we cannot allow Exar Kun and the Sith to act with impunity, and attacking the capital at will.”

“Your Padawan is forceful.” Cat said, walking over to Solaris and looking up at Spike. “And what of Ulic? He is part of the Sith. Would you kill him?”

“I…” Spike began.

“Would. You. Kill. Him?” Cay enunciated.

“He needs to be stopped.” Spike replied. “If that means killing him so be it, but it shouldn’t come to that.”

“Spike. The temple. Now.” Solaris growled.

For a moment, Spike thought about defying his master, before his shoulders slumped, the adrenaline that had been coursing through his veins slowing, and allowing Spike to think clearly once more.

“Of…of course Master.” He bowed, before turning and walking out of the room, the rest of Nexu clan looking after him in a mixture of shock and sadness, but not following him.

Spike would have to walk the path to the temple alone.

Trial by Fire

Spike paced back and forth in the meditation chamber as he waited for Solaris to return. It had been hours since Exar Kun had attacked the senate hall, and even after admitting he was wrong and submitting to his Masters will, he still felt sore about the whole affair, not least because of the fact that he had so callously killed Quinlay. The guy was younger than him, and had been whipped into a rage by Spike himself. It wouldn’t have taken Spike, or any of the other Jedi present, very much effort to subdue him, maybe interrogating him to find some weakness in Exar Kuns plans. Now though, well. It’s hard to interrogate a burnt corpse.

Even that though was not what was really bothering him. Exar Kun had fallen, Ulic Qel-Droma had fallen, and between the pair of them had brought Coruscants’ military to its knees, then had gone on to attack the senate, the very heart of the Republic, and killed the Supreme Chancellor. If he wasn’t safe on Coruscant, the home of the Jedi, where was he safe? Where were any of them truly safe?

Spike didn’t know what was wrong with him at the moment. In both the invasion and the duel, he had seemed angrier with everything. Was this what all the Jedi had talked about when they had spoken about the Dark Side? Was he falling without even realising properly, or was this something…deeper?

Resuming his pacing, Spike was suddenly aware of another presence in the room, whirling around to look for what he assumed would be Solaris. Instead, he saw a familiar mare.

“Moonstone?” He asked in confusion, looking around at the room, touching a wall to find out if it was truly solid. It was. This was odd, for the first time since Illum, he was seeing her without meditating.

“Were you expecting someone else?” Moonstone asked coyly, raising an eyebrow as she inspected a hoof.

Now Spike looked at Moonstone closer, he could see that the mare was not completely the same. She was fuzzy, her features not quite as sharp as they were when Spike saw her while meditating. It was almost as if her features were shifting even as Spike watched, but the changes were so minute, he could not tell if it was actually happening or if it was just his imagination.

“How are you here?” Spike asked, moving forward towards the mare, towering over here as she looked up at him, only just reaching his waist.

“That is an interesting question.” She smiled.

“And it requires an interesting answer.” Spike replied.

“True.” She nodded. “Power.” She said simply, letting the word sink in before continuing. “I must say, your wings are something to admire. Barely a week grown, and they have already grown to double their original size. Nowhere near enough to fly I would wager, but still impressive.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” Spike pointed out.

“Your right, it doesn’t.” She nodded.

“Enough with the cryptic shit.” Spike snapped. “How are you here?”

“There it is.” She smiled, more to herself than Spike. “And you’re wrong. I’m not here. If anyone walked in then they’d just see you talking to yourself. I’m here because your subconscious is getting more powerful.”

“That sounds like a weak excuse at best and a guess at worst.” Spike said pointedly.

“Worst then.” She clarified. “Spike as I have said, I am your representation of the force, your avatar through which you can commune with its power. The fact that I manifest as a figure from your past is nothing abnormal, but this,” she gestured around her, “this is odd. There are other powers at work here, ones that I haven’t sensed before.”

“So, you’re the entire force?” Spike clarified, trying to properly understand the mysterious avatar for the first time.

“Yes and no. Both and neither.” She replied, once again making Spikes head spin as he tried to wrap it around the contradicting answer. “I know everything there is to know about the force somewhere in my own mind, and yet, I know only as much as you do in your own mind. I reside there, it is my home and my prison.”

“So what is this other power that you mentioned?” Spike asked.

“I don’t know, but it is strong, strong enough for me to manifest while you are awake, rather than in a meditative trance. I can sense something growing within you Spike.” She said as the door behind her slid open, allowing Solaris to walk in. Spike however was to engrossed in his conversation with Moonstone to care.

“What do you mean growing?” He asked urgently.

“Spike?” Solaris asked, being blanked by her Padawan. “Who are you speaking to?”

“You will have to discover this on your own.” Moonstone smiled as Solaris walked forward, passing through the mare, breaking the image apart before Spike’s eyes.

“Come back!” He shouted, his hand stretching out to where Moonstone had been a second before, but it was hopeless.

“Spike!” Solaris bellowed, narrowly avoiding the unintentional strike. “Whatever is wrong, snap out of it!”

“Master?” Spike asked, looking at his Master and seeing her for the first time, looking down at his fist in horror. “I…I…don’t know what happened.”

“Calm down.” She said smoothly, walking over to him and holding his fist, slowly lowering it to his waist before releasing it. “Now, tell me what that was about.”

“It…was nothing.” He said slowly, moving over to a chair and sitting down heavily.

“A very violent nothing.” Solaris muttered, sitting down opposite Spike. “Now, I have one question. Others will lead on from that, but this is the most important. Why were you in the senate hall? I didn’t tell you to go there, and to my knowledge, you shouldn’t have been allowed in.”

“I, we, wanted to see what happened to Ulic. We felt we owed it to Asho to see something like this through.” Spike replied simply.

“Fine. Next question. When the Sith warrior,”

“Quinlay.” Spike stopped her.

“I’m sorry?”

“The Sith, the, the ex-Jedi. His name was Quinlay.” Spike elaborated.

“How do you know that?” Solaris asked in interest.

“We fought once before in the Apprenticeship tournament. He lost then as well.”

“Fine. When Quinlay attacked you again after Exar Kun and Ulic had left, you killed him. Why?”

“He wanted to kill me.” Spike pointed out.

“Come off it Spike. You were half a body taller than him, he was injured and he had no weapons. Would it have taken much effort to restrain him? No. So, I’ll ask you again. Why?”

“Instinct.” Spike admitted.

“Instinct?” She asked with a raised eyebrow. “That’s your answer?”

“It’s the only answer I have.” Spike said, bowing his head slightly.

“I can’t fault you.” Solaris admitted. “You’ve been with me for years now, but I had to ask these questions on behalf of the council. Final question. You wanted to go after Exar Kun. Why?”

“I already said. He attacked the Republic at our seat of power, and he is powerful enough to do it again. He needs to be stopped quickly, and as Jedi, we have an obligation to the Republic to do that.”

“Why?” Solaris asked.

“He was one of ours, just like Ulic was. They went through the same training as me, as Tarhal, hell, as almost everyone in the order. If he can fall, why not others? We need to prove we are stronger than the Sith or they will just keep coming back.”

“That is…surprisingly mature of you.” Solaris chuckled. “But, I’ve heard all I need to know. Follow me.”

“Where are we going?” Spike asked, following Solaris out of the room and down the massive corridor of the temple.

“The high council chambers.” Solaris said as the pair entered a lift, the glass box shooting upwards as they headed towards the highest point of the temple.

“Why?” Spike asked.

“You’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you.” She smiled.

“I hate cryptic answers.” Spike muttered, but diligently followed his Master, eventually standing beside her as they stood in the middle of the council chamber, the Masters that now surrounded them looking at Spike in interest.

“My fellow council members, I bring this session to attendance. For the record, Master Solaris, is this your Padawan?” Garton asked, looking around at the other council members.

“Yes.” Solaris nodded. “Padawan Spike has served with me since his victory at the apprentice tournament.”

“Thank you.” Garton nodded. “And would you say he has proved himself as a Jedi?”

“I can vouch for Spikes skills personally.” Solaris said smartly.

Turning to Spike, Garton addressed the padawan personally.

“Spike. Padawan of the Jedi order. You have sacrificed your body on the failed attempt to return Ulic Qel-Droma to us on Empress Teta, you have fought in the defence of others in the invasion of Coruscant, prevailing against greater numbers without command. Even today, when you appeared in a place you should not have been, you fought valiantly against those forces allied with the Sith and Exar Kun in the senate hall. Is this correct from your mouth as it is from your Masters?”

“Yes.” Spike nodded.

“Skill. Courage. Flesh.” Garton said simply. “Three of the five trials a Jedi must undergo. Only one need be completed, and he has completed three in a short period of time. Does any member of the council object to what must come next?”

“I do.” One of the Jedi stood up. “This Padawan has not yet displayed the fortitude required for this. By the words of his own Master, he lashed out in anger in the senate hall. He lashed out in anger when he defended the cannons here on the capital. The physical evidence is clear on his back. This action is taken in haste, to little has he learnt under the teaching of his Master.”

“As is your right.” Garton nodded. “Council members. There has been an objection. I therefore pass the decision to a vote. Speak your mind, and allow the force to guide you. All those in favour?”

At this, Garton raised his hand, followed by almost all of the other councilmembers. Only two did not, folding their arms as their faces displayed no emotion whatsoever. Looking around, Garton addressed Solaris and Spike.

“It is decided. By my right as Grand Master of the Jedi order, protector of the Republic and warden of my home world, I do hereby bring to an end the apprenticeship of Spike. Even though you are young, you are fierce, you are loyal, and you are a Jedi. You were taken in as one of the oldest Padawans in several generations, and now you shall rise. But first, you must kneel.”

As Garton said the final word, he stood up, quickly followed by all the other Masters as Solaris walked backwards, standing in front of the door and completing the circle. Spike dropped to one knee, still facing Garton. As one, the Jedi all summoned their Lightsabers, each one flying in unison to the right hands of their owners before the left hand was clamped beneath it. One by one, staring with Garton, the Jedi Masters ignited their Lightsabers, Solaris bringing up the rear as her own yellow blade sprang into life.

The council spoke in perfect unison, their voices merging together to form one single sound.

“This council does hereby recognise the actions of Spike. Dragon of Equestria. First of his kind in this order. He has passed the trial of Skill. The trial of Courage. The trial of Flesh. From this day forth, he is no longer a Padawan. You sank as an apprentice. Now rise as a knight.”

Getting to his feet, Spike snared directly at Garton, a grin on his face as his heart swelled. As one, the council members deactivated their Lightsabers, taking their seats again while Solaris stayed in her position.

“Master Solaris.” Garton Brine said, addressing Spikes, former, Master. “Your diligence in the training of this knight shall not be forgotten, but I must ask you to take your leave. This council wishes to talk to Spike alone.”

Bowing deeply, Solaris turned to Spike, addressing him quickly.

“I will wait in the chamber we came from.” She said simply, before moving out of the chamber, heading back towards the lift that they had taken to come to the high council chamber.

“Now then, Jedi Knight Spike.” Garton said, nodding at the newly appointed Jedi. “What do you know of the Renalof sector? Specifically the planet of Karlp?”

“Karlp?” Spike asked, racking his brain. “No, can’t say I heard of it.”

“Karlp is an industrial planet in the far galactic south, just on the edges of Republic space.” One of the Masters said. “They export a large amount of goods to the rest of the universe. Nothing big, but the parts are used to make other things from shipboard telemetry computers to civilian airspeeder gravity plates.”

“In the past they have been productive, but recently they have been reporting a difference between what they produce and what they export.” Garton continued. “What would you think that means?”

“Corrupt officials taking the excess for their own gain, Smugglers or possible pirate attacks.” Spike reasoned.

“Why did you jump to the conclusion of corrupt officials?” Garton asked in interest, leaning forward to assess the Dragons response.

“Corruption seems to be fairly common at the moment.” Spike muttered. “You asked my opinion, I just ran through all possibilities.” He said, loud enough for Masters to hear.

“Very well. You are to be supplied with a Praetorian-Class Frigate, as well as a small contingent of Republic troops, and are to investigate and provide support to the local law enforcement.” Garton said.

“I’m sorry?” Spike asked in confusion. “There’s…there is a war going on. Surely we should be devoting everything to that, not missing exports and talk of smugglers.”

“And what would you have the council do instead?” Another Jedi, one of the ones who had voted against Spike’s promotion, said after leaning forward.

“Send everyone out, get the Jedi and the Republic to look for Exar Kuns forces. I could take the frigate and try and find him, call down the hammer of the Republic on the Sith.” Spike said strongly.

“I thought as much.” The Jedi nodded, before pressing a button on his chair arm and projecting an image into the centre of the room, causing Spike to jump back out of the way of the hologram.

The picture was of him and Solaris, showing their recent confrontation in the wake of Exar Kuns attack on the senate hall.

“But I know that we cannot allow Exar Kun and the Sith to act with impunity, and attacking the capital at will.” The picture of Spike snarled angrily at his Master.

“Just a few hours ago.” The Master finished. “This Padawan wishes to punish as well as to defend. I still hold that this is too soon.”

“Nevertheless, the decision is done, and cannot be undone.” Garton proclaimed. “And Spike, you will go to Karlp as ordered. You will not deviate from this path, and you will not take part in the war until you are informed otherwise by this council. You are strong Spike, but you are young. You do not know yourself, let alone others.”

For a moment, Spike debated arguing the point, but eventually decided that arguing would do more damage than good, and simply bowed deeply.

“Of course Masters.”

“The ship Valiant is standing by in orbit. They are expecting you in four hours.” Garton said. “May the force go with you.”

“Thank you for this high honour Masters. I hope I will not disappoint you.” He bowed, before turning and walking out of the room.

“What do you make of Spike, now you have met him in person?” Garton asked as he watched Spike move out of ear shot.

“He wants to do well, but his methods are, direct.” One of the Masters chimed in.

“The owners of the Ultra Ray would agree there, although I’m not sure that is all his fault, is it Garton?” Another asked, looking at the Grand Master with a slight smile.

“Solaris was always reckless and impulsive.” Garton nodded. “But she’s good, and serious when it counts.”

“I’m sure she is, but Spike. Spike is one to watch.” A Jedi said, sitting back in his chair thoughtfully.

“Yes, he is.” Garton agreed.

***

“Knight!” Spike roared, punching the air in triumph.

“I didn’t expect it to come this quickly.” Solaris said with a smile.

“Are you crying?” Spike asked with a grin of his own.

“No. Of course not.” She laughed, rubbing her eyes. “It’s just liquid pride.”

“Liquid pride eh?” Spike chuckled. “Of course Master.”

“You can call me Solaris you know.” She pointed out. “Not my Padawan anymore.”

“No, but you’re still a Master. You should be proud of your achievements.”

“I am, and you’re my greatest Spike. If my next Padawan lives up to become half the Padawan you have been, then I’ll count myself very lucky.”

“Well then, turns out a Dragon can blush.” Spike snickered.

“When do you leave?” Solaris asked.

“There’s a ship in orbit now. They should be sending down a small ship to pick me up in half an hour.” Spike replied.

“Well then, you better get going Spike.” She smiled, moving forward and wrapping her arms around his waist. “Keep yourself safe Spike. Please.”

“I will Solaris.” He smiled, returning the hug before turning and leaving the room, heading for the hanger bays.

Author's Note

I do believe that that should bring this to 100,000 words. :pinkiehappy:

No one can hear you

“Captain on the bridge!” A man roared, and instantly the men on the bridge stopped what they were doing, turning and saluting Spike as he walked onto the bridge.

“At ease.” He said simply, sitting down in the command chair and looking around lazily.

They had been on or above Karlp for the past week, interviewing suspects and even collaring a few smugglers, but it hadn’t really been the most interesting thing that they could do. As he had suggested to the council, the deficit in exports was thanks to both smugglers and a corrupt official. One of the overseers of the cargo docks had been providing amnesty and back door entrances to certain bits of cargo in exchange for a cut of the profits. It hadn’t exactly been hard to find out about it. A bit of poking around, a stake out to catch the perpetrators in the act. Case closed.

In short, a complete waste of time.

Well, that may have not been entirely fair. While poking around the docks, Spike had talked with some of the freighter pilots, and discovered that what was going missing in the docks was only a fraction of the whole. Ships seemed to be going missing on their way to their destinations, and while they had little in common, different cargos, different sized ships, they all had to pass through the same sector of space.

“What’s our heading sir?” a man, the commanding officer of the Republic troops, asked from his seat near the nose of the frigate.

“The pilots said something about the Sujimis system. I’m not sure what we’ll find, but we might as well check it out.” Spike replied.

“Sujimis system locked into the navi-computer.” A man called. “Preparing to jump to hyperspace on your mark.”

“Mark.” Spike said lazily, and watched as the stars stretched and the craft leaped forward.

“Sir, I know it’s not my place, but will you allow me to ask a question about our mission?” The commander asked.

“You can ask Ken. You may not get an answer, but you can ask.” Spike said tiredly.

“Some of the men, myself included, have been wondering why we’ve been put on this mission.” He replied.

“You want to know why we’re not fighting the Sith?” Spike chuckled. “I do as well, but the council gave me pretty explicit orders that we were to just investigate the planet.”

“But…aren’t we’ve finished investigating the planet.” Ken pointed out.

“The council doesn’t need to know that.” Spike grinned.

“Aye sir. Know what sorry?”

“There you go.” Spike nodded, getting up from command seat. “Ken, you have the bridge.”

With that, Spike turned and walked off the bridge. He trusted Ken to keep the ship on course, meaning Spike could go and see an old friend.

***

“I want the air intake checked on my number two engine. It was struggling to stay cool in high G turns. And make sure the damn newbies check their fuel and missile levels before and after missions. Keeping missiles in a fighter all the times is just asking for trouble.” Loas called out across the hanger, looking at a trio of maintenance droids.

“We expecting trouble Loas?” A pilot called, sticking his head out from underneath his fighter.

“Have you seen the Jedi in charge?” Loas called back. “Spike practically looks for trouble, or at least is a magnet for it.”

“You’ve served with him before haven’t you?” The pilot asked.

“Orvax IV and Empress Teta.” Loas nodded. “Nice to find a Jedi who I can out fly.”

“Experience can beat the force.” Spike muttered as he walked into the room, just loud enough for Loas to hear.

“Way I hear it, the force is supposed to trump everything.” Loas grinned.

“Most, not all.” Spike corrected. “How are your pilots?”

“Meh, most of them are ok. Almost all of them are greener than your scales though.” Loas sighed, looking around.

The fighter contingent that Spike had been assigned was not large, but it was enough for the missions they would be doing. If Loas had had his way, they would have been made up of his old squadron, but apparently the Republic needed experienced pilots at the moment, meaning he had to make do with a bunch of new pilots and lick them into shape.

“Where are we headed anyway? Back to Coruscant?” Loas asked.

“No. We’re heading for the Sujimis system. I want you ready to fly search and rescue missions when we get there.”

“Trouble?”

“Could be. Just be ready, it’s only a short jump.” Spike said, before turning and heading back out of the room.

***

Two Days Later

***

“Two days up and down this system and we haven’t found anything. How long are we planning on staying here?” The Helmsman asked.

“Somewhere between ten and fifteen ships have gone missing here in the last month. Something’s happened to them.” Spike pointed out.

“Pirates or Slavers.” The Helmsman replied. “Either way, if that’s what happened we won’t find anything here. Prizes and wrecks will be towed away or crashed into the planet to hide them.”

“Yeah, and Loas didn’t find anything on the planet.” Spike agreed. “You may be right. One more day, then we pack it up, ok?”

“Loas to Valiant. Spike, requesting permission to scan the asteroid belt.” Came the voice of Loas over the bridge speakers.

“Any particular reason?” Spike asked back.

“One of my men thinks he saw something metallic in the belt. I can’t see it, but it could be worth checking.” He replied.

“Go on then. Avoid crashing please, you may be a bit of an arse, but you’re a useful one.” Spike smiled.

“Damn straight.” Loas laughed, before cutting the transmission.

“Think it’s anything?” Spike asked.

“Possibly. If a ship got caught in the rock belt then whoever’s been operating around here could have missed it.” One of the bridge crew reasoned.

“Well, maybe we’ll hit a break.” Spike sighed. “I want something to show the council.”

“Loas to Valiant. Looks like we found something.” Came the voice of Loas again.

“Define something.” Spike asked.

“Looks like a scrap of plate metal. Large, could be a piece of ship armour.” Loas replied.

“Any way of knowing what ship it’s from?” Spike asked.

“Tricky.” Loas muttered. “Looks like there’s half a symbol on the other side. A few letters to. Give me a sec, I’ll transmit a picture to you.”

“Display it on the screen please.” Spike ordered.

“Bringing it up now.” The man said, pressing a few buttons and bringing the picture up on the viewport at the front of the cockpit.

The picture showed a large piece of metal, support struts sticking out of it from where it had been ripped off whatever it had been attached to before. It was pitted with holes and scorched by what Spike assumed to be laser fire.

“Can we zoom in on the symbol in the corner there please?” Spike asked.

Instantly, the image moved, zooming in on the small symbol and scattered letters that were just barely visible on the blacked armour. It was red, from what Spike could make out, a U and an M being visible, as well as half of a third letter.

“Bring up the manifest of all the ships that have gone missing here, as well as their company symbols and names. Tell me one of them’s a match.” Spike ordered.

“Alright…there.” One of the bridge crew said triumphantly. “The symbol is a match to U.M.E.C. Large company, specialises in droids, combat and utility. Staring to move into the civilian sector.”

“Don’t give me their entire MO, just tell me how many ships they’ve lost here.” Spike muttered.

“Umm…just one. The Alero, went missing seven days ago, all hands reported missing with it.”

“Loas?” Spike called out.

“Here Spike.” Came the voice of the pilot.

“Finish your sweep and then get back here. I don’t like this.” Spike ordered.

“Fine. Give me what, five…hold on. Valiant, check your long range scanners please. I’m picking up a disturbance.”

“Do it.” Spike said quickly, placing a hand on his head as he scrunched his face up in concentration.

“Sir?”

“Do it now!” Spike bellowed.

“We have multiple contacts exiting hyperspace!” A man shouted.

“Plot us a course out of here!” Spike shouted, before grabbing hold of a microphone. “All hands, battle stations! Raise the shields and prepare to hold off enemy contacts until we can jump to hyperspace!”

“Sir, we won’t be able to jump until we clear the mass shadow of the planet.” The Helmsman said, staying surprisingly calm.

“Six ships on long range scanners.” Another man said, pressing a few buttons on his computer bank.

“Loas? Eyes on?” Spike asked.

“Just about…mother fuc…” The radio cut out.

“Loas? Loas?!” Spike shouted.

“They’re still there.” A man pointed out on his screen.

“Get us around there now. I want to pick them up and leave five minutes ago.” Spike ordered, leaning forward in his command chair. “Ship status?”

“Shields charging at 94% capacity. Weapons batteries one through seven are ready and waiting, eight, nine and ten are still loading.” A man called out.

“Do we at least know what sort of enemy we’re looking at here?” Spike asked.

“Two signatures match that of a Mandalorian Kyramud-type battleship. Remaining four signatures are unknown.” A bridge crewmember called out.

“We’re about to find out.” Spike called, watching as the last few asteroids slipped past the view point. “All hands, prepare for battle.”

The scene that unfurled in front of Spike was nothing short of terrifying. Six massive warships were all moving slowly through space directly towards where the Valiant was approaching from. Whoever had said that there were only two battleships had been wrong in almost every way possible, as four were now arrayed against the one small frigate, backed by two destroyers, both of which were still larger than the frigate. As Spike watched, he saw small pockets of fire erupting within the fleet as Loas led his fighters in a desperate attempt to draw some of the attention away from the Valiant.

“Ok, here’s the plan.” Spike said quickly. “We’re faster, but we can’t fight them. We’ll get through their lines and run.”

“I’m not sure that we’ll be able to do that.” The helmsman called.

“I don’t care, just get this ship firing!” Spike bellowed. “Loas?!”

“Qzzzcchhh…on tail…lost four…protect…qzzccch.” Came the crackled reply.

“Why are we not firing?!” Spike yelled.

“Guns one through five discharging now. Direct hits on the stern of the starboard battleship, their shields are holding. Guns six through ten firing, two hits on portside battleship. No damage.” A crew member called.

“Brace for return fire!” A crew member called as a flurry of shots arced towards the Valiant.

The entire ship rocked as the shots impacted, nearly throwing Spike from his chair. The shields flared brightly, but somehow, mercifully, they held. As repair crews scrambled to repair the damage done to the frigate, several bombers emerged from the hanger bays of one of the battleships, speeding through the void towards the small ship.

“Hold on!” Spike yelled, bracing for an impact. None came.

Six fighters swooped over the frigate, firing their own weapons at the incoming bombers, ripping the formation to shreds and forcing the bombers to scatter to present less of a target to the few fighters now in their midst.

“Looks like we got here just in time!” Loas called over the comlink.

“Save it!” Spike growled. “You, get me firing on that destroyers main cannon!”

“Sir! Two missile tubes locked and ready, should we fire?” A man called over the radio.

“Give ‘em hell.”

As Spike confirmed the order, he looked out of the view screen again. The spread of missiles sped through the vacuum, trailing fire as they arced towards the closest destroyer, impacting on the shields a second after another volley of turbo laser fire slammed into them. Most of the missiles impacted harmlessly against the particle shields, but suddenly, with a massive flare, the shields popped before fading, allowing a pair of missiles to arc in just before they raised again, smashing into the super-structure of the ship. An explosion blossomed within the shields, the atmosphere within the shields allowing the flames to rage. As more explosions racked the ship, the cannons that they had aimed at erupted in a cloud of sparks.

Spike grinned in triumph, but it was short lived as the other ships prepared to fire again.

“EVASIVE ACTIONS!” Spike bellowed.

The helmsman threw the ship to the left, avoiding the worst of the fire directed against it, but not all, a flurry of shots slamming into the failing shields.

“Shields at six percent! Fire on decks three and one!”

“Evacuate them and get the crew to help the shield repairs!” Spike ordered. “Loas! You can’t do anything here, get the hell out! Fire again!”

Shots lanced out of the frigate, followed swiftly by a large cluster of missiles. However, it seemed like the luck they had been enjoying up till now failed, the ray shields of the enemy easily absorbing the shots while the particle shields dealt with the missiles.

“I’m not leaving Spike!” Loas shouted back, as an explosion was heard over comm.

“How many left!?” Spike roared.

“Me.” Loas grunted.

“Get the fuck out of here!” Spike roared.

“No can do. Loas, over and out.” Came the reply from the cocky pilot. He sounded remarkable calm.

As Spike watched, a fighter, shrouded in flames, sped towards the injured destroyer from before. The particle shields were already damaged from the missiles that had got through, and this was a much bigger object. The shields flared as small fighter missiles slammed into them, before the ship itself ploughed into the hanger bay of the destroyer.

“LOAS!” Spike screamed, but it was too late. Far too late.

A huge explosion ripped through the remaining hangers as the fuel held within ignited, amplifying the explosions tenfold. The ship groaned as its hulls twisted and buckled, before finally giving in. The explosions that were rippling along it blossomed outwards, the force being held in by the shields as they flared back into life for one final time, before the whole ship was engulfed in flames, before they were extinguished by the void as the shields failed. One ship down. This really wasn’t that consoling however, as there were still five other ships bearing down on the wounded frigate.

“Shields down! Main fire control centre is offline! Targeting array is gone!”

“Somebody get me firing on that Destroyer!” Spike roared.

“Firing? Firing what?! We lost the targeting array!” A man screamed back.

“I don’t care if you have to open the air lock and throw scrap at it, get firing!” Spike ordered

The ships engines roared in protest as two shots slammed into them, and Spike suddenly realised that whoever was in charge wasn’t even trying anymore, they were just toying with them. With their firepower, they could have destroyed the frigate in no time, but instead they had decided to have some fun. Well, at least it gave them a chance. A small chance, but a chance. Warning lights flashed on the bridge as the secondary engine died.

“Missile tube one ready!”

“One missile?! Fuck it, fire!”

The ship roared in protest as the strain of the missile firing shuddered through the weakening armour, but it held together as the projectile sped through space. The missile arced towards the ship, but before it could even get close, a flurry of shots lashed out at it, the missile exploding in a tiny puff of plasma.

The deck shuddered violently, pitching Spike sideways in his seat with enough force to send him sprawling out of his chair and across the deck as the rest of the crew experienced similar fates. From somewhere towards the aft of the ship, the groaning of buckling steel echoed through the ships hulls, along with the soft thumps that Spike recognised as the sound of chambers venting atmosphere into space. Red lights flared throughout the ship as a klaxon began sounding.

The ship began to list lazily towards the asteroid belt as it finally lost power, and was unable to resist gravity’s influence any longer. Inside the ship, Spike suddenly found himself having to hold onto the floor as he began to float upwards, the ships gravity generator failing as well.

“Status?” Spike coughed, pulling himself closer to his seat and floating in front of it.

“Primary and secondary engines offline. Hull breach on decks one through four, all sections open to the void. Emergency bulkheads sealed.”

“Crew?”

“Eighty three percent are not responding, most reported lost when the hull was breeched.”

“Escape pods now.” Spike conceded.

“Only two are…” A man began.

“Missile incoming!” Another man screamed suddenly, pointing at the view screen.

Spike watched as a missile sped towards them, spiralling in on a chaotically gyrating trajectory as it got closer.

“GO GO GO!” Spike screamed, but it was too late.

The missile slammed into the view screen, detonating as it hit the thick glass and filling the bridge with flames and razor sharp shards of glass. Spike barely had time to scream as the fire rolled over him, immolating the remaining crew, before he was pulled out into space as the atmosphere was forcibly vented.

Spike found himself looking out across the battle as he desperately flailed his arms in a futile attempt to stop himself from spinning away from his wrecked ship, but it was useless. Slowly, his arms and legs stopped responding to the impulses sent from his brain as the freezing emptiness of space numbed his limbs and froze him solid, a little voice in his head desperately shouting something but Spike couldn’t make it out. Funny, he thought he’d be dead by now.

Spike found himself unable to look away as a destroyer disgorged fighters towards the burning hulk that was the Valiant, the single man ships making a bee line that would cause them to cross his path directly. In fact, Spike found himself unable to do anything, locked as a passenger in his own body as he span helplessly in the dark void of space.

Torture (TW: Heavy Gore & Torture)

Spike watched in horror as a pair of Mandalorians, fully enclosed in their armour, made their way through the vacuum of space towards his immobile body. The pair stopped just beside him, roughly grabbing hold of him and placing a hand on his neck. Spike couldn’t hear what conversation they were having over their helmet communicators, nor could he do anything to stop them as they removed his Lightsabers from his belt, before wrapping their arms around him and dragging him back towards the waiting mouth of their transport.

As soon as he passed the threshold of the ship, he was dropped unceremoniously to the floor, the ships gravity taking over as he was released from the Mandalorians grip. Just because he was freezing and unable to move a muscle, didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt, but he couldn’t even groan. He would have preferred to take a cold bath outside in the Crystal Empire than go through this again.

“So, he’s alive?” One of the Mandalorians asked, his ornate armour marking him as someone in charge.

“His vital signs look that way.” One of the Mandalorians who had brought him in acknowledged.

“You alive in there?” The leader asked, kicking Spike in the stomach.

Pain erupted throughout his body, and he sought to make any sort of movement, focusing all of his efforts into his right claw. Finally, he managed to move it, suddenly clenching it as the layer of ice over it shattered. Feeling painfully rushed back into his hand, but it was good pain, it let him focus on something other than the freezing cold that was permeating the rest of his body.

“What do you know.” The leader said plainly. “Tell the helmsman to set a course for quadrant five-epsilon-niner. Lord Kun wants all captured Jedi broken in and turned.”

“Ne…ver.” Spike managed, trying to free his throat up and use the fire within him to heat his own body.

“We’ll see.” The Mandalorian chuckled darkly. “Throw him in the brig, and make sure you keep him locked down. I don’t want him thawing out in transit and causing havoc.”

“Sir, I know him.” A Mandalorian said, moving forward and looking down at Spike.

“You do?” The leader asked.

“He was on Coruscant.” The Mandalorian growled. “He killed my fucking brother at the cannons.”

“This is the Jedi that went crazy?” The leader asked.

“Crazy? He melted him in his armour!”

Oh, this was going to suck.

“Secure him. We move now.” The leader said.

“Lights out.” Snarled the Mandalorian who had lost a brother, before bringing his boot down on Spikes face.

***

Spike tried to snarl, to roar, to do anything, but his mouth was sealed, a band of steel wrapped around it to prevent him from making use of his unique abilities. A concern that would not have been aroused had that one Mandalorian not been here. What were the chances?

He had been brought in to the facility a little over an hour ago, directly from the ship so he couldn’t possibly figure out what planet he was on, not that knowing would have helped him in anyway.

So here he was, strapped to a slab of rock, a Sith acolyte standing over him in a room filled with vicious looking instruments of ‘persuasion’. This was going to suck, but he could hold on. He had to.

With an impassive look on his face, the Sith extended his hand, shooting out of bolt of lightning, impacting with Spikes chest. Spike bucked and struggled against the restraints, trying to get away from the pain, but finding no respite.

“You have one day with me.” the Sith said, lowering his hand. “One day to cast off the shackles of the Jedi, and embrace Exar Kun as your master. After that, well. Our Mandalorian friends seem to be quite interested in you.”

Spike tried to speak, but his mouth was still clamped shut.

“Oh, by now I assume you are realising your situation.” He said in a sickly sweet voice, running a hand over Spikes face and making him shudder. “I’ll give you the chance to give me an answer now, or you can do it later. Swear yourself to Kun. Give up the Jedi lies.”

Straining against his restraints, Spike tried to grab hold of the Sith, a soft growl escaping his lips and causing the Sith to take a step back.

“I’ll take that as a no.” The Sith said, before his hand came up again, the lightning erupting out of it again.

Spike screamed.

***

“Last chance.” The Sith snarled, ripping away the muzzle from around Spikes mouth and letting it fall to the floor. “Leave the Jedi. Join us.”

Spike panted heavily, slumping against his restraints.

“Go. To hell.” He moaned softly.

“Oh no, my dear Jedi. Hell is where you’re going.” The Sith smiled, before roughly shoving the muzzle back onto Spikes face and walking out of the room, passing a Mandalorian in the corridor. “He’s all yours. You want to break him, fine. He’ll never make a Sith anyway.”

“You made my day.” The Mandalorian said, removing his helmet as he walked into the room, sealing the door behind him. “Looks like it’s just you and me now.”

The Mandalorians face was green, tapering off into a point that matched the helmet that he set down on a side table, before reaching up and undoing a clasp on his shoulder, removing his left pauldren, repeating the process until he stood in front of Spike bare chested.

“No point getting your blood on my armour. It would dishonour my family.” He snarled, before picking up a metal cudgel, a savage gleam in his eye. “You’re not the first Jedi I’ve done this to, maybe you’ll last longer than him though.”

“Fuck you, and fuck your armour.” Spike growled.

The Mandalorian lashed out with a cudgel, drawing blood as he opened a gash just above Spike left eye, the red liquid obscuring Spikes view slightly.

***

Three Days Later

***

Spike screamed as he came back to his body, fire roaring from his crotch to his ribcage, the Mandalorian walking away, tossing the needle he had just jammed into Spike neck aside. Spike was strapped to a horizontal table, his spread eagle arms straining to break the restraints that held him down.

Overhead, a spider-like droid hovered over his body, its many arms holding parts of him down as a pair of heavy duty shears slowly opening his chest to the world, exposing the muscle below, and causing Spike to let out a muffled scream with every cut.

The Mandalorian walked over, ripping the muzzle from his mouth and allowing his scream to sound properly, echoing around the room.

“You fucker.” Spike hissed, clenching his jaw shut as spit and blood from his punctured lips rolled down his chin.

“Again.” The Mandalorian growled, stopping the droid and placing a finger beneath Spikes skin.

“Fuck you!” Spike screamed.

“Say that to my brother!” He shouted, grabbing hold of something within Spike.

Spike wanted to scream, he really did, the pain more intense than anything he had experienced to date, but as he opened his mouth, nothing came out, the bile that was rising in his throat stopping any sound from escaping. Tears rolled down his face, as he turned to face the Mandalorian, coughing as he forced the sick back down his throat.

“Wha…you…want?” he sobbed.

“I want to see you beg. I want to see you suffer. But most of all, I want to see you burn for what you did.” The man growled. “But not before you beg for me to kill you. When you see death as a kindness, when I’ve drawn as much suffering from you as I can, then you’ll die.”

The Mandalorian dug his hand in deeper, and this time, Spike did scream, power slipping into his voice and causing the Mandalorian to stagger backwards, tripping over one of the tables in the room.

Ripping his hands up from table, Spike turned to his ankle restraints, the pain making the edges of his vision turn black as he sought to concentrate enough to undo them, flopping to the floor with a wet slap. Biting his lip to keep himself from screaming again, Spike reached out for the Mandalorians weapon, before discovering something truly disturbing. He could either hold the gun, or he could hold his own guts in, and at the moment, he wasn’t doing the latter.

A horrible slithering wetness slipped out of Spike, leaving an empty nothingness behind in a sensation that made Spike consider putting a blaster bolt through his head. Dropping the pistol, Spike collapsed back to the ground, lying in a pool of his own blood and vomit, mixed with another liquid which he didn't want to think about.

“Pathetic.” The Mandalorian growled, his boots coming into Spikes vision.

“Kill…me.” Spike pleaded.

“We’ve only just begun.”

***

How long had he been here? A week? Two? A month? Whatever it was, he had lost interest in it, focusing only on the pain that was the only constant in his new life. He hadn’t seen another soul save for the Mandalorian since the Sith warrior had left, and he hadn’t felt anything other than pain since the battle. His body was covered with blood, the scars that covered him still oozing with the exception of the one on his stomach, which had been crudely sealed by fire. Oddly, that had been the least painful experience so far.

“How is our little patient today?” the Mandalorian asked.

“Fuck you.” Spike rasped, barely above a whisper. No tears formed in his eyes this time, his body not allowing itself to waste what little water it had. The muzzle had long since been taken off, he required concentration for flames, something he couldn’t do in his state.

“Speak up. I can’t hear you over the blood you’ve swallowed.” He laughed, getting closer to Spike.

Fixing his eyes on his tormenter, Spike summoned what little strength he had and spat. It was pathetic, most of the blood not even crossing the tiny gap to his face, but enough landed on target to get his point across.

Growling, the Mandalorian moved back, wiping the blood away with a hand, before lashing out, sending pain lancing through Spikes face.

“Now that was rude. The first Jedi at least had some manners.” He muttered, flicking the last bit of blood from his face. “I suppose I’m going to have to teach you a lesson so you can better follow in his footsteps.” He paused for a second as if in thought, before cracking his knuckles. “Nah, I’m just going to keep hitting you.”

Spike grunted as the blows rained down on him, but compared to what the Mandalorian had been doing recently, this was a cake walk. Eventually, the man stopped beating Spike, looking around as Spike slumped in his restraints, sinking closer to the ground as he prepared himself for what was to come.

“Now,” he asked, picking up a massive knife. “I’m thinking we do something a little different today. Instead of just hurting you, I think I should do something more permanent. What do you think? Should I start with the wing, or your tail?”

“Fuck you.” Spike coughed through the blood.

“Maybe your tongue?” He growled, before grabbing Spikes jaw and trying to force it open.

Suddenly, the room was rocked by a muffled crashing sound, drawing the Mandalorians attention away from Spike and towards the door. Putting the knife down on the table, he released Spike jaws.

“I’m just going to pop out for a minute? You don’t mind do you? Good. Now don’t go anywhere.” He laughed as he walked out the room, closing the door behind him.

Spike panted heavily, thanking everything that he had earned some sort of respite finally, even if it was just for a moment. In the distance, Spike heard another crashing boom sound, this one louder than the first, knocking loose some dust from the ceiling. Shakily, he looked up as another blast, this one much closer, shook the room dislodging a chunk of rock from the stone ceiling and sending it crashing down on to Spikes right arm.

The pain barely registered as they heavy piece of masonry smashed apart his restraint, and for a moment, neither did the implications, Spike mind already addled from the unending torture. Slowly however, the realisation dawned on him that for the first time since he had spilled his own guts on the floor, he was free from his restraint, and this time, he didn’t have a wound that would make it impossible to do anything.

Reaching across with a shaking claw, Spike slowly undid his other arm clasp, allowing himself to fall forward, hitting the ground and sighing with contentment. One down, two to go.

It took Spike almost ten minutes to undo the restraints around his ankles, but he did it, shakily getting to his knees as he crawled forward, his eyes fixed on the contents of the table in front of him. Even though he was in better shape than last time, Spike knew that escaping while he was struggling to stand up would be next to impossible, and he wanted to take full advantage of this opportunity, whatever it was.

Finally reaching the table, Spike wasted no time in grabbing hold of a bunch of the injectors that rested upon it. Before, the Mandalorian had been using them to keep him awake for as long as possible in sessions to make sure he felt everything, but now, they would help him escape.

Grasping as many as he could in one claw, Spike shoved them into a vein on his neck, careful to avoid hitting his scales and shuddering as the needles dispensed their contents directly into his bloodstream.

Instantly, Spike could feel the stimulants working, arching his back as his mouth opened in a silent scream. In an instant he was on his feet, his pupils shrinking to the size of pinpricks as he staggered forward, steadying himself on a table, and picking up a large serrated knife. Now he was armed and back on his feet. For once, things seemed to be looking up. Well, up in the way he was no longer being tortured by a vengeful brother, he was still on an unknown planet, surrounded by enemies and only keeping going thanks to an ungodly amount of stimulants, but he had to keep thinking of the positives.

Sliding the door open, Spike looked on at the carnage of the corridor beyond. Not that he knew what the corridor looked like before, but he doubt that whoever designed this place went for the rubble strewn look. Picking his way over a large pile of fallen masonry, Spike found a door that looked much larger than the one he had just come through, the metal being thicker and then twin locks clearly holding back something on the other side.

Not knowing what was on the other side, but knowing that to stay inside with that Mandalorian and whoever else was on this base was a death trap, Spike reached for the door, trying to focus to use the force, but still finding himself unable to do so, this time because of the stimulants coursing through him, not the pain. Grunting, Spike instead fastened his jaws around the metal locks, tightening his teeth and hauling back. The metal initially resisted, but his teeth quickly sank in and gave him a better purchase on the lock as he slowly ripped it from its mooring, spitting it out and digging his claws into the door itself.

Struggling, he slowly hauled the door open, getting his first glimpse of the outside. The planet was hot, inhospitably so, lava flowing in streams across the red rock of the planet and contrasting with the much darker red sky, small particles of ash floating down and covering the inside of the hall and Spike himself in a few seconds.

Taking a step outside, Spike looked back at the facility, casting his eyes over the hell hole that had been the place of his suffering. Snarling, a thought crossed his mind, one that he had suppressed since it had first entered his head after his near dissection. Now that he was free and able to escape though, that thought came back with a vengeance. Maybe it was the stims he had taken, maybe it was the sheer length of time that he had been here, or maybe it was just the fact that he was a Dragon, but he no longer had the strength to resist the urge.

Shutting his eyes, Spike ran through his new plan, before his eyelids snapped open, his eyes yellowing as he turned and set off inside in search of the Mandalorian. Clenching the knife in his left hand, Spike picked up a large piece of broken metal, testing the weight, before deciding that it would be suitable for his purpose.

Sprinting forward, Spike worked through the pain as it surged through him, throwing his shoulder into a door, the metal buckling as he smashed through it, revealing a squad of Mandalorians in the process of donning their helmets and checking their weapons. There were four of in total. Spike almost felt sorry for them. Almost.

Letting out a roar, Spike sprinted forward, the stims boosting his speed and strength to levels he had previously thought only achievable with the force, and now he was using both, should have been impossible. He liked it. It felt, good.

A minute later, Spike was alone in the room, crouching over the final corpse as he removed the knife blade from underneath the helmet it was lodged in, picking the metal pole up again and wiping the blood off it, not that he really cared, looking down at his own blood covered form. God if the others could see him now.

Growling Spike made his way forward. He didn’t know where to go, but for some reason, he felt like something was guiding him to his prey. He knew he could find him, but not as a Jedi. He would have to give in to the animal to do that.

Snarling, Spike dropped to all fours and breathed in deeply, taking in the smells of the room. His nose was instantly filled with the scent that had become his whole world in the past weeks, it was easy to follow it.

Bounding forward, the animal followed the trail, closing in on his prey with the certainty that only a hunter could have. Nothing else mattered, only the prize. Only the prey.

Quickly, Spike made his way through the complex, the animalistic side of him directing him around enemies, allowing him to avoid more squads as he closed on the scent, the smell getting stronger and stronger until it finally reached a crux around a large door to what Spike assumed was a command centre.

He advanced towards the doors, the knife and pole long since forgotten. Animals didn’t use tools, they got by with their own claws, and right now, Spike relished that as a prospect. He was still having trouble focusing enough to use the force or breathe fire, but he was strong enough to take on one warrior, even if it was only because of stims. The crash after this would be hell.

Throwing the doors open, Spike roared as he dived forward, catching the Mandalorian off guard as he barrelled into him, knocking him to the floor and skidding to a halt at the far end of the room. To his credit, the Mandalorian was quick to recover, leaping to his feet as he slipped from Spikes grip and drawing a short sword from his back.

“So it all comes down to this eh?” He asked, his helmeted gaze fixed on Spike as the pair circled each other, Spike back on all fours.

Spike didn’t reply, instead hissing as his tongue tasted the air.

“So, the mighty Jedi, reduced to an animal.” The Mandalorian sneered. “Come on boy, let’s play.”

Roaring Spike jumped forward, lashing out with a wild attack, the Mandalorian easily dodging and following up with a strike of his own. One thing Spike had learnt in the weeks of torture was that unless the attack was really heavy, not much could get through the scales on his back, and now, he used that to his advantage.

Spinning as the blow came in, Spike allowed the sword to impact harmlessly on his back, before lashing out with a kick that cracked armour and sent the Mandalorian flying. Not giving up, Spike jumped into the air before bringing a foot down, narrowly missing the Mandalorian as he rolled out of the way, drawing a pistol and losing a shot at Spike, the energy assisted projectile ripping into Spikes shoulder and pitching the dragon from his feet.

Spinning, Spike landed on three paws, working through the pain before springing forward again, narrowly avoiding another shot before he was on the Mandalorian, lashing out and causing the man to dodge. In response, the Mandalorian stuck his pistol out, attempting to get a point blank head shot. As it turned out, that was just the opening Spike needed.

Snarling, Spike avoided the shot, before clamping his jaw over the man’s wrist, covering the gun completely and biting down, hard.

The Mandalorian screamed as he staggered back, his wrist pumping blood as the severed hand was spat back at him, smearing across his helmet as Spike advanced upon the wounded warrior.

“Go on.” He snarled, holding the stump on his arm with one hand, staring up at Spike defiantly. “Kill me like you killed the others. You’re not even a Jedi, you’re just an animal, and one day you’ll be put down like one.”

Spikes lips twisted into a grimace as he shut the words out. All he needed to know was that he had won, and his prize was now in his claws.

An explosion rocked the room, opening a view to the outside world and collapsing the ceiling, separating Spike from the Mandalorian. Spike was tossed aside like a rag doll, but quickly recovered, letting out a feral howl as he stared upwards. He would kill those who came between him and his prey, he would hunt them to the ends of the universe. He would…

His eyes fell upon the ships that were hovering over the base, and his rage faded, his eyes fading as well until they turned green again. Shaking his head, Spike looked up at the Hammerhead Cruisers as they descended towards the planet, his head clearing enough for him to see the Republic symbols, and to realise that the stims were wearing off, the pain returning with a vengeance.

Staggering backwards, Spike broke into a run, charging back towards the door to the outside world. Whoever was coming probably didn’t know he was in here, and were going to be under orders to shoot anything that moved, and Spike didn’t want to take the chance that they might not recognise him.

Reaching the door, Spike barrelled through it, dropping to all fours as he powered away from the base, the loose rock and ash squeezing between his claws as he ran. Eventually, Spike skidded to a halt, standing atop a mesa as he looked over the base, the ships now disgorging transports as Republic troops spilled towards the hellish place, hopefully to purge it from the face of the galaxy.

Stumbling, Spike allowed himself to collapse to the floor. The stims he had taken were fading fast, and now he would have to not only confront the pain he had experienced before, but also struggle as his system purged the final parts of the drug. This was going to be hard, but it was a welcome challenge. As long as the republic won that is.

Spike watched for what seemed like an eternity as Republic forces secured the base, his eyes even settling on a Jedi, but he was too far away to make out anything. Eventually, the firefights that had broken tapered out, before stopping completely. Due to the fact that he could still see Republic forces, he had to hope they had won.

Standing up to his fullest height, struggling through the returning pain, Spike signalled the only way he knew how. Raising his head, he let out a roar, pouring the last of his reserves into the sound before falling back to the ground. Soldiers were already shouting and pointing at his vantage point, and he could make out the Jedi, no, pair of Jedi running towards him. As his eyes settled on the new comer, his heart threatened to leap from his chest, and he rose to his feet, making sure he hadn’t made a mistake.

“SPIKE!” Tarhal yelled, his voice traveling the distance easily.

Spike smiled as his friend ran towards him, his Lightsaber ignited, Norik hot on his Padawans heels. The bionic Jedi also looked worried, brandishing his Lightsaber as if he was ready for a fight. Why were they so worried? It was just him.

Spike suddenly wheeled around, a second to late, as a fist slammed into his face, knocking him to the floor. As he groaned, he felt a hand grab hold of him, and he found himself hauled upwards to face the ruined helmet of the Mandalorian torturer. His armour was useless, and as Spike watched, he tore his helmet off, dropping it to the floor as he turned Spike back towards the two Jedi, an arm wrapping around Spikes neck as he dragged him back towards the edge of the plateau.

“Not another step.” He snarled as Tarhal and Norik jumped onto the other end of the rocky outcrop.

“Let him go.” Tarhal ordered.

“Why?” The Mandalorian growled back, apparently understanding Shyriiwook. “He is mine.”

“Let him go!” Norik shouted, taking a step forward.

“One more step and I take one backwards.” The Mandalorian threatened. “A one way trip into the pool below us. If I die, he’s coming with me. We can all burn together, him, me and my brother, nothing but burnt corpses in the afterlife.”

“We can work this out.” Tarhal pleaded, his eyes fixing on Spike.

“No we can’t.” the Mandalorian growled.

“You’re right. We can’t.” Spike snarled, before pushing backwards, sending both himself and the Mandalorian toppling backwards.

Spike managed to get in a single blow on the Mandalorian, raking his claws across his face before the pair hit the pool of lava at the bottom, sinking beneath the molten surface.

“SPIKE!” Tarhal bellowed, skidding to the edge of the mesa and looking at the ripples that spread across its surface, only to be hauled back by Norik.

“Careful!” He admonished.

“I can save him!” Tarhal yelled back, but he didn’t believe it himself. Tears formed in his eyes as he looked back over the edge at the pool of lava.

“I’m sorry Tarhal. I know you two were close.” Norik said, looking down as well.

The surface rippled.

“Master? Did you see that?” Tarhal asked, blinking away the few tears that had formed as he got back to his feet.

“No…” Norik said in disbelief as the ripples continued.

Both Jedi jumped down, landing next to the lava and watching as the replies increased in frequency. Suddenly, a hand burst from beneath the surface, clutching at the air weakly, before flopping onto the shore. Instantly, Tarhal was by it, grabbing hold of it before recoiling from the intense heat of the lava that was clinging to the claw.

“Brace yourself for the worst.” Norik grunted, but had already grabbed hold of the claw, his bionics standing up to the heat as he dragged Spike out of the lava.

Spike was unconscious, barely breathing, but he was alive, more than could be said of the Mandalorian who had fallen with him. With a grunt, Norik hoisted Spike onto his shoulders, the old man looking absurd as the larger creature swamped him.

“Go back to the base, finish the sweep.” Norik ordered, before setting off at a run back towards the transports.

Tarhal wanted to argue and go with his friend, but complied with the order all the same, setting off at a run as he made his way back towards the troops sweeping the base. It didn’t take him long, and soon he was making his way inside, flanked by a squad of soldiers in hazardous environment gear.

They passed through a small access door on the side of the base, and Tarhal knelt down to inspect the lock. The Republic forces hadn’t come in this way, nor had they exited here, and yet the door looked as if it had been ripped open, one of the locks bearing the distinct marks of teeth. Pushing the though from his mind, Tarhal continued through the corridor, picking his way over a pile of rubble as well as several corpses of Mandalorians, none of whom bore the mark of being killed by blasters.

Eventually, Tarhal came to a small room at the end of a long corridor and made his way inside. The room was small, every surface being devoted to holding knives and other instruments of torture. In the far corner was a large table, held vertically by a droid arm. Walking over to it, Tarhal inspected the restraints, specifically the smashed apart right wrist. Whatever had been here had broken out on their own, but when he gave a tug on the intact retrains, he found that there wasn’t even so much as an inch of give in them. Not much was stronger than a Wookie.

“Tarhal sir.” A soldier called from the door, interrupting Tarhal’s train of thought. “I think you should see this.”

Tarhal nodded, following the soldier through the base to what was left of the command room. The room had been hit badly by one of the Republic shots from orbit, half of it being sealed off from the other, but somehow, the computers around the edge had survived remarkably well.

“What?” Tarhal asked, the soldiers he had with him not needing a translation.

“We managed to get some security footage. Most of its fairly normal, but then we got this.” The soldier said, before pressing a button and bringing a hologram to life.

As Tarhal watched, a group of Mandalorians appeared, most still getting their helmets on and getting their weapons together.

“What am I looking at?” Tarhal asked.

“This.”

The image was suddenly distorted as a shape crashed into the room, the cameras struggling to keep up with the speed of the thing now moving around the room, a bloody knife in one hand and a large pole in the other. In short order, the Mandalorians were all dead, accounting for the corpses he had passed earlier. Now that the creature had stopped moving so quickly, the cameras could make out the remaining figure, although it didn't take a genius to figure out who it had been.

“Spike.” Tarhal muttered softly, looking at his friend.

“There’s more. This clip is from in here.” The soldier said, pressing another button and changing the image.

Now there was only one Mandalorian, and as Tarhal watched, the form of Spike crashed into him, sending him to the floor. The pair soon began to fight in earnest, Spikes stance instantly standing out to Tarhal. The dragon was behaving like an animal, a feral beast toying with its prey. He realised that what he was watching wasn’t forced, this was a premeditated revenge kill, plain and simple.

“Wait outside please.” Tarhal ordered.

“Sir?” The soldier asked.

“You never saw this, understand.” Tarhal growled.

“Sir.” The soldier saluted, before walking out of the room.

“What happened here Spike?” Tarhal breathed softly, before ejecting the memory core of the security system.

The little square glowed brightly, indicating that it had memory stored on it. These cubes weren’t easy to deal with, you couldn’t just delete one entry, it had to be everything or nothing. The council would want to see this, as would Norik, the data inside possibly containing valuable information on Exar Kuns battle plans. Unfortunately, it also held some very sensitive information on his friend, information that if allowed to come to light could see Spike expelled from the order, possibly even detained for questioning. Spike would already have to defend his choice to push backwards rather than forwards on the mesa, but that could at least be understandable as self-defense or an accident, this though, this was cold murder, revenge as plain as day. Could he allow this to come to light?

“Sir? One of the men has something for you.” The soldier said, poking his head back through the door as another soldier walked in, bearing two objects that Tarhal instantly recognised.

“Well done.” Tarhal nodded, taking Spikes Lightsabers from the soldier and attacking them to his own belt. “Now, please wait outside. There’s something I have to do.”

“Master Norik sends his regards and says hurry.” The soldier nodded, before disappearing again.

As Tarhal was left alone, he made his decision, dropping the cube to the floor.

“Move it out people!” He roared, turning back towards the doo, making sure to plant his foot on the memory core as he turned, the delicate piece of technology shattering under foot as he left the room.

Recovery

Tarhal looked down from the viewing platform above the room Spike occupied. Ever since he and Norik had returned from Maryx Minor, the Wookie had been coming here every day, sometimes twice a day, looking over the Dragon as he slept, tossing and turning to the point where he was having to be heavily sedated whenever the healers came to look at him. No one wanted to go near him when he was thrashing around, the claws acting as a fairly good deterrent. To be fair, after what Tarhal had watched on the security feed, he wasn’t going to start judging or condemning them too hastily.

Tarhal still didn’t know quite what to think of his friend now that he was back with them. He had been missing for close on a month and a half, his ship going missing after investigating the Sujimis system, and was presumed to have been lost with all hands. Rescue missions had been launched of course, search parties, but when they didn’t find anything, the Jedi had pronounced him dead. There had been a funeral and everything, and the members of Nexu clan had mourned the passing of yet another one of their number, and while the other two had just about managed to get over it, Tarhal hadn’t forgotten his friend.

That was why it had come as even more of a surprise when on a fairly routine planetary assault, if such a thing could be considered routine, he had watched as Spike rose up from the ash, roaring at the heavens. It had been almost too much to bare when Spike had fallen backwards into the pit of lava, but somehow, his friend had survived.

He didn’t even want to know what happened to Spike in that room, what could have possibly broken Spike down to act like he had on the cameras. Tarhal had seen Spike get angry before, he had seen him burn a man alive in his own armour for god’s sake, but nothing had prepared him for watching his friend act like an animal. They had a word for that back on Kashyyyk. Madclaw.

Tarhal didn’t want to see his friend dishonoured for his moment of madness, whether it was by the council or the rest of Nexu clan.

“Any change?” He asked, sensing a presence moving up behind him.

“We’ve been recording a noticeable increase in his rapid eye movement, something usually associated with intense dreaming. It’s been getting worse since he came in, as have his fits.” The healer said, moving next to Spike and looking through the window at Spike.

“I doubt he’s dreaming.” Tarhal said softly. “Not in the state he’s in. Any idea when he will wake up?”

“None.” The healer admitted. “Physically he’s recovering quickly, although I’m not going to say he’s ok. He’s not waking up because his mind won’t let him. Whatever happened, it wasn’t pretty.”

“Thank you.” Tarhal nodded. “Please inform me if anything changes.”

With that, Tarhal turned and quickly made himself from the room, the sterile smell sticking in his nose long after he had left. Turning a corner, the Wookie laid his eyes upon a pair of humans, and made his way towards them.

“Zule. Corinna.” He nodded, looking at the siblings.

“How’s our draconian friend holding up?” Zule asked.

“Docs say that he’s dreaming. Probably more like nightmares though. They don’t know when he’s going to wake up either.” Tarhal admitted.

“You and Norik found him. What did you actually find?” Corinna asked.

“I don’t know.” Tarhal sighed. “Whatever happened, he was moving before we landed, and the facility had been damaged heavily. I found, something, down there, a room filled with things that made my skin crawl and my fur stand on edge.”

“Maybe he’ll tell us…” Zule began.

“We don’t ask him.” Tarhal cut him off bluntly.

“But…”

“If he wants to tell us then fine, but he’s going to have a hard time from this. We’ll be there for him all the time.”

“You know, I’m fairly sure he’s going to be one of the few Jedi that have been listed as dead and then come back.” Corinna smiled.

“I’m sure it’s happened before.” Zule shot back.

“No seriously. Most Jedi who go missing are listed as missing. Usually they don’t declare anyone dead without seeing a body.” Corinna explained.

“Well we’ll have to tell him then.” Zule grinned.

“Excuse me. Are you the other members of Nexu clan?” A man, dressed in the robes of a healer, asked, walking towards the three Jedi.

“We are.” Corinna nodded.

“You have been summoned to the halls of healing. Please follow me.” He said simply, before turning and heading back the way Tarhal had just come from.

***

A soft beeping punctuated the silence of the room as Tarhal, Zule and Corinna looked down at the prone form of Spike, his chest barely moving as it rose and fell. This was the closest any of them had been to him since he had been brought back to temple, usually only seeing him from the viewing gallery above the room. Now that he saw him up close, Tarhal almost wished he hadn’t.

Spikes chest was a mess, scars riddling its surface and splitting the once green surface apart with lines of red, ranging from tiny thin lines that snaked lazily across his stomach, to the one massive straight line that cut up from his groin to just below his neck.

“What’s going on?” Tarhal asked.

“He’s waking up.” A droid said, its voice cold and mechanical.

“You’re sure?” Corinna asked sharply.

“Corinna.” Tarhal hissed, turning the female around forcefully and pointing at Spike.

Spikes eyes flickered for a moment, before slowly opening, his pupils dilating as they adjusted to the light.

“Fuck you.” Spike muttered, before springing to his feet, grabbing hold of Zule and pulling a scalpel into his free hand, holding it against the man’s neck. “Stay away!” He sobbed.

“Spike, put it down.” Corinna said, advancing towards the Dragon and trying to pull his hand away with the force, struggling against Spike as he slowly moved the knife closer to Zule's neck.

“This is a trick. Fuck you, you hear me? Fuck you.” He sobbed, before letting the knife fall from his hand and releasing Zule, sliding down the wall and sobbing into his hands.

“What the hell happened?” Zule whispered slowly, moving back over to Corinna and Tarhal and looking at the Dragon.

“This is going to be harder than we thought.” Corinna whispered back.

***

“Do you know where you are?” Corinna asked Spike, making sure to keep her distance from the seated Jedi.

They had moved Spike away from the hall of healing, taking him to the meditation chamber that he and Solaris had frequented when they were still Master and Padawan, in the hopes that the memories would help Spike recover. Solaris had been contacted as soon as the news about Spikes condition had surfaced, and she had was heading back to Coruscant already, but she wouldn’t be back for at least another two days.

“No.” Spike said softly, his eyes glazing over as he looked blankly at Corinna, Zule and Tarhal.

“You’re home Spike. Safe.” Zule assured him.

“Safe? Spike scoffed, his eyes focusing for a second, before fading again. “No where’s safe. Ship’s not safe, ship causes pain. Ground’s not safe, ground causes more.” He said softly, rocking slightly.

“Spike, no one is going to hurt you while you’re here.” Tarhal insisted.

“Asho got hurt here.” Spike muttered.

“You remember Asho?” Tarhal said quickly.

“His brother. He killed Asho, I killed him, his brother tried to kill me, I killed him. Circle is broken.”

“What circle?” Corinna asked.

“Death. Circle of death. I broke it, I owe the galaxy death.”

“Spike, you don’t owe the galaxy death, you did nothing wrong.” Tarhal insisted.

“I di…” Spike began.

“No.” Tarhal insisted, walking towards Spike and forcing the Dragon to look at him. “Whoever this guy was, he was angry with you for killing his brother, but whatever he did, it pales next to what you did.” The Wookie sat next to Spike, putting an arm around his shoulders while the other hand held Spikes chin, forcing the pair to look into each other’s eyes. “You saved us at the cannons, you kept the men full of hope, and you were prepared to lead us against them again when you could have curled up and given into your injuries. But you didn’t. You fought on Spike.”

“I…fought on.” Spike nodded slowly.

“Use that strength now Spike. Fight on, beat this.”

“I’ll fight it.” Spike nodded, breathing heavily as he looked at Tarhal, his eyes focusing properly for the first time since he had woken up.

“Spike?” Tarhal asked.

“Tarhal.” He smiled, before looking across the room at the others. “Zule? Corinna?”

“Do you know where you are?” Zule asked softly.

“This is…the meditation room.” Spike said slowly, looking around. “Mine and Solaris’s. How did I get here?”

“You don’t remember Tarhal finding you?” Corinna asked.

Spikes eyes flashed as he remembered falling, clutching a Mandalorian and tearing one of his eyes from his head before they both fell into the searing pool below. He remembered watching as the Mandalorian melted in his hand, before his own hand managed to break the surface, and then, nothing.

“I remember pain, and I remember falling.” Spike said shakily.

“You went swimming in lava.” Tarhal chuckled. “That’s not usually a good idea.”

“Dragon.” Spike smiled, before pushing past them, dragging one of his legs behind him in a limp.

“Whoa whoa, Spike. Slow down there buddy.” Tarhal said, moving in front of Spike.

“Fine. Need to go.” Spike said gruffly, making to push past Tarhal.

“Go where?” Zule asked, standing beside Tarhal as his sister did the same.

“Forward.” Spike grunted, his eyes narrowing.

“You’re in no fit state to move around Spike.” Corinna said softly.

“Says who? You? Are you a doctor?” Spike snapped.

“The fact that you have to ask is what’s proving my point.” Corinna shot back.

“Move.” Spike growled.

“Spike, talk to me.” Corinna growled back, locking gazes with the Dragon.

“You don’t want that.” Spike spat.

“Yes we do.” Zule said forcefully, moving up beside his sister.

“Nobody wants that, I, don’t want that.”

“Guys…maybe we should…” Tarhal began.

“Try us.” Zule said bluntly.

For a moment, Tarhal thought that Zule had crossed a line as, something, glinted in Spikes eyes, and made to position himself in between the two parties, knowing that of the three of them, he was the closest match to the Dragon physically. Even as he moved forward however, he knew that it wasn’t needed, this wasn’t going to come to blows. Not physical ones anyway.

“Try you. Ok.” Spike nodded, snorting aggressively, before moving backwards and walking over to the window, looking out over Coruscant.

“Come on then Spike.” Zule said, moving forward, into the range of Spikes arm.

Suddenly, Spikes hand shot out, wrapping around Zule’s neck and lifting him off the floor. Apparently Tarhal had been wrong. Instantly the others rushed over as Zule struggled in Spikes grip, the dragon not letting go, but not holding tight enough to cut off his air supply either. Even with both of them tugging on his hand, Spike refused to let go, instead breathing out a puff of smoke.

“Every scar you can see is from where he cut me.” Spike growled through clenched teeth, memories welling up and causing tears to spring into his eyes. “Every day, he would come back, and I had no way of stopping him. The first day, I could have avoided all of it, just had to give in, but I wouldn’t. Not to them, not to Kun, not to Ulic, none of them.”

Spike released Zule, allowing the man to drop to the floor and grasp at his neck. Taking a deep, ragged breath, Spike slid down the wall, placing his head in his hands.

“He…he cut me open. I never felt so much pain.” Spike sobbed.

“Do you…still want to talk about it?” Zule asked, getting odd looks from his sister.

“He tries to strangle you and you ask him the same question?” She hissed.

“He needs help.” Zule hissed back.

“What’s there to talk about? No point hanging with broken goods.” Spike mumbled.

“You are not broken goods Spike. You’ve just had a hard war.” Tarhal insisted.

“I got everyone killed.” Spike said weakly.

“Who?” Tarhal asked in confusion.

“Everyone on the Valiant.” Spike said, his voice trembling. “None of them wanted to check out that sector, but I insisted. I wanted to hunt down the Sith so badly that I didn’t think about what I was doing. I had a frigate and a wing of fighters, and I went up against four battleships and a pair of destroyers. If I’d have been thinking straight, I would have just turned and ran, but anger clouded my judgement, and got everyone killed.”

Tears were now streaming down his face again as he looked up at the others.

“How did I survive it? Everyone else dies, and I get captured? I get shot into space, my blood should have boiled and flash froze at the same time, but I survived. I get tortured, and somehow you rescue me. Why do some many others die when I don’t?”

“Spike.” Tarhal said softly. “This is war, people die, but they know the risks when they sign up.”

“But not that their commanders are going to make stupid decisions and get them all killed.” Spike snapped.

“You made a mistake, but you paid for it Spike. You don’t owe anyone anything, and this Mandalorian whose brother you killed is dead. He has no hold over you now.” Corinna insisted.

“No shit. He’s dead.” Spike said softly.

“Exactly Spike. He’s dead, you’re not. As Master Brine said, live for the living Jedi. Don’t live in the past, look to the future.” Zule smiled.

“The councils going to want to speak to me, aren’t they?” Spike asked.

“They asked, but they said they’d wait until you felt ready to see them.” Tarhal chuckled.

“I should get going then.” Spike nodded, walking towards the door.

“We’ll come with you.” Zule piped up, but was stopped by a look from Spike.

“Please, just me.” Spike said simply, before limping out of the room, leaving the other members of Nexu clan alone in the room.

“What do you guys think of Spike?” Zule asked, massaging his neck.

“He seems like he’s in pain.” Corinna said simply. “Not really physical, but mentally…he’s hurting badly.”

“No, really?” Zule deadpanned. “Do you think he was serious?”

“About what?” Corinna asked.

“Cutting him open.” Zule asked incredulously. “That…that can’t be true can it?”

“He has a scar on his stomach.” Corinna said weakly. “Why would someone do that?”

“Tarhal?” Zule asked, looking at the Wookie. “You’ve been quiet, what’s wrong?”

“Fine, promise you won’t say anything to anyone, including Spike.” Tarhal said, moving over to the door and making sure it was sealed.

“What’s wrong?” Zule asked.

“I’m…scared.” Tarhal admitted, looking guilty at admitting it.

“For him?” Corinna asked.

“Of him.” Tarhal corrected. “Nobody else knows this, well, maybe a couple of soldiers, but I found some security footage on Maryx Minor.”

“What did it show?” Corinna asked uncertainly.

“Spike.” Tarhal said uncomfortably. “He looked…feral. He wasn’t speaking, he was on all fours, I just don’t know. He ripped four Mandalorians apart with nothing but a small knife and a pipe, and then almost killed another one with nothing.”

“That’s just Spike though, I mean, come on look at his claws. They’re weapons in their own right.” Zule pointed out.

“Claws aren’t meant to be used as weapons.” Tarhal muttered. “But no, this wasn’t Spike. Remember at the cannons when he went a little…”

“Banta-shit crazy?” Zule offered.

“Yeah.” Tarhal nodded. “That’s an angry Spike, and if I’d seen that, I’d have no qualms, but what he did was a step above. If I didn’t know him from before, I would have thought he was an animal, not a sapient Jedi.”

“We should head up to the council chambers then.” Corinna decided. “If he’s as bad as you say, he’ll need friends.”

“Funny.” Zule grinned. “He always told us about his home and how friends were the most important thing in life, now look at us.”

“What did he call it? The magic of friendship?” Tarhal nodded.

“Yeah, sure.” Corinna laughed. “Friendship is magic.”

***

“Spike. You are well?” Garton asked as Spike limped into the room, standing in the middle.

“Well? No.” Spike shook his head. “But here none the less.”

“You know why we asked you to come here don’t you.” Garton said, more as a statement than a question.

“You want me to justify what I did.” Spike nodded.

“You were told to travel to Karlp and to find out what was causing the export problems, not to travel to the Sujimis sector.” Garton said pointedly.

“I found out what was happening.” Spike reasoned. “A corrupt dock worker was letting a group of smugglers in, but that was only the tip. Ships were going missing after they left, all while passing over the Sujimis sector. I made the decision to travel there and find out more.”

“And what happened next.” A Master asked.

“You know what happened.” Spike growled, refusing to let his memories boil over and reduce him to tears in front of the council.

“We want to hear your interpretation of events.” The Jedi pressed.

“We got fucked.” Spike snapped. “Four battleships and two destroyers jumped us. We didn’t stand a chance. Everyone died. Leaving nothing behind. Just me.” Spike snarled, his voice wavering as he fought back tears. “I survived, and I was punished for my failures. If you want to punish me, you want to throw me out of the order, just go ahead. I don’t care anymore.”

“Spike.” Garton said, his voice filled with a surprising amount of compassion. “If we threw out everyone who made mistakes and allowed their emotions to overflow, this order would be a lot smaller. You made a mistake, but you have passed through your ideal, and have come out stronger. Steel will break in the heat of battle, unless it is first temper with fire, the same is true of Jedi. We must experience some things to truly know them. This is what you must learn now you are no longer a Padawan.”

“So…nothing then?” Spike asked. “You’re just sweeping this under the rug?”

“You act as if you want to be thrown out Spike.” A Jedi noted. “From what Master Norik and Padawan Tarhal have told us, as well as medical reports on you, you have suffered enough. We are not heartless, just pragmatic.”

“So what happens now?” Spike asked.

“Now, you will stay in the temple. No more missions. When the war is over, we can discuss this more, but until then, you will help with the younglings.” Garton said simply.

“Thank you.” Spike bowed, before turning and walking out of the room, quickly seeing the others waiting for him.

Spike moved over to them, and instantly found them grabbing hold of him. For a sickening, heart wrenching moment, Spike instantly thought that everything he had been experiencing had been nothing more than a thought, some result of a drug the Mandalorian had given him to make him hurt mentally, but after a few seconds without pain, he realised this was something different, something that he hadn’t experienced in a very long time. It wasn’t just the fact that he was being hugged, and getting contact with people that didn’t want to kill him that was different, it was the feeling that was radiating off the others.

They would be there for him, they always would be.

His friends, standing tall beside him.

The Wall of Light

The Wall of Light

“Reach out with the force.” Spike intoned, keeping his eyes closed as a group of younglings did the same, all sitting cross legged and listening intently to his voice. “Feel the world around you, the echoes in the force. We are all one with each other and the universe, the force binding us together.”

Spike opened his eyes, looking over his class and beginning to walk around the room, checking that each student was meditating properly.

“See the world, not through your eyes, but through the force. Look…around…” Spike trailed off, hyperventilating heavily as he steadied himself against the wall, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. Memories fought their way to the surface, and threatened to overwhelm him in a pit of despair and pain.

“Master?” A voice finally sounded, snapping Spike out of his trance like state.

Instantly, his eyes snapped open, fixing on the small Rodian in front of him. The girl’s eyes were wide, and fixed on him, concern flooding into them.

“I’m…I’m fine.” Spike said, bringing his breathing down to manageable levels.

“Calm down.” She said softly, the other students standing next to her to offer him support.

They all knew that something was wrong with him, but none of them knew exactly what. That hadn’t stopped them from helping him whenever they could however, and had been an essential crutch for Spike. Since he had woken up, he had been getting steadily better, having less and less outbursts and panic attacks, but that didn’t mean they were all gone. The problem had only grown in size when Tarhal, Zule and Corinna had been called away, sent to the front line with their Masters. Solaris hadn’t stayed for long either, the council unable to keep a Jedi with her skills held down at the temple. If he had to stop to think, Spike sometimes wondered if he could take it at all, and often struggled just to go on, but he managed to, thanks in no small part to the younglings.

Spike smiled down at the younglings as he managed to recover his train of thoughts, blocking out the memories and pushing himself off the wall.

“I’m sorry. Five minute break. Meet back here when you’re done.”

“Thank you Master.” The Rodian said.

“I’m a Knight.” Spike corrected as they walked out of the room.

Slowly moving back over to the seat at the front of the room, Spike flopped down and sighed, removing his Lightsabers and looking over them. It was something he had been doing more and more since the others had had to leave the temple, focusing on something simple helping to keep his mind away from the darker thoughts. One thing he had realised in his many inspections was the size of the weapons, their casings barely extending from his hands when he gripped them, and the blades being more like daggers to a creature of his size. Of course the blades were still normal sized, and in the hands of a human they would be perfect, but to him, now he was pushing nearly eight foot, they were fast becoming impractical. With a heavy heart he realised that at some point he would have to make new ones. These ones had served him well, but everything had to end.

***

Spike growled as he jumped forward, slamming his shoulder into a massive droid and denting its chest, driving it backwards as it tried to separate itself from Spike. The droid was massive, SD-1 Hulk-infantry model, designed to dominate and control areas. This was an early prototype, but it was good.

The droid swung one of its cannons, almost slamming into Spikes head, but the dragon managed to duck again, slamming his own fist into the crater he had created in its chest, grabbing hold of a bundle of electronics and pulling back, yanking them out in a cloud of sparks.

Instantly, the droid failed, its eyes fading as it topple backwards, its arms locking up as it deactivated. Panting slightly, Spike released the cables and stepped over the droid as a pair of maintenance drones emerged and began to clear up the mess. It had been a close run thing, not to him loosing, that fact was never in dispute, but to him losing control. There had been a moment there, just for a few blissful seconds, where Spike had wanted to give into his nature, doing more than just deactivating the droid, moving on to full on destroying it. It was an urge he hadn’t been able to shake for a while now, always coming back whenever his blood was up and he was fighting. Whatever he had done on Maryx Minor, it had awoken something inside him. Something deep, and something that should have remained buried.

As he walked across the room, he grabbed his Lightsabers with the force, attaching the old models to his belt as he walked. They were much lighter now, owing to the fact that they were nothing more than casings, but somehow their presence on his hips comforted him. Maybe he would have to keep them after all, back up weapons and everything.

He had removed the insides earlier that day, preparing them for his new weapons, but he had encountered a setback in the construction of his new Lightsabers, and while he was waiting had decided to test his hand to hand abilities. Now that was done, he reasoned that enough time had passed for the process to have completed, and began to make his way down to the artificer rooms.

Compared to the rest of the temple, this room was dimly lit and had no windows to the outside. The walls were bare, wrought metal several meters thick at some point, and the codes to get in were changed daily, as well as needing a bio-scan of the person trying to get it. In short, these were the most secure rooms in the temple.

Not without good reason of course, within these dark halls rested the most terrible of the Jedi weapons, stretching beyond Lightsabers to more ‘conventional’ weapons of war. It was a little known fact that in times of war, if anything ever happened to the Republic itself, or even worse, if the Republic turned on the Jedi, then the Jedi would not be defenceless. This area of the temple however was not widely known about, even within the order. To learn about it, one needed to have risen to the rank of Knight, and have a good reason to need to enter into it, like Spike had when he had decided to build new weapons, something more suited to his size.

Moving as quickly as his limp would allow him to, Spike crossed towards a forge, looking down at the two hilts that rested within, their pure black surfaces shining as they heated up. Flicking a switch, Spike stopped the plasma vents, reaching in and grasping hold of the hilts. They were still hot, but if he could survive in lava, he could pick these things up.

The hilts were massive, easily double the length of his old weapon hilts, but they fitted into his hands much better, the handle that made them stand out actually fitting his hand properly, as opposed to requiring him to only use a few fingers on each hand to grip them. Their physical size is not what mattered however, it was what went into them. On their own, the Lightsaber hilts would have produced an identical length blade as the two at his hips, but combined with some extra focusing lens, the blade length had been increased massively, and if his calculations were correct, giving him a pair of weapons more suited to his stature.

Sliding the innards into the hilts, Spike grasped his Lightsabers, thumbing the activation stud with a grin. Instantly, the blades ignited, bursting into life and projecting a white and purple glow around the room. Even with the hilts being completely different, and currently lacking the gems set into them, the blades were the same, their extra length comforting him just as much as his first Lightsabers had. Eventually, after admiring the blades for over five minutes, he deactivated the blades, setting them down and removing his belt. He would have to strengthen this if he was going to put the heavier weapons on it but that wasn’t a big deal, he could live with doing that, plus it gave him something to do until this damn war was over.

***

“The first form is simple, easy to grasp, and quick for advancement.” Spike said, walking between the ranks of younglings, each wearing a blast helmet which obscured their vision as they held their training Lightsabers in a straight guard position. “Do not under estimate its usefulness though, there is a reason every Jedi knows it. Learn this, and you will be a random force in battle, striking from unexpected angles, and catching your opponents unaware. The upside of the form is also the downside however. You will be random, but because of that, you will not be able to formulate a plan of your own. Always remember though, if you don’t know what you’re doing, your enemy doesn’t either.”

Smiling slightly, Spike watched as they all moved in unison, blocking an imaginary laser bolt, before returning to the guard position. It was surprising to think that they had only been using Lightsabers for a couple of weeks, and yet they all had the basics pretty much nailed, then again, the basics were one thing, actually being good in combat was something completely different.

Spike slowly reached down to his own Lightsabers, the pitch black surfaces now broken up slightly by the addition of the cutie marks of the ponies they honoured, both the whiteand the purple contrasting nicely. He had really put into his mind the material he was using when he had created them, but now that he was wearing them every day, Spike was realising how heavy his new weapons were. If he had been anyone else, he wouldn’t have been able to lift the weapons, let alone fight with them, but that just gave him an advantage over being disarmed, as even if an opponent stole his weapons, they wouldn’t be able to use them against him.

He still didn’t know what to do with his old weapons though. On one hand, they were just empty hilts now, unable to do anything, and simply being purely decorative. If Jedi had a single, permanent room, as opposed to communal dorms that they came and went from, he would have liked to hang them on a wall somewhere, a memento of his first Lightsabers, but since that wasn’t an option, and the fact that Jedi were supposed to have little to no personal items, he would have to think of something else.

***

Spike awoke in the middle of the night, his body drenched in sweat and the sheets wrapped tightly around his wrists. His mouth was open in a silent scream, but he had learnt to curb the actual sound that came out. This was his routine now, he would sleep for a few hours, before springing awake again, only to collapse back to the bed to repeat the cycle again until it was the morning.

This time however, something drew Spike from the room, and he instinctively grabbed his belt, the two heavily Lightsabers clinking softly against the two empty hilts as he secured it around his waist, before slipping silently out of the room.

He was surprised by the amount of other Jedi doing similar things, and turned to look at a pair of Knights as they walked out of the dorm just next to his, conversing softly.

“Can’t sleep either?” Spike asked.

“Something woke me up.” One of them said simply. “A disturbance in the force.”

“Same here.” The second one chimed in.

“I wonder…” Spike began, but was cut off as a sudden beeping sound echoed throughout the temple as the communicators each Jedi carried lit up, squealing loudly as they informed their owner that they had a message.

Curiously, Spike pushed his hand to his ear, touching the button on the small communicator there and activating the message.

“This is a message for all Jedi, everywhere in the galaxy, wherever you may be. Ulic Qel-Droma has been returned to us, his powers stripped, but his memory intact. He has revealed to us the location of Exar Kun’s base, and we must converge upon it to cleanse the Darkness from the galaxy, and to return the Light. All Jedi are ordered to converge upon Yavin IV, and await further instruction.” Came the semi-familiar voice of Nomi Sunrider, punctuated by what sounded like soft sobs, before the communicator went silent once more.

For a moment, Spike was too stunned to move, as was everybody else by the looks of things. They knew where Exar Kun’s base was, meaning that they could finally end this, but the news about Ulic confused Spike. The message had said ‘returned’, not eliminated, or captured. Could someone who had done what he had done really be expected to return to the Light?

Then, Spike realised that it didn’t matter, turning and sprinting towards the hangers, the other Jedi around him doing similar things. This was going to require all of them, all the ships they possessed, and was going to turn out to be the largest gathering of Jedi Spike had ever seen.

***

Spike watched from the observation deck of the ship he had hitched a ride on as the massive form of Yarvin IV swam into sight. Around the planet, hundreds of ships were already milling about, and Spike could sense the presence of thousands of Jedi, most of whom felt as apprehensive as he was, although he was apprehensive for another reason.

As soon as he had set foot on the ship, memories of the Valiant had flooded his mind, hitting him almost like a physical blow , and making him nearly collapse to the floor of the ship. The journey through hyperspace had been little better, and he had found himself lying awake at night, his eyes clenched tightly shut as he wished for sleep to come to banish the visions of his failures from his mind, although when sleep did come, he instantly wished it hadn’t, as his dreams turned to nightmares almost instantly.

One thing that was bothering him was the absence of Moonstone, his force avatar keeping quiet even though he now knew she could manifest at will, even when he wasn’t meditating, something he had been refraining from doing. The fact that she had not emerged since Maryx Minor made him concerned, and even though she was just a product of his own mind, he still worried about her as if she was real. To him, she might as well of been.

“Members of the Jedi order.” A voice sounded through the ships speakers, drawing Spikes attention instantly, as well as that of the other Jedi standing with him. “We stand here, united against the Darkness that has invaded our galaxy, ready to drive it back with the brilliance of the Light. Open you minds to each other, reach out, and create a wall of your power, something we may use to create a capsule to enclose Exar Kun in, and finally end his reign of terror.”

Nodding slowly, Spike closed his eyes, opening his mind to the force, careful to keep his own memories out of this, if this was to be a wall of Light, he didn’t want those murky thoughts to get in.

Spike could feel the presence of the other Jedi sky-rocket in intensity, each one doing the same, and lowering the mental barriers that they held to protect themselves from others. It was ironic really, that with so many Jedi present, they were all in theory at their most vulnerable.

Pushing harder, Spike could feel something emerging through the force, not manifesting as a consciousness or a living creature, but simply existing, a pure example of the Light side of the force.

Opening his eyes, Spike felt himself linked to every Jedi present, instantly knowing what Solaris was thinking, and where Tarhal was in the fleet. It was like being everywhere at once, but at the same time, he was nowhere. At this moment, ‘Spike’ was nothing, just a vessel that the force used, as it moulded together, until none of the individuals truly remained. Now, there was simply the force, and the avatar of its will, the Jedi order.

With a shockwave that spread through the fleet, the mass of Light side energy that had formed shot downwards, forming a pillar towards the planet, impacting far below on the largest of the many stepped temples that dotted the surface of the planet. Instantly, the structure was surrounded by the light, glowing as the Light side surrounded it, before releasing a single spark. Seeing such a thing from orbit should have been impossible, and if Spike had still been just Spike, he never would have seen it, but he was the force, and the force was him.

The spark impacted upon a tree, still glowing with the power of the Light side, and engulfed wooden trunk in flames, the conflagration licking at it from root to tip, before spreading to the next tree and the next, quickly raging out of control, and filling the planet with fire and death.

Returning to his body with a jolt, Spike looked down in horror as the very planet itself burnt beneath the ships of the Jedi. It was not a slow fire, the edges of the blaze expanding around the planet, even as the centre burnt out, revealing a barren, black landscape, punctuated by scorched stone temples.

It was over as quickly as it had begun, the fires burning out and leaving nothing to explain how or why it had started. Was it some ploy of Exar Kun’s? A final act of defiance to the Jedi that in their moment of triumph, they would reduce a planet to ash? Or was it something else, something the Jedi themselves directly caused?

Neither Spike, nor any of the other Jedi had the answers. No one ever would have an answer to the question. This would simply go down in history as the final act of the Jedi in the war, and only time would tell if the act was correct or not.

Without a word being spoken, the ships turned, moving away from the barren planet, returning to the core, to the temple, to announce the news of the wars end, and begin to rebuild the shattered Republic.

The Hunt Begins

Spike winced as a paw back slapped him, dazing him and knocking him back a few paces, the Dragon only just blocking the next furious barrage of attacks, before grunting and whipping his head forward. His head smashed into his opponent’s nose, blood covering his face as Tarhal fell to the floor.

“Twenty three seconds.” Zule said with a smile, clapping slowly.

“Did you have to hit me nose?” Tarhal grunted, getting up and rubbing his face tenderly. “Don’t think it’s broken though.”

Spike stayed silent, panting and scrunching his face up as he re-buried emotions. Fighting against droids and mechanical opponents, that was one thing. Fighting against living opponents, ones who bled when they were hit and acted outside of a simple program. That was a real test of skill, and for Spike, was also a test of restraint, forcing him to hold back the beast inside him.

Eventually, he opened his eyes again to see the faces of the others looking at him with slight concern.

“Better?” Corinna asked.

“Surviving would be more accurate.” Spike smirked. “But I’m getting there. I managed to get near on five hours of sleep last night.”

“Whoa, five hours? Damn, wish I could sleep for that long.” Zule laughed.

“Blow it out your arse you insensitive prick.” Spike shot back, knocking him over the back of the head lightly.

“For someone so intelligent, you don’t exactly have a sophisticated vocabulary do you.” Corinna asked.

“Why bother with expanding my vocabulary of swears when the old ones work fine.” Spike smiled. “I’m sure I could come up with all sorts of interesting insults.”

“I wasn’t complaining.” Corinna shot back, sticking her tongue out.

“I know.” Spike nodded.

“Have you heard about the disappearances?” Zule asked suddenly.

“What?” Spike asked, suddenly alert.

“Jedi have been going missing, and a few have been turning up…dead.” Zule said bitterly.

“But we defeated Exar Kun, we were all there.” Spike pointed out. “One year ago, we stopped him, the war is over.”

“They weren’t killed by Sith, not even the Mandalorians, this was different.” Zule said.

“Different how?” Tarhal asked.

“Apparently they were killed by animals, ripped to shreds. The council doesn’t know what to do.”

“Well, I’m sure when they decide, four knights will be able to help out.” Spike smiled.

***

“The Great Hunt?” Zule repeated, looking at the council in confusion.

“Yes.” Garton nodded. “You have by now no doubt heard about the missing Jedi. This council has finally ascertained what is doing this.”

“Go on.” Spike pressed.

“The creatures have been named Terentateks’, creatures that feed upon the blood of the force-sensitive, and have a natural immunity to the force itself.” Garton explained. “They seem to be the final product of Sith magic’s. The great Hunt is our final solution.”

“Can we have some details?” Tarhal asked.

“Jedi are being sent to seek out and eliminate these creatures.” A Master replied.

“And you want us to go and eliminate one of these creatures?” Spike assumed.

“We do.” Garton nodded.

“We’ll leave immediately.” Zule bowed deeply.

***

Spike closed his eyes, projecting his mind deep into the cave he was standing in front of. He could sense something, a dark presence residing within, something strong. Sensing another presence, Spike whirled around, his eyes fixing upon a small pony behind him.

The pony, a unicorn mare, had a beautiful dark green coat, her long purple mane flowing down over her shoulders and onto her back. It was not the same colour as Rarity’s, but it was similar enough to the long lost mare to make Spikes heart ache slightly. Never the less, he pushed through the heart ache and found his voice.

“What the…who are you?” Spike asked in confusion.

“You know me Spike.” The mare smiled, her voice being familiar to Spike.

“Moonstone?” Spike asked in confusion.

“Guilty as charged.” She nodded.

“Why do you look like…not you?” Spike asked, his mind trying itself into knots as it worked around this.

“You’ve grown older Spike, and as such, I have as well.” She smiled. “Remember, I can see into your mind, even into those parts that you cannot see yourself. You don’t admit it, but seeing the visage of twilight hurt you.”

“I guess.” Spike admitted sheepishly.

“Exactly. I helped to choose my initial form, and now you are older, you do not need the image of Twilight to interact with the force, therefore I can change my appearance.”

“Where were you?” Spike asked suddenly, his features hardening.

“Spike…” She began.

“Where?” Spike growled. “One month, five days, thirteen hours, and never once did you say anything to me, appear to me, try and help. I suffered! I waited for you! For a sign that I wasn’t alone, but you abandoned me!”

“I tried…”

“No! You weren’t there! Why? Why weren’t you there for me?” He finished weakly.

“You were dying Spike, I could feel it.” Moonstone admitted softly. “You may have lasted another day, two at most, but if I had appeared, I fear the stress put on your mind would have reduced your life span, and you would not be here today.”

“You could have tried.” Spike snapped.

“You think I didn’t want to?” Moonstone roared. “Every day I saw your suffering, the pain you felt, the rage. I wanted to help you, I did, but I also couldn’t let you die because of me. You survived on your own merit.”

“Then why has it taken you so long to come back?” Spike growled. “I thought you had died on Maryx.”

“Your mind is weakened, it is recovering slowly, but I didn’t want to risk wounding you again.” She said. “You have recovered now, almost to the point where it is as if Maryx is but a distant memory, near forgotten.”

“Never forgotten.” Spike snarled. “Always there, always in my mind, behind me, waiting to pounce in my times of weakness.”

“And yet you are here, on your own, a mission given to you by the council itself. They must have seen you recover, else you would not be here.”

“I fell, on Maryx Minor.” Spike said softly. “The beast whispered in my ear, and I let it tear my enemies apart.”

“That’s what the Dark Side does.” Moonstone nodded. “It tears you down, offering you easy options and easy ways to win.”

“This wasn’t the Dark Side.” Spike shook his head. “This was something else, something inside me, long before I discovered the force. I gave into Greed once, this was worse.”

“Rage.” Moonstone said simply.

“Maybe.” Spike nodded. “But I’ve delayed long enough. There is a beast in that cave that I must face.”

“Agreed Spike.” Moonstone nodded, walking towards the cave, and standing in the darkness. “Remember Spike, always stay in the light.” She began to fade from sight, her voice echoing around the cave, and into Spikes mind. “Always.”

Smiling, Spike set off into the cave, gripping his Lightsabers tightly as he went, blending with the darkness as he sniffed the air. There was something in this cave, something more than just the beast. It was as if the very walls themselves resonated with the Dark Side. It was speaking to him, whispering softly, but it was there.

Hissing slightly, Spike stuck his tongue out, tasting the air for signs of the Terentatek. He realised that he was letting his primal side get the better of him, but as long as it was only for tracking, Spike was willing to let his own laps slide.

Digging his claws into a wall, Spike began to climb, looking down at the floor as he searched for his prey. He did not have to search long.

A pair of creatures slowly stalked the cave system, their massive footfalls echoing around the cave. The creatures resembled Rancors, albeit smaller versions of the ferocious brutes, the only difference other than the size being that they had a number of spines growing from their backs and a pair of tusk-like projections attached to their mouths. Their hands ended in huge claws, and both them and the tusks were dripping with a noxious green liquid, possibly some sort of toxin or venom.

Snarling slightly, Spike dropped from the roof, landing in between the two creatures and igniting his new Lightsabers, the mark two Dusk and Elusive models mimicking their predecessors perfectly.

With a roar that threatened to shake the stalactites from the ceiling, Spike launched at the nearest creature.

Lost Contact

The night sky was bright, almost unnaturally so, the twin moons that hovered over the planet casting twin beams of light like spotlights, illuminating the planet as it slowly rotated, in keeping with the near perpetual night that was common to this world.

Ranox. A planet far away from anything that could be called civilisation, and deep within the outer rim territories. It occupied its own system, the planet rotating only just faster than its own sun, meaning that every night was almost as long as the planets year, one side of the world being bathed in the radiation from the star, while the other was populated by the dour people that called the world home.

Even with its near-eternal night, the planet was beautiful, the lack of any large cities making the planet seem natural in a way that the core worlds simply couldn’t match. In fact, the only piece of technology for miles around was the massive ship that was squatting on top of a large mesa, the orange and white hull glinting in the half light, obscured only slightly by the crouching figure who was perched on top of the Hammerhead Cruisers Bridge.

The figure was huge, the massive wings that protruded from his back only adding to its size. Slowly, Spike rose to his feet, looking out across the landscape with a sparkle in his eyes, before jumping down from the roof, flaring his wings and landing softly on the ground in front of the lowered gangplank, just in front of a pair of soldiers.

“Sir.” One of them said lazily as Spike walked past them. There had been a time when they had tried to be completely formal, but over the years, Spike had let discipline slide. As long as they were ready if anything happened, Spike was fine with them.

Walking through the bowels of ship, Spike quickly reached the command room, looking over at the men already standing around the room.

Spike was surprised that they were all up already, just because the world was shrouded in night didn’t mean that they still didn’t sleep. The Republic, and by extension Spike, had been on this planet for three months now, helping the planet to recover from the damage done to it in the great Sith War. Compared to a lot of the planets Spike had seen, this one had hardly suffered, only a few of the permanent townships had been destroyed. Funny how he now classed that as minor damage.

The Republic 59th Recovery Force, a unit that had taken to calling themselves the Vipers, had been established half a decade after the final defeat of Exar Kun at Yarvin IV, about the time Spike had returned from his last hunt against the Terentateks, his sixth successful one in the two year hunt. Initially set up to help those planets in the core and mid-rim, Spike had quickly changed the mission statement for the unit when he had seen the devastation wrought in the outer rim. Until that time, the only other unit that had been helping those planets had been a small militia platoon, a gesture of good faith more than an actual relief force, now, he was the only force operating out here, the militia disbanding after Spike arrived.

That had been over twenty years ago, and in that time Spike and the 59th had helped hundreds of planets, rarely returning from their mission to enjoy the comforts the core worlds offered. They were eight years into their newest five years deployment, severely overdue for a resupply and some much needed R&R, but after seeing how those who suffered during the war lived, the taskforce had been getting fairly lax with keeping to schedule.

“So, how long left on Ranox?” Spike asked, looking between his two commanders.

“Well, officially we should be gone.” Captain Parn said simply, the Rodian female looking down at the round command table they were all gathered around. Parn was probably the most uptight member of the force, but she was ok, and her crew had never steered Spike wrong so far, so he had no reason to doubt her abilities. “But, with our personal mission parameters, we have another week here.”

“Oh, um, the chieftain wants to speak to you.” Sergeant Cortez chimed in. “Said it was something important, but it didn’t sound like it was a problem on this planet. We could probably ignore it, but it probably wouldn’t make him all that happy.”

Spike chuckled at the man’s antics. The Sergeant was a good guy, but calling him intelligent would be nothing more than a lie. In fact, calling him stupid could be classed as an insult to stupid people, but his heart more than made up for it, and he cared deeply for the soldiers under his command. Between the three of them, they had every facet of the Republic militant arm represented, army, fleet, and of course, the Jedi.

Technically, the Jedi weren’t soldiers, nor were they a true part of the Republic, but they shared a symbiotic relationship with each other. The Jedi provided the Republic with unmatched diplomats, healers, and when the need arose, warriors, and in return, the Republic sheltered the Jedi, providing security with armies far larger than anything the Jedi themselves could muster. The Jedi scratched the Republics back, and the Republic scratched theirs.

“Very well. Parn, I’ll be leaving in an hour for the capital, ship will be yours in that time. Don’t let Cortez blow anything up when I’m gone.” He smirked, before turning and making to leave.

“How much sleep did you get?” Parn asked expectantly, her motherly tone still making Spike grin whenever he heard it.

“Five hours. On and off.” Spike said simply.

“Good night for you then.” Parn noted.

“Tell me about it.” Spike nodded, not turning around. “At this rate I doubt I’ll ever be able to sleep for hundreds of years like normal Dragons.”

“Still can’t wrap my head around that.” Cortez said as Spike left. “I mean, I can sleep for a long time, but centuries, no way.”

Spike shook his head as he made his way through the ship, ducking under the doors as he headed back out of the ship. As he exited the ship, Spike stretched up again, working the cricks out of his neck that had built up when he had been inside. The ship may have been a good one, much better than anything else he had ever been assigned to for an extended period of time, but it wasn’t half small for him. Spike had finally stopped growing at a ridiculously quick rate, levelling off at just over eight foot. He was however, still growing, it just was nowhere near the level he had been growing before. Small mercies at least.

Slowly, Spike extended his wings, giving them a few experimental flaps as he looked off into the distance, the soldiers guarding the entrance to the Hammerhead taking a few steps back as they were buffeted by the wind Spike was kicking up. Happy that his wings had been limbered up, Spike began to flap them much harder, quickly taking off the ground, and soaring through the skies, slowly flapping his wings to keep himself aloft. He did not have to flap them nearly as fast as a Pegasus would, easily able to keep himself air born with long, large flaps. His wings when compared with a Pegasus actually fitted his body, being properly proportioned to him, something he was glad of, as he always assumed that Pegasus could only fly thanks to the magic of Equestria. Take them off world, and their wings would be useless, just a dead weight slowing them down, and making them vulnerable.

Spike had to admit though, now he had tried it, he was hooked, the feeling of the wind rushing across his scales as he soared and dived far above the ground, the knowledge that he was no longer tied down to the earth that confined the rest of his friends and allies. This was true freedom. Saying that, it was also a useful skill, distances were next to meaningless when you could fly faster than old combustion cars, even if he had never tried to use flight in combat. That being said, he didn’t want to try really. His wings were not like a jet pack, and they did not give him perfectly smooth flight, he could not hover in place like a Pegasus could, or take off instantly like a rocket trooper could, his was an unstable flight, but it was flight none the less.

It did not take him long to reach the capital city, or rather the biggest town on the planet, swooping low over the ground before folding his wings and dropping the last few meters, landing on the cobbled street with a thud, barely breaking stride as he made his way into the town.

As he walked, he saw the townsfolk, the Ranoxians, going about their nightly business, hawing their wares or otherwise flitting to and fro between the metal scrap buildings. The Ranoxians had once been normal humans, thousands of years in the past, long before the Republic had made contact with them. They had settled here in the time of the Hutt Empire, fleeing the wrath of the crime lords as they fled from the planet they had originally occupied. In light of anything better, and out of options, they had been forced to crash land on the planet, converting their damaged flotilla of sleeper ships into the first settlement, and what had eventually become the town Spike was now standing in.

The Ranoxians themselves had not been unchanged by the years either, slowly evolving from humans into creatures that now bore little resemblance to their progenitors. Black skinned, hunch backed creatures, the Ranoxians had adapted to life on the dark planet, the inhabitants eyes growing in size, and being taken up nearly totally by the pupils, their faces taken up almost completely by the eyes and their large, teeth filled mouth. Their sharp teeth allowed them to eat a near-completely meat based diet, owing to the fact that very little edible foodstuff grew anywhere on the planet.

Certain creatures did seem to thrive on the planet however, feasting on anything that stood in their path. They had been a constant pain for the inhabitants of the world in these trying times, as they lost entire villages to these creatures. Well, they did loose entire villages to the creatures. Now, with a little Republic assistance and a weeklong hunt by Spike, the creature’s numbers had been culled to manageable levels. Since then, not a single village had fallen to these beings, their nameless foes shrinking back into the legends they were born from, the Ranoxians only identifying them as ‘The Bringers of Sorrow’.

Quickly, Spike climbed a ladder to reach the Bridge of the main ship that made up the town, the Bridge acting as a town hall of sorts. He could have quite easily flown to the top, it would have been quicker at least, but the first time he had tried to do that he had been accused of breaking traditions and spitting on the memories of their ancestors. He couldn’t deny that he didn’t understand the traditions that they had, but he didn’t have to understand them, just follow them.

Eventually, he reached the top of the massive ladder, pulling the door open and moving inside, looking around at the Silent Council, an ironic name for the ten Ranoxians from the various villages around the planet who were usually anything but silent. As far as politics went, this was quite an easy variation. Shouting and the occasional posturing match, then everything was sorted out fairly quickly. They had no leader, everyone was equal on the silent council, and everyone had an equal say. The system worked well for something with no leader, and even no names. When a Ranoxian was elected to sit upon the council, it was until death, and they forsook the lives they lived before, stripping back to just their appearances, to symbolise they spoke for the planet, not themselves.

“Jedi Spike.” One of the Ranoxians nodded as he entered.

“Silent Council.” Spike greeted back, bowing deeply. “I have been informed that you have some information that may be useful to the Vipers.”

“We have something.” Another Ranoxian agreed. “We often trade with the planet of Thresh, a couple of sectors over. They haven’t been sending anything for a week and a half now, they’re overdue on four trades.”

“A trade dispute is hardly what I would call a matter for the 59th Recovery.” Spike pointed out.

“No, of course not.” One of the members of the Council said, getting to his feet and walking around the table, the hunched creature using their overly developed forearms to stabilise themselves as they walked. “But the fact that they have also not replied to any of our communications is. The last traders we sent were over three weeks ago, they refuel at Thresh and come back, they haven’t returned. At first we thought it was just a hiccup on their end, but not anymore.”

“Ok, maybe it is an issue for the Republic.” Spike said as he sat down at one of the free chairs, really more of a lump of metal than an actual carved or manufactured chair. Nothing was wasted on Ranox, everything served a purpose or could be made from junk. Functionality took preference over form. “What exactly to you trade with Thresh, and what do they give back?”

“As you know, Ranox is relatively rich in underground deposits of Tibanna gas. We give some of our exports to them in exchange for some food and things we can’t make ourselves.”

“Tibanna gas?” Spike double checked. “They make blasters then?”

“High quality to the outer rim.” The council agreed unanimously. “If you want a blaster, get a Thresher.”

“Great, so when some crazed gunman runs up and tries to shoot me, I’ll know where the weapon came from.” Spike smirked. “Anyway, tell me more about Thresh. Population, climate, everything you can.”

“It’s an Agri-world going through changes to become more industrious off the back of its weapon sales. Population is over twenty times that of Ranox, and they are a quick jump away at only twelve parsecs. Spatial coordinates of sixty two Gamma Gamma Epsilon niner seven five.”

“Defences?”

“A small system monitor fleet with an outdated surface to orbit cannons. Nothing big, but enough to see off pirates.”

“So if something has happened, this is a more concerted force.” Spike finished. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention. How are we looking on the recovery efforts?”

“The Bringers of Sorrow have been contained, and we now have the strength to fight them off. The outlying villages have been linked back to the capital much more efficiently, allowing more aid and trade, and you’ve even managed to repair and re-equip our own defence fleet. I can’t imagine there is much more for you to do for us.”

“Well then, in light of this information you have provided us on Thresh, and the lack of need for us here, the 59th and I will take our leave from Ranox.” Spike said, getting up from his seat.

“We shall not forget your services, Spike the Dragon, nor that of the Republic. The people of Ranox will sing of you when the long night ends and the short day is upon us.” The councillors decreed, speaking in one voice once more. Spike wondered if they were slightly psychic when they did this, telepathically transmitting what they wanted to say to their fellows. It would certainly explain a lot.

Turning on his heels, Spike walked from the room, tugging the door closed with his tale, before spreading his wings wide. He may have had to take the ladder up, but there were no rules concerning it on the way down. Jumping forward, Spike allowed himself to fall for a few moments, before catching the rushing wind in his wings and soaring off into the night’s sky, making a beeline for his ship.

Crossing the distance quickly, Spike landed at the gangplank again just in time to see the soldier on duty being relieved by another pair.

“Belay that, get on board.” Spike ordered casually as he walked past the four soldiers. “Seal her up and get the crew ready for a jump.”

“Aye.” One of the soldiers nodded, before walking off down the corridor in the opposite direction from Spike, who began to make his way to the Bridge, passing the empty command room on his way.

“Jedi on the Bridge.” A man shouted, and instantly the Bridge crew stood at attention.

“Stand at ease and strap in.” Spike ordered, looking at Parn as she got up from the command chair. “Parn, take the helm please.” He nodded as he sat down in the chair.

“Aye sir, where are we heading?” Parn asked.

“The planet Thresh, short jump away.” Spike replied.

“Coordinates?”

“Sixty two Gamma Gamma Epsilon niner seven five.”

“Aye sir, sixty two Gamma Gamma Epsilon niner seven five.” Parn repeated, pressing a few buttons before grabbing the wheel and speaking into her headset.

“All hands to your stations, prepare for imminent lift off and Hyperspace jump.”

“Tell them to stand by in combat positions as well please.” Spike quipped quickly.

“Expecting trouble?” One of the Bridge crew asked, not looking round from their consoles.

“We could be. Thresh should have a defence fleet, but if something’s happened, then I want to be ready. Keep the Hyperdrive warmed up. If shit hits the fan, I want to be out of there in under a minute.” Thoughts of the Valiant and his failure crossed his mind, but it was not difficult to supress the old memories any more. They wouldn’t go away, but they wouldn’t be reducing him to tears any time soon.

“Clearing the atmosphere in five…four…three...two…one…mark. We have achieved orbit around Ranox. Hyperdrive spinning up. All hands, please stand by your stations for combat operations.”

“Miss Parn.” Spike smiled, leaning back in his chair. “Take us out.”

“Aye aye captain.” She nodded, pulling down on the level next to her. A second later, the ship jump forward, disappearing from realspace.

The City of Fire

Spike yawned as he watched the stretched out stars whiz past the Bridge as they sped through Hyperspace. It always amazed Spike at the sheer speed that the ship covered as it moved through this realm, the class two-point-oh Hyperdrive making impossibly long journeys capable in only a few hours. The jump to Thresh was not long, and considering the fact that they were already forty six minutes into their jump, it couldn’t be long until they arrived. Spike still didn’t know what he was expecting to find out here.

“Parn, you have the bridge.” Spike said suddenly, getting up from the command chair.

“Aye sir. Lieutenant, take the helm please.” Parn nodded as she got up from her own seat and moved towards the command chair.

Moving out of the room, Spike began to make his way towards the bunk rooms where the army detachment of the 59th were quartered. He wanted them briefed and ready for a search and rescue operation. He hoped that this was just a big misunderstanding, and that there would be a logical explanation for all of this, a busted transmitter or a malfunction on the planets docks, something like that. Then again, it never hurt to be overly prepared. People always mocked those who were ready at all times until their readiness paid off.

“Commander on deck!” A soldier roared as Spike entered the long bunk room, the soldiers that were milling around quickly jumping to their feet.

“At ease. Sergeant Cortez, a word if you please.” Spike said, the soldiers sitting back down and resuming whatever they had been doing before he had come in.

“What is it Spike?” Cortez asked, moving next to Spike as the pair made their way through the bunk.

“We’re heading for the planet known Thresh, trade partner of Ranox and exporter of Blasters. They’ve dropped out of contact with Ranox and we’ve decided to go and investigate it.”

“What are we expecting? Another hunt?” Cortez asked.

“Only on a special occasion.” Spike grinned. “Now, we don’t know what to expect, they aren’t responding to our hails, meaning that this wasn’t just a long range transmitter fault. Now if there is a hostile force, we’ll have to take precautions and may have to leave and wait for reinforcements, but if it’s not, play nice with the locals. You know what a lot of Outer Rim planets think of the Republic, and considering their industry, I’d rather avoid a confrontation with them if nothing has happened.”

“Right, so to confirm, no guns blazing.” Cortex nodded slowly.

“That’s correct. I want all your men standing ready though. As soon as we come out of Hyperspace, I’ll tell you more.”

“All hands, stand by your posts. Returning to real space in sixty seconds and counting.” Came the voice of Parn over the radio.

“Scratch that, come with me to the bridge now, we’ll make our plans when we arrive.” Spike ordered, before breaking into a light jog, ducking through the doors as he reached the Bridge.

“And…mark.” The Helmsman said, pulling back on the lever as they ship suddenly decelerated.

The scene that was presented to them was not pretty. Ships of every size, ranging from small civilian freighters to a squadron of outdated destroyers, floated lifelessly through the space around the planet, their hulls ripped open and exposed to the vacuum. The fact that there were neither fires nor any signs that the ships had any sort of power left in them told Spike that they had been dead for a long time. Even with the large number of dead hulks in space, Spike knew that there weren’t nearly enough ships to make up the entire defence force for a planet, nor were there enough civilian ships to constitute running away and evacuating the planet.

Beyond the scene in space lay the planet of Thresh, the lush green planet broken up by large blotches of grey metal and stone, cities that took up what looked like a little under half the surface of the world, and what looked like fires still smouldering on some of them. Whatever had hit this planet, it had been brutal, but it had been over for a long time.

“Parn, get the fighter squadron leaders up here now, man the scanners and raise the shields.” Spike ordered quickly. “Don’t move the ship until I give the order, I want to be able to jump instantly if we need to.”

“I’ll get my men on standby.” Cortez added as Parn spoke hurriedly into her headset. “We’ll mount up in the shuttles just in case.”

“Good. You do that, I want full recovery gear as well as combat gear. Protection detail on standby to remain with the ship.”

“Sir.” A pair of voices rang out as two people ran into the room, one man and one woman, both wearing the flight suits of the two squadrons of fighters that were on board the ship. Both Purple and Green squadrons were equipped with six Aurek-Class tactical strikefighters, one of, if not the most, advanced fighter in service to anyone anywhere. Spike almost envied them for getting to pilot the machines. Almost, but then again, he had never set foot in a fighter since Empress Teta, and he now actually doubted his ability to get in most conventionally designed machines.

“Good. I want both wings to scout the area, check the hulks and check the system monitor. Scanners haven’t picked any active signals up yet, but I want to know that we don’t have ships hiding and powered down to wait for us.” Spike ordered, quickly dismissing the pilots as they ran back towards the aft hangers.

“Platoons one, two, three and four loaded and standing by for deployment.” Came the voice of Cortez over the Bridge comm. “Do we launch?”

“I told you, wait for my signal.” Spike replied tersely.

“Spike.” Parn called from her station. “What do you think happened here?”

“I don’t know. Whatever happened here was quick and brutal. They were overwhelmed before they knew what was happening.” Spike summarised quickly.

“How could you possibly know that?” Parn asked.

“Look around, little to no signs of residue from weapon discharges, no spent casing of missiles or anything. If they had managed to fight back, there would be something, but from the looks of things this was all done before shields could even be raised.” Spike pointed out.

“So they were attacked by ships as soon as the enemy exited Hyperspace.” Parn said slowly. “That shows…”

“Training, discipline and Ruthlessness.” Spike finished. “This wasn’t pirates or slavers, this was a well organised force, and I doubt that they’d just let another ship jump into this system without having some sort of failsafe in place.”

“Well if they do, they haven’t sprung anything yet. No signals have gone out from this system.” Parn informed him.

“That’s good.” Spike nodded. “Fighter wings, report in.”

“Green wing, sweeping the debris field now sir. Lot of dead bodies out here, but no sign of anything active. All these ships look like they’ve been hit in a pretty bad way, wouldn’t even be worth hauling them back to be refitted, these things are just hunks of scrap.” Came the voice of the man in charge of Green wing.

“Roger Green Wing.” Spike nodded. “Purple wing, status on the system monitor?”

“The station’s been hit hard.” Purple Leader informed him. “Decks one through sixty three have been ripped off, the rest has been trashed. Weapons emplacements are gone, and there are no signs of the shields overloading.”

“Even the station got hit before they were ready.” Muttered Spike. “Alright, bring it in. Cortez, prepare to launch when I get there. Parn, take control and bring us closer to planet. When I’m gone, make sure to keep the crew on standby. Anything comes in to the system I want you to assume hostile and get out of here. Call for reinforcements, then come and pick us up. We’ll hold out on the planet if we need to.”

“You sure you want us to leave you down there?” Parn asked, raising an eyebrow.

“We can hold out on the ground. It wouldn’t be the first time I had to, but if you actually see a fleet jump in, I don’t want you risking the ship.”

“Fine. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” Parn smirked, but Spike didn’t see as he was already making his way towards the shuttle bay.

“Any room on board?” Spike asked, climbing into one of the four shuttles that occupied the hanger.

“No seats here sir.” One of the soldiers shook his head.

“Co-pilots free.” The pilot called through from the cockpit.

“Cortez, prepare to take flight.” Spike ordered over the comm. “Parn?”

“Moving into position now. If you’re going to go now, we can’t get any closer without going through re-entry protocols.”

“Brilliant.” Spike nodded, before tapping the pilot on the arm. “Punch it.”

Instantly, Spike was thrown back into his seat as the ship shot forward, passing through the oxygen shields and heading for the planet below. As he was in the cockpit, Spike got a perfect view of everything that happened, and watched as the other shuttles formed up on his ship and the ship he assumed Cortez was aboard. Fire licked at the window as they passed through the atmosphere, the ship shaking violently as it made the transition into atmosphere, but finally, they were through, dropping down towards the cloud layer.

“When we get boots on the ground, I want everyone on alert. There may be booby traps down there, or better yet survivors. I don’t want itchy trigger fingers killing off any potential witnesses.”

A chorus of ‘rogers’ was transmitted back to Spike, who began to unstrap himself from the seat, before getting and walking back down the troop compartment, looking the soldiers directly in the eye as he went. They looked to him as a source of inspiration and leadership, and he knew that the best place to inspire from was right at the front. No use shouting from the back after all, if he wouldn’t face something, then he didn’t expect those under his command to face it.

“Pilot, open the rear hatch.” He ordered, being quickly met by the roar of the wind as the hatch swung open, just moments before the ship hit the ground.

“With me.” Spike called, quickly running from the ship to check where they had landed. Behind him, the Republic soldiers fanned out, spilling from the four shuttles and creating a perimeter around the ships.

“Spike.” Cortez shouted, running over to the Dragon. “We’ve landed just outside a small town, thought we should check it out before moving on to check the city.”

“Good.” Spike nodded, looking around slowly, reaching out with the force for something, but finding nothing but emptiness. It was unnerving. “Have the first, second and third platoon spread out and search the area. Leave the forth platoon with the ships and have medical attention on standby, I want any survivors brought back here and treated immediately.”

“Vipers!” Cortez bellowed. “Forth platoon, set up shop and make a cordon! Prepare medical treatment for any survivors! The rest of you, get into that village and search it, top to bottom!”

Quickly, the men blurred into motion, the forty men of fourth platoon moving further apart to cover the ground around the landing zone, while the other one hundred and twenty members of the 59th ran forward to check the village. Running beside the, Spike reached the village first, skidding to a halt as he reached the outskirts, looking at the burnt remains of the village. Spike looked over the dead bodies that littered the ground, many of them nothing more than burnt skeletons, crawling away from whatever had razed the village. Memories surfaced as Spike looked at one of the bodies, his own handiwork on Coruscant coming back to haunt him. At least they looked like they had put up more of a struggle than the forces in orbit had.

“My god. What happened here?” Cortez breathed softly, crouching down next to one of the bodies. It was tiny, it couldn’t have been more than nine or ten.

“Who could do this?” Spike asked in confusion. “This isn’t the work of pirates or slavers. Only the Sith had this power, and I saw them fall.”

“Could they have come back?” Cortez asked wearily.

“Exar Kun is dead. Ulic is dead, killed by the spacer Hoggon. I don’t sense the Sith presence here either.” Spike shook his head.

“There’s nothing alive here.” Cortez said solemnly, standing up and looking at Spike.

“No evidence either. Fire cleanses everything.” Spike growled softly. “Move the men out. We’ll head for the city, if there’s anything left, it’s more likely to be there. Then we leave, whatever did this was strong, I don’t want to run into them with so little. I’ll contact the Republic when we leave. I’ll meet you at the city.”

“Aye sir.” Cortez nodded, but Spike had already taken to the skies, soaring upwards and circling the air above the shuttles, looking at the planet with a sense of dread.

From orbit, he had thought the fires were small, but now he knew better. Columns of smoke rose above the city in the distance, the fires spreading out across the horizon like the gates to hell itself. Spike opened his mind to the force, and was almost overwhelmed by what he heard, losing altitude fast before he brought himself back under control. He could hear them screaming, all the men and women and children who had burnt here, crying for their mothers, for their gods, for help, until the moment when whatever had come to Thresh had swallowed them, putting them out of their misery. But even with all that, knowing all the suffering that had gone on here, he could not deny that some part of him admired what was going on. The fire reflected in his eyes, calling him closer, beckoning to him to become one with them. He could feel flames licking the inside of his throat, rising up until it was filling his mouth, the feeling filling him with ecstasy, before he forced it down, burying the feeling and powering himself forward, heading for the horizon.

It did not take him long to cross the distance between the shuttles and the city, passing over the head of the soldiers as they made their own way across the rough terrain, quickly leaving them behind him as he landed on the streets of the city, looking around at the burning buildings. The heat in the city would have been unbearable to a human, and he knew that even Cortez wasn’t stupid enough to brave this hell, but Spike was. He could survive this heat and walk through the fires. While fire purified all, it was not always quick, and if Spike was fast, he may find some scrap of evidence before the fire claimed it, something that could tell him what had happened here.

Spike sprinted through the city, slowly flapping his wings as he went, and creating gusts of wing that cleared the smoke from in front of him, giving him a better chance of seeing anything that may have been of use to him. What truly unnerved him about this place, even more than the fires that surrounded him, was the lack of bodies. He hadn’t seen any so far, not even bits of one or the burnt remains of a corpse, even though in the village had been strewed with the dead. Spike desperately wanted to know where everyone had gone, this was a massive city, hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions, would have called this home at one point. The lack of them was strange.

Skidding to a halt, Spike clutched his head as the wailing intensified, getting louder and threatening to split his head open with its piercing cry. Spike let out a cry of his own as he threw his mental barriers back up, cutting out all the sound as the pain receded from his mind.

Slowly, he got back to his feet, flapping his wings to disperse the smoke that had built up around him, and looking up at the towering structure he was in front of. This was where the scream had intensified, and he would bet his Lightsabers that if anyone or anything was going to be found in this city, it was going to be here.

Quickly, he ran up to the door, placing his hands against the metal surface, and almost instantly retracting his hands from the hot metal. Just because he could survive heat without pain didn’t mean that he overly liked the feeling, and would rather not touch it. Nevertheless, he wanted to search the building, and he had learnt what he needed to, the metal was malleable. Grunting, Spike threw his shoulder against the door, the metal buckling easily and allowing him entrance into the burning interior.

Spike grimaced as the smoke got in his eyes, the strength of the flames making it impossible even for him to clear it from around him, only managing to thin it as he made his way forward. As he moved, he lowered his metal barriers slightly, allowing the screams back in, but more than that, he heard a voice. Someone was weeping in this building, terrified and alone, scared, but very, very much alive. More than that though, Spike knew where the person was.

Running forward, avoiding the worst of the flames, Spike reached a stairwell, the flames licking the underside of the stairs. Gingerly, he tested the strength, being greeted by a series of creaks and groans, but it held, and he began upwards, not having enough space to fly as he made his way up and up and up, until he finally reached the floor where the sobbing was loudest, even without hearing it through the force. Replacing his barriers around his mind, Spike headed out onto the creaking and cracking floor, praying that it supported his massive form for long enough for him to find this one survivor. He doubted he would find another.

After two minutes of frantic searching, Spike finally found himself in front of a massive iron door, a blast room that looked as if it would be able to survive a lot of punishment, and felt the same as he placed his hands upon it, the surface being surprisingly cool when compared with the other things he had touched. It was not cold by any stretch of the imagination, but when compared with the rest of the metal around him, it was positively a block of ice.

“Hello!” He shouted, banging on the door with his fists, hoping to get the attention of whoever was in there.

“Who…who’s there?” A female voice answered, clearly young and terrified.

“I’m a friend!” Spike shouted back, throwing his shoulder against the metal, its surface not even denting.

“That’s what they said!” The girl cried.

“Just stand back!” Spike shouted, summoning his Lightsabers to his hands and igniting the blades. “Trust me, I’m a Jedi!”

Plunging his blades into the metal, Spike was surprised when he felt the amount of resistance the metal offered, but it still gave as Spike pushed the blades in. He hoped the girl had got out of the way, but he hadn’t seen another way. Cutting a circle in the door, Spike deactivated the blades, before using the force to pull the thick piece out and throwing it across the room, breaking one of the support struts and causing a small cave in, but Spike didn’t care, all he cared was that he had made a hole large enough for him to stick his head through, the spines that dotted it scraping against the top of the gap.

“Please, I am a Jedi of the Republic, and this building is falling down.” Spike said quickly, looking around the small metal room, its surface unblemished by smoke, and the little girl who was also similarly unaffected by the fire. “Take my hand, and I will get you out of here.”

The girl looked up at Spike, terror spreading across her face as she looked at Spike. He realised he must look like some sort of devil, his face covered in soot and ash, as his eyes betrayed the animal that lurked within him. He was not the nicest looking Jedi, and no matter what he did, what actions he took, he knew his looks would always hamper him. Even as he watched though, the girls face softened, and she nodded, Spike drawing his head back to allow her to clamber through, the little girl falling to the floor, only just being caught by Spike.

“Hold on, we’ll get out!” Spike grunted, holding onto the girl tightly as she began coughing, the ash and smoke getting into her throat, damaging her developing lungs.

Spike realised she wouldn’t last long, and broke into a sprint, shielding her with his wings to try and protect her as best he could, trying to remember where the stairs were, and wrenching open a door. In an instant, he realised he had made a big mistake, the room beyond being filled with fire, and now it had a new source of oxygen.

Time seemed to slow as the fire shot out towards the pair, death staring the little girl in the face. Spike was a Dragon, he had nothing to fear, but she was human, and she most certainly did. Screaming, Spike stuck his hand out, channelling something from deep within him into his hand. It did not feel like the force, but the fire seemed to change course, washing around them and over them, but never touching them. Spike didn’t care what he did, all he cared was that it had worked, and it had sapped his strength. He could already feel it returning though, and set off again, pushing it from his mind as more important things loomed.

He saw the stairs, and almost whooped for joy, before he watched something burning rain down from above, smashing the staircase to pieces as it passed. Spike looked down at the horrifying scene beneath him, fire licking the side of the building like a liquid, flowing up towards them, intending to swallow the pair whole. Spike was dubious that even he could survive that for long, and he knew the girl couldn’t.

“Hey, hey. What’s your name?” He asked, looking down at the fading girl in his arms.

“Kat…ara.” She spluttered, coughing violently.

“Katara, that’s a good name. Do you trust me?” Spike asked urgently.

She didn’t reply, but nodded weakly. She wasn’t going to last long, and Spike knew it.

“Hold on!” He bellowed, before flapping his wings hard and taking flight, powering himself upwards.

It was a narrow stairwell, and he only just fit through, his wings knocking against the side a few times, forcing him to steady himself with his feet and free hand, his claws digging into the rock and metal as he climbed ever higher. The smoke was getting thicker, and the girl was coughing less and less, a sure fire sign that she wouldn’t last any longer.

“Katara! Head down!” He bellowed, before flapping his wings in one massive downwards stroke, propelling himself towards the roof.

He shielded the girl as best he could as he smashed into the roof. Normally, he would have just bounced back off, making a crater if he was lucky, and getting a conclusion on worse for his troubles. Luckily for Spike though, the building was already weaken by the fire licking at every part of it, and instead of offering a proper resistance, it gave in, allowing Spike to burst into the equally smoke filled outside world. Here however, Spike was not confined with the smoke, and a few flaps of his wings cleared enough room for him to rest for a second.

“See Katara, nothing to…” He grinned, looking down at the girl in his arms and trailing off. “Katara? Katara!” The girl wasn’t coughing any more, she wasn’t doing anything, and from the rise and fall of her chest, it looked as if she was barely breathing. She needed help, but Spike couldn’t give it to her here.

Flapping his wings, Spike flew harder than he had ever flown before, pushing his body to the max as he streaked through the sky.

“Cortez!” He yelled into his comm. “Double time it back to the shuttles!”

“But we’re only half way to the city.” Cortez replied.

“Just do it!” Spike screamed, before switching to the frequency the forth platoon leader was on. “Mount up and prepare for dust off! We have one priority medical case incoming! Parn!” He changed frequency again. “Get the ship ready to move! Plot a course for Ranox and prepare to receive shuttles! I want you to jump as soon as all four are on board!”

“Aye sir! What’s going on?!” Parn shouted back across the radio.

“I found a survivor.”

Perpetrator

“Make a hole!” Spike shouted, pushing his way down the ships corridors as he made his way towards the medical bay, the small, still form of Katara clutched in his arms.

The girl was in a bad shape. Her breaths, when they could be heard at all, were short and ragged, interspersed with splutters as she coughed weakly, splattering mucus across her face. Spike didn’t know much about snot, nor did he really want to, but he was fairly sure that it wasn’t mean to be black with flecks of crimson in it.

A thought crossed his mind that there could have been other survivors somewhere in the city, he had hardly checked any of it after all, and that if there were, he had left them to die, as well as reducing the number of witnesses who would be able to tell him what happened on Thresh. Right now though, he didn’t care about who did it, he just wanted to make sure that Katara lived to see the moons of Roxon.

Bursting into the medical ward, Spike lay her down on one of the tables as a pair of medics and a droid rushed over. As Spike watched, the droid placed an oxygen mask over the girl’s face, before passing a scanner over her, the image being rendered in a semi-transparent 3-D image behind the group. The two medics moved over to it, but Spike had his own brand of healing, one that could at least keep her stabilised.

Closing his eyes, Spike reached out with the force. He was not a great healer, not in the way Corinna was, but he could keep her alive until the doctors could figure out what was the best course of action. He could feel her suffering as he delved into her mind, pushing away anything that was not needed for this task, it was difficult enough without excess getting in the way. Her lungs were in a bad shape, the delicate organs coated in a thick coating of soot mixed with something else, creating a tar like substance that impeded the ability of the bronchioles to oxygenate the blood stream properly. She was suffocating to death with her mouth wide open, and it made Spike sick.

“Spike?” One of the doctors said softly, drawing his attention away from the girl, much to his annoyance.

“What?” He snapped.

“She’s stabilised, but we don’t have enough supplies to rectify the damage, only mitigate it.” He said softly.

“What? We have a fully equipped medical lab, we have the best medical care this side of Pentarious, and you’re saying we cannot save a single girl?” Spike asked in annoyance.

“We are a military medical lab, we are equipped to deal with injuries on the battlefield, not smoke damage to the lungs.” The second doctor pointed out.

“Don’t let her die.” Spike said softly, with just a hint of malice in his voice, before he turned and swept out of the room. He had enough death resting on his head, but they had been soldiers. Katara was an innocent, and he did not want her death resting on his conscience either.

“Parn?” he asked wearily as he walked onto the Bridge.

“Yes sir.” She answered, getting up from the command chair and looking at him. “Stop, now.”

“Stop what?” Spike asked irritably.

“That look in your eyes.” She said simply. “Every time you lose someone, you get that same look in your eyes, happened every time we lost someone on the Ranoxian hunts, and every time before that as well.”

“I don’t like losing people.” Spike pointed out.

“No one does, but it’s the downside of being in command.” Parn said knowingly. “I know she’s a civilian, and I know that you don’t want her to die, but don’t let it rest on your conscious. You did everything you could.”

“Everything wasn’t good enough.” Spike muttered, before sitting down. “How long till we get to Ranox?”

“We’re burning the engines at 110% capacity. Not something I’d recommend making a habit of, but we should be there in ten minutes.” Parn replied.

“Good. Land as close to the main town as you can. They’ve got decent medical facilities as well, and I need to speak to the Silent Council.”

“Very good sir.”

***

“Transfer her to hospital in the town. Be careful.” Spike ordered as he watched a pair of soldiers carrying a stretcher off the ship, Katara lying motionless atop it.

“She will be looked after, I guarantee it.” One of the doctors said as they followed after the stretcher, a datapad held tightly in one of his hands.

“She better be.” Spike nodded, before heading for the ladder that lead to the Silent Council chambers.

Reaching the top quickly, Spike walked in, making sure the doors crashed against the walls to announce his presence is the room, drawing the attention of everyone in the room.

“My lord Spike?” One of the Ranoxians bowed. “I am assuming you found something on your foray to Thresh?”

“I found a lot of nothing, and that’s what worries me.” Spike admitted. “The planet is gone, no signs of life anywhere. The fleet that stood vigil over it is either destroyed or missing, and there are a lot of civilian hulks up there as well. Normally I’d hope that the absence of the ships meant that some got away, but with the damage done, it looks like they were dead before they knew it.”

“And what of the planet itself?” One of the Council members asked, finally finding his voice and wiping the shocked look off his face.

“Burnt or burning.” Spike said in an annoyed tone. “The first village we landed at was burnt to a cinder, nothing but husks of buildings and burnt skeletons. The city was on fire, but I found a survivor.”

“Did she say who did this?”

“She is in critical condition at the moment.” Spike muttered. “She inhaled vast quantities of smoke from where I pulled her from the fire. If, no, when, she wakes up, I’m sure she will be able to tell us a thing or two, but until that time, I have no leads, which is why I’ve come here.”

“What are you implying?” One of the Ranoxians asked slowly.

“Nothing.” Spike held his hands up peacefully. “As the Silent Council, you have more knowledge than me about what is happening in the Outer Rim. I need to know if there is anything that could have laid waste to a planets defences in the time it took for the crew to raise the shields on their ships.”

“Not that we know of.” One of the councillors shook his head.

“You’re sure?” Spike pressed.

“Spike, we are a backwater planet, the little contact we have with the rest of the galaxy is for trade, not gossip. If there was an army moving around out there, you would know more than us thanks to your travels.”

“I feared as much.” Spike nodded solemnly. “One last thing then. I am going to put out a call to the republic, I want her taken for proper medical care, but for that I need a long range transmitter and somewhere for her to rest if I have to go somewhere.”

“You may make use of our hospital, and we shall show you to the transmission station.” One of the Ranoxians nodded. “You have done us a favour, so we shall in turn repay.”

“Thank you.” Spike said, following the creature out of the room, and watching as he clambered down the ladder, before gliding down himself, landing next to the councillor as the pair walked through the town.

As they walked, Spike saw a number of large shipping containers being unloaded by a swarm of Ranoxians, the black skinned creatures hurrying to unpack the contents and store it in the warehouses dotted around the town.

“They look busy.” Spike noted.

“Ah yes, we managed to strike up a trade agreement some weeks ago, gas for food like with Thresh.” The Ranoxian said dismissively.

“Who with?” Spike asked out of interest.

“Someone who can provide us with food. We are even more reliant upon them now Thresh is gone.” He said hurriedly, before stopping in front of a large spire like building, the patchwork metal structure protecting the antenna that Spike assumed lay within. “If you will excuse me.”

Spike watched as the man hurried away, before pushing the door open, being greeted by a small room, a holo-communicator in the middle of it, allowing for instantaneous communication across the huge distances of the galaxy. Pressing a few buttons, Spike inputted his own personal communiqué code, before transmitting a call request. He would wait here until his request was granted, hopefully that would not take…

The projectors burst into life, and Spike was instantly greeted by a full sized projection of Master Zez-Kai Ell, the bald moustached member of the High Council looking up at Spike with his usual impassive look on his face.

“Master Ell.” Spike said, bowing to the Jedi Master.

“Jedi Knight Spike.” Ell nodded back. “You should have returned to resupply by now. Have you encountered a problem?”

“You could say that.” Spike nodded. “The planet of Thresh has been razed to the ground, there’s nothing left. The fleets gone and there’s only one survivor.”

“Only one?” The Jedi asked in astonishment. “Who did this?”

“I don’t know, but I plan on returning to do a more thorough sweep of the planet.” Spike said simply. “That brings me onto the survivor though. She’s called Katara, and she’s not in a good way. She inhaled a lot of smoke when I found her, and the medical staff on my ship can’t do anything for her.”

“And you want a Republic ship to come and pick her up?” Ell asked, raising an eyebrow. “We cannot waste resources picking one girl up to save her, not with the Republic already stretched thin. I am sorry.”

“There’s something else.” Spike said quickly. “I tried to heal her, and it was like there was a mental block around her mind. Nothing major, but it was there.”

“Her planet could breed slightly psychic variations in brain waves.” Ell reasoned.

“True, they could. I could be wrong, but if I’m not. I don’t have the equipment for a blood scan, but it could be worth a look.” Spike pointed out.

“I’ll see what I can do. You say you are leaving her on Ranox?”

“With a small contingent of my men to look out for her.” Spike nodded.

“Fine. I’ll send a ship out when I can. Meanwhile, I want you to look into Thresh, but then come back. You haven’t been to the temple in far too long.”

“I haven’t seen a Jedi in the flesh for far too long.” Spike corrected him. “I will. As soon as we’ve looked over Thresh, we’ll come back.”

“Good. I look forward to debriefing you personally Spike.” Ell said, before switching the communicator off.

Shaking his head, Spike walked out of the transmission station, walking back past the shipping containers as he headed towards the hospital. It had at one point been a Cal Class Battleship, one that had been given to them during the Great Hyperspace War one thousand years ago, but now it was serving on the front lines of a different war.

Walking into the ship, Spike was pointed in the direction he assumed Katara had been taken, walking down through the tiny corridors until he finally reached a room that widened out, containing the forms of five soldiers, one of the doctors, and more importantly, the prone form of Katara, the oxygen mask still securely on her face, and her chest rising and falling in the same weak manner. Along with the Republic soldiers, a pair of Ranoxians were moving about the room, helping the doctor as they administered what little treatment they could.

“Anything?” Spike asked, walking over to the girl.

“She’s stabilised, but she’s in a coma.” One of the Ranoxians said sympathetically. “It pains me to see one so young suffer so much.”

“What’s the extent of the damage?” Spike asked.

“Well, her lungs have taken a beating, that’s the main thing. I’m not sure if the Republic will be able to save them or if she’ll need to have replacements grafter into her. Other than that, she had a few scrapes, cuts and burns, but nothing major. Personally, I think they worst thing is in her mind.” The republic doctor replied. “Whatever happened on Thresh, she saw it, and she survived it alone. That’s going to cause some scars.”

“Do we at least know how old she is” Spike asked, looking down at the girl.

“By our best guesses, five or six galactic standard years.” The doctor replied.

“I have something that needs to be attended to.” Spike nodded, before looking at the soldiers. “I want two of you to stay by her side at all times. When we leave the planet, you are to stay with her. A Republic ship is coming to pick her up and take her for proper medical care. Is that understood?”

“Sir.” The soldiers nodded, holding their rifles tightly. Spike didn’t expect any trouble, but someone had gone to a lot of trouble to kill an entire planet and leave no witnesses. He wouldn’t put it past a truly determined foe to try and eliminate her. He really hoped that he was wrong.

Sweeping out of the hospital, Spike stretched his wings, taking flight and headed away from the town. He wanted to try something, but as this was an experiment, he wanted to be as far away from civilisation as he could be without being ridiculous.

***

“What are you doing out here?” Moonstone asked, looking at Spike as he landed in the tundra ten miles away from the town. His communicator was on, as was his tracker, and if need be, the members of the Vipers would be able to find him.

“I’ve got experiments to run.” Spike said simply, turning and looking at the mare.

It was funny, at one point he had assumed the mare would age like a normal pony, one that would grow old and die. He had dreaded for that to happen, as she was the only thing that had made a lot of his time in this galaxy bearable, and no matter the arguments they had, or the accusations he threw at her, she always stood by him. His fears had been misguided however, the mare looked as young and spry as she had when he had first seen her new appearance all those years ago on his first hunt.

She had been there afterwards as well, praising him as he dragged the two dead Terentateks behind him to burn their corrupted bodies. She had always been there for him in those times, when he had moved from planet to planet, cleansing world after world of Terentateks and other creatures warped by the Sith, until finally the Great Hunt had ended, and the 59th had been formed. She had still accompanied him then of course, but she hadn’t needed to appear to him as much, not when he had other living people to talk to, but he had never opened up to anyone like her, even Parn, who saw herself as a confidant of the entire crew. It wasn’t even because of the fact that she was in his head that made her easy to speak to, it was simply her race. One speck of his home that followed him wherever he went, reminding him who he was, and stopping himself from losing his heritage in the maelstrom of cultures he saw on his travels around the galaxy.

“Ooh, experiments. That sounds fun.” Moonstone smiled. “Something to do with your escape on Thresh I take it?”

“Got it in one.” Spike grinned back. “You know my brain on first name basis, what happened in the fire. What did I do?”

“Well, I can tell you that it wasn’t the force. Your brainwave activity went off the charts for a moment, something that doesn’t happen when you use the force.” She said smugly. “And yes, I do know your brain. I think I’ll call it Larry.”

“You want to call my brain Larry?” Spike asked with a smirk.

“Of course not, why would a brain me called Larry. Besides, a brain shouldn’t have a name unless it’s in a jar, or a robot.”

“And what would you call it if it was in a jar?” Spike asked in interest.

“Oh, I don’t know. Mobius, Klein, maybe even Silver Stripe.” She laughed.

“We’re getting off topic.” Spike said exasperatedly. “And if my brain is ever put into a Jar, I call Mobius.”

“Fine. Party pooper.” She pouted. “Now, what did you want me to do.”

“I want you to help recreate the brainwave activity I had during the fire, replicate the results and see if we can get a better idea on what we are dealing with.”

“You’re sure? That could be dangerous.”

“That’s why we came out here. I’m not talking about doing it on a massive scale, just a test run.”

“Ok, you’re the boss.”

“You’re damn right I am, it’s my head you live in. Rent free as well.”

Shaking her head, Moonstone vanished from sight, but Spike knew she was still there, working away in his mind and giving him subconscious pointers. She didn’t need to tell him what to do anymore, he knew what she wanted. He could resist of course, but so far, she had never steered him wrong.

Raising his hands, he brought them together, focusing his mind on recreating the act he had performed in the fire. Rubbing them slightly, he felt an odd form of energy building up inside of him, being directed into his hands. Slowly, knowing what Moonstone wanted him to do, he brought his hands apart, being greeted by a soft green light. This instantly grabbed Spikes attention, as he had only seen that particular glow in one other place, whenever he looked in the mirror.

Continuing to open his hands, Spike was greeted by a small green ball of colour, semi-transparent and floating in mid-air. The more he focused on it, the bigger it grew, until it covered his body completely, penning him in in a sphere of the energy. Spike knew he had seen this before, but only on one other planet, and not for decades. There was only one other way to be sure.

Breathing in deeply, Spike exhaled flames at the shield around him. As soon as the fire hit the flames, a lance of pain slashed into Spikes mind, causing him to lose focus and fall to the ground. His eye lids grew heavy as he lay there, one thought on his mind.

Magic.

He didn’t lie there for long, and eventually got to his feet, the form of Moonstone greeting him as he shakily got to his feet. The mare looked like he felt, massive bags now being present underneath her eyes as she swayed back and forth slightly.

“Did you think magic?” She asked slowly.

“I…” Spike began, before he was cut off by a ringing in his ear as the communicator screwed into it began to bleep. “Sorry, going to have to take this.” He said apologetically, barely stifling a yawn, before placing a finger against his ear. “Go for Spike.”

“Katara’s awake.” Came the voice of one of the soldiers.

“I’m on my way.” Spike said, suddenly feeling much more awake. He looked around for Moonstone, but the mare had already vanished, taking up her place in Spikes head again.

***

“Coming through.” Spike grunted, pushing his way into the hospital room.

He instantly set his eyes upon the small figure of Katara, the girl lying on the bed, her eyes fixed straight ahead. Spike supposed now that the adrenalin that must have been coursing through her during the fire had worn off, she was thinking about what she had seen, which worked for Spike.

“Hey, Katara.” He said softly, kneeling down and forcing himself to be on her eye level, not an easy feat. “Remember me?”

The girl nodded slowly.

“You’re safe now, you’re with people who will protect you.” He smiled reassuringly. “My friends are going to come and see you soon, and they’ll help you get better so you don’t have to wear this.” He pointed to the mask on her face. “But we need your help now. Can you do that?”

She nodded again.

“That a girl. Now, can you tell me what happened?”

She shook her head violently.

“Ok ok, I’m sorry. Can you tell me who did it?”

Again, she shook her head, although this time a lot less violently.

“Can you say something to me, please?” He asked softly.

She shook her head once.

“She hasn’t spoken since she woke up.” One of the soldiers chimed in.

“Ok, let me think.” Spike said quietly, before he had an idea. “You there, soldier, fetch me something to draw on.” He ordered, before getting down to eye level with Katara again. “Hey, Katara, can you draw?”

She nodded.

“Can you help me draw the people who hurt you?” He asked.

Again she nodded.

“Thank you.” Spike nodded, taking a data-slate and stylus off the soldier and handing it over to Katara.

The girl took the data-slate, her hands trembling as she did so, but she managed to hold the stylus with enough precision to start her drawing. As she worked, Spikes happy mood quickly drained from his face as he looked at what the girl was drawing. When she had finished, she proffered the slate to him, and he gingerly took it, smiling at the girl before rising to his feet and looking at the data-slate. His face was like thunder as he turned to the soldiers.

“Thank you Katara.” He nodded, before turning to the soldier. “Stay with the girl.” He growled, before dropping the data-slate and walking out of the room.

“What do you suppose that was all about?” One of them asked, picking up the data-slate. “What’s this symbol?”

“Trouble.” Another one said simply.

“Why, what is it?”

“Mandalorian.”

Surprise!

“Spike, stop it.” Parn shouted, looking at Spike as he paced up and down the hanger, his fists clenched and shaking in barely supressed rage.

“Slow down? Slow Down!?” Spike roared, turning and facing Parn. “Why?!”

“You’re going to break a hole in the floor if you keep pacing like that.” She shot back.

“Mandalorians!” Spike bellowed. “They should be dead! All of them! They fought in a war and they lost!”

“Maybe this is a splinter force? One that is acting…” Parn tried.

“The Mandalorians only come together under the Mandalore!” Spike shouted back, interrupting the woman. “To destroy a planet, they would need a large fleet, and only a Mandalore would have that!”

“We can’t…” Parn tried again, but it was useless.

“Prepare for battle and launch the ship.” Spike spat. “We will leave for Thresh now.”

“Spike I can’t condone that action.” Parn growled.

“I am giving you an order!” Spike screamed, the sound echoing around the now silent hanger, every soldier who had been working there suddenly stopping as Spike raised himself to his fullest height. He had shouted before, but never before with the rage behind it, and never to completely disregard the opinion of Captain Parn.

“Launch the ship, prepare the shuttles. We are going back to the planet and searching for clues to where they came from.” Spike growled, looking around at the soldiers and navy crewmen. “When we find evidence, we will return to the Republic, and we will get a fleet to destroy them again.”

With that, Spike stormed out of the room, his heavy footfalls echoing around the ship, and leaving Parn and the others looking shocked.

“Captain?” One of the crew asked, walking up beside the woman.

“You heard him. Prepare the ship for a jump and stand by your stations. Get Cortez to meet me on the bridge.” She ordered softly.

“But if it was the Mandalorians, shouldn’t we wait for reinforcements?” He pressed.

“Yes, we possibly should.” She nodded. “But they didn’t appear last time, maybe our luck will hold.”

“You don’t sound to certain about that.”

“I’m not. I never fought the Mandalorians when Spike did, it was before my time, but I know that they are as intelligent as they are ruthless. They took the planet because they needed something, but they destroyed it to hide what that was. They’re not going to just let anyone waltz into orbit.”

“Then why are we going when this is probably a trap?” The man asked.

“Because Spike hates them.” She said simply. “You know our Jedi suffers from nightmares of the war. The Mandalorians are the reason for that.”

“Great. So we’re heading into a trap for old wounds?”

“Spike hasn’t steered us wrong yet, and you know he cares for us, but this is something he’s not going to be turned for, so we might as well support him.” Parn said simply. “Now get to it. I have to see Cortez.”

Parn walked out of the hanger as the crew within began running back and forth, stowing the ship for transit. Making her way down from the hanger, she quickly reached the quarters of the soldiers, and knew that Cortez was within. Moving past the blast doors, Parn caught sight of the Sergeant, and walked towards him.

“Sergeant. A word in private if you please.” She ordered simply.

“Coming Cap.” He smiled, walking after the Captain as she led him out of the room again, quickly reaching her own private quarters. “Nice for some eh?”

“I’m a Captain in the Republic navy.” She smiled. “Maybe if you rank up a bit, you’ll get nice quarters.”

“Point taken.” He laughed. “Now, what’s happening? I heard Spike getting angry, what did you do?”

“The girl, Katara.” Parn said slowly. “She woke up and drew a picture. She showed Spike what attacked the planet.”

“Mandalorian?” Cortez asked.

“The only thing that could send him over the edge that quickly.” Parn nodded. “He thought that they had all been destroyed in the fourth and final battle of Onderon. If they’re coming back…well.”

“So we’re heading back to Thresh then?” Cortez summarised.

“For an idiot, you always manage to arrive at the point.” Parn frowned. “He wants to find something, anything, which can be used as definitive evidence that they’ve returned. Katara’s testimony isn’t enough to move the republic to action, but if he can find something, hell, if he saw the Mandalorians, his word would be enough to spark and investigation.”

“So we’re returning to a trap we didn’t spring last time, in the hopes that we find something amidst the fires or spring the trap?”

“Exactly.” Parn agreed. “You’re going down to the planet, if they do come back, they’ll be coming to the surface to hunt you down. Can you defend yourself?”

“That depends.” Cortez said slowly. “If we can find somewhere defensible, and if they don’t come in to many numbers, then I trust the Vipers to stand. But if not, they learnt a thing or two about hunting and hiding during the hunts on Ranox. We may be able to hide until reinforcements can come. They will come, won’t they? If you have to leave, the Republic will investigate Thresh?”

“If this ship goes missing, the Republic know where we are heading, and they’ll come to Thresh. If I have to retreat, I’ll return to the republic and get reinforcements myself. You won’t be left. Just in case though, we’ll load up the shuttles with as much food as we can, we shouldn’t need it after today, we’ll be going home, one way or another.”

“Thank you. It’s a fine thing to die for the Republic, but I’d rather do it somewhere where we’ll make a difference, not being hunted like animals.”

“Captain?” A voice sounded across the intercom.

“Go ahead helmsman.” Parn replied.

“We’ll be arriving in half an hour.”

“Thank you.” Parn said, before looking at Cortez. “Half an hour?”

“You’re on.” He nodded, a smile spreading onto his face.

***

“Raagghhh!” Spike screamed, smashing his fist into his bed, denting the metal frame.

“Spike!” Came the voice of Moonstone.

“What?” Spike snapped, looking around at the mare.

“Calm. Down.” She said firmly.

Spike stared at the mare, his fists clenched and his chest heaving as he brought his heart rate and breathing under control. Eventually, he let his fists drop, and his face softened.

“Thank you Spike. I know more than anyone why you hate them, but revenge is never good. By all means, go to Thresh, I’m not trying to stop you there, but don’t lose sight of what you are there to do. You are to find evidence, and bring it back to the Republic.”

“I know I am.” Spike nodded. “And I remember what happened last I blundered into a confrontation with the Mandalorians. True, this ship is bigger and stronger, but I don’t want to repeat that. Ever.”

“I know you don’t Spike.” She smiled weakly. “Now, on to another matter that is of high importance.”

“Magic?” Spike guessed.

“Magic.” Moonstone nodded. “You know what it is, yet somehow that knowledge is buried to deeply even for me to see it. I can sense it, but if I can’t see it, you can’t.”

“So what does that mean?” Spike asked.

“It means you have magic inside of you, much in the same way as you can wield the force.” Moonstone explained. “But if you can’t access that part of your brain, and I can’t help you there, then you’ll only ever be able to do what you can teach yourself from scratch. Maybe if there was someone who could teach you about it, it would be different, but no one except the Unicorns and Alicorns from Equestria could do that.”

“And I don’t know where Equestria is.” Spike finished sullenly. “I suppose it was too much to hope that you could help me learn it. I may have even been able to send letters home, let them know I’m ok.”

“Perhaps in time Spike.” Moonstone reassured him. “But I would advise caution when practicing with this magic.”

“Why?” Spike asked.

“On Ranox, you created a shield, or, what you think was a shield, I going off old memories here, ones that are half faded.” She chuckled. “It was small though, and you were burning through power like no tomorrow. When you hit it with your flames, you couldn’t take the stress. You dropped it before you could pass out. I’m worried what over taxing your system would do to you.”

“I’ll be careful, don’t worry.” Spike reassured her. “But you need to promise me you’ll help me through this. If the Mandalorians are returning, then that could mean the Sith as well, and none of us want that. I…I…I can’t stand the idea of going through Maryx again, I just can’t.”

“You won’t Spike.” Moonstone said softly. “You’re stronger now, and you haven’t killed anyone’s brother this time around.”

“Yeah, not yet anyway.” Spike chuckled, before reaching out and trying to hug Moonstone, only for his face to fall as his arm passed through her, the mares features distorting and rippling like water until they reformed.

“You know you can’t Spike. I’m not real.” She sighed. “I’m a construct, an after image created by you and given life by the force.”

“You’re real enough to me, even if no one else can see you, and I can’t touch you.” Spike smiled back. “I don’t care if I created you, you’re my friend, the only one who’s stuck by me.”

“You know Tarhal wanted to come with you.” She shook her head. “His first act as a knight after the Great Hunt was to try and get himself to be part of the 59th with you, but the council told him…”

“That a simple recovery force didn’t need two Jedi knights.” Spike finished.

“I doubt they would have even picked you if you had had a Padawan learner. Two Jedi is a big investment for the order at the moment, especially on a mission such as this. Deep space, little to no opportunity to prove oneself. No Padawan would have passed any of the trials out here, though it would certainly be enough time.”

“A Padawan.” Spike smirked. “Can you imagine me with one, me as a teacher? Others look at me and think I’m speaking to myself half the time. I can’t even rein in my own emotions, what sort of Jedi can’t do that?”

“A Dragon. You know full well what your kind is, I can see it in your mind. You’re terrified of what they are, aren’t you? What you’ve seen of your kind? That’s what really scares you. You’re wondering if what you feel in your heart now is a result of past experiences, the call of the Dark Side or your calling as a Dragon.”

“Once again, you know exactly what I’m thinking.” Spike nodded. “Garble was an arse, and he’s the only Dragon I’ve ever met properly, then there was a Green Dragon in the Everfree Forest, he tried to kill me without a word. Dragons are cruel and spiteful, and more than that, they are greedy. I don’t want that to be me, not again.”

“Attention all hands. Prepare to exit Hyperspace.” Came the voice of the helmsman over the radio, and Spike felt his stomach lurch as the ship decelerated quickly, coming down to sub-light speeds in the blink of an eye.

“I’m going to the Bridge.” Spike told Moonstone.

“I’m in your head.” She pointed out. “I know exactly where you’re going.”

“Whatever.” Spike grinned, before taking off at a run towards the Bridge.

***

“It’s stopped burning at least.” Spike noted.

“So what’s the plan of action?” Cortez asked.

“Parn, I want you on station while Cortez and I search…” Spike began.

“I don’t think you should lead this investigation.” Parn said suddenly.

“Why?” Spike asked.

“You want to find some evidence that it was the Mandalorians, you don’t have eyes for the possibility that anyone else could have done this.” Parn pointed out.

“Katara showed me a Crusader symbol.” Spike pointed out.

“Mandalorians and mercenaries go hand in hand. For all you know this could be the work of a mercenary band that just happened to have a few Mandalorians in it.”

“Do you honestly believe that?” Spike deadpanned.

“No, I don’t think that.” Parn replied. “Mercenaries don’t do that unless they are paid, and no one would risk this except an army, meaning unless we have an uprising from another force, it probably is them, but we have no evidence one way or the other. If you go down there, any evidence found will be bias and prejudice, and we don’t want that. If it came to a war, wouldn’t you rather fight those responsible?”

“You make a good point.” Spike sighed, knowing that she was right, and yet still hating it. “I’ll stay here then. Cortez, take the shuttles and the men to the surface, take the provisions as well. We’ll do a long orbit to scout the rest of the system before coming to pick you back up. If anything happens, dig in, or hide.”

“Very good Spike.” Cortez nodded, before turning and walking off the Bridge.

“Thank you for listening to reason Spike.” Parn nodded.

“You made a good point.” Spike returned.

“Yes, but you were also in a rage when I last saw you. I didn’t expect you to back down that easily.”

“I reasoned with myself. Realised that there are bigger things that need concern me. I hate them, and if it was them, I’m not going to turn away from this, but if you are right, if they weren’t behind this. I won’t turn into Garble.”

“Who?”

“The only Dragon I’ve really known, and someone who isn’t a role model. He like violence and greed, and as far as I know, that’s baseline for my kind. But it’s not me.”

“We make our own paths Spike. Humans have been called savage xenophobes before, while Wookies are called walking carpets. That doesn’t mean you can’t have humans that are kind to aliens or Wookies that clever like your friend Tarhal. Your species only dictates what you look like.”

“Shuttles away.” One of the Bridge crew called.

“Parn, want to take the helm?” Spike asked.

“Might as well.” She nodded, walking to the front of the Bridge and settling into the pilot’s seat. “What’s our heading?”

“Take us round the planet, keep a long orbit and cut communications. If something does jump us, I don’t want Cortez getting found because we are in contact with him. Once we’ve swung back around, we’ll get back in contact with him and pick them up. Then we’ll leave.”

“Aye Spike, long orbit it is.” Parn agreed.

***

Two Hours Later

***

“Progress?” Spike, walking back on the Bridge. He had been summoned to the armoury to speak with one of the crew members there, but it had turned out to be an easy fix. The benefits of Dragonfire he supposed.

“We picked up a blip on the long range scanners half an hour ago, but it was only for a second.” Parn replied. “No ship could jump in and out of the system with only one signature.”

“No, but something could get out of the system.” Spike mused. “Have the men stand by and spin up the shield generators. You don’t need to waste the power raising them yet, but be ready.”

“Something’s moving on the system edge!” A man called out.

“Elaborate.” Spike said quickly.

“One signature, matches the size and scale of a Light destroyer if that. Unknown designation.”

“Can we fight it?” Spike asked simply.

“I…”

“Can. We. Fight. It?”

“The Hammerhead Cruiser is the pride of the Republic fleet. It’s the most powerful ship of its type, we have the crew to man it and you. We can win.” Parn replied.

“Raise the shields and prepare to hail them. Maybe we can force a surrender.” Spike ordered, his tongue flicking out in anticipation.

“Shields up and running, hailing them now.” Parn said simply, before a sound of static washed across the bridge.

“Attention unidentified vessel. This is Spike of the 59th Republic Recovery Force. You have entered a system under investigation of a threat to the Republic. You will power down your shields and weapons and…”

“Second signature!” A man bellowed, before Spikes view was suddenly filled with a new ship, this one much closer to the size of the Hammerhead cruiser.

Instantly the void was filled with lasers, impacting harmlessly against the shields of the ship, which groaned in protest, but held.

“Shields at ninety nine percent capacity, weapons heating up.” A Bridge crewman shouted.

“Evasive action!” Spike roared. “Spin up the Hyperdrive and get us out of here! I don’t know what ship that is and I don’t want to find out now!”

“Spike, we’ve got incoming, neither of the ships are following!”

“Missiles?!” Spike roared, knowing what those things could do.

“Too slow and small. We can’t get a visual on them!” Parn called out.

“Brace for impact!” Spike called, holding on to his chair, and waiting for an impact that never came. He waited for what seemed like an eternity, but still nothing happened. “Did they miss?”

“I don’t…” Parn began.

“Captain!” A Panic stricken voice sounded over the intercom. “We’ve got men on the hull! They’re cutting through!”

“Spike, we don’t have the men to repulse a boarding action.” Parn said slowly.

“I can do it.” He replied simply, grabbing his Lightsabers and making for the door.

“Spike, you can, but we can’t, and you can’t fly this ship on your own.” Parn said softly.

“I will not be a prisoner again!” Spike roared.

“We have more chance of escaping later.” Parn said firmly. “But if you try and fight, they’ll know you’re a Jedi, kill every one of us and then come after you, and even a Jedi wouldn’t survive that long.”

“Fucking hell.” Spike growled. “What would you suggest then?”

“Hide your weapons on board. They’ll take this ship with them, that’s probably where the other ships went that should have been above Thresh. Remember all of the ones left weren’t worth anything but scrap, but this is a military ship. They’d be stupid not to take it.”

“I don’t like this plan.” Spike growled, but nevertheless walked over to the command chair, pressing a few keys, before pushing down on one of the bits on the back of the seat, opening a small compartment in the seat, and allowing him to hide his Lightsabers in it, before sealing it shut. They would have to rip the seat apart to get at them, and that was if they even knew they were in there.

“Don’t tell them you’re a Jedi. You’re the Captain in charge.” Parn said, handing him a microphone.

“This is Captain Spike of the Republic 59th recovery Force speaking to my crew and the boarders of this vessel. No blood needs to be spilt this day. I am ordering my crew to stand down and will wait in the bridge to discuss terms.” Spike said, before dropping the microphone.

"At least Cortez isn't on board." Parn said softly. "Maybe he won't be found."

“If he was on board, we could have fought them off.” Spike growled softly, listening intently to the heavy armour footfalls that approached the Bridge.

Mandalore

Spike slowly stood up from the chair, moving until he was in front of the door. He could hear the footsteps getting louder, and wanted to face whoever these people were on his feet. He really wanted them to be anything but Mandalorians, but he knew deep down that he was correct, no matter what Parn had tried to tell him. That was only reassurance and he knew it, but it had helped him to calm down, and for that he was grateful.

“Open the blast door.” Spike ordered, looking at a crewman by the door.

“Are you sure sir?” He asked. “We can still jettison the cockpit and try and get away.”

“I’d love nothing more than that, but that would leave the crew behind, and they’d die. If we could get them in here, then I’d try, but we don’t have that option.” Spike shook his head. “Open the door.”

The door slowly stood open, and Spike took a sharp breathe in, bracing himself for what came next. As the door cracked open, Spike caught a glimpse of the people who had boarded his ship, and his heart sank. If he got out of this, he would have to have a stern talking to Parn.

As the door opened fully, Spikes eyes set upon the warrior on the other side, taking in the sinister outlines of the mans armour. The man was large, nowhere near Spikes size, but by human standards, he was huge, his massive chest barely contained by the brown metal plate that spread over it. His shoulders were covered by a pair of massive shoulder bells, made of the same bone like material as his gauntlets and horned helmet. The last part of the armour that drew Spikes eye were the twin blood red sashes that held the shoulder pads onto his body and connected to the skull buckle on his belt. The last items that were of note was a pair of large rough metal axes, as well as a heavy looking blaster slung onto his back.

The Mandalorian swept onto the bridge, beside him, a pair of blue armoured Mandalorians flanking him. Their armour was completely different from any he had seen before, hardly being customised at all. Instead, both were nearly inseparable from each other, from the moulded boots on their feet to the flowing one piece T-visored helmet atop their head.

The Mandalorian who Spike assumed was the leader of the force walked up to Spike, eyeing up the larger Dragon in a way that made him look as though he was a predator eyeing his prey. Spike simply glowered down at him, barring his teeth. Finally, the Mandalorian broke the silence.

“You are this, Captain Spike, I’ve heard about?” The Mandalorian said slowly.

“I am.” Spike spat. “Spike, of the 59th Recovery Force.”

“And I am Seugtai Ordo, Rally Master of the Mandalorian clan Ordo.” He cocked his helmet to the side. “Never thought I’d take a Republic ship without a shot being fired against us.”

“You took us by surprise when we were investigating the destruction of a planet that you caused.” Spike shot back. “There are twenty of us, your attack was cowardly, pathetic. You should feel ashamed, you’re not a real Mandalorian.”

“And what do you know of Mandalorians?” Seugtai asked.

“I fought them when you tried to attack the Republic thirty years ago.” Spike snarled. “They weren’t cowardly.”

“And yet here I stand, in command of your ship, Republic dog. I fought as a boy in that war, and I proved myself attacking worlds held by your Republic with nothing but my War Droid to support me. What are you anyway?”

“A Republic soldier.” Spike replied.

“Well then Republic soldier, you will be a catch I’m sure. Now, step away from the controls of the ship, and allow my men to take command of this vessel without bloodshed as you so championed.”

Spike wanted to fight, and he knew that if he was quick, he would be able to get Seugtai before any of the others had a chance to react. He may even be able to get one of the guards before they did anything, but after that, it would be a bloodbath. The crew would be slaughtered, and Spike would either be killed or captured. He had no real option.

“The ship is yours.” Spike said, slumping.

“Arnac. Signal my ship that I will be taking command of this vessel and returning home. They are to go through first and beseech the Mandalore to come aboard, he’ll want to see this guy.” Seugtai said, turning to one of the blue armoured, who nodded, before turning and moving back to where he had come, the jet pack on his back blowing hot air over Spike. “And you, you and your men will be confined to the brig for the duration of the journey.”

“What a surprise.” Spike muttered, before defiantly walking out of the Bridge, pushing past Seugtai, and walking beside a pair of blaster cannon wielding soldiers.

***

“This is a fine mess we’ve gotten into.” Moonstone noted, looking across at Spike as he sat in the small, ray shielded compartment.

A Guard stood watch beside his cell, while another pair stood beside the larger one containing the rest of the crew. Apparently, Spike being the ‘Captain’ and a large species warranted him being kept away from the crew.

“Don’t rub it in, please.” Spike mumbled, looking at the mare. “You have no idea what happened.”

“I know what you did Spike, and I know that it was the right thing to do. Don’t beat yourself up over this, please. I know you will, but just don’t.” She pleaded.

“Someone’s got to.” Spike chuckled. “My scales can take a little beating, so it might as well be me.”

“You know you could have escaped right?” She pointed out.

“Of course, but the others, they’d die in minutes. There’s nowhere to run in Hyperspace.”

“Of course. We’ll figure something out Spike, I know we will. You are strong enough Spike, but you may need to be stronger still. You need to get this information to the Jedi or the Republic no matter the cost.”

“I will not leave them.” Spike spat.

“I’m not telling you to, but I am saying…”

“That it’s a possibility. I know that, you know that. But I don’t want to breathe life into the idea by thinking too hard about it.”

“We may not have much choice.” Moonstone said softly, Spikes stomach lurching as the ship came out of Hyperspace.

“Talking to yourself?” Seugtai asked, looking through the purple shield that separated the two.

“What’s it to you?” Spike spat.

“You don’t like me, I get that.” Seugtai nodded. “But I would rather treat you with honour befitting a warrior, rather than an unruly dog that needs to be brought to heel.”

“If it was only my life that stood in the balance, you’d be talking to my fist.” Spike grunted as the shield dropped.

“The burdens of command.” The Mandalorian nodded. “We’ve arrived, and my master demands your presence.”

“Tell him I’m fine here.”

“The Mandalore is not in the habit of asking twice. I said I will treat you with honour, but I have nineteen other hostages that will make you cooperate. Don’t make me end them to get you to listen, that isn’t a warrior’s death.”

“Don’t hurt them.” Spike said softly, knowing that the Mandalorian was right, and that he wouldn’t try anything with that threat in the air.

“That is for the Mandalore to decide when you are brought before him. Now, follow me.” Seugtai ordered, leading Spike towards the aft of the ship.

Spike watched as a Mandalorian pressed a few buttons on the airlock door, sliding it open and revealing an umbilical cord that connected the Hammerhead cruiser to what he assumed was the Mandalore’s ship. With a heavy heart, and even heavier steps, Spike followed Seugtai down the umbilical, followed closely by the rest of the crew, a host of Mandalorians escorting them as they moved between the two ships, not that they really needed escorting mind you. They were currently in a very thin pipe between two ships, their captors encased in armour that covered them from head to toe and protected them from the void. It would only take one careless shot to breech the tube, and the crew would die in seconds, leaving only Spike to let his rage run wild.

“Rally Master.” A Mandalorian saluted as they reached the other side. “Successful I see, did you get yourself another prize while you were gone.”

“Canderous.” Seugtai said sweetly. “How goes your hunt against those pirates, encounter any more moving asteroids? Perhaps this one will let you chase after it.”

“One day, I’ll wipe the smile from behind your helmet.” The armoured warrior said, but stood aside, and let Seugtai and Spike enter the ship, moving quickly to what Spike assumed was the Bridge, although the blast shields were down over the viewports, making seeing outside impossible. That was probably the point though.

“My lord Mandalore.” Seugtai said, dropping to a knee and bowing his head, before standing tall again.

“Rally Master Seugtai.” A man said, turning and facing the group, and allowing Spike to get a good view of him.

The man what not as big as Seugtai, but he exuded power all the same, Spike instantly knew he was dangerous. He wore a long flowing red coat, the fabric falling from his shoulders and belt and reaching the floor. His chest plate and large shoulder pads were all gold, and while the shoulder pads were not quite as big as Seugtai’s, they looked more practical in many ways. It was the mask that mattered though, Spike knew the mask. It had belonged to the old Mandalore years ago, in fact, this Mandalore looked almost identical to descriptions of the old one, Mandalore the Indomitable.

“Why have you brought these prisoners to me?” He asked slowly, looking at Seugtai. “I did not believe my standing orders required prisoners to be presented to me directly.”

“Of course my lord, but these men and woman are of the Republic. They were investigating Thresh, but it is this man,” he pointed to Spike, “I thought he would have been interesting to you.”

“Yes, I saw him.” He nodded. “What is your name soldier?”

“Spike. The Republic 59th Recovery Force is under my command.” Spike snapped.

“You have the honour of being the first of the Republic to meet Mandalore the Ultimate. You will not be the last.”

“Do you remember what happened last time the Mandalorians fought the Republic?” Spike sneered. “The same will happen this time.”

“So we will land on the surface of your capital and eliminate your Supreme Chancellor?” Mandalore shot back. “I was fighting on Coruscant when you were nothing but a baby suckling at the Republic.”

“I fought on Empress Teta when we attempted to rescue Ulic, I fought against your kind on Coruscant and I helped to throw your old Mandalore back when he came to the senate.” Spike spat back.

“Interesting. Another veteran of times gone past.” Mandalore mused. “And it still won’t save you. I am going to light the biggest fire this galaxy has ever seen, one that will burn all along the Outer Rim and call my people to me. We will cut a swathe through your precious Republic, and you will watch in horror as everything you have built is torn down and replaced.”

“You don’t stand a chance.” Spike said slowly, as if he was speaking to a two year old. “You are nothing more that mercenaries, savages who think they can challenge an empire such as the Republic. You will be stopped the moment you violate the Middle Rim, and long before you come within sight of the Core.”

“Mercenaries?” The Mandalore laughed deeply. “Open the blast shields please.”

Instantly, the Bridge of the ship was filled with a whirring sound as the metal blast shields across the viewports began to slide back, revealing the void beyond. Spikes heart ceased in his chest as he looked out at the view beyond.

There must have been a thousand ships beyond the window, all moving slowly around a large planet in the distance, shuttles moving to and fro as they ferried supplies and troops to the armada. As he watched, a pair of Basalisk war droids sped past the window, before being snatched away by the blackness of the void. This wasn’t just a fleet that could destroy a planet, not even one that would only threaten the Outer Rim. This was an invasion force on a scale that Spike had never even imagined, let alone seen. This was a force that could challenge the Republic.

“Do you like what you see?” Mandalore asked. “Do you still think we are mercenaries and brigands?”

Spike didn’t reply, his mouth frantically to find some words to put into voice his emotions, but nothing sprang to mind, everything taken up by the sights in front of him.

“Now, I will give you the choice that my men give to all prisoners.” The Mandalore continued. “We need recruits for our conquest, meat for the grinder as it were. So, what will it be? The Collar, or the armour?”

“I’ll never fight for you.” Spike spat.

“And what of your men? Do you speak for them as well?” Mandalore asked.

“We’re with Spike.” Parn said, moving forward defiantly, only to be stopped by a Mandalorian.

“Very well then. If slaves you desire to be, then slaves you will be treated as.” The Mandalore said simply. “Tell me what I want to know and you won’t be harmed.”

“Never.” Spike reiterated.

“What are the defence codes to the Tarisian orbital grid?” He asked slowly.

“Even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you.” Spike snapped.

“One last chance. The defence codes Republic dog. Now!”

“Never!”

“If that’s how you want to pay it.” The Mandalore growled softly, before drawing and firing a single shot.

The laser bolt sped forward, cutting through the head of one of the female crew members almost perfectly in the centre of her head. She dropped without a word, landing heavily on the floor. Spike stared at the corpse in shock, his eye twitching slightly. He had known that not all of them would have survived this, but to see someone die so quickly.

“Now, have I properly incentivised you?” The Mandalore asked, looking back at Spike and holstering the pistol.

“More than you know.” Spike growled, looking round at the Mandalore.

The roar in his head was getting louder, screaming at him as he bared his teeth and clenched his fists. Letting out a roar, Spike thrust his hands forward, catching the Mandalore by surprise and throwing him across the bridge, as well as the Mandalorians behind him. Before the other Mandalorians could recover from the shock of Spikes sudden attack, Spike grabbed a pair of swords with the force, the Mandalorians who they belonged to diving after their weapons, only to find themselves impaled on the blades.

“Back to the ship!” Spike roared, diving at one of the standing Mandalorians and knocking him from his feet.

The Mandalore slowly got to his feet, shaking his head as he tried to get rid of the ringing that echoed around within his helmet. He stared at Spike, before drawing an axe from his back.

“Kill them! Kill them all!” He bellowed.

Escape

Spike roared as a Mandalorian jumped at him, slashing upwards with both of his stolen swords, separating limbs from body in a visceral spray of blood. Backing towards the door, Spike made sure the remaining crew had all got through, throwing back a Mandalorian with a blast of the force, before smashing his fist into the control panel, slamming the door closed behind him, before turning back to face the survivors.

Other than the one the Mandalore had killed, they were all still alive, most of them holding a weapon they had managed to scavenge before fleeing the Bridge.

“Back to the ship now!” Spike roared, pushing his way past the soldiers and setting off at a run, trying to remember the way back to the umbilical that connected this ship to his own. Spike just hoped he would get there before the Mandalore cut it loose and trapped them here. Any commander in his right mind would do that, but Spike was praying that the Mandalore honoured the hunt, and would want to face him axe to blade.

Slamming into a door, Spike dented it just enough to force a gap in the centre, before dropping the swords and sticking his hands into the gap. With a roar, Spike slowly prised the doors open, before breathing fire into the space beyond, being greeted by screams and howls as men scurried for cover before his wrath.

As the door finally slid open, the Republic crew spilled into the room, hacking and shooting the survivors until they were survivors no more, and freeing up weapons for the remainder to be armed fully. Properly armed, Spike now turned towards Parn.

“Get back to the ship and prepare to raise the shields and power the Hyperdrive.” He snapped, picking up the swords again.

“And if there are Mandalorians on board?” She asked.

“You have weapons, bloody well use them. When you get back on board, find my Lightsabers and bring them to me!” He roared back, before turning as he heard footsteps, catching sight of a pair of sword wielding Mandalorians running towards him. “Go now! I’ll wait in the umbilical!”

As Parn ran behind him, Spike leaped forward, swords held tightly as he collided with the first Mandalorian, catching his strike and lashing out with a foot. The warrior was sent reeling away in pain, but it wasn’t fatal, not yet anyway. With a grunt, Spike threw one of his swords, the blade slicing through the fallen warrior’s helmet and sliding through into his chest, killing him instantly and freeing up a hand.

The next warrior wasn’t a human, that much was certain, maybe a Gamorrean, Spike couldn’t tell beneath the all-encompassing armour that he wore. What Spike did know however was the strength of the warrior, and while he was not as strong as Spike, he was strong enough to give him a run for his money. Spike slashed his sword down at the Mandalorian, only to find his arm caught by the warrior’s hand, before a sword was swung at his side, and Spike was forced to copy the movement.

Both warriors strained as they sought to overpower each other, before Spike hauled back, lifting the Mandalorian off the ground and above his head, before slamming him into the deck, the metal buckling as his head went through it. Whether he was dead or not was of no concern of Spikes, and he lashed out with his foot, severing the man’s head with sheer blunt force trauma. Now he was dead.

Turning to run, Spike grabbed a heavy duty looking pistol with his left hand, checking it as he moved through the ship, following the trail of dead bodies to find the way his crew had gone. Not all of them were Mandalorian, and he saw at least five Republic crewmen dead along the way. This only served to heighten Spikes anger, and it took everything he had to deny the beast, the animal howling as it pushed against Spikes mind, and right now, he was seriously debating letting it loose. All that stopped him was the fact that if he did, he had no guarantee he could rein it in again to give orders, and that was something he couldn’t risk.

Sprinting forward, Spike heard orders being shouted ahead of him.

“They went through, but the Jedi’s still on board!” One voice shouted.

“Close the door, there’s ten of us and only one of him.” Another voice said cockily.

Only ten? They would need more, a lot more.

Crashing into the room, Spike dropped to the floor, using his forward momentum and a healthy application of the force to send himself skidding across the floor and underneath a Mandalorian. Using his pistol hand, Spike punched out at one of the Mandalorians legs, widening the gap between them so he could slide under properly and bring his sword between the Mandalorians legs. In a lot of ways, Spike hoped that it was a girl he had just lashed out at. Not even a Mandalorian deserved to be gelded in that manner. From the short scream, he feared that he was wrong.

Still sliding, Spike dug the claws of his feet into the deck, managing to get back to his feet in one smooth movement and raising the pistol. Spike was not a marksman, not even close, but even he would struggle to miss from this distance as he brought the barrel right into the mans face and pulled the trigger.

Spike panted as the Mandalorian dropped, twirling his sword as the remaining thirteen looked at him in shock. Clearly they hadn’t expected him for quite a while, or making that much of an entrance. He would show them why the Jedi were feared by their enemies.

“Get him!” One of the Mandalorians shouted before opening up on Spike with a light repeater blaster. Spike took the laser bolts with a slight grunt, before bringing his own pistol to bear and unleashing a flurry of shots. Most of them missed, and most of the ones that hit him were absorbed by his armour, but he managed to at least stagger the Mandalorian, allowing a final shot to hit him underneath his helmet, draining the pistol in the attempt.

A Mandalorian wielding a large hammer charged him and Spike ducked under the man’s swing before stabbing the rapidly dulling point of his sword into the Mandalorians chest and executing him with a quick downward slash. His sword didn’t hold up to that however, the thin blade snapping as it cut through armour that should have normally resisted it, but thanks to Spikes strength managed to serve its purpose. Spike already had eyes on another weapon however, and snatched the hammer from the falling Mandalorian.

He pulled away from the Mandalorian in time to meet the next Mandalorians axe blade. Kicking the man in the kneecap, Spike forced him to the floor as he bellowed in pain. Spike brought the hammer down with a wet thud, before finding himself being propelled across the room, a Mandalorian wrapping his hands around Spikes chest, before shoving a knife towards the Dragons throat.

Spike roared as he grabbed hold of the Mandalorian, throwing him at one of his fellows before diving to the floor, avoiding a shot aimed at him by a Mandalorian across the hall from him, before extending his hand, clenching it and wrapping the Mandalorian in a cocoon of the force, dragging him into range of a decapitating strike with the hammer in a two handed strike, and causing a sword wielding Mandalorian to run forward, bellowing as he went. Spike had no intentions of letting another feud brew between him and a Mandalorian in this coming war. Letting the hammer fall, Spike grabbed a sword from the floor, and thumbed a small button on it handle, the blade humming as the vibro-core burst into life.

Spike stood stock still, he needed to time this perfectly. Just as the Mandalorian reached him, Spike sidestepped to the right and brought his blade down on the Mandalorians sword right where the blade met the shaft. With a high pitched whine the vibrating sword cut through the weak metal and the blade of the Mandalorians sword fell to the ground with a clang. Without hesitating a second Spike stepped forward and plunged his own sword into the man’s chest. Taking in a ragged breathe, the Mandalorian plunged the sword deeper into Spikes chest, the unexpected movement ripping the weapon from the Dragons hands. Instead, Spike darted forward, grabbing the mans own blaster, before calmly pointing it at the dying mans head and pulling the trigger, obliterating it in a shower of red mist.

Ripping the sword free, Spike hurled it at an incoming Mandalorian, using the force to propel it through the air at near on impossible speeds, the weapon driving through the face plate of the Mandalorian with barely any resistance and continuing on its journey, ripping the Mandalorians head with it and impaling it on a bulkhead.

There were still around two Mandalorians left, but Spike he knew he would win this single handily. Moving forward, Spike grabbed a blaster rifle, before diving at a Mandalorian, shoving the weapon against the man’s armour and holding the trigger, reducing the man’s chest to a bloody mush. Before the first body had hit the ground, Spike had already grabbed a sword, spinning and stabbing it through the chest of another Mandalorian, before ripping it upwards, breaking the blade off under the man’s chin.

Spike panted as he surveyed the damage he had done, before running over to the door, slamming his fists into it in rage as he found it locked. This would be just like his luck, to reach the door only to find himself trapped on the wrong side.

No.

He was a Jedi, he had survived the war against Exar Kun and he was responsible for the men and women still alive on board the ship, and he would not die before they were safe.

With a roar, Spike unleashed a wave of flame at the door, bringing his fists into it again and again, and working through the rapidly softening door. Molten metal splashed onto Spikes body, rapidly cooling and sticking to him, but he ignored it, finally making a hole and ripping his way through the door.

Sprinting between the ships, Spike could see a pair of crew members struggling to carry his heavy Lightsabers, and ripped them from their hands, making sure not to hurt them, before turning and facing the door he just destroyed. He had gotten through it, but now he had no way of sealing it from any aggressors, and he couldn’t risk damage to the Hammerhead Cruisers hull by allowing the Mandalorians to bang on it.

“GO!” Spike bellowed, igniting his Lightsabers. “I’ll hold them off until we can launch!”

“Two minutes!” One of the soldiers roared back, before darting back into the ship, leaving Spike alone.

Two minutes? It was such a short time, but from Spikes point of view, it looked as if it was going to stretch on for an eternity. He hoped Parn was being her usual conservative self, but he couldn’t rely on that, and instead readied himself to defend the ships entrance. He did not have to wait long.

The Mandalore stepped through the hole in the door, his massive axe scraping along the floor, throwing sparks up as he went. Behind him came Seugtai, the Mandalorians almost organic looking armour contrasting starkly with that of the Mandalore’s and the other Mandalorian who climbed through the hole, the one Seugtai had called Canderous. All three of them advanced towards Spike, weapons drawn yet held in a relaxed position. Spike hoped that they were just being cocky.

“A Jedi? How clever of you to bring one of their kind on board Seugtai.” Canderous quipped.

“Scared Canderous?” Seugtai shot back. “You act like you didn’t kill any in the Great Sith war. Oh wait, you weren’t there.”

“Silence.” The Mandalore snapped, before turning to Spike. “My armies are poised to sack Taris and invade the Republic. Your ship is surrounded by my fleet. There is no point in running, give in now.”

“You killed a member of my crew in cold blood.” Spike growled softly, lowering his stance.

“Yes, I did.” He nodded. “Surrender, and on my honour none of you shall be harmed.”

“I’d rather die on my feet, than live on my knees!” Spike roared back.

“Then die.” The Mandalore spat. “Face me blade to blade. It has been far to long since I killed a Jedi.”

Snarling, Spike raised Dusk above him, the lethal blade angled slightly towards the ground, while Elusive was held along his arm in front of his body, protecting him from the Mandalore’s axe.

The Mandalore let out a battlecry, before running forward, his axe held slightly behind him, before he brought it round, whipping at Spikes neck. Blocking with Elusive, Spike stabbed forward with Dusk, attempting to drive the Lightsaber through the Mandalore’s mask, only to miss as his opponent dodged out of the way.

Jumping back, Spike unleashed a gout of fire, only to find the Mandalore jump away from it, quickly discarding his now burning cape and allowing it to fall to the floor. Not letting the Mandalore have more time to recover, Spike sprang forward, passing through the flames as if they simply weren’t there, both his weapons impacting with the Mandalore’s axe haft, the weapon holding up to the power of Spikes weapons.

Purple and white sparks exploded from the clashing weapons, one Mandalorian iron, the others pure plasma. The Mandalore pulled back a fist, revealing a knife, and trying to strike Spike, but was forced onto the defensive by Spike as he rained more attacks down on the Mandalore, the few hits that got through his defence sliding off his armour as its thick surface held up to the blows of the Lightsabers.

Pain erupted in Spikes chest as the Mandalore kicked out at Spike, hitting him in the stomach and sending him reeling, the Dragon only just managing to block a strike, before stumbling back through the flames that were threatening to melt through the umbilical. Spike turned, only to see the flat side of the axe speeding towards his face, sending him crashing back and denting the floor.

Getting to his feet, Spike spat a glob of blood onto the floor and faced the advancing Mandalore.

“What’s the matter Jedi? Getting tiered?” He asked in mock concern. “Who knows, maybe this next blow will be the final one.”

“I’m just getting warmed up.” Spike grinned back, one eye yellowing as the beast fought for control, while the other remained its normal green colour.

“I’m must say I expected more.” The Mandalore laughed.

“Spike! We’re ready!” Came the voice of Parn over the radio in his ear. “Get back here and we’ll separate!”

“No time! The Mandalore’s here!” Spike roared back, blocking a strike, and lashing out with one of his own, only to find it blocked in return.

“Shit! We’ll send someone to help!”

“NO! Move the ship now!”

“But with you still in the umbilical…” Parn began.

“Just do it!” Spike bellowed, before deactivating his Lightsabers and thrusting forward with both of his hands, throwing the Mandalore back, who was not expecting his opponent to attempt such a move.

Turning, Spike ran towards the ship, his arms pumping furiously as he sought to cross the gap. The umbilical creaked and groaned ominously as the Hammerhead pulled away, completely dethatching itself from the umbilical. Spike suddenly found himself being sucked forward as the air was rapidly sucked from the interior as it was opened to the vacuum of space, flapping his wings to control his flight. The door was already closing, sensing that there was a breech beyond. He was five meters away.

Four

Three

Two

Spike crashed through the door, impacting with the wall with a massive clang, and almost losing consciousness, but managing to get back to his feet, setting off at a sprint towards the Bridge as he felt the ship shake, shots impacting on the raised shields.

“Get us out of here!” Spike bellowed as he reached the Bridge.

“We’re trying sir! We’re too close to the planet!” Parn replied.

“All power diverted away from the weapons! Redistributing across the engines and external shields! Shutting down non-essential life-support and redistributing power to Hyperdrive!” A crewman shouted.

Spike watched as a display came up on the viewport ahead of him, showing just how far they had to go until they could jump. There was no time to program the navicomputer for this, and they would be blind when they jumped from the system, not to mention only being able to go a short distance.

More shots rocked the ship, the lights flickering for a moment before re-strengthening.

“Shields at forty one percent!” Another crewman shouted.

“Ten seconds!”

Another heavy shot rocked the Bridge, and this time, Spike heard something crash behind him, the ship shuddering as it was breeched near the rear.

“We’re hit! Shields offline! Engines at sixty three percent capacity!”

“Give it everything!” Spike bellowed.

“We’ve got incoming!” A man shouted, and time slowed to a standstill.

Spike was suddenly back on board the Valiant, the shields of the proud warship offline and a hail of shots heading straight for them, bringing with them death and destruction. Spike clenched his eyes shut, bracing for the inevitable. Maybe they would miss and they could still jump out of here.

“Not this time.” Spike growled, his eyes suddenly snapping open, revealing both yellow orbs, and Spike thrust his hands out to either side, reaching out with his mind.

Spike could feel the ship, its hull burning as if it was his own skin. His head screamed in protest, and felt like a nail was being slowly hammered into it, but Spike held on, the beast inside of him fuelling his actions, and keeping him awake. A second before the shots impacted with the hull, the ship was surrounded in a bright green light, the semi-transparent surface blocking the ship from view as they shots slammed into it.

If Spike thought he had been in pain before, he hadn’t known what was coming next, the fire slamming into the shield matching the pain he felt on Maryx. This time, not even the beast could keep him awake, and he collapsed to the floor of the Bridge.

***

“All hands brace for impact!” Parn roared, looking back at the collapsed form of Spike.

“P…Parn?” The Dragon asked, his eyes cracking open.

“Not now!” She roared. “Helmsman, try and keep us level!”

“Left stabilisers gone!” The Helmsman replied.

“Parn!” Spike shouted, struggling to his knees and looking forward.

His head felt like it had been split open, and he was bleeding from every orifice on his face, the blood even seeping from under his eyes and pooling on the floor.

“Left engines gone!” Another voice called out.

“We’re through the stratosphere! One kilometre!”

“What is going on?!” Spike bellowed, his voice being heard clearly even through the noise on the Bridge.

“Crashing!” Parn screamed.

Spike forced himself to look up, his eyes fixing on the viewport in front of him. The ship was wreathed in fire, and now that he concentrated properly, was shaking violently, massive crashes sounding, as far behind the Bridge pieces flaked from the ship as it neared the ground.

The ship looked like a comet, falling towards the floor at phenomenal speeds, and it showed no signs of stopping as it drew closer and closer.

“HOLD ON!” Parn screamed.

The ship ploughed into the ground.

The Curse of Ranox

Blood dripped from the tip of the blade-like claw as it hovered in front of Kelbarak’s eye. He’d watched its lethally sharp edge cut his comrades to shreds just moments before, helpless to stop their mutilation and murder. The beast had killed them all. Jola, their steely eyed squad leader and the veteran of a hundred battles, had fallen first, her belly opened up in a grotesque mockery of the births she had once overseen in her pre-warrior days back on Mandalore. Aqil had been next, the blade opening him from groin to sternum. The young Jarno, known for his jokes and easy going attitude, had cried for his mother as his leg had been torn from him with the speed of a laser amputation. He’d bled out in a few minutes, begging and pleading for someone, anyone, to take away his pain. Karlya had given the beast no screams, no pleading cries for mercy, she’d heard the stories, just like the rest of them, but she believed them. She knew the beast had no mercy in him. She never was one to waste anything, and wasn’t about to waste her final breaths on futile words.

The beast had come out of nowhere, a monstrous figure, of green and purple. Only a small flash of colour had been seen between two buildings and Jola was dying, down on her knees and vainly trying to stop her guts from falling out onto the rocky, dust covered ground. Kelbarak himself had managed to get a shot off, the only member of the squad to even raise his weapon, but it hadn’t done him any good.

A closed fist slashed through the air and left him slumping with his back to the wall of an old abandoned house, his breath coming in painful, rasping gurgles. Like everyone in the Mandalore’s glorious new crusade, he had received basic medical training. Not much, but enough to know that several of his ribs were shattered, and at least one of his lungs was punctured.

The beast had killed them all, and Kelbarak had watched the whole thing, unable to move and unable to block out the agonising screams of his squad and friends. The beast had made him watch the mutilation of their corpses, promising that looking away would only cause him to experience greater pain, forcing him to watch the scene of butchery in front of him.

The beast was at one of the wall, blood already covering it from where it had sprayed up from the bodies, and was dragging its claws across the surface, carving out large letters, the blood on its claws filling the grooves. Kelbarak knew he should know the words, it was written in near perfect Mando’a, but he had yet to grasp it. Jola had, and it hadn’t done her any good.

Slowly, the beast knelt down before Kelbarak, placing a massive hand on his shoulder. He wanted to shrug it off, to stop the loathsome killer from touching him, but the simple act of breathing was sending spasms of pain surging through his body. Instead, he opted to squeeze his eyes tightly shut.

“I told you what would happen if you didn’t look.” The beast growled, prising them open again. It didn’t stop with simply forcing him to look this time however, and Kelbarak screamed as his eyelids tore free, blood streaming down into his eyes.

Jola had once told him that his eyes were his best feature, and he clung to that thought now as the unbearable pain made him forget the pain in his chest. He couldn’t blink away the sticky crimson substance that now covered his eyes, and saw the horridly disfigured face of the beast through a scarlet haze.

Ruined by war, the beast was everything the rumours had painted him to be. Scared, hideous beyond belief and angry, the rage manifesting everywhere one looked, especially in its eyes, but there was something else there to, something Kelbarak couldn’t pin down, but it was there. It had been over six months since they had moved on to Ranox, the planet standing in the way of the Mandalore’s conquest, and watching as a single Republic ship crashed into the planet’s surface, followed by half of the Mandalore’s fleet commanded by a senior Rally master. Since that day, stories had been circulating about a hideous creature, left alive after the ineffective hunts conducted by the Republic soldiers who had camped here for weeks. None of the soldiers had given the stories any thought at first, the surviving Ranoxians being blamed for the death toll, and even when they surrendered completely, there was still enough chaos to dismiss the claims of a beast.

Kelbarak knew the truth, as did the rest of his squad, and reality was much worse than any monstrous creature.

Caretaker duty. That was what Jola had called their little patrol. A search operation to see if any soldiers still remained to oppose them, culminating in a series of long patrols through the small villages that remained and towering forests and jungles. Their constant searching had lead them down the bed of a once mighty river, over hills and mountains, and through a cave that was even darker than the surface of the night world, that had been their final check, they were supposed to return to the base after clearing this cavern. It was supposed to be easy, nothing was even meant to live naturally on this part of the world.

But something else had found these dark spaces, and had made its home far away from the light of the sun.

“You…you’re the beast, aren’t you?” Kelbarak managed through the pain.

“Is that what they are calling me?” The beast chuckled. “A surprisingly accurate title, but after all the people I’ve cut up, I had hoped for something with a little more…flair, to it.”

“You’re a monster.” Spat Kelbarak, his spit laced with blood.

“You say that like I don’t know it.” The beast grunted, looking over its shoulder at the pile of dismembered bodies. “I’ve been doing this for weeks, it would be hard to deny the horror of what I’ve done. He might scream and shout about it, and She will comfort him, to tell Him that it wasn’t His fault, but right now there is only me, and I can accept what I have done here.”

Kelbarak didn’t know who the beast was referring to, the two of them were alone, and yet he was talking about others as if they were there.

“Do you like what I did to your friends?” The beast asked suddenly.

“Don’t make me look…please.” Kelbarak begged softly.

“Stupid not to look.” The beast said. “Wasn’t it the Mandalore who said that the best way to defeat someone is to know them?”

“They’ll hunt you down.” Kelbarak gasped, his breath coming in red tinted mist as the temperature began to drop. “When they find you, they’ll send everything to kill you.”

“I’m counting on that.” The beast nodded.

“You’ll die for what you’ve done.”

“Quite possibly. Your Mandalore will try, but more importantly, He will try and kill me for this, but He can never really defeat me, and He’ll survive, he always does. He’s always got one more trick up his sleeveless arms. But when I go, I want to make sure that I’m as dangerous in death as I was in life.”

Kelbarak tensed as the beast brought its claws closer, their blood flecked surface scratching the surface of his eye. The claw eased forward, not encountering any worthwhile resistance and clear fluid mixed with blood spilled out to mix with the blood that already coated the beast. Kelbarak screamed in agony, and tried to tear himself away, but the beast held him steady, making sure that no matter how much his body thrashed around and flailed, his head stay perfectly still.

“I’m not going to kill you.” The beast smiled. “But I am going to send a message. One that your masters will understand.”

***

Seugtai looked out from the tip of spire that had once been the town hall of the largest town on the planet. Far below him, his warriors moved to and fro, ripping parts of the buildings that may be useful down, and loading them into transports to be taken back to orbit. Now that the planet could be pacified, they could begin to take their spoils back to their foundries, churning out more ships and more weapons for the ever growing army of Mandalore the Ultimate.

It had taken them a long time to get to the level they were at now, and it had not been easy, but under the new Mandalore’s leadership, they had grown stronger than ever before, even stronger than when Exar Kun and Ulic Qel-Droma led their armies. After their defeat on Duxn, they had found the mask of the old Mandalore, and in tradition, the strongest of them and picked it up, becoming the new Mandalore, and the leader of his people. In that way, the Mandalorians never truly died.

The Republic had been so confident in their victory, so certain that without their leader the Mandalorians would never rise again, they had not even bothered to clear them out, allowing them to recover. It was a mistake they would learn to regret. While the Republic struggled to help the isolated worlds in the Outer Rim, the Mandalore had been conquering them, slowly at first, making sure to only take ones that would not be reported missing, taking their resources to build his fleet, and recruiting their populations into the ever-growing ranks of his new Neo-Crusader movement.

The Neo-Crusaders were an oddity to Seugtai, originally starting as a small movement on Mandalore, their structure had quickly been adopted by the Mandalore, incorporating them into his war machine. Armour was standardised, a true rank system was established, and the Mandalore went from the head of a crusading force to the leader of an army almost instantly. Only those who had proved themselves in war with the Mandalore, or were exceptionally blessed by him were allowed to wear the older armour, customising it as was their tradition, which is why he was not in the new armour. He could not deny its effectiveness though, and if Cassus Fett was to be believed, it might just be the catalyst that allowed them to conquer the Republic.

Still, it had not been all perfect, the events of the past few months showed that. First, their raid on Thresh had gone badly, the planet burning and destroying any salvage that could have been used to help the Mandalore, then the Republic investigation, and finally the disastrous attempt to take them prisoner on board the Mandalore’s own flagship. All that culminated in this, the planet wide search for survivors.

The Mandalore was not ready for his force to be revealed, not truly. The Republic knew something was amiss of course, but they did not know the size or scale of the threat. By the time they found out, the Mandalore wanted them to already be on the back foot, and these survivors complicated that.

There hadn’t been many, of the twenty one that had been brought onto the Mandalore’s ship, only nine were unaccounted for, the rest dying during their escape attempt or being recaptured, providing some interesting information on the Republic forces. Even more had been found at the crash site of their ship, leaving only two left unaccounted for, drag marks leading away from the ship leading to what looked like a hastily dug grave, the word ‘Parn’ scratched into the rock that marked it. Seugtai had learnt to hate that name since he had first seen it, not for the person who had once borne in, but for what it now represented.

Seugtai had ordered it to be left alone, he was not about to start desecrating the dead.

The crew had not been his main concern however, and he had been prioritising the search for one thing in particular, and yet he had found no trace of it, of him. The Jedi that had lead the force was dangerous, Seugtai knew that, he had seen him cross blades with the Mandalore himself and hold his ground, as well as witnessing his handiwork dealing with other Mandalorians, but there was something else about this creature, the thing that one of their prisoners had identified as a Dragon. When he had fought the Mandalore, he looked as if he had more than a physical battle going on, his face had been screwed up in a mixture of rage and concentration, and one of his eyes had turned yellow. He had initially dismissed the prisoners claim that the Jedi had a different side to him, until the bodies had begun to pile up.

He had not wanted to believe it at first, but it was hard to deny what his eyes were telling him, and what the reports were finding on an almost daily basis. Since they had arrived, soldiers had been going missing, usually in ones or rarely twos, until Seugtai had been forced to order a planet wide sweep, all squads keeping regular radio check ins. If any of them missed these checks, then he would be able to take his own honour guard to check it out, and to hopefully find out more about his savage foe.

Moving over to the ladder, Seugtai slid down it, landing at the bottom heavily, and walking over to the armoured figure of Canderous. The young Mandalorian was good, he couldn’t deny that, far better than any of the warriors he had fought beside when he was young. Seugtai wouldn’t have been surprised if Canderous rose above them all, maybe even above the Mandalore himself. He was already the youngest soldier in Seugtai’s honour guard, and no matter how much he didn’t want to admit it, was easily the best member of the squad, except for perhaps himself.

“Rally master. We’ve been getting a signal from one of the squads out on patrol. They want to see you straight away. They couldn’t say more over the radio thanks to the planets interference.” One of the Mandalorians said, looking over at Seugtai.

“Mount up then.” Seugtai sighed, walking over to the transport that served his squad.

The vehicle was a new design by the Mandalore’s scientists, one that would allow the vehicle to transport men across the battlefield in any condition, thanks to its new movement design. The Jai-38 as it had been designated, was the first working model of the Jai-walker line, the vehicle propelling itself forward on a set of four long legs. Other than its capacity for transporting infantry, which was unfortunately limited due to the amount of space available, the Jar-38 had massive offensive capabilities, all controlled by a single pilot at the front of the vehicle. While the vehicle was a menacing tank, and a decent transport, it had yet to see proper production, and so most squads were still stuck using the old tracked T-20 Ares or the T-21 Ulic, but as a commander, Seugtai got access to all the best toys.

As the vehicle began to move, the hold shaking as it went, Canderous leaned towards Seugtai, removing his helmet so he could look his Rally Master in the eye.

“So, do you think that they actually found him this time, or do you think it will just be another corpse?” He asked.

“To be honest, most of the soldiers here don’t even know what he actually is. It’s hard for them to wrap their head around this that a Jedi is doing this. It’s more like the attacks of a wild beast than the work of one of that order.”

“Doesn’t answer the question, do you think we’ll pick up a trail this time?” Canderous pressed.

“No, I don’t.” Seugtai admitted. “We’ve been hunting him for six months, in that time we haven’t found any trace of him, the only reason we know who we’re dealing with is because we know who was on the ship and haven’t found his body yet. This will just be another dead Mandalorian, no trail.”

“If we don’t want him to escape, why don’t we just burn the planet from orbit?” Canderous asked.

“Because the Tibanna deposits here are valuable to the Mandalore, and the fact that they are extremely volatile. Burning the planet would set them off, and we need what we are mining here for our crusade.” Seugtai pointed out.

Suddenly, the vehicle ground to a halt, and Seugtai could feel the legs lowering as the back door to the troop compartment swung downwards, allowing the squad to follow their Rally Master back out onto the night world.

His soldiers fanned out behind him, their weapons readied as they scanned the area. Once they had been the elite of a Rally Master far from the front, but they had been injured in the face of battle, given up for dead by the Rally Master. Now though, they served Seugtai as bodyguards, their bodies augmented and weaponised to be even deadlier, and their minds conditioned to follow his orders without fear. Most commanders looked down on his honour guard, seeing them as little more than robots, rather than Mandalorians, but Seugtai knew better, no matter what implants they had, they were still his men, and they still believed they were men. Only Canderous was un-augmented, and Seugtai couldn’t honestly say that augmentation would make him any deadlier than he was now.

The cavern they found themselves in was huge, the ceiling stretching upwards until it was difficult to see the roof of it. Seugtai knew they were deep underground at this point, having entered one of the planets caves systems. They had been widened out in the past six months, ready for the Mandalorians to use the Ranoxian labours to mine the precious Tibanna. Before they had arrived, Ranox had had a few mines for the gas, but since they had arrived, the Mandalorians had overseen the digging of many more, increasing the amount they could mine by exponential amounts.

“How large is it?” Seugtai asked, turning to one of his augmented warriors.

“One hundred and sixty three meters at the highest point.” He replied quickly, reading off a data-readout from one of his mechanical eyes. “We are currently three point two kilometres from the entrance of the cave, and one point eight kilometres under the surface.” It was relatively small by the standards of the other Ranoxian caves.

Regardless of the size of the cavern, it was swarming with activity, two T-20s parked just a little further down from the Jai-38, surrounded by a squad of conscripts. None of them were in proper armour, each wearing easy to produce body armour that didn’t even so much as resemble true Mandalorian armour. The bad thing about having an army was it was hard to outfit everyone, and so until they had proved themselves Mandalorian, itself not a hard task, they were given simple body armour, not that dissimilar to the republic soldiers.

Sitting apart from the two T-20s was a solitary T-21, painted a vivid dark blue colour with the symbol of the neo-crusaders emblazoned on its rear assault door. Even though Seugtai knew there was not much difference between the T-20 and the T-21 physically, apart from maybe a slight size difference and the massive fuel canisters on the T-20, the vehicle seemed somehow tougher, more as if it was bred for war, although that may have been the true Mandalorians standing around it.

Quickly, a conscript ran over to Seugtai, snapping off a quick salute.

“Milotas.” He introduced himself. “I’m glad you’re here sir. This is a bad one, not like the other attacks.”

“What makes you say that?” He asked, studying the man’s face for any sign of unease, which was not overly difficult to spot.

“I think it would be easier to show you sir.”

“You found Sergeant Jola’s squad?” Seugtai confirmed.

“What was left.” Milotas nodded.

“Tell me what happened.” Seugtai ordered.

“After she didn’t report in, I lead my squad down here to where she had last reported in. We found her transport by the entrance, by one of the small listening posts that was abandoned by the Ranoxians. It wasn’t difficult take long to find the poor bastards.”

“Her squad is all dead I assume?” Seugtai sighed.

“No sir. That’s what makes it worse.”

***

Sergeant Darnt was watching the proceedings in the central area of the cavern, looking over the rocky walls and the ruined buildings that surrounded him with a careful eye, his vast bulk unmoving behind his armour, the T-visored helmet giving him an air of anonymity that helped to place him above the conscripts that fought alongside him. Unlike many of the neo-crusaders, he did not begrudge having to fight with those who were not ‘true’ Mandalorians, realising the benefit and bravery these men possessed to face the enemy without Beskar'gam. Only a few actual Mandalorians remained on the planet any more, the majority of them being recalled by the Mandalore for other duties more befitting their skill in combat, the search being taken over most by conscripts, but there were still a few squads dotted around the world.

Seugtai could smell the blood long before he saw it, the unmistakable aroma of death filling his nostrils and reminded him of the thrill of battle. A great deal of the life-giving liquid has been spilled here, and the walls around him were covered in arterial blood spray and streaks from where a blood soaked weapon had splattered the crimson liquid. Amid the blood splatters were a series of crude symbols carved into the walls and filled with the sticky liquid. They did not look like they had been done by someone who knew what they were doing completely, but the Mando’a letters were not lost on Seugtai.

PARN

It was always the same, every murder, everywhere the Beast had been, the same message, the same single word. It was the same as the name of the grave they had found away from the ship, the same name the real Captain of the ship had boasted before she was snatched from this life.

“By the Mandalore.” Seugtai breathed softly, taking in the rest of the scene before him.

He had seen slaughter before, the dead piling up as they charged a gun line, or cut down when a foe had attacked them from an unexpected place, but the scene in front of him was different altogether, the hideous assembly of dead flesh, flayed skin and the wanton mutilation that had gone on here was shocking in all its theatrical grotesqueness. Even the other attacks had been just that, attacks resulting in death, with a word written in blood, but never before had something like this happened.

Seugtai breathed out as he cleared his mind, taking a moment to study the scene. To work out what happened here, he would need to swallow back his revulsion, to look at the scene objectively and unclouded by the horror and sickness of it all. The task was not easy.

Slowly, he began to circle the arrangements of body parts, checking the ground for any signs that could help him further. It was immediately clear that they were lying in a pattern by choice, not by chance. Legs had been broken, and arms had been ripped off to form some sort of pattern, but Seugtai could not work out what the pattern was.

Atop the gruesome spectacle, eyeless heads had been perched, stacked into a pile with more of the meaningless symbols scrawled across their face in blood. None of them were the same, and Seugtai got the feeling that they were meaningless even to the one who had drawn them, simply existing because they could.

“How many were in the squad?” Seugtai asked, turning to face Milotas.

“There was Sergeant Jola and four others.” Replied the conscript.

“Five, you said there was one survivor, and yet we only have four heads.” Seugtai voiced softly.

“So we have three bodies, and one survivor?” Canderous asked. “What happened to the last body?”

“Maybe the killer took it with him?” Sergeant Darnt suggested.

“Why would he bother doing that?” Canderous asked. “It would slow him down and make him easier to track.”

“He didn’t do this for no reason.” Seugtai pointed out. “Whatever he needs the body for is essential, else he wouldn’t have taken it. He’s evaded us for six months and we don’t even know what his plan is.”

“Or…” Canderous began thoughtfully.

“Or what?” Darnt asked.

“Ever wondered what he’s been eating?” Canderous asked darkly.

“A Cannibal?” Darnt hissed.

“He’s got to eat something, and I don’t think we should be thinking of this guy as just ‘another Jedi’. After all it’s done, I doubt cannibalism will phase it.” Canderous pointed out.

“Sir’s.” Milotas said quickly, running over. “Kelbarak is awake.”

“Clear this shit up.” Seugtai ordered the conscript and his squad, before walking over towards the T-21. Hammering his fist on the door to the troop compartment, the door whined as it opened, allowing Seugtai to look inside. If he had thought the smell of blood was bad outside, he hadn’t smelt anything yet.

“I’d seal your armour if I were you.” The medic said, tapping his helmet knowingly. “Now get in and close the door.”

Complying, Seugtai moved in closer, signalling for his squad to remain outside as he looked down at the body lying on the stretcher, mostly covered by a white sheet, but doing nothing to obscure his face.

The sterile sheet couldn’t completely cover the man’s injuries, and Seugtai knew it would be a kindness to put a blaster bolt through his head right now. His arms had been stripped of skin from wrist to shoulder, and his chest was a mass of deep incisions forming the word PARN. A steady dripping from the metal frame of the stretcher told Seugtai that the man had been hamstrung, his legs now useless appendages of meat and bone.

But it was upon Kelbarak’s face that his attacker had wrought the most heinous tortures.

One of the man’s eyes had been slowly gouged from its lidless socket, the other left relatively untouched so as to bear witness to the unimaginable malice and tortures inflicted upon him. His cheeks had been sliced open to the farthest extent of his jawbone, as though a blade had been forced laterally into his mouth. Teeth gleamed bloodily through fresh stitches, and a leering skull had been cut deep into his forehead. Even if he survived his injuries, the beast had forever left their mark upon him.

“Can you talk?” Seugtai asked softly, kneeling down next to the man.

The soldiers’ one remaining eye fixed on him, and he could see the urgency that was in it, blood flecked tears seeping from the tears ducts just beneath it as he struggled to speak. He would be full of pain killers and sedatives by now, and he could see that these were making it even harder for him to form words, his mouth tearing slightly as the stitches broke.

“Got…to…catch him.” He said.

“I’m going to, but I need your help.” Seugtai said reassuringly.

“Said…he had a…plan. Even if he died…said you’d die to.”

“Plan? What Plan!”

“Sir, he’s going into shock, I would like you to leave now.” The medic requested.

“One more minute.” Seugtai snapped.

“He’ll die if I don’t get him some proper medical treatment.” The medic snapped back.

“A lot more will die if he’s right, and the Jedi has a plan.”

“Fine.” The medic growled. “You have one minute.”

“What did the beats say?” Seugtai asked, turning back to Kelbarak.

“Said…he was going deep. Going to crack open…the world.” He coughed, a ward of blood forming around his mouth as the stitches ripped free.

“That’s enough!” the medic roared, moving forward and pushing Seugtai back, kneeling down and starting to work on the convulsing man, who was now screaming in pain.

Nodding, Seugtai opened the door to the transport, slipping back outside and closing the door behind him, before looking at the others who had been listening into the conversation over his helmet microphone.

“You can’t believe Kelbarak’s words are serious can you?” Darnt asked disbelievingly.

“I don’t know.” Seugtai admitted. “It could be spite, a final jab at us.

“You don’t believe that though, do you.” Canderous pressed.

“Jedi aren’t known for making empty threats, and this one is different from the others. If he thinks he can do something big, then we need to act on the assumption that he can.” Seugtai replied.

“What is down this way?” Darnt asked, turning to one of Seugtai’s Honour Guard.

“A Tibanna mine has just finished excavation and is in full production. Reports show it as connecting to the biggest vein of the gas on the planet.” The Mandalorian replied quickly.

“Could he be planning to attack this place?” Canderous asked.

“Impossible. The facility is guarded heavily by both conscripts and neo-crusaders, as well as tanks and heavy armour. The place is a fortress.” The Mandalorian replied.

“Enough to stop someone like the beast?” Seugtai pressed.

“Unknown.” The Mandalorian said slowly.

“He’s just one person.” Darnt declared. “One person couldn’t break through those defences.”

“One person that has stayed hidden for six months and avoided us actively hunting him, while hunting us. He believes he could do damage to this place, so we must assume he has a plan.” Seugtai rebuked.

“What could he do to this mine?” Canderous asked.

“If an explosive was introduced into the mine, the entire vein could be destroyed. In a best case scenario we would lose this mine.” The Mandalorian replied.

“And worst case?” Darnt asked slowly.

“The explosions here could set off a chain reaction, igniting the other pockets of gas around the planet and destabilising the crust of the world.”

“Can we raise the mine on the radio?” Seugtai asked.

“Trying…” Canderous said, holding his hand up to his ear. “No.” He shook his head.”

“The rock density is too thick for signals to travel properly.” One of the Honour Guard said helpfully. “We have been building listening posts that boost the signal.”

“Well then can we get in contact with that?” Seugtai asked.

Before anyone could reply, the door to the T-21 swung open, and the medic strode out, his fists clenched as he walked up towards the group.

“Kelbarak died of his injuries. What he told you better have been worth it.”

“He may be trying to destroy the planet.” Seugtai said bluntly.

“You can’t be serious.” The medic said.

Darnt looked as if he was going to reply, but suddenly put a hand up to the side of his helmet, pressing his fingers against it as he listened to the message.

“Well?” Seugtai asked.

“There’s been another attack. Ten kilometres away.”

“And…” Seugtai pressed, knowing that there was more.

“It’s along the only route to the mine.”

***

Milotas watched as the T-21 sped off down the cave system, quickly followed by the large Jar-38. It amazed him at the speed that the vehicle could move at considering its legs, but he guessed that was why the commander chose it.

He was personally in awe at the Mandalorians themselves. He had heard stories of their commander and his men, but nothing had prepared him for actually seeing them. They seemed so detached, so far above him and his men, and yet he knew that it was possible for any man to achieve their status, earning themselves the armour of the neo-crusader.

Turning back to face his squad, Milotas’s eyes fell on the body bags that were lined up neatly in front of the two T-20s.

“Come on, let’s load them up.” He said grimly, looking around at his squad.

“So…do they know who did this?” A conscript asked, grabbing hold of the other end of a body bag from Milotas and lifting it up.

“The beast, but they know where he is.” Milotas said darkly. “It won’t be long now till he’s dead and buried.”

“What is this thing?” Another conscript asked, walking past with a body bag held in his arms, lazily lifting the corpse as if it weighed nothing.

“I heard it’s some beast that the Republic let loose here after they couldn’t kill it.”

“Whatever it is, it will be dead soon.” Milotas growled, hoisting the body bag into the rear of the T-20 and looking around. “Ok, you two, take Jola’s T-20 and follow us back to base.”

“Understood sir.” One of them saluted, before pressing a button on the T-20s access ramp, closing it, and sealing the bodies inside.

***

Seugtai let out a soft, low growl as he looked around the devastated remains of a listening post, as well as the bodies scattered around the blast zone. There were four in total, two Ranoxians who had sworn loyalty to the Mandalore, and a pair of Rodian conscripts. The four had been manning the station for weeks, Seugtai not wanting to waste good men on guard duty. He had remembered sending them here, thinking it was out of the way of anything. The corpses were now burnt husks more than anything else, the blast that had killed them was still visible in the carbon scoring and the flames that licked the sides of the listening post.

The post had survived remarkably well, all things considered. The large, ring like complex consisted of four walls, surrounding a single building in the middle meant for sleeping and communications. Three of those walls were now scorched as black as the corpses, and the post itself had been hit, the electronics inside having been cut, and now looked like guts hanging from an open wound.

“Looks like you were right about trusting Kelbarak.” Canderous whispered.

“Why would he go out of his way to attack a place like this though?” Seugtai asked. “He could have sneaked past easily.”

“This place will have links back to the mine.” Darnt summarised. “If anything happens there, they’ll know here. He probably wanted to cut the mine off from the outside first.”

“That sounds like perfect sense.” Seugtai nodded. “It’s almost to perfect. But still, why here, as in the mine? There are plenty of other places that would probably have the same effect on the gas veins. Why come so close to the places we’ve been patrolling? He must know where we are in general, and yet he attacks here. There are mines half a world away that he could have hit and we’d struggle to reach him in time.”

“He’s a Jedi.” Canderous spat. “He thinks he’s better than us. He wants us to know what he doing, and that even if we know, we won’t be able to stop him.”

“I don’t think this was an attack.” Seugtai said suddenly. “I mean, it was clearly an attack, but I don’t think the attacker was here when it happened. Look, imagine you’re a lone infiltrator in the depths of an enemy planet, what’s your priority all through your mission?”

“To cause as much damage and chaos to the enemy as possible.” Darnt replied simply.

“No, that’s a secondary concern.” Seugtai replied. “The first priority is evasion of capture, and the best way to achieve that is to keep your enemies looking in the opposite direction of where you’re going.”

“I’m not following you,’ said Darnt. “I am a direct man, speak plainly to me.”

“Very well. The damage caused to this conduit is the result of a bomb, not a gunfight or collateral battle damage. When those bodies are examined, there won’t be a single bullet hole or combat injury on any of them, I’ll stake my reputation on it.”

“And that means?” Canderous pressed.

“Very well, I won’t bore you with the exact chemical composition, but my Honour guard have been running scans on this residue, and suffice to say that this is strong stuff, you’d have to be clever to make this, mixed in with numerous chemical additives more commonly found in agricultural products that haven’t been used in the past three months, and haven’t been found anywhere on the planet for the last two. This wasn’t an attack of opportunity, he knew how to craft a powerful explosive compound and took his time in doing it.”

“It tells us that he had time to set this up.” Darnt nodded, understanding what Seugtai was trying to explain.

“And it tells me that we’re up against a very cunning individual who has had time to plan out exactly what he’s doing.” Added Seugtai.

“Then it is even more important that we find him and kill him.” Canderous declared.

“Agreed.” Seugtai nodded. “I just hope we’re looking in the right place.”

***

“I don’t like this.” Canderous muttered, hefting his heavy blaster cannon to his shoulder.

A trail of blood, presumably from the missing body, had lead them to a small side passage off the main cave system, a place where neither the Jar-38 nor the T-21 could fit, forcing the two squads of Mandalorians to advance on foot through the caves.

“I know.” Darnt replied over the helmet comm. “There are hundreds of places he could be hiding, and we wouldn’t know until he was firing at us.”

“Has anyone tried to get in contact with the mine yet?” Seugtai asked.

“We’re being blocked by something. It must be our foe.” Canderous replied.

“Then he’s here.” Darnt growled. “Permission to advance Rally Master?”

“Granted. Lead the way.” Seugtai replied.

Instantly, Darnt surged forward, his squad behind him, weapons raised and ready to fire. If they did find the beast, they would not be caught off guard by him like the squads of conscripts. Then, all hell broke loose.

An explosion rocked the cave, sending small fragments of rock crashing against Seugtai’s armour. As the Mandalorian watched, he saw one of Darnt’s squad fall, his chest a bloody mess. Then the fireing began, lasers lashing out as an unseen opponent pumped fire into the scattered squad.

“Take cover!” Darnt ordered, even as Seugtai sprinted forward, his squad close behind him. From his angle, he could not see the firer, but that also meant that he could not see him.

Dashing forward, Seugtai hurtled around the corner, instantly taking stock of the situation. There was a large, hulking figure in front of him, crouching low over a massive cannon that was spewing out fire. Although the creature was shrouded in darkness, Seugtai knew it was his quarry, and let fly with his pistol, the bolts flying at the target and knocking it to the floor.

Instantly, the fireing stopped, and an eerie silence fell over the cave. Slowly holding his hand up, Seugtai motion to the others to move forward, drawing his axes in case the beast was still alive. As he rounded the corner, Seugtai watched as Canderous opened a flare, the red light casting long shadows over them, and threw it towards their fallen foe.

“No…” Seugtai breathed softly, falling to his knees beside the corpse.

“That’s not him.” Canderous pointed out, looking down at the corpse of the massive, hairy creature, and the blaster cannon beside it. The cannon was attached to a simple droid arm, much like the ones they used for dangerous tasks, the fingers of which were still reflexively tensing and un-tensing, as if they were grabbing something, say something like a trigger on a gun.

“What is it?” Darnt asked, rounding the corner, and laying eyes on the dead body.

“It’s a bait and switch.” Seugtai cursed.

“A what?” Darnt asked again.

Seugtai stood and began pacing the cavern.

“Classic misdirection.” He said. “He showed us something and we filled in the blanks. Of course, I should have known it the moment I heard there was a survivor, there are never survivors. He fed Kelbarak to us, and we took the bait.”

“What bait!?” demanded Darnt. “What are you talking about!? We have to protect the mine!”

“Don’t you understand!?” Seugtai roared back. “The mine was never in danger. We said it ourselves, there was no way one warrior could hope to get in and destroy such a heavily guarded place. Damn it! I knew this was too easy. He gave us just enough, and we followed his breadcrumbs as though we were on rails! The attack on Jola’s squad to draw me in, the barely-veiled threat he told Kelbarak, the timed explosion at the listening post. All designed to draw the best warriors down here.”

“But why?” Darnt asked. “Why go to all this trouble not to attack the mine?”

“Because he just wanted us to waste our efforts by looking down here,’ said Seugtai. ‘He doesn’t care about the mine.”

“Then what does a Jedi trapped on a world care about?” Canderous asked.

The answer came to them at the same instant.

“He wants to get off world.” Seugtai breathed softly.

***

Milotas coughed up a wad of blood as he pulled himself along the cold stone floor of the town. His shoulder was a splintered mass of grinding bones, his right arm dragging uselessly behind him, and his neck was wet with blood. His squad was dead, the first member killed by a fist that seemed to come out of nowhere, before the creature had been amongst them, claws flashing in the moonlight as it dispatched his squad.

They had returned from the cave, making good time across the rough ground as they approached the capital township that now served as one of the ports that ferried supplies and men to and from the surface. There weren’t enough facility’s to land anything bigger than a cruiser on the planet, but that didn’t matter, the shuttles that the fleet carried doing just fine.

Skidding to a halt, Milotas and his squad had begun to take the body bags into the outgoing cargo room to be return to their homes for burial as was tradition when possible. The T-20 that had belonged to Jola was parked further down in the town, awaiting a time when a new squad would come and take charge of it. One of his squad had gone to check something on it, darting around the far side when a large clang was heard. Initially, Milotas had assumed it was just the man dropping his hydro-spanner, but when he had not come back out, Milotas had rounded the vehicles side to ask what was going on.

The massive external fuel tank had been opened, the thick black liquid inside dripping to the floor from the gently swinging door. A huge hand print was smeared onto the side of the tank.

Something had been inside the fuel drum.

Milotas had hardly had time to think about what manner of creature could survive inside the barrel of toxic chemicals, when the answer hit him, both mentally and physically, sending him skidding away as he felt his arm snap.

He had been powerless to do anything as the creature, dripping black oil onto the floor as it moved, had slaughtered the conscripts at the town. There had been thirty of them, as well as the honour guard of the Rally Master, but they had gone with their commander, leaving only the conscripts behind to guard the supposedly safe port.

With claw and fire, the creature had danced through the defences, systematically killing any who he came across. A flick of his claw there, and a head went flying, while a gout of flame there sent men writhing to the floor in pain. At one point, a conscript had managed to ready his weapon, spewing flame of his own onto the creature, igniting the fuel in a powerful blaze, and still it had kept coming, the flames burning the fuel off and revealing a green and purple creature underneath. He had finished quickly, the conscripts offering him no serious resistance, before turning back to look down at Milotas.

The beast, the curse of Ranox, looked down at the fallen warrior, a smirk gracing his lips.

“Thank you for the ride.” He said, his voice rumbling like thunder. “It was not the most comfortable way to travel, but it served its purpose.”

Milotas tried to crawl away from the massive creature, only for a massive foot to come crashing down on his back, sending pain up and down his body as his spine snapped. Unable to move, Milotas found himself being flipped over to face the beast once again.

“Don’t worry about your friends. They’ll find out what happened here soon enough.” The beast chuckled darkly.

“They’ll hunt you down for this.” Milotas spat. “They’ll find you, and you’ll die.”

“If I had a credit for every time I’ve heard that.” The beast said. “He may punish me for this, but you will not.”

The beast knelt down beside Milotas, the human trying in vain to move and get away from the hell-spawned creature, the noxious smell of fuel still clinging to his body.

“You know, it was depressingly easy getting to this place.” The beast mused. “All I had to do was watch and learn where your predictable little routines made you vulnerable. I just let you see what you wanted to see, and watched as you danced like good little puppets towards somewhere far, far away from here.”

“Who are you?” Milotas hissed, his vision beginning to darken as his blood seeped onto the floor, taking his life with it.

“I am the beast.” The creature laughed, getting to his feet. “But you may call Him Spike.”

Long Overdue

The beast reclined on a pile of dead bodies watching as the ship floated over an uninhabited moon. It had not taken him long to do this work, maybe five minutes after he had landed. He grinned as he reminisced about those memories.

***

Five Minutes Earlier

***

“What the hell is this?” A deck foreman roared as a shuttle approached the hanger, passing through the shields and slowly descending towards the deck.

“I don’t know sir.” Another worker called. “Nothing’s listed as landing here until tomorrow.”

“Nobody tells me anything.” The foreman growled, walking forward as the ship touched down, banging on its hull to get the pilots attention. “OI! Open and up and tell me what the hell you’re doing clogging up my deck!”

There was no reply, instead the rear door hissing as it slowly lowered itself down from the back of the ship, revealing a lone figure inside. The figure wore nothing but a belt, two odd tubes strapped to it, while it brandished its twin claws. The foreman shivered as he laid his eyes on the creature, remembering some of the rumours that had been coming up from the planet. The beast had moved to orbit, and he was next on it’s list.

“Kill…” The foreman began, but before he could finish his sentence, his head was separated from his shoulders, rolling across the floor as the beast dived forward, filling the ship with screams, as he worked his way towards the bridge.

The beast had the pair of Lightsabers at his waist of course, and for utility purposes, they were incredibly useful, but when it came to killing his foes, there was nothing quite as gratifying as ripping them limb from limb with his own claws, and feeling the warm spray of blood as his claws dug into flesh. There weren’t that many crew members on board this small ship, and that what had damned it. If it had been bigger, the beast would never have risked it. Reaching the Bridge, the beast drew the Lightsabers, the unfamiliar weapons feeling strange in its hands, before he plunged them into the lock, ripping the door open and diving into the room. It didn’t take long for the once pristine cockpit to resemble a channel house as the beast set to work.

***

Smiling, the beast grabbed hold of the corpse of what had at one point been the Captain of this ship, and now resembled more of a chunk of meat. Grunting, he ripped off a chunk of the bloody flesh. He knew Spike would never have tried to eat meat, especially not meat from a sentient creature, but he had no such qualms, and due to the fact they shared a stomach, it would help him to get over it.

Just before the Captain had managed to get out a signal to the rest of the fleet, Spike had reached the bridge, throwing the man at the controls and causing the ship to jump to Hyperspace. It was something he would not have ever expected to happen, but he was glad it did, he may have had some of Spikes knowledge, but not all of it.

Thinking of Spike, the Beast chewed the meat thoughtfully, wandering how long it would take for either Spike or Moonstone to turn up. It did not take him long, as he saw the mare appear in front of him. The beast didn’t know why Spike liked her so much. She was tiny, if she was real she would hardly be a morning snack, and on top of that, she was incredibly boring and 'proper’.

“Are you happy now?” She snapped, looking at the macabre spectacle in front of her.

“Happy? What would I have to be happy about?” He asked with a slight scoff, sitting up. His voice was much lower than Spikes, rumbling around the confined space like thunder. “Would it be because I managed to keep us alive after the crash? Maybe it was how I got us off world? Perhaps it was the fact that I cleared out this ship for us and managed to get us to safety. No, I can’t imagine what I would have to be happy about.” He finished sarcastically.

“Let me speak to him.” Moonstone demanded. “You’ve had six months in charge.”

“And he had over thirty years in charge.” The beast spat back. “How many times has he ever let me free on purpose? Fully.”

“I…” Moonstone began.

“Once.” The beast growled. “That’s all, once, and that was by accident. He never even acknowledged me, he just wanted me gone. He hasn’t even given me a name, and yet he speaks with you for hours every day.”

“Is that any wonder?” She asked. “You’re evil.”

“A necessary one, but yes.” The beast nodded. “I do what must be done, I don’t deny it, and no matter how much he doesn’t want to admit it, he knows that’s what I do, and he can’t deny it either. You know that, he let me free, I didn’t have to break out this time.”

***

Six Months Earlier

***

“Moonstone!” Spike roared, staring up at the sky as he watched ships descend towards the planet, blasting away at the villages and towns across the world, as yet more ships descended towards the crash site over a kilometre away. He was glad he had moved away from it before doing what had to be done. Dirt fell from his hands in droves as clenched his fists.

“I’m here.” The mare said, appearing in front of Spike, a solemn look on her face. “I’m sorry for what you had to do.”

“I need help, now!” Spike roared, panting heavily, his right eye getting lighter as it began to turn yellow.

“You need to calm down!” She roared back, trying to get Spike to concentrate. “Remember Maryx!”

“Maryx?” Spike growled, shaking slightly. “I need that now.”

“You don’t know what he’ll do!” Moonstone roared back, but it was too late, as Spike consciously closed his eyes, dropping the mental barriers he had built up since the first incident.

Spike roared, his voice deepening as his voice rolled around the dark forest he was in. His eyes flashed yellow, changing in an instant, and suddenly, Spike was no more. Moonstone disappeared, a look of disgust ad shock on her face, leaving only him behind.

When he had been unleashed on Maryx Minor, it had been an accident, something no one could have predicted in the Jedi’s blind rage. Now though, as Spike made the conscious decision to unleash him, there was something different, this was controlled and calculating, and that was just what the beast needed. No longer was he a mindless brute like the last time, now he had some of Spikes intellect. More than that though, he had the strength of a Dragon, and the will and intellect to use it, unfettered by the petty morality and conscious that governed Spike.

“I am Fire! I. Am. Death!” The beast roared, a jet of flames shooting into the sky, before sliding into the shadows, a plan formulating in his mind. It was brutal, and would take a long time to work, but work it would, and it would show the Mandalorians why Dragons were the most feared creatures in Equestria.

***

“He let you in,” Moonstone said dismissively, “but it wasn’t on purpose.”

“Oh really, what was it?” The beast asked. “He dropped the barriers around his mind that stopped me from coming out more often. What’s that if it’s not compliance?”

“Duress.” Moonstone spat. “Now let me speak to him!”

“Fine.” The beast growled, before scrunching up his face, his eyes closing in concentration.

“Spike?” Moonstone asked softly, the mare getting closer to the pile of bodies against her better judgement.

“Moonstone?” Spike muttered, his eyes opening.

They weren’t green anymore, well, one was, but the other was still the bright yellow it had been before.

“Your eyes.” Moonstone said, her expression of hope fading.

“I’m still here.” The beast pointed out.

“You had your time!” Spike roared. “Get out of my head!”

“It’s my head as well!” The beast roared back, Moonstone watching the odd spectacle of Spike having an argument with what was fundamentally himself. “It’s not just you here!”

“It is, my, head!” Spike screamed. “It’s my body! Now get out!”

“You needed me, and this is the thanks I get?!” The beast roared. “I saved us!”

“You were a monster!”

“You couldn’t have got us off world! You’re trying to be good, in a bad universe! It won’t work, ever!”

“The Jedi are good! They need to be that way to help the Republic!”

“The Jedi? Would they be the ones that haven’t done anything to stop the Mandalorians?”

“That’s not fair, they don’t know about them.” Spike growled softly, but controlling his rage.

“Really? You think anything happens in this universe without the Jedi knowing?” The beast asked.

“Spike’s a Jedi.” Moonstone pointed out.

“I didn’t see this coming either.” Spike said softly, slumping down onto the pile of bodies, not even caring as the blood seeped over him.

“Parn?”

***

Six Months Earlier

***

“Impact detected. Life support non-operational. Engines inoperable, attempting to fix, error, engines not found. Shields inoperable, attempting to fix, error, shields not found. Hull breech on deck one. Hull breech on deck two. Hull breech on deck three….” Came the mechanical voice of the ships computer, bringing Spike out of the stupor he had been in after the impact. “Attempting to shut down reactor, error, reactor not found.”

Spike bellowed in pain as he dragged himself forward, a large piece of metal sticking out of the small of his back. He had escaped well compared to the rest of the crew, and he had already seen the dead members of the crew, the hole in his heart threatening to swallow him whole. Suddenly, a gasp caught his attention, and Spike looked over to see something else living on board the ship.

***

Spike screamed as he fell from the airlock, turning over in mid-air to make sure he landed on his back, but driving the metal pole further through his chest until it broke the surface with a wet ripping sound. The pain was worth it though, as he looked down at what he was cradling in his arms, thankfully away from where the metal had burst forth.

In his arms was the only crew member who had survived, and even then, Parn was in a bad way. A large sheet of the viewport had been forced from the front of the Bridge, bisecting the woman. How she had survived the initial shock was beyond Spike, and how she had survived the measures Spike took to stem the blood flow, was complete mystery.

The woman moaned softly, the burnt stump that covered her waist still smoking slightly from where he had forcibly cauterised it, the one amazing thing about being a Dragon allowing him to save her life, but even now it was touch and go.

Glancing back at the ship, Spike took in the wreck that had come close to being his tomb. From the looks of things, the ship had come apart during the fall, leaving hardly anything at the main crash site. The rear sections were nowhere to be seen, they’d probably fallen off somewhere kilometres away, destroying yet more of this once peaceful world. Spike was just glad the rest of the Recovery Force hadn’t been on board, and he could only hope that the Mandalorians wouldn’t search Thresh for them.

He had made it over a kilometre from the ruined ship before he had finally collapsed, the metal still deep within his chest, sapping his strength, and the added weight of Parn being the final straw.

“Stop…stop.” Parn pleaded, looking over at Spike.

“We can’t stay here.” Spike said weakly. “We’ve got to keep moving.”

“Moving…where?” She wheezed. “This is…Ranox?”

“Looks like it.” Spike smiled, holding back tears.

“Back…where we…began?” She laughed, blood spattering across Spikes chest.

“Yeah.” Spike nodded. “Just, hold on, I’ll get you to the Silent Council, and they’ll heal you. We just can’t stay here.”

Getting to his feet, Spike slipped his hand underneath Parn, only for the woman to cry out in pain, grabbing his arm with a weak grip.

“Stop.” She grunted. “I’ll just rest a while.”

“We can’t stay here.” He explained softly, tears now falling from his eyes.

“No. You can’t.” She agreed. “But I can’t follow you…this time.”

“I’m not leaving you.” Spike insisted.

“I am…honoured…to have fought with you.” She coughed. “And for what…its worth. You did the…right thing. Never be a prisoner…always fight…them…” She trailed off, her eyes closing, and her hand slipping off Spikes arm.

“Parn.” Spike sobbed softly, knowing that he wouldn’t receive an answer, he would never receive an answer.

Slowly, the Dragon dug his hands into the soft dirt ripping out the first handful of dirt for Parn’s grave.

***

“You tried Spike.” The beast said, showing a surprising amount of care. “She forgave you, and what you did what right.”

“You said it yourself,” Moonstone added, “Better to die on your feet than live on your knees.”

“I know.” Spike nodded. “It just feels like a failure.”

“You’re handling it better than I expected.” Moonstone noted.

“I’ve become accustomed to failure.” Spike said mournfully.

“We are a Dragon Spike. All three of us, together we are one Dragon, and that makes us able to endure.” The beast said. “We can survive in environments that others couldn’t even get close to. Fire, space, lava, you name it. You can’t always expect people to make it through what we did.”

“How can you make me feel better?” Spike muttered.

“I’m your anger, that doesn’t mean I have no stake in your welfare. If you die, I die, as does Moonstone. No one wants that.”

“I’m sorry.” Spike said softly.

“What for?” Moonstone asked. “You can’t be saying sorry to this, thing?”

“Why not?” the beast growled.

“You killed hundreds of people just to get off world.” Moonstone spat.

“I am saying sorry to him.” Spike nodded. “He saved us Moonstone, I couldn’t have done what he did, and if I had tried to attack the port, I would have died.”

“Gratitude?” The beast scoffed. “Not something I had anticipated from you.”

“I’m sorry ok!” Spike roared, but it was not angry, it was regretful. “I shouldn’t have tried to hide you away, but I couldn’t face you. I don’t want to be a normal Dragon, that’s not me.”

“That is you Spike.” The beast said softly. “No matter how much you try to hide from this, you are a Dragon.”

“I wasn’t raised as one.” Spike mumbled. “I was raised to know the difference between right and wrong, to be kind and to help people.”

“And what makes you think I don’t want to do that?” The beast asked indignantly.

“Well looking back at Ranox, I wouldn’t say you have the best track record of helping, more like killing.” Moonstone said scathingly.

“Different way of helping, different moral plane.” The beast snapped. “Let’s just say that the Jedi don’t know about the Mandalorians, that the republic isn’t preparing for the full force of the Mandalore. How much do you think the knowledge we have will help? How many lives will we be able to save by giving the Republic first-hand information about the enemy that they’ll be fighting soon?”

“I…didn’t think of that.” Moonstone said slowly, looking down in shame.

“No, you didn’t. It comes to something when the beast in you is making more sense than your own mind.” The beast chuckled. “I am not evil Spike, I’m just not morally good either. What I did was wrong, I know that, but it will be able to help more people than I killed.”

“Chaotic good.” Spike muttered.

“What’s that?” Moonstone asked.

“You’re in my mind, you should know.” Spike said.

“Not everything. It’s buried deep.” Moonstone replied.

“The alignment system is a way of determining how an individual acts. Lawful good would be you, always doing the right thing no matter the cost. Chaotic evil would be someone like Exar Kun, someone who acts only for themselves. In between you’ve got neutral.” Spike explained quickly.

“Which one are you then Spike?” The beast asked.

“Lawful good.” Moonstone said firmly.

“No. I let the beast free, I’m not lawful like you Moonstone, but I’m not chaotic like the beast either. I’m a middle man, in every sense of the word.”

“How come she gets a name and I don’t?” The beast said suddenly, catching everyone by surprise.

“A name?” Spike asked.

“What about cannibal?” Moonstone offered scathingly.

“Alright that’s enough.” Spike snapped. “The pair of you are part of me, and I will not have my mind fighting against itself.”

“But…” Moonstone began.

“No but’s. You two are going to get along. Moonstone, I don’t like him, but he’s me, just like you are. I don’t hate you for being you, and I won’t hate him for being him.”

“Hello, right here.” The beast said almost instantly after Spike finished talking, the odd spectacle creeping Moonstone out. “I want a name.”

“What would you suggest then?” Moonstone asked.

“Spike chose yours, he can choose mine as well.” The beast said, before allowing Spike to take command of the body again.

“You’re no gem.” Spike muttered. “What was it that you said on Ranox?”

“I am fire. I am death.” Moonstone said quickly.

“Desolation.” Spike said simply.

“I like it. I am the beast inside of you, I will always be with you. I am Desolation.” Desolation laughed, before Spike suddenly dropped to the floor, sending bodies skidding away from him.

“Spike?” Moonstone asked, running over to him, not that it really did much good as she still couldn’t touch him.

“He’s gone.” Spike muttered. “It’s like before he came, he’s just in the back of my mind. He seems…”

“Seems what?”

“Happy.” Spike smiled. “I just pleased the beast in me.”

“So what now?” Moonstone asked.

“Now, we go home.” Spike sighed. “I’ll set a course for the temple, but first I think we should clear these up.” He looked around at the bodies. “If the council saw this, well…I don’t think they’d be much chance left for me.”

“What are you going to tell them?”

“I’m going to tell them about the Mandalorians.” Spike said firmly. “I am going to tell them about the threat they pose and I’m not going to leave until I find some way of getting back out here with an army to fight them. The set foot on Coruscant thirty years ago, they are not going to do it again.”

“And if they don’t listen?”

“Then I’ll find someone who will." Spike said darkly, before grabbing a pair of the bodies and throwing them over his shoulders. He was already covered in blood, and unless this ship had a shower he could wash off in he was going to have to walk into the temple like this, so what was a little bit more?

Reaching the airlock, Spike dumped the bodies down, before returning for more, quickly moving the pile from the Bridge to here. Closing the door, Spike looked through the view port. He felt like now would be a time to say something, to bid their mortal remains goodbye and to say he was sorry for what the beast did, but he knew that he couldn’t.

No matter how hard he tried to tell himself that what Desolation did was wrong, he couldn’t help but feel a perverse sense of pride in the actions of his inner beast.

Pressing a button on the control panel, Spike ejected the corpses into the cold vacuum of space, before making his way back towards the bridge to prepare for a jump to Coruscant. After almost ten years, Spike was returning home.

It was long overdue.

The Jedi Council

The ship shuddered as it came out of Hyperspace, lights flashing on almost immediately as he was hailed, the ships sensors picking up weapons turning towards it and locking on.

“Attention unidentified vessel, this is the Swiftsure of the Coruscant home fleet. Power down your weapons and shields and transmit verification codes. Failure to do so will result in your boarding and or destruction.” Came a voice over the radio.

“Swiftsure this is Jedi knight Spike of the Jedi order. I am requesting my flight path to be cleared and access granted to the surface.” Spike replied, flicking a few switches above his head.

“Please identify your vessel by name and provide proof of identity.” The man responded.

“I don’t have any proof on me, and the ship is more of a recent acquire thing than my own vessel.”

“Standby, sending boarding team over.” The man said, before the radio link went dead.

Sighing, Spike heaved himself out of the command chair, careful to avoid the pool of blood as he made his way towards the airlock. He wondered what this boarding crew would think of him when they actually saw him, or for that matter how they would know he was a Jedi. None of the Jedi he knew got covered in copious amounts of Mandalorian blood, and considering the fact that Lightsabers could in theory be stolen, it probably wouldn’t cut it just to show them those. Maybe demonstrate a bit of the force?

He didn’t have to wait long, as a ship slowly approached the outer airlock on the ship, a docking tube extending outwards, clamping onto the ship with a shudder. Pressing a few buttons, Spike opened the door, allowing a squad of heavily armed soldiers to run into the ship, their guns pointing straight at Spike. Spike chuckled as he looked at the rifles, they were relatively small sized compared to what the Mandalorians used. Five seconds, he’d be able to get half the squad, maybe take a couple of shots to the back where he knew he could survive them. Two more seconds, and he’d be surrounded by corpses.

Shit, when the hell had he started to think of a situation like that?

“Jenk, take his weapons.” One of the soldiers ordered. “You, don’t move.”

“Put a hand on those and it will be the last time you have hands.” Spike growled. “I am, was, the Jedi in charge of the 59th Republic Recovery Force, the Vipers, returning from a long overdue deployment. Put me in contact with republic high command or the Jedi temple, then get the hell out of my way.”

“Forgive me for not believing you, master Jedi.” The leading soldier said sarcastically. “I’ve never seen a Jedi that gets comes into system covered in blood.”

“How many people who are trying to get onto Coruscant come in covered in blood.” Spike spat back. “I’m here because I need to be here, and I don’t have enough time or resources to wash it off.”

“I think he’s telling the truth.” One of the soldiers said slowly.

“Sure he is.” The leader smirked.

“Whatever.” Spike muttered, finally losing patience. “I am a Jedi, you know me, and you’re going to tell your commanders to clear me a path to the temple. Now.” He said, waving his hand subtly.

“Master Jedi, I am sorry, I didn’t recognise you. I’ll arrange for you ship to be cleared for approach.” The leader said, before turning around and placing a finger to his ear.

“What just happened?” One of the soldiers asked.

“I believe he just changed his mind. Now get off my ship.” Spike snapped, taking a step forward and watching as they stepped back into the docking tube. “Bye.” He slammed his fist into a button, sliding the airlock closed with a sharp hiss.

“Attention Spike.” A voice came over the radio as Spike sat back down in the command chair. “You re cleared to land. Sorry for the inconvenience sir.”

“It’s fine, but don’t stop me again.” Spike replied.

***

The ship spluttered slightly as it entered the atmosphere of the planet, the engines struggling as they sought to find the last scraps of fuel in the reserve tanks. Apparently, the Mandalorians had been in the process of refuelling the ship when Desolation had taken it, and it was only by divine intervention that he had actually managed to make it to the planet and stay in the air long enough to land at the temple before dying. It wasn’t the cleanest landing, but any one you could walk away from was good enough for Spike.

“Nice junk heap.” A security guard laughed as Spike walked down the ramp.

“I recently came into it.” Spike muttered. “Leave it alone or fill it up with fuel and move it to storage.”

“I think we may have a problem with storing a ship with a Mandalorian symbol painted on it.” The guard replied, pointing at the front.

Following his finger, Spike realised this was the first time he had actually seen the ship from the outside, and he couldn’t say he was disappointed. It was large, not quite a destroyer, but easily corvette sized, which was odd considering the fact that he could operate the ship on his own. It would be easier with others, but still.

It was long, a brand new design from any he had seen during the Great Sith War, the three turrets pointing menacingly out at the landing pad. What did draw his eye was the symbol on it, the same one that was on all Mandalorian ship. Spike hated it.

“Paint over it.” Spike offered. “Actually, scratch that, is there anywhere can put it into dry dock?”

“Not my area of concern.” The guard said bluntly.

“Find out. Right now I need to see the council, just make sure it doesn’t get scrapped.” Spike grunted, before pushing past the guard, ignoring his cries of protest.

Spike cut a wide path through the temple, the doors sliding open to his biometrics as if he had been here for the past few years. He wondered briefly how long his biometrics would stay in the temple as he got into the lift, another Jedi looking at him in horror.

“Are…are you alright?” He asked slowly.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Spike asked, looking down at the human.

“So…that’s not yours then?” He continued.

“The blood? No.” Spike shook his head. “Outer Rim’s a violent place.”

“The Outer Rim?” The man asked in confusion. “There aren’t supposed to be any Jedi out there. Not after…” He trailed off.

“After what?”

“The ship carrying Spike went missing.” He said slowly, realisation dawning on his face.

“Not everyone died.” Spike muttered.

“Spike?” The man asked in amazement.

“Who are you that doesn’t know your own order?” Spike chuckled.

“Padawan Stratmum.” He said in what only could sound like reverence.

“Who’s you Master? And for that matter where is your Master?”

“Jedi Knight Tarhal is away on a peace keeping mission on Corellia with Jedi Knight Corinna and Jedi Master Zule.”

“Zule’s a masters?” Spike laughed. “Trust him to get there first.”

“It is an honour to meet you. Tarhal and the others, they always speak highly of you.”

“I’ll have to see you around some time when he comes back. It’s been far too long since I saw any of them.” Spike said, watching as the Padawan stepped out of the lift.

“You have no idea how happy Tarhal will be.” He grinned as the doors slid shut, and the lift began its final ascent, allowing Spike to step out and walk towards the Council Chamber.

He could already hear them talking, although he wasn’t really listening enough to hear what they were saying, nor did he really care. All he cared about was that enough of the council was in there that they could run a meeting, and if they could run a meeting, he could put his point across.

The room went silent as Spike strode into the middle, staring at each of the Jedi masters as they looked back at him in shock. Some of them were outright disgusted by his state, but right now, Spike didn’t care.

“Members of the High Council, I come with news from the Outer Rim.” He said, his voice echoing around the silent room.

“Spike?” Master Atris said after a second, looking at the Dragon in shock. “But, you’re dead.”

“I got better.” Spike quipped.

“What happened?” Zez-Kai Ell asked, the old man leaning forward as he looked Spike over.

“Mandalorians.” Spike said simply, spitting the word out as if it was dirty.

“A small problem around Taris, but nothing the republic fleet can’t handle.” Atris replied. “You on the other hand are covered in blood and looking like some sort of savage.”

“Excuse me for not being able to conform to normal standards of cleanliness,” Spike deadpanned, “but unlike you, I’ve been behind enemy lines for six, long, months. So don’t you tell me that the Mandalorian threat is small, because it bloody well isn’t.”

“What did you see out there?” Zez-Kai Ell asked. “The last time I spoke to you you were about to investigate what had happened on Thresh.”

“We found out what happened all right.” Spike nodded. “We jumped into orbit over Thresh and I sent down members of the Vipers to try and gather more information while I stayed with the ship and went to check the dark side of the planet. When we got there, we found a small ship and moved to intercept it, but we moved right into a trap.”

“Why didn’t you go with the ground forces?” Master Kavar asked.

“Advice from the late Captain Parn.” Spike muttered. “We were attacked by a type of ship I’ve never seen before and we were boarded. They weren’t acting like crusaders, to ordered. This was an army, well trained and well equipped.”

“One ship hardly constitutes and army.” Atris scoffed. “The Mandalore was defeated years ago, they clans will never regain their power.”

“I remember when the Mandalore fell Atris, I fought in that war when you were still a Knight, so don’t tell me what happened.” Spike snapped. “They have a new Mandalore, one who found the mask of the old one, and they have a lot more than one ship. There were thousands, the soldiers were armoured in standardised equipment, they were different. They aren’t crusaders anymore. They still call themselves the Neo-Crusaders, but they are an army.”

“How did you escape then?” Master Lamar asked. “If they are an army as you said, how did they let you escape?”

“By making a pact with the devil.” Spike muttered. “They didn’t know I was a Jedi so I took them by surprise. We managed to get back to our ship and get to Ranox, but we crashed. Only Parn and I survived, and she didn’t last long. That was six months ago. It took me six months to figure out how to get to the port and how to escape the planet to get back here. They aren’t just conquering planets and moving on anymore, they built mines on Ranox to supply their armies with blasters, they were dragging scrap away to build into new ships. In the Great Sith War they conquered and moved on, now they are consolidating their gains, soon they’ll be a threat to the republic itself, and make no mistake they intend to attack us.”

“And what do you want the Jedi to do?” Atris asked suddenly.

“What do you mean what do I want?” Spike asked disbelievingly.

“You have brought us this, now what would you want to do to act upon it?” Atris reiterated.

“I want to tell the Republic.” Spike said slowly, looking around at the Jedi Masters. “I want, no, we need to tell them and to launch a pre-emptive strike. The Mandalorians are strong but we’re stronger, we can beat them now before a war starts.”

“The Republic does not start wars.” Kavar pointed out. “And the Jedi are not warriors.”

“That would surprise me, we fought pretty well thirty years ago, and we lead men to their deaths in war. What were we then if not warriors?”

“Peace keepers.” Kavar replied bluntly. “We do not start violence, and we do not preach it, but sometimes we cannot walk away from it.”

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing.” Spike mumbled. “Do you remember the last war? Actually remember it?”

“Of course, a war started because of the hubris of Jedi knights much like yourself, eager to march on the enemy.” Atris snapped.

“Then you remember Coruscant of course.” Spike snapped back. “Oh no, wait. You don’t. You went with the fleet to Kemplex while I stayed here, on the ‘safe’ planet. We fought tooth and nail against the Sith and the Mandalorians, they ruined this world for years to come, and you want to give them a chance to do that again? We only beat them last time because they retreated through treachery. If they came to this planet with the will power to actually sack it, we could lose, and you’d allow that over some precious notion of neutrality?”

“Be careful Spike. Others in the order already want to defy this council, do not become one of them.” Zez-Kai Ell warned.

“We can’t just sit back and let this happen!” Spike shouted.

“Spike is tired after his trying experiences in the Outer Rim.” Atris said, gesturing for a pair of temple guards to approach the Dragon. “Please escort him to somewhere he can sleep, and get him cleaned up, he looks like a savage.”

“Get off me.” Spike growled, shrugging one of the guard’s hands off his shoulder, before looking around at the council in contempt. “I can sort myself out. Thank you for your time, council.”

With that, Spike turned and left the chambers, ignoring the calls from behind him. Zez-Kai Ell had said that there were other Jedi who felt like he did. They would be willing to listen, and then, just maybe, he would be able to get the help he needed, and gain enough momentum to hit back at the Mandalorians.

Author's Note

The ship Desolation 'commandeered'.

Revanchist

Spike growled as he made his way through the temple, scattering anyone who was in his path as he aimlessly made his way to who knows where. He still couldn’t believe that after everything he had said, after presenting first-hand knowledge and information about the true threat that this new Mandalorian threat posed to the Republic, the council would still ignore him and attempt to stay neutral.

Looking down at his own body, Spike sighed. He supposed that he possibly hadn’t been in the best state to present his case, blood covered and all, but he had thought that if he could convince them they could strike quickly, and any delay would have only helped the Mandalorians. Now though, well, he supposed he should probably take a shower. With a new goal in mind, Spike made his way towards the accommodation blocks. Now more than ever, he wished that Tarhal or one of the others were there in the temple. They’d see his side, give him reassurance that he was in the right. He could bear the thought that he was wrong and the council was right. If that was the case, then no amount of time would justify Ranox.

Reaching the dorm rooms, Spike ignored the other two Jedi in the room, pushing past them as he made his way towards the back and the showers. Oddly enough, the Jedi didn’t seem quite as horrified at his appearance as the others had, more curious instead. Dismissing it as irrelevant, Spike hung his belt and Lightsabers on one of the hooks around the bathroom, before stepping into one of the shower cubicles, allowing the instantly hot water to rush over his scales.

Letting out a sigh of contentment, Spike felt his knees weaken slightly as the cleansing liquid washed away half a year of dirt and grime. Was there any surer sign of civilization then the ability to pour unending amounts of steamy fluid over one’s body? It actually surprised him how much he had missed the ability to be clean when Desolation was in charge.

Finally, after almost half an hour standing underneath the water jet, Spike turned off the shower, reluctantly activating the stream of hot air that quickly dried him, before stepping out of the shower cubicle and reaching for his Lightsaber belt, before looking round and catching sight of the two Jedi who had been in the room before, now joined by a third one. He could hear them conversing with each other in hushed whispers, but could only make out a few words.

“…blockade at Taris…”

“…flashpoint’s fallen…”

“…need to act…”

“…just returned from the Outer Rim…”

Spike listened while he strapped on his belt, looking away for a moment, before sensing that he was being scrutinised, and turned back around, locking eyes with the three Jedi, who were not intently staring at him.

“Can I help you?” He asked, stepping back into the dorm and walking over to the three Jedi, taking in their features properly.

The first one was standing in the middle of the group, and despite not being the tallest seemed to give off the biggest aura of presence, he was also the one who had arrived while Spike had been in the shower. He was a Human male with fair skin and brown eyes, his dark brown hair falling to rest on his shoulders. He had an odd series of marks on his face, four circles being dotted around it, connected by thin red lines.

Next was a tall male, although he was still small compared to Spike, and was possibly in his mid-twenties by the look of him. His head was a mess of black scraggy hair, and he wore a tight fitting set of red robes.

Finally, Spike looked at the female of the group, his eyes quickly darting over her features and storing the information away in his mind. Her hair was short, hardly being longer than the two males beside her, but what really struck Spike were her eyes, the bright orbs seeming to look deep into his own, judging him as much as he was judging her. He didn’t know why, but he felt that he would be able to trust this woman, although the thought was odd, and didn’t seem entirely his own.

“That all depends on you.” The man in the centre said, bowing slightly. “I doubt that I really need to ask this, but you are Jedi knight Spike, are you not?”

“I am.” Spike nodded.

“Did you really just have it out with the council?” The woman asked.

“News travels faster around the temple than I remember.” Spike muttered. “How do you know about that anyway?”

“I just came from the council chambers myself.” The first man elaborated. “They seemed…agitated, although they wouldn’t say what about.”

“Good, let them squirm.” Spike chuckled. “Who are you anyway?”

“My name is Revan.” The first man bowed, before looking back at Spike. “Jedi Knight.”

“Padawan Meetra Surik.” The female smiled

“Alek.” The final man said simply.

“Call him squint.” Revan chuckled, looking up at the big man.

“Why would I do that?” Spike asked in confusion.

“It’s a hilariously unfunny joke about my name.” Alek deadpanned.

“Alek…to squint?” Spike asked slowly, sure that he must have been missing something.

“That’s only his first name.” Revan pointed out.

“And your second?” Spike asked.

“Squinquargesimus.” Alek said with a slight chuckle.

“Squinguarges?” Spike asked, trying to get his tongue round the word.

“Squinquargesimus.” Alek repeated with ease.

“Squint or Alek then.” Spike nodded. “How did you get that name?”

“Home village.” Alek said simply.

“Don’t mind him.” Meetra smiled. “Quelii was sacked by the Mandalorians, not many escaped.”

“Thank you for that trip down memory lane Surik.” Alek snapped.

“Stop it you to.” Revan commanded, before looking back at Spike. “You just came back from the Outer Rim didn’t you? What did you see out there?”

“A whole lot of death and a big problem.” Spike responded.

“Precisely.” Revan nodded. “That was you in the Mandalorian ship wasn’t it, so you know what’s out there.”

“Better than most.” Spike nodded. “They have a new leader, and he’s dangerous, even without his army.”

“You know about the new Mandalore?” Alek asked in surprise. “No one seems to know anything about him.”

“Know him?” Spike scoffed. “He’s better with his axe than most Jedi are with their Lightsabers. More than that though, he’s got an army, not just crusaders like last time.”

“Last time?” Revan asked.

“You know, the last war. Ulic lead them here when they were little more than nomadic barbarians, and even then they were deadly. Now that they’ve organised themselves…”

“They are the true threat to the Republic.” Revan finished.

“Exactly.” Alek nodded. “The Sith threat ended what, 30 years ago? The Mandalorians are the threat now. The Mandalorians are here…almost. We need every able-bodied Jedi we can get.”

“You don’t need to tell me twice.” Spike grimaced. “But the council in its infinite ‘wisdom’, seems to think that we can afford to just wait around and react rather than act.” He took on a loft expression as he sat down. “Ah yes, the Mandalorian threat. We have dismissed that claim.”

“Precisely.” Revan agreed. “But what if there was another way?”

“Then I’d jump on that like Pinkie on a birthday cake.” Spike replied, drawing blank looks from the others. “Joke from home, helps keep the memories alive.”

“I hear that.” Alek nodded. “But like Revan said, there is another way, one the council can’t stop.”

“Go on.”

“The Republic military has a special arm that is used for volunteers that help out with both military and peace keeping actions.” Revan began.

“Yeah, the Mercy Corps.” Spike nodded. “What of it?”

“Well, the Jedi council has never denied a member of the order the right to join the Mercy Corps, I don’t actually think they can deny that right.”

“That sounds like a loophole waiting to be exploited.” Spike nodded, seeing what Revan was getting at.

“Exactly.” Meetra nodded. “Revan and Alek here have already spoken to some of the members of the order, and there are actually a lot of them that support the actions that he wants to take, the ones you want to take.”

“How many Jedi have actually said that they’re with you?” Spike asked, looking between the three Jedi.

“Enough to make a difference.” Revan replied.

“That doesn’t actually answer my question.” Spike pressed. “Are we talking fifty Padawans, or five hundred Jedi Knights?”

“At the moment we have over a hundred supporters, but not enough have any actual experience in warfare such as this. Even Alek and I do not have much more than Padawans like Meetra Surik.”

“So you have an inexperienced but eager force.” Spike summarised. “Knights and Padawans only? All relatively young?”

“The oldest member of our movement at the moment is thirty four. He’s a knight, but he’s never fought in a war either.” Revan replied.

“But you have.” Alek pressed. “You were in the Great Sith war, and you’ve even fought the Mandalore himself. Like Revan said, we have the will, but we lack experience and ability in many cases.”

“So what are you two then?” Spike asked, looking at Alek and Meetra. “I can see that Revan is in charge here, but where does that put you.”

“Alek is my friend, he was the first to join with me. Meetra is young, but she is powerful. You can sense it, can’t you?” Revan asked.

“She’s certainly different, I’ll give you that.” Spike chuckled. “Something about you Meetra, it’s odd.”

“Everyone says the same thing.” Meetra nodded.

So what happens next?” Spike asked.

“Like I said, that all depends on you.” Revan replied. “My Revanchists are poised to move on the front, Alek and I only came here in search of final recruits, and if you join, I will consider an otherwise useless mission a success.”

“When do you leave?”

“Three days. Enough time for our ships to be ready and my movement to converge together on Taris.”

“Taris is under a blockade at the moment isn’t it?” Spike asked.

“The Mandalorians can’t break the republic lines, but the Republic won’t attack any further.” Alek elaborated.

“Three days then?” Spike mused.

“Am I to take it that you’ll be joining us?” Revan asked.

“I was ready to take the fight to the Mandalorians on my own.” Spike chuckled. “If you’re going to do the same thing, I might as well do it with you. The council thinks that debates will save the Republic.”

“The council is wise Spike, but they are slow. They may have a plan, but by the time it comes to fruition, there will be no Republic to defend.” Alek agreed.

“I’ll see you again in three days.” Spike nodded, extending his hand towards Revan.

“Thank you Spike.” Revan said, grasping the proffered claw tightly. “With your experience, we may have a much better chance at recruiting more to our cause.”

“I’ll leave you to it.” Spike smiled, before walking out of the room.

He was much happier now, his step almost having a spring in it. He was no longer covered in blood, he wasn’t disillusioned with the entire Jedi order anymore, and he actually had some time before he was going to head out again. If he hadn’t spoken with Revan and the others, all he would have accomplished would have been getting pissed off, before going back to the front and probably being killed. Now though, he had a plan, and if Revan was correct, they could stop this war before it really started.

He didn’t quite know what to make of Revan, or the Surik for that matter. Alek was fairly easy to decipher, the man was a warrior much like Spike, and he wanted to help the Republic regardless of the Jedi way, much like Spike. On top of that, Alek was without doubt the most imposing human that Spike had ever seen, towering over both Revan and Meetra, and Spike doubted if there were any in the order, save for Tarhal and himself, that would be taller than the two meter human. Spike instantly respected the man, and even though he was unversed in the art of war, Spike could sense something within him that would change Spike’s view of him rapidly.

Revan and Surik on the other hand were harder to read.

Revan seemed unremarkable as a person, the sort that would be able to pass unnoticed through a crowd of people even if they knew him, but there was power beneath the unassuming surface, a keen intellect and an insatiable thirst for knowledge. Even though he had only known him for a brief period of time, Spike believed in Revan, and when he preached about saving the Republic, rather than just trying, Spike couldn’t help but honestly believe that he could do it.

Then there was Meetra. Despite her youth, Spike could already sense power beneath her surface, as well as the aura she gave out that convinced Spike that he could trust her even more than Revan. She seemed headstrong, generous and kind, and that was only in the first meeting. It was strange, but in a way, Spike felt like he had known Surik for longer than the other two, even though this was clearly not the case.

All three of the Jedi, although so young, were filled with hope, the sense of Right and Wrong that Spike still fought to protect. In their eyes, and in Spikes, the Mandalorians were evil, and the Republic was good, and all they could do as Jedi was to fight for the side of Good and the light.

Spike was roused from his thought as he approached a part of the temple that he always treated with a certain amount of anxiety and loathing, not for the people that worked there, but for what it represented. Whenever he arrived at this place, he was always hurt, near to death, visiting a friend who was hurt or near to death, or a combination of those outcomes. Nevertheless, he felt like there was something within calling to him, and he forged ahead into the halls of healing.

The walls seemed to echo with the rejuvenating energies that were employed by the Jedi here, and Spike found himself able to follow one of the lay-lines of energy that floated in-front of him in his mind’s eye, drawing it in before following it back to its source, pushing open a door slowly and peeking inside.

“That’s good.” The familiar voice of Franoline cooed, speaking to someone who was just out of Spikes line of sight from the doorway. “Now, are you feeling any discomfort at all? Any lingering pains from before?”

“None.” Came a gruff, but undoubtedly feminine voice.

“You seem to have responded to the implants well.” Franoline nodded, before looking towards the door. “Perhaps our ‘guest’ would like to offer an opinion?”

Sighing, Spike pushed the door open, looking over at the patient Franoline was dealing with, and feeling his jaw drop to the floor.

“Katara?” He asked in amazement, looking at the small girl.

Now that she wasn’t unconscious or covered in soot and ash, Spike finally got to have a better look at the last survivor of Thresh. Her hair, or rather lack thereof, seemed to only accentuate her angular features, showing off the shape of her face even more. When he had first rescued her, he distinctly remembered her with long brown hair, but he guessed that the fire had changed that. He briefly wondered if it would ever grow back, but decided it was unimportant, all that mattered was that she was alive.

“Spike?” She asked back, her voice defiantly sounding much more grating than before.

“Careful Katara.” Franoline warned. “You still need to get used to the implants, do not be too hard on them or you may need another round of surgery.”

The girl shuddered at the thought, but still looked at Spike, leaning back in the bed she was resting on.

“Where have you been?” She asked softly.

“Ranox.” Spike admitted. “We crashed there shortly after I left you. I feared that…that you had been killed or captured when the planet fell.”

“There was a Republic ship in the area on route to pick up the members of the 59th.” Franoline chimed in. “They managed to stop by at Ranox before you arrived again and brought her back here.”

“So what’s going on?” Spike asked, looking between the two.

“I’ve been drafted into the order.” Katara smiled weakly.

“That’s great.” Spike beamed.

“I…know.” She coughed violently, her entire body shaking as it was wracked by the hacking cough.

“Calm down Katara.” Franoline said, moving over and adjusting an IV drip that was attached to her arm. “I believe that is enough for now, Spike will still be here when you awake.”

As the girl began to drift off to sleep, Spike found himself unable to meet her gaze. He wanted to be here for her, he felt like he owed her that much, but he also had another mission, one with Revan that would ensure that what happened to her wouldn’t happen to anyone else.

“So, what happened to her?” Spike asked as Katara finally succumbed to the sedatives.

“Well, when the Republic first reached her, she was stable but comatose.” Franoline said. “She didn’t stir until she got back to the temple when the council drew some blood. She has an average Midi-chlorian count, and so was treated here, rather than in a Republic facility.”

“What’s the damage?”

“Extreme smoke and fire damage across her body, but mostly her internals, mostly throat and lungs. The hair follicles on her head have also been burnt off, and we don’t know if they will ever properly regrow. More than that though, her lungs were next to destroyed, and we had to replace them. It was touch and go for a while, but she’s in the recovery stage now, and is readjusting to the bionic replacements well.”

“Two new lungs?” Spike asked. “I’m guessing that’s why her voice is so…”

“Different? Yes and no.” Franoline replied. “Her voice box was also affected, and while it was not completely replaced, we did have to preform minor surgery to place implants within it to allow her to talk.”

“So when will she be up and about?”

“Four to five days, possibly a week with complications. Then she’ll begin training. Non-physical at the beginning obviously, but soon she’ll be able to learn the ways of the Jedi properly.”

“I’m not going to be here when that happens.” Spike said glumly. “Look after her for me Franoline.”

“A mission already?” She asked in astonishment. “You would have thought the council could at least let you rest up for a bit.”

“Yeah, they can be annoying sometimes.” Spike nodded, not telling her that the council had nothing to do with this. “Just promise me that you’ll make sure she’s ok.”

“That’s my job Spike, fixing people after they get hurt. You know that as well as anyone.” She smiled.

“Let’s hope she’s not in here for things like that.” Spike grinned back, before turning and leaving the room. Now he was thinking, he had one more stop he wanted to make before finally turning in for some much needed rest.

Heading back towards the docking bays, Spike approached the guard who had initially welcomed him to Coruscant when he had returned, and had also clearly moved the ship Spike had landed in to who knows where.

“Excuse me.” Spike said, tapping the man on the shoulder and causing him to turn around.

“Ah, master Jedi.” He nodded. “I am sorry for my, unprofessional, attitude earlier.”

“Don’t be.” Spike reassured him. “I wasn’t exactly in the best mood either.”

“I assume you came here looking for your ship?” The man asked.

“I did.” Spike nodded.

“We had it removed and placed in the dry docks as you requested.” The man informed him. “I can show you where if you would like?”

“Just get me the coordinates and I’ll find my own way there.”

“Right away sir.”

***

Spike stood on the observation platform of one of the many orbiting stations that hung above Coruscant. It had taken him a few days to get clearance to come up here from the Republic military, but considering the fact for a non-Jedi the clearance would have been impossible or at least very long winded, he wasn’t exactly going to complain.

The window in front of him was dominated by a large birth, the ship inside covered in scaffolding as droids and EVA suited dockworkers scurried over the superstructure, replacing damaged plates and checking over the other parts of the ship that had been damaged, mostly internally. Spike was actually impressed at how quick the Republic was at getting the ship fixed up again, considering the fact that it was of enemy design and had only been brought in a few days ago.

“She’s a beauty isn’t she?” A man asked, walking up beside Spike. “Apparently some Jedi brought her in a few days ago, some new Mandalorian design or something.”

“Yeah, she looks good.” Spike agreed. “Desolation has better taste than I gave him credit for.”

“Desolation?” The man asked, looking at Spike. “Is…is this yours?”

“Well, depends on your definition of ownership.” Spike said with a slight chuckle. “Is it mine in the way that I stole it, brought it back here and now it’s being fixed up for me, then yes. Is it mine is the fact that it was built for someone else though, then no.”

“Ah, that makes sense as to who you are then.” The dockworker mumbled.

“So what can you tell me about the ship? I didn’t really have time to look it over when I brought it in.”

“Certainly, let me just pull up the manifest.” The man said, drawing out a datapad and fiddling with a few of the controls.

“Ok, armament, twelve heavy laser cannons arranged with one dorsal gun, one ventral gun, five starboard guns and five portside guns, backed up by a point defence anti-fighter or anti-missile system and a single tractor beam emitter located in the prow of the ship. The bridge is located at the front obviously and the ship can be operated by one person, but is more efficient with either a central droid brain, or in this case, a crew of seventy to eighty.”

“Propulsion?”

“Three main fusion drives and a class 1.0 Hyperdrive. This thing is fast.” The man said quickly, before putting the datapad away. “It was also covered in blood. Do I want to know why?”

“No you don’t.” Spike said firmly. “Just fix it up and remove that god awful symbol from it, then return it to the temples hanger bays. I have permission to store it there.”

“Of course sir. It should be ready in a few days.”

“I’m leaving today.” Spike pointed out.

“It will be ready by the time you come back then.” He smiled. “This is only because you’re a Jedi you realise. If you want any more work done on it, then it will cost you.”

“I understand.” Spike nodded. “Does the ship have a name?”

“The computer called it the Crusader, but we had to tear that thing out and replace it, so at the moment no.”

“You said it was fast didn’t you?” Spike confirmed.

“Faster than our corvettes, and better armed for taking on small ships.” The man nodded.

“I have a few ideas.” Spike smiled, before turning and heading for the shuttle that had brought him to the dry dock.

It would take him thirty minutes by shuttle to reach the Auran Jump station on the other side of the system, and from there he would be able to link up with Revan, Alek, Meetra and any other Revanchists that were on Coruscant, before finally heading back out to the Outer Rim. It was almost time to take the fight back to the Mandalorians, and Spike could already feel Desolation stirring in his mind.

Spike had a sneaky feeing that before this war was over, Desolation was going to get a lot more chances to stretch his legs.

Advanced Scouting

Spike looked around the Auran Jump station hanger bay as he walked down the boarding ramp of the shuttle he had taken from the dry docks. Looking around, Spike could already sense the presence of the Jedi who were on board, and made his way through the station towards the largest concentration of the Jedi, emerging into a large room that was bustling with activity. Spike could already make out a few familiar faces, and made his way over towards Revan and Alek, who were engrossed in conversation.

“Spike. It’s good to see you.” Revan nodded as the Dragon walked over.

“We missed you down on the planet.” Alek added. “We expected you to need a ride up here.”

“I had to check a few things over at the dry docks first.” Spike replied. “Is this everyone? I thought you said there were a hundred or so. There can’t be more than twenty Jedi here.”

“Not many on Coruscant wanted to defy the council.” Revan pointed out. “There are more, all around the galaxy, and they’re ready to stand up to this new threat.”

“You make it sound like we’re super heroes.” Spike chuckled.

“Just doing what’s right.” Alek countered. “We’re leaving now. Get your ship ready.”

“I don’t have a ship, well, not one that’s out of the dry docks anyway.” Spike pointed out.

“Alek doesn’t either. I have room.” Revan offered.

Gesturing for Revan to lead on, Spike followed the man towards the rear of the hanger, stopping in front of a small armed courier. All around him, Spike watched as other Jedi climbed into fighters or other small ships, and couldn’t help but sigh a little. He didn’t know quite what he had been expecting from the Revanchists, but the lack of any large ships seemed to make them look like…amateurs. When the order had converged over Yarvin IV to end the threat of Exar Kun, there had been hundreds of battle worthy ships, ready for war. This seemed, inconsequential, by comparison.

Squashing the thought, Spike remembered that it wasn’t the ships that made this movement important, hell, it wasn’t even the number. It was simply the fact that others in the order weren’t prepared to stand and let others suffer, and that spirit more than made up for the lack of heavy firepower.

Boarding the ship, Spike grabbed a hand hold just behind the pilots seat that Revan now occupied. Beside him, Alek sat in the co-pilots seat, before turning to face Spike.

“You can sit you know.”

“Really?” Spike deadpanned, looking at the small seat Alek was pointing at. “I think I’ll stand.”

“Suit yourself.” Alek said, before turning back to the controls.

“Is everyone ready?” Revan asked over the comm as the ship left the hanger.

Spike couldn’t hear the response of the other Jedi who were presumably following them, but assumed that they were ready, as Revan grabbed hold of a handle and slowly eased it forward, boosting the ships speed until the stars blurred and the Hyperdrive kicked in, shooting the ship into Hyperspace.

***

Taris.

The world beneath Spike was beautiful, and even through the vast distance of space and the plate of reinforced glass that protected him from the cold of deep space, Spike could feel the peaceful aura that resonated off of the world. It was ironic in a way, how a world so peaceful could be behind so much bloodshed and war.

Even as Spike watched, Revan turned the ship away from the planet, angling it towards a space station where other Jedi were already docking. The amount of ships that were moving towards it was amazing, and Spike realised that Revan must have made at least some mistake with the amount of Jedi who had rallied behind his cause. There must have been over a hundred ships in the small area of space, and most of them seemed to be carrying more than one person. Maybe this would be useful after all, especially if the Republic military didn’t treat the Revanchists like the Jedi council did.

The ship touched down with a light thud, and Spike quickly disembarked, watching as the Jedi flitted to and fro across the hanger floor. They had come from all across the galaxy to be here, and their diversity showed, their ranks being swelled by aliens and humans, males and females of all walks of life. Some of them were wearing armoured body suits, their Lightsabers complimented by pistols or other weapons, making them look more like bounty hunters than protectors of the peace, while other wore long flowing robes in the tradition of the Jedi.

“Spike, Alek, if you would.” Revan said, brushing past the pair and walking across the hanger.

Following after the man, Spike caught sight of Meetra disembarking from her own fighter, the woman quickly running over towards the group. Together the trio followed Revan until they reached a small room dominated by a holo-projector.

“So why are we stopping here?” Spike asked, looking expectantly at Revan.

“The Republic has recently set up a defensive line along here,” Revan began, bringing up a map of the surrounding space and pointing out a thin red line, “the Jebble-Vanquo-Tarnith line.”

“What’s so important about this world that it gets a full on protection detail from the entire republic fleet?” Alek asked. “I mean, with the resources here, the Republic could press the attack.”

“Mandalore spends years picking off unaligned Outer Rim worlds and no one does anything, yet when one of the Republics business opportunities is threatened, it throws the planet membership to the Republic and creates a line that is to big even for the Republic fleet to sustain it.” Meetra said distastefully. “At the end of the day, it always comes down to money.”

“Cynical, but true.” Revan nodded. “But that’s not why we are here. There are five Jedi Masters here, Lucien Draay, Q'Anilia, Feln, Xamar, and Raana Tey. Each of them are veterans of the Great Sith War like Spike here, and they are also dedicated to ensuring peace whatever the cost. I think that if we are going to get support from any Masters anywhere in the galaxy, these five are our best hope.”

“Not to mention they all have Padawans.” Alek pointed out. “Ten new members, five being Masters, wouldn’t be too bad. Better than Coruscant anyway.”

“Precisely.” Revan nodded. “I will be traveling to the surface soon, but we need a plan of action after this, regardless of whether these Jedi join us or not.”

“And that plan would be?” Spike asked.

“Investigation. Find out what the Mandalorians have been doing in these past few years. If what you say is true, the fleet that has been probing the Jebble-Vanquo-Tarnith line is hardly a fraction of their true power. I want to know why the Mandalore is holding back.”

“We’ll find a planet to start our investigation on and move when you return.” Alek assured him.

“Good. If we can find proper proof, then we may be able to convince the council after all.” Revan nodded, before turning and walking out of the room, leaving Spike, Alek and Meetra behind.

“Well then, I guess we should get started.” Meetra said, looking back at holo-projector and pressing a few buttons.

Instantly, a picture of a large blue planet filled the projector, its surface wracked by blizzards and other heavy storms. A string words appeared beside the planet, and Spike leaned forward to read off it.

“Jebble. Ice world in the Outer Rim. Resource world affiliated with Taris. One of the worlds that is protected by the Jebble-Vanquo-Tarnith line.”

“So far it hasn’t been attacked directly by the Mandalorians, but they’re pushing against its boarders quite heavily, just like the rest of the defence line.” Meetra continued.

“Won’t work for an investigation.” Alek pointed out. “It hasn’t had any activity on the planet, just more of the probing strikes to test our resolve.”

“Good point.” Spike nodded, before pushing another button and zooming the map out again, before focusing in on another planet.

“Vanquo.” Spike began, looking at the planet. “Mining world, affiliated with Taris and another one of the worlds protected by the Jebble-Vanquo-Tarnith line.”

“Won’t work. Same reason as before, no actual activity on the world.” Alek pointed out.

“Maybe we should stop looking at the worlds that are being actively protected?” Meetra suggested, pulling up another hologram of a planet. “What about Suurja? It’s an Agriworld, sends most of its foodstuff to Taris, but is to far away from the planet to be protected by the Jebble-Vanquo-Tarnith line.”

“That could work.” Alek nodded, leaning forward and pulling up for information on the planet. “Four battles have been fought over the world between the Mandalorians and the republic, led by one, Captain Saul Karath. None of the battles have been won outright by either side though.”

“So why do the Mandalorians want it so much?” Spike asked. “I guess it could be as good a place as any to start our search.”

“Well then, looks like we have our mission.” Alek smiled.

“Once Revan returns, we can leave then.” Meetra pointed out.

“Make sure your gears good, and the rest of the Revanchists are ready.” Spike said, before turning and leaving the room.

***

Spike focused on Dusk and Elusive as he slotted the Lightsabers back together, using the force to manipulate the sensitive components as it slotted together again. Grabbing the weapons from the air, Spike ignited both blades, bathing in the purple and white light as he held them along his arms.

Spike had been in the room for an hour now, meditating on the force while disassembling and reassembling his Lightsabers. The room was large by space station standards, but more than that it was empty, and that made it perfect for being alone or training.

“Interesting.” Came a voice from behind him, and Spike whirled around, instinctively raising his Lightsabers, before looking at the Jedi.

“You are?” Spike asked, deactivating his Lightsabers as he looked at the Zabrak.

The male Zabrak had bleached whitish skin covered in a complex pattern of black, flowing tattoos of stylized knots and strands, which encircled the eight small horns on his head. The pattern of the tattoos was odd, and made it look as if he had a mask across his blood red eyes.

“Acaadi. Knight with the Revanchists, and you are Spike, no?” The Zabrak asked.

“Everyone seems to know who I am these days.” Spike muttered.

“Oldest member of the movement and the only veteran of the Great Sith War. Can’t imagine why.” Acaadi smirked.

“I’ve never seen a Zabrak with your coloured skin.” Spike noted.

“And I’ve never seen a Dragon, guess that makes two of us.” The man shot back.

“Touché.” Spike laughed. “So you coming to train here as well?”

“I am.” Acaadi nodded, drawing his own weapon. “Didn’t think I’d meet anyone else with a unique weapon.”

“So you’ve got a big handle, that’s not that unique.” Spike pointed out.

“Oh contraire.” Acaadi laughed, before thumbing the activation stud on the middle of the large hilt.

Instantly, Spike recoiled from the weapon as a blade erupted from both ends, their brilliant blue light shining across the room. Spike instantly had his own weapons ready, the weapon brining back memories that he’d rather not have.

“That’s Exar Kun’s weapon.” Spike growled. “How did you get it?”

“I made it.” The Zabrak said simply. “Two Lightsabers welded together at the pommel, and yes, after Exar Kun’s weapon.”

“Why?” Spike asked back.

“Same reason you made different Lightsabers I’m sure.” Acaadi said, pointing to Spikes weapons.

“So, I’m guessing the weapon gives you more options?” Spike asked.

“No, it’s more limited in a lot of ways, but you think it does, so the effect is the same.”

“Anyone else use one of those?” Spike asked, not taking his eyes off the weapon.

“A few, mostly Zabraks like me, it’s similar to the Zhaboka.” Acaadi said, before holding his weapon tighter. “Would you like me to help?”

“You know, from what you’ve said, the greatest advantage of your weapon is surprise.” Spike said, before lunging forward, catching Acaadi by surprise and bringing his weapons down on the double-bladed one, forcing Acaadi to his knees. “But I have the advantage here, size, first attack, two weapons, and most of all, experience in fighting Lightsaber wielding oppoenents.”

Acaadi didn’t reply, instead dropping to the floor and rolling away from Spike, readying his weapon for the duel. Lunging forward, he brought the weapon around his head, bringing the rear blade at Spikes neck, only to find it blocked by Spikes Lightsaber, the Dragon holding the powerful strike off with one hand, while readying his own, deactivating the weapon before slamming the pommel into the Zabraks chest.

Acaadi let out a silent cry as the air was forced from his lungs, falling to his knees and deactivating his Lightsaber, before looking up to Spike who had deactivated his own weapons and replaced them on his belt.

“You may be good, but you’re not that good.” Spike said, offering the Zabrak his hand.

“Bloody hell.” Acaadi swore, grabbing Spikes claw and pulling himself to his feet. “So much for surprise.”

“My friend Tarhal, his weapon’s pretty similar.” Spike explained. “You think that a second blade that’s attached gives you an advantage, but really it’s a disadvantage. You’d think that your mind would try to keep track of each blade separately, but they’re attached, so you move one, and anyone who is aware of the weapon is able to know where the other blade is.”

“I’m not interrupting anything am I?” came a voice from the doorway, and Spike turned to see Revan standing there.

“A small duel.” Spike nodded.

“Acaadi isn’t it?” Revan asked, looking at the Zabrak.

“It is Revan.” Acaadi bowed back.

“Leave us, I would speak to Spike alone.” Revan ordered, before walking towards Spike, discarding his flowing robe along the way and revealing the tighter outfit he wore beneath.

As Acaadi left the room, Spike drew his own Lightsabers, mimicking Revan, who ignited his own weapon.

“Purple?” Spike noted, looking at the blade.

“Indeed. Now,” he gripped his Lightsaber tighter in both hands, “shall we begin?”

Revan lunged forward, swinging his Lightsaber at Spikes leg, only to be blocked by Spikes weapon. Revan was strong, using the force to bolster his own strength, but Spike held it off, before spinning his own weapon, attempting a decapitating strike, only to find Revan ducking underneath it. Before Spike could follow up the attack, revan had already jumped upwards, reaching the ceiling before kicking himself back down, streaking through the air as he stabbed at Spike.

The attack only just missed, and Spike was forced to dive to the floor, Elusive skidding out of his hands. Standing back up, Spike readied his fist before lunging forward with his weapon, locking it together with Revans as the pair stared at each other.

“I expected as much.” Revan grinned, using two hands to hold up to Spikes single handed blow.

“You’re good Revan.” Spike admitted.

“Let’s take this up a notch.” Revan grinned, before suddenly drawing back one of his hands and thrusting it forward, pushing Spike back across the hanger, carving grooves into the floor as his claws dug in to slow him down, flapping his wings for the same reason.

“Ok, let’s.” Spike agreed, pulling his dropped weapon to his hand and replacing it on his belt, cracking his knuckles and preparing his mind for the coming fight.

Revan was strong, both in Lightsaber combat and the Force, but Spike had age and experience on his side, this would be a contest of raw skill versus honed skill. Diving forward, Spike used both the force and his wings to propel himself forward, slamming into Revan and knocking him from his feet. Recovering quickly, the man lashed out with his own attack, slamming his foot into Spikes stomach, before grabbing him with the force and lifting him from his feet.

Tensing up, Spike let a wave of force energy erupt from him, breaking Revans hold and dropping the Dragon back to the floor. Quickly getting back to his feet, Spike sprang at the man, wrapping a hand round his neck and lifting him from his feet. Spike grinned at the victory, before snapping himself out of the trance-like state he had been in. He had been moments from unleashing Desolation in the middle of the duel, and relaxed his grip slightly.

“I win.”Revan smirked.

“I have you by the neck.” Spike pointed out, before watching as Revan glanced down.

As Spike followed his gaze, his eyes fell upon Revans Lightsaber, the hilt held against Spikes stomach, and his finger hovering over the activation stud.

“A draw then?” Spike asked lowering Revan back to the floor.

“A draw.” Revan nodded, before turning towards the door. “Come on. Alek and Meetra have told me of your plan to investigate Suurja. We leave immediately.”

“Am I riding with you again?” Spike asked, walking beside Revan.

“Unless you have acquired a ship in the past few hours, I see no reason why not.” Revan replied.

***

“So this is Suurja?” Alek asked, looking around at the planet as he stepped off of the ships boarding ramp.

“Looks like it.” Spike nodded, looking around at the motley fleet of ships that had landed around Revans ship.

“How many battles did you say had been fought over here?” Revan asked.

“Four, all draws.” Meetra said, walking towards the trio.

“Interesting. I wonder…” Revan began, before scrunching up his face and holding his head in his hands.

“Revan! What’s wrong?” Alek shouted, rushing to steady his friend.

“A vision.” Revan breathed, shaking his head and getting back to his feet properly.

“Of what?” Meetra asked.

“Something I must do…alone.” Revan said, before turning back to his ship.

“Whoa, hold on.” Spike said, moving in front of Revan. “We came here to investigate together, not for you to run off.”

“I have to do this.” Revan pointed out, trying to push past Spike.

“Not alone. If you’re going to run off somewhere, then we’ll come with you.” Alek insisted.

“No, I need you here. Someone must lead in my stead, and I can think of no one I’d rather trust than you Squint.” Revan chuckled.

“Then take Meetra, or Spike.” Alek insisted.

“If you’re going to investigate something, then you’ll need someone by your side.”Meetra agreed.

“I want the three of you here. I can move faster on my own.” Revan insisted.

“One of us is coming with you.” Spike shot back.

“Fine.” Revan relented. “Alek, take command here, Meetra, stay by his side. Spike, you can accompany me, try and keep up.”

“Oh I will, it remains to be seen if you can.” Spike smiled back, before following Revan back into his ship. “So, where are we headed to?”

“The place the last Mandalore met his end.” Revan replied, sitting down and grabbing hold of the control stick in front of him.

“Duxn?” Spike confirmed.

“The Demon Moon of Onderon.” Revan nodded, before raising the ship from the ground and leaving Suurja behind, Alek and Meetra watching as the ship disappeared into the upper atmosphere and being lost from sight.

The Demon Moon

Spike looked down at the planet below him with a mixture of dread and anticipation. The entire planet was covered with a single, unending jungle, the dense trees preventing prying eyes from seeing what was happening beneath the canopy of leaves. If rumours were to be believed, the planet was also infested by beasts of all shapes and sizes, ones that if encountered could be more than a match for even a seasoned Jedi, or the old Mandalore.

Looking over, Spikes let his eyes fall on the planet of Onderon just beyond the moon, although to be honest the two planetoids were almost identical in size, making Dxun more of a sister planet rather than a satellite moon. Spike could almost feel the history that had been made here, and he took a deep breathe in, almost as if he could smell it, regardless of the impossibility of the action.

This was where the beast Wares had taken place, and where Ulic Qel-Droma had made his name, where those who had aligned themselves with the ancient Sith Lord Freedon Nadd had attacked the Onderonian royal family, and where the Mandalorians allied with Exar Kun and Mandalore the Indomitable had finally seen their end.

“Have you ever been here?” Revan asked, looking over to Spike from the pilot’s chair.

“No.” Spike shook his head. “I’ve heard rumours of the place of course, how it was the sight of some of the fiercest battles outside of the core worlds, but I’ve never been here.”

“Me neither.” Revan admitted. “But I was guided here by the force, to the resting place of the last Mandalore. If we are going to find anything to help us with the Mandalorian threat, then it will be here.”

“Take us down then.” Spike said, grasping a handle above his head.

Nodding, Revan pushed forward on the control stick in front of him, sending the ship into a steep dive, streaking through the air like a bolt of lightning. Spike knew that it wasn’t just to show off, but the fact that if they were to avoid detection, they would have to break the surface detection net that was sure to be in place and land in under a minute to avoid tripping anyone monitoring it. He mused that it was probably a good thing that he didn’t have his ship at the moment, otherwise they would have been alerted as soon as he had entered the system.

Crashing down through the trees branches, Revan brought the ship into land heavily on the jungle floor. The area was wracked by heavy winds, picking up small pieces of dust and dirt and hurling it against the ship as if the planet itself was trying to protect itself from the interlopers breeching its surface. As Revan touched down, the very ship began to hum, before the sound rose in pitch until it was a painful screech, resonating in Spikes head, and causing the Dragon to wrinkle his face up in discomfort.

“What in the name of the force is that?” Revan asked, placing his hands over his ears.

“The shields are scouring heavy, Revan.” Spike said darkly.

“What does that mean?” He asked back, his voice taking on a terse edge.

“It means we’re in a high-static environment,” Spike explain. “It charges dust on the shield auras and makes them squeal.”

“It’s horrible.” Revan grumbled.

The noise was indeed dismaying. It sounded as if numberless lost souls were clinging like limpets to their ships frame and bemoaning their plight, while their cold, numb fingernails furtively scratched at the hull to get in.

“It’s always a bad sign when a ships shields sing so.” Spike grinned darkly.

“Stop it.” Revan snapped, but it was light hearted, and he reached across and flicked a few switches.

Instantly, the sound stopped, replaced by the faint pattering of the small pieces of dirt and dust impacting against the now unprotected hull. Flicking a few more switches, Revan lowered the ramp, following Spike out onto the surface of the planet.

As soon as he stepped out of the ship, Spike decided that he didn’t like this world. The weather was hot and clammy, and that wasn’t to mention the insects that were flying around. Within seconds, the tiny creatures were already crawling over Spikes scales, causing him to inch discomfortingly. He could only imagine what Revan was going through right now, and the Dragon turned to face the smaller human.

Sure enough, the man was swatting at his face, trying to dislodge some of the gnats and flies that were buzzing around him with varying degrees of success.

“So what are we looking for?” Spike asked, slapping the back of his neck.

“I’m not sure, but I’ll know it when I see it.” Revan assured him, before raising his hood in an attempt to dissuade his tiny attackers.

“Let’s go then.” Spike said, setting off towards a section of the deep forest and readying his claws.

“We should probably stay on the path.” Revan pointed out. “No telling how we’ll find our way back if we go deeper into the jungle.”

“And be easily spotted?” Spike asked. “No, we can stay near the path but out of sight.”

“Lead on then.” Revan said, following Spike into the undergrowth.

The pair trekked for hours through the dense walls of vines and massive tree trunks. More than once the pair had to use their Lightsabers to cut through vines so thick that even Spikes claws had trouble cutting into them, Spike even deigning to unleash fire at some of the wetter parts of the forest. He had seen what happened when a fire started on a jungle world at Yarvin IV, and he had no desire to see that again.

Still, they had so far progressed undetected by anything larger than the insects on the planet, and had managed to avoid the pack of Cannoks they had seen. It was not that they thought the small beasts were a danger to them, but Lightsabers made a distinctive mark on the corpses they created, and any patrols that may be on the planet would instantly know they were there.

After another hour, Revan finally held up a hand, signalling for Spike to stop beside him. Moving beside the man, Spike looked out at what Revan was pointing at.

Five Mandalorians were standing in a clearing, looking over the corpses of a pair of massive creatures, as well as a dead Mandalorian. They were talking, but Spike couldn’t make out their conversation over the sounds of the jungle.

“What do you want to do?” Spike asked in a hushed whisper.

“You take the two on the left, I’ll take the two on the right.” He said after a second.

“And the last one?”

“We need someone to tell us what’s happening here.” Revan replied. “On three. One…two…”

Spike burst from the undergrowth, his Lightsabers flaring as he landed heavily on one of the Mandalorians. His armour may have been good, but the effect of Spike landing on it crumpled it, and made the warrior within cry out in pain, before two Lightsabers silenced him forever. Turning, Spike reached out for the second Mandalorian with the force, dragging him closer before neatly decapitating him. Beside him, Revan was finishing off the two he was charged with, before turning to face the final Mandalorian. The warrior tried to raise a weapon, but Spike was quicker, slashing down through the rifle before lashing out with his tail, slamming the Mandalorian into a tree. The whole process had taken less than five seconds.

“Not bad Spike.” Revan nodded, sheathing his Lightsaber, before walking over to the Mandalorian. “Hello in there?” he asked, knocking against the helmet.

The Mandalorian tried to lash out, but once again Spike was on him, digging his claws into the front of his armour and lifting him off the ground. A small trickle of blood ran down his arm, but it was superficial at best, and Spike knew the wounds couldn’t be fatal.

“What are you doing on this planet?” Revan asked, looking up at the Mandalorian.

“Mir'osik Jetii hut'uun.” The Mandalorian snarled.

“Basic.” Spike snarled back, tightening his grip.

“Easy Spike.” Revan warned.

“Eat shit Jedi coward.” The Mandalorian spat, this time in basic.

“You will tell me what I want to know.” Revan insisted, his voice heavy with the force.

“I…won’t…tell you…anything.” The man managed.

“Tell me, or I’ll castrate you with your own knife.” Spike snarled.

“Easy.” Revan snapped, but it had the desired effect.

“Information for my life.” The Mandalorian said, looking between the two.

“If the information is worth it.” Spike nodded.

“The Mandalore has set up a training facility here on Duxn, half our army has been trained here.” The Mandalorian began.

“How many?” Spike pressed.

“Hundreds of thousands.” The Mandalorian continued. “You’ll never beat us here.”

“Thank you.” Revan said, before drawing his Lightsaber and neatly decapitating the Mandalorian.

“What the hell?” Spike said, dropping the corpse.

“If we let him go he would have just run back to his base and told them about us.”

“Good point.” Spike nodded. “So, are we going to check out this base?”

“That’s why we came isn’t it?” Revan smiled coyly. “May take us some time to find it but…”

“Give me a moment.” Spike cut in.

“What for?” Revan asked.

“I need to speak to the devil.” Spike smiled, before turning and walking back towards the treeline, leaving Revan looking confused.

“Are you sure?” Moonstone asked, appearing beside Spike. “I’m not sure how other Jedi will react to, him.”

“I don’t have a choice.” Spike replied. “Plus the fact that Revan’s not like other Jedi. He’ll understand.”

“If you’re sure.” Moonstone said, before disappearing.

“Spike.” Desolation commented, his voice rattling inside his head. “Is it time?”

“There are conditions.” Spike said forcefully. “One, Revan has the lead on this mission, two, I don’t want a repeat of Ranox, no mutilations, and finally, once you’ve tracked down the base, you will relinquish control back to me. Understand?”

“I want to feel blood on my claws.” Desolation snarled.

“If we fight, you can stay.” Spike shot back, extending his hand to the air in front of him. “Do we have a deal?”

“Deal.” Desolation nodded, and Spike closed his eyes, only to have the beast open them, slowly changing from green and white to pure, glowing yellow.

Turning around slowly, Desolation growled softly as his eyes settled on Revan, the human looking at the Dragon in concern. Flicking his tongue out quickly, Desolation tasted the air, distilling the scents that were permeating the air around him. There was the obvious smell of death from around him, adding to the taste of the creatures around him in the jungle, but it was the final smell that Desolation was looking for. The smell of Revan.

Desolation had expected fear, horror at what was in front of him, hell, anything, but there was nothing. Revan was giving off nothing, no fear, no pride, simply interest. Slowly, revan approached Desolation, the Dragon glaring down at the human, licking his lips, but remembering Spikes words.

“Spike?” Revan asked, looking up at Desolation.

“No.” Desolation shook his head. “Not entirely.”

“So who am I speaking to?” Revan asked again.

“I am the beast within Spike, I am Desolation.” Desolation said, a hint of pride creeping into his voice.

“Desolation?” Revan confirmed. “Not Spike?”

“I am the animal he once hide from.” Desolation growled.

“An animal that can track?” Revan asked, arching his eyebrow.

“And sense emotions.” Desolation smiled, before bending down and grabbing hold of a Mandalorian corpse, crushing the armour and splintering it, revealing flesh beneath. Sticking his tongue out, Desolation tasted the flesh, before lunging forward and latching onto a chunk of flesh, chewing thoughtfully as he savoured the taste and the subtle pointers that the meat gave to him.

“I can see why you don’t want the council to know.” Revan remarked.

“He doesn’t, I don’t care.” Desolation laughed, before dropping to all fours and bounding forward, Revan sprinting after him.

For a long time, the pair moved through the jungle in silence, Revans footfalls being muffled by the force, and Desolation shrouding the sounds from his own paws in the way only a predator could. Eventually however, Desolation slowed to a crawl, dropping his body so his belly was touching the ground as he crested a hill, snaking up until he was overlooking the canyon below. Revan crawled next to him, and gasped as he looked at the camp beneath the pair.

“Desolation.” Spike said inside his own mind.

“For now.” Desolation muttered, before closing his eyes. When they opened again, the yellow faded, turning back to the green and white of Spike.

“Revan?” Spike asked, looking at the Jedi.

“Is that you Spike?”

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” Spike muttered. “It’s not something I’m overly proud of, but he’s as much a part of me as Moonstone.”

“Moonstone?” Revan asked in confusion.

“It’s a long story, maybe some other time.” Spike said, before looking back at the camp. “Now, what do you make of this?”

The camp was huge, spanning the entire canyon floor and spreading out across the surrounding hills and down the only path that lead into the canyon. The entire complex was an ugly mass of darkened metal, the only bits of colour being the tiny figures in blue, red or gold armour.

“Looks like we found the Mandalorian base.” Revan breathed softly.

“Hundreds of thousands.” Spike said in disbelief. “Hundreds…of…thousands.”

“There were barely ten thousand when they attacked Suurja, the Republic thinks that that’s the extent of their force.” Revan shook his head.

“I told you, the fleet I saw was massive.” Spike pointed out.

“We need to get this back to the republic.” Revan declared, before getting distracted by the beeping of a com-link.

“Is that yours or mine?” Spike asked, fumbling around his belt to find his com-link activation unit.

“It’s mine.” Revan said, before holding out a small holodisk.

Instantly, a tiny image of Alek appeared, the Jedi was holding his own holo-communicator in one hand while holding his Lightsaber in his other hand. As Spike watched, he deflected a laser bolt, before ducking as an explosion erupted beside him.

“Revan?!” Alek shouted, looking at Revan and Spike.

“Alek?” Revan asked, looking at the image of Alek. “Report now!”

“qqzzzchhhee…came out of nowhere….need evac…qqzzzchhhee” Alek said, another explosion blossoming near him and cutting off some of what Alek was trying to say.

“Is it the Mandalorians?!” Spike roared.

“Ye…” He began, before another explosion knocked him from his feet, the holo-communicator skidding away from his hands, and revealing more about the battlefield.

The battlefield was filled with Jedi and Mandalorians, the former being far outnumbered by the latter, and already many Jedi were on the floor, Mandalorians removing their weapons and securing the Jedi. As Revan and Spike watched, Alek stood back up, clutching his side as a Mandalorian in red armour and a white helmet approached.

“Jedi? I expected more.” The Mandalorian laughed.

“You wait till my friends get back.” Alek growled.

“I’m counting on it.” He said, before turning to another Mandalorian. “Prepare the ships to leave for Flashpoint station. Demagol wants all Jedi for experiments.”

“Sir?” Another Mandalorian called, before picking up the holo-communicator.

“Is it transmitting?” The leader said urgently.

“I don’t think so.”

“Give it here.” The leader said, catching the thrown holo-communicator, before crushing it under-foot, cutting out the image of the battlefield.

“We have to go back.” Spike said instantly, turning to Revan.

“We have to go.” Revan agreed. “But not back. He said something about Flashpoint, that’s our port of call.”

“We’ll need allies, soldiers.” Spike said. “Even with the two of us, I don’t trust our ability to get through a space station filled with enemies alone.”

“We can sort that out on the ship.” Revan replied. “Right now we need to move.2

“Hold on.” Spike said, grabbing hold of Revan.

The Jedi struggled quickly, before watching as Spike flared his wings and got the idea, holding onto the Dragon tightly as Spike took to the skies. On foot, the journey had taken over four hours, in the skies, it took less than one, and Spike was quickly in sight of the ship, landing heavily beside it.

“Let’s go!” Revan shouted, running into the ship, but Spike stopped, something telling him to…

Spike dived to the floor, narrowly avoiding an armoured fist. Rolling across the floor, Spike got back to his feet, looking at his opponent in shock.

The creature was huge, easily Spikes size, with muscles rippling beneath the surface of his skin and rivalling Spikes own muscular structure. The creature was reptilian, a distinctive aspect of its appearance was the fact that it were covered in green scales, although they were much lighter in colour than Spikes. Its heads were dominated by large, pointed fin-like ears with its face being protected by a long tusk-like bony plate. Its mouth was filled with serrated teeth as well as a pair of needle-sharp fangs which hung down from its massive upper jaw.

“Mandallian Giant!” Revan roared from the ramp of the ship, readying his Lightsaber.

“Go! Ready the ship, I’ve got this!” Spike roared, before fixing his gaze with the Mandallian Giant.

“The fight is mine!” Desolation roared within Spikes head.

“Fine!” Spike roared back, before clutching his eyes shut. When he opened them, they were already a bright yellow.

Desolation roared, unleashing a gout of flame at the Mandallian Giant, only just missing it, before diving forward, bringing a fist down on the giant’s chest. Instead of killing it outright however, all Desolation managed to do was wind the creature, and not for long. Before Desolation could even register what was happening, he found himself being thrown across the clearing, smashing into a tree and causing it to crash to the ground as he broke through the trunk.

Getting to his feet, Desolation grinned savagely, before bounding forward, jumping into the air and delivering a ferocious kick to the Mandallian Giant’s face. Teeth went flying as Desolations blow powered through, covering his hand and arm in blood as the Mandallian Giant screamed in pain. It wasn’t a deterrent to Desolation however, even though Spike was roaring inside his head that it should be. Instead, it was like a red flag to a bull, and Desolation let out another roar.

Still roaring, Desolation leaped at the Mandallian Giant, knocking him to the floor and standing over him. Raising his arm, Desolation rained blow after blow down onto the howling creature, reducing its face to pulp, but not enough to silence it completely. Still moaning, the creature couldn’t do anything as Desolation grabbed hold of both sides of his head.

Growling, Desolation began squeezing, putting as much pressure as he could on the delicate piece of the body. Even with its ruined mouth, it still screamed as blood began to leak from its ears, the feeling of the skull cracking beneath Desolations claws sending waves of pleasure through Desolations body, before finally, the skull gave in.

With a sickening crack, the skull disintegrated, blood and brain matter splattering across Desolation as he roared in victory, raising his head to the sky as he let out his victory cry. It was only one kill, but the sheer size of the creature made this more satisfying than all the kills on Ranox. Reaching down, Desolation grabbed hold of what was left of the brain and cerebral column and heaved, ripping it from the body and holding it above his head. Here was a trophy worth keeping,

“That’s enough!” Spike roared with such force that it physically knocked Desolation to his knees.

“It was glorious!” Desolation replied.

“Stand. Down. Now!” Spike bellowed.

“So little fun.” Desolation shot back, before brandishing the spinal column. “We’re keeping this. My first real kill.”

“Fine.” Spike snapped. “Just give me back my body.”

Desolation didn’t reply, instead simply closing his eyes. As he reopened them, Spike found himself back in control of his own body, and looked down at the gory trophy in his hand. He briefly debated dropping it, denying Desolation of his prize, but thought better of it. For better or for worse, Desolation was part of him, and as this mission proved, he needed Desolation, and he needed to keep him on side. Grimacing, Spike attached the the macabre trophy to his belt, before entering the ship.

“Was that you or Desolation?” Revan asked, not looking around as he frantically prepared the ship for launch.

“Desolation.” Spike grunted.

“So who are you planning on contacting for help?” Revan grunted. “We’re not officially part of the war effort yet.”

“I was working with the republic before you were born.” Spike chuckled. “I made a few friends, let’s just hope they’re still alive.”

Calibrating his communicator, Spike tuned in to a frequency that had become second nature to him. He didn’t know if he was alive or not, if he had still been on Thresh when the Mandalorians had returned, but he had to try.

“Attention Republic 59th recovery Force Command, this is Jedi Knight Spike, requesting to talk to your commander.” Spike said into the communicator.

“Spike?” Came a familiar voice.

“Damn it’s good to hear your voice Cortez.” Spike grinned.

Demagol

Spike stood in the hanger bay of a Hammerhead Cruiser, staring out of the blue tinted transparent shields that separated the interior of the ship from the freezing void of space. The ship was teeming with activity, soldiers running around as they prepared the four shuttles that squatted in the hanger bay, readying them for the assault that lay ahead.

Outside the ship lay the planet of Flashpoint, the airless, barren rock seeming to glow as it drifted far too close to its sun for comfort. Spike knew that the planet was deadly, and that this assault would be hazardous at best for the soldiers with them, and deadly at worst, but they had never expressed any doubts. When Spike had called, they had answered.

“You’re sure they’re there?” Cortez asked, looking at Spike and Revan.

“I know Alek, I can sense him through the force.” Revan nodded. “He’s there alright, and…”

“And what?” Spike pressed.

“And he’s in pain.” Revan finished.

“The Mandalorians can be, creative, with their torture methods.” Spike said sullenly, suddenly exceptionally glad that he had convinced Revan to let him accompany him to Duxn.

“How you holding up Spike?” Cortez asked, catching the signs of Spikes darkening brow.

“We’ve got to get them out quickly. Else it drags on a bit.” Spike said dismissively, before turning to properly face Cortez.

The Sergeant was just like he had remembered, his features remaining as bland as ever, with the exception of a small scar across the bridge of his nose. His body was covered by an Enviro-suit, ready to be sealed as soon as the helmet was attached. The suits were unwieldy, and would make fighting hard, especially in the confined spaces of the research station far below them on the planet’s surface, but given the choice of a little discomfort or the possibility of dying due to being exposed to the surface of the planet, it was little wonder that the 59th had opted to break out the Enviro-suits.

Revan to had donned an Enviro-suit, this one being his own personal suit, and was a much more advanced model than the soldiers used, covering him in a skin-tight armoured bodysuit complete with a full face mask, the front of which was clear and allowed Revan a panoramic view of his surroundings.

Spike was the only member of the ground assault who had opted to not wear any sort of protective suit, the decision being as much a practical one as it was a choice. Spike wanted this to be over, too many bad memories of what Mandalorians could do when they wanted to were filling his head up here, and he didn’t want some bulky suit slowing him down. Besides, he knew he could survive in the void before, and his scales and lungs had only gotten stronger since then.

“Cortez. You never told me about how you got off Thresh.” Spike said, looking expectantly at the Sergeant.

“It’s quite simple really.” Cortez began. “A republic ship was close enough to catch our distress signal and came to pick us up. Your little friend Katara was on board as well. We managed to get back to the Mid Rim before the Mandalorian came back to the planets and sacked them. 59th was still operational, and I was still alive, so we were sent to Taris.”

“Sergeant. Jedi.” A soldier ran up, saluting as he looked at the three. “The shuttles are ready to go now, the men are standing by. We’re waiting on you.”

“Has the fleet made any movements towards this ship?” Revan asked.

“No my lord. We haven’t been detected yet and we are jamming their signals.”

“Good.” Revan nodded, before turning to Spike. “Spike, you know these men, and it would be hard pushed for me to claim to be the better swordsman, you have command of this mission.”

“Thank you.” Spike nodded back, before raising his voice. “All hands, prepare to launch! Helmets on and preserve atmosphere!”

Walking towards the shuttle that had been set aside for the two Jedi, Spike ducked through the door after allowing Revan to enter first. Once again, Spike would have been hard pressed to fit into any of the seats, so he was content to stand at the rear of the shuttle now that everyone had sat down. Touching his hand to his ear, Spike opened a wide band communication to the rest of the strike force.

“Alright listen up. We are going in to rescue hostages, Jedi captured on Suurja. There will hopefully be around one hundred of them and I don’t want to lose any of them to friendly fire. Check your targets and don’t hit the outside walls or the mag-shield, you may be suited up, but I can’t guarantee any of you that we’ll be the ones to bring you back in.”

“Sir! yes sir!” Came the chorus of replies, and Spike grinned. Even after all this time, the men of the Vipers still looked up to him for reasons other than being a Jedi. He had fought with these men before, and Spike would be fine with placing his life in the hands of any of them.

“Pilot! Punch this shit!” Spike roared, being forced back slightly as the shuttle powered out of the hanger.

All four of the shuttles sped towards the planet, keeping in formation as Spike continued to give orders to the strike force.

“First and second Platoons, you are with Revan and I. We are the assault group, it’s our job to draw the Mandalorians attention and rescue the prisoners. Third Platoon, you’re with Cortez and are responsible for securing the hanger. I want any ships that are space worthy checked over and prepared to get us out of here. Forth Platoon, make your way to the communications centre and jam their transmissions permanently. I don’t want them calling out for help. Is everyone clear?”

“Sir! yes sir!” came the reply again, and Spike braced himself for landing.

He did not have to wait long, and felt the tingling sensation that accompanied passing through a magnetic shield. Luckily for them the base was for research purposes, not military applications, and hadn’t been equipped with particle shields. If it had, this would have been a hell of a short mission. The ship screeched as it touched down before the rear door was flung open. With a roar, Spike stepped from the ship, igniting his Lightsabers and taking stock of the situation.

They had landed in the middle of the courtyard, and for the first time since they had entered high orbit over the planet, Spike could see more than just a plan of the facility. They had landed inside one of the many bubbles that made up the exterior of the base, the small, circular craters protected by a near-transparent shimmering Magnetic Shield that kept the atmosphere in and the deadly radiation from the sun out, and pockmarking the surface of the planet in blister like holes.

Most of the rest of the base was underground, these little blisters being the only bits that were visible from the air, meaning the base was actually very well protected by nature. Even if the mag-shields were shut down, the base supposedly had enough food to feed itself for over a year, meaning a siege would be a long affair. Luckily for Spike and the rest of the task force, this wasn’t a siege.

Leaping forward, Spike swung Dusk at the head of one of the Mandalorians, cleaving through his skull and brain, and cauterising the wound with a soft hiss. Not waiting to watch the body fall, Spike whipped around, swinging his tail as he went and catching the legs of another Mandalorian, before stabbing forward with both Lightsabers, embedding them in his chest.

By now, Republic troops were pouring from the two shuttles that had landed here, Revan already leading a squad forward and working his way towards the entrance to the base as a whole. Only two of the four shuttles had landed here to form the main assault, drawing the other Mandalorians from the rest of the base so that the other two teams had less chance of being stopped before they reached their objectives. Everything on this plan hinged on each member of the strike force operating in complete concert with each other.

“Revan! Open that door!” Spike bellowed, deflecting a few shots, before jumping forward at the Mandalorian who was firing them, neatly bisecting him.

“One minute!” Revan roared back, the Jedi fiddling with a control panel beside the airtight blast-door.

He could have just cut it open, using his Lightsaber to easily slice through the thick metal, or even use the force to rip it from its moorings, but that would have made the next phase difficult. They would be in a base surrounded by enemies, the last thing they needed would be an open door giving them the possibility of venting the entire base, and in the case of that, Spike didn’t rate the Enviro-suits the 59th were wearing. The Neo-Crusader armour that his enemies wore was better at both protecting them from blaster shots and protecting them from the void. If they were capable of flying through the void on the back of Basalisk War Droids, then Spike valued the design. He knew no Republic soldier would risk doing that.

“I’m in!” Revan roared, and Spike quickly made his way over to the Jedi, the Republic soldiers doing another check on their weapons before following the Jedi inside.

“Looks pretty tight in there.” Spike muttered, looking at the door.

“Yeah, how’s that height working for you?” Revan asked dryly. “You can either go first and block out line of sight, but protect everyone behind you, or you can go last and allow the others to fire, but not be able to fight yourself. Preference?”

“First. Stay on my tail and keep close.” Spike affirmed, before positioning himself in front of the door. “On my go. Three…two…one…go!”

The door slid open with a crash, and instantly Spike was moving forward, his Lightsabers flashing and sparking as they deflected the blaster bolts that were being hurled at him. The Mandalorians had taken the bait, and had set up their defences here, from the looks of things getting almost every Mandalorian in the base to repulse this attack, which worked fine for Spike.

It was hard work, each step being accompanied by a jolt as yet another Blaster bolt hit his blades, making this an uphill struggle. More than once, a bolt hit him in the lower legs, and Spike howled in pain as he was driven to a halt again, but he never fell. Everyone behind him was counting on his bulk to protect them, to make sure that they would be fine when they got near enough to spread out and begin returning fire. Until that time though, it was just Spike and Desolation, his alter-ego howling in his head to be let loose, to spill blood and to give into his bestial side.

Roaring, Spike squashed Desolation back into the recesses of his mind, before unleashing fire. The flames roared as they rushed down the tight corridor, consuming the oxygen as they sought out anything they could reduce to ash. The Mandalorians were completely unprepared for such an attack, and seemed to falter, many screaming as their armour bubbled and melted, fusing to their skin as it slowly cooked them alive. Spike took no pleasure in causing pain, even to the Mandalorians, but sometimes you had to break a few eggs to make an omelette.

Screaming, Spike lashed out, finding himself in the middle of the Mandalorian lines. He made sure to strike down those who were screaming first, putting them out of their misery, and praying that whatever Gods looked down on this universe wouldn’t curse him.

“Now!” Revan shouted, and suddenly Spike found republic troops swarming around him as the corridor widened out, firing indiscriminately into the wavering Mandalorian troops. They may have been brave, seeking glory on the battlefield, but they were still normal men, and this was the final straw.

It started with one turning and running back down the corridor, followed by a few more, until every one of them was running back down the corridor, fleeing the advancing Republic troops. As far as Spike could see, they hadn’t lost anyone, while the Mandalorians had scores of dead here. So far, this had been fairly successful, but it was not over yet.

“A good start wouldn’t you say?” Revan asked, moving up beside Spike.

“A good start yes, but far from over.” Spike grumbled, looking down the two corridors that lay before them. “We have to split up. Want to take the left or the right?”

“I’ll go left. I have a bad experience going right.” Revan chuckled. “Second Platoon, with me!”

Revan raised his Lightsaber, drawing a cheer from the men of the second Platoon, before running down the left passage way. Spike watched him go with a little twinkle in his eyes. Revan was odd, a natural born leader, and easily as skilled as Spike in swordsmanship and the force, despite the gap in years.

“First Platoon! You don’t want the second showing you up do you?!” Spike bellowed, before charging down the right passageway.

Spike sprinted through the corridors, his long strides quickly eating up the distance down the corridors. He could already feel the presence of the Jedi imprisoned here, as well as something else. It was tiring Desolation within him, and Spike scowled as he realised what this place was. This was just a new Maryx, and he’d be dammed if he didn’t see the commander of this place to the same fate as the other Mandalorian.

Approaching a locked blast door, Spike didn’t slow, throwing his shoulder against the heavy metal surface. The metal buckled but didn’t give, but it was enough for Spike, and he could already hear shouting on the other side. Plunging his Lightsabers into the edges of the door, Spike began to cut around the edges, before drawing back his foot and planting a solid kick into the weakened metal, enhancing his strength even further with the force. The door didn’t stand up to it this time, and flew backwards, exposing the room beyond.

The room was large, but barely lit, cells lining both walls. The door had been flung to the back of the room, a single boot donating that the unlucky guard had been standing in its way as it smashed into the rear wall. Panting slightly, Spike deactivated his Lightsabers and waved the soldiers behind him into the room.

“Open the cells up.” He ordered, before walking over to one of them and looking at the Jedi who was slowly getting to his feet within. “Alek?”

“Spike?” He squinted, leaning on the bars as he looked up at Spike.

The man had been badly treated, that much was obvious. His hair had been roughly cut or pulled out, leaving the man bald save for a few black tufts here and there, the scars that were covering it oozing blood down onto the rest of his face, and into his defiant eyes.

“We’re here to get you out, Revan and I.” Spike said, igniting his Lightsaber and cutting the lock off the door, wrenching it open and catching Alek as he stumbled forward.

“Revan’s here to0?” Alek asked, pushing off from Spike and standing un aided.

“Yes.” Spike nodded. “You there, soldier. I want you to lead the Jedi to the shuttles.”

“Very good sir. What about you?” The soldier asked.

“Alek, tell me who did this.” Spike asked, turning back to face the man.

“Demagol.” Alek spat, the word dripping with venom. “Let me come with you Spike. I owe that bastard a visit.”

“No.” Spike said simply. “You’re going to go with the soldiers and get to the shuttles. I’ll deal with this ‘Demagol’. Don’t worry, I won’t kill him. You’ll get a chance to see him again.”

“Much obliged.” Alek nodded, before turning to look at the other Jedi. “Come on, we need to get to the ships quickly.”

“Where is Demagol?” Spike asked, turning Alek back to face him.

“His lab’s down there.” Alek pointed down a corridor at the far end of the room.

“Revan?” Spike asked, pressing his hand to his ear.

“What?” Revan snapped, the sound of battle perforating the man’s speech.

“I’ve got the Jedi. Fall back to the ships and prepare the explosives.” Spike ordered.

“Copy that, I’ll see you there.” Revan replied.

“I’ve got to find someone first. Wait for me.” Spike ordered, before letting the comlink go dead.

“Good luck Spike.” Alek said as he exited the room. “Be careful with him.”

“Don’t worry, I know how to deal with men like him.” Spike grinned.

“There aren’t any men like him.” Alek warned.

“There were,” Spike grimaced, “but they didn’t mix well with Lava.”

With that, Spike took off down the corridor. Reaching the end of the corridor, Spike saw an unlocked door, gingerly pushing it to one side and glancing at the room beyond.

It was circular, the only light emanating from two spotlights on the end of telescopic arms pointing at an operating table, a blood spattered operating table. All around the room were needles and knives, ranging from crude butches weapons to precision laser scalpels. All in all, it looked like a much more advanced version of the chamber he had inhabited over thirty years ago. The room was however, conspicuously empty, and there was no sign of Demagol.

Walking inside, Spike suddenly felt a sharp pain in his chest, and looked down to see a large needle filled with a noxious green liquid embedded in his chest. Looking over to his right, Spike saw the person holding the needle.

He was tall and lithe by human standards, and his armour was closer to that of the old Mandalorians rather than the Neo-Crusaders. The majority of his body was covered by a tight black bodysuit, the fabric shining slightly as light hit it. The only bits that were actually armoured were his chest and his head, both of which had been modified to hold needles and other implements or surgery and torture.

“There there, don’t worry.” The Mandalorian who Spike assumed was Demagol said in a motherly like tone. “You may feel a bit woozy in a moment, just count down from ten and let me help you.”

“Demagol, are you sure we should be doing this now?” Another Mandalorian asked, this one wearing golden Neo-crusader armour.

“But of course Pulsipher, this represents an enormous opportunity for us.” Demagol smiled, before turning back to Spike. “I must say, I was impressed by what I saw on the monitors.”

“A needle?” Spike deadpanned, looking down at the instrument sticking out of his chest, the green liquid now having reduced by half.

“Yes, I gave you half a dose, you should survive.” Demagol said sweetly. “You are most welcome here you know. I have an endless supply of theories about your Jedi abilities, yet I keep running out of Jedi."

“Seriously, a needle?” Spike growled, pulling the needle out slowly and looking at it. “I’ve been shot at, fallen into lava, been attacked by the Dark Side of the Force, crossed blades with Sith warriors, survived in the vacuum of space and survived Mandalorian torture for over a month, and you use a needle?”

Demagol and Pulsipher took a step back, clearly unnerved by Spikes apparent resilience to whatever they injected him with. Clearly things weren’t following their little plan.

“I survived on Ranox for six months without supplies, and I got off world while the entire planet was hunting me, and you think this will stop me?”

As Spike spoke, he lifted the blade to my syringe to his mouth, flicked off the blood, and then began to eat it from the tip. Chewing each bite deliberately, he maintained his stare at Demagol, refusing to even blink as he chewed further down the needle. As he reached the glass container half full of liquid, Spike poured the stuff into his mouth, grunting slightly as it burnt his throat, but nothing he couldn’t handle, before clamping down on the rest of the syringe and swallowing.

“I am Spike, Jedi knight of the Holy Jedi order. I survived the Great Sith War, I lived through the horrors your kind inflicted upon me on Maryx Minor, and I defied the council to take the fight back to you. I am the beast, the curse of Ranox.” Spike growled.

“That was you?” Demagol asked in shock. “Mandalore said they killed him.”

“I’m still here, and so is Desolation.” Spike grinned, showing his teeth in a slight snarl. “I’ll give you one chance, come with me, as prisoners, or I’ll kill you.”

“You’re a Jedi.” Demagol sneered. “Jedi don’t kill prisoners.”

“No, they don’t.” Spike agreed. “But Desolation does. Now, one chance, live or die the choice is yours.”

“Fucking Jedi!” Pulsipher screamed, leaping forward, drawing a knife as he went.

“I warned you.” Spike said softly, before his eyes glinted yellow, and Spike was no more.

Shooting a hand out, Desolation easily caught Pulsipher’s weapon arm, plucking the knife from his hand and discarding it, before switching his grip to his neck, holding him in one hand as he lifted him from the floor. With his free hand, Desolation ripped off the man’s helmet, revealing a bald man beneath.

Pulsipher struggled in Desolations grip, trying to get free, but his armour was now working against him, giving the beast a place to hold onto as he observed his prey.

“Game over.” Desolation snarled, before he clamped his jaws over the man’s head.

Whipping his neck from side to side, Desolation ripped the man’s head from his neck, dropping the decapitated corpse to the floor as he swallowed, before advancing towards Demagol, the scientist now backing up until he hit the wall.

Reaching out, Desolation grabbed hold of the doctor as he had done with Pulsipher, removing his helmet and snarling, blowing a ring of smoke into the man’s face. He looked human, apart from the red skin in place of the pale pink skin on most humans.

“If we had more time, I’d make use of this room.” Desolation said casually, looking around at the medical instruments. “As it is, well, let’s just say it’s not an option.”

“What are you?” Demagol asked, looking up at Spike with something akin to fear in his eyes.

“Pissed off.” Desolation snarled, before slamming Demagol against the wall.

The Mandalorian slumped in Spikes grip as he was knocked unconscious, and after a quick check to see if he was still breathing, was slung over Desolations shoulder. Stooping down, Desolation grabbed Demagol’s fallen helmet, before running from the room, heading for the shuttles.

It did not take him long, even after stepping over the corpses of Mandalorians on his way, and he quickly emerged onto the surface again, looking out at a series of shuttles, four of which had originally ferried them to the surface, and the rest which had been stored at the base. Walking over towards where Alek and Revan were standing, Desolation unceremoniously dropped the unconscious Mandalorian on the floor.

“Time to go I think.” Desolation quipped, looking at the two.

“Desolation?” Revan asked.

“Spike.” Alek pointed out, looking at Revan in confusion.

“Complicated.” Desolation pushed. “We should go now, I don’t want to spend any longer here.”

“Agreed. We’ll explain on the way home.” Revan nodded, before raising his voice. “Sergeant! Have the wounded been loaded onto the transports?!”

“Yes sir! First shuttles are about to lift off, the rest are ready to go when you are all aboard!” Cortez replied, leaning out of the back of one of the shuttles.

“Let’s go then.” Alek said, running towards the shuttle, followed closely by Revan. Desolation stooped down to pick up the body of Demagol, before running after the pair, careful to keep hold of the helmet. Demagol had thought he had died, and he wasn’t going to have that. It was time the Mandalorians knew what sort of nest they had kicked when they came back.

***

Desolation was standing on the bridge of the ship, a jury-rigged comlink in his hand as he fiddled with a dial on the side. The wounded were being given medical treatment below, and the engineers were priming the ship to jump to Hyperspace. All in all, this had been an exceptionally good raid, very few fatalities amongst the 59th, none among the Jedi prisoners, and so far the Mandalorian fleet didn’t even know anything had gone wrong.

Smiling as he finally found the right frequency, Desolation decided he was going to change that last point.

“Mandalorian fleet, this is Desolation.” He growled into the comlink. “Your planet has fallen, your doctor is ours, your men are dead, and the base will soon be destroyed. You are not strong. You are not mighty. This is the second time I have disrupted your plans, and yet I live on. Continue to face the Republic, and you can face my wrath again. I am waiting. The Curse of Ranox is waiting.”

Author's Note

Demagol

Sleeper

Desolation stood on the observation of the station as a Hammerhead Cruiser passed by the viewport on its way to Taris. The security had increased dramatically since the last time Desolation, or more accurately Spike, had been here, with ships darting across the space in front of them as they sought to carry out his orders. Most of them were Hammerhead Cruisers of the newer Foray-class blockade runners that reminded the beast of his own ship. He still needed to come up with a name for it when he retrieved it from the docks.

Desolation was actually surprised at how long Spike had been quiet in his mind, usually his alter ego forced him to recess back into the back of their mind. This time however, he was being allowed free reign, and he was not eager to give it up.

Reaching down to his belt, Desolation removed the spinal column of the Mandallian Giant he had slain on Duxn, looking over its massive bone structure. This represented his largest kill to date, and he was eager to kill larger enemies still, Rancor’s, Ackley’s, anything that breathed. They would all fall before him, and when this war was over, he hoped that Spike would allow him out properly to hunt.

Sniffing suddenly, Desolation smelt the tell-tale signs of someone approaching, a male Zabrak to be precise. He could easily tell species like Zabrak’s apart from humans, but near human species like Arcadians were harder, gender was easy as well, and the ability to tell a force user from a non-force user was as easy and simple as breathing. As the door slid open, a Zabrak male was indeed standing behind the door. By Zabrak standards, he almost looked identical to a human, the only way to know the difference between him and a human other than the smell being the small horns on his bald head.

“Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t know the deck was occupied.” The Zabrak said looking at Desolation. “I’ll leave now, master Jedi.”

“You don’t have to. Don’t expect conversation.” Desolation replied, his deep voice rumbling around the room.

The Zabrak walked up beside Desolation, sighing as he looked out at Taris.

“It’s beautiful isn’t it?” The Zabrak said suddenly.

“Are you going to keep talking?” Desolation groaned.

“If you’d like me to leave…”

“One second.” Desolation growled, before closing his eyes.

“Spike. You can have the time.” He growled in his mind, feeling the presence of Spike surfacing again. By the time his eyes were opened again, they had regressed back to their natural green state.

Shaking his head, Spike looked down at the Zabrak, as well as the spine in his hands. Grimacing, Spike replaced it on his belt. He would have to find somewhere to put that as a more long term solution. Maybe when he got back to Coruscant and got his ship he could set Desolation up with his own quarters.

“Sorry. You were saying?” Spike asked.

“Your eyes have changed.” The Zabrak noted, before continuing. “I was saying its beautiful isn’t it, like the Iridonian colonies before the Mandalorians came.”

“Your home?” Spike asked.

“No, I was born on Iridonia itself.” The Zabrak shook his head, before pointing at the spine. “That’s an interesting trophy you have.”

“It’s not mine.” Spike replied, drawing a confused look from the Zabrak, before extending a claw. “Jedi Knight Spike. Dragon of Equestria.”

“Bao-Dur. Zabrak or Iridonia. 12th Engineering Division.” Bao-Dur replied, grasping Spikes proffered claw lightly. “I heard that the Jedi who were looking into the war had been captured, and the others were still on Coruscant.”

“The Revanchists were captured, but Revan and I were not amongst them. We managed to rescue them and bring them back here. I wanted some peace, and this seemed like the best place to come for that.”

“War is a terrible thing.” Bao-Dur agreed.

“But necessary.” Spike nodded. “The Mandalorians have to be stopped.”

“Preaching to the converted.” Bao-Dur smiled slightly.

“Yeah, any…” Spike began, but was cut off by his communicator beeping. “One second please. Go for Spike.”

“Spike? Is that you or Desolation?” Revan asked.

“It’s me don’t worry.” Spike replied.

“I need to speak to you, face to face, hanger bay nine.”

“Be there in five.” Spike sighed, before looking at Bao-Dur. “Sorry, I’ll have to cut this short, good luck, fight well.”

With that, Spike turned and made his way out of the room, quickly heading through the station towards hanger bay nine. The station was large, but it didn’t take Spike that long to traverse it, and he soon emerged into the bustling hanger, catching sight of Revan, Alek and Surik on the other side and walking towards them.

“Spike, nice to see you again.” Surik smiled. “I hear we have you to thank for getting the soldiers to get us out.”

“Yeah, Cortez and I go way back.” Spike smiled. “I hear he may even be up for a promotion after the attack.”

“He is.” Revan nodded. “But that’s not why I called you here.”

“I realised.” Spike grinned. “So what is it?”

“The rest of you listen in as well. The Jedi council is not happy with our little movement, not in the least.” Revan sighed. “I had hoped that we would be able to slip by unnoticed until we were officially endorsed by the army, but the events of Flashpoint drew their attention and they want answers. We are being told to return to Coruscant.”

“We can’t do that!” Alek shouted.

“What about all the Jedi that died on Suurja?!” Surik asked indignantly.

“We’d be abandoning the Outer Rim!” Spike roared.

“Whoa, I’m on your side here.” Revan held his hands up defensively. “I don’t want to do this either, but I can’t deny that the council still has sway over us. We’ve got to think about what will happen after the war, and what graves we will be digging for ourselves. I don’t want to be exiled from the order.”

“Me neither.” Surik agreed. “But we can’t just give up. What do you think that would do to the army’s morale?”

“I know, but we have to have a show of faith for the council, something to let them know we are listening to them.”

“What do you suggest?” Spike asked.

“Some of the movement goes back, we make our apologies and we see if we can make the council see reason from within, or failing that see if we can garner more support for the movement from within the order.”

“Fine, we send some of the younger Padawans back and…” Alek began, only to be cut off by Revan.

“It can’t just be padawans or the council would see what we are doing. The four of us are in charge of this movement, one or more of us will have to go back to the Temple and plead our case, as well as spear-heading the attempt to convert more of the order.”

“So you basically want a sleeper agent?” Spike summarised. “Someone who can run a separate branch without guidance directly from the others?”

“Basically.” Revan nodded.

“You seem to have a firm grasp on the situation Spike.” Surik noted.

“I’m the oldest one here.” Spike pointed out.

“Precisely.” Revan agreed. “That is why I would like you to return.”

“Me?” Spike shook his head. “Oh no, the council and I don’t see eye to eye, the last time I spoke to them I was covered in blood and stormed out after a philosophical difference.”

“Yes, but you are also the oldest as you said, and have the most experience in dealing with the council.” Revan replied.

“Your mind’s already set on this isn’t it?” Spike asked wearily.

“No, but I would like it to be. I won’t force you to go back, but I would appreciate it as a personal favour if you would.”

“Fine.” Spike sighed. “I’ll go back, but I will return.”

“Of that I have no doubt.” Revan smiled. “I am needed elsewhere, but I have secured you passage on this ship here.” He pointed to a passenger ship behind him. “It is bound for Coruscant, leaving in half an hour.”

“Thank you.” Spike nodded, watching as Revan turned and left the hanger.

“So what happened on Suurja?” Spike asked, turning to face Alek and Meetra. “When Revan and I left the situation seemed to be under control.”

“We got jumped, there was nothing we could do.” Alek said sullenly.

“I’m sorry it took us a few days to get to you.” Spike apologised. “Getting together the strike force was harder than I anticipated.”

“You came, that’s all that matters.” Surik reassured him. “I’m more interested in what happened on Duxn, and what that, thing, is on your back.”

“We found the Mandalore’s training camp. There must have been hundreds of thousands of Mandalorians there, all waiting to launch their attack.”

“Gods, the Republic won’t stand up to that, not out here anyway.” Alek breathed.

“And not without Jedi support, which is why this movement is so important.” Spike replied. “As for what’s on my back, it’s a spine. It’s not mine.”

“Then why do you have it?” Surik asked.

“Holding it for a friend?” Spike offered.

“Would this be the friend that was on Flashpoint?” Alek asked.

“Desolation.” Spike nodded. “He’s me, the animal in me anyway. He comes out sometimes, sometimes I let him, sometimes he forces his way out in times of weakness, but he’s always there.”

“I’m guessing the council doesn’t know about him?” Surik asked.

“If I told them about him, and some of the things he has done, they’d call me a Sith and strip me of the force like Ulic. They can never know about him.”

“I guess that is a fair point.” Alek nodded. “The council doesn’t seem all that accepting at the moment, best to hide it.”

“Looks like your ship is boarding.” Surik pointed out. “You should get going.”

“Right then, I guess this is goodbye for a while then.” Spike said, extending his hand to Surik.

“Only for a while though.” Surik smiled, grasping Spikes forearm.

“And you, don’t kill all the Mandalorians before I get back.” Spike laughed, offering his hand to Alek.

“Just don’t go soft on us and stay at the temple.” Alek grinned back, grasping Spike hand.

With that, Spike turned and walked towards the ship, quickly being shown to his cabin and lying down for what was a long overdue rest.

***

Spike sat quietly as the speeder flew towards the temple. The journey to the capital had been uneventful and brief, and Spike had been glad for it. Nothing felt quiet as odd as going from fighting in two battles in quick succession, surrounded by soldiers, Jedi and other killers, to getting on board a civilian ship full of people who would struggle to last a few seconds in the maelstrom of war. He knew that as a Jedi, he wasn’t supposed to prize martial skill, to place a person’s stock in how well they could fight, but lately he had been finding it harder and harder to not quantify things by their usefulness in war.

Revan and Alek could fight, Surik was still a Padawan, and yet she was still trusted enough by Revan to be one of her Lieutenants. Spike was still slightly bitter that he was the one who had to return to Coruscant while the others stayed and fought, and couldn’t work out if this was because Revan didn’t trust him at all, or trusted him more than any of the others.

Stepping off the speeder, Spike quickly made his way through the hanger, catching sight of another cluster of Jedi, all wearing some sort of armour or carrying weapons besides their Lightsabers.

“Returning from the front?” A man asked, looking over at Spike as he approached.

“I am, Jedi knight Spike.” Spike nodded.

“You’re the one who’s in charge of the movement on Coruscant?” The man asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Revan did say that yes. So, you all survived Flashpoint then?”

“Barely, but we got through.” A Selkath shuddered.

Spike shook his head, repressing the urge to point out how bad it could have been, instead opting to choose their next course of actions.

“Right, so there’s what, eight, nine, ten…sixteen of us total. I say we go to the council chambers now and present our case.”

“We should wait until we were called.” The Selkath objected.

“No. We have a nice chance to crash their little meeting that they’re obviously having. The council wanted us back, so we will come back under our own terms. Remember, Revan wants us to act as sleepers in the temple, so don’t piss them off to much. That’s my job.”

With that, Spike strode forward, the other Revanchists scurrying along beside him like pilot fish. It didn’t take them long to reach the lifts that lead to the council tower. Obviously they could not all fit in one lift, but there were luckily more than one on this floor, and they could all travel up together. This would be a much more power gesture if they all arrived at the same time in the chamber.

***

“As you can see, the so called Revanchists and their leader are refusing the listen to our demands to return from the front.” Atris proclaimed, looking around at the other council members. “They will not turn from war, and have started down a path to the Dark Side.”

“And what would you have us do Atris?” Kavar asked. “Hunt them down and bring them back? Make them stand trial before this council.”

“Exar Kun and Ulic were two Jedi and they wrought destruction across this galaxy.” Atris continued. “Can you imagine what hundreds would do? Perhaps they will decide that the Mandalorians are no longer their enemies and instead lead the armies they once pledged to defeat.”

“That will never happen.” Spike proclaimed, striding into the room as he looked around the shocked Jedi council.

“What is the meaning of this?” Atris snapped, raising from her chair.

“You wanted the Revanchists to return to the temple, here we are.” Spike shot back.

“Where is Revan?” Kavar asked.

“At the front still.” Spike replied bluntly.

“We told you all to come back.” Atris pointed out.

“Revan can’t just abandon the front, just like most of the Revanchists can’t, because unlike you, they seem to have a sense of what’s going on. The Jedi are needed, both for their skill and the effect they have on morale. If they abandon the war, the army falls with them and the Mandalorians win. They come to this planet, sack it, and put your pinch little heads on a spike somewhere. It might actually be amusing, except my head would be up there to.”

“Don’t try and threaten us into action.” Atris warned.

“This isn’t a threat, it’s a fact.” Spike snapped. “We are needed, and yet some of us still came back.”

“Am I to take it that Revan trusted you before you returned?” Master Lamar asked.

“I am, Revan asked me to come back and explain his situation, and why the rest of the Revanchists couldn’t return with us.”

“The rest of you are dismissed. You are to remain on Coruscant unless commanded to leave by this council.” Lamar ordered. “Spike, stay. We would speak to you.”

The other Jedi filed out of the room, casting glances of disgust back at the council and looks of worry back at Spike. Soon, Spike was once again standing before the council alone.

“You know, it does feel good not to be covered in blood this time.” Spike quipped.

“You look no less savage.” Atris observed.

“You know ‘master’, you can keep calling me a savage all you want, but don’t try and make me feel bad about it. You’re a human, you have it easy. Me, I’m a dragon, the only dragon in the Republic, and a dragon is usually a wild beast.”

“Peace, the pair of you.” Kavar said softly, before talking directly to Spike. “You disobeyed us, after we explicitly told you not to peruse this. Why?”

“Because we need to act. We are not priests, we are peacekeepers, you told me that. Sometimes the only way to preserve the peace is to destroy opponents of it.”

“The Jedi cannot risk entering another war without knowing what the consequences will be.” Kavar insisted. “You must accept our position in this argument Spike.”

“No I don’t.” Spike snapped. “That’s what always gets us into trouble, just accepting something with no forethought. I have to acknowledge your opinion, which I do, but I also have to reserve the rights to go ‘this is fucking stupid, are you kidding me?!’”

“You will control yourself in the presence of this council.” Atris said indignantly.

“Tell me why I’m still here, and then let me get on with it.” Spike said, annunciating each word slowly.

“You are to publically testify against the Revanchist movement before the whole Republic, as well as the high command of the Republic military. You will disown them, and state that they are under scrutiny by the council for possible treason against this order.” Atris said simply.

“Fuck, that.” Spike spat.

“Furthermore, if you refuse your rank will be stripped from you and you shall be cast from this order.” Atris finished.

Spike opened his mouth to curse her again, but thought better of it, scowling as he realised the position he was in. If he wanted to fulfil Revan’s orders, he had to stay in the order, and if he wanted to stay in the order, he would have to play along with this plan.

“Fine.” Spike said with a growl.

“You are dismissed Spike.” Atris said, a smile cresting her lips.

With a soft snarl, Spike turned and left the room. He would play along for now, but not for long. He would turn members of the order to Revan, and then he would return himself, and he would drive the Mandalorians back into dark space.

Outside Support

Spike stormed out of the lift as soon as the doors slid open, cutting a path through the corridors as Jedi scurried to get out of his way. It was almost exactly the same as had happened last time he had seen the council, except this time he was just storming around in a rage, as opposed to storming around in a rage covered in blood.

Bow, as then, Spike had a goal in mind, and it was one that he would see fulfilled if it killed him in the bloody attempt. Atris wanted him to talk in front of the Republic, but he had final say on what he told them. The council was made up of fools if they honestly believed that he would disavow his friends just because he was ordered to, and he would make them see that. Then again, he couldn’t openly defy the council in public, or they would surely follow through on their threat to exile him, and while he wasn’t particularly endeared to some parts of the order at the moment, he didn’t want his time in it to be over just yet.

Sighing to himself, Spike found himself outside a familiar room in the temple, and quickly moved inside the meditation chambers, sitting down on the heavy duty stool that was placed within. Closing his eyes, Spike reached inside of his mind, wracking his brain for an answer, as well as drawing Moonstone out. The mare had been quiet as of late, but she still appeared before Spike as the Dragon once more opened his eyes.

“No Desolation?” She remarked scathingly.

“You don’t like him do you?” Spike replied, following the apparition of the mare as she walked around his cross-legged form.

“No.” She agreed simply. “I don’t like that beast, he’s nothing more than a wild animal you use to perform vile actions.”

“He is more than an animal.” Spike snapped. “And I don’t use him, I let him help because that’s what he does best, but he’s not an animal. He’s as much a part of me as you are a part of me.”

“He is not you!” Moonstone roared. “He’s violent, crude and cruel.”

“And I could easily be as cruel, crude and violent as him.” Spike snapped back. “He’s me with my inhibitions taken away just as you are me with the violence taken away, leaving only knowledge, logic and the will to set things right. We are all one, and I won’t have to parts of my mind arguing against each other. Hell, my mind is already split into three parts, I won’t have another one forming that is selfish and loves to argue.”

“If I knew who you were talking to, I would say that that was very enlightened of you Spike.” A familiar voice sounded, and instantly Moonstone disappeared as Solaris stepped into the room.

“Master!” Spike cried happily, jumping up and grabbing hold of the female human, whisking her off her feet and holding her tightly.

“Ha, it’s good to see you too Spike.” Solaris managed with a chuckle, gasping for breath as Spike squeezed her. “Can you put me down though? I don’t think my back will take much more of this.”

“Sorry about that.” Spike said sheepishly, placing Solaris back on the floor and getting a better look at his old master.

She was getting on in age now, and her hair was beginning to go grey, not so much that it wasn’t still easy to see what colour it had been before, but enough so that it was clearly visible.

“You’re still talking to yourself then?” Solaris noted with a grin, sitting down on the second chair.

“You don’t know the half of it.” Spike chuckled. “It’s a regular petting zoo up here.”

“I’m sure.” Solaris nodded, before leaning forward. “Now, what’s all this I hear about you, the council and these, what do you call them, Revanchists?”

“Oh, you know. Same old same old.” Spike said dismissively.

“I’m going to get the answer at some point.” Solaris pointed out. “I also hear that you’re going to be talking to Republic high command and the senate at some point.”

“Yep, but I doubt that I’ll be trying to do that today. Maybe tomorrow.” Spike sighed.

“Right then, looks like we have some time then.” Solaris grinned, jumping back to her feet with a spryness that belied her age.

“Time for what?” Spike asked, getting to his feet.

“Your tongue needs loosening if you’re going to tell me what’s going on with you and the council, and I know how to loosen your tongue.” She grinned.

***

Spike and Solaris approached the Ultra Ray, their Lightsabers left in Solaris’s speeder and Solaris wearing plain street clothes. Solaris was right, this would loosen his tongue. He just had to be sure that it didn’t become too lose. She was still a master in the order after all, and had the ear of the council, so he couldn’t afford to give away Revan’s plan just yet.

Pushing through the door, Spike smiled as he breathed in deeply. Although it had been over three decades since he had last been in here, the bar had changed very little. Even the man behind the bar was the same, and instantly caught sight of Spike and Solaris as they walked in.

“Artemis!” He called out happily. “And you brought Spine back!”

“You remember me?” Spike asked, walking up to the bar.

“You came in here a few days after the invasion of Coruscant and started the biggest bar fight while I’ve owned the place. Course I remember you.”

“Well then, let’s start with an ale.” Solaris smiled, before wondering over to a table and sitting down.

Following after Solaris, Spike grabbed hold of a second chair, sitting down on both so that they supported his weight. Even so, they creaked and groaned as he sat down, and Spike wondered if they were still going to collapse.

“So, let’s get down to it.” Solaris said, looking at Spike inquisitively. “What’s going on with you and the war?”

“Nothing.” Spike said dismissively, grabbing hold of the bottle of ale from the nearby serving droid and sipping from it. “I turned from war.”

“I know you Spike, and I know when you’re lying to me.” Solaris replied, sipping from her own bottle.

“How do I know that anything I say here won’t be simply reported to the council?” Spike asked.

“Whoa. Spike, I’m hurt.” Solaris said, her voice dropping as she looked at her old pupil. “That you’d think that…”

“I’m sorry.” Spike admitted, putting the bottle down. “It’s just…you’ve been speaking to the council, you’ve got their ear.” He looked around, before dropping his voice to close to a whisper. “I have a mission from Revan, one that needs security and secrecy to succeed, so I can’t just tell you all about it.”

“What if I could help you?” Solaris asked.

“How?”

“You need to speak to the Republic military command, and I’m guessing by the fact you are on a mission for Revan means you still plan on fighting this war. That means that your plan is likely to involve getting the military believing in Revan, not what the council’s saying. I can put you in contact with generals who will be sympathetic to your cause, and to give you support when you speak in the senate.”

“You’d do that?” Spike asked happily. “If you can promise me that, then I’ll be more than happy to trust you.”

“Spike, on the trust formed between a Master and an Apprentice, I promise you I can do this for you.” Solaris said, holding her hand over her heart, before downing her drink and burping loudly.

“Same old Solaris.” Spike chuckled, before following her lead and finishing his own drink. “Fine. Revan wants me to recruit more Jedi for his cause. We can turn this war around, make the Mandalorians pay, but only if the council is off our backs and we have enough Jedi to do what must be done. I can’t do anything about the council, god knows I tried, but they won’t listen.”

“So you’re back to recruit Jedi.” Solaris nodded. “How many Jedi are part of the movement anyway?”

“We have one hundred Jedi, Knights and Padawans only, I’m the oldest and the only one with any real combat experience.”

“So you want to recruit more Jedi, those who have combat experience?”

“Ideally, but really any Jedi will work.” Spike nodded. “I would be honoured if you would come with me.”

“I can’t do that.” Solaris shook her head sadly. “If you got me a couple of years ago, I would have jumped right in beside you, but not anymore. I’m too old for this shit.”

“That’s fair enough I guess.” Spike nodded thoughtfully. “I do need to find some Jedi who have combat experience though.”

“I can help you with that last one.” Solaris grinned, clicking her fingers in the direction of the bar and getting the barkeepers attention. “Some friends who I think you’ll be able to convince. But first, a toast.” She grabbed hold of a bottle that had been brought to the table, pouring out a couple of glasses. “To my good friend. May his mission be ever successful.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Spike grinned, before necking the glass.

***

Spike lay in bed, feeling like his brain had been squeezed into a jar two sizes too small. His vision, whether his eyes were open or closed, was filled with the visage of Moonstone and the blood-stained face of Desolation. The beast was grinning, and Spike thought he could make out compliments coming from his lips, while Moonstone was simply shaking her head in disapproval. His legs twitched as he sprawled on his side, his wings flapping weakly as he tried to move properly. All he had to do was crawl out of the bed… but his legs just twitched and jerked again as he went nowhere.

He could just lie here… yes… lie here in this nice soft bed and wait for the Mandalorians to invade and for the sweetness of oblivion to claim…

“Hey, Spike!” Solaris yelled in the perfect pitch to make it feel like an ice-pick had been shoved in Spike’s ear canal. He tried to say something about loudness, volume, or killing noisy and annoying Jedi, but was fairly that certain all of that went right over her head, though, as she screeched, “I thought I’d come back in here and ask you about your hangover! You drank way more than me, so you probably have one hell of one, so I thought I should talk really loudly! Makes perfect sense to me!”

“Ngggghhh!” was all he could reply as he flopped around and finally managed to bury his head under the pillows.

“So, Spike, are you hungover? Do you need me to talk louder? Hey, Spike! Can you hear me now?! Spike! Spike!” She shrieked as she shook the prone form of Spike, making his stomach lurch and his bladder clench. “Can you hear me, Spike?!”

‘He could kill her. He could kill her right here and now. No court in the Republic would convict her’, he thought, rolling over and landing on the floor with a heavy thud.

“I can hear you.” Spike groaned, looking up at Solaris. “Just…stop. Please.”

“Fine. I spoke to the Republic high command, they’re willing to meet with you today, as are the generals I spoke of. We meet with them in an hour, I didn’t think you would want much in the way of food.”

“Sounds good.” Spike muttered, resting his head on the cold surface. He could go back to sleep here…

“Spike!” She shouted in a singsong voice, the pitching tone cutting into Spike’s brain.

“Argggh, god damn it I’m awake!” Spike roared back, pushing himself up to his fullest height and staring down at Solaris.

“Just checking.” She said sweetly, before turning and leaving the room. “Hanger bay, ten minutes.”

Groaning to himself, Spike grabbed hold of his belt, strapping it around his waist, before going into the bathroom to splash cold water on his face, and hopefully wake him up a bit more.

Ten minutes later, Spike was standing in the hanger bay of the temple, watching as Solaris picked out her speeder from the series of vehicles. His head was throbbing lightly, but it was fading. One thing he had found out about Dragon physiology was that they had an extremely fast metabolism, and his body was apt at purging poisons or other harmful substances from his internals. Spike liked to think that it was something to do with the Dragonfire that burnt within him that burnt the harmful substances away, but like so many things about himself, Spike could only guess at, and would require a full dissection on multiple corpses to find out if he was correct. Since Spike was still alive, and wished to stay that way, that was out of the question.

Finally, Solaris gestured for him to come over to her as she clambered into her speeder, starting the engine with a great roar. Spike dubiously looked at the tiny craft, taking in its many curves and sleek, aerodynamic shape. It was truly a beautiful machine, built for speed, not hauling, and therein lay the problem.

“What’s the matter Spike?” Solaris asked, looking at him expectantly.

“How strong is this thing?” He asked, prodding the craft gingerly.

“Ah.” Solaris nodded, looking Spike up and down. “Yes, I didn’t really think just how big you’d gotten since I last saw you. What is it, nine foot?”

“Ten.” Spike said, before flexing his wings. “I can follow behind you, but please, slow down.”

“Slow down?” Solaris muttered. “God, next thing you know you’ll be telling me to get rid of my fighter.”

Still muttering to herself, Solaris took the speeder out of the hanger, but she had heeded Spike’s wishes, and kept the speed low. Chuckling at his old Masters antics, Spike flared his wings, before flapping them hard, buffeting the hanger attendants with a powerful wind before soaring out of the hanger.

It was not hard to keep up with Solaris at first, but soon the woman realised Spike wasn’t pushing himself to his limits and sped up. Faster and faster she went, until Spike was using everything he had to keep up with her. She did seem to sense that he was at his limit however, and made sure not to get any quicker, but it was still a gruelling pace. Always with the tests when he was with Solaris. Even now, as a Knight rather than her Padawan, she still kept him on his toes.

Eventually, Solaris brought her speeder into land on a platform high above the rest of the city, followed closely by Spike, who landed heavily on the platform, panting hard.

“Ooh, is little Spikey Wikey tired?” Solaris cooed.

“Only Rarity…can call me that.” Spike panted.

“Fine. Come on, the High Command should be ready for you in about five minutes.”

Following Solaris through the building, Spike remembered the last time he had been in a Republic military installation on Coruscant, and prayed that this experience would be less violent.

“Halt, state your business.” A soldier said, tightening his grip on his rifle.

“Jedi Master Solaris and Jedi Knight Spike, here to see the Republic high command.” Solaris replied.

“Ah yes, right this way please.” The soldier said, but Spike stopped him.

“One moment.” He turned to face Solaris. “I’m grateful for what you’ve done Solaris, and I trust you completely, you were my Master, and I’ll never forget that.”

“But…” She said, urging him to continue.

“Do I have to say it?” Spike whined.

“Yes.” Solaris nodded firmly. “If you want it to happen, then tell me exactly what you want, else I’m coming with you.”

“Fine, I’m sorry for this but you can’t come with me. Revan asked me to do this, and if I’m going to get into trouble with the council I don’t want you to be dragged down with me. Just promise me that if this thing escalates, you’ll convince the council to step in. I don’t want them setting foot on this world again.”

“If that’s really what you want Spike, I’ll see you at the temple.” Solaris replied, slightly dejectedly. “As for convincing the council, I’ll try if they get to the mid-rim.”

With that, Solaris turned and walked back out towards the landing pad, the door sliding shut with a slight hiss, cutting her off from Spikes view. Turning, Spike gestured for the soldier to lead on.

“So what was all that about?” The soldier asked as they walked.

“One wrong move at the moment and I could be exiled.” Spike chuckled. “I don’t want her doing that.”

“Fair enough. Here we are then. I’ll take my leave now sir.” The soldier saluted, before walking off back the way they had come, leaving Spike to walk into the room alone.

“Generals.” Spike said, walking into the room and saluting the five men who stood around the room.

“Jedi Knight Spike.” A man who Spike assumed to be the highest rank said, stepping forward and saluting, before extending his hand, shaking Spikes claw. “To what do we owe the pleasure of a Jedi visit?”

“The war.” Spike said simply. “As you are no doubt aware, the Jedi council doesn’t want to get involved, but there are Jedi that are trying to help. They are led by a man named Revan, and while he’s not being endorsed by the council, he’s trying to help. Let him.”

“I thought that you were coming here to tell us that the Jedi weren’t helping.” Another man said in confusion.

“The council wants me to tell you that the Jedi are staying out of the war and that’s the end of it. Any Jedi that do help, namely Revan and the rest of his followers, are to return from the front or face exile. I’m here to tell you fuck that.”

The last comment got a series of chuckles from the assembled soldiers.

“Revan’s tasked me and some others to come back here and stir up support for the war effort, while I’ve been ordered to talk to you. I am assuring you that the Jedi won’t abandon the Republic, even if the council is willing to. Revan, Alek, Meetra and I will continue to help, we will lead the Jedi forces against the Mandalorians and support the armies of the Republic, regardless of the consequences.”

“That’s all well and good, but I’m guessing you didn’t come all the way here, and Solaris didn’t get into contact with me, just to tell us that you will support us.”

“You’re right.” Spike nodded. “Revan wants to help, but you’ve got to help him to help you. Coordinate with him, even if you can’t officially include him in your plans. Keep him informed of them, and he will slot himself into them as best he can. I know that without the support of the council, we can’t help, else the senate itself could come down hard on us, but there’s nothing to say we can’t ‘accidently’ find our way to the same battles as you. Keep it off the books and we can do this right. The Mandalorians are going to be sorry they kicked this hornet nest.”

“Thank you Jedi.” One of the Generals smiled. “Where do you go now?”

“The senate hall.” Spike smiled. “I need to tell the Republic that ‘Revan and his followers are under scrutiny for possible treason’.” Spike took on a mimicking tone of Atris.

“Sounds like you’ve got your work cut out for you.”

“Buddy, you don’t know the half of it.” Spike chuckled, before making his way back towards the landing pad. Quickly reaching it, Spike spread his arms wide, stretching as he looked at the temple far off in the distance.

“Fuck you Atris.” He muttered, before falling forward, spreading his wings after a few seconds of free fall and banking towards the newly built senate building.

The senate tower had been built over the top of the old senate building after the end of the Great Sith war, the building capable of holding far more people than the old senate hall ever could, which helped as more and more systems joined the Republic, each one sending delegates to represent their world on the capital. Spike still couldn’t decide whether or not he liked the new building or not, it’s mushroom like structure breaking up the stark, blocky outlines of the other buildings of Coruscant.

Pushing his feelings for the building aesthetics aside, Spike flapped his wings harder, quickly reaching the steps of the building and softly touching down. His arrival was met by murmurs from passers-by, as well as more than one scream, but he didn’t really care, and quickly made his way inside, nodding to a pair of blue robed senate guards as he walked through the massive archways that led into the senate tower itself.

Already, Spike could hear that a session was in order in the centre of the building, and made his way towards one of the many terminals on the wall. Quickly entering his Jedi authorisation code, Spike began to scan through the list of Repulsorpods until he found one that was empty. Calling a lift platform to the floor he was on, Spike made his way up to the free pod, before sitting down and looking up at the Supreme Chancellor, and the two pods that were orbiting around the main tower. Typing in a simple message, Spike sent across an acknowledgement of his presence to the Supreme Chancellors aide, before sitting back and awaiting his turn to speak.

***

Two Hours Later

***

Spike groaned as he listened to yet another dispute between various systems as they presented their case to the Republic. Hardly any of the cases put forward were actually resolved by the Supreme Chancellor or the rest of the senators present, instead receiving a ‘we’ll look into it’ style result.

He was roused from his semi-slumber when a light flashed green on the panel in front of him as the Supreme Chancellor once again addressed the delegates.

“We shall now here from Jedi Knight Spike of the Jedi order. He will today testify against the group of Jedi known as Revanchists, and to state the Jedi Orders position in the war against the Mandalorians.”

Taking a deep breathe in, Spike braced himself as he felt the pod move out into middle of the chamber, floating over towards the Supreme Chancellors tower in the centre of the room. Spike knew that this was something the Jedi council wanted seen, and that meant it would be broadcasted live over the holo-net around the Republic. He had to make this right first time, he wouldn’t get a second.

“Members of the Republic, I come before you on behalf of the Jedi Council. The war with the Mandalorians is devastating to those unaligned worlds outside of our territory, and may soon spill into the Republic itself, but the council believes we cannot act hastily in this case, especially in my order. They believe the true threat has not yet emerged, and are reluctant to commit ourselves to what may be a baiting move.” Spike said, looking around as his voice was amplified a hundred fold around the senate hall.

“This being said, there are Jedi who are participating in the war, they are led by a man named Revan, and have taken to calling themselves Revanchists to preserve his deeds as a hero. Until a few days ago, I was affiliated with this movement and with Revan, but have since been recalled to the temple. The Revanchists are not supported by the council, rather they are acting against its wishes. They have also been ordered to return, but many are refusing, even in the face of charges of treason against the order. These brave Jedi will continue to fight against the Mandalorian threat, and will stand by the Republic. In this instance, the council wishes for you to know that they are not officially Jedi, but rouges and may have to be dealt with as such. I implore you, member worlds of the Republic, to offer them all the aid you can in helping the Revanchists to make the correct decision for the good of the Republic. The Mandalorians are known as crusaders and neo-crusaders by their own naming, but the republic has our own. Revan is the Republic’s crusader, for better or for worse. Thank you for your time.”

“Jedi Knight Spike of the Jedi Order.” The Supreme Chancellor nodded as the senate hall erupted into applause.

It was not a response Spike had been expecting, and he was dumbfounded by it slightly as his pod began to float back over to the docking port it had come from, allowing Spike to exit back into the hallways beyond. Clearly his speech was the final motion of the day, as the place that had been empty when he had come in was now swarming with senators, a few of whom nodded his way, or offered him words of support as he walked back towards the banks of lifts.

“My people will offer support to any Revanchists that need it.” One senator said softly as Spike brushed past him.

“The army of my world stands ready to support Revan and his Jedi.”

“The Jedi’s Crusader will find support amongst the three systems.”

As Spike stood in the lift, surrounded by gossiping senators, he allowed himself to grin slightly, thinking on what he had just done. He had gotten the message out about the Revanchists, he had spread the word of their movement, and he had on the surface disavowed them as he had been asked. However, at least a few of the senators had picked up on the deeper meaning behind the speech, and if they were picking up on it, that meat that others around the Republic would as well. Even if the council was enraged at him, and demanded he be expelled from the order, he had done what was right, and he had helped the Revanchists.

Now, time to move onto recruiting new members for the movement, Jedi who had knowledge of warfare, and experience in the fighting of it, and if he was lucky, he knew exactly where to start his recruitment drive.

The Bonds that Tie

Spike looked down at his communicator as he waited for a shuttle from one of the many transit locations on Coruscant. Tapping in a code, Spike screwed the small receiver back into his ear, shaking his head to make sure it was in before opening the channel.

Groaning as he was once again stone walled, Spike began to move forward the instant the doors to the shuttle opened, moving to the back of the bay and grabbing hold of one of the rails that ran along the top of the cabin. Slowly, the rest of the passengers filed in, taking their seats in preparation for lift off.

It didn’t take long for Spikes stomach to lurch as the ship left its moorings and pointed its nose up. A second later, the engines roared and the ship shot upwards. There were more comfortable ways to get into orbit of course, but for sheer speed, nothing beat a straight shot solid burn ride. No one on this shuttle, including him, gave a second thought to comfort, it was all about speed and the rush.

Five minutes later, the ship stopped shuddering as it passed through the atmosphere of the planet, breaking into close orbit. The voice of the pilot rang out across the speaker system.

“We’ve achieved orbit. Time to jump station, thirty seconds.”

“So what’s a Jedi doing on a shot run?” A Rodian asked, looking up at Spike. “Don’t you guys usually prefer your temple or a nice leisurely trip?”

“The Temple is precisely where I’m trying to avoid.” Spike snorted. “And as for leisure, I can do without.”

“Wait, aren’t you the guy from the holo-net?” The Rodian asked.

“Depends on which guy. The holo-net’s a big place.”

“The Jedi who just spoke to the senate.” The Rodian began to tap his head, trying to remember more, before snapping his fingers in triumph. “Jedi Knight Spike.”

“Yeah, that’s me.” Spike nodded, before looking across at the slowly opening airlock. “Listen, it was nice to meet you, but I’ve got people to meet.”

Making his way off the shuttle, Spike looked around for his contacts, quickly catching sight of them and pushing his way through the crowd towards them. One of the pair must have seen him as well, as they quickly grabbed their compatriot before running at Spike. Breaking into a run of his own, Spike rushed over to greet the pair, before scooping Tarhal and Corinna off feet, hugging them tightly.

“Damn I missed you guys.” Spike laughed, squeezing the pair, before placing them back on the floor.

“Feeling’s mutual big guy.” Corinna laughed, pulling Spike and Tarhal together in a much more manageable hug.

“Great to see you Spike.” Tarhal smiled.

“Well come on, let’s get somewhere more private where we can catch up.” Corinna said, moving so Tarhal was one side of her and Spike was on the other, her arms still around the waists of the bigger Jedi. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt quite this small.”

Letting out a loud laugh that drew more than a few glances from passers-by, Spike and the others made their way through the station, finally finding a waiting room that was empty, the viewport looking out into deep space. Sliding the door closed behind him, Spike slid down a wall until he was sitting on the floor while the others took a seat on one of the many benches.

“So, first things first, where’s your brother?” Spike asked. “Last I heard he was a Master.”

“Yeah, he got promoted, what, six years ago? Sound about right Tarhal?” Corinna turned to face the Wookie.

“Think it’s closing on seven.” Tarhal corrected.

“Seven then.” Corinna snorted, rolling her eyes. “Anyway, Zule stayed behind on Corellia. Said he had some business to attend to, but he said he could handle it on his own.”

“I’ve heard that before.” Spike muttered. “It never goes well.”

“Yeah, well Zule’s not stupid and he doesn’t take risks like the three of us.” Corinna shot back.

“I guess that’s why he’s a Master and we’re all Knights.” Tarhal pointed out. “But enough about that, let’s hear about you. I’ve heard rumours.”

“And then you were just on the holo-net in front of the senate.” Corinna continued. “You’ve pissed the council off, and now we’re meeting up on a jump station as opposed to in the temple which would have been easier. So, what’s going on?”

“Let’s see, what have been doing since we last met.” Spike letting out a thoughtful groan. “Well you know I got a commission after the Great Hunt ended, went into the Outer Rim, started helping them to rebuild.”

“Yeah we know that.” Corinna nodded. “We helped you on one planet a few years in, then we had to leave. Last I heard you were heading for Ranox, Thresh, that sort of area.”

“Yeah, we fucked up, big time.” Spike nodded glumly. “Thresh was gone, we investigated and got caught by Mandalorians. I lost my ship, half of the crew, but when I got back to the temple to tell the council, they already knew about the Mandalorians, and they won’t do a damn thing about them.”

“So that’s what your speech in the senate was about.” Corinna checked. “We didn’t catch all of it, just the end. Who’s Revan or the Revanchists?”

“Jedi who are doing something.” Spike clarified. “There’s a hundred or so of them, led by Revan, joint second in command between one Jedi Knight Alek, Padawan Meetra Surik and yours truly.”

“Wait, you’re not only a member of this Revanchist movement, but you’re high up in it?” Tarhal asked in surprise.

“I’m the oldest member, I have the most experience, and as seems to be an ever-growing trend, I’m the biggest.” Spike nodded.

“So what’s Revan doing?” Corinna asked. “If the council is mad at you, they can’t be happy about him.”

“Saying their mad at me is the understatement of the century.” Spike countered. “The last two times I’ve seen them, I’ve shouted them down and left, one time I was even covered in quite a bit of blood. Right now Atris is probably in a rage after I didn’t stick to what she wanted in front of the Senate, which is why we’re up here. No cameras that the Jedi hold, and no one who may run off to the council and tell them I’m here. Well, that’s one reason anyway, the other reason is more personal, but we can get to that later.”

“God Spike” Tarhal muttered. “So what are we up here for anyway? I doubt you did this just for a chat.”

“What I say doesn’t leave here, on your honour as my friends.”

“Sure.” Corinna nodded.

“I don’t see a problem.” Tarhal agreed.

“Revan sent me back to Coruscant for help, but not from the council. Those idiots think staying neutral is the way, but if they keep that up, there won’t be a Republic to stay neutral to. I need Jedi, one’s with experience who are willing to follow Revan to war.”

“And you came to us.” Corinna deadpanned.

“What was I supposed to do?” Spike groaned. “I thought…”

“I’m in.” Tarhal cut in.

“I’m sorry?” Spike said, not quite catching what the Wookie said.

“I said I’m in.” Tarhal repeated. “You want support to fight Mandalorians, we all have similar reasons to dislike them. We owe it to Asho, all of us, Nexu clan. If Zule was here then I’d say the same thing, but right now it’s just you Corinna.”

“Well? What do you say?” Spike asked expectantly.

“I don’t know. The council doesn’t support this do they?” Corinna said hesitantly. “Won’t we get in trouble?”

“The council can kiss my ass.” Spike snapped. “Do you want a repeat of Coruscant Corinna? Hundreds of thousands dead, the army and the Jedi in disarray, and that was when they were Crusaders. Imagine what they’ll do as an army, one that can easily rival the Republic. If the Republic has any hope of winning, it will be on the back of the one advantage that the Mandalorians can’t replicate.”

“Which would be us.” Tarhal finished with a smile. “Come on Corinna, you know this is serious, and Spike’s been out there, he knows what he’s talking about.”

“What you’re talking about is going to war, not defending ourselves. The Jedi haven’t been attacked, and the council says we can’t. That’s not the Jedi way.” Corinna insisted.

“There won’t be a Jedi way if we don’t help.” Tarhal shot back.

Corinna looked exasperatedly between Spike and Tarhal, trying to find some sort of chink in their mental armour, before letting out a sigh of resignation.

“Fine, I’m in.” Corinna relented.

“Thank you.” Spike smiled. “Almost got the full team back together, Nexu Clan reborn.”

“You know even if Zule comes back in time for you to talk to him, he won’t follow you. He sticks by the council and the orthodox Jedi ways.” Corinna pointed out. “Nexu clan won’t be getting back together for this fight.”

“But it’s a start. Revan gave me a mission, and you’ve helped me start the ball rolling. I can’t think of anyone else though, I don’t know any other Jedi well enough to be sure they won’t go to the council. If they found out what Revan wanted…”

“What about younglings?” Tarhal asked. “At least ones who are preparing for the apprentice tournament. They won’t be settled in enough to go to the council, and they won’t be set in the ways of the Jedi yet.”

“That…is an excellent idea.” Spike nodded slowly. “There’s a mission to Illum coming up soon, getting crystals. Maybe I can get myself on that.”

“It should work.” Corinna nodded. “Now if there’s nothing else.”

“I’ve got something to check over if you want to tag along, but you don’t have to.” Spike replied.

“What sort of something?” Tarhal asked.

“A Corvette type something.” Spike grinned. “Second reason I came up here was because I’m going to check out the refurbishment.”

“Wait, you have a ship? A corvette no less?” Corinna asked in amazement. “I struggled to get a fighter from the order, and they give you a capital ship?”

“The order?” Spike scoffed. “I don’t even know if the order knows I have this, much less them being the ones who gave it to me. Come on, I’ll show you.”

Spike lead the pair out of the room, returning to the hanger and catching sight of a Republic navy crewman standing next to a shuttle. Walking over to him, Spike saluted the soldier casually.

“Sir. Are you Jedi Knight Spike?” The man asked, returning the salute.

“I am. I’m taking it you’re my ride to the dry docks?”

“Yes sir. Will your friends be joining us?”

“It’s not a problem is it?” Spike asked.

“No sir. I was just checking. If you would like to step this way.” The soldier said, indicating the back of the transport.

It took them almost half an hour to get across from the jump station to the dry docks, Tarhal and Corinna trying to pick Spikes brain about his ship all the while, only for the Dragon to stone wall them, not because he didn’t want to tell them, but because he really didn’t know much about his ship. This would be a learning experience for him as well.

Eventually, they all piled out of the ship, walking over towards a viewport and looking out into the space beyond. Last time Spike had been here, he had been looking at the refurbishment yards, so his ship was the only one there. Now though, he was looking at storage, where at least twenty ships were all docked, small tubes connecting their airlocks to the station.

“There’s mine.” Spike said, pointing through the window towards the end of the docks.

“You mean the large one over there?” Tarhal asked.

“That’s it.” Spike nodded, before looking around for any crew. “Now if I can only find…”

“Excuse me, can I help you?” A woman asked, walking towards the three Jedi.

“Yes, you can actually.” Spike nodded, pointing the ship out again. “See that ship there, that’s mine. I need access to it for obvious reasons, so if you could just go and do that.”

“I’ll need to see some identification before I can authorise anything.” The woman said, before drawing out a datapad. “Let’s see…ah yes, here’s the ship. Old name of the Crusader, no new name on record. To find out more, I’ll need to know who you are.”

“So exactly how many Dragons do you get docking ships here?” Spike asked, looking at her with a slight smirk.

“How’s that relevant?” The woman asked.

“Well, considering the fact that as far as I know, there are no other Dragons in the universe, and there are none in the Jedi Order, that sort of narrows it down a bit.” Spike chuckled.

“You make a point.” The woman nodded. “Let me just pull up the codes that are guarding it, and…done. The maintenance code is D-1-S-C-0-R-D and your ship is berthed in bay sixteen.”

“Thank you.” Spike smiled, before turning to Tarhal and Corinna. “Come on, let’s go to the ship.”

“How the hell did you get a hold of this ship Spike?” Corrina asked as they walked. “I mean, something like this doesn’t just fall into your lap, does it?”

“Fall is the wrong word.” Spike snorted. “More like…I repossessed it after its previous owners past away.”

“So you took it after you killed its owners?” Tarhal asked scathingly.

“To be fair, they were Mandalorians, and they had been hunting me for six months.” Spike reasoned. “I needed some way to get back to Coruscant so I took the ship, after that, well, it felt like a waste to just leave it, so I repurposed it.”

“It’s still a dead man’s ship.” Corinna insisted. You’ll be piloting a dead man’s ship.”

“They tried to kill me, what was I supposed to do? It’s been cleaned and refitted, so it’s as much mine as it was there. If you don’t like the idea of me flying it, that’s fine, but don’t judge me for it.”

“Fine, I’ll come look at it.” Corinna relented as they reached the docking tube.

The blast door entering the ship was sealed, but that was quickly rectified after Spike inputted the code, the door sliding open at his command. Taking a deep breathe in, Spike sighed, looking around the bridge they had just walked onto.

“The smells got better at least.” Spike smiled, glad it no longer reeked quite as much of blood and guts.

“How many died here?” Tarhal asked. “I can still smell death.”

“Quite a few.” Spike admitted, before walking towards the main bridge computer, inputting the code once more. Instantly the computer sprang to life, showing off a hologram of the ship, the vessel slowly rotating as Spike made a mental note to change the codes for the ship to something a bit more memorable, maybe even get a bio-scanner, but it was early days.

“Nice.” Corinna said, looking at the ship. “Sixty six centimetres of grade A titanium armour, third generation deflection shields and a power core I’ve never seen before. This is Mandalorian yeah?”

“Yes, most of the stuff is just as advanced if not more advanced than Republic tech.” Spike sighed. “They will have got some things from this ship, level the playing field eventually, but right now our ships are going to be out-classed by our enemy, and the Republic hasn’t even faced the full force of the Mandalorian fleet.”

“Maybe I was right to join after all.” Corinna said softly. “If there ships are like this…”

“I haven’t seen any other ships quite like this one.” Spike corrected her. “As far as I can tell, this is either a failed design or a prototype. One of a kind.”

“That could be a good thing.” Tarhal added in. “If it’s a prototype, it may be more advanced than the rest of the fleet.”

“Or it’s less advanced which is why it hasn’t been mass produced.” Corinna countered.

“I think it’s better to operate on the assumption that all Mandalorian ships have these qualities and are more advanced than Republic ships,” Spike agreed, “which means we need Jedi to level the field.”

“Agreed.” Tarhal nodded. “We need…”

He was cut off as a bleeping sounded from his communicator. Getting out the holo-projector, Tarhal pressed the stud on the side, being greeted by a visage of his Padawan.

“Stratmum.” Tarhal nodded.

“Master.” Stratmum replied. “Where are you?”

Tarhal looked across at Spike, the Dragon shaking his head slightly, before he answered. “I’m with a friend. Why?”

“That lead we were looking at, I’ve found a trail. We’ve got to go quickly through or we could lose it again.”

“I’ll meet you at the Hyabusan way. Wait for me there, and don’t move in without me being there. Understand?”

“Yes Master.” Stratmum acknowledged, before letting the holo-projection fade away.

“I’m sorry, I’m going to have to cut this short.” Tarhal apologised.

“What’s this all about?” Spike asked, walking with Tarhal and Corinna back towards the airlock.

“While on Corellia, Corinna, Zule and I uncovered a large smuggling ring with roots in quite a few of the core worlds. We’ve been tracking down members and ring leaders on Coruscant since we came back. We should be meeting a contact that will lead us to the higher ups in the ring.” Tarhal explained.

“I’m guessing you’re going to go with him?” Spike asked, looking at Corinna.

“Feel free to join us. Hell, between you and the walking carpet over here, the smugglers won’t exactly want to put up much of a fight.” Corinna smirked.

“I would, but I want to look around my ship, get to know it a bit better.” Spike replied apologetically. “Be careful.”

“We will Spike.” Tarhal reassured him, before turning and walking away from the ship.

“Oh guys.” Spike called out, remembering something he needed to tall them. “Frequency fifteen dash two two five one. Encryption key C-E-L-E-S-T-I-A”

“What’s that?” Corinna asked, looking back at Spike.

“If I need to contact anyone I manage to convince, that’s how I’ll do it, and if you need to talk to me on a secure line, that’s how you’ll do it. Keep that away from the council, I don’t want to risk any of them listening in, or anyone who will report to them for that matter.” Spike explained.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Corinna smiled, before jogging back to Tarhal.

Turning, Spike walked back inside the threshold of the ship, his ship now he guessed, making sure to close and lock the airlock behind him as he made his way back towards the bridge. The hologram of the ship was still being displayed above the deck fleet computer, but Spike ignored it, instead taking a seat in the new command chair.

Stretching out, Spike took in the layout of the bridge with a critical eye. The last time he had been on board, he hadn’t really bothered with learning the layout of the ship, but if he was going to be owning it, he guessed he would have to.

The commanders chair was set near the back of the bridge, above all of the other chairs that were dotted around the bridge, presumably giving the user greater command over certain systems, while the command chair would only allow him to have a basic command of the entire ship. The view was good though, the benefit of being at the very front of the ship he guessed, and gave him an unimpeded panoramic view of the rest of the docks.

Pressing a few buttons on the arm of his chair, Spike found himself being spun around until he was facing a screen directly behind him. The screen flared into life, and Spike was immediately greeted with a flashing cursor. Unbidden, the cursor began to move, and lines of text began to appear.

Initiating system start up.

Please input authorisation code

Quickly keying in the code the dock worker had given him once more, Spike was greeted with acceptance as the computer advanced once more.

Welcome. Maintenance – Y/N?

Spike tapped the N key.

New captain – Y/N?

Spike smiled, hitting the Y key.

Welcome captain. Please input name for the record.

Captain Spike on the bridge. Authorisation acknowledged. Captain Authorisation cade set as S-P-4432, resetting maintenance codes to F-G-A-365, resetting security codes to I-A-N-H-47. First time activation detected. Running start up procedures. Accessing ship history. ERROR, ship history unavailable, deleted after action at [DATA REDACTED]. Accessing ship specifications. Ship-type designation ‘Crusader’ class corvette. No name on record. Input new name – Y/N?

Spike sighed at that, stumped for a second. He hadn’t actually put much thought into what he should call his new ship, he assumed ships just came with a name and were stuck with it. Now that he had to choose, he didn’t really know. Then again, he had named his Lightsabers, maybe he could follow that pattern.

Idly, Spike tried a few ideas; Spectral Bolt? Spectral Blitz? Nothing really jumped out at him, until finally he was struck by a bolt of metaphorical lightning.

Ship name acknowledged. Starting log under name of ‘HARMONY’. Current ship readiness – 90%. Weapon capacitors charged, locked and safe. Shield generators operational. Engines operational. Life support operational. Communication array operational. Crew on board – one. Ill advised to launch with minimal crew. Start launch procedures – Y/N?

Spike would have liked to press Y right now, meet up with Revan and re-join the war, but he knew he couldn’t give up on the mission that easily, and tapped N instead, before pressing another button, spinning the chair back around to face the viewport. Standing back up, Spike made his way off the bridge. He still had a ship to explore, things to check that he hadn’t even considered before today.

He would need a crew for one, provisions for a trips into deep space, and places for them to all sleep. Then again, he could save on that aspect by slaving droids to the controls. It would be more efficient in a lot of ways, and they wouldn’t need feeding, but organics were better than droids in so many other ways. They were creative, compassionate, able to act outside programming, and could be nice to talk to. Then again, he could also face losing them in battle, and Spike knew that he didn’t like doing that. This would take some time to get ready, but he had time, and as far as he knew, the council didn’t know he had this ship.

Anything done to it would have to be kept off the books and out of the reach of the council until he could re-join the war properly, meaning hard credits for any modifications, credits he would have to slowly siphon out of his current account so as to not arouse suspicion. If they found out he had easy access to a warship, they may place even less faith in him than before, and considering the fact that Spike doubted they trusted him an inch, that would not be good.

Initiate Protection Detail

Spike sighed as he watched the news feed scroll in from the holo-net, yet more footage of the front and the loses that the Republic was suffering. The Jebble-Vanquo-Tarnith line had been overrun weeks ago, Taris hadn’t lasted much longer once the true Mandalorian fleet besieged the planet, and the Mandalorians continued to surge into the Republic securing victory after victory in every theatre of war, in what was now being referred to as ‘the Onslaught’.

And still the council waited.

No matter what happened, no matter how much the Republic army buckled and strained under the assault and cried out for aid, the council still advocated that the real threat was yet to manifest itself, as if anything could be as much of a threat as this. Revan was still seeing some success, but he had too few followers, and not enough authority to bring his own tactical knowledge to bear, and so he was forced back with the army. No matter how much Spike hated having to admit it, the Revanchists needed the council to approve of them, otherwise the Republic would never be able to accept them properly, and this trend would continue until the Mandalorians were sitting the senate hall, picking their teeth with the bones of the Supreme Chancellor. Spike wondered if that would be enough to get the council to react, if the fall of the Republic would be enough to make them see that the Mandalorians were the true threat, not the destroyed Sith, but he somehow doubted that. The council could have a Sith Lord standing in front of them, and they would still try and lecture him about neutrality.

Deactivating his datapad, Spike hooked it back onto his belt and looked off into the distance, watching the entrance way to the Jedi temple hanger. After much hard work, Spike had finally managed to land himself a place on this Padawan expedition, leading the mission to Illum so that the soon to be Jedi could gather the crystals for their Lightsabers. He was still surprised that the council would allow him to have such close contact with the young minds of the order, but then again, he had been working with those who had their Lightsabers to bring them up to speed for their final trial, so this was the next logical step. He still didn’t know who he would be taking on this excursion, but that didn’t matter, just how impressionable they were.

He had been making pretty good headway so far when it came to getting recruits for the Revanchist, and by his calculations had almost doubled Revans previous number. Turns out it wasn’t that hard to convince some people, you just needed the right leverage, to pick them at a time where they would be particularly receptive to the idea to plant the seeds, then wait while they cultivated. Soon enough, most of them came back to Spike, wanting to know more about the movement, and at that point, Spike had them hook line and sinker. It was almost laughable how many Jedi in the order were turning their backs on the council’s teachings of neutrality, and how big this gulf opening in the order was actually getting. He still hadn’t managed to convince any Masters yet, but he had enough Knights and Padawans to flood the battlefields with Jedi support, and more importantly, he had veterans of wars fought in the past, Knights who remembered the destruction wrought by the Mandalorians the first time they had invaded the Republic. While the first wave of Revanchists may have cast the first stone, and were led by Revan himself, it was the second wave that would lead the group, and the Republic, to victory.

Spike was brought out of his inner thoughts by the arrival of a small group of Jedi, the children looking up at Spike in awe and admiration. Smiling, Spike looked around each member of the group, taking in each of their faces before even opening his mouth.

There were four of them in total, two human boys, a human girl and an Ithorian male, all clad in the robes of the order. None of them looked anywhere near the age he was when he had travelled to Illum, but they weren’t the youngest he had heard of taking the test.

“Sound off. Names.” Spike said bluntly, looking around the Jedi.

“Balo Zane.” The brown haired boy said, bowing deeply. “Sabercat Clan

“Balonquiss Corso. Val for ease.” The Ithorian said simply.

“Otta.” The second human boy nodded.

“And I am Lyon Solman.” The girl finished, her eloquent voice radiating calm.

“I am Jedi Knight Spike, formerly of the Nexu Initiate clan. I will be responsible for taking you all to Illum. Can anyone tell me what we are heading there for?”

“Lightsabers!” The Initiates all shouted in unison, beaming widely as the thought of getting the weapons filled them with joy. Spike fondly remembered his own time doing just this, something that felt like it had happened a lifetime ago, when life was easy and simple. Now every decision that Spike made had consequences which could potentially affect a galaxy spanning war. It was a lot of pressure on the Dragon.

“Indeed.” Spike nodded, before drawing his own weapons, “You have proved to be the top of the others clans in skill, and so now is the time of the gathering. For a Jedi, there is no greater challenge, or honour. Now, the time has come to build your own Lightsabers. But be warned, finding your crystals inside the caves of Illum will be no easy task, and many perils will lie ahead of you. That being said, where we are going, there is no place more sacred to the Jedi.”

The initiates were undeterred however, and Spike hadn’t honestly expected anything less. Smiling slightly, Spike stepped to the side, allowing the initiates to rush past him to board the Crucible. Following the initiates, Spike tapped a button beside the ramp, sealing the ship and readying it for take-off. The ship had an auto-pilot, but for take-off and landing, it would need Spikes personal attention, or that of an astromech droid, which the ship did not have.

Quickly reaching the cockpit, Spike slid uncomfortably into the seat, slipping on the headset, before preparing to take the ship out. It was good practice for his own ship at least.

***

Spike watched as Val caught yet another shot from the remote with the staff he was training with, his movements clunky just like anyone who was practicing in the first form. Val cried out in pain as one of the bolts got past his guard, and Spike let out a throaty chuckle as he began to curse the droid, before it fired again, still believing itself to be in combat mode.

Letting out a small cough, Spike caught the attention of the initiates, summoning the droid to his hand and pressing the deactivation button.

“Master?” Otta asked, looking up at Spike.

“Knight or Spike please.” Spike corrected him, placing the droid down. “Now, I’m going to be blunt here. What do you know about the Mandalorians?”

“That they’re attacking the Republic and that Jedi Knight Revan is leading some of the only Jedi to help the army.” Balo offered.

“And that the council doesn’t like it.” Val added.

“Precisely.” Spike nodded. “Do not heed the words of the council.”

“But…” Val began.

“The Republic will fall if we do not act now.” Spike continued, cutting Val off before he could vocalise the rest of his argument. “The Mandalorians are taking system after system, and the more they take, the more powerful they will get. The army is breaking, and we need every advantage the Republic can muster.”

“And that means Jedi.” Lyon nodded.

“One of you understands.” Spike smiled. “We must stand together, stand firm side by side with Revan, Alek, Meetra and I and we use our might to protect the Republic, and together we will battle this menace, driving the Mandalorians back all the way to dark space.”

“The council thinks we should wait, who are we to disobey them?” Val countered.

“The council has wise members, although some of them are fools, *cough*Atris*cough*, but they will take too long to react to this threat.” Spike explained, looking straight at Val. “You are all strong in the force, otherwise you wouldn’t be here today. Use that power to fulfil the oath you swore when you were accepted.”

Slowly, Val nodded, before walking over towards Spike, standing beside him as he looked back at the others.

“I can sense that the three of you have had your doubts about the council’s teachings.” Spike said, eyeing the other initiates. “Why?”

“I don’t like standing by while so many suffer, suffering we could prevent.” Balo scowled.

“Not to mention that we swore to protect the Republic.” Lyon added.

“Both good reasons.” Spike nodded. “Delay will only bring us to ruin, and prolong the suffering of millions. It is within our power to end this war, yet the council sits behind closed doors. They debate, they philosophise, while all around them planets burn and thousands perish. I for one won’t stand for it.”

Exchanging quick glances, Lyon and Balo moved over to stand beside Val, leaving only Otta on the far side of the room. The boy looked torn, both wanting to be with his friends, and trying to stick to the teachings of the council.

“Otta, stand with us.” Spike said, extending a hand out towards the boy. “We can stop them together, even if the council thinks we should wait. Or would you have the Mandalorians sack the Republic?”

“I don’t…” Otta started, before closing his mouth sharply, staring across at Spike. “The Dark Side works in mysterious ways, ways we can’t understand, but it corrupts slowly. How do you know you aren’t under its influence?”

“You’re far too young to be thinking like that.” Spike said with a slight chuckle. “What do you know of the Dark Side or the Sith? Have you crossed blades with them, felt their power lash out at you first hand? The Sith don’t protect, they only destroy, whereas we as Jedi have sworn to protect the Republic, not abandon it in its time of need.”

“I guess.” Otta said, still sounding unsure.

“Come on Otta.” Balo urged, smiling at the other boy. “Spike makes a good point.”

“Fine.” Otta nodded, before slowly walking towards Spike.

“Thank you.” Spike smiled. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have other duties that must be attended to. Continue to practice with your droids.”

Picking up the deactivated droid, Spike pressed the stud on its bottom, making it flare back into life and float around the room, waiting for one of the initiates to pick up the staff that signified the beginning of a combat drill. Walking from the room, Spike quickly found himself in one of the smaller meditation chambers, one usually reserved for meditating upon the crystals that the initiates would soon be harvesting.

“My word, you have grown.” Came a mechanical voice from behind Spike, and the Dragon turned to look at Huyang, the ancient droid Lightsaber architect regarding Spike with his large impassive eyes. “What has it been, forty years?”

“Roughly.” Spike nodded. “How have the Padawans since Nexu clan been?”

“As they all are. Brash, eager to earn their sabres, and yet they like those before them exhibit power and wisdom beyond their years. Since the end of the great Sith War, I have seen the rise of many new Jedi weapons, weapons modelled after the Sith Lord Exar Kun. Do you not think it is strange that the Jedi would take their weapon plans from a fallen member of their own order?” Huyang asked thoughtfully.

“Is it odd?” Spike checked. “Yes, but unexpected? Not really. Exar Kun showed how effective it could be if wielded properly, defeating his Master is proof of that. No one really knows how to fight against it, and so it gives the user an advantage to offset the disadvantages of the weapon.”

“And using your enemy’s strength to your own advantage is a logical step in the path of an order such as ours.” Huyang agreed. “Very much like what you are doing now.”

“And what would I be doing now that is anything like Exar Kun?” Spike asked.

“I was not referring to Exar Kun, but rather to the Mandalore and his neo-crusaders.” Huyang clarified.

Spike let out a sound that was some sort of cross between a snort and a growl as he leered down at Huyang, his hand dropping towards his Lightsabers.

“Say that again, and I’ll rip your processors out.”

“Another reason you are like him, using violence.” Huyang noted. “I have access to every facet of this ship, as well as security feeds on board. I have watched the footage of your recent talk with your charges, a rally cry, a call to arms to face a worthy foe. Is that not what reports are saying the Mandalore called for? A crusade to prove themselves as the mightiest warriors in the galaxy by defeating the only force that could rival them?”

“That’s different.” Spike growled.

“How?” Huyang pressed.

Spike opened his mouth to reply, but couldn’t think of a proper response that would satisfy the persistent droid. No matter how much he looked at it, and how much he wanted to deny it, Huyang did have a point. Was that what Spike was becoming? Was this what the council was trying to warn him of?

Shaking the thought from his head, Spike steeled his thoughts once more. He would not allow this droid to worm his way inside his head and give him doubts to his purpose. The Mandalorians had to be defeated, and that was all there was to it.

“I see you have not been idle since your time on board this ship however.” Huyang said, changing the conversation suddenly. “Your new Lightsaber, or Lightsabers I see. Tell me, what material did you use to create these weapons?”

“Neuranium.” Spike said simply, grabbing hold of his Lightsabers and holding them out to the droid to inspect.

“Neuranium? Interesting. Heavier than almost any known material in existence, impervious to scans, which is not an issue in Lightsaber construction, and resistant to high energy transfer such as those found in blaster and Lightsabers. Tell me, why this material?”

“I’ve yet to meet another creature that would be able to wield them properly.” Spike chuckled. “To heavy for humans to lift and use in combat, and anything bigger loses the dexterity that is required.”

“Clever.” Huyang murmured, before looking up at Spike once more. “I will leave you to your meditations Spike.”

“Huyang, wait.” Spike called out. “About my talk with the initiates, what do you plan on doing about it?”

“I don’t…”

“Do you plan on telling the council?”

“It has nothing to do with the construction of Lightsabers nor the safety of the initiates on this mission. It is not my prerogative to tell the council no.”

“That doesn’t answer my question. Are you going to tell them, not can you tell them.”

“I will not.” Huyang said simply, before turning around and walking from the chamber, leaving Spike on his own once more.

Sitting down, Spike reached inside his mind, calling out to Moonstone until the mare materialised in front of him, looking at him with a small smile.

“Keeping well?” She asked.

“You’re in my head, you should know.” Spike pointed out, before sitting down, the apparition sitting beside him. “I need your help now, I need to know that I’m at my strongest.”

“Why now?” Moonstone asked, cocking her head.

“Because when this ship docks back at Coruscant, I won’t be sitting idle anymore. I’m contacting Revan, and I’ll be calling in the troops. We’ll be going to war against a foe that has proved itself stronger than the Republic.” Spike elaborated.

“So you want to be stronger than you already are? How?”

“Before the war, before we even knew it was Mandalorians, you helped me to cast magic, a shield spell. I need to do that again, and I need it to be stronger so that I don’t pass out if I’m hit.”

“I can try, and you can practice with it, but I can’t promise you that it will be strong enough for what you want.” Moonstone nodded, before once again fading from sight.

Grabbing hold of a nearby remote droid, Spike activated it, the little sphere floating off before turning its primary sensor towards Spike. Raising his hands, Spike brought them together, focusing his mind once more on the flow of magic that lay deep within them. Rubbing them slightly, he felt the same odd form of energy building up inside of him as before, being directed straight into his hands and filling his body with warmth. Slowly, knowing what Moonstone wanted him to do, and partly remembering what he did so long ago, Spike began to bring his hands apart, being greeted by the soft green light that heralded the shield.

Continuing to open his hands, Spike was greeted by a small green ball of colour, semi-transparent and floating in mid-air. The more he focused on it, the bigger it grew, until it covered his body completely, penning him in in a sphere of the energy. Smiling, Spike dropped his hands, only for the shield to flicker and die.

Letting out a low snarl, Spike raised his hands again, bringing the shield up once more. Slowly, he lowered his left hand keeping his right hand outstretched as he felt more power surge into it, keeping the shield at the same strength as the power from his left hand moved to his right. Looking across to the droid, Spike nodded, before putting all of his focus on keeping the shield raised.

“Begin combat test. Power setting five.”

Letting out a beep of confirmation, the droid began to move in an attack pattern, before unleashing a low power stun bolt at Spike, not noticing the shield in between them, as it was an anomaly to its scanners. The bolt hit the green orb, its surface rippling but holding steady, even as Spike grimaced in discomfort. It felt like something had pushed softly against his brain, just briefly, before vanishing once more, leaving Spike with just the briefest memory of the experience.

“Command. Up power setting.” Spike ordered. “Power setting ten.”

Once more the droid beeped, before firing another bolt, once again hitting the shield and causing it to ripple. Spike once again felt as if something was pressing against his brain, slightly harder this time, but still bearable, and once more the shield held. He remembered how the shield had fallen when he had exposed it to his own flames, and wondered if that was because of the Dragon magic cancelling out the other, more generic, magic, or if his flames were simply stronger than the blaster bolts.

“Command. Up power setting. Power setting fifty. Confirm lethal power setting Jedi Knight Override code 7-7-7-8.”

The droid let out a series of conformation beeps, before firing off a powerful shot at Spike. Spike grunted as the shield was hit, the power beginning to force its way through the shield, until it broke apart with a ‘pop’, the shot slamming home into Spikes chest. Letting out a chuckle, Spike looked down at the slightly blackened area of his chest, before raising his hand.

“Again.” He growled, the shield flaring to life once more.

The droid beeped, before unleashing yet another shot. This time when the shot hit however, Spike no longer tried to stop it with brute force, instead trying to spread the power of the bolt over a larger area like any conventional deflection shield would. The shield still rippled, making it hard to see out of for a second, but once it held, and that was all that mattered.

“Command. Deactivate fire protocol.” Spike ordered, before letting the shield drop, rubbing his eyes to banish the drowsiness that had begun to creep into them. Like any skill, the magic would have to be honed before he would be able to trust himself to use it in a life or death situation, but the basic principle was there. Now all he needed was practice.

Cracking his neck, Spike retrieved the droid from where it now sat on the floor, placing it back on the small platform it had occupied originally, before making his way towards the cockpit. The ship would soon be exiting Hyperspace, and Spike would need to be present to make sure that they landed smoothly and safely on Illum.

***

Spike watched from the mouth of the ship as the initiates made their way inside the temple, chatting loudly as they went. Each of them had successfully harvested a crystal, imbued it with the force, and constructed a Lightsaber to hold the precious component, and allow them to complete the final task set before them.

With the exception of Lyon, none of them had been very adventurous with their designs, all of them being a single bladed weapon. Lyon however had proved Spikes point about the double bladed weapon becoming more popular amongst the ranks of the Jedi, and now was the proud owner of blue Saberstaff.

All in all, the trip had been successful, both for the initiates and Spike, the number of Jedi he had turned to the cause swelling to the point where he now had more Jedi than Revan had managed to gather in the first place.

Grinning, Spike walked over to the edge of the hanger bay, looking down at the steep drop to the buildings far below, before throwing himself from the hanger. Flaring his wings, Spike angled himself towards the shuttle transit hub. He had accomplished his mission, and he couldn’t think of anything else he would be able to do without getting to bold and alerting the council to what he was doing. Now it was time to reap the fruitsof his labour.

Spike was calling in the troops.

Cathar

Spike stared at the holo-communicator on the Bridge of the Harmony, sitting down in the command chair after checking his quarters. His room was situated just off from his quarters, far away from those that had been claimed by Desolation. The second time he had ever come on his ship, after Zule and Corinna had left, Spike had picked out the room he would be using, the captains quarters being only a fraction bigger than the normal ones, but it had the trappings of command, and that’s what mattered to Spike. Screens decorated the walls, giving him tactical read-outs of every facet of the ship, while a secure door stored weapons which would be useful in the event of the ship being boarded, even to a Jedi like himself.

Desolation on the other hand had chosen something completely unsuited to commanding a warship, but then again, he wasn’t a commander, he was a savage, a brute who killed because it was what he was born to do. He had set up his own space, his own den, on the bottom deck of the ship, far away from prying eyes and the light. The darkness was safety to Desolation, and he would keep it that way.

Allowing the command chair to spin around, Spike looked at one of the screens that had previously been behind him, the one displaying the names of all those who had sworn their allegiance to Spike and Revan. It was completely full, almost two hundred names of those Padawans and Knights who would take up arms if he called them. Softly pressing on one of the keys on the arm of his chair, Spike brought up the ships droid interface system.

“Harmony acknowledge command, Captains authority.”

Scanning for Captain Spike. Biometrics matched. Authority recognised. Welcome back Captain.

“How long could we sustain a compliment of two hundred guests at battle readiness?”

Current levels of food and water could sustain a crew at full battle readiness for three weeks of extended activity without re-supply, five weeks if rations are implemented straight away. Oxygen can be recycled for four weeks before becoming corrupted. After six weeks it will become deadly to human life forms. It is not advised to plan a journey for more than six weeks. Start launch procedures – Y/N?

“No,” Spike shook his head, tapping N at the same time. “Bring up the communicator system, frequency fifteen dash two two five one. Wide band.”

Frequency established. Encrypted signal. Input decryption key.

“Celestia,” Spike muttered with a smile, typing the code into the keypad beside him.

Instantly, the holo-communicator behind him flared into life, crackling with static as it connected to the other communicators dotted around the planet. They would be able to see him when they connected, but there were too many for him to be able to see all of them, so all he would see would be static. He did not have to wait long for the static to clear and the first voices to ring through.

“This is Knight Cale Berkona. Who is this?”

“Go for Cariaga.”

“Jaska.”

The voices continued to flood in, until hundreds of voices were overlapping, holding conversations with each other over the channel. Finally, Spike got a confirmation that all who should be listening were, and let out a roar, silencing the Jedi.

“Spike? Is that you?” The voice of Corinna asked.

“It is. This is all of us, every Jedi on Coruscant who’s prepared to stand up for what’s right. The first time we’ve all been in contact.”

“Is it time?” Another voice asked.

“It is. I am transmitting a string of coordinates to your communicators. Arrive within the hour, don’t tell the council. Spike out.”

Deactivating the channel, Spike leaned back in his chair, looking around the bridge properly. It had been renovated since Tarhal and Corinna had been here, the bridge receiving most of the attention. A few of the seats had been stripped out, and in their places, droid brains connected directly into the ships mainframe, reaching into every aspect of the ship, but not to the extent where an organic couldn’t take over. The ship could fight with just Spike, and he knew he could fly it on his own, without the droid brain, but to fight well, to make sure that this ship didn’t become some wreck orbiting a distant star, he would need a living crew. Soon, he would have one, one able to sense danger before it even happened, sometimes even before their enemies themselves knew. They would be a force to be feared on the battleground.

Smiling at the thought, Spike tapped on the keys a few times, opening another secure channel and inputting the decryption key. Instantly, the communicator flared back to life, displaying the only person Spike answered to.

“Revan,” Spike smiled.

“Spike? I wasn’t expecting to see you. How goes your mission?” Revan replied, the brown haired sporting more scars than he had the last time Spike had seen him.

“Better than either of us hoped,” Spike grinned. “I have found all I can gather.”

“How many?”

“One hundred and ninety four, five including me. Looks like we outnumber your force,” Spike chuckled. “We’re leaving, we need to link up.”

“My faith in you wasn’t misplaced,” Revan smiled. “We’re traveling to the Outer Rim planet of Cathar to search for evidence of xenocide. Meet us there.”

“I’ll see you with reinforcements,” Spike said, getting u from his seat and bowing, before terminating the connection. “Harmony? Prepare the ship for launch.”

Affirmative Captain Spike. Engines warming up. Droid brain powering up. Autopilot – Y/N?

Spike couldn’t hit N hard enough as he grabbed hold of the two control sticks on the arms of his command throne. A small screen slid out from the headrest, sliding out until it was just off to the side of his vision, not blocking it, but giving him easy access to all the details he needed. The shield capacitors were charged, and the engines were ready to burn. Pressing another series of buttons, Spike felt the ship shudder as the docking clamps were removed, before finally taking the ship out. He would move to the jump station where he had told the Revanchists to meet him, before hitting the space lanes on the road to war. He didn’t know where Revan would lead him, but he knew that this was the last time that he would be setting foot on Coruscant for a very long time.

***

“You’re sure of this?” Atris asked, holding the communicator close to her face.

“Positive,” the figure replied, the hood on the robe they wore pulled up high so Atris couldn’t see who was beneath it. Not that she needed to of course, she knew exactly who she was talking to. “Spike has called in almost two hundred Jedi, he has a ship, and he’s planning on moving out in less than an hour.”

“I need names,” Atris pressed.

“Transmitting them now,” The Jedi said, pressing a few buttons on the gauntlet they were wearing.

Instantly, Atris was presented with a list of names on her datapad, slowly scrolling through them as her brow furrowed.

“By the force, this is worse than I fearer. That is Master Zez-Kai Ell’s Padawan,” Atris said, before looking back at the hologram. “Are you sure of this list?”

“I am. Everyone on it has sworn to go with Spike, and if you try to find them now, I’m sure you’ll find that they are all on the move. I’ve brought this to you so we can mend this rift in the order.”

“You have done well Knight. I will see you rewarded for this once we have stopped him,” Atris scowled. “Keep your tracker beacon on. I will bring the council to confront Spike and Revan as soon as he lands.”

***

The journey to Cathar was short and uneventful, and Spike was soon easing the ship out of Hyperspace in high orbit around the planet. As far as first flights went, Spike refusing to count the flight before it was refitted as an actual flight, this was a pretty good run, and allowed the dragon to get a better feel for his new ship. The droid brain was amazing, linking Spike into every part of the ship, and allowing him to monitor everything from the power drain on the engines, to the individual heat levels of the turbolaser batteries. What really amazed him though was how easy it was to fly with a full crew.

As soon as they had boarded the ship, Spike had selected the best pilots in the group to help him run the ship, while others stood by the guns just in case. He hadn’t anticipated any trouble, but then again, he hadn’t anticipated trouble in the Sujimis sector, and that attitude had cost him more than one friend, as well as a month of pain. Now, if the Mandalorians jumped him and his ship, they would find a hard nut to crack.

“Spike, we’re being hailed from the surface,” A knight who Spike knew as Cariaga called.

“Put it on the communicator,” Spike ordered, watching as the table flared into life, showing Revan once more.

“Revan. I’ve brought Harmony into high orbit. Transmit landing coordinates if you please.”

“Harmony? That’s what you named your ship?” Revan asked, raising an eyebrow quizzically.

“Harmony was a virtue on my world, one that was more powerful than anything and protected it from any danger we faced. I want my enemies to know of the power of harmony, and in their final moments, know that it doesn’t just protect my world from aggression, before they die screaming. Harmony holds the Republic together, so Harmony will fight to keep it that way.”

“Nice speech,” Revan chuckled. “Land at these coordinates. Fifty two degrees north, zero minutes. Twenty degrees east, five minutes.”

“Did you get that?” Spike asked, looking at the Jedi in charge of communications, receiving a nod. “We’ve got it. I guess we’ll see you when we land.”

“Approach vector locked in. ETA fifteen minutes,” Cariaga informed him, pressing a few buttons on his station.

“What does the council think of you absconding with so many Jedi?” Revan asked.

“They don’t know, and honestly even if they did, I wouldn’t care. The council is full of old fools, with a few possible exceptions,” Spike scowled.

“I hear that,” Revan nodded. “We’ll talk more when you land. Revan out.”

Leaning back in his seat, Spike took hold of the controls sticks again, waiting for the approach vector to be displayed on the screen in front of him, guiding him down to the planet below.

***

“You’re sure Revan is on Cathar?” Atris asked, looking at the hooded Jedi in the communicator.

“He spoke to Spike just moments ago from the planet’s surface. He’s there,” The figure nodded from beneath the robes they wore.

“The fleet is still half an hour away from the planet. We will be there soon,”

“How many ships do you have?”

“Why?” Atris asked. “Do you think there will be a confrontation?”

“There is a Republic fleet in orbit, I counted twenty Hammerhead cruisers, even a command ship, not to mention the individual ships of Jedi,” The figure replied.

“We have ten ships, but numbers do not matter. The Republic would never risk opening fire on Jedi and tearing the two apart,” Atris said dismissively.

“They have Jedi too,” The figure pointed out. “If it comes to a fight, who do you think the Republic will support? The ones who are helping them or the ones who are in the right?”

“The Republic will never fire on the council,” Atris reiterated.

“No, but Spike might, Revan to, but Spike hates you and the council. I don’t think he’d be above attacking you if you caught him in the wrong mood.”

“He wouldn’t dare.”

“He would. I’ll keep him occupied on the surface, but just be careful.”

“We will be,” Atris nodded. “Don’t let him know who you serve until we are there. If he is as unpredictable as you say, he could be the true threat this council has been sensing, the return of the Sith under Spike.”

“I doubt that, but I’ll keep it in mind. Over and out.”

***

Spike breathed in deeply as he walked down the ramp from Harmony, the ship having landed on one of the many flat planes of Cathar. Behind him, the other Jedi began to disembark, walking towards the opposite group of Revanchists already on the planet.

It was funny, looking at the differences between the two groups, even as they sought to link up. Those who had been with Revan for a while already wore armoured robes, or suits of republic body armour, wearing Lightsabers and blasters in bandoleers and military style holsters, while the Jedi who were disembarking Harmony with Spike were clad in the traditional robes of the Jedi, their Lightsabers concealed beneath.

The two groups halted when they were a scant few meters away from each other, Revan, Alek and Meetra stepping out from the old Revanchists, while Spike stepped forward from the reinforcements, towering over the other leaders of the movement.

“I didn’t think you had it in you Spike,” Alek chuckled, looking around at the new Jedi.

“And I didn’t think you had it in you to survive Alek,” Spike retorted.

“It’s Malak now.”

“Malak? Why the sudden name change?” Spike asked in confusion.

“A conclave of Jedi Masters killed their own Padawans on Coruscant to stop the ‘rise of the Sith’,” Malak spat. “I went undercover as Captain Malak, and I testified to the council, but you know what they did? They sent me back to Revan. ‘Go stop him’ they said, as if Masters murdering students is an everyday occurrence. I’ll keep this name until the war is won and the injustice is over.”

“They killed their Padawans?” Spike asked in amazement. “They didn’t do anything?”

“The council believed that it would tear the order apart if the wider galaxy knew that a veteran of the great Sith War started it all, so they swept it under the rug.”

“A veteran of the Sith War did it? After all we fought for, bled for, the council just let them go?” Spike scowled. “I always knew they were weak, but this?”

“We will avenge them. All of them,” Revan assured Spike, before casting his eyes over the new Jedi. “Is this all of them?”

“Everyone I could muster up,” Spike nodded.

“Jedi!” Revan shouted, raising his voice to address the newcomers. “I Revan, Knight of the order, and leader of the Revanchist movement. The council would see you all sit idle in the temple while the Mandalorians ravage the Republic, but not me, and not my friends. Beside me stands Jedi Knight Malak, my joint second in command and my oldest friend. Padawan Meetra Surik, also a leader of the Revanchists. I have no doubt you have also met Jedi Knight Spike. We remain on Cathar for two more hours. Report to one of the more seasoned Revanchists, they will guide you in the tasks I have set for them.”

As the new Revanchists began to fan out, mingling with the old ones for direction, Revan, Malak, Meetra and Spike began to walk towards Harmony, catching up with each other, and swapping stories.

“So, how was your spell on Coruscant?” Spike asked, looking at Malak. “I never even knew you were there.”

“That was the point,” Malak pointed out. “I was undercover for most of it, and for the rest…”

“Spike, you’ll want to come and look at this!” A Jedi called from the boarding ramp of Harmony, before disappearing back inside.

“What was that all about?” Malak asked.

“We should go and see what he wants,” Spike said simply, before breaking into a run and bounding up the boarding ramp into his ship.

Following after Spike, Revan and the other leaders of the movement quickly made their way inside the ship, emerging onto the bridge just as Spike sat down in his chair, turning it around to face the screens on the wall.

“Nice ship you’ve got here Spike,” Revan complimented, looking at the bridge. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say this was a Mandalorian design.”

“It is. I stole it before I met you,” Spike replied without looking round, sifting through streams of data on the screens. “As far as I can tell, this ship was a prototype that the Mandalore was trying out, meaning it’s completely unique.”

“Would you not feel better flying a Republic ship?” Meetra asked.

“Possibly, but this one will do, and I find it poetically ironic to kill Mandalorians with their own ships,” Spike chuckled.

“Can’t argue with that,” Revan nodded. “So what is it?”

“The sensors picked up a Hyperspace disturbance from orbit about five minutes ago,” The Jedi who had called them in explained. “At first we thought it was a glitch, then when we found they were ships we tried to hail them. They haven’t replied, so we got in contact with the Republic fleet. They’re all ok, but they won’t tell us what’s going on.”

“So we have inbound non-hostile ships inbound?” Malak asked thoughtfully. “Spike, did you bring every Jedi you recruited on your ship?”

“Every one,” Spike nodded. “Harmony? Plot the ships descent and give me a coordinate. Arm weapons and lock on, just in case.”

Command acknowledged. Targets locked, landing zone plotted. Fire – Y/N?

“Spike, you can’t just fire on people,” Revan protested, even as Spike pressed N.

“I know, but if they are enemies, we can hit first,” Spike said simply, before getting up from the chair. “We should go to the landing site, meet them as soon as they touch down.”

“Agreed,” Meetra nodded.

“Attention Revanchists,” Revan said, touching his hand to the communicator in his ear. “We have several unidentified ships descending towards the planet. Prepare to meet them.”

With that, Revan turned and strode from the bridge, quickly followed by the other Jedi as they made their way back onto the surface of Cathar. Spike could already make out the shapes of the ships descending towards the planet through the cloudless sky, ten in total, their silhouettes matching with four Hammerhead-class Cruisers, along with six Foray-class Blockade Runners. Whoever was coming down to the planet, they were Republic soldiers, and they were well prepared for whatever was about to happen. Then again, so were the Revanchists.

Moving to the front of the group of Jedi, Spike worked a crick out of his neck, his hands hovering over his Lightsabers apprehensively, ready to grab them and let fly the instant he needed to. Beside him, Revan, Malak and Meetra were doing very much the same, and their actions were being mirrored by the hundreds of Jedi that looked to them for guidance.

The ships eventually touched down on the planet’s surface just in front of Spike and the others, the Hammerhead Cruisers taking point, while the Blockade Runners landed behind, instantly opening their doors to disgorge troops. In short order, all but one of the ships had opened, disgorging a few troops, enough to make Spike nervous, but if he was being practical, he would realise that such a small force wouldn’t pose much of a challenge to an almost identical number of Jedi. These soldiers weren’t here to fight, they were hear to unnerve them.

Slowly, the door to the final ship began to slide open, allowing who Spike assumed to be the commanders of this force to disembark and take their place in front of the Republic soldiers, staring across at Spike and the Revanchists. Spike growled as he recognised all of them, and he could already feel the presence of Desolation pushing against his mind, begging to be set free.

Right now, Spike was seriously considering letting him.

Revan

“What, are you, doing here?” Spike growled, taking a step forward as he slowly drew his Lightsabers, holding them tightly. If they had been made of any other material, he was sure he would have crushed them by now.

“I could ask you the same question,” Atris replied, eyeing Spike’s Lightsabers warily. “And with so many of the order with you. Luckily for us, one of your number knows that the council is correct in this.”

“A traitor,” Spike spat, before turning to face the assembled Jedi. “We’ll come on then, step out and take a bow. You already sold us out.”

Slowly, a Jedi from the edge of the group took a step out, lowering their hood and looking at Spike, her sad eyes swimming with tears, before she went and stood beside Atris. Slowly, her eyes travelled to Tarhal, before looking down at her feet, no longer able to meet the gaze of her two friends.

“Corinna?” Spike asked, his voice softening as his friend looked back at him. “Why?

Before she could answer, Atris silenced her, taking another step forward.

“This rebellion against the council has gone on far too long!” Atris shouted, razing her voice so that all of the Revanchists could hear. “It disbands today, one way or another! You will either return to the temple as Jedi, or leave here with your titles stripped from you!”

“You would rid the order of over three hundred of its Knights and Padawans? I don’t think so,” Revan shook his head, before looking down at the ground and crouching down, digging with his hands. Atris however didn’t seem to notice or care.

“Stand by me if you will return to Coruscant, otherwise, lay down your Lightsabers.”

“And if we don’t?” Malak asked, taking a step forward to stand beside Spike.

“We will be forced to detain you,” Zule said simply, taking a step out from behind Atris and standing beside his sister. Spike could almost hear the sound of his heart breaking once more as he looked at the man, the passion that blazed in his eyes. He cared as much about stopping the Revanchists as Spike and Revan did about keeping them going, and that was worrying. Maybe Corinna wasn’t solely to blame for selling the council out after all.

“You think you could?” Meetra asked, stepping forward. “You think you have enough men to match this many Jedi?”

“We do not need more men,” Atris said simply. “The fleet in orbit will support the council.”

“Are you sure about that?” Spike asked. “Are you sure the Republic would support the Jedi who want to run away, rather than those who want to fight?”

“Don’t try it Spike, the…” Zule began, but Spike was undeterred, turning to face the Revanchists.

“And you?! Who will you support?!”

“Revan!” Came the almost unanimous reply.

“So Atris, Zule, is this how it’s going to be?” Spike asked, turning back to the Jedi Master.

“So be it,” Atris snarled, before drawing her Lightsaber. “By the power invested in me by the Jedi High Council, I hereby declare all those who follow Revan…”

Spike didn’t hear the rest of what Atris was saying, his vision going white as he felt himself being dragged from his body by the force.

***

Mandalorians soared across the planet on small jetpacks, their weapons harrying the retreating Cathar species far below them. Occasionally, lances of blaster fire shot upwards, even felling a few of the Mandalorians, but it was a one sided battle, and soon the fireing had stopped, the Cathar laying down their weapons in surrender.

The Mandalorians quickly realised they had broken their enemy, landing on the planet’s surface and brandishing their weapons, making sure that none of the Cathar made a bid for their own blasters. Slowly, a man walked forward, his bright yellow armour being what Spike assumed to be the first example of Neo-Crusader armour, considering the fact that none of the other Mandalorians had the new armour on.

“This is all that remains of the mighty Cathar warriors?” He asked, looking around the thousand or so Cathar. “We were told you were great. I find you sorely lacking.”

“Allow us to surrender to you,” A Cathar, dressed in embellished armour, said as he stepped forward, “as warriors, not as cowards.”

“But, you are cowards,” The Mandalorians said slowly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, before he suddenly drew his pistol, shooting the Cathar through the head, and killing him instantly. “Drive them into the sea!” He bellowed.

With cries of savage glee, the Mandalorians began to surge forward, pushing the Cathar towards the beech and the water beyond, firing their blasters near any who sought to escape, but making sure not to hit them. They were ordered to drive them back, not kill them, and whatever the Mandalorians may have been, they were soldiers who followed orders to the letter.

Soon, all of the Cathar were standing waist deep in the sea, the waves lapping around them as the Mandalorians watched from the beech, or from the air as they activated their jetpacks, the leader of the Mandalorians doing just that, surveying the Cathar from above.

“The Cathar are no more! Prepare to fire!” He shouted, readying his pistol.

“Cassus—wait!” A Mandalorian shouted, landing in the water just in front of the Cathar. The warrior was clearly female, and was clad in grey and red armour, her helmet being closer to a mask like the Mandalorians of old, rather than the full head helmets which seemed to be all the rage these days. “They're defeated! We don't have to do this!"

"The Cathar left a stain of dishonour amongst the Mando'ade,” The Mandalorian who had now been identified as Cassus replied, looking down at the female. “Today, I wash it clean in the waters of their own presumption. But if you truly feel they need a defender to stand with them—then do so, warrior. I salute you."

With that, he raised his pistol to his helmet in a gesture of good faith, before levelling it at the Mandalorian woman and the Cathar.

“Fire!”

Instantly, the Mandalorians opened fire on the unarmed Cathar, gunning them downs in their hundreds as if they were just animals, nothing more. Only the woman returned fire, lunging upwards on a tongue of fire as she collided with Cassus, knocking the commander from the sky.

The pair crashed to the earth, trading blows, before a sword glinted in the setting sun, before plunging into the woman’s chest, erupting from her back in a spray of blood.

“I do not begrudge you for this,” Cassus said softly, pulling his sword from her chest and laying her down on the floor. “You fought for what you believed was right, as any warrior should. This is a good death, there is no shame in this.”

“This is monstrous,” The woman muttered, her voice being obscured by the presence of her mask.

“This was war,” Cassus corrected her, before reaching up and removing her mask, tossing it to one side. “I respect you, but you chose the wrong side in the end.”

“Go…to hell.” She muttered, before her eyes slid shut, and she was gone, just another corpse alongside the thousands of others now floating in the seas of Cathar. The people of this world were no more.

***

Spike let out a gasp as he was dragged back into his body, finding himself lying down in the dirt, along with most of the other Jedi, who were looking around as they came back to their own bodies. Apparently it wasn’t just Spike who suffered from the force vision. Only one of their number had remained standing, only him, only their leader.

"They were beaten!” Revan roared to the heavens, still clutching the mask of the fallen Mandalorian woman. “You didn't have to do it! One of you knew, but you didn't listen! I don't know your name—but I take up your cause.” Revan looked at the mask with a slightly wistful look, before turning it over and placing it over his own face, “I will not remove your mask until there is justice—until the Mandalorians have been defeated once and for all. So swears, Revan!"

Spike staggered to his feet as he looked at Revan, the man’s face being obscured by the mask completely, giving him as inhuman a look as the Mandalorians had. It was odd, but Spike felt as if that was who Revan was, that his whole life until now was just leading up to this one moment, where he could become more than a man, more than flesh and blood. He was a symbol now, as much as the Curse of Ranox was a symbol of fear to the Mandalorians, Revan would be a symbol of hope to the Republic, an undying legend who would lead them to victory in this war, and stand as a paragon of the Jedi for decades, maybe even centuries, to come. Spike knew he had followed Revan for a reason. This was that reason.

Walking forward, Revan stood in front of Spike, barely a meter away from Atris and the troops who had come with her. She still had her Lightsaber drawn, but she looked as shocked as all the other Jedi presence, and did nothing as Revan advanced towards her. If he had wanted to strike, this would have been the perfect time. As it was, he wanted to talk.

“You all saw what I saw, the butchery that took place here. That is what the Mandalorians are! This, Cassus, has committed crimes punishable by death in the Republic, speciescide. This cannot, will not, stand! I will lead the Revanchists against this foe, with or without endorsement from the council, because some things are worth risking being banished from the order for. Some things are worth fighting for, and if something’s worth fighting for, it’s worth dying for.”

Atris slowly began to pull herself out of her stupor, the woman looking gaunt and confused. Instead, Master Kavar stepped forward, addressing Revan directly.

“Go now. This council will no longer stand in your way Revan, nor that of your supporters. We only ask that when you are done, and the Mandalorians are defeated, you return, and you do not repeat the mistakes made in the Great Hyperspace War.”

With that, Kavar turned and walked towards the ship he had come from, turning as he reached the ramp, and raising his voice once more.

“Do not lose yourselves on the path of war! If any of you ever wish to return to the temple, it shall be open for you!”

And with that, he was gone, disappearing inside the Hammerhead Cruiser, followed swiftly by the other members of the council. The Revanchists began to disperse as well, whooping and cheering at their latest, and greatest, victory to date. Now the war would change, now Jedi support could actually turn the tide of the battles, and this war would be turned around. Soon, even Revan, Malak and Meetra had left, celebrating their good fortune, leaving only the members of Nexu clan, the two pairs of Jedi staring across the divide at each other, one tied by blood, the other by friendship. It was Spike who finally broke the silence with a single word.

“Why?”

“Spike, I…” Corinna began, tears forming in her eyes.

“You betrayed me,” Spike cut in, venom dripping from his voice. “Me, Tarhal, Revan, the whole damn movement, and for what? Is Atris going to make you a Master for this?”

“The council was against this from the start Spike, you know that.” Zule replied, taking a step forward to cover his sister, his face remaining impassive. “You betrayed them, her, and me, when you went against their wishes, not the other way around.”

“The Republic is burning! The Cathar have been wiped out! This would never have come to light if we had listened to the council!” Spike roared.

“The council would have discovered the truth!” Zule roared back. “And then the Jedi would have acted in unison, instead of creating this split in the order. You’re tearing this order apart Spike. You, not Revan. You went back to Coruscant, you were a traitor, and you poisoned the minds of young Jedi.”

“The council would have done nothing,” Tarhal growled, looking at Zule and Corinna, disgust written on his face. “Atris would have been happy to sit around until the Republic sorted the mess out, even if that meant she was the queen bitch over the remains of the Republic.”

“She is a Master. Show your respect,” Zule hissed.

“I lost the tiny amount of respect I had left for Masters the moment I saw you with them,” Spike spat. “We are Nexu clan, the four of us, and Asho. She would be with us today, but the Mandalorians took her.”

“And you killed the Mandalorian who killed her!” Zule shouted. “And his brother, you wiped out his family line, is that not enough?”

“No,” Spike replied simply. “Because now, they’re doing it again, they are coming for the Republic, and I’ll be damned if I’ll see them on Coruscant again. So run back to the temple, hide like the pair of cowards you are, leave the fighting and the preservation of the Republic in the hand of those who can cope with that duty.”

“Spike,” Zule began.

“When this is over, you can speak to me. Not before,” Spike cut him off, before turning and walking towards where the other Revanchists were milling around. Tarhal was also walking towards them, being a few meters ahead of Spike. Spike was about to run to catch up with him, but was stopped by Corinna.

“Spike, wait. Please,” She begged as he turned around to look at her.

“I trusted you, and you betrayed that trust,” Spike scowled. “You told the council.”

“No, not at first,” She shook her head. “I told Zule when he came back. He’s my brother, I had to tell him. I thought maybe I could convince him to come with us, but he went straight to the council instead. I didn’t want to, but they said it was the right thing to do, and Zule supported them. He’s my brother Spike, you’ve got to understand that.”

“I have no family, not here anyway, and none by blood. Twilight was my sister, but when I came to the Jedi, you all became my family. I understand that you had to stand by him, but you still stood away from Tarhal and I. How can I understand that?”

“I just…” Corinna began, before Spike silenced her.

“Don’t. If you think you did right, keep thinking that, but don’t expect me to think you did right. Goodbye Corinna. Maybe when this war is over, we can be friends once more”

With that, Spike flared his wings, taking flight and soaring over the Revanchists. Many of them pointed up at him, but Spike didn’t care, right now all he wanted to do was be alone, or as alone as you could be with two other personalities running around in your head.

It did not take him long until he had found a small island in the middle of the ocean, landing on it softly and looking back at the shoreline. He wasn’t far out, and he could still make out the outline of the ships that had landed on the surface, the ten that had come with the council already beginning to take off, while Harmony was still sitting right where he had left her.

“Moonstone? Desolation?” He asked softly, sitting down heavily.

“I’m here Spike,” Moonstone said softly, appearing just in front of Spike and sitting down beside him, laying a hoof on his leg, even if it was little more than a comforting gesture, her hoof passing through him.

“As am I,” Desolation growled, Spike allowing him to take over for a moment so the three of them could converse.

It was odd, that even though Moonstone was in his head, and knew exactly what he was thinking, she couldn’t tell what Desolation was up to, and so he had to vocalise his opinion through Spike. To any outsider, it would look like Spike was holding a conversation with himself.

“I never thought Corinna would do that, nor Zule,” Moonstone said solemnly.

“Zule is as much of an idiot as anyone on the council, Corinna was just his pawn,” Spike replied.

“She still betrayed us. You were this close to attacking the council Spike,” Desolation chuckled.

“Damn it, don’t you think I know that?” Spike sighed. “I felt you scrabbling away under here though,” Spike tapped his head, “if you had got out, there would be a lot of dead bodies joining the Cathar.”

“I can’t believe what this ‘Cassus’ did to them. They were defenceless, and he gunned them down,” Moonstone said in a disgusted tone.

“Mandalorians are vicious beasts, and that’s coming from me,” Desolation chuckled.

“Yeah, coming from the Curse of Ranox, that is rich,” Spike snorted. “But not all of them are like that. As much as it pains me to say it, that woman, she was brave. She stood up for what was right, because it was right. She died trying to do the right thing, and now Revan has taken up her mask.”

“It suits him,” Moonstone remarked.

“Oh dear lord, my subconscious has a crush on someone,” Spike groaned.

“I do not have a crush on him,” Moonstone retorted indignantly. “I was merely stating that he looks well suited to the mask. You thought something similar didn’t you when you saw him? That he looked like he was meant to wear it, and he would become a symbol more than a man.”

“Symbols are worth more than blood,” Desolation smiled. “And a name, a name that will strike fear into the enemy, that’s worth even more.”

“So while we go on to be feared and loathed by our enemy, while Revan becomes loved by his allies,” Moonstone said, her voice sounding slightly bitter.

“Someone’s got to take that role, and we might as well take it,” Spike replied. “I know you don’t want to Moonstone…”

“Don’t want to? We’ll become the daemon of this conflict,” Moonstone replied. “Oh course I don’t want to do it. You’re a good person Spike, I’m less sure about some of the people you share your mind with, but you are.”

“You know, after saving us on Ranox, and keeping us alive on more than one occasion, you would think you would be a bit more grateful Moonstone,” Desolation growled.

“Grateful? For what exactly? Spike would have handled the situations fine without you, and with less wanton violence. You are superfluous,” Moonstone snapped.

“Superfluous?” Desolation laughed. “Yes, because when Spike was being tortured, you were so much help. Tell me, how many times did you come and see him in that month, where were you when his guts were spilled onto the floor or he watched as the skin was peeled back off his legs, only to be stitched back on?”

“I couldn’t, it would have killed him,” Moonstone snapped. “His mind was under so much stress that forming me to be there would have been the end of him. Is that what you would have wanted?”

“Don’t be an idiot, Spike would have survived it. You always underestimate him, he can survive more than either of us and you know it.”

“Will both of you SHUT UP!” Spike roared, breaking through the weak barriers Desolation had formed to keep him pinned down so he could talk directly to Moonstone.

“Spike I…” Moonstone began.

“Stow it,” Spike snapped, getting up and looking down at the mare. “Desolation saved our lives on Ranox and Maryx, don’t treat him like an animal!”

“Thank you…” Desolation started, rising to the surface again, before being shoved back down.

“And you! Moonstone has always been there for me. Before you were anything, she was there. She helped me on Illum, she helped me get through so much. She is needed as much as you are.”

“Spike, you can’t be serious,” Moonstone said in disbelief. “He would have killed the council, lead to hundreds of deaths just to satiate his appetite, and you still trust him?”

“Like it or not Moonstone, I do,” Spike nodded. “The three of us together are one being, alone, we’re weak. Together, we are a dragon, capable of feats of strength that make a power loader look like a children’s toy, and durable enough to make all but the heaviest tanks jealous. I never wanted to be a real Dragon, not after the Dragon migration I went to. That wasn’t what I wanted to be, but if I have to become that to save the Republic, then so be it.”

“You can still be a Dragon without him,” Moonstone pointed out.

“I’m more of a Dragon than you pony girl,” Desolation spat back.

“We are all one. One Dragon, not two Dragons and a Pony. The rage and fire of a Dragon, that’s you Desolation. Moonstone, the age old wisdom that a Dragon acquires over the eons of its life, and me, whatever the hell I am.”

“Loyalty,” Desolation said simply. “Not to the Jedi, but to the Republic. You believe in it. You’ll fight for it, even if that means dashing yourself against its enemies until there’s nothing left of the Spike that used to be.”

“And courage,” Moonstone added. “I know your mind Spike, better than Desolation ever could. You haven’t stopped yet, and I can’t see you stopping anytime soon. We’ll just keep going, until we finally win.”

“Or die,” Desolation muttered.

“Yes, or until we die,” Spike nodded. “But we’re not dying today. Today, we’ve won. The three of us, not just me, and not just the Revanchists. We have been endorsed by the council, the pair of you have stopped snapping at each other’s throats, and believe me if you relapse I’ll find a way to make you wish you hadn’t. These victories are hard won, but we did it. Nothing can stop us now.”

Making Plans

Spike touched down just beside the Harmony, many of the Jedi milling around it cheering as he strode towards his ship, only to find himself waylaid by Revan, the man still wearing the mask.

“I trust the matters you were attending to were concluded satisfactorily?” He asked expectantly.

“They were actually,” Spike nodded. “How are matters here?”

“The council have returned to Coruscant, but most of the Republic troops that accompanied them have stayed in orbit. A lot of the Revanchists are also in orbit,” Revan replied.

“So what happens now?”

“Well, Republic high command has been informed of our new status in the war, they’re calling us to a meeting above Arcadia to plan our next move. Now the council is out of our way, Jedi can be officially included in the battle rosters and sit in on command briefs.”

“Good. I’ll prepare Harmony for launch. The Revanchists I brought with me can come aboard again if they want, but I don’t have any more room. Highest capacity I think the ship could take is two hundred and fifty, and that’s pushing it,” Spike nodded, before turning and walking up the ramp to his ship.

“Spike?” Revan called out as the Dragon reached the airlock.

“What is it?” Spike asked, turning around to face Revan.

“Your friends, Corinna and Zule, you couldn’t have known. Don’t beat yourself up over it. In a way, they helped bring the council to us. Without that, we wouldn’t have been given true permission to join the war,” Revan assured him.

“It doesn’t make it any less painful to be betrayed,” Spike muttered.

“But still, it’s not your fault. Two hundred new recruits and one traitor isn’t a bad hit ratio,” Revan insisted.

“I guess,” Spike agreed. “If that’s all?”

“I’ll see you at Arcadia. The meeting is set for tomorrow at 1000, Coruscant standard time. Try not to be late.”

And with that, Revan was gone, disappearing into the thinning crowd of Revanchists boarding other parts of Harmony, or heading for their own ships elsewhere on the planet. Most of the ships were small, little more than couriers or other small civilian ships, but they were armed and crewed by Jedi, and that made them deadlier than a lot of larger warships. Only Spike had his own warship, but now the Revanchists were part of the military, maybe that would change. Jedi in charge of Hammerhead-class Cruisers and Foray-class Blockade Runners. That was a thought that would make Mandalorians run in terror.

Raising his voice, Spike addressed the remaining Revanchists on the planet.

“Revanchists! We’re leaving for Arcadia! Mount up!”

Turning, Spike heading inside his ship, followed swiftly by the other Jedi, specifically those who were helping out on the bridge, his crew taking their places and overriding the droid brain control of the ship, preparing the mighty vessel for flight. Spike smiled, taking his seat on the command chair, leaning back and allowing a smile to grace his lips. Sure, Corinna and Zule had pissed him off, but if he looked at the wider picture, their betrayal helped the movement more than anything else. They were heroes of a movement they didn’t even believe in.

“Harmony, Captain Spike’s authority, S-P-4432. Prepare ship for launch, activate life support systems for space flight, prime shields and weapons,” Spike said simply, before looking over to the Jedi in charge of navigation. “Navigator, plot us a Hyperspace course for Arcadia.”

“Course plotted Spike,” he called back a few seconds later.

Life support operational. Shields primed. Weapons primed. Crew and passengers on board. Airlocks sealed. Begin launch procedures – Y/N?

Spike smiled, hitting Y, before grabbing hold of the controls sticks, feeling the ship move at his touch. Next stop, the Republic fleet at Arcadia.

***

Spike stood at the front of the bridge of Harmony, staring out of the massive viewport into the void of space beyond. They had only been in the Arcadian system for an hour, but Spike had used that time to take in all the ships that were stationed here.

It was the largest fleet he had seen for decades, since the end of the Great Sith War, and he knew that compared to that fleet, this fleet was a lot more powerful. Most of the ships there were the standard Hammerhead Cruisers, hundreds of them milling around the six massive Inexpugnable-Class tactical command ships that led the fleet, led by the Swiftsure. There was one ship that Spike didn’t recognise though, a large triangular ship, slightly smaller than the Inexpugnable-class, but this ship looked much deadlier, hundreds of turbolaser batteries bristling out from its surface. This was a new design, made especially for the Mandalorian War, and while this may have been the prototype, Spike was sure he was going to see more of them flooding the space lanes soon.

“Spike, we’ve received permission to approach the fleet,” a Jedi said, walking up beside Spike. “We can’t land, but we can get closer so you don’t have to spend so long in the shuttle.”

“Thank you Padawan…” Spike asked, turning to face the nameless Jedi.

“Lelia,” the female Padawan nodded.

“You have the bridge then Lelia, start unloading the troops,” Spike smiled softly, before turning and making his way towards the shuttle bay.

***

Spike made his way towards the central command room on the station, the soldier leading him there staying in complete silence throughout the trip. Quickly reaching the room, Spike made his way inside, looking around at the occupants and smiling as he recognised three of them, namely Malak, Meetra and Revan, the leader of their group still wearing the Mandalorian Mask.

“Spike,” Revan nodded as he looked over towards him. “Generals, this is the last member of our group. Now we’re all here, we can get started.”

“The Mandalorians are pushing us back on all fronts,” one of the generals said, taking a step forward and activating a holo-projection of the galaxy.

Most of the galaxy was highlighted in blue, the Republic symbol floating over it, but one corner of the map wasn’t highlighted, the Mandalorian Neo-crusader symbol emblazoned over the top. The two parts were separated by a thick red line, with small arrows flowing across it, indicating attacks going across the border. Spike grimaced as he realised most of the attacks were coming from within Mandalorian controlled space.

“As you can see, there are three major attacks that the Mandalorians are launching across our lines,” he continued, before pointing to the largest of the three main attacks. “The main one is here, pushing away from their victory at Taris towards the core worlds. They’re using Omonoth as a staging ground for their assaults on Alderaan, and as long as they hold that sector, we can’t advance. The second attack is here, pushing into the Eres sector and threatening to destroy key early warning systems for the core. Lose those, and we won’t have warning when the next attacks come in. The final assault is happening here, the Charros system. We need the trade routes through there to keep the core worlds fed.”

“What assets do we have in play?” Revan asked, leaning forward,

“Well, the first and fifth armies are already engaged on the front lines, they’re holding steady for now, but not for much longer,” one of the generals sighed. “The second army has been almost completely destroyed stopping the first attacks on Alderaan, and the third army is stretched to breaking point with the new assault on the Eres sector. The forth army is still being held in reserve as a final line for defence of the core worlds, and we have a newly formed sixth army standing ready. You must have some assets of your own though, master Jedi.”

“For the last time, none of us are masters,” Revan sighed. “But yes, thanks to Spike here, we have a lot more reinforcements than I expected. Three hundred Jedi stand ready to support the Republic, although not many of them have actually seen combat, especially in the first wave.”

“Still, three hundred Jedi ain’t half bad, no matter their combat experience,” one of the Generals chuckled. “But to business. The sixth army is prepared to mobilise against Omonoth and then onto Taris, but unless we have adequate support, we’ll just be throwing an army into a meat grinder.”

“Malak and I can take a detachment of Jedi to support the army,” Revan chimed in. “If we take a large number, seventy to a hundred, we should provide enough support to spread the Mandalorians out and give the army more chances of success. “

“That sounds acceptable,” the general nodded. “I know the command staff of the sixth army, they’re veterans of the Great Sith War, they won’t disappoint you.”

“I’m sure they won’t,” Malak nodded. “That still leaves the majority of the Revanchists unassigned, and two theatres left unsupported.”

“We need to keep the trade routes open, or the core will starve,” Meetra pointed out. “I can take a force to the Charros system and make sure it stays open, but if the Republic can’t spare troops, I’ll need a lot more Jedi, and that means we can’t protect the Eres system.”

“I can hold it,” Spike said simply, leaning forward and pressing a few buttons and zooming in on the Eres sector.

There were four planets in the system, one of them already bearing the mark of the Mandalorians, while the remaining three still flew the flag of the Republic. Stroking his chin, Spike sighed heavily, before pressing another button, bringing up troop numbers and geographical data about the planets.

“Here, Eres III. What can you tell me about it?” Spike asked.

“It’s the gateway to the system capital on Eres II,” one of the Generals shrugged. “Erm, let’s see. It’s fairly unstable, volcanic temperament with over sixty three percent of its land mass dominated by large Xoxin planes.”

“Xoxin?” Spike asked in confusion.

“It’s a highly flammable, semi-liquid substance, it has the consistency of tar when it’s setting,” the general clarified.

“Great, high flammable,” Spike groaned. “Still, that’s where we’ll make our stand. Eres II is too small to make a decent defence on, and if they get to Eres I, we could lose the early warning system even if they don’t take the planet. I can be there by the end of the day, along with a few reinforcements, and I’ll coordinate the defence personally.”

“Are you sure you can do that Spike?” Revan asked in surprise.

“I’ve done holding actions against a larger force of Mandalorians before,” Spike chuckled softly. “But still, I’ll take some Jedi with me, but I want one other unit.”

“Which one?” A General asked, grabbing a datapad. “I can’t promise anything of course, but I can see where the unit is and if it can be pulled out.”

“The 59th Republic Recovery Force, the Vipers,” Spike said simply. “I want them placed under my direct command.”

“Let’s see…the 59th? Under command of Lieutenant Cortez?” the General asked.

“He made Lieutenant?” Spike chuckled. “But yes, where are they?”

“They’re returning to the front after training on Rendili,” the General replied after quickly checking the datapad. “They were chosen to be part of a new initiative to combat the Mandalorians. If they do well, then they’ll be the template for all our Special Forces in the future.”

“You gave Cortez command of a Special Forces detachment?” Spike deadpanned.

“You took back Flashpoint with his help, it seemed like a logical decision,” the General pointed out. “I will get a transmission to the Rendili Hyperspace yards and get them to change the course for the 59th, well, the 1st Special Forces Battalion now. I heard they renamed themselves, but I’ll let them tell you about that.”

“I’ll set course for the Eres Sector immediately then,” Spike nodded, looking around at Revan and the other Jedi. “I’ll see you three later. Don’t blow up the universe.”

“Spike, are you sure you can do this?” Revan asked, walking beside Spike as the pair made their way back towards the hanger.”

“I better be able to do it, because the Republic doesn’t have enough men to give me a proper army,” Spike sighed. “I’ll make do, and I can’t deprive the rest of the army of Jedi, so I can’t take many with me. Out of the three attacks, this is the only one we could possibly lose and still continue the war. If we lose Alderaan, the core will be next, so don’t let that happen. If we lose the Charros trade routes, the core worlds starve and we have to forfeit the war. You can’t let that happen so promise me that you’ll let me tackle Eres, and keep the more intact armies away from it. I’ll hold it, or I’ll die trying Revan.”

“Good luck Spike,” Revan nodded, his features unreadable behind the mask. “Don’t die.”

“I always try,” Spike chuckled, before walking up the ramp of the shuttle, sitting down in the seat and launching towards Harmony.

It didn’t take him long to get back to his ship, landing in the now empty hanger and making his way towards the bridge. The Jedi were gone now, all traveling to the station or other ships around the fleet, meaning it was just him and the droid brain.

Walking onto the bridge, Spike glanced out of the viewport at the front of the ship, before stopping dead in his tracks as he heard someone breathing on the bridge. Slowly turning around, Spike looked at his command chair and groaned in exasperation.

“I thought everyone was supposed to have gone,” Spike sighed, crossing his arms.

“Yeah, but you wouldn’t last long without me would you Spike?” Tarhal chuckled, leaning back in the command chair, his legs resting over the arm on one side.

“Fine, if you’re going to stay you make yourself useful,” Spike shook his head in exasperation. “Oh, and that’s the Captain’s chair.”

“I know, your annoying droid brain keeps telling me,” Tarhal snickered, getting up from the chair and looking at Spike. “So where are we heading, ‘Captain’?”

“Harmony, set a course for Eres III, full speed, pull out all the stops.”

Affirmative Captain Spike. Course set for Eres III. Begin launch procedures – Y/N?

Spike sat down in the chair, hitting Y and slowly beginning to take the ship to the jump coordinated.

“You said I had to make myself useful,” Tarhal pointed out, looking down at Spike. “You gonna follow through with that or do I have time to myself?”

“Well I could murder a cup of tea,” Spike chuckled. “Hop to it.”

“Great, from Jedi knight to tea maker,” Tarhal grumbled, heading towards the door at the rear of the bridge.

“Oh Tarhal,” Spike called out, twisting in his seat to look at the Wookie with an innocent smile.

“What is it?” Tarhal asked, looking back at him.

“No milk, two sugars.”

“I hate you,” Tarhal groaned, before heading towards the galley in the middle of the ship.

Spike chuckled as the ship continued to move towards the system jump point, the viewport in front of him showing him where he would have to be to make the jump to Eres III. It didn’t take him long to get the ship there, and Spike activated the ships intercom system.

“Attention, this is your captain speaking. We are about to jump to hyperspace, so can all passengers please secure themselves for a jump, especially those among the crew who could be considered a walking carpet.”

“Blow it out your arse Spike,” Tarhal shouted over the intercom.

“I will have you know that on board this ship, I am the law,” Spike chuckled. “If you don’t like it, I am sure you could leave.”

“You’re so annoying!” Tarhal roared.

“Yeah, I know,” Spike chuckled, deactivating the comms, before grabbing hold of the hyperspace lever. “Harmony, once we are in hyperspace, keep us on course and run a system check and restart. I want to know everything is ready as soon as we hit real space again.”

Affirmative captain. Jumping to hyperspace on your mark.

Spike slowly eased the lever forward, and watched as the stars around him seemed to stretch out, before they shot forward, entering the slightly blue tunnel of light that made up the hyperspace lanes. Leaning back in the chair, Spike allowed his mind to drift, before he had a small idea of a way to test his new droid brain.

He hadn’t really run the ship through its paces yet, and the thing hadn’t even seen combat, so this could be a good time to test what the droid actually could do.

“Harmony, what do you make of Tarhal?” Spike asked, turning his seat round to face the computer screens behind him.

Query not understood. Please rephrase query.

Spike sighed, thinking of how to rephrase the question. “Prepare a dossier on the Wookie known as Tarhal, then read me said dossier. I want to know a droids opinion.”

Droids do not have opinions sir. Creating dossier now. Accessing Jedi archives, authorisation required. Captain Spike authorisation code S-P-4432. Access granted. Dossier complete. Play dossier now – Y/N?

“Just play the damn thing,” Spike groaned, pressing Y, watching as the screen lit up and displayed the information the droid was now reading off.

Loading personnel files

Subject - Tarhal

Species - Wookie

Age - 38

Affiliation - Republic

Jedi Order

Revanchist Movement – Second Wave

Status - Alive

Born on Kashyyyk, Tarhal was taken from his home by Trandoshian slavers and sold on the Corellian market when he was six galactic standard years old. Escaping, he was taken for appraisal for possible force sensitivity in the year 8 BGSW (Before the Great Sith War)

Completing his training as an initiate of the order, Tarhal was chosen by Jedi Master Norik. During this time, he proved himself headstrong and loyal, following orders to the letter.

Fought in the Great Sith War, serving with distinction, proving himself on battlefields such as Coruscant, where he assisted in holding an orbital defence battery alongside four other Jedi:

Spike – Status – Alive

Zule Thanos – Status – Alive

Corinna Thanos – Status – Alive

Asho – Status – Deceased – Died in the defensive actions on Coruscant.

Was also noted for rescuing the newly knighted Jedi Knight Spike from a Mandalorian torture facility on the planet Maryx Minor.

After the Great Sith War, Tarhal was set with his Master to participate in the Great Hunt, achieving four confirmed kills on Terentateks. After the hunt ended, Tarhal attempted to gain a position within the 59th Republic Recovery Force, but was denied.

Continued to serve under Master Norik for another two years, before being knighted himself. Quickly took up a Padawan, known as Stratmum.

Was recruited into the Revanchist movement by Jedi Knight Spike, leaving his Padawan behind on Coruscant. Currently assisting Jedi Knight Spike in a mission to Eres III. Mission parameters unknown.

Dossier complete. Load physical appraisal – Y/N?

Spike sighed, shaking his head at the cold, calculating nature of the droid. He had expected it to respond in this way, but he had also hoped it would have been able to give an opinion, rather than just a service record.

Hitting the N button, Spike allowed the chair to spin back around, before getting back up, stretching slightly. He would have to see about getting the droids neural pathway programming updated at some point in the future, if for no other reason other than to have someone to talk to that wasn’t part of his own mind. Not that he disliked talking to Moonstone or Desolation, but talking to yourself did make you seem a bit crazy. If others could see Moonstone, maybe they wouldn’t think he was quite as crazy, but Desolation was another story completely, considering the fact that when they spoke to each other, they often used the same mouth.

“Harmony, you have control of the ship. Tell me when we are ten minutes out from Eres III. Oh, and send off a message to the fleet around Eres III telling them we’re coming. I don’t want to be shot down as soon as we enter the system.”

Affirmative. Ship control established. Message sent. Awaiting reply and confirmation. Reply received, confirmation received. Republic forces are alerted to our arrival.

Nodding to himself, Spike turned and left the bridge, heading towards the galley to find Tarhal, mentally wondering if the tea the Wookie made would compare to his own brew. Somehow he doubted it, but he could live in hope.

Orbital Defence

Spike slowly eased Harmony out of Hyperspace, emerging into high orbit above Eres III. As he had expected, a large force of Republic ships were already hovering around the planet, moving sluggishly through the endless vacuum of space. The fleet here was large, but it was not massive, and Spike was quickly able to identify the condition of almost all the ships in the fleet being less than average. They had clearly seen fighting in the recent days and weeks of the Mandalorian assault on the system, and it was beginning to show. Unless they could break the Mandalorian fleet here, they would eventually grind the Republic fleet to dust with sheer tenacity and numbers.

“Looks like they’ve taken one heck of a pounding,” Tarhal muttered, standing beside Spike as he looked out at the fleet.

“Yes, and we’ve got to stop the Mandalorians with this,” Spike sighed. “No matter, we’ll pull through Tarhal, we always do.”

Turning, Spike moved towards the holo-projector on the bridge, quickly inputting the Republic communication codes into it and waiting for a response. It didn’t take long for the surface of the table to shimmer, before being replaced by the image of an old man.

“Admiral Harman I presume?” Spike asked, looking at the man.

“Jedi Knight Spike?” The man asked, leaning forward in the projection to get a better look at Spike. “Not what I expected, but your presence here is welcome all the same. We’re being pounded hard, I don’t know how much more we can take. Tell me you brought reinforcements.”

“I brought two Jedi, one ship and there is a contingent of newly trained Special Forces on their way to reinforce the troops below,” Spike replied. “We need to meet in person, which ship is the flagship?”

“My cruiser,” Harman replied, sighing and massaging his temples. “When I was told we were getting reinforcements, I expected a little more in the way of ships. How can I be expected to defend this system with a battered fleet?”

“We make do Admiral. I’ll see you on the flagship in five minutes,” Spike replied, before cutting off the communications. “Harmony, plot me a course for the Admirals flagship and prepare us a docking route.”

“I’ll go get ready at the airlock,” Tarhal informed Spike, before turning and walking off the bridge, leaving Spike to bring the ship in alone.

It didn’t take long for Harmony to reach the flagship, the Harbinger if Spike wasn’t very much mistaken, and the two ships were soon sending umbilical cords between the airlocks, allowing free passage between them, something Spike and Tarhal quickly took advantage of.

As soon as they were on board, the pair made their way up to the bridge, passing by a slew of awestruck soldiers as they passed by. On his own, Tarhal would have cut quite a figure, being taller than every other soldier and mariner on board the ship. Instead, the soldiers were literally stunned as the two giants entered the bridge, looking down at Admiral Harman, the aged man looking up at Spike in shock.

“You’re even bigger in person Knight Spike,” he observed, before walking towards the holo-projector, its surface already set up with the fleets movements around the planet.

There were a multitude of red arrows of varying sizes milling around the planet of Eres III, while further off into deep space were a cluster of black arrows, ones Spike assumed represented the Mandalorian fleet or advanced scouts.

“What do we have in orbit?” Spike asked, turning to face Harman.

“Twelve Hammerhead cruisers, seven of which are damaged and are sixty percent combat efficient or below. Fourteen Foray-class Blockade Runners, all of which have seen action but are all at least eighty six percent combat efficient. We have a full contingent of fighter power for each of our ships, and two ground to orbit cannons on Eres III,” Harman replied instantly, rattling off the figures without even looking down.

“And our forces on the ground?” Tarhal asked wearily.

“Ten thousand soldiers, give or take some from injuries. We have a defensive network set up in the northern plains where the planet is the most stable. If the Mandalorians want to take the planet, they’ll have to take out those defences.”

“And what are the Mandalorian numbers like?” Spike asked, looking at the black arrows.

“Big,” Harman sighed. “Twice our numbers in space, about half as many on the ground. On the ground our troops can’t match them man for man, and in space we get overrun by their numbers. The only saving grace is that our Hammerheads are stronger than their cruisers.”

“Fine, so in Space we’re out number and planet side we’re out gunned. This is just great,” Tarhal scoffed. “Ideas Spike?”

“Let me think,” Spike breathed softly, looking at the fleet arrayed on the hologram in front of him. “Tell me, how long would it take to change the pulse signature drives round on the ships?”

“An hour, maybe two,” Harman replied slowly, looking confused. “Why?”

“Because I may have an idea of how to break the Mandalorians,” Spike smiled, looking out of the viewport at the fleet and the moon beyond. “They won’t know what hit them.”

***

Five Hours Later

***

Spike sighed heavily as he looked out of the viewport of Harmony, slowly counting the minutes since the scout ship had returned. The Mandalorians had been sighted moving towards Eres III half an hour ago, meaning that any minute now, all hell was going to break loose.

Behind his ship, all twelve of the Hammerhead cruisers were formed up in line formation, ready to move forward or back at a moment’s notice, while their two Blockade Runners were ready to surge forward and exploit any holes in the battle line as they opened up. Spike knew that his plan had been risky, and Tarhal had been against it, but Harman had agreed that if they had any chance of winning, they needed to at least try something.

There was also movement on the planet far below the fleet, soldiers running around, desperately trying to get ready to repulse any Mandalorians who got to the ground. Cortez had arrived an hour ago, his transports quickly travelling to the surface, only stopping in orbit long enough to pick Tarhal up. The wookie had wanted to stay by Spikes side, but Spike needed someone to take charge of the ground troops, and he couldn’t think of anyone better suited for the job.

“Sir, we have incoming signatures that match known Mandalorian vessels,” one of the bridge crew called out, having recently been pulled from one of the other ships in the fleet and relocated to Harmony.

“Contact Harman, I want to check he’s got the same,” Spike ordered, leaning forward in his chair and calling out to another crew member. “Charge the shields, prep the weapons and bring us to battle stations. Get me a list of every weapon we have on board now.”

“Aye aye sir,” the crew member nodded, before turning back to his station and letting his hands fly over the buttons on his console.

Instantly, the screens behind Spike flared into life, displaying the ships compliment of weapons. Everything was as he expected, the torpedoes being a nice little bonus, but there was one thing that really caught his eye. He only had one, but if what he had heard about these weapons was true, one nuclear missile would come in very handy.

“Spike?” Harman called out of the communicator. “We’re seeing the same movement here. Commander Argile reports that his ships are in position and powered down as ordered. He’ll need five minutes to start up again.”

“Good, that’s good,” Spike nodded. “All hands! This is your captain speaking. The Mandalorians are on their way. Let’s go get us some kills!”

Spike grinned as he watched the small specks in front of the Republic line get bigger, slowly becoming recognisable as enemy ships, each one bearing similarities to his own stolen ship. Spike mentally prayed that this battle would go better than his other times in space, before pushing forward on his control sticks, the ship reacting to his touch instantly and surging forward.

The distance between the fleets closed rapidly, each ship keeping up with Harmony as they got closer and closer.

Laser fire lashed out from the Hammerheads as their long guns came into range, their fire slamming home into the front of the Mandalorian lines. The enemy shields rippled under the assault, but held, before they too unleashed their weapons, filling the void with lasers and torpedoes. And like that, battle was joined.

Harmony rocked as a barrage of shots slammed into the front shields, before powering towards the opposing fleet, its own forward guns roaring as they added to the weight of fire being poured into the Mandalorians. There was enough ordinance being expended here to supply a small ground war for years, and yet in space, that amount meant nothing, just dust on the wind as shields and armour plates absorbed the ungodly amount of fire hitting them.

“Spike! What are you doing!” Harman roared over the radio, the feed crackling as more fire slammed into both ships.

“Getting to grips with the enemy,” Spike replied tersely. “Please confirm, enemy disposition of two battle cruisers, twelve heavy cruisers and a dozen destroyers.”

“Confirmed,” Harman agreed over the radio. “Now pull back.”

“No, keep the fleet in line and tell me when they Mandalorians are far enough in,” Spike replied, before cutting the feed. “Helmsman! Are the crew ready?!”

“All forces are at their stations, Captain,” The man replied, his eyes swept the scene of deadly fire ahead of them. “This is a suicide mission...”

Spike grinned softly, before shaking his head slowly. “Not if we play our cards right.”

“We’ve got the aces but they’ve got a full house,” the man cried out, desperately trying to get Spike to reconsider.

Spike’s eyes narrowed in determination as he surveyed the battlefield, making last minute adjustments to their course. “Then in the name of Celestia, let’s give these assholes a royal flush.”

The ship shuddered as more shots slammed into their shields, the technology mercifully holding as the Mandalorians ignored the smaller ship in favor of trying to down the Hammerheads. Spike grinned as his plan began to come together, and he quickly activated the comm to the engine room.

“Give me more power now! Run at over power if you’ve got to just find me more speed!”

“Captain!” one of the men in engineering called out over the radio. “I recommend we slow our advance. We’re topping two...”

“Hold your course!” Spike roared back, cutting the man off. It was a bluff, and he was betting the majority now, and if the enemy didn’t play into his hands, they could all be doomed.

Spike braced himself as Harmony neared the Mandalorians, their ships not turning away as they plowed through the fire, until finally, the lead Mandalorian ship surged to the side, banking away and breaking formation in front of them.

“Open fire!” Spike roared over the radio.

Instantly, the void was filled with a hail of laser shots and torpedoes, the new ordinance slamming into the side of the battle cruiser in front of them as it turned away, its own weapons unable to come to bear as they tried to readjust to the new threat. Its shields flared, before finally popping, exposing the ship to the fire from the rest of the fleet. In a matter of moments, the ship was ablaze, shots slamming into its hull and gutting the ship, leaving it as a lifeless hulk. Spike however wasn’t done just yet.

“Captain, missile lock!” A man cried out. “Ten spread, I don’t think our shields will hold off that many.”

“They don’t need to,” Spike muttered, changing the ships course slightly, the ship speeding to pass just underneath the Heavy Cruiser that had fired the missiles. “Are they still following us?!”

“Aye sir, two destroyers also turning to intercept us. I can try evasive maneuvers to try and lose them but…” the man began.

“No! Don’t you dare,” Spike snarled glaring at the ship in front of them. “Fire everything we’ve got!”

“We can’t take their shields down Spike! You’re crazy!” another man cried out. “This is suicide!”

“Just fire!” Spike roared, watching as shot lashed out against its shields. As expected, the shields held easily, but it did the job Spike wanted to do of masking their true intentions.

“All engines emergency speed,” Spike began, before a crewman stood up.

“Sir! I must insist we retreat to the battle line!” he roared.

“Sit down and follow my orders!” Spike roared back. “Engines to emergency speed and bring us about to heading zero three nine.”

“That will put us on intercept course sir,” another crewman begged. “Please…”

“Status of the missiles!” Spike cut him off.

“They’re still following us, trailing us at one hundred and fifteen percent of our velocity. They’ll be on us in thirty seconds,” one of the more level headed crewmen said smoothly. “Collision with Mandalorian Cruiser in twenty two seconds.”

“Hold steady, prepare portside emergency thrusters,” Spike growled.

The emergency thrusters had been a prototype installation by the Republic on Harmony, and if they proved to be useful, they would be mounted on more ships. They were deceptively simple things, little more than tanks of trihydride tetrrazie and hydrogen peroxide, separated by a simple mechanical door. When they mixed together, they did so with explosive force, literally blasting the ship onto a new heading. Spike hadn’t like the idea of them, but the Republic had insisted on them being equipped as payment for them fixing his ship. Now would be the moment of truth.

“Impact with the Cruiser in eight seconds sir!”

“Arm the nuke and drop it now,” Spike shouted, glancing at a screen for confirmation of his plan. “Prep for remote detonation and launch on heading nine eight two.”

“But that’s away from the Cruiser sir,” one of the bridge crew pointed out.

“Do it now,” Spike snarled, holding onto the control sticks tighter as he felt the ship shudder as its nuke left the launch bay.

The ship continued to plough towards the middle of the Mandalorian Cruiser, undeterred by the fire lashing out at the flickering shields. They were holding for now, but if Spike’s plan didn’t work, they would be dead in mere moments.

“Firing emergency thrusters!” Spike roared, slamming his hand down on a button on his chair. “All hands, brace for impact!”

The ship squealed in protest as the fuel mixed, blasting the ship to the right slightly and changing its course just enough so they were no longer heading straight for the middle of the Cruiser.

The squeal was followed by a roar as the lower decks of Harmony scraped against the prow of the Cruiser, both ships shields flaring in protest, their own shields shorting out, while those of the cruiser barely held together.

“Hull breech on the lower decks!” a man called out, but Spike was busy watching the rear camera, praying that his plan worked.

The missiles that had been following them continued along their trajectory, firing tiny micro-boosters to try and follow their quarry that seconds before had been just in front of them. Now however, Harmony was out of their path, leaving them with nowhere to go except straight into the side of the Heavy Cruiser.

The first two missiles slammed into the Cruiser, impacting straight into its mid-section. The ship’s shield flared, flickering…and vanishing from sight. The eight remaining missiles struck a moment later, their plasma warheads turning the ships armour white hot as they drilled through, melting and boiling the armour as they went. Secondary explosions rippled throughout the hull as the ship listed dangerously, its lights flickering as it attempted to keep itself alive.

“Helmsman, do me the honour of blowing that ship to hell and back,” Spike snarled, not taking his eyes off the dying ship.

“A-Aye sir,” the man nodded, before pressing a few buttons.

A moment later, a pair of torpedoes streaked towards the damaged ship, tiny trails of exhaust stretching from Harmony to their target. They slammed into the gaping wound in the ships hull, before detonating, blasting fire and debris out from the Cruiser.

Spike watched with glee as the ship began to burn, before it slowly turned towards Eres III, caught in the gravitational pull of the planet. Without power, the ship had little to no chance of surviving re-entry, and even less chance of being able to control their dive.

“Are those destroyers still following us?”

“Yes sir,” a man called out. “Engines are failing, permission to vent emergency coolant?”

“Permission granted,” Spike nodded, before glancing at a screen beside him. “Tell the crew to brace.”

The two destroyers were coming about, readying their weapons to blow Harmony out of the void. Without their technological shields, Spike doubted he would be able to hold up a magical shield for more than a few seconds, but that wasn’t a problem right now.

In their eagerness to finish Harmony off, both Destroyers had missed something near them, something too small to appear on Spikes screen, but he knew it was there. The nuke. Grinning, Spike tapped a button on his command throne, sending a code burst to the bomb and detonating it.

There was a flash of bright white light as the bomb exploded, the explosion enveloping the two Destroyers and causing them to vanish from view. Even from this distance, Spike felt the ripple of pressure from the power of the bomb, but kept his eyes glued to the explosion. In an instant, the explosion died away, overcome by the lack of oxygen to keep it going in the void, allowing Spike to see the damage he had done.

Both ships were still relatively intact, but their shields were another matter, both craft now floating lifelessly as the EMP waves from the bomb fried their circuits.

“Get me another firing solution, everything we have,” Spike ordered softly, not wishing to think of how many he had ordered dead today.

None of the crew spoke, instead simply staring in awe at the destruction wrought. A few seconds later, missiles, torpedoes and turbolaser shots filled the void between the three ships, slamming home and finishing off the small battle in a brilliant fireworks display as the ships exploded, their superstructure warping and disintegrating under the pressure put on them.

“Get me a status report,” Spike sighed, slumping back in the command throne and looking out at the battle.

Their little duel with the Cruiser and Destroyers had left them on the very edge of the battle, Admiral Harman’s ships still trading fire with the Mandalorians thousands of kilometres away. For now, Harmony was safe and out of the line of fire.

“Hull breeched on decks five through eight, no survivors and bulkheads sealed,” one of the crew began. “Engines one and three are inoperable, the coolant valves have fused from the heat. Engine two is working at sixteen percent capacity. No torpedoes or missiles left, our nuke is gone and the capacitors for the turbolaser and taxed to their limits. Twenty two percent of our own electronic systems are burnt out from the nuclear explosion, including the shield generator, and we’ve lost over two meters of our armour where we hit the Mandalorian ship.”

“Signal engineering to shut down all weapons and work on getting engine two working enough to move us properly,” Spike said softly, massaging his temples and closing his eyes. “Plot a course for our men of Eres III and bring us down. Oh, and open a comms channel to Commander Argile.”

“Aye aye sir,” the man nodded, before beginning to give out orders, before getting up from his seat and walking towards Spike. “Permission to speak freely sir?”

“I thought you were already doing that before,” Spike chuckled softly. “But permission granted.”

“That had to be one of the stupidest, most reckless moves I’ve ever seen in my life sir,” the man snapped, before his features softened. “And it was bloody brilliant.”

“Thank you,” Spike smiled, opening his eyes. “I don’t think I ever caught your name.”

“Lowell sir, Ensign from the Endar Spire,” the man said, snapping off a salute.

“Well then Ensign, would a man who has served on a Hammerhead Cruiser be content to serve on a lowly Corvette?” Spike asked with a smile.

“As long as it keeps taking out Cruisers, I think he would sir,” Lowell smiled.

“You have command then,” Spike smiled, before pressing a button and opening the communication channel to Argile. “Commander?”

“Knight Spike?” the man confirmed. “How’s the battle going?”

“Well enough, start up and give ‘em hell,” Spike sighed.

“Aye aye sir,” Argile chuckled softly, before allowing the channel to go dead.

Wearily, Spike stood up from his chair and walked to the front of the bridge, slowly extending his hands outwards and feeling for the outside of the ship with his magic. It didn’t take him long, and with a grunt, he managed to force a shield into life around his ship. It wouldn’t hold up to much, but it would be enough to keep them alive through re-entry. Spike began to tone out everything out to better focus on the task of holding the shield up, but not before he heard a slow clapping resounding round the bridge, being taken up by the rest of the crew as they headed towards Eres III.

***

On Board the Mandalorian Flagship, the Indomitable

***

Captain Pulphiser stared out across the battle with a scowl beneath his helmet, watching as that thrice cursed ship slunk away towards the planet. It couldn’t have been more than a Corvette, and yet it had taken down a Battle Cruiser, a Heavy Cruiser and a pair of Destroyers almost single handily, not to mention breaking apart his battle line right at the beginning. He wanted to meet the captain who could pull something like that off, before shooting him and making sure he couldn’t stop anymore Mandalorian victories.

Not that it mattered that much. His ships still outnumbered the Republic, and his enemy was already stretched to breaking point. Very soon, they would break through to Eres III and scour the surface clean of the Republic dogs, before moving on. He had been given the glory of this assault by the Mandalore himself, and he was not about to let him down.

“Sir, we have new signatures appearing from behind the moon,” a Mandalorian called out from in front of him.

“What sort of signatures, get me a reading on their pulse drives,” Pulphiser ordered quickly, glancing over towards the moon. The battle was still undecided, and any reinforcements could tip the scales immensely.

“Looks like…oh sheb,” the crewman swore, before turning to face Pulphiser. “Twelve Hammerhead Cruisers sir.”

“Twelve!” Pulphiser roared, before activating a fleet wide communication. “All ships! Republic reinforcements inbound from behind the moon, prepare for incoming fire! Helmsman! Bring us about to face the new threat!”

***

On board the Republic Flagship, the Harbinger

***

Harman allowed a grin to creep across his face as half of the Mandalorian ships, including their Flagship, slowly began to turn away from the Republic lines and reform to face the moon, ready to intercept the incoming reinforcements. If they had actually been reinforcements, it would have been a sound tactical move. As it was, all it did was expose their weaker sides to the Admirals remaining cruisers.

Spike had been reckless, and if he had been under the Admiral’s command, he would have had him court marshalled for recklessly endangering his ship and his crew. Then again, he couldn’t deny his effectiveness in battle, and he silently wished that more Corvettes could do as much damage like that in a battle. If they could, then this Mandalorian threat would be defeated quickly and easily.

“All hands, concentrate fire on the fuel lines of the Mandalorian flagship,” Harman ordered, his men quickly following his orders to the letter.

Laser shot out and slammed into the rear shields of the ship, just as a group of twelve Blockade Runners came into view, their small amount of weapons firing into the Mandalorian fleet. Spikes plan had worked perfectly, convincing the Mandalorians that the ships were cruisers, forcing them to split their attention. All it had taken was a bit of work to switch the pulse drives between his Cruisers and the Blockade Runners. It was a crude method of deception, but in a battle, most ships weren’t going to scrutinise the signatures of new ships for very long. Every second counted when fighting, and decisions had to be made in an instant. Luckily for the Republic, the Mandalorians had just made the wrong decision.

Explosions blossomed in the Mandalorian fleet as their ships began to fail, shields flickering and dying as they tried to come about yet again to face the real cruisers. They no longer were firing, trying to divert as much power to their shields and engines as they could while they sought to retreat from the battle. Funny, it didn’t look like they were trying to retreat, more like…

“Brace for impact!” Harman roared as he realised what the Mandalorians were doing. “Pilot! Evasive manoeuvres now!”

The ship groaned as it moved out of the way, narrowly avoiding the Mandalorian ships as they surged towards the planets, many burning up as they began to come apart.

“Scan the fleet,” Harman ordered. “I want to know what they’re doing. Ships like that won’t risk landing in their condition.”

“Sir!” A lieutenant called out. “Scanners indicate that there are over two hundred small signatures heading for the surface, Basalisk war mounts and…fifty three transport shuttles.”

“Signal Jedi Knight Tarhal and tell him to get ready,” Harman scowled, looking at the planet.

He would have loved to take the dropships out, but the sudden charge had taken him by surprise, and the remnants of the Mandalorian fleet now lay between him and the planet. They were trapped, and they couldn’t fight off the Republic forever, but they had managed to force a ground confrontation. This wasn’t over yet.

“Lieutenant, get me a firing solution on the Flagship. This bastard has been a thorn in my side since day one. He’s not getting away this time,” Harman snarled. He may not be able to help out on the ground right now, but he could sure as hell show the Mandalorians a thing or two about the Republic navy, and why it was a very unhealthy idea to cross it.

Familiar Faces

Harmony slowly headed for the ground, her central engine firing sporadically as it tried to keep the ship steady, compensating for the lack of thrust from engines one and three. It was hard flying with only one engine on a ship that required three, even more so in atmosphere, and many pilots would have just said it was impossible. Ensign Lowell was not one of those men.

“Give me slightly more power on engine two, extend any flaps we have on the starboard side and bring us about three points to starboard,” Lowell ordered, slowly guiding the ship towards the Republic lines. “Captain? We’re through the atmosphere, you can drop the shield thing you’re doing.”

Spike slowly nodded, letting his hands fall from the edge of the ship. Holding the shield around something this size had not been easy, but it was not nearly as hard as blocking lasers. He still didn’t rate his chances against stopping anything more than a personal defence weapon with the shield, but it was still early days.

“Thank you Lowell,” Spike nodded, walking past the man and heading towards his quarters. “Bring the ship into land, tell Tarhal we’re coming in. And try to find out what is going on in space please.”

“Aye sir,” Lowell nodded, before allowing his hands to dart across his work station, activating a comm relay, being met by a loud crackle of static. “Communications officer, can we clear up the signal at all?”

“Negative Ensign,” a man called out, shaking his head. “Our own comm relay is fried, outward bound communication systems are shorting out and working at two percent efficiency. Incoming comms are working though.”

“Open a wide beam channel, let’s see if we can get anything from the fleet then,” Lowell called back. A moment later, the bridge was filled with a loud crackle, before a disjointed voice rang out, just about making its way through the static to be recognisable as the Admiral.

“hzzzchmessage….all Republic ground forces….hzzzch…dropships inbound….Mandalorian fleet…tatters….mopping up…good luck down there…will offer support where pos…Admiral Har…n out…hzzzch”

“Alright, you heard the Admiral, looks like the Mandalorians broke through,” Lowell sighed, before activating his personal comm unit. “Engineering, can we boost speed at all?”

“Possibly, but I doubt the engines will hold together under the strain for very long,” came the reply. “I think you could handle a full burn for fifteen seconds before you would start to damage the engine.”

“Give me fourteen seconds of full burn,” Lowell ordered. “We need to get down quickly. Somebody inform Captain Spike that the Mandalorians are making planet fall. We’re not out of the woods yet.”

***

Spike sighed as he stepped off the ship, shaking his head to disperse some of the darkness that was building up around the edges of his vision thanks to exhaustion. Magic may have been useful, and without it they may have not got through the atmosphere, but it did wipe Spike out, and with the Mandalorians incoming, that could be a big problem.

“Ensign, you have command, stay with the ship,” Spike ordered, looking back at the man, finally taking the time to actually take in his features.

He was young, relative to the rest of the crew at least, hardly looking a day over thirty. His long black hair was looking like it was close to being over regulation length, and the scraggy beard he was sporting was definitely against Republic military guidelines. Spike wondered how he had got away with it for so long, and momentarily debated asking him, before thinking better of it. He really didn’t care if the man had a beard or not, only that he could fly the ship efficiently.

“Aye sir,” Lowell nodded, saluting and turning to walk back into the ship, while Spike looked out over the surface of Eres III.

The planet was exactly like Spike had predicted it would be, ash covering the ground, stretching off into the distance where the ground and the blood red sky met. Pillars of smoke rose from distant mountain tops, indicating their volcanic temperament, and thin streams of lava criss-crossed the ground, leading to the larger rivers of the molten magma. Spike was instantly reminded of his brief trip to the Dragon Badlands a lifetime ago, and realised with a slight smile that even with the upcoming battle, he felt strangely at peace here.

Still smiling, Spike headed out of the hastily constructed Spaceport, passing by the multiple transports as he headed for the command room. Almost all of the ships here were already covered in ash, and naval ratings were already swarming over their surface, try to scrape off as much of the ash as they could just in case the ships were needed for any reason. The crew of Harmony were doing the same, most of them trying to free up the coolant valves on the number three engine. It would be hard work, and Spike doubted that the ship would be ready for combat again for a long time, and certainly not without a long stint in a dry dock somewhere, but if they could just get the engine working to the same level as number two engine, he would be happy.

“Tarhal,” Spike beamed, making his way inside the command building, instantly catching sight of his friend. “How are things going on the planet?”

“Not too badly,” Tarhal admitted, turning to face Spike and pulling the Dragon into a bear hug. “How were things going in space before you broke off? I saw the damage on Harmony, looks intense.”

“Yeah, but we gave out a lot more than we took,” Spike chuckled softly. “Still, what’s the situation down here? Scanners are down on Harmony, but we heard that the Mandalorians have managed to break through.”

“They’ve landed two hundred and thirty two miles to the east, completely out of range of anything we have down here,” Tarhal sighed. “If the fleet could help us, we’d be able to bombard the ever living shit out of them, but they’re still tied up with the remaining Mandalorian fleet. Long range scanners show that there are still a lot of ships up there, so I don’t think we can rely on support from them.”

“Great,” Spike grumbled, stifling a yawn. “What’s…what’s our defensive structure like and where do you need me?”

“I need you to get some rest,” Tarhal said firmly. “I don’t know what happened up in space but you look shattered. In your condition you’ll be cut down if you stand in the line, so take some time to rest up.”

“I don’t need rest,” Spike snapped. “I want to fulfil my orders to Revan and defend this planet.”

“You will,” Tarhal pressed, “You are still in command, and as such you can delegate command of the force to someone else so you can operate at your best when you have to. I can run the defences for now while you get some much needed rest.”

“I…alright fine,” Spike relented. “I’ll go get some rest, but can you at least tell me where Cortez is. I want to see an old friend.”

“The Lieutenant is currently drilling his men behind our lines,” Tarhal chuckled. “How he got put in charge of Special Forces is beyond me.”

“He may not be the brightest saber in the order, but he’s good at his job,” Spike pointed out. “He helped me take back the prisoners from Flashpoint, and he stayed my by side during the recovery mission. He deserves it.”

“Not saying he doesn’t, he just doesn’t seem like the obvious choice,” Tarhal chuckled. “You remember the forty second Recon Commandos we met up with on Coruscant?”

“Yeah, Colonel Samstag and Lieutenant Reacher,” Spike nodded. “What about ‘em?”

“Well I’m just saying they seemed much more like Special Forces than Cortez does,” Tarhal grinned. “Still, you never know, they may surprise us all. They’re supposed to be a new template for our new Special Forces anyway, guess not everything is going to be the same.”

“Guess that’s right,” Spike chuckled. “I’ll go see him, then get some rest Tarhal. Just promise me you’ll send someone to get me if anything starts ok?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” Tarhal nodded with a smirk. “Now bugger off and go get some rest you stubborn dragon.”

“Whatever you say you damned walking carpet,” Spike shot back. “Just don’t get people killed while I’m gone.”

Laughing, Spike walked away from Tarhal, making his way across the encampment towards the rear, passing by soldiers as they rushed around, setting up defences or getting the weapons ready to use for the coming battle. It did not take him long to reach the rear of the camp, finding a cluster of tents away from the main body of the army. Guessing that this was the Special Forces area, Spike made his way towards the sounds of blaster fire.

“Perkins! Keep your shots tight, one shot, one kill,” a familiar voice rang out, and Spike rounded the corner, catching sight of Lieutenant Cortez.

The man was just like Spike remembered, but he was now armoured completely differently from the standard issue armour that the unit had worn previously. Instead of fabric covered ballistic plates like normal Republic soldiers wore, Cortez was clad in a black metal chest plate, completely wrapping his upper body in its strong embrace.

In front of Cortez, the rest of the Special Forces were busy training, some with blasters, and others with sleek looking vibro-swords. Swords were not a currently a part of every soldiers training, but Spike had seen first-hand how deadly the Mandalorians could be with close combat weapons, and how devastating their attacks could be against unprepared men.

Chuckling slightly, Spike moved forward, casting a shadow over Cortez.

“What the…” the man asked, turning round, before looking up at Spike and beaming. “Spike! Oh sorry, I mean, Jedi Knight Spike of course.”

“Lieutenant Cortez,” Spike nodded, keeping his face impassive, before slowly grinning. “How’ve you been? I heard that you got command of some Special Forces.”

“And I heard that we have a certain Jedi to thank for our deployment to boiling hot, lava ridden, Eres III,” Cortez shot back with a smirk. “Honestly sir, couldn’t you have chosen a nice tropical world to have a battle on? Pokitaru for instance? We could have defeated the Mandalorians then kicked back and had some brewskies on the beach while watching their ships burn in the sea.”

“Yeah, next time I’m planning where a battle takes place I’ll keep that in mind,” Spike rolled his eyes. “So, tell me a bit about your Special Forces.”

“Well, every one of the Vipers is here, we got drafted after we came back from Flashpoint,” Cortez started, looking out over the men. “We also got some reinforcements from other units, but most is from our old men Spike. They still remember you Spike.”

“I’m glad I’m not easily forgotten then,” Spike chuckled. “So, how do they stack up against the rest of the army?”

“My men are trained well,” Cortez smiled. “Well, Colonel Mika is in theory in charge of the Special Forces unit, a Lieutenant, even a First Lieutenant, can’t command an entire regiment, but he’s back on Arcadia with the rest of the command structure, so I have field command.”

“Good on you,” Spike smiled. “So, want to show me?”

Cortez nodded with a grin, before turning back to the mass of men arrayed in front of him.

“Sergeant Loup, form your squad on me!” he bellowed, and five men ran forward, each clad in the same style of armour as Cortez, except for the dark green metal replacing the pitch black metal that Cortez wore.

Now Spike looked, there were two distinct groups of men, those who wore the Black Armour like Cortez, and who were all looking smart, their kit in good order, and those who wore the green armour like Sergeant Loup and his men, looking a lot more scruffy, but each one holding a steely gaze, giving them an even more deadly aura.

“Wolf squad fallen in and ready sir!” Loup saluted as the squad came to attention.

“Well Spike, want to see what they can do?” Cortez asked with a smile, stepping back and allowing Spike to look over the new soldiers.

Spike nodded, before slowly walking around the five man squad, taking in their newer looking equipment and their dirty, worn armour, before standing back in front of them, addressing the squad.

“So, who’s your best shot Wolf squad?” Spike asked, looking between all five men.

“Private Hagman, sir,” Loup replied instantly, before pointing to one of the older soldiers in the squad, the man’s scraggy beard giving him an air of authority. “Without a doubt sir.”

“Right then Hagman, step forward,” Spike smiled, before grabbing a rock from the floor and experimentally tossing it in the air. “Show me.”

Spike immediately tossed the rock up into the air, watching where it went closely. Instantly, Hagman was ready, drawing his blaster and after a second of aiming, fired off a single shot. The rock shuddered as the blaster bolt struck it dead on, before Spike grabbed hold of it with the force, inspecting its charred surface.

“Not bad Hagman, not bad at all,” Spike chuckled, “Sergeant Loup, you may fall them out.”

“Thank you sir,” Loup nodded, before turning and gesturing with his head for the men to move out.

“Come on Spike, we can catch up while sitting down somewhere,” Cortez chuckled. “You look like you could use a sit down.”

“Yeah, funny how Tarhal said the same thing,” Spike sighed, before following Cortez. “So, what’s the deal with Loup?”

“What do you mean?” Cortez asked in confusion. “He’s a good man.”

“Yeah, I have no doubt of that,” Spike agreed, following Cortez into one of the tents. “I was meaning what’s with the armour and scruffy look. I thought all the men were using new equipment?”

“Well, half of them are,” Cortez nodded, sitting down and pulling out a pair of small brown sticks, offering one to Spike. “Cigar?”

Spike nodded, taking one of the sticks and inspecting it closely, before shrugging. He had never smoked before, but he had watched others do it, and he saw no harm in trying.

“Give us a light would you?” Cortez smiled, Spike quickly obliging him and blowing a small jet of flame onto the end of the cigars, before sticking it in his mouth and inhaling.

He could feel the smoke sliding down his throat, and the heat emanating from it, but it wasn’t burning him, giving him a warm, pleasurable feeling if anything. Slowly, he blew out a puff of light smoke, smiling as Cortez did the same thing.

“So go on then, what’s different about Loup compared to the other Special Forces?” Spike asked, taking another puff of the cigar.

“He’s one of the soldiers from the remains of the Forty Second Army Recon Commando Battalion,” Cortez sighed. “The unit was almost destroyed on Taris, but they formed the backbone of the training staff for the new Special Forces. They’re good, some of the most experienced men I have, which is why most of their equipment has already seen use. They also refuse to repaint their armour to be black, something about pride in their green jackets. Doesn’t matter to me if they’re pissed, poxed or profane, just as long as they can fight. And they can fight, better than the rest of the army.”

“The forty second eh?” Spike chuckled. “Funny old galaxy, I remember them when they were under the command of Colonel Samstag and Lieutenant Reacher. You have big boots to fill for those two Cortez.”

“So people keep telling me,” Cortez chuckled, before sighing, taking a long puff of his cigar. "We had some good times, didn’t we Spike? When we were out in the Rim, no one to help us if we got into trouble. Not like now at all.”

“No, now we’re both part of the army, and in a big way too,” Spike chuckled. “You’re leading Spec-ops, and I’m sitting on Revan’s war councils. Big step up.”

“I heard rumours about something happening on Cathar sir…” Cortez began.

“Would you drop the sir shit?” Spike chuckled. “Hell, you’ve known me for enough time that we don’t need to be formal Cortez. Unless you want me to start calling you Lieutenant?”

“No, it’s fine Spike,” Cortez chuckled. “Fine then. What happened on Cathar? I heard tensions were pretty high there, some of the soldiers that were on the planet said they were actually worried something might happen.”

Spike sighed, rubbing his temples thoughtfully, before replying

“Revan and I met up on Cathar, looking for evidence of Mandalorian war crimes to bring to the attention of the council to get them off their arses. The council crashed the party, and…well, I possibly wasn’t exactly the biggest help. There was a traitor, and old friend, and it pushed me to the breaking point, to the point where there was very nearly a full on battle between the Revanchists and the council, with the Republic soldier stuck in the crossfire. If that had happed…if I had let the beast loose for just a second…well, the Mandalorians wouldn’t be the big problem anymore. We would have ripped the order in two, a civil war between the Jedi, right across the galaxy.”

“Yeah, I can see that being bad,” Cortez nodded. “Still, it didn’t happen, and now you’re helping us, right?”

“Right,” Spike agreed. “There won’t be a civil war. Revan wants to help the Republic, not tear it apart. For all his war-like nature, he wouldn’t risk sparking off an even deadlier conflict.”

“Good. I mean, not that I thought he would, but…it’s just reassuring to hear you say it,” Cortez sighed.

“Don’t worry about it Cortez,” Spike assured him. “No Jedi is going to turn on the Republic, least of all Revan. He loves it way too much to do that. He’s more likely to leave the order and join the army than to attack the Republic. The same goes for Alek, oh wait sorry, for Malak, for Meetra Surik, for myself, and for all the other Revanchists. We won’t abandon the Republic, and we certainly won’t attack it.”

“It’s good to hear,” Cortez smiled. “I’d hate to have to face you in battle someday, I’m sure my wife would make a poor widow.”

“Don’t count yourself out so quickly Cortez, you have your Special Forces now,” Spike chuckled. “I’m sure these guys would be a big help if there ever was this hypothetical confrontation.”

“Hopefully they will be good against the Mandalorians as well,” Cortez pointed out. “Our army just isn’t prepared to face them at the moment, they’re tough, their weapons and armour are better, they have better training, more determined soldiers, and their commanders are as ruthless as they are brilliant. I just hope that I’ll be able to do my bit to turn it around. The army needs a decisive victory, you have no idea what defeat after defeat does to morale.”

“No, but I can imagine,” Spike nodded slowly. “Maybe Revan will be able to pull something out of his arse around Omonoth, or maybe Meetra will have luck taking on the forces attacking the trade routes.”

“What about here?” Cortez asked. “I mean, we’ve won in space, that counts for a lot on the ground. We could win here, not just force them to retreat, actually wipe them out.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Spike agreed. “But we’re on the defensive. We have to win, but to a lot of soldiers, all we will have managed to do was stop an attack that should have never been allowed this far into the Republic anyway. We need a victory, an attack that we can actually get behind and start taking back territory that we’ve lost.”

“A victory at a place like Taris then?” Cortez offered.

“Yeah, Taris would work well,” Spike nodded. “Maybe if we manage to stop the Mandalorians here we’ll be able to link up with Revan’s forces and help in the attack.”

“I hope so, and by that point my men will have seen combat. I mean I know they’re all top quality soldiers, but skill isn’t everything. They need to stand as well, to not run under fire.”

“No training can prepare you for that,” Spike pointed out.

“Exactly, that’s why I want to test them in the fires of combat as soon as possible,” Cortez agreed, before glancing over as a soldier made his way into the tent.

“Lieutenant Cortez sir, you are needed outside,” the man saluted.

“Thank you Corporal,” Cortez nodded, dismissing the soldier, before looking back at Spike. “Looks like I’ll have to cut this short. Hopefully we can catch up properly some time, maybe when we’re not preparing for a battle.”

“Sound good to me,” Spike stood up as he replied, looking out at the men while taking a final drag of his cigar. “Do you have any spare bunks around here? I don’t know where to even start looking for the rest of the command structure sleeping arrangements.”

“Yeah, we have a few,” Cortez nodded, pointing to one of the pre-fab buildings that were being used. “You should find something in there, although, I’m not sure if we have anything in your size.”

“You know what, forget it,” Spike shook his head. “I’ll sleep outside. It’s not exactly cold.”

“Suit yourself,” Cortez smiled, before saluting. “I’ll make sure to wake you up if anything goes wrong sir.”

“Thank you Lieutenant,” Spike nodded, before making his way out across the camp.

After watching the men training for a few minutes, even Spike had to admit to himself that he was tired after failing to stifle yet another yawn. Slinking over towards the pre-fab that Cortez had pointed out, he poked his head inside, before realising that just like Cortez had said, there was nothing in that that would even remotely fit a creature of his stature on, save for dragging multiple bunks together.

Sighing, Spike sat down on the floor, leaning his back against the wall of the building and resting his chin on his chest. His eyes slowly became heavier, and in a few seconds, he was fast asleep.

Someone your own size

“Get down!” someone roared, before Spike was shaken from his sleep by a massive explosion.

Instantly Spike was alert, shielding his eyes from a stream of shrapnel and broken shards of rock. Letting his arm fall, Spike looked out across the camp, getting to his feet as the soldiers around him quickly made their way around the camp.

“What’s going on?!” Spike roared over the sounds of explosions, grabbing hold of a soldier as he rushed past.

“The Mandalorians have started up their main power generators, they’re beginning the bombardment and the rest of their army is on the move towards us now!”

Nodding, Spike allowed the man to go, before hurrying towards Cortez, the man standing in the middle of the camp and bellowing orders.

“First and second platoon! Report to commander Tarhal and strengthen his lines! The rest of you get your jump packs on and wait for orders!”

“Cortez, report!” Spike roared, staggering as his back was peppered with more shrapnel from another explosion.

“Commander Tarhal is leading the defence of the trenches, we’re to stay in reserve until we find an opening in their lines, then we hit them hard! We’re under your direct command Spike!”

“Then get everyone out of the open! The Mandalorians will have to stop their bombardment as their troops come in, that’s when we hit them!”

“Alright you heard the commander!” Cortez roared. “Everyone get to your fox holes and ride this storm out!”

Spike began to follow Cortez towards a series of holes dug into the ground, watching as the soldiers dived into them, keeping their heads below the surface. Already though, they were almost full, and Spike quickly saw that there would be no room for him. Not that that really mattered that much to him, he could weather more than the soldiers could at any rate.

“Incoming!” a soldier screamed, pointing up as a shell began to arc down towards one of the fox holes. “Everybody out!”

“Stay in there!” Spike roared, before raising both his hands above his head, a shield forming around the fox holes.

The shell struck the shield and exploded, the fire washing over the green surface as Spike struggled to keep the explosion away from the soldiers. As the fire died, Spike found himself hit by the pressure wave, before being flung backwards like a rag doll, landing in a heap.

“Spike?!” Cortez roared, rising up.

“I’m fine! Stay down!” Spike shouted back, clutching his stomach as blood began to ooze out of the crater that was there now.

The shelling was increasing in magnitude by now, and considering the damage just one of the shells had done, Spike needed to find cover fast, as well as finding a way to seal the wound in his side. Luckily for Spike, he quickly found both.

Getting up, Spike took to the skies, flying low over the ground as yet more shrapnel peppered his body, before allowing himself to fall into one of the many lava pools that dotted the planet, holding his breath as he slipped beneath the surface. He had found out that dragons could stay under the surface of a lava pool almost indefinitely, which had come in handy when he had been blasted out into space or when breathing fire for a prolonged period of time.

A few bubbles escaped Spikes lips as the lava washed around him, touching his exposed skin inside his wound and cauterising it instantly. Bacta would have helped more, but that was a luxury Spike didn’t have. Maybe it would be able to get rid of the scar, maybe not, right now Spike didn’t care.

Explosions continued to burst outside of the lava pool, the liquid rippling as each one landed, before finally they began to slow down, before stopping all together, leaving an eerie calm in their wake.

“Everybody out!” Cortez roared, his voice slightly distorted through the lava. “Can anyone see Spike!?”

“I’m here,” Spike groaned, rising out of the lava pool and making his way towards the soldiers, lava dripping from his body, while other bits turned to rock as it solidified, sticking to his body. Already, he could make out the sound of blaster fire in the distance, as well as the roar of Basilisk engines, signalling that the Mandalorians had begun their attack.

“That’s a sight I won’t soon forget,” one of the soldiers muttered as Spike passed by.

“Cortez, what’s the plan?” Spike asked, ignoring the soldier’s remark.

“We wait until a hole opens up in the Mandalorian lines and we hit it hard, or we move in to strengthen our own lines if they look like they’re breaking,” Cortez said simply, pulling a helmet on, covering the top of his skull and the back of his head, but leaving his face exposed. “We’ll take the Mandalorians by surprise, they won’t see us until it’s too late.”

“So you're using jump packs then?” Spike asked, stretching his wings out and shaking the rock from their surface.

“Makes us fast,” Cortez nodded, shifting the weight of his pack as he spoke, before strapping on an oxygen mask, distorting his voice slightly. “The rocket troopers proved they work, we take ‘em one step further.”

“Let’s see what you’ve got then,” Spike nodded, before pressing a finger to his ear. A second later he brought it away, his fingers coated in the molten metal of his communicator. The only reason his Lightsabers and belt had survived was because they were lasted with Neuranium.

“Here, take mine,” Cortez chuckled, taking his ear piece out and throwing it to Spike. “I can’t understand Shyriiwook properly anyway.”

Spike nodded, screwing the ear piece in and activating it.

“Tarhal, requesting a status update now.”

“The Mandalorians are about to break through on our left flank. The forces there can’t hold them much longer.”

“Affirmative, we’ll cover them, Spike out,” Spike nodded, before throwing the communicator back to Cortez. “We’re needed on the left flank.”

“You heard him! Strap your packs on tight, jack up your blasters and follow the commander.” Cortez bellowed to the men, before turning back to face Spike, his grin just about visible beneath his mask.

Taking the signal, Spike flapped his wings, buffeting the Special Forces around him with a powerful gust of wind as he soared into the sky. A second later, the roar of jetpack met Spikes ears as Cortez lead his men after him.

***

“Cody! Adjust your fire and target the shock troopers!” a soldier bellowed, peering over the lip of the trench as he fired into the advancing Mandalorians.

The Mandalorians had broken into the trench system briefly, before they had been driven back, only to surge in once more, threatening to spill into the trenches again. If that happened, the Republic forces wouldn’t be able to push them back a second time, and their entire flank would be exposed.

“We need reinforcements!” Cody bellowed back, standing up and hoisting his blaster cannon over the parapet, unleashing shot after shot into the oncoming enemy, before a shot glanced his shoulder, sending him spinning to the floor.

”We read you loud and clear. All Republic forces on the left flank, sit back and enjoy the fireworks,”

Cody grunted as he propped himself up against the edge of the trench, looking up in time to see scores of rockets fly towards the Mandalorian lines. A second later, a shadow fell over the trenches as a massive creature swooped over their heads, followed by hundreds of republic soldiers.

“Reinforcements are here,” Cody coughed, laughing as he watched the Special Forces firing into the Mandalorians.

***

Spike let out a loud roar, his voice almost being drowned out by the sound of the rockets the Special Forces exploding in the Mandalorian lines. The soldiers scattered, throwing themselves to the mud as they sought to avoid the deadly mushroom clouds of fire.

A second later, Spike smashed into the ground, twisting his body so his feet landed first, crushing a Mandalorian warrior beneath his feet, before roaring again, a rolling wall of fire billowing forth from his gaping maw, immolating warriors and sending those who had been slowly getting up again scurrying back for cover.

The Mandalorians had been well prepared for this assault with the Intel they had gathered, and they could have easily beaten back any other form of reinforcements. But a Dragon wasn’t in their plans, and suddenly, their entire battle plan was halted as they desperately tried to reorganise to face the new threat. Spike wasn’t going to give them that chance.

“No prisoners!” he roared, igniting his sabres and slashing at a rising Mandalorian.

“No mercy!” Cortez roared in agreement, turning his rifle upon anything not affiliated with the Republic.

Spike didn’t overly like the attitude he was so callously adopting, even as he scythed down another two warriors. But then again, hard times called for even harder warriors to fight them, and as he had learnt on Cathar, there were two sides to the coin of public relations in a war. There had to be a villain to one side if there was to be a hero to the other. Revan was a hero, Spike would have to be a demon to the Mandalorians.

The skirmish didn’t last long, and the few Mandalorians that had survived began to run in the opposite direction, struggling over the boiling landscape to escape Spike and the Special Forces. Spike turned back to face one of the soldiers in the trench, cocking his head to the side as he saw the wound on his shoulder.

“Soldier. Are you alright?”

“Y-yes sir,” the man nodded. “Corporal Cody sir.”

“Well Corporal, think you can hold the line now?”

“Yes sir, thank you for the help sir.”

“Don’t mention it Cody. But I do have a task for you. Does your radio still work?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good. Pass me your ear piece, I need to speak to Tarhal.”

Spike quickly took the proffered ear piece, screwing it deep into his ear and giving it an experimental tap.

“Tarhal? You there?”

”Spike? Good, I still need you on the left flank, the Mandalorians are breaking through and I don’t have the men to spare. What’s your eta?”

“Already taken care of.”

”You’re already there? You work fast Spike. I’m organising a counter attack down the centre of the battle lines, the right’s holding steady. Can you hold the left?”

“I can do better. The Special Forces are with me, we’ll roam ahead of the main army, get behind their lines and generally make life hell for the Mandalorians, make it easier for your offensive.”

”Don’t get cut off. I don’t know if we’ll be able to reach you in time if you do.”

“Don’t worry about us Tarhal, just break the bastards here and now. We got ‘em on the run, this is simply a last act of defiance. They know they can’t win.”

”That’s what worries me. A cornered animal always fights the hardest. Just be careful. Tarhal out.”

Spike unscrewed the ear piece, before throwing it back to Cody.

“Stay safe soldier. Cortez, with me!”

With that, Spike once again took to the skies, the Special Forces speeding after him as they swooped low across the planet’s surface, taking pot shots at the Mandalorians below before they could turn their own guns skywards. The remnants of the attack on the left flank were still trying to escape the vengeful Special Forces, some taking to the skies on their own jetpacks, but most trying in vain to make it back to their own lines to warn their commanders.

“Don’t let them get through!” Spike roared, before shooting a fire ball towards the ground. “We’re ending this today!”

The men behind him whooped in agreement, before plunging after him as they dived towards a cluster of Mandalorian emplacements, slamming into the camp as the Mandalorians within began to adapt to their presence.

Grimacing, Spike set to work with his grim task, butchering Mandalorians as he went, not showing mercy as he hacked and slashed his way through the ranks of men as if they were nothing. More than once he felt the sting of a blaster round and staggered under the assault, before surging back to his feet, fighting through the pain even as his body screamed in protest.

“I am the Beast of Ranox!” Spike bellowed to the sky, spreading his arms wide and throwing out a wave of force energy, sending the few Mandalorians around him flying. “And you shall taste my Lightsabers next!”

Good one Spike, make them feel it, Desolation whispered softly in his mind.

“Oh I intend to!” Spike roared, before diving forward once more, the Special Forces around him mopping up the last of the stragglers.

“Sound off!” Cortez roared as the last corpse dropped to the floor, walking around the staging ground as the various squads checked in.

“How did we do?” Spike asked, moving up beside him, limping from a blaster wound to the knee.

“Two squads bit it completely, various members from other squads didn’t make it, but altogether not bad,” Cortez replied. “Could have been a lot…” he stopped suddenly, putting his hand up to his ear, before shaking his head and passing Spike the communicator. “You’ll need to listen to it, I can’t work out what Knight Tarhal is saying.”

“Go for Spike. Tarhal, you there buddy?” Spike asked, placing the communicator in his ear.

“Spike?! Good, I was afraid you wouldn’t be able to get the message. The Mandalorians are in full retreat, I need you and your men back at the dropships for dust-off, now!”

“Whoa, calm down. If the Mandalorians are in retreat why are we the ones running?”

“Because we still have ships we can use. We need to get off world now!”

“Why? What’s happening?”

“The Mandalorians have set fire to the Xoxin plains at coordinates zero five nine north, eight three seven east. It’s spreading like mad and it won’t be long till it reaches our lines. I want us off world before it gets to the ships, okay?”

“I read you, getting back to the lines now,” Spike nodded, before turning to Cortez. “We’re moving out, back to the lines and off world.”

“Lead the way,” Cortez nodded, jumping into the air after Spike.

“Lowell? Come in.” Spike grunted as he took flight.

“Go for Lowell captain.”

“How soon can Harmony be in the air?”

“Not sure Captain. Engine one is still inactive, and I don’t fancy flying with mismatched engines.”

“It doesn’t have to be pretty, we need to get off world quickly.”

“Roger, we’ll get it ready and be prepared for your arrival.”

“Good. Eta is ar…” Spike began.

“Basilisk war droids incoming sir!” someone shouted from behind Spike, and Spike quickly turned himself to look at the man, following his finger to the fast approaching wing of droids on the horizon.

This was the first time Spike had seen the droids in combat, and he had to admit he was impressed by the speed of the things. They were easily bigger than a man, as shown by the fact that the Mandalorians sitting on the backs of the droids were dwarfed by their machines, but it was their weapons that worried Spike. Missiles, heavy blasters, massive claws, pulse-wave cannons, shockwave and plasma generators, these things were deadly, and they were his size.

“Mother fu…Cortez! Take the men back to the ships, leave me a squad!”

“But Spike, shouldn’t we all…” Cortez began.

“There’s no time!” Spike cut in. “Get back to your ships and get off world, I’ve got a ship that can carry me and the rest of the squad.”

“If you say so sir,” Cortez nodded. “Wolf Squad, stay with the commander, keep him alive.”

“Lowell, change of plans! Lock in on my coordinates and get the ship here pronto. I won’t be able to make it to you.”

“I’ll try Spike, bringing the systems online now. Lowell out.”

Turning back to face the members of Wolf Squad, Spike scanned their almost fully covered faces, before turning to speed towards the new threat. “Aim for the pilots! Team up and stay frosty! Don’t be a hero!”

Spike ignited his Lightsabers once more as he sped past the Mandalorian mounts, slashing through one pilot, before a burst of pain erupted from his side. Looking down, Spike saw that the wound he had taken earlier had just been reopened, and was once again bleeding heavily.

Snarling, Spike flipped over, pulling a move that by all the laws of physics would have ripped a lesser being apart, before grappling with the droid that had hit him, leering down at the pilot.

“Get off my droid!” the Mandalorian roared, drawing a pistol and trying to firing a shot into Spike.

Spike howled as the shot slammed into his chest, but held on, grabbing the Mandalorian with a free hand and squeezing tightly, the armour crumpling at his touch.

As the man died, the Basilisk howled in anguish, letting out an animalistic moan as it lost its pilot, before it opened its arms wide, throwing Spike downwards, before diving after him. The pair spiralled towards the ground, Spike slamming into the rocky surface and springing up to his feet just as the droid landed, still emitting a loud moan in memory of its master.

Above Spike and the droid the battle was still raging, the two war droids holding their own against the Special Forces squad. It was going to be close, but right now, Spike had to worry about the droid in front of him.

With a roar, Spike leapt forward, clashing with the droid as it jumped up to meet him, before Spike brought his Lightsabers round in a quick arc, intending to bisect the droid quickly. Instead, his weapons bounced off the droid, barely even scratching the armour, and leaving Spike open for an attack from the droid as it raked its own claws across Spikes face, leaving deep grooves in his chest and face, before pushing him away, its claws dripping with blood.

Spike coughed up blood as he staggered backwards, staring at the looming war droid as it advanced towards him. The thing had resisted his Lightsaber strikes, which meant that it was made out of Mandalorian Iron, which would make this fight tougher than it already was. The other two droids were already smoking, so they were clearly not made from the same near indestructible metal, but they were still fighting hard, and already one of the members of Wolf Squad was falling limply towards the earth.

With a screech of droid code, the droid lurched into action, bounding across the uneven ground towards Spike, firing off a few snap shots as it went.

“This is going to get ugly.” Spike groaned, twisting out of the way at the last second.

Unfortunately for him, the Basilisk anticipated the move and smashed into Spikes chest with its head, sending him flying back into a shallow pool of lava. Spikes head rocked back as he slammed against the rocky bottom with a deafening crash. The Basilisk screeched again, immediately following the blow up with a shot from one of its solid shot cannons. Spike screamed in pain as the shot slammed itself in his gut with a sickening squelch.

Not wanting to wait for the cannon to fire again, Spike forced himself back to his feet, grabbing one of his Lightsabers with one hand while clutching his chest with the other. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to get through the armour plates with his saber, but maybe he could do some damage to the artificial nerve clusters around the joints.

Without a moment of hesitation, Spike surged forward, ignoring the pain as he grabbed one the Basilisk’s sensor modules and slammed his Lightsaber into the gaps in between the droids foreleg and its main body. The Basalisk let out an animalistic screech of pain and stumbled around to face Spike, oil and machine fluids leaking from the crippled limb.

“Not so well protected there, huh?!” Spike yelled in triumph, spinning his Lightsaber around so the blade was protecting his forearm, before slamming his fist and the pommel against the war droid’s face with tremendous force, one of its many cannons cracking and bending under the pressure

Undaunted by the blow, the droid turned its head around, bringing the pulse-wave cannon to bear, squarely aiming at Spikes face. Spikes eyes widened in fear as the weapon began to charge up, and he allowed his Lightsaber to drop from his hands, putting all his willpower into forming a shield between him and the deadly weapon.

A split second later, the weapon fired, slamming into the shield that Spike had managed to raise. It felt like an ice pick had been driven into Spikes brain, and he screamed, before dropping the shield, the laser slamming into the top of his head. He was lucky, the beams power having been mostly absorbed by the shield, but he was still forced backwards by the blow, his head spinning as he raised his arms in defence, catching a blow from the droids claw on his forearm.

Let me finish it, Desolation snarled, trying to force his way to the forefront of Spikes mind.

“I got it!” Spike roared in reply, anger burning in his eyes. This droid had pushed him around long enough, and he was going to end it. Permanently.

Diving forward, Spike unleashed a wall of flame, before grabbing hold of the droids hull, pushing it backwards as it whined in protest. His side was burning, his head was throbbing, and his lungs felt like they were about to explode, but the Adrenaline coursing through his system allowed him to keep moving as he slammed his fist into the side of the droids chassis.

The droid roared as it was forced to the side, before Spike brought it back into position in front of him, only to slam his fist into the metal plate once more.

“Shoot me in the head will you!” he roared as the droid was forced backwards.

“I’ve got enough problems in my head,” he continued, spinning round and slamming the ball of his foot into the droids head mounted cannons, “without you shooting it!”

Hitting the droid with both fists, Spike forced it up until it was vertical, before wrapping his arms around its middle and forcing it backwards. It let out another droid speech howl as its claws scraped at Spikes thick back scales. Spike let out a burst of flames as he continued to force the droid back, the metal plates glowing red hot under the heat. With only a second’s hesitation, Spike slammed his head forward, breaching the metal plate and exposing the working underneath, even as the metal began to cool and stick to his head, giving him a sort of ad-hoc helmet.

“Look what you did!” Spike screamed, letting go of the droid, before bringing his fist round and backhanding the droid, sending metal fragments flying as the sheer blunt force trauma began to break apart the Mandalorian Iron shell.

The droid staggered from the blow, threatening to fall to the floor, before bringing a claw up for a weak attempt at an attack, one that Spike wasn’t going to give it.

Spike spat out a gout of flames, singeing one of the droids sensor remaining veins, before grabbing hold of the claws with his own hands, forcing it away from his head, and allowing him the purchase he needed to finish the fight. With a herculean effort, Spike began to twist the arm it its socket, roaring in pain as his muscles ripped under the strain, before finally tears the limb free, covering both himself and the surrounding area in machine oil as the droid screamed.

Spike continued to scream as he span round, using the severed arm like a bat as he slammed it into the droids fallen body again and again, reducing it to twisted scrap, before falling to his knees beside the dying machine. Shoving his hand inside one of the holes he had created, Spike began to tear out cables, and finally, the droid died.

Spikes scream died in his throat as he allowed himself to sag onto the droids broken body, resting his head as he watched Wolf Squad finish off the last war droid, silently thanking whatever was looking down on him that only one of the machines had been nearly indestructible, before glancing at the horizon.

Huge plumes of thick black smoke were visible everywhere he looked, getting close with each passing second as the fires spread further and further across the planet.

“L-Loup?” Spike grunted, activating his comm unit as best he could through the solid metal around his head.

"I’ve got you sir,” the man said softly, landing behind Spike with the rest of Wolf Squad. “Pick him up, evac’s here.”

Spike glanced upwards, looking at the base of Harmony as the member of Wolf Squad helped him up. Flapping his wings, Spike began to make his way towards the tiny hanger bay, faltering at the last minute and crashing into the deck. It hurt, but in the scheme of things it wasn’t worth complaining about, and he pushed himself unsteadily to his feet.

“Sir, we should get you to the med-lab,” Loup insisted, steadying Spike.

“Y-yeah,” Spike grunted. “Go to…the bridge. Tell Lowell…get us into orbit if he can…hope the heat shields are…working again.”

“Aye sir,” Loup nodded, before striding towards the bridge, leaving the rest of Wolf Squad to help Spike towards the med-lab.

Before he left the hanger, Spike cast one last look at the surface of the planet, sighing as he watched the fires spread across the ground he was just fighting on, before limping towards the med-bay. They may have won in theory, but the fires burning across the world made for a very hollow victory.

Author's Note

Basilisk War Droid

A little Reprieve

Spike sighed heavily as he looked out of the front view port on the bridge. The rest of the ship was filled with people, mostly dock workers who were helping to repair Harmony and get it back to operational standard. Most of the crew was enjoying some much needed down time on Eres II far below, but not Spike. The only part of the ship that was empty was the bridge, and Spike was glad for it.

Harmony didn’t have a proper med-lab, just a holoprojected droid doctor and a few different medical remedies, but nothing anywhere near a proper bacta or Kolto tank. Spike knew he could have easily been transferred to the planet for medical treatment, or even to one of the other ships left in the fleet, but he’d refused every time someone tried to move him from Harmony.

Every scar that was on his body was a reminder of how close he’d come to death down on Eres III. One inch to the left, a tiny bit deeper, and Spike wouldn’t have needed medical treatment, he’d have needed a morgue. As bad as the scars were though, they were nothing compared to Spikes new armour. Spike sighed again, before reaching up and tapping the metal around his head.

When he had melted one of the droids plates and head-butted it, he had managed to finally break through the armour that had resisted almost all of his other attempts to break through it. It had allowed him to finally get back the momentum against the droid and actually win, but he had also gotten a lot of the molten metal over his head. He had thought he’d be able to just take it off, or even melt it again, but he’d soon found out that Mandalorian Iron lived up to its legend of being indestructible. So now he was stuck with it, at least until he could find another lava pit to go and swim in, something he had no time or ability to do now.

“Harmony, what’s the status on the ships repairs? Captain level authorisation.”

Affirmative Captain Spike, inloading repair status diagnostics. Diagnostic loaded. Engine one fully repaired, engine two continuing to run at full capacity, engine three currently undergoing repairs, operational status of eighty seven percent. Shields array repaired and operational. Weapons systems and targeting array awaiting repairs. Hull armour fully repaired. Life support systems have been looked over and are still operational. Communication array repaired and operational. Total progress of ships repairs: ninety four percent.

“I want to be alerted as soon as the repairs are finished. And open a line to the planet’s surface, I want to speak to Tarhal.”

As soon as the words were out of Spikes mouth, the holocommunicator flared into life.

“Hello? This is Jedi Knight Tarhal, who’s speaking?”

“Tarhal it’s me,” Spike cut in. “How are things with the men?”

“They’re good Spike. They’re having a whale of a time down here. There are some pretty good bars, you should come down.”

“I’m not coming down Tarhal,” Spike shook his head. “I need to oversee…”

“No you don’t Spike,” Tarhal cut in sharply, his growls taking on an almost predatory tone. “You and I both know that you aren’t needed to oversee the rest of the repairs. You’re up there because of the scars.”

“I look hideous for one, and I’ve got metal fused to my head, I think I have enough reason to be a bit pissed off,” Spike grunted.

“Maybe, but I think being pissed would be more fun, don’t you agree?” Tarhal chuckled. “Come on, as a friend, I’m asking you to come down and get drunk with me. Cortez is here too, you can catch up with him outside of battle at the same time.”

“Fine, if you want me to,” Spike sighed. “I’ll be down later, I need to send a message off to Revan first about what happened here.”

“He already knows, we sent off a mission statement,” Tarhal assured him.

“Yeah, but I want to speak to him, plus there’s someone else I need to speak to right now.”

“Who?”

“Just an old friend Tarhal, I’ll be down later, I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that Spike. Tarhal out.”

Spike chuckled softly, before turning as he felt a presence in his mind.

“Hey Moonstone,” Spike smiled, running a hand across her face, before slipping through the projection as he remembered it wasn’t there.

“You know you can’t Spike,” Moonstone smiled.

“Yeah, but I can still try can’t I?”

“Yes you can,” Moonstone nodded, resting a hoof on his chest and letting it slide through him. “So how are you feeling Spike? I know that you took the battle hard, but you still won.”

“Yeah we won, but…”

“But nothing. Did you drive the Mandalorians back? Did you save the early warning system?”

“Yes but…”

“So you therefore completed the mission that Revan gave you. You won, the Mandalorians lost, that’s all there is.”

“That’s not all there is!” Spike roared. “Have you seen Eres III?! It’s an inferno, one end of the planet to the other! I lost the planet! Who knows how many soldiers didn’t get on the ships in time!”

“It’s not your fault!” Moonstone roared back, shocking Spike by the sudden change in tone. “Did you start the fire?! Did you stop any soldiers from reaching their transports?! The Mandalorians are to blame, and they’re all dead, none of their ships escaped the planet. They lost, you won. End of story.”

Spike stayed silent for a long time, looking at Moonstone in slight apprehension, before nodding slowly. “Well, I have to admit you came with your guns loaded Moonstone.”

“I won’t see you blame yourself for this Spike,” Moonstone insisted. “You did everything you could to stop it, but you can’t win them all.”

“Yeah, I know,” Spike sighed. “Fine, let me call Revan, sort some things out, then I’ll go down to the planet and find Tarhal, okay?”

“Yeah, that will be good Spike,” Moonstone nodded, beginning to fade. “I’ll be seeing you Spike, just remember what I said.”

“Yeah, I’ll remember,” Spike smiled, before leaning back over the holocommunicator. “Harmony, open a channel to Revan.”

Error, Revan’s communicator is currently unavailable.

“Fine, just open the link and let me leave a message.”

Affirmative. Link open. Begin recording message.

“Revan, this is Spike, reporting in. The Mandalorians have been routed from the Eres sector on Eres III. The fleet actions incurred minor loses amongst the fleet, namely three Hammerhead Cruisers, and the Mandalorians managed to force a landing on the planet. There was a battle, and although we defeated the Mandalorians, the third army sustained moderate losses, as well as the loss of Eres III itself. The Mandalorians set light to the Xoxin plains as a final act of defiance. As of now we are refitting, repairing and recovering. I await your reply with new orders. Spike out.”

The holocommunicator went silent as Spike finished his message, its surface going dark as Spike turned to look back at the viewport.

“Harmony. Boot up the communicator in my quarters, I want to take this call in there.”

With that, Spike turned and walked off the bridge, the door sliding closed behind him. As he walked through the ships corridors, he was forced to duck underneath metal scaffolding and dry dock workers as they sought to bring the ship back to operational status. Many of them nodded his way, but even more averted their gaze, not wanting to look at him with his horrific helmet. If he ever wanted to be seen as anything more than a beast, he would have to find a way to get it off.

Finally, Spike reached his quarters, slipping inside and activating the code-lock on the door, making sure he wasn’t going to be disturbed. Sighing, he sat down on his bed, activating the terminal beside it and typing in a few commands, before watching as the holoprojector in the room flared into life, the blue sparks coalescing into the form of Solaris.

“Solaris,” Spike smiled softly as he looked at his aging master.

“Spike? Is that you?” Solaris asked with a smile of her own. “By the goddess, what happened to you? The scars, and that helmet, it looks like ass. You can take your armour off Spike, you are on Harmony after all, safe ground.”

“There was a battle on Eres III recently,” Spike sighed, before tapping his head. “As for this, metal is much harder to get off once its solidified again.”

“Oh Spike, how do you get into these situations?” Solaris shook her head. “You clearly won though, else you wouldn’t be up here. What happened?”

“We lost the planet,” Spike mumbled. “It’s burning from one end to another and I couldn’t do anything.”

“And you’re blaming yourself?” Solaris summarised. “It’s a hard one Spike, and I know you’ll take it badly given half a chance. If I was there I would offer the usual solution and take you to the Ultra Ray again, but as I can’t…”

“I’m heading down to the planet to meet Tarhal and the others at a bar, so I’ve got that covered,” Spike smirked. “But still, you were always closely linked to the military. Did…did you ever make mistakes Solaris?”

“War is full of mistakes Spike,” Solaris sighed. “Every time we fight it’s a mistake. It means that at some point, somewhere, something went wrong. But yes, I have made my fair share of mistakes Spike, and they’ve cost lives, both soldiers and civilians. Civilians, they’re harder to accept. Soldiers are prepared for it, but civvies? That’s what’s hard.”

“How do you get past it then?”

“Because we have to,” Solaris shrugged. “We are Jedi Spike, protectors of the galaxy and figureheads to the entire Republic. We can’t show weakness, even though we are just people. We must be strong, to keep the Republic strong. If the Jedi can falter and fall, why should the armies be able to stand in our place?”

“Numbers?” Spike offered.

“Numbers don’t win a battle Spike, you know that.”

“No, but they really do help Solaris,” Spike chuckled.

“Yeah, that they do,” Solaris laughed. “I’m sorry to have to cut this short Spike, but I have a ship to catch. Apparently a senator has discovered a crime cartel on their home world and wish the Jedi to come in and help to resolve the issue.”

“And considering the fact that you’re going, I assume ‘resolve’ is probably going to be violent?”

“You know me Spike, always ready for anything,” Solaris chuckled. “Now go have a beer on me Spike, and don’t let Eres III weigh too heavily on you. Solaris out.”

Spike stared at the space where Solaris had just been, contemplating what she had just said, and trying to come to terms with what he had agreed to with both Moonstone and Solaris. Both of them knew him, and knew that he was going to blame himself for this, and he knew that he would too given half a chance. He always strove for perfection, and when he didn’t, he panicked and took all the blame, even if it wasn’t his fault, and no matter how much he knew it was one of his biggest flaws, he could never shake the feelings entirely.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Spike began to make his way towards the hanger and the shuttle nestled there, his mind turning cold as he felt the final part of his mind pushing towards the surface.

You could have let me take the droid. Desolations voice sounded slightly annoyed, as if he were trying to pout without any face to show emotion on.

“Yeah, I could have let you,” Spike reasoned under his breath. “But you can’t get all the big kills can you?”

It’s fun isn’t it? Desolation murmured happily, his voice somehow penetrating Spikes mind even more than usual. Big kills always are.

“Killing isn’t fun Desolation,” Spike pointed out, emerging onto the flight deck.

Oh come now Spike, we both know that’s…

“Period,” Spike replied firmly. “You like killing, it’s what you do, but for me I do it because I have to.”

We both know that isn’t true Spike, Desolation whispered.

“It is true,” Spike snapped.

Because you were forced kicking and screaming to go to war, Desolation continued softly.

“I went to war to defend, not to kill,” Spike snapped, his voice rising, and drawing some odd looks from the people dotted around the hanger.

Revan offered you the chance to get back at the Mandalorians with support, and what did you say? Do you remember?

“It doesn’t matter what I…” Spike began.

Then I’d jump on that like Pinkie on a birthday cake, Desolation finished for him. Remember that? You weren’t forced to go, you didn’t have to, you chose to, because deep down Spike, you’re more like me than you are like Moonstone.

“I’m not,” Spike muttered weakly, sitting down in the shuttle and turning to the pilot. “I umm, need to find Tarhal. Just take me down to the planet and I’ll figure out where to go from there.”

“Yes sir,” the man nodded, before preparing the ship to take off.

Keep hiding it then, Desolation whispered. But deep down, you know that I’m right. We’re both Dragons after all, and she’s the little bit of pony in you.

“Don’t insult her,” Spike snapped, only to be met by nothing, as Desolation retreated back into the depths of Spikes mind, leaving only a soft chuckle behind him.

“You can be a real ass,” Spike muttered.

“What was that sir?” the pilot called back to him.

“Nothing, just get me planet side.”

“Aye sir.”

***

“Do you think he’s going to actually turn up?” Cortez asked, glancing at Tarhal as the pair stood on the outskirts of the Capital city of Eres II.

“He’ll show up, he doesn’t break many promises,” Tarhal replied.

“Right…so, was that a yes or a no?” Cortez asked slowly.

“You really don’t understand me much do you?” Tarhal chuckled, drawing a blank stare from Cortez. Sighing, Tarhal made sure to nod as he spoke. “Yes, he’ll show.”

“Oh good, I’ll defer to your knowledge of Spike then,” Cortez smiled.

“You’ve probably known him for longer than me,” Tarhal pointed out. “It was a shock when he came back to the temple to find me again.”

“Ummm…yes,” Cortez nodded.

“You didn’t understand any of that did you?” Tarhal sighed.

“Yes sir,” Cortez nodded again.

“I think this is a complete waste of time, but considering the fact you can’t understand me, I think I’m going to eat a half ton of chilli and fart my way to the mushroom planet,” Tarhal smirked.

“Really? I’ll be sure to do that sir,” Cortez nodded.

“Oh Cortez,” Tarhal laughed, before looking up and catching sight of a shuttle. “That looks like the shuttle from Harmony.”

“Yeah, I think that’s the shuttle,” Cortez nodded again, as the pair watched the ship land and the ramp slide down. “Moment of truth.”

The pair walked towards the shuttle as the ramp was enveloped in white gas, making sure that the pressure seal on the inside was deactivated before the door slid open. As the pair watched, Spike walked through the smoke, finally stopping in front of the pair and looking down at them, towering above even Tarhal.

“Thanks for the greeting,” Spike smiled.

“Ah, couldn’t let you get lost before getting to the bar now could we,” Tarhal laughed, before putting an arm round Spikes waist and pointing to Cortez. “You do realise he doesn’t really understand Shyriiwook?”

“What, at all?” Spike asked, slipping into Tarhal’s native language.

“Barely,” Tarhal replied.

“This could be fun,” Spike smirked.

“More so with alcohol,” Tarhal pointed out.

“Someone want to fill me in?” Cortez asked.

“We’re going to head to the bar now, get rat arsed, and then wait for Revan to contact me and tell us our next move. Sound good?” Spike began to walk towards the city, putting his arm around Cortez’s shoulders as the trio walked.

“Sounds like a very good plan,” Cortez smirked. “Better than when you took on a Lightsaber proof war droid your size anyway.” Tarhal snickered at this as well, before glancing at Spikes head and stopping himself from laughing.

“Yeah yeah, laugh it you two,” Spike sighed exasperatedly. “Just because I now have some scars and you don’t. Ladies love scars, or so I’ve been told.”

“They love them if the person who has them isn’t angsty about them,” Cortez laughed.

“And since when have you even had a sideways glance from ladies,” Tarhal joined in. “I mean, aside from your Jedi status, you haven’t exactly been forcing prospective women away.”

“Oh and you have?” Spike shot back.

“I’ve had lots of interest, just haven’t been able to follow through with it,” Tarhal chuckled. “At least I have interest though, you don’t have anything.”

“Whatever, laugh it up,” Spike sighed. “It’s not as if you can actually do anything with a lady.”

“Yeah, I never understood that,” Cortez piped up. “Why can’t you Jedi have relationships?”

“To be honest, I don’t know, mostly something about the council not wanting our priorities torn between a mission and family,” Spike shrugged, drawing an approving nod from Tarhal. “It started off as just a small sect in the old order, one that forbade emotional contact, and their voices have been growing louder since the Great Sith War due to the possible connections emotions have to the dark side. A load of bollocks really, but when has the council ever cared about that? Wherever there's three Jedi, there's one who thinks the other two shouldn't have any fun.”

“Atris,” Tarhal offered.

“Yes, the white bitch herself,” Spike nodded with a soft growl.

“So if you hate it…why do you you know, follow it?” Cortez asked slowly.

“It’s not quite as simple as saying no,” Spike sighed. “I mean if I wanted to, I think I could say no to the council, I’ve defied them on bigger things, it’s just…”

“Just what?”

“It’s become prevalent in the order, even the code of the Jedi that most follow states that there is no Emotion, there is Peace. and that there is no Passion, there is Serenity. If we peruse emotions, we risk getting thrown from the order.”

“But, didn’t you risk that by helping in the war?” Cortez asked in confusion as the trio reached the bar and walked inside.

The bar was packed with soldiers and naval personnel, all cheering and drinking happily after the victory on and above Eres III. Spikes nose was immediately assaulted by the familiar smell of a bar, and he smiled, before making his way through the crowd.

“Yes we all defied the council to go to war,” Spike nodded, before looking at the barkeeper. “Three of whatever’s good.”

“Right away,” the man nodded.

“We defied the council on a very big issue, and one I’d be willing to get kicked from the order for, but for a relationship, it’s not worth it,” Spike shook his head, turning back to Cortez.

“You’re only saying that because you’ve never been in one,” Cortez smirked, taking one of the proffered mugs from the bartender and taking a large gulp.

“Oh, and you have?” Tarhal asked, taking a sip of his own drink.

“What’s he saying Spike?”

“He asked if you have had a relationship,” Spike reiterated.

“Nothing permanent, but a few,” Cortez nodded, before shuddering. “Why do you think I joined a deep space mission? I have an awful lot of bastards running around the galaxy.”

“Bastards?” Spike asked, cocking his head to the side.

“You know, illegitimate children, born out of marriage,” Cortez shrugged.

“How many children do you have?” Tarhal coughed as he exchanged a glance with Spike.

“How many?” Spike added in basic for Cortez.

“Six, maybe more,” Cortez shrugged. “Why?”

“And how many do you talk to?” Spike continued.

“None of them, that’s why I took a deep space mission, to get away from them.”

“Bloody hell, I didn’t see that coming from you Cortez,” Spike shook his head.

“Why, what’s the problem?”

“The problem? You have children running around the galaxy and you don’t even know about them. Don’t you, I don’t know, want to be a father figure for them?”

“Not really,” Cortez shrugged. “Father figures aren’t that important anyway.”

“Coming from someone who didn’t have a father figure, I’d disagree,” Spike shook his head. “Come on Cortez, aren’t you just a little bit curious about them?”

“Not really,” Cortez repeated.

“Come on, a bit,” Tarhal pressed.

“No,” Cortez snapped, before sighing. “You aren’t really in a position to be giving life advice Spike.”

“Hey, I’m still a Jedi here,” Spike warned him. “I technically out rank you.”

“Still true though, isn’t it sir?”

“Maybe,” Spike nodded. “But my problems all stem from me, not from my children.”

“Fine! If it will get you off my case I’ll try and talk to them, ok?”

“Thank you Cortez,” Spike smiled, finishing his drink.

“But in return, you have to stop moping around after every battle because a soldier died. Deal?”

“Done,” Spike nodded instantly.

“Yeah, that’s what I…Wait, what?”

“I said done,” Spike reiterated. “I promise to do my best to not break down over each death, but you have to try and get in contact with each of your kids.”

“Wow, I really didn’t expect you to be so…quick about it,” Cortez sighed.

“I’ve been having a long chat about it with some people,” Spike replied.

“Who were they then?” Tarhal asked, grabbing another drink from the bar.

“Oh you know, Solaris, and few others who know what I’m going through.”

“Oh, you mean Moonstone?” Tarhal nodded. “Your psyche still beating you in arguments then?”

“Leave my psyche out of this,” Spike smirked.

“What about your psyche?” Cortez asked.

“See what you’ve done now Tarhal?” Spike groaned, turning to face Cortez. “Don’t worry about it, let’s just drink up and have fun. I want to be drunk off my face if revan calls tonight.”

“How you ever became a Jedi with that attitude is beyond me,” Cortez smiled.

“Blame Solaris,” Spike smirked, before clapping his hands together and pointing at the bartender. “Keep ‘em coming, the stronger the better, as long as humans can take the stuff.”

“Got it, no Novanian grog then,” the man nodded, before walking away to get the first of many drinks for the trio.

“If we’re going to get drunk anyway, might as well smoke too,” Cortez smiled, pulling out a cigar and a lighter.

“You got any more of those?” Spike asked.

“Got a taste for them then?” Cortez smirked, tossing one of the small brown tubes to Spike.

“Yeah, kinda,” Spike nodded, breathing a tiny spark onto the end of the cigar, before chomping down on the end.

“How can you like that stuff?” Tarhal asked in disgust, wrinkling up his nose.

“I regularly smoke without a cigar,” Spike smirked, blowing out a ring of his own smoke to emphasise his point. “Might as well get the kick from this if I’m going to do it.”

“Whatever,” Tarhal shook his head, before grabbing one of the glasses of clear liquid that had just been set in front of the three. “Bottoms up.”

“Right behind you,” Spike chuckled, picking up his own glass.

***

“Urgh…what’s that beeping?” Spike moaned, cracking his eyes open and looking around the street he was in.

“Comm,” Tarhal muttered from beside him. “Why…are we outside?”

“Decided to…go for a walk,” Cortez chuckled.

“Just shut the beeping up,” Tarhal groaned again.

“Yeah, sure,” Spike nodded, before reaching for his communicator and holding it in front of his face. “This is Spihicke. What do you want?”

“Are you drunk Spike?” Revan deadpanned as he looked at the dragon.

“Maybe,” Spike chuckled, before concentrating on his head, willing the force and his magic to soothe his headache and reduce the effects of the alcohol. It wasn’t a perfect solution, and he’d be getting a much more intense hangover later on from it, but it allowed him to think clearly now. “Sorry, you got my message then Revan?”

“Yes, well done on stopping the Mandalorians,” Revan nodded, his face unreadable behind his mask. “But we have more important things to attend to. The Sixth Army suffered more losses than I predicted on Omonoth, but we took the planet. We’re moving to Taris now, but I need everyone for this attack. It’s going to be big.”

“The Third Army is ready, and the fleet is almost finished in the dry docks. I’ll get everyone mobilised and back to their ships,” Spike nodded.

“Good, meet me and the rest of the fleet in the Sargus Sector,” Revan nodded. “We’ll link up there, make our plans and then jump to Taris.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Spike nodded, before scratching his head, carving out tiny little groves in the metal around it.

“You need to get that thing taken off,” Revan pointed out.

“When you find a lava pit, a way for me to breathe fire on my own head, or a Mandalorian willing to give up the secrets to forging this stuff, you tell me and I’ll get it off straight away,” Spike smirked.

“Fine, point taken,” Revan nodded. “Just hurry with the army, I want to press my advantage, and the more we wait, the more they prepare.”

“Don’t worry Revan, we’ll be there,” Spike assured him, before shutting off the communicator and turning to face the others. “Come on guys, we need to get the army ready to move out. Next stop, Taris.”

Off Course

Spike hurried off the bridge of Harmony, making his way through the umbilical cord that connected his ship to the Swiftsure. Beside him walked Tarhal, the Wookie loping along with long strides, easily keeping pace with Spike, despite the size difference between the pair.

Spikes height was actually becoming quite an issue for him, and he now had to duck low just to get through the corridors of his ship without carving out large furloughs with his sharp scales. He seemed to have grown more in the past few months than he had in the thirty years prior to the war, and if he had a spare moment, would have been very interested to see if he could actually pinpoint why this was. At the moment though, the war took priority, and Spike was willing to put personal discovery aside for now.

The pair eventually reached the blast door to the bridge, the soldiers posted to the door ushering them past after glancing down at their Lightsabers, and allowing Spike and Tarhal to enter the nerve centre of the entire fleet that Revan now had at his command.

“Spike, Tarhal, I’m glad you’re here,” Revan nodded from the planning table he and the rest of the fleets commanders were gathered around.

“Looks like you had a fun time on Eres,” Malak quipped, glancing at Spikes head.

“That’s certainly one way of looking at it,” Spike shot back with a smirk. “And you look like you’ve got a new look too. The bald tattooed looked really suits you.”

“Says the one without any sort of hair,” Malak quipped.

“If you two are quite finished,” Revan cut in. “There is a war on you know, kind of important.”

“Yes, sorry,” Spike nodded, following Tarhal to stand beside Revan and look over the projection of Taris. “So, this is our target then.”

“Yes, Taris,” Revan nodded. “We lost the planet shortly after the Jebble-Vanquo-Tarnith line fell, and by all reports, it’s one of the key points in the Mandalore’s war machine, up there with Duxn and Mandalore. If we can take this away from them, we’ll be one step closer to winning.”

“It’s long overdue,” Spike nodded. “How recent is this information?”

“We have a few scout ships in the system, what you’re seeing is real-time,” one of the captains in the room replied quickly.

“Plus our operatives on the surface are sending detailed reports of the ground to orbit defences,” another man added.

“Yes, the republic has managed to keep some quite good tabs on Taris,” Revan summarised. “All that remains now is to plan the assault and take the planet back.”

“Oh is that all?” Tarhal chuckled, his growls resounding round the bridge. “You make it sound so easy.”

“I think it’s going to be a bit harder than just waltz in and start laying down the hurt,” Spike agreed. “I mean, just look at their fleet. It’s almost as big as ours, and they’ll be on the defensive. Not to mention that they have orbital defences, which we don’t, and we can’t fire directly at them in case we hit the planet.”

“Yes we can,” Revan replied simply. “This planet has to be taken, sooner rather than later.”

“But civilian casualties have to be considered,” Spike shook his head.

“They will be, and they will be kept to a minimum if possible,” Revan assured him. “But that doesn’t mean zero, however unfortunate that may be.”

“I guess that’s acceptable,” Spike nodded. “So, I assume you have a plan? You are a plan guy after all.”

“A simple two prong attack,” Revan began. “The first prong will consist of our heavy ships, and they’ll hammer the Mandalorians at long range, hopefully drawing them away from the planet. The second prong will be made up of our fast ships, they’ll swoop in and try and disgorge as many troops onto the surface as they can. Once the troops are groundside, they’ll have to make their way to the orbital defences and take them down.”

“Or repurpose them for our own use,” Malak cut in.

“Either or,” Revan nodded. “Once that’s done, the fleet can mop up, and we can land some heavier armour and more troops on the planet and actually take the world back.”

“That’s not going to be the easiest attack plan,” the captain who had spoken before piped up. “Unless we clear out the fleet first, we won’t be able to get many drop ships through, and that’s including the speculation that the Mandalorians will allow themselves to be drawn away.”

“From what I’ve seen of the Mandalorians, they may be disciplined, but they love a good fight,” Revan replied. “They’ll move if we bait the trap well enough, and have the second prong jump in after the bait is taken.”

“It might work,” the Captain sounded uncertain, but nodded slowly.

“Excellent,” Revan turned to face Tarhal and Spike. “Are you two fit for combat?”

“Of course,” Tarhal grinned.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Spike added.

“Good. Spike, you know the commander of the Special Forces don’t you?” Revan asked.

“Who, Cortez? Yeah, I know him very well.”

“Good, helps to have the commanders know each other,” Revan nodded. “I want you in the first wave of dropships, along with you Tarhal and the Special Forces. We’re only going to get one shot at landing on the planet, after that the Mandalorians won’t make the same mistake again. Think you can handle it?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time we were outnumbered by the Mandalorians would it Spike?” Tarhal clapped a hand onto Spikes back, grinning up at the Dragon.

“No, let’s just hope that we don’t have to defend any cannons for very long this time,” Spike smirked back. “We’ll pull through Revan, we’re both part of Nexu clan, that still counts for something, even if we had a couple of traitors.”

“Very good then,” Revan turned back to face the rest of the officers. “Meeting adjourned, get everything ready, I want to jump to Hyperspace within the next six hours.”

The various officers nodded, before walking towards the doors off of the bridge and heading for their own ships or work stations. Spike and Tarhal turned to follow the men, before Revan placed a hand on them, turning them both back around.

“Oh, there is one more thing, something that specifically affects the pair of you,” Revan looked between them both. “In light of our recent successes, our movement has been officially endorsed by the Supreme Chancellor himself.”

“I thought we were already endorsed by the Republic,” Spike pointed out.

“We were, but only by high command,” Malak replied.

“Exactly, we could lead, but we couldn’t hold actual ranks due to being Jedi,” Revan explained.

“And now?” Tarhal asked.

“Now that the Chancellor has supported us personally, we can both lead, and hold ranks, and all the privileges that come with it,” Revan looked at Malak quickly, before back at Spike and Tarhal. “The Jedi are now more than just knights and padawans, each of us are generals in the army of the Republic.”

“General? That’s pretty high up,” Tarhal noted.

“As is the point,” Revan pointed out. “Red tape now peels away from before us, and allows this war to run much more smoothly.”

“Things do seem to work out better when the Republic Army and the Jedi fight as one, rather than simply fighting alongside each other,” Spike agreed.

“Precisely the idea behind it,” Malak agreed. “I doubt that the Great Sith War would have been as successful if the Jedi had fought as they have in this war.”

“The Great Sith War was a travesty, one that should never have been allowed to happen, and that became far larger than it ever should have,” Spike growled, glaring at Malak. “The enemy sacked Coruscant, they killed millions, caused trillions of credits of damage across the entire Republic and beyond. I lost friends in that war, Jedi and soldiers alike, not even including the months I spent on Maryx. Don’t you ever even presume to say that the war was successful, or that anything good came from it.”

With that, Spike turned and swept from the room, his tail swinging from side to side as he made his way back towards Harmony, leaving Revan and Malak in shock, before they turned to face Tarhal.

“What was that?” Revan asked in disbelief.

“What? Spikes outburst?” Tarhal asked.

“Yeah, his outburst,” Revan nodded. “He always seems to try to be so…I would say calm, but I’ve seen him fight. Collected is a better word. That was…unexpected.”

“I’ll say,” Malak nodded. “All I said was that…”

“The war was successful,” Tarhal finished, his rough growls echoing around the quiet bridge. “You don’t know about the war, neither of you do. It was hard, in many ways harder than this war. He took Coruscant hard, he almost died many times during the war, and almost all the scars on him are from that war. And I’m guessing he hasn’t told you about Maryx Minor?”

“What happened on Maryx?” Revan asked, cocking his head to the side slightly.

“I don’t feel it’s my place to say,” Tarhal shook his head. “That, and I don’t know fully, he’s never told anyone the full story, and anyone save for him who may have known it is dead. All I know is that place was dark, and it woke something up inside of him. If you want to know more, you’ll have to convince him to tell you, but please, be careful about it. I don’t want to find out which of you is stronger.”

With that, Tarhal turned away from Revan and Malak, heading after Spike and leaving the two Knights alone on the bridge, same for the few crew that were seated at their stations.

“It appears our Dragon has a few more issues than he cares to admit to,” Revan noted once Tarhal was out of earshot.

“Yeah, and he had quite a few when we first met him, not to mention his mental state,” Malak agreed.

“He’s mentally unstable, but to a degree of accuracy I’ve never seen or heard of before,” Revan sighed. “He means well, but when he loses control, when he allows this, what was it again, Degradation?”

“Desolation,” Malak corrected.

“Exactly. When he allows that part of his mind to the front, he’s not the Jedi we know, he’s an animal, plain and simple.”

“But an animal can be useful,” Malak pointed out.

“Of course he can,” Revan nodded. “I’ve seen both Spike and ‘Desolation’ in action, and I know which one I’d rather face, but Spike is clever, and he does have a certain mind for strategy and bold tactics. He seems very at home leading small forces.”

“The special forces for example?” Malak asked with a small smile.

“Quite so,” Revan nodded. “While he leads a small unit of men behind enemy lines, we can lead the armies, and run the war as it needs to be run. As Spike, he’s too soft to make those decisions.”

“And as Desolation I don’t think he care much for collateral damage,” Malak smirked. “We can see how he handles himself on Taris when we arrive.”

“The reason he’s in the first wave,” Revan pointed out. “I’ll see to the preparations, return to your flagship and prepare to move out.”

“Gladly,” Malak turned, heading after Spike and Tarhal towards his own ship, while Revan walked over towards one of the bridge crew.

“Order a fleet-wide broadcast, inform all captains that we are to come to operational status and jump to Hyperspace. I want Taris under siege by the end of the day.”

***

Spike watched from the bridge of Harmony as dropships bearing the markings of the 1st Special Forces Battalion hurried towards the large ships that would be ferrying the Special Forces through Hyperspace. As soon as the ships decelerated, getting as close to the planet as was possible, the dropships would once again be launched and would rush towards the planet, using speed and surprise, as well as the ships themselves, to shield their approach. It was risky, and if anything went wrong, the casualties could be huge, but if the plan worked, they could take out the planets defences without an orbital bombardment that would cost hundreds, if not thousands, of civilian lives.

The only unit of Special Forces who were not currently being ferried on to the carriers was Wolf Squad, the unit becoming something of an honour guard for Spike after they protected him on Eres III. Cortez had insisted that they stay with him rather than with the main forces, and Spike hadn’t had any cause to reject the offer.

Slowly, the last of the Special Forces ships docked with the carrier, and Spike turned towards his command throne, sitting down before looking at Lowell.

“Ensign, how fares the rest of the fleet?”

“The rest of the fleet is reporting ready, we’re just waiting on…” Lowell began, before placing a hand over his right ear, pressing the headset closer to it. Nodding softly, he let his hand fall, before turning back to Spike. “Revan reports that the first wave of the fleet is to move in, led by the Swiftsure and General Malak’s flagship. We are to follow the fleet five minutes after the jump and attempt to get as close as possible.”

“Signal acknowledgement to Revan and order the second wave to form up on Harmony’s six o’clock. For now, you have the bridge and the ship, I’m going down to the hanger bay. As soon as the dropship leaves the hanger, you are to turn the ship around and jump from the system. Harmony isn’t strong enough to last against a planetary assault.”

“Aye sir, I won’t let anything happen to the ship,” Lowell nodded, standing up from his seat and moving towards the back of the bridge, taking Spike’s place in the command throne. “Stay alive Spike.”

Spike nodded, heading down through the ship towards the hanger. It wasn’t long before Spike reached the hanger, catching sight of Sergeant Loup, Private Hagman and the rest of Wolf Squad, the men checking over their weapons, tightening the straps on their armour, and stowing any extra gear in the dropship they had brought with them.

Compared to the large profile of the lightly armed shuttle before it, the Special Forces ship was squat, well-armed and well-armoured, painted in a deep black colour so as to better blend in with the void, further increasing the chances that they’d get through the atmosphere.

“Loup, how stands the squad?” Spike asked.

“We’re ready to leave as soon as the order is given,” he replied. “We’ll load up in the shuttle when we enter Hyperspace.”

“Should be any second now,” Spike nodded.

All hands, this is Acting Captain Lowell. Our five minutes is up, preparing ti jump to Hyperspace, secure all flaps and drag-fins.

“Load up,” Loup ordered, turning towards the dropship and clambering inside, quickly sitting down and pulling the heavy metal restraining bar down, anchoring him to the chair.

Spike followed as the rest of the squad copied Loups movements, and in short order, the squad was secured, Spike being left standing and gasping onto the sides of the ship to provide himself with an anchor point in lieu of a proper chair. He could already feel the ship moving through Hyperspace, and knew that this wouldn’t be a long journey.

“Steel yourselves,” Loup called out, looking at his troops through his helmets visor. “We’ve done this before, we’ll do it again.”

Exiting Hyperspace in 3…2…1…entering real space now! Opening the hanger bay doors! Captain Spike, it’s now or never!

The ship lurched forward as Harmony dropped out of Hyperspace, and Spike quickly raised his voice as he heard the hanger doors grind open.

“Pilot! Take us out now!” Spike bellowed, before bracing his arms as the ship shot out of the hanger, leaving Harmony behind.

He was now effectively blind to the rest of the force, relying solely on what he picked up over the radio. The ship shuddered violently, but continued to streak forward the inertia dampeners inside helping to keep Spike anchored to the floor, even in the zero-gravity environment of space. Over tha radio, Spike heard the other dropship pilots, each trading information with each other, painting a vision of the battle raging outside in Spikes mind.

Incoming fighters! Brace for portside impact!

Half the bloody fleet’s still here! Why didn’t they take the bait?!

We have to pull back, the Mandalorians are too strong.

At this, Spike activated his own comm unit, opening a broadcast to all of the other dropships.

“Belay that order. We don’t get another chance at this. Push through no matter the cost.”

But sir, the flak from the planet is too strong, we’ll never make it.

He’s right Spike, Cortez added over the comm. If we push on, we could…

“We need to punch through,” Spike insisted.

But we won’t be able to, not like this, Cortez pleaded. Please Spike.

Spike growled, before nodding slightly and raising his voice to talk to the pilot. “Pilot, are there any ships ahead of us?”

“No sir, but….flak’s getting heavier,” the man grunted, throwing the ship to the side. “Don’t know how much…longer we can survive this.”

“Let me worry about that,” Spike muttered, extending his hands to the side and laying them on the walls of the ship. “Cortez, order the retreat for any dropships that can get back to their carriers. If they can’t, they’ll just have to push forward with me.”

Spike, you can’t…

“That’s an order!” Spike barked. “I’ll see you planet side, don’t be too long.”

With that, Spike cut the communicator off, closing his eyes and allowing magic to flow through the palms of his hands, into the metal beneath them, flowing across the hull of the dropship until he could feel it all. For a brief moment, Spike was no longer a Dragon, no longer a single entity, he was two creatures, the Dragon and the Dropship.

His eyes became the cameras on the external hull, allowing him to drink in the spectacle of the battle raging in the void. His heart fused with the mighty fission reactor that powered the engines, pumping power around the craft as his heart sought to supply his body with blood. He could feel the freezing cold against the hull as if it was against his own skin, and every laser that managed to hit blistered against the hull, sending waves of pain through Spike, before being cut off.

Suddenly, reality returned to Spike, and the moment of clarity faded away as a green shield engulfed the ship, lasers slamming into it, only to be repulsed, some of their energy being reabsorbed to help power the shield even more.

“Ugh, General?” the pilot asked in confusion. “What’s going on?”

“Just…keep…flying,” Spike managed through gritted teeth.

The pilot nodded, pushing the engines harder, forcing the ship to move faster than it was comfortable with. Spike could feel the engines whine in protest, threatening to give out under the intense pressure as the ship punched through the upper atmosphere, streaking towards the ground through the flak like an angry comet, hurled by the gods.

“We’re coming in too hot, brace!” the pilot shouted, before the ship slammed into the ground, skidding along one of the many walkways of Taris, eliciting an ear-splitting screech as metal scraped against concrete.

As the ship slammed down, Spike was thrown forward, his concentration broken and his mind returning to its rightful body. Slowly, the ship came to a halt, and Spike forced himself back to his feet, turning to look at the pilots seat at the front of the ship.

There was nothing left, save for twisted metal and broken slabs of concrete, mixed with the sharp smell of blood, Spikes nose easily picking out the smell through all of the other scents that now permeated the craft. Behind him, Loup and the rest of Wolf Squad were quickly unstrapping themselves from their seats, checking weapons before rushing out of the ship, forming a cordon around it as Loup approached Spike, laying a hand on his back.

“Come on General, we need to get moving. I don’t want to be here when the Mandalorians find this crash-site.”

“No, that we don’t,” Spike nodded, breaking himself out of the trance-like state he had been in and following Loup outside. “Wait one moment.”

Turning back to the ship, he raised a palm, reaching out for the ship with the force, quickly finding it and wrapping it in the invisible tendrils of energy that seemed to surge from his claws. With a quick shove, the ship moved forward once more, overbalancing from the edge it was teetering on and falling forward. A few moments later, Spike heard a crash as the ship slammed into whatever lay below, before he turned back to Loup.

“There, hopefully they’ll think that we got out there and start looking on that level first, should give us some breathing room.”

“I hope you’re right,” Loup nodded, before powering up his blaster and turning away from Spike, setting off at a run towards a series of apartment blocks. “Come on Wolf Squad, we need to lay low and make plans.”

Spike nodded as well, following Loup and Wolf Squad as he reactivated his comm, scanning the frequencies for any news of the battle above, flipping through news channels and non-encrypted channels.

…and in other news…

…vode’an…

…to all Republic forces, this is Revan. Pull back to rally point sigma, I repeat, pull back to rally point sigma. We’ve lost momentum, pull back.

Spikes heart sank as he heard those words, but he reasoned that he should have been surprised. With the devastation that was wrought on the second wave, it was always going to be pretty likely that the first wave would have failed as well.

To any and all Revanchists on the planet of Taris, come in, a voice sounded across the comm unit. This is Jedi Padawan Grath transmitting across frequency fifteen dash two two five one. This is an encrypted channel, so if you’re listening to this, you should be friendly. Please reply. Over.

“Padawan Grath, this is Knight Spike, here with Wolf Squad, Special Forces. What’s your situation? Over.”

Spike, it’s good to hear from a friendly voice, Grath replied with a sigh of relief. I’m here with a three squads of Special Forces. We have a few injured, but nothing major.

“Are you in charge Padawan?” Spike asked, making sure to keep his voice quiet as he followed Loup.

Negative, Jedi Knight Tarhal holds command here, but he’s out cold at the moment. I’m transmitting coordinates to you now Spike, we’ve managed to find a disused sewer outlet to bunker down in on sub-level four. I’ll await for your arrival.

“Very good Grath, we’ll be with you shortly,” Spike assured him, before transmitting the coordinates across to Loup. “Sergeant, we have a new destination and a possible plan. We head for these coordinates.”

With that, Spike took the lead, heading towards an access ladder and beginning the long climb down. He could fly, but the others would have to use jetpacks, and that would mean noise, noise they really didn’t want to make, lest they attract the gaze of the Mandalorians.

Glancing up at the squad as they came down after him, Spike realised how few people had probably managed to punch through the defences in orbit, and how daunting their task now seemed.

Places Reversed

“Try it again specialist,” Sergeant Vaughn ordered, pacing up and down the room and wincing slightly as his splinted arm knocked against his chest. “I promised General Spike I’d have radio contact by the time he got back.”

“I’m trying sir, but getting a broken radio to send signals is hard. Receiving’s slightly easier,” the specialist shook his head. “With proper tools I could probably do it, but with make-do stuff, the most I can do is get a listening device.”

“Well, it’s better than nothing I suppose,” Vaughn sighed. “Get it up and…someone’s coming, places.”

Instantly the room was filled with muffled movements, the soldiers who had been left behind in the makeshift base scrambling to get to their defensive positions. Vaughn drew his sidearm, cradling it in his one good arm as he crouched down behind a barricade and glanced around the base.

There were six troopers currently preparing to face whoever was approaching, most of whom were in some state of injury or disrepair. Two more were unconscious in the back room from injuries, while the rest of the Republic Forces were out on yet another mission. They were the ones who had to stay behind, and Vaughn hated every second of it. He didn’t join the Special Forces to sit back and defend a disused sewage plant for nigh on two weeks, but with a shattered femur, he wasn’t in any place to argue when General Tarhal had told him to stand down.

His body tensed up as he heard a scraping sound just outside of the heavy blast door that separated the plant from the old piping network, before a single loud thump was heard from the other side, followed by three more in quick succession, and finally two long ones.

“Stand down,” Vaughn let out a sigh of relief as he straightened up, walking towards the keypad and quickly typing in the security code for the day.

With a loud scraping sound, the heavy metal slab split into four segments, each one sliding back diagonally into the housing in the walls, and allowing the people on the other side to enter the base, General Tarhal leading the way, his shaggy fur slightly singed by the day’s events. The rest of the troops followed him, almost thirty of them now, and still growing as more surviving forces managed to make their way to the Republics base. Finally, General Spike approached the doors, walking on all fours to allow him to fit through the tight pipelines, before finally standing in the larger room and stretching his back and sighing contentedly.

“Sergeant, report,” Tarhal ordered, his growls almost being drowned out by the screeching door sound as it slid closed behind them.

“No Mandalorians came snooping, and we may manage to get the radio working as a listening device. The specialist doesn’t think he can get the receiver to work though.”

“That’s good enough,” Spike grunted, shrugging slightly as he unhooked a host of straps from around his body and letting the saddle that had been attached to his back slide to the floor. “I want that thing working in ten minutes. Tarhal, come find me in the mess hall once it’s operational. Bring the saddle, you can clean it before you try and put it back on me.”

With that, Spike turned and walked towards the back of the base, heading for what had once been the overflow sumps, but now served as only a smelly reminder of where they were. No one ever went in there, save for Spike, and no one really knew quite what he was doing in there, but rumours were abound, and they had only gotten stringer when they heard Spike talking to someone in there. It didn’t help that when he had spoken, someone, or something, had answered back.

Vaughn watched him go, before turning back around and finding himself being confronted by Sergeant Loup, the commander of Wolf Squad and Spikes unofficial command squad leader, which did seem to put him in a very high position within the Special Forces. The man had a new scar across his face, but didn’t seem to be paying attention to the cut, instead keeping his soft smile focused on Vaughn.

“So, how’s the arm?”

“It could be better,” Vaughn shrugged, before wincing. “I doubt it will be getting better any time soon. But enough about me, how did the excursion go?”

“Better than some, worse than others,” Loup chuckled. “We went out and found a Mandalorian listening post twenty three miles west of here. You would have thought after we started using jump packs they would have gotten used to us using aerial attacks, but no, we swooped in and took it out. Should draw some more Mandalorians away from alpha objective.”

“I hope so,” Tarhal agreed, walking towards the pair, his staff-like Lightsaber slung across his back and the leather saddle draped over one arm. “The more we draw away, the better our chances are of crippling the Mandalorians and giving Revan a better chance of breaking through and getting us some reinforcements.”

“Well then, I say we get the radio working and then go to the mess hall to plan our next move,” Cortez grinned. “Oh and General, clean that saddle up. It smells like shit.”

“We’re in a sewage plant and it’s got blood on it, I doubt it would smell like roses,” Tarhal quipped, before throwing the worn leather to Cortez. “But since you’re so eager to get it cleaned, you can do it. Oh and remember, Spike quite likes the whole rough feel on his back, so don’t smooth it out to much ok?”

“Oh come on,” Cortez groaned, hefting the saddle onto his shoulder. “Do I have to?”

“That’s an order Lieutenant,” Tarhal laughed, before turning and walking towards the mess hall, followed by Vaughn and Loup. Cortez let out a low groan, before turning towards another corridor and setting off to clean the dried blood and sweat off the saddle.

***

“Another successful raid then?” Moonstone asked, materialising beside Spike and sitting down and looking around the room. “You know, it’s at times like this when I feel sorry for Desolation.”

“Who are you and what have you done with Moonstone?” Spike chuckled. “The Moonstone I know would never feel sorry for Desolation.”

“He has a nose, whereas I’m just an apparition,” Moonstone replied simply. “Maybe you should spend less time in the Overflow Sumps.”

“It’s quiet, dark and away from everyone else. It’s nice to get away from people sometimes.”

“No I get that,” Moonstone nodded. “It’s hard for me to do it, but I get it.”

“Well I’m sorry you can’t get out of my head more often,” Spike grinned. “Still, you took charge of a lot of non-combat processes in my brain while I was out, anything interesting crop up?”

“You had a few interesting thoughts, even a few about home, but nothing mission critical. Oh, and part of your brain is still rebelling against the idea of you wearing a saddle and being ridden. Mostly Desolation from what I’ve gathered.”

“Everyone else planetside is airborne in one way or another, and so far we haven’t found a jetpack that will lift a wookie as large as Tarhal. No one else is large enough to even contemplate carrying him, so it made sense for him to jump on my back, and the saddle just makes things easier. Plus it’s not actually that uncomfortable.”

“Well it does seem to have worked nicely,” Moonstone smiled. “The Mandalorians are having to spread their forces pretty thin to keep their outposts safe from you and the rest of the forces.”

“That’s the point,” Spike nodded, standing up and stretching slightly. “Spread ‘em out, then we can hit them when they're weak. Plus we’re keeping them confused and on the back foot so they can’t know where we’ll be hitting next. Random attacks can’t be predicted.”

“Yes, but they can’t be planned out properly either,” Moonstone pointed out. “Wouldn’t it be nice to be…I don’t know, a little bit less chaotic in your approach to battles?”

“War’s chaos Moonstone, and we do well in it because we practice chaos every day now. It’s not so good for big campaigns, but that’s not my area of expertise. Talk to Revan if you want something planned, but at some point you’ve got to get boots on the ground. That’s where I step in, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The conversation was interrupted by a banging on the windowless iron door, drawing Spike's attention to the old clock on the wall. Seeing that his ten minutes were up, he turned and shrugged at Moonstone, before beginning to walk to the door.

“Going to have to cut this chat short. Damn, Desolation really wanted to stretch his legs a bit today.”

“Why haven’t you let him out in combat then?”

“I don’t properly trust him still,” Spike admitted softly. “He’s never fought in an actual battle, you know, with troops under his command. I don’t want to risk him turning on Republic troops after the Mandalorians are dead.”

“Do you really think he’d do that?”

“I’d rather not find out.”

With that, Spike yanked the heavy door open, making his way into the corridor and following after the soldier who had knocked as he had walked by, the man now halfway down the corridor and heading for the mess hall. It didn’t take him long to reach the room, ducking under the low door before striding towards Tarhal, Cortez and the radio specialist.

“Another interesting chat with yourself?” Cortez smirked.

“Very much so yes,” Spike shot back, sticking his tongue out, before noticing the saddle. “Ah, you cleaned it for me.”

“Well I don’t want to sit in my own sweat again do I?” Tarhal chuckled, before placing the radio onto the table.

It was a large metal box really, the odd wire trailing out of it from where it had been torn from one of the less damaged dropships. Unfortunately, there had so far been no luck in getting it to work properly, and Spike wasn’t about to risk stealing one from the Mandalorians in case they could track it.

“We’ve managed to pick up one signal with Republic encryption codes,” the specialist in charge of repairing it explain, fiddling with a dial. “It’s just a message on repeat, so don’t expect to get much tactical information from it.”

“Better than nothing though,” Cortez noted, before static began to leak out of the radio, finally coalescing into a voice.

…break through the blockade. Message repeats. To all Republic forces engaged on and around Taris, this is General Revan. The siege is ongoing, and will continue till the planet falls. If you are stranded on the planet, stand firm and dig in, we will break through the blockade. Message repeats. To all Republic…

“That’s all we’ve got,” the specialist deactivated the radio and looked between Spike, Tarhal and Cortez. “The message just repeats itself, as far as I can tell.”

“Thank you,” Spike nodded. “Go and try to get the broadcaster working, if we can get a message out to Revan, or anyone really, it will be a lot of help.”

“Sir,” the man saluted, picking the radio up and heading back out of the room that was slowly beginning to fill up as various troopers began to walk in, their ration packs in hand. It was hard keeping everyone fed enough to keep them combat ready, but thanks to the Mandalorian supplies that they had ‘borrowed’, they were scraping by, if only by a hair's width.

“We’ve been on Taris for twelve days now Spike, we need to act,” Cortez turned back to face Spike after watching Loup and the rest of Wolf Squad tear into their rations. “And I’m not talking about another raid on a listening post.”

“You really think we’re ready to take on Alpha objective?” Spike asked, looking at the man.

“We’ve had a scout running recon ops for the last five days and he reports that there are a lot less Mandalorians there than before,” Cortez nodded.

“There’s only fifty of us remember,” Tarhal pointed out. “Forty two if you mean non-injured.”

“But we have two Jedi,” Cortez insisted. “We can do it, and we can give Revan a better shot at punching through the blockade.”

“You know, things were easier when you didn’t understand Shyriiwook,” Tarhal sighed.

“The pair of you shouldn’t have taught me then,” Cortez smirked. “The benefits of having a lot of free time I suppose.”

“He does have a point though Spike,” Tarhal sighed. “We can’t keep going like this, we’re running low on food, pretty soon standard issue blaster packs will be gone, and that’s just hoping that the Mando’s don’t finally manage to track us down. We need to get reinforcements, and alpha objective is the only way we’ll get that.”

“Very well then,” Spike sighed, before standing up and raising his voice. “Listen up! We’re moving out in an hour, prep your blasters, fuel up your packs and make sure you’re armour’s still in working order.”

“What are we hitting this time general?” Loup asked, standing up and looking over at Spike.

“We’re taking out their cannons,” Spike grinned.

***

Spike steadied himself on the top of one of the buildings as he stared across the open ground at a massive array of glorious weapon spread out before him like presents under a Hearts Warming tree. Granted it would have to be an extremely sadistic and mentally unstable child’s tree, but that was beside the point.

Spike had experience with planetary defence cannons and ground to orbit weapons in general, mostly from his time in the Outer Rim overseeing defences, as well as defending the cannons on Coruscant, but none of them compared to these.

There were nine in total, massive hyper-velocity cannons, capable of accelerating a ten ton slug into orbit and striking targets with the force of a hammer of the gods. Most ships shields' buckled under one of the shells, but these guns didn’t fire only one shell, they were linked together in threes, linking their fire and making sure that any ships that were struck were destroyed utterly.

More than that though, there were also generators here, each one powering a slew of orbital platforms dotted around the planet's orbit. This was one of six main installations dotted around the planet, but this was the one that was pointed at Revan’s fleet right now, which meant it was the one that would have to be destroyed to let the fleet though. They wouldn’t get another chance to take out a cannon after this anyway, the Mandalorians wouldn’t make the same mistake of leaving it under-manned again.

Reaching up to his ear, Spike managed to work his finger under the metal around his head to touch the communicator in his ear, activating a broadcast for the rest of the Special Forces formed up behind him.

“Alright, listen in. We’re going to go high, fly over the cannons and then drop down. According to the specifications the facility was designed to be run by a minimal crew of six in the main fire control centre. If we can take that, we can wrest command of the facility back to us.”

“And then we can use it to punch through the Mandalorian blockade,” Tarhal added, walking up beside Spike and placing a hand on his back. “You ready for this?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Spike nodded, shifting his weight as Tarhal clambered up onto his back, securing himself into the saddle and drawing his Lightsaber, not yet igniting the weapon.

“Looks like the boot's on the other foot now, eh Spike?” Tarhal chuckled.

“How so?”

“I remember when we were inexperienced and were defending a planetary defence installation from Mandalorian attacks so they couldn’t do exactly what we’re doing now. How times have changed.”

“The similarities had occurred to me yes,” Spike nodded solemnly. “Let hope this attack goes better than that defence.”

Flaring his wings, Spike walked to the edge of the building, before spreading his arms wide and falling forward, twisting in mid-air, before flapping his wings hard and heading upwards, joining the host of Special Forces soaring through the sky on tongues of fire.

Spike summoned his own Lightsabers to his hand as he flew, slowly brushing a claw across the worn activation studs. The weapons had seen more prolonged use in the past few weeks than they had in the last ten years, and when Revan finally got through, he’d have to set about finding a spare set of power cells, just in case. He’d hate to be left up shit creek without a paddle if they failed mid-fight.

With that thought, Spike tucked his wings in beside him, twisting once again as he pointed his head towards the facility, plunging down like a vengeful comet. Letting out a roar, Spike activated his Lightsabers, slicing through the neck of a Mandalorian before his enemy even knew he was under attack.

Instantly, Spike felt Tarhal’s weight leave his back as the Wookie dived off of him, leaping towards a group of enemies, his Lightsaber twirling in his grip as it deflected the shots aimed at him, before he was amongst the Mandalorians, hacking left and right with impunity.

Letting out another roar, Spike bathed the area in front of him in fire, before using the force to pull the trio of screaming, burning Mandalorians towards him and into range of his Lightsabers. Cutting them down, Spike raised his own voice, rearing up and flaring his wings to make himself even more imposing.

“Move forward! We need to take the tower now!”

With a surge, the Special Forces began to push forward, Wolf Squad spearheading the attack beside Spike and Tarhal, the Mandalorians being forced backwards at the sudden renewed ferocity of the attack. Man by man the Mandalorians fell to the blasters of Spike's forces, allowing the Special Forces to take step after step forward, until finally there were none left, leaving Spike and the others in an eerie silence outside of the blast door.

Spike laid his hand against the cool metal, gasping heavily as his vision was suddenly filled with visions of a past life. Turning, Spike saw no one behind him, finding himself alone in the courtyard of the defence installation. A second later, he felt a presence behind him, whirling around, teeth bared and Lightsabers ready to strike any enemy that thought it could sneak up on him.

Instead, he saw himself.

He wasn’t a General now though, he wasn’t the commander of the Special Forces or a Knight in the Jedi Order, he wasn’t even that old. Instead, he was still a teenager, a Padawan, blood covered, scared and letting out a silent roar, which slowly rose in volume until it mirrored Spikes current roar.

Slowly, as if he was trying to wade through treacle, young Spike began to move forward, his roar growing as the crack of a bullet sounded throughout the vision.

Whirling around, Spike screamed as he saw Asho standing in the path of the bullet. Time seemed to slow to even more of a crawl as Spike ran towards him, overtaking his younger self as he tried to grab hold of the unaware Twilek.

Grabbing hold of her, Spike turned his back, the bullet impacting and sending a painful jolt through his body, but he had Asho, and that was all that mattered as he collapsed to his knees. Smiling, he looked down at Asho, only for his eyes to harden as he saw the massive bullet hole torn in her head. Tears sprung to his eyes as he looked up at his younger self, the young drake raging and screaming as he killed anything that came near him, before suddenly collapsing, bloody wings ripping themselves out of his back in a sickening welt of blood and ripping flesh.

“Spike!” young Tarhal yelled as he ran forward. “Spike! Listen to me!”

“Spike! Spike!”

Spike was shaken back to reality as he felt a pair of hands on his shoulders as a voice continued to call out to him. Slowly, the world returned to normal, the vision of his younger self fading, only to be replaced by Tarhal, the Wookie shouting down at him.

“Spike! Get up now!”

“What’s going on?” Spike mumbled, staggering to his feet and clutching his back. “Why does my back hurt?”

“You were shot by a sniper you idiot, now come on, the doors are open,” Tarhal gestured to the inside of fire control centre. “Most of the others are already inside, Cortez is supervising taking control of the guns.”

“Good,” Spike nodded, wincing as he moved inside and reaching behind him. He could feel a hole in his back, and stuck his claws inside, wincing in pain as he dug into his flesh, before finally grabbing hold of the bullet and pulling it out, holding the large calibre bullet up in front of his eyes. “Big bullet. Must have been how it got through my back scales. They’re bloody thick.”

“Yeah, well maybe next time when someone yells sniper you should get down,” Tarhal pointed out. “What the hell happened, you froze up out there.”

“I saw Coruscant,” Spike whispered softly. “I…I didn’t want it to happen Tarhal, I didn’t want to lose her.”

“Of course you didn’t Spike,” Tarhal assured him, before a klaxon sounded throughout the building. A second later there were nine huge booms, each one following a second after the preceding shot as the cannons fired.

***

The Swiftsure

***

“What the hell was that?” Revan demanded, striding towards the forward viewport of the ship and staring out as three Mandalorian ships exploded, their shields offering them no protection whatsoever.

“It came from the planet sir,” one of the crewmen responded quickly. “From defence battery sigma-delta.”

“Looks like we have some help on the surface then,” Revan grinned beneath his mask. “Signal all ships to advance, I want to press this advantage, order dropships to converge on the defence battery, whoever's down there will need some sort of help I promise you."

***

Taris

***

“General, sensors indicate that the republic fleet is moving towards the planet,” Loup reported as Spike made his way into the control room.

“Good, keep firing,” Spike ordered, even as the guns roared once more, the massive sound still threatening to deafen people, despite the sound dampening around the room. “I don’t want you to stop until the Mandalorian fleet is in tatters.”

“Aye sir, that shouldn’t be too…sir! Incoming Mandalorian forces!” Loup bellowed, looking out of the window and readying his rifle.

“Wolf squad! With me!” Spike roared. “The rest of you, set up defences in here and be ready to defend the cannons. Rig them to blow as well, if we can’t hold them, we can at least deny them the use of them.”

“I’m coming with you Spike,” Tarhal shouted as he ran after Spike and Wolf squad.

“No, I need you to oversee defensive preparations,” Spike shook his head. “We’ll hold them off for as long as we can and then fall back inside and jam the doors.”

“Alright fine, but you stay alive you hear me,” Tarhal nodded, before turning and running back towards the control centre.

“What’s the plan Spike?” Loup asked as he jogged beside Spike.

“Hold them back for as long as we can,” Spike replied simply, drawing his Lightsabers as he came into sight of the door. Roaring, he broke into a sprint, the bright purple and white blades of his Lightsabers flaring into life as he dived at the first Mandalorians he saw. “Bring it on!”

There were plenty of Mandalorians, more than Spike would have liked to face, but he didn’t have a choice, and he couldn’t have stopped even if he wanted to as Desolation roared in savage glee inside his mind. He could already feel his darker side pushing up, trying to take control, but he forced him back down again, not willing to let him out even for an instant.

Stab. Thrust. Dodge. Crush. Fire. Roar. Shield. Stab. Slash. Block. Defend. Attack.

On and on it went, each kill only paving the way for Spike to step forward over the dead towards another foe. His body was being hammered with shots, but they were either blocked by his shields or were too small to get through his thick scales. Still, they hurt like hell, and even Spike couldn’t keep going for ever.

Suddenly, the Mandalorians around him thinned out, leaving him standing on a mound of corpses, brandishing his weapons as he saw Loup and the others fighting at the doorway. With an apologetic shake of his head, Loup took a step back, before firing into the control panel, the doors sliding shut behind him, sealing him and the others inside, and leaving Spike stuck outside.

Sighing, Spike took a step forward, only for the Mandalorians to part, allowing a man in shinning golden armour to move into the circle of troops, a large sword held in one hand. Spike snarled as he saw the man, instantly knowing who it was, even though he had never laid eyes on him in person. He had seen him in a vision however, back on Cathar. This was the man who had consigned an entire species to the grave without a seconds thought, who had gunned down a woman when she had stood up for them.

“Cassus Fett,” Spike snarled.

“It appears you know who I am,” Fett murmured, stopping and placing his sword tip on the floor, resting his hands on the pommel. “I hate to be at a disadvantage.”

“I don’t speak to murderers,” Spike growled, before relenting as he looked around the Mandalorians surrounding him, and realising he didn’t really have a reason not to tell him. “Spike.”

“Spike? I’ve heard that name before, almost a year ago. You were on Ranox were you not?”

“I was.”

“Then it seems that saying I’m a murderer is slightly hypocritical, coming from the Beast of Ranox,” Cassus replied simply. “Look around you Spike, how many have you killed today alone? How many more died because of your orders? You have killed as easily as I have, so tell me, other than the acceptance I have for my kills, what are the differences between us.”

“I didn’t come here to debate morality with a Mandalorian,” Spike spat. “You want to kill me? Get on with it! But don’t compare yourself to me.”

“I will kill you, but you deserve an honourable death before I take back the cannons,” Fett sighed. “Fight me fairly, and if you win, I promise you my men will not kill you.”

“When I win, they wouldn’t be able to,” Spike snarled, readying his weapons.

You could hear a pin drop as the crowded Mandalorians waited for the pair to begin. Slowly, Spike and Cassus began to circle each other, sizing the other one up as they waited for someone to make the first move. He was a full two heads shorter than Spike, and less muscular, but he looked like he was fast and lithe, as well as being just as experienced as Spike. His sword seem to glow and hum with an eerie blue haze, and it let out sparks as he scraped it along the floor for a split second.

Spike moved first, the blades of Dusk and Elusive held along his arms defensively as he charged forward, colliding with him and pushing him to the wall of the fire control centre, the Mandalorians scurrying to avoid getting involved in the duel. He held his own sword between the Lightsabers and his body, grunting as Spike put more and more pressure on his weapons, before lashing out with his foot, sending Spike staggering back towards the crowd, his back searing in pain as he struggled to remain upright.
Cassus ran forward, eager to follow up his kick, and began to thrust at Spike with his sword, twirling the deadly weapon in his hands and keeping Spike on the defensive. Every time their weapons collided, there was a loud hum and a small energy discharge, and Spike realised that the weapon was a vibrosword. That thing would be able to cut through even his scales if enough force was put behind it, and Spike didn’t want to test the theory out.

Again and again he thrust his sword home, only to have Spike block the attacks, before he lunged forward, over stepping and allowing Spike a moment’s respite. Taking the chance instantly, Spike jumped into the air, flipping over Fett’s head and grabbing hold of him, using his wings to power the somersault and fling Fett away from him, sending the Mandalorian commander into a group of soldiers, scattering them as Spike landed, coughing slightly as he clutched his back.

Snarling in rage, Cassus got back to his feet, even as Spike felt Desolation pushing harder and harder at his mind, already trying to take control and turning one of Spikes eyes a solid yellow colour. Cassus drew his pistol at the same moment Spike deactivated his Lightsabers, rushing towards Cassus and avoiding the shots from the heavy blaster, before swinging his fist at his opponent.

His claws scraped across the helmet, finally succeeding in ripping it from his head, before Spike followed up with another blow to his head, knocking a single bloody tooth from his mouth, before he was sent sprawling to the floor as Spike whipped his tail under Cassus’s legs.

Spike looked down at the man, taking in his features and committing them to memory, even as he prepared to strike him down. He looked like he was middle aged, his dark brown hair plastered across his forehead by the sweat that had built up during the fight. Even in such a position, his bright blue eyes seem to pierce into Spikes soul, like a predator eyeing up a piece of meat.

“Looks like…you’ve lost,” Spike panted, drawing his Lightsabers once more.

“Not quite,” Cassus smirked, before raising his gauntleted hand, allowing Spike to see one of the weapons there.

Spike was thrown back as the small rocket slammed into his chest, managing to get a weak shield up as the rocket exploded, but only managing to lessen the damage, leaving yet another crater in his chest scales beside the one caused by a shell on Eres III. Groaning, he forced himself to his feet, summoning one of his Lightsabers just in time to block a strike from Cassus.

Blow after blow was rained down on Spike, the dragon managing to get to his feet as he limped backwards, only to have his Lightsaber knocked from his hand and a sword pointed at his throat.

“You fought well,” Cassus panted. “I liked that helmet though. Now I’ll have to get another one.”

“Go…to…hell,” Spike managed, coughing up a wad of blood as he looked up, a smile managing to crest his face.

Whipping round, Cassus looked up at where Spike was looking, catching sight of scores of dropships, each one speeding towards the cannons, bearing the marks of the Republic. Snarling, Cassus turned back to face Spike, raising his voice to his men as he did so.

“Fall back, we don’t want to be there when they land. But you Spike, you’re not getting away.”

“Sure I’m…not,” Spike chuckled, before lunging forward with the last remaining vestiges of his strength.

It was a futile effort, but it took Cassus by surprise, knocking the man back even as the first dropship came into land. It didn’t last though, as Cassus quickly recovered, bringing his left fist into Spikes chest, perfectly striking the gaping wound left by the missile.

Spike let out a blood curdling scream as for the second time in his life he felt a Mandalorians hand inside his chest, staggering forward, only for Cassus to slam the pommel of his sword down onto Spikes back as he passed, hitting the bullet hole and forcing Spike to his knees.

“We will continue this, Beast of Ranox,” Cassus whispered softly, leaning down beside Spike.

“Just…kill…me,” Spike groaned, his claw weakly clutching at the air as if he was searching for a weapon.

“Not this time,” Cassus shook his head, before disappearing from Spikes view. “But I will take a trophy, a reminder of this fight.

Spike wanted to ask what the man meant, before he felt a hand on the tip of his tail, roughly tugging at it and making it lie flat. Spike weakly struggled for a second, before letting out yet another scream, longer and louder than any he had done before. His entire world was agony, pure unbridled pain putting all his other injuries to shame, even as he saw boot clad feet running over to him.

Spike could hear shouting, but he couldn’t make any sense of it, instead feeling warm blood seeping out around him, surrounding him in a pool of the crimson liquid, before his body could finally take no more, and he blacked out.

Forward Command

“…done what we can…”

“…bionics not made…”

“Keep me updated doc.”

Spike recognised the final voice as he was dragged back to conscious thought. He was aware of a dull throbbing over most of his body, the pain reaching a peak at the base of his…

Spikes eyes flew open, his mouth opening and letting out a mournful groan, before his mouth was filled with a sludge like liquid, and his vision became more than just a dark haze. At the moment though, he didn’t care what was in front of him, only what was behind him, or rather what he feared wasn't.

Moving his arm, Spike tried to grasp his tail, before hitting a thick Plexiglas wall that stopped him from moving any further. He could now see more outside of the transparent prison he was trapped in, seeing three dark figures, all of whom were moving towards him, their hands outstretched in placating movements.

“Get…me…out,” Spike gurgled, bubbles spilling out of his mouth as he spoke into the kolto solution he was surrounded by.

“Spike, just…calm down,” one of the figures spoke up, placing his hand against the glass. Spike knew he knew the voice, and that something about it was radiating with power that was trying to compel him to obey, but all it managed to do was make Spike more irate.

“Let me out!” he roared again, slamming a fist forward into the tough glass, cracking its surface.

The cracks spiralled out from around his fist, quickly covering the entire tube. For a moment, the room was silent, before it let out a single cracking sound, shattering, and spilling Spike and the contents of the tube onto the floor.

Spike let out a retching sound as he collapsed to all fours, coughing up lungfuls of kolto onto the floor of the medical room. In between coughing, Spike felt a hand resting on his back, and rolled over to stare up at the man who had laid his hand on the tube before. Spike's eyes were still adjusting to the sudden stimulation, but slowly the darkened figure became more and more familiar, showing that his face, and what Spike had believed to be long hair, instead turned out to be a mask and a long flowing robe.

“R-Revan?” Spike rasped, pushing himself slowly to his feet and towering over the man. “Where…where am I?”

“Intensive care unit in the emergency hospital we set up,” Revan replied, keeping his hand on Spike's shoulder despite their size difference.

“A-A-And…my…” Spike shuddered, beginning to turn his head around.

“Spike…take it slowly,” Revan moved his hand to Spike's head, stopping him from turning to face his injury.

“I need to see it,” Spike snarled, pushing Revans hand away.

“On your head,” Revan sighed, taking a step back, his hand hovering over his sabre.

Slowly, Spike turned around, looking down the spines on his back, before they finally rested on the stumpy remains of his tail. Where before there had been a long flowing tail extending out from behind his body, now there was nothing, save for a stump that looked as if it was in the process of scabbing over.

For a long time, Spike didn’t say anything, not moving, not blinking, and hardly breathing, transfixed by the sight of his missing tail. Revan exchanged a glance with the two doctors, before gesturing for them to get back slightly, before approaching himself.

“Spike? It’s ok Spike, we’re…” he began.

He never finished his sentence as Spike let out a bestial roar, his eyes flashing yellow for a split second, before reverting to normal. Desolation may have wanted to be in charge, but Spike was well and truly in command now. Drawing his Lightsabers, Spike brought them down on Revan, the man only just igniting his own weapon and catching the twin blades, diverting them away from what would have been a fatal blow. Even so, he was still forced to the floor from the ferocity of Spikes attack, struggling to get up from his knees and fight back properly.

“All right? All right?!” Spike roared, his voice heavy with power as he channelled the force, knocking Revan back. “I lost my tail! How is it all right?!”

“Spike! Calm down!” Revan shouted back, before Spike lunged at him again, forcing him backwards.

“Where the fuck were you?! We waited! We fought! And you were fucking late!” Spike screamed, deactivating his Lightsabers and diving forward, catching Revan off guard and crashing through the doors, emerging into a large waiting room time area.

“What the…Revan? Spike?” Malak asked in confusion, rushing towards the pair, followed by a trio of soldiers.

“Stand down!” Revan ordered, getting to his feet and standing beside Malak, facing Spike. “That’s an order. Stand down.”

Spike panted heavily, scowling at Revan and Malak, his shoulders heaving as he debated leaping forward once more. Even now, he could hear the voice of Desolation urging him on, while Moonstone was screaming at him to stop and think about what he was doing.

“How long?” Spike seathed, his hands clenching into fists as he swayed, finding keeping his balance slightly harder now due to the lack of his constantly swinging tail.

“Have you been out?” Revan asked back. “A day, just, which is why you need to let the doctors help you. Get back in a tube and…”

“And how long would that take?” Spike snapped.

“Wounds like yours, a week sir,” one of the doctors chipped in.

“You expect me to stay still for a week?” Spike laughed, throwing his head back, the sound unnerving Revan more than any roar could. “Me? Nothing to do for a week? I don’t think so.”

“Spike, listen to reason,” Revan took a step forward. “You’re wounded, and species with tails usually need them for balance. I don’t know what you think you’ll be able to do, but if you get healed up, you can get back into the fighting.”

“It was Cassus,” Spike snarled. “Cassus Fett. The one behind Cathar. He’s in charge, he led the attack on the cannons. He…he took something from me.”

Spike trailed off as his confidence wavered for a second, his eyes drifting to his tail stump, before he regained his composure, his snarl returning as he looked back to Revan and Malak.

“We had a feeling it was him,” Revan nodded slowly. “And we’re taking steps to…”

“Then where is he?!” Spike shouted, cutting Revan off. “I want him dead, soon. By my hand.”

“If we knew where he was, do you think we’d be waiting to hit him?” Malak scoffed, drawing a glare from behind Revans mask, one that clearly told him to be quiet, before Revan turned back to Spike.

Spike scowled, before pushing past Revan and Malak, heading towards the outside, following the scents that were out of place in a hospital.

“Where’s Cortez?” Spike demanded as he walked.

“He’s on a mission for me,” Revan replied quickly, still keeping his distance.

“Tarhal?” Spike continued.

“The same,” Revan shot back. “Just stop for a minute Spike, please.”

“Any special forces?”

“Everyone under your command is deployed,” Revan snapped. “There’s no one you can call on to help you find Cassus, so just stop and wait. You can heal up, then we can search for him together. You can’t do this alone.”

“You’re wrong,” Spike muttered, throwing the doors open and stepping out into a street, taking a deep breath and looking up at the sky.

“Oh I am?” Revan asked. “What about?”

“You said there was no one, that I was alone,” Spike flared his wings, turning to face Revan. “I’m never alone. I have Desolation, and I have Moonstone.”

With that, Spike took to the skies, rapidly rising above the buildings and soaring into the distance towards the front line. Instantly, guns were pointed to the skies, as Malak ran up beside Revan, holding his own Lightsaber tightly.

“What the hell was that all about?” Malak asked, glancing at the soldiers, who were still staring off after Spike, glancing between each other to see if any of them knew if they should be taking action or not.

“He woke up, he broke out of his tube, he went crazy,” Revan muttered. “Now he’s going on the hunt. He’s unstable, and he’s opening up the gap between us wider and wider every day. I don’t understand him Malak. Desolation? Moonstone? He talks about them like they’re real people, and I don’t know who’s in charge. And the worst part? I can’t relieve him of command of the Special Forces. I put them all at his disposal and the troops love him. They’d want to know why.”

“We need him to have another accident, possibly more fatal this time,” Malak mused with a slight grin. “Or…”

“Or what?” Revan asked, cocking his head to the side in confusion.

“Weren’t you working on something? A project for helping with this sort of thing?”

“It didn’t work,” Revan sighed. “The 44 series wasn’t fast enough or intelligent enough. I need…I don’t know, inspiration.”

“And meanwhile Spike will get more unstable,” Malak muttered. “I think we need to find out what’s eating away at him. It could be very useful later.”

“I don’t think he’s just going to tell us Malak,” Revan chuckled.

“No, but he’s got friends who know what happened,” Malak smirked. “And I for one know that Tarhal quite enjoys talking when he’s drunk.”

“Get on it then,” Revan nodded. “You never know, maybe this latest crazy phase will get him out of the way for us.”

“You don’t really believe that do you?” Malak raised an eyebrow.

“No, I don’t,” Revan admitted. “Now go, Tarhal and the Special Forces are returning from the Slash and Burn through the front line at rally point sigma. Oh and Malak, don’t tell them Spike’s up.”

“You got it,” Malak nodded, before turning and walking away down the street.

Revan watched Malak walk off, before turning back to stare up after Spike, just about able to pick out a tiny speck on the horizon that he was pretty sure was him. He didn’t quite know what he thought about Spike anymore. The Revanchists owed over fifty percent of their strongest members to his diligence and dedication to defeating the Mandalorians, and his skill in combat was easily equal to his own, but if Spike kept up how he was acting, erratic behaviour, self-hating, and lashing out at anyone and everyone, even if they were trying to help him, that made him dangerous. Dangerous was good if it was all directed at the enemy, but if even a portion of it was directed at allies, he would begin to become a liability.

“I don’t want to have to kill you Spike,” Revan whispered softly. “Please, show me that you’re not becoming an animal. Don’t prove Atris right.”

With that, Revan turned towards the direction of his command centre, his cloak billowing out around him as he strode through the throng of Republic medical staff and wounded soldiers.

***

Spike folded his wings and plummeted towards the floor, smashing into one of the ruined pavements and staggering slightly. Instinctively, he tried to move his tail to balance himself, but only succeeded in sending himself crashing to the floor faster.

“Son of a whore!” Spike cursed, pushing himself to his feet and looking behind him at his ruined tail. “Fucking Cassus!”

“Calm down Spike,” Moonstone whispered softly, appearing beside him.

“Calm…” Spike began, raising a fist at Moonstone, glaring down at her as he fought the urge to bring his fist down, even though he knew it would do absolutely nothing to her.

“Go on Spike, do it,” Desolation urged inside his mind, trying to push himself to the surface to influence Spike's actions, before Spike finally dropped his fist, slumping against a bombed out building and sighing.

“Thank you Spike,” Moonstone smiled, sitting down beside him.

“No spine,” Desolation sighed softly.

“You shouldn’t have left, you need medical attention,” Moonstone admonished.

“Sitting still for a week,” Spike scoffed. “That won’t end well."

“Spike you need it,” Moonstone insisted.

“Answer me this then. When was the last time I sat around doing nothing hmm? No mission, no guiding plan. Just me and my thoughts?”

“Spike I…”

“Answer me damn it,” Spike cut her off.

“When you woke up after Maryx,” she sighed softly.

“Exactly,” Spike nodded, his voice cracking slightly. “After Maryx. I can’t stop Moonstone. Got to keep moving forward. If not…I’ll look back, and I can’t…I can’t do that. I’m falling apart running from and talking to myself, and it’s all because of that fucking place.”

“Pussy” Desolation chuckled, drawing a scowl from Spike.

“He’s talking to you isn’t he? Desolation?” Moonstone asked.

“Yeah, he is,” Spike nodded glumly.

“Mind letting him free so I can hear him?” she asked again.

Sighing, Spike nodded, before closing his eyes and beginning to drop the mental barriers around his mind, not fully, but enough to allow Desolation some portion of control over their body. When he opened his eyes once more, only one was its usual green colour, the other being the dim yellow colour it was when Desolation was in charge.

“Finally,” Desolation purred, stretching his arms as he took control for a second, before Spike wrested it back from him.

“Ah ah ah, I’m in charge if the body,” Spike admonished, pulling his arms. Down.

“Yeah, and look how well that’s turned out,” Desolation snarled back. “Remind me how many body parts we still have left.”

“And if you were fighting him, we’d be bloody dead!” Spike roared back. “You don’t use weapons! You don’t fight with tactics or skill, just rage!”

“Rage works!” Desolation tried to push more control over the body, only for Spike to lock himself into a mental battle with Desolation, the pair vying for control.

“IF YOU’RE SITH!” Spike bellowed.

“Shut up! Both of you!” Moonstone suddenly butted in, standing in front of Spike and glaring daggers at him.

“We are not Sith,” Spike snarled, breathing heavily as he fought Desolation.

“But why not use their ideas?” Desolation whispered softly, backing down from the mental battle, allowing Spike to take more control, until even the yellow eye had returned to its usual green colour. “Use your hate, punish them.”

“What did he say Spike?” Moonstone asked urgently, only to be met by silence. “Spike?!”

“Yeah?” Spike asked in a slight daze, still confused by the void Desolation had left behind, leaving a curious feeling in his wake.

“What did Desolation…” she began again.

“Quiet,” Spike ordered, shushing her with a hand gesture as he got unsteadily to his feet.

“What is it?” Moonstone whispered.

“I feel something,” Spike muttered, turning to look at his tail stump, his eyes widening in shock.

Before his eyes, a green light was extending from behind him, forming all at once, until it finally coalesced into an almost perfect replica of his tail. Unlike his real one, this one glowed like his magic, large spikes extending from the end, forming a much more vicious looking tail than he had before. While it may have not been like his old one, it still moved just like it, balancing him, and allowing him to once more walk properly, and more importantly, fight properly.

“Oh thank you Desolation,” Spike chuckled, his laugh becoming slightly more maniacal as it went on. “Now Moonstone, sorry to cut short our little chat, but I think I owe Desolation a bit of free time.”

With that, Spike took to the skies once more, skimming the building tops as he soared towards a Mandalorian rear position. If Desolation was to get free, then he deserved to not have to worry about collateral damage. Inside his head, he could just about feel, rather than hear, Desolation's growl of approval, the magi-tail swinging side to side in anticipation of the fight to come.

***

Malak watched as a steady trickle of soldiers began to move back into the forward operating base of the Republic, one that also served as the command centre of the Republic invasion, and where the Special Forces came back to to regroup after a mission. The rest of the army was in the trenches five kilometres to the front, but they were far too valuable to risk there. It also made Malak's new mission easier, as he quickly spotted the single Wookie in the throng of troops, making his way towards him.

“Tarhal? A word?” Malak called out.

“Malak?” Tarhal grinned, breaking off from the column and stopping in front of Malak. “Come to see how the best work?”

“Something like that,” Malak nodded. “Come on, I need to debrief you, and I have a little reward.”

“What kind of reward?” Tarhal asked, falling in beside Malak.

“An alcoholic kind,” Malak chuckled.

“We’ll wait till Spike wakes up,” Tarhal shook his head.

“No, Revan's orders. The Special Forces have been working well under you, and he wants you to have this drink on him.”

“Well, I won’t refuse a free drink I guess,” Tarhal chuckled.

Two Hours Later

“So there we are, balls to the wall in a cannon on Coruscant, Mandalorians outside, Spike’s just grown some new tiny wings, he’s covered in blood, pissed off that some of it belonged to our friend, and what does he do?” Tarhal laughed, draining another glass, one that was quickly refilled by a sober Malak. “He tells us a bloody story about his home. It wasn’t even true, complete bullshit. But I’ll be dammed if it didn’t help out.”

“Yeah, I read about the invasion back in the temple archives,” Malak nodded. “Still, you held the cannons. What happened next?”

“Urg…let’s see,” Tarhal stroked the fur on his chin as he thought. “Well…there were the funerals, Exar-Kun and the senate attack. Then, Spike got his promotion to Knight and went off…disappeared for a month.”

Tarhal trailed off as he shook his head, looking at his glass and sighing.

“Then you found him didn’t you? You and your master?” Malak pressed.

“On Maryx Minor,” Tarhal nodded slowly. “I…I shouldn’t be talking about this, it’s not right.”

“Talking can help Tarhal,” Malak assured him, refilling the now empty glass. “Helps him as well, the shrinks tell me his brain activity is off the charts at the moment.”

“Maryx was…it was…evil. Everyone could sense it, even the soldiers. It wasn’t just a Jedi thing, this wasn’t the Dark Side,” Tarhal sighed.

“Come on, can’t be that bad,” Malak shot back. “I mean, I’ve seen what the Mandalorians could do for a bit back on Flashpoint, remember?”

“Flashpoint? You mean that place you were in for what, a week?” Tarhal asked. “I’ve read the reports. It was bad, but there was nothing overly evil about it. Spike was on Maryx for close to two months, we found a room filled with torture implements, and Spike was the only prisoner.”

“Did you say a month?” Malak asked, his eyes widening slightly.

“Two,” Tarhal corrected him.

Six Kilometres Forward.

“Republic are making another probing attack into our front lines,” a Mandalorian chuckled, taking his helmet off and taking a bite out of the uj cake he had been holding, savouring the taste.

“Let them come,” another one laughed. “We can beat anything the Republic throws at us.”

“What about those Special Forces?” a third Mandalorian asked. “They’re doing damage."

“Like I said, we can…” the second one laughed again, before a slight rustling silenced the group, the men instantly grabbing hold of their rifles.

“Who’s…” the helmetless Mandalorian began.

Desolation roared as he leapt forward, bringing his fist round and slamming it into the man’s face, knocking teeth flying as the man cartwheeled head over heels, impacting with the wall behind him with a wet thud.

“Don’t worry, it’s just Desolation, your friendly surprise dentist,” Desolation laughed darkly, before blurring into action.

Forward Operating Base

“Two months?” Malak managed finally, still shocked slightly. “Some of the Jedi at Flashpoint didn’t last two days before they cracked.”

“And that was for science,” Tarhal nodded. “Maryx was to cause pain. By all reports it was used to break Jedi and turn them to Exar-Kun.”

“So…you broke him out?” Malak asked. “You know what happened?”

“No,” Tarhal shook his head. “When we got there, something had broken out. It wasn’t Spike.”

“I thought you said there were no other prisoners?” Malak asked, before realisation dawned on his face. “Desolation?”

“The same thing,” Tarhal nodded. “Spikes dirty little secret that apparently everyone knows about.”

“I’ve seen him a couple of times,” Malak spoke softly and slowly. “He’s…”

“Violent, sociopathic, and about half a step away from being a war criminal,” Tarhal finished.

Six Kilometres Forward.

Desolation roared with laughter as he brought the new tail he’d created whipping round, impaling a Mandalorian on the spikes, before spinning and tossing the corpse at an approaching squad. Thrusting his arms forward, Desolation grabbed the fallen warriors, lifting them off the ground, before bringing his hands together, the writhing bodies colliding in mid-air. With an awful screech of bending metal and screams, the bodies were slowly compressed into a ball, Desolation grabbing hold of it and tossing it up in the air experimentally, before finally throwing it at a stunned Mandalorian, the dense metal and flesh balls slamming into his armour, sticking there.

“Wow, takes balls to stand in front of that,” Desolation smirked, stalking off in search of more prey.

Forward Operating Base

“Spike won’t say as much, but he’s afraid of Desolation,” Tarhal continued. “The guy's been running since the end of the Great Sith War. Mission after mission.”

“And we’re working with him?” Malak asked in incredulation. “Bloody hell. How long have you known about Desolation?”

“A few weeks? Maximum,” Tarhal shrugged.

“But you said he was on Maryx,” Malak pointed out.

“I didn’t know it was him, and I only watched the recording once,” Tarhal shook his head. “It was like an animal, not my friend. I destroyed the video to stop the council finding out about that side of Spike. Now he’s getting worse, they’re going to find out anyway. It won’t be long till he becomes public.”

“We’ll worry about that,” Malak assured him, standing up. “Finish the bottle Tarhal, then get some rest.

“Where are you going?” Tarhal called out after him.

“Back to Revan,” Malak replied simply.

Six Kilometres Forward.

Desolation surveyed his handiwork as he walked through the ruins of a city block that before had housed five Mandalorian squads waiting for deployment. Now, there were just four left, all bruised, one missing most of his teeth, and completely disarmed, their armour ripped off and discarded in a pile behind Desolation.

“Now, to business,” Desolation smiled darkly. “I’m looking for one man. Tell me where he is, and I promise that I’ll kill you quickly. If not, well…” he turned back to look at what was left of the corpses. “That was just me warming up.”

“Go to hell,” one of the survivors spat.

“You first,” Desolation laughed, grabbing a piece of metal with the force and hurling it at the Mandalorian, the pole sticking into the left side of the man’s chest, drawing a bloodcurdling scream from him. Slowly, blood began to leak from the end of the pipe, increasing as the man breathed, before it finally slowed as the man breathed his last.

“Now…tell me where Cassus Fett is!” Desolation roared, grabbing the next Mandalorian by the throat, squeezing hard, his claws digging into the man’s flesh.

***

Fifteen minutes passed as Desolation stretched his mind, inflicting pain in any way he could. The Republic would execute him if they knew what he was doing to POWs, but Desolation wasn’t planning on leaving survivors to talk about this.

Finally, only the toothless Mandalorian remained, blood trickling down his body from where Desolations claws had dug into him. His one remaining eye was wide with pain and fear as he weakly tried to escape Desolations grip on his leg. Lifting him up, Desolation held the man upside down in front of his face, opening his mouth and baring his teeth.

“Shame, I had hoped your friends would last longer,” he snarled. “Last chance. Tell me where Cassus Fett is.”

“I-I-If I do…spare my life?” he stammered.

“Talk quickly,” Desolation snapped.

“He’s in the Jedi tower, his command room's on the very top floor, he plans everything from there,” the man said quickly. “P-please, that’s all I know.”

“Thank you,” Desolation smiled, dropping the man to the floor.

“S-so I can go?” he asked, staggering to his feet, a hand clamped over his missing eye.

“Hmm,” Desolation mused for a second, before growling. “No.”

With a casual flick of the force, Desolation sent the man flying backward, before beginning the walk back towards the Republic lines, taking care to step on the man’s head as he walked. He had promised him a quick death for telling him where Cassus was, but he had never agreed to spare his life, or make his end painless. Desolation chuckled softly, his lips curling into a grin as he surveyed his handiwork one last time, before taking to the air and heading for home.

***

Tarhal staggered into the command centre, propping himself up on one of the consoles as he looked at Revan and Malak, the pair making plans on a holographic representation of the two opposing frontlines. Whatever Malak had given him was quite potent, and he was really beginning to feel it now.

“So…more missions for my men?” he slurred, walking over towards the pair.

“Nothing as of yet,” Revan replied without looking round. “Plus, you’re too drunk to fight at the moment.”

“Good point,” Tarhal nodded, sitting down heavily on the floor. “So what are you planning?”

“We’re not, we’re discussing someone,” Revan replied.

“Little old Spikey Wikey?” Tarhal giggled.

“Only one mare can call me that Tarhal,” Spike shot as he walked into the room, his eyes once more green, Desolation having been satisfied for now. He staggered slightly, the tail having faded as the drain on Spikes magic became too much, but it had performed its purpose perfectly nonetheless.

“Sir, you can’t just walk in their looking like…that,” a soldier followed behind him, looking at the blood covering Spike that was currently dripping onto the floor.

“I saw the council like this, I can damn well see Revan and Malak like this,” Spike shot back, walking up to the hologram table and placing his hands on it, scrutinising every detail.

“Spike? Are you ok?” Revan asked slowly.

“Why?” Spike asked, not looking at the man.

“You’re kinda covered in blood,” Malak pointed out.

“It’s not my blood,” Spike shrugged, before tapping a few buttons, bringing up a bigger image of the tallest tower in the city. “There you are you bastard.”

“The Jedi Tower?” Revan asked, moving closer to the hologram, giving Spike a wide berth. “The Mandalorians own it. We think they coordinate the fleet from there. Strategically useless now that we’ve destroyed their ships.”

“Trust me, it’s important,” Spike snarled softly. “Cassus is there, I’ve been told personally..”

“Whoever told you could have lied,” Tarhal pointed out from the corner.

“Trust me, he didn’t lie,” Spike shot back.

“Well then, thank you for the intel Spike, we’ll act on it short…” Revan began.

“Tomorrow I’m leading the Special Forces through the sewers and into the tower,” Spike cut him off.

“Spike, I’m in charge,” Revan snapped. “It’s high time you remembered that.”

“Do you feel in charge?” Spike asked, resting a hand on Revans shoulder. “I followed you ecawere taking the fight to the enemy. That’s the only reason.”

“I gave you command of the Special Forces Spike,” Revan pointed out with a growl.

“And this gives you…power over me?” Spike asked, before turning and walking out of the room. “Tomorrow Revan. You may want to do something useful and support the attack. The tower falls, Cassus dies, and we win.”

With that, Spike left the room, leaving Revan, Malak and a now snoring Tarhal alone.

“Still sure you don’t want to kill him?” Malak asked quietly, making sure not to wake Tarhal.

“I beginning to,” Revan growled. “Get the army ready. If this intel’s good, I want to move in with Spike tomorrow. Afterwards, we can discuss the future for Spike.”

The Jedi Tower

Spike scowled as yet another drop of water poured onto his head as he trudged through the sewers. It was just his luck that as he was leading his forces into the storm drain, the heavens had opened. Now the drain was slick with water as it sought to cope with the rain from outside, and it was starting to wear on Spike's patience.

“Cortez. How much further until we get to the Jedi Tower overflow pump?” Spike called behind him, keeping his voice to a whisper as he supported himself against the wall, not wanting to waste his magic by allowing Desolation to form the magi-tail once more. He was also slightly pissed off at the fact that he couldn’t replicate the feat himself, and he had spent hours trying, before he finally had to give in to the fact that Desolation seemed to have a greater grasp over his magic than he did.

“Should be about another two and a half miles to the sump valves, then another mile up the overflow pipe to the tower,” Cortez called back after checking his datapad, his voice slightly muffled by the respirator most of the men were wearing to combat the smell of the sewage that was sure to come in the final leg of their journey.

Spike let out a soft growl, before nodding and trudging forwards again, the water lapping around his knees as he lead the way. The rest of the soldiers followed behind him, most of them keeping the same grim silence as Spike was, or complaining about the temperature of the water.

“Spike?” Tarhal asked softly, moving up behind him and taking his respirator off so he could be understood better. “Can we talk?”

***

“So, we’re moving out after Spike then?” Malak asked, watching as the army marched past, heading out of the camp.

Most of the men were already in the front lines, but if they were going to break through the Mandalorian lines towards the Jedi Tower, they would need every able bodied man to make sure that enough got through to actually be of use. The type of battle that they would be bogged down in would be costly, but there were a few silver linings.

Firstly, the Jedi Tower was not publically known as the Mandalorians command complex, that was fifty miles to the north east. The defences between the Republic staging ground and the tower were not that much heavier than anywhere else in the Mandalorian lines, at least from what the scouts had reported, and two, up until till now there had only been probing attacks on the Mandalorian lines to test the strength and gather intelligence. The last thing the enemy would expect would be a full scale attack on a bit of the line that had yet to be scouted out. To be fair, it was the last thing any sane commander would do, but this was being pushed through by Spike, and he wasn’t exactly in the best state of mind at the moment.

“For better or for worse, Spike has already moved out,” Revan sighed. “Every soldier in the Special Forces has moved with him, and if they attack the tower on their own, we’ll lose them all. Even if they take the tower, they’ll be surrounded, and they can’t hold forever. I won’t lose the Special Forces Malak. As much as it pains me to admit it, they’re the only men we have that can match the Mandalorian troops man for man.”

“And the jedi,” Malak pointed out.

“And some of the jedi,” Revan corrected him with a nod. “But our soldiers? The Mandalorians are better armed, better armoured, better trained, and better motivated. For the most part they're better led and better organised. Sometimes I envy the Mandalore.”

“You’re wrong,” Malak shook his head. “He’s losing, you’re winning.”

“But how many is it costing us? How many men do we lose trying to push back to take back what is ours?” Revan asked. “The neo-crusaders are better than our troopers by and large, and the only men that can match their Shock Troopers are…”

“The Special Forces, led by Spike,” Malak replied with a heavy sigh.

“Which is why we’re going in,” Revan shrugged. “Not for Spike.”

“Damn right not for him,” Malak agreed. “You still haven’t told me what plans you have for him.”

“None at the moment,” Revan sighed, before beginning to move with the troops towards the frontline. “Ensure that all the men leave promptly, then get your own men together and form a rear guard.”

“If you say so,” Malak nodded, before turning and heading towards the far end of the camp.

***

“Talk about what?” Spike asked, not breaking stride.

“Last night,” Tarhal clarified. “I don’t remember too much, but you just kind of appeared from nowhere.”

“I woke up,” Spike shrugged, pushing a grate out of the way, clearing the way for the others. “It does happen Tarhal.”

“So the blood was…” Tarhal chuckled weakly.

“Mandalorian,” Spike admitted. “How do you think I know where to go?”

“So you do know where we’re going then,” Tarhal smirked. “I assumed you had gotten used to hanging around in sewers and shit holes. But seriously Spike…I sobered up and spoke to Revan and Malak. What the hell’s wrong with you.”

“Nothing’s wrong with me,” Spike snapped back. “I am perfectly fine, and I will handle things as they come. Once my new tail’s ready, I’ll get it attached, but before that I am not letting others fight and die while I’m lying in hospital.”

“But…”

“Case, closed,” Spike growled, striding away from Tarhal.

“Good conversation?” Cortez asked.

“Just do your job,” Tarhal huffed. “I’m checking on the rear guard.”

***

The Jedi Tower

***

Cassus Fett, clad from head to toe in his gleaming yellow armour, stood at the edge of his command room, staring out of the huge plexi-glass window that stretched all the way around the circular room. He cocked his head to the side as yet another explosion blossomed within his lines as the Republic shelling intensified. This was their biggest attack yet, and even without checking the battle-feed, Cassus could already tell that they were throwing everything behind this single attack, and it was aiming right at the heart of his operations. Him.

Moving back towards the holo-projector of the battlefield, Cassus surveyed the battle as it unfolded in real-time, all his troops and the Republic soldiers they knew about represented on its surface. The only thing he didn’t know was where their commanders were.

“Firaxa, report,” Cassus ordered as he heard the lift doors slide open.

“The Jedi are spread along the entire one mile attack front, either leading individual units or in big squads of their own. They’re causing a lot of damage to our lines, we need your men sir,” Firaxa saluted as he walked over to Cassus.

“Who’s leading the attack?” Cassus continued, not looking round.

“Revan and Malak are in the forward units, a few other commanders are scattered around,” Firaxa highlighted the two forward units on the map. “Now deploy your shock troopers or they’re going to break through.”

“And him?” Cassus whispered

“Your shock troopers,” Firaxa insisted.

“Rally Master Firaxa,” Cassus hissed, turning to face the crimson armoured man. “Tell me if you saw him, and maybe you can retain your current command.”

“Yes sir, sorry sir,” Firaxa nodded, taking a step back. “I didn’t see him. You did cut his tail off sir, maybe he bled out?”

“He’s still alive,” Cassus shook his head. “The two squads we found yesterday that were torn apart was his work. Now, get back to the front line and hold.”

“And the shock troopers?” Firaxa asked.

“I’ll deploy some in support for where the line is weakest. Now, outside and fight,” Cassus ordered, staring at Firaxa as he quickly got back in the lift, disappearing from sight.

Moving back towards the holo-projector table, Cassus brought up an image of the Jedi Tower, inspecting it closely, before putting a finger to his helmets ear cap.

“Field Marshal Cariid, come in.”

“Yes sir. Orders?” came the reply over the radio.

“Are your shock troopers ready?”

“My honour guard is still with me sir, standing by for your orders. Give the word and we’ll give the Republic hell.”

“Good,” Cassus nodded. “You and your men are to deploy into the main sewer overflow pipe. Eliminate any resistance you find and report back to me.”

“Yes sir. Any word on what we’ll find down there?”

“With luck, the Special Forces and their commander,” Cassus smiled beneath his helmet. “Cariid, eliminate him. Extreme prejudice.”

“Yes sir,” Cariid let the radio link go dead as Cassus returned to looking out of the window, standing next to a small table. Looking down at the chess set that lay atop it, Cassus moved one of the black bishops towards the white rook that was pushing towards the black lines.

“Your move Spike.”

***

Spike grunted as he strained to open a rusted hatch, before growling and lashing out with a foot, denting the metal, before grabbing it again and pushing it forward, the heavy metal plate falling backwards into the water with a loud echoing splash. Taking a step forward, Spike peered into the new tunnel, trying to make out anything in the near pitch darkness, before his ear fins picked up, standing straight.

“Direct approach as always sir,” Cortez chuckled, moving up beside Spike and lifting his rifle to his shoulder. “Last leg right?”

“Shh,” Spike whispered, waving a hand in front of Cortez to silence him.

“What is…”

“Shush,” Spike hissed, before taking a small step forward.

Spike kept silent for what felt like an eternity, trying to hear what it was that he had heard before, before he grabbed his Lightsabers and ignited the blades, casting light down the tunnel and on the scores of Mandalorians in pitch black armour arrayed before them. A split second later, the Mandalorians opened fire, filling the space between with deadly crimson bolts.

“Contact!” Cortez roared, staggering from a shot that had grazed his shoulder, before returning fire.

“Push forward! We can’t stop now!” Spike roared, diving forward as he swung his Lightsabers, meeting the sword and pistol wielding warriors head on.

In the confines of the old tunnel, the Special Forces would have been hard pushed to get a shot in edgeways around Spikes bulk, which would have made him the only target for the Mandalorians, but in the slightly larger pipe they were in now, Mandalorians were swarming around Spike on all sides, tearing into the front ranks of his Special Forces.

Before this day, Spike had thought that the Special Forces were a cut above the Mandalorians in every way, but now, he saw how wrong he had been. The screams of his men echoed around the sewer pipe as the Mandalorian blades became slick with Republic blood, unequipped to deal with the close combat skills of these new men.

Letting out a roar of anger, Spike unleashed a gout of flame in front of him, incinerating the front lines of Mandalorians, while a few of his men fell to the floor, coughing as they tried to breathe in oxygen that had just been stolen by his flames. He knew that some might die if he tried it, which was why he didn’t do it in the first place, but it now had the effect of opening the gaps between the lines up again.

“Cortez! Get the wounded back now and pull back to the old tunnels! Hold them there!”

“And you sir?” Cortez panted, nursing a deep cut on his arm.

“Just do it!”Spike roared. “Tarhal! With me!”

Not waiting to see what effects his orders would have, Spike once again moved forward, flaring his wings to make himself bigger while surrounding them in the baleful green light of his shields. They wouldn’t stand up to much, but it would give his forces time to set up in a better place.

Clashing with the Mandalorians again, Spike suddenly found Tarhal beside him, the Wookie sneaking under his wing and letting out a wave of the Force, pushing back yet more Mandalorians.

“Just like old times eh?” Spike laughed, lashing out and putting his saber through the helmet of a Mandalorian, before spinning and bisecting another.

“That it is,” Tarhal grunted, fending off strikes from a pair of his own adversaries, before pushing them back and kicking out with a foot, catching the Mandalorian in the chest, his armour shattering under the power of the force-imbued kick.

“And here I thought Jedi were supposed to abhor violence,” a Mandalorian clad in yellow armour crowed, clashing blades with Spike's Lightsabers with his own two handed sword.

“Wouldn’t be here if we did,” Spike snarled, pushing the man back, before spinning and aiming a kick at his head, one the yellow armoured man narrowly avoided, only for Tarhal to lash out while he was unbalanced, cutting one of the man’s legs off, the splash he made when he hit the water being drowned out by his screams.

Letting out a dark chuckle, Spike stepped over the screaming man towards the few remaining Mandalorians who already seemed to be wavering.

“Take a deep breath Tarhal,” Spike muttered, before roaring, unleashing a wall of fire before him, forcing the Mandalorians to retreat or face immolation.

Grinning, Spike watched as the last Mandalorians that were left alive scrambled to run back down the pipeline, the patches of fire that were still burning casting shadows after them as Spike turned back to face Tarhal, the Wookie panting now that air was available again.

“Tarhal, go get Cortez and the other combat ready Special Forces,” Spike ordered. “Send a guard back with the wounded and make sure they get back for medical treatment.”

“And the dead?” Tarhal asked.

“Count ‘em up, retrieve their tags, send them back with the wounded,” Spike shrugged. “We’ll come back for them if we can once we win.”

“Be quick with him,” Tarhal nodded, glancing down at the yellow armoured man who was currently crawling towards a pistol.

“Ha, you know me so well Tarhal,” Spike chuckled. “Five minutes.”

Tarhal nodded, turning and walking back the way they came, sighing as he looked over the dead bodies, while Spike walked back towards the sole survivor, stepping on his hand and drawing another grunt of pain from him as the armour shattered and cut into the broken bones beneath.

“Ah ah ah, let’s not be reaching for your weapon,” Spike chuckled, grabbing the man by the neck of his armour and hoisting him off the floor so he was at Spikes eye level. “Now, name and rank.”

“Cariid, Field Marshal of the Shock Troopers,” Cariid spat beneath his helmet. “I know who you are…Spike, leader of the so called ‘Special Forces’. I’m not impressed.”

“Well I don’t really give shit if you’re impressed or not,” Spike snarled. “Cassus? Where is he?!”

“I’ll not betray my commander for you!” Cariid roared back.

“Fine then,” Spike snarled, before taking hold of Cariid’s one remaining leg and pulling. “Where did you deploy from?!”

“Nev…er!” Cariid roared in defiance.

“Then you’ve told me everything I need to know,” Spike laughed mercilessly, before pulling harder.

Cariid let out a single gut-wrenching scream, before a loud crack heralded his armour and bones snapping, before his body came apart at the waist. The man writhed weakly on the floor, the bloody water washing over him as his top half slowly floundered, reaching for his leg, before he went limp and moved no more.

“Did you learn anything?” Tarhal asked as he approached Spike again, gingerly stepping over the bodies.

“Enough,” Spike nodded.

“You know, Jedi are…” Tarhal began.

“…supposed to show restraint and compassion,” Spike finished for him. “Yes Tarhal I know. Let’s be honest though, when have you actually known me to a perfect Jedi?”

“Alright fine. Bloody hell though Spike, you’ll have to answer for this at some point,” Tarhal sighed. “You and I both know that when the day comes, you’ve done more than I have in this war.”

“A lot more,” Spike nodded with a slight scowl. “But enough of that. Cortez? How many dead and wounded?”

“Twenty four injured, seven won’t fight again, and fifty nine dead,” Cortez walked up beside Spike and Tarhal, looking over the dead Mandalorians. “And looks like twenty three dead Mandalorians and a Field Marshal.”

“Two escaped,” Spike added. “Who the hell were these guys?”

“Shock Troopers,” Cortez answered quickly. “The elite, the best of the best. We encountered them at the battle of Serroco. They cut through our troops like nothing I’ve ever seen. The Special Forces were made to try and combat them.”

“That didn’t seem to work out too well for us then did it?” Spike asked. “Less than five minutes of combat between us and they killed double their own number. But enough about that, I don’t want Revan getting to the tower before me. Now, fall in behind Tarhal and me. If we come up against any more of these Shock Troopers before the tower then form a defensive line, try and hold them back while we bog them down in close combat. This siege ends today, one way or another. Let’s go.”

Taking off at a brisk pace, Spike deactivated his Lightsabers, keeping hold of them and reversing his grip into a reverse one, preparing himself for what was to come.

***

“My lord, Mandalorian advances are pushing against the right flank in sector thirteen,” a soldier panted, his armour stained with blood, oil and grime from the intense street fighting. “Jedi Commander Barbarous requests aid.”

“Tell him to pull back to defensive positions in sector twelve, draw the Mandalorians forward,” Revan ordered calmly, quickly consulting a datapad. “Malak, take your battalion and engage when they expose their flank, the Mandalorians cannot break through.”

“At once Revan,” Malak nodded, setting off at a run with the runner, placing a hand to his ear piece. “Major Sparrow, disengage and form up on my signal, prepare to engage the enemy on the right flank.”

As Malak disappeared from sight, Revan looked back at the datapad, before nodding and looking up at the looming Jedi Tower. He knew that Spike was on his way there already, and that if he got to Cassus first, he would most likely kill the man. Revan sympathised with Spike and his cause, but Cassus was far too important to simply be killed off, better to take him alive and interrogate him. Spike wouldn’t stand for that, which is why Revan had to punch through and get to the tower first.

“Colonel Myras, bring your reserve forces in on my position,” Revan ordered, drawing his Lightsaber and putting the datapad away. “One way or another the siege ends today.”

***

Cassus poured over the holoprojector, his hands balling into loose fists as he saw his lines beginning to show the tell-tale signs of those that were about to break. The only place they had been making any gains had been on the left flank, but with reinforcements pouring into the breaking sector, as well as his own lines being hammered by artillery and orbital strikes, he knew that without reinforcements of his own, he wouldn’t be able to stand for much longer.

As if on que, the lift door slid open once more, allowing a single shock trooper to enter the command centre, his black armour stained with blood and brownish oil, as well as emitting a smell that even the filters on Cassus’s helmet couldn’t completely block.

“You were in the sewers?” Cassus clarified.

“Yes sir,” the Mandalorian nodded. “We came upon the Republic Special Forces, led by General Spike. Field Marshal Cariid and twenty three of his honour guard fell before we were forced to retreat.” The Mandalorian sighed, bowing his head and dropping to a knee. “My life is forfeit for you, Cassus Fett.”

“I’m not wasting the life of a Shock Trooper,” Cassus shook his head. “Especially not a Rally Master.”

“But I’m…” the Mandalorian began, before rising, keeping his head bowed. “Thank you sir.”

“This siege has turned against us, the Republic forces are moving faster than I anticipated,” Cassus continued. “Spread my words to those left in the tower, all hands are to withdraw to Duxn and await further instructions. Do not fail me Rally Master.”

“Aye sir, I won’t let you down,” the Mandalorian saluted, before turning and entering the lift once more, disappearing from sight.

Cassus returned to the holo-projector, pressing a few buttons and dismissing the map of the battlefield, before bringing up a projection of a helmetless Mandalorian, his armour bearing the insignia of the engineering corps.

“Rally Master, the siege has turned against us,” Cassus began. “Ready immolation protocol, activate on my command. The Republic must pay for this victory.”

“Yes sir, immolation protocol takes some time to set up, once it is ready, direct control will be slaved to your control pad,” the engineer saluted.

“Good,” Cassus nodded, allowing the holo-projector to go dark as he once again moved towards the window and the chess set, the blacks now being far out-numbered and out-maneuvered by the whites, having been reduced to nothing but a king and a queen.

Slowly moving the black queen, Cassus placed it in between the black king and the advancing white forces. It was a final gamble, but the whites would have to eliminate the queen before they could check the king. Cassus was not going to make that easy on them.

“Come and get me,” he whispered softly, staring down at the battlelines. “I’m ending this today.”

***

Spike’s fist punched up through the grate of the sewer pipe, smashing the lock out of place, before he leapt upwards, propelling himself through the thin metal with the force and landing on the hard stone floor of the tower's sub-basement. His Lightsabers were instantly ablaze, Tarhal following his lead as he stood beside him, ready to fight off the horde of Mandalorians that would surely be in the base waiting for them.

“So…this is it, or do you think that they’re just waiting for us somewhere else?” Cortez asked as he climbed the ladder, looking around the room.

“I don’t know, but something’s not quite right here,” Spike shook his head. “Cortez, begin searching the tower floor by floor, eliminate any resistance and try to find as much intel as possible. Tarhal and Wolf Squad will come with me.”

“And you’re going where?” Cortez asked.

“To find Cassus,” Spike shot back. “Tarhal, Loup, with me.”

As Wolf squad and Tarhal formed up beside him, Spike began to make his way further into the tower, his Lightsabers deactivated as they crept forward. It was one thing to be blasé and loud when he was expecting a squad or two, or even in the tunnels and sewers, but preserving the element of surprise in the enemy base was a much smarter move. However, five minutes later, Spike was beginning to feel his temper rising, the only sound being that of his own foot falls, and that of the rest of the squad. Five minutes and not a single enemy in sight.

“Where the hell are they?” Spike snapped as they came across yet another room that should have been packed, but was instead completely empty.

“General, I think you should take a look at this,” one of the members of Wolf squad called out, drawing Spikes attention to a computer terminal.

“What am I looking at here private?” Spike asked, bending down to look at the screen.

“Two priority orders were issued recently,” the private explained, tapping on a few keys. “The first was an evac order, coordinates to an off world rally point enclosed, that was a general order. The second one was only sent to a few places, and it’s just two words. Immolation protocol.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” Tarhal commented, moving up beside Spike. “Send the data to Republic high command, we still have a job to…”

“General Spike,” a voice echoed around the room, emanating from the speakers. “I must commend you for your recovery time, I must confess I didn’t expect you to be up and about so soon after our little sparring session.”

Spike snarled as he flicked the magic tail, his hands clenching tightly into fists. “Cassus! Maybe you shouldn’t underestimate your opponents.”

“Can you trace the signal?” Tarhal whispered to the private, who gave a silent nod, pulling a hacking tool and a datapad from his belt and jacking into the terminals dataport.

“A valuable lesson Spike, one I assumed you may have picked up on after the cannons, but alas, you’re allowing revenge to cloud your judgement. Such a pity,” Cassus sighed.

“Come out and we’ll have a little rematch!” Spike roared at the room.

“My my, such aggression,” Cassus chuckled. “By now I assume you’ve found a terminal, seen the evacuation order, so now allow me to make a suggestion, from one warrior to another. Leave the tower, order Revan to pull back. Listen to your brain Spike, not to your anger.”

“I’m coming for your Cassus!” Spike roared back. “Don’t think you can weasel your way out of this!”

“So be it,” Cassus agreed, before the speakers crackled and went silent.

“Did you trace it?” Tarhal asked, looking at the private.

“Yes sir,” the man nodded. “The signal came from the top floor, I’ve managed to extrapolate codes and download a map with the fastest route to…”

The man hadn’t finished, and already Spike was sprinting out of the room, only pausing to grab the man’s datapad and looking at the map as he disappeared. Tarhal instantly followed him, the rest of the squad struggling to keep up with the two Jedi. Spike quickly found his way to the lift that was indicated on the map, its heavy blast doors presenting a problem to anyone without the proper access. Allowing a small smile to work its way onto his face, Spike tapped in the long sting of digits, before stepping into the lift with the rest of the squad and pressing the top button.

“Spike…maybe we should play this calmly, you know, bring Cassus in for questioning?” Tarhal suggested.

“Oh no, no questioning, no deals,” Spike snarled. “Don’t get in my way Tarhal.”

“Was that a threat?” Tarhal shot back.

“Would you like it to be?” Spike snarled, before the doors slid open and Spike surged out of the lift, his weapons raised. “Cassus?!” he roared into the room.

It was empty, the holo-projector in the centre dark and dead, while a table held a chess board, most of the black pieces having already been removed, leaving only a king and queen behind. Spike began to snarl as he paced around the room, pushing anything in his way aside as he searched for his target, before rounding on the private who had spoken before.

“Where is he?!”

“I don’t know sir,” the private responded, taking a step back. “The signal came from here, he should be here.”

“Spike spike spike,” came Cassus’s voice, and Spike whirled around to look at the holoprojector, its surface now active and showing a seated Cassus Fett. “Did you really think I would talk to you if there was the slightest chance of you finding me? You’re a fool Spike.”

“Where are you?” Spike snarled, approaching the table.

“You should be less worried about me, and more worried about yourself,” Cassus replied, before pressing a few buttons on his wrist computer. Instantly, the holoprojector’s scree split in half, sliding back to reveal a large rectangular case within, a digital readout on the top showing the figures 00:00:01:00.

“Immolation protocol,” Cassus began explaining, his voice drifting over the timer. “One bomb, ten kilometre blast radius. I did try to warn you Spike, I may have even let you escape a a worthy adversary. You deserved to die in glorious battle, but now…”

The timer suddenly activated, slowly counting down towards zero.

“Now it seems you’ve doomed yourself, the army, your friends and Revan. Oh, and you didn’t even find me,” Cassus began to laugh. “Such a shame Spike, such a waste of good poten…”

Spike let out a roar, before bringing his fist down on the outside of the holoprojector, smashing through the thin outer layer and ripping out wires, silencing Cassus, before turning to Tarhal and Wolf Squad.

“Are any of you demolition experts?” he asked urgently.

“We had one, but he was injured in the tunnel,” Loup replied. “We need to go now Spike, maybe…”

“Get in the lift now,” Spike ordered, turning back to face the bomb.

“Not without you,” Tarhal shook his head.

“That was an order,” Spike said firmly. “This is my responsibility."

“I’m not leaving you,” Tarhal insisted.

“Tarhal, go. Now,” Spike whispered, turning to face his friend, slowly moving towards him, forcing him to back into the lift, before pressing the button for the ground floor. “I’ll see you on the other side.”

“You bloody well better,” Tarhal nodded, before the lift doors slid shut, leaving Spike alone.

Walking around the bomb, Spike looked on the timer, showing him that he only had thirty two seconds left. Even if he took it and flew away, the blast would still wipe out Revan and the army. Without them, the Republic wouldn’t be able to continue the war, and Cassus would have his victory. Spike was not going to let that happen.

Closing his eyes, Spike lay his hands on the bomb, feeling the inner workings with his mind. It was complicated, and he didn’t even want to begin to try to disarm it, but if he couldn’t stop it all together, he could contain it.

Allowing power to flow through his hands, Spike willed a shield into existence, the surface flickering slightly as he struggled to find power, before a surge of energy sped into his hands as his tail disappeared. The sudden loss of the appendage almost made Spike lose his balance, but he managed to stay upright, forcing the shield around the bomb, pouring everything he had into it.

“Three, two, one,” he whispered, bracing himself for the explosion.

The bomb erupted into a glorious fireball, hitting the shield and bouncing back on itself, hitting Spikes mind like a sledgehammer as the raw power sought to overwhelm him and break free. Letting out a grunt, Spike staggered back, still holding the bomb and the shield in place. His vision was already beginning to go dark around the edges, and he could already feel his magic reserves depleting, and yet, at the same time, he knew the bomb had to be losing power as well, each second he stopped the explosion spreading decreasing the range and power it would have if it broke free.

“Why does this always happen to me?” Spike muttered weakly, before allowing his hands to fall, the shield dropping, and the explosion ripping through the room.

Spike was only dimly aware of the glass as he smashed through it, his wings snapping open of their own accord, before he blacked out.

Again.

Cyberniesis

Spike screamed as he felt something sharp plunge into his chest, bringing him crashing back into reality, his eyes snapping open in an instant, only to be blinded by the sudden light that hit them. Clenching his eyes shut, Spike tried to calm himself down, focusing on the pain in his body. Something was very wrong here, and not just the pain. His entire body felt different, almost like it had when he had been on…

“Finally awake?” a terrifyingly familiar voice sounded, piercing Spikes mind more than any blade could.

Forcing his eyes open, Spike focused on the Mandalorian before him, his pupils shrinking to pin-pricks as he strained against the restraints that held him to the torture table on Maryx Minor.

“N-No…no please no,” he whispered, staring at the Mandalorian. “I saw you die, I…I killed you!”

“Did you now?” the Mandalorian smirked, holding up a small syringe. “Funny thing this. Tryptamine-neurotoxin 251-NBOMe. Side effects include limb pains, extreme blood-thinning and potential for strokes. Of course, that’s not its primary function.”

“I killed you!” Spike roared, before coughing violently and looking down at his body. None of the scars he’d taken in the Mandalorian Wars were on his body, and Spike struggled to get his mind in order. “Tryptamine…neurotoxin…251-NBOMe…produces…”

“Hallucinations. The illusion of hope,” he laughed, before advancing towards Spike, roughly holding his head back and forcing his left eye open, allowing Spike to see a vicious looking knife. “And now it’s my turn to take away that hope, and whatever bits of you I want. One by one. Starting with this.”

Spike screamed once more as the knife was plunged into the soft flesh of his eye.

***

“Oof, now that was a bit harder than I expected,” the Mandalorian grunted, dropping the bloody leg beside the other body parts that littered the room, before picking up Spikes Lightsaber and running the blade across the ragged stump, cauterizing the wound. “You really are an amazing creature. Your scales, your additional organs and your brilliant pain tolerance. You are making my life far too fun.”

Spike slowly focused his one eye on his tormentor, barely keeping him in focus as blood trickled into his vision, leaking from the skin that had been exposed when some of his scales had been removed. His breaths were ragged now, his chest rising and falling irregularly as he hung from his one remaining arm.

“That’s right, pass out,” the Mandalorian sneered, before picking up another syringe and jamming it into Spike. “You don’t mind if I keep this here do you? I need some rest before I take your arm and tail.”

Spike didn’t care anymore, he couldn’t focus on anything, not even the pain that was coursing through his body as he slowly slipped from consciousness, silently praying that he wouldn’t wake up again.

***

“M…Moonstone?” Spike called out weakly, looking around the inside of his mind, the darkness staring back at him. Spikes voice began to break as hopelessness set in, his final desire to talk to someone had failed, and now the sheer darkness of his own mind really hit him.

“Don’t leave me alone!” Spike roared as load as he could, coming out as more of a rasp than anything else. “Please…I don’t…I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to go back.”

“Then don’t,” a voice whispered softly, coming from both everywhere are nowhere at the same time.

“Who…what?” Spike babbled.

“Give up. Let yourself die,” the voice echoed again.

“Can’t…got to help…Republic,” Spike shook his head weakly.

“It’s over. You’re over,” the voice insisted, and this time, Spike didn’t even try to fight it, slipping away into the bliss of death.

***

“We’ve lost him!” a doctor yelled, grabbing hold of a screen and scrutinising it carefully. “Secondary heart flat lining, brain activities are pushing into the red-zone fast.”

“R7, prep injections,” another doctor called, grabbing a pair of defibrillator paddles. “Fifth resuscitation. Clear!”

Spikes body convulsed as the paddles were brought down onto his chest, the ECG monitor briefly beeping before flat lining again. “Again!” the paddles were brought down again, and this time, the ECG began to emit a steady, if weak, beeping as Spikes heart surged back into life.

“Ok, back to work,” the doctor replaced the paddles as he spoke. “Stabilise any organs we can, we’ll try and save as much biological matter as we can. Otherwise hook him up to more life support and prep for stage one internal cyberniesis.”

Above the operating room, Revan observed the proceedings, looking down on them with his head cocked to the side. Thanks to his mask, it was impossible to tell if he was concerned, anxious or any other emotion, but it was safe to say that he was very interested in the fate of Spike. Reaching forward, he activated the intercom.

“Make sure he survives, and inform me if his condition changes.”

With that, Revan turned and swept from the observation platform, heading towards the less intensive care units of the field hospital. The building was full of wounded soldiers and Jedi, but very few were needing full intensive care. As much as he hated to admit it, he did owe Spike a debt, according to his demolition experts and reports from Sergeant Loup and Knight Tarhal. The bomb Spike got caught up in would have wiped out him and half the army with it. Instead it just hit Spike, and whatever he did made the explosion far less effective.

“Revan,” Malak called, striding up beside Revan and keeping pace. “Heard Spike died on the operating table. Was is it, six times?”

“This makes five,” Revan corrected him.

“Yeah right, five,” Malak nodded. “Why?”

“Why what?” Revan asked, not breaking pace.

“You know exactly what.”

“And you know exactly why,” Revan shot back.

“Why are you trying so hard to keep him alive?” Malak snapped, blocking the entranceway to the door Revan was trying to go through, before looking around and lowering his voice. “You have the perfect opportunity to be rid of him, why not take it?”

“What do you want me to do Malak?” Revan asked calmly. “Let him die, say complications made saving him impossible?”

“It would be pretty easy given his condition,” Malak nodded. “You wanted a sure fire way to get him out of our faces without destroying morale, this is it. He dies a hero and we have a martyr.”

“No, he lives as the Jedi who saved my life, and yours, and half the army's,” Revan snapped. “I don’t like Spike, he’s impulsive and reckless, but I owe him my life, and he’s loyal to the Republic. I can’t ask for more than that, and I only outrank him on a technicality. He’s older than both of us and he’s fought more than us.”

“So now you want to put us in bed with him?” Malak asked with a chuckle.

“No, I want to keep him as a powerful ally,” Revan pushed past Malak. “I’ll hear no more about this Malak, understood?”

“Understood,” he grunted, before turning and stalking away from Revan.

***

Spike moaned softly as he was dragged reluctantly back into life. He was sure he had felt himself slip away, and yet he’d been unable to even die properly.

“P-please,” his voice was barely audible over an odd beeping, but he dismissed it. It was just going to be a trick, and as soon as he opened his remaining eye, he’d see his tormentor again.

“Doctor? Take a look at these readings,” a voice called out, Spike barely making it out.

“That’s odd,” another voice answered. “He’s not supposed to be waking up yet.”

“Well he’s waking up now. Want me to get the sedative?”

“No,” the second voice replied, before Spike felt something brush against his head. “He’s been out for too long, let him come back.”

“No,” Spike managed, trying to brush the hand off him. “Please, please no.”

“He’s panicking.”

“I see that,” the second voice snapped. “Spike, you’re safe, you’re alive. Calm down.”

“No!” he roared. “Don’t…stop…harvest.”

“Harvest?” the first voice asked.

“Spike! Wake up!”

“No!” Spike screamed, his eye flaring open and looking up at the doctor, his shoulder sagging. “Not again….Please.”

“Spike, you’re safe, I promise you,” the man looking down at him smiled softly, before turning to his compatriot. “Go and find General Revan. He’ll want to know.”

The other man nodded, turning and leaving the room as the main doctor looked back at Spike. “General, please calm down, you’re stabilised for now. I’m doctor Charka,”

“Not real, none of it…not real,” Spike whispered, focusing on Charka.

“I’m sorry Spike, you’re not dreaming,” Charka apologised.

“Tryptamine…neurotoxin…251-NBOMe,” Spike shook he had. “Just another trick.”

“Tryp…” the doctor began, shaking her head. “Spike, we didn’t give you any hallucinogens.”

“Not you!” Spike roared, reaching up with his right arm, only to find it strapped down.

“Spike,” an authoritative voice rang out as Revan hurried into the room. “Thank you doctor. Can you give us the room?”

“Yes general. Be careful, he thinks…” Charka began.

“I heard doctor, 251-NBOMe,” Revan replied. “Now please.”

Charka nodded, before walking from the room, the door sliding closed behind her. Revan sighed, walking towards Spike. “Spike please listen to me. You’re stable, you’re alive, you have not been drugged.”

“He drugged me,” Spike shook his head, his voice shaking. “Back there. Gives me hope.”

“Where?” Revan asked, cocking his head to one side.

“M-Maryx,” Spike shuddered.

“Oh dear,” Revan sighed. “Spike, please. The base on Maryx was destroyed, everyone who was there died, save you. You’re not there Spike, it’s a bad dream.”

“Giving me hope,” Spike muttered.

“Alright, let’s try something else,” Revan sighed, looking around the room and moving towards the medical droid. “R7, synthesise 251-NBOMe, twenty five milligram does and mix in 423-NBOme-2.”

“Affirmative general,” the medical droid nodded, turning and moving towards a chem-synthesiser.

“Spike, this concoction can be fatal, but only if you’re already dosed on the primary drug,” Revan explained, taking the syringe and holding it up. “If you think you’ve been drugged, don’t take it. If you want me to prove you haven’t, just say the word.”

Spike chuckled weakly, before nodding. “Fatal…sounds nice.”

“Contrary to some beliefs Spike, I don’t want to see you dead,” Revan shook his head, before gently injecting the cocktail of drugs into Spike. “Now, we’ll see how far this goes.”

Spike smiled, letting his head fall back against the bed he was in. He could feel it coming, the lethargic approach of the inevitable bliss. The tranquillity of death. Silently, he closed his eye.

“I told you Spike,” Revan removed the needle. “It was a dream Spike.”

“Death is a dream Revan,” Spike whispered, opening his eye. “Revan…can I…ask you a favour?”

“Depending on what it is Spike,” Revan nodded.

“I’m on life support, aren’t I?” Spike asked, refusing to look to his left, trying to ignore the fact that he couldn’t feel anything in ninety nine percent of his body.

“Yes you are,” Revan nodded.

“Unplug it,” Spike pleaded.

“No.”

“Why not?” Spike looked up at Revan again.

“Spike I’ll let you in on a secret,” Revan sighed, pulling a chair up next to Spikes bed. “After your first accident, you got difficult remember?” Spike didn’t answer, so Revan continued. “You’d be a bit of a wild card before that, but damn useful. Then you got out of the bacta tank and went against my battle plan. It could have backfired in a million different ways.”

“It did,” Spike whispered softly.

“In a way, yes it did,” Revan nodded solemnly. “The main point though is Malak and I, especially Malak, were thinking of possible ways to remove you from command. I just wanted to remove you back to Republic space.”

“Then unplug my life support and get rid of me, please,” Spike begged him. “I don’t want to look Revan. I don’t know if I’m here or on Maryx, but I know losing my tail was nothing like this. I don’t want to keep going like this Revan.”

Spike, stop asking, I’m not unplugging you,” Revan said firmly. “I did want to remove you, and yes this would be a great time to do that, but you saved my life. I’m not forgetting that Spike, and I’m not forgetting the fact that you led an attack into the enemy base and broke it open. I need you, Spike; I can’t lose any more commanders. I’m not losing you.”

“I’m nothing,” Spike muttered, closing his eye. “I’ve got nothing left to give you, Revan.”

“You’ve got everything to give me Spike, and to give yourself,” Revan insisted, pressing a few buttons on a datapad. “Look at the mirror Spike.”

“Don’t make me, Revan,” Spike shook his head, keeping his eye closed.

“Look at the mirror, Spike,” Revan insisted.

Shaking his head, Spike slowly opened his eye again, looking at the mirror that was now above him.

“There’s…there’s nothing left Revan,” Spike sobbed, closing his eye again, trying to get the image that was burned into his brain out of his mind.

The right side of his face was mostly fine, only missing a few small scales, the same with his right arm, but that was it. His legs and his left arm were just gone, his torso cut in a diagonal line from just above where his shoulder should have been to his waist on the right. His wings looked like they were still intact, but that was little comfort to Spike at the moment.

“Spike, get a hold of yourself,” Revan was firm as he placed a hand on Spike.

“Get a grip?! Get a fucking grip?!” Spike roared, reaching up and grabbing hold of Revan's throat, pain surging through his body as he lifted himself up, the strap that had been holding him down tightening around his arm before being ripped from its mooring. Normally he’d have forced Revan to collapse due to his weight, but due to recent events he was obviously a lot lighter, and Revan managed to stay upright.

“Look at me Revan!” Spike screamed. “There is nothing left! I have nothing left to give you, or the army, or the Jedi, or the Republic. I wouldn’t even class as a corpse normally, I’m just a ruined hunk of meat. Do you see Revan? Just…look at me.”

Spike trailed off, relaxing his grip and leaning back onto the bed, his shoulder sagging as the fight in his eyes died once more.

“I am looking at you Spike,” Revan massaged his neck as he spoke, nodding in approval. “I’m looking at someone so strong that he could probably kill me with just one hand, and nothing else. Now Spike, I know this is hard, but is this going to beat you? You lost your home, but you fought on. You survived Maryx and you thought on. You even lost your tail, but you fought harder. Nothing has broken you yet, remember that.”

Revan turned towards the door as he finished speaking, pausing for a moment in the doorway.

“You’ve been prepped for stage one cyberniesis so far Spike, that’s just essential life support in case you don’t know, no limbs. Decide if your fire’s gone out by then.”

With that Revan left the room, leaving Spike alone once more, the beeping on his heart rate monitor keeping him awake as he rested his head back on the bed, letting out a soft sob as he waited for the doctors to return, taking him even further away from the dragon he had once been.

***

Spike took a shuddering breath, clenching his teeth together as his new lungs activated for the first time, the cybernetics grinding into life. His first breath for a week without an external machine connected to him was a final start to the ray of light that people had been telling him would come from this, but he still highly doubted that being more machine than dragon would be any sort of life.

“How does that feel general?” a droid asked, removing a probe from Spike’s side and closing the interface port.

“Shit,” Spike wheezed, his voice coming out rough and just as mechanical as the droids.

“It will take some time to get used to,” the droid nodded, turning to face the door as it slid open. “Doctor Charka, the patient is ready for you.”

“Thank you,” Charka nodded, dismissing the droid and sitting down beside Spike. “How are you feeling Spike?”

“The droid just asked that,” Spike shot back testily, before sighing and taking another shuddering breath. “Shit doc, I feel shit. I sound like a fucking droid, I’ve got no legs, I’ve got one arm, and I don’t even know what you had to replace inside me.”

“You mean no one’s told you what we… what we replaced?” Charka asked in astonishment. “Right, well I’m sorry that nobody went through this with you. It’s usually standard procedure.”

“They tried, I didn’t want to hear it until you’d already put them in,” Spike shook his head. “So tell me, what’s left inside me? For that matter what used to be inside me? Could be interesting to know, might learn more about dragons.”

“Alright. Just remember Spike, this may be hard to take in quickly. Take all the time you need, you’ve been through a lot,” Charka picked up a datapad and began to look over the screen. “Right. When you were brought in we managed to save your secondary lung and parts of your tertiary lung, both kidneys, most of your intestines, both small and large, and a liver. From what we could tell from your internals, you had a primary, secondary and tertiary lung. The tertiary lung was…odd.”

“Define odd,” Spike grunted.

“As well as having parts to actually take in oxygen and transfer it to the blood, it seemed to have some sort of ability to self-photosynthesis,” Charka mused. “It was fascinating.”

“Self-photosynthesis, the creation of oxygen,” Spike managed a small smile as he spoke. “So, would explain a lot.”

“Like what?” Charka asked, eager to keep Spike talking and in what seemed like a happy mood.

“A little unaided spacewalk I took a few decades ago,” Spike winced as he laughed again. “Fuck me, laughing hurts.”

“Your lungs are still adjusting to your system, learning the signals from your brain to act like your biological ones,” Charka explained.

“Great,” Spike rolled his eyes, before frowning. “Charka… doctor. You said my tertiary lung was interesting. You mean is right?”

“Partially,” Charka sighed. “We had you hooked up to life-support as soon as you came in, and we thought we saved your third lung and second heart, but they took too much strain. They weren’t designed to work for that long on their own. I’m sorry Spike.”

For a few moments, Spike was silent, before he snorted and rolled his eye, scowling.

“I’m not even surprised anymore. Just tell me what I had, and what’s still biological.”

“Yes sir,” Charka nodded. “You had three lungs, two hearts, two stomachs, small and large intestines, two livers, two kidneys, and an organ I’ve never seen before at the base of your throat. It seemed to synthesis a biological variation of napalm as well as another unknown substance. It glowed a dull green which matched something that looked like a ray-shield around your damaged tissue.”

“Tell me you managed that,” Spike muttered.

“That’s fine,” Charka nodded. “Surprisingly so actually, almost every other part of your body has some strain on it, but this was a hundred percent. Not a mark on it. The only thing about it is the unknown substance is glowing as brightly at the moment.”

“Great,” Spike sighed. “I have a feeling I’m not going to like this next question. What’s bionic now?”

“Two lungs were fully replaced, your third lung is ninety three percent cybernetic with bits of biological matter protected within. Both of your hearts are bionic, one of your livers, both stomachs and a few patches in your small and large intestines. Because of your stomachs we had to strengthen your digestive tract to make sure that it didn’t split when you’re eating. I’ve been told you’ve been known to eat gems, that should still be possible.”

“I haven’t eaten a gem in half a decade. Goddess, I could go for one right now,” Spike muttered.

“Interestingly enough,” Charka smiled, pulling out a small cloth covered object and placing it beside Spike. “General Tarhal found this, said it was a get well present if you woke up.”

Spike smiled as a small tear grew in his eye, before he gently unwrapped the gem, revealing a beautiful emerald. Slowly raising it to his mouth, Spike managed to take a small bite out of it, crunching it into dust before swallowing, much to the fascination of doctor Charka.

“Amazing,” she murmured. “You are one of the more amazing creatures I’ve ever known Spike. I’m truly sorry we couldn’t have met under better circumstances.”

“Yeah, so am I doc, so am I,” Spike nodded. “So tell me, what’s next?”

“Stage two cyberniesis,” Charka replied simply. “So far we’ve replaced internals. General Revan is personally making sure that your cybernetics are military grade and that they’ll be able to stand up to combat. We’ll be able to actually tell you what’s going to happen first and get your input. Again I’m sorry we couldn’t do that for stage one, but you were delirious by the time we arrived. We had to sedate you and operate quickly.”

“Thanks,” Spike sounded bitter as he replied. “Tell Revan he can keep his military grade shit. I’m done.”

“I’m sorry?” Charka asked.

“I said I’m done,” Spike snapped. “Finished, over, resigning. I’ve done my tour, I’ve seen more my share of action. I’m not immortal, no matter how much I used to tell myself I was. Why should I keep going in this war when it’s literally cost me an arm and a leg? And a tail, and my other leg, and fuck loads of organs, and I’m guessing my cock and balls as well. I will never fuck anything because of this fucking war and Cassus fucking Fett, so tell me, why should I keep fighting?”

“I can’t help you there Spike,” Charka sighed. “I can only fix you, I can’t give you the will to fight, nor can I tell you if it’s the right thing to do or not. You’ll have to find that out on your own.”

“Than…” Spike began, before coughing violently, leaning over the lip of the bed and retching, before shaking his head and looking back at Charka. “Thanks, now get me some way to move around, I want to see something.”

“Spike, I don’t think that’s…”

“I don’t give a fuck if it’s a good idea or not,” Spike snarled. “Get me some way to move around and let me have some time myself for fucks sake. I’m not going to be dying anytime soon, that would be far too easy. I already did and you brought me back.”

“You sound bitter,” Charka picked up her datapad and began typing on the screen.

“Just get me the damn chair and leave me alone,” Spike muttered, before lapsing into a sullen silence.

***

Tarhal strode through the corridors of the hospital, scattering doctors out of his way as he walked by, barely paying attention to them. He had already checked on the few Special Forces members who had been injured on their latest clean-up run and had been assured that they would all make a full recovery, so now there was only one person he wanted to see.

“Doctor Charka,” he called out as he spotted the woman in question, making his way towards her.

“General Tarhal, good to see you as always,” Charka nodded in greeting. “Your men were successful again I presume?”

“The men were,” Tarhal corrected her pointedly. “I’m here to see Spike, which room is he in?”

“He isn’t.”

“He’s in stage two surgery already?” Tarhal asked in surprise.

“No, he just refused to stay in a room,” Charka replied. “He demanded a repulsor-chair and went to the roof.”

“And you let him do that?” Tarhal asked in amazement. “You’re supposed to be responsible for him.”

“It’s easy for you to say,” Charka shot back. “You’re a Wookie, and he was still bigger than you.”

“He’s got one arm and a pair of wings,” Tarhal pointed out. “He’s not a threat to anyone at the moment except himself.”

“With all due respect, General, we’ll have to disagree on that point,” Charka handed him a datapad as well as a respirator. “He wants to be alone, but follow this and you’ll find him. Take the respirator too, just in case.”

“Thank you,” Tarhal grabbed hold of the datapad and respirator, before brushing past Charka, following the datapad until he finally reached the door to the roof, keying in the combination and emerging into the soft moonlight.

“Tarhal, I did say I wanted to be alone, but I’ll let it slide this time,” Spike called out, looking over from the other side of the roof and sighing.

Tarhal still shuddered as he looked at Spike, time doing little to get him used to seeing his friend in a state like this, even with metal caps and ports covering up a lot of the raw flesh, fusing directly with his scales. He quickly made his way over to Spike, sitting down and dangling his legs over the edge of the building, looking down at the street far below.

“You know Spike, it’s not a hundred percent safe up here,” Tarhal began. “Maybe you should come back inside before…”

“I get hurt again?” Spike finished for him, before smiling weakly. “Tarhal, I don’t think I could be more hurt right now.”

“You could die,” Tarhal pointed out.

“I hope so,” Spike muttered.

“Don’t you dare Spike, don’t you dare,” Tarhal said forcefully. “You’re alive, and you better remember that.”

“I am remembering that. I very time I struggle to breath, I'm remembering that,” Spike nodded, his voice sounding hollow. “What happened Tarhal? I’m trying to remember things but… everything’s fuzzy.”

“You didn’t ask the doctors? Or Revan?” Tarhal asked.

“Didn’t seem right,” Spike shrugged as best he could. “I remember you being there with me just before the bomb, something about Cassus Fett, then pain and nothing.”

“Well whatever you did worked in a fashion,” Tarhal began. “The bomb still went off but it only hit the first few floors of the building, not the blast radius Cassus was expecting. I got out of the building just as the bomb blew, and I was the first one to get to you after… well, after you hit the ground. To be honest I didn’t think there’d be anything left after a fall like that and the explosion, but there was enough life left in you.” He chuckled softly. “Your magic saved you Spike, as much as I understand it anyway. You had some of your green shields around your organs, keeping you from completely bleeding out. Quick thinking by the way. Subconscious?”

“I don’t think I did it,” Spike chuckled softly, before letting out a hacking cough.

“Spike! You ok?” Tarhal asked urgently.

“Y-yeah,” Spike nodded, looking up again. “New lungs aren’t sitting right yet that’s all. But I don’t think it was me, well, it wasn’t Spike. Whether it was Moonstone or Desolation…well, I don’t know Tarhal. Nothing makes sense anymore, I don’t know if this is real, or if I’m still in some drug-induced dream. All I know is that I can’t fight anymore. I’m done with the war, I’m going to go back to the temple, face the music.”

“Ok,” Tarhal nodded.

“That’s it?” Spike asked. “Just ok?”

“Yeah, your choice,” Tarhal nodded.

“Wow, I really expected you to be the one to ask me to stay,” Spike chuckled, coughing again.

“Spike you got blown up,” Tarhal pointed out. “If you want out, there’s no shame in it. You’re my friend, and I’ll support you.”

Spike smiled, leaning back and staring up at the stars and sighing. For a long time the two simply sat beside each other, silently keeping each other company before Spike finally broke the night with his voice.

“You could be forgiven for thinking that there’s a war on, couldn’t you?”

“Yeah. Far too peaceful for anything to go wrong,” Tarhal nodded. “So why up here?”

“Good view of the stars,” Spike replied. “I needed to see something real, something that won’t be changing.”

“Stars change Spike,” Tarhal pointed out.

“Yeah, but not quickly. Plus I needed to try something out, had to be in natural light,” Spike sighed, before raising his hand and screwing his face up in concentration.

“What are you…” Tarhal began, before being shushed by Spike.

For a minute, Spike was concentrating on his hand, a few green sparks jumping from his claws and fizzling out, before he finally dropped his hand and broke into a coughing fit, one that only stopped as Tarhal pressed the respirator to his face, the technology interfacing with the sensors in his mouth and matching his breathing pattern, swiftly bringing it under control.

“T-thanks,” Spike nodded weakly, a tear falling from his remaining eye.

“Mind explaining?” Tarhal asked, removing the respirator.

“From what I could tell, from every test and experiment I did before the war and after I discovered my magic, natural light helped me with my magic, especially moonlight. I’m guessing something about lunar radiation from starlight reflected off the moon, but solar energy works just as well. As far I can tell, Dragons, and probably ponies as well, literally soak it up, take power from it. It’s why Princess Luna and Celestia were so powerful, they were made of the stuff.”

“Ok, certain types of radiation might help your magic,” Tarhal gestured for Spike to keep going. “What’s next?”

“That was everything Tarhal,” Spike sighed. “I’m in the glare of radiation, I’m focusing everything on just creating a shield, and I can’t. I can’t make a shield, I lift objects with either the force or my magic, and I can’t even breathe fire. I’m a Jedi who can’t use the force, I’m warrior who lost one of his sword arms, and I’m dragon who can’t breathe fire. What use am I Tarhal?”

“You’re a friend,” Tarhal pointed out. “You’re damn clever, even now you could still probably wipe the floor with me in an arm wrestle. Don’t count yourself out buddy.”

“Easy for you to say, you’re all organic, no implants in you,” Spike shot back softly.

“You’re right,” Tarhal nodded, before smiling as he had an idea. “Come with me Spike.”

“I want to stay out here,” Spike shook his head.

“Trust me, Spike. Come with me, and then you can come back up here ok?”

“For you Tarhal,” Spike nodded, coughing, before bobbing along in the repulsor chair behind Tarhal, heading back inside.

As they headed through the hospital, Spike kept his head down, focusing only on following his friend and doing his best to ignore the looks and whispers that he was getting. He didn’t care too much about what he looked like usually, but this was a bit different from having a scar on his chest, and he just wanted people who he knew and had thought with to stop seeing him like this. Ruined, weak, helpless.

Eventually however they reached one of the patient call rooms, and Tarhal quickly keyed in an ID, before pushing Spike into the booth. “Just trust me. Talk to him.”

“Talk to who?” Spike asked, but Tarhal just shook his head and closed the door, turning his back and standing guard over Spike as the call tried to connect.

“Alright, I’ll play your game Tarhal,” Spike shook his head, turning his chair around and waiting for the projector to flare into life.

“Tarhal?” a familiar voice oozed out of the speakers as it finally connected.

“Not quite Master Norik,” Spike shook his head.

“Spike?” Norik asked as a hazy projection of the venerable master appeared. “One moment, I’m trying to clear up the signal.”

It took a few seconds, but the image eventually became more stable, allowing Spike to look at the bionic Jedi and him to look at Spike. Norik’s face fell, and he slowly nodded to himself.

“One guess why you call me Spike,” he murmured.

“Tarhal’s idea,” Spike shrugged.

“He knows how to make the best of a bad situation,” Norik nodded. “I don’t like what the pair of you are doing, but from the looks of things you’ve suffered enough without hearing an old mans ramblings.”

“Yeah, that’s…one way of looking…at it,” Spike nodded in between coughs.

“Replacement lung?” Norik guessed.

“Lungs,” Spike corrected him. “Full primary and secondary and ninety three percent of tertiary lung. There’s not much left inside me that could be saved. I could even be more machine you by the end of this master.”

“That’s not a good thing,” Norik pointed out.

“Oh I know Norik,” Spike nodded, coughing and sobbing. “I’m trying to feel things that are gone, trying to do I may never do again. How do you do it Norik? Keep going when you can’t feel like you anymore?”

“We don’t have a choice Spike,” Norik sighed. “People like you and me, we’re handed a bad card, it can end the game for you easily, but just like a nineteen can lead to bust, it call also lead to twenty one, all depends on luck. I’m not going to say that I support what you’re doing in the war, but I can say that gave you a drive that I haven’t seen in many Jedi recently. Losing that would be more than just a loss for you, it would be a loss for the Order, and by definition, the Republic.”

“So, what? You think I should keep fighting?” Spike asked in confusion. “I’m done Norik, I want to scratch the left side of my face, but I don’t have an arm that side, or a proper face. If that’s not enough…” he paused to cough more, clutching his chest, before managing to continue. “If that’s not enough of a sign to get me out, I don’t know what it.”

“Well then by all means come back to the temple,” Norik nodded. “You’ll have to defend your actions, but I’ll speak for you, and I know Solaris would willingly defend you. Just remember that if you’re going to get through this much cyberniesis you need something to fight for.”

“I have the Republic, but I…I just don’t know if I can keep fighting in the war,” Spike sighed.

“Then don’t Spike, come home to the temple, I’ll make sure Solaris knows you’re coming back,” Norik smiled. “Complete stage two, then you can make your way home.”

Norik ended the message as Spike turned away, pushing the door open and hovering out of the booth beside Tarhal, the Wookie easily keeping pace.

“So, helpful?”

“Norik survived, I’ll survive too, but I’m going back to the temple,” Spike responded. “I can’t keep fighting if I don’t believe in myself. I believe the war is right, but…”

“You don’t have to justify anything to me Spike, you want to walk, walk,” Tarhal smiled.

“Why are you being so damn supportive, it’s making me feel guilty,” Spike chuckled. “I expected you to try and make me stay, then I could fight against you.”

“And you say you don’t want to fight,” Tarhal muttered softly, before raising his voice. “Spike, I know that people who don’t give it their all fall faster than those that give it all. You’ve given your all and look what it got you. I can see why you’re not wanting to go back.”

“Thanks Tar…” Spike began, before coughing violently, his body shaking as he continued to cough, slipping out of his chair and hitting the floor hard.

“Spike!” Tarhal quickly grabbed the respirator, trying to push it over Spikes lips, but finding it impossible as he continued to cough. “Help over here! Now!”

Spike continued to cough and wheeze as another doctor rushed over to aid Tarhal, taking the respirator from the Wookie and allowing Tarhal to hold Spike still. Before the doctor could get the mask over Spikes mouth however, he let out one final cough, before a spurt of green flame erupted from his mouth, nearly hitting the doctor and slamming into the wall, before dispersing, leaving no damage.

The doctor quickly recovered, pushing the mask over Spikes mouth and forcing him to breath, but Spike pushed him away, crawling across the floor towards the other thing that had shot out of his mouth, his claw shaking as he reached for the scroll.

“General Tarhal, help me get him up,” the doctor said quickly, trying to put an arm around Spike, but Tarhal held a hand out, looking down at the scroll Spike was slowly unfolding, the movements coming naturally to him, even with only one claw.

~~To~~~~Dear~~ To My Dearest Spike.

I don’t know if this will ever reach you. I don’t know where you are. I don’t know if you even survived whatever it was that took you.

I’ve been thinking back to that night so much in the past year, replaying every moment, running tests on the tree, trying to find out what that orb was. I’ve found nothing that can help, nothing that tells me where you are, or how to reverse what happened. Months of searching, more data than I know what to do with, ~~me, not knowing what to do with data, imagine that~~ and yet I’m no closer to finding out where you’ve gone, or what that thing was.

I’m so sorry that I can’t do more, I want to find you, to hold you again. Everything is so different without you, so quiet, so boring. I feel like I took you for granted when you were here. Now all I wish is that you would come back for just one day. Somepony wrote that you never truly know what you have until it’s gone. I know what I had now. All the magic, all my friends, even the princesses. I’d give them up for you Spike.

The others, they don’t understand, they think that I’m just grieving, that I’m still trying to adjust to what happened to you, but I’m not. I’m not going to accept this. No matter what it takes, I will find you again, and I will see you again. I’ve been trying to master Celestia’s message spell for months now, following her notes on how she originally bound the pair of us together back when you first hatched, initial observations when we were both young, everything I can get my hooves on. Celestia thinks I’m crazy, she thinks that I can’t make a link between me and you without you being here with me, but she’s wrong. We’re magically linked you and I Spike, paired at birth for life. I feel your pain, you feel mine~~, well, you’re a Dragon, pony pain probably isn’t that much too you so maybe you don’t, or maybe it’s a one way street and I feel yours but you don’t feel mine. Who knows?~~ I know you’re still alive, I can feel it, the pain you’re feeling, the anger, the sorrow. I won’t stop, I’ll never stop until we’re back together again.

The others want me to stop, Celestia, Luna and Cadence. They tell me I should focus on my duties, but this is my duty. If you can be taken, so can others, and I will do everything I can to find out more about your disappearance so that nopony else ever has to go through the same pain as I’m going through. I won’t ever stop searching.
Ever.

If you are reading this, if it somehow gets through to you, promise me one thing. Don’t ever stop believing in yourself Spike.

Never give up on what you believe in. Someday, hopefully soon, I will find a way to bring you home, I promise you on everything I own. Please don’t give up on yourself, wherever you are.

Eternally yours

~~Your mother~~
~~Your sister~~
Twilight Sparkle

Spike shook as he read and re-read the letter, before reading it again, taking in every word on the perfectly preserved and unscorched piece of parchment he was holding. He could feel arms around him trying to lift him up, but he wasn’t finished, making himself as much of a deadweight as he could, which was more than it should have been with the amount of body he had left given the amount metal he had in him.

“Spike? Are you ok?” Tarhal asked softly, bending down and reading the letter over his shoulder. When Spike didn’t answer, he slowly tried to move Spikes head to look into his eyes, only for Spike to resist him. “Spike?”

“T-This is from home?” he whispered shakily to himself, shakily bring the paper closer to his face and sniffing it. “M-My home?” his head suddenly snapped round as he looked at Tarhal, staring straight at him. “This is real? I’m not crazy?”

“It’s real Spike,” Tarhal nodded. “Not answering the second bit.”

“Then get me up and get me to Charka. And tell Revan I’ve made up my mind.”

***

“So, you made up your mind,” Revan asked as he walked into the room that Spike, Charka and Tarhal were already occupying.

“I found something to fight for,” Spike nodded, clutching the scroll to his chest, careful not to damage it. “Show me the cybernetics.”

Revan nodded, reaching under his robes and drawing out a datapad, before plugging it into a projector and activating it, showing a 3-D model of a dragon, its head, wings and right arm in blue, while the rest was in red.

“Doctor Charka, can you explain this?” Revan asked, allowing her to take the floor.

Charka nodded as she stood up, standing next to the projection and looking at Spike. “Usually cybernetics and bionics come in three grades. Civilian, reconnaissance and front line. There are a few heavier duty models, but they’re usually made to order and actually recycled droid parts. These parts are made especially for you. Neuranium, Songsteel and melted down Mandalorian armour makes the parts as strong as your scales, if not stronger. We’ve already upgraded and reinforced your internals and digestive tract so they should hold underneath the armour, and your new hearts should provide enough of what we could salvage of your blood to keep your biologicals intact. Power for the limbs come from an experimental fusion generator flash-forging matter for a hyper-matter annihilator. The flash-forging is relatively inefficient, but it should be able to be supplemented by the contents of your stomach.”

“And that means?” Spike asked.

“It can run off the matter in your stomach. The more you eat, the more matter your generator will have to run on and therefore more power will be generated,” Charka explained.

“You’ve given Spike a medical reason why he needs to eat?” Tarhal deadpanned. “Great, we’ll need more rations.”

“On the upside, you’ll never be getting tired again,” Charka pointed out. “Your cybernetics organs should be more efficient than your biologicals. A small comfort, but it is one at least. Lastly is your eye. Ocular implants were the easiest parts for you as other than size it’s an identical piece. Frontline grade, comes with targeting crosshairs and recognition software as standard. It will give you battle data and can be linked to almost any willing droid brain for instantaneous synchronised assimilation of information.”

“You’re making me sound like I’m going to be a droid myself when I wake up,” Spike sighed, before leaning back on the table in the middle of the room which he’d been balancing on. “Let’s get on with this, before I change my mind.”

Reaching over, Spike carefully handed Tarhal the resealed scroll. “Keep that safe for me.” he ordered as Charka placed a mask over his face, preparing to fill his new lungs with a sedative.

“What is it?” Revan asked, leaning over Tarhal’s shoulder to look at the bound parchment.

Spike could already feel his eyes growing heavy, but he still managed to reply to Revan before he went completely unconscious.

“A reason to fight.”

Command Position

Spike groaned as the floor rushed up to meet his face once more, and he instinctively flailed out with his left arm, only for the mechanical limb to overcompensate and hit a table, knocking it flying as it continued around on its course and slammed into Spike’s face just as he landed on the floor again. Warnings flashed up over his new mechanical eye as Spike flailed his arms and legs, trying to tell his limbs to be still.

“Stay back, I have no idea what they’re doing,” Spike grunted, glaring at the offending robotics.

“You’re overthinking things, General,” the nearby doctor said, making sure to stand well back from him. “Your brain knows how to work your limbs: stop fighting it and let it treat them like your old ones. Otherwise you’ll over-compensate, then your brain will over-compensate for the over-compensation and -” he cringed as yet another crash echoed round the room, Spike slamming into the floor once more. “And that will happen general.”

“This isn’t right,” Spike groaned, forcing himself up with his one remaining biological arm and standing up, swaying unsteadily. “Nothing feels like…” he was cut off again as he took a step forward, before overbalancing. Trying to stay upright he tried to move faster, only succeeding in running headfirst into the wall and falling backwards, a new crater present in the wall. “…me anymore,” he finished. “I want to pant, I want to feel my heart racing at doing this. Hell I want my voice to break because I’m tired. I don’t even feel my heart beating anymore.”

“It will take some getting used to, General,” the doctor nodded. “I’ll be here with you every step of the way. Now, take it slowly and stand up. Don’t think of your limbs as anything different than they were before. Trust me.”

Spike tried, he really did, and even managed to get to his feet once again before taking a hesitant step forward. Looking down he saw the black metal of his leg and instantly willed it to move at the same time as he subconsciously took a step forward. Both actions together meant Spike’s leg extended far more than it should have and he executed a full split as he collapsed to the floor again.

“Fuck my life.”

***

Spike slowly formed a fist in front of his face, listening to the soft noise of the servos as they brought his new fingers together into a single mass of dense, dark metal. The only flash of colour came from the retractable claws that had been built into the hand, made from the same material, but in a stark white like his organic claws on his other hand, matching the razor sharp spikes on his forearms, both organic and metal. In an effort to make him feel like his new arm was more like his old one, they had offered to put sythi-skin over it, but Spike had refused. The arm wasn’t his, and he wasn’t going to kid himself otherwise.

Standing up, and still swaying slightly, Spike got a better look at the rest of his body, looking at the mirror than had been provided for him. The majority of his body was now the same dark metal as his arm, black lines showing him where the extra armour plates had been affixed to give him more protection from incoming enemy fire. The modifications had not stopped there however, and there were now certain parts of him that hadn’t been there before, the four large metal spikes on the end of his tail for example.

Slowly moving his tail around, Spike inspected the new appendage with a smile. Losing this had been a reality check for him, losing his body had just been a bigger one. Now that he’d got it back in some form or another, he felt more like himself. Not perfect, he doubted he’d ever feel that way again, but he didn’t feel as hopeless as he had before cyberniesis. That, and he now had a reason to hold on.

Bending down, Spike picked up his personal datapad, before recoiling slightly as words flashed over his mechanical eye. Sighing, he remembered what the doctor had said about being able to interface with technology, and sat down heavily on the bed, the reinforced metal frame screaming in protest at his extra weight.

Slowly, Spike began to scroll through the contents of his datapad that were now being projected in front of him by his new blood red eye. He mused that if anyone could read perfectly backwards, they’d be able to see exactly what he saw. Finally he reached what he was looking for, stopping on the newest entry to the datapad and reading the letter from Twilight once more.

While he had been in surgery, Tarhal had very carefully scribed the entire scroll onto the computer, before sealing the scroll itself in an airtight cylinder to protect the original copy. It was a small gesture, but the impact that it had had on Spike was massive, and he was reminded just how much he owed his hairy friend.

He was still re-reading the letter ten minutes later when Tarhal walked in, closing the door with a soft click behind him and looking over at Spike. Spike took a few seconds to register that he was there, before shutting down the projection of the letter and looking over at Tarhal. Instantly he saw a crosshair settle over Tarhal’s head, and he quickly looked away.

“What was that all about?” Tarhal asked, cocking his head quizzically as he approached Spike.

“Still getting used to things,” Spike muttered, very carefully raising his hand as his claws slid out.

“Impressive.” Tarhal sat beside Spike, resting a hand on his right shoulder. “How are you feeling?”

“Alive,” Spike replied simply, clenching his fist slightly quicker than he meant to. “Just, not alive enough.”

“Can you not just be happy to be alive?” Tarhal chuckled.

“Oh god I am Tarhal, I’m really grateful to you for finding me and the docs for patching me up,” Spike said hurriedly.

“There’s a but though,” Tarhal pointed out.

“But? What but? There’s no but.”

Spike pushed himself to his feet and unsteadily walking towards one of the windows, stumbling at the end and putting his hands out to stop himself, his claws digging into the walls and anchoring him there. Growling, Spike tugged his arms backwards, only to find his claws stuck tight and his shoulders sagged. Sighing heavily, Spike rested his head on the window and closed his eye, his left eye going dark.

“Are you stuck?” Tarhal asked, stifling a laugh as he walked up beside Spike.

“I’m a lot heavier than I was before,” Spike replied, not opening his eyes. “Like I said, still getting used to everything.”

“Such as?” Tarhal pressed.

“Do I have to spell it out for you?” Spike groaned.

“Hey, your average psychiatrist is going to charge you two hundred credits for an hour long session like this,” Tarhal grinned. “Me, I’ll take ten. Later, if you’re feeling magnanimous, I’ll still take ten.”

“I’m not paying you anything you vulture,” Spike snorted, opening his eyes slowly. “Alright let’s see. I’m heavier than I used to be by a lot, which is saying something considering I was already a…”

“Fat bastard,” Tarhal finished for him.

“Harsh but true,” Spike grunted, giving his hands another tug but staying stuck. “I’m not moving like I used to, apparently I’m overthinking things.”

“No change there then at least.”

“Are you going to keep interrupting me or are you going to let me finish?”

“I’m going to keep interrupting you.”

“Fuck you,” Spike smirked. “I don’t need to breathe like I used to. My heart doesn’t need to beat to pump my blood around. And you want to know one of the worst parts? I will never scratch my balls again or whack the sausage.”

Tarhal’s laugh echoed around the room as he slid down the wall, doubling over as he clutched his stomach. “Really?! That’s what you’re worried about?! Wanking?!”

“Hey, you don’t know what you have until you lose it,” Spike shot back.

“If you say so Spike,” Tarhal managed in between chuckles, looking up at his stuck friend. “But you’re still not very good at lying. Why don’t you tell me what’s…”

“Stop playing the psychiatrist!” Spike roared, ripping his hands free and pulling parts of the wall with him. “And don’t talk to me like I’m a Padawan either. I was the first one in Nexu to be knighted remember? And I’m older than you, remember that.”

“I remember it Spike,” Tarhal assured him, hurriedly getting to his feet and backing away slightly. “Just, settle down Spike. Don’t let the rage take you.”

Spike snarled as he glared at Tarhal, before his features softened and he shook his head, dismissing the crosshair that had returned and sheathing the claws on his hand and feet before sitting down heavily on the floor.

“You didn’t deserve that,” he whispered softly, before looking up at Tarhal. “Did you know my right tear duct was destroyed in the heat of the explosion? That my left one had to be taken out for the cybernetics to work properly? I want to cry, but…I can’t.” He didn’t sound sad, his voice staying almost perfectly emotionless, but his one remaining eye told a different story, even as he tried to hide it. “That’s almost as depressing as not being able to do this.”

Spike lazily rose his arm and pointed at his datapad, willing it to rise, only for it to stay exactly where it was.

“Still nothing then?” Tarhal asked.

“Not even a twitch.”

“Well in some cases the loss of a large amount of flesh can…”

“I know,” Spike sighed, leaning his head back and closing his eyes, recalling what he had learnt in the temple all those years ago when he was still a padawan. “In the case of a large amount of biological material, the midi-chlorian count can be severely diminished to the point where the force can no longer manifest in the individual. In most cases the midi-chlorian count returns to close to its original number after they have had time to multiply again. But sometimes, not always, but sometimes… they never come back. They don’t come back and the Jedi becomes just like anyone else.”

“Spike, even without the force, I highly doubt you’re going to become like everyone else,” Tarhal snorted. “Plus, you don’t just have the force remember?”

“I know,” Spike nodded with a slight smile, getting to his feet. “And yes, magic. I know next to nothing about it, save for what I remember from Twilight’s speeches and what I’ve pieced together from the doctor's notes on my ‘napalm gland’ and ‘magic gland’. Maybe it will be like the force and is recessed due to the loss of so much of my body, maybe it’s tied to my emotions. I really don’t know. But I do know one thing.”

“And that is?” Tarhal asked.

“That this war isn’t going to end itself, and if I’m going to help it along it’s not going to be from a hospital bed bitching about how bad my life has become,” Spike finished matter-of-factly. “So, we’re going to find Revan, link up with the Special Forces and I’m going to fight. And when I find Cassus Fett, I’m going to punch him so hard that his ancestors’ heads will roll off.”

***

“The last few pockets of resistance have been found and eliminated, and supply convoys are already heading here to resupply the army and head out to our deep space fleets and colonies,” a military aide explained, consulting her datapad as she spoke to the assembled military high command that was left on the planet. “Additionally, we managed to capture a few of the new Mandalorian tanks that have been fielded against our forces and have sent them back to the core for examination by our engineers.”

“And the archives beneath the Jedi Tower?” Malak asked.

“The Mandalorians were trying every trick in the book to break the encryptions on them, but as far as we could tell they were unsuccessful,” the aide replied. “They did however place their own encryption over our own to make it harder for us to open the system again, as well as releasing a virus into the software. We have our best programmers working on it as we speak, but progress is necessarily slow. We’ve been delaying the virus as best we can, flooding its code with random bits of data, but if we rush we risk it latching on to the higher draw of our decryption attempts and target the more important data.”

“Proceed slowly then,” Revan ordered. “We can’t risk losing the information stored within the archives. That’s now your priority, do you understand?”

“Yes high general,” the aide nodded, consulting her datapad as a small ‘pop’ emanated from it. “One last thing, apparently general Spike would like an audience with you at your convenience.”

“At my convenience?” Revan asked with a slight chuckle. “That may be the first time Spike has asked for a meeting rather than just barging in. Maybe someone should have blown him up years ago.”

Revan stood up, his cloak billowing out behind him for a split second as he looked between the generals and Jedi who had sat in on the council. “If there is nothing else, this council is dismissed. Return to your units and await movement orders. And send Spike in.”

The various war-council members slowly filed out of the room until only Revan and Malak remained, the former looking out of the large window towards the ruined top of the Jedi Tower, while the latter was still sitting at the table, looking through his datapad with a quizzical look on his face.

Revan turned around just as the door opened again, allowing Tarhal to enter, followed swiftly by Spike. Even though Revan had known exactly what the new bionics were going to look like, he still let out an involuntary gasp as he saw them first-hand and working, a fact that was not lost on Spike, who managed to crack a smile.

“So how bad is it? I haven’t managed to find a mirror to look at my face yet.”

“It’s bad, but then you always were ugly,” Revan shot back. “Paint them purple and no one will even notice the difference.”

Spike smirked as he approached Revan, towering over the man as he thrust his right hand out for Revan to shake. “Thank you for this Revan. And I guess I’m sorry for the whole fight thing after I lost my tail. And to think, I thought that was going to be the low point of my week.”

“How little you knew,” Malak added, looking at Spike with an impassive glare.

Spike looked down at Malak as the man got to his feet, his gaze meeting Malak’s and holding it. It wasn’t hard to feel the tension between the pair, even as Spike extended his hand out towards Malak as he had done to Revan. “Yes, how naïve of me.”

“It’s good to see you up and about once again Spike,” Revan’s voice broke the two apart, shattering the tension between them. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I have half a tonne of metal inside me,” Spike shot back.

“Not too far off is it?” Revan smirked.

“I'm fairly sure it's more like seven tonnes of metal and a quarter tonne of flesh,” Spike shrugged.

“Fat ass,” Tarhal muttered.

“Fur ball,” Spike shot back, sticking his tongue out.

“The pair of you are Jedi. Act like it,” Malak snapped.

“If I acted like a Jedi, I wouldn’t be here,” Spike pointed out, glaring at Malak, before turning to Revan and lazily saluting. “General Spike, reporting for duty.”

“It’s good to see you back Spike,” Revan nodded. “Are you sure you’re ready for active duty? You have just got new limbs.”

“I’m a fast learner, and I’m going to go stir crazy if I stay still.”

“Does mean your psychological issues won’t get sorted,” Tarhal muttered under his breath, ensuring that Spike didn’t over hear him, but Malak nodded his approval, giving Revan a meaningful glare.

Revan caught the glance, looking between Spike, Malak and Tarhal, before letting out a short sharp sigh. “Spike, from experience I would say that you should take a back role in the war until you’re ready to fight properly again.”

Revan braced himself for the inevitable roar of disapproval, as well as the agreement of Malak, and raised his hand to stop Spike in his tracks. “But. I also believe that doing so would be a waste of your potential, and that if we’re talking experience, only Tarhal has as much as you. I’m not going to hold you back, what I am going to do is send you to meet up with the Special Forces on Taris’s Rogue Moon for re-training in harsh environments. Take command, reorganise them how you see fit and get them ready to see combat. You lead them on raiding actions, but I want to keep you in reserve for the big battles. I’ll tell you when the time comes.”

“Well then, I guess I should get to work,” Spike nodded, looking to Tarhal. “And Tarhal?”

“I had planned on sending him to take command of a front line unit to serve under General Surik, but I suppose I could move deployments around, I do have a backup leader for the unit after all. It all depends Tarhal, which would you prefer?”

“Special Forces,” Tarhal answered without hesitation. “Have your backup take over the unit, I’m going with Spike.”

Revan nodded knowingly. “I didn’t really expect anything less. I’ll be in touch, Spike.”

Spike and Tarhal turned and left, walking towards the hanger bays of the military headquarters, leaving Revan and Malak alone once more. Malak stood beside Revan as the pair stared out the window, watching in silence as the ships came and went from the planet, ferrying the troops across the galaxy to yet another warzone. Taris had been an important step on the road to defeating the Mandalore, but it was only one battle, and if they weren’t careful, they could still easily lose the war.

Going Through Changes

Spike groaned as he tried to filter out the mechanical whine of the ship as Tarhal piloted it through the asteroid belt, the ship’s lasers making sure that none of the space rocks hit the ship. Spike had had been greeted by some success in stopping the whine since they left Taris, but he hadn’t managed to shut it out completely, and his cybernetics were still trying to interface with the ship’s system. He’d also been slowly picking up using his limbs better, and while he didn’t think he’d be running anywhere anytime soon, he was able to walk around without swaying, stumbling or falling, which could only be a positive.

“Tarhal? How much longer?” Spike grunted, getting to his feet and standing beside the pilot’s chair where the Wookie was sitting. “The ship’s systems are really loud.”

“How are you going to survive on Harmony if you can’t stand it in here?” Tarhal chuckled. “Still, to answer your question, we should be touching down on the Rogue Moon in ten minutes. Want me to call a general assembly for when we touch down?”

“Higher command only,” Spike nodded. “This will be the first time we get to see the Special Forces all in one place and not in battle status, which should be useful for sorting out exactly how many men we have under our command; I still only have a rough estimate of the numbers.”

“Right, sending the message ahead of us,” Tarhal pressed a few buttons as he spoke. “Encryption seven delta five. Sending, and sent.”

“Thanks,” Spike nodded, before taking his seat behind Tarhal, the chair groaning under his weight, threatening to snap before Spike stood up again. “I hate being even heavier,” he grumbled, before sitting down on the floor.

***

Spike walked down the ramp of the shuttle that the pair had commandeered, his new feet making loud clanging sounds every time they hit the metal floor. The hanger that they had landed in was bustling with movement, as droids and men alike moved to and fro, carrying out their appointed tasks. Spike could already feel the presence of the droids in the room, and instantly knew that there were thirty three in close proximity to him. Scowling, he screwed his face up in concentration, focusing on the new implants until the mechanical whispers finally subsided, clearing Spikes mind once more.

“Generals,” the man came to attention and saluted as he spoke, before looking over the pair of them, his lips pressed together into a thin, impassive line. “I heard we had aliens in charge.”

“Is that a problem?” Spike asked, his one remaining eye narrowing.

“My name is Colonel Mika, I’m in charge of the Special Forces,” he continued, not meeting Spike’s gaze.

“Answer the question,” Tarhal cut in.

“I don’t speak your language Wookie,” he shot back.

“Then you can learn it,” Spike glared at Mika, pulling himself up to his full height. “And Mika, you’re not in charge, Tarhal and I are in charge. Does that bother you?”

“Of course not Generals,” Mika’s voice was layered with sarcasm as he spoke. “I’m not planning on learning Shyriiwook though.”

“If you want to stay in this unit, you’ll learn it, and while you are learning, you’ll have a translation droid on hand at all times,” Spike shook his head. “Tarhal is in charge of the Special Forces beside me, so any orders he gives to you will be understood and followed. If you don’t like that, there’s a shuttle just there, and you can go crawling to Revan and get reassigned.”

“Was that a threat?” Mika glared at Spike, his hand moving towards his blaster pistol.

“And if you reach for that pistol you’re a bigger idiot than I thought,” Spike smirked. “I have no time for bigots, xenophobes and idiots, and from the looks of things you’re all three. So I’m asking you, do you want to stay in this unit under my command?”

“The Special Forces are mine,” Mika scowled. “I do not like the fact that you hijacked them for your personal war against Cassus. Oh yes, I know all about you General Spike. Your little accident in the Jedi tower. Your stupidity. Your failure on Coru…”

“Get, out,” Spike growled, taking a step forward.

“What?” Mika replied sharply.

“I said, get out,” Spike glared down at Mika. “I will not have you in charge of anything in my unit, so go back to Revan and see if he wants you, but frankly I don’t care if this is it for your career or not. The Special Forces were made up mostly from the 59th Recovery force, my unit from before this war, and the reason they were chosen is because I took them to Flashpoint, so if anyone should be in charge of them, it’s me. So you are going to get in that shuttle and leave me alone.”

“You’ll regret this,” Mika snarled, edging round Spike and glaring at Tarhal as he walked past, heading up the ramp of the shuttle.

“No I won’t,” Spike replied nonchalantly, before looking at Tarhal. “Come on, let’s find someone else in charge.”

“You do realise that you just fired the Colonel of the Special Forces right?” Tarhal asked casually as the pair walked deeper into the hanger.

“You want him in charge of anything?”

“No, just saying as a first move it’s pretty ballsy for someone who has no balls.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” Spike deadpanned. “I’m not in the mood for people that think they’re better than anyone else because of their race, regardless of their rank. Now, where do you think the other officers are?”

“Just go ask someone,” Tarhal shrugged, before pointing at a Sergeant. “He looks like he knows what he’s doing.”

“How can you possibly know that?” Spike scoffed, rolling his eyes, but he did walk towards the man. “Sergeant, do you have any idea where your officers are?”

“One second, can’t you see I busy?” the man muttered, before looking up from what he was doing. As soon as he saw Spike and Tarhal, the colour drained from his face and he began to shake, getting to his feet. “G-Generals, I’m sorry for that, I didn’t know it was you.”

“It’s ok Sergeant, this isn’t an inspection,” Spike assured him. “Just point us towards an officer and we’ll be out of your…”

“Spike? Is that you?” Cortez called across the hanger, running towards Spike and Tarhal.

“Turns out you don’t need to worry,” Spike turned away from the Sergeant as he went back to his task, watching as Cortez ran towards him, finally stopping in front of the pair and whistling softly, looking over Spike.

“When Tarhal told me you were being rebuilt, I didn’t quite believe how much was going to be…you know…”

“Cybernetic,” Spike finished for him with a frown.

“I’m sorry Spike, I didn’t mean to bring it up.”

“Kind of hard not to,” Spike shrugged, his new eye focusing on Cortez, bringing up his service record in front of his eyes, beginning to scroll through before Spike forced it to disappear. “Did you guys see that?”

“See what?” Tarhal asked.

“Nothing, I’m just figuring things out about my new body,” Spike replied, before looking at Cortez. “Two questions. One, I’m assuming you can understand Tarhal now, yes or no, and two, where is the rest of the command structure?”

“I learnt bits while you were in the hospital,” Cortez nodded. “I’m not fluent, but I understand a bit.”

“Good, not a complete idiot then,” Spike smiled. “And the command structure?”

“Colonel Mika was supposed to meet you when you got off your shuttle. We should wait for him to arrive before staring the meeting.”

“He won’t be joining us,” Spike shot a look at Tarhal. “He’s going back to Revan.”

“Can I ask why?”

“Bigotry, plus I plain didn’t like him,” Spike replied. “Now, where are the others?”

“This way,” Cortez led Spike and Tarhal out of the room, heading through the corridors of the base at a slower speed for Spike, slowing even more when he occasionally stumbled. “Are you sure you have the power to just get rid of someone like that?”

“Yes,” Spike didn’t break stride.

“Ok, let me put it another way. Should you have done that? He was a bit of an ass, but he was a Colonel.”

“And I’m a general. I don’t have time for no-hopers and racists, and if that means I have to tear away all the deadwood then so be it. Revan told me to make changes as I saw fit to ensure that the Special Forces are the best soldiers in the universe, and if that means I have to tear away the old command structure to do it, then so be it.”

“Colonel Mika was liked by some of the other officers,” Cortez warned. “Maybe…”

“Maybe nothing,” Spike cut him off. “The officers of the Special Forces will bend a knee to me, or they can find another unit to attach to. You’ve known me for long enough Cortez to know that I am fair when it comes to command, now I just need you to trust me enough to follow me as we search for our target.”

“Our target?”

“Cassus Fett,” Spike snarled at the name. “He has terrorised the Republic for long enough, and he has killed more than enough to warrant an execution by the Republic. I want the Special Forces to deliver the judgment of the Republic right to his front door.”

“Spike, you can’t let what he did to you blind…” Cortez began.

“This isn’t about me,” Spike snapped back. “I hate him, but this is bigger than me, and I will bring him to justice if it takes me a hundred years.”

Cortez and Tarhal exchanged worried looks as they stopped behind Spike in front of a metal blast door, the thick slabs slowly sliding open and allowing the three to walk in to the room, the other officers looking intently at them as they approached the table.

“General Spike, General Tarhal, it is good to finally meet you,” one of the men nodded. “Is Colonel Mika going to join us soon?”

“Mika is gone,” Spike said dismissively, approaching the central table and resting his hands on it, looking between the men and women assembled before him. “Colonel Cortez is taking over his position.”

The room erupted into cries of dismay and confusion, before Spike let out a sharp growl, silencing the room as he glared at the officers in the room, switching between each one as he allowed the silence to set in. Finally he broke the silence, his mechanical eye glowing brighter.

“This is my decision, and it is final. If anyone wants to challenge it, there are shuttles you can take back to Arcadia or to Revan. How many of you fought beside me on Taris? How many of you stood beside me on Eres III or during the rebuilding of the Outer Rim? I am placing Cortez as my third in command, so the rest of you now work for him, because he works for me. Any objections?”

No one raised any, and while a few glances were exchanged, nobody dared to speak up, allowing Spike to continue.

“Good. Now, who was a member of the forty second over on the left, anyone who was an officer in the fifty ninth, stand on the right,” the officers quickly moved around, even Cortez scurrying away from Spike to stand with his men. “Now from what I’ve read about regiments formed of two or more depleted regiments there can be animosity and difficulties between rival soldiers. Is that a problem here?”

“Sir, I believe that it is better to…” one man from the forty second began.

“Answer the question,” Tarhal spoke up.

“Partially,” the man nodded.

“Explain,” Spike ordered.

“The Recon Commandoes insist on deploying in their original squad sizes and won’t merge depleted squads together to make a full strength one as it wasn’t their way of doing things when they were on their own,” Cortez sighed, shooting an apologetic look at the forty seconds officers.

“And the members from the fifty ninth don’t do this?” Spike asked, doing his best to raise his one remaining eyebrow.

“We prefer to keep combat efficiency up,” Cortez nodded. “Plus if every squad and platoon are pretty much the same size, it makes deploying them easier, and means that deploying one platoon will yield the same amount of men being deployed as deploying the next. Deploying a platoon of the forty second could mean getting a full platoon or it could be a couple of squads, which isn’t ideal.”

“But we manage,” one of the men from the forty second defended himself. “And the forty second is always ready to fight, regardless of the mission.”

“Stop, now,” Spike ordered, looking between the groups. “The fact that you are still looking at yourself as the fifty ninth and the forty second, rather than the first Special Forces Regiment is a fundamental problem, which is why I’m going to be making changes around here, and you are all going to get used to them and make sure they are implemented.”

“Yes sir,” came the unanimous reply, Spike nodding his approval, before taking a seat that looked like it had been heavily reinforced beforehand and gesturing for the others to do the same, Tarhal sitting to his right and Cortez to his left.

“Ok then, first order of business,” Spike began. “How many men do we have at our disposal?”

“The forty second h…” one man began, only to be cut off by a glare from Spike. “Twenty thousand men.”

“There, was that so hard?” Spike nodded. “Why the hell have I never had twenty thousand men at my command before? They could have been useful on places like Taris. It seems like a lot more than I imagined.”

“Well when we were first created there was just over five thousand soldiers under our banner, but given our success, training was stepped up and opened to all the regiments in the army. We’re still the smallest regiment in the Republic.”

“Does anyone actually have a number on the men fighting for the Republic?” Tarhal asked.

“North of a million,” someone replied.

“Bloody hell, we are a bit of a pimple on a mountain,” Tarhal chuckled. “Still numbers aren’t everything, and they certainly don’t win all battles.”

“No, but they sure do help,” Spike replied. “Still slightly annoyed I didn’t have that many at Eres or Taris, buts there’s no point crying over it. The main thing I want to do is standardise everything and mix everyone together, no matter if they were fifty ninth, forty second or anyone else.”

“I don’t think the men will be thrilled with that sir,” a man piped up, drawing Spikes attention.

“Really?” Spike asked, focusing on the man and scanning through the record that popped up before his eye. “Well Major Alco, can you tell me how much time you’ve spent on the ground with them?”

“How did you know my name sir?”

“Answer the question,” Spike shot back venomonusly.

“None sir, I was part of Colonel Mika’s personal command structure back on Arcadia.”

“My point exactly. Cortez, your opinion?”

“The men may find it a bit odd,” he began, before glancing at the wary look that Tarhal was giving him and continuing, “but I think that they will be able to cope.”

“Precisely,” Spike nodded. “And for another thing, everyone at or below the rank of Colonel will be in the field. Maybe you’ll see what the men have to slog it through and give better commands. Tarhal and I lead from the front, so you can at least be at the rear. Now, orders for the day. One, I want to standardise the regiment’s structure and mix everyone together. Two, I want close combat training to be stepped up for everyone, and supplies willing I want everyone to be equipped with at least a short sword. Third, I need reconnaissance on potential Mandalorian supply ships we can raid. Forth, I want to see equipment lists, readouts and operational status of every man and woman under my command, and don’t skimp on the details.”

“Are you sure you want to go through everything sir?” Alco asked. “It’s a lot of data to go through.”

“Oh no, no don’t tell Spike he can’t handle lists,” Tarhal managed a chuckle, trying to lighten the mood, but only managing to draw attention to the fact that it was thick enough to cut with a knife.

“Just get me the lists,” Spike reiterated. “Is the Harmony docked here?”

“It’s in docking bay thirteen sir,” a woman nodded.

“Lucky number,” Spike quipped, before standing up. “Send the lists over to my ship. I want to meet here again in twenty four hours and by that time I want to have new deployment ideas and potential raid details, as well as anything else that needs to be brought to my attention. Until then, you are dismissed. If anyone needs me then I’ll be onboard Harmony.”

With that Spike turned, leaving the other officers and Tarhal behind exchanging worried glances, before Tarhal spoke up. “I’m sorry about him, you haven’t exactly caught him at his best moment. Just…don’t piss him off and he won’t fly off the handle, I’ll make sure he doesn’t start firing people left right and centre.”

“Thank you General,” Alco nodded. “At least one of you is reasonable.”

“Don’t insult him in front of me,” Tarhal warned softly. “I don’t necessarily agree with his methods, but everything he said makes a certain amount of sense. Just remember that his size doesn’t make him stupid, he’s far smarter than me, so if he thinks this will help the Regiment, then I’m not arguing. Now, like he said, dismissed.”

“Tarhal, a word,” Cortez called as he followed Tarhal out of the room, keeping pace with the Wookie.

“A word is about all you can understand in my language,” Tarhal chuckled.

“Which is why I have this,” Cortez tapped an oversized earpiece. “Translator, new model, so we actually talk.”

“Fine, as long as you can walk and talk at the same time,” Tarhal nodded.

“Almost uses all my brain power, but I’ll cope,” Cortez smirked, before his smile faded. “I wanted to ask your advice on a few things.”

“Spike knows you better,” Tarhal pointed out.

“He also seems a bit pre-occupied at the moment, what with Cassus and all, plus it’s about Spike anyway,” Cortez sighed. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried about him.”

“You and me both,” Tarhal nodded. “But you let me worry about Spike and you focus on the men, Colonel.”

“That sounds even weirder than when you called Lieutenant,” Cortez shook his head, grimacing slightly

“What do you want Cortez?”

“I just want to know that Spike’s living up to his side of a deal struck.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Eres II, just after the battle. The three of us went for a drink and the topic of relationships came up. I told you about my bastards and Spike agreed that he would stop moping around if I spoke to them. He hasn’t has he?”

“Have you spoken to them?” Tarhal deflected, crossing his arms.

“Yes, all six of them. One of them was a miner in the Outer Rim, now he’s a soldier under General Surik I think. The twins are working on Coruscant somewhere, and the remaining three were in the Outer Rim when the Mandalore struck.”

“I’m sorry,” Tarhal looked down at his feet.

“One, I didn’t know them, and I don’t feel anything for them really, and two, they’re not dead. Who knows, maybe I’ll meet them next time we fight the Mandalorians, all three of them are fighting against us. I don’t know what I feel about it, but I know that it won’t affect my combat skills I promise. I’ve lived up to my side, he hasn’t.”

“He got blown up,” Tarhal pointed out.

“Deals a deal,” Cortez shrugged. “And before that…”

“He stayed strong when we were on Taris alone as well. Plus he fought hard after he lost his tail which was a very big thing for him. In fact the only time he even contemplated giving up was when he was an arm and a head, and even then he came back and he’s now here leading…”

“What seems like a personal crusade against Cassus Fett,” Cortez finished. “Go on, try and prove me wrong.”

“I can’t,” Tarhal admitted. “Cassus has caused him a lot of pain, and in his place I think I’d be doing the same thing, but that doesn’t mean I support it with an outsiders perspective. He’s acting strangely, which when talking about him is one hell of an accomplishment. If he was any other Jedi I’d say he’d already fallen from the light.”

“And when you’re talking about him?”

“Let me put it this way. The first time we actually went on a mission together he cut a woman’s arm off because she threatened me, and I still think that he missed and meant to kill her. It would have been easy to disarm her harmlessly, but he chose to take the literal approach to that phrase,” Tarhal mused, smiling at the memory. “Spike has always skirted close to the dark side, he claims it’s because he’s a dragon, who’s to say otherwise. Now though, he seems even more erratic, more willing to use violence to get what he wants, and a hell of a lot of it.”

“You’re worried about him too then?”

“You have no idea,” Tarhal sighed. “We’ve already defied the council by marching to war, he defied them even more by returning to the temple to recruit more to our cause. He’s violent, he listens and talks to voices in his head, and when he lets the beast inside him go, he fights like an animal, or a Sith.”

“What are you going to do?”

“We,” Tarhal corrected him. “The dark side is strong, but Spike knows that, it’s hold over him will be a subtle, insidious one, and while he may be smart, I don’t know if he’ll spot that he’s falling before it’s too late. Spike is great at justifying everything and anything that he does, and more than that he makes others follow him. It’s his biggest strength. I don’t begrudge him, but I think that he’s too wrapped up in making things better for everyone else to worry about himself. We need to look out for him, the pair of us, and try to steer him away if he moves towards the shadows. I don’t want him to fall.”

“Of course you don’t, he’s a friend,” Cortez placed a hand on Tarhals shoulder.

“Which is the main reason,” Tarhal nodded.

“And the secondary reason?”

“Secondary reason is I think that if he fell and turned on the Republic, he’d win a war. Men would flock to him, Jedi would flock to him, and he’d blow through anyone who stood against him. He’s not the best Lightsaber duellist, nor is he the strongest in the force, but he is the biggest Jedi by far, and I personally wouldn’t fight him. He wouldn’t stop till he wanted to, and given what Atris has done to him, I’m going to say that wouldn’t be till she was dead.”

“You don’t really think he’s that close to falling do you? That’s just stupid,” Cortez laughed.

Tarhal sighed, not replying as Cortez began to laugh less and less, his smile being replaced by a thin, anxious smile. “You can’t be seriously worried.”

“I don’t know Cortez. What I do know is we need to be there for him until the end of the war, then I think the worst will be over.”

“You think?” Cortez clarified.

“I hope,” Tarhal amended, cracking a small, thin smile. “By the force I hope.”

Supply Raids

Spike’s eye flashed open, his bionic one flaring into life an instant later, the red glare adding yet another light source to the crowded bridge of Harmony as he got up from his command throne, walking down the steps on the bridge until he was as close to the reinforced glass as he could get without going through it into the space beyond.

The stars beyond the viewport were stretched out in the light blue tunnel of Hyperspace, providing an almost comforting backdrop to the violence of their intended destination. The comforting effect was lost on Spike however, his face remaining as impassive as his new eye as he spoke in a deep rumble.

“Ensign Lowell, how long till the fleet breaks hyperspace?”

“Two minutes sir, maybe one if we…” Lowell began.

“Make it one then, whatever it takes” Spike cut him off, glaring out the window. “Bring the ship up to combat readiness, signal the fleet to do the same.”

“Aye sir,” came the near unanimous reply from the bridge staff, before the bridges lights were dimmed, replaced with the harsh red glare of battle lighting and the blare of the ship wide klaxon.

Spike returned his gaze to the viewport, his mouth twisting into a grin, showing a few too many teeth for it to be a comforting one. He could feel his blood beginning to boil, and longed to feel his heart pumping faster, his breath quickening, anything to indicate the coming battle, and yet his cybernetics refused to give him anything to go from, which only served to make his anger rise faster.

“Breaking hyperspace in five, four, three, two,” Lowell called out, “one, mark.”

As soon as he said the final work, the ship decelerated rapidly, an action that would have caused Spike’s stomach to lurch forward in the past. The view from the window had changed now, replaced by the near emptiness of space, punctuated by a large flotilla of supply ships and a few combat vessels. Behind Harmony, the fleet of the Special Forces formed up on their flagship.

Spike snarled, before uttering a single word.

“Engage.”

The order didn’t need to be given, it had already been relayed through the ship before they had even left the moon they were now based on, but Spike still wanted to give it. The mission was a simple one, test out the new interdictor technology that the Republic was trialling, pull a Mandalorian supply convoy out of Hyperspace, destroy its escort and board the remaining ships. If they were lucky this would be an actual military convoy, not one carrying rations or the like.

In an instant, the void was filled with colour as bright red blasts lanced out from the Republic fleet, followed quickly by the small fiery trails of missiles and fighters. At least two Mandalorian ships caught the full brunt of the barrage on their unprotected hull, finding themselves suddenly gutted and burning from prow to stern, even as the other ships tried to move to a better position, to hide or fight back as their roles demanded.

Spike could have stayed on the bridge and watched the systematic destruction of the Mandalorian escorts, but he had other pressing matters that he had to attend to. “Lowell, you have the bridge,” he grunted as he walked past the man, not waiting to hear a reply.

It didn’t take him long to make his way down to the hangar, instantly spotting the contingent of soldiers going through the final checks on their equipment and heading towards them, receiving a few hurried salutes as he went.

Not for the first time in recent days Spike caught sight of Moonstone, the mare standing across the hangar from him and looking at him with almost pleading eyes. She never spoke to him anymore, she didn’t even seem to move closer, she just stared at him, silent and almost uncaring.

“What’s the matter with you?” he whispered softly to himself, beginning to take a step towards her, before Sergeant Loup broke the spell.

“Shouldn’t you be on the bridge still sir?” the man asked as he tightened a strap on his armour.

“The battle in space is unimportant, sergeant” Spike replied hollowly, before looking back at where Moonstone had been, seeing nothing there but the hangar wall. Sighing, Spike pulled up a diagnostic suite in his bionic eye, performing an internal scan of his own bionics to check everything was functioning as intended. It had only been a few weeks since he had got them, but he was getting a better grip on their use with every passing day. All of the doctors told him that given enough time, he would barely even notice the difference between the metal implants and his own flesh, but Spike found that hard to believe.

“I have to disagree with you there Sir,” Hagman shook his head. “Kind of hard to do our job if we can’t board the ships.”

“The Mandalorians have already lost this fight, private, they just don’t know it yet,” Spike spoke decisively as he walked up to the open ramp of one of the two dropships in the hangar, placing a metal claw on it and scowling. “Mount up, we’re going in now.”

“Shouldn’t we wait for the…” Loup began, before being stopped by a glare from Spike. “Mount up men. Stay tight in the enemy ships, we don’t know how many guards they have on board.”

“They’ll have none by the end of it,” Spike scowled. “Anyone who raises a gun at us is to be taken down with extreme prejudice. Those who cooperate may just make it as POWs.”

The transport bay lapsed into silence as Spike finished talking, the soldiers quickly strapping themselves into their seats as the ramp swung closed, sealing them in. Almost immediately Spike felt the ship lurch upwards, before shooting forward out of the hangar bay. Once again Spike wished he could ‘see’ what the ship saw, but considering the fact that he was still struggling with simple telekinesis, he knew that to do so would be folly. Even if he succeeded, the stress would likely drain him to the point where he’d be useless in combat.

And we wouldn’t want that, now would we? Desolation purred almost seductively in Spikes mind. Not when there are so many that could lead us to our prey.

“Agreed,” Spike nodded with a soft growl of his own.

“Did you say something general?” Loup asked.

“Nothing you need to worry yourself about, Loup. Just focus on yourself and the rest of Wolf Squad when we’re inside.”

“Yes sir,” Loup nodded. “You heard the general, stay alert at all times when inside the ship and watch each other’s backs, I don’t want to be hauling any of you back to Harmony in a body bag, understand?”

“Sir,” came the unanimous reply, just as Spike felt the ship touch down.

“Show time,” Spike snarled, grabbing hold of his Lightsabers and readying himself to take off at a run, his wings folding close to his body to ensure they didn’t get snagged on anything.

About bloody time, Desolation agreed as light began to spill around the dropship’s ramp.

Spike didn’t bother to wait until the ramp had touched down fully, taking off at a sprint the moment the gap was wide enough for his ducked form to get through. The Mandalorian guards on the other side of the ramp looked taken aback as Spike barrelled towards them, but recovered quickly, hunkering down behind a hastily erected barricade as the first shots from either side crossed the gap.

Spike felt a few shots hit his metal chest, or rather the stopping power they brought with them, but if they had believed that a few blaster bolts would stop his charge, they were sadly mistaken. Like a tidal wave hitting the shore, Spike slammed into the Mandalorian lines, smashing through the flimsy barricade and igniting his Lightsabers, opening his mouth in a bestial roar as he hacked downwards.

Gut them. Burn them. Tear them limb from limb.

“Don’t need telling twice,” Spike roared as he drove his Lightsaber through the faceplate of a Mandalorian, before spinning around and using his tail to slam into the chest of a trio of conscripted guards, bones shattering as the dense metal hit home.

It wasn’t long before all of the Mandalorian defenders in the hangar lay dead at their feet, allowing Spike enough of a lull to concentrate on opening a communications link.

“This is Spike to all Special Forces, status report.”

“Tarhal to Spike, my forces have taken control of the ship we targeted and are proceeding to search for any pockets of resistance. Limited casualties and a few prisoners, all being loaded onto transport ships,” Tarhal replied over the link, his voice being transmitted directly into Spike’s mind.

“Cortez here, similar situation here, although we still have some organised resistance in the lower hold.”

“This is Lowell. The Mandalorian fleet is in complete disarray. All combat vessels are either burning or lifeless, and we have managed to board or disable all other ships in the area. We haven’t monitored any communications coming from the fleet, looks like we caught them with their pants down.”

“Don’t get cocky,” Spike ordered. “Send any HazOps troops we still have to search what's left of the destroyed ships. Make sure that no one gets communications out and that no guns are left operational. Do not kill the ship’s captains if you can avoid it. Capture and bring them to me if at all possible. Spike out.”

Cutting the link, Spike looked back at Loup and the rest of Wolf Squad, as well as the three other squads that were busy checking the dead to make sure they had really passed on. Spike began doing the same, putting pressure on some of the bodies with one of his feet until armour splintered beneath his heavy claws. More than one managed a raspy moan of pain, before being silenced once more. True to his word, those who raised arms against him and his men would be terminated, regardless of their condition.

Spike stood still as he watched his men fan out, his face twisting into a mixture between a grimace and a look of intense concentration as he wracked his brain for his companion in the lull in combat. He touched Desolation’s mind quickly enough, feeling the savage ferocity of the dragon warm at his mental touch, but Moonstone was nowhere to be found. Every time he thought he had cornered her, things shifted around, everything he had cordoned off slipping through his mental grasp.

“General? Are you ok?” Loup asked, jogging over towards Spike.

“I’m fine Sergeant,” Spike muttered, forcing himself out of his trace. “Go find the Captain, bring him to me. Now.”

“You heard the general, load up and follow me, we’re heading for the bridge,” Loup called out, the troops around him following his lead, leaving Spike alone in the hangar.

You’re not going with them, Desolation pointed out.

“Astute as always,” Spike snapped back. “Where’s Moonstone, Desolation?”

I don’t know Spike. She and I didn’t exactly chat on a regular basis.

“Don’t give me that crap. You’re both part of my mind, now where the hell is she and why won’t she talk to me?”

I don’t know, Desolation insisted. Spike, you work best when your mind is fully focused on the task ahead. If I knew what was wrong with Moonstone, I would tell you to get you back to full strength. Do you think I enjoy being carried around in your mind when you’re not a hundred percent focused on combat ahead?

“Maybe it’s the bionics blocking me from her then,” Spike sighed softly, before glancing around the hangar, checking that he was alone. “You have five minutes, or until someone returns.”

For what?

“Our body’s hungry, you want some time to stretch our legs yourself. Fill in the gaps.”

“I thought you’d never offer,” Desolation chuckled darkly.

Five minutes Desolation. No more. Understand?

“Oh yeah, I understand,” Desolation leant down as he spoke, picking up one of the lightly armoured conscripts and using a claw to slice through the straps of the armour, his tongue snaking out into a hissing sound as he worked.

***

Desolation dropped the mutilated corpse back to the floor, ideally chewing on a bone as he flicked a few pieces of meat from his claws. His good mood was suddenly damped however when he heard the sound of approaching footsteps, and he allowed the bone to fall to the floor.

Deal’s a deal Spikey.

“I know,” Spike nodded, wiping the blood from around his mouth with the tattered cloth the man had been clothed in previously, before stepping away from the corpse and walking to meet Loup and the rest of Wolf Squad, a Mandalorian in red armour limping defiantly alongside them.

“The captain I assume?” Spike asked, running his finger along the seal of the Mandalorian’s helmet. “Take it off.”

“I’d rather die,” the Mandalorian shot back.

“That can be arranged, but later,” Spike chuckled. It wasn’t a comforting laugh, all sense of positive emotion being drowned out by the morbid undertone. “I’m not in the mood for games.”

Digging his claw in a bit further, Spike began to slice through the weaker metal at the neck joint, careful not to puncture the frail flesh it covered. The metal on metal screech was almost unbearable, and Spike momentarily debated deactivating his audio receptors, before the helmet finally came free, revealing a bearded human scowling back at him. Before Spike could speak, the man spat directly at his face, covering his bionic eye. A few seconds later, the spit began to bubble and boil, before evaporating on the hot surface of the bionic, Spike leering down at the Mandalorian.

“Try that again and I’ll make sure crashing into a wall is the least painful activity of your day.”

“But I haven’t crashed into the wall,” the man said in confusion, his resolve wavering slightly.

“Oh yes, right you are,” Spike nodded, before his hand shot forward and grabbed hold of the man, hurling him against the wall. The two met with a sickening crunch, followed swiftly by a scream as Spike walked back over.

“Funny thing about pain,” he mused as he looked down at the man. “It’s our body’s way of telling us that we shouldn’t do whatever we just did again, which in this case is disobeying. I am not in the mood for games, and there are plenty more captains to ask my questions to. Pain is also a good indicator of if you’re alive, believe it or not, so if you’re in pain, it means you’re alive. I can make pain last for a long time.”

“Go to…”

“If you’re going to end that sentence with hell then I’ll tear your tongue out now,” Spike growled. “I’m sick of hearing it. But down to business, and my questions. What is your cargo, where are you heading, and on who gave the orders?”

“I’d answer him,” Loup cautioned, his face impassive as he glared down at the Mandalorian.

“You promise my safety?” the Mandalorian checked.

“I’ll serve justice,” Spike nodded. “Now, answer.”

“We’re carrying military hardware, armour, vehicles and weapons,” the man began quickly. “Most of the equipment was what we could take from Taris before its fall, but some ships are from other worlds that have been deemed unholdable. We are transporting it all to Duxn under the direct orders of Cassus…”

“Cassus Fett?” Spike visibly tensed at the name, hauling the man to his feet despite the pained protests. “Where is he?”

“I…I don’t know,” the captain stammered. “A-All I know is that Duxn is his brain child, the planet is a fortress, one that will break the Republic.”

“So you don’t know where he is?” Spike asked softly, dropping the man to the floor.

“No,” the man shook his head with gritted teeth. “I’ve told you everything. Please, hold up your end of the bargain.”

“My end?” Spike asked quizzically.

“Y-You promised to spare my life,” the man stammered.

“Did I?” Spike paused for a moment in mock thought, before chuckling. “Ah, I see how you might think that. What did I actually say though? That I would serve justice.”

Spike’s face hardened as a hand shot out, grabbing the man by his throat and hauling him up to his eye level, his tail moving up as well until it was in line with the man’s eyes “Any last words?”

“You’re a monster,” the man whimpered.

“Boy, you have no idea,” Spike snarled, before his tail shot forward, the sharp end driving through the man’s right eye and out the back of his head. Spike let go with his hand, supporting the body with just his tail for a few seconds, allowing blood to run down the metal, pooling in the crevices, before throwing the corpse from him with a casual flick.

“You heard him, looks like we hit a decent hoard here. I want full manifests transmitted back to Harmony as soon as possible. Round up any prisoners too, keep them on the ships and put a skeleton crew in place to get them back home. We’ll go through everything properly when we get out of open space. When the other captains arrive, question them and deal with them as you see fit. Loup, I’m leaving you in charge until Cortez or Tarhal comes aboard. Affirmative?”

“Affirmative sir,” Loup nodded, turning to the others and beginning to issue orders as Spike began walking towards one of the dropships.

“Were you supposed to do that sir?” The pilot asked, looking back as Spike clambered aboard.

“He asked for justice,” Spike shrugged. “What did he expect?”

***

Spike sat down in the command throne on the bridge of Harmony, patiently waiting as the lights by the names of the captured ships went from red to green. Each one was currently being searched and catalogued, the data transmitted directly to the improved droid brain nestled deep within Spike’s ship. Tapping his finger idly on the arm of the chair, Spike watched the final light turn green, before opening a communication channel between his bionics and the ships brain.

Accessing captured ships manifest. Processing. Processing. Done. Total cargo numbers tallied and recorded.

- Mandalorian ‘Neo-Crusader’ Class Armour – Nineteen Thousand Nine Hundred And Thirty Four Units.

- Mandalorian ‘Neo-Crusader Rally Master’ Class Armour – Four Hundred And Sixty Three Units.

- Mandalorian ‘Neo-Crusader Field Marshal’ Class Armour – Two Units.

- Jai-38 Heavy Walker Tanks – Fifty Nine Units.

- T-21 Assault Troop Transports – Five Hundred And Ten Units.

- T-20 Rapid Troop Transports – Six Hundred And Ninety Four Units.

- Basalisk Heavy Assault Droids – One Unit.

- Type Thirty Two Combat Droids – Ten Thousand Units

- Type Thirty Nine Combat Droids – Five Thousand Six Hundred And Two Units.

- Type Two Field Medic Droids – Three Thousand And Seventy One Units.

- Type Seventy Three Field Engineer Droids – Three Thousand And Eight Units.

Additionally, several ships have been captured intact:

- Goliath Class Transport Vessels – Fifty Seven Ships

- Beskarvid Class Warships – Three Ships

- Prisoners have also been taken and accounted for, before being confined to Brigs or quarters aboard their own vessels. Total count, two thousand and seven. Total enemy casualties estimated at nine thousand and sixty three.

Spike let out a soft whistle as he looked over the list, the data copying itself automatically to his own brain for reviewing later if he so wished. He had yet to get exact numbers on his own casualties, but unless he had lost over half of his force in the attack and most of his ships, he was fairly confident that he could call the raid an incredible success.

What came next was slightly more complicated, what to do with the captured materials. The prisoners would obviously be turned over to Republic Judiciary Forces for detainment and/or interrogation as the situation demanded, but the armour, tanks and droids were still unaccounted for. None of Spike’s orders had specifically mentioned what he had to do with loot, and Republic standing orders didn’t really cover this level of haul.

“Well, I guess the tanks can go back to the core for examining,” Spike mused. “Not like we have an armoured section. The droids can be transferred to mechanised units. The armour though?”

We could always use it, Desolation suggested.

“Use Mandalorian armour?” Spike snorted. “Fuck off.”

Would if I could. The point stands that their equipment is better than ours. You going to throw away this chance? Could give us the edge against Cassus.

Spike slowly nodded, before beginning to type up the report of the raid, attaching the records of the haul and copying it to Revan, as well as Republic High Command, before leaning back in his chair, turning to watch the alluring tunnel of hyperspace.

By Senatorial Writ

A small shuttle slowly, almost lazily, began its final descent towards the surface of the rogue moon that orbited Taris, the heavy wind and rain that lashed its surface buffeting the craft, forcing the pilot to stay constantly on edge. The pilot softly cursed under his breath, before falling silent as the door behind his seat slid open.

“Is there a problem pilot?” Revan asked, placing a hand on the man’s shoulder.

“No, sir,” the man shook his head. “Just nerves fraying a bit, storms making piloting a bit more difficult.”

“First time in atmosphere?”

“I know what I’m doing, sir,” the man assured Revan. “Just try adding on all the codes I’ve got to transmit to get the guns down there to let us through. We’ve been clocked on long range scanners since we were halfway between here and Taris, in the sight of their long guns for almost as long. What’s so secret down there that they get so many access codes? I thought it was just a military base.”

“It is,” Revan shook his head slowly. “But sadly it’s a base run by someone who’s a bit paranoid these days.”

“The wars got everyone on edge, sir,” the pilot agreed, before letting out a sigh of relief. “Looks like we got through, sir, should be a straight shot to the surface now.”

“Good. Set us down in the main hanger bay, there should be people waiting for us there.”

“Understood, sir.”

Revan turned and walked back towards the ships transport bay, the door sliding closed behind him as he approached Malak, the taller man staring out of the window passively, turning slightly to give Revan a small nod, before returning to the window.

It didn’t take much longer for the shuttle to finally touch down, bringing with it a cascade of water as it finally broke through the rain. The ramp began to lower the second it touched down, Revan and Malak waiting for it to fully deploy before exiting the craft and looking around the hanger.

The pair were instantly alert, hands flying to their Lightsabers as they took in the twenty or so soldiers standing in formation before them, each wearing bone white Mandalorian armour, minus the helmets, and bearing the crest of the Republic on the left side of the chest. Almost all of them were also sporting various symbols, varying greatly from soldier to soldier. The only thing that stopped the pair of Jedi igniting their lightsabers immediately was Tarhal, the wookie standing to attention in front of the men.

“This is, interesting,” Malak muttered softly.

“Agreed,” Revan nodded, before walking forward towards Tarhal, his hand still hovering over his Lightsaber. “Knight Tarhal.”

“Knight Revan, Knight Malak,” Tarhal nodded back in greeting. “I assume that by your reactions, Spike didn’t tell you about this?” he gestured at the soldiers.

“No, he did not,” Malak growled, not even bothering to try his contempt. “What are we looking at?”

“We raided a Mandalorian supply convoy two weeks back, best haul we’ve got so far,” Tarhal began, dismissing the troops with a casual wave, before gesturing for Revan and Malak to follow him deeper into the base. “We got a lot of stuff from that, the armour included.”

“I read the report,” Revan nodded. “Ships, droids, weapons, tanks, it was very impressive, hurt the Mandalorians and benefited our scientists. I don’t remember anything about captured armour.”

“Spike didn’t include it on the report,” Tarhal shrugged. “Decided to keep it off the records as it were.”

“Alright then, next question,” Revan rolled his eyes beneath his helmet. “Why?”

“It’s better than our equipment,” Tarhal shrugged. “Beyond that, you’d have to ask him.”

“I plan to,” Malak cut in. “Where is he? I assumed he’d be here to greet us. Can we expect his company, or his other self-running the show at the moment?”

“Be careful who talk about that with, Spike doesn’t exactly enjoy having conversations about him. Necessary evil and all that I think. Ask him yourself though, he’s at the practice range at the moment, come on, it’s not far.”

Quickly reaching a door, Tarhal tapped in the code before stepping inside, Revan and Malak following as they saw Spike, most of his body shielded behind a wooden partition. As they walked closer a flurry of blaster bolts lashed out from Spikes partition, striking a target down range dead centre.

“Permission to enter the armoury?” Tarhal called out, striding forward.

“Tarhal,” Spike smiled, stepping back and looking at Revan and Malak, nodding at the pair, before returning his attention to the gun slung beneath his bionic arm, tending to the blast cannon.

“More modifications I see?” Revan noted.

“You gave me part of a wardroids brain,” Spike shrugged, not looking up. “Targeting computer, ammo counters, everything a droid would need to fight. Plus not every fight happens up close, having long range firepower isn’t exactly a bad thing.”

“Must make it hard to use your Lightsaber though,” Revan countered, drawing a snort from Spike. Before Revan could ask what the snort was for, Spike reached down and drew Elusive from his belt, slotting the perpendicular handle into the underside of his gun with a loud click, before clenching his fist, the white blade erupting outwards.

“You were saying?”

Revan was silent for a second, his mask giving away nothing about his feelings on the situation, or even what he was truly looking at, but eventually he broke the silence. “Spike, you are in command of the Special Forces and your own body, I hardly presume to tell you how to manage the latter, but the Special Forces wearing Mandalorian armour…”

“It’s better,” Spike cut in, his red eye flashing as he looked at Revan. “It can stand up to more punishment, it’s modular, so we can add on more parts or replace broken ones without replacing the entire suit, plus the confusion it sows in the enemy ranks when they come face to face with people wearing their own armour causes them to hesitate for a second. My men don’t hesitate.”

“And if Republic troops see you?” Malak asked, drumming his fingers on the hilt of his Lightsaber as he glared at Spike.

“Go ahead, try it Malak,” Spikes voice was low as his gaze turned towards Malak, a red laser shining out from it and resting on Malaks head. “Any commanders will be informed, the message will be transmitted to all Republic comms when we land, plus I’ve never seen it in white before, soldiers will pause long enough for them to realise who we’re killing.”

“Spike, turn the targeter off,” Revan ordered, placing himself between Malak and Spike.

“Fine,” the laser shut down as Spike grinned, showing slightly too many teeth for it to be a genuine one. “The armour stays, majority vote from every soldier, not just the officers. Now, what do you want Revan?”

“I am the High General of the Republic, I am allowed to inspect Republic soldiers and bases when I desire,” Revan pointed out. “I do not need a reason to speak to my commanders or inspect men under my command.”

“And I’m a dragon, I’ll protect what’s mine,” Spike retorted.

“Yours by my word.”

“Try and say something different, see what happens.”

“Enough!” Tarhal bellowed, his roars and growls cutting through the basic that everyone else was speaking. “The pair of you, enough. Posturing is stupid and gets us nowhere. Spike, Revan is our superior officer, show him respect. And Revan…pick your battles.”

“Why is the wookie talking sense into us?” Revan chuckled, before sighing and shaking his head. “Spike, I apologise for what I said and for any insult. The war has me on edge as it is, and this was an unexpected variable.”

Spike nodded, before looking at Malak. “Think you can play nicely as well?” Without waiting for an answer, Spike pushed passed the pair, turning his head back to look at them as he walked. “Come on, whatever plans you want to give to me and mine can be taken in the war room. It’s what it’s for after all.”

***

“Duxn,” Revan announced, a hologram of the planet appearing as he spoke. “As you probably know, Meetra Surik has been given the task of taking the planet. The first and third armies are there in force, as well as the remains of the second army.”

“Yes, I know,” Spike nodded. “She has more troops at her disposal than any other single theatre of war.”

“Had,” Revan shook his head. “Intel was wrong, very wrong. The Mandalorians are dug in deep, their numbers are far greater than we were lead to believe, and we didn’t count on the local wildlife proving such an obstacle.”

“How many casualties?” Tarhal asked.

“Best estimates put Meetra’s force at a quarter of its original strength, and ten times more than the Mandalorians,” Revan replied. “This is shaping up to be the single bloodiest battle of the war, simply because I believe that it is the turning point. We have been making huge gains since Taris, but if we lose on Duxn, we’ll lose our momentum. Cassuss Fett is still out there, and if given the chance he’ll roll back over us like he did at Jaga’s Cluster.”

Spike let out a soft snarl at the mention of Cassuss Fett, before returning his attention to the hologram. “I assume that you can’t spare that many men to keep this meat grinder going for much longer?”

“Correct. If we take any more from other battlefields, our weaknesses will be exploited in the same way and Duxn will be cut off again. Only one unit is left unaccounted for on the front lines that has the numbers and skills to make enough of a difference to tip the scales.”

“And you needed a personal call to give me a new fight?” Spike asked. “A hologram would have been fine.”

“I wanted to inspect the Special Forces at the same time,” Revan admitted. “No one has seen the Special Forces in weeks, you keeping to yourself and all that. I wanted to see the changes wrought, I will reserve judgement until after Duxn.”

“If that’s all then?” Spike asked, pointing at the door.

“It’s not,” Revan shook his head.

“Revan…” Malak began, before being silenced by a simple raised hand.

“Our slicers found something, buried deep within the archives on Taris, an old rule from centuries ago, if not millennia,” Revan began.

“Great, good for him, is he up for a medal or something?” Spike chuckled.

“Yes actually, but more importantly, it gives me backing for some more, radicalised movements. Before the days of the Great Hyperspace War, jedi acted as generals underneath a Republic High General, who had never been a Jedi. During the war however, the Jedi took power, just as a new law was passed by the senate. The law, more of a proclamation really, was signed and agreed to by the Jedi, and states that the High Commander of the army has the unquestionable power to promote, demote or change the ranks of any under his command as he sees fit, as long as they are listed amongst the official members of the Army. What the law fails to stipulate however is which organisation it pertains to, the Republic Army or the Jedi Order. Since it was ratified and agreed to by the High Council as well as the Senate, and there is nothing stating otherwise, we have taken it to mean both.”

“No way can you have that power,” Spike shook his head.

“And this means?” Tarhal cut in, looking slightly confused.

“Revan can promote Jedi,” Spike said, his voice taking on an almost reverent tone.

“Correct,” Revan nodded, “Although by the Jedi’s own laws, a knight cannot promote another knight without the ratification and presence of a Jedi Master.”

“And considering the fact that no Master has joined our crusade, that means it won’t affect Tarhal and I, so why tell us?” Spike asked.

“Well, we may have no Masters ‘officially’ in our ranks,” Revan began, “but that doesn’t mean that some are not receptive to our cause.”

“Who?” Spike asked, his eye fixed on Revan.

“You’ll see,” Revan replied, before placing a datapad on the holoprojector. “The coordinates in this datapad will lead you to a small ship. Dock with it and await my arrival. This is thin ice Spike, very thin ice, and I do not want to push this too far. Please, do not make me regret this decision, for nothing more than the fact Malak would never let me live that down. Bring your ship and crew, send the rest to hold position at the enclosed coordinates.”

With that, Revan turned, marching swiftly from the room with Malak a half pace behind him, leaving Tarhal and Spike alone in a semi-shocked silence. Eventually, Tarhal broke the silence, raising his voice and looking at Spike.

“Did he just say that he could make you a Master?”

“I’m not sure,” Spike switched to Shyriiwook, looking at his friend. “I guess we’ll have to find out. Assemble the men, every last one of them. Take the fleet and hold position wherever Revan wants us and wait for my return. We’ll know soon enough what this is all about.”

Nodding, Tarhal turned and walked out of the room, speaking into a communicator as he disappeared from sight, leaving Spike to stare at the holoprojection of Duxn. For a long time he simply looked at it, not moving, not breathing, just looking, before pressing a few buttons on the projector. Instantly the images began to cycle through shots taken from the surface, from the aftermath of battles, to the visible parts of Cassuss Fetts largest fortress. It was a rock, and a damn big one, which could easily break the wave of the Republics assault. That was unless Spike had anything to say about it.

And we always do, don’t we, Spike?

“That we do, Desolation, that we do,” Spike mused for a second, before turning and striding from the room, his metal claws scraping against the floor as he walked.

***

Spike watched as Harmony drew closer to a small flotilla of ships, noting that there were no ships in the group that matched his own, either for size or firepower. Not that he was planning on engaging the flotilla, but it seemed to be the first thing he noticed these days. The ships modifications had taken well, mainly in the hanger and cargos bays, allowing men to be loaded into the specially designed rapid deployment pods, cutting deployment times in half.

It was a new innovation, again taken from plans from the Mandalorians, and it had yet to see widespread use, but Spike and the rest of the Special Forces saw it as the answer to one of their biggest problems. Duxn would be the first time they were used properly, and Spike was itching to try them out, as well as his own personal project.

“Lowell, transmit authorisation codes and open up the long range scanners. If anything jumps within three systems, I want to know about it. Then bring us up next to that shuttle sitting in the middle of the fleet, anything tries to tell us to divert, weapons lock on them till they back down, we’ll see if they’re green or not.”

“Aye sir, bringing us in now sir,” Lowell nodded. “ETA two minutes thirty three seconds.”

Spike didn’t reply to this, instead simply nodding, looking out the viewport as ships flared their engines, hurrying to get out of the way of the approaching warship, before Harmony finally slowed beside the shuttle, deploying an umbilical cord to the other ship.

“Ensign, you have the ship,” Spike commanded. “If any of these ships even looks like they’re going to give you trouble, you have a weapons free verdict. I don’t like being so far in unsecured territory without any sort of backup.”

“Aye sir.” Spike didn’t wait to hear if Lowell had anything else to say as he made his way towards the umbilical cord connecting the two ships, patiently waiting as the door at the far end slid open, revealing two men dressed in the garb of the Coruscant Temple guard and holding antiquated rifles close to their chest. Like most of the equipment of the Guard, it was more for show than actual practicality, but to their credit, no one had ever managed to get within a hundred feet of the temples steps without already being searched and checked by a platoon of the guards.

“Knight Spike, it is a pleasure to finally meet a Jedi who has caused such a stir within the order,” the first one stepped forward as he spoke. “Master Kavar awaits your presence.”

“Kavar?” Spike asked, chuckling slightly. “Of course, who else. Lead on Sergeant.”

The man nodded, turning as he led Spike through the cramped corridors of the ship, before stopping in an empty room. “Master Kavar will be along shortly sir, last minute preparations have caught his…”

“Don’t worry about me sergeant, I won’t be keeping our guest any longer than he has to be kept,” Kavar’s voice seemed to cut through the air like a knife, commanding respect without ever demanding it. “You are dismissed, this is a Jedi matter.”

“Of course sir,” the sergeant nodded, turning and leaving Spike alone with Kavar, the door sliding closed behind him. As soon as it was closed, Kavar looked over to Spike, taking in every inch of the dragon before finally speaking.

“Knight Spike, commander of Revan’s Special Forces.

“Master Kavar, the famed guardian of the High Council,” Spike replied, his face remaining impassive for a second, before breaking into a smile. “It’s good to see you my old friend.”

“Likewise,” Kavar nodded. “The years have not been kind to you have they? Even for a dragon. By the force, the rumours don’t really do you justice these days do they, Spike? What is it? Seventy percent?”

“Eighty two,” Spike corrected him. “But I’m coping. What news from home?”

“You mean Coruscant, or the Temple?”

“Both, for better or for worse they’re the closest things I have these days.”

“Coruscant is coping, just as you would expect from the capital. The war is putting pressure on the world just like every core world, and we have more and more refuges every day,” Kavar began, taking a seat and indicating one which Spike could have, which Spike declined with a simple shake of his head. “It has gotten better admittedly in the past weeks since Taris was retaken, but I but my hopes doubt that we will see a marked improvement in the situation until the war is brought an end. I just pray that it won’t be too bloody, but given how it has been conducted up until now, my hopes are not high.”

“Especially with Duxn proceeding how it is,” Spike nodded. “But soon that will come to an end, then the Mandalore and Cassuss have nowhere to run. What of the Temple? How’s the white bitch taking it?”

“Master Atris is still against the war,” Kavar pointedly put extra emphasis on Atris’s title before continuing properly. “She is still telling us that Jedi involvement in the war is the wrong move, but her voice has become less heeded in the recent months. It’s hard for her to gain any traction with Revan scoring victory after victory. When it ends though, things will most likely be different, you best be careful Spike, especially with the other rumours circling about you, and brutality against our enemies.”

“If it wins the war,” Spike muttered softly.

“And damns your soul? What then?” Kavar asked, before holding a hand up to stop any rebuttal of the comment. “I am not here to debate semantics with you Spike, that can wait until after the war. For now, I only have one goal, ending this war with as few casualties as possible, on both sides. If Revan is really attempting to reward those who are serving well, then it makes sense as to why he promoted Meetra Surik to Knighthood, and how highly he thinks of you. When he first contacted me, I expected he was talking about Malak, those two have always been inseparable, but to find out he meant you…”

“Spit it out Kavar,” Spike’s voice became terse as he spoke, his red eye glowing slightly brighter, almost imperceptibly so. “There’s a bloody war going on, and every second, another man dies.”

“I’m making you Master,” Kavar replied simply. “Revan asked for a favour, for one thing, and that was a master in his ranks. In return he’s promised to send any Padawans that join him from this day forward back to Coruscant. This will stop the youngest members of our order marching to war and death, and it provides another figurehead for Revan to use. The one thing he has lacked is a master, someone who he can use to work the angle that the Jedi are fully behind the war.”

“Which we’re not,” Spike pointed out.

“I know that, you know that, Revan knows that, but to the common man, those who would sign up to fight, the symbol will be powerful,” Kavar agreed. “The war doesn’t need more jedi, it needs more men, and if I was going to choose a Master then there are only a few I would personally ratify. You are one, Tarhal is another, perhaps some of the slightly older jedi too. So, do you accept?”

“Yes,” Spike took a sharp breath in.

“Very well, kneel Spike.”

Nodding, Spike fell to his knees, bowing his head before Kavar as the man advanced towards him, igniting his Lightsaber and holding it before his face. “Knight Spike, I, Jedi Master Kavar, by the power invested in me as a member of the High Council of the Jedi Order, and the power allowed to me by High General by senatorial writ, Knight Revan of the Jedi Order, do name you Master. This title shall be yours, to be held until you become one with the force, whenever that may be.”

Kavar carefully lowered his Lightsaber towards Spikes left shoulder as he spoke. “With this hand of metal you will defend the Republic from all its foes.” He moved his Lightsaber up over Spikes head, before lowering it towards Spikes right shoulder. “And with your hand of flesh, you shall teach us your wisdom, carried through the ages to generations of our Order. Arise, a Knight no more, Jedi Master Spike.”

Spike slowly got back to his feet, his cybernetics scraping softly against each other as he rose back to his full height, towering over Kavar.

“Don’t make me regret this decision Spike,” Kavar sighed slightly. “Atris will not be happy that you of all Jedi have been promoted, but what’s done is done now. Please Spike, think about what I said; defence and wisdom. The best defence may sometimes be a good offense, but a Master needs to know when that time is.”

“I understand the principle,” Spike assured him. “That being said, I can’t stop yet, the war’s not over. The strong have to step up to safeguard the weak, isn’t that the Jedi way? I need to leave, thank you, Master Kavar.”

“One more thing before you leave, Master Spike,” Kavar opened a comlink on his wrist communicator. “Come down please.”

“What’s going on?” Spike asked warily.

“There’s one more thing that I can give to you, one Master to another,” he smiled. “Jedi Master Spike, if you accept, I present to you your new student, Padawan Katara.”

The door slid open as he mentioned Katara’s name, Spike whirling around as he set his eyes on the new occupant to the room, taking in everything, from her still bald head to the Zeison Sha Initiate armour that she was wearing.

“Hello, Master Spike.”

Spike the Guns

“Katara?” Spike asked, looking between Katara and Kavar, before back at Katara again. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m your new padawan,” Katara reiterated, glancing at Kavar.

“I thought you just said that the whole point of me being promoted was to stop Padawans being dragged into the grinder,” Spike looked at Kavar, before glancing at Katara.

“I did,” Kavar nodded. “Spike, I don’t overly like this idea, but Katara was insistent. She wouldn’t serve under anyone else in the order, even after she won her final trial. Can you think of anyone else who won their final trial?”

“You made your point Kavar,” Spike sighed as he turned around to face Katara, looking her up and down again, before finally opening his mouth to speak. I accept you, Padawan Katara. Now, if there is nothing else Kavar, we have a siege to go and crack.”

“May the force be with you, Spike,” Kavar nodded.

“Funny story,” Spike grimaced, before turning and heading from the room. “Katara, let’s move out.”

“It’s good to see you again, Spike,” Katara smiled as they walked. “I worried that you wouldn’t have me as your padawan when we were travelling to meet you. The reports said you had been hurt, but I never thought it was quite this…bad.”

“Reports eh?” Spike snorted. “From military intelligence? There’s an ironic statement if ever there was one. The war doesn’t wait Katara, and if you want to join I would be a bastard to say no. You have every right to hate the Mandalorians, same as me. You were there at the beginning of the war, same as me. I think it’s only fair that you allowed the opportunity to see the end of the war, same as me.”

“But,” he stopped by the airlock to Harmony, placing his arm across the door and barring access to Katara. “I want you to take a look at me Katara, a long, hard look. This is the face of war, this is what this war has turned us into, I just show it a little better than most. If you let it it will chew you up and spit you out faster than you can blink. I have lost more flesh than your entire body weight combined, and these are just the scars of yesterday, it’s only going to get worse. So I give you one more chance. Go back to Kavar, to the temple. I will meet you when this is all over and I would be proud to be your master. But you step onto Harmony, and I cannot guarantee your safety, but I will damn well try to.”

“No offense, Spike, but I’ve made up my mind,” Katara smiled, ducking beneath Spike’s arm.

“Good girl,” Spike nodded, keying in the airlock code as a ghost of Katara’s smile flickered across his own face.

***

Spike stood by the holoprojector on the bridge, waiting for the table to flare into life, Katara standing beside him, looking anxious as she starred off into the space beyond the front viewport. It didn’t take much longer before the table finally flared into life, Spike fiddling with a few controls until the signal finally cleared up.

“Knight Surik,” Spike smiled, the familiar woman appearing on the table.

“Knight Spike,” she nodded in return.

“Actually it’s Master now.”

“My congratulations then. And who is your friend?”

“Padawan Katara, meet Jedi Knight, General Surik. Surik, this is my new Padawan, Katara. She was the only survivor on a planet sacked by the Mandalorians before the war.”

“An all too common occurrence,” Surik nodded.

“Enough pleasantries. Revan tells me that you in need of assistance. I have twenty thousand men at my disposal, ready to turn the scales once more. Say the word Meetra and we can rain fire on them.”

“Good, we all the support we can get. It’s bad down here Spike, very bad,” Meetra sighed, before the projection shrank down, allowing a map to replace the majority of the table. “Now, my forces are currently advancing up this line here. We are penned in by mountains on one side, and a minefield on the other, as well as being hampered by the planets wildlife. The army is also being bombarded by a heavy artillery emplacement here,” a circle appeared on the map as she spoke, “which has forced us to dig in deep. These long guns are capable of taking out most of our army if left unchecked, and they have enough flak to keep our air power off them. I have already sent a ground force to tackle the guns but there are Mandalorian soldiers defending them, and they will fight to the death. We need these guns silenced, Spike, I don’t want to have to march men across the minefields to escape this.”

“I’ll put my men to it,” Spike nodded. “What is the rest of the enemy looking like?”

“As far as we can tell this is the largest concentration of Mandalorians outside of their main base. They’ve been pulling troops out slowly over the past few days, but it hasn’t made a blind bit of difference. At every turn we lose ten men to their one. It’s hard to believe we’re winning this war.”

“We are winning, it just takes time,” Spike shook his head. “We’ll get it done Meetra, don’t contact us again, I don’t want to risk the Mandalorians finding out about us before it’s too late.”

“The Force guide you, Spike.”

Spike cut off the holoprojector before turning back to Lowell. “Ensign, signal the rest of the Special Forces fleet to exit Hyperspace at coordinates 22-34-76-13-07 and to prep for high altitude insertion.”

“Aye sir, coordinates 22-34-76-13-07, locked and sent.”

“Good,” Spike turned back to Katara. “Come, we have some time before we get there, I believe it is best that we talk.”

Nodding, Katara followed Spike, heading towards Spike’s quarters and waiting till the door slid shut behind him. “Now, I expected to have a Padawan, so I didn’t plan for what I’d do if I ever got one. I’m flying blind here, so I guess I’ll just fall back on what I was taught. Sit down and get out your Lightsaber.”

Spike watched as Katara crossed her legs and sat on the floor, drawing her own Lightsaber and placing it on her lap. It was a beautiful piece of work, the metalwork smooth and flowing, with not a single sharp edge to be found. It reminded Spike of his first saber, rather than the utilitarian design he had now, but he digressed.

“Reach out with the Force, feel your Lightsaber,” Spike began, watching as the weapon floated upwards. “Feel its parts, each one, no matter how tiny, plays a crucial role in the working of your Lightsaber, just as each soldier, no matter how tiny they may seem, plays a role in the war. Disassemble the Lightsaber.”

The parts slowly began to unscrew, hidden seams coming apart, and allowing the crystal matrix to be seen, along with the power core and wiring that held it all together, all of which soon began to float around Katara in a slow orbit, the Padawan keeping her eyes closed as she focused.

“Now, I will recite the crystal code. As I do, repeat it back to me and reassemble your Lightsaber, you’ll know how to do it, the Force will guide you.”

"The Crystal is the heart of the blade."

"The Crystal is the heart of the blade."

"The heart is the crystal of the Jedi."

"The heart is the crystal of the Jedi."

"The Jedi is the crystal of the Force."

"The Jedi is the crystal of the Force."

"The Force is the blade of the heart."

"The Force is the blade of the heart."

"All are intertwined."

"All are intertwined."

"The crystal, the blade, the Jedi."

“The crystal, the blade, the Jedi."

"We are one."

"We are one."

“We’re ready Katara, make yourself ready. We’re going to be plunging into hell.”

“Side by side,” Katara nodded. “You pulled me out of the fire last time, don’t you worry about me.”

“Oh, easier said than done,” Spike turned to leave, before he felt Katara place a hand on his wing.

“Spike?”

“Yes Katara?”

“Why don’t the Mandalorians just quit? We’ve pushed them back to their home planets now, they can’t win. Why don’t they just…give up?”

“Would you?” Spike asked wearily, before walking towards the rooms holoprojector and pulling up a camera feed from one of the satellites orbiting the Eres system, zooming in on the still burning planet of Eres III. “Do you see that? That’s a whole planet on fire, the fire still burns. I started this war killing Mandalorians on Ranox, then Eres, then Taris, now I’m about to kill Mandalorians on Duxn. It will end. Soon. But before it does, a lot more people are going to have to die.”

Spike turned to leave, leaving Katara looking at the projection of Eres III. Before he turned down the corridor, Spike turned back to look at her, the smile that was on her face now replaced with a stony expression that even he couldn’t read. In a way he felt bad for having robbed her of that innocence, but he knew that he hadn’t lied, and sugar coating things was only going to make it worse when the inevitability finally hit home.

“War never ends quietly, Katara,” Spike all but whispered. “The last war I fought in ended with the burning of Yarvin IV. I hope this war doesn’t end as loudly as it’s raged.”

***

Spike was silent as he stood in the hanger of Harmony, his bionic eye linked into the cameras dotted around the ships hull. He could see the rest of the Special Forces fleet all around Harmony, their engines burning brightly as they streaked towards the planet. He knew that in every ship, dropships were being readied, weapons were being checked and rechecked, and the men and women under his command were preparing for the fight ahead.

Switching from the ships camera back to his own eye, Spike looked around the hanger. Wolf Squad and a clutch of other men sitting tightly in the rapid deployment pods, while the others, including Katara, were sitting in normal dropships. As for Spike, he had his own way of getting to the surface.

“All commanders, check in.”

“Black one, reporting in,” Tarhal replied.

“Black two, copy that Black Actual,” Cortez was quick to follow Tarhal’s lead.

A host of other voices quickly sounded over the coms, before finally finishing, the link going silent once again.

“Alright, listen in, operation ground and pound is underway. These guns are heavily defended and we’ll be going in hot. We’re not going to have backup on this, and unless we can take out the anti-air and surface to orbit cannons, we’ll not be getting help from there. We’ll be landing as close to the guns as we can, rapid deployment pods first. If we take out the flak then dropships can land closer. If not, it’s an uphill slog. Failure is not an option, we take out their artillery pieces, no matter the cost. Nothing else matters, repeat, nothing else matters.”

Looking up, Spike ran his hand over the metal beast he had liberated weeks ago from the Mandalorian supply convoy. The Basilisk had not been easy to repurpose, the droid brain inside was stubborn to say the least, but even it could not last forever. It’s intelligence was now slaved to Spikes mind, and while it was only a fraction of the power of a true Basilisk’s brain, its weapons remained true to purpose.

Climbing on top, Spike felt the war droid growl at his presence, before bringing itself in line with his own thoughts. This would be the first time Spike had ridden it, and if he still had a heartbeat, he was sure it would be racing by now. Instead, he simply sat motionless as the pressure doors closed. He felt the air being sucked out of the hanger around him, tiny flecks of vaporized oxygen floating around in the vacuum as the red light in the hanger blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

The light went green, and suddenly the ship around him seemed to shoot upwards as the floor beneath Spike fell away, he and the droid passing through the atmosphere shields as they plummeted towards the planet below. All around him were small pods, each one streaking down beside him on little tongues of fire.

The clouds rushed up to greet them, before they sped past, the ground coming into sight for the first time, the artillery battery spread out before them, with trenches crisscrossing this way and that, disappearing into the surrounding jungles. As Spike watched, the cannons fired a volley, each one firing a split second after the one before it had. He had only seen such massive guns on a few occasions, the last time being at Taris, and he shuddered to think of the devastation that the shells would cause.

“Rapid deployment pod chutes deploying in three, two, one,” a mechanical droid voice sounded over the com link. “Chute deployment underway.”

Spike watched as the pods slowed down, retro rockets firing as well as the chutes, before looking forward again. He was not in a pod, and with a roar, he unleashed the Basilisks weapons. Shots hammered down onto the unsuspecting Mandalorians below, sending them scurrying from the cover that they had thought would protect them, until the shots came from above.

Making sure the connection between him and the droid was still strong, Spike pitched himself from the seat, slamming into one of the trenches with a soft thump. In an instant his Lightsabers were ready and the cannon on his arm primed as he let out another roar, firing at the fleeing Mandalorians, before leaping from the trench once more.

Let me out, Spike, this is where I excel, Desolation whispered in Spike’s mind.

“Too much potential collateral,” Spike grunted back, swinging his cannon round and stabbing his Lightsaber through a Mandalorians chest, before firing a single shot, reducing his head to little more than a cauterised hole. “Besides, I thought you hated our new body.”

Before Desolation could answer, Spike primed his cannon once more, a crosshair appearing over one of the larger flak cannons. It only took Spike a second to link his arm to his eye, and he unleashed a flurry of shots, peppering the gun with lasers, until something finally gave and it exploded in an all-consuming fireball, the men who had been manning it being pitched aside like rag dolls as Spike calmly advanced through the fire and the flames.

Even as Spike advanced, he could feel his Basilisk doing battle with the Mandalorians above, reeling in shock that one of their own droids had turned on them, before more fireballs drew Spike’s attention as yet more flak cannons were disabled. By now, the dropships were coming into view, and hundreds of soldiers began to spew from their bellies, blaster firing leaping between them and the Mandalorian lines.

It wasn’t difficult to pick out Tarhal and Katara, the former leading his own unit forward against the main cannons, while Katara ran towards Spike, deflecting shots back at their owners as they came towards her, or flipping over their heads in a nimble display of combat acrobatics, before finally coming to a skidding halt beside Spike, the pair raising their Lightsabers to guard them from incoming shots as they exchanged words.

“Nice of you to finally join us,” Spike chuckled.

“Yeah, well, not all of us get fancy droids or pods,” Katara shot back.

“No, you just have a nice cosy dropship, sipping cocktails on the way down,” Spike smirked. “But now you’re in the valley of the damned kid, ready to play with the big boys?”

“Are you still talking master? I thought we had guns to take out,” Katara darted forward as she spoke, Spike laughing as he pounded after her, her tiny frame barely coming up to his chest as the pair leapt into the Mandalorian lines.

Mandalorians screamed in terror as the two Jedi cut through their ranks like a hot knife through butter, the trenches that had once protected them from gunfire now meaning they could not bring enough guns to bear on the two Jedi cutting their way towards the guns.

“Black five, charges set, preparing to blow the gun in five, four, three, two, one.”

A huge explosion nearly sent Spike tumbling from his feet, Katara falling forward, before springing up again, turning the fall into a neat downwards stroke and continuing on, finally leaping out of the trench and running to the base of the cannon.

“Setting charges!” she roared over the din of battle, before beginning to set a series of thermal detonators around the base of the cannon, Spike doing the same, before he scooped her up, and with a powerful flap of his wings, sent them both flying backwards away from the blast zone.

“Black Actual, blowing charges now.”

The blast was louder this time, the trench walls no longer being present to muffle the sound, but it seemed to signal a turn in the battle. More blast rolled around the valley as Mandalorians turned to try and flee, only to be cut down by advancing soldiers, many of whom were not Special Forces, and looked battered and bloodied in the extreme.

Spike could still see a fight raging in the distance, Republic soldiers fighting against Mandalorians that surrounded them, and it did not take a genius to see that without immediate support, there wouldn’t be anything left of them.

“All nearby Republic forces, form up on the dragon, we’ve still got work to do people.”

Breaking into a slow run, Spike headed towards the beset soldiers, Katara and a host of other soldiers running alongside him. They didn’t encounter much resistance at first, the Mandalorians too busy running to attack them, but eventually that changed, and they had to fight for every step forward they took.

With fire, blaster shot, Lightsabers and fists, Spike and his men slowly advanced through the Mandalorian lines, driving a wedge through them to allow yet more Republic soldiers to pour in. It was no longer a case of if they would win, that much had already been assured, it was now simply a case of how long it would take, and how many more would have to die before everyone finally realised that the battle was over.

Spike growled as he cut down one of the last Mandalorians, the body falling away in two halves, allowing Spike to step forward towards the few remaining soldiers that had been in the ring of Mandalorians.

“Corporal Hart sir, first second battalion, Alderonian Regulars,” the man was clearly weary, a blaster burn clearly visible on his left shoulder and a pistol clutched tightly in his right hand.

“Jedi Master Spike, general of the Special Forces,” Spike replied. “You’re the highest rank left?”

“Left standing sir,” Hart nodded. “General Thanos is wounded, but I believe…”

“Thanos?!” Spike demanded, the soldier taken aback by the sudden shout. “Which one?”

“I…I don’t follow, sir,” Hart stammered.

“Male or female,” Spike enunciated slowly. “Who is it!?”

“Female, sir,” Hart replied, before grunting as Spike pushed him aside and sprinted towards where a gaggle of soldiers were kneeling down, some treating the wounded, while others simply seemed like they were happy to be alive.

Spike didn’t care about any of them though, stepping over and around them as he focused on the only one not wearing standard, finally stopping as he looked down at Corinna.

“Please no,” Spike whispered softly, taking in her wounds.

Her torso looked like it had been shot at least a half dozen times, the thin armour that she was wearing warped and fused to her flesh probably being the only reason that she was still alive, if barely. Her right arm was twisted at an unnatural angle, and a large bone was sticking through the skin of her right leg. The least damaged part of her looked to be her head, and that was saying something, considering the fact that most of the right side was swollen up, forcing her eye closed.

“S-Spike?” she wheezed, looking up at Spike with the one eye that she could still open. “You’re a…sight for sore…eyes.”

“Corinna?” Spike shook his head as Corinna passed out. “You’re not meant to be here, what are you doing here?!”

His anger gave way to the onset of panic as he knelt beside her, turning to Katara. “Do you know any first aid?”

“N-Nothing that will help here,” Katara shook her head.

“Then stand back,” Spike ordered, before gently picking Corinna up and activating his coms. “This is Black Actual. We have a priority one casualty. I am taking her to a Republic field hospital for immediate treatment. Black One, you have command.”

With that, Spike flapped his wings hard, propelling himself into the sky, flying faster than he had in a long time, forcing himself to his limits. No matter what he may have thought of Corinna for her actions on Cathar, only one thought was on his mind.

Not this time.

Another One Falls to Rise no More

Spike was accustomed to pain, it plagued his every waking moment as his scars from a life of battle threatened to split open once more, and it haunted his nightmares when he finally slept, but what he was feeling now was different.

True what was left of his organic body hurt, a dull ache setting is as adrenalin wore off. His cybernetics were not entirely without fault either, the harsh realities or real combat as opposed to small scale skirmishes caused them to pull at the joints, feeling like at any moment they might rip off, but it was not this that threatened to send Spike tumbling from the sky.

No, that was clutched tightly in his claws, barely breathing and clinging on to life by a thread.

“Stay with me, Corinna, stay with me,” he spoke softly. In a past life he may have panted, but now it came out as easily as if he was taking a stroll down a country lane.

“Black…actual?” Corinna chuckled softly, not opening her eyes. “Did you…come up…with that?”

“You just keep quiet and I’ll tell you all about it,” Spike replied, beating his wings harder, before pulling them close into his body and angling his feet towards the ground, slamming home and carving a setoff grooves into the ground with his claws.

“My name is Jedi Mater, Spike, general in this army, and by that authority I need any free medical staff on call now!” he roared. “This is a priority one case, I repeat, Jedi down!”

The result was instantaneous, soldiers dropping what they were doing and moving towards him. Those bearing the insignia of the medical corps moving the quickest, quickly assembling a stretcher from their backpacks and taking Corinna from Spike, deftly lowering her to the stable platform before moving off.

Spike instantly tried to follow the doctors, but found himself swamped by soldiers, many of whom were cheering or trying to shake his hand.

“It is an honour, General Spike,” one began. “My brother was on Eres, he saw you lead the charge. He said it was the stuff of legend.”

“I saw you before the war,” another began as Spike began to try to push through the throng. “When you came to my world. You helped us then too.”

“You saved my…” a third one began.

“Get out, of my, way!” Spike bellowed, his voice deepening as his eye flashed yellow for the briefest of moments.

“Spike,” a voice cut through the cries of shock, a hush falling over the crowd of soldiers almost instantly, as Spike turned to face the source of it.

“Meetra,” Spike stared at the woman. “Please excuse me, I have to…”

“The doctors have Corinna, but she will be being prepped for surgery,” Meetra pointed out, undaunted by Spikes obvious annoyance. “I have been informed of much of the situation by Tarhal, he tells me that her wounds are extensive. I must insist that you allow the doctors to do their work and not do anything that may jeopardise their aims.”

“Jeopardise it?” Spike growled. “She is my friend. I would not do anything to jeopardise her life, even if it meant my own.”

“And she is my general,” Meetra shot back. “One of my best. Her combat record and her strategic minds is one of the best under my command, so do not make the mistake thinking you are the only one who cares for her.”

“She is a person you simple twat,” Spike roared, taking a step forward and towering over Meetra. “Do you think I give a fuck about her military record? Or if she can lead troops into battle or not? I can do that far better than her, so if that was all I cared about I would have left her to die. We have been on different sides of this war from the beginning, her and her brother, but she is my friend, and I will not speak about her as if she is military hardware. So do not ever think for a second that you care about her as much as I do. You are not Nexu, and I’ll be damned if I lose another one. Do you understand me?”

“Perfectly,” Meetra nodded casually. “But, unless something has happened to change Revan’s mind about who is in charge of the siege of Duxn, I have command, and I would appreciate it if you did not move against my orders. I do not want to compete with you, Spike, I have a feeling that I would not win, but we are not here to fight amongst ourselves. Now, as you said, do you understand me?”

Spike growled softly, before turning and walking away from Meetra. Ignoring the few soldiers that called out to him, he quickly strode to the edge of the encampment, spreading his wings and taking to the skies.

He had only seen Duxn once before, with Revan, the trip feeling like a lifetime ago, and it hadn’t exactly been a sightseeing tour then either. Even so, it didn’t look like it had changed much, the trees were still dense enough that no light pierced through them, and the only difference visible difference was the columns of smoke rising from where they had just destroyed the Mandalorian artillery.

Spike stayed in the air for at least ten minutes, looking out at the horizon, watching as a few Basalisk droids duelled with Republic fighters, some winning while others spiralled out of control, erupting into small balls of flame as they hit the jungle floor. Spike found himself strangely detached from the deaths, watching impassively as he tried to drive thoughts of Corinna from his mind. It was a battle he was never going to win.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to himself, his voice shaking as he looked upwards. “I’m…I’m so sorry.”

“Then get down here and make amends,” Meetra called over the comlink, breaking Spike out of his trance. “My command centre is the large building, you can’t miss it. Meet me there when you’re done moping.”

“So a couple of hours then?” came Tarhal’s voice.

“Laugh it up, rug.”

Spike voice held no emotion as he called back, before he turned and began heading back towards the republic base. Like Meetra had said, it was impossible to miss which building was acting as central command. While the building was large, Spike still had to duck inside the standardised building, calling up a map on his eye and following it until he finally found Meetra, Tarhal and a host of other Jedi and army officers.

“That was considerably less than two hours,” Meetra pointed out, looking at Tarhal.

“I’m just as surprised as you are,” Tarhal nodded, before looking at Spike. “We won, casualties weren’t massive and all our objectives were met.”

“You did well,” Meetra nodded. “The attack would have failed without your intervention, and for that you have my thanks. Now we have to capitalise on the victory and press the Mandalorians hard. We can’t afford to let them regroup or this siege is just going to drag on.”

“Well then, let’s hear it,” Spike folded his arms. “You do have a plan, don’t you?”

“Part of one,” Meetra nodded, before indicating the map. “The Mandalorians are operating out of two main areas, the guns you destroyed made three. One of these areas is a large ring system of trenches a kilometre thick, which surrounds their main base. We don’t know how many men are left manning these areas but we expect just as heavy resistance as we’ve been encountering up until now. There is still intense anti-aircraft cover around the base, meaning we can’t bring in heavy bombers, and something is scrambling our targeting systems, so an orbital bombardment is out of the question.”

“So the plan is to go in on foot?” one of the soldiers guessed. “My command is already down seventy three percent, I don’t know if I can sustain an attack on a trench system and still be combat ready to take the base at the centre.”

“What other choice do we have?” Meetra replied. “By all accounts the base is still fully operation, broadcasting command and control organisation to every fleet in the sector. We can’t advance towards the Mandalore and Malachor system until we take the base, either destroy it, or even better, capture it.”

“Alright then, let’s put all our cards on the table,” Spike nodded slowly. “We have a few new ships in orbit with newer targeting systems, maybe they’ll have success breaking through this interference and attack the base directly, plus we came in with twenty thousand of the toughest, meanest soldiers this side of the galaxy, depends on how many survived the drop on the guns.”

“Oh great,” one of the soldiers rolled his eyes.

“You have a problem with me, soldier?” Spike asked, his eye narrowing.

“Oh nothing,” the soldier continued. “Just from what I’ve heard about you and your ‘Special Forces’, you’ve got some big, fancy, shiny, new armour, and you suddenly think that you can win this war all by yourself.”

“Colonel, you should stop this train of thought while you still can,” Spike warned, clenching a hand into a fist.

“Why should I?” the colonel turned back to face the other soldiers. “You’re all thinking it too, that these Special Forces are lording it over us. Just how long have we been fighting here for? How long? And they drop in and think that they are better than us. They think…”

“I have dismissed a Colonel before,” Spike growled, pushing the man back. “Do I have to do it again?”

“Spike, this is not your command,” Meetra cut in. “Please do not threaten to dismiss my officers.”

“This is not a threat, it was a statement and a question,” Spike corrected her, before turning back to the soldier. “So, do I have to…”

“Spike!” Meetra shouted.

“I will pull rank,” Spike snapped back. “I do not want to, but I am a Jedi Master, Meetra, you are a Knight. I do not care if Revan put you in charge, this Colonel is out of line.”

“Excuse me,” a medic knocked on the door, breaking the tension as every eye focused on him. “I’m sorry for interrupting.”

“No, it’s fine,” Meetra nodded, glaring at Spike for a moment. “Some of us needed the interruption. What is it you want?”

“General Thanos is awake, she is asking to see general Spike and general Tarhal.”

Spike didn’t need to be told twice, pushing Meetra and the Colonel out of his way as he passed, hurrying after the medic. Behind him Tarhal shot an apologetic look at the rest of the people in the room, before following after Spike.

Spike lopped alongside the medic, the man having to run full tilt to keep up with Spike’s leisurely pace, eventually bringing them to the field hospital and admitting them inside. Just like the command building, it was built on standard Republic guidelines, and Spike’s HUD quickly displayed an overlay map. A few moments later they stopped in front of one of the recovery rooms, the medic turning to face Spike and Tarhal.

“Have the two of you been informed of her condition?” the man asked.

“We only just knew she was awake, how would we know what state she’s in?” Spike scoffed.

“Spike,” Tarhal placed a hand on his arm, before looking at the medic. “She’s in bacta I assume?”

“No, we have her hooked up to a life support system and in bed,” the medic shook his head. “Her injuries are extensive. Burns, fractures on eighty percent of her bones structure, as well as whiplash. Normally we’d be preparing skin grafts as we speak…”

“Normally,” Spike cut in, narrowing his eye.

“We don’t have the supplies, the manpower or the time,” the man shook his head sadly. “We are overtaxed and any staff with combat experience has been drafted out of the medical corps to keep the front line intact. We’re losing over seventy percent of those brought in to us, so I won’t sugar coat it, her chances of survival are slim at best.”

“Don’t ever say that,” Spike pushed past the medic as he spoke, opening the door to the room and ducking inside, Tarhal close behind him.

Corinna was laid in the single bed in the room, wires and IV lines stretching from the machines and drip stands beside her, a soft beeping emanating from one of them. The rest of her body was almost entirely covered in bandages, most of them with patches of red covering them as blood seeped through. It did not take a genius to see that she was in a bad way, and right now, Duxn was probably the worst place in the galaxy for her to be right now.

“H-Hey,” Corinna croaked, her eyes slowly moving to fix on the pair, her burnt skin cracking as she managed a tiny smile. “Y-You came?”

“Of course we did,” Tarhal said softly. “Us Nexu guys have to stick together, don’t we?”

“That we do,” Spike nodded.

“Spike? By the force…I hardly recognise you…anymore,” Corinna shifted her gaze to Spike. “R-Remember when we were younger…when we were kids…at the temple? We had a name…a name for M-Master Norik…”

She was cut off by a coughing fit, Tarhal quickly moving forward and pressing an oxygen mask to her face until she finally regained some modicum of composure.

“Yes,” Spike nodded. “We did.”

“Remember…Do you remember…what it was?”

“Master tinman,” Spike replied after a few brief seconds of thought. “Among other, less nice names.”

“C-Canned…meat,” Corinna chuckled, spitting a wad of blood onto her chest, before grinning through bloody teeth. “Y-You…You’re like…canned meat, in the form of a tank.”

“When you get better, I may have to talk to you about your bedridden manners,” Spike shot back, managing a small smirk of his own.

“I’ll hold you…to that,” Corinna coughed.

“Yeah, we know you will,” Tarhal smiled softly, kneeling down beside her bed and gently taking one of her hands in his. “Now you just need to get better. Understand?”

“Yeah,” she croaked. “You’re still soft Tarhal. How…How do you manage to keep that up in the war?”

“I use conditioner,” Tarhal chuckled softly. “I’ll get you a bottle.”

“Don’t…bother,” she coughed, sinking lower into the bed. “We all know, where I’m going, I don’t need, hair products.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Spike shook his head firmly, taking a knee so he was at eye level with Corinna. “The only place you’ll be going is back behind Republic lines to recuperate.”

“Spike,” Corinna began, only for Spike to cut her off.

“And you’re going to get better…”

“Spike.”

“And when this war is over…”

“Spike!”

“We’re gonna talk!” Spike roared back, his hands clenching into fists. “You are not going anywhere. Do you understand me? You going to beat this. They can fix you…they can fix anything.”

“Spike, are you…crying?” Corinna spluttered around a cough.

“No,” Spike snapped, before his face broke into a frown and he lay his head down beside Corinna. “My tears ducts burnt out, we never replaced them.”

“So, you can’t cry?” Corinna managed a smirk. “You want to?”

“Shut up,” Spike choked. “Of course I want to. I know enough about Republic medical practice…especially in war zone like this. I can’t…I don’t…don’t give me another Asho.”

“Spike, Spike,” Corinna cooed softly, resting a hand against his face. “It’s not like that, it never was. Asho wasn’t your fault, it wasn’t because she was following your orders, or because you weren’t prepared enough, or anything like that. Her number came up, that’s all. Now…Now mine has too.”

“Don’t say that,” Spike shook his head slowly. “Please, Corinna. Please. We need to get you out of here…back home…safe.”

“I can’t come with you, Spike,” Corinna shook her head, tears falling down her own cheeks. “You need to go…but I can’t follow you. I would…I would rest a while, then follow…follow, Asho. And fuck…the Mandalorians after death…in whatever afterlife they believe in.”

“I am not losing you!” Spike roared, only for Corinna to place a finger on his lips and ‘ssh’ him softly.

“I was never yours too loose, Spike,” she whispered softly. “I’m my own woman, my own Jedi. I chose this, even though I didn’t have to. You inspired me to do my part, but I chose to walk down the path. I knew the risks. And now? Now I’m reaping them.”

“Don’t go,” Spike blubbered. “Please, Corinna, please don’t.”

“I’m going to have to leave you, Spike,” Corinna groaned, “I’m walking a path…one Asho walked before me…one my brother, Tarhal, everyone else, will walk down at some point too. Even you, Spike…even you’ll walk it one day….way off in that long life span you’re always talking about.”

“Shut up…you’re going to get better,” Spike continued to shake his head.

“I’m walking down it,” Asho repeated, her head slowly turning to face Tarhal. “T-Take…c-care of him…f-f-furball. And I’ll see you both…again someday. When we’re reunited…by the force.”

“Corinna? Corinna!” Spike bellowed, shaking Corinna. “Get back here! You’re not leaving me!”

“Spike, it is over. She’s…she’s gone,” Tarhal whispered softly, placing a paw on his friends shoulder.

Spike whirled around in an instant, venom in his remaining eye as his bionics quickly pulled up a crosshair in the centre of Tarhal’s forehead, his gun sliding into place as he pointed his weapon at Tarhal. He jabbed the barrel of his arm rifle into the centre of Wookies face, a soft hum emanating from the small generator as it began to charge the Tibanna gas within, preparing to launch a bolt at any moment with just a flick of Spike’s mind.

“Over?!” He roared, before back-handing the Wookie with his organic hand, knocking him from his feet.

For a moment, neither of them moved, save for Tarhal rubbing his chin, wincing slightly. Spike still glared down at Tarhal, the crosshair wavering slightly, before being switched off. Spike’s weapons retracted as he staggered back slightly, shaking his head to clear his thoughts.

“Tarhal…I…” he began, before the venom returned to his eye. “Prepare the men, full hazard gear, Eres III contingency.”

“Spike, that’s for walking through fire,” Tarhal pointed out, slowly rising to his feet, making sure to stay out of Spike’s reach. “Why the hell would we…”

“Prepare the men,” Spike snapped, before pushing past Tarhal. “There’s only one way to deal with vermin.”

“And that is?” Tarhal called after him.

Spike froze for a second, before half turning, fixing his bionic eye on Tarhal, before grinning savagely.

“We burn them out.”

Let Loose the Dragon of War

Spike was silent as he walked forward, his gaze fixed on the jungle before him. The rest of the Special Forces were formed up beside and behind him, helmets, coolant packs and extra rebreathers firmly attached to their armour, making sure that they were not reliant on oxygen in the air to keep fighting, which was good, because soon, there would be little left.

Behind them was every unengaged unit the Republic could spare. Tanks, infantry, walkers, robots, everything Spike could imagine. In the air, fighters duelled with Basilisks, vying for air superiority. He hadn’t spoken to Meetra before leaving, but word had got around camp quickly that that Special Forces were moving out en-mass, and when Spike had marched out, others had marched with him. Truth be told, he didn’t care if Meetra had ordered them to follow him or not, he would have done this even if he had to do it alone.

“Spike, would you stop and think about this for a second?” Tarhal grabbed hold of Spike’s arm as he walked, his voice muffled by the armoured hazard suit that covered every inch of him.

“Time for talk is over,” Spike snarled back, pulling his arm free from Tarhal’s grip, barely breaking stride.

“Now is the exact time for talk!” Tarhal roared, moving in front of Spike and placing both hands on his chest, putting all his weight into the dragon, trying to stop him, but only succeeding in slowing him down. “We will fight the Mandalorians, but you are not ready! You need to think about this, hundreds will die!”

“Thousands,” Spike corrected him, before grabbing Tarhal’s arm and moving him to one side. “But the Mandalorians die today.”

“Let the robots go first then,” Tarhal pleaded. “You’re going to start a fire and then march men through it, and for what?”

“For Corinna!” Spike roared back, glaring at Tarhal. “For her, and for Asho, and for Parn, and for everyone else slaughtered by the Mandalorians. I can’t end it everywhere, but I will end it here, now, today.”

“We can’t do it, Spike,” Tarhal shook his head. “We just can’t.”

“You can’t,” Spike snapped. “Go, run to the back, fight with the Padawans, I’m sure Katara will show you what a backbone looks like.”

Tarhal looked like he wanted to respond to that, before letting out a snarl and turning, stalking away from Spike. Spike didn’t even turn to watch him go, instead holding up a fist. As one, the army behind him stopped, the front rank bringing their flamethrowers into position, the sound of fuel being pumped from the tanks on their backs easily audible to Spike’s enhanced ears. Normally the rain that almost always fell on the planet would have made burning the jungle difficult, but Spike had ensured that the flame units were filled with sticky fuel, ensuring that nothing would survive the cleansing.

With a roar that shook the branches of the jungle, Spike added a gout of his own flame dousing the trees before him in fire. Taking this as a signal, those armed with flame weapons opened fire as well, and with a surge of heat, the jungle began to burn.

Spike poured his anger into the roar, and into the flames, breathing magic into the fire, increasing the ferocity of it tenfold. In short order, the first part of the jungle was burning from root to tree top, branches falling to the floor as Spike took a step forward, swinging his head this way and that, making sure he burnt as much as possible. His men had to wait as the flames died down slightly before they could continue on, but Spike had no such qualms about walking through the smoky hell he had just brought into life, still burning branches occasionally falling and bouncing off his scales and bionics.

He could feel the heat beginning to rise all around him as he walked deeper and deeper into the jungle, warnings starting to appear in his bionic eye, before he deactivated them with barely a thought. He had swum in lava for fun once, though he could barely remember such care free days. Now all he could think of was his prey, and how to cause them as much pain as possible before sending them screaming into the abyss.

It didn’t take long for him to reach the final marker point he had programed into his mapping function, and allowed himself to look back for the first time. The jungle immediately behind him was ablaze, smoke rising high into the air, forcing anything in the air to divert away from it. Further back, the flames had burnt the trees to a crisp, leaving little but blackened stumps, forming a corridor in between the fire as it spread to the sides. It would probably be incredibly difficult to stop this fire now it had started, but all Spike cared about was the progress of the army.

Special Forces advanced quickly, their weapons ready for anything as they tried to peer through the smoke, their helmets sensors able to pick out things normal eyes wouldn’t have a hope of seeing. Behind them, tanks and infantry carriers advanced, ferrying the first wave of soldiers through the hell they had created.

Turning back around, Spike set off again, breaking into a run as he went, setting trees alight, and when the fire didn’t burn them quick enough, his Lightsabers made short work of the remains. The hunger for battle began to overwhelm his system, and a familiar voice echoed in his head.

Faster, get to grips with them now, make them suffer, make them scream, make them bleed and die.

“Oh I intend to,” Spike snorted. “But me, not you.”

Why not me? You said yourself you do not care how many die, let me free and I can destroy the Mandalorians. You know I can.

“But I want to do it,” Spike cackled darkly. “This is my mission, my revenge.”

His voice began to rise as he ran faster and faster, the distance counter rushing towards zero. For the first time, he saw Mandalorian warriors, the distinctive armour visible through the smoke. They were standing atop of tall metal wall, easily double Spike’s height, and as he got closer, they began to point him out, calling for others to sound the alarm, before aiming their rifles in his direction.

Light blaster fire slammed into Spikes chest and arms, but he barely even slowed, glancing up at them and locking three targets into his droid brain. Acting on autopilot, his gun arm swung up, three shots leaping from the barrel and striking the Mandalorians dead in the centre of their T-Visors.

Turning his flames on the wall, Spike gave it everything he had, the dark silver turning orange, then red, before turning a brilliant white.

“My prey! My kills! Mine! All, Mine!”

With a final roar, Spike dived at the wall, wrapping his wings around him as he hit the semi-liquid metal. He was barely slowed as the metal spewed out around him, the surrounding parts of wall collapsing as the weight of the top was no longer supported by the rest of it. Mandalorians screamed in agony, but Spike didn’t look back, instead unfolding his wings and looking around.

Time seemed to slow as his droid brain took over briefly, scanning the battlefield and highlighting targets, hundreds of them, all ready for the slaughter. As time returned to its normal speed, Spike blurred into motion, his Lightsabers activated and his gun charged.

Operating on autopilot, Spike pushed into the Mandalorian base, scattering the warriors who thought that the forest and their walls would discourage attackers from attacking at that angle. He barely had to think as his gun arm and his brain worked in sync, acquiring, targeting and killing Mandalorians, before beginning the cycle again, which left Spike’s mind open to taking full control of his biological arm, his Lightsaber lashing out and cleaving Mandalorians with every blow.

Duck, strike left, uppercut slash.

Spike didn’t hesitate, dropping his head and spinning Dusk, before slashing upwards, cutting deep into the armour of one of the Goliath-class war droids the Mandalorians used. The Goliath was nowhere near a Basalisk in terms of roar power, but it was still dangerous, and its heavy sword presented a problem to most targets, even to Spike.

Luckily, its armour was not as good as its offense, and Spike’s Lightsaber easily went through it, ripping out through the top of its head in a puff of superheated oil vapour. The droid fell back to the floor in two halves, Spike stepping through the falling machine, only to have something heavy slam into his chest, sending him flying backwards.

I must have missed that one.

“Yeah, no shit,” Spike groaned, pushing himself to his feet again as he looked at the damage done to his chest, the outer layer of his armour was stripped away in a ragged hole, exposing the more vulnerable bionics below. “Get your head in the game and spot targets.”

Let me out, and I’ll do better.

“You’re not coming out,” Spike snarled, before setting off at a sprint, heading towards the cannon that had fired at him.

Smoke was beginning to fill the battlefield, the fire raging in the burning jungle behind him spewing out enough to blot out the sky, and it was already beginning to descend. Soon, it would be hard to see more than a few meters around you without sensor data. Spike knew that he could fight in those conditions, as could the Special Forces when they finally got here, and the Mandalorians certainly could, but the rest of the army would struggle. The fight needed to end, sooner rather than later.

Just before Spike reached the cannon, it exploded in a fierce fireball. Spike hissed as pieces of shrapnel peppered his body and face, and he quickly turned to protect his remaining eye. As the fireball disappeared, Spike turned to find what had destroyed the gun, his eyes instantly focusing on a large tank.

Mandalorian tanks.

Spike whirled around at the warning, leaping into a run as two Mandalorian tanks rolled through the smoke, both of their turrets moving round to aim at the Republic one. Letting out a roar, Spike jumped into the air, using his wings to control his leap so he landed on top of one of the tanks.

Cutting a hole in the hull, Spike tucked his wings into his body, before dropping through the hole. It took him only a moment to slaughter the crew, those inside having nowhere to run as he cut them apart.

Hurry up.

Leaping out of the tank, Spike dived towards the other one, before the cannon fired, and the back blast of air knocked him off course, forcing him to divert to land away from the tank. Looking round, he saw the Republic tank in ruins, smoke pouring from the top hatch and adding to the smoke already filling the air.

The wreck was now plugging the gap in the wall, stopping any more vehicles getting into the base, even as troops finally began to stream in, and finally coming up with an answer to the Mandalorian fire.

Snarling, Spike turned his attention back towards the tank, focusing his magic into the barrel of the tank and doing his best to bend it upwards. The cannon creaked, and slowly started to buckle, before Spike shot out a stream of fire, the metal heating up and softening, allowing Spike to bend the cannon upwards at almost ninety degrees.

Running up to the side of the declawed war machine, he stabbed forward with both Lightsabers, cutting a thin line into the hull, before grabbing it with his claws. His muscles and bionics screamed in protest, but he managed to create a small hole.

“Burn my tank, I’ll burn you,” he laughed cruelly, before taking a deep breath in and spewing fire through the small tear.

Smoke immediately began to billow from the vehicle, and Spike took a few steps back to watch his handy work. Soldiers were running up to him as the top hatch opened, a burning man screaming as he pulled himself out, dropping to the floor and writhing in the dirt, followed by a second, and a third.

One of the soldiers went to fire his rifle, before Spike flagged him down, his lips twisting into a leer.

“Let them burn. They deserve the pain.”

“Sir?” the soldier asked uncertainly.

“I said we let them burn,” Spike snapped, rounding on the soldier. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“It’s cruel!” the soldier shouted, looking at the other soldiers.

The men exchanged glances, before they raised their rifles, firing at the screaming Mandalorians. Spike blurred into action, blocking some of the shots with his Lightsabers, but enough got through to kill the Mandalorians. Instantly, Spikes anger rose tenfold, and he dived at the man, letting out a feral snarl.

Just before he grabbed hold of him, he was knocked to the side, skidding into the dirt and carving a deep furlough into the ground.

It took him a few moments to get his bearings again, shaking his head, before looking around, absolute fury filling his eye as he searched for what had hit him.

“Spike.”

The one word, and the voice that spoke it, took the fury right out of Spike as he peered through the smoke, focusing on the small mare that was standing by the soldiers. She was not like he remembered, the green coat that was once bright and vibrant was now dull and matted, large bruises showing through some of the thinner patches of fur. Her mane was equally as bedraggled, knots marring the usually perfect hair.

“Moonstone?” Spike croaked, pushing himself up.

“Yes,” She nodded weakly, swaying from side to side. “It’s…”

For the second time in as many minutes, Spike was thrown to the side, pain erupting in the side of his head as warning lights burst into life. He recovered quicker this time, looking up in time to see a fist slamming into his face. Bionics shattered as he staggered back, trying to see his opponent.

He expected to see another Goliath, or even a Mandallian Giant. Instead, he saw his own fist rising up, his brain working to process the information it was getting as he was knocked backwards again, falling to the floor hard.

“D-Desolation?” he asked, his voice slurring slightly as his vision swam in and out of focus.

The dragon before Spike looked almost exactly like Spike had, once upon a time, way back before the Mandalorian Wars broke out. There was no metal fused to his skin, no scars marring his scales. Instead, muscles rippled beneath his skin, far beyond anything Spike had ever had, and his claws and fangs were much longer and sharper, and when combined with his bright yellow eyes, made him look much more feral than Spike had ever been.

“What, you think only the bitch can manifest like this?” Desolation sneered, standing over Spike, before turning and looking back at Moonstone. “I’ll address you later.”

As he spoke, Moonstone shrank back, her tail tucking in tight to her body as fear wrote itself across her face. Using Desolations momentary distraction, Spike lashed out with his foot, aiming for Desolations knee. If Desolation was anywhere near as strong as he was, Spike knew it would take everything he had to put Desolation out of action.

The blow connected, and Spike waited for the feedback from his bionics from hitting the solid target, before he overbalanced himself, the kick passing harmlessly through Desolation.

“Nice try,” Desolation smirked, stepping back as Spike sprawled across the floor again, before lashing out with his foot.

Spike flew backwards from the kick, moving a split second before the kick actually connected, slamming into the burning wreck of the Republic tank and groaning. A few soldiers ran over to him, looking around in confusion for what had thrown Spike, even as Desolation advanced towards him, moving on all fours at a leisurely pace, and savouring the thrill of toying with his prey.

“Fire on that thing,” Spike panted, groaning as he tried to regain control over his left leg, wire sticking out of the cybernetic.

“On what, Sir?” one of the soldiers asked, looking around in confusion and peering through the smoke.

“That!” Spike roared, before cursing and diving into a roll as Desolation threw a punch at him.

There was no sound from the punch, but Spike didn’t have time to think about that, getting to his feet and getting ready to fight, aiming blow after blow at Desolation, putting everything he had into his attack. His punches dented the thick armour of the tank when he connected, the soldiers letting out cries of alarm and scattering, while Desolation simply stood still and chuckled, getting back onto his hind legs and standing head height with Spike.

“Come on, you can do better,” Desolation sneered, gesturing with his hand for Spike to continue to attack him, even as Spikes attacks passed straight through him like he wasn’t there.

“Why, won’t, you, die?” Spike roared, unleashing a gout of fire at Desolation, the other dragon simply parting the flames with his hands, before clenching a fist.

Spike found himself unable to move as he was lifted off the ground, a yellow haze surrounding him, before he was slammed into the ground like a rag doll.

“Don’t you get it?” Desolation snarled, repeatedly slamming Spike into the ground and the tank. “You can’t hurt me Spike, you can’t beat me. I’m in your head! I know what you think, I am what you think, and you have got a vivid imagination.”

Thrusting both his hands forward, Desolation tossed Spike across the base like a ragdoll, his left arm tearing free and landing far out of Spike’s grasp. His legs kicked weakly and ineffectively as half of his vision faded to black, his replacement eye failing as Desolation walked towards him again.

“You’re old news, Spike,” Desolation looked down at him, disgust openly written across his face. “All dried up and past his prime. Time to step down and let the new guy play. Do you want to know something funny, Spike? Something that that bitch, Twilight would probably know? Lions?”

Spike tried to get up, only for Desolation to aim a compressed ball of magic at his chest, knocking him painfully back to the floor.

“Do you know anything about Lions, Spike?” Desolation continued. “You know what happens where the head lion gets killed by a younger lion? They all go straight into heat. Maybe when you’re dead and gone and I have your body I’ll make a stop by that little Padawan of yours.”

“Don’t you dare, don’t you touch her!” Spike roared, his anger forcing him to his feet as he stuck out his remaining arm, launching a bolt of magic at Desolation.

For the first time, Desolation was forced to take a step backwards, before he grinned and recovered. Spike launched another bolt of magic, intent on pressing his advantage, but Desolation simply launched his own bolt, the green and yellow magic colliding in the air and disappearing.

“Ooh, temper temper Spike. You could poke someone’s eye out like that. In fact…”

Desolation snarled as he leapt forward, and magical version of his claws surrounding his arm, making them bigger and sharper than before. Spike only just managed to turn his head, protecting his eye as the magical claws dug into his head, parting his scales like they were paper. Pain lanced through Spikes head as he saw a tiny bit of grey flesh spiral away from his head.

The loss of a small part of his brain wasn’t the only thing that happened though, as Desolation let out a scream of his own, far more terrible that Spikes was, seemingly encountering true pain for the first time as he staggered back, clutching his own head where a wound had opened up, yellow light shining out from it.

Spike managed a small smile as pieces suddenly clicked together, and he pushed himself to his feet once more, staggering as he tried to use his left arm that was no longer there to steady him.

“You’re…in my head…are you?” he coughed, bringing his claw up to the exposed part of his brain and poking his claw into the squishy surface.

The pain was incredible, but when compared to being blown apart, it was bearable. Desolation on the other hand clearly didn’t see it that way, and let out another wail of pain as a tear opened up on his chest, more light shining through it.

“You want to take my body, to take my life?!” Spike roared, advancing towards Desolation, his mind desperately working to figure out a way to keep this advantage going without killing him in the process. “This is my life, Desolation! Pain, and suffering! You are a child, grasping at things you couldn’t hope to understand and are not ready for.”

“You’re a relic,” Desolation snarled, his face contorted in in a mixture of rage and agony. “You don’t deserve the life you have!”

“I don’t deserve a lot of things, but they’re what I’ve got,” Spike laughed, his mood fluctuating wildly between ecstasy and misery as he pulled out a bit more of his own brain.

More tears opened up across Desolation’s body, the dragon falling to the floor and rolling around in pain, as Spike finally clicked on a plan. It was a simple one, and Spike should have probably thought of it earlier, but in his defence he was missing half of his brain.

“Backing up…memory cores,” he grunted, forcing his bionic brain to work overtime as it inloaded data as fast as he could from his biological brain. As he spoke, he turned back to Desolation and sneered. “Play time’s over junior.”

With that, he plunged his hand into his head, working his claws around the brain, making sure to grab hold of everything. He couldn’t describe the feeling of having something clawing at his brain, but he forced himself not to think about it so he didn’t lose his nerve.

“Any last words, Desolation?”

“I’m going to kill you!” Desolation roared, his flight or fight instinct giving him the strength to get to his feet as he sprang at Spike. “And then I’m going to kill everyone you ever cared about!”

“No, you’re not.”

With a roar of determination and fear, Spike ripped his hand from his head, his brain coming with it. Every nerve in his body instantly felt like it had caught fire and been doused in ice simultaneously. Memories slammed into him like a physical blow as he collapsed to his knees, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. Everything was jumbled up as he saw snippets of his past fused into one. Applejack raised him from birth after Lyra hatched him, while in another memory he threw Fluttershy at Discord to stop him from stealing the love from Equestria.

Nothing made sense to him, but he kept his nerve as he starred at Desolation, the dragon screaming at the top of his lungs as more and more beams of light tore out of his body. With a final roar, Spike closed his claws, crushing the brain to pulp in his hand, before falling backwards. The yellow light grew until it was blindingly bright, before suddenly disappearing.

Everything seemed eerily quiet now, and Spike managed to sit upright, looking around in a daze. Soldiers were running back and forth, but none of them seemed to be firing. Did that mean the battle was over? Had they won? Had they lost? Without being able to hear anything, Spike couldn’t tell.

Staggering to his feet, Spike took an unsteady step forward, swaying uncontrollably, and crashing to his knees more than once, before continuing on. He didn’t know why he was moving this way, but a memory told him he should, and so he followed it. Soon, he found why he had come this way, and bent down, picking up his severed bionic arm and holding it loosely. He starred at it for a long time, before he felt a hand press against his back.

Whirling around, he saw a Wookie and two female humans, one tall and one smaller, clearly younger. All three of their mouths were moving, and Spike knew he should have recognised all of them, but every time he thought he had grasped at their names they seemed to slip through his claws.

The silence was almost deafening as Spike concentrated hard on their mouths, following the movements with his own mouth, as he finally heard something again.

“S-S-S-Spi-ke?” he repeated, and with that, sound came crashing back over him like a wave.

“Spike? What happened?” The wookie asked. Tarhal?

“Master, your arm!” the one he seemed to remember as Katara cried out, scanning his arm and the broken socket it had been torn from. “Just wait, we’ll get you medical treatment.”

“I think the hole in his head is more pressing,” the one who had to bee Meetra replied, peering up at Spike’s head. “He may have brain damage, he looks out of it.”

“Brain, damage?” Spike asked slowly, looking up at the bits of brain still stuck to his claws. He wasn’t sure why, but he started laughing as he looked at his claws, a slow chuckle at first, before soon turning into hysterical giggles as he showed them what remained of his brain.

“Brain damage? Yeah, something like that.”

Then he fell forward, and the last thing he knew was his face slamming into the mud.

Calming Technique

It was an odd feeling, being able to identify whether you were floating in bacta or Kolto, simply by how it felt. For example, Spike could quick tell that he was immersed in Kolto, the liquid being slightly less viscous than bacta, as well as being completely see through, rather than a translucent, pale red.

For a while, Spike just floated there, enjoying the cool, numbing feeling of what remained of his skin, soothing the parts where flesh and metal fused, but sadly, he couldn’t sleep like that forever, and he slowly opened his eye, his bionic one flaring to life.

Instantly he was hit by a wave of light, his brain quickly processing it and filing it away, before Spikes hand shot up to his head, memories of the last fight flooding back to him in crystal clarity. His hand suddenly stopped, and he looked down to it, seeing a heavy manacle attached to it. Instantly his mind was filled with data, numbers flooding his mind as he was suddenly told the density and type of metal holding him down, the force that he was currently putting it under, and how much would be needed to break it.

“What was that? He muttered to himself, the breathing tube shaking slightly, and drawing the attention of a doctor.

As soon as he drew close, Spike was again flooded with information he struggled to process, the Doctors name and service record suddenly flashing before him, and somehow, Spike remembered it all, able to recall the information perfectly.

“Dr Ramston, born on Coruscant twenty nine years ago, enrolled in medical college ten years ago, transferred to military medical facilities at the beginning of the war,” he intoned as the doctor looked at him through the glass.

“You know who I am?” Ramston asked.

“I’m looking at your service record now,” Spike nodded. “It’s an impressive display, excellent ratio of surviving injured to losing patients. Specialises in organ operations and uncooperative behaviour in patients, which from past experience of me being in Kolto and bacta tanks would technically fit my description, and would explain these manacles.”

“How can you do that?”

“Told you, I see your service record, everything that’s ever been put on the extranet about you,” Spike deadpanned.

“E-Everything?” Ramston asked nervously.

“Yes, even that,” Spike nodded. “It’s an interesting technique, I didn’t think that’s how you were supposed to do it. But then what do I know, I’ve haven’t even looked at anything else like that since Rarity.”

Ramston blushed hard, before thankfully turning around as the door opened, allowing Meetra to enter. As before, Spike was momentarily stunned by the amount of information he saw about Meetra, before shaking his head and looking at her.

“What’s…happening,” he groaned, again trying to clutch his head.

“One moment, Spike, let us get you out of there and we can discuss it,” Meetra explained, the tank slowly starting to empty.

It took exactly nine point two seconds exactly for the Kolto to fully drain, the manacles releasing as the glass tube slid up, allowing Spike to stagger out, pulling the breathing tube off his mouth and gasping, sucking in fresh air. Ramston began to look over some biometric readouts as Meetra came over to him.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Physically, I’m fine, mentally, something’s wrong,” Spike panted.

“What do you remember?” Meetra asked.

“Everything.”

“Really? We assumed that you wouldn’t remember most of the battle,” Meetra sounded impressed.

“No, not just everything about the battle,” Spike shook his head. “Everything, everything I’ve ever done, everything I’ve ever said, everything I’ve ever read, every second, every word, every syllable. Everything is in perfect clarity, and I can remember it all, even things I only saw once. It’s too much, too fast, too much, too fast, too…”

Meetra slapped his face, looking apologetic as she did so.

“Thanks,” Spike nodded. “I needed that.”

“I saw,” Meetra nodded, her lips pursed tightly together. “There were a few doctors who thought that something like this could happen, although it was all speculation, a memory dump has never been attempted to this extent.”

“I clawed out what was left of the organic part of my brain and dumped everything into a machine,” Spike deadpanned. “I remember that, what happened afterwards?”

“We had to replace what you clawed out with more mechanical parts,” Meetra explained, sounding slightly apologetic. “Some doctors said it would have a small effect on your short term recollection, others said that it could have the effect of allowing you to review all your memories at will. Clearly the latter were correct.”

Spike slowly nodded, processing Meetra’s words, before asking another question.

“So, how long was I out? And what’s happening with the siege?”

“Four days, give or take a few hours,” Meetra replied. “As for the siege, we took their main base and broke their back, their fleet has scattered and there are only a few holdout pockets. We’ll be moving to liberate Onderon soon, so best get ready.”

“I’m not going,” Spike’s voice was soft as he spoke.

“Care to repeat that?”

“I said I’m not going, Meetra,” Spike repeated. “I need time, time haven’t given myself for a while.”

“What are you talking about, Spike?”

“I’ve been so caught up in this war, I’ve barely stopped to think about it. I need time to think, to reassess everything, I can’t do that on the battlefield.”

“I need you, Spike,” Meetra pointed out. “My own forces are severely depleted from taking Duxn, I need the skill and the numbers of the Special Forces to take the world.”

“Talk to Tarhal and Cortez, they’ll see you well supplied with soldiers, and between the pair of them they’re more than capable of leading them, probably will do a better job than I’ve ever done.”

“Spike…” Meetra began.

“Meetra, my mind is made up here, please don’t push this,” Spike shook his head. “I want to talk to Tarhal and Cortez, then I think I’ll retire to Harmony with my Padawan, maybe be the master I’m supposed to be.”

“I’d be lying if I said that your lose will be keenly felt, but I also know that a warrior who doesn’t want to fight can’t be made to fight, not well at least. Besides, I feel that if you don’t want to do something, you don’t do it.”

“True,” Spike nodded. “Thank you for understanding, Meetra. And congratulations on taking the planet, it could not have been an easy campaign.”

“By far the hardest I’ve ever overseen,” Meetra replied, before extending her hand. “It was nice to see you again, Spike. I hope we can meet up again after this is all over, I’d like to get to know more about Spike the Dragon, not Spike the Warrior.”

“As would I, Meetra, as would I,” Spike sighed, before turning and walking out of the room, the door sliding shut behind him.

***

Spike stood stock still on the edge of the Republic base, starring at the jungle, or more accurately the burnt path that now stretched through it like a scar. The ground was black and covered in ash, most of the trees having been completely engulfed by the fires, and those that weren’t having been ripped free to allow the heavy armour to move through. It was unlikely that the jungle would recover for decades, if it ever recovered fully.

A twinge of guilt hit Spike as he looked on, slowly walking back along the path until he was out of sight of the Republic base, and still not within view of the old Mandalorian base. He was alone, in the middle of a jungle in a scar he had created.

“Harrowing, isn’t it?” Moonstone asked, and Spike suddenly whirled around, the green unicorn standing right behind him.

“How the hell are you here?” Spike demanded, his voice quivering slightly. “I…I thought you’d disappear, like Desolation did.”

“Why? Because you clawed out your brain?” Moonstone asked, her face betraying no emotion. “Desolation and I are not the same, we never were, you just thought of us as such. That was the reason I don’t take control of your body, why I manifest as a unicorn, why we can talk without having to share a mouth. Desolation was part of your brain, it was part of what made you a dragon, I am a manifestation of your force and magic, and that is far harder to destroy than your own brain.”

“I messed up, Moonstone,” Spike said hollowly, sitting down on the burnt ground and sighing.

“Yes, you did,” Moonstone nodded. “I wish I could say that you hadn’t, but you did, Spike. You messed up so much that your draconic nature almost took over. That’s why I haven’t spoken to you for months, because your own mind was repressing your free will. You no longer wanted to see me, so you didn’t.”

“I always wanted to see you,” Spike pointed out.

“But Desolation didn’t,” Moonstone countered. “Now do you see, Spike? Desolation had far more power over you than you ever thought, and you let him take it, let him influence you, even when he wasn’t in control. You’re sitting in part of his meddling right now.”

“You don’t need to remind me, I’ve been reviewing all of my memories, those I can stomach anyway. I can remember all of them with perfect clarity, and I’ve come to the conclusion that Desolation started taking over on Taris. After I lost my tail, I was so angry, so willing to do anything for revenge, I let him in, and ever since then he’s been slowly taking control. I’ve been a fool, Moonstone, and not just with him, right from the beginning, and I think it’s time I did something about it.”

“You’re going to go home?” Moonstone asked in surprise. “You’re giving up?”

“I never said that, and I can’t anyway, the war goes on, and I’ve got to do my part, but I also have a Padawan. She needs guidance, and I can’t give that guidance on the battlefield. She’s got a lot of built up rage inside her, and if she can’t get control over it…well, perhaps I don’t have much right to speak on that matter.”

“You really don’t,” Moonstone shook her head, but Spike managed to catch the glimpse of a smile as she spoke. “Now, unless you’re planning on staying here, which I can already tell you’re not, I would suggest you find Katara.”

“I plan to, I just needed to see this,” Spike nodded. “And Moonstone? Thank you, for coming back. I didn’t mean to get you hurt.”

“I’m part of your soul, Spike,” Moonstone shrugged. “I don’t feel pain, it just looks like I do.”

“Still, the apology has to be said,” Spike turned and began to head back towards the Republic base as he spoke. “Now come on, we can talk more on the way, I need a friendly ear to vent in.”

***

Spike sighed as he looked out of the viewport into the endless void of space, shuddering slightly as the eerie quiet of Harmony’s bridge hit him once again. He had gotten used to his ship being a hive of soldiers and naval personnel, each one playing a vital part in the running of the warship. They were all gone now though, reassigned to other ships in the Special Forces fleet to help continue the war. Even those who had requested to stay even if it meant being assigned away from the front had been denied, leaving the ship empty once more, the droid brain taking over the mundane jobs of running the ship.

“Master?” Katara asked, Spike turning as soon as he heard the bridge doors sliding open. “Are you ok?”

“I’ll be fine,” Spike nodded. “I’m more concerned about you.”

“And I’m concerned about you, master,” Katara insisted. “You saved my life once, master, I do not want to see you hurt.”

“It’s a bit late for that,” Spike shrugged, a small smile crossing his lips. “But enough of that. I have only been your master for a little while, but in that time I haven’t given you the guidance that my own master gave me. I plan to rectify that, which is why I’ve brought you here.”

He gestured out into space, pointing at the large space station they were approaching.

“Fireshot Station. I spent most of my time here with my master, and now I’m going to spend time here with you. Funny how some things come full circle.”

“You spent most of your time on a space station?” Katara asked, approaching the viewport. “That explains things a bit.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Spike folded his arms.

“Nothing, master,” Katara smirked. “I’ve just heard through the grape vine that you often have existential crisis, which could make sense if you spent most of your childhood staring into space.”

“Cheeky sod,” Spike muttered, reviewing the memories, before silently cursing that she had a point. “But enough about my past, we’re here to talk about your future. I’m not going to let you follow my path, I’m going to do right by you, I promise on my honour as a Dragon.”

Katara nodded in appreciation, continuing to look out at Fireshot, taking in every detail of the military station as Spike headed for the command chair, sitting down and beginning the final docking procedures.

***

Spike watched as Katara easily deflected the blaster shots aimed at her by the training droid, her weapon and body spinning fluidly, before she leapt into the air, soaring across the hanger and slicing the droid in half, panting as she landed, before turning to Spike.

“Very good,” Spike smiled, picking up the broken parts of the droid. “Although you know you don’t have to destroy the droid each time, we don’t have an unlimited supply you know.”

“Sorry, master,” Katara apologised. “Should I go again?”

“Yes, four attackers this time,” Spike nodded, glancing at four more of the spherical droids and concentrating for a second, his bionics interfacing with their computers.

In an instant they flew into action, surrounding Katara and beginning the training sequence, Katara working hard to concentrate on the four shooters. She managed to hold her own for almost two minutes, blocking the shots aimed at her, before one droid got behind her, putting a low powered stun shot into her back.

“Bugger,” Katara winced, the droids stopping shooting now the session was over. “Sorry, master.”

“Don’t be sorry, you apologise too much,” Spike chuckled. “You and I both know you can do this, I saw you fighting on Duxn when we took the cannons, so we’ve got to make sure that you can protect yourself at all times. You have a good grasp on the Ataru form for your age, and while I’m not going to go as far as to say we change your primary fighting form, I am going to teach you in the Shien form as well.”

“As you will, master,” Katara nodded.

“Now, watch me closely.”

Spike picked up Dusk, holding the Lightsaber in traditional grip and beginning to slowly go through the beginning stages of the Shien training form, falling back on the little training in the form that he had been given. Solaris had made sure to teach Spike in all of the contemporary Lightsaber forms when he had still been training beneath her, and he could fall back on any of them in a pinch, but for the majority of the time he had simply fallen back on his own skills in Niman. He had by no means mastered the form, but it had served him perfectly well so far.

***

Spike starred at the wall as one of the medic droids worked on his mechanical arm, recalibrating some of the servos within after a small mishap in Katara’s training.

“So, note to self, Jar’Kai isn’t for everyone,” Spike chuckled softly, glancing over at the droid. “It can be difficult to control two blades, both keeping your mind on both and making your weapon go where you want it to.”

“You make it look effortless,” Katara pointed out.

“That’s because I’ve used it for years and trained in the style from almost the beginning, plus Niman lends itself to duel blade fighting. Ataru does as well, but at a much higher level,” Spike replied. “And besides, I have a lot of strength to control my Lightsabers, and they’re designed with Jar’Kai in mind.”

“I guess you’re right,” Katara nodded. “Why did you teach me the basics anyway? You must have known that it was hard, wouldn’t it be prudent to teach me to be better with one blade before attempting two?”

“Perhaps, but you never know what’s going to be thrown your way, and I want you to be ready. You never known when you’re going to have to take up a second blade, and if you ever have to, I want it to be a boon for you, not a hindrance.”

“Of course, master,” Katara bowed her head in acceptance.

***

Spike looked out of the large viewport in his corners, looking over the dockyards outside and scanning the various ships being repaired and retrofitted there. Most of the ships were well and truly obsolete now, having been the mainline ships when Spike first came here. Huge battleships, bigger than anything used today, lay silent, their insides being altered to try and find an efficient place to install a shield generator. If not, then most of the ships would be decommissioned, along with the station itself.

Spike felt a twinge of sadness as he thought about the old ships being towed off for scrap, many of which he had been aboard at least once in his life. A soft sigh escaped his lips, and he placed a hand softly against the window, as if he could touch the ships and assure the ancient vessels that all would be ok.

“Is everything ok, master?” Katara asked, walking into his room and standing beside him.

“Just being a sentimental old fart,” Spike shrugged. “These ships are from my era, and this station is my home. If they go…well, it’s a little bit of history that I won’t get back, and right now, parts of me are getting scarce as it is.”

“How much…that is to say what parts…” Katara started, before trailing off.

“Are left?” Spike sighed. “Not much. Inside, a heart I think, maybe a lung too. Outside it’s what you can see. But enough about that, my problems aren’t your problems, Katara. You still have training to complete. We’ll finish the day with some guided meditation, and tomorrow we’ll work on your skills with a quarterstaff, it should be good for your concentration, plus even if you hit me you can’t do much damage.”

Katara looked slightly guilty as Spike brought up her previous accident again, before smiling and following after Spike, heading back towards Spikes quarters.

***

Spike locked the door after Katara as she left, sealing himself in his empty room, before letting his shoulders sag, his tail dragging sluggishly across the floor as he walked to his bed, sitting down heavily on it.

“Moonstone?” he croaked, looking around,

“I’m here, Spike,” she spoke softly, appearing next to him. “Let it out, I’m here for you.”

Spike didn’t need telling twice, and leant back on his bed, beginning to tell Moonstone his fears and pains, the death of Corinna taking prime place today as it had every day since they had come to Fireshot. This was how Spike ended his days now, making sure Katara was nowhere within earshot before starting, before pouring his heart out. It hurt, but at the same time it helped anchor Spike, containing his guilt and pain to one time in the day, allowing him to focus on Katara for the rest of it.

As with every night, their talk stretched on through the night and well into the early morning, before Spike finally decided that he had said all that he needed to, and lay his head down on his bed.

“Thank you, Moonstone.”

“As always, its fine, Spike,” Moonstone smiled, watching as Spike fell asleep, before fading away.

The Mandalore's Fleet

Spike spun round, the large quarterstaff clutched in both his claws whipping through the air towards Katara. She only just managed to block the blow, Spike quickly following up with a blow from the other end of the weapon, catching his Padawan on her back and knocking her to the floor.

“Are you ok?” Spike asked, placing the staff on the floor and helping Katara back to her feet.

“Yeah, thanks for pulling your blows again, master,” Katara nodded. “I don’t know how you do it, keeping track of so many weapons.”

“Jar’Kai,” Spike shrugged. “But, Katara, remember that with a double bladed weapon, a single blade can have more of an advantage. A double bladed weapon may have two blades, which makes it able to do more damage, but it has many disadvantages too. You can try and keep track of both blades in combat, doubling the number of possibilities and avenues of attack, but you must remember both blades are attached. If you know where one is, you always know where the other is as well. You can only be attacked by one blade at a time, and it is far less precise, needing swings and large arcs that are harder to change mid-strike. It’s a seldom used weapon, and people rarely know how to combat it, which is why knowing how to use it well helps to fight against those who wield double bladed swords like the Echani. But always remember, if you are facing two foes, one with a double bladed weapon, and the other with two single bladed weapons, the duel wielding enemy is far more deadly.”

“Yes, master, I understand,” Katara bowed.

“All hands, all hands, prepare docking bay five, VIP landing party on approach,” the voice of the docking bay officer rang over the intercom system.

“We have a VIP visiting, master?” Katara asked.

“Apparently so,” Spike nodded. “Let’s go and welcome them to Fireshot.”

It didn’t take long for Katara and Spike to get to bay five, standing by the docking bay officer as a Republic shuttle touched down on the deck. For a moment the ship stood there, creaking as it adjusted from the freezing temperature of space to the ambient temperature of the docking bay. Finally, the ramp lowered in a cloud of pressurised steam, a familiar, robed figure walking out of it.

“Great,” Spike sighed as Revan looked around the hanger.

“Who is that, master?” Katara whispered. “I assume…”

“That’s General Revan,” Spike nodded. “The mask and the cloak give it away somewhat. I keep forgetting that not everyone has seen him like I have. In fact I’d say I’m one of the few who know exactly what his face looks like.”

“Master Spike,” Revan bowed deeply as he approached.

“Knock it off, Revan,” Spike rolled his eye. “We both know this isn’t a social visit, so let’s cut to the chase. How’s the war going, and why do you want me back?”

“What makes you think I want you back?” Revan asked.

“I just said cut it out,” Spike snapped. “You wouldn’t have come all the way out here for a social chit chat, this far away from the front line, so tell me, why do you want me back?”

“The war’s almost over,” Revan began. “We have driven the Mandalorians back, all the way to the Malachor system. We are preparing to engage their fleet over Malachor V as we speak, but I need every ship at my command ready to fight. The Mandalorians are not going to go down quietly or without a fight, and the Fireshot fleet, while outdated, represents the largest cluster of ships outside of the main battlegroups. I want you to lead them for me, to bring the fleet to Malachor V, and to finally bring this war to an end.”

“No,” Spike replied simply.

“I promise you the head of Cassus Fett,” Revan came back almost instantly, Spike freezing at the name.

“You wouldn’t joke about that, would you, Revan?” he asked darkly.

“I am deadly serious, Spike,” Revan nodded. “Re-join the war, lead the Fireshot fleet, and the Special Forces fleet, and I personally promise you that when Cassus is captured, he will be given into your custody.”

Spike stayed silent for a moment, turning away from Revan and looking between the officers on the docking bay floor, before nodding once.

“Prepare, Battlefleet Fireshot, Harmony is designated as flagship. What ships did you bring with you, Revan?”

“Just a small escort,” Revan admitted. “Speed was more important than firepower for this mission.”

“Then come aboard, Harmony,” Spike turned to face him. “She’s the most advanced ship here, easily the fastest, and while she not be the best armed or armoured, she packs a punch.”

“Thank you, Spike,” Revan bowed again. “I will see myself aboard with your permission.”

“Stow your gear in the after cabin, there should be one beside mine, and opposite Katara’s, that is free.”

“Master, what are your orders?” Katara asked as Revan turned back to his shuttle.

“Get your gear, and meet me back in the hanger. You’re going to take your fighter out and dock it in Harmony.”

“Yes, master,” Katara bowed, heading off towards her quarters.

***

Spike, Katara and Revan stood around the planning table on Harmony’s bridge, looking at the display of the Republic fleet arrayed around Malachor V, the ships slowly orbiting around the world. The Mandalorian fleet hadn’t yet got there, but reports placed them only a matter of minutes away.

“We’re not going to get there before the Mandalorians do,” Spike growled. “We’re still an hour out. The rest of the fleet isn’t fast enough.”

“We’ll get there, Spike,” Revan assured him. “We just…”

With a screech, everyone on the bridge was thrown forward as the ship rapidly decelerated. Revan and Katara were pitched to the floor, and Spike only managed to stay standing due to the gyro-stabilisers in his legs.

“What the hell happened?!” Spike roared, looking between the bridge crew that had only recently been assigned to the ship.

“We’re not sure, sir, the Hyperdrive was running at full power and then they suddenly cut out,” one of the men called.

“Get me a status report on them, now,” Spike ordered. “And find out if the rest of the fleet is still in Hyperspace or have dropped out as well.”

Turning, Spike looked at Revan. “Do the Mandalorians have access to interdictor technology?”

“Not that we know of,” Revan shook his head as he got to his feet. “But after the battle at the Jaga Cluster, a lot of our ships were reported missing. We assumed that they had simply been destroyed, but maybe some were captured.”

“Sir, the rest of the fleet has been pulled out of Hyperspace with us, they are forming up around the flagship as we speak. Long range scanners are picking up a fleet on intercept approach,” another crewman called out.

“Looks like we’re about to find out,” Spike folded his arms. “Katara, get down to the hanger bay and take command of the fighter squadrons. Ensign, signal all ship to raise shields, prepare weapons and deploy their own ships. I want to be ready if this fleet has hostile intentions.”

The words were barely out of Spikes mouth when ships burst from Hyperspace, barely five hundred kilometres away from them, all bearing the markings of the Mandalorians. A split second after they arrived, they began to fire, filling the void in front of them with a flurry of laser bolts, all streaking towards the Republic fleet.

“All power to forward shields, engage evasive manoeuvres,” Spike cursed as he hurriedly sat down on the command throne. “All ships protect Harmony, we’re moving to engage their flagship.”

“Belay that order, that’s suicide, Spike,” Revan shook his head. “We don’t have the firepower to match that, nor the men to commence a boarding action.”

“I recognise that ship, it is the Mandalore’s personal vessel,” Spike pointed out. There are two Jedi on Harmony, and I do not intend for the boarding party to come solely from this ship. We are taking that ship by force, today. Not destroying it, boarding it. If the Mandalore is on there, we need a confirmed kill. Now, are you with me?”

“If you’re sure it’s the Mandalore’s ship,” Revan nodded.

“I am,” Spike began to type on the arm of his command throne. “Transmit these orders around the fleet. Once we’re in, all ships are to pull back to long gun range and harry the enemy. Do not get back under the gaze of their close in defences unless we need support. Are these orders understood?”

“Yes, general,” came the unanimous reply, the bridge crew beginning to work frantically to relay his orders to the rest of the fleet.

The fire volley of laser fired slammed into the shields of the leading ships, deflecting harmlessly as the Republic vessels returned fire. Klaxons began to blare as battle was joined in earnest, the two battle lines getting closer. Harmony quickly took the lead, her powerful engines propelling her forward, and the majority of the firepower the Mandalorians were bringing to bear avoiding her, instead concentrating on the large ships.

Spike let out a grin, before slamming his fist down on the arm of his chair. Instantly they opened fire, all of her guns firing at once at a single spot as the fighters and bombers moved forward. Lasers, missiles and ion bombs hammered the shields of the Mandalorian flagship, before with a blinding flash, they popped, leaving the ship exposed to any fire directed at it, and more importantly, allowing Harmony to dock with it.

“Signal to all ships, shields are down, boarding parties are to focus only on the flagship. Fighters are to shield their approach from enemy fire, nothing else matters. The XO has command of the fleet,” Spike ordered, Revan following after him as the pair walked towards the airlock.

The rest of the contingent of soldiers that had been on board were already waiting there, rifles at the ready as the umbilical tube extended between the two ships. Spike slowly drew his Lightsabers, eying the door warily.

“You know, for me, the war started on this ship,” Spike admitted quietly, only Revan paying enough attention to him to listen. “I fought the Mandalore then too, on this very ship. Let’s hope this time things go better for all of us.”

“We can only hope, Spike,” Revan nodded, igniting his own Lightsaber, the bright blue blade illuminating the small airlock.

The light above the airlock began to flash red as the umbilical cord finally connected, before suddenly turning green, the door sliding open to reveal Mandalorian soldiers, all ready to fire. Revan leapt forward towards the soldiers, but Spike was faster, his arm cannon firing as his Lightsabers flared into life.

Like a comet, he slammed into the line of Mandalorians, scattering them out of the way as he back them down. He wasn’t roaring, he wasn’t making a sound, instead he was simply fighting with grim determination, pulling up every memory he had on his flight from this ship years ago.

It didn’t take long before he was standing amongst corpses, a few parts of his bionics scorched from where blaster bolts had caught them, but otherwise unscathed. Revan and the other soldiers quickly came up beside him, all unharmed.

“I thought there would have been more of them,” one of the soldiers muttered.

“They’re hopefully being drawn away by the larger landing parties in the hanger,” Revan pointed out. “With luck, they don’t know that Spike and I were on Harmony, which gives us…”

“The element of surprise,” Spike finished off with a small smile. “An element from harmony, it almost seems poetic.”

“Something from your home?” Revan asked.

“Kind of,” Spike nodded. “Come on, let’s move. We don’t want to push our luck too much.”

Spike took the lead once more, following the directions in his head exactly, twisting down the corridors of the ship with baited breathe. He could almost smell the Mandalore as they drew nearer, but there was another scent, one that should have been so familiar to him, and yet seemed to allude his mind.

Letting out a snarl, Spike saw the door to the bridge, approaching it with Revan beside him. As they neared it, the door suddenly shot open, a flurry of bolts firing out. It was only thanks to the force that Spike and Revan could deflect the shots as well as they did, but the soldiers weren’t so lucky, getting off a few shots of their own, before being hit themselves.

“Well well, it seems you were right about the larger force being a distraction, I should not have doubted you,” the Mandalore turned to face Cassus as Revan and Spike entered the bridge.

Most of the Mandalorians there were either dead or wounded, rolling around on the floor nursing blaster wounds, but the Mandalore and Cassus both seemed to be unharmed, or were at least un-phased by the damage to their armour.

“Cassus,” Spike snarled, anger rising as he glared at the yellow armoured warrior.

“Jedi Knight Spike,” Cassus nodded back. “You seem different than when we last met, did you lose weight per chance?”

"And you must be Revan,” the Mandalore looked at Revan, tapping his fingers on the head of his axe. “For the hero of the Republic, I thought you would have been taller, but no matter. With this battle, the fate of the galaxy will be decided.”

“You won’t live to see another,” Revan growled, gripping his Lightsaber tighter.

“Then so be it, but this is what we all wanted,” the Mandalore threw his arms wide. “The best of you, against the best of me. How can you possibly beat me? Cassus has already defeated your precious Spike once before, and the last time he was here, he fled. Like a coward.”

“Spike, I gave you Cassus, like I promised,” Revan pointed out.

“Yep,” Spike nodded.

“Leave the Mandalore to me,” he replied, before sprinting forward, his Lightsaber trailing just behind him, cutting a small groove into the floor.

With a roar, Spike followed his lead, diving forward, using his wings to propel himself forward to crash into Cassus. Crassus barely managed to raise his sword before Spike crashed into him, knocking the Mandalorian back several paces as Spike twisted once more, his tail sweeping under his legs, knocking him to the floor.

“You’re getting slow, kid,” Spike sneered as Cassus avoided his follow up strike, Spike’s Lightsaber cutting deep into the floor where he had been moments before. “But not too slow.”

“I’m sorry, you look like someone I used to know,” Cassus got to his feet, beginning to circle Spike, occasionally glancing over to where Revan and the Mandalore were trading blows, both fighting with steely determination. “He was less metal though.”

“You can turn a phrase,” Spike nodded, before darting forward once more, swinging Dusk down towards Cassus.

Predictably, Cassus raised his sword to block the blow, allowing Spike to thrust his cannon forward, pressing the barrel against Cassus’s armour. Cassus briefly looked down, seeing what was now up against him, before Spike fired. The massive blaster bolt cut through him like a knife through butter, cauterising the wound as it went, leaving nothing but a blackened hole.

Cassus let out a gasp as he staggered back, his sword slipping from his grasp, clanging against the metal floor. To his credit, Cassus stayed standing for a while, before Spike reached out and tapped him with his claw, sending the man sprawling to the floor.

“You know, I should probably thank you,” Spike placed a foot on what was left of Cassus’s chest. “If you hadn’t tried to blow me up, which you managed to fail spectacularly at, I wouldn't have been able to replace my arm with this, and then smoking hole in your chest. Funny old world.”

Cassus tried to gasp again, a soft rattle emanating from his helmet grill, before Spike reached down and tugged at the helmet, pulling it free and examining it, before looking down at the man beneath it.

“It’s funny, you are the most wanted man in the known galaxy, if you live, people would hunt you across star systems for the bounty on your head, but what they really know, is this. Your helmet. No one knows who you are beneath it.”

Spike raised the barrel of his cannon to point at his now exposed head.

“And no one ever will.”

Before Cassus could try and respond, Spike fired, the bolt slamming into his head, utterly destroying it. Cassus staying rigid for a split second, before his limbs went limp and crashed to the deck. As Spike looked down on the corpse of the man who had caused him so much pain, he tried to feel anything, anger, revenge, even happiness, but he didn’t feel anything. It hadn’t been a hard fight this time, not like the first time, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel cheated.

The sounds of battle forced Spike to turn away from the corpse, watching Revan and the Mandalore trade blows. For almost a minute the pair seemed evenly matched, before Spike saw the Mandalore make a mistake. It was tiny, but it was enough for Revan to get inside his guard, switching his Lightsaber to a reverse grip, before plunging it through the Mandalore’s chest.

“Your reign of terror is over,” Revan pulled his blade free as the Mandalore fell to his knees. “Your mask will never be found, your clans will be scattered, your fleets destroyed. Today is the day the Mandalorians die.”

"This, is all I ever wanted," the Mandalore choked, looking up at Revan. "Glory in battle, honour, in defeat. We wanted to fight the best of the Republic... and you came, Revan. Come closer, I have one thing left to give you. One warrior to another."

"Reavn," Spike warned. "It's a trap, just kill him and be done with it."

"Your ears only, Revan," Mandalore glanced over at Spike, before slowly reached up to his mask.

He fiddled with the tubing that fed to the tank on his back for a moment, before allowing the pipes to fall free, slowly lifting his mask away and dropping it to the floor, allowing Spike to finally get a good look at the Mandalore's true face. He was not human, as Cassus had been, instead he was a member of the old Mandalorian species, the Taung. His green, angular face instantly brought memories of Maryx up once again, but he forced them down, before letting out a groan as Revan dropped to his knees, listening to what the Mandalore had to say.

Even with his cyberneticly enhanced hearing, Spike couldn't make out what the pair were saying, and by the way the Mandalore had turned his head, Spike couldn't even see his lips to work out what they were saying that way. Just as he was about to move closer to listen in, Revan stood back up, nodding once, before placing his Lightsaber next to the Mandalore's neck. The Mandalore looked up at Revan, defiance in his eyes as he straightened up, preparing for his death.

"You're free," Revan muttered the word softly, before swinging his Lightsaber down, neatly decapitating the Mandalore.

In a split second, his head crashed to the floor, the lifeless body following shorty afterwards. Revan looked at the corpse for a second, before bending down and picking up the Mandalore's discarded mask, holding it up before him. It seemed quite odd to Spike, Revan holding up the ancient mask of the Mandalore, while he himself wore a much more modern Mandalorian helmet. Finally, he let his hand drop to his side, the mask still clutched tightly in it as he turned back to face Spike.

“It’s been a good day, even if the fleet survives, they’ll have lost all sense of cohesion.”

“And if we lose the fleet they’ll just kill indiscriminately,” Spike countered. “I don't know what the Mandalore told you, but we still need to get to Malachor, now.”

Not waiting for a response, Spike turned towards the exit, breaking into a sprint, Revan trailing behind him.

Wars End

Spike tapped his foot on the deck of the bridge nervously as they sped through Hyperspace. Displayed on a small screen beside him was a display of the battle, the blue dots representing the Republic ships, while the red dots represented the Mandalorians. When battle was joined there had been far more on both sides.

“Would you stop?” Revan asked exasperatedly. “Honestly, you’re putting everyone on edge.”

“We’re heading for battle, they should be on edge,” Spike pointed out. “I don’t understand how you can stay so calm when hundreds, if not thousands of republic naval crew are dying in the void.”

“Because I know this is the end, Spike,” Revan shrugged. “This war ends today.”

“Yes, but we’ve still got to make sure it ends for the Mandalorians, not for us,” Spike snapped. “Having the Mandalore’s mask is fine but if we lose our fleet then we’re fucked. Ensign, you have the bridge. I’ll be in the hanger bay if anything goes wrong, and I want you to let me know when we’re five minutes out.”

“Ay, sir,” the ensign nodded.

It still felt weird for Spike to call someone who wasn’t Lowell, Ensign, but he paid it little heed as he walked off the bridge, heading down towards the hanger bay. The battle with the Mandalore’s fleet had been brief, but it had also been costly. Three of the eleven battleships that they had brought with them had been destroyed, burnt from prow to stern, as had some of the escorts, but the Mandalorian had come off worse, most of their fleet had been destroyed or routed, most importantly the captured interdictor ship that was keeping them there, allowing them to continue on again.

Katara had fought well during the battle by all reports, leading from the front as Spike had taught her, and he felt it was high time he met her and brought her up to speed on what happened inside the Mandalore’s ship, just like she would bring him up to speed with what happened outside it.

“Master,” Katara smiled, looking over to him from her fighter, patting the nose fondly as she walked away from it. “Congratulations on stopping the Mandalore. His death will help end this war.”

“I hope so,” Spike nodded with a smile of his own. “How did the fight go in the void? I hope it was better than some of my early flights.”

“From what you told me about Empress Teta, master, it would hard to be worse,” Katara smirked. “We did well, I’m fairly sure that our bombers destroyed one of their cruisers that was trying to get a shot on Harmony without hitting the Mandalore’s ship, and I know one of the pilots from the Resolute shot down a Mandalorian fighter ace.”

“That’s good, I’ll have to find out who he was and ensure he gets the proper laurels,” Spike nodded, placing a hand on Katara’s shoulder. “How are you though? Fighting in the void is heavier than fighting on the ground, or at least that’s what I’ve found.”

“Maybe that has something to do with the fact that you’ve tasted the void?” Katara asked.

“Yeah, I remember, it was bloody cold,” Spike shivered at the memory. “I’m glad you didn’t have to find out about that. I just wanted to check you were ok, but I’ll let you get back to your squadron. Make yourself ready, the fighting over Malachor is still going strong, and every ship down to the fighters is going to be needed.”

Katara bowed deeply, before turning back towards her fighter, the other pilots left in the hanger gathering around it to speak in hushed tones. Spike knew how closely pilots liked to keep their secrets and their conversations, and he respected that privacy, turning to walk out of the hanger once more.

We’re approaching the system edge, five minutes to Malachor, look sharp people.

Spike had broken into a run before the announcement had even finished. It didn’t take him long to reach the bridge, skidding to a halt beside Revan as alarms began to blare, calling the crew to action. Spike’s face was contorted into a mixture between a snarl and a look of intense concentration, before Revan put his hand on Spike’s shoulder.

“When we get into the battle we need to stay at long range.”

“These ships aren’t built for long range combat,” Spike shook his head. “They have a few missiles between the lot of them. We need to get right down their throat.”

“Spike…”

Revan stopped talking as the ship suddenly dropped from Hyperspace, allowing Spike a clear view of the battle raging above Malachor V. Wrecks and burning ships littered the space above the planet, while the battered Republic and Mandalorian fleets fought tooth and nail between them, sometimes being so badly damaged that it was difficult to tell which ships were operational and which ones had been destroyed.

At the centre sat the Ravager, the pride of the Republics fleet, and even that was suffering, taking punishing broadsides from two Mandalorian capital ships. It’s shields were holding, but only just, and Spike could tell that they wouldn’t last much longer.

“All ships, all ahead full, we need to take some of the pressure off our brothers,” Spike ordered, opening up his comm channel to the rest of the Fireshot Fleet. “Form up around the Ravager, keep the flagship safe.”

“Negative on that order,” Revan shook his head, his voice carrying across the comms. “We will provide long range covering fire, but we will stay away from the planet. That is a direct order.”

“Revan, what the hell are you doing?” Spike snapped, turning to face the smaller Jedi. “You brought my fleet along so we could help win this battle and put an end to this fucking war, not to sit here and watch.”

“I have my reasons, Spike,” Revan snapped back. “I have command here, and you will do as I say.”

“I will not stand idly by while men and women of the Republic are slaughtered. I won’t,” Spike growled, grabbing hold of Revans arm, the sleeve of his cloak moving up slightly, allowing Spike’s claw to touch his exposed flesh.

Spike gasped as he felt his mind connect to Revans for just an instant, like it had on Cathar, only this time it felt colder and even more foreboding. Now, as was the case all those years ago on Cathar, Spike had the odd sensation of no longer being in his body, staring out at the battle before him as a formless being of the force.

For a moment, Spike was confused, the battle looking exactly how it had from aboard Harmony, before he let out a gasp as his eyes shifted from the clashing fleets to the planet below. Huge cracks began to form in its surface, a sickly green glow beginning to shine through as the planet seemed to begin to collapse in on itself. The ships in orbit were not unaffected either, suddenly being pulled off course towards the rapidly compacting planet, beginning to get caught in its gravitational pull.

In an instant, the fleets, both Republic and Mandalorian began to fall, crashing towards the planet along with the hulks of dead ships that had occupied the space with them. Hundreds of vessels impacted at the same time, firestorms raging across the world.

Spike was suddenly back in his own head again, falling backwards as his senses were overloaded by the sudden information overlord.

“General,” one of the bridge crew called out, but Spike was too shocked to see who, instead staring up at Revan.

“What…what have you done, Revan?” his voice was barely a whisper.

“What did you see, Spike?” Revan asked cautiously.

“I said what have you done?!” Spike roared, leaping to his feet.

“Won the war,” Revan replied simply.

Spike stared at Revan for a split second, before pushing him aside hard enough to send him toppling to the floor and heading for the hanger once more. Spike slammed into walls as he ran, not wanting to waste a seconds time slowing down before he had to, leaving great dents in the walls before he burst into the hanger.

This is Supreme General Revan. All orders given by General Spike are hereby countermanded, by my authority. The hanger is to be locked down and the fleet is to remain at long range. Nothing goes near the battle. Give it up Spike.

“You can’t do this, Revan!” Spike roared, running towards one of the shuttles, gesturing for any soldiers in his path to move. “Harmony, override the hanger lock down, captain’s code S-P-4432, security code I-A-N-H-47.”

Maintain lockdown. Supreme override code GH-J-U-gPq-6864.

Spike watched in despair as the lights across the hanger faded, the clamps securing the fighters, shuttles and pods closing and locking. It would take too long to free any of them, and that was assuming that none of the soldiers intervened.

Looking around in desperation, Spike finally caught sight of his Basalisk. The droid was likewise secured, but unlike the clamps on the rest of the ships, these weren’t connected to Harmony’s mainframe.

Bounding across the hanger, Spike leapt on top of the droid, quickly keying in the activation droid, and smiling as it roared into life.

“Master, what’s going on?” Katara asked, running towards Spike as he began to rise off the deck.

“Stay here,” Spike ordered, his voice a low growl, before the droid shot forward, and he was carried out into space.

The cold hit him like a fist, Spike letting out a wordless cry as all sound suddenly disappeared in the void. The battle was going on before him, and yet it was eerily silent, just like it had been decades ago when he had first been spaced. That time he had been frozen in a matter of moments, made almost completely immobile and helpless in seconds, but he was far older than he was back then, and he was more machine than flesh.

Warning lights were flashing across his vision, and he could already see the first few bits of ice beginning to form on the tips of his fingers, but he ignored them, pushing the droid to the max as he shot towards Ravager, leaving the rest of the Fireshot Fleet behind him.

As he got closer, he had to work harder to avoid incoming fire, his Basalisk droid making him a target for Republic guns, while Mandalorians who got too close realised that he wasn’t one of them. More than once he was sure he was about to be killed, a heavy laser streaking past his head, or a missile soaring silently beneath him, but every time something got too close, the force guided his hands, throwing him out of the way, and allowing him to approach the Republic flagship.

Barely slowing, Spike shot through the shields of the hanger, sound returning in an instant as he roared, forcing the Basalisk to crash into the floor as he leapt off.

“Don’t move,” a soldier shouted, Spike finding himself surrounded by the hanger security.

“My name is Jedi Master Spike,” Spike raised his voice so the hanger could hear him. “General in the Republic Army, and by that authority I demand to see the commander of this vessel.”

“It’s a Mandalorian trick,” one of the soldiers muttered, before Spike rounded on him, Elusive flying into his hands, the blade coming to life in an instant, extending along his forearms in a defensive grip.

“If I was Mandalorian, I would have tried to kill you,” he snarled. “Take me to your commander. Lieutenant.”

“S-Sergeant, take the general to the bridge, General Surik will be there.”

“Meetra’s in charge?” Spike gasped. “We have to hurry.”

The sergeant nodded, setting off at a run, Spike hot on his heels. Spike still didn’t know what he had seen, or how far in the future his vision had been, but it had definitely been this battle, which meant he couldn’t afford to waste even a single second. The only ship in the fleet that could issue general orders over an open comm channel was this one, and even if it meant saving the Mandalorians, Spike would not let the Republic fleet be destroyed today.

“Meetra!” Spike roared as he burst onto the long bridge, running down the central walkway towards the viewing gallery at the end where Meetra silently stood.

She slowly turned around as he approached, allowing Spike to see the look on her face, and it was in that instant he knew it was not just Revan’s plan that was in motion here.

“Spike, I was told to expect you and your fleet hours ago,” she murmured softly, turning back to face the window.

“There’s no time to go into why I wasn’t here, you’ve got to tell me what’s going on, right now,” Spike demanded.

“We’re fighting, that is all,” Meetra replied simply.

“Don’t give me that bantha shit,” Spike snapped. “I saw a vision, death on a scale I haven’t seen for a long time. Tell me what is happening!”

Meetra sighed, looking around the bridge at her crew, before finally looking directly at Spike.

“The planet has been being prepared for two weeks. All in preparation for now. There is a weapon down there, one beyond anything you have ever seen, we call the Mass Shadow Generator. With it, we will end this war and the threat of the Mandalorians forever.”

“You’re going to kill hundreds of Republic soldiers as well!” Spike roared.

“We’ll kill thousands,” Meetra admitted softly.

“I can’t let you do that, Meetra,” Spike growled, igniting his Lightsabers once more. “There has got to be another way.”

“There isn’t,” Meetra shook her head, before igniting her own Lightsaber and diving at Spike.

Spike was caught off guard for a moment, expecting that he would have been the one to start the attack, and he was forced back across the bridge, fending off a flurry of attacks, before finally forcing her to stop, hammering a few of his own attacks out in return.

Spike tried everything he could, falling back on every lesson he had ever learnt of Lightsaber combat, as well as the practical experiences he had with fighting sword wielding opponents, even as Meetra parried his blows, seemingly with ease, her near mastery of Makashi shining through, making even Spike’s superior strength mean little.

“This is pointless, Spike,” Meetra grunted as he bore down on her with a particularly powerful blow, before responding with a thrust of her own, narrowly avoiding slicing through Spikes chest. “This will end the war, it is worth a thousand lives.”

“No it’s not!” Spike roared spinning and driving a foot into Meetra’s chest, pulling the blow slightly so it simply knocked her back instead of shattering her ribs. “We are supposed to protect the Republic…”

“We are protecting the Republic,” Meetra leapt forward once more, fluidly changing styles as she switched from the elegant blade work of Makashi to the raw cuts of Shii-Cho. “The whole of it. We can end the war.”

“Not like this!” Spike bellowed, diving forward, slamming a fist into Meetra’s Lightsaber, his scales warping slightly from the blade and the pressure he was putting on them, before Meetra deactivated her weapon and stepped aside.

Caught up in the moment, Spike hadn’t seen the move coming, and staggered forward, put off balance by the sudden lack of resistance, and allowing Meetra to get in behind him, delivering a swift serious of kicks to his back, sending him crashing to the floor.

Spike let out a grunt as he turned over and got back to his feet, glaring at Meetra as she panted, before glancing at one of the technicians. Spike looked to, and instantly recognised the man, pulling up everything he had on Bao-Dur.

“Is everything in place?” Meetra asked.

“It is, general,” Bao-Dur nodded.

“Bao-Dur, don’t do this,” Spike looked pointedly at the Zabrak. “it’s not too late to stop now.”

“General?” Bao-Dur looked at Meetra, who simply shook her head.

“You once said war is a terrible thing!” Spike shouted, pleading with Bao-Dur. “And it is, but this will be worse. Don’t do it!”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, turning to his computer station.

“Nooooo!” Spike bellowed, diving forward, but it was already too late, Bao-Dur pressing the final button on his computer screen.

Spike twisted in mid-air, landing awkwardly on his side as he clutched his head. There was a rumbling within, feeling as if it was trying to claw its way out, driving all other thoughts from his mind, save for that. Meetra was also similarly indisposed, a hand on her head as she swayed ominously, reaching out for anything that could help to steady her.

Spike groaned as the rumbling turned into a roar, forcing himself to crawl forward, meter by meter until her reached the viewport, hauling himself up and steadying himself against the glass, looking out at the battle beyond. Just like in his vision, the planet seemed to be coming apart, the ships in orbit being drawn down towards it as whatever the Mass Shadow Drive did began to work.

Then the roar turned into a scream.

Spike dropped to the floor once again, writhing in pain as the screaming intensified. It wasn’t a physical scream, although his own voice and Meetra’s did join with it, it was a scream through the force, the scream of hundreds of Jedi, and thousands of men and women as they were drawn to the ominous surface of Malachor V.

More screams ripped themselves from Spikes throat as the force scream seemed to reach a crescendo, and for a moment he thought he was going to join with the force as well, before suddenly everything went silent.

Spike tried to push himself up, but the memory of the force scream made his arms weak, and his bionics were not responding properly. He could already feel himself getting short of breath as his two bionic lungs fluctuated, putting strain on his one remaining organic one, but he still forced himself to look towards Meetra. If he had been so badly affected, he had no doubt that she would be too.

But Meetra wasn’t lying on the floor like he was, she wasn’t even clutching her head or looking like she was in pain. All she was doing was standing there, a blank look on her face as she watched the destruction rain down upon Malachor. There was something unnerving about her now, like there was something missing from her, like she had somehow become far less than she had been mere moments before.

Then she went limp, collapsing to the deck of the ship like a puppet who had had all of its strings cut. Groaning in pain, Spike crawled towards her, his one organic arm dragging the rest of his body forward, until he was beside Meetra, allowing his head to lay near hers, straining his ears for the simple sound of her breathing.

He heard it. It was weak and shallow, but it was there. She was just unconscious, and Spike saw no reason not to join her, falling to blackness beside her on the deck of the Ravager

No More

Spike could still hear the screaming in his head as he looked out across the moon he was now standing on, even though it had long since faded into a painful, recent memory. Spike had been knocked unconscious a few moment after the Mass Shadow Generator had been activated, as had Meetra, and had only be revived a few hours later, after the Mandalorians had broadcasted their unconditional surrender. Spike shuddered as he thought of the proud warrior culture that was so in ground to their very being actually caving in the face of such a terrible and destructive weapon.

The numbers were still coming in, and there was no definitive figure yet, but the numbers of deaths on both sides easily reached into the thousands, and worse, the Jedi proportion was almost five hundred confirmed dead, and another two hundred presumed dead. It had been the single most devastating loss for the order Spike could think of, and he had seen Exar Kun sway hundreds to his side in the Great Sith War. Very few of the Jedi that had been close to the planet had survived, Spike and Meetra being the closest to the centre when the Mass Shadow Generator was activated, the Ravager sitting just outside its sphere of influence.

That had been almost a week ago, the last diehard vestiges of Mandalorian resistance being stamped out by the remains of the Republic fleet that survived Malachor, which admittedly wasn’t a large amount. Spike himself hadn’t taken part in the follow up attacks, even though his first port of call had been to return to Harmony, fully intending to kick Revan off of his ship out of an airlock, but the man had been gone by the time he got there. The only contact Spike had had with Revan since before the battle was a request that the Fireshot Fleet help in the final hunts of the Mandalorians. Spike had ordered the ships home soon after that, their captains readily agreeing.

“You’re sure about this, aren’t you?” Spike asked, turning back to look at Meetra.

If Spike thought he’d taken it badly, he had barely been affected compared to Meetra. When Bao-Dur had activated the device, she had felt it far more acutely than Spike had, something to do with what she called a ‘force-bond’, which she apparently had no difficulty in establishing. She said it was why people usually trusted her a bit easier, but it also had a darker side, and when the lives of so many soldiers and jedi had been cut short in such a horrific way, their death scream that had only hurt Spike had threatened to literally rip her apart. She had taken the only route left to her to survive, cutting herself off from the force almost entirely.

“I’ve thought about it for a while, Spike,” Meetra nodded. “I can’t…feel the force anymore. It’s…”

“Difficult,” Spike finished for her. “I know, I lost my command over it for a time after Taris.”

“Then you know how I feel,” Meetra pointed out. “This war…this butchery from both sides, I helped in that. I was a commander, and worse I committed the atrocity that ended it. Someone has to answer for it.”

“Yes, but it shouldn’t be you,” Spike shook his head. “It wasn’t just you that did any of that, and if you go back they will throw the book at you in its entirety, and believe me, it’s a big fucking book. Atris would just love it if she got to be proven right after all this time, the cow.”

“Oh come off it, Spike, we were fighting less than a week ago because you of all Jedi didn’t agree with me. Maybe I didn’t think it through enough before I activated the weapon.”

“Meetra, I won’t say I agree with it, clearly I didn’t, but that doesn’t mean I want to throw you under a starship to get away from my part on all this,” Spike sighed. “I own my fair share of this war just like you. Eres III, the end of Duxn, bits of Taris…Ranox. You don’t have sole blame.”

“No one else will come with me,” Meetra shrugged. “They’re all following Revan. And that isn’t me trying to guilt you into coming, Spike, honestly it’s not.”

“I admire what you’re doing. I would come back with you, but I’m…” he mumbled the last word.

“One more time, Spike?”

“I said, I’m…scared,” Spike admitted. “Alright? There, I said it. I’m scared to go back before the council. I always said I would, but the war changed from what I thought it would be into the mess it was. I don’t know if I have the strength to fly myself back there and stand before them of my own free will.”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Meetra said quietly.

“Isn’t it? I’m not so sure.”

“It’s really not, Spike,” Meetra continued. “We’ve all been through a lot, every soldier has come out differently, and we’ll all have ways of dealing with it. Mine just so happens to be returning to the council.”

“I hope you find some measure of peace then, Meetra,” Spike extended his hand towards her, “and that we don’t have to cross blades again. If I never have to do that with you, it will be too soon.”

“You’re a good man, Spike,” Meetra took his hand. “I wish you luck in whatever your heart decides on.”

With that, Meetra turned around and headed towards the small spaceport that had been set up on the moon. Spike didn’t know how she was planning to get back to Coruscant, but he also knew that Meetra wouldn’t be stopped when she set her mind to something, and she had certainly set her mind on returning home.

Spike had been sincere when he said he admired Meetra, even after he had fought against her, but he couldn’t say the same to the two men walking up behind him.

“Spike?” Revan asked, Spike turning around and glaring at him.

“I thought I made it clear that I didn’t want to see you again,” Spike growled.

“Where’s Meetra going?” Revan continued, not acknowledging Spike’s annoyance.

“Wherever the hell she wants,” Spike snapped. “She is not your puppet, Revan, especially now the war is over. In fact I believe your powers as supreme commander would wither away now.”

“As would yours as a general,” Malak pointed out.

“Take away general, and I’m still a master,” Spike scowled. “What are you, Malak? A hanger on? A footnote? Whatever it is, you’re not worth my time.”

“You sanctimonious bastard,” Malak growled.

“Enough, Malak,” Revan muttered softly, before looking at Spike. “You may not like my methods, Spike, but do not argue with my results.”

“How many Jedi died because of that weapon?” Spike snapped. “How many Republic soldiers? Are you sure that more Mandalorians died? Because if you killed more of your own side than the opposing side, I would say your results were as big an atrocity as your methods.”

“I am pursuing the Mandalorians,” Revan cut in.

“What of them? There aren’t any left,” Spike scoffed dismissively.

“Lies, some of their fleet escaped beyond the known planets to the north,” Revan shook his head. “I will follow them and hound them until they are utterly eradicated. I want to ensure that you’ll be with me when I do.”

“With you?” Spike laughed. “That’s rich, Revan. I wouldn’t follow you if I was starving and you were walking towards a canteen.”

“Don’t be a fool, Spike,” Malak snapped.

“He’s right,” Revan nodded. “You hate the Mandalorians by your own word, I know that deep down you want to see them dead, come with me and secure safety for the Republic.”

“We already have,” Spike snarled. “They are broken, you have the mask of the Mandalore, they will never recover. I am never going to follow you again, I followed someone I thought was a friend at the beginning of the war, three people in fact. Now I think two of them died. You’re just a pretender, Revan. A pale shadow of the man I followed. And you, Alek, because that is your name, you’re not even that.”

“Spike, I am going to ask you one last time,” Revan growled darkly, extending a hand. “Come with me.”

Spike looked at the outstretched had for a second, before balling his claw into a fist and punching Revan hard in the chest, knocking the man to the floor. Before Malak could react, he brought his hand back around, slapping him aside, before turning and heading towards the spaceport where Harmony awaited him.

“There’s your answer, Revan,” he called over his shoulder. “I hope you fucking choke on it.”

***

Revan didn’t follow Spike to his ship, nor did he command Malak or anyone else to go after him. Spikes mood was foul as he approached his ship, before it brightened slightly at the sight of a familiar wookie.

“Tarhal,” he smiled, approaching his friend. “I am so glad that you survived Malachor.”

“I very nearly didn’t, and a lot of Jedi I knew didn’t either,” Tarhal sighed. “But the majority of the Special Forces survived. They’ve returned to Core Worlds, something about their oaths demanding they returned when the war is over to help train more men or something.”

“Good, I’m glad they’re not going to be doing something they would later regret,” Spike nodded. “Come on, I assume if you’re here you want off this rock too, and I think I just well and truly outstayed my welcome.”

“I saw,” Tarhal chuckled. “He was trying to convince you to stay with the army wasn’t he?”

“Something like that, yeah,” Spike nodded again. “But come on, we can talk onbo…”

“I’m not coming,” Tarhal shook his head.

“No, of course you’re not,” Spike sighed, looking slightly crestfallen. “I didn’t think you would.”

“My Padawan died in this war, I feel I owe it to him to go after the remains of their army,” Tarhal shrugged. “I’m not going to try and change your mind on the matter, although I doubt after punching Revan you’d be very popular, but I would appreciate it if you extended me the same courtesy and didn’t try to sway me either.”

Tarhal put a hand out towards Spike.

“For old times’ sake, eh buddy?”

Spike smiled, before moving forward and pulling Tarhal into a tight hug, the wookie quickly returning it in kind.

“For old times,” Spike smiled. “When you get back we’ll have drinks sometime.”

“You’re paying,” Tarhal laughed as Spike released him.

“Get out of here fleabag,” Spike smirked, walking past him and up the ramp of Harmony, turning to face him from the airlock. “See you round.”

“You bet,” Tarhal nodded as the airlock slid closed, before he turned and headed back towards Revan and the others.

***

Spike and Katara stood silently beside each other on the otherwise empty bridge as Harmony slowly made its way to the system jump point, passing by the scarred battleships of Revan’s pursuit fleet as they went.

“So, master, where are we going?” Katara asked finally. “Back to the temple?”

“There’s nothing for me there,” Spike shook his head, turning and sitting down in the command throne, idly tapping in hyperspace coordinates. “I am still your master, but if we went back I highly doubt I would be for long.”

“So where are we going?” Katara pressed.

“Somewhere far away,” Spike sighed. “Somewhere where the wars and the council can’t touch us.”

With that, Spike eased the lever on his command throne forward, Harmony shooting forward at his command.

Author's Note

This chapter is brought to you by everyone's Favourite granddad, the War Doctor

It also brings an end to Act II.

Freedom

The three figures quickly hurried along the dark corridor, one of them wearing long robes and carrying a Lightsaber at her hip, showing her status as a Jedi, while the other two wore the uniform of the Republic Penitentiary Force, their rifles and stun batons holstered, ready at a moment’s notice if needs arose. Not that any of the prisoners there would try.

The prison the three were walking through was known as the Black Cage, the maximum security facility on Coruscant. There hadn’t been an attempted breakout here in almost ten years, and that had been put down quickly and efficiently. There was still some sparse violence between the inmates, but that was usually localised to two or three individuals, and was quickly contained and dealt with. Some of the worst scum in the galaxy was held here, a fact that the two guards were keen to impress upon the Jedi.

“I don’t know what you’re hoping to find here,” the Jedi muttered. “Half the people in here, they’d kill you as soon as they’d look at you, and the other half would do the same, except they’d rape you first.”

“I would like to see them try,” one of the Jedi replied. “As we have said we are not looking for these prisoners in general, just one, put here by Jedi orders, and to be released by the same.”

“I know the one you’re talking about,” the guard nodded. “He hasn’t been any trouble for the guards since he was brought in. For the other scum in here though, he’s far less peaceful. We’ve had to move him to solitary more than once to keep the others safe. He kill one of your lot then?”

“Nah, I heard he was a disgraced war criminal or somethin’,” the other one shook his head. “Went off the deep end and killed some people he shouldn’t have.”

“Lies,” the Jedi whispered softly.

“I’m sorry, master Jedi?”

“They’re lies, the stories you’ve both heard. He fought in the Mandalorian Wars, he was a hero, but he made enemies. Powerful ones at that.”

“A Jedi making powerful enemies and getting thrown in prison?” one of the guards asked. “That seems strange, but I’m not going to argue with it. Here we are, cell 171. Hey, prisoner, stand back against the far wall and do not move, you have a visitor.”

There was a soft scraping sound as the prisoner moved within the cell, before the guards opened the door, unholstering their rifles and following the Jedi in. The cell was dark, the lights above not flickering on properly, forcing the new arrivals to squint.

“Well well, a visitor? I haven’t had one of those since I was first thrown in here. A year and a half ago.”

The prisoner’s voice rumbled like an angry volcano as he walked forward, coming out of the gloom, standing halfway into the light. The two guards instinctively tightened their grips on their rifles, but the jedi seemed un-phased, smiling slightly as the prisoner spoke again.

“I didn’t expect it to be you, Katara, I expected it to be the White Bitch coming to gloat.”

“I’ve missed you, master,” Katara smiled, looking up at Spike, remembering the last time she had seen him in the flesh.

***

One and a Half Years Earlier

***

Spike and Katara sat opposite each other, their eyes closed as they opened themselves to the living force, their bodies slowly rising off of the ground. They had been here for six months already, rarely seeing anyone except for the odd supply run into the nearby town, keeping themselves in solitude as best they could.

The world, an Agriworld by the name of Vegeas IV, had been a blessing to Spike, the peaceful tones and the quite feelings he got there helping to calm him, and to help him to come to terms with some of the memories from the Mandalorian War. That was not to say he had forgotten the experiences of the battle, but rather he was overcoming them, and helping Katara to overcome her own doubts.

In the six months since they had come here she had grown immensely, both in power and in mind, growing up from a child who had seen far too much to a young woman who Spike was proud to say he knew. More than once she had helped resolve disputes on the planet peacefully, that otherwise might have turned to bloodshed, and she had become something of a mediator when two groups argued who were simply too powerful or influential to be mediated by the planetary governor alone.

Suddenly Spike’s eyes shot open and he looked to the skies, the clouds parting as a Hammerhead cruiser descended towards the planet, a wing of fighters flanking it, heading straight towards them.

“No no no no no,” Spike hissed as he watched the fighters streak towards him. “Why are they here? Can they not leave us alone?”

“Maybe they’re not here for us?” Katara suggested.

“This isn’t a Republic world, and they’re coming straight for us,” Spike shook his head. “They’re here for us. Get Harmony prepped, I want her ready in case we do need to go.”

“How did they even find us?” Katara asked. “I thought we covered our tracks to the point where they couldn’t track us down.”

“Yeah, so did I,” Spike nodded. “It doesn’t matter how they found us, just that they did. Now, go and warm up Harmony.”

Katara nodded, turning and beginning to run towards the ship as Spike spread his wings, beating them a few times as he rose into the air. The fighters quickly angled after him, and Spike let out a groan. Before he was only ninety nine percent certain they were here for him. Now it was a hundred percent.

Turning in mid-air, Spike began to speed away from the fighters that were now certainly following after him, drawing them away from Katara as she got Harmony ready. Spike already knew where he was going to go, having planned for just this eventuality in his head, and sped towards the canyons that lay to the east of their meditation spot, just before the first shot streaked past him.

“Fucking hell!” Spike swore, glancing back at the fighters. “What are you playing at?!”

He didn’t receive any response, instead more shots leaping out towards him as he began to duck and dive, finally reaching the canyon, shooting between two of the rocks. Some of the fighters broke off from their pursuit, pulling up sharply and circling overhead, but some of the braver, or perhaps more foolish, pilots followed him in, blowing out large chunks of rock as they continued to fire.

“Stop shooting!” Spike roared, his voice being snatched away by the wind, the pilots clearly not paying attention to him.

Spike twisted and turned as he flew down the canyons, occasionally planting his feet on the walls and digging his claws in, running along them to make impossibly sharp turns before taking flight once more. Only when he had shaken the fighters from his tail did he double back, heading back towards Harmony

As he shot out of the rocks, the Hammerhead cruiser descended towards him, blaster fire peppering the rocks as a single shot hit him.

The result was instantaneous, Spike’s bionics shorting out and shutting down as the ion cannon hit him. Spike tried to take a breath in, but the sudden strain on his lung made that impossible, and the static in his brain took up almost all of his attention.

He plummeted towards the ground like a stone, carving a deep trench into the ground, before lying still. His bionics were still stuttering, trying to come back into life, but the EMP was doing exactly what it was meant to do. All Spike could do was focus on his mind and his primary heart, the magic inside of him struggling to keep them powered even as the Hammerhead Cruiser landed, men spewing out of it and taking up positions around him.

One figure stepped out, and if Spike had been able to move, he would have been diving towards her, but instead he could only watch as Atris bent down beside him, looking him over. Spike wanted to flinch as she put her hand on his neck, focusing her attentions on the force as she determined if he was still living, before nodding and standing up.

“Get an engineer out here,” she ordered, standing up again. “Bring his life support systems back up to fully operational standard and remove his legs. We’ll take him back to Coruscant in pieces to stand trial.”

***

The Present Day

***

Spike had long since had his bionic arm and eye removed, as well as his tail, the metal ports now well and truly grown into his body, flesh covering them to the point where some might have to be cut away before new limbs could be attached. His true legs had likewise been removed, seen as too powerful and dangerous for an inmate to have, and had instead been replaced with weak, spindly bionics. They served to allow him to walk around, but not much more than that. The removal of his proper bionics and the addition of a neural inhibitor collar served to cut Spike off from the force and made Spike helpless in the eyes of his captors.

“A year and a half,” Spike growled again. “Five hundred and fifty four days. You could have come and seen me any time between then and now, and yet you didn’t. Why?”

“I couldn’t…” Katara began, before Spike cut her off.

“Don’t you dare give me the spiel that Atris wouldn’t let you,” his voice was more annoyed than angry now. “She doesn’t keep tabs on Black Cage as far as I’m aware, you could have got in at any point, but you didn’t. So, what do you want, Katara?”

“We need your help, Spike. There’s a war…”

“A war? How funny,” Spike snorted, gesturing to his surroundings. “I got in this place because I fought a war and the Jedi didn’t like it, now they want me to come and fight another one for them? What, are they planning to throw me back in here when it’s done, use me like an attack dog and shut me back in my cage afterwards?”

“It’s not like that, Spike,” Katara shook her head. “Please, master…”

“I’m not fighting a war for the Jedi again,” Spike snarled. “End of discussion. You wasted a trip here Katara.”

“But…”

“Get out,” Spike snapped. “I am not some mongrel pup that can be summoned whenever you need something destroyed. The council didn’t want my help in the last war, they don’t get to decide that this time they do.”

“But the council is…”

“The council can kiss me ass,” Spike sneered. “Tell them I may consider helping if they all line up one my one and kiss my metal behind. The White Bitch can go first too.”

“As you wish, master,” Katara bowed reluctantly. “If you change your mind, I will inform the guards you are allowed to call out to the temple. Please, at least consider it, master. I do not like seeing you in here. And don’t worry, I will ensure the council knows your message to the exact word.”

With a small, albeit somewhat unhappy smile, Katara turned and walked out of the cell, the guards closing the door behind her, leaving Spike on his own once more. Walking back to the far wall, Spike sat down once more, slowly extending his arm and beginning to carve into it again. A small ball of light appeared above him, magic flowing into it. The neural inhibitor did indeed make summoning the willpower to use the force difficult, but it did not limit his usage of magic, a fact he was keen to keep secret in case he ever had to fall back on it.

“Was that maybe a little too harsh?” Moonstone asked him, materialising beside him. “She did offer you a way out.”

“By fighting for them,” Spike shook his head. “I got burned once before, I will not come out just for them to do it again.”

“But if they came to you, they are clearly in trouble,” Moonstone reasoned.

“Or they just want a convenient scapegoat if something goes wrong. There’s no one left to challenge the Republic, the Mandalorians can’t have reorganised so fast. When they say war they’ll mean boarder dispute.”

“If you’re sure, Spike,” Moonstone nodded. “I would have thought you’d have jumped at the chance to get out of here.”

“This is my penitence,” Spike sighed. “My punishment for my actions in the war. If I thought there was a real need for me I would leave, but I don’t, so I’m staying here.”

“Even though you’ve just finished your little mural?” Moonstone smiled, looking at the wall. “You spend most of your time in this cell, now you’ve finished what are you going to do with yourself?”

“There’s still two more walls,” Spike pointed out, before standing back and taking a step backwards.

He smiled as he admired his handiwork, his heart aching as he looked at the carving. He’d taken it directly from his memory, taking as much time as he needed to to make sure it was perfect. It was Twilight, and all her friends, laughing and happy together, Spike smiling as he sat in Twilight’s hooves. They had taken the photo shortly after he and Twilight had first come to Ponyville, and it was this picture Spike had sought to replicate.

He ran his hand over the carving, fondly remembering the memories, before faltering as he got to his own image. He found it had to truly remember a time when he was so young, so innocent compared to how he was now. No bionics, no scars, no eyes that had seen far too much. He was just happy and carefree, as they all were.

Not for the first time, Spike wondered how they were all doing without him, if Twilight had managed to come to terms with his disappearance properly yet, even with Celestia and Luna doubting her. He pulled up the memory of the letter she had managed to send him once more, Moonstone disappearing as he lapsed into silence, beginning to read it yet again. He had read it every day since his imprisonment here, sometimes more than once, and while he would have known it off by heart even without his mechanical brain, he still liked to recall the look of the words, the smell of the parchment, and the feel of the scroll against his talons. It reminded him of far happier times, and happy memories were the one thing he had in short supply these days.

***

The unappetising looking slop landed on Spikes tray with a disgusting ‘plop’, Spike staring at it dispassionately before moving away, heading to one of the unoccupied tables. Most of the other prisoners gave him a wide berth, his reputation proceeding him, and this time was no different, Spike managing to reach the table and sit down unmolested.

Sighing, he picked up his spoon, beginning to shovel his food into his mouth, ignoring the bland taste, before a trio of prisoners that Spike hadn’t seen before approached him.

“They say you’re hot shit around here,” one of them, clearly the leader by the way he carried himself, sneered, placing his hands on the table.

Spike didn’t reply, instead simply picking up another spoonful of slop, shovelling it into his mouth and swallowing slowly.

“Hey, I’m talking to you,” the man scowled, pushing the tray off the table where it clattered to the floor.

“I hadn’t finished that,” Spike deadpanned, looking up at the man for the first time.

“Yeah, well I don’t care,” the man sneered once more. “Word is you were a Jedi once. What, your precious order through you out?”

“What do you want, new meat?” Spike asked, rolling his eyes, as he got up.

“I want revenge,” the man snarled, a small shiv appearing in his hand as he grinned at Spike. “And I don’t think a one armed cyber-freak is going to do much to stop me.”

“Revenge? What, I kill your brother?” Spike chuckled. “Been there, done that. You don’t measure up to the last guy.”

“Yeah, well tell that to Revan and the rest of the bastards that invaded my planet,” the man lunged forward with the shiv, but to Spike he might as well have been moving in slow motion.

Stepping to the side, Spike grabbed the man’s wrist, twisting it harshly, the bones snapping, forcing him to let go of the knife as he screamed.

“Revan invaded hundreds of planets in the Mandalorian Wars, be a little more specific,” Spike sneered at the screaming man.

“Y-You don’t know,” the man managed to laugh. “That’s…rich.”

“Know what,” Spike scowled.

The man didn’t despond, instead opting to spit in Spike’s face. Spike paused for a moment, the spit running down his face, before he pulled the man closer, fastening his jaws around his neck and tearing backwards, before letting the man fall to the floor.

Other prisoners were taking notice now, some crying out in shock, while most quickly backed away from Spike, eager to not become his next target. The guards were already mobilising, but Spike didn’t pay them any attention, walking towards the man’s lackeys, both of whom were quivering as he neared them.

“What, was he, talking, about?” Spike asked slowly, looking from one to another.

“T-The…the war,” one of them stammered. “T-They say that R-Revan is leading an a-army a-a-against the R-Republic.”

Spike froze as the man’s words hit home, turning as the guards approached him, bearing down on one of the nearest ones.

“Is this true?” he growled, ignoring the gun barrels in his face.

“Back in line prisoner,” the guard growled back.

“I said is it true?!” Spike roared, spittle covering the man’s face.

“The reports seem to think it is Revan, yes,” the guard wiped spit from his eyes. “Now get down on the floor prisoner or we will fire upon you.”

Spike nodded, first kneeling, then lying on the floor, the guards attaching a manacle to his wrist, the other end wrapping around his waist and locking on tight, before he was finally allowed back up. They began to frog march him out of the canteen, before Spike stopped, looking up at the mirror which he knew was one way glass, sensing the presence of the warden behind it.

“Warden, I’ll take that call to the temple now. Tell them that Spike will come out and play now.”

Reinstatement

Spike stepped forward into the centre of the four droid arms in the out-processing section of the prison. As soon as he stopped moving the arms came to life, the two larger ones wrapping around his chest and lifting him off the floor. At the same time, the floor beneath him opened up, yet more arms appearing, taking hold of the bionics he had been given and prising them free. The feeling of having his limbs taken off so easily still didn’t sit right with Spike, but if it meant getting back to his old self, he would stick to his current course.

It took almost ten minutes for his old limbs to be attached back on, and another twenty minutes after that to run diagnostics and tests, ensuring that his legs and arm were calibrated properly, and that he wasn’t going to be getting any interference from his eye and fully reactivated brain, but finally the arms released him, allowing him to drop to the floor.

“How do you feel now, master?” Katara asked, looking happy as Spike stood up to his true height again.

“Like me again,” Spike smiled. “It’s nice to have legs that actually fit my body properly. And having two arms and a tail again? It’s fucking amazing.”

“I’m sorry it’s taken me this long to get you out,” Katara apologised, looking down at her feet.

“It’s me who’s got to be sorry,” Spike shook his head, lifting her head up again. “I snapped at you when you came to me the last time, and that was unfair. It wasn’t your fault I was in there, I guess being cooped up got to me more than I realised.”

“It’s ok, master,” Katara smiled once more. “The main point is you’re out now. I think the idea was I take you straight to the temple if I convinced you to come back to the order, but I’m guessing that you may want to do other things first?”

“What, me not wanting to go back before the council again? Whatever gave you that idea?” Spike snorted. “I have some plans though, none of which resolve around me going to the temple straight away. Come on, I’ve seen enough of this prison to last a life time.”

Nodding, Katara followed Spike as he walked through the final security checkpoint, covering his eyes as natural sunlight hit them once more. He paused for a moment as the rays hit him, spreading his wings to feel the warmth on as much of his body as he could, before turning back to Katara.

“How did you get here?”

“I took a speeder,” Katara shrugged, pointing to one of the many speeders parked outside the walls of the prison. “I made sure it was big enough to be able to carry you, master.”

“I’m not taking a speeder,” Spike scoffed. “Just make sure you keep up, ok small fry?”

“You’ve got it, master,” Katara laughed, running towards the speeder and leaping into the driver’s seat, gunning the engines.

With a sharp laugh of his own, Spike spread his wings once more, turning and running forward, leaping off the platform the prison sat on, taking flight once more. The feeling of flight after so long inside was indescribable, as was the feeling of moving faster than anything should have been able without mechanical aid. Katara was close behind her, her speeder easily keeping pace with him, before Spike finally flared his wings, coming to a halt and touching down again, Katara stepping out of her speeder soon after.

“What is this place?” Katara asked, looking around the lower levels of Coruscant with a clearly inexperienced eye.

“You’ve never been this low in the city, have you?” Spike asked with a chuckle, receiving a shake of the head in answer. “Didn’t think so. This is the Ultra Ray. I’ve been here with my Master, I came here with Tarhal, and now I’m here with you.”

“With all due respect, master, there is a war on,” Katara pointed out. “I don’t know much about it, but they say…they say…”

“That Revan is leading it,” Spike nodded bitterly. “I’ve been told already, which is exactly why I need a drink. Then I’ll go to the council, preferably drunk and even more obnoxious than usual.”

“You seem like you’re trying your hardest to piss them off now,” Katara laughed as the pair walked inside. “Before it seemed like indifference, now it’s a concerted effort.”

“You hit the nail on the head,” Spike held up two fingers as he walked towards the bar. “I don’t care if it’s me being pig-headed and unreasonable, I am not dancing to their tune the way they want me to. One of their number is directly responsible for stealing over a year of my life, the rest helped keep me out of the sun. Oh I’ll go before them again, but I’ll be damned if I do it sober.”

Katara stayed silent as two tankards were passed to them, Spike grabbing one and beginning to gulp it down while pressing the other one into Katara’s hands. She looked at the mug for a second, before giving it an experimental sniff.

“Err…master, what actually is this?” she asked cautiously, Spike wiping the remains of his own drink off his lips and sighing happily.

“Ale, brown,” Spike smiled, waving the barkeeper over for another drink. “You never tried this before?”

“I’ve never tried alcohol before,” Katara pointed out.

Spike was about to answer her, before a thought crossed his mind and he paused.

“Are you old enough to drink?” he whispered.

“Not on Coruscant,” she admitted.

“Well just keep it down then,” Spike couldn’t help but smirk a little. “I don’t want to get thrown in jail for drinking with a minor. I only just got out after all.”

Katara nodded as she took a small sip of her drink, Spike being passed another tankard as she did, taking another long gulp from it and sighing contentedly.

“You know, I’ve drunk in a lot of places around the galaxy, but this still seems to stick with me,” he looked around as he spoke, before raising his cup. “To the Ultra Ray, and to the Republic!”

The various patrons of the bar raised their own mugs in reply, some crying out support for one or both of the establishments Spike toasted, while others just slurred disjointed words together, far too drunk to actually comprehend what they were toasting, and just using it for an excuse to drink more.

“We’ll stay for a few hours,” Spike looked to Katara as he finished off his tankard, his padawan still going through her first. “Then I’ll go before the council and see what precious deeds they want doing this time.”

***

Spike sprawled across the floor of the temples landing pad as he botched the landing, his legs not being where they needed to for a proper landing. It had taken skill to get this drunk in his current state, a bionic brain and stomach being able to resist the affects of weaker drinks indefinitely. Spike must have used a quarter of the wealth in his account to get to where he was now, but it had been gathering interest for years now, and Spike was sure he still had far more left in it.

Katara had not fared as well as he had, her inexperience with alcohol making her unable to keep up with Spike for the full two hours. Spike had managed to get her into a taxi, paying in advance to ensure she got back to the temple in one piece. Her speeder was still parked outside the bar, but He would deal with that at some other point.

Pushing himself to his feet, Spike began to stagger forward, a few of the Jedi walking through the temple shooting him weird looks, while others gasped as they recognised him, either from memory or reputation. More than once Spike had to steady himself against a wall or risk collapsing to the floor, but eventually he managed to reach the lift to the council chambers, the two temple guards exchanging looks from behind their full-face helmets, before taking step forward, barring Spike passage.

“You may not go up to see the council in such a state,” the statement was blunt and to the point, the guard speaking exactly how he had been trained to, giving away no emotion whatsoever.

“What the hell are you going to do to stop me?” Spike slurred with a lop-sided smile.

“We will not come to blows over words alone, Spike,” the second one retorted. “Turn from this place and come back when you are fit to speak to the masters.”

“I am a master,” Spike grunted, tapping the guard’s chest, sending him staggering back a few spaces. “And don’t, you, forget it.”

“Your title was stripped of you, and the council has not yet reinstated you,” the man recovered quickly, his double-ended Lightsaber jumping into his hands, his fellow guard doing the same. They did not yet ignite the blades, but they were ready to do so if need be.

“If you’re trying to intimidate me, you need to grow a few meters taller, and get a pair of balls between you,” Spike laughed. “Now, I’m getting in that lift. You want to stop me? You can try.”

Pushing forward, Spike stepped into the lift, pushing the guards to the floor as he went. Before they could get up he jammed his finger into the button on the inside, the doors sliding shut and the lift shooting upwards. Spike let out a groan as he collapsed to the floor, resting his head on the wall as he watched the world beyond the window shoot past.

Finally the lift stopped moving, the doors sliding open as Spike got back to his feet, placing both hands on both sides of the doorway and pulling himself out. The council was already in session, coming to an abrupt halt as Spike staggered in, the lift shutting and going down once more.

“Master Spike, at your service,” Spike slurred, bowing deeply, almost toppling to the floor.

“By the force, he's drunk,” Loona Vash groaned.

“I told you this idea was a foolish waste of our time and resources,” Atris snapped, looking at Kavar. “Now can you see that he belongs in that cell?”

“What, for getting drunk?” Spike snorted, glaring at Atris, before looking round the council chamber, taking small, uneasy steps as he span, before focusing on Atris again. “My fellow masters, because I am a master, Kavar is to thank for that. When did Revan return?”

“You know who leads the force assailing us then,” Kavar nodded, taking the attention off Spike’s and Atris’s staring match. “We can dispense with the pleasantries then. Four weeks ago the shipyards at Foerost were assaulted and sacked by a fleet of vessels not matching any known specifications.”

“Didn’t Exar-Kun do the exact same thing forty years ago?” Spike asked, trying to cast his mind back for exact dates.

“Yes,” Kavar nodded. “We updated our security systems in place there, but the fleet had the security codes to bypass our sensors. Saul Karath, a Rear-Admiral from the Mandalorian wars, defected from the Republic and provided the fleets with the needed security codes. Reports were sketchy at first, but now it is clear. Revan and Malak have returned from the unknown regions, and have donned the title of Sith Lords. They stole hundreds of our ships and are pushing into Republic territory as we speak.”

“What of the other Jedi and the soldiers that accompanied the pair of them into the unknown regions?” Spike asked.

“We have not got reports of how many still follow Revan,” Zez-Kai Ell spoke this time. Some ships still match those designs and specifications from the Mandalorian Wars, but as we said the majority are unknown to us, as are those who crew them. There could be many Jedi amongst their ranks, but we have no way of knowing.”

“There are no jedi amongst their ranks,” Atris disagreed. “If they turned from the Republic then they turned from this order.”

“Oh blow it out your ass you self-righteous bitch,” Spike spat. “You better have asked me to come to tell me that we’re planning a counter attack as we speak, four weeks is a long time to sit with your thumbs up your ass.”

“You will keep a civil tone,” Atris glowered at Spike.

Spike laughed, before showing Atris the middle finger of his bionic hand. “How about you sit on this, and spin?”

“That’s it!” Atris stood up, glaring at Spike, before looking at the other members of the council. “Members of the high council, I implore you to listen to me now. You can see that Spike is nothing more than a common degenerate, a product of an experiment which has not yielded favourable results. We…”

“Do not insult Nexu clan in front of me,” Spike hissed, taking a step towards Atris, doing his best to keep his head clear. “Insult me all you want, Atris, but say one bad word against Nexu, the living or the dead, I’ll show you that I am far more than a common degenerate.”

“Master Kavar, remove him from the chamber and escort him back to Black cage,” Atris demanded.

“You won’t do that,” Spike laughed, beginning to pace around the room, forcing his magic to work at temporarily clearing his head. “This is how I see it. The Jedi need to respond this time, the order can’t be cowards like it was in the last war because it’s a member of our own attacking the Republic. You need warriors, but pretty much all of the Jedi who had combat experience left after Malachor. You need warriors, need generals, who actually have experience, so you need me.”

“You flatter yourself too much, Spike, it is not an endearing trait,” Vrook Lamar leaned forward.

“Oh do I?” Spike snorted. “Because the last I checked you would have left me to rot in fucking Black Cage, but you got me out, so you need me far more than I need you right now.”

“We could always take you back,” Vrook pointed out.

“Try it and I’ll disappear,” Spike shot back. “You found me last time because I wasn’t hiding, I was just out of the general public’s eye. It’s a large galaxy, you can hide in it if you want, even someone as unique as me. But I’m not going to hide, and you’re not going to take me back.”

“Then tell us, Spike, what are we going to do?” Kavar asked.

“You’re going to formally reinstate me as Master, you’re going to make sure that I am reinstated as a general in the Republic Army, you’re give me control of the Special Forces which I helped train, and finally, you’re going to let my padawan come with me and return Harmony to me,” Spike looked directly at Kavar. “You do that, and I will help you fight this war.”

“And if we don’t comply?” Kavar asked.

“I leave, you fight a war you clearly don’t think you can win without me, the Jedi Order is destroyed, the Republic is sacked and turned into a Sith ruled Empire, and you get to be the jedi council who lost it all,” Spike sneered.

“We will do what we can to see your position in the Republic military reinstated,” Kavar nodded, glancing around at the other masters and getting near unanimous nods, although they were not all enthusiastic. “We will also grant you your old title of Master.”

“We will not grant you the rights to a padawan though,” Atris cut in. “Katara is young, I would not see a member of our order corrupted any further by your teachings.”

“Fine, suit yourself,” Spike folded his arms. “I hear there are plenty of beautiful planets in the Outer Rim for a holiday.”

Spike turned, unsteadily walking towards the lift doors, before Kavar raised his voice once more.

“Atris spoke in haste, Spike. Katara will be allowed to be returned to your tutelage, if, and only if, she wants to. Harmony is berthed in Gateway Station in orbit, we will send you news there.”

“I’m glad to see you can all be reasonable,” Spike smiled, his sarcasm showing through. “Now if there is nothing else, I’ll be going.”

“Go with speed, Spike,” Kavar nodded to the dragon as Spike entered the lift.

“Oh I will, Kavar, I will,” Spike grinned, before the doors slid shut and Spike began his descent back down to the most probably infuriated guards.

Hit and Run

Spike and Katara waited silently by the holo-projector on board Harmony, both of them looking anxiously at it as the seconds ticked by. Other members of the new crew were already preparing the ship, before Spike let out a sigh.

“What’s taking them so long? How long does it take for someone to get permission to join a fucking war?”

“Patience, master,” Katara smirked. “Didn’t you tell me once that a Jedi should be patient and wait until the time is right to act?”

“Yes, I did, but the time to act is now,” Spike pointed out. “We just need coordinates to link up with the fleet and we can go, give us a chance to see what improvements they made to my ship when I was otherwise occupied.”

“I kept an eye on her for you, master,” Katara assured him.

“Give me a run down on them.”

“Certainly,” Katara nodded. “Were placed the old Corellian pattern shield generator with a newer Alderaanian design. It draws less power and creates a more powerful shield, the only downside is its size, technically a ship of this weight shouldn’t be carrying something made for Heavy Cruisers, but the Republic decided risking the new tech on a private warship was better than on one of their own corvettes. We’ve tested it extensively, master. It works.”

“Good, anything else?”

“Well the engines are still top of the line, faster than most ships in the fleet in theory, we’ve yet to back it up in practice. The turbolasers have all been given an overhaul, new focusing crystals and the like, but the biggest upgrade is the one I’ve saved for last. A mass-driver cannon now runs along the length of the entire ship, rear-loaded, and capable of launching shield penetrating projectiles at speeds of six kilometres a second. May seem slow compared to laser fire, but this thing packs one heck of a punch. Problem is the power drain makes reloading and recharging it slow, and the fact that we have to turn the ship to aim it.”

“So we get one easy shot then rely on our other weapons,” Spike shrugged. “In any case it should give Revan and his forces pause when we start pushing back against them. You’ve been keeping up with events in the war I assume?”

“Yes, master,” Katara nodded. “I was due to be placed in another fleet in a few weeks to meet the main force head on, but I am glad that I’m here with you now. It’s good to be back aboard Harmony. Atris never let me take her out, something about being a ‘bad influence’ on me, but at least I still got her upgraded.”

“None of that matters now,” Spike scowled at Atris’s name. “I’m out, Atris got put in her place by the rest of the council and told to button it, and I get to fight alongside the Special Forces once more. Things are looking up at the moment. Aside from the whole war thing.”

“You seem to be taking it really well, master,” Katara pointed out. “I thought when you heard who was leading them you’d be off in a rage.”

“Oh I am angry, don’t you worry,” Spike chuckled darkly. “If I see Revan I’ll tear him apart with my bareclaws, but for better or worse he knows me. He and I fought the Mandalorians together at the beginning of the war, he knows my strategies. He will be expecting my anger to trump my common sense and attack him straight on, or he would if he knew I was in charge of a few things. I plan to let him know who’s opposing him when his ships start to burn.”

Katara opened her mouth to respond, before the holo-projector flickered into life, Kavar appearing before them, looking at Spike.

“Spike, good news, the Republic okayed your command of the Special Forces and reinstated your old rank of General. Apparently Colonel Cortez was perfectly happy to stand aside as the commanding officer in your place. The Special Forces are anchored over Arcadia as we speak, they’re awaiting your arrival.”

“Thank you, Kavar,” Spike nodded. “We’ll make Revan pay for what he’s doing, just make sure the council does something in this war, we’ll need everyone we can get this time around.”

“We’ll be there, Spike, don’t you worry. Kavar out.”

The link went dead as Spike turned to Katara, smiling as he headed towards his old command chair.

“All hands, make ready for Hyperspace. Pilot, plot a course for Arcadia, all haste please.”

“Aye, captain, course plotted for Arcadia,” the pilot replied, his hands dancing across the controls of the ship. “Warming up the Hyperdrive, moving to system jump point. Ready to jump, jumping in three, two, one, mark.”

The ship shot forward on his words, speeding towards Arcadia and the fleet that awaited them there.

***

“It is good to see you, old friend,” Spike laughed, pulling Cortez into a hug. “It has been too long.”

“Agreed,” Cortez did his best to return the bone crushing hug. “I’m sorry to hear what they did to you.”

“Think nothing of it, it wasn’t your fault,” Spike shook his head. “Now come on, we’ve got a war to plan.”

“About the war, Spike. Is…is it true? What they say about Revan leading the fleet?”

The rest of the room went quiet, the officers on board the Hammerhead that had served as the fleets command ship before Spikes arrival all turning to look at Spike and Katara. Spike let out a sharp sigh, before raising his voice.

“Yes. Revan is leading the fleet against us. The man we once served alongside and under has turned his back on everything we are supposed to stand for. He may also have turned other Republic personnel to his cause, including ex-Admiral Saul Karath. If you take away one thing from today, take away this: These men are no longer Republic soldiers. They’ve cast off their oaths, destroying the very thing they helped to create. We were forged in the fire of the Mandalorian Wars, every one of us, now we were have to temper ourselves in a new war. Whatever we do, we cannot let who these animals once were stay our hand, even for a moment. If we do, the Republic we all love will fall.”

There were a few murmurs around the room as Spike spoke, but finally the majority of the officers present nodded, Cortez walking over to the planning table, activating a hologram of the galaxy, a thick red arrow pushing in from the unknown regions of space, carving out a section of space either side of it, representing the boundary of the new Sith Empire. Korriban was predictably within the newly controlled space, the ancient Sith home world having been one of the first places to swear allegiance to Revan and Malak unconditionally.

“The Sith are pushing for the Core World of Duro, if they take the world they will have a foot in the core and will be able to pour their fleet through the Hyperspace Lanes that lead there,” Cortez started, indicating the map. “We do not have the strength in ourselves to oppose them, that is best left to the Republic Navy itself. We are going to fall back on what we know, fast hit and run tactics, aimed at destroying Sith supply lines and disrupting trade within their new Empire. We did this with the Mandalorians, I see no reason why we cannot do it again.”

“Because Revan is in charge,” one of the other officers pointed out.

“And I’m in charge here,” Spike countered, leaning forward. “Revan was a great tactician, there is no doubt there, and this new fleet of his may be advanced, but so far he has only advanced down one corridor of attack. I believe he is committing everything he has to this attack, meaning he will have little defence on his trade ships. If we split our forces up, hitting from all angles at once, we can force his hand and make him turn some of his ships back. We can do this, but we need to be committed. We will be operating deep behind enemy lines at times, you need to be able to hold your nerve when pressed. Hold true to the Republic, and she will see you through this. The Republic was formed over twenty thousand years ago, it has been assailed time and time again by Sith, Mandalorians, crazed warlords, and all other manner of beings, and yet it has stood. Revan will not shake its foundations if we stand firm, and we will stand firm because its foundations will not waver. Do you understand?”

“Sir, yes sir,” came the unanimous reply.

“Good,” Spike nodded. “Now, we must make plans for splitting up our forces quickly, I want to get to grips with the Sith at the soonest possible opportunity. It’s been too long since I killed something.”

***

Harmony shot from Hyperspace, five other Hammerhead Cruisers exiting Hyperspace beside her as they bore down on a fleet of trade vessels. Most of the fleet they were moving towards were simple freighters, but more than one were warships, turning towards the sudden interlopers in their midst and charging their own shields.

“Analyse the approaching enemy, and get me firing solutions on that capital ship at the front,” Spike ordered from his command throne, before activating his comm system. “Katara, wait until I give you the go ahead, then escort the bombers to the freighters. We’ve got to do this quickly, we don’t want them getting away from us.”

“Yes, master,” Katara replied, his Padawan already strapped into her fighter, ready to leave at a moments notice.

“Sir, seven Sith vessels have been identified. Weight categories place them as five destroyers, one light cruiser, and one battlecruiser. Targeting trajectories on the battlecruiser are set.”

“Let’s show them our new teeth then,” Spike snarled, his lips pulling back to reveal his own teeth. “Spike to all ships, open fire!”

The whole ship shuddered as the mass-driver fired, the lights dimming slightly from the massive power drain as the burning orange projectile shot towards the Sith fleet. They were still a hundred kilometres away, but in space terms that was point blank, the projectile moving too fast for the battlecruiser to avoid it. That didn’t stop it trying though, turning to the side to try and avoid the projectile.

The shell hit it directly on its side, passing through the shields as if they weren’t even there, before punching through the first layer of the hulls armour. A second later the shell detonated, an explosion ripping through the inside of the ship, its own shields containing the blast. The ship began to list heavily to one side, barely missing hitting one of the destroyers, before its engines flickered out, the lights aboard it dying as the fire continued to spread through the ship. Large sprays of frozen oxygen shot from the ship, allowing the flames to burn in space for a fraction of a second before being snuffed out by the vacuum.

“We have a confirmed kill,” one of the bridge crew called. “A few life-pods are leaving the ship right now.

“Yes!” Spike roared happily, punching the air as the ship died. “Good shooting. Katara, the battlecruiser is down, all fighters protect the bombers, take out the engines of the freighters, we’ll handle the rest of the fleet up here.”

“Yes, master. Good hunting,” Katara replied, her fighter coming into view before Harmony a moment later, avoiding the main Sith battle line and speeding towards the freighters, the few Sith fighters that were deployed from the remaining cruiser quickly being swarmed by Katara and her wing.

“Alright stop gawking at the fighter boys,” Spike called out. “Order the Hammerheads Senates Hand and Redoubt to form up in front of us and close to attack distance with the Cruiser. We still have them on the back foot, I want to capitalise on our advantage as much as we can.”

Spike lapsed into silence as his orders were carried out, the two Hammerhead Cruisers moving forward, their shields absorbing the Sith fire as best they could, allowing Harmony to approach unmolested.

“Alright break off, one each side, let’s give these bastards a proper welcome to Republic Space,” Spike grinned. “Gunnery Chief, get me targeting solutions on their bridge, I want to hit them until their shields drop then cut off their head.”

Harmony shuddered as all of the turbolasers fired as one, speeding across the tiny distance between her and the Sith Cruiser and slamming into its shields, just as the two Hammerhead cruisers fired, bombarding the enemy from both sides. The Sith shields went white as they fought to repel the fire being directed at them, before finally flashing brightly and disappearing completely.

“Don’t let up, burn their mongrel hides,” Spike snarled, thumping a fist on arm of his command throne.

He didn’t really need to give the orders, the turbolasers still firing at max speed, slowly chewing through the ships thick armour. The bridge was the first thing to go, a laser slamming into it, blowing out the glass and exposing it to the void, those inside who survived the initial shot being sucked flailing out into space. Next the engines were destroyed, both of them blowing out spectacularly, the ship catching fire from behind, explosions ripping through the super structure.

“Pull back! Now!” Spike ordered. “Helmsman, all ahead back! That things going to blow and I do not want to get caught up in it.”

Harmony shuddered as her reverse engines flared into life, pushing the ship backwards, her own internal gravity exerting heavy G-force on the occupants. Never the less she did start to quickly pull away from the stricken Sith Cruiser, the Hammerheads peeling away and heading for the destroyers.

A moment later, the cruiser exploded, a for an instant it was like a new star had been birthed in the void, before it was stuffed out, leaving only a few atomised particles floating in space, forming a slight haze, marking the death place of an entire ships worth of Sith.

“Take us close to the freighters,” Spike ordered as he stood up. “Prepare the boarding boats we have and signal for the rest of the fleet to prepare their own. Make sure they only deploy their boats when they are sure they will be safe.”

With that, Spike left the bridge, heading down towards the hanger. The few marines that Harmony carried were already there, loading into the shuttle that would ferry them to the freighters, while Spike ran his organic hand over his Basalisk, feeling the cool metal beneath his fingers and sighing.

He had gotten quite used to flying this now, having practiced extensively after the end of the last war. Most of the war droids had been destroyed per Revan’s instructions, making this quite possibly one of the last of their kind. Only time would tell if the years he hadn’t been able to use it had been kind to his piloting skills.

Climbing on, he pulled the one modification he had made to the craft out, attaching a large cable that fed into the droid to a port on his back. As soon as he did so he could feel the fuel of the Basalisk slowly entering his bionics, heating them up, and spreading the warmth across his whole body. The only problem he had flying in space was that it was freezing, and this rectified that problem somewhat. It was still not comfortable, but he wasn’t in danger of freezing to death anymore, and that was good enough for him, the discomfort being a small price to pay to not be forced inside a cramped shuttle.

The shuttle lifted off from the deck, edging forward past the hangers ray shields, heading towards the now completely disabled freighters. Spike followed suit, soaring out into space, heading for the closest freighter. As he flew, he saw Katara speed past him, her fighter far outstripping the droid in terms of speed, and Spike could almost imagine her grin, before he landed in the enemy hanger, the Marines already putting down the last bits of resistance.

“Report,” Spike ordered as he climbed down from the droid, heading for the Marine captain.

“All signs of resistance have been crushed, general,” the man saluted quickly. “We will continue to scour the ship of course, but we believe there to be just non-armed crew now, they are surrendering in droves.”

“Kill any who resist, I would not have snakes coming aboard our ships. Put the rest in bonds and get them back to the ships. I also want to know what this ship is carrying. If we can repair the damage we’ve done then we can take the ship home, otherwise take what we can and destroy the rest.”

“Aye, sir,” the man saluted again. “Where are you going, if you do not mind me asking, sir?”

“I’m going to the bridge,” Spike popped his neck bones. “If there is any resistance left, I think it is likely to be there. I think I’ll have a little chat with the captain. Alone.”

“As you wish, sir,” the captain nodded, before turning back to his men. “Alright, squad three, round up the prisoners and get them back to the fleet. “Squads one and two, with me, we’re heading for the holds.”

Spike watched the men go, before igniting his Lightsabers. He was eager to ensure that his skill in battle had not left him, and with that thought, bounded off towards the bridge.

The Dark Lords of the Sith

Spike smiled as Harmony jumped back into Hyperspace, watching his screen to check all of his fleet had also made the jump, before letting out a sigh of relief. Yet another raid had gone off without severe casualties on their side, the Sith freighters they had targeted now stripped of anything useful and left to burn, their navicomputers locked onto the systems star. Even if the Sith did manage to board them again, they wouldn’t be able to save the ships.

Spike and the other Special Forces has been at this for weeks now, raiding up and down the path of the Sith advance, making sure that getting supplies to the front lines was extremely difficult and costly for their enemies. This was clearly having the desired effect, as the Sith assault had slowed to a crawl, more and more ships and soldiers being pulled away from the front in an effort to put an end to the raids.

Spike could just picture Revan trying to counter the raids, trying to work out a discernible plan that Spike was following. If Revan hadn’t known who he was fighting at the beginning of the war, he surely knew now.

“Well done everybody, if we keep this up we may buy enough time for the main Republic fleet to regroup and push these bastards back from where they came,” Spike called out to the bridge crew. “Helms…”

“Sir, call coming in, priority one security clearance,” one of the bridge crew called out, looking round at Spike. “Shall I patch it through to your quarters?”

“No, put it through on the bridge,” Spike shook his head, getting up and standing by the holo-desk.

“Aye aye, sir,” the man nodded, pressing a few buttons, the hologram bursting into life, putting Spike face to face with the Republic’s Supreme Commander.

“Commander Tao-ni,” Spike nodded. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“There’s no time for chit-chat now I’m afraid, general,” Tao-ni shook his head. “You and your men are doing a great job stalling the Sith advance, but we’ve just got news of a splinter fleet breaking off from the main force. They are heading for Telos IV, and I can’t risk breaking a part of our own fleet off to intercept them.”

“What about the Coruscant Home Fleet?” Spike asked. “The Sith haven’t gotten anywhere near there yet, surely you can afford to take some ships from there?”

“In normal times yes, but we don’t have time on our side this time,” Tao-ni shook his head. “With current estimations of the Sith splinter fleet’s speed, the planet will be under Sith occupation long before the Home Fleet can get there. The only ships fast enough to reach there in time are yours, General. I’m reassigning you to guard Telos IV, we cannot allow that planet to fall or the Sith will be able to put a chokehold on the Hydian Way. I’m dispatching what assets I have but you’ll have to hold them off until they get there.”

“Understood, commander, I won’t let the planet fall,” Spike nodded.

“I know you won’t. Tao-ni, out.”

“Alright you heard the Supreme Commander,” Spike called as the hologram died, turning to face the bridge crew. “Signal all ships in the squadron to drop out of Hyperspace and relay the message to all other Special Forces in our quadrant. We make for Telos at full speed.”

***

The Special Forces did not take long to reach Telos airspace, quickly falling into formation around the planet, their black-hulled ships almost invisible against the darkness of space. That is not to say they were invisible, far from it in fact, the majority of attacks being aimed at the emissions the ships gave out rather than their physical form, but it did help to unnerve opponents, and it served them well against fighters and bombers.

Spike and the other commanders who had managed to get to the planet in time were gathered around the planning table in Harmony, watching as two separate fleets approached Telos. The faster of the two seemed to be much smaller, but was already closing in on the planet, while the bulk of the force was still trailing behind that, looking like it would not get to the planet for hours after the first one arrived.

“Well then? Ideas, I want to hear them, captains,” Spike looked around at his officers.

“Wait here, deploy all our forces in a defensive cordon around the planet and wait for the Sith to come to us,” one man spoke up. “We will have the advantage of the home field and Telos’s few defensive guns which should give us the advantage we need to hold them off until we are reinforced.”

“I disagree, Captain Mansuero” Katara shook her head. “The Sith outnumber us massively when their fleets are combined, and they will get around any defence we mount and simply move onto the planet without securing the orbitals first. If we allow both fleets to merge then we can kiss Telos and the Hydian Way goodbye.”

“What do you suggest then?” Spike looked at him.

“If we can force the large fleet to engage us outside of the Telos system, we will have much more flexibility to engage them with,” Katara began. “A small force left here, combined with Telos’s defences, could hold off the smaller fleet, while the rest of our ships could delay the main Sith force. We wouldn’t be able to defeat them, but we could slow them down enough to make a difference.”

“That will never work,” Mansuero insisted. “The larger force will not be slowed by anything less than our entire strength. If we split our own forces then we only invite destruction.”

“Not if we do not engage them directly,” Katara pressed. “if we stick to using torpedoes and our long guns then we can force the larger fleet to follow us and not allow them to jump to Hyperspace. We are not trained for a defensive action of this nature, so let us use what we all know and hit them hard and fast and then retreat and do it again.”

“I’ve heard enough,” Spike spoke up again. “Katara is right, allowing the Sith to regroup is folly and spells disaster for the planet. A small force, led by Captain Mansuero will remain at Telos to engage the smaller Sith vanguard when they arrive, while I will lead the rest of our forces to engage the main Sith force at this point.”

He indicated a point on the star map.

“If we move quickly we can redirect some of this asteroid belt right into the Hyperspace lane and force the Sith fleet to slow back into realspace for us to engage. If we use this nebula to our advantage, we should be able to engage them for at least an hour before they regain their path and jump again, maybe more if we are successful in our attacks.”

“What I wouldn’t give for some interdictor tech,” one of the captains, Saol if Spike remembered correctly, sighed.

“It would make things far easier, but we work with what we have,” Spike agreed. “If there is nothing else then I want you all back to your ships. Captain Mansuero, deploy your squadrons as you see fit, everyone else, all haste to the asteroid belt. We have one shot to move them before the Sith fleet is past us.”

***

Spike held his breath as the seconds ticked on, more and more time passing by with no sign of the Sith fleet. They had made good progress out of the system, quickly pulling some of the larger asteroids out of the belt with the Hammerheads tractor beams and placing them directly in the Hyperspace lane, before retreating to the nebula.

While they were hidden from enemy sensors, which would be useful when the Sith fleet finally did arrive, it also meant their own sensors were down, and Spike had no way of knowing what was going on outside of the gaseous cloud. Every minute that passed made his nerves rise more and more. If he had miscalculated, if they hadn’t managed to stop the Sith fleet, then he had not only left some of his own men willingly behind to take the fire, he had abandoned an entire planet to the Sith.

“What’s taking so long?” Spike hissed.

“It should only be a few more minutes, master,” Katara reasoned, sweart covering her own brow.

“Oh I hope you’re right, Katara, I really do,” Spike muttered, watching the space before him before grinning. “Jackpot.”

A single Sith ship appeared from Hyperspace, slowing down a few thousand kilometres away from the asteroids, followed quickly by another, and another. In total five ships exited Hyperspace, each one a massive Interdictor-class Cruiser. Spike couldn’t help but marvel at the vessels. The only one he had known to be constructed properly by the Mandalorian Wars had been the Leviathan, Saul Karath’s ship, and while the Sith were reportedly using far more of these ships now than the Republic themselves had ever built, it was the first time Spike had seen one for himself.

“Wait, the rest of the fleet will be coming soon,” Spike ordered, keeping his voice down as a force of habit.

The silence continued for a minute, the ships milling around, not moving past the asteroids, as if they were content to simply wait. After yet another minute, Spike began to get even more paranoid.

“Order one ship out of the nebula, quietly,” he ordered, looking at the radio operator. “I want to know when the hell the rest of this fleet is going to arrive.”

The man nodded, quickly relaying instructions, getting a quick reply in response, before going pale and turning to Spike.

“S-Sir, they say the fleet just…vanished. There isn’t one on approach anymore.”

“Bullshit, it’s a system glitch, check again,” Spike ordered, clenching his fists tight.

“He did, sir, three more times. All scans come back showing the same thing. The fleet we chased no longer exists…and sir, the fleet on route to Telos, it’s larger than we thought.”

Realisation shot through Spike as he slammed his hand down on his command thrones arm.

“Get us back to Telos, now! Every ship is to make for the planet at top speed, burn the engines to a crisp if you have to, divert all power away from non-essential systems! Do it!”

“Sir, something’s holding us here, the Hyperdrives are ready but won’t engage,” one of the bridge crew called out. “All ships are reporting the same problem, it’s an artificial gravity well!”

“Fuck! No!” Spike bellowed. “All ships, forward! We’ll blast these bastards out of the sky and make for Telos!”

Spike felt the engines of Harmony kick in, and he could already feel the ship moving into position to fire her main gun. This would be the largest target she had ever fired upon, and it would be a true test of her power.

The gun fired at the nearest ship, the shell accelerating to a fraction of the speed of light before it slammed into the nose of the cruiser, passing right through the shields and exploding. The front of the ship was consumed in the fireball, and for a moment Spike thought they had killed it, before it began to turn, the ships presenting their sides to the Special Forces, before firing as one.

Hundreds, if not thousands of turbolaser shots sliced into the nebula, the Republic shields flaring under the ruthless assault. Spike didn’t know what the damage to his fleet was, intent on getting to grips with the Sith.

“I want the main gun reloaded and recharged, now!” Spike bellowed. “All ships…”

Spike

Spike growled as the voice penetrated his head, turning his gaze towards the central ship and letting out a reptilian hiss.

“Revan.”

“Master?” Katara asked.

“It’s him, it’s his flagship. We can still turn this situation around,” Spike grinned savagely. “Order second squadron to form up behind me and move to close assault range, we are boarding that vessel. All other ships engage and destroy the Sith fleet, boarding actions are permitted. As soon as ships are able they are to jump system and make speed to Telos.”

“We’re boarding Revan’s flagship?” Katara asked, her voice wavering slightly as shots hammered into Harmony’s shields.

“Intensify forward shielding, drain power from the main gun if we have to, forget my order to reload, just get me to that ship,” Spike ordered, before looking at Katara. “Don’t you see? We have a chance to end all of this, without Revan who’s going to fight this war? Malak? That man couldn’t fight his way out of a one way system without instructions. We have the strongest soldiers in the Republic with us, the Sith can’t stand up to us, even on their home turf. We can end this war today.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing, master,” Katara nodded, following Spike towards the hanger bay at a sprint, the pair forming up with the soldiers as Harmony came to a halt beside Revan’s ship.

The umbilical cord extending from Harmony seemed to take forever to reach Revan’s ship, the plasma torches on the end beginning to burn through the hull. Finally, after what must have been five minutes, the breached hull fell away, Spike leaping through the gap, his Lightsabers activated and his blaster cannon firing wildly.

“Revan!” he bellowed loudly as the republic forces clashed with the Sith, the Mandalorian-esk armour standing out in stark contrast to the gunmetal grey and full face visored helmets of the Sith. “I know you’re here! Fight me!”

“Master, what’s our target,” Katara asked, her own Lightsaber active and deflecting blaster shot.

“Revan is,” Spike snarled. “But we also need to take out the gravity well generator. We sabotage that and Revan will have to come to us.”

Not waiting for anyone to acknowledge what he said, Spike set off again, sprinting down the corridors of the ship as he desperately downloaded schematics from the holonet of this ships layout, steering him and his men in the right direction towards the gravity well generators. The resistance along the way was fierce, more than one of Spikes soldiers falling to never rise again, but Spike was relentless, smashing through their ranks just like he had done with the Mandalorians in the last war, and the Krath in the war before then.

Finally, Spike emerged into the cavernous room that held the gravity well generators, the three massive orb like structures towering over everything else in the room. The last technicians were already fleeing, Spike momentarily debating taking a shot at them, before refraining, turning to his men.

“Set demolition charges and thermal detonators. If you’re not doing that I want you on look out, no one gets close to this room without…”

Spike trailed off as he felt something approaching, turning and switching his Lightsabers into guard positions, Katara beside him, recognising Spikes stance and preparing for the worst.

“He’s coming,” Spike hissed. “Malak too, they’re both here.”

“Can we defeat them both?” Katara asked, fear creeping into her voice.

“We can try,” Spike nodded, before the doors to the generator room slid open, Revan and Malak stepping through.

Revan was the first one Spike focussed on, the mask of the Mandalorian woman still covering his face, while heavy black robes covered the rest of his body, a small gap down the middle showing that he was also wearing body armour beneath that. His Lightsaber was also different, gone was the hilt he had coveted as a Jedi, this hilt was longer, sleeker, and had two wicked blades flanking the main emitter.

Malak on the other hand was still the same massive man he had been before turning to the Dark Side, casting aside his old red robes for tight, form-fitting red armour. Like Revan he also carried a newly crafted Lightsaber, but what drew Spike’s eye the most was his jaw, or rather lack of a jaw. The lower part of his face was now covered completely with a metal prosthesis, armouring the lower part of his face and upper neck.

“Revan,” Spike growled.

“Spike, so good of you to join us,” Revan replied, his voice taking on a cruel tinge. “And you brought your little padawan as well. So quaint.”

“And you brought your loyal attack dog,” Spike snapped, glaring a Malak and sneering. “Did something happen to your face, little man?”

“The same thing that happened to you, Spike,” Malak’s voice now had a distinctive robotic tone to it as he spoke. “And the same thing I will make sure happens to your apprentice.”

“Lay a hand on her and I’ll kill you slowly,” Spike growled, crouching slightly to lower his centre of gravity, preparing himself for the fight ahead. “How could you do this, Revan? To betray the Republic?”

“The Republic is a stagnant beast,” Revan shook his head. “It is riddled with corruption and ineffectual rulers. They do not deserve the mantle of leadership in the galaxy, only the strong do. My Empire will ensure that the strong safeguard this galaxy.”

“The strong?” Spike snorted. “I thought your assault had been slowed to a crawl by my fleet alone.”

“It is true that your attacks have been a…hindrance to my plans,” Revan nodded. “But you will not succeed. Telos will fall, Admiral Karath has already provided us with the security codes to bypass your fleets, and with the planet under our control, you will no longer have access to the archives hidden within.”

“The archives?” Katara asked, holding her Lightsaber tightly, the blade held out before her.

“The archives of the Telos academy,” Spike elaborated. “We moved some of the Jedi knowledge there after Ossus fell in the Great Sith War.”

“And now that knowledge will fall like the planet,” Revan cut it. “Now, Spike, Katara, I give you one chance. Join me, stand beside me and help me put an end to this war. The Dark Side has power you would not believe.”

“Oh I believe it, Revan,” Spike growled. “But I would rather die than bow to you again.”

“And is your padawan likewise blinded by the lies of the jedi?”

“I’ll never follow you,” Katara spat.

“A pity, you both could have made fine allies,” Revan sighed, before he and Malak jumped forward, using the force to cross the gap between them and clashing with the pair.

Revan sliced down at Spike, hoping to power through Spikes guard through surprise, while Malak hit the ground before Katara like a comet, hacking and slashing at Katara, forcing her to backpedal away from the hellishly powerful assaults.

Spike on the other hand had the power advantage over Revan, his attacks forcing the man to retreat, and yet he could never find an opening, every time he thought he had an opportunity, Revan shut it off quickly.

“Stand still!” Spike roared, unleashing a gout of flame at Revan, the man dodging out of the way, before launching a barrage of lightning at Spike.

Spike grunted as he crossed his sabres before the storm, the Lighting slamming into them, lashing out at his bionics and sending alert messages and lights blaring across Spikes vision. Revan didn’t let up, and Spike let out a roar, before channelling his own magic from his claw, lightning jumping out and clashing with Revan’s.

“That’s it, Spike, feel the power of the dark side,” Revan pushed harder, Spike feeling his lightning getting more powerful. “Give into it, I can show you…”

“This is magic you idiot,” Spike snarled, pouring more of his power into his hand, glancing over at Malak and Katara, the pair still duelling, Katara keeping one step ahead of Malak as she used the force to jump away from him. It was almost comical, watching the massive form of Malak leaping after Katara, but it was also deadly.

“Magic doesn’t take sides,” Spike turned his attention back to Revan. “You’re weak to think that it can be more powerful because you decide it is. Passion is not the be all and end all!”

With a roar, Spike flexed his arm, channelling everything he had into the magical blast, flinging Revan across the room. Turning his attention to Malak, Spike flung Elusive, his Lightsaber knocking Malak's aside a second before it would have cut Katara in half. Before Malak could recover, Spike dived at him, taking to the air and delivering a kick into his stomach, knocking him back.

“Blow the generators!” Spike roared, grabbing Katara and covering her with his wings.

A moment later an explosion ripped through the superstructure of the ship, the three generators simply ceasing to be. A few pieces of shrapnel slammed into Spikes wings, but he kept Katara covered, before diving out of the way as the ceiling collapsed, separating Revan and Malak from Spike and the rest of the Republic troops.

“No! Fucking hell!” Spike roared, getting up and glaring at the destroyed ceiling. “Revan! This isn’t over!”

“Master! We need to go!” Katara bellowed, tugging on his arm. “The fleet is saying that the other ships have either been destroyed or disabled, the interdiction field’s gone, we can get to Telos now.”

“Tell the other ships to jump system,” Spike growled quietly. “This was a distraction, and we don’t have enough men to take this ship by force. Everyone back to Harmony, Revan get’s to see another day.”

Devastation

“Come on!” Spike bellowed, standing a few inches away from the viewport, starring into the swirling blue miasma of Hyperspace. “We have a class one Hyperdrive, we are the fastest ship in the Republic fleet god damn it, we could outrun Davik and his precious Ebon Hawk if we had to, so get us to Telos faster!”

“Sir, we took a lot of damage in the battle, we’re going as fast as we can but we’re leaking coolant from both the primary and the tertiary engine and the shield generator is fluctuating. If we divert power away from it we may not be able to get it relit in the event of combat.”

“Fine, keep them powered and deactivate the sensor array, keep communications running on ghost power and divert the power to the Hyperdrive,” Spike ordered.

The bridge crew got to work on Spike's orders, the lights dimming as every scrap of unnecessary power was redistributed. Repair crews were still trying desperately to fix some of the consoles that had blown out, but most of the damage had been contained already. Spike hadn’t been given a final report, but it was clear Harmony was in a bad shape, she hadn’t been this hurt since Eres, and it was showing as Spike sensed the Hyperdrive clunking and spluttering. They were running the ship hard, and if it hadn’t been so important for them to get to Telos quickly, Spike would have already switched to the backup and made for the nearest friendly port.

“Sir, we’re approaching the system. Pulling out of Hyperspace in three…two…one,” one of the bridge crew called, before Harmony slowed down, a terrible creaking a screeching heralding it, but Spike didn’t care for the sound, only what he saw before him.

Telos, the beautiful planet that he had left barely hours before, was burning. Not just the ground either, the entire atmosphere seemed to be rippling with heat as the firestorms raged below.
A few ships still seemed to be active, their engines weakly firing as they attempted to move out of the way of the debris, but the majority were little more than lifeless hulks, huge holes ripped in their hulls as they floated along lifelessly, caught in the gravitational pull of the planet. There were no signs of Sith ships.

Spikes throat when dry as images of Malachor came to mind, and it took him a minute to find his voice.

“R-reactive the sensor array, open up scans for life on the planet and hail any ships in the area. Bring…bring us in closer. If there are survivors we need to rescue them.”

“This is barbaric,” Katara whispered from beside him, tears forming in her eyes. “They didn't even take the planet, they just razed it to the ground. What could Revan possibly hope to gain from this?”

“Fear,” Spike whispered in return. “He wants us to fear him, he wants us to fear the fact that Saul Karath turned traitor and did this. It’s not going to work, I assure you.”

“Sir, we’re picking up a distress beacon from the surface and two fleets are approaching the system. One is our own fleet and the others are the reinforcements from the Home Fleet.”

“As soon as they arrive patch them through,” Spike ordered. “Make for the planet, are our shields still strong enough to take us through the atmosphere?”

“If we divert power away from the weapons then maybe,” the head engineer nodded.

“Do it, we’re not going to need them,” Spike nodded, before the communications office gave him a thumbs up, the communicator flaring into life.

“This is General Spike of the Special Forces to the Republic Home Fleet, please respond, over.”

“This is Captain Carth Onasi, I read you, general,” came the reply, the man’s voice clearly distraught. “What the hell happened here, sir?”

“That doesn’t matter at the moment, Captain, what matters is the relief effort for Telos. We are receiving a distress beacon from this location, I want you to send all available ships there for relief efforts, I will send what ships I have to assist you, as well as to look for survivors on the derelicts.”

“You don’t need to tell me twice, General, Carth out.”

Spike flicked the communicator to his own channel as the ships Carth had brought with him began to move towards the surface of the planet, their engines burning brightly as they poured everything they had into getting to their destination as fast as possible.

“Squadrons nine and twelve are to begin sweeping the wrecks for survivors. All other ships that are able move to the surface for rescue operations. If you’re too damaged, deploy shuttles and make yourself ready to receive wounded.”

“Where are we bound, sir?” one of the bridge crew asked.

Spike didn’t reply for a moment, starring out at the planet, before Katara finally raised her voice in his stead.

“We move to the planet, engineering, how are our shields looking for atmospheric re-entry?”

“They should hold, it will be touch and go though I’m afraid, master jedi. I can’t give you much more than that without testing them more, a lot of instruments are broken beyond repair down here.”

“Well just do what you can,” Katara replied.

“I can strengthen the shields,” Spike muttered, sitting down in his command throne and placing his hands flat upon its surfaces, his eye rolling back in his head as he felt the skins skin as if it was his own, pouring what little strength he had left into the shields.

Harmony’s engines began to blaze as they were propelled towards the planet, the rest of the Special Forces limping after it. They quickly reached the outermost layers of the planets, descending through the rapidly decaying gasses, fire licking their shields as they passed through. Spike felt his mind battered by the strain of keeping the shields up, but he held, the touch of fire being well known to him, presenting little in the way of discouragement, until finally they were through.

Spike let out a gasp as he let go of the ship, returning to his senses and standing up, shaking his head to try and clear away some of the nagging thoughts he was having. All of them could wait, for now there were people who needed his help, and by the force he was going to give it to them.

"Extend all flaps and drag wings, reduce the engines to minimum power draw, no point using them in atmosphere if we don’t have to,” he ordered, standing up as Harmony entered its final approach. “As soon as we touch down I want all non-essential crew off the ship helping the efforts, those who stay keep an eye on long range sensors, if anything more appears within ten parsecs I want to know about it. Do you understand me?”

“Yes sir,” came the near unanimous reply, only the Engineer saying something different.

“Word just in from the men working the shield generators, sir. Re-entry over-taxed them, they’ve shut down and are entering the recharge cycle. I don’t know how long it’s going to be but we are almost certainly grounded until we can get them back up and running, Harmony isn’t made for unshielded re-entry.”

“Do what you can to speed up the progress,” Spike ordered, before turning and walking towards the hanger, Katara hot on his heels.

“Master, are you ok?” Katara asked as the pair walked.

“This is my fault, Katara, we were supposed to be here, and I got caught up in dreams of grandeur,” Spike sighed. “I was so ready to be the next great commander of the Republic, but in the end I fell for a simple ruse and left an entire planet to burn. I have seen three planets die, Katara, no one should be able to say that.”

“We need to concentrate on the now though, master,” Katara reassured him, placing a hand on Spikes arm. “There are still people that need our help.”

“Yes, yes of course,” Spike nodded, reaching the airlock as Harmony landed.

The first thing Spike noticed as the ramp was extended and the airlock opened was the stench, the foul stink of burnt flesh and rapidly decaying plants snaking into the hanger of the ship. Katara and some of the other crew immediately gagged, Spike scowling at the smell, before stepping out onto Telos.

The surface of the planet was exactly how Spike had imagined it would look from orbit, huge fires billowing smoke into the air, while huge craters pockmarked the earth. Soldiers were already running back and forth, responding to the screams that floated through the air.

“Spread out by squad, provide what assistance you can and get them aboard the other ships here,” Spike ordered. “Harmony isn’t in the best shape, I don’t want to laden her with wounded and lose people because she isn’t in a fit state to carry them.”

The men quickly jumped to Spike's orders, Spike and Katara also setting off at a run, heading for a cluster of ships that had already landed, their markings showing them as part of the Home Fleet.

“Where is Captain Onasi?” Spike asked as he strode forward.

“He is out with a search party,” a man came forward. “I am lieutenant Harlod, he left me in command while he went out.”

“We need to coordinate our efforts,” Spike nodded. “Padawan Katara will stay here with you and oversee the Special Forces, let’s make sure that we get as many people as possible.”

“Where are you going, master?” Katara asked as Spike turned around.

“I’ll move faster on my own,” Spike flared his wings. “There may be people further out than where we’re searching, I wouldn’t have them left behind if we can avoid it.”

Katara nodded, Spike giving her a curt nod in return, before taking to the air, wheeling over the heads of the Republic soldiers and survivors of Telos, flapping his wings hard until he was over even sparser populated lands. The ground where the ships had landed had been devoid of life, but at least it hadn’t been actually on fire. Now all Spike saw were flames, fields upon fields of them as he flew. Even the oceans he passed were boiling, steam rising to join the smoke as they began to shrink in size. It wouldn’t be long before they vanished entirely, replaced by naught but an acidic sludge.

Eventually, Spike came into land, staggering slightly as he stopped atop a cliff, sending loose rocks skittering over the edge.

Master? Katara’s voice was loud and clear across the comms. the fleet managed to recover some crew from the wrecked ships, they are shedding light on what happened here before we arrived. Shall I patch you in?

“Yes please, Katara,” Spike sighed, wishing that the long quick flight had left him even winded, but being sadly disappointed.

Patching you in now.

Spike was greeted by a few seconds of silence, before the radio came alive once more, a man’s voice ringing through loud and clear.

They came at us like things possessed, swarming from Hyperspace like things possessed. Hundreds of ships, maybe thousands, the Leviathan at their head. We fought as best we could, Captain Mansuero did all he could, but they over-ran us in mere minutes. Most of our ships were destroyed utterly, but they left some of us active enough to watch what they did. These new ships, the Interdictor-class, they destroyed the entire planet in less than an hour, even when they surrendered, they just kept shooting, and then they left. They didn’t want this world, they wanted it to burn.

“Get medical attention,” Spike ordered. “Thank you for your services, I will make sure you are commended when you get back to Coruscant.”

Spike let the comm link die before hearing a response, turning around to look at Moonstone, the mare completely uncaring as smoke and flames blew around and through her. Then again, she didn’t exist, so why would she react? For a long time Spike tried to figure out what to say to her, trying to put into words what he was feeling and expressing them to the one being that would already know what he was thinking.

It was odd, Moonstone should have been the easiest conversation partner in the world, and yet Spike's words stuck in his throat more than they had with Katara. Finally, Moonstone spoke.

“Spike…”

“Please don’t, I’m not ready for the blame game from any but myself,” Spike shook his head, trying to concentrate before his shoulders sagged. “I’m sorry, Moonstone, I can’t…I don’t…”

Before Spike could decide what he couldn’t or wouldn’t do, he took to the air once more, wheeling back towards the republic ships, landing by the Home Fleet once more.

“Kata…” Spike began, before something hit him in the chest.

It didn’t hurt, but it was enough to stop Spike from talking and force him to take a step back, not prepared for the sudden attack. Looking down he saw a clearly grief stricken man wearing an orange jacket and old issue Republic flying trousers. The insignia on his jacket marked him as a captain in the Navy, and Spike instantly realised this was Carth Onasi. Tears were streaming down his face as he aimed another punch at Spike.

“Where were you?!” he roared, Spike knocking his hand away more as a reflex action than a conscious decision, still processing the unexpected attack, his already burdened mind not ready for this.

“You were supposed to be here! You were supposed to protect this planet! Where were you?!”

Spike finally caught hold of Carth’s arms, holding him tightly as he struggled, before lapsing into a sobbing wreck. Spike tentatively let go of Carth, allowing the man to collapse to his knees, wailing as he weakly beat his fists against Spikes feet.

“Where…were…you?” he sobbed weakly.

“I’m sorry,” Spike whispered, his own voice wavering as he looked at the clearly broken man, his conscience not being eased when the man looked up at him, tears still streaming down his face.

“Sorry? My wife…my son…my home? All gone, and you’re sorry?”

“What do you want me to say?” Spikes voice cracked. “I made a mistake, I made a big mistake, but I can’t bring them back. All I can say is I’m sorry for what I did, Carth. You are a War Hero, your family deserved better than this, but the Sith are to blame. Saul Karath…”

“Saul?!” Carth roared, rising to his feet as anguish gave way to rage. “Did you say Saul Karath?!”

“Yes, he was the one who led the attack,” Spike nodded. “You knew he turned traitor, didn’t you?”

“He…he came to me,” Carth began. “He said the republic wasn’t worthy of the service of veterans like me, that he knew people who would reward our service properly. I thought he was crazy or just hypothesising again, but to do this? I trusted that man with my life!”

“We don’t truly know anyone,” Spike murmured. “I didn’t trust Revan by the end, but doing this…”

“Don’t place your suffering on level with mine,” Carth growled, before shaking his head. “Sorry, where are my manners? Don’t place your suffering on level with mine, General.”

“Captain Onasi, I know you are grieving…” Spike began.

“Yes I’m grieving!” Carth roared as more tears sprung from his eyes. “My wife and son were on this planet! I just held my wife as she died in front of me, I can’t find Dustil, I can’t find my son! He could be dead! So yes I’m grieving, general! But this is on your shoulders as much as it’s on Saul’s. You abandoned your post…”

“That’s enough,” Katara cut in. “Captain Onasi, the atmosphere is degrading quickly and is eroding faster every minute. Soon we are going to have trouble breathing, so I suggest we get back to our ships. Telos is lost, Captain, I feel your pain but I do not want to see anymore death here today, there has been more than enough.”

Carth glared at Katara, before nodding, glaring back at Spike for a moment.

“Goodbye, General,” Carth spat at Spike’s feet, before turning and walking back to his ship, his feet dragging in the ash and his shoulders sagging, several of his men rushing over to him and surrounding him, doing their best to help him as they boarded their ships.

“Thank you, Katara,” Spike turned to his Padawan. “That situation could have turned ugly…uglier, it could have got far worse.”

“I saw, master,” Katara nodded. “But what I said is true, the atmosphere is degrading. Pretty soon we’re not going to be able to breathe here, let alone rescue any more people.”

“Get back to the ship then,” Spike ordered. “Order every ship that is able to make for the nearest Republic medical facility. When they have off-loaded they are to regroup and await further orders at Arcadia. All ships that need it should go into dry dock.”

“What about us, master?” Katara asked.

“Spike to Harmony,” Spike called out over the comms. “How are the shield generators?”

They’re holding and they’ve entered their recharge cycle, sir. My best guess is that they’ll be at operational level in an hour. I wouldn’t want to go into battle with them, but they’ll see us through planetary re-entry easily enough.

“Good, keep me informed, I want to know as soon as it is up and running again,” Spike shut off the comm before turning to Katara. “We can’t currently leave, Katara, but as you said soon you’re not going to be able to breathe out here. Go back to Harmony, seal the ship.”

“What are you going to do?” Katara asked in confusion.

“Meditate,” Spike sighed. “I need to do some thinking…a lot, a lot of thinking.”

“Stay safe, master,” Katara placed a hand on Spike’s arm.

“I can survive in space and toxins don’t affect me much,” Spike shrugged, trying to force a smile onto his face. “I’ll be fine, honest.”

“That wasn’t what I meant,” Katara let her hand drop, before coughing and turning towards Harmony. “I’ll let you know as soon as the shields are back online.”

Spike watched as Katara hurried back to Harmony, the airlock sealing behind her. Closing his eye, Spike folded his legs, sitting down on the ash as he opened himself to the force and the flow of magic. Spike could hear the screaming in his head, the death cry of millions, but he forced himself to keep going, suppressing the thought that no one should have to hear such a scream twice.

Spike felt the planet around him, touching every plant left even as the fires raced to consume them, feeling the life of every animal no matter how small and how tiny as they scurried to safety that they would never find. More than once he touched a life and they turned to face him, no matter where they were on the planet, sensing that there was something left besides them. Spike could feel their fear, some frozen by it, while others tried to race towards him and what they could only perceive as salvation, but it was futile. Soon, all life on the surface of Telos had perished, all life, right down to microscopic virus’s and single celled organisms. All life but Spike.

Master, the shields are ready Katara sounded cautious as she spoke. Are…are you ready to come back in?

“I am,” Spike rose as he spoke, walking up the boarding ramp as the outer airlock opened, admitting him inside. “Plot a course for Coruscant, you command, Katara. I’ll be in my chambers. I do not wish to be disturbed.”

Spike lapsed into silence as he headed for his room, ignoring the looks and whispers of the soldiers as he went, before finally locking himself in and crossing his legs once more, closing his eyes and opening himself to the ebb and flow of the magic around him, and the cool breeze of the force.

Before, Spike had hated the Sith for what they represented, and because they had turned some of the greatest warriors the Republic had ever known against it, now it was different. They had destroyed a planet, razed it to the ground. Every battle Revan had fought in the Mandalorian Wars was brutal, but always with strategy, always with a bigger goal in mind. Even Malachor had a bigger purpose, but Spike had been too blind to see it. Now his eyes had been opened.

The Mandalorians had been monsters, and the only way to stop monsters was to become monstrous themselves. They had bombed Serroco to dust, reducing the planet to ash, and that had created Revan, and ultimately led to their downfall.

Spike was not so vain as to think he was the next Revan, but he now knew what Revan had known. That some enemies couldn’t be beaten through conventional means, and that to defeat them, you had to meet them on their own playing field. Spike had been trying so hard to stay true to the ideals of the jedi, even if he didn’t agree with all of them, but now he saw that the ideals of Revan in the Mandalorian Wars were the only thing that could win this war.

“You will pay for this, Revan,” Spike thought rather than spoke, projecting his voice through the force, bolstering the signal with magic. “Whether it be in a day or a year, or even a decade, I will bring you to justice for what you did today. So swears Spike.”

A Hero Falls

Spike stood silently in front of the council, every member of the room looking at him with varying degrees of hostility. Some were holograms, sitting in on the meeting from half the galaxy away, but most of the council was actually here, in the flesh.

“Tell us again what happened?” Kavar asked softly.

“We picked up two fleets approaching Telos, one large, one small,” Spike began. “Instead of waiting for them to link up, I decided to engage the larger fleet outside of the Telos system to try and even the odds between our two fleets. When we arrived and forced what we thought was the larger Sith fleet out of Hyperspace we realised our mistake. Using our own codes provided to them by the traitor Saul Karath they had tricked our sensors, the Sith fleet was only a few ships. We engaged them to destroy the interdictor generators that were preventing us where I engaged Revan and Malak along with my Padawan.”

“You saw the traitors Revan and Malak?” Kavar asked in surprise.

“Saw, but didn’t kill,” Atris cut in.

“Remind me how many times you’ve fought in a duel in the last year,” Spike snapped, before looking back at Kavar. “We managed to destroy the generators and return to Telos, but we were too late. The planet is gone, we rescued who we could and returned to Coruscant.”

“So let me get this straight,” Atris spoke up again. “You were sent to protect a planet, that planet is now in flames. You engaged the two dark lords of the Sith, and yet both escaped unharmed. You also said that if you were allowed to leave your cell, you would help in this war. So far it seems you have not succeeded in anything you set out to do.”

“Atris, you will be silent,” Kavar stood up. “Spike has done his best, as well as any of us could have done in his circumstances. Saul Karath providing the means to fool our scanners and bypass our sensors could not have been predicted. After Spike found out his mistake he did as best he could and saved as many lives as he could. So please, stop berating him for something you have no evidence could have been achieved better by anyone else in his position, because I for one am getting tired of you constantly being on his case.”

Atris glared at Kavar, but remained silent as Kavar approached Spike.

“I know this can’t have been easy for you, Spike,” he spoke softly. “If you would like to be taken off of combat rotation for a few weeks then I am sure it could be arranged.”

“I’m fine,” Spike shook his head. “There’s a war on, I’m not going to sit on my thumb and wait for it to get worse. Harmony needs to have at least a week in dry dock though, so I guess I’m out of combat before my ships repaired.”

“Very well then,” Kavar nodded, before sighing. “As you clearly don’t want time away from the front, I won’t speak to Republic military command. You are dismissed though, and at the moment considering the status of your ship, you can be considered grounded. Perhaps some of the masters around the temple would be grateful for your help in combat training.”

“I’ll do what I can, Kavar,” Spike nodded, turning and walking towards Katara. “Are you fit?”

“I am, master, let’s go,” Katara turned with Spike, entering the lift and heading down into the temple.

***

Spike let out a low growl as he reviewed the latest readouts from Harmony for the hundredth time in the past few minutes. It was a mess, far worse than Spike had initially feared.

The shield generator had completely burnt out when they had taken off from Telos, and needed completely pulling out and replacing, as did a lot of the hull armour on the left side of the ship, having been completely stripped away in a broadside by one of the Sith cruisers. On top of that two of the turbolasers needed new focusing arrays, and Spike had personally ensured that the sensor array would be replaced with something non-standard to the Republic, something that had been a sizeable cost to Spike’s personal bank account, just to ensure that a fuck up like Telos would never happen again.

All in all, the repairs to Harmony would take far more than a week, stretching far closer to a month than he had thought. Spike was nowhere near ready to be bound to Coruscant for that long, which was why he was currently standing in front of Supreme Commander Tao-ni, reviewing the damage to his ship as Tao-ni contemplated his request.

“I need a new ship, sir, at least until my own is ready for combat once more,” he repeated again. “I know that Telos was not…”

“Not what?” Tao-ni snapped. “Not what we planned? My god, Spike, if you were a normal soldier I would already have demoted you and thrown you to the wolves for such a failure. Why should I grant you a new ship? I have half a mind to take away your command of the Special Forces altogether, Colonel Cortez would do a fine job in running that outfit.”

“Because I am still one of your best commanders,” Spike folded his arms. “Who ended the siege of Taris? I did. Who held Eres III before the Mandalorian burnt it? I did that too. Who broke through the line on Duxn? I did that. Who killed Cassus Fett? The most wanted man in the Republic? I did that. There are two other people who have my combat record, Meetra Surik, who was forced into exile, and Revan himself, who is now trying to destroy us all. If we go back further, I have a record of defending this very planet from the Mandalorians and Krath, I fought wars before you were even an Admiral, Supreme Commander.”

“I have scores of officers, many of whom served beneath you in the Mandalorian Wars and learnt from your mistakes,” Tao-ni continued. “Why should I not promote one of them instead?”

“Because the Special Forces were shaped and trained by me in war,” Spike pointed out. “I know them better than anyone else alive, save maybe Cortez. Put them under another commander and they will do well. Leave them under my command, and they will do far better. Telos not withstanding, how much time did I buy you and the Republic fleets?”

“A lot,” Tao-ni admitted. “Listen, Spike, I understand your position, but you must understand mine. Telos was a disaster, someone has to take the fall for this, and I am afraid that as the commanding officer that will be you. I will not demote you, but I am taking command of the Special Forces away from you. They will be placed under the command of Colonel Cortez until a suitable General can be selected.”

“Tao-ni, you can’t…” Spike began.

“Supreme Commander, I am not your friend in this, I am your commanding officer,” Tao-ni cut him off. “The decision is final, General. I am sorry, truly. I can’t lose your experience either, I am reassigning you.”

“To where?” Spike folded his arms.

“Fireshot Fleet, the Sith threat is great enough that we need to mobilise every ship, even the outdated ones.”

“I thought the fleet there had been decommissioned after the Mandalorian Wars?” Spike asked in surprise.

“It was going to be, it was being kept for two years until the other fleets could be increased in size, this war put that plan on hold,” Tao-ni shook his head. “The fleet needs a commander, you know the ships and their base, and I can play it off as a lesser position in the eyes of the public. There are also ships there for you to take command of as your own until Harmony is repaired.”

“Fireshot Fleet then, great,” Spike rolled his eye. “I commanded the fleet before, I guess I can do so again. Shall I organise Harmony’s transfer to Fireshot?”

“I’ve already taken care of it,” Tao-ni shook his head, passing Spike a datapad. “These are the new security codes for the station and the fleet, everything is being recoded after Saul. Memorise them and delete them, I would not have any unverified eyes looking over them.”

Spike nodded, scanning the codes once before handing the datapad back to Tao-ni.

“That was quick,” the man noted. “You have three days shore leave, then you are to report to Fireshot and await further instructions, am I understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Spike nodded.

“I am not going to have any trouble with you in your new position?”

“None, sir.”

“You are dismissed then, general,” Tao-ni sighed, placing a hand on Spikes arm. “And again, I am sorry about this, old friend.”

“I understand your reasons, Tao-ni,” Spike nodded. “I’ll lead the Fireshot Fleet, and Cortez, he’ll do fine by the Special Forces.”

With that, Spike turned and walked out of the room, his shoulders slumped slightly. He had expected some repercussions for Telos, but to have the Special Forces taken away from him, it was something he had never considered. He quickly caught sight of Katara, straightening up as his padawan approached him.

“We’re being reassigned, Fireshot Fleet again. Cortez is taking command of the Special Forces, we move for Fireshot in three days.”

“Yes, master,” Katara nodded. “What shall we do for the rest of the day?”

“Take the day off,” Spike smiled. “I’ve got time at the temple for once, there’s someone I need to see.”

***

Spike sighed as he approached Solaris’s chambers. He could already sense that something dark was sitting on the room, the magic within was sluggish, not as vibrant as it should have been, or as vibrant as it had been the last time Spike had seen his old master. Spike had always feared that a day like this would come, and he steeled himself for the worst as he knocked on the door.

“Come in,” Solaris called from the other side of the door, her voice sounding weak.

Pushing the door open, Spike quickly saw Solaris in her bed, a medical droid beside her. Her hair was now completely grey, wrinkles covering most of her face. If she had been old the last time Spike had seen her, she was approaching ancient now.

“Spike, it’s good to see you,” Solaris beamed, moving to sit up, before a coughing fit forced her to lie still. “Sorry, I’m not as young as I used to be.”

“It’s fine, Solaris, just lie still,” Spike smiled sadly, sitting down beside Solaris as her situation became known to him. “How bad is it?”

“Fatal,” Solaris didn’t sound phased by the word. “Old age catches up to us all, Spike. I could get cybernetics and stay in the fight, but truth be told the fight left me behind long ago. I’m a relic now, a tired one at that. It’s been nice having some bed rest over the past few months.”

“Solaris, I’m…sorry,” Spike sighed.

“About what?” Solaris laughed weakly. “That you couldn’t stop death itself? I don’t think there’s any shame in that. But enough of this morbidness, I want to hear about you. I am sorry I couldn’t visit you in prison, but I heard you got out and took the fight to that bastard Revan.”

“You always knew how to turn a phrase, Solaris,” Spike laughed in spite of himself.

“A trait I know you’ve picked up. Between me and the army, I reckon you swear like a proper soldier now.”

“I do my best.”

“Something’s wrong, isn’t it?” Solaris asked suddenly. “You seem dejected. What happened?”

“Just a…err, bad campaign, a bad battle,” Spike shrugged. “We lost an awful lot, mostly civilians. The council didn’t directly blame me, but I got reassigned away from the Special Forces. From the cutting edge to the blunt end.”

“And I know you’ll make that blunt end mean something,” Solaris assured him, before breaking into a coughing fit. When she finally stopped she lay her head back on the bed, looking even weaker than before.

“I’m glad came to see me, Spike,” she smiled weakly. “I’m not long for this world, and there’s something that always bothered me. Who were you speaking to all those times you were alone?”

“Oh her?” Spike laughed. “I would dearly love to show you, but I can’t. I’ll tell you about her. Her name is Moonstone, she…”

“Excuse me, Spike,” Moonstone interrupted, standing beside Solaris and smiling. “I’d like to introduce myself, even if you’ll be doing the speaking. Just say what I say please?”

“Spike? What’s wrong?” Solaris asked, looking around slowly, passing right by Moonstone.

“Moonstone would like to introduce herself, she’s asked to speak through me,” Spike rolled his eye.

“Well, let’s hear from this Moonstone then,” Solaris smiled.

Spike listened as Moonstone talked, keeping a few words behind her as he relayed her message to Solaris.

“My name is Moonstone, Solaris, and I must say it is a pleasure to finally have a chance to speak to you, even if it is only in this manner. I am part of Spike, a part of his magic if you will, I help him when he’s at his lowest, and keep him at his highest where I can. I have been with him for longer than anyone, but you are the first person not of Spikes own mind that I have spoken to.”

“I am honoured then,” Solaris smiled, before frowning. “Spike, don’t answer, this is Moonstone, if she can hear me.”

“She can,” Spike nodded. “She hears what I hear, but she can’t talk to anyone but me.”

“I won’t pretend to understand it, but I want to know; what did you mean that I was the first person not of Spikes mind you’ve spoken to?”

For a long time Moonstone remained silent, contemplating her answer before finally opening her mouth, Spike once again relaying the message.

“There was another, Desolation. He was part of Spike’s mind, his anger, rage, blind power. During the final attack on Duxn he made a bid to take over Spike’s mind, he only failed because Spike clawed out his own brain.”

“So that why you did that,” Solaris murmured. “Spike, if this Desolation could take over your mind, could this Moonstone do the same?”

“She would never do that,” Spike shook his head.

“I would never do that,” Moonstone affirmed at the same time.

“But are you sure?” Solaris insisted, coughing softly. “I don’t want to see you taken advantage of, Spike.”

“She’s been with me since my trials on Illum decades ago, Desolation was with me for a fraction of that time. If she was going to make an attempt, she would have done so already,” Spike assured Solaris.

“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence,” Moonstone muttered dryly.

“Your welcome,” Spike smirked at her, before Solaris let out a wheezing laugh.

“I always said that I’d never get used to you doing that, now…now I have proof.”

“Lie still, master,” Spike put his hand gently on her shoulder. “Save your strength.”

“Bah, to hell with saving my strength,” Solaris shook her head. “I got to see you again, I spoke to your broken up mind, I’d say today’s been a good day. And knock that ‘master’ shit. You’re a master now, got your own padawan. You’re better than I ever was, Spike.”

“No I’m not,” Spike shook his head with a smile.

“You’re right, no one’s as good as me,” Solaris laughed, before sighing contentedly. “I’ve lived a good life, Spike. A long one too. I’ve helped a lot of people out of tough scraps, and there’s not one second I regret, because all of my choices got me here, and to me that’s worth it. It’s my final lesson, Spike. One I know you’ll struggle with, but I want you to try, for me. When your time comes, remember that even the darkest days break, even the blackest night ends, and gives way to the dawn, brighter than any before it.”

“I’ll do my best,” Spike bowed his head reverently, before feeling Solaris grasping his hand.

“This is it, Spike, the moment I’ve been holding on for. I’ve got to leave you now, but know that I am proud to have known you, and to have called you my padawan, and my friend.”

“And I you, Solaris,” Spike smiled, forcing himself to put on a brave face. “I want you to know I’m grateful for everything you’ve taught me. You made me the dragon I am today.”

“Thank you,” Solaris whispered, before her eyes slowly closed, and her hand went limp.

Spike held the appendage for a few moments, before slowly standing up and placing it on her chest, making sure her eye lids were completely shut, making his old master look at peace. It was the work of moments for him to sense her departure from the mortal plane, both her feeling in the force and her magical ties were gone now.

Straightening up, Spike raised his head to the ceiling and roared. It was not full of rage or anger, or even dominated by sorrow, it was a mark of passing for a warrior and a friend. The sound lasted for almost a minute, Spike allowing his emotions to fuel his cry, before finally he stopped, crouching down next to Solaris smiling.

“You’ve earned this rest, master. Enjoy it, for both of us.”

But the Legend Never Dies

Spike stayed silent as he waited outside of the lift to the council chambers, ignoring the glares of the two guards who clearly recognised him from last time. This time however, he wasn’t trying to force his way up, nor was he angry. For once, Spike was perfectly calm and composed before seeing the council. Truth be told he couldn’t remember the last time he had spoken to them with such a level head.

Suddenly, the doors to the lifted opened with a soft hiss, the guards begrudgingly moving aside to allow Spike to walk through. The lift doors slid shut as he began his ascent upwards, preparing himself for what he was going to say. He didn’t know how the council would take his request, but he was at least going to ask. He owed it to Solaris.

Finally Spike reached the top, walking into the centre of the council chambers as he had done so many times before, waiting for its members to acknowledge his presence.

“I must say, it was a surprise that you actually requested a meeting for once, Spike,” Kavar spoke softly. “Usually you just barge in unannounced. But then I suppose this is not a normal time, is it?”

“No, Kavar,” Spike shook his head.

“Well then, let us hear your request,” Kavar sat back in his chair.

“I wish to preside over Solaris’s funeral,” Spike began, looking around at the others. “She was my Master, I was the last one to speak to her, and we were friends even after I was knighted. She never took another Padawan, and I like to think that means I knew her better than anyone else.”

“Out of the question,” Atris shook her head. “The funeral of such a prominent Jedi should be taken by a member of the council.”

“You never saw eye to eye with her methods in life, do not deface her memory by saying you saw her as one of the prominent Jedi,” Spike snapped. “And do not insult my intelligence by claiming that your quick refusal has anything to do with her being honoured, Atris.”

“Spike, please lower your tone,” Kavar cut in. “And Atris, I would respectfully ask for you to not allow your personal feelings to sway this matter.”

“Very well,” Atris nodded, albeit reluctantly.

“As for your request, Spike,” Kavar turned back to face Spike. “Atris does speak the truth, Solaris was one of our older members, she is a link to the past. Such an affair is usually well represented by Jedi from all walks. I am not sure you would be the most intelligent choice to speak at the funeral, considering your…checked past.”

“Now I don’t think that’s fair,” Vrook spoke up. “Spike speaks the truth, none of us knew Solaris to the extent he did. If we truly wish to honour the life of one such as her, surely we should let the one who knew her best speak on her behalf.”

“Thank you, Vrook,” Spike nodded gratefully, before addressing the council as a whole. “I am asking you for permission because this is the right thing to do, and you know it. This council and I haven’t seen eye to eye on many things, maybe there were even some things I was in the wrong about, but this is not one of them. Please, allow to honour her memory. She was my friend, and I’m fast running out of those.”

“Very well then, Spike,” Kavar nodded. “You will be allowed to take the funeral for Master Solaris, and we will ensure it is slated to happen before your ship out to Fireshot Station.”

“Thank you, Kavar,” Spike bowed his head. “I am in your debt.”

“Maybe we could work on you showing that then,” Kavar chuckled softly. “It was admittedly refreshing to have you walk in here announced for once.”

“I’m sure,” Spike managed a smile, before turning and heading out of the council chambers.

***

Spike hadn’t been in this room for a long time, and yet even without his cybernetic brain he would have remembered every detail of it. This was the last place he has seen Asho before her funeral, and now it would be the last place he would see Solaris.

Looking around once more to check that everyone who was supposed to be present was present, Spike started to speak.

“Master Solaris was a great warrior, and a better friend. She was not the perfect Jedi by any means, but nor did she want to be. She was controversial in her approach to things, something that earnt her no small amount of ire from those above her, and that controversy was passed to me. In spite of that she never tried to change, she didn’t wanted to be anything she wasn’t, and what she was was a fighter.”

Spike paused as he looked down at Solaris’s face, before waving his hand over her, the sheet bearing the symbol of the Jedi moving up to fully cover her.

“When we remember her, remember her as a warrior, it’s what she would have wanted. And for those who knew her best, remember her as a friend. In current times, friends like Solaris are hard to come by.”

Spike nodded once, the symbol being instantly picked up on, and the plinth that Solaris was resting upon began to lower itself into the ground.

“She is one with the force now, and although she is gone, remember that in time, we too will pass on, and also become one with the force. We are luminous beings, filled with life and passion, but we are only temporary vessels, our bodies are simply containers for the immortal force, and the magic of the universe. I ask now for a moment of silence, to remember her, and to know that we must move on for her. We must live our lives for the living Jedi, and those that have become one with the force will live on through us, through our memories, forever.”

As soon as the doors above the plinth slid shut, a beam of pure yellow plasma shot downwards, instantly incinerating the mortal remains of Solaris. Soon the ashes would be sealed away into a container, and normally that container would then be transferred to a Jedi envoy craft, and the ashes scattered across the stars. Spike had seen to it that he would be the one given that task instead, and he was going to ensure that she was finally laid to rest in the space around Fireshot. She had spent most of her life there, it seemed only fitting to Spike.

Slowly the Jedi in the room started to file out, until only Katara was left. Spike smiled at her as he scrutinised the doors on the floor, before turning to face her properly.

“Thank you for coming, Katara. It means a lot to have you here.”

“Of course, master,” Katara returned the smile. “I couldn’t leave you to do this on your own, even if you hadn’t asked me. How are you feeling?”

“Solaris died of old age, that’s no way for a warrior like her to go,” Spike sighed. “I know it sounds strange, but I know she would have preferred to have been killed in her prime, rather than fading from memory, bound to a bed.”

“What happened to the whole ‘she lives on through our memories’?” Katara asked, folding her arms.

“She does live on, through me, through anyone else who knew her,” Spike pointed out. “Doesn’t mean I can’t say she wouldn’t have wanted to go like this though.”

“And how do you want to go, Master? In battle, or peacefully in old age?”

“I don’t even know if I will ever will die of old age,” Spike shook his head. “I’ve never heard of a dragon dying of old age, and from every test I’ve run on myself I think my cells regenerate fast enough that that isn’t just myth. Hell I can get over small injuries quickly, give it enough time and I might even be able to grow my arm and legs back.”

“You didn’t answer the question, master,” Katara pressed. “I don’t want to see you here at all if I can avoid it, but I also don’t want to see you here with a hole in your head from dying in battle.”

“Katara, look at me. If I die, I don’t think it will ever be away from a battlefield, and I don’t think I’ll end up here either. For one thing I don’t know what it would take to burn me up.”

He let out a laugh as he tried to lighten the mood, Katara staying stony faced as he slowly stopped.

“It’s a joke, Katara. And if you want to know the truth, you’re never going to have to bury me, Katara, it’s far more likely that I’ll bury you. I’m a warrior, Katara, a product of my Master and the times I’ve lived in. Those around me don’t always live long, and I don’t want to see you here. That’s my problem, Katara. Now come on, we should get moving, the Fireshot Fleet is still in need of a commander.”

***

Spike ran his hands over the hull of Harmony, examining the tears in the armour before patting it lovingly. The ship was surrounded by a slew of scaffolding, men, women and droids scurrying over it as they sought to repair all the damage done in the battle against the Sith. On top of that, new parts were being attached to it, and Spike briefly wondered if he would recognise the ship once it was finished.

Turning away from his ship, Spike headed towards the exit of the dry-dock on Fireshot, leaving the repair crews to do their work. With luck, the ship would be ready before the fleet he was now in charge of was called to action, otherwise Spike was going to have to select a command ship from those now under his command.

The fleet was exactly like Spike remembered from the end of the Mandalorian Wars, only a few new ships having been added to the roster in the form of a trio of Hammerhead Cruisers. One of those was already spoken for as a command ship, Katara having taken it shortly after they had arrived. His Padawan had barely spoken to him since Solaris’s funeral, and when quizzed on why she had been uncharacteristically enigmatic and distant.

“Sir,” one of the captains of the fleet ran up to him as he walked. “We’ve had a message through from High Command, maximum encryption level.”

“From Tao-ni?” Spike asked as he walked, taking one of the corridors towards the command centre of the station.

“Not from the man himself but it certainly bears his seal of approval,” the captain responded. “The techs are currently decrypting the message, but they should have it ready by the time we get there.”

“Thank you, go back to your ship, I have a feeling this message isn’t going to be a friendly ‘welcome to your new command’.”

“Yes, admiral,” the man saluted, before walking off.

“Admiral?” Spike murmured as he walked, mulling the word over. “Well, it sounds more interesting than general at least.”

Spike was still debating the merits of the various titles he had to choose from when he arrived at the command centre, the men guarding it snapping to attention as he entered.

“Has the message from High Command been decoded yet?” Spike called out to no one in particular.

“It has, sir,” one of them people present called back.

“Display it on screen. Commodores, front and centre.”

Five men quickly stood up, standing beside Spike as the central screen came alive, displaying a video from one of Tao-ni’s direct underlings.

“This message is directly addressed Jedi Master Spike and the command staff of the Fireshot Fleet, coming directly from Supreme Commander Tao-ni. Enclosed is a written dictation of this message and all known information on what follows. Long range sensors at Rhommamool in the Tynna Sector have picked Sith fleet movements near the planet of Allanteen, a world the Sith have contested for almost a month. We lost all contact with the few Republic outposts still holding on there last week, and if Intel is to be believed there was a new fleet approaching the planet before they went dark. We believe this fleet will now capitalise on this momentum and make an attack run towards the Core from the south, splitting our forces even more. You are to engage that Sith fleet at the world of Vasdu and ensure that they cannot push into the Inner Rim. If you cannot destroy the fleet then you must damage it sufficiently that it will not have the power for a protracted campaign. A failure here could mean the end of this war, something you must not allow to pass. With the relative speed of your ships you should be able to reach Vasdu in three days, and the Sith fleet is reported to be five days away. Time is of the essence, I pray your hand is swift.”

The video went silent, Spike turning to the commanders he had called to him.

“Rhommamool, Allanteen and Vasdu? I have never heard of any of these worlds,” one of the men muttered.

“I have,” Spike shook his head. “I visited them all after the Great Sith War to help them rebuild.”

“Coincidence?” one asked.

“I hope so, not many people knew which worlds I visited,” Spike nodded, before looking at his datapad, the data from the message transferring directly to it. “This isn’t much to go on, numbers of the smaller Sith fleet and projected numbers of the new fleet. We have very little concrete evidence and what we do have isn’t good.”

“With the estimates we’ve been provided we will be outnumbered,” one of the men ran some calculations before speaking again. “By a factor of one to one point seven eight five.”

“It’s not the worst odds I’ve ever had, but we’re technologically outmatched as well,” Spike sighed. “Regardless, we have the defensive advantage. Please tell me we have some defences on or around Vasdu?”

“There are six space stations in geosynchronous orbit around Vasdu, as well as two ion cannons and a Hypervelocity gun on the surface. With luck all of the ground defences will be in range when the fleet arrives, and two space stations are always in range of each other, so at minimum we have two of them at any given point in time. At maximum we have two space stations and the ground defences.”

“Still not good odds,” one of the commodores sighed.

“But better than they were,” Spike shrugged. “Battle plans will be decided on route to Vasdu, I want every ship under your command ready for a full fleet engagement before the day is out. This is going to be brutal gentlemen, a lot of men and ships aren’t going to be coming back from this. The Fireshot Fleet was supposed to be disbanded, people call it obsolete. Let’s make sure that if this is our last action, they remember us, and why we’re the oldest fleet in the galaxy.”

***

Spike let out a sigh as he approached the door to the bridge of Katara’s Hammerhead Cruiser, pausing before he crossed the threshold.

“Permission to come onto the bridge?”

“Permission granted of course, master,” Katara replied, not looking round as she checked on the data on one of the holoscreens. “My ship is ready to go master, you did not need a personal visit to verify that.”

“No, but it’s far easier to have a conversation with someone in person,” Spike countered. “Katara there is a wall between us, I don’t want it there anymore.”

“Well I’m sure an out and out warrior like you will do your best to dismantle that wall,” Katara retorted.

“Katara I do not want to fight,” Spike insisted.

“Well that’s a bit different that’s usual,” Katara snapped. “I thought you were a warrior because of your master, and that those around you didn’t live long.”

“I did not mean anything by it. I simply wanted to impress upon you why I said what I did about Solaris. I am a warrior but that doesn’t mean that all I know how to do is fight.”

“Rich news when we’re heading for battle,” Katara rolled her eyes. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some last minute checks I need to do on my ship. I trust you can see yourself out.”

“Katara, please…” Spike began, but Katara had already brushed past him.

Letting out a sigh, Spike turned to follow her, heading back towards the airlock and towards his own ship.

***

“All ships are reporting ready for deployment, admiral,” one of the bridge crew called. “Shall I give the order to head for the jump point?”

“Do it,” Spike nodded, sitting down on his new command throne.

Spike had taken an ancient Republic Command Ship to be his flagship for the fleet, the gargantuan ship far exceeding anything currently used by the navy, harking back to a time when battles were won through sheer weight of fire and armour. It had been equipped with some shields recently, which was a vast improvement on the old design, but it still showed its age. Most of the turbolasers were now outdated, and it was much slower than the majority of ships in the galaxy, a far cry from the sheer speed of Harmony. Indeed the only reason Spike had taken this ship as his command over one of the Hammerheads was the sensor array, the system of scanners being sufficiently large as befitted a ship designed to coordinate fleets. With it, Spike could see accurate positions of his entire fleet down to the meter, something even the old Inexpugnable-class command ships had struggled to do with this many numbers of varying ship designs.

“Take us to the jump point and order all ships to form up on us,” Spike ordered, watching as the ship moved forward agonisingly slowly. “As soon as every one of them is in position, make the jump. We have a Sith fleet to stop.”

Holding Action

Spike stood on the bridge of his command ship, his eyes fixed on the stars off in the distance. Around his ship was surrounded by the rest of the Fireshot Fleet, the hundred or so ships formed up in a long line with the planet at their backs. The two space stations formed the cornerstones of the blockade, and far below on the surface of Vasdu, men busied themselves loading the massive shells into the Hypervelocity guns autoloader. All in all, Spike was as ready as he would ever be for the coming battle. Not that he felt confident about the coming battle in any way.

“Is Captain Leroy ready on the surface?” Spike asked, glancing at one of his bridge crew.

“Yes, captain. He’s reporting the cannons are ready and waiting on commands,” the man nodded,

“And the Sith? How far out is their fleet?” Spike turned his eyes back to the stars as he forced his voice to stay level, exuding as much confidence as he could.

“Long range Hyperspace buoys have gone dark, either they’re experiencing technical difficulties, or they’ve been taken out,” one of the bridge crew replied. “If it’s the former I can’t tell you, sir.”

“And if it’s the latter?” Spike asked again.

“Minutes, sir.”

Nodding, Spike opened up a broadcast to whole fleet, the venerable ships new command and control systems operating at full capacity.

“All ships, raise shields and perform final pre-battle cycles. The Sith fleet may upon us in minutes, battle formations. May the force be with us.”

Klaxons blared into life as the normal lights on the bridge faded, being replaced by a soft red light. Spike could feel the ships reactors spinning up from idle to battle-ready status, along with the super-structure straining as the gun mounts flared into life.

Taking a seat, Spike watched the stars he finally felt what he’d been waiting for. The strands of magic that flowed through the universe began to bend, moments before hundreds of Sith ships materialised into the system.

“Scramble all fighters and bombers, defensive pattern sigma!” Spike roared, the broadcasting channel still open. “Katara, make sure you hold your space station, do you best to not let it fall, we need its guns. Senate’s Will squadron, take your corvettes to attack range and commence long range bracket fire. Force the fuckers to dance to our tune. The rest of you, pull up targeting solutions and fire as soon as they get in range.”

Not for the first time, Spike wished Harmony was still operational, the extra range of her main gun would have come in handy here, but there was no point crying over spilt bantha-milk as the three corvettes began to move forward, fighters buzzing along beside them.

“Sir, torpedoes in range.”

“Do we have targeting vectors?” Spike called back.

“On the front three ships, aye, captain.”

“Fire, full spread,” Spike ordered, thumping his fist on the arm of his chair for emphasis.

“Sir, we have missiles in the void, multiple pings aimed at our battle line!” Another crew member called out.

“Order our fighters to intercept what they can, raise particle shields and fire, now!” Spike roared.

The ship shook softly as a flurry of torpedoes sliced through the rapidly closing distance between the two fleets, the fighters following close behind as they prepared to do their best to destroy what they could. Further out the three corvettes were already engaging the Sith ships, fighting as hard as they could as they forced the Sith to divert ships to deal with them. On their own the ships would hardly present a challenge, but with three of them together, they presented just enough of a threat that they couldn’t be ignored, but enough that they were obviously bait.

Spike still felt oddly disconnected from the battle, even as the fighters began firing as well, adding yet more laser fire to the battle. In Harmony he had always been at the heart of the battle, but in this ship, he had to stay at the rear and simply watch, giving orders as other brave men and women carried them out, even if it meant their deaths.

“Turbolaser batteries are coming in range in thirty seconds, captain.”

“That means theirs are too,” Spike growled. “Brace for enemy fire. What’s the status on the torpedoes?”

“Ninety eight percent destroyed before they reached their targets, Sith missiles have managed to slip through our cover, three ships are out of action and are falling back to the far side of the planet, one is already burning and may have to be…”

“Order them to turn their ship around and evacuate,” Spike ordered. “Send it at the Sith fleet, give them something extra to waste their time on. I want…”

“Incoming Sith fire, targeting on us,” someone called, before the entire ship rocked, lasers slamming into the prow.

The lights dimmed for a moment as the shields flared, but somehow held under the barrage. All across the battle line turbolasers began to fire, the Sith fleet accelerating as they fired, determined to break up the Republic battlefleet. Out of the corner of his eye Spike could already see that enemy ships had already reached one of the Space Stations and were engaging it in close quarters, the ships around it engaged in a vicious close-range firefight.

“Katara, new plan,” Spike switched to his private frequency, “take your command and cut further to our flank, make it look like you're running and leaving the space station undefended.”

“But that could lose us our flank, master,” Katara protested.

“Just do it,” Spike snapped. “The Sith know they can’t take out the stations at range as easily as they can in close quarters, if you look like you’re running they may just buy it and come in close enough for us to fire on some important ships with our guns planetside.”

“You’re taking a risk, master,” Katara sounded reluctant, but he could already see that she was doing as he ordered, her ships engines blaring brightly as they began to turn away from the battle, leaving their flank exposed.”

“Take the bait you bastards,” Spike growled, before raising his voice again. “All ships, all ahead full. We split them down the middle and make them fight us one on one. Groundside crews, do not fire until you have targeting vectors on capital ships. Do not give away your positions for anything less, you may not get another shot. Do you…”

“We know about the cannons on the planet, captain Spike” a new voice cut over the comm. “In fact, I’d say we more than know about them, isn’t that right, Captain Leroy?”

Spike’s blood ran cold as the voice spoke, before he jumped to his feet, his voice rising into a frantic roar.

“All ships! Brace for fire from the…”

Before he could finish, Spike was tossed aside as something hit the ship, hard. The rest of the crew fared little better, some staying strapped into their seats, while other less fortunate members were flung across the bridge like ragdolls. Spike heard more than one sickening wet thump as a few of them hit walls or consoles, and knew that they wouldn’t be getting back up, even as he struggled back to his feet, coughing and spluttering as smoke began to congeal on the bridge.

“Damage report?” Spike rasped, pulling a piece of shrapnel from his arm and forcing magic into the wound, cauterising it shut.

“We’re losing altitude control, we’re listing to the port side!” someone called out. “Engines six and nine are gone, seven and eight are fluctuating heavily. Shields are cycling at two percent efficiency, we cannot take another hit like that, captain!”

“And the rest of the fleet? Get us back in line,” Spike coughed. “Don’t let the Sith…past us.”

Spike trailed off as a few fighters shot past the viewport, followed by a battlecruiser, as the Sith ships began to simply bypass the Republic line, the damaged and battered ships unable to put up a fight as their enemy got right up beside them. Forcing himself to his feet, Spike propped himself up on one of the smoking consoles, one of his legs sticking as damaged servos ground against each other.

“My compliments, Captain Leroy, you performed your part most admirably,” the Sith spoke again. “I am sure my master will be most please. But before we get into that, I want to address the rest of the Republic…”

“Who the fuck are you?” Spike snarled, glaring at the speakers as if the man on the other end could see him.”

“Well, despite the rudeness of your interruption, I will humour you. You deserve to know who’s beaten you, do you not?” the voice sounded smug. “My name is Admiral Kajoi, and I do not need to ask whom I am speaking to. You are Jedi Master Spike, are you not? The, quote, unquote, hero of the Republic during the Mandalorian Wars?”

“I’m not a hero for my part in that,” Spike snapped. “And I’m not here to talk about the past with a Sith traitor.”

“No, you are here to surrender,” Kajoi agreed. “My fleet is in position to eliminate any of your ships that try to power up their weapon systems again. Captain Leroy is likewise poised to eliminate fools. By my reckoning you have six ships unharmed, one led by your little padawan I do believe. It was an interesting gambit, telling little Katara to pretend to run. I will let her escape, don’t worry, someone needs to tell the Republic about our victory here. I have dropped my interdictor field as a sign of good faith, and I will even allow the remaining ships under her command to retreat as well, as long as the rest of you surrender, now.”

“How far away is Katara from the jump point?” Spike muttered, making sure that Kajoi couldn’t hear anything he was saying, or at least hoping that he couldn’t.

The crew member Spike was addressing clearly didn’t share Spike’s optimism about not being overheard, instead tapping on a datapad and handing it over, Spike reading the words two minutes clearly written on the surface.

“Katara, are you hearing this?” Spike raised his voice again, a plan slowly forming in his mind.

“Yes, master,” Katara’s voice was distraught. “W-W-What…what do I do, master?”

“Get yourself out of the system, get back to the Republic,” Spike ordered, typing away on the datapad as he spoke. “They need to know what happened here. I’ll be ok.”

“But, master,” Katara began.

“Katara, go,” Spike urged, finally finishing his note and passing the datapad to the other crew member.

Distribute landing coordinates 09-67-56-78 to the fleet on the back channels. Tell all ships to be ready for my signal. On it, break for the surface. More orders to follow.

The crew member nodded, before quietly moving across the bridge to one of the back consoles and slipping a headset on. Spike watched him for a second, before turning back to the main viewport and limping towards it.

“Admiral Kajoi? I’m ready to discuss demands.”

“Demands? My dear Spike, I do not believe you are in any position to be making demands. Any ship that so much as moves its turbolasers will be destroyed. I am giving every sailor in your fleet this same choice. Surrender to me and join the Sith Empire, or die.”

“And what about those who surrender and would never fight for you? Can they expect POW camps?” Spike retorted. “Or does the Sith Empire execute prisoners now?”

“I…suppose that I can give certain assurances,” Kajoi seemed reluctant to speak. “Your men will be fed and treated as befitting their status as POWs, but I would advise you all, do not lightly give up the idea of joining the Sith Empire. It is only a matter of time before we win this war, you are being offered a chance to join the winning side.”

Spike was about to speak again when one of the crew members caught his eye, pressing a datapad back into his hands.

Katara is gone

Spike took a deep breath as he put the datapad down, finalising everything in his plan and running through it in his head. If things went well, hundreds of his men would die in just a few minutes, if things went badly, even more would die, and the Sith fleet would roll onwards. This many ships could tip the balance of the war, and only the remains of the Fireshot Fleet stood in their way.

“Master Spike, I require your answer as their commander,” Kajoi pressed. “Will you allow your men to make their own decisions, or will you become the tyrant you accuse the Sith of being?”

“An answer?” Spike asked softly, before snarling. “All ships! Break for the surface now! Shields to maximum! Helmsman, not us, full speed ahead!”

“So be it,” Kajoi snarled back, before the comm went dead.

“Diverting all power to the shields and engines,” someone called. “Three ships have made Planetfall, two have been disabled, they’re…”

“I don’t want to hear it yet,” Spike cut him off. “If we get through this then we can mourn them. Bring us about to heading two nine nine and prepare for ramming actions.”

“What are we hitting, sir?”

“That Interdictor ship,” Spike grinned savagely as the huge ship came about, beginning to power towards the smaller Sith vessel.

Turbolasers lashed against their shields, stripping them away quickly, before beginning to eat into the heavy armour beneath them. Spike felt the ‘thump’ of bulkheads decompressing as entire levels were opened to the vacuum of space, but the ship kept ploughing on, somehow holding together despite everything.

“Hazard suits on, now,” Spike ordered, watching as the crew scrambled to the thin yellow space suits and pulling them on. They wouldn’t do much against enemy fire, but if the bridge was vented like the rest of the ship was being, they could make all the difference.

“All crew, all crew, brace for immediate impact!” Spike roared as the Interdictor ship loomed in front of them, before they collided with a sickening screech of tearing metal that reverberated through the hull, before being snatched away as something went through the viewport.

Spike dug his claws deep into the hull as the atmosphere rushed out of the bridge, the crew still alive on it magnetising their boots to the same effect, until everything was eerily quiet. Looking around, Spike addressed one of the crew members, his own comm-link attached to his own voice box, allowing him to speak into it even without air to carry the sound waves.

“Bring the ship around and get us to the planet’s surface. XO has command.”

With that, Spike pushed forward, breaking through the remaining bits of Plexiglas as he floated towards the stricken Sith ship.

It was clearly incredibly damaged by the ramming attack, but Spike didn’t have enough time to assess the extent to which his prize was falling apart. Angling his cannon behind him, Spike fired, using the momentum to change course, heading towards the bridge. Continuing to fire, Spike began to gain speed, before with a silent roar, he slammed into the Sith bridge-glass.

The glass fractured, but held, and Spike could see frantic movement within. Undeterred, Spike dug his claws into the hull, before beginning to slam his fist into the glass, expanding the cracks across the entire pain, before finally it shattered. If he hadn’t been dug in, the sudden rush of air would have sent Spike flying into space along with most of the Sith bridge crew, but as it was he managed to stay lodged on for long enough for the pressure to equalise at zero, allowing him to climb inside. A few crew members were still on the bridge, all wearing the fully covering armour of the Sith troopers, and they fired at him as he entered, but a few shots from his own cannon soon silenced them, and Spike settled into one of the main chairs on the bridge.

“Let’s see,” Spike muttered to himself, opening his mind to the universes magic and feeling for the ships computer.

He quickly found what he was looking for, shutters sliding across the ruined glass and re-pressurising the room, warming Spike's chilled bones once more. Not stopping, Spike began to furiously tap away on the console, opening airlocks, hanger doors, bulkheads, anything that could possibly be used to keep out the vacuum. As he worked on that, his mind reached into the computer again, finding all the turrets and battle droids slaved to the ship and corrupting their code. They fought back of course, but his own cybernetics as well as his magic battered down their defences in short order. Targeting restrictions, orders and firing patterns were his to command, and all it took was a flick of his mind to delete from the records any allied data.

All across the ship, the survivors of the venting were set upon by their own droids, and hundreds of small fire fires broke out in the dying ship. Soon though, only a single life-form remained, Spike forcing the droids to shut down, before beginning the final part of his plan.

“This is Jedi Master Spike, all Republic Forces who made it to the planetary shield touch down and link your ships power to the shield grid. Overclock it and dig in. I’m bringing in a prize, we’re going to force the Sith to come to us on the ground. And any bombers still alive, target the traitor Leroy’s position with extreme prejudice, wipe the pathetic piss stain from the face of the galaxy.”

Letting the comm go dead, Spike quickly moved seats to the helmsman area, grabbing hold of the ships control sticks. They were stiff, fighting his command even as his old ship pulled away, heading for the surface, even as yet more shots hit her. The Interdictor cruiser followed after it, barely attracting any attention as the Sith focused everything they had on the battleship.

“Get the hell out of there!” Spike bellowed over the comm, connecting directly with the ship. “You can’t take much more, launch escape pods for the surface, now!”

A few pods began to shoot out from the ship, some even managing to make it to the planet in one piece, but before anymore could appear, another barrage hit the ancient ship. Slowly, as if it was trying to fight off its own inevitable demise, the ship began listing heavily to the left, before the middle finally gave out, the ship splitting into two. Spike watched in anger as the Sith continued to fire, reducing both parts to little more than slag, now the tomb of hundreds of brave souls.

“I’ll get them back for you,” Spike promised softly, before pushing the damaged Sith ship faster, punching through the Sith lines and towards the open skies to the planet.

By now the Sith had realised that his ship was no longer responding to their hails, and turbolaser fire began to lash against its hull, but it was too little, too late, the ship beginning to glow as it passed through the atmosphere.

“Alright you sons of bitches, you won the fight in the space lanes,” Spike growled, looking over at another console and checking that the Interdictor generators were still intact and were now back online. “Let’s see how well you do on the ground.”

Last Ditch Plan

“How’s that working for you, sir?” An engineer asked, leaning back from Spike and twirling his hydrospanner around his finger.

“Better,” Spike nodded, stretching his leg out a few times, making sure he was satisfied that the damage the cybernetic had sustained in the space battle wouldn’t hinder him on the planet. “It’s not perfect, but you’ve been kept from the fortifications long enough. Go and re-join your unit.”

“Sir,” the man saluted, before hurrying out of the room, leaving Spike to slowly get to his feet and follow after him, exiting the grounded ship that was now serving as their medical centre, and looking around the space port they had found themselves in.

It hadn’t taken the Republic forces long to establish the little base they had running around them at present. True to his orders, every ship that had managed to disengage the Sith fleet, and to Spike’s shame there were far fewer than he would have liked, had converged on the abandoned space port from the planets early pioneering days of space travel.

Once there, they had immediately reactivated the defensive shield that had once surrounded the base and the nearby terrain, strengthening the power with generators pulled from damaged ships, or by placing new shield generators in weak spots around the perimeter. It had only been two days since they landed, but already they had made leaps and bounds in making the base more defensible, even managing to move some of the ships which still had weapons capability into firing positions.

The final lynch pin of the defence was not by Republic design at all, the Sith Interdictor Cruiser that Spike had stolen now sitting in the very middle of the base, all four of its main interdictor generators running at peak capacity, two still in the ships superstructure, while two had now been removed and taken into the Space Ports panic bunker, half a mile beneath the surface.

All this served to force the Sith’s hand. They could no longer leave the system via hyperspace, and leaving at sub-light speeds would take weeks at best, as well as forcing them to deviate from the hyperspace lands into uncharted territory, and they couldn’t just bombard the Republic into submission either due to the energy shield. Not that the fact had stopped them from trying of course. For hours upon hours turbolaser slashed down through the clouds, smashing into the shield and the surrounding landscape, before finally, only a few hours earlier, it stopped. That could only mean one thing.

The Sith troops had finally landed, and were preparing for a ground assault. If they thought the Republic was broken as they had been in orbit, they were about to realise their mistake.

“Sir, long range scanners have picked up large amounts of movement through the ruins of the nearby settlement,” someone spoke into the comms, the voice coming through Spike’s cybernetics. “All civilians fled the day the bombardments started, so it is likely this is the beginning of the Sith attack.”

“Get everyone in position along the shields edge,” Spike ordered, flaring his wings. “No one takes a step outside the barrier for any reason. Make them fight to us.”

“Aye, sir,” the man replied, before the comms went dead, Spike leaping into the air and heading for the front line.

***

Spike roared as he jumped forward, hacking a Lightsaber through the neck of one of the approaching Sith troopers, before raising his cannon, launching a flurry of shots at another squad, forcing them to dive for cover.

The shield was still operational above them, the surface rippling as the Sith fighters continued to hammer it with everything they had, but so far they were holding, forcing the Sith troopers to abandon their long range capabilities and engage the entrenched Republic forces in a brutal short range firefight. The strategy was clearly working, as after less than half an hour of fighting, the Sith were already having to climb over the bodies of their dead friends.

“Sergeant, get the repeater cannons covering the right flank!” Spike roared, before roaring, flame shooting out at the covering Sith squad, immolating most of them, and sending the other ones fleeing for their lives, only to be cut down as they ran. “They’re giving up! Keep hitting them, don’t let them any more of them get away!”

True to Spike’s word, the Sith began to break and flee, first in small numbers, then in whole squads, before finally every trooper was running for the shield. Only after the last trooper had been cut down or made it back through the shield did Spike raise his cannon arm.

“Hold! Don’t waste your power packs, we’ll need them next time,” he bellowed, before looking around at the Republic lines. They may have won the day, but with the amount of dead that littered the battlefield, it was hard to get excited.

“All sector chiefs, meeting at the unground generators now,” Spike opened a channel to the remaining Republic Forces. “Everyone else, count up our dead and move them closer to the centre, we’ll give them a better funeral later. Sith corpses can be pushed outside the shield, the last thing we need is disease.”

Without waiting for a reply, Spike turned and began to head towards the lifts to the bunker complex beneath the dock, ignoring the gazes of the troops around him. As much as he hated to admit it, he had gotten very used to the efficiency of the Special Forces in his time serving with them, and as hard as his new troops tried, they could never hold a candle to them. There was a reason why everyone feared the Special Forces, and why these troops were relegated to a fleet of outdated ships that were only pressed into service because the Republic was desperate.

“I swear, some of these men are older than me,” Spike whispered to himself.

“That would be impressive,” Moonstone chuckled, appearing beside him. “That would make them, what? Nine hundred?”

“Ha ha ha,” Spike deadpanned. “You here for a chat or do you want something?”

“Well that’s a fine how do you do,” Moonstone rolled her eyes. “Can I not just chat to you?”

“Well when you say things like ‘can I not just chat to you’, it usually means you want to talk about something specific,” Spike pointed out. “What is it? Leroy?”

“Is he dead yet?” Moonstone shot back.

“Shouldn’t you know the answer to that?” Spike sighed.

“I know you’re angry, Spike…”

“I’m not angry. If I was, we wouldn’t be doing as well as we are,” Spike shrugged, stepping into the ancient lift and pulling the ‘down’ lever. “I need to speak to my commanders, Moonstone, you can watch if you have to, but it’s probably easier if you just watch from my head, you can be…distracting, sometimes.”

“Distracting, thanks,” Moonstone rolled her eyes. “Any reason why you’re having this meeting almost a half a mile underground.”

“It’s away from prying eyes,” Spike said dismissively, before finally reaching the bottom, Moonstone fading away as he walked towards the two massive generators.

Whatever field they emitted always made Spike feel uneasy, like the magic was slightly dampened in the area. He hadn’t actually found an actual drop in his abilities, but the feeling was still there, and he majorly disliked being here. The only reason he was down here was because what he was about to tell them would probably cause outrage, or outright hate.

Finally, after what felt like hours, the four sector chiefs, and the highest surviving ranks from the fleet, emerged from the lift, walking towards Spike and looking around.

“Sir? Why did you want to see us?” one of the Captains asked.

“Alright, I’m going to cut right to the heart of the matter,” Spike sighed, choosing his next words carefully. “Before I start, nothing I say here is to leave this group, save for what we absolutely have to tell people. We’re never going to win here. Everyone knows that, we’ve always known that. Our aim now isn’t to survive, it’s to take them down with us.”

“And how are we going to do that? We’re outnumbered and outgunned, plus they still have their fleet to get away, we don’t.”

“Exactly,” Spike nodded. “You won’t like what I’m about to say, but you will all listen. This complex goes half a mile underground, the old mine shafts go four miles below that. If one of these generators were to go critical that deep in the planet’s surface it would cause tremors and localised interdiction fields to fluctuate. But if four were to go critical at the same time…big ships would be caught in a gravity well and pulled onto the surface. We’d destroy their fleet entirely, we’d save the Republic.”

“Spike…sir,” the captain asked the colour draining from his face. “If one generator would cause tremors…what would four do?”

“Destroy the planet,” Spike replied after a moments silence. “The Mandalorian Wars were ended when a generator was retrofitted as a weapon by an engineer who knew what he was doing, but the principle of the matter is the same. One weaponised generator and four non-weaponised generators should do the same thing. We’re going to create a Mass Shadow Generator gentlemen.”

The captains all shared silent glances, before they all started talking at once.

“You can’t be serious!”

“Do you know how many civilians are on this planet?!”

“I will not be part of this!”

“The Mass Shadow Generator was a disgrace bordering on a war crime! We can’t do it again!”

“Silence!” Spike roared. “I am serious, we will do it again, and the planet has…five billion, seven hundred and eighteen million people on it, not including our soldiers or the Sith forces. This is my plan, I am willing consigning this world to death, because if we don’t, how many trillions in the core might die? This fleet attacks Arcadia? Alderaan? Halpat? Each one of those worlds has a population in the tens of billions, and there is nothing defending them anymore, because every ship is fighting on the front line. We are defending the one backdoor route into the Republic, and I will not allow it to be lost. Do you understand me?”

“Spike, I can’t let this…” one of the Captain’s began, before collapsing to his knees, grasping at his throat and struggling to draw breath as Spike extended his hand towards him.

“You won’t stand in my way of this,” Spike growled, tightening his grip around the man’s throat. “This is happening, it has to happen. What do you not understand? The choice is between five billion and trillions in the core. Sometimes the only choice we have are bad ones, but they still have to be made.”

He released his force grip from around the man’s neck, allowing him to cough and splutter, before Spike extended his hand towards him, offering to help him back up.

“This needs to be done. I can’t do it alone, but all of you need to ask yourself if you are willing to sacrifice the Republic to maintain your honour, or if you are willing to sacrifice everything for the Republic. The Republic is the closest thing I have to a home, I will defend it to my death.”

“Which this will lead to,” the captain Spike had choked wheezed, knocking Spikes offered hand away and standing up. “No one survives this, not us, not them. We’ll all die committing an unspeakable act.”

“That’s the idea,” Spike sighed. “There’s no coming back from this, so if we do it, we do it in the knowledge that we’ll be hated by history, and the people we save will never thank us. If we do this we do it because we have no choice, and because it’s the right thing to do. Who’s with me?”

“I am,” one of the captains sighed. “Spike makes a good point, even if I don’t like it.”

“I am too.”

“Me too.”

Finally, it was just the Captain Spike had choked standing apart, his shoulders sagging as his resolve died. “I hate you, Spike. I want you to know that. I’m not doing this for you, I’m doing it for the Republic. Do you understand me? You’re not my commanding officer anymore, you’re not my friend, you’re just fighting my enemies. For that I’ll follow your plan.”

“Then we’re in agreement,” Spike nodded solemnly. “Very well then, I am activating my inbuilt black box to record our last official message to the Republic. If anything survives it will likely be this.”

Spike sighed, a panel opening in his chest, and a small crystal and gold cube slide out into his waiting hand. Lifting it up, Spike showed all of the captain’s what it was.

“This is a Jedi Holocron, very few, if any, non-Jedi ever get to see these, let alone record into one. I am making an exception in this case, by my authority as a Master, before it’s revoked, which it will be after this I am sure. But enough of that. The Holocron will flash copy your mind, I’ve asked it to only copy your knowledge of this battle and this conversation, but I want each of you to record exactly what you want future generations to know. No ambiguity, no room for discussion. I want your words. Who wants to go first?”

“I will,” the first captain wheezed, still massaging his neck.

Spike nodded, the Holocron floating from his hand to in front of the man.

“When you’re ready,” Spike muttered.

“My name is Captain Miles Hammle, of the Vessel Yougon of the Fireshot Fleet. As you have no doubt heard, the Fireshot Fleet engaged and was defeated by a far greater Sith force above Vasdu. The consensus was made that there was only one course of action to stop this fleet, the complete destruction of Vasdu would be the consequence. I would like future generations to know that I am against this action, but given the circumstances I feel like I have no choice. From depths of my soul, I am sorry for the act I commit, and while that will never be enough, I feel like it has to be said.”

Captain Hammle finished, glaring at Spike as another Captain stepped forward.

“I am Captain Veers of the Gestalt. What we are doing here is monstrous, no doubt about it, but not acting is just as monstrous. We need to consider who we best serve, the five billion here, or the tens of billions, if not trillions who will die if this fleet gets through. I choose the lesser of two evils.”

“Captain Xenri, Shank. We all stood together on this, some saw the light more than others, but we all made this decision ourselves. No one stood apart, so no one person is to blame.”

“I’m keeping my name off the records please, my face too if at all possible. I’m not proud of what we’re doing here, but we do it anyway, for the greater good, for the Republic. That’s all.”

Finally, the captains all turned to Spike, Spike allowing the Holocron to float in front of him as he stood up straighter, clasping his hands behind his back.

“My name is Jedi Master Spike, Admiral of the Fireshot Fleet, former Commander of the Special Forces regiment. I have always been a radical, I haven’t seen eye to eye with the council for a long time as I see the universe differently from them. They will use this to say I’ve fallen from the light, that Vasdu was a Sith travesty, but I want to make things clear. Whether I’m still in the light or not is academic, we do this for the Republic, not for ourselves. This was my plan, and mine alone. I came up with it, and therefore I take all responsibility. The captains are all helping, but they are not to blame. Let history show that it was I who ordered this. I let Telos die, and now I willingly consign Vasdu to death as well. I will kill them all, Republic, Sith and civilian alike, and pray that I can find some measure of forgiveness in whatever afterlife exists. May the Force protect us.”

Spike finally finished talking, the Holocron floating back into his hand, before he replaced it back into the compartment in his chest.

“How do we even know that thing will even survive?” Xenri asked. “All things considered I highly doubt such a small object will survive, or be found if it does survive.”

“It’s imbued with the Force, something not to be taken lightly. It gives it strength beyond its looks, and it means Jedi can easily locate it in a system, if they know what they’re looking for. Hopefully they will, and they’ll find it. But enough about that, we need to get to business. I want work parties organised to take the two generators from the ship into the deepest point of the mine and activate them, then come back for these two. When they’re ready, we’ll hold out as long as possible on the surface, and when we can’t hold out anymore, we’ll detonate. You’re all dismissed.”

The men didn’t need to be told twice, quickly heading for the lift, leaving Spike alone again. He half-expected to see Moonstone appear to chastise him, but she seemed to be staying quiet, although even without her actually manifesting, Spike could feel her confusion about which side of Spike’s plan she wanted to fall on.

Cracking his neck, Spike began to walk, passing by the lift shaft and opening a heavy metal doorway, shedding light on the otherwise dark room, and the single occupant within.

“Leroy,” Spike growled the single word, the man slowly looking up.

The Republic had set up at the Space Port for a variety of reasons, mostly the large landing fields and the pre-built defensive structures, but it was also nearby the planetary defence grid. One of the first things Spike had done after landing had been to organise a team to go to them, and to wipe out the traitors. Only one had survived, Spike personally taking him alive, and hauling him down here, into the dark.

His face was bruised and battered, most of his teeth broken, along with his jaw and nose. Spike wasn’t proud of it, but he had needed someone to vent on after the failure in orbit, and Leroy had been that vent. It spoke of the man’s endurance that he was still alive.

“Spike?” Leroy managed a grin through his injuries. “Come back to vent some more, eh?”

“No more,” Spike shook his head. “My soul will soon be damned, and I won’t have you resting on it as well.”

“Oh, so you do think of me when you’re not down here,” Leroy spat a globule of blood towards Spike, the crimson liquid falling short. “How cute, I’d hate to be forgotten.”

“You will be forgotten, as will all of us,” Spike sighed, before igniting his Lightsaber. “Former Captain Leroy, for your betrayal of the Republic military, I sentence you to summary execution. The sentence to be carried out immediately.”

Before Leroy could gloat or say anything else, Spike brought the Lightsaber down, the blade passing effortlessly through his neck, his head hitting the floor a split second before his body. Spike looked at the corpse for a few more seconds, before deactivating his Lightsaber and turning from the room, leaving the corpse of former Captain Leroy in the dark once more.

Old Friends, New Enemies

Spike let out a clipped sigh as he watched the final interdictor generator was loaded into the freight elevator, the few engineers that knew anything about the technology fretting over it as the doors slid closed, and they began what would mostly likely be their final trip into the earth.

Spike hadn’t told the men the real reason why they were moving the generators into the mines, a quick story about wanting to make sure they were as defended as possible for the coming attacks had been enough to convince them to not question the orders. Truth be told the mine was a very defensible position, a single entrance and only one way out from the lift. At the same time though it would be a death trap waiting to happen. All it would take would be a large enough pump and some gas, and most of them would be choking up their lungs in minutes, leaving only Spike behind. Spike was not going to let that happen.

“Moonstone?” Spike asked as he walked. “Moonstone, I need to talk to you.”

“Oh you do, do you?” the mare asked, appearing and trotting beside Spike. “So now you want to talk to me, after giving your amazing plan and setting it into motion, now you want to talk to me? What’s to say I still want to talk to you?”

“You’re here, aren’t you?” Spike pointed out. “You may not like any of this, I sure as hell don’t, but I don’t want to die knowing that the last words I left with you were bad ones. I’m sure you don’t want that either.”

“I’m not sure it really matters, Spike,” Moonstone shrugged, a stony expression on her face. “If you die today, I die, so it doesn’t really matter what I think now does it?”

“Oh come off it, you’re really trying to tell me in a universe full of magic and the force that you don’t believe there’s something waiting for us after our next great journey?” Spike scoffed. “Come off it, we’re both seen enough shit to believe in a higher power.”

“It doesn’t matter anyway, you’re not going to die here today,” Moonstone snapped. “You and I both know that.”

“I don’t want to survive this!” Spike roared, a few soldiers looking over at him, forcing him to control his voice before speaking again. “I don’t…I just… If this plan works, if we stop the Sith here, we destroy this planet and every soul on it, then lies at my feet, and I sure as hell don’t want to live past today to try and come to terms with that. I struggle with losses, I can’t…I won’t go through that again.”

“Spike you are not going to die here,” Moonstone deadpanned. “You’ve been through too much, I won’t let you…”

“Won’t let me do what?” Spike snorted. “Moonstone, I’m not having this conversation with you, not now, and there won’t be an ever to have it in, so please, let me say we have made up, and let me go to my death in peace. As much as I ever can. Please?”

“Fine, Spike,” Moonstone nodded. “But we were never off even ground, Spike, I play the devil’s advocate, or in this case the angels advocate, but I know your mind, and for that we will always see eye to eye. Given time.”

“Thank you,” Spike whispered, before a shout broke his concentration, Moonstone fading out of existence almost instantly.

“General! Long range scanners are picking up Sith movement!”

It took Spike a few moments to locate the source of the voice, but eventually he caught sight of a solider beckoning for him to come over from across the square.

“Rough numbers?” Spike asked as he jogged over, drawing his Lightsaber as he spoke.

“A shit ton, sir,” the man replied. “Looks like their biggest attack so far, tanks, bombers, infantry, the whole nine yards.”

“They’re going to try and crumple the shields again,” Spike cursed. “Get to the shield generators, I want a report on how they’re all doing, I want to know how much longer they can survive a heavy bombardment. Everyone else!” Spike raised his voice to a roar as he spread his wings. “Get to the front lines! There’s Sith with a death wish coming right at us!”

With that, Spike took to the sky, beating his wings hard before landing behind the frontline fortifications, crouching down to conceal his form beneath the man high structure.

“Alright, listen up! We got Sith incoming, biggest attack yet. We don’t give them an inch less they pay for it in blood! If we’re pushed back then get to the mines and form defensive positions by the lift, we’ll hold again there! If the shields go…if they go then fall back to the mines anyway.”

Spike was cut off as three explosions suddenly blossomed on the shield, followed by three more, and another, until the entire front of the shield was little more than a shimmering field of explosions. Even the top wasn’t clear anymore, hundreds of Sith fighters soaring overhead, blasting away as they zoomed past.

“They’re here,” Spike muttered, surveying the shield with a practiced eye, before closing his eyes and reaching out with his magic, feeling the eb and flow of it as he searched for signs of excessive weakness or failures to its structure, before opening his eyes and raising his voice, making sure everyone could hear him.

“Men, listen up. This could well be our last battle together, the Sith are getting restless, they’re scared of us, scared of this little holdout we have here. They’re throwing everything they’ve got at us…all those other attacks, they were just warm ups for this. We don’t know what our chances of survival are, so we fight as if they’re zero. We don’t know exactly what we are facing, so we fight as if it’s the fucking gods themselves! No one will remember us now and we will never be buried beneath Republic soil, even if we win today, this will be our grave, you mark my words. If we can’t be buried on our own land, then we build our own memorial, right here, on this ground that we have bled to defend. The army might lose us, and the Republic might forget we existed, but the Sith? The Sith will know! The Sith, will, remember us! We will hurt them so badly that they will never forget us! Even when the stars burn out, when the Force finally fades away at the end of time…when the Sith are dying, when the last of those who follow their twisted ideologies are screaming at the dark, their last thought will be of us! That is our memorial! Here! Now! On this blood soaked ground! We make our memorial, we carve it into the annuls of history, and into the heart of the Sith! We can’t loose here today, because no matter what happens, our memory will live on in those who oppose the Republic, and through that we have already won!”

With a flourish, Spike raised his cannon arm, the white blade springing forth from it as he thrust it upwards, making sure everyone present could see it.

“Here they come, lads! For the Republic!”

Rising up, Spike aimed his cannon at the shield. He couldn’t see through it thanks to the explosions, but he knew the Sith infantry wouldn’t be far behind. They had adopted a pattern over the past week, first would come the artillery, their big guns, then their tanks and aircraft would open fire to blind the shield and those behind it, which is what was happening now. The infantry would already be on their way, thousands of men and droids swarming towards the cratered landscape like vermin, using the blindness their guns were creating to advance unopposed. The guns would only stop firing when their infantry got within ten meters, and by the time the shields finally cleared once more, the Sith would already be through the shields, a scant few meters away from where the Republic were hiding.

“Fire everything you’ve got!” Spike bellowed, spraying laser bolts wildly at the shield, the rest of his soldiers doing the same. If even a few got lucky, it would mean less Sith for them to face later on.

And then, the guns stopped, the deafening explosions ceasing. For a few seconds there was only the sound of Republic blasters, and the muffled sounds of roaring men, before the shields finally cleared, and then the Sith were through, hundreds upon hundreds of silver clad men running towards them, larger war droids slowly marching through behind them, and like that, the battle started in earnest.

“Come and get some you bastards!” Spike roared, before unleashing a gout of flame above the heads of his men, several of the Sith troopers turning to run, before their own men pushed them forward towards the Republic lines.

Before the men could fully recover their senses, Spike leapt over the barricade, the few soldiers he had still standing who knew how to wield swords following his lead. A few of the Sith soldiers with swords of their own stepped forward, but the majority were still clutching their rifles as Spike slammed into them, both his Lightsabers ignited as he hacked at his enemy.

Limbs, heads and corpses hit the floor as Spike became a whirlwind of death, the Lightsaber attached to his cannon slicing through the left arm of a Sith Trooper with ease, before he kicked out at another one, sending him flying back into a trio of his colleagues.

“Keep hitting them! We can push them back!” Spike bellowed, closing his wings over his face as a grenade went of beside him, shrapnel cutting into the leathery skin, before he threw them back behind him, a powerful gust of wind staggering the Sith in front of him. “This is my planet god damn it! Get the fuck off it!”

“This planet belongs to the Sith!” a robed and hooded figure shouted, leaping at Spike from out of the throng of enemy soldiers, a red Lightsaber clutched in both hands.

“Really?” Spike snorted, turning aside the blow, before delivering one of his own, the Dark Jedi ducking low to avoid it. “Seems to me like you’re having a bit of trouble getting us off your world, dog.”

“You can’t win this!” the man sprinting at Spike. “The only way you live is to give yourself over to the Sith.”

“Someone tried to tempt me to your side once before, and he was a real Sith,” Spike laughed. “You’re just a pale imitation, Padawan.”

“I am a Padawan no longer!” the man screeched. “I am an apprentice to…”

Whoever the man was an apprentice to was lost on Spike as his Lightsaber cleaved through his head, Spike taking advantage of his distraction to end the fight.

“Keep pushing them back!” Spike roared, before bending down and pulling the hood off the fallen Sith’s face, looking at the man beneath and furloughing his brow. He knew this man, he had seen him around the temple before, but his name escaped him. Before he could focus enough to recall the name, a soldier ran over to him, panting slightly, before beginning to speak.

“They…they seem to be falling back, sir.”

“We can’t have broken them,” Spike muttered. “Not this quickly. “You’re sure? All along the line?”

“Yes, sir. Everywhere is reporting the same thing, Sith troopers are pulling back through the shields.”

“I don’t like…” Spike began, before an explosion, bigger than any before it, impacted on the shield. The entire surface rippled and bucked, glowing brighter than the sun, and forcing everyone to look away, before with a massive pop and a pressure wave that threw some of the men from their feet, the shield disappeared.

Then came the fire.

Sith fighters swooped down, the shield no longer stopping them from targeting the Republic troops directly. Explosions blossomed within their ranks, men screaming as they were picked up and tossed aside by the huge fireballs. In an instant the Republic line was in tatters, but the Sith fighters weren’t showing any signs of stopping, banking around to deliver yet another barrage of death.

"Everyone fall back to the mines!” Spike roared, beating his wings to clear some of the smoke that was now rolling over the Republic positions. “Fall back squad by squad!”

Spike’s first words were heeded by his men quickly enough, men beginning to turn tail and run, ignoring his shouts to impose some sort of order on the chaos as they scrambled over one another, desperate to escape the punishing fire of the fighters and the troopers, who were advancing once more, the Sith battle droids and tanks not far behind them.

With a wordless curse, Spike began to fall back, firing off a few shots as he went, but mostly having to work to deflect as many blaster bolts as he could, more than one slamming into his scales as he tried to protect as many of his soldiers as possible.

“Captain Veers!” Spike shouted into his radio. “The defences up here are broken, the men are routing. Bring the generators on line!”

“It will take some time, Spike,” Veers called back. “The final generator is still being brought back on line after it was brought back here. I need at least fifteen minutes.”

“You have ten,” Spike grunted as a trio of bolts slammed into his chest, doubling him over in pain. “We can’t hold out much longer. Just…get it done, Veers.”

The radio went dead as Spike finally turned around, setting off at a sprint into the thick smoke, his cybernetic eye helping to pierce the thick black fog, but the map he usually saw was blinking and fizzing after a shot glanced off his head, essentially meaning Spike had to find his way to the lift the same way his men did, frantic searching, unaided by mapping tech, decent sight or smell. Spike hadn’t felt so vulnerable in a long time.

“General!” someone bellowed out, Spike only just hearing it over the roar of the fires and the screams of the dying. “Over here! Hurry! We can’t keep the lift here forever!”

Turning towards the source of the voice, Spike sprinted headlong into the dense smoke, allowing the force and his own magic to guide him around any obstacles in his path, before he finally reached the lift, skidding to a halt at the packed metal box.

“General, thank god you got here in time,” the man who had shouted before spluttered, keeping a hand over his mouth to try and ward off some of the smoke.

“How many lifts have gone down already?” Spike asked.

“Four, general, this will be the fifth. I’m not sure we’ll have time for a sixth.”

“We hold it for five more minutes,” Spike nodded, before raising his voice, amplifying the sound as much as his cybernetics would allow him. “All Republic soldiers still active, come to my voice! You have five minutes!”

“You know the Sith will have heard that too, right, general?” one of the soldiers asked.

“We have to hold out, for them,” Spike nodded.

“You heard the general, men,” the soldier called, raising his rifle and dropping to a knee. “We have five…”

The man suddenly screamed, flying forward into the smoke, towards a red haze, before his scream was suddenly cut short.

“Another Dark Jedi,” Spike cursed, taking a step forward, the red haze getting closer. “Come on then! You want to try your luck too? The apprentice you sent earlier was hardly a challenge! Come on and…face…me.”

Spike trailed off, staggering to a halt as the Dark Jedi continued to walk towards him, becoming an outline, rather than just a haze. Spike could now make out the blade of the Lightsaber the Sith warrior was holding, the blade passing in front of his body in a grip that would have been completely unnatural for a normal Lightsaber, but one that was more than a little bit familiar to Spike.

“Please…not you,” Spike whispered, finally remembering who the apprentice he had killed before was.

“S- Stratmum,” he muttered, before raising his Lightsabers. “That…That was Stratmum, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, it was,” a terrifyingly familiar voice echoed across the battlefield, everything going quite as he spoke, the figure finally stepping out of the smoke.

“So nice to see you again, brother,” Tarhal snarled, before leaping forward at Spike, his crimson Lightsaber slicing through the air towards Spike.

Brothers Clash

Spike’s world slowed to a crawl as Tarhal leapt through the air, the crimson blade making its way towards him. Everything became clear as day as his mind fought to comprehend what had happened. His own hands began to move, almost of their own accord, spinning his Lightsabers around and raising his arms just as Tarhal hit him.

Spike remembered how strong Tarhal actually was as their blades clashed, sending him sliding back across the ruined floor of the star port before he finally managed to dig his claws in and stop, Tarhal pressing his face closer to Spike’s as they both fought to gain the upper hand.

“What are you doing?” Spike groaned as Tarhal pushed harder, before he managed to break the gap and leapt backwards, opening up the distance between the pair.

“What does it look like I’m doing,” Tarhal sneered, flourishing his Lightsaber. “You’re standing in my way, and if you taught me one thing in the Mandalorian Wars, it’s to eliminate those who stand in my way.”

With that, Tarhal dived forward again, scything his Lightsaber around in an attack that Spike only just blocked. What followed next was a flurry of attacks that Spike had to focus everything he had just to deflect them away, Tarhal forcing Spike backwards as he went. Somewhere in his mind, Spike knew exactly what Tarhal was doing, every move he was making, even with the anger written across his face, was still done in the Ataru style. If he could focus properly, he could have broken the cycle in a heartbeat, but as it was he was knocked backwards by a vicious kick to his chest, sending him crashing to the floor.

“Why are you fighting for Revan?!” Spike roared as he got back to his feet, staring through the smoke at Tarhal.

“The same reason we fought for him last time,” Tarhal glared back. “He is in the right!”

“He’s a Sith! He’s trying to destroy the Republic!” Spike roared, diving forward and unleashing a barrage of blows, Tarhal blocking them with apparent ease.

“The Republic? That failing beast in the Senate?” Tarhal scoffed. “Oh no, whatever will we do if that is replaced by efficient government?”

“The Sith are evil!” Spike roared, before leaping back, flapping his wings hard and firing a trio of blaster shots at Tarhal, sending him diving for cover.

“General! We can’t hold the lift any longer!” one of the soldiers bellowed through the din of the battle.

“Send it down…” Spike roared back, before he was knocked off of his feet, an explosion blossoming from within the lift.

Spike was dimly aware of some fading screaming as the ringing faded, flames pouring out of the lift shaft.

“Veers,” Spike coughed, staggering to his feet. “Activate the generators.”

“Sir…are you sure?” Veers sounded worried. “There’s still the chance…”

“Activate it!” Spike roared, before Tarhal dived at him again, knocking him from his feet, his Lightsabers forgotten as he brought his paws down again and again into Spike’s face.

“We could have been rulers, Spike! We could have been kings!” Every word was punctuated by a vicious blow. “Why, did you, not come, with us?! Why didn’t you follow Revan?! We could have used you!”

“Revan is weak!” Spike roared, catching one of Tarhal’s paws, before bringing the barrel of his still hot cannon around into the Wookie’s face.

Tarhal let out a scream, staggering back and clutching his face as Spike got to his feet, advancing towards Tarhal, both of his Lightsabers ignited.

“You’re my brother, Tarhal! Don’t make…”

Once again, Spike was pitched from his feet, this time by a huge rumbling sound that drowned out all of the other sounds of battle. For a moment, Spike thought that a bomb had simply dropped near them, before a huge crack opened up opened up in the ground, more opening up across the rest of the space port, Sith Troopers and the few remaining Republic soldiers screaming as the ground they had been fighting over turned against them.

“SPIKE!” Tarhal bellowed, rage in his eyes. “What did you do?!”

“Killed us all,” Spike snarled, raising his Lightsabers as he pushed himself to his feet. “Let’s finish this, brother.”

Tarhal let out a wordless scream as he dived forward, his Lightsaber and Spike’s clashing as they drove each other across the star port, anyone else around them forgotten as the very planet broke apart around them.

“You’re not going to survive this!” Tarhal roared in between strikes.

“That’s the idea,” Spike snarled back, spinning to avoid a blow. “I don’t want to survive past today, not after this.”

“Then I’ll make sure you don’t, by my blade!”

Tarhal suddenly seemed to switch up a gear, delivering a barrage of blows, kicks and punches which Spike struggled to block, before feinting to the right, Spike falling for it, too late realising what he had done as Tarhal brought his Lightsaber down full force on his outstretched left arm.

For a moment, Spike thought the metal would hold, before the blade passed through it, the majority of the arm falling to the ground at Tarhal’s feet, a look of perverse, savage glee on his face as Spike staggered back. Warning lights were going crazy in his eyes as his body tried to grasp the loss of one of its major components

“Who you knew you could lose your arm twice, Spike,” Tarhal sneered as he advanced once more.

“You bastard,” Spike snarled, diving forward with his one remaining arm, but this time, Tarhal was ready for him, spinning and driving his foot into the left side of Spike’s chest with enough force to crack the metal.

Even more warnings flashed across Spike’s vision as his cybernetic lung shattered under the pressure, only his instinctive magic keeping the shards from damaging anything else. Tarhal raised his Lightsaber higher as Spike reeled backwards, preparing to deliver the final blow.

“Goodbye, Spike,” Tarhal growled, before bringing the Lightsaber down.

I’m so sorry, Spike, Moonstone’s voice was clear in Spike’s head as his hand raised and a beam of magic shot out at Tarhal.

Tarhal roared as the magic hit him square in the chest, sending him flying across the space port and out of sight, his roars turning into screams of pain, then silence as ‘Spike’ got back to his feet.

Moonstone? What are you doing?!, Spike roared mentally, but it was no use. After Desolation had gone, Spike never thought he would feel like this again, but now, Moonstone was firmly in the driver’s seat.

“I’m sorry, Spike, but I’m not going to let you throw your life away here.”

Spike’s mouth moved as Moonstone’s voice came out, before Spike felt her spreading his wings, leaping into the sky.

You can’t outrun this, Moonstone! Spike raged. This planet will be nothing but a lifeless rock soon, no one can escape it, and I don’t deserve to!

“Shut up!” Moonstone roared. “For once stop feeling sorry for yourself and let me save you!”

You can’t, Spike insisted. There is no way I survive, no way anyone survives. That’s the fucking point!

“I’m getting us off this planet, and you’re just going to sit there and get used to it,” Moonstone snapped, before folding Spike’s wings and diving towards one of the wrecks of the Republic ships. “Brace yourself.”

Spike flipped and hit one of the weakened plates with his feet, slamming though the hull and creating a sizable hole as he flared his wings, landing gracefully in the hanger bay.

“See? Fighters?” Moonstone pointed out, beginning to look for one that seemed like it might still be flight worthy.

It won’t work you stupid mare, Spike snapped. The Gravity Well Generators will make Hyperspace imposs…

“You know how to override the safety protocols on the Hyperspace engine on an Aurek-class starfighter,” Moonstone snapped back. “I know you do, because you once asked Solaris what would happen if you got trapped in the gravity well of a sun while you were learning to fly. She then showed you how to override safeties and allow you to make short, blind jumps. That’s what we’re going to do, Spike. You can either give me full access to the memory right now, or I swear to whatever is watching over us I will rip it straight from your cortex. We are not dying here today, Spike. So either help, or don’t, one way or the other I’m getting the information.”

Fine, Spike murmured, before dropping his mental barriers, allowing Moonstone access to everything he had ever kept from her.

“You have a lot of memories here, Spike,” she muttered as they finally found a fighter, Moonstone forcing Spike to slide underneath it, the ship groaning and cracking as more of the planet came apart around it. “Here we go though, hyperspace engine safeties.”

Spike watched as his hand became a blur, Moonstone ripping part of the plating off as she worked, reattaching wires and pulling out redundant systems.

“This is far easier than from inside the cockpit,” she mused, before finishing. “I’m giving you control back, Spike. Get us out of here or I swear…”

“Fine,” Spike snapped, wrenching control back from her and rolling his neck. “Don’t make a habit of that, Moonstone.”

I won’t, she assured him. Now would you please get in your ship?

Spike nodded, awkwardly climbing the ladder with his one remaining arm and sliding into the cockpit, crouching down and awkwardly folding his wings to allow the canopy to close.

“This is going to be interesting,” he growled, punching the start-up sequence, ignoring the warnings about the Hyperspace safeties.

Go faster then Moonstone urged, the fighter finally powering up and lifting off the deck.

“Alright, hold on,” Spike grunted, instinctively ducking his head as they flew out of the ship, Spike gasping slightly as he saw the surface of the planet.

Huge chunks of the ground were heaving and pulsating as the gravity with the planet fluctuated. Small bits of magma were already spewing out of some of the cracks, and it wouldn’t be long before the gravity became too great for any ships in the sector to escape from. Spike could already feel the fighter’s engines straining to keep it flying upwards, but soon there would be nothing he could do to stop himself, the fighter, and all the Sith ships in orbit from plummeting to the ground.

Stop thinking like that, Spike. Get us out of here Moonstone pressed.

“Do you want to fly?” Spike snapped.

I can’t, I don’t have your experience,

“Then pipe down,” Spike snarled. “Almost got a free corridor. Sith ships are out of the way, they’re panicking. Half the Captain’s probably worked out what this is down here.”

Stop talking and… Moonstone began.

“Punching it!” Spike whooped, pushing the lever forward and listening to the hyperspace drive warm up.

The whine was louder than it should have been as the engine tried to kick in, before the ship juddered, the engine spluttering as it began to die.

“No, no no no no no,” Spike cursed, his claw darting over the control panel. “Not now you bastard.”

The Sith are going to notice us, Spike, Moonstone muttered.

“I know!” Spike roared back. “I know they’re going to notice us if we don’t move, but it’s the least of our worries and I’m working on it, so shut up!”

With another roar, Spike slammed his claw into the control panel, sparks flying as he broke through the casing and dug his fist deep into the wires.

“Brace yourself, Moonstone,” he muttered, before pumping magic through his fist directly into the ship.

His mind raced as he felt everything the small fighter did, Moonstone wincing and fading from view as he directed his magic elsewhere. Even after all the time he had been using magic, he still barely understood it, and doing something like this was a colossal strain on his mind, but at the moment that didn’t matter, all that mattered was the magic knew to do what it was directed to do. Circuits were rewired, motherboards were energised, and with a loud rumble, the engines flared back into life, catapulting the ship forward into Hyperspace.

Spike groaned as microscopic bits of space debris hit the hull of the ship at light speed, each tiny ping stinging his brain, depleting his magic reserves, before he finally had to relinquish his grip on the cables, pulling his hand free as the ship lurched back into realspace, the engines spluttering once more, before dying, leaving the ship to spin slowly in the void.

Where…where are we? Moonstone asked, panting slightly, her coat and mane slightly less vibrant, and large bags now present under her eyes.

“I don’t know,” Spike sighed, leaning back as best he could into his chair and rubbing his head. “Power on the ship’s all burnt out, means communicators are shot, and I don’t have the energy to power the ship again.”

So we’re stuck here? Moonstone asked.

“For now,” Spike nodded. “But we’re…we’re away from Vasdu. With all that brings with it.”

Spike lapsed into silence as he looked out into the darkness of space, focusing on the twinkling stars and the few rogue asteroids that were between planets, just as Spike and Moonstone now were. There wouldn’t be many ships out here, and next to none of them would be travelling slower than light speed. Add in the fact that Vasdu was now the heart of an unstable gravity well, and there was almost a zero percent chance they would be found, meaning they would have to wait until Spike had recovered.

How much food do you have? Moonstone asked, worry creeping into her voice.

“Two days,” Spike intoned, resting his forehead against the ships canopy, not bothering to actually check the supply, his mind too busy focusing on other things.

I had to do it, Spike, Moonstone pressed, her voice breaking as she looked at Spike with pleading eyes. I couldn’t just let you stay there and die.

“Why?” Spike asked, his voice still not portraying any emotion. “So were still Republic soldiers on that planet, thousands of them. And the civilians? Children?” his voice began to break now as he continued to speak. “I killed millions of children…my own soldiers…my best…my best friend. Why am still alive, Moonstone? The amount I’ve messed up? The amount I’ve done wrong? The people I’ve hurt, the people I’ve killed?! Am I still alive for myself now, or am I just alive just to destroy and kill more and more people?”

I can’t answer that, Spike, Moonstone whispered softly. You know I can’t. I don’t think anyone can.

“You got me off the planet, Moonstone, take responsibility,” Spike deadpanned back. “You think you saved me? Saved my life? What’s left now? I killed a planet, Moonstone. They’re not going to let that go. Meetra activated the same device at the end of the Mandalorian Wars, and she was exiled and stripped of the Force. That’s what awaits me now. And Tarhal…my brother? He’s…he’s dead now. What do I have left, Moonstone? What?! All I want for once is to have something not be ripped away from me! Just, once!”

Spike started beating his claw against the control panel once more, sparks flying with each blow as he quickly destroyed the useless controls, before his shoulders sagged and he let out a sob.

“If I had died down there, it would have been over. No one would have been able to shout me down, or question me about anything, because I would be long dead, but you had to dredge the one memory I tried to keep from you, the one memory that could save my life, because I knew you would use it. You took over my body like he did, like Desolation, to save someone who doesn’t deserve anything anymore.”

Don’t say… Moonstone began.

“It’s true,” Spike cut her off. “You know it is, I know it is. I should have dumped that memory years ago. Only a few of us knew about it, Solaris only taught me, and I only told a few others.”

Who? Moonstone asked, trying to keep the conversation going as Spike seemed to be lightening his own mood.

“Nexu clan,” Spike shrugged. “But there’s only two of us left now, so that doesn’t matter much. I was going to teach Katara, but I doubt they’ll even let me see her again, let alone teach her anything else.”

Spike sighed, before continuing.

“You know, this will be my last few days in the Order. I don’t…I don’t know what I’ll be without it. It’s all I’ve ever had. Maybe…maybe I’ll take Harmony and explore the outer stars. Look for home, for once. If I deserve that.”

You do, Spike, Moonstone assured him as he closed his eyes. Rest up, Spike. You need to recover from that.

Moonstone’s words fell on deaf ears, Spike already having slipped into an uneasy sleep. She looked over Spike for a few minutes, taking in his wounds and his small tosses and turns, before looking back the way they had come, in the direction of Vasdu. The star the planet orbited still burned just as brightly as before, the stars around it hadn’t moved, there was nothing to indicate that anything out of the ordinary had happened, nothing to indicate that an entire planet, over six billion souls, had just been snuffed out.

With a sigh of her own, Moonstone faded away, allowing Spike to get the rest he would need to get them both home.

***

For the next two days Spike and Moonstone talked about everything they could think of, Spike reliving memories of Equestria for her, while she comforted him in his darker moments. To her shame, she had to take control of his body more than once to stop him breaching the canopy, or reaching for his Lightsaber, convincing him to calm down before releasing her hold over him. She hated that she had to do it, but she convinced herself it was for his own good, and slowly they got through the days, Spike quickly making a big dent in the food supply, which was closer to a week’s supply than two days as Spike had guessed. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of just waiting in the void, Spike felt he was finally ready, dropping the small barriers he had put up around his mind to make sure he didn’t use any unnecessary energy.

Are we going back to Coruscant then, Spike? Moonstone smiled.

“Yeah, just let me…” Spike began, working his hand into the console, before freezing as something touched his mind.

Spike? Spike, what’s wrong? Moonstone asked, worry heavy in her voice, but Spike didn’t answer, concentrating everything he had on the link in his mind.

You didn’t think it would be over that easily, did you now, brother?

“That’s not possible,” Spike muttered, trying to focus his mind to clear up the message, only to hear the soft rumble of Tarhal’s laughter.

Spike! Tell me what’s wrong! Moonstone roared.

“We need to get back to Coruscant, now,” Spike clenched his fist around the ships cables as he spoke, pumping his magic into them once more. “We’re not going to be exiled or stripped of the force, Moonstone, something bigger came up.”

What are you talking about, Spike? Moonstone asked in confusion, before once again wincing and fading away, Spike activating the ship's Hyperdrive and catapulting them towards Coruscant.

The Weight of Your Sins

“All hands, all hands, prepare to intercept the incoming craft,” the Officer of the Watch of the Orion called out, stopping in the middle of the bridge of the Foray-class Blockade Runner and watching as the tiny blip on the edge of his vision continued to get closer. The Orion had been stationed on the edge of the Home Fleet for three weeks now, to act as their deep space eyes and ears, and up until now they hadn’t found anything. That had all changed half an hour ago when they had detected a single fighter sized signature jump into the system.

“Sir, are we sure this isn’t one of ours?” a crew member called out. “The Sith Fighters have never been reported to have jump capabilities.”

“And until months ago they had never been seen in Republic space, now they swarm over half of our space,” the Officer countered. “Open a comm-channel to the rest of the fleet, and hail the incoming ship. I will give it one chance to respond or we blow it back to wherever it came from.”

“Aye, commander, hailing the ship now,” the bridge went quiet as the comm-channel buzzed into life, before the Commander cleared his throat.

“Attention unidentified craft, this is the Foray Blockade Runner Orion of the Republic Home Fleet. You have entered restricted space without proper clearance and are now on intercept course with this vessel. You are ordered to power down your engines and await our away teams. If You are unable to comply due to mechanical failure, eject from your vessel within two minutes and we will pick you up. If you are unwilling to comply, you will be destroyed. Attempt to turn around or bypass this vessel and you will be fired upon. If possible signal your compliance.”

“Do you think he got the message, sir?” another crew member asked as the comms went dark once more.

“We’ll find out soon enough. Keep all weapons locked on that ship, I don’t like it when lone fighters appear in our space, the Mandalorians tried this trick during the last war. If any signs of nuclear radiation are picked up, you are to destroy it without hesitation, am I understood?”

“Aye, Commander,” came the unanimous reply.

The next minute seemed to pass agonisingly slowly as the target didn’t slow down, continuing to approach the Orion at the same speed.

“Sir, that’s two minutes,” one of the bridge crew sighed. “Shall I…”

“Attention Orion, this is general Spike of the Jedi Order. Move your ship out of the way, my own vessel isn’t in the best state for fancy flying.”

Spike’s voice was garbled as it crackled through the speakers, the crew looking towards the Commander for guidance.

“General Spike,” the Commander quickly regained his composure and began to talk once more. “My orders are clear, if you are indeed friendly you are to power down or eject, in precisely twenty three seconds I will fire…”

“Yeah, you’ll fire on me, I heard you the first time,” Spike cut in. “I’m not going to tell you again, move out of my way, or I’ll make you move.”

“By your own word you are in a severely damaged ship, you are in no place to be giving demands,” the Commander folded his arms. “I do not wish to destroy you, Spike, but my orders are clear.”

“Destroy it, it’s useless. It’s got me where I need to be.” Spike replied, before the lights of the bridge switched to a dull red.

“Status report! Now!” the commander roared. “Who brought us to alert status!”

“That would be me, Commander,” Spike’s voice came through the speakers again. “My fighter was never going to make it to Coruscant in its condition, but I hate space flying, so I just waited a little longer to bail on it, thank you for being here by the way, it’s very useful.”

“What are you talking about, Spike,” the Commander growled, before whirling around as the door to the bridge slid open, drawing his blaster pistol instinctively.

“It means I’m taking command,” Spike replied simply as he walked onto the bridge and approached the Commander, gesturing lazily with his claw and sending the pistol flying.

Every member of the bridge was stunned for a few moments as they took in the newest arrival. All of them had heard the rumours of General Spike, the Jedi who had helped lead them to victory in the last war, but only a few of them had ever seen him in person. The Spike that now stood before them was like a completely different person.

His body was covered in enough dirt, blood and grime to cover an entire battlefield, almost obscuring the harsh lines where scales and flesh met metal. One arm had been ripped clean off, the remains of the cybernetic occasionally sparking as the thin layer of ice that covered bit of his body melted off. His eye was what caught most people’s attention however, the single orb burning with fiery determination even as the green within it glowed a bright green.

“T-Taking command?” the Commander stammered, before remembering who he was addressing and snapping to attention. “Taking command, sir?”

“I need to get to Coruscant, your ship will get me there. Tell the Home Fleet they’ll need to assign another ship to guard the jump point, I’d suggest the Fortuitous, she always had a good captain. Helmsman, set a course for the Jedi temple.”

“Just wait a minute general,” the Commander moved forward as Spike turned to leave the bridge. “You can’t just take command of this ship like that, you don’t have the authority. How did you even get on board?”

“I told you, Commander Sataauo,” Spike turned slightly, fixing the man with his Cybernetic eye. “I took a walk through the void.”

With that, Spike left the bridge, leaving Sataauo stunned and in shock, before he finally turned around, clearing his throat.

“Set course for the Temple, and signal the fleet that we are moving out of position under General’s Spike’s command. And for god’s sake, destroy that fighter, whatever is left of it.”

***

“Never thought I’d see this place again,” Spike muttered to himself as the Orion finally touched down. “Why do I always come back here covered in blood?”

“Why indeed,” an unfortunately familiar voice came from one of the doors to the main temple as Zule walked towards him, a squad of Temple Security Force Soldiers following behind him, their rifles held tightly against their chest, while two Temple Guards stood to either side, their Lightsaber Pikes held tightly, but inactive.

“Zule, I wish I could say it was nice to see you, but Twilight always taught me lying was rude,” Spike growled back, walking towards the welcoming group, before stopping as the soldiers raised their rifles, pointing them at Spike directly. “Well that’s one hell of a welcoming committee you’ve brought out. I guess it’s too much to hope this is a ‘we’re glad you’re back’ kind of deal?”

“Your grasp of the obvious never ceases to astound me, Spike,” Zule scorned. “By order of the Grand Council, you are to surrender yourself to my custody and accompany me to their chambers.”

“So what exactly has the White Bitch charged me with?” Spike smirked.

“I think we both know the answer to that, murderer,” Zule growled, reaching for his own Lightsaber.

“Is that a hint of anger I detect there, Zule? Rage? Hate even? That’s not very Jedi like of you,” Spike chuckled, taking a step forward, Zule instinctively drawing his Lightsaber, the blue blade flaring into life.

“Stay back, monster,” he growled.

“No no no no, there it is,” Spike chuckled darkly, lowering his head slightly to be closer to Zule’s. “Not anger. Fear, terror. You’re afraid of me, Master Thanos.”

Before Zule could respond, Spike pushed past him, the soldiers scattering out of his way as he past, while the Guards rushed to get ahead of him, igniting their own Lightsabers and holding them out before them, barring Spike’s path.

“There’s no need to fight, I’m going to the council chambers anyway,” Spike grunted, looking at the with annoyance. “You couldn’t beat me anyway, and you don’t need to. Do I look like I want to start a fight?”

“You return to the temple, fresh from battle, without having your wounds tended to, and seek and audience with the council,” one of the masked guards pointed out. “Many a soldier has gone mad from seeing war, is it so much to expect that you could have?”

“I fought in the Exar Kun War and Mandalorian War,” Spike growled, anger rising in his chest. “I have seen more than a coward like you hiding in the temple ever will, so do not question my sanity, I lost it long ago.”

“Spike…” the second Guard began.

“Master, I have a rank in this order, you will use it, and you will stand aside,” Spike snapped.

The Guards looked at each other for a moment, before nodding, deactivating their Lightsabers and moving to stand either side of Spike.

“Very well then, Master Spike, we’ll escort you to their chamber.”

“Good,” Spike nodded, before setting off at a slow loping pace, the Guards easily keeping pace with him.

The walk across the temple was uneventful, but Spike could feel the stares of every Jedi they passed boring into him. Spike couldn’t even say he blamed them, if they even knew a quarter of what he had done then they would already mistrust him, and if any of them knew the truth, even a Jedi might start to hate him.

Soon they reached the lift to the chambers, Zule stepping in behind Spike and the Guards and thumbing the button to close the doors, still staying silent after Spike had brushed him off. In an awkward silence, the four of them quickly rose above the bustling city of Coruscant, the lift shooting upwards, before the doors slid open once more, Spike striding out into the centre of the council chamber. Over half of the seats were occupied by holograms, and two were empty even of those. Spike hoped it was because they were unable to get to a holo-projector to be here, but in this day and age, that was most likely wishful thinking.

“By the force, Spike, you look like you’ve been through hell,” Kavar spoke as he walked in, his hologram leaning forward slightly.

“I have been,” Spike nodded. “How’s the fighting on Alderaan?”

“There will be time for small talk later,” Kavar sighed, before turning to look at Atris.

“Spike,” she began, a small smirk on her face. “You have been summoned before this council to answer for your actions at the defence of Vasdu. Here is what we know, before you start talking. You were given command of the Fireshot Fleet, and given orders to defend Vasdu, which you failed. We also know that you managed to get some of your troops onto Vasdu to stall the Sith for longer. We do not know what else transpired, and many gave you up for dead. Until we heard word that Vasdu is no more. The entire planet gone. All reports show that few Sith escaped, and you were the only Republic soldier to escape. You can see that there is a gap in our knowledge here, please, fill us in.”

Spike went to fold his arms, ending up just placing a single limb across his chest as he contemplated his answer. He could lie, but Atris would see through it, it was one of the qualities she had which even Spike couldn’t refute. And if they caught him lying on one part of the story, everything would be brought into disrepute, and the Council needed to know about Tarhal.

“Captain Leroy was placed in charge of the surface guns, he betrayed us and decimated our fleet before the battle even began. We lost over half of our ships so I landed my remaining forces and dug in. We managed to capture a Sith Interdictor ship and turn on the generators, forcing the Sith to come to us if they wanted to move on at more than sub-light speeds. The battle was costly, because it was being led by someone with just as much experience as I have.”

Spike took in a deep breath as he prepared his next sentence, fully realising he was damming his onetime friend.

“Former Jedi…Tarhal, led the Sith forces. I fought with him, and killed his Padawan...”

“I thought Stratmum died during the Mandalorian Wars,” Loona Vash muttered.

“He was presumed lost at the battle of Malacore V, evidently we were wrong,” Spike sighed. “Maybe…maybe he helped pull Tarhal into the darkness…maybe Tarhal fell for another reason, but I know Stratmum is dead now, he’s got no head.”

“His loss is a sadness, but it seems to be an unavoidable one,” Loona sighed. “Please, go on, Spike.”

“I killed Stratmum, but we were pushed back. We made to retreat to the mines, but…Tarhal was waiting for us. He destroyed the lift, killed what I knew was left of my men, took my arm. I managed to escape by…”

“The planet, Spike,” Atris snapped. “Get to the point where Vasdu is destroyed, I want to hear what happened.”

“You want it to be me who’s responsible for this, don’t you,” Spike snarled. “You’re loving the fact that it’s me who’s answering for this, don’t you?”

“I want to know what happened, Spike,” Atris snapped back. “If the Sith have a weapon capable of destroying a planet, then we need to know. I…”

“It was me!” Spike roared, Atris and the other masters were instantly silent as Spike roared, even Zule and the Guards taking a few steps back as Spike seethed, clenching his remaining claw into a fist so tight that he drew blood, dripping a few crimson drops onto the floor. “The Sith didn’t destroy the planet. I did.”

“Spike, tell me that isn’t true.”

Spike was actually surprised at the person who spoke, turning to look at Zule, his onetime friend looking as if the world had fallen on his shoulders.

“It’s true, Zule,” Spike nodded, looking around the room. “It’s all true. I used the ideas of the engineer Bao-Dur and his mass-shadow generator, and I rigged the stolen Sith Interdictor ship to implode and create such a massive gravity well that nothing could escape it. Not the Sith ships in orbit, not the soldiers on the ground.”

“And not the civilians,” Kavar rasped hoarsely. “They didn’t escape…did they?”

“No, they didn’t,” Spike shook his head, his voice wavering for a moment, before he regained his resolve. “Five billion, seven hundred and eighteen million. That’s just a rough estimate, there could be more, but that’s over five and a half billion innocents who died by my claw.”

“You’re a monster,” Atris whispered.

“And you’re weak!” Spike bellowed back, pointing a claw directly at Atris, taking a step forward. “How well is our fleet holding back the main Sith thrust? All our ships are in service, and we were about to have one just as large break through our back door, and believe me, they were planning on going in dry. Imagine hundreds of ships pouring down on Arcadia. Could the Ninth Fleet hold them? Or suppose they just decided to come here and knock on our front door on Coruscant, the Home Fleet wouldn’t have stood a chance, and right now, this temple would lie in ruins, and the Sith would be dictating terms of our surrender to the Senate.”

Spike paused to take a breath before continuing.

“What I did was monstrous, no doubt about it. I was against what Revan did at the end of the Mandalorian War, against Malacore, but now I see things clearly. I killed billions, to save trillions. This war, it isn’t about morals, it’s about arithmetic. A soldier is abandoned to save a platoon. A regiment is sacrificed to save an army. I sacrificed a planet, but I saved a galaxy. I saved the Republic, the Core Worlds, our way of life. I will never forget those who I sacrificed, but I will not be sorry. Last war, we needed Revan to lead us to victory, a leader who would do what had to be done. We need strong leaders now, and looking around this room, I can’t see a single one of you who fits the bill, so I guess it has to be me.”

Spike spat on the floor as he finished talking, the glob landing just in front of Atris’s chair as he turned to leave, the Guard’s closing rank before the lift.

“Monster,” Atris growled. “I told you all he was unstable. He’s mad, guard’s cease him.”

“Don’t touch me,” Spike warned, turning back to face Atris. “You got what you wanted then, what you always wanted. Exile me, that’s all you can do. I will continue to fight the Sith without the Jedi. If you can’t see the value of what I did, then I don’t need you.”

“Spike!” Atris began again.

“Oh right, my Lightsaber,” Spike snarled, Dusk flying into his hand and igniting in an instant. “Exiles can’t keep theirs, can they? I always wondered what Meetra felt like when you exiled her.”

Spike reared back, before stabbing his Lightsaber at the standing stone in the centre of the room, perfectly hitting hole that had been made by Meetra’s Lightsaber all those years ago. With a loud crack, the stone gave way, the top falling to the floor with a loud crash as Spike released his Lightsaber.

“Now I know,” he finished. “I’m afraid you’ll have to make do with one of my weapons, I lost Elusive on Vasdu. Now if there’s nothing else, I’ll be leaving.”

Spike gave an overly elaborate and fake bow, before turning towards the door again, the Guard’s still wavering in the entranceway.

“You are a Jedi no longer, Spike,” Atris spat, rising from her chair, none of the other Jedi in the room voicing any objection. “But to kill that many, even mercy must have limits.”

“What are you going to do? Kill me?” Spike laughed sharply. “That’s not the Jedi way.”

“By the powers invested in me by the Republic, I, Atris, do sentence you to death,” Atris snapped back. “You will release yourself to our custody, to await execution.”

“This is bollocks, and you know it,” Spike sneered, turning to face her. “All of you together couldn’t take me with one claw tied behind my back, and since I only have one claw…”

Spike never got to finish as Atris suddenly punched her hand forward, Spike barely having time to recognise the telekinetic shove before it hit him. With a grunt, he was thrown backwards, crashing through the window and plummeting towards the main body of the temple. He didn’t even have time to extend his wings before he slammed into the roof of the temple, crashing through and landing hard on the marble floor, leaving a huge crater as the marble cracked and splintered.

Spike let out a few strained coughs as he tried to get up, grasping at the floor with his remaining claw as he flapped his wings a few times, wincing in pain as bones scrapped against bones in a way they were never meant to. One of his legs was likewise damaged, almost crushed beyond recognition from the heavy fall.

“Ow,” he muttered, the word coming out far more surprised than he meant it to, as he suddenly found himself chuckling to himself. “Ow, that really hurt. You hear that, Atris?! That fucking hurt you bitch!”

Spike staggered to his feet, beginning to limp slowly towards one of the many exits to the building, his world spinning as he started to laugh, almost uncontrollably. He could already see Jedi stopping what they were doing and approaching him, many drawing their Lightsabers as more Temple Guard’s rushed forward, their distinctive yellow bladed weapons clear to Spike even in his current state.

Before any could reach him, Spike made his way outside onto one of the smaller landing pads, staggering into the dying sunlight of Coruscant and letting out a whooping howl of laughter, before turning back to the entrance. Scores of Jedi and Guard’s had followed him out, many of their weapons drawn and ignited, while others simply watched in fascination.

“Come to see Atris finish me off, eh?” Spike laughed, licking his lips as his world span, threatening to pitch him into the darkness. He could feel something welling within him, but he ignored it as he began to laugh again, harder than before.

“What? You waiting for her? She’s got to take the slow way down; I took the express route. Bill her for the clean-up, it’s not…”

“Be silent!” Atris roared, pushing her way to the front of the group, her own Lightsaber ignited as she stood out from the crowd. “You are an enemy of the Republic and the Jedi, and have been sentenced to death. Will you surrender peacefully, or will you choose to fight and die now?”

“You couldn’t win this fight, Atris,” Spike pointed out, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “But you’re welcome to try.”

“Then prepare to face the justice of the Jedi,” Atris murmured, before she raised her Lightsaber, many of the other Jedi doing the same and slowly advancing forward.

Spike started laughing again as the Jedi approached him, backing up slightly until he was right at the edge of the landing platform. Taking a glance back, he saw the long drop, and knew instantly that without his wings, he wouldn’t survive the fall. The screaming within him was growing ever louder, and just as the Jedi were almost on top of him, he gave into it.

In an instant, his laughter turned into a roar, the sound laced with power as the Jedi around him were flung back, Lightsabers slipping from the grasp of their owners as Spike released the power he had been holding back. He now knew where he had felt this before, calling back memories of Coruscant decades ago, when he defended the cannons of this world.

Where he grew his wings.

This time however, he was larger, and the screaming roar was louder than ever before. He could feel his bones straining and cracking under the pressure as something forced its way out of the stump of his left arm. His cybernetics began to warp and melt, the surface of the metal glowing white hot as something instantly super-heated them from within, before they shattered, exploding outwards and driving the remaining Jedi scurrying for cover, heading back inside the temple and leaving Spike alone on the landing pad.

Spike thrashed about, his roar ceasing for a split second, before returning as green light erupted from his eyes and now open mouth, both his arms outstretched as the last of his cybernetics melted away, brand new scales growing and maturing at an impossibly fast rate, before Spike started to grow.

His talons sharpened and grew in an instant, gouging out huge furloughs in the landing platform, even as the scales on his chest began to warp and ripple, fusing together to form a thick, chitinous armour. Soon, Spike could no longer balance on his hind legs, falling forward and landing heavily on all fours, the landing pad crumbling further as he stretched his massive wings, softly flapping them and creating huge wings, as the energy flooding from his eyes finally started to fade.

“This…this…” Spike panted, his voice now far deeper boomed around the temple. “This is…”

“Spike?” Spike recognised the voice, and looked down to see Katara, his onetime Padawan now looking tiny beneath him. “M-Master?”

“Get back,” Atris snapped, regaining her senses and leaping in front of Katara, brandishing her Lightsaber at Spike. “Keep back, monster.”

“Have you seen me, Atris? Have you got a good look?” Spike began looking over himself, his smile widening by the second.

“I can see you,” Atris growled, before raising her Lightsaber to strike.

With barely a thought, Spike flicked a talon, hitting the blade of the Lightsaber and instantly knocking it out of Atris’s grip, her weapon falling off the edge of the Temple as she took a step back.

“Then you know what this means,” he grinned, drawing himself up to his full height.

“Do it, prove me right,” Atris panted.

“It means I can finally scratch my balls again!” Spike hooted in glee, another fit of laughter bursting forth from his lips, before he flapped his wings once more, and rocketed into the sky.

Fighting Yourself

Spike let out a whooping cheer as he corkscrewed through the air, speeders scattering out of his way as he barrelled through them. Most of them were barely larger than his fist, and he could have easily swatted them aside, but he contained his feelings of power, instead relishing the feeling of the air hitting his body for the first time in years.

Well this is…unexpected, Moonstone mused, appearing beside Spike as her own wings unfurled from around her body.

“Nice wings,” Spike smirked, lazily flipping onto his back, still powering away from the temple.

Aren’t they? she smiled, the act bringing some warmth to Spike’s hearts. I’m as surprised as you are though.

“Guess we need to work out what’s happened,” Spike laughed, his voice echoing around the spires of the tallest buildings as he easily banked around them. “Maybe…”

Spike snapped his mouth shut as a military speeder zoomed past him, another two forming up behind him in standard pursuit formation.

“Stand down, now! We will open fire if you do not comply!” came a voice from the leader speeder.

“Maybe not here though,” Spike rolled his eyes, relishing the feeling off both of them doing the same motion once more, before twisting his body and shooting upwards, the speeders struggling to keep up with him.

“This is your last warning! Halt, or we will be forced to open fire!”

Any ideas, Spike? Moonstone asked, effortlessly keeping pace with him.

“Get to an access shaft, lay low in the lower levels?” Spike suggested, barrel rolling as he continued to fly upwards, a shot flying past him.

And now they’re shooting at us? Great, Moonstone said dryly. If you want to get us out of here, now would be the time.

“It’s not actually as easy as it looks,” Spike grunted, trying to roll away from the speeders, only to find that they were blocking him in every time. If he had been willing to destroy them, then he would have no problem getting away at all, but the men and women in their were just doing their job.

Glancing behind him, Spike could see more speeders joining the chase, most of them small police cruisers like the three currently around him, but off in the distance he could see a few much bigger ones, military grade weapons mounted on them, giving them squat, tank-like appearances. He wasn’t really in any rush to see what his new scales could and couldn’t withstand, and his options for escape were fast becoming limited.

You know…surrender may be an option here… Moonstone said through gritted teeth. Atris was out of line calling for execution. Maybe the senate…

“I am not giving her the satisfaction,” Spike grimaced, pounding his wings harder, and starting to pull away from the speeders. The air was getting thinner now, their engines starting to choke as they tried to take in air that simply wasn’t there anymore. Spike however barely felt the change, his eyes narrowing as a plan popped into his mind.

You’re crazy, you do know that, right? Moonstone asked him, catching the gaze, before moving over and disappearing, her voice still in his head. I hope you know what you’re doing.

“Not a clue,” Spike admitted, before pumping his wings harder than ever before.

He could feel gravity working against him now, trying to tether him to the planet as his wings fought to do the exact opposite. The speeders were already far behind him, forming a perimeter as best they could beneath him, but Spike had no intention of giving himself up. He would either punch through or fall like a comet.

As suddenly as a blaster bolt, all sound disappeared from around Spike as the cold suddenly hit him. He had felt the kiss of the void before, but this was different. It was still cold, but it didn’t strike at his very soul like it had before. He didn’t feel like this was a death sentence as he had every other time he had flown through space, now he felt like he almost belonged here.

There’s a blockade runner, turning towards us now, Moonstone appeared again, floating beside him and pointing off into the distance.

“I see it,” Spike thought rather than spoke, no air passing over his vocal cords as he moved his mouth. “It looks like it’s…”

He trailed off, moving to focus his rangefinder on it, before realising that organic eyes didn’t have that feature.

It’s… Moonstone encouraged him.

“Approaching long distance firing range,” Spike guessed. “Maybe, I don’t…”

Spike was cut off as a turbolaser shot flashed through the void between the ship and Spike. Spike barely had a second to bring his claws up, instinctively channelling the force and his magic into them as he did so. He had never been an adept when it had come to Tutaminis, his scales or more traditional armour always keeping him safe. Now wasn’t the time for half measures though, and he pushed everything he had into the shield.

It was only just enough, the massive blaster bolt slamming into his palms and exploding, the two opposing reacting violently against each other and sending Spike careening backwards, before he could finally focus on his magic enough to stop his summersaulting.

May I suggest that we don’t do that again? Moonstone grunted, her mane now unkempt and slightly ratty from Spike diverting power away from her.

“You think?” Spike thought back sarcastically, before twisting around and propelling himself forward, using magic to create at least some form of air around him so that his wings could find something to push against.

It was slow going, and Spike could almost feel the other ships in the Home Fleet turning and giving chase. The first shot was a Light turbolaser compared to what most other ships packed, and he couldn’t survive a heavier one.

“Moonstone, suggestions,” Spike grunted, sensing another shot and only narrowly avoiding it.

Go back to the planet? Moonstone replied instantly.

“They’ll find us, we can’t hide down there anymore,” Spike shook his head.

Get in close so they can’t fire at you properly?

“Not fast enough, I’ll be shot to pieces, and risk innocent Republic lives.”

Keep running?

“Can’t do that forever. Give me something I can use, Moonstone.”

Moonstone stammered for a few moments, coming up with a dismissing hundreds of potential plans, before she finally vocalised one.

Ummm…Purrgil and Oswaft both have some sort of natural Hyperspace capabilities. Maybe we can do something with our magic…

“And get the hell out of here,” Spike nodded, pushing himself hard as he angled towards one of the system jump-point buoys. “I’ll get us there safely, you focus on finding anyway to make a short range jump. Just get us to anywhere that isn’t here.”

On it.

Moonstone faded from his mind as she devoted herself to finding anything, while Spike put everything he had into moving away from the fleet. The cold was starting to set in now, chilling him deep to his bones, and while it wasn’t stopping him doing anything, it was starting to get uncomfortable, closing into the unbearable.

Ok, Spike, give me control, Moonstone appearing beside Spike as she spoke.

“I hope you know what you’re doing, otherwise we have no other options,” Spike grunted, before emptying his mind, allowing Moonstone to merge with him, and becoming a passenger in his body once again.

Spike tried to keep track of everything Moonstone was doing, all of the subtle incantations and mental twitches that she was doing, but soon lost track, unable to keep up with her. Suddenly he felt a huge bolt of energy shoot up his spine, Moonstone twisting his head to look back at it.

The green scales along his back were now glowing brightly, the magic radiating out from them.

Let’s do this, Spike thought as Moonstone turned his head back forward.

“Already there, Spike,” Moonstone replied, before releasing the magic she had been channelling.

Spike wasn’t a stranger to odd sensations as of late, but this one felt strange even to him. Time seemed to slow to a standstill as the stars in front of him began to stretch out, giving Spike the familiar view of Hyperspace, before he shot forward, the blackness of space being replaced by the blue tunnel of Hyperspace.

***

“Sir! Massive energy surge off the starboard bow,” a man called out from across the bridge, the rest of the crew of the Hammerhead Cruiser busying themselves with their tasks.

“Divert shield power to starboard-side just in case, and get me a firing solution on that creature. I want it gone, now,” the captain replied, almost dismissively as he looked over his crew.

“Sir…the creatures gone. No signature’s left in that quadrant save for the buoy,” someone else called back.

“Impossible, it’s tricked the sensors,” the captain shook his head, leaning forward and placing his hands on the command table, squinting out into space. “Rescan and begin moving to visual range. Things just don’t disappear way out here.”

“Aye, sir. But…I have rescanned, sir, twice already and scanning for a third time. There’s nothing out there anymore.”

“Just get us in visual range,” the captain scowled. “Master Gunner, you have leave to fire when possible. XO, you have the bridge.”

“Where are you going, sir?” the XO asked as the captain turned to leave the bridge.

“To talk to the damned Jedi,” the captain scowled once more. “I want to know just what the hell that thing was, and why it was such a priority to kill it.”

***

Spike let out a soundless scream as he tore back into Realspace, his entire body feeling like it had been dipped in acid, but he was alive, and more importantly, he was away from the fleet.

“Nice going, Moonstone,” he chuckled, heading towards the looming planet, albeit at a far more leisurely than he had been flying before.

I don’t know where we are, Moonstone pointed out. It was just a blind shot in the dark, luck that we arrived near a planet at all.

“There’s no such thing as luck,” Spike pointed out, smirking slightly.

Well then let’s hope that your scales hold up to this too then, Moonstone replied, fading from sight as Spike approached the planet.

A few moments later, Spike was engulfed by a red glow as he sped through the atmosphere of the planet, his scales glowing as they resisted the heat, Spike barely feeling a thing, before just as suddenly he was through, breaking through the cloud cover of the world and landing heavily on a mountaintop plateau.

“So, where do you think we are?” Spike asked, surveying the mountain range he was in the middle of.

Still in the core, Moonstone shrugged. We didn’t go far enough for that.

“Well, it’s a start,” Spike sighed. “That was good work, Moonstone. Now we just need to work on being able to go further and move faster. I don’t think many ships are going to be able to transport someone of my…”

Spike was cut off by a roar, before being flung forwards, something massive striking him in the back and sending him sprawling. Spike was instantly ready, spinning around, only to be met by a huge fist to the face, pummelling him back into the ground.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?”

Spike didn’t need to look up to know who the voice belonged to as heavy footsteps began to walk away from him, but he looked up anyway, his eyes falling on a huge dragon.

He shared the same colours as Spike, but that was where the similarities ended. While Spike now certainly had four legs, pushing himself off of the floor and coiling into an attack position, this one still had two legs and two arms, towering over Spike, his muscular tail flicking through the air. His arms were likewise massively muscled, almost stretching down to the floor, and covered in vicious looking spikes and thick armour. All in all, the dragon before him looked closer to when Spike had been controlled by his greed than anything else, right down to the lack of wings, but this wasn’t greed, this was…

“Rage, is the word you’re looking for, Spike,” the dragon snarled, baring his teeth.

“I remember,” Spike snarled back. “Desolation.”

“Feels good to be back,” Desolation laughed. “You seem to have got a bit bigger since last time. Doubt any stronger though.”

“I seem to remember the last time I saw you, I beat you,” Spike sneered back. “So I don’t think strength was the problem.”

“No, clearly it was brains, you had to claw me out of yours. You can’t do that this time. Maybe try clawing out everything, I’ll watch.”

“How did you come back?”

“Forcibly regrowing your brain brought back everything, not just the good stuff,” Desolation snorted. “And me? I’m all the bad stuff rolled into one.”

“Let’s finish this then,” Spike prepared himself to bound forward.

“Finally,” Desolation growled, before beginning to run forward, using his arms to move forward quicker.

Spike let out a roar as he sprang forward a few moments later, moving far faster than Desolation was as the pair collided in the centre of the plateau. Spike’s claws raked across Desolations chest, but they barely even left a scratch, before Desolation wrapped his arms around Spike midriff. With a grunt of effort, Desolation threw spike backwards, sending him flying off of the plateau and smashing into one of the opposing mountain peaks.

Before Spike could regain his senses, Desolation was on him again, leaping from his perch and landing on Spike, raining blows down on him, Spike managing to avoid a fair few of them as they carved out massive craters in the rock. Spike managed to get off a few blows of his own, causing Desolation to grunt in pain slightly, but Desolation had raw power on his side, and Spike was in a very bad position.

With another roar, Desolation struck forward with both hands, and Spike felt energy surge through them, as well as the sheer force of the blow. Both combined sent Spike flying backwards once more, rock splintering behind him before he emerged on the other side of the mountain. Spike barely had time to twist and unfold his wings before he hit the other mountain, flapping his wings hard and managing to push off the rock face, carving out huge chunks before he sped upwards.

“You’re not getting away that quickly!” Desolation roared, Spike turning his head back just in time to see Desolation scrambling up the mountain as well, before leaping further than Spike had thought possible, managing to grab one of Spike’s legs.

Spike let out a roar as Desolations weight was suddenly hung from one of his legs, but continued flying, his huge wings providing him enough thrust to keep powering upwards, smashing through the clouds as Desolation tried to claw at him, ripping into Spike’s scales.

“You don’t deserve this power!” Desolation roared, swiping at him again. “You should be running the Jedi, not running from them!”

“That’s the Sith way you idiot,” Spike struggled to speak, fly and block out the pain at once.

“It’s the dragon way too! The strong rule the weak! Or have you forgotten your heritage?! You’re a dragon, Spike! And no amount of anything will ever change that!”

“I’m not like you!” Spike roared, trying to kick Desolation off of his leg, still rising as a plan began to form in his mind. “I never asked to be a dragon! I never asked for you! Now just, die!”

“You couldn’t kill me if you wanted to!” Desolation roared, louder than before to make himself heard over the wind this high up. “Thanks for the lift! Think I’ll take your wings once our little flight’s over!

“Sorry buddy, this is a private airline,” Spike grunted through gritted teeth, before punching Desolation in the jaw over and over again. He managed to take the first few blows without so much as flinching, but after the third he began to show signs of pain. Then, on the sixth blow, Spike felt something splinter under his fist. Blood spurted from Desolations face, and he let out a gargling scream, and finally let go of Spike’s foot.

Spike watched as Desolation began to fall away from him, his arms flailing as his eyes filled with pure rage. Then he was too far for Spike too see him, and a few seconds later, there was a huge erupting of dust, as Desolation presumably hit the ground.

Folding his wings, Spike dived towards the ground, quickly locating the place where Desolation had crashed down. It looked like it had once been the side of a mountain, but something Desolation’s size, falling from near orbit, made it almost impossible to tell that. Desolation himself was sprawling in the centre of the crater, all his limbs bent at odd angles, and blood beginning to pool around him.

“Oh, Desolation. Not so cock sure now, are you?” Spike smirked, landing next to him and advancing towards him, placing one of his claws around Desolation’s throat.

“Couldn’t…kill me. Let…gravity…decide?” Desolation coughed through broken teeth. “Did enough…damage on you though. Bastard.”

“Oh, what? This?” Spike gestured to his back and chest, rearing up onto his hind legs to show off the numerous rocks imbedded in between some of his now broken scales. “I survived a nuke to the face, I survived Malachor V, I survived two wars, months of torture, everything this universe has thrown at me, and you think a few injuries like this are going to put me in the ground. You an idiot, but then I guess I always did have the brains. You just had anger, and it wasn’t enough.”

Before Desolating could begin talking again, Spike clenched his claws into a fist, first simply tightening around his neck, then ripping through it, his claws tearing out the fallen dragons throat. Desolation’s eyes went wide, as if he still didn’t believe Spike would do it, before he started weakly convulsing, before finally lying still, his eyes rolling back in his head.

“Check mate,” Spike snarled. “I win again.”

With that, Spike took in a deep breath, before unleashing flames across Desolation’s body. It took a while for the flames to take hold, but it seemed the only thing that could beat the fire resistance of dragon scales was dragon fire itself.

After almost half an hour, Desolation was ablaze, most of his body melting away, before Moonstone appeared beside him.

“Of all the people I didn’t want to ever see again, he’s in the top five,” she muttered.

“Really?” Spike snorted softly. “He doesn’t even make my top ten. Although to be fair a lot of them are dead. Real dead, not Desolation dead.”

“He’s real dead now,” Moonstone pointed out. “Well, I hope he’s real dead now, he’s kind of…”

“What the hell is going on here?” a voice came from behind them. Both of them whirled around, only to see a young human girl standing behind them.

She could only have been sixteen or seventeen, her face still bearing a few spots that had yet to go away. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail, clearly to make sure it didn’t obscure her face, and in her hands she held a blaster rifle, military issue.

“Well? Answer me?” she said again, brandishing the rifle.

“Miss, put down the gun before you hurt yourself,” Spike chuckled, rolling his eyes.

“I know how to use this thing, so I won’t be hurting myself with it, thanks,” she retorted in a clipped voice.

“You can’t hurt me with it,” Spike pointed out. “Less than an hour ago I was shot by a turbolaser, you think you can do better?”

“Against you? No,” she shook her head, before pointing the gun directly at Moonstone. “Against the smaller one? Yeah, I think I can.”

“You…you can see me?” Moonstone asked, disbelief written across her face.

“Of course I can,” the girl didn’t move the rifle. “So you two are going to…”

Spike stopped listening to the girl, turning to face Moonstone, his own eyes wide. “If she can see you, can I…”

Spike trailed off, reaching out a claw to place it on her shoulder, only to find it going through her just like always.

“No such luck,” Moonstone sighed. “Maybe I’m just a hologram now, not a figment of your imagination.”

“What the hell is going on?!” the girl roared, firing the gun into the air a few times for emphasis.

Spike rolled his eyes, before knocking the gun from the girls hands almost lazing, her finger instinctively tightening on the trigger, sending a single shot into Spike’s chest. He didn’t even feel it.

“There we are,” Spike smiled. “Now, I’m going to tell you what’s going on, then you’ll answer my questions. Ok?”

“Y-Y-Yes,” the girl nodded.

“Don’t be scared, I’m not going to hurt you,” Spike assured her. “Now, as for what’s going on. A few hours ago I was both a Jedi master and a Republic General, I’m now rogue because they believe my actions warrant a death sentence. I’m the only one of my species ever documented meeting the Republic, and the creature behind me was my own manifestation of rage, who I fell out with, hence the fight and the few destroyed mountains. Sorry about that. The pony that you can now apparently see is called Moonstone, she’s the personification of my magic, and until recently she couldn’t be seen by anyone but me. Anything else you want me to explain?”

“N-N-N-No, that’s…that’s pretty much everything,” the girl stammered.

“Good, now onto my question. There’s only one, but it’s a pretty big one. Which planet are we on?”

“You don’t know that?” The girl scoffed, before remembering that she was talking to a huge dragon and stammering again. “T-This is Graola.”

“So this is Graola?” Spike asked, looking round. “Don’t know why, but I always imagined this world to be an Ice World like Hoth or something. Strange.”

“We haven’t had snow here in my lifetime,” the girl shook her head.

“Oh lighten up, I’m not going to hurt you,” Spike rolled his eyes. “Look, I’m Spike. You are?”

“Alumna. Alumna Cradu .”

“Nice to meet you Alumna Cradu. Tell me, what’s a young girl like yourself doing way out here in the mountain ranges by yourself, and with an old military issue rifle no less.”

“I live up here with grandfather, the rifle was my fathers.”

“Did he die in battle?” Spike asked.

“Three months ago,” Alumna sniffed.

“He’d be proud of you, your father,” Spike assured her. “Not many people would have approached me, let alone with a weapon drawn and demanding answers.”

“Thanks,” Alumna smiled weakly. “I should probably get going, my grandfather, he’ll be wondering where I went.”

“Get back to him then. And Alumna? Don’t forget the rifle. Pays to have a good weapon on hand.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Alumna nodded, hurrying over to the rifle and grabbing it. “Well…goodbye I guess?”

“I won’t be here for long, so yeah,” Spike nodded.

Spike watched as Alumna walked away for almost half an hour before he finally lost sight of her, turning back to Moonstone and the now charred remains of Desolation.

“Well?” She asked, looking directly at Spike. “What’s the plan?”

“You know, I don’t know,” Spike admitted. “But first, you and I are going to have a chat, and we’re going to figure out just what the hell we can do with this new body of mine.”

An Old Foe

The bar was packed as the lone figure walked towards it, whoops and cries of delight and dismay were easily discernible, even from outside. Even so, the crowd seemed to part as he entered, moving aside amidst whispers, although whether they were of worry or support, the figure didn’t know. It also helped that he didn’t care, and the Mandalorian Ripper he carried was worn openly on the hip of his armour.

Seugtai had long since stopped even thinking about what others thought of him. So far only a handful had done more than whisper about him behind his back, and those who had done more had swiftly met their end. Things were so much different now, one war ending, and another one ripping the Republic in two on another axis. The Mandalorian themselves were fragmented now as well, the clans scattering apart without the guidance of the Mandalore. Without the mask, they were nothing more than vagabond mercenaries.

More than he regretted the passing of time and the glories of the past, Seugtai was getting tired. He was no longer as fast as he had once been, his axe blows lacking something that they had once had in ample supply, and sometimes it felt like without the stims and cybernetic implants, he would have fallen apart long ago. His armour bore testament to this, the once nearly perfectly unblemished leather now replaced with much thicker metal, while plates of metal were now bolted to damaged spots on his helmet and shoulder pads. With every blow that he let through, his armour became a little less like that which his ancestors had once worn.

“Place your bets, place your bets!” came a voice over the bars speakers, cutting over the din of the crowd with ease, and breaking Seugtai from his reminiscing. He had come here for sport, and that was exactly what this place offered. Grabbing the drink he had ordered, Seugtai moved away from the bar.

Half barging, half walking through the vacated spaces, Seugtai made his way to the back of the bars top level, peering over the barrier that stopped people accidentally falling into the blood soaked arena below. Bones littered the sand as a pair of Gamorreans pulled away a ruined corpse.

“The next match begins in five minutes!” the announcer came over the speakers again. “We have another challenger for our reigning champion, a relative newcomer on the gladiatorial scene. Ladies and gentlemen and species who are neither, I give you, Wildfire!”

The roar of the crowd instantly grew louder as a man walked onto the arena, bedecked in thick metal armour, and bearing a host of weapons. Seugtai counted a pair of vibroblades, heavy blaster pistols, even a wrist mounted rocket launcher before the man began to cheer along with the crowd, spinning so that everyone could see him.

“I wasn’t aware they used such heavy weapons in the ring,” Seugtai muttered, a slightly drunk woman turning around as he spoke and looking at him, swaying slightly before she began to slur at him.

“Nah nah nah, it’s all right see, the champion…he doesn’t care what weapons his opponent uses….”

She trailed off as she collapsed to the floor, what was left of the drink in her hand spilling across the floor as the announcer spoke again, answering Seugtai’s question without the addition of slurring and fainting.

“Some of our newcomers may be wondering why we would allow such a heavily armed person into the arena, such a match would surely be short, and dangerous to you viewers. Let me assure you, the arena is covered by an energy shield, his blaster shots will barely even ripple the surface if they go wide, and if you think this match will be short, you will most likely be right, but not in the way you think. Honoured patrons, I give you our reigning champion, undefeated in the ring, winner of over fifty matches. I give you, The Guardian!”

If Seugtai had thought the crowd was loud when Wildfire appeared, he was in for a shock now. The crowd was deafening, his helmet quickly filtering out most of the sound as it rose to imitate the noise of a sonic attack, as the champion stepped onto the sands.

He was taller than a human, maybe even larger than a wookie, and his muscles rippled beneath his red and yellow scales. Seugtai instantly found his hand tightening around his Ripper, ready to let fly as memories of The Beast of Ranox came back to him. The Beast, Spike he thought he remembered as his true name, had become a legend in the war, one spoken of in awe and fear. Behind Revan and Meetra, he was remembered as a force of destruction and death wherever he stood, even Cassus Fett finding himself unable to best the violent Jedi.

After a brief moment however, he allowed his grip to slacken slightly. He remembered Spike well, the green and purple scales seared into his mind until the end of time. He also remembered the wings he bore, and the rumours that while Cassus hadn’t killed him, he had been forced to become more machine than organic to survive. This Guardian was clearly the same species, but he lacked the wings and Cybernetics of Seugtai’s old foe.

The next five minutes passed quickly, the announcer embellishing the reputations of both gladiators, while bets were placed on the various fighters. Seugtai saw stacks of credits change hands, and momentarily debated joining in, before thinking better of it. Credits were not in abundant supply for an aging merc, even an aging Mandalorian, and if he remembered anything about Dragons, this fight would be over quickly anyway.

“And now, honoured guests, turn your eyes towards the arena. Let, the battle, commence!”

The crowd roared again as Wildfire leapt backwards, drawing both of the pistols he carried and firing a flurry at the spot The Guardian was standing in as he did so. Before the shots could hit home however, The Guardian blurred into action himself, Seugtai only managing to keep track of him thanks to his helmet scanners.

Wildfire was obviously not blessed with such sensors, his head following after The Guardian, trailing by several seconds. Wildfire was still trying to keep track of the blur when The Guardian stopped behind him, calmly taking both of Wildfire’s swords from the sheathes, the weapons looking absurdly small in his hands. Wildfire made to turn around, to bring his blasters or rocket to bear, but he never made it.

The swords flashed in the air as they were both brought down, one slicing through Wildfire’s neck, and the other through his waist.

The crowd roared in appreciation as Wildfire fell to the ground in three separate pieces, The Guardian dropping the stolen swords as he began to look around at the crowd. Seugtai once again had tightened his hand around his own weapon, as he recognised the Jedi like combat style The Guardian had used. Before he could do anything however, The Guardian looked straight at him, locking gazes with the helmeted Mandalorian.

Before he could do anything, The Guardian let out a roar of his own, the crowd instantly falling silent at the sound, before The Guardian leapt upwards towards Seugtai. In times gone by, he would have managed to draw and fire his Ripper before The Guardian got anywhere near him, but nowadays he had barely cleared the holster before The Guardian impacted with him, grabbing him by the throat and hauling him off the floor, his drink dousing members of the crowd as he dropped it.

“Seugtai Ordo, what a surprise to see you here,” he snarled, slowly walking through the crowd to one of the walls and slamming Seugtai against it, his Ripper falling from his hands as he tried to pry the claws from around his neck.

“It’s…you…isn’t it?” he choked, locking gazes with The Guardian.

The Guardian let out a soft chuckle, before scrunching his face up slightly, pain and effort clearly written across it as Seugtai felt the claws around his neck loosen just slightly, not enough to escape however. A few second passed, before the scales on the Guardian’s face started to morph, sliding across each other and slowly changing colours. In short order, The Guardian’s face had changed completely, replaced with Spike’s true face. From the lack of gasps from the crowd, Seugtai guessed they either couldn’t see what had just happened, or had seen it enough that it no longer shocked them. He didn’t put too much thought into it though, Spike beginning to talk in his eerily familiar voice.

“How you remember it?” Spike growled, tightening his grip once more.

“Thought…you…had…cybernetics,” Seugtai gasped.

“Maybe I did once, who really cares anymore,” Spike shrugged. “Now, why shouldn’t I kill you?”

“For…what…crime?” Seugtai asked. “You…were…always a…monster…though. Why…change?”

Spike growled again, preparing to throttle the life out of the old warrior, before he felt Moonstone manifesting beside him, the crowd that were watching letting out a few cheers as she approached Spike.

“Let him go, Spike, the war’s over, there’s no point killing him.”

“It would make me feel better, this guy helped kill of the majority of the 59th,” Spike snarled.

“Yes, and you helped butcher hundreds on Ranox, and hundreds more in the war. Let, him, go,” Moonstone hissed.

Spike kept his grip as he contemplated Moonstone’s words, before sighing and loosening his grip, before scrunching up his face once again. A minute later, The Guardian let Seugtai fall to the floor, the warrior gasping before reaching for his pistol, debating firing a shot off before sighing and re-holstering it again.

“Go back to your drinks people,” The Guardian called out, his voice now different as well, looking at all the patrons. “Nothing to see here, just an old disagreement with a rival.”

The crowd let out a few murmurs, but they did what they were told, going back to their drinks and bets, the few that had bet against Spike cursing softly, as Spike turned back to Seugtai.

“What are you drinking? I think I spilled yours.”

***

“If I hadn’t seen the fact you were whole again, I wouldn’t believe any of your story,” Seugtai spoke as he finished his second drink, many hours later. “But considering you have all your limbs again, and the rest of your story adds up, I suppose I must accept it.”

“Why are we doing this?” Spike asked, still in the form of The Guardian.

“Talking?” Seugtai asked, before holding up the empty mug. “You offered to buy me a drink.”

“I mean why did I do that?” Spike sighed. “I hate you…or I should, I think. I fought against you, I lost myself to a beast to beat you, why are we not enemies?”

“War’s over, Spike, you won, I lost,” Seugtai shrugged. “I don’t hold too much of a grudge, not much point in my mind. If Mando’s held grudges against everyone they fought, we’d be forever moping around.”

“True I suppose,” Spike nodded.

“There’s one thing I want to know though,” Seugtai leaned backwards, passing his empty mug to a Rodian waitress and accepting the new one.

“Go on.”

“Why are you here?” Seugtai asked, leaning forward, resting a hand on his helmet as he spoke. “As in this arena? I get that you’re not welcome in the Republic right now, but you said you wanted to help it. I can’t see you helping from all the way in the back end of the Outer Rim.”

"No, no I suppose you’re right there,” Spike sighed, leaning back in his personal chair and contemplating his answer before speaking again.

“Credits? Getting used to new powers? The loss of my sabres? I need credits if I’m going to do anything and gladiator fights pay out well enough. I can change my plans with magic and the force is harder for me to command these days, so I have to relearn things, and I have to learn to fight with new weapons now I’ve lost mine.”

“You didn’t seem to fight with any in the arena before,” Seugtai pointed out.

“That was one fight,” Spike smirked. “I have quite a few in my quarters, if I want them.”

“That’s still not really a great reason though, is it?” Seugtai pointed out.

“I don’t have a workable plan,” Spike admitted with a sigh. “I have no authority, no power beyond my own, no ship, I can’t even tell you if any of the men who once served with me would help me out. As soon as I come up with a plan that works, I’ll get off my ass, until then, I’ll stay here and keep building up my credit reserves.”

“What if I could help you get men who don’t work for the Republic?” Seugtai asked, sipping on his drink thoughtfully.

“Then I have a place which I think would get us ships as well,” Spike replied. “You’re talking about mercs? I don’t have enough credits to hire and entire army you know. Maybe a dozen.”

“It all depends how far you’re willing to go to get back in this war, Spike,” Seugtai leaned forward.

“I’m not killing Republic soldiers to steal ships if that’s what you’re implying,” Spike growled.

“Not at all, I’m not stupid enough to suggest that to you of all people,” Seugtai chuckled. “But what about working with men and women that some would called undesirable? Criminals even?”

“You want to break criminal’s out of prison to form what? A criminal underground? Criminals are hardly a good formation for an army to support the Republic.”

“Do you have a better idea?” Seugtai folded his arms. “And as for training, I feel I have some friends who ok working for you, they’ll need payment though.”

“More Mandalorians?” Spike deadpanned? “Seugtai, I’m still not sure I like the fact that we’ve somehow ended up working together, let alone bringing in more of your kind. Besides, I got a bit of a reputation in the war, you know it already, if these other Mandalorians found out that I’m that Spike, it would cause more trouble than it’s worth.”

“Fine, no Mandalorians,” Seugtai shrugged. “Maybe we should discuss this in a more private area?”

“Come on then,” Spike stood up, nodding his head towards a door marked employees only. “My quarters are about as secure a place I have. We can discuss what your idea is, and how much you’re going to wring out of me.”

“Perfect,” Seugtai smirked, grabbing his helmet and following after Spike.

A New Ally

“So you never really explained how you got from your larger form to this, or from this to your actual form,” Seugtai pointed out as the pair walked. “You cut off after the fight with Desolation.”

“Magic,” Spike shrugged, pushing a door open to his quarters, allowing Seugtai to head through, before following after him and engaging the mag-lock.

“That’s a shit excuse,” Seugtai deadpanned, fixing Spike with a glare that was apparent even through his helmet.

“You want me to go into specifics of magical transformation for you?” Spike simpered sarcastically. “Maybe draw you a little diagram?”

“Yes,” Seugtai replied instantly, his voice betraying no sign of amusement. “I don’t work with anyone unless I know their abilities. This one is new to me, so lay it on me.”

“Fine,” Spike growled. “Shrinking back to this size is the easier of the two, all I have to do is focus my magic back in on itself and it gets the message eventually. It’s not quick, and it’s not exactly comfortable to do, and drawing in the power I need from my reserves takes concentration, so no doing it in combat. I’m not exactly at the top of my game for a while afterwards anyway.”

“And transforming back again?” Seugtai continued.

“Haven’t done it yet,” Spike shrugged. “No call for it, yet.”

“Fine, and this?” He indicated Spike’s current form as The Guardian. “It’s not even just new colours, you look different too.”

“Takes longer, hurts more,” Spike admitted. “I can use magic to alter my essence, DNA, whatever you want to call it, but it’s slow work, and takes a lot of my energy to do it. It’s easier if I map out the form first, which can still take weeks on its own, so at the moment, I only have this form and my natural form. As for why I have different proportions, it’s because I can’t change my bodies mass this way, not like when I transform, otherwise I think I might do that accidentally. I have to shift things around, wings became arm muscles, I lost the ability of flight, and got even stronger. Change is made easier if I’ve mapped out the form, still takes me a while to change though.”

To demonstrate the point, Spike turned away from Seugtai, his claws tensing up as he focused his magic. Minutes passed, before Spike let out a grunt of comfort, spreading his wings out wide for the first time in weeks, giving them a slow flap to work out the aches in them, before turning around once more.

“See, it’s…”

Spike was cut off as he was driven to the floor by a massive hammer, his own incidentally. The hammer was far bigger than a normal human could ever use, and Seugtai let out a grunt as he over-swung, the hammer slipping from his gasp and landing with a loud clatter. Even though it was far from the worst injury Spike had ever received, not even close, but the unexpected nature of it meant that Seugtai recovered first, awkwardly lifting the hammer up again and standing over Spike.

“That’s…for Ranox,” he growled, visibly panting from exertion from swinging the hammer.

“You should have chosen a weapon more suited to your size,” Spike grunted, spitting out a glob of blood, before gesturing around the room. “Come on, you had a good five minutes to pick a weapon, there’s easily something more suited for you.”

True to Spike’s words, the walls were indeed lined with weapons, from large curved blades to a huge double ended mace. There were dozens of melee weapons here, all designed for Spike’s massive hands, but some of which could feasibly be used by someone of a more normal size.

“Come on, I’ll show you,” Spike growled, blurring into motion and pushing Seugtai away from him, before darting to the wall and grabbing a short sword, swinging it at the wall as Seugtai got back to his feet, the blade stopping less than an inch away from the Mandalorians neck.

“See? This could be used with ease by you, nice long sword I think. Next time you try anything, choose the right weapon, thought you’d be good at that, Mandalorian and all. I’ll give you that one for Ranox, but you ever try that again, even anything close, and I won’t stop next time. You understand?”

“Perfectly,” Seugtai nodded, pressing the barrel of his Ripper against Spike’s crotch. “This wouldn’t kill you, but I think would sting a lot.”

“You’re probably right,” Spike rolled his eyes, before pulling the sword free, placing it back on the wall with its fellow.

“So then,” Spike sat down on the large bed, looking up at Seugtai. “You got a ship?”

“I do,” Seugtai nodded. “An old Foray-class Blockade runner, it’s old but it works.”

“It’s also highly restricted outside of military use,” Spike pointed out. “Not something a demilitarised Mandalorian would be able to acquire easily.”

“Sharp as ever,” Seugtai nodded, his smirk almost audible in his voice. “Enough credits and a pass from Carlo Nord is enough to change a few perceptions.”

“You’re in the Bounty Hunters’ Guild? I wouldn’t have pegged you for one of their kind.”

“A good number of my kin are part of the Guild, keeps us busy. But to the topic, yes, I have a ship.”

“And you have a prison in mind for this prison break of yours?”

“Give me a break, Spike, I came up with the plan less than an hour ago,” Seugtai folded his arms. “Time for you to bring something to the table.”

“There’s a lot of prisons in the Republic,” Spike nodded slowly. “I can think of three that would suit our…needs. Filled with killers. Two are behind Sith lines, Revan will know about them, those held there will either be dead, enslaved, or part of his army now.”

“Which leaves one more,” Seugtai motioned with hands for Spike to continue on.

“How are you planning to keep them all in line?” Spike asked suddenly. “Killers, rapists and terrorists don’t exactly have a track record for listening to orders.”

“We won’t give them a choice, that’s why,” Seugtai folded his arms. “Now, this prison. It’s the Black Cage, isn’t it?”

“On Coruscant, where I was held,” Spike nodded with a sigh. “Prisons have separate access codes to other Republic installations. They were changed at the beginning of the war, I was told them, they won’t need to be changed again for a while.”

“Even with you on the lose?” Seugtai asked.

“Oh come on, no one’s stupid enough to break into the Black Cage,” Spike sneered. “Hardly anyone even tries to break out of it after all. I know the codes, I know the way in, I know a lot of the layout of blocks A and B, C is an unknown, but as A and B have the same layout, it shouldn’t matter. The Republic military used to be able to get to the prison within six minutes at the first alarm, with the war they’re stretched thin, that number will be closer to twenty-seven. If we’re going to do it, we’ll have to hit their communications array first, take it out so they can’t cry out, and we could have an hour before someone notices something wrong.”

“And how will we get the prisoners out then?” Seugtai pulled over the small normal sized chairs and sitting down. “I can carry maybe forty on my ship at maximum capacity, this prison hopefully has more.”

“Around six hundred at last count,” Spike nodded. “From all over the galaxy. The prison has enough shuttles to carry all of the prisoners and guards if need be, in case…the capital falls.”

“Automated pilots?” Seugtai pressed.

“The shuttle I was brought in on was, yes,” Spike nodded. “As long as one of the prisoners or you can hack the computer system, we can reset their rendezvous point. If we can find the right security clearance codes in the control room, we’ll be able to pass right under the Home Fleet’s nose and escape before they even know people are breaking out.”

“So, we’ve got the start of a plan then. And as a bonus, I just so happen to know some old friends in the Black Cage, not Mandalorians, don’t worry. They’ll be helpful for the rest of the plan. Got a place in mind for where we’re going to go with the prisoners afterwards?”

“A few, yes,” Spike nodded. “One thing though, when we go to the Black Cage, we don’t kill any of the guards, understand? Non-lethal only. They are loyal soldiers.”

“That’s going to make this harder…” Seugtai began, but Spike silenced him with a glare.

“Non, lethal, only,” he reiterated with a growl. “Kill a single one, and our deal is off.”

“Fine,” Seugtai growled back.

“So, we set out tonight then?” Spike rolled his neck as he stood up once more, slowly transforming back into The Guardian. “But we have things to settle, do we not? The hammer to the face showed that. So, what say I speak to the head of the fighting pits and organise a non-lethal match. You against me, energy fields to make sure we don’t kill each other. What do you say?”

“I think it should work out a few differences,” Seugtai nodded, drawing his Ripper from his side, and pulling one of the Mandalorian crescent axes from his back, dislodging a piece that Spike had previously assumed was armour. “Your weapon?”

Spike looked around at his multitude of arms, some covered with a thin layer of dust from disuse, Spike trialling them once before setting them aside, while others had small dents in their blades and striking edges from where he had taken them into fights on countless occasions. With a small grin, he instead stooped down, grabbing hold of the hammer that still had flecks of his blood on it.

“How about we see how you like it, hey? I’ll go easy on you, play up the crowd a bit.”

“We’ll see,” Seugtai nodded, before glancing around. “I’d take what you want to keep from here, if you’re going to tell them you’re quitting, the may not take things well.”

“You make a good point,” Spike nodded, beginning to go through his weapons and possessions, pulling down the ones he wished to keep, before turning and leaving the room.

***

“Ladies and gentlemen and species who are neither,” the announcer roared, the murmuring crowd approaching the arena. “I know that none of you were expecting another fight this night, but I am pleased to tell you that you were all wrong! As you may remember, after The Guardian had his fight against Wildfire earlier today, he decided he wished for more blood and sport, in the form of an old rival! I do not know what their rivalry was over, or what they spoke of in private, but I am now pleased to tell you that there will be one last fight tonight! The Guardian you all know and love, and Seugtai Ordo, a Mandalorian who fought in the war against the Republic! At The Guardian’s request, weighing on his status as champion, this fight shall be non-lethal, but don’t worry, our suppression fields will ensure that the combatants don’t have to fight with any less vigour than they usually do! Odds for this match are as follows: On The Guardian to Win, one to one point two, as is standard! On the challenger to win, one to fifty! On a draw, one to three hundred! The match will begin in ten minutes! All bets must be placed before the first blow is struck!”

With that, the announcers voice went quiet, the crowd exploding into a roaring frenzy as bets were frantically placed. The majority were on Spike, as was usual, but there were always a few hopeful sods that hoped for the unheard of, that The Guardian would lose.

Behind the doors marked ‘staff only’, the announcer left the microphone alone, the Toydarian looking between The Guardian and Seugtai, dropping the human like voice he put on to keep the crowd feeling at ease as he spoke.

“You two better put on a good show, eh? We didn’ta make our reputation on the non-lethal fights. People come here to see blood spilled for sport, away from the war. Guardian, you fought against this Mandalorian in the war, eh?”

“Yeah, once upon a time,” The Guardian chuckled. “This is to settle old scores, ok?”

“Yeah yeah, just be sure you play up the crowd and bring in more winnings, I get rich, you get rich, eh?”

“Have I ever let you down?” Spike smirked, conveniently leaving out that this was going to be his last fight, before pushing past him and entering the arena, letting out his characteristic roar as Moonstone leapt after him landing on his shoulder as the crowd returned the roar with one of their own. Spike knew just how to play to them now, spinning the long hafted hammer as he provoked the crowd.

Screaming women flashed their tits at him, hoping for a single glance from the champion, while men threw coins and skins of wine into the arena near Spike, Spike picking up a few of the skins and tearing them open, savouring the bitter liquid within. As much as he hated it, Spike had taken a liking to this life, the adoration he could receive here. Contrary to what he was having the fight with Seugtai about, there were no sides here. No Republic and Mandalorians, no Jedi and Sith, there was just two warriors, and the clash of their weapons.

“You’re a brave man, Seugtai Ordo,” the Toydarian cackled, looking up at the Mandalorians T-Visor. “You’re lucky it’s not gonna be a fight to the death, The Guardian’s killed a lot in this arena.”

“Trust me, Toydarian, he’s killed far more than you know,” Seugtai said dismissively, not looking down at the alien, before heading out into the arena, his axe in his right hand, while his Ripper was gripped in his left.

Unlike Spike, Seugtai didn’t make a sound as he stepped onto the sands. The crowd was mostly focused on Spike, but a few turned their attention towards him. Jeers and laughs were hurled at him, as well as a few words of encouragement from those who had placed money on him. Seugtai wasted no time with working the crowd, taking up position and readying his weapons, glaring at Spike through his helmet.

Seeing the Mandalorian ready up, Spike finally stopped entertaining himself, standing in his starting position and slamming the head of his hammer into the sand with enough force that it remained upright.

“I told you I’d make this fair on you, Seugtai,” he chuckled, untying a strip of fabric from his arm and wrapping it around his eyes. The crowd let out a roar of dismay as Spike robbed himself of sight, reaching out with his magic. He had done this a few times before, but his magic senses were nowhere near as heightened as his normal ones. The crowd may be angry now, but they would be happy when he showed them a far more entertaining fight than Wildfire gave them.

“Well well well,” the announcer boomed out, changing again to his human speech pattern. “It seems The Guardian seeks to entertain us! The bets still stand as they were! Let the fight…begin!”

Spike was expecting a roar as he stepped to the side, almost all gladiators who faced him roared as they charged, a sign of defiance, maybe of fear, but Seugtai wasn’t a gladiator. Spike felt the shot whip past him, reaching out with his mind to try and sense where the Mandalorian was. He quickly found him, a blob at the edge of his vision running around the edge of the arena, jerking slightly as he fired off another shot.

Spike chuckled as he turned to intercept Seugtai, raising a shield in front of the bolt to block it, before letting out a grunt as the shot passed straight through barrier, slamming into one Spike’s back.

“Looks like The Guardian forgot that Mandalorian Rippers go through personal shields!” The announcer roared, the crowd whooping in delight.

“Alright then, let’s do this,” Spike growled, before leaping forward.

He was not as fast as he was when he was in his natural form, but it was still fast enough as he brought his hammer whipping around, sensing that Seugtai was dropping his Ripper in favour of placing a second hand on his axe. He was never going to fully block the blow, Spike was far too powerful for that, but he did manage to turn the blow to one side, the head hitting one of his oversized shoulder pieces and skimming off, barely harming the Mandalorian.

Spike barely managed to avoid the return strike, weaving out of the way of the much faster axe, dodging three more blows before he managed to get his hammer back up, the axe blade hitting the metal haft of the weapon, and due to the curved design, locked there. It was a tiny mistake, most people wouldn’t have been able to take advantage of the momentary lapse, nor would most people be able to muster the strength in the short amount of time to capitalise on their opponent’s mistake.

Spike, was not most men.

With a mix between a grin and a growl, Spike pulled his hammer back, Seugtai resisting, but unable to stop Spike from ripping the axe from his grasp, sending the axe skidding across the sand. Not stopping in his momentum, Spike spun around on his heels, his muscles straining as he swung the hammer in a massive arc, the head impacting with Seugtai’s chest and sending the Mandalorian soaring through the air, his flight cut short as he hit the wall at the edge of the arena, a grunt and a cough signifying that the air had been forced from his lungs as he slid down and lay in the sand, his limbs twitching slightly as he tried to recover from the blow.

Spike wasn’t about to let him have that opportunity, stalking towards him, his tail leaving a line in the sand behind him, his hand shooting out as magic poured through it, pulling Seugtai’s Ripper into it. The pistol was tiny, but it would serve its purpose.

Reaching Seugtai, Spike placed the barrel of the weapon against the old warrior’s helmet, reaching up with his other hand to remove the fabric strip, allowing him to see again.

“Raise one hand to yield,” Spike smirked, before shutting out the outside world as best he could, focusing on the change.

Seugtai looked like he wanted to resist, before his shoulders dropped ever so slightly, and he raised a shaky right hand.

Spike dropped the pistol as the crowd roared their approval, Seugtai struggling to his feet. Spike began to slowly turn, to the outside observer just taking in the adoration of his crowd, but inwardly, he still was gathering his magic, shutting out all outside forces. Seugtai knew the plan, he just had to keep them engaged and not focusing on him for long enough for the next stage to enter play.

“Was there really ever any doubt!?” The announcer roared. “The Guardian is victorious once again! Bad luck Seugtai, maybe you have a future in this business after all!”

“I don’t think that will work!” Seugtai roared, his voice amplified by his helmet. “Losing to The Guardian is hardly a rare thing, but I don’t think the rest of your gladiators are up to scratch!”

“Oh, he’s got a mouth on him, doesn’t he?” the announcer laughed, the crowd following suit. “So far we’ve only seen you lose, Mando. In the war, in the arena. When have you won anything?”

“Right now,” Seugtai chuckled, before grabbing his pistol and rolling to pick up his axe, just as Spike shed his guise as The Guardian, letting out a roar, the very rafters shaking as he let his wings extend to their fullest length, while a jet of fire sprang from his mouth, licking at the ceiling

The crowd suddenly fell silent as he roared, even the announcer shutting up, Spike finally stopping when he was assured that he had everybody’s undivided attention.

“My name, is Spike! Former General in the Republic Army! Former Master in the Jedi Order! This is who I truly am, not the ruse of The Guardian! I have been inactive for too long! Away from war for too long! That changes today! I am leaving this place, and I am to raise forces to strike back at the fucking Sith! Any among you who want to fight back are welcome to join me, and Seugtai, as we go to raise more forces! Any who wish to stop me leaving,” Spike looked over at the Toydarian announcer, who was seething with barely concealed rage, before returning his attention to the crowd, “are more than welcome to try! Just remember why I was the undefeated champion her for my stay.”

“Well? What are you waiting for? Kill the insolent bastard,” the Toydarian called out, buzzing above the arena and looking around, the gladiators that has come for a drink exchanging a few glances, before shaking their heads, one stepping forward.

“What are you offering us if we fight for you, Spike?”

“What, fighting for the Republic isn’t enough?” Spike smirked, getting a few chuckles in return from the crowd. “No, I guess it’s not. I’m not planning on sending you to fight in conventional battles. Raiding supply ships is a good way to get rich, and when we win, I will ensure that you get paid handsomely by someone, either the Jedi or the Republic. Mark my words, I want a bloody good pay out at the end of all this myself.”

Spike took a deep breath before continuing.

“I can’t guarantee payment. I can’t guarantee anyone who comes with me will survive. I can only guarantee one thing. That you will be remembered as those who stood up when you could have stood silent, and that you did so by slaughtering the bastard Sith!”

Spike grabbed hold of Seugtai as he finished talking, flapping his wings once and propelling the two of them up out of the arena, placing him down as they walked through the crowd, making a beeline towards the bar.

“I believe these are mine,” Spike grabbed hold of the bundle of weapons he had stashed there before the fight, before grabbing some of the credit sticks that were kept there as well. “These too, payment for the fight.”

With that, Spike swept towards the door, Seugtai a half step ahead of him to lead him to the ship, while behind him two dozen of the bars gladiators, and about half as many of the regulars followed after them, the Toydarian hurling insults as they left.

Criminal Underworld

“You’re sure you can get us onto the planet?” Spike asked for what must have been the hundredth time since they had exited hyperspace and started their final approach to Coruscant. Seugtai was probably starting to get frustrated at the constant question, as was evidenced in his voice as he answered yet again.

“For the last time, the war has given mercs an almost unlimited amount of freedom to travel wherever jobs are. The Sith are a lot pickier, but the Republic can’t afford to be. Anyone who can display a valid mercenary code can get down to designated points on the planet.”

“Or get close enough to the system scanners to make us invisible to them,” another man chimed in. He was currently plugged into the ships main computer, while his bionic hands flashed across the keyboard, all twenty fingers a blur of feverish motion. Spike had seen him around the canteen on many occasions, boasting his skills as a slicer for all to hear, now Spike was glad that he had listened to the boasts, it would make getting to the prison and breaking in far easier, and if the Force willed it, would mean they could escape with the prisoners they chose before the Republic even knew what was going on.

“You best be up for this then,” Spike nodded. “I’m heading below, make sure everyone is formed up and ready, Seugtai, signal the other ships and tell them to stay close. If any drop out of formation this whole thing goes up in flames.”

“Spike, I get it, go,” Seugtai assured him, waiting for Spike to awkwardly slide down the small ladder before letting out an exasperated groan.

“He seems on edge,” the slicer quipped, not stopping typing as he looked round. “But I guess given the circumstances that’s fair.”

“He’s not used to working on the grey side of Republic law, Brains, that’s all” Seugtai shrugged. “It’s his plan though, he’ll fight to see it through, no matter what the cost is.”

“I’ve seen him fight, you’re one of the first people to get a hit on him,” Brains continued.

“You haven’t seen him fight yet,” Seugtai chuckled darkly. “And believe me, that nick from my gun is hardly the first or the worst he can take. I’m not worried about him getting hurt, us on the other hand, we can very easily get hurt, so turn around, stop talking, and keep their sensors busy.”

“Oh don’t worry about that,” Brains smiled cheerily as he snapped his head back around. “I have a very nice deception program all ready to go once we past the first layer of sensors and before we reach the second. And a contingency program, just for a bit of fun.”

“Stick to plan A, we will pull this off.”

***

Spike grabbed his hammer from where he had leant it against the wall before going up to the cockpit, heading for the hold. The ship was nowhere near the size of Harmony, but it was still large enough to accommodate Spike, Seugtai, Brains and the ten gladiators who had come with them. Spike knew all of them by name and arena moniker, and had even fought alongside a few of them. They had been lucky enough not to fight against him, and all were now itching to prove their worth in combat once more.

The others who had decided to come with them, some forty odd souls, were spread across the six other ships that were following them, ranging from a converted blockade runner to civilian grade freighters. Hardly an all-conquering army, but between them they had a few weapons.

A few of Spike’s weapons were now in the hands of the gladiators, those who were unable to get theirs before they left having first pick, while the rest were given out to those who could fight and knew how to use them. The only ones that Spike had kept for himself was his hammer, and his double ended mace, the two weapons being far too large for anyone save for Spike to wield.

“Or a Wookie,” Moonstone mentioned softly, appearing beside him and sitting on his shoulder, the upper tip of his folding wing just by her ear.

Spike instantly stopped, turning his head to glare at her for a second, before raising his voice to the gladiators.

“I want this done clean, someone fires on you, knock them the fuck out, do not kill guards. If a prisoner attacks you, go nuts, but don’t start anything, any willing to join us is a valuable asset right now.”

“We get the plan, Guardian, you can stop going over it,” one of the gladiators laughed, sharpening a sword as he spoke.

“My name’s not Guardian, it’s Spike, how many times,” Spike growled. “Call me it again, and you and I will have an issue.”

“Fine, point still stands though, Spike,” the gladiator smirked.

“Whatever. We’re going through the first scanner field, be ready to exit in force,” Spike nodded, before heading to one of the few cabins big enough for him and sitting down, sighing as Moonstone hopped off his shoulder.

“They’re not soldiers Spike,” she warned. “Good fighters maybe, but disciplined? No.”

“Yeah well, I’ll have to teach them discipline,” Spike shrugged. “But their skill in combat is like nothing I’ve ever seen, better than some Jedi. I can’t think of much that’s scarier than an army trained like that.”

“There’s less than a dozen of them, the rest are untrained, and soon will be criminals, rapists and killers. You can’t say that’s a good basis for your raiding force.”

The tone she had adopted was the same as it always was when talking about this plan, layered with scorn and disgust, but also weary resignation.

“Early days,” Spike assured her. “And besides, there are plenty more gladiators on the Outer Rim. Once we have an established base of operations and a few more ships, we can potentially look into recruiting some. Maybe liberating those who aren’t there of their own free will.”

“One step at a time,” Moonstone let out a chuckle.

“Oh yes,” Spike let out one of his own. “Now we just have to hope that Brain’s is all he says he is.”

***

Sir, seven ships have been admitted through the first scanner ring, coming up on the second any moment now,” a Republic tech called out, turning his head slightly to talk to his commander. “Looks like all seven are displaying merc…sorry, scratch that sir, all seven carry commercial codes. Running them through the system.”

“Make sure you fully verify the codes and divert them to the commercial districts, landing pad niner niner four.”

“Roger sir, codes check out, hailing the lead ship,” the technician called out once more. “Attention vessel code 575JDT48954B, this is sector nine tower control. Your access codes show green across the board, divert to point seven three two and continue on quarter burn to landing pad niner niner four. Do not deviate from your flight path or you will be redirected or fired upon.”

“Thank you tower control, diverting course and setting engines to quarter burn,” the pilot replied through the headset.

***

“Alright, they brought the new transponder codes,” Brains smiled to himself. “And considering we’re almost a mile off course and we haven’t been shot down yet, I’d say we managed to trick their sensor ring.”

“Good,” Seugtai smiled beneath his helmet, activating the ship groups PA system. “We’re five minutes out. The prison is in a ten-mile dead zone, so no eyes on us. Any ships with weapons take point and fire upon sensor towers and communication array’s, then focus on any turbolasers. Once they’re down, hit the landing pads running and storm this place. Any questions?”

Nothing was said over the radio link, Seugtai cracking his neck as the ships slid into position, the few weapons they had cycling rounds and warming up their gas reserves. They were flying low now, the ships’ small sizes making it possible to skirt the ground, concealing them from an easy visual scan until they were right on top of the prison.

“All ships, open fire,” Seugtai snarled, letting his laser cannons shout as they fired at the prison.

***

Spike felt the ship shudder as it fired, the powerful weapons overpowering the ships meagre dampeners in atmosphere. For almost a minute, the firing continued, before the ship juddered to a halt. With a hiss, the back door flew open, Seugtai sliding down the ladder from the cockpit as Spike broke into a run, flaring his wings as he stepped into the sun of Coruscant once more.

The prison was smoking from numerous holes in the external walls, turbolaser emplacements and stun cannons were hanging from the walls in tatters, while the communications array had simply ceased to exist. There was also a large hole in the external wall of the prison, rubble still falling and settling even as Spike crested the mound.

A few guards were there, three of them slowly trying to get to their feet, reaching for stun blasters, while one was laying on the floor in a pool of blood. A quick pulse of magic told Spike that the man would make it, before he twisted, sweeping the legs out from under two of the guards, sending them crashing to the floor again, before bringing his hammer into the chest of the final one. He pulled the blow, but he still heard one rib break, the man crumpling into unconsciousness almost instantly.

“Grab the rifles and stun batons,” Spike ordered, flicking one of the weapons up into his hand, before tossing it to one of the gladiators.

Without waiting to hear any complaints, Spike set off at a walk into the prison, doing his best to remember the layout from his time here. He had only been through these corridors a few times, but he remembered enough of it. A few guards tried to get in their way as they sprinted down the corridors, but precise stun bolts and a few painful sounding blows with blunt weapons saw to it that not one of the gladiators that were leading the charge fell.

“Seugtai, take five of the gladiators and as many of the others as you need and take the control room,” Spike barked loudly. “Shut off that damned alarm and wait for my orders from there.”

“You six, with me,” Seugtai roared back, gesturing to a group of people as five gladiators peeled off to join him. Together the group disappeared down one of the side passageways.

Snapping his head back to the front, Spike saw one of the blast doors sliding down into position in front of them, as the alarms finally kicked the automated lockdown system into action. A few of the gladiators started to slow as they saw the thick metal slab starting to block their path, but Spike sped up, drawing the magic from within him and channelling it along his arms, before letting out a roar of flames.

Instead of the normal unfocused gout of flames however, the flames were stopped by a shield Spike had thrown up, diverting them from their path, and covering Spike’s right arm, wreathing it in impossibly hot flames just as he lashed out at the door.

Lightsabers could easily cut through doors this thick, their precise blades making it easy for a force user to slice through all but the thickest of bulkheads. Spike didn’t have his Lightsabers anymore, nor was he precise, but what he did have was power, and his fist punched through the metal like it was nothing, his fist exiting the other side, before a pulse of magic expanded the flames outwards, right into the doors frame. In a few seconds, the door simply melted away, the gap easily big enough for Spike to charge through, the others tentatively following him.

“That’s one hell of a trick, Spike,” one of the Gladiators chuckled, barely breaking stride as he kept pace with Spike.

“You don’t know the half of it,” Spike grunted, refocusing his magic again and igniting his arm once more, before lashing out at yet another door in his way, this one meeting the same fate as Spike charged through, skidding to a halt in the middle of the mess hall, the others doing the same as they looked up at the gantry that lead all the way round the room, that was filled with guards, rifles pointing straight at Spike and his men.

“Fuck,” Spike hissed, mentally kicking himself for making such a stupid mistake, before half closing his eyes, concentrating his magic.

“My my, I almost didn’t believe the camera footage when I first saw it,” the commandant of the prison called out, a smirk written across his face. “I didn’t know you liked your stay here so much. You’ll get to experience it again. Now, drop your weapons.”

“Not going to happen,” Spike called back, not looking up at the Commandant, getting a few odd looks from his men, all of whom were looking nervous as they toyed with the ideas of putting their weapons down or bringing their rifles up to fire at the guards.

“Don’t be stupid, Spike!” the Commandant roared. “I have thirty men up here with me, I have better weapons, and I have the high ground. You’re not winning this, and while I don’t know how many shots you can take, I know your men are not nearly as tough. So, one last time. Drop your weapons!”

“Spike, orders,” one of the Gladiators hissed quietly, his grip tightening on his sword.

“Take aim!” the Commandant ordered, his own grip tightening.

“Spike!” the gladiator roared again, raising his shield.

“Fire!” the commandant roared at the exact same time.

Before any could fire however, Spike let out a roar, his body tensing up as he raised off of the ground, his eyes glowing with magic. A few shots rang out from the guards who were not reeling in confusion, but each one froze in mid-air almost as soon as they left the barrel. A moment later, every one of the guards cried out in pain as their weapons liquefied in their hands, the resultant slurry not quite hot enough to cause serious burns, but still causing pain.

As the last drop of sludge hit the floor, Spikes men let out a roar, firing with their own weapons or scrambling up the ladders at the side of the room to engage the guards. The sounds of fighting and pain echoed around the room, even as Spike fell back to the floor, panting hard as he struggled to support his weight. He could feel the tiredness that came from magic exhaustion threatening to overtake him, blackness already entering the edges of his vision.

By the time he finally felt capable of standing again, the fight was over, many guards lying on the gantries as a result from the stun guns, while yet more were groaning weakly from being thrown off of the gantry. Spike winced as he saw that a few had landed in awkward positions, limbs and even a back bent in a way that most species bodies were simply not meant to bend in. If he hadn’t been exhausted already, he would have chastised those who followed him, but as it was, he let out a weary sigh as he stood up.

“That was impressive, Spike,” Seugtai called out as he jumped down from the gantry, landing heavily and approaching Spike. “Remind me why you don’t open with that?”

“Because it’s tiring, and I didn’t even know I could do it,” Spike shrugged. “You get the alarms then?”

“I did, and downloaded the systems command system to a datapad,” Seugtai nodded, handing the datapad over to Spike. “Most of the guards have been dealt with, and all communications in and out of the prison have been cut. The rest of the Republic won’t know what’s happening here for at least an hour.”

“Give orders for the men to round up all the guards and take them to empty cells, then secure the shuttle bay. We’ll unlock it once we’re ready to leave,” Spike ordered. “Then we’ll start getting the prisoners out. Slowly, and make sure the men are well armed. Kill any who try to get out of their cells without joining us, relock the cells of those who wish to stay. We’re not forcing anyone into this who doesn’t want it.”

“Already done,” Seugtai nodded. “This is my plan too, but there are a few prisoners I want to see to personally, up in solitary.”

“I don’t see any names on here,” Spike muttered, looking down at the datapad. “Numbers only. I don’t know who we’ll find up there, I didn’t exactly see much of it when I was here.”

“You know the wing though?” Seugtai asked as the pair started walking.

“Yeah, just about,” Spike nodded. “I was let out for meals, separate from the other solitary members, we weren’t allowed to see each other in case we made secret plans. I didn’t even get exercise time thanks of my wings.”

“So any idea who else is going to be in solitary now?”

“The worst kind of killers imaginable, powerful crime lords, that sort of thing,” Spike shrugged. “Everyone here is bad, to be in solitary you have to be worse.”

“No wonder you were in there then,” Seugtai chuckled, before trailing off at a glare from Spike. “It was a joke, Spike.”

“Better be,” Spike snapped, before stopping in front of a door and glancing at the datapad. “OK, prisoner 1157364. Female. Been here almost 42 years. Step back prisoner, try anything, you die.”

As he spoke, Spike pressed a few buttons on the datapad, the cell door unlocking and swinging openly, the dark cell lying beyond as a soft laugh echoed from within.

“That’s a new tact for the Republic. Death threats is it…now…”

The woman trailed off as she walked into the light, her eyes going wide as she saw Spike, her one hand clenching into a fist.

“Fuck off, really?” Spike deadpanned with a snarl of his own. “You’ve been here all along?”

“Yes, thanks to you,” the woman snapped, blowing some of her short, greying hair out of her eyes. She had been beautiful once, that much was obvious, and she still had some of that beauty left, but years of captivity and the simple turning of time had clearly not been kind to her, and deep set wrinkles now criss-crossed her face.

“Guessing you two know each other then?” Seugtai asked in amusement, looking between the pair.

“Oh yes, that we do,” the woman snarled. “How the Jedi life, slave?”

Spikes own lips twisted into a mixture between a snarl and a smirk as he towered over the smaller woman, before answering her.

“I was never your slave. How’s the remaining arm, Herank?”

The Deal

Spike and Herank glared at each other, the air between them almost crackling with the hatred they both felt for each other, before they both dived forward at the other one, snarls and screams of rage gracing their lips.

Herank had once been a deadly opponent for most, able to kill with her bare hands in a variety of ways, not to mention the weapons she was known to have secreted around her person. The years had not been kind to her however, age and the lack of people to hone her skill against dulling her once fearsome prowess.

Spike on the other hand had every advantage, height, size, strength, training, and most of all, experience. It wasn’t even a fight, Spike catching Herank in mid-air, a claw catching her around the throat as he slammed her hard into the prisons wall, holding her almost four feet off the ground as he brought back his other claw, balling it into a fist.

“Go…on,” Herank snarled in between gasps, her one arm slapping weakly at Spike’s iron grip. “Finish…what you started…slave.”

“I was never, and will never be, a slave!” Spike roared, ready to strike Herank from this life, only stopping when Seugtai grabbed hold of his arm.

“Hold, Spike. This is Herank Kalia? The crime lord?” he asked, looking between the pair.

“Lady,” Herank growled at him, before glaring at Spike again. “Got yourself a new master then, eh? A Mandalorian? Didn’t your Jedi friends fight a war…”

She was cut off as Spike let out a roar, throwing Herank from him, the frail old woman impacting with another wall and letting out a cry of pain as she slid to the floor, Spike rounding on Seugtai.

“She was a crime lord, she was a slaver, once, she was dangerous, now all I see is an old woman,” he pushed the datapad into Seugtai’s chest as he spoke, the Mandalorian taking the computer pad without fuss. “You deal with her, and the rest. I’m going to check our way off this force-forsaken rock.”

With that, Spike turned on his heels and stalked off down the corridor, Seugtai also turning and walking towards Herank, the old woman struggling to her feet as he approached.

“You’re an idiot,” Seugtai remarked as she got up, the word brining a snarl to Herank’s lips.

“I will not be spoken to…” she began.

“You’ll be spoken to however the hell I decide to speak to you,” Seugtai cut in. “You are not in command here, and angering Spike is a sure way to ensure that you never get out of this place. Now, to business. You are Lady Kalia, once a fearsome force in the Outer Rim, yes?”

“I thought you already knew that,” Herank sneered, but nodding at the same time. “Yes, that’s me, I had a nice little Empire, until Spike and his bastard Jedi friends saw fit to end that.”

“Do you still have friends on the outside?”

“I don’t see why that makes much of a difference,” Herank scoffed, before feeling Seugtai’s eyes drilling into her, even through his helmet, and she quickly nodded. “Y-Yes, people will have remained loyal, even after all this time.”

“Then you’re coming with us,” Seugtai nodded, more to himself than her. “We will check these other cells, then meet up with Spike at the shuttles. Oh, and Herank?”

“What?” the old lady growled.

“If I find that you’re lying to me, or that you don’t have the contacts you think you still do, I won’t bother stopping Spike next time. Am I clear?”

“Crystal,” Herank deadpanned, before trailing after Seugtai as he moved to the next solitary cell.

***

Spike waited until he out of sight and earshot of the solitary wing, before his composure broke and he slumped to the floor, resting his head against a wall as his chest heaved, feeling like he was struggling just to breathe.

“Why…did…it…have…to…be…her?” he gasped, Moonstone appearing on que and standing before him.

“Spike, calm down, it’s been a long time since you last saw her,” Moonstone pointed out. “Besides, last time you beat her, and you’ve only gotten stronger.”

“Memories don’t fade though,” Spike pointed out.

“Oh come on, we both know you’ve endured and then refaced far worse than her,” Moonstone laughed. “So come on, tell me what’s wrong.”

Spike looked at her, before nodding, forcing himself to slow his breathing back to normal levels before replying.

“That mission…that was a long time ago. A time where everything made sense…Solaris was alive, Norik was there…T…Tarhal…Tarhal was there. I can deal with things when it’s just the memories, I can handle that. But seeing her in the flesh…and having to work with her? I don’t know how well I can cope. And if she mentions Tarhal…no matter he’s done…he’s still my brother, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop myself from tearing her apart.”

“Spike, I have every faith in you that you can control yourself,” Moonstone smiled softly. “You beat the monster inside of you, and unlike most people, that’s not a metaphor. You actually beat him, at the expense of a mountain range.”

Spike couldn’t help but smile as Moonstone started giggling at her own words, pushing himself to his feet.

“You’ll find a way through this Spike,” Moonstone assured him. “You always do.”

“As you always find words to pull me from the dark corners from my mind,” Spike laughed, before setting off once more at a lope towards the shuttles.

The shuttle bay was huge, housing ten separate ships, each one capable of housing one hundred prisoners in separate cells, and equipped with both high powered deflector shields, and high powered particle shields. They would comfortably take a volley of Turbolaser fire without compromising their movement ability, and their Hyperdrives were likewise geared to work under the worst conditions. The Republic had spared no expense in making sure that any prisoner transfers from the Black Cage would have minimal risk of being subverted or captured on route.

Of course, if the someone was able to get to the shuttles in the prison, then they were a lot easier to subvert.

The rest of the prison was now firmly under the control of Spike and his men, the gladiators freeing prisoners, leaving those who would not follow them behind in their cells. The shuttle bay however still had the last hold outs of guards in it, the men and women taking cover behind hastily erected barricades, firing at anything that tried to enter the hanger.

Scores of dead and wounded already littered the doorway, a few of Spike’s forces firing blindly around the door, trying to keep the defender’s heads down.

“Report,” Spike called as he approached, pulling the double ended mace from his back and twirling it in anticipation of the fight to come.

“There’s at least forty of them,” a gladiator called out. “All armed to the teeth and have switched to lethal force. I don’t know if we can do this non-lethally.”

“Give me a moment,” Spike muttered, waving his men away from the door, standing out of sight of those inside and raising his voice.

“My name is Spike, I want a ceasefire with those holding the hanger bay, so we can talk and move the wounded. Do you accept?”

For a moment there was nothing, the last few blaster shots blaring out from the defenders, before a voice rose above the others.

“How do we know you won’t kill us?”

“I give you my word,” Spike replied. “If that’s not enough, then I’m afraid this may come to blows.”

Again, the room beyond the door went silent, Spike wondering if they would be open to negotiations at all, before the man called out again.

“Ok, you can come in, no weapons. You can send some men in to pull back the wounded, but they better not have weapons either. Ok?”

“Yeah, alright,” Spike called out, dropping his weapon to the floor with a loud clang, before rounding the door and striding into the hanger.

True to the gladiator’s word, there were around forty guards, all armed with blaster rifles and huddling behind makeshift barriers, barrels and containers. It was hardly an iron fort, but it would be costly for his men to take the defenders head on.

As he approached, a hushed whisper shot through the crowd, a woman walking to meet Spike, a mixture of fear and rage written across her face.

“So you’ve come…” she began, Spike cutting him off.

“Look I’ve heard the ‘you’ve come back’ speech from the commandant already, don’t give it to me again. I’m here to talk to you about surrender.”

“Surrender? We have the hanger,” the woman pointed out.

“And I have more men, weapons, soon convicts who you’ve kept locked up will also be joining me, and we have me,” Spike deadpanned. “You can’t win this, and if you keep trying to fight, I can’t guarantee that you’ll survive. Put down your weapons, and you will. You even have the option of joining me, and doing some good. A prison ain’t a prison without prisoners, and currently any who will follow me and rounded up, any who won’t follow me, and being out down. They are too dangerous, and I have damaged the prison too much to risk just putting them back in their cells. So, last chance, put your weapons down. Now.”

The assembled guards murmured with each other at Spikes words, a few half raising their guns, and for a moment Spike was sure that this would end violently, before there was a clatter as a man dropped his gun. No one moved as the man slowly walked out from behind the barricade, before the spell was broken, and the floodgates opened.

One by one, the defenders threw down their weapons, standing behind Spike and looking at the woman, her gun now pointed squarely at Spike.

“You’re all traitors to the Republic,” she hissed, Spike sighing at her words.

“No they’re not,” he grabbed her gun as he spoke, moving faster than the eye could see and crushing the barrel in an iron grip. “I will ensure your survival, but I can’t risk you stopping us.”

With a wave of his hand, Spike sent a stream of magic directly at the woman. For a brief moment, his mind and hers touched, her memories and his intertwining, before she fell backwards in a peaceful sleep, Spike catching her and slowly lowering her to the floor, before looking towards a guard.

“Put her on one of the small ships and set it to autopilot, she’ll wake up when she’s there, and we’ll be long gone.”

A few of the men nodded, carefully lifting up the woman and carrying her towards one of the single man escape ships as the gladiators and freed prisoners began to enter the room, some of the ex-prisoners casting angry looks at the guards, before Spike turned to address them.

“These guards are not to be touched, nor are the ex-prisoners. You are all now comrades in arms, and if I hear tale of anyone striking another member of our collective, I will rip their arms off myself. Do I make myself clear.”

There was a general murmur of approval, Spike turning away from them to look at the shuttles.

“Begin boarding and reprogram the ships, the slicers in the control room will do the rest. I’m done with this world.”

Fireshot

The fleet of ships, now including the prison transports, drifted slowly the speck that was Fireshot station. Once, the station had been the pride of the Republic, a deep space installation entrusted with weapons and prototypes deemed too dangerous to be tested anywhere else and staffed by the best the Republic had to offer. Now it was quiet, a sad memory of a time where the Republic had been much stronger. Before Exar Kun, before the Mandalorians, before Revan.

“Before me,” Spike muttered, to himself more than anyone else, Seugtai’s ship only required a small crew, Spike and the old Mandalorian being the only two on board now they had other spaces.

“What was that?” Seugtai asked, leaning around from the front pilot seat.

“Nothing, just me musing on some things,” Spike assured him. “Are you ready?”

“You’re asking me that? You’re the one who’s got the risk here. Are you sure…” he trailed off, before laughing. “Sorry, I was about to say are you sure about this, then I remembered who you are. Go nuts Spike, my helmet’s sealed in, good hunting.”

Nodding once, Spike stepped into the forward airlock of the ship, the inner door sliding closed behind him. As alarms began to sound to indicate the rapidly draining air, Spike checked the few things he had on his person, a huge, long-handled vibro-glaive he had started to grow more and more attached to since he had started to experiment with new and different weapons. It was now the closest thing he had to a primary weapon, one he could use to devastating effect.

Finally, the red light in the airlock turned green, indicating the air had been completely drained and it was now safe to open the door without fear of explosive decompression. The cold no longer bothered him, even as ice formed across his form as he pushed himself out of the ship, aiming himself as best as possible at the speck of Fireshot. A year ago, Spike would have thought nothing about shooting himself out far faster, trusting in his bionics to pinpoint his journey and ensure he didn’t miss. Now however, he’d rather take his time, rather than becoming lost in the depths of space.

For close to an hour, Spike drifted towards the base, using his magic to make micro-adjustments to his course, passing within the range of the stations guns. Even these old relics would have destroyed Spikes fleet within heartbeats as soon as they got in range, which was why it fell to Spike to deactivate them, before calling in the cavalry. Soon, the station loomed before him, Spike tucking his wings in, wrapping them around him as he shot into the hanger bay.

Immediately he felt sensors lock onto him, turbolaser turrets grinding out of hatches in the ceiling and turning to face him. To most it would have been a terrifying sight and sound, for Spike, it was the music of his life.

Unlimbering his glaive, Spike hurled it with all his strength at the closest turbolaser, the blade slicing through it and embedding in the wall behind. Even before it had hit, Spike was moving leaping upwards to the second turret and grabbing hold. By now droid defences were being deployed, two score Mk1 security droids clanked out and opened fire, but more importantly, blocked Spike’s access to the hangers control panel. Spike took them in his stride, ripping a hole in the turbolaser turret, before moving again, springing to grab hold of his glaive, before spinning and ripping it free, landing right amidst the twelve droids.

In moments the droids were down, and Spike was at the controls. As he began to tap away at the keyboard, he heard a blaster being levelled at him, spinning and letting out a roar, expecting to find a droid, pulling his glaive to an instant halt as he saw the blaster was in the hands of a terrified technician.

“Not one step further,” the woman spoke, her voice perfectly level, keeping the heavy pistol pointed squarely at Spike. “You’re Spike, aren’t you? The disgraced Jedi General?”

“I am,” Spike nodded slowly, lowering his glaive. “If you know who I am, you also know that pistol won’t do anything, right?”

“Yes I do,” the woman nodded, not dropping the pistol an inch. “But I can’t let you keep going anyway.”

“You can’t stop me, I don’t want to kill you, so I’m sorry,” Spike sighed, before blurring into motion, knocking the pistol from the woman’s hands with one claw, before engulfing her head with his other and letting his magic flow.

For the briefest of moment Spikes mind touched hers, before she fell unconscious, Spike catching her and laying her down on the deck gently.

“Brave one,” he muttered, turning back to the console and beginning to enter ancient back door codes.

Predictably his actual military access codes had been long since scrubbed, but they were not all Spike had access to. Decades ago, when he and Solaris had called the station their home, his master had shown him the systems backdoors, and now, Spike knew exactly which systems to trip where, and what pieces of code to slice into another to give himself full access.

“Homefield advantage one, Atris’s security, zero,” he chuckled to himself, before throwing a switch, plunging himself into darkness for a split second, before the lights were replaced with the dull red glow of backup power, which in the stations ancient state, no longer covered the external sensors.

Within minutes Spike’s fleet was touching down within the cavernous hanger, his new warriors piling off, a few of them picking up the droids fallen rifles.

“There will be more droids on the way to the bridge,” Spike called out, readying his own weapon. “They may be engaged as you see fit, leave intact and repairable if possible but do not get yourself killed over them. Any Republic personnel who are encountered are to be non-violently subdued. If I find this rule broken…”

Spike let his words hang in the air before turning and breaking into a loping run towards the bridge, a handful of gladiators following along behind him, while Seugtai began to take charge of those liberated from the Black Cage. Spike had given the Mandalorian a carte blanche to ensure the station was swept cleanly, and Spike would not be surprised if more than one trigger happy criminal was felled by a shot from behind instead of the front.

It didn’t take long for Spike to reach the bridge, the droids that had tried to stop him and his men had fallen in short order, and soon Spike was at the blast door, predictably sealed.

“Open the door,” he said calmly, looking up towards the camera. “I would rather keep it intact, but I will break it down if required.”

There was no response for a few minutes, before finally the door began to grind into motion. As soon as it was wide enough, Spike's gladiators surged forward, stun grenades proceeding their entrance, Spike's not taking any chances that this was a ruse.

By the time the door had opened enough for Spike to enter the gladiators had managed to relieve those within of their weapons.

“Good job,” Spike nodded, before tapping the communicator on in his ear. “Seugtai, how goes the sweep?”

“Well, Spike. Resistance is minimal, we have encountered two non-droid defenders, both were stunned. We’ve suffered six casualties so far, but the sweep is almost done.”

“Keep me posted,” Spike turned the communicator off, before looking back to the commander. “It’s good to see you again.”

“And I wish that seeing you again were under better circumstances,” the commander frowned, before unsheathing his sword and offering it to Spike pommel first. “Call off your men, I surrender the station to you in exchange for safe passage back to Republic space.”

“Of course,” Spike activated his communicator once more. “Seugtai, hold for now, we have a surrender. Pull back to the hanger and await further instructions.”

Without waiting for a reply, Spike watched the station commander giving out orders, typing in the droid kill codes into the master panel, before turning back to Spike.

“Ok, we held up our end, the transport?”

“There are a series of hacked prisoner transport vessels in hanger seven, you are welcome to them. But I have another proposition. The Republic has need of your services, of that there is no doubt, and yet they squandered you away, allowing you to garrison this station instead of assigning you some place more useful. You have a choice, go back to the Republic who squandered your skills, which I know are not insignificant, or stay here. Help me run Fireshot, get back at the Sith. I am going to open new fronts against their fleets. Stay here and help me, you all know me, you know I wouldn’t take this course of action if I didn’t believe it to be right. What say you?”

For a long time, no one spoke, the crew of the bridge exchanging glances with each other, before finally the commander stepped forward, taking one more look around the room.

“Spike, I’m with you.”

“As am I,” another man, an ensign by his rank slides, stepped forward as he spoke.

“And me.”

Soon, every member of the bridge crew had stepped forward, voicing their support and bringing a smile to Spikes face. These men and women, some of whom had been stationed here for as long as Spike could remember, had put their faith in him, now he had to prove himself worthy of it.

“Right then, let’s get to work.”

***

Seugtai coughed as he entered Spikes room, a small chamber that Spike had apparently once occupied in his youth. They had been in command of Fireshot for one solar rotation and so far had not seen any indication of a Republic response. Truth be told it had always been the biggest potential flaw in their plan. Fireshot was strong even in its own age, but Seugtai knew Spike would never open fire on Republic troops. It wouldn’t take many ships to retake the station and see all those who followed Spike imprisoned…or worse.

Since taking command, Spike has been in this room, studying readouts of the stations strength, its remaining ships, its crew records, especially for those who had joined since he was last here, as well as hundreds of other smaller things beside.

“So?” Seugtai asked. “What do we have to hand?”

“Not much,” Spike mused. “Two battleships, a handful of battlecruisers, one heavily damaged Command Ship, three Hammerheads, seventeen Praetorians, and enough fighters to equip all ships with half strength wings.”

“Hardly an all-powerful fleet, but it’s better than nothing,” Seugtai nodded. “And your flagship?”

Spike smiled at that, grabbing a dataslate and glancing down at it.

“Harmony has been repaired and refitted, everything on her was given top priority. Apparently it was ordered by the Jedi Council themselves. Atris was going to take her as her own. Honestly, I couldn’t be happier about denying that bitch something she wanted. Petty I know, but still.”

“As long as it didn’t get in the way, I never minded soldiers having their own personal goals during a mission,” Seugtai shrugged.

“Well clearly it didn’t compromise efficiency,” Spike sighed, leaning back and closing his eyes.

“Why did you fight us?”

The question was sudden, Seugtai taking a minute to process what he had heard, Spike still not opening his eyes.

“Spike?”

“You heard me, Seugtai, I know you did,” Spike murmured. “I’ve never asked you properly. Why did you raise arms against the Republic?”

“We wanted to test ourselves,” Seugtai spoke, standing almost imperceptibly straighter as he did, pride filling his face. “Mandalorians are warriors, battle is our way, and only one target could hold meaning with how powerful we had become. The Republic answered our challenge with one of their own, though slow to muster. Their reply was you, Revan and Meetra, and what a challenge it was. The outcome never mattered, we faced you, and we lost, that is all there is to it.”

“You don’t wish you’d won?” Spike asked in surprise, opening his eyes.

“Of course I do,” Seugtai scoffed. “All warriors fight to win, to do otherwise is suicide, but Mandalorians don’t have to win to be vindicated.”

“Do you ever think of what would have happened…if you had won?”

“Where is this coming from, Spike?”

“Harmony is one of the most advanced ships in the Republic, Mandalorians are THE most sought-after mercenaries on hundreds of worlds in dozens of systems. Worlds where Mandalorian defences were repurposed hold out far longer against Sith attacks. Did the Republic winning…did I make this whole situation worse my fighting against you?”

“You can deal in what-ifs for eternity, Spike,” Seugtai chuckled. “What if Exar-Kun had taken Coruscant, what if The Mass-Shadow Generator hadn’t worked, what if a hundred other things had gone differently in either of our lifetimes. The result is always the same, despair that the road ahead has been made harder by past actions. None of them matter. What does matter is right here, and right now. That is all we can influence, and if you spend too much time fretting over the past, you’ll lose your future. You understand?”

“Yeah…” Spike spoke slowly, before nodding and gaining conviction. “Yes I do. I apologise, Seugtai, I didn’t mean to mope, it’s just…”

“One of his many flaws,” Moonstone finished, materialising beside Spike with her characteristic smirk. “Chin up Spike, there’s work to be done you know.”

“Right right,” Spike rolled his eyes before standing up and addressing Seugtai. “Do you have them on the holo?”

“All of the ones I could reach yes,” Seugtai nodded. “Some didn’t respond or have been put to grass by their competitors, but there are enough of them. They’re waiting for you in the comms room.”

“Well lead on then,” Spike nodded. “They know you, might as well kick this thing off yourself.”

Beginning of the Syndicate

Spike folded his arms as he looked around the room. Once designed to receive information from hundreds of worlds and outposts across Republic space, it was justifiably large, dotted with numerous holoprojectors, most of which were active as Spike stood before them. Unlike their intended use however, they were not displaying members of the Republic military, or any military for that matter. Instead, there were pirates and mercenaries, deserters and scum from across the galaxy. Seugtai had taken great pains to vet them all, ensuring that they could be trusted, as far as any of this sort could be trusted.

“Thank you all for heeding this call,” he called, raising his voice, the room falling quiet as he spoke. “I am sure many of you know me from my past and rumours of my deeds, so let me be clear. I am Spike, former Jedi Master of the Jedi Order, former General in the Republic Army, and now, I’m apparently a war criminal. I am sure many of you don’t like me, any Mandalorians or Sith deserters amongst you, and I know you are in this crowd, may hate me for my actions in the wars. Any Republic deserters may hate me for the same. I have not brought you here to convince any of you to like me, because we all know that’s not going to happen. I have brought you here, because all of you are the undertones of society, all of you need money, and all you like living. I can help you with the last two, because if the Sith take over, none of you will survive a week, and you will certainly die poor. You may not like the Republic, but it’s a damn sight better than the alternatives, and you are all going to help me save it.”

At that last statement, the room erupted into roars of agreement, or shouts of dismay and derision. Spike allowed the shouts to fill the room for a minute, before throwing back his head and letting out a roar that shook the room, people quickly falling silent as Spike did, waiting for him to address them again.

“I understand you have reservations, you don’t think I’ll deliver, or that this is some trick, and so I’m going to give you a little taste of what will come your way if you follow me. I have sent or provided every one of you with a coded data packet, I’m sure you’re already trying to slice your way in to them to see what they hold, so stop. Passcode is 77295HQP, and inside are the coordinates of a recently captured Sith world. The fleet in orbit is a fraction of what it was a short time ago, which makes this a ripe target for a raid. The defence fleet that is still there is however more than a match for any of the forces at any of our commands, so the objective is simple. We will rendezvous at the second set of coordinates in one standard weeks’ time and we will attack this facility together. Alone you will fail, together we have an armada, crewed by people no stranger to combat, and we will take everything this world has to offer. Money, ammunition, manpower, we strike at the Sith Empire from unseen areas and slip away before any can challenge us properly. You want to get rich, this is how we do it. You have a week to decide if you’re going to hide in your little bases and wait for the inevitable clean up, or if you’re going to follow me. I will see those who make the right choice then.”

With a wave of his hand, Spike ordered the holoprojectors shut down before any could respond, striding to the exit where Seugtai was waiting for him, along with Herank. As much as Spike may have hated her, she was influential, and it had been that influence that brought many of those he had just spoken to the meeting at all. Begrudgingly, Spike had been forced to accept that the three were now a triumvirate in command of this new syndicate, and if they wanted to succeed they had to work together.

“Very well spoken, Spike,” Herank purred, her voice dripping with false praise. “I do believe you’ve ensnared a lot of them. Few people in my profession like anything less than being told they’ll die poor and will jump to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

Now she had been released from prison she had regained some of her previous fire. Almost immediately upon taking Fireshot she had called in favours, pulling what was left of her old Empire together, now focused around Fireshot. Most of the ships still stationed there now had crew directly because of the Crime Lord. More than that, she had regained her old fire, an incredibly advanced and expensive cybernetic arm was now grafted to her old stump, and it could store yet more hidden weapons for the violent woman. Spike had to stop himself from admitting that despite her age and who she was, she wasn’t the worst looking person, and Herank used those looks as yet another weapon in her arsenal.

“That’s the general idea, yes,” Spike replied tersely. “Seugtai, status on the fleet?”

“Most of the ships are ready to fly. Best crew has been picked out for Harmony, they’re already training to work with its droid brain. Other ships have also got crews, but we don’t have enough men to run any of the battleships, maybe enough for a skeleton crew for one at best. I ordered the men not to bother, the others will benefit far more from the extra men. We’re ready to move out whenever you give the order.”

“Right then, prepare the fleet. We head for the rendezvous in five days.”

***
“So, you really want to try this here?” Moonstone asked, looking around the empty hanger, Spike standing in the centre with his eyes closed.

“Why not here?” Spike muttered, not opening his eyes. “Haven’t tried doing it this way yet, think now’s as good a time as ever.”

Spike had already begun to channel his magic, focusing it inwards on himself as he had done when he wanted to disguise himself as the Guardian, or when he had shrunk back to his regular size in the wake of his exile from the order. Those had been difficult, taking hours to make even the slightest progress, but already Spike could feel his power rising after less than half an hour, his magic beginning to boil just beneath his skin, begging to be set free. In short, it was far easier for him to grow than it was for him to shrink, and with a roar, Spike let go of his control, allowing the magic to flow out of him like a broken dam, with only the smallest modicum of control.

The effect was instantaneous, magic streaming out of him in a visible green cascade, lifting him off the ground slightly as his entire body began to push outwards. Limbs elongated, scales thickened by many magnitudes, and his wings spread wide, scraping against the sides of the hanger with the terrible sound of metal being rent apart.

Finally, he stopped growing, the magical discharge fading, Spike panting heavily. It had taken him almost five minutes just to transform, it wouldn't be possible in the middle of an attack either, not yet at least, but Spike now knew he could do it, and Moonstone would already have mapped the spell within his own mind. Everything from here on would only ever be an improvement on the time, effort and size that Spike would grow to. Though he wasn’t to know it yet, what he was now was only the smallest fraction of what he would become, on the blood-soaked fields of his future.

“What the hell have you done,” a voice came from behind Spike, Spike awkwardly turning to look at the source, his wings and tail scraping against the metal again until he had the sense to pull all three close into his body.

“What does it look like, Seugtai?” he asked, his voice booming out, far deeper than his already deep usual voice. “Regardless of the fleet, we don’t have that many ships. Thought this might even the odds at times.”

“So, what? You’re planning on diving around in space, freezing to death and…I just remembered who I’m speaking to. Go nuts,” the old warrior sighed, shaking his head and turning to leave.

“Seugtai, there is one thing,” Spike called, causing the Mandalorian to stop. “On board the Harmony, in the hanger bay. There’s something I want you to have, you’ll know it when you see it, but I think you’ll get a lot more out of it than I ever did.”

“I shudder to think what it is,” Seugtai deadpanned. “I’ll go find whatever it is, I just wanted to say that the fleets ready, we’re moving within the hour. Herank has taken a Hammerhead for her own, she didn’t seem to be in the asking permission mood.”

“Let her, she needs a ship. As long as doesn’t ever try and take Harmony, she can choose the one she wants. Its her crew, we all need each other. I’ll meet you on Harmony shortly.”

***

Harmony and a dozen other ships hung in the void around a nameless world, having arrived hours ago after jumping between close to sixty different systems over two days. They could have jumped here directly, but Spike was taking no chances. Fireshot could not be found to be their base of operations, by either side of the war. It had been stripped of all minerals thousands of years ago, and now was nothing but a footnote in the star charts of the universe, which was exactly why Spike had chosen this as the meeting point of the Syndicate. He mused silently that it would probably need a name at some point, but for now that was hardly on the top of his list of things that needed to do. The time for the assault was fast approaching, and so far, none had arrived. Spike was starting to doubt himself, doubting that he had been as convincing as he had thought, that none would show up, until a single ship suddenly appeared in the system.

Soon another followed, and another, and soon scores more. Dozens of ships began powering toward the Harmony, hailing the flagship as they came. Spike began to check off those who had arrived in his mind as the confirmation codes were sent through. All he had contacted had arrived, close to one hundred and fifty ships in all.

“Open a comm channel, all ships fleet wide,” Spike ordered, the ships droid brain complying before any of the crew had even moved. They were slower than his old Republic crew, the few members of the Fireshot base who had crewed her once were doing an admiral job of training the newbies, but it would take time for them to grasp the hang of it and bring her back to her old heights of glory.

“This is Spike,” he spoke as the comms flicked on. “You have my gratitude for coming, and for taking part in this venture. If anyone has questions, ask them now. If you don’t, form on my ship, the Harmony will be my flagship and you are to follow orders from her. All other fleets are to act under their own commander for this battle. If this all goes well, we will organise squadrons and battle fleets.”

Surprisingly to Spike, no one asked any questions of him, content to stay silent.

Smart he thought to himself, Moonstone looking at him and nodding.

None of them want to be the one to voice concerns, they’ll seem weak. If this succeeds you’ll have a lot more questions to answer, and none of them will want to be in a position weaker than they have to be.

“Very well then,” Spike spoke openly this time. “Form up on the flagship, we jump as soon as we all ready. I am sending over hyperspace coordinates and fleet information. I do not want any of you crashing into anyone else during the transit.”

Slowly the fleets began to move into position, before shooting forward as a time clicked to zero. Turning to address his crew, Spike looked at the ships captain, smiling at his old friend.

Ensign Lowell had served with Spike since the Mandalorian Wars, transferring across just prior to the battle of Eres III. He had continued to serve on the Harmony for the remainder of the war and had requested to be placed back onboard her as soon as war had broken out once more. Luckily for him, he had been wounded in battle before Spike had travelled to Vasdu, and so had been left behind on Fireshot while the rest of the fleet burnt or was damaged almost beyond repair. He had still been waiting there when Spike had commandeered the station, and after pledging himself to Spike’s new cause, Spike had seen no reason he shouldn’t be placed in charge of the command ship.

“I am taking it you won’t be overseeing the void battle from here, Spike?” Lowell asked, raising an eyebrow with a small smile.

“You know me so well,” Spike chuckled. “No no, that’s what you’re here for. Command the ship, oversee the fleet, make sure we don’t die, but I’ll be out there.”

“The Basilisk or a fighter?” Lowell asked again, not needing to look as his fingers played across Harmony’s controls.

“Neither, you’ll see when we arrive,” Spike began walking to the exit of the bridge as he spoke. “Just keep my ship safe ok. Any scratches, you’re paying.”

“Oh joy, let me just break out my cred stick,” Lowell drawled sarcastically, Spike laughing as the bulkhead closed behind him.

Soon he found himself at his destination, stepping inside one of the many airlocks of the ship and preparing himself. If this didn’t work properly he would at best look like a fool, and at worst find himself shot to pieces by a vengeful enemy who would love for nothing more than to present his corpse to their dark masters.

Pushing the thought from his head, Spike pulled his glaive from his back, concentrating for a moment, his claws on his left hand glowing brightly before he tore through the air, a small green rent appearing before him which he pushed the glaive awkwardly into. It had been yet another one of the things he had learnt to do when his magic had skyrocketed in strength, something he remembered Twilight doing all those decades ago. His heart ached every time he performed this spell, but the pocket dimension he could now create was too useful to not use because of bad memories. It was hardly large, but it was big enough for Spike to fit a weapon in and meant he wouldn’t have to face battle unarmed as well as unarmoured.

For what felt like an eternity the fleet continued in hyperspace, Spike channelling his magic all the while, fighting to keep it under control until the time was right, before he finally heard the brace alarm, steadying himself for the sudden deceleration as they slowed to relative speeds once more. An instant later Lowell’s voice came over the ships intercom.

“Sith fleet spotted, we outnumber six point two to one, all ships move to attack ship and prepare to engage. We secure orbit then break for the surface per Spike’s orders.”

Managing a grin, Spike reached for the airlock controls. He had been worried the Sith would have moved more ships in since he received intel about the world, but it would appear the fleet was as weak as he had expected, and he saw no reason to hold his new allies back any longer, or to hide his true power.

Pressing a few buttons, the airlock behind him sprang open, Spike allowing himself to be violently expelled outwards in the rush of oxygen and atmosphere. For a moment he felt the all-encompassing chill of open space, before he allowed his magic free once more, the Harmony already accelerating past him, the cannon running its length beginning to charge.

Letting out a soundless roar, Spike’s magic pushed outwards again, growing to his monstrous size, before racing after the fleet, his magic propelling him forward as battle was joined.

Meatbag

Spike let out a roar, slamming his fist into the bulkhead and ripping through it like it was nothing. They had been back for close to two hours, and while he had managed to contain his anger on the ships, as soon as he had arrived back on the station it was fit to bursting, and he needed an outlet.

“Spike!” Seugtai roared, ducking beneath Spike’s tail. “Get a hold of yourself, you breach the hull and we’re all dead!”

“He was there!” Spike roared back, turning and glowering at Seugtai. “He was right there, and we ran!”

“Of course, we ran!” Seugtai snapped. “He outnumbered us, he outgunned us. We would have lost in minutes if we’d stayed and you know it! Now stop being an obtuse ass and get a hold of yourself.”

Spike growled, his fists shaking as he fought with his own anger and the common sense Seugtai was speaking, before snorting and turning away.

“I’m going planetside. Rearm the fleet, organise the new recruits, you’re in charge, Seugtai. Don’t let me down.”

With that, Spike stalked from the room, heading for the hanger bay.

“Well that went better than expected,” Herank mused, entering the room as soon as Spike had left.

“I am glad he didn’t see you,” Seugtai turned to face her. “What did we get then? Enough to refit the fleet?”

“Mostly new missiles, a few oscillating shield generators. Ooh, and some of those new turbolasers, quad barrelled heavy shit. Will have to mount them on the larger ships,” Herank nodded. “All of them are state of the art, and that’s just for the fleet. We have enough personal arms to make sure everyone is on an equal footing to the Sith. Even got a few Disruptor rifles.”

“Distribute the Disruptors to the best trained, anyone with military experience on any side. Then find commanders, I want this organised properly, the Mandalorian way. I also need something from you, something to be kept off the radar, especially from Spike.”

He handed Herank a dataslate, the old woman taking it in her bionic hand and regarding it for a moment.

“First parts simple enough, but this second part? You know how rare that stuff is, right?”

“Just get it done, whatever it takes, Lady Kalia,” Seugtai snapped. “I’ll be on the bridge for the next half an hour, then I’m going to bring back Spike. He’ll hurt himself down there.”

“You have that little faith in our ‘fearless leader’?” Herank sneered, trailing off as she found herself looking down the barrel of a Ripper pistol.

“You know, we could still take you back to Coruscant, remember that,” Seugtai said matter-of-factly, before holstering his weapon and walking past Herank, leaving the crime lord to glower at his retreating form.

***

Spike let out a roar of pain and anguish as he lashed out with his glaive, cleaving through the trunks of ancient trees, heedless of the damage he left in his wake. On the station he had contained himself, regardless of what Seugtai had believed. Here however he was free to exercise his rage on anything around him, which is exactly what he was doing.

“I could have killed him!” Spike roared, power lacing his voice, traveling up his arm as he hurled his glaive like a javelin. The weapon sliced through half a dozen trees before lodging itself in a seventh tree.

With his weapon now far beyond his reach, Spike felt a huge impact strike his back, the unexpected blow sending him careening forward onto the floor. Before he could react, he felt another impact strike him almost exactly where the first had and he was sent cartwheeling through the air. Three more shots slammed into him before he finally landed, blood pouring from wounds. Whatever had hit him, it wasn’t a standard weapon, that was for sure.

Pushing himself to his feet, sending a pulse of magic to stem the flow of blood, Spike looked out across the clearing, reaching out to sense anything, before diving to the side, narrowly avoiding another shot. He was right about it not being a standard weapon, the shot that passed him by wasn’t a standard blaster bolt, but Disruptor Round, and from the sound it made as it hurtled past it had originated from a Sonic Disruptor.

Springing to his feet once more, Spike broke into a run towards the origin of the shot. He had seen where the shot had come from and as he drew closer he finally caught sight of the shooter.

Standing close to two meters tall, the shooter was a droid, brown plating covering his humanoid frame, while a pair of orange sensory optics looked directly at him. True to Spike’s predictions the droid was carrying a oversized disruptor cannon, tell tale markings along its barrel marking it as a sonic disruptor.

The droid was a HK model, that much was obvious. A Hunter Killer, one of the best, but he had never seen one as advanced as this. Droids weren’t a match for Spike though, no matter how advanced.

This thought was still fresh in his mind as he felt the ground click beneath his claw. He barely managed to raise a shield around himself before he was engulfed in a roaring plasma fire, the heat doing little to him but the explosion it generated hurling him through the air again, making him easy pickings as two more disruptor bolts slamming into him, ripping away a finger from his right hand.

“What the hell is that thing?” Moonstone asked, appearing as Spike landed, running along beside Spike as he ground out a deep groove in the ground before coming to a halt.

“Droid, no idea more than that,” Spike muttered as a grenade rolled beside him. “You’ve got to be kidding me."

The grenade detonated, but there was no explosion, not one of note anyway. Instead emitting a flash that seared Spike’s retina’s and a noise that set his ears ringing. Deaf and half blind, Spike barely saw the second grenade landing, emitting a cloud of noxious gas that engulfed him entirely. Instinctively Spike closed his mouth and nostrils, a trick he had learnt while breathing fire to reduce searing of the more sensitive skin, but he could already feel the toxins in the gas were not the sort that had to be breathed in, his skin already absorbing the nerve agent.

Every part of him burnt with pain as whatever gas had been used began to eat away at him, Spike barely managing to focus enough to send out a pulse of magic, the gas dispersing from around him. He was free from the toxins, but the two grenades had done their work, Spike’s vision swimming in and out of blackness as he fought to stay conscious.

“Disparaging Statement: I had expected more from you, ex-Master Jedi.”

The voice was unmistakably the droids, Spike turning as fast as he was able to see the outline of his attacker standing before him. From his shape it had dropped the cannon, pistols now clutched in its hands instead. Spike had no idea if they were the same style as the cannon, but he would do his best to not find out and lunged forward.

He was fast, even like this. The droid was faster, sidestepping his charge and bringing the pistol up to nearly point-blank range beneath the base of Spike’s left wing, firing a flurry of bolts into the weak joint. Pain blossomed anew as holes were torn in the appendage, Spike trying one more time to hit the droid, but again it dodged his clumsy blow, more shots hammering into him, the back of his right knee this time, forcing him to the floor.

“Restatement: Yes, much more.”

The droid was standing over Spike now, its pistols pointed at his head. He tried to raise his arms, but waves of pain threatened to make him pass out. The ground near him trembled slightly, Spike looking to his side to see a lack of trees. He’d been a long distance from any cliffs before, hadn’t he? How far had those explosions pitched him?

“Addendum: I was instructed to pass on a message before your termination if the situation allowed for it. Given how easy you Jedi are to incapacitate, I am surprised there was any doubt that the situation would end in this way.”

“What’s…the message?” Spike managed, looking at the droid.

“Answer: Nothing personal, Spike.”

Time seemed to slow as the droid began to tighten his fingers on the triggers of the pistols. At this range the disruptor shots would pierce even his scales and make his brain so much scrambled mush. Even if it didn’t kill him there would be nothing to stop more shots being fired, and more after that. This was it, and Spike could only watch.

Funnily enough, the thought of his imminent demise did not trouble him as much as he did. In fact, he found it funny. He had faced so much in the fifty-eight years of his life, so many enemies who could have killed him, and yet in the end it was an assassin droid. Not some mighty Mandalore or a Sith Lord, but a droid. Life kept throwing surprises at him, right up until the end.

A blur hit the droid, the shots impacting Spike’s shoulder and causing small holes in the dense plating there. Spike fell backwards at the impact, no longer able to keep himself upright, but he could see the droid fighting something now, twin tails of fire emanating from the back of the newcomer.

Tearing his eyes away from the conflict, Spike focused inwards, forcing his magic to work again. His vision went now, replaced his darkness and flashing lights as he willed his body to begin the healing process at an accelerated rate. The pain was immense, not lessening at all even as his blood began to rapidly coagulate. It would take some time to fully heal from all of this, but soon the worst wounds were stemmed, and more importantly, the toxin was flushed from his system.

His vision returned amid a flurry of gunfire, the HK unit firing both its pistols at the newcomer who Spike now saw was Seugtai, his armour fully sealed and a jetpack affixed to his back. The Mandalorian’s own pistol was roaring, shots impacting around the droid as the machine dodged this way and that, Spike forgotten for the time being.

Rising to his feet, Spike broke into a slow lope, picking up speed as he charged the droid. Stealth was not an option here, and just before he impacted he let out a bestial roar.

Launching himself forward, Spike tackled the droid, the pair of them careening off the cliff, Spike wrapping his hands around the droid, holding it tightly before him as they plunged to earth, Seugtai following behind them.

The droid fired again and again with its one remaining pistol, but Spike’s impact had evidentially knocked some targeting computer in its head out of alignment, many of the shots going wide, while the others burnt holes into Spike’s side or bounced off his scales at too shallow an angle.

The pair of them hit the tree cover far below, Spike being forced to let go of the droid as he slammed through thick branches, impacting heavily on the floor, dust thrown up all around him. A second later the HK unit crashed down beside Spike, its plating dented and cracked, one eye completely removed from its head.

“S-System’s Crit…crit…crit…crit…crit,” it began, its voice looping as Spike stood up, swaying heavily, only to be steadied by Seugtai, the Mandalorian landing beside him.

“Thanks,” Spike rasped, his eyes still fixed on the droid.

“Next time you’re thinking of running off alone like that, remember you’re a wanted man,” Seugtai snapped back. “This whole endeavour is yours, Spike. Without you who’s going to hold it together? Me? Herank? I doubt it.”

Spike wanted to be angry at the Mandalorian’s tone, but he was correct, Spike had been reckless, and he had nearly paid the ultimate price for it. Without Seugtai, Spike was not stupid enough to believe he would have survived the attack.

“I’m sorry,” he rasped again, before stooping down and looking at the droid, the loop having ended and its eyes now dead. “You ever seen a droid like this?”

“An HK model?” Seugtai asked. “Sure, HK-46’s are highly sought after machines. This though, it’s far more advanced, not standard for any model I know, but it doesn’t look like an upgraded 46 either. Maybe a new model?”

“Maybe,” Spike sighed, before picking up the battered chassis. “Whatever it is, it’s broken but worth something. We’ll run a check on its memory core, then wipe it and sell it. We could use the credits.”

“We might find out who sent it,” Seugtai pointed as Spike flared his wings, trying to remember where his glaive was stuck.

“I have a pretty good idea already,” Spike called as he took to the sky, Seugtai following close behind, Spike lapsing into silence, focusing on flying and reaching a kolto tank. He could already imagine the warmth of that glorious liquid, the thought spreading a smile across his face.

The Teller of Truths

“Revan?” Herank repeated, snorting as she folded her arms. “Oh joy, so now we have the personal attention of the Lord of the Sith?”

“Just me,” Spike shook his head. “If our entire operation was that big a threat we’d have a fleet breathing down our necks right now. I doubt he even knows where we are, the HK unit has highly advanced tracking software but doesn’t have a long-range transmitter or an uplink system. It was working alone, we’re still secure here.”

“And we’re sure the mind-wipe is secure enough that it won’t come back online and inform Revan where we are?” Seugtai checked. “I don’t want it coming back online and trying to kill you again. Damn near succeeded last time.”

Spike grunted at the comment, his own wounds burning at the recent memories. It had been a few days since the attack, his wounds sealing as quickly as his magic allowed, his reserves depleted from the fight.

“I’m sure, but just in case we’ll implant false memories and forge a record of them. Numerous owners, numerous deaths, make it look like a mindless killing machine rather than an assassin.”

“You realise that will drive any price we could get for it through the floor, right?” Herank asked.

“Yes, and I also know that if Revan is half as smart as we think he is he will have eyes and ears everywhere. If a sophisticated HK assassin unit suddenly appears on the market, he will investigate, and he will get this thing back. Now I don’t know if he’ll be able to recover the memories, but I don’t want to find out either.”

“Then why not just scrap it and be done with it?” Seugtai asked the question that Spike had been sure Herank was thinking as well.

“We need the money,” Spike replied simply. “Weapons and piracy are all well and good, but we can’t sell them quickly. The crew will need some show of good faith that we’re going to pay them, this will help supply the credits, as well as selling small quantities of the surplus inventory we took from the Sith. It will do until we can start moving sales in bulk. On that note, Herank, how are we doing on that front?”

“The Exchange are already interested in some of our equipment, but they are being characteristically cautious. Months potentially, same story with the Hutts.”

“Then we need this,” Spike finished. “There’s a droid salesman on Tatooine in Anchorhead, Yuka Laka. He’ll buy the droid, and the weapons, he owes me a favour from way back, and it’s outside the Republic’s direct control. Czerka rules there, should allow us to move slightly easier.”

“I’ll plot a course for the Harmony. Herank, you stay here and keep working on getting those deals set up. I’ll meet you on your ship, Spike.”

With that, Seugtai turned and left, leaving Spike alone with Herank, the first time the pair had been alone since Spike had pulled her from her cell on Coruscant.

“How’s the arm?” Spike finally asked, the tension having become unbearable.

“It’s fine, thanks for asking,” Herank replied, clenching the bionic she had been fitted with and smiling, the gesture full of sarcasm, not happiness. “We have had an interesting time, haven’t we, Spike? Do you remember when we met?”

“Of course I do,” Spike snapped. “And I wouldn’t change any of it.”

“Are you sure? I know who was leading that fleet we met that got you so tangled up. I even know who led the fleet that you engaged over Vasdu.”

“Don’t say it,” Spike growled.

“Tarhal,” Herank continued, heedless of Spike’s growing anger.

Spike let out a snarl, grabbing Herank and lifting her from the floor. Even with his wounds the woman posed no difficulty for his strength but despite the pain she must have been in she was smiling.

“Little bit of yellow in your eyes there, Spike? Maybe if I’d been faster, none of us would have had to meet again.”

“If you’d been faster, we wouldn’t be able to meet,” Spike snarled back, his blood pounding before he felt a familiar presence by his side.

“Spike. Put her down,” Moonstone spoke softly.

“Listen to the pony,” Herank grinned. “Wouldn’t want to prove the Jedi right. Don’t want to fall after Revan, do you?”

Spike let out another growl, before dropping Herank, letting her collapse to the floor, wheezing hard.

“You are lucky, Herank,” Spike spat, before turning and stalking from the room.

“Oh yeah, regular Pazaak winner right here,” Herank called back, but Spike was already gone.

“You’re an idiot, Herank,” Moonstone looked down at the Crime Lady. “Maybe don’t push the incredibly strong Dragon holding things together on a knife’s edge.”

“He’s unstable, Moonstone,” Herank chuckled. “I know Jedi, I know Sith, I don’t know where the hell he stands.”

“Nowhere,” Moonstone replied firmly. “He’s not Sith, and he’s not a Jedi anymore. He’s Spike, that’s all he wants to be. Don’t push him, Herank. I may not always be there to talk him down.”

***

Spike sat in the command throne of Harmony, lounging back in the chair even as his eyes burnt with anger. Herank’s words had cut deep, deeper than anything he had thought possible, and his anger was still bubbling just below the surface. He was infinitely glad that Seugtai had suggested that it was just the pair of them that went, leaving Herank behind once more. It was strange, they had both tried to kill him in the past, and Seugtai had probably tried to kill Tarhal just like Herank had, but there was something about the Mandalorian. Whether it was the code of honour he held or simply because they had been fighting a war not against a petty crime boss, but Spike didn’t feel anywhere near the hatred he felt for Herank when he looked at Seugtai. All the Mandalorian brought up were bad memories, memories of blood and slaughter on Ranox. Of Desolation.

“Ship’s ready, Spike,” Seugtai’s voice broke Spike from his inner thoughts. “She’s ready to take out when you’re ready.”

Spike didn’t reply, tapping the buttons on the throne and spurring the ship into life, the ship following Seugtai’s planned route precisely and it wasn’t long before they slipped into the Hyperlanes. The route had thirteen different stops to fool tracking, Spike only hope it was enough. All the while the pair barely spoke, Spike shutting himself away for much of the journey, focusing on forcing his appearance to change once more. By the time they were on their final approach, Spike’s green and purple hue had changed, replaced by the yellow and red of the Guardian. His wings had likewise gone, the muscle mass redistributed around his body, giving him a much more muscular appearance.

After what felt like an age they finally broke Hyperspace above a distant, desert world, some shipping leaving and entering the worlds orbit, but for the most part Tatooine was a quiet, backwater world. Even so it barely took any time for the comm to flare into life with a transmission from the surface.

“Unknown vessel, this is Czerka Orbital Control. Please transmit vessel name and reason of visit.”

“Czerka Orbital Control, this is Captain Spine of the Harmony,” Spike replied, his voice changed like his body due to loosening his vocal cords. Spike was taking no chances. “We’re visiting Tatooine for trade and to visit a friend, we won’t be on world for long.”

“Roger that Harmony, transmitting landing clearance to you now. Please follow the attached route and touch down at Anchorhead spaceport. Czerka Orbital Control out.”

“It’s weird seeing you like this,” Seugtai said as Spike keyed in the relevant information to the ships Navi-computer. “Red and yellow I mean. Plus the lack of wings.”

“It’s weird being this way,” Spike admitted. “But it’s worth taking some precautions. I’m a wanted dragon, and the Jedi don’t know about Spine.”

“I don’t know about him,” Seugtai pointed out. “Story behind the name?”

“Something my old master used as a cover for me when the pair of us wanted to go undetected from everyone, the Jedi included. I can’t remember the last time I even used the name.”

Spike sighed as memories of Solaris drifted back into his mind, a wistful smile spreading across his face.

“She must have been something to have trained you,” Seugtai chuckled. “Tell me about her.”

“Where to begin?” Spike sighed, leaning back and choosing his words carefully. “She was…free is the only word to describe her. A great warrior and pilot, a mentor. A poor Jedi though, she enjoyed life more than the council thought was safe, but she never changed, not for them. Not for anyone. She was my mentor, my friend. I miss her, Seugtai.”

“She sounds like a good woman,” Seugtai smiled. “What happened to her?”

“She died,” Spike sighed. “God but she was strong, Seugtai. You would have liked her, a warrior to rival anyone. She fought in the Mandalorian Wars, never to the extent of following Revan and me, but she fought.”

“She died fighting?”

“No, old age caught up with her, she survived a hundred battles, lived by the blade her whole life. It took age to claim her, she went out quiet. She was happy to do it, happy I was there at the end. She told to remember that even the darkest days break, even the blackest nights end, and they give way to the dawn, brighter than any before. I’m trying to believe that, but I’ve never known a night this dark before.”

“We’ll get through it, Spike,” Seugtai laid a hand on Spike’s wrist as he spoke, his genuine smile warming Spike’s heart. “We’ll get through this, and you’ll do Solaris proud. We’ll see that brighter dawn, Spike. Together. I promise.”

Spike smiled, placing his own claw on top of Seugtai’s hand and squeezing gently. The Mandalorian’s presence was comforting, but Spike had to break off the moment as the ship required manual input. In short order the ship landed, Spike and Seugtai heading to the exit, the deactivated form of HK-47 strapped to Spike’s back.

Spikes hopes to get through the spaceport quickly were instantly dashed as the pair stepped off the ramp, a man in the yellow and black uniform of the Czerka Corporation approaching them.

“Welcome to Anchorhead, potential customer,” he said as he approached, his voice laden with the slimily charm of a salesman. “Czerka Corporation stands ready to serve, after some formalities of course.”

He stopped before the pair, looking them over before casting his eyes to the ship.

“First, your ship is not on our list of planned arrivals today. There is a docking fee of one hundred credits because of this, and a further two hundred due to the size of your vessel.”

“Of course there’s a fee,” Spike rolled his eyes, but drew his credit chit from his belt, transferring it to the man after quickly verifying it was an official Czerka account and not a personal one.

“Thank you,” the man smiled insincerely. “Without these fees, Czerka would have been forced to close down this star port years ago after all. The fee will cover future landings in the same ship as well, it’s like a registration so we can better serve you.”

“Uh huh,” Spike nodded, unconvinced. “You said first, what else?”

“Oh no, nothing else,” the man held his hands up. “But as a Customs Officer, I can provide information on services. Is this visit business or pleasure?”

“Not to cut you off, but if you don’t need anything else from us we must be going. I know my way around Anchorhead already, thank you.”

“You are welcome sir. And please, if you need anything at all, Czerka corporation stands ready to serve.”

With that the man walked off, heading through a door to another one of the berths, presumably to repeat the whole exchange with other new arrivals.

“I don’t trust Czerka,” Seugtai muttered as the pair made their way through the streets, the crowds parting before the Mandalorian and the Dragon. “They’re too big, too many fingers in too many pies. They are bound to be involved in more than one illicit dealing on this world alone.”

“You’re probably right, but let’s not draw attention to ourselves,” Spike nodded. “We find Yuka Laka, we shift what we need to, then we leave.”

“Actually, there’s something else I want to do before we return,” Seugtai admitted. “There’s an old contact I have here in Anchorhead, a fortune teller but not some hack, she’s the real deal. I want to stop by and speak to her.”

“We have time, if you want to we can do it after Yuka Laka,” Spike nodded. “Fortune Tellers are usually full of it, but I’ve seen far too much to doubt that someone out there can see the future. Hell, the Jedi can do it with the force, maybe this contact is force sensitive too.”

“Who knows,” Seugtai shrugged, before stopping before a shop declaring itself as Yuka Laka’s Droid Emporium, waiting for Spike to enter before following him.

The shop was dimly lit, a few astromech droids lining the back wall, an Ithorian working on them turning as the pair entered.

“New customers?” he spoke, eagerly approaching. “Here to spend your off-world money perhaps?”

Spike looked at Yuka in confusion, the pair had met before and Spike doubted the Ithorian had forgotten. He was about to point that out before he remembered his new look, switching into Ithorian before he replied.

“Not today, Yuka. We have recently come into possession of an HK unit,” Spike laid HK-47 down before Yuka as he spoke. “A forty-seven model, top of the line, but it’s damaged. My friend and I don’t know much about droids, but we heard that Yuka Laka knows more than a thing or two.”

Yuka stooped down at Spike’s word, his eyes dipping as he carefully examined the droid. Spike let out a long sigh as he did so, Yuka was always thorough. They were going to be here for a while.

Two hours later the pair emerged from the Droid Emporium minus the droid and the weapon shipment, Yuka already having sent a pair of droids to retrieve the shipment. Spike’s credit chit was far fuller than it had been before, but he still felt like Yuka had bent him over a barrel with the deal.

“Let’s go see this fortune teller of yours then,” Spike followed Seugtai as the Mandalorian took the lead, leading the pair towards the outskirts of town. They began to see less and less people, before finally they were alone, standing in the shadow of the perimeter wall that separated Anchorhead from the Great Desert beyond.

“Rally Master Seugtai, it has been too long.”

Spike whirled at the voice, reaching for his glaive before Seugtai still his hand, speaking to the source of the voice, an old woman sitting cross legged within a small hut built into the wall. Spike blinked at the sight, almost certain that there had been nothing there when they had walked past the wall a second earlier.

“Truth teller,” the Mandalorian nodded to the woman before gesturing to Spike. “This is…”

“Former Jedi Master Spike, of Equestria,” the woman nodded, her words hitting Spike like a turbolaser shot.

“You know where I’m from?” Spike asked urgently.

“I know many things about you, Spike,” the woman nodded. “Many more I can tell you, if you but sit and listen.”

Spike couldn’t sit down fast enough, Seugtai chuckling slightly, stepping back from the pair as the woman reached out to Spike, gripping both of his wrists tighter than Spike would have thought possible from such a frail woman.

“What do you see?” Spike pressed, a hint of trepidation creeping into his voice.

The woman didn’t speak for a long time, staring at Spike with her milky eyes in utter silence. The spines down Spike’s back began to tingle as the seconds passed. He opened his mouth to ask again, but before he could speak the woman spoke again.

“Blood.”

Of course it was. What else would it have been?

“Blood of the innocent, blood of the guilty. Blood of your past and your future. Fresh blood, old blood. Soldiers and civilians. Friends and enemies. You world is surrounded by blood Spike, even as you try to escape it. It taint’s your past and strengthens your future. It will tear you down if you fight it and give you strength when you allow it. You will never escape the bloodshed in your wake, Spike. All that blood from all those you’ve killed and will kill until the day you die, it is nothing compared to what you will save. You will save and damn the populations of worlds simply by being you, Spike.”

Spike snatched his hands back, massaging his wrists before glaring at the woman.

“So, I’m what, nothing more than a butcher?” he snapped, standing again. “I didn’t need a fortune teller to tell me I have blood on my hands.”

“Oh, so much more than just your hands, Spike,” the woman shook her head. “There is a toll on your life, one of blood that is written in the stars and in the force itself, even in your own magics. The toll must always be paid, even if it is paid with your own blood.”

“What does that even mean?” Spike snarled, his temper rising again, the woman not even flinching.

“Spike,” Seugtai whispered, placing a hand on Spike’s shoulder.

As soon as he touched Spike the sky darkened, the Mandalorian was thrown backwards as the door to the small hut slammed shut, plunging Spike into impossible darkness, no light emanating from anything.

With a roar Spike pulled his glaive free, stabbing forward to where the woman had been but connecting with nothing. Before he could question anymore the world twisted around him, lines of pure light streaking out before him, forming a path that split and twisted in ways that defied gravity and even basic physics, twisting in on themselves or spiralling upwards. There was no way a place like this could exist, and yet Spike was standing in it.

“Where are you?!” Spike roared, spinning his glaive and watching as stars burst into life around him, dotting the blackness with specks of blazing white.

Spike got no reply to the question, tentatively taking a step forward on the ‘path’ before him. He didn’t fall which was a good sign, and he slowly began to make his way forward, or at least forward to him, Spike had no idea if he was even the right way up in this confusing place.

For five minutes Spike walked, more than once turning to find the path behind him was completely different from the one he had just walked along, but the path before him never changed, never wavered. In the distance two lines rose upwards, forming a triangle that grew closer with every step he took. That was his destination, where he needed to be. He didn’t know how he knew that, but he knew it was the truth.

Spike took another step forward before something moved in the corner of his eye. Whirling round he tried to find the source of the movement, before turning back to face the triangle. As he did so his jaw fell open, his eyes focusing on what now lay before him.

“T…Twilight?” he spoke softly, looking at the purple pony in front of him.

Twilight didn’t reply, spreading a pair of wings from behind her at his words. Her wings.

“Twilight?!” Spike’s voice broke as he ran forward, tears in his eyes as he moved to embrace her, all questions about why she had wings, how or why she was here, or even where ‘here’ was were forgotten. All he cared about was embracing her after so long.

As he ran, Twilight moved away from him. Not walked or ran, but simply moved away from him, standing perfectly still. No matter how fast Spike ran, the distance never closed.

“Twilight!” Spike roared, tears now freely falling down his face as he struggled in vain to simply touch her.

Then she began to change, her fur darkened, her eyes glowed, her wings became shadowy and membranous and an ethereal set of armour began to materialise around her body, shadows spilling from the plate.

“Twilight!” Spike roared, but it was fear that laced his voice this time.

With this last shout, Twilight was engulfed in flames, finally stopping moving as Spike caught up with her, intent on smothering the flames, only for them to die just before he reached them, leaving nothing in their wake.

Spike collapsed to his knees and howled to whatever passed as a sky in this hellish place, the memories of the flame etched into his mind. Spike recognised the colour, the flames were the same ones he breathed on Equestria, and they had consumed the Twilight before his eyes.

“Truth Teller!” Spike roared, his voice broken, and his face drenched in tears. “Where are you?! Why did you show me this?! What do you want from me?!”

“To show you your path,” a soft voice came from behind him.

Spike whirled around, glaive ready, but even as he turned he sensed he would not be able to do anything. As he spun he was greeted with the old lady, but no longer was she tiny, standing the height of Spike. Even as Spike processed the information her hand shot out, gripping his head tightly, her thumb pressed against his forehead.

Spike froze, his body refusing to obey his commands. The glaive slipped from his grasp as his eyes shot open, the image of a star filling his mind as the old woman spoke again.

“The spike is the key, for it shall call upon the power of magic to light the darkest hour.”

The words echoed inside Spike’s mind, the star filling his vision. Spike felt himself falling, unable to move, before he hit the ground heavily, his body becoming his own again, the star disappearing to be replaced by a view of the Tatooine sky.

“Spike?” Seugtai ran over to Spike, helping him up but Spike brushed him off, looking at the wall and trying to find the hut that had been built into it.

Nothing remained, no trace of the woman they had spoken to or the hovel she called home. Spike’s fists clenched, the glaive back on his back as if it had never left.

“Spike, what happened?” Seugtai asked, standing before the dragon and looking him directly in the eye.

“I don’t know,” Spike snarled, looking up and down the wall. “Where is the Truth Teller?”

“I don’t know, we never found her,” Seugtai spoke slowly. “What happened, Spike? We were walking along and then you fell backwards. Is something wrong?”

“No,” Spike shook his head, disgust written across his face. “We’re leaving, Seugtai. Now.”

Spike turned and began to walk, Seugtai making to follow him before a soft voice came from behind him.

Seugtai didn’t turn, he recognised the voice of the Truth Teller in a heartbeat.

“Will you follow him, Seugtai of the Mandalorian’s? Will you follow Spike, he who shall be named Ordo?”

Seugtai didn’t react to the name that she spoke, he had long since learnt not to question the words of the Truth Teller. Instead he returned her question with one of his own.

“Follow him where?”

“Everywhere, anywhere. He will travel across the stars, to the farthest reaches of space and beyond even them. He shall wander, but it remains to be written who will wander with him. Who will remain by his side as he travels through eternity?”

“I’ll stay by his side, as long as he needs me to,” Seugtai responded instantly, her words galvanising thoughts he had already had.

“Then I advise you to be strong, Rally Master Seugtai, once foe, soon family. You will stay by his side and watch him rise, rise higher than he has ever been before. But he will fall just as far, and you shall be there to witness it.”

“What do you mean?”

“If you stay your course and follow him where he will go, as he marches through eternity, the pair of you will accomplish so many wonder, so many mighty deeds that will be spoken and whispered of for years to come. But there are some things even he cannot survive, some things that will push him beyond his breaking point. When he falls, you will be left to pick up his torch, to finish what he starts, and then you too shall follow him.”

The presence behind Seugtai disappeared as she spoke her final words, Seugtai checking over his shoulder once, being greeted by an empty stretch of sand and wall, before he broke into a jog, hurrying to catch up with Spike, the words resonating within his mind.

Interdictor

“What took you so long?” Spike scowled as Seugtai entered the bridge, taking his position and beginning to chart a course back to Fireshot.

“Nothing, same as the nothing you saw down there,” Seugtai responded, pulling his helmet off and setting it down beside one of the control stations. “We should be back at Fireshot within the week, you have more plans now we have some extra credits?”

“I do, I’m preparing a list as we speak,” Spike nodded. “Once we break orbit you have control of Harmony, understand?”

“Perfectly. Spike. Whatever you did or didn’t see down there, it wasn’t real, and it’s just a truth, not the truth, not necessarily. You can’t take it all literally, there’s a lot of room for interpretation.”

“I somehow doubt that,” Spike scowled, before lapsing into silence, grasping the control rods of Harmony and deftly guiding the Corvette away from Anchorhead and into the void beyond.

As soon as they reached orbit, Spike left the bridge without a word, Seugtai waiting for the door to close before taking his position in the oversized command chair.

“Are we going to talk about what you saw down there then?” Seugtai asked, flicking on a ship wide communicator.

“Are you going keep asking me this for the whole of the next week or will you maybe drop it?” Spike asked back, his voice coming in loud and clear over the comms.

“I’ll keep asking until you give me something,” Seugtai shot back. “Come on, Spike. You owe me.”

There was a tense moment of silence before Spike sighed.

“Fine. Get us into hyperspace and then come see me. I’ll be in my quarters.”

Smiling at the small victory, Seugtai leaned back in the chair, quickly inputting the course he had plotted. It took them half an hour to reach the systems jump point, the Mandalorian easing the ship into the Hyperlanes before setting the auto-pilot and heading to find Spike.

True to his word, Spike was in his quarters, sharpening the blade of his glaive with a plasma stone. The ex-Jedi looked up as Seugtai entered, placing the weapon to one side and gesturing for Seugtai to take a seat.

“So? What did you see? It’s eating you, I can see that.”

“I saw…I don’t really know actually,” Spike sighed, his shoulders sagging as his skin slowly began to turn back to its normal green and purple, his muscles shrinking as his wings grew back.

“Start at the beginning? It’s usually the best place to start a story from.”

“I…saw someone…from my home. My real home…Equestria.”

“Who was it?”

“Twilight Sparkle,” Spike said after a long moment, a smile spreading across his face. “She’s my mother.”

“Tell me about her, Spike,” Seugtai urged softly, a smile of his own appearing. “Or your home, either of them. You’ve never told me about either of them.”

“That’s because for most of the time we’ve known each other we were on opposite sides of a war,” Spike snorted, before sighing and leaning back.

“Equestria is…was…I don’t know anymore. It was beautiful. Ruled by the twin sisters Celestia and Luna, the goddesses of the Sun and Moon. When she was a filly, Twilight was taken for initiation into the school for gifted unicorns, magic academy. She was given an egg that was dead and told to hatch it. It was impossible, to see how a pony would handle failure. But she didn’t fail…Twilight’s power was enough to hatch me…to give me life. She took care of me from then on. We were together through everything, Nightmare Moon, Discord, the Changeling attack on Canterlot. She never gave up, Seugtai, never gave in. She’s the strongest person I know, she always has been, makes me look weak by comparison.”

“She sounds like a good mother,” Seugtai smiled. “What did you see that caused all this though? It’s more than that, you can tell me.”

“She looked different, Seugtai. Sickly. And then…” Spike’s voice broke as he spoke. “She burnt, Seugtai. Right before my eyes. She burnt in my fire, the stuff I breathe…and I don’t know what it means.”

“Don’t take it literally, Spike,” Seugtai was serious now. “The Truth Teller never speaks literally, it’s always half truths and could have been’s. Maybe she is sick, and you’ll burn away that sickness when you get home, you thought of that?”

“When I get home?” Spike asked, sighing. “Seugtai, I have looked for Equus, in the archives of the Jedi, in rumours of the outer rim. I’ve never heard of it, not even a scrap of detail. I don’t know if it’s somewhere out there…or if it's a world that’s part of the force, or in another galaxy, or what. I have no idea, Seugtai. I don’t know if I’ll ever see it again, but now all I can think about is I’m going to return home and….and kill Twilight. What’s if it’s because I’m a monster, Seugtai? What if all the shit I’ve done catches up to me and I go…”

Seugtai grunted as he slapped Spike hard across the face, Spike’s hand instantly going to his cheek, anger flaring in his eyes.

“Stop. Now,” Seugtai said forcefully. “You don’t know what the Truth Teller showed you, but you are not a monster. You are fighting against the monsters, right now. You take the shit so others don’t have to, but that does not make you a monster. Do you understand?”

“I…” Spike began, but as he spoke the entire ship shook, emergency red lighting coming on throughout the ship as the automated voice of the ships computer kicked in.

“Emergency, emergency. Hyperlane ahead constricted, initiating emergency realspace return in three…two…one.”

Spike’s stomach lurched as the ship was spat out of Hyperspace, he and Seugtai already running for the bridge when the emergency lighting had come on. Jumping into the command chair, Spike deactivated the autopilot, conducting a sweep of the ship for any defect with the Hyperdrive.

“Spike!” Seugtai roared from one of the other consoles. “Sith Interdictor ship and escorts dead ahead, they’re closing fast and they’ve already got fighters heading for us!”

“Damn it,” Spike swore. “How the hell did they know where we were coming from?”

“No idea, but unless we can get far enough away from that Interdictor ship we are going nowhere.”

“Get on the main point defence cannons, the droids will have to do the rest,” Spike ordered, before closing his eyes and opening himself up to the wells of magic within him. He became disconnected from his body as he did so, pulling back until he could see the whole of the ship, but more than that, he could feel everything. He could feel who was on the Sith fleet, dozens of dark Jedi, but there was only one Sith Lord aboard. Spike braced himself for the assault on his mind as he felt the one person he dreaded.

I am glad I could find you, Spike the unmistakable voice of Tarhal in his head sneered. Not many ships look like the Harmony you know, it gained quite a reputation in the Mandalorian Wars, if you know who to ask of course.

Spike growled, forcing his magic in on himself to block his mind from intrusions, his body still in a painful halfway stage of transformation, his wings still sucking muscle mass from his arms. His talons worked furiously as he accessed the ships computer, cunning dozens of simulations as he swung the ship away from the oncoming fighters.

The first shots slammed into the shields of Harmony, the ship juddering slightly as the Sith Fighters roared in front of the ship, rolling away to avoid the return fire from Seugtai. Spike was grateful that the ships weren’t able to carry heavier weapons than a pair of laser cannons, but even without ion cannons or proton torpedoes the swarm of fighters would overwhelm them with weight of fire incredibly quickly, something every simulation he ran confirmed with cold, emotionless certainty.

The ship lurched as all momentum was suddenly robbed from it, its engines still burning as a crackling corona of energy appeared in the void before the bridge. Spike swore just as a voice came over the bridge comms.

“Attention Harmony, this is the Sith Interdictor Ship Stormheart. We have you in our tractor beam, escape is impossible, and resistance is futile. Power down your engines, shields and weapons and prepare to be boarded and remanded into custody.”

That was it. There was no, ‘or else’, no threats, just simple commands. The fighters were already breaking off, their job of herding Harmony already completed. They couldn’t break free from the tractor beam, both sides knew it. With a roar of anger, Spike slammed his hand onto the command thrones arm, denting the metal, before his shoulders sagged and he keyed in a command.

The engines of the ship flickered and died, the shields popping out as the weapons went cold in their mountings. Spike had barely even finished shutting down the ships defences before Seugtai was back on the bridge.

“Tractor beam?” he asked, evidently the Sith communication hadn’t reached the entire ship.

“Yeah,” Spike nodded. “We don’t have much time. Ideas?”

“A few yeah,” Seugtai nodded, his mind racing as he began to fill Spike in on what he was thinking.

***

Spike stood alone as the exit door slid open, bright light nearly overwhelming him for an instant, forcing him to screw his eyes closed for a moment. When he managed to blinkingly open them he saw that a pair of high-powered spotlights were being shone directly on the entrance, making it difficult for him to see just how many were waiting to greet him. Even so, he could make out the sight of at least a dozen Sith soldiers manning heavy blaster cannon emplacements, as well as half a dozen assault droids and even a few Dark Jedi. Tarhal was taking no chances about Spike trying anything, and yet even through the blinding light, Spike couldn’t see the Wookie. Was he busy elsewhere?

“Step out of the ship and lay down your weapons!” a voice called out, though who it came from Spike couldn’t say.

Spike didn’t resist, taking a few steps forward and letting his glaive fall to the floor with a clang. Once he did, a collar was thrown from the crowd, Spike recognising it as a high-powered neural disruptor, looking like it had been specially made to fit something massive, someone like Spike for instant.

“Place the collar around your neck and get down on your front, arms behind your back.”

The same voice as before, Spike letting out a low growl but doing as he was ordered. As soon as the collar snapped closed around his neck, Spike felt a dark cloud invade his mind, pressing down on his consciousness. He could still feel the force, but it was distant, slipping through his fingers like sand when he tried to reach for it, not that he had often tried to use the force in recent years, not since he lost his body to cybernetic replacement. His magic too was fading, the power he had relied on since his injuries, and now relied on even when whole again. It wasn’t as distant as the force was, but he wouldn’t be calling on it for more than simple telekinesis anytime soon.

“Down on the ground!” the voice roared again, Spike realising he was still standing before the Sith.

Reluctantly he lowered himself to the ground, placing his arms behind his back, a pair of Sith troopers running up carrying heavy manacles that clinked into place with an air of finality. As he was cuffed, Spike forced his mind to think of anything other than Seugtai, the Mandalorian safely hidden aboard the ship. The fact they hadn’t already demanded his presence made Spike believe they didn’t know he was on board as well, but if the Dark Jedi were adept at mind reading, that secrecy wouldn’t last long.

Spike suddenly felt himself being hauled upwards, a huge droid grabbing him by the manacles and standing him upright, towering above Spike as it waited for its next orders, its quadrupedal form braced in case Spike tried to run. Finally, the lights were switched off, Spike’s eyes adjusting as a Dark Jedi approached.

“So, you are the great Jedi General my master has told me so much about?” The woman sneered. “I expected more from you, my master will be disappointed by the fight you put up, but he will still reward me for capturing you.”

“Your master’s Tarhal?” Spike asked, keeping his voice even.

“He is your master as well now,” the apprentice grabbed the collar, forcing it one notch tighter so it pressed uncomfortably against Spike’s throat. “Collared and leashed. Like a good dog. You know, on my world when we had a dangerous animal, we’d geld…”

Before she could finish, Spike’s head shot forward, slamming into the woman’s in a fountain of blood. Bones cracked under the force of the blow, the woman collapsing to the floor with a scream of pain.

“I killed Tarhal’s last apprentice,” Spike growled, before his body convulsed, electricity coursing through him, his muscles trying to spasm and lock up in an agonising biological war. Spike fell to his knees, the shock continuing until Spike was sure he would pass out from the pain, before suddenly stopping, leaving Spike panting before the apprentice once more.

Her face was ruined, her nose smashed, and a huge gash spread from her lip, exposing teeth that had ripped through her cheek. The fact she was still standing was a testament to either her fortitude or skill with the force.

“Then I will do better,” she growled back, her words slurred slightly, before she brought her knee sharply upwards, the armour plating impacting with Spike’s face. Already on the ropes from the electrical attack and lacking magical enhancement, Spike didn’t have the strength left to resist, falling into the blackness of oblivion.

It didn’t last, Spike being pulled back to the world of the living with another painful jolt of electricity, much shorter than the first but still pulling him from blissful nothingness. He was in a force cage, the hum and orange force field giving that away. He was careful not to touch it, but it was easier said than done, the cage designed for humans, not him.

“Ah, you’re awake.”

Spike grimaced as he turned, brushing against the force field. Electrical discharge spat angrily as he did so, but it was barely more than a tickle through his scales, and Spike had far more on his mind than that. Completing his turn, Spike came face to face with Tarhal, taking in every inch of his one-time friend, and now bitter enemy.

The last time Spike had seen Tarhal had been on Vasdu. There he had been gaunt, but nothing like this. His once brown fur was now a pale grey, streaks of black showing through, especially around his sickly yellow eyes.

“So good to see you again,” Tarhal simpered unconvincingly, his roars and growls distorted by the force field.

“I wish I could say the same,” Spike murmured, slipping into fluent Shyriiwook as he tried to feel anything, succeeding only in widening the gaping emptiness he felt when he looked at the Wookie.

“Why?” he finally managed, the word coming out as more of a desperate plea than he meant it to.

“Why?” Tarhal smirked. “You have the balls to ask me why? The Jedi don’t deserve our strength, Spike. The Republic is weak, it needs to be torn down.”

“Lies,” Spike began, Tarhal cutting him off before he could continue.

“Is it?! Tell me, Spike, who was it who tried to stop us facing the Mandalorian’s hmm? Revan or the High Council? Who was it who almost lost to a shattered army they allowed to reform in the wake of Exar Kun’s war? Revan led us, no one else. I thought you would know that.”

“I know what Revan is,” Spike snarled, anger rising at the mention of Revan. “I know more than you ever could you stunted walking carpet. I watched at Malachor as Revan committed an atrocity in the name of victory. Goddess help me I even fell into that trap myself to stop you last time, and I can tell you, no one like me should ever try and run the galaxy. It would be a dark place.”

“That’s because you’re weak,” Tarhal snapped. “You used to be great, Spike. You used to be a hero, before you allowed your need for revenge and your doubts to addle your will. Before you tried to give up on the war, before you turned your back on Lord Revan! Before you rendered judgement on Vasdu to keep it from Sith hands! Before you murdered the innocent and the guilty alike, all in one stroke! How does it feel to have slain billions, to have betrayed everyone you ever loved?!”

“I betrayed no one!” Spike roared, slamming his hands hard against the force cage wall, the feedback strengthening as the field fought to stop him breaking through. The pain was intense, but Spike forced it to one side as he continued. “Innocents died that day to stop you and the mongrel Sith. I have become a monster to stop bigger monsters, the betrayal is yours, it will always be remembered as such.”

Tarhal’s snarl turned into a smirk as Spike finally pulled his hands back, wincing as he massaged the blackened scales on his claws.

“There’s the fire I remember, the Spike who fought on Coruscant, who fought on Eres III, at Duxn, at Telos. You are at your greatest when you fight, Spike, just like me, just like all of those who follow Revan.”

“This is your plan?” Spike asked. “Try to turn me? To bring me over to Revan? The Sith have tried before, Tarhal, I am sure you remember that, you were there when I escaped.”

“When I freed you, you mean,” Tarhal asked with a chuckle. “Yes, I do remember Spike. The Sith have tried to turn you before. But me? Oh, I relish the opportunity to try my hand at it.”

Bringing up a control panel, Tarhal fiddled with a dial, the force cage turning from orange to an angry red. A spider-legged droid dropped from the ceiling, brandishing needles towards Spike. Spike knew what was coming next, gritting his teeth as Tarhal flicked a switch, activating the torture field.

Spike’s screams echoed throughout the ship.

***

A pair of Sith Troopers slowly prowled through the corridors of the captured ship, Harmony one of their commanders had called it. A ridiculous name for a warship. They had been at it for hours, most of the search teams reallocated to other tasks across the fleet. Only these two had remained, keeping an eye on the ships systems, ensuring none of the droids attempted to come back online.

Seugtai smiled as they passed underneath his hiding spot, clad in a close-fitting stealth suit, a cloaking generator fastened around his waist making him all but invisible to the naked eye. It hadn’t been easy avoiding the scanners when the ship had been crawling with the bastards, but now he was alone with these two. He almost felt sorry for them.

Almost

Dropping down, Seugtai landed silently behind the trooper on the left, reaching up and grabbing his helmet. The cloaking field shorted out as it came into contact with the metal, his form shimmering back into view as he yanked the soldier’s neck sharply to the left, bones cracking audibly, the man inside going limp.

Before his partner could respond, Seugtai hurled a vibro-dagger at the soldier, the powered blade slicing through the visor of the armour, the point protruding from the back of his helmet as he too fell to the ground, lifeless.

Wasting no time, Seugtai began dragging the pair towards one of the many security lockers, pausing only to spray a bio-sealant over the knife wound to stop the flow of blood creating an obvious trail. Reaching his destination, he quickly began to pull their armour off, stashing the corpses in the locker and sealing it with the override code. By the time they figured out the locker was now locked, and brought in cutting tools, it wouldn’t matter if the bodies were discovered.

After a few minutes, Seugtai had pulled on the last of the Sith armour, pulling the helmet over his head. Even at a close inspection, he looked like any other Sith Trooper. Making sure to scan the credentials he had taken along with the armour, Seugtai set off into the ship in search of Spike.

One Shall Stand

Seugtai had never been on board a Sith Interdictor Cruiser before, a fact that he was becoming painfully aware of as he turned yet another corner, being greeted by yet another identical corridor. The ship’s hadn’t been in full service during the Mandalorian Wars, though he had heard that the now traitorous Admiral Saul Karath had commanded the first of its kind in that hell, and taken it to Revan to replicate across the Sith Armada, another unanswered question of how that was possible in the few years between the two galactic wars.

So far Seugtai had been lucky in those he passed, none stopping him as he passed, but like all things, that was about to run out.

“Soldier,” a voice called out, Seugtai glancing around only to find he was the sole soldier in the corridor otherwise occupied by naval personnel and droids. Cursing under his breath he turned, coming face to face with a man wearing the stripes and uniform of a Naval Lieutenant.

“Sir?” Seugtai asked, snapping off a salute and doing his best to remain calm.

“What are you doing here trooper…” the man paused for a moment, scanning Seugtai before continuing, “55729? This whole area has been cleared of ground personnel by order of Lord Tarhal himself.”

Seugtai stiffened at the name, if Tarhal had ordered this area cleared, it could be that Spike was within somewhere.

“Apologies, sir, my comms must be faulty, I didn’t receive any order. I will leave immediately.”

“See that you do,” the officer nodded, Seugtai saluting before turning and walking back the way he came. Sweat was beading his brow, but his tensions were lowering. He had found a lead now just to…”

“Halt,” the officer ordered suddenly, Seugtai stopping almost mid-stride as the man walked up behind him.

“Trooper 55729, I have you down as assigned to the hanger bay where the Jedi’s ship is being held. You reported in there over two hours ago, so how is it you are now here, with no knowledge of the general orders of the deck?”

Seugtai grimaced beneath his helmet before sighing.

“Well, guess it’s time for plan B.”

Seugtai lashed out with his elbow, driving it backwards into the officers throat with enough force to make the man cough up blood. While he was reeling, Seugtai spun and drew the liberated Sith rifle from his back, placing three neat shots into the officer, two in the chest, one between the eyes.

Before the man had even hit the floor, Seugtai was panning the rifle around, accurate blaster shots cutting down the naval crew and droids. A few were quick enough to unholster their sidearms, but none got off even a single shot before they were cut down by the Mandalorian’s crimson bolts.

The whole exchange had taken less than ten seconds, Seugtai barely breaking a sweat as he swept the room one final time before deeming all hostiles were down, for now at least. Taking the time to better arm himself, Seugtai pulled the backpack he had been wearing off, placing it on the floor and pulling out weapons he was far more comfortable with. First was his Mythsaur axe, the fan blade of ancient bone made all the deadlier during the Mandalorian Wars with added power cells and a removable Phrik handle. Second was his Ripper, braids dangling from the handle, trophies of his worthiest kills.

Both weapons had served him well during the Mandalorian Wars, a war where so many of his kind had modernised and standardised themselves, leaving behind the individuality that made them who they were for military efficiency. It had made them an army, but Seugtai was and always had been a Crusader, never losing that as he cut down all foes who faced him, soldiers and Jedi.

Kicking the now empty backpack aside, Seugtai placed a single shot from his pistol into the rifle, ensuring it was beyond repair, before breaking into a run. A few strides into his run the lights flickered out, replaced with a dark red warning light and the wail of a warning klaxon. The cat was out of the bag now, time was of the essence.

Rounding the corner once more, Seugtai saw a squad of five Sith Troopers approaching at a run, rifles at the ready. With a savage smile, Seugtai dived forward, in their midst before they could even react, his axe making short work of their armour. In a few moments the soldiers were down, Seugtai getting ready to move on before a dataslate caught his eye, a map open on its screen. Scanning the screen, a room jumped out at him, marked as ‘Incarceration and Interrogation’.

Clipping the slate to his belt, Seugtai broke into a sprint towards his new destination.

“Hold on, Spike, I’m coming.”

***
Half an hour earlier
***

Spike took a ragged breath, resting against the power field as it returned to a dull orange. It hissed and crackled, but compared to the torture field it was pleasant, and right now Spike could barely stand up.

“You’re still tough, Spike, I’ll give you that one. After everything you’ve been through, you’re still the same uncrackable nut you were back when Nexu was all together,” Tarhal looked at Spike from across the room. “They were good times, before the universe got…complicated.”

“The best,” Spike wheezed, fixing his gaze on Tarhal. “Had a lot of good times…when we were kids. Before Coruscant…before Duxn. So why don’t you just kill me…and cut Nexu down to two?”

“Oh Spike, Nexu will be two, but it’s not going to be me and Zule left,” Tarhal purred. “No, when you see the truth of the universe, when you join me as my apprentice, we’re going to hunt down Zule and strike his name from our clan. And when Nexu stands together once more, we shall rise to rule the Sith Empire that Revan is so kindly forging for us. The Sith under our guidance will rule the galaxy, Spike, keep it safe. Isn’t that all you ever wanted?”

As Tarhal spoke he flicked a switch on the control panel beside him, the field turning from orange to blue, the burning sensation stopping instantly, replaced with a soothing warmth that spread through Spike’s aching body. Tarhal approached the field, bending down to be at eye level with the hunched dragon.

“I don’t want to kill you, Spike,” he murmured, compassion seeping into his voice, something Spike assumed the Wookie was no longer capable of feeling. “What I said on Vasdu is still true. The Republic is inefficient, the Mandalorian Wars showed us that. We should rule the galaxy together, as the Sith, as Nexu, whatever, it doesn’t matter. The Dark Side and the Light Side are just parts of the force, you know that, you’ve always been a Grey. The galaxy needs strong leadership, I will provide it, with you by my side or under my heel.”

Straightening up, Tarhal headed towards the door, pausing as he reached the threshold to look back at Spike.

“I’ll be back later, have your answer ready. I may not want to kill you, but I am more than willing to hurt you, Spike. You think you have felt pain before? I will make you wish you were back in the Exar Kun war.”

With that, Tarhal left the room, Spike letting out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, resting against the pleasant forcefield, his mind slowing down till he was only just conscious.

“Come on, Seugtai,” he muttered, looking towards the entrance, praying to whatever was meant to be watching over him that the next person through that door would be a Mandalorian, not a Wookie.

Sitting in silence, he wished he could hear Moonstone, wished he could see her, but the fog of the collar made that impossible, and only served to hammer home just how alone he was.

How ling could he hold up? If Seugtai failed, how long would it take for Tarhal to break him? And even then, would Tarhal even need to? His words had seemed…genuine, a sincere belief they could do good. Wasn’t that all that Spike wanted, all he had fought for since the day he was taken from his home?

Spike was silent as he warred with his own conscious and morality.

Half an hour later, Spike was still in silence, every answer he thought he came up with spawning a dozen more questions, and each of them a dozen more. He was ripped from his thoughts when a klaxon echoed across the ship, red lights coming on, bringing a small smile to Spike’s face. Either they were under attack, or Seugtai had switched into Plan B.

Standing, Spike watched the door, determined not to be found on his knees if the Mandalorian entered the room. He didn’t have to wait long.

With a loud rending sound, the metal lock of the door was sliced open, a devastating axe blow carving through the locking mechanism like it was paper. Sliding open, Spike saw a man clad in the armour of a Sith Trooper, but it was instantly clear he wasn’t a standard soldier, a pair of very Mandalorian weapons in his hands.

“What took you so long?” Spike forced a smile.

“You known I could turn the field red instead of off,” Seugtai pointed out.

“Try it, I dare you.”

Seugtai snorted, before pressing a button, disabling the forcefield and allowing Spike to take a shaking step out into the rest of the room. Before he had gone five paces, Seugtai was behind him, fiddling with the collar before pulling it into two pieces. It was like a wave hitting spike as his magic flowed back into him, almost knocking him over. When his force hit a moment later, a far smaller wave, Spike’s eyes were already glowing bright green, his body lifting off the floor slightly as his magic worked to purge all the impurities from his system. Lactic acid build-ups from his clenched muscles were purged in an instant, Moonstone appearing beside the pair.

“Good to see you,” Seugtai nodded to the pony.

“Same to you,” Moonstone returned the nod with a smile. “Spike?”

“I’m ready,” Spike gasped, his voice echoing as if he was speaking in a cave, as opposed to a small room on a starship.

“The ship’s being held in the hanger by locking clamps and a tractor beam,” Seugtai informed him, taking a sheathed vibrosword from his waist. “Docking clamps are easy to take care of, the tractor beam is harder to do. Has to be taken down from the bridge.”

“Then we have a plan,” Spike nodded, landing on the floor once more. As he did so, Seugtai passed him the sheathed sword.

“No idea where your weapons are, this will have to do though.”

The sword, a longsword in the hands of most, was laughably tiny in Spike’s hands but he took it anyway, twirling it and feeling its weight before following Seugtai from the room.

The pair were instantly assailed by a trio of Sith Troopers, blaster fire striking Spike as Seugtai dived for cover. With his magic restored, Spike barely felt the shots, letting out a roar as he threw the sword at the closest warrior, pinning him to the wall with a bloodcurdling cry. Wasting no time, Seugtai and Spike dived forward, an axe blade cutting one down, Spike’s fists caving in the other’s helmet.

It didn’t take them long to reach the central lift going up the spine of the ship. Spike and Seugtai had both feared it would be locked down with the alarms going off, but Moonstone had convinced them to have faith, and as was often the case, she was right, the lift still purring with life. It was eerie for Spike, having all the hallmarks of a trap, but as Seugtai pointed out, they really didn’t have much of a choice.

As the lift shot upwards, bound for the bridge, none of the three spoke. Seugtai was mentally preparing himself for a fight in the close quarters of a starships bridge, activating energy shields he had kept in reserve for emergencies, something this now qualified as.

Spike and Moonstone however were contemplating the last time they faced Tarhal in battle, on Vasdu. The chances of him being on the bridge were almost one hundred percent, especially if this was a trap. Spike was weaponless and had recently been tortured, meanwhile the last time they had fought, Spike had lost an arm and a lung to Tarhal, only surviving by the barest of margins.

You have greater control over your magic now Moonstone pointed out, thinking the words rather than speaking them out loud. And you’d been holding off the siege for a while. You’re fresh faced by comparison this time.

It may be enough Spike agreed. We will see soon enough

Even as he thought that, the lift came to a sudden halt, the doors sliding open to reveal the long bridge of the Stormheart, the blackness of the void, and the five occupants standing ready, weapons drawn but at ease.

Two wore the crimson armour of Sith elite troopers, repeating blaster rifles clutched in both their hands. To either side of them were a pair of hooded figures, their gaunt features and the hilts they held in their hands marking them out as Dark Jedi, but it was the central figure Spike focused on. Tarhal, holding his Lightsaber in one hand, the two emitters seeming to itch to burst into life, to unleash death and destruction on those who stood before the Wookie.

“So, who’s this then?” Tarhal asked as the trio exited the lift, Seugtai keeping his own weapons lowered for the time being. “Doubt your one of my troopers, they’re all loyal. Weapons are Mandalorian make but ancient. The axe is familiar though, it belongs to a great Jedi killer of the Mandalorian Wars doesn’t it? Is that whose hiding under there, hmmm? Rally Master Seugtai Ordo? You do keep strange company, Spike.”

“And this…creature?” Tarhal continued, not giving Spike a chance to respond. “She reminds me of the stories you always told me, about your home. I doubt it’s actually the ‘mighty Twilight’, so who is it I wonder.”

“Deactivate the Tractor Beam, let us go,” Spike spoke evenly, forcing himself to remain calm even as images of Vasdu invaded his mind. Before when Tarhal had spoken to him he had almost seemed sane, but now they were poised to fight, Spike could see the rage boiling behind his eyes, the stench of the Dark Side rolling off his body.

“Am I to take it you don’t want to accept my offer?” Tarhal asked, feigning a pout. “So rude, Spike. After I cut off your arms, I’ll kill these two in front of you and turn you with pain, works for me.”

“Try it,” Spike snarled, dropping into a combat stance.

“So, it comes down to this again, Spike?” Tarhal asked, before reaching behind his back and tossing something towards the dragon.

Spike’s eyes dropped to the object, seeing the form of one of his Lightsaber’s sliding towards him, the trio of blue gems set into the handle marking it as Elusive, the weapon he had lost along with his arm when they had last fought.

Stooping down, Spike picked the weapon up, thumbing the activating stud, the white blade surging forth.

Tarhal grinned, igniting his own Lightsaber, the brilliant crystal blade spanning between the two emitters, the Dark Jedi firing theirs alongside their master.

“All I want is to be in charge, Spike, it’s simple, and you will not stop me here,” Tarhal grinned savagely, showing blood flecked fangs. “Besides, who would you be today without me?”

“Let’s find out,” Spike snarled, barring his own teeth before diving forward.

Spike was the first to strike, putting all his power into a powerful downwards swing, forcing Tarhal to grasp his staff in both hands, their blades crackling off each other. Spike could hear blaster fire and a ripper elsewhere in the bridge, but he couldn’t spare a glance around as Tarhal darted backwards, breaking the sabre lock before diving forward once more.

Spike didn’t have time to think, no time to plan, all he could do was act, allowing his instincts and his magic to guide him. Tarhal was similarly acting on instinct alone, the pair matching each other blow for blow as if they knew where it was going to land before the other had even begun. Both of them were in peak condition for a fight, those blows that avoided Spike’s Lightsaber missing his body as he weaved away. They became a blur, Tarhal unleashing a stream of lightning from his fingertips, Spike managing to catch it on his Lightsaber blade before unleashing a gout of fire from his roaring mouth. Tarhal leapt over the flames, proving once again his mastery of Ataru. Extending his free hand, Spike called for his magic, the flames dancing to his tune and racing up his free arm, sheathing it in seemingly living fire.

“You were always the strongest of us!” Tarhal roared, on the offensive now, driving Spike backwards. “Always the best of Nexu clan! We could be gods, but you want to stay a slave!”

“I am no slave!” Spike roared, lashing out and overbalancing.

Time slowed as Tarhal twisted out of the way, raising his Lightsaber to cut through Spike’s arm, just like on Vasdu. Spike tried to pull back but he wasn’t going to be fast enough, Tarhal letting out a victorious snarl as the blade connected.

“Not this time,” Moonstone growled, her voice coming from Spike’s mouth.

As the blade connected, a green film encased Spike’s arm, his eyes glowing bright green as he channelled his magic, or rather Moonstone channelled it for him. Tarhal’s Lightsaber skidded along the sudden surface, sliding off onto Elusive. Even with much of the force of the blow dissipated, the Lightsaber was still ripped from his hands, Tarhal and Spike stumbling away from each other as the Lightsaber skittered away from Spike.

Spike looked down at his arm, the green glow receding as he felt Moonstone relinquish control once more.

I thought you were never going to do that again Spike pointed out.

I had no choice Moonstone countered We can beat him, but only if you let me help.

I’ll handle the fighting Spike started.

I’ll control the magic Moonstone finished.

Together then? Spike asked.

Always

The whole exchange had taken less than a second, Tarhal already running forward, Spike running to greet him, Moonstone bidding the flames surrounding his left arm to jump to his right as well, sheathing both limbs in fire, his magic flowing to her tune.

Spike was good with magic, but he had learnt by trial and error, and almost always had other things on his mind when he called it. Moonstone had no such distractions, utilising all the reserves Spike had.

Tarhal swung his Lightsaber down hard, Spike bringing up a forearm to knock it away, Moonstone creating a energy field a split second before the two clashed, barely wider than the blade itself, protecting Spike while knocking Tarhal onto the back foot.

Spreading his wings Spike leapt into the air, bringing both his hands down in an arcing hammer blow that had enough strength to dent the deck, metal melting at Spike’s fiery touch. Tarhal had barely avoided the blow but failed to see the tail swinging round behind him, Spike knocking him flying, the Wookie impacting hard with some consoles, smashing them beyond repair. His Lightsaber slipped from his grasp, Spike breaking into a run, crossing the bridge with a speed unobtainable for one not trained in the force, or the Equestrian magics.

With a roar, Tarhal unleashed the full extent of his powers at Spike. He had always been strong in the force, using it to bolster his Lightsaber skills, but now he had tapped into the dark side that power had increased and found new outlets. Sith Lightning arced from his fingers, striking Spike full in the chest with more power than even the torture field had pumped into him. Moonstone went silent as she desperately fought to hold the shield between Spike and the terrifying power of the Wookie, drawing away the flames around his arms to bolster the new shield.

“Tarhal!” Spike roared, managing to take a step forward, the shield faltering for a moment as he did. He felt scales peel away under the assault, only for Moonstone to cauterise the wound, setting his magic into overdrive to heal the wounds.

“Just, give, up!” Tarhal roared, drunk on the power at his fingertips, his words coming out from behind gritted teeth. “Just, die!”

“I know you’re in there!” Spike roared again, taking yet another step forward, approaching his brother. “Let me save you!”

“You can’t, save, anyone! You, never, have! You let us, all die, Spike! Now, another Nexu, dies today!”

Spike let out a roar of pain as a fresh wave of Lightning struck him, the shield Moonstone was holding opening for a split second across his chest. He felt his skin peeling away under the assault, exposing muscles and bones, his heart spasming for an instant before Moonstone closed the shield once more.

“Don’t, make, me, do this!” Spike managed, tears forming in his eyes as he took the final step with a roar, coming within range of Tarhal and grabbing his wrists. Tarhal was strong, fighting against Spike and almost matching the dragon’s strength, almost.

Spike pulled with everything he had, Moonstone pumping any magic not protecting him into his muscles. Tarhal resisted for a split second, before his left arm gave out with a sickening crunch, the shoulder shattering under the immense pressure.

Tarhal screamed in pain, but it only seemed to intensify his power, fuelled by pain, anger and fear of what had to happen next.

“I’m sorry!” Spike roared, tears flowing freely now, before he brought his now free right hand around, grabbing Tarhal by the neck.

The Wookie’s eyes went wide for a split second, abject terror clear in them, before Spike closed his claws, the razor-sharp talons slicing through fur and muscle. Blood erupted from around Spike’s hand as he ripped backwards, dragging fleshy tendons with it.

The Lightning stopped instantly, Tarhal collapsing forwards, Spike catching him as he fell. For a moment, Spike looked at the corpse, tears falling onto Tarhal’s fur, before he let out a scream, Moonstone trying to contain his magic, only to be flung aside, Spike letting his magic pour outwards, uncaring of what was in its way.

One Shall Fall

When the scream finally faded, nothing was left standing within a five meter radius, the deck scorched, the control screens that had been nearby destroyed, and the unfortunates who had been too close to the duel had been utterly vaporised, not even a red mist remaining to mark their existence. Even the viewports of the bridge had been cracked, the emergency shutters sliding into place with a loud crunch of broken armour-glass.

Though the scream may have faded, Spike was far from quiet, his howls and sobs echoing around the bridge as Seugtai approached, resting a hand upon Spike’s back. No words were said, but the meaning was clear. They couldn’t stay here, the whole ship would know about this duel, and even now who knows how many soldiers would be converging here, or from the rest of the fleet. They had to leave, Spike wordlessly standing, still carrying the cold and lifeless body of Tarhal as the pair set off at a run, Moonstone grabbing up both Spike’s and Tarhal’s lightsabers with a flick of her mind, the weapons floating along beside her as she galloped to keep up.

“This way” Seugtai ordered, Spike following wordlessly as the Mandalorian punched in an access code, a turbolift appearing shortly afterwards, the trio stepping inside, allowing the lift to shoot downwards.

“They’ll be waiting for us, you know that right?” Moonstone asked, looking at Seugtai.

“They will be,” the Mandalorian nodded. “But word will have started to spread of…that,” he looked at Tarhal’s corpse before continuing, “and the Sith are nothing if not ambitious. The power struggle will have already begun, apprentices and masters, lords and acolytes, all will be vying for control now, no one will care too much about the three of us, not when Tarhal’s position as master of this fleet is up for grabs.”

“So we’re relying on the Sith’s power struggle to let us out of here? Joy,” Moonstone’s voice was a deadpan monotone, Seugtai unable to keep himself from smirking as he checked the power pack on his Ripper.

“Come now, little pony,” he smirked. “Don’t be scared, there’ll still be plenty here for us to fight through. Unless you’re scared of course?”

“Scared?” Moonstone looked taken aback by the insinuation, before looking at Spike. “Mind if I use Elusive?”

Spike didn’t speak, nodding once as he grabbed Tarhal’s Lightsaber, Moonstone allowing it to slip from her grasp.

“A hundred credits says I reach the ship before you,” she smirked.

“No teleporting, and you’re on,” Seugtai smirked back, twirling his axe as the lift slid to a halt.

Elusive burst into life at a command from Moonstone, the Lightsaber hovering just beside the pony. This was the first time she had ever wielded a weapon, and though she disliked the feeling it gave her, she also knew it would be something Spike could focus on, keeping his mind at least partially from his recent actions, and to do that, she would pay any price.

The doors opened and both pony and Mandalorian shot forward, a trio of Sith squads spread throughout the hanger turning to face them, blasters coming up in well drilled precision. Moonstone surrounded herself with magic as she charged forward, not needing the protecting but succeeding in drawing some of the fire, while Seugtai forced to duck into cover, blaster bolts hammering the side of the transport ship he now sheltered behind, making occasional pot-shots at the Sith to force them into cover as well.

The intensity of the fire was immense on both of them, but then suddenly, it shifted, Seugtai looking around to see Spike exiting the lift, his eyes aflame, Tarhal’s corpse still cradled in one arm, while the red blade of the Sith Lords Lightsaber bathed the dragon in crimson light. If rage had a personification, Seugtai witnessed it now as Spike sprang forward, cutting down three Sith troopers in the blink of an eye, before the Lightsaber went dark, Spike dropping it to the floor as he raised his hand.

Moonstone flared brightly, her fur glowing before she disappeared, the glow transitioning to Spike’s eyes as around him, every Sith in the hanger bay was lifted from the floor, struggling as their weapons were torn from their grasp, fingers snapping as they failed to pull them free of the trigger guards.

Spike’s eyes were still glowing as he clenched his fist, an air of finality preceding the floating Sith being dragged into a single point, a dozen armoured warriors letting out screams as they were forced into the same space as their fellows, their armour buckling as blood erupted around the now perfectly spherical ball of silver that floated above Spike.

“Magnetize,” Spike growled, the talons on his feet digging into the metal as he spoke. Seugtai has the barest of instants to mah-lock himself to the deck, before Spike swung his arm around, hurling the sphere through the air towards the outer hull.

Normally, the hull would have held against such an object, but Spike would not be denied, punching a hole through the ship, the hanger instantly becoming a wind tunnel as the atmosphere began to explosively vent.

Warning sirens went haywire as the entrance doors to the hanger slammed shut, stopping the approaching Sith from entering, leaving Spike and Seugtai alone.

Spike’s eyes stopped glowing as the wind began to die down, Moonstone appearing once more, panting as if she had been as taken aback by the dragon’s actions as Seugtai had been. Wordlessly, Spike turned and walked towards the waiting form of Harmony, Moonstone following him, with Seugtai pausing only to close the hatch behind them.

With a hiss, the airlock cycled, equalising the non-pressure with the pressurised ship’s interior. As soon as the red light switched green, Seugtai sprang forward, Moonstone close behind him, the pair heading for the bridge, Spike walking the other way, heading towards the crew quarters.

In a few moments, Seugtai had punched in the command codes of the ship, the engines firing as the ship ploughed forward, shooting through the gap where integrity fields had once been, sending the ship into a steep dive as soon as they were free.

As few cursory shots followed them, but they were clearly not the priority as all across the fleet, hundreds of shots were traded between the largest ships, all the captains now vying for supremacy in the way of the Sith. Whoever held their nerve the longest would regain control of this armada, and Seugtai did not want to be around when that happened and they turned their attention on Harmony once more.

“The interdiction fields of those capital ships is still blocking us,” Moonstone called, darting between consoles.

“They have short range,” Seugtai called back. “As long as they’re occupied with each other, we should be able to get out of range in fifty-six minutes.”

“And if they come after us before then?” Moonstone asked.

“Pray to whatever it is you hold dear, else this is going to be the worlds shortest escape attempt.”

Just as he finished speaking, an alarm sounded, Seugtai scowling as the ships computer began to speak.

Warning. Warning. Warning. Cargo bay doors opening. Cargo bay depressurisation imminent. All non-eva suited crew vacate the cargo bay immediately. Repeat. Cargo bay doors opening. Cargo bay depressurisation imminent. All non-eva suited crew vacate the cargo bay immediately.

“What’s that bastard doing now,” Seugtai snarled, before Moonstone once more disappeared, Spike’s voice cutting over the intercom, drowning out the repeating message.”

“Keep heading out of range. I’ll take the generators offline.”

“Spike, that’s suicide!” Seugtai roared, but to no avail, the ship letting out a soft ‘thump’ as the cargo bay doors slid open, the air inside rushing out in an instant. Scanners immediately went wild as the air pressure in the void suddenly changed dramatically before fading once more, leaving only a single blip left on the scanner.

“You’re insane,” Seugtai muttered, keeping the ships heading steady, maintaining a sensor lock on Spike as he drew further and further away.

***

Spike hung soundlessly in the void, the cold of absolute nothingness permeating his scales, the moisture on them instantly turning into flecks of ice. He could stay like this for hours, floating all but undetected in deep space, only those who knew exactly what to look for having any hope of finding him. He could stay here and no one would know, no one would miss…

Not that I like being dragged back Moonstone’s voice cut into Spike’s thoughts, but if we have a plan, can we get on with it please? I would rather we were both back on the ship and far away from here.

“As you wish,” Spike’s mouth moved wordlessly as he spoke, no sound escaping from it, but Moonstone heard it nonetheless.

In an instant, the full extent of the plan passed between the pair, Moonstone agreeing without hesitation as she opened up Spike’s fullest reserves of magic, focusing them as with another soundless roar, Spike’s body exploded outwards, growing to his full size in an instant. With a magically assisted beat of his wings, Spike shot forward, powering back towards the fleet they barely just escaped from.

In any normal situation, Spike would have been committing suicide and had he been thinking clearly, Spike never would have attempted such a reckless act, even with Harmony in direct support, let alone with his ship powering away, the distance growing with every passing moment.

There was nothing normal about this situation, nothing sane about the galaxy at war. Nexu were down another member, the Republic burnt, Spike was an outlaw from the Jedi and his beloved Republic.

With a magic roar that cut through the impossibility of sound in space, Spike latched onto a passing Sith fighter, grabbing both the pursued and the pursuer in his rear talons, the sharp claws effortlessly crushing the engine housings, both detonating in miniature stars, Moonstone erecting a shield to protect him from the blast, drawing deep from the wells of his own emotion.

With another flick of his mind, a bomber wing was swatted from the void, their wings locking into terminal spins that saw them careen directly into their intended target, the small corvette exploding as the bomber’s payloads detonated spectacularly.

With the death of the larger vessel, some of the Sith ships seemed to take notice, turbolaser rounds sparking off in his direction, but with his reactions heightened, his magic strengthen by the raw power of the emotions that flowed through him, they may as well have been firing spikes through treacle.

Landing on the larger of the two interdictor ships, Spike raised a fist, magic surrounding his claws, elongating into a long, sharp spike, before he punched it downwards, ripping through the sensitive generator in an instant, those crew men inside screaming as they were claimed by the void.

Spike had never felt this close to Desolation before, not without succumbing to the power his darker side offered him. The memories brought back a spike of pain, Spike growling as he launched himself forward, spiking forward and…

SPIKE! Moonstone roared, her voice physically assaulting Spike as it lanced deep into his mind. Snap out of it, now!

“Moonstone? I…” Spike began.

I was calling you, you will answer me next time Moonstone snapped, Spike only just hearing the utter concentration in her voice…and the pain.

Looking down at himself, Spike could see his body was pockmarked with scorch marks from where a turbo laser cannon had breached Moonstone’s shields, robbed of much of its strength but powerful, nonetheless. His body ached, his mind suddenly ice cold as the full weight of how much Moonstone had been supporting his mad, thoughtless assault crashed into him.

“Moonstone, I…” Spike tried again.

Shut up she hissed, mentally wincing in a move that Spike felt punch straight through his soul. Shut up shut up shut up and just fly! We need to get out of here

Nodding, Spike pushed himself forward once more, watching as the two remaining interdictor vessels traded blows. One would survive, one would not, that much was obvious from the duel, and with that in mind, Spike angled towards the winning vessel. Few attempts to stop him impacted, Moonstone screaming in pain with each attempt, but she persevered, Spike remembering just how strong his magical companion was.

With a roar, Spike landed on the winning capital ship, his cry turning to fire as he belched forth flames hot enough to melt Neuranium, turning the hull around the generator to slag. The generator itself on such a vessel was heavily shielded, provided with more shielding than any other part of the ship, save the bridge, but the hull around it was not so lucky. With a grinding screech only audible as atmosphere seeped out of the ship, the generator detached, losing power almost the same instant the third and final interdictor ship, Tarhal’s old flagship, died.

“Harmony…Seugtai, jump now.”

Spike said the words even as he mentally transmitted them, twisting in the void and powering after his ship. With the last capital ship dead, the fight was fast ending, all other ships falling in line underneath the behemoth, presumably under threat of destruction. In a few moments, they would be able to coordinate a strike against him. Spike did not want to give them that chance.

In the far distance, a small speck of white light hyper-accelerated and disappeared, Harmony slipping from the battle sphere.

A moment later, Spike felt Moonstone merging with his consciousness fully, the two becoming one as he too felt the ripples of hyperspace streaking over his body, leaving the Sith far behind them.

The Final Members

The mood was dour as Harmony passed through the integrity fields of Fireshot, touching down with a loud creak as overtaxed landing gear struggled to absorb the weight of the craft now bearing now on them. Though the ship had escaped the Sith armada intact, it had not done so unscathed, huge rents in its armour where fighters had managed to get lucky shots, while one of its engines was smoking and leaking fluid, droids already moving forward to begin repairs. Fireshot was made for this, for getting warships back into the fight, but even so it would take time before she flew again.

His ships flight capabilities however were the last thing on Spike’s mind however, exiting the ship following a floating gurney, Tarhal’s body resting atop it. Spike did not speak, nor did Seugtai who followed after him or Moonstone as she walked beside him. This was a funeral procession, one unfettered by the urgency of escape. This was a time of mourning, none wishing to interrupt that.

“You’ve returned!” a voice sounded, the door at the far end of the hanger sliding shut as Herank strode forth, her eyes immediately falling on Tarha;’s corpse, her face twisting into a smile. “And you killed the rug! Oh well done, Spike. Knew you had it in you, seems like only yesterday I almost killed...”

“Shut. Up,” Seugtai, his arm flying out to hover between Spike and Herank, Moonstone clearly engaged in a conversation only the two magic users could hear.

Spike’s face looked like thunder personified, rage clearly boiling behind his eyes, but he did not break stride, did not turn to face Herank or even acknowledge her presence, Moonstone trotting alongside him while Seugtai fell behind, stopping in front of the wizened crime lord.

“It’s not every day we kill a Sith Lord,” Herank beamed, apparently unaware of the effects of her words and utterly ignoring Seugtai’s command.

A single shot rang out across the hanger, Seugtai’s ripper in his hand, Herank collapsing to the floor as a scream of agony ripped from her lips, her hands clutching the wound in her lower stomach. Around the hanger, guards began to move, but a single look from Seugtai stopped them in their tracks, each now sharing worried glances with their fellows. They were part of the criminal syndicate that Herank had secured for Spike’s private war, far more loyal to her than to any other, but they also knew the stories that trailed the old Mandalorian, as well as the dragon who called him friend, none wishing to step in before they had to.

“You...you shot me,” Herank said incredulously, her words coming out as a strained gasp.

“Astute observation, yes,” Seugtai nodded, his helmet betraying no emotion whatsoever. “Now, I assume I have your attention?”

“My attention?!” Herank roared, another scream ripping from her lips as she over-exerted herself. “I’m dying and you want my attention?!”

“The round passed through you, no splintering. It missed vital organs causing only minor tissue and muscular damage,” Seugtai said matter-of-factly. “If I wished you dead, you would be dead. Instead I asked you a question, which I am going to ask again.”

Another shot rang out, this time ripping through Herank’s right knee, fresh screams echoing around the hanger. Segutai listened, before producing a small injector, jamming it unceremoniously into Herank’s neck and depressing the trigger, shooting the contents into the Crime Lord’s neck.

The effect was near instantaneous, Herank’s moves becoming lethargic, the powerful painkiller taking hold as Seugtai stood up.

“That was the only painkiller I have left, which means I need to ask again, you will suffer for making me repeat myself. Do. I. Have. your. Attention?”

“Yes,” Herank growled through gritted teeth.

“Good,” Segutai nodded. “You are not in charge, Herank. I think this proves you have no further power here. The ones you brought into this alliance, who supposedly answered to you, are now far more scared of Spike and I than they are of you, and since fear was all you offered, the money coming from their own actions, you have very little tangible power left. Next time you attempt to rial Spike, I will place a hole between your eyes and flush from the airlock. You can stay as a free woman and continue to fight with us, you can live out the war in a prison cell once more, or you can make a snarky remark now and test me, but regardless, you are no longer on equal footing with the rest of us, and if you make comments about Spike’s fallen brethren again, if you attempt to get a rise out of him again, if you so much as put a finger out of line, you die.”

Seugtai did not wait to hear what she had to say, turning to follow Spike, his helmets rear sensors springing to life with a thought, providing him a perfect view of Herank as he walked away. It was true what they said, he mused. Mandalorians did have eyes in the back of their head, at least when wearing their helmet.

Sighing to himself, Seugtai watched as Herank threw open her robe, a pistol flying into her hands. Seugtai didn’t turn, a blaster bolt ringing out, followed by another, and another.

Herank fell to the floor, her blaster still fully charged and prepared to fire, half a dozen smoking holes riddling her body. Around the hanger, guards returned to a more relaxed pose, blaster rifles cooling as a pair of droids moved forward, dragging the corpse of the once feared Crime Lord towards the station plasma reactor for incineration.

***

Seugtai finally caught up with Spike, standing beside him on the bridge of a small frigate. Tarhal’s body had been secured in the small med-bay before his arrival, Spike not turning to look as he spoke.

“What happened with Herank?”

“I offered her the chance to back down quietly. She didn’t. She’s dead,” Seugtai said matter-of-factly, Spike nodding as he spoke.

“Thank you for dealing with that. You’re just in time to watch me probably make a mistake.”

“I wish you wouldn’t,” Moonstone sighed. “I know Seugtai agrees with me in this, its a risk that...”

“Needs to be taken,” Spike finished for her. “He was Nexu, no matter what path he took, I’m still Nexu no matter what path I’ve taken, but by the letter of the law, only one of us is still Nexu, and he needs to know.”

As Spike finished speaking, the comms officer placed a hand to his ear, nodding as he listened to whatever was sounding over his comm bead, before turning and giving a thumbs up to Spike.

“Drop communication barriers and open bands for holo-transmission,” he ordered, a split second later a soft beep sounding, before a blue hologram materialised in front of Spike.

“Zule,” Spike nodded.

Zule looked older than the last time Spike had seen him, how hair matted and balding in places, scars criss crossing his face, leading to two bionic eyes that gleamed with a fire, while heavy set shoulders seemed to be holding up the weight of the galaxy’s woes. But more than all that, he simply looked tired, just tired.

“Spike,” Zule folded his arms. “Remind me again why I shouldn’t be telling the council about this?”

“Still surprised you haven’t,” Spike admitted. “This isn’t Jedi business. Isn’t Republic business or war business. We only have one thing in common and you know it. We need to mark his passing.”

“Tarhal?”

“Well it isn’t me and it isn’t you, and there were only three of us left, so yes, Tarhal,” Spike rolled his eyes. “Nexu grows smaller, Asho got a burial on Coruscant as a Jedi, Corinna got repatriated as a War Hero. You’ll get the same treatment as Asho did and I don’t care what I get, but Tarhal deserves to be remembered as the Jedi he was, not the Sith he became.”

“What are you proposing?” Zule asked. “You know he’ll never be buried in the temple, nor will he get rights as a general, traitors body’s are burnt.”

“I know that,” Spike snapped, a snarl gracing his lips for an instant before he got it back under control.

“There is no emotion, Spike,” Zule chided.

“Bullshit and you know it,” Spike glared back. “There is always emotion, always has been always will be. ‘There is no emotion, there is peace’. Have you ever listened to that, Zule? No emotion does not bring peace, it brings depression, which breeds resentment which breeds anger. How many fallen Jedi were only set on that path because the Jedi told them for so long that they needed to repress their emotions and the Sith offered them an outlet? How many more could have been spared if the Council taught the true code, Emotion, yet peace. Ignorance, yet knowledge. Passion, yet serenity. Chaos, yet harmony. Death, yet the Force. You must see that there is no black and white, Zule. There’s grey. Light grey, dark grey, middling grey and a million million other spectrums. If we were simple protectors rather than monks, the galaxy would be an easier place, and the Sith would not be the threat they are today.”

“And yet every time throughout history that is tried, your methodology is proven wrong,” Zule snapped. “The First Schism, the Hundred Years Darkness, the Great Hyperspace War, the Sith War, the current conflict against Revan, and that’s just against other force users. The Gank Wars? The Mandalorian Wars? How many other conflicts have arisen because emotions are allowed to run rampant. If the entire galaxy adhered to the Jedi Code as the temple teaches, there would be peace.”

“Peace established on conformity and uphold by the threat of destruction. That is no peace, that is tyranny, it is the cancer of the Jedi, that we call ourselves the ‘good guys’ so that any who fight against us must be ‘bad guys’. There is no room in your mind for doubt, Zule, that is why the Jedi are dangerous, it is why I am proud not to count myself amongst your number anymore, leaving was the right choice.”

“You did not leave, you were cast out.”

“I flew from Coruscant under my steam but regardless, the point is the same. The Jedi are not the shining knights everyone believes them to be, you know it, I know it. The Sith want to dominate and destroy, they must be opposed, the Republic is flawed but it works, but the Jedi are only protectors because they have won, not because of moral high ground.”

“You are naive,” Zule turned his nose up as he spoke. “You always have been, your mind so small that you can only think of yourself. The Jedi must be bigger, the galaxy looks to us for stability.”

“Listen to yourself,” Spike roared. “How is what you preach not tyranny? How is your peace through the threat of violence any different from the peace under threat of annihilation that the Sith promise? The worlds they have conquered are not dark places of permanent violence, they are as peaceful as any core world, but they step out of line, they are punished, just as the Jedi punish any of their order who step out of line. We are the same, and deep down you know it.”

For a long moment, neither spoke, before Spike let out a sharp breath and held his hands up.

“We could have, and have had, this conversation for hours upon hours. I am right, you are wrong, I am wrong, you are right. We won’t solve our differences standing at odds over hologram, and a war is no place for philosophy even if we were face to face. I am talking about Tarhal and his last rites. You know his wishes, or at least I hope you haven’t forgotten them.”

“Of course I haven’t,” Zule sighed. “And you are right, this is no time for this debate. You are travelling to Kashyyyk?”

“I am,” Spike nodded. “The Czerka Corporation holds the world as a slave pen, but I can’t not go.”

“Not anymore they don’t,” Zule shook his head. “Reports are sketchy at the moment, but it seems the Wookies rose up against Czerka, all evidence points to a massive victory against the company, and they’re now pulling out.”

“Republic intervention?” Spike asked, wrong footed by the sudden change.

“If it was, it wasn’t a sanctioned operation,” Zule shook his head, before catching Spike’s glare and sighing. “Did we want to? Yes, but we don’t have the manpower and you know it. The war is taxing us far too much to allow us the luxury of disbanding such practices.”

“Doesn’t change the taste,” Spike muttered. “Regardless, I will be going, he will be buried at the base of the wroshyr-tree of his village regardless of the political situation of the world. If you would come, it would mean much to his spirit...and to mine.”

“Send me the time of your arrival and I will endeavour to extradite myself from my current command long enough to attend,” Zule bowed, before terminating the link.

“You know he’ll bring a fleet with him, right?” Seugtai asked.

“You’re a wanted man, Spike,” Moonstone agreed. “And you just told someone who has never liked you exactly where you’re going to be. He won’t pass that up.”

“We’ll deal with it,” Spike sighed. “I know the Mandalorians don’t have such complicated burial procedures, ‘Not gone, just marching far away’ and all that. I admire it if I’m honest, I really do, but Tarhal wished this, as soon as possible after his passing, to be returned to his homeworld and his family. I failed him once before, I’m not failing in this. You are welcome to stay behind if you wish, Seugtai, I would say the same to you Moonstone but that isn’t viable. But I’m going, regardless of what you attempt to say otherwise.”

“Oh we’re coming with you,” Segutai shook his head. “I just want to voice my concerns that if we get captured again, I’m not bailing you out a second time.”

“Duly noted,” Spike snorted, a small smile crossing his face for what felt like the first time in years. “Pilot, take us out and plot a course. Full hyperspace diffusion protocols, if the Republic are waiting for us, I don’t want them tracing our jump back here easily. Once you have an eta, send a message to Zule, I will provide the frequency and encryption key when ready.”

“Aye sir, taking us out,” the pilot called, the ship rumbling to life as it edged out of Fireshot station and into the inky darkness of the void. After a few minutes of burning away from the gravity well of the world, a klaxon sounded throughout the ship, the hyperdrive activating and sending the ship hurtling towards whatever awaited them at Kashyyyk.

Nexu Remnants

Kashyyyk was a beautiful world, Spike reminded of that each time he saw it. Trees as far as the eye could see, a sense of peace even in such a hostile environment. As much as it may have lacked the outward ‘sophistication’ of worlds in the core, Spike could think of few worlds that matched its beauty, something he had told Tarhal every time the pair had visited lifetimes ago.

As he walked across the surface of the landing pad, he could see nothing but regret, not stemming from the blood that still stained the floor, but simply from all the memories he would now never have, all the times he and Tarhal would never spend upon the surface of the world. A memory came back as he walked, Spike running beside Tarhal, just the pair of them on the forest floor far below where he now stood. It was after the Exar Kun War, Spikes wings clear upon his back, but it was not too far afterwards, the pair on the hunt for a Terentatek beast.

How simple that had been. They had a mission, they had righteousness on their side, the Terentatek was nothing but a threat to all life, they were here to stop it and they were together. They were good, it was bad, light and dark.

Spike couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen the galaxy in anything other than a grey blur.

A thud echoed from behind Spike, the sound of a weapon charging up before a grow split the air.

“Halt, outsider.”

Spike stopped instantly, raising his hands in placation, though he did not turn around.

“I am no outsider,” he responded, slipping into a broken though functional Shyriiwook. He knew the wookies here could understand Galactic Basic, Czerka Corporation had ensured that, but Spike hoped speaking in their native tongue would put some tension at ease. Recently liberated slave worlds were rarely accepting of outsiders, especially ones bearing corpses of their own species.

“Lies, I have never seen you or your kind, you do not belong,” the voice growled again, getting closer, Spike feeling the barrel of a bowcaster pressing into the small of his back.

“I am not from here, but I have visited Kashyyyk across the years with one of your own,” Spike continued. “He was my friend and he and I made a vow should one of us fall. I am here to fulfil that vow and bring him home to rest.”

At this, Spike carefully stood aside and turned to face the Wookie who had appeared behind him, likely having been waiting in the trees above to ambush any outsiders as he had done to Spike. She was young, but she already had more than his fair share of scars, some of which looked extremely fresh, likely gained during the revolution.

“And how do I know you didn’t kill him or name him as slave?” the Wookie asked, eyeing Tarhal’s corpse but advancing on Spike, her bowcaster now held beneath Spike’s jaw.

“Simple,” Spike sighed. “Because I freely admit I killed him with my own claw. We fought, he fell, and I am treating him as the brother he was, not the monster he became.”

The wookie seemed taken aback by this abrupt response, clearly not expecting an admission of guilt instead of muttered excuses, but quickly recovered her senses, bringing the bowcaster up and aiming directly at Spike’s head.

“Give me a reason not to pull the trigger,” she snarled.

“Because Spike is many things, and I do not think highly of him, but I would never accuse him of killing Tarhal unless there was no choice left to him.”

Spike recognised the voice, mentally stealing himself as Zule walked up the ramp towards the landing platform, a Wookie standing beside him.

“Master Jedi,” the bowcaster armed Wookie muttered, glancing at Zule though keeping his aim unwavering. “You know this murderer?”

“Former general and former Jedi Master. Yes, I know him,” Zule nodded, unable or perhaps simply unwilling to hide the contempt from his voice. “Lower your weapon, please. Tarhal had fallen to the Dark Side and fought against the Republic and the Jedi Order, his death is regrettable but alas, it seems unavoidable. Perhaps if a competent...”

“I would suggest you do not finish that statement,” Spike snarled, his anger flaring as he turned on Zule, towering over the human. To his credit, Zule didn’t flinch.

“Surrender your weapons, Spike,” Zule held his hand out, Spike scoffing at the gesture.

“Why? Am I under arrest?”

“You know full well I cannot allow you to leave this place to return to your criminal associates. You will surrender your weapons, we shall put Tarhal to rest, and you shall accompany me back to Coruscant of your own free will, and in return, I shall speak on your behalf and your willingness to come peacefully.”

“Oh thank you so much,” Spike simpered sarcastically. “I informed you of this because I wished you to be present, I am not further bismerching Tarhal’s memory with the idea of fighting over his corpse. We will bring this up afterwards, not now.”

“I believe we can accept that, master,” another voice this time, Spike’s eyes widening as he turned to see Katara, a smile spreading across his face despite himself.

“It is good to see you,” Spike nodded, “though I am no one's master.”

“I know, Spike,” Katara looked a little embarrassed as she spoke, Spike’s heart sinking as he realised who Katara had been speaking to.

“You’re her master now, Zule?”

“Someone had to step in after your abandonment,” Zule nodded.

Spike snarled, though he managed to keep it to a minimum, before turning to the Wookies.

“I humbly request entrance into the Shadowlands, Tarhal requested to be buried at the based of the Wroshyr-tree that holds aloft the Tojj Clan village.”

“It is dangerous,” the Wookie who had accompanied Zule spoke, his fur flecked with grey, clearly marking him as an elder. “But I suspect you are capable of handling it. I am Trras, Chieftain of the Tojj clan. Zule told me of your coming, the village mourns but there are none who remain to mourn Tarhal himself. If you wish to bury him, you shall do so alone, but once you are done, please meet me in my village, I will instruct our guards to guide you. I would speak with you then, but for now, I have no further words, Bewlall will lead you to the lift into the Shadowlands.”

The other wookiee, Bewlall, nodded at this, slinging her bowcaster and indicating for the others to follow, Spike following her without a word, the hovering stretcher bearing Tarhal’s corpse floating alongside him.

For a time they walked in silence, Bewlall in front, Zule and Katara bringing up the rear, Spike noting that while Katara walked with ease coupled with a slight awkwardness at the situation, Zule’s dominant hand was forever still, hovering by his lightsaber, clearly ready to spring into action the moment Spike tried something. The lack of trust his one time comrade now had for him was telling, part of Spike lamenting that so much had happened to drive them to this.

“The galaxy is a complex place where two clan members only come together to mourn the death of a fallen brother,” Spike spoke, his voice a low rumble.

“There’s nothing complex about it,” Zule said dismissively. “One us remained true to our order, you and Tarhal did not.”

“The order did not stay true either,” Spike pointed out. “The defenders of the Republic stopped defending it, the keepers of the peace turned their back on a threat to it, and the Jedi arrayed themselves against those who would defend us. Were they right? Were they wrong? The Mandalorian Wars bred Revan and Malak...”

“And you,” Zule pointed out.

“And me,” Spike conceded the point. “It was responsible for our current war, and yet had we not fought, would the Republic still stand? And if it did not, would the surviving Jedi be able to tear the galaxy apart against our own?The galaxy is complex, and I wish it wasn’t so.”

Spike wasn’t sure if Zule was going to respond, but eventually he spoke, his words surprising Spike.

“As do I, Spike. I do not relish the fact we stand apart, so distant from where we once were. I still remember the days before Coruscant. There were five of us, life was easy, there was no war. Not until Exar Kun. Even then, we had peace for two decades and now...peace is distant.”

“I haven’t known it for most of my life,” Katara joined in. “The Mandalorians came when I was a child and I met Spike as a result. Forgive me for saying so, but I wouldn’t change anything, because who knows what else would replace the future? Mandalorians ruling the galaxy, only for the Hutts to rise up? Who’s to say what such changes would bring.”

“Definitely complex when Katara makes the best out of all of us,” Spike laughed, even Zule letting out a chuckle.

“Guess it was too much to hope you’d changed,” Katara rolled her eyes.

“Never going to, you know that,” Spike smirked.

“If you’re quite finished,” Bewlall cut in, annoyance clear in her voice. “We’re here.”

Bewlall stopped before a small wooden platform, a series of thick vines suspending it above the forest floor. On any other world, Spike wouldn’t have trusted such a contraption in the slightest, its primitive design looking utterly unsuited for anything more than the smallest of descents, but on Kashyyyk, such was the norm, and Spike had trusted these before he had sprouted wings.

“Thank you, Bewlall,” Zule nodded. “We will attend Chieftain Trras nce our business has concluded.”

“I will wait for you,” Bewlall growled, before bending her knees and jumping forward, burning herself onto the neighbouring tree and clambering upwards with ease. Within seconds, she was gone from sight, leaving the trio alone as they clambered onto the lift, Tarhal’s ever-present corpse floating beside them.

The descent took a considerable amount of time, the creak of vines and wood acting as a backdrop to the sporadic small talk that cropped up between Spike and the others. What Spike had said was true, nothing was simple, and that was especially true in attempting to break the awkward silence that had sprung up now Bewlall had disappeared. How did you make lighthearted conversation with someone who was either blinded by dogma and wanted to see you locked away once more, a savage killer who deserved to be imprisoned, or a student who answered to two masters on opposite sides of a gulf, depending on which body you stood as.

Mercifully, the lift soon touched down on the forest floor, the shadowlands more than earning their name as an pervasive darkness surrounded them, Spike struggling to see before Zule let out a soft whistle, a small spherical droid floating out of the folds of his robe, a spotlight stabbing out against the darkness.

Finally, after yet more awkward small talk, they reached their destination, a huge tree sprouting up before them, its base larger than many of the tower blocks that littered the upper levels of Coruscant. Spike was always struck dumb by the sheer size of the Wroshyr, nothing that large having any reason to be living, not made by sentient species.

“We should not linger,” Zule murmured. “I do not wish to rush the proceedings, but the Shadowlands are not a place we should remain for longer than required. Who knows if the Great Hunt truly purged these depths.

“Agreed,” Spike nodded, turning to deftly lift Tarhal’s body from where it rested, laying it deftly at the base of the tree as Zule and Katara moved to gather fallen branches, an easy task that quickly bore fruit.

In short order, Tarhal’s body was no longer visible, an intricate latticework of branches now encasing his form, grassy roots interlaced between the branches. With each branch placed, Spike felt like a nail was being driven into a coffin, a finality that was starting to crush down upon him, and as the final piece was slid into place, tears were rolling freely down his face.

“You knew him best, Spike,” Zule murmured. “By right, you must speak first.”

Spike nodded, rubbing an arm across his face in an ineffectual attempt to dry his tears.

“Tarhal was a great warrior in his life, a luminous being exemplifying the Jedi way. He was a brave warrior, fearless in his drive to protect others...and a good friend.”

Yet more tears were falling down Spike’s face now, Spike giving up trying to dry them.

“Tarhal was my oldest friend, the one closest to me in Nexu, the one I fought and bled alongside more than any other. We shared a bond, sometimes I think the force kept bringing us back together for a reason, but I don’t know how much I believe in all that. He saved my life more than once...but when it mattered...I couldn’t save him.”

Spike was sobbing now, his words interspersed with pauses for tears.

“If I hadn’t abandoned him...abandoned the war, he would never have followed Reven, never have gone into the unknown regions, never have fallen for the lies of the Sith. If I had been a better friend...none of us would be here today. I’m sorry, Tarhal. I’m sorry for everything, for all my failures that led us here today, and I swear on everything I have ever held sacred that I will do better. I will make amends for my wrongs, and every action will clear your name, the debt you incurred will be wiped clean, on my honour as a dragon.”

Spike’s voice broke as he spoke the last words, Zule standing beside him and placing a hand on one shoulder, Katara doing the same on his other side.

“Tarhal was a great Jedi,” Zule spoke now, his voice strong and carrying across the clearing. “He was a proud member of Clan Nexu, a hero of our order, and a good friend. I do not agree with many of his actions, I still maintain he was wrong in the Mandalorian Wars, but I choose to remember him as the warrior he was, the great keeper of the peace who ended the Kalixian Blockade with naught but words, who broke the slaving ring of Herank Kalia...”

Spike internally winced at the name, keeping his mind far from the fact he had freed her.

“...and captured its queen alive. He was one of the greatest of our kind, a Jedi with few his equal, and now, the galaxy is darker for his passing.”

Zule finished, bowing his head as he did so, the sounds of the forest engulfing the three, before Katara’s soft voice cut through.

“I never truly knew Tarhal,” she began, pausing as if waiting for someone to cut her off before continuing when she realised no one was going to. “By the time I joined the order, he had already marched to war, and by the time I stood as a Padawan beneath Spike, we were no longer on its frontlines. But I do remember the stories, the tales that Spike wove of his greatest friend. Even allowing for hyperbole, if even half of those stories are half true, then I regret that I shall never get to truly know him until I too am one with the force.”

Spike smiled down at his one time padawan, before looking at Zule, the man nodding before bowing his head once more.

With a soft exhale, Spike let out a small tongue of fire, the flames licking at the branches that surrounded Tarhal and instantly setting them ablaze. The floor around the pyre was damp, and the great Wroshyr tree itself would never succumb to something as petty as fire, even that of a dragon, and so even as the fire grew, it did not spread, the pyre soon burning from end to end.

Both Zule and Katara had retreated at this point, the heat of the flames threatening to singe eyebrows or light their own robes, Katara being far quicker to jump away, clearly remembering her own brush with a far larger inferno years earlier. Spike was left alone, the fire little more than a warmth to him. He resolved to watch until the final ember had died out, placing a hand lightly upon the pyre, right above where Tarhal’s head was resting. No more words were said aloud, everything that needed to be spoken had now been spoken. It took hours for the fires to die, Zule and Katara moving further away, sitting and meditating on the forest floor, leaving Spike to his mourning, but finally, the flames died, a pile of ashes all that now remained of the pyre and the warrior it had borne to the afterlife.

“Come on,” Spike muttered, turning to look at the others, a subtle push of magic sending the ash flying across the clearing, scattering it to the four winds.

Once more they walked in silence to the lift, ascending from the darkness of the Shadowlands to the walkway above once more, Bewlall waiting as she said she would, jumping down from the canopy cover as they stepped from the lift.

“It is done?” she asked, cocking her head.

“It is,” Zule nodded, answering before Spike could speak. “Please, lead on to your village. Katara will walk with you, I will follow with Spike, there is something I must speak of with him for his ears alone.”

Bewlall scowled at this, clearly not enjoying the idea of taking what could be equated to an order, but she did not take action beyond that, turning and setting off along the wooden walkways, Katara walking alongside her, glancing back at Spike and Zule as they waited, ensuring they were out of earshot. Once they had both gotten far enough away, Zule only moving to check that the locator beacon Katara carried was working correctly, he turned to look at Spike fully.

“So is this where you try and arrest me?” Spike asked warily.

“I wouldn’t have sent Katara away for that,” Zule pointed out. “We still have Trras to attend upon, he will be expecting us as part of the finalisation of the ceremony we have begun. Afterwards, I shall be taking you into custody, but not now.”

Spike rolled his eyes at the sanctimonious speel coming from Zule, before continuing.

“Then what? Can’t be a war secret then can it?”

“Not a war secret, no,” Zule admitted. “Republic strategy is a different matter. No, this is an order secret, one you have a right to know, but one you must keep silent, on your word. I trust I can still lay faith in that, Spike?”

“My word is my bond, I’ll agree to keep it if this is that important,” Spike nodded. “So, what’s happened? Has to be big for you to tell me.”

“It is,” Zule seemed to brace himself, looking around to ensure they were not being overheard before finally giving voice to what was weighing on him.

“Revan is dead.”

Mando'ad

The flight into orbit was a tense one, but unnecessarily so as it turned out, none of the Republic ships placing themselves between the shuttle and Harmony, Seugtai waiting impatiently for their arrival. In short order, they left the system, burning their engines to the limit just in case anyone changed their mind and decided to come after them.

A dozen jumps later, and they were back at Fireshot, some semblance of normality returning to the station, as normal as it could be anyway. Raids were sent out as days turned to weeks turned to months. As time passed, the truth of Zule’s words became clearer and clearer, the Sith’s tactics taking a brutal and unsubtle turn. Where once they had been utterly unknowable in their true designs, now they were as open as a book, and yet that was little comfort. Fresh ships poured forth from Malak’s empire, a seemingly never ending supply more powerful than all save the largest Republic vessels, almost all of which were bespoke prototypes, not production models, forcing the Republic to fall back on the Hammerhead Cruiser time and time again. The Hammerhead was a good ship, but time and time agin they were outmatched and outgunned.

As equally outmatched by the Sith were Spike’s own forces, the aging Battlegroup he commanded taking loss after loss even against small numbers of ships, and though they did manage to capture some vessels in return, the implications of such events happening across the galaxy led to only one conclusion;

The Sith under Malak were going to bleed the Republic dry. Their victory would not come in a single great battle, but in a hundred small blows, each one a pinprick that would eventually find the last Republic fleet crippled, and the entire Core System open and unguarded.

“How many this time?” Spike asked, not turning as the door to Fireshot’s command centre slid open.

“Three Hammerheads and a Forray,” Seugtai responded, stopping beside Spike and bringing up a holo-display, sweeping four ships to the side with an air of finality. “We managed to get away with some of the new Sith blasters, as well as a shielding prototype and three suits of armour, all undamaged.”

“The fuel?” Spike asked.

“Destroyed before we could reach it, local insurgents as far as we can tell. The entire refinery went up as soon as we entered the system, as far as we can tell, there were half a dozen vessels being refuelled at the time, I guess whoever was working against the Sith saw the ships preparing to leave and didn’t want to lose their quarry.”

“We needed that fuel,” Spike sighed, shaking his head. “At least the Sith don’t have it. Have the rifles passed out amongst the best shots, send two for analysis for weaknesses in their design and send a few to the deadrop for the Republic, same with the shield. We don’t have the resources to reverse engineer that level of technology.”

“Already done,” Seugtai replied. “Anything happen while we were away?”

“Nothing of note,” Spike shook his head. “Fire Damage in hangar 7-Delta is still being assessed but it looks like it’s extensive. I’ve been asked to stay out, something about the structural integrity of the floor no longer having the capability of bearing heavy loads.”

“In other words someone called him fat,” Moonstone snorted.

“Thanks,” Spike rolled his eyes, but couldn’t hide the smirk from his lips, a chuckle from beneath Seugtai’s helmet made it clear that he couldn’t keep himself from laughing either.

“Ensign, you have the con. If anything happens, I’ll be in my quarters.”

The devaronian nodded without a word, Spike knowing the man better than needing to get his spoken confirmation as he turned and left the room, Moonstone in tow. Seugtai watched as the pair went, before walking forward, laying a hand on the ensign’s shoulders.

“Is it progressing on schedule?” he asked.

“It is sir,” the man nodded, not looking up from his console. “Parts have been skimmed from what we’ve taken in the past few raids, anything we couldn’t get from that we have managed to purchase using standard back channels and dead drops. It’s all off the books, no one who isn’t involved will know about it.”

“Good,” Seugtai nodded. “Make sure to send repair droids to the hanger, repulsor equipped ones at that. Spike needs to stay away, if he doesn’t, I will hold you responsible, is that clear?”

“Crystal sir,” the man agreed, Seugtai smiling beneath his helmet, before turning and following after Spike.

Seugtai drew some stares as he passed, ignoring all of them as he strode the station’s hallways, many looking away if he so much as glanced in his direction. Each face he saw shared the same emotions, fear, coupled with anger, hatred and, strangely enough, confusion.

He understood the reasoning behind all of them of course, it was hard not to. Not so long ago, the Mandalorians had been where the Sith were, spreading death and terror throughout the Republic, even as far as the Inner Core, something even the Sith had still failed to do. More than one of the crew here would have lost friends, family and loved ones in that war, and Seugtai was a prime target for venting such feelings. Not that any were foolish enough to try anything of course, both his own proven skill at arms and Spike’s protection of him kept any from attempting that, but it didn’t mean they had to like him.

In all honesty, it was the confusion they displayed that amused him the most, never failing to bring a smile on behind his helmet when he caught sight of it. So many of them had forgotten that the neo-crusaders were never the true Mandalorians. A part yes, a vital part that nearly collapsed the Republic no doubt, but they were not the be all and end all. Before they were the neo-crusaders, they had just been crusaders, brought together through common bonds and the history of his species. Yet another thing that people forgot, even the rest of the Mandalorians. Before they were a culture, a people, they were a species, the Taung, and while they may be few and far between now, it was one thing Seugtai would never allow to be forgotten. It was why he had resisted the Neo-Crusader movement, why he had remained as a simple Crusader, clad in the Beskar-lined bone armour of his great ancestors. He was born into the life of the Mandalorian Crusaders, and he would die the same.

He was still musing as he reached Spike’s quarters, the doors sliding open at his approach, the droid controller programmed to recognise and permit him entry. The room was large by comparison to many on the station, as befitted the captains quarters, a large bed taking up one side of the room, looking like a score of standard military cots welded together to accommodate Spike’s size. On the far wall was a desk, numerous monitors showing various readouts, both from the station or from across the galaxy, sifted from the HoloNet, either from public knowledge or backdoor access to some lesser Republic Military installations. In truth, this information was all transmitted directly to the stations communications centre, specialists looking over, categorising and sorting all information that was gathered, but Spike was ever the control-freak, liking to keep a steady stream running at all times.

Spike wasn’t at the desk though, instead staring at the third and final wall in silent contemplation. No battle readouts crossed this wall, no tactical information of any kind. Instead, the wall was filled with weapons of every scope and calibre imaginable, from blasters to vibro-blades, a veritable arsenal of some of the most deadly weapons imaginable and yet ones that would never again draw blood.

Each weapon told a story, taken from fallen allies or vanquished foes to mark their passing, all centered around two near identical weapons that had started the practice; Tarhals’s family warblade, and Tarhal’s lightsaber, the weapon deactivated, though still functional if one was forced to use it. Beside these two blades was one of Spike’s own weapons, the vibro-glaive he had wielded when Seugtai had first met him, beside that a heavy disruptor cannon taken from a Sith Admiral. Scattered throughout the seemingly chaotic mess were lightsaber hilts, all showing the signs of battle. Seugtai could not make heads or tails of any sort of organisational structure in play on the wall, but he knew better than to question another warrior's commemorative process.

“You do your foes great honour, displaying them amongst your allies,” Seugtai noted, moving to stand beside Spike, the dragon towering over the Mandalorian. “You’ve certainly grown past the hatred you had for them when we first met.”

“Oh that’s still there,” Spike assured him, taking a deep breath before sighing, his shoulders falling as if he had just taken a weight off his back. “I hate everything they stand for, everything they fight for, I just...I can’t hate Tarhal. I’ve tried to. To rage and scream at his memory, but there’s only the good ones left, the bad ones suppressed and fading fast. He was a good man once, better than I ever was, he was my friend...my brother. He didn’t get redemption in life but I gave it to him in death, and each of those we now stand against could be the same. How much has the dark side twisted them? How much have they been lied to, or coerced into fighting for a cause not their own? They have to be fought, a certain level of hatred is required for that, but I can’t bring myself to hate the individual. Not anymore.”

“Hatred has no place in a warriors heart, Spike,” Seugtai murmured softly, placing a hand on Spike’s arm. “Anger, rage in the moment, they have their place, but hatred isn’t healthy for anyone.”

“Coming from a Mandalorian,” Spike quipped.

“Yes, coming from a Mandalorian,” Seugtai crossed his arms. “You don’t know much about our culture, do you, Spike?”

“I know enough,” Spike snorted.

“You fought us, you us as warriors,” Seugtai conceded, but I asked if you knew our culture.”

“They’re one and the same,” Spike said bluntly. “Mandalorians live to fight and fight to live.”

“We do, but we don’t hate, we don’t hold onto that. I fought the Republic willingly, and I would do so again if called upon by my Mandalore, but I bear it no ill-will. We fought, we lost, you proved yourself the stronger of us, your Revan led the Republic with even more skill than Mandalore himself, and for that we respect you.”

“I’ve met plenty of Mandalorians who’ve held grudges,” Spike huffed. Cassus for one, others in the Great Sith War. Don’t tell me no one holds grudges.”

“Grudges in war time, yes. But if I held grudges afterwards, I wouldn’t be here now would I, Beast of Ranox?”

The effect was instantaneous, Seugtai feeling a pressure around his throat in an instant, lifting him off the ground. His hand immediately reached for his blaster, but a band of magic surrounded him, pinning his arms to his side, Moonstone appearing beside Spike, her face as enraged as Spikes was.

“Never. Call. Me. That,” Spike hissed, Seugtai clawing at the invisible grip around his neck. “Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Seugtai choked, his eyes bulging beneath his helmet.

For a second, Spike maintained his grip, before relenting, his claw opening, Seugtai falling to the deck, wheezing as he caught his breath.

“The Beast of Ranox was not me,” Spike growled, bending down and looking at Seugtai. “It was my body, but Desolation is no more me than Moonstone is me. I killed him, twice over, do not liken me to him. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal,” Seugtai coughed, staggering to his feet. “But, the point remains, you even proved it a bit there. You hold more of a grudge against your own past than I do. I would have continued to serve alongside you even if you were this Desolation, you can’t even stand the name.”

Spike snarled, his hands balling into fists. For an instant, Seugtai thought he’d finally stepped over the line, gripping his weapons in preparation for his final defiance, but the blow never landed.

“You’re right,” Spike sighed, his fists unballing and his shoulders dropping once more, Spike slumping to the floor and looking up at Seugtai. “You know, you’d make a surprisingly good grey Jedi. All the Mandalorians would. You have a better method of compartmentalisation than most of the Order, that's for sure.”

“Now just imagine if we’d won,” Seugtai smirked, before shaking his head, removing his helmet with a hiss of depressurisation, the old warrior looking at Spike with his own eyes. “Just, actually imagine it, Spike. Take away all the hatred you have for the Mandalorians, all the notions you have about my kind, and think what the galaxy would be like.”

“Brutal,” Spike responded in an instant. “You committed enough war crimes to fill a dozen books.”

“And yet for all that, when were we cruel to those beneath our rule?” Seugtai countered. “We fought a war, and we did it without reservation. Your Republic hid in the Stereb cities at Serroco, so we destroyed them. We didn’t do that out of hatred, but out of our willingness to win. But at Tarris, when you attacked and took the world back from us, did you see cruelty? Did you see dead lining the streets for no gain? We put rebellions, but we never raised our arms against those who wished peace. We may have looked down on them, peace is not our way, but there would have been no honour in crushing those who did not fight back, so we left them alone, we put them to work. In victory, do you honestly believe that what you saw in war would have mimicked how we ran a galaxy? Mandalorians prie family and...”

“Cathar,” Moonstone said the single word, Seugtai stiffening at the word.

“Cathar,” Seugtai nodded, seemingly accepting the point Moonstone made with the single word.

“Cathar,” she repeated once more, her stern voice making it seem like she was giving a lecture to a naughty school child. “Your warriors massacred a surrendering population for no reason, they did not fight, they had been defeated, and yet you killed them all. That is the legacy of the Mandalorians.”

“That is the legacy of Cassus,” Seugtai growled, his face darkening at the man's memory. “I hated the man, what he did that day was a stain on every Mandalorian we may never wash away. If that was all we were judged against, then you are right to look on me, Moonstone. I cannot change that, I would if I could. Cassus ordered us to kill the Cathar just to prove we could. If I had been there I would have stood alongside the warrior who placed herself between Cassus and those innocents. Then maybe my helmet would have been the Republic’s rallying cry for war, because remember, Moonstone, it was seeing a Mandalorian sacrifice that brought Revan into the war, he saw her stand against Cassus and took up her calling. Cassus was the cancer, Mandalore the Ultimate gave him too much power and fell under his influence and became a cancer himself. The Mandalorian people, what we are at our core, died that day with that woman, but we will rise from her memory, not that of Cassus Fett.”

He spat the last word, clear venom in his eyes at the memory of the dead Field Marshal.

For a long while, the trio remained in silence, Spike still propped up against the wall, Seugtai moving to sit on the chair in front of the monitor screens, while Moonstone disappeared, reappearing a moment later laid on the bed. Seugtai considered asking her if she actually could feel the bed or if she had just appeared there for show, but decided that the answer would probably just heard his head, as it always did when she tried to explain magi-physics to him.

Finally, Spike broke the silence.

“We’re one hell of a trio, aren’t we?” he chuckled darkly. “An ex-Jedi turned pirate, an old Mandalorian, and a magical apparition of my mother. Sounds like the start of a bad joke.”

“Definitely,” Moonstone agreed. “A Jedi, a Mandalorian and a pony walk into a bar. The Mandalorian says, “It sure is hot in here”, so the pony turns to the Dragon...”

“And says “shut your mouth”,” Seugtai finished with a smirk. “Definitely a bad joke. Best ones always are though.”

Once again, the trio lapsed into silence, before finally, Seugtai stood up, seemingly mentally preparing himself for what he was about to say.

“Now you need to promise not to blow up at me over what I’m about to say,” he looked down at Spike, Spike’s face darkening as he spoke, pushing himself to his feet once more.

“I really don’t like it when conversations start that way you know,” he muttered, before nodding, “go on then.”

“You’re a broken warrior, Spike,” Seugtai began, Moonstone letting out a shrill laugh of her own and cutting him off.

“I think we all know that one.”

“True,” Seugtai continued. “You’re a broken warrior Spike. You can fight, clearly, but you’re fast running out of things to fight for. You have a singular ideal, to preserve the Republic, but deep down, you know that’s not going to be enough forever.”

“It’s all I’ve held up until now,” Spike countered. “Served me well enough for the past few decades.”

“You were a Jedi then,” Seugtai pointed out. “You had a code, your grey code I believe? Emotion, yet peace. Ignorance, yet knowledge. Passion, yet serenity. Chaos, yet harmony. Death, yet the Force. They were something for you to hold to. Something for you to anchor yourself to, and while you still hold to them, without the order behind it, they’re words, they’re not enough.”

“You’re right, I don’t like where this is going,” Spike muttered, Seugtai ignoring him as he pressed on.

“Ba'jur. Beskar'gam. Ara'nov. Aliit. Mando'a. Mand'alor. Six tenants, six words that define my people and our culture.”

“I don’t speak Mandalorian well, but I understood “armour” and “Mandalore”, Moonstone mused.

“Education, armour, self-defense, tribe, or family, language, leader, or Mand’alor. They’re the tenants of the Resol'nare, something we teach to every Mandalorian.”

He paused, but he had committed now, the next words falling like a hammer.

“I believe you should learn them Spike, learn what they are and what they mean. I think you should learn what it means to be a Mandalorian.”

Resol'nare

Spike stayed silent for a moment, before bursting into laughter, his voice echoing around the small room. For all the sound however, his face betrayed his true feelings, anger bubbling just beneath the surface.

“You had me going there for a minute Seugtai,” he admitted, wiping a non-existent tear away from his eye in an over exaggerated movement.

“I wasn’t joking,” Seugtai deadpanned, locking gazes with Spike. “I believe learning and taking to heart the Resol'nare will aid you, give you something to strive towards, a purpose not found in the Republic or the Jedi Order, but the Mandalorians, the true Mandalorians, the Crusaders, not the Neo-Crusaders.”

“I fought your kind, I saw what they did, what they made me do,” Spike growled. “I would choose your words carefully.”

“You saw the Neo-Crusader, you saw Cassus,” Seugtai snapped back, looking at Moonstone. “Tell me, Moonstone. What has Spike endured at the hands of the Jedi or the Republic compared to what he endured due to the Mandalorians?”

“Leave me out of this,” Moonstone shook her head, but Seugtai would not be dissuaded.

“No, answer the question Moonstone. I know enough about your past from yourself or from the HoloNet, Spike, may not know all of it but I can piece together other bits from common knowledge. Did the Mandalorians abduct you as a child thrown from his home? Did the Mandalorians make you fight in their little Civil War the first time? Did the Mandalorians cast you out and treat you like dirt for safeguarding the Republic against Mandalore’s armies? Did the Mandalorians imprison you for no crime? Or was all the Jedi, and the Republic that serves them?”

Spike snarled, but remained silent, Seugtai feeling like he may actually get through to the Dragon and pressing on.

“You have had a single driving goal your entire life, one mission, protect the Republic, but you know that’s wearing thin, you know that it is becoming less and less impactful each time you repeat it to yourself, even when on the run from the very empire you swore to protect. You may want them, but face the simple fact Spike. They don’t want you. You have given them everything, your body and your sanity in the Mandalorian Wars, your freedom in the interim. Why do they deserve your loyalty when they do not return it in kind?!”

Spike turned to leave, heading for the door, but even as it began to open, the telltale sign of magic encompassed it and it slid closed again. Whirling around, both Spike and Seugtai looked at Moonstone, the unicorns horn glowing as she remained on the bed.

“Let me out,” Spike’s voice was a facade of barely controlled rage.

“No,” Moonstone shook her head.

“It is my magic, my body, stop being clever and let me go,” Spike reiterated, less control this time.

“Spike you need to hear this and make a choice,” Moonstone snapped, Seugtai taken aback at the sudden passion in her voice. “You cannot just walk away from this, you have to make a decision now.”

“I don’t want to make this choice,” Spike hissed.

“The galaxy isn’t filled with things you want, Spike. You are a broken warrior,” Seugtai repeated the words he had spoken earlier. “You don’t have the luxury of time, Spike, because all of us here know what you’re capable of when pressed. Your navicomp is going haywire and if your triple zero fades...”

He trailed off, the implication enough without being spoken. Before he could continue, Moonstone spoke up, rematerialising in front of Spike and laying a hoof on him.

“Seugtai has a point, Spike. I think you know it, deep down.”

“Get out of my head,” Spike snapped, his voice still filled with rage, but a slight wobble made it clear even that was fast coming undone.

“I don’t need to be in your head, I’ve known you for long enough,” Moonstone smiled.

“Spike, I care for you,” Seugtai took the lead once more. “Never thought I’d say that for a Jedi, let alone you of all Jedi, but the past few years has proven you more than that. You’re more than just a Jedi, more than just a soldier. You have honour and strength and courage. You have a conviction that burns brighter than most stars, and when you set your mind to something, you shift the galaxy to make sure it comes to pass. I haven’t respected many people in my life as much as I respect you now, but you need something to hold onto. If you can tell me here and now you have that, or can have that, without Resol'nare, then I will never speak of this again, but I don’t think you will say that. Like Moonstone said, I think deep down, you already know your answer.”

“Get out,” Spike all but whispered the words, no anger in them, but forceful nonetheless, Seugtai inclining his head.

“Take the time you need to think about it, when you have an answer, I’ll be waiting.”

With that, Seugtai moved past Spike, Moonstone allowing the door to open once more as she relinquished control of Spike’s magic.

“You too, please,” Spike looked at her. “Let me be alone.”

Moonstone nodded once, before fading from view, Spike feeling her presence retreat within his mind as the door slid shut behind Seugtai. It would not open again for some time.

***

Seugtai returned to his own quarters, the room smaller and far more sparsely decorated, a single bed in one corner, an armour bench in the other, repair and cleaning tools scattered across its surface. As Seugtai walked in, he rolled his eyes beneath his helmet, looking at Moonstone as she sat on his bed.

“I didn’t know you could go this far away from Spike,” he mused, looking at the pony, before walking over to the armour bench and grabbing a plasma scalpel, expertly beginning to work on removing damaged sections of his plate.

“To tell you the truth, neither did I,” Moonstone admitted. “I believe this is about my limits, and even then, only because his mind is wandering, allowing me to wander with it.”

“Makes sense,” Seugtai grunted, before putting the tool down and sighing. “So, you can see the sense can’t you?”

“I can,” Moonstone nodded. “Everything you said was right, at least after a fashion. Spike fought the Crusaders long before the Neo-Crusaders, and he never hated their kind. Didn’t like them, but didn’t hate them either. And like you say, his guidelines wearing thin, he doesn’t much more to fall back on. He’s considering it at least, which if you’d asked me if it were possible a half a decade ago I’d have said was impossible.”

“Well, when we reach our lowest point is when we are open to the greatest change,” Seugtai sighed. “Chaos take me but I don’t want him to fade because he loses his way. The galaxy has enough of those types running round with Malak and his lackeys, Spike can be better. He has to be.”

“On that, we are in complete agreement. Not much to do but wait though, we’ll know soon enough.”

***

Seugtai and Moonstone waited for hours for any word or sign of a decision. As the sixth hour rolled past, Seugtai admitted defeat, Moonstone leaving and promising to wake him if an answer was reached. Even after he awoke, there had still been no word, Seugtai able to put off his own duties any longer. There was still a war on, still a syndicate to run, still raids to lead.

As he returned to the station, he knew that an answer had been reached, exiting the shuttle and coming face to face with Spike, Moonstone beside him, both looking impassive, hiding any expressions they may have had from the crew.

“Seugtai, my quarters,” Spike’s voice was a near emotionless monotone, Seugtai wordlessly following him back to his quarters. Only as the door slid shut once more, Moonstone's horn lighting up to ensure it would not open, did Spike finally speak.

“You’re right,” Spike didn’t sound happy at the words but continued regardless. “I’ve given everything to the Republic, and it’s time to stop. If I’ve remembered nothing else from Twilight, it’s to try new things, to try and not hold grudges. I can’t forgive the actions of the Mandalorians in the war, but that wasn’t all of your kind, and it wasn’t you, Seugtai. You’re many things, but loyal and honourable are two of the greatest. I trust you, I trust Moonstone. You two are clearly in some sort of agreement about this, so that’s swung the balance. I want you to teach me this Relosnare...”

“Resol'nare,” Seugtai corrected, smiling beneath his helmet. “I know it wasn’t easy, Spike, and I appreciate the words.”

“So where do we start then?”

“The Resol'nare has six tennants,” Seugtai began, gesturing for Spike to sit. “Ba'jur. Beskar'gam. Ara'nov. Aliit. Mando'a. Mand'alor. In galactic basic: Education. Armour. Self-defense. Tribe. Language. Leader. You don’t need Ara'nov, you’re clearly far beyond that, and as for Mand'alor...well, Revan took Mandalore’s Mask. You know well enough the importance behind that, without it we’re scattered, to be named Mandalore now would be almost impossible, though given time, that will change. Ba’jur will come from learning the others, Mando'a can be taught and learnt as easily as any other language. Aliit we are close, your tribe is everything to you, once you decide who they are. I haven’t seen my clan in years, Ordo is deep behind Sith lines at the moment, I doubt I’ll see it anytime soon.”

“So that just leaves Beskar'gam,” Spike finished. “I don’t need armour, Seugtai, in case you haven’t noticed. My scales do just fine.”

“Then let this be your first lesson,” Seugtai spoke as a Rally Master now, his voice bearing all the clipped hallmarks of a soldier. “Mandalorians wear our armour for protection, it is true. Some use it to mount their weapons, or to provide them tactical data in the heat of battle, but at its heart, it has a greater reason, one most forget. Tell me, Spike. How do you know I am Mandalorian?”

“You’re a Taung,” Spike pointed out, before shaking his head, realising what Seugtai was getting at. “Your armour conforms to known Mandalorian patterns.”

“Good. And a human, outside of any armour, is he Mandalorian?”

“Impossible to say.”

“Exactly. Crusader or Neo-Crusader, all conform to the ancient designs of the Taung and the Mandalorians. Be it a mask or a helmet, full body plate or just a facial covering, the armour is our identity. We are more than our armour, but our armour is us. This T Visor...”

He tapped his own helmet for emphasis.

“...s far more than just a visual aid. With the sensors in the armour of Neo-Crusader shock troops, we could have done away with visors entirely, armour the entire helmet and eliminated a weak point that can be exploited. Or we could go the other way, create a fully visored helmet like that of the Sith, or do away with a face covering altogether as the Republic soldiers do. We don’t, because this symbol is us. This symbol is as much a Mandalorian icon as the Mythosaur skull. If you are to be Mandalorian, no matter your personal strengths, you will create your own Beskar'gam. I know you can forge, and initially, that will do, we can create armour of durasteel or any number of materials, but when this war ends, whenever that is, we will travel to Mandalore, and we will follow the traditions and dictates of my clan, and have one forged of Mandalorian Iron.”

Spike considering Seugtai’s words, before wordlessly standing from the bed and dropping to one knee before the Mandalorian.

“Then as you say, I will follow this first tenant of the Resol'nare, and take my first step on the path of the Mandalorians.”

Seugtai smiled once more beneath his helmet, resting a hand on Spike’s shoulder and tilting his head down slightly to look into his eyes.

“I know you will, Spike. We have a long way to go, but we will travel it together. You have a purpose once more, and when you have taken the tenants to heart, then I will be honoured to name you Ordo and accept you as part of my clan.”

The Final Battle

Not for the first time, Spike regretted the loss of his cybernetic brain, for all its faults, it had made comprehension of even the most tricky of subjects easy. Not that Spike was a fool without such aid, he liked to think of himself as intelligent in the extreme, a by-product of Twilight’s teachings from so long ago, and something that had allowed him to master the near impossible Shyriiwook even as a child.

So why was he now having such a hard time learning Mando’a?

“I thought this language was meant to be easy to learn?” Spike muttered.

“It is,” Seugtai insisted. “Well, until you overthink it at least. Ask again in the right way though.”

Spike rolled his eyes, before concentrating.

“Ni liser ibic joha cuyir pakod hibirar.”

“You’re overthinking it,” Seugtai insisted. “Mando’a is a very literal language, barely a written form at all. Meaning is inferred as much as spoken. Ni urmankala joha ori'pakod. Literally I thought language is easy. Jate, not bic cuyi jate. ‘Good’ rather than ‘It is good’, you don’t need to overthink.”

“That’s probably why Spike’s struggling,” Moonstone snorted.

“Laugh it up, doubt you’re any better.”

“Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum,” Moonstone spoke smoothly, looking at Seugtai expectantly.

“I'm still alive, but you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal,” Seugtai nodded. “She’s good, Spike.”

“You’re literally part of my head, why can’t I get this?” Spike let out an over-exaggerated sigh.

“Drama queen,” Moonstone rolled her eyes. “It’s nice seeing you in a better mood though.”

Spike thought about that for a moment. It had been weeks since he had pledged that he would follow the Resol'nare. Those weeks had been filled with training, learning what it meant to be Mandalorian, six basic pillars to now live by. Part of him insisted he should be fighting the still ongoing war, not resting until the Sith were defeated, but while it was true that the syndicate were still waging their war on the Sith, he no longer felt quite as tied to it, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders that he didn’t know he’d been carrying.

“Turns out all I needed was someone to tell me to stop carrying the galaxy,” Spike shrugged with a genuine smile.

“No one can carry that much,” Seugtai agreed with a smile of his own. “Honour and victory are everything to a Mandalorian, but that doesn’t mean we can’t step back from a fight not our own.”

“The war is my fight,” Spike countered.

“Was,” Seugtai corrected. “The war was your fight right up until you were exiled. Everything else was your own fight, your own belief. Nothing wrong with that, but taking on a task like that will cripple you, clearly. You’re far freer than you were weeks ago.”

The conversation was interrupted as a man strode into the room, snapping off a quick salute to Spike, his bearing clearly military, likely one of the soldiers who sided with Spike when he took Fireshot.

“Report,” Seugtai ordered smoothly, turning to face the warrior.

“Urgent communication for Spike,” the man rattled off. “Marked for his eyes only, coming in over secure frequency glavius-5729-rho.”

“That’s an old frequency,” Spike mused for a moment, before realisation shot across his face. “It’s a Nexu band, we used it back in the temple. I didn’t even know it still existed.”

“A Jedi’s trying to get in contact? Nice to know they still care,” Seugtai chuckled.

“Zule,” Spike nodded. “Come on, if he’s contacting us he either needs our help, or he’s found where we’re operating from and is coming here with a fleet. Either way, I’d like to know about it.”

Nodding in agreement, Seugtai fell in beside Spike as he headed towards the comms room, Moonstone keeping pace with the pair with ease, gliding forward far faster than her trott would indicate. She seemed to be doing things like that a lot recently, Spike noticed, acting in ways that made it very clear she wasn’t truly a pony, driving home her apparition nature. He hadn’t asked her about it, and whatever her reasoning was locked from his mind, but he could see the outcome all the same. He made a mental note to ask her about it when things had finally quietened down in the galaxy, before letting out a snort of laughter.

“Something the matter?” Moonstone asked, her head snapping to look at Spike, concern in her eyes.

“No no,” Spike shook his head. “I was just thinking of something I need to do once the galaxy’s calm, then I realised if I waited for that, I’d be waiting till the stars blew out.”

Spike let out another laugh as he finished, Moonstone joining in with one of her own, before falling silent as the trio entered the comms room.

“Bring up the transmission,” Spike called as he entered, the attendants nodding, tapping a few buttons, a crackle filling the room. No hologram though, Spike turning to look at the comms operator expectantly.

“Not on our end,” the man shook his head. “It’s a terrible connection, I’ll try to clean it up as best I can, but I don’t know...”

“kzzzzt...can....me....kzzzzt.”

The sound bounced around the room, the voice robotic and all but impossible to make out.

“Can we clear the transmission up at all?” Spike asked, his question only greeted with a shaking head.

“Like I said, it’s not from our side.”

Spike leant forward, placing his hands on the handrail surrounding the holo-transceiver, raising his voice and ensuring he spoke as clearly as possible.

“This is Spike. If you can hear me, we are receiving static. Boost your relay signal.”

“kzzzzt...easier said....done,” the voice crackled again, before finally starting to stabilise, a grainy mess blurring into view in the rough outline of a humanoid, though any details the hologram may once have held were utterly obscured. “Lieutenant, get down to engineering and find out their progress. Prioritise the comms relay above all else, understand? Nothing else matters.”

“We can hear you,” Spike cut in. “It’s choppy and your holo-feed is shot but we can hear you at least.”

“Shutting down the visual link then,” the voice was still slightly robotic, but as the visual mess faded, it finally became semi-recognisable, or at least, Spike could place that it was a woman he was speaking to, though not one he knew.

“Confirm your identity and how you have access to this channel,” Spike barked, his voice hardening. As he spoke, Seugtai moved to stand beside the comm officer, his voice low as he presumably gave commands to scramble any tracking signal and prepare to cut the communication at a moment's notice.

“Brevet Commodore Adare Spiama, 13th Flotilla,” the voice responded, Seugtai already looking through a data terminal, presumably scanning for the name on Republic back channels, giving Spike a thumbs up after a few moments of searching.

“And the channel frequency?” Spike reiterated.

“Jedi Master Zule Thanos gave it to me and asked me to contact you,” Adare responded. “He sends his regrets he could not message you in person, but pressing matters took his attention.”

“There’s a war going on, understandable,” Spike nodded tersely, before remembering the visual link was down. “What news do you bring, Adare? It’s not everyday we get a Commodore calling us, even a Brevet ranked one.”

“Republic High Command needs your aid,” Adare responded quickly. “The aid of everyone actually. We are mounting an offensive on a Sith Battlestation found by Carth Onasi. Reports on the exact nature of the station are sketchy at best, but it seems to be some giant shipyard known as the Star Forge, possibly the lynchpin of the entire Sith production line.”

Spike felt his voice catch in his throat as Adare finished, the ramifications of what she was suggesting pounding in his head. If Carth was right, this could be a chance to swing the war back to the Republic and neutralise the Sith’s numerical advantage, or outright steal it if the station could be taken intact.

“This could mean the end of the entire war,” Spike murmured, before shaking his head. There would be time for wishful thinking later. “Transmit coordinates and rendezvous information, all ships I have flight ready will be deployed in support of the assault. We stand with the Republic.”

“Coordinates transmitted,” Adare replied a moment later. “The fleet is mustering within the Koornacht Cluster as we speak, the...”

“The Koornacht Cluster?” Spike cut in. “That’s on the other side of the galaxy from the Sith, the closest world they have is Rendili. If the Sith are in the Uncharted Regions...” Spike trailed off, yet more implications swimming in his head.

“We are unsure of the Sith presence in that area of space,” Adare continued. “But Republic listening posts have not detected any stable hyperspace routes not already discounted for heavy ship use. The coordinates Carth sent us included an unknown Hyperlane, but we have found no further evidence of any more existing.”

“If they could hide one, they could hide others,” Spike grumbled. “Let's hope this Star Forge really is the centerpoint of the Sith’s shipbuilding capability. If we’re throwing everything we have at it, our other fronts will be exposed.”

“Coordinates received, Spike,” a voice called out.

“We’ll be there,” Spike assured Adare. “One way or another, I think this battle will decide everything. End transmission.”

The call cut off abruptly, Spike turning to look at Seugtai, before turning to see all the faces of the men and women in the comms room, all looking at Spike expectantly.

“Download the contents of the transmission to my quarters,” Spike ordered. “Bring all ships to readiness and check the IFF signatures and visual identifiers on the captured ships. I want the fleet ready as soon as possible. Make everyone aware this is not a drill, I will address the station before we leave and inform everyone of the new mission. Dismissed.”

With the order given, the spell seemed to be broken, voices overlapping as orders were barked into comms. Moments later, the lights flicked from standard white to battle-ready red, bathing Spike in the crimson glow for a moment before the main lights activated once more, the test cycle complete. Elsewhere, a klaxon began to sound, pounding feet echoing throughout the decks. Fireshot may have been old, many of her current crew pirates and mercenaries rather than life-long soldiers, but it seemed the old-girl still had fight in her, Spike smiling as he headed from the room, Moonstone and Seugtai close behind him.

“Are you both ready? Weapons, armour?”

“Armour’s good and weapons are charged,” Seugtai nodded.

“Our magic’s good as well,” Moonstone chimed in.

“You’ve trained in your armour, Spike. Can’t think of a better place to test it out than something as big as this.”

“Well, if I don’t use it now then I may never get the chance to,” Spike snorted. “You heard Adare, this is going to be big. One way or another, I think the war will be over, or at least decided with no chance of changing the outcome. Either the Republic takes or destroys this Star Forge...”

“Or the Sith lay waste to the Republic’s fleet and appear right on top of Coruscant,” Seugtai finished. “No pressure on anyone.”

Spike let out a clipped laugh, before lapsing into silence as he entered his chambers, his eyes falling on what he had come to collect.

In the weeks since he had made his vow to learn the Resol'nare, he had barely been idle for a moment, between learning Mandalorian history, blastr techniques and their language that he still struggled with, but by far the greatest time-sink had been what now lay before him; the forging of his own armour.

It had taken him weeks under the steely eyed gaze of Seugtai and droid armorsmiths from Fireshot’s armoury, Spike grateful for their help in the process, having rarely forged anything more than his lightsaber casings, and even then with all the tools and materials he could have asked for from an entire order. Now he had far less, and was making far more.

Forged from a blend of Durasteel and Duraplast, the armour was vastly different from the bone-like plate that Seugtai wore, even discounting the difference in size and anatomical needs. Unlike Seugtai’s, Spike had seen no need to make his armour fully sealed, the force, his magic and his dragon physiology keeping him more than protected from gas attacks or the touch of the void. Likewise, he had eschewed the need for an armoured body glove beneath the armour, any blows that impacted there would be deflected by his own scales.

In truth, Spike still did not see the value of the armour as a means of protection, and he doubted he ever would, but as a symbol, as a means of identification and a link to a new life his soul needed to work, it was everything. The majority of the armour was green, Seugtai prompting the choice for its association with duty, Spike having no issue with such a link. A high collar protected the wearer's neck, while a pair of steel vambraces gave a means of secondary control over the suit's more complex systems.

As with all Mandalorian armour however, the helmet was the true jewel in the armour’s crown, as well as the most complicated part of building the suit. Spike’s head and snout were not conducive to a standard helmet design, nor was his crest useful for fitting in a helmet, forcing Spike to cut a groove in the top of the armour, allowing his crest to remain uncrushed while wearing it.

Beyond its looks however, the helmet was still an advanced piece of hardware. A dark macrobinocular viewplate offered a variety of vision modes, including infrared, while a pineal eye sensor on the helmet combined with an internal overlay display to provide tracking information within a 360-degree radius. Motion sensors, an encrypted internal comlink, and a broad-band antenna completed the helmet's devices. Spike had even made modifications he was far more familiar with, linking the helmets systems to that of Harmony, and while he would be no means be able to pilot the ship with the interface as he could when linked to his Basilisk or with a smaller fighter, it was more than capable of interfacing him with the vessel, giving Spike access to any system readout he needed in a split second.

Spike moved forward, laying a hand against the helmet as it hung motionlessly, suspended in a small containment field set up to the side of his quarters. He had worn it before of course, Seugtai and Spike had trained together while wearing the suit throughout its forging practice, in the hangers of Fireshot, on the surface of the planet they orbited, and even in the void itself, but this felt different, knowing he was going to wear the armour into battle, to proclaim where he now stood. That was a different order of magnitude all together.

“Let's get this done,” Spike muttered, more to himself than to anyone else, reaching into the containment field and pulling the first piece of armour free.

***

Spike stood on the bridge of Harmony, feeling both like a traitor to the ship and at last coming to truly own it. He had taken the ship from the Mandalorians years ago, flown it into battle against their kind countless times. It had hated the Mandalorians as much as he ever had, and yet now, as he stood clad as one of their kind, the ship seemed eager to obey his commands, linked to his helmet systems as he stood prepared for war. His armour was tight to his body, its presence impossible to forget but comfortable enough that he did not mind. Likewise his weapons were tightly secured to his thighs, Elusive on one leg, its inlaid blue gems glinting in the bridge light, while a heavy disruptor weapon rested on his other.

“The fleet is ready, sir,” one of the bridge crew called, but Spike already knew that, reading the ship's ready icons in an instant. Over two dozen warships ranging from ancient battleships to Hammerheads and Sith Cruisers, alongside a host of smaller fighters or attack craft. It was a potent force, but by the standards of the Republic Navy, it was barely a Squadron, let alone a full Battle Group or Fleet, formations that contained hundreds of vessels. Alone they were good for raiding, little else, but together with the Republic Navy, perhaps they could finally go toe to toe with the Sith on even terms.

“No more running,” Spike whispered, before opening a channel to every ship in the fleet, speaking clearly into his helmet and letting his voice travel to every ship under his command.

“I know many of you call the Republic our home,” he began, before revising his statement, “Or if we do not currently, then we did. However, I know that many more of you do not, and never have. You are not all soldiers, many of you swore no oaths, took no vows of loyalty to those we now fly in defence of. I know together we have fought the Sith, but always on our own terms. I am sure that many of you question flying to aid a Republic fleet, could it be a trap? Could the Republic be waiting for us? To that I say, possibly. We could be flying to those who seek to imprison us, jumping to their tune not that of the war, but if they are genuine, if what they say is true, Then the risk is worth taking.”

Spike took a breath and steadied himself before continuing.

“Years ago, I was part of the Jedi Order, a General of the Republic. We all know how that ended, I never thought I would command again. You proved me wrong. Those of you who followed me either through a sense of loyalty, or just for your share of the coin. I’m not judging either one, the fact you are here, now, makes you all my brothers and sisters. We may be flying antiquated ships, many of which are understaffed or run by overtaxed droids, but I say this; There is no one else I would want by my side through this.”

Not strictly true Moonstone thought, a flash of the Special Forces crossing his mind, Spike conceding the point but continuing his speech regardless.

“All your lives have led to this moment, to standing here by my side. The Sith defending their Star Forge will be brave, they will be well led and equipped, their fleet will be large and they will be expecting the Republic, expecting a nice ordered battle. That’s not us though, not anymore. We are the ones the Republic decries, the criminals and pirates, the thieves and killers. We do not fight as a military does, we fight to win, we fight because that’s what we know and what we love.”

Spike took a deep breath again, letting his own fiery passion slip into his words as he continued.

“No one ever won a war by dying for what they believed in, but wars are sure as shit won by making some other poor dumb bastard die for what they believe in. So let's go prove that, let's go and make sure the Sith die for what they believe in, and let’s end this fucking war!”

Spike opened wide-band communications as he finished, a cheer going up across the fleet, transmitted to every other ship, making the soldiers on each one cheer harder as they heard their comrades baying for blood alongside them. Spike smiled behind his helmet, appreciating the faceless value of the armour now more than ever.

As the ships began to move towards the jump point, heading for the coordinates Adare had given them, a soft ping sounded in Spike’s ear, a private channel opening a second later.

“Good speech,” Seugtai commented.

“You learn a thing or two about speeches after leading a couple of wars,” Spike shrugged.

“Doesn’t make it any less important,” Seugtai countered. “That’s not the issue though. I was going to wait until you had technically shown you had learnt and taken to heart all of the tenants of the Resol'nare. With this happening though, we’re going to be flying into hell, and I don’t want to miss out on this because of that.”

“Seugtai...” Spike began, but Seugtai cut him off.

“Spike, this is important, please, allow me to finish. We need to speak face-to-face, or at least holo-to-holo. Alone as well.”

“You have the bridge,” Spike looked at a Rodian who nodded back at Spike, before walking from the bridge, heading to the communications room.

“Clear the room,” he ordered curtly, the two soldiers inside moving without complaint, Spike watching them go before typing in a locking code, ensuring they would not be disturbed.

“We’re alone,” Spike spoke into his helmet, before transferring the call to the holo transmitter, Seugtai appearing before him, likewise fully armoured and ready for battle.

“Thank you. Spike, one or both of us may not return from this fight, time is all that stands between you and a technically true understanding of the Resol'nare. That’s enough for me. Being Mandalorian is not about memorising facts, it's about your heart. Clan, family, tribe, brother, all mean the same when you get down to it, and as a member of Clan Ordo, what I am about to do lies within my rights. Ni kyr’tayl gai sa’ad – Spike. I name you my heir, a member of my tribe, of my family. If this should be your last battle, then face it not simply as Spike, ex-Jedi and ex-general. Face it anew, as Spike Ordo, Mandalorian of Clan Ordo, and if we survive, may we bring my clan back to true power.”

“Not a bad speech yourself,” Spike laughed, before inclining his head slightly. “Well then, let's make sure the Sith rue the day they faced two Ordo’s in battle.”

Spike couldn’t see Seugtai’s face beneath his helmet, but he didn’t need to, picturing the Taung’s rictus grin spreading across his face in preparation for the fight to come. Exiting the room, Spike returned to the bridge, standing motionlessly as the stars were stretched by the activating hyperdrive, catapulting Harmony and the Fireshot fleet towards whatever fate awaited them at the Koornacht Cluster, and the Star Forge beyond.

Author's Note

And with that, we finally have got to the bit that I have wanted to arrive at for ages. People mentioned it would be cool to have art of Spike in his armour. Well I can now happily reveal that you need imagine such coolness no longer. I present Spike, Mandalorian of Clan Ordo! :D

(Higher rez image here)

Artwork by a good friend of mine, Nina Ward

The Star Forge

Exiting hyperspace was normally a calm affair, drifting out at the edge of a system, ships systems re-adapting to their return to normalcy after the comparatively alien environment of hyperspace. Crew too would have time to readjust, to raise blast shields over external viewports, to retool the engines for realspace flying and bring the shields back online. It was a busy time, but it was almost always peaceful.

There was nothing peaceful on the bridge now.

Harmony rocked as a series of heavy turbo-laser shots slammed into the hull, the shields flaring into life a second later to absorb the next volley. Crewmen were thrown from their seats if they had not yet activated their restraints, Spike only remaining upright as he dug his claws into the metal beneath him, anchoring himself to the floor.

“Redirect aft shield power to the stabilisers and bring us to bear,” a voice rang out, cutting through the din of battle, others immediately moving to their order, the ship righting itself moments later as internal dampener fields came online.

“Looks like this is going to be one hell of a fight,” Spike muttered, more to himself and Moonstone than anyone else, before linking his helmet to the ship's comm systems to deliver his next words.

“All hands, all hands, Sith forces have us engaged at the system's edge, signal the remainder of the Fireshot fleet to disperse throughout the Republic Battle Sphere, we do not present our fleet as a singular entity to be targeted. Bring the big guns into range and fire on their capital ships, leave the station to the Hammerheads and Harmony.

The link went dead as Spike finished speaking, looking around the bridge as the crew moved to follow his orders. All of the Fireshot fleet were well trained, at least by the standards of informal militia’s and pirates, the Harmony crew was well trained beyond even that, putting many Republic crews to shame, and yet there was something off about them, small as it was. Actions ever so slightly sluggish, prompts needed where in truth Spike knew they knew what to do. It was worrying, but he had seen warriors come undone under fire before, especially in such knife-fights after coming out of Hyperspace.

Pushing the thoughts to one side, Spike sat down in the command throne, linking his helmet to the ships systems and reaching out with his own magic, feeling the ship around him and closing his eyes. When he opened them, he was no longer merely in his own body, he was Harmony, Harmony was him, his vision now streaming in from dozens of internal and external cameras and subspace sensor arrays, his skin was that of plasteel kissed by the frozen void, his magic already strengthening the ships own shields.

It was not something Spike had done for some time, not since the Mandalorian Wars, the need simply not being there in the raids he had led, such tight reactions weighed against the energy he expended doing this simply made it a liability. Here though, they needed every advantage they could get.

The Republic fleet arrayed here was huge, ships bearing the colourations of every fleet in republic service standing alongside one another. This muster would have bled the Republic dry across a dozen sectors, if the Sith launched an assault of their own they would break through, there was no denying that. And yet for all the power shown here, they paled compared to the Sith Armada facing them.

Hundreds, possibly thousands of warships were arrayed before them, some in range and firing already, others moving in to assist their kin, disgorging hundreds of fighters that were already dueling with those launched from Republic ships. The Aurek’s were vastly superior to those fighters fielded by the Sith, faster, more agile, better armed and equipped with shields, but the Sith outnumbered them ten to one, boxing in and cutting down the fighters with comparative ease. Yet more warships laid at rest in the distance, holding position around what both sides knew to be the core of this battle, what could only be the mysterious Star Forge.

The station was massive, held in stationary orbit above the systems star, drawing energy upwards into itself using what could only be some great plasma syphon, though the scale of it boggled the mind. Even as Spike watched, a warship slipped from an aperture on the stations side, the hanger quickly sealing itself, but before it did, Spike caught a glimpse of what lay beyond. A shipyard, no workers assisting any of the machines, fully automated and ready to churn out ship after ship after ship, using the power of a star to fuel an empire. Spike felt a pit open up in his stomach, if the Sith had such technology, they were formidable. If they had found this station then that was bad enough, but if Revan, and now Malak, had the knowledge required to build such machines and bend them to their will, if this was not the only Star Forge...

“Snap out of it,” Moonstone ordered, flooding Spike’s mind with white noise for a second, temporarily blinding him before he returned to his senses, within his own body once more.

“Moonstone, I...” Spike’s voice was groggy, setting off alarm bells as he shook his head, standing and advancing towards the frontal viewport of the bridge. “Signal Admiral Dodonna, find out if her crews are showing out of character lapses in concentration, and if this Bastila is here, tell her to get her battle meditation working because there’s a Sith doing it right back to us.”

A response was called back, but Spike now recognised the sluggishness in the voice. This was no battle stress or the result of a short nights rest, this was a malicious attack on the mind, one powerful enough to dominate at least an entire bridge crew, and yet subtle enough to affect Spike without his knowledge. If it hadn’t been for Moonstone, Spike likely still wouldn’t have noticed.

“Good job I’m hear then,” Moonstone laughed as an explosion rocked the ship.

“Communications array is hit!” a crewman called out, Spike not seeing who it was.

“Status?” Spike snapped, his temper rising before he forced it back under control, the battle meditation’s insidious influence now clear to him, Spike forcing himself to repeat the word with far less venom. “Status?”

“Internal communications are operational, anything beyond that and we’ll struggle with just hearing the other side, let alone being heard, and you can forget sending a holo-transmission.”

“Get crews on it now,” Spike ordered. “Please tell me the message to the Admiral got through?”

As if on queue, a voice crackled into life, static lacing the words but it was understandable, if barely.

“I can’t even move our capital ships into position to bombard the Star Forge, it’s like they can guess out every move, counter every strategy.”

Admiral Dodonna’s voice was instantly recognisable, even with the tinny tone of the communicator malfunctions, but the next voice was one Spike didn’t recognise, nor did he like the content of what the man had said.

“It’s because of Bastila, Admiral. She turned to the dark side and became Malak’s apprentice. We suspect she is somewhere on that station right now, using her battle meditation against you and your fleet.”

Spike cursed, the word coming out as a hiss. If Bastila was as powerful as Zule had mentioned when her name had first come up, then her loss was a blow against the Republic, potentially a fatal one. Seeming to sense what Spike was thinking, Dodonna spoke again.

“This is Master Vandar, a number of Jedi knights have joined our fleet under his command.”

“If Bastila is using her power to augment the Sith, then Malak’s fleet is invincible. Our only hope is to somehow stop Bastila from using her battle meditation.”

Spike didn’t bother speaking, still unable to be heard, instead relegating himself to listening to the unfolding conversation. With a thought he opened a link to Seugtai’s helmet, a pulse reply signalling the Mandalorian was listening, though no words were said, evidently he was far too busy to devote his full attention to the conversation.

“How can we do that if she’s on the space station?” Admiral Dodonna asked, Vandar almost instantly replying.

“I will send a squadron of Jedi Knights to the Star Forge to find Bastila. Their small ships will be able to fly through the Sith blockade and dock on the space station. If they can find Bastila, they may be able to distract her attention from the battle overhead. That should allow you to move your capital ships into position for a final assault on the Star Forge itself.

It was a bold move, no doubt there, even fighters would struggle to get through this many fighters without battle meditation, with such a skilled user working against them the death toll would be high, but if that was the reality of the situation then what other choice was left?

“I hate to ask this after all you’ve done, Carth, but the Jedi may need all the help they can get.”

“Don’t worry, admiral. The Ebon hawk and her crew are going to see this through to the end.”

“And may the force be with you.”

As Vandar finished speaking, the line went dead, Spike listening for any sign of more to follow, before resigning himself to the fact they were on their own and raising his voice to give new orders.

“Prepare the ship for an assault, we’re going to lead a diversionary attack and try and punch through, give the Jedi some breathing room. Signal the rest of our ships and have them do the same. I don’t care if you have to wave out a window, just get it done.”

Spikes orders were met with a flurry of movement, the dragon pressing a claw to his helmet.

“Seugtai, do you copy, our comms are down, any chance you can send the message?”

Still Spike was met with silence, his brow furrowing.

“Helmsman, bring up Seugtai’s ship on screen, I want to see it.”

In an instant, the viewscreen at the front of the bridge shimmered, displaying a single camera view of an ancient battleship. The design had long since been obsolete in the Republic, retrofitted shield generators dotting its sides rather than the newer integrated shielding technology, and yet even now it was a formidable weapon. Many times the size of Hammerheads, drawing even the Sith Cruisers and Centurion Battlecruisers fielded by Malak’s armada. Despite its age, it was still a potent weapon.

Clearly the Sith had seen its potency too.

A dozen Sith cruisers surrounded the vessel, pouring volley after punishing volley into its failing shields, fightings darting around beneath the shield cover, targeting the external generators with dogged viciousness. It was not looking good, Spike could tell that in an instant.

“Bring Harmony around and support that ship!” Spike roared, but it was too late. As Spike watched in horror, the shields finally failed, hundreds of turbolaser shots turning the ship to little more than slag, an explosion ripping through the superstructure and instant later, consuming the ship in seconds.

“SEUGTAI!” Spike roared, his voice breaking as the word tore from his throat. The fireball was quickly snuffed out by the void, but the after-image was seared into Spike’s mind, his eyes locked to where the ship had just been.

No one moved on the bridge, a strange calm came over the ship even as shots still slammed into the shields. Finally, a voice spoke up, nervous and yet determined.

“Communication array restored, Spike.”

“Wide scan, all distress frequencies,” Spike snapped. “If there are any lifepods from that ship I want them found, now!”

Again, the bridge lapsed into silence, static filling the speakers as the frequencies were scanned. The seconds ticked by, Spike’s hearts dropping with each passing moment, before finally, a crackle in the static.

S...ke...lost...dead...still alive.

“Clear it up,” Spike snarled, rounding on the comms officer, Moonstone appearing before him, a wordless glare stopping him advancing further, the officer hurrying to follows Spike’s command.

I say again, Spike, the ship was lost with most hands dead, some survivors are in saviour pods, I heard the message from the admiral, I will link up with Harmony. Switching to helmet frequency epison rancor.

Without skipping a beat, Spike switched his helmets comms array to the specified channel, Seugti’s voice instantly crackling over the link.

“Thought I lost you,” Spike fought to keep his voice level as he spoke. “Did you hear the Admiral’s message?”

“About Bastila? Yes,” Seugtai replied. “It’s got to be one hell of a strike team to take on the entire station and kill one of the Siths newest toys.”

“Or capture,” Spike added, though without much optimism, sharing Seugtai’s bleak outlook on the likely reality of the unfolding situation. “Regardless, They’ll need all the help they can get. Are you in a life pod?”

“No, managed to get to my Basilisk before the shields dropped. Coming up alongside Harmony now.”

As he spoke, a small shape darted past the viewport, Spike briefly catching a glimpse of the rider before he sped out of view once more, wheeling around the other fighters with contemptuous ease. The Republic Aurek’s may have outclassed the Sith’s own fighters, but a Basilisk War Droid was something else entirely, standing alone in a higher class than any mere fighter could ever hope to attain.

“Signal the fleet,” Spike repeated himself. “All vessels to reform around us if able to do so and follow us in. “Helmsman has command, all vessels with available boarding teams are to prepare for departure. If the Jedi are landing on that station we are sure as hell not letting them do it alone.”

The ship surged forward mere seconds after Spike had finished talking, a series of other vessels following after it, though many more were unable to respond, tied down in capital ship duals throughout the battlesphere.

As the ship moved, Spike closed his eyes, allowing his magic to swim out from his corporeal form, reaching to touch the minds of the crews currently following his vessel. He wasn’t skilled in Battle Meditation, it wasn’t something he had ever practised and he certainly couldn’t go toe-to-toe with a supposed master of the craft, but magic afforded him certain advantages the force did not. If he couldn’t counter Bastila, he could at least block her influences over a small number of his crew, and give the Republic a fighting chance to break through the Sith blockade.

Time ceased to have any meaning as Spike touched the minds of hundreds under his command. Each of them had a life, hopes, dreams, fear and regrets, and for a moment, Spike was part of all of them. Were he stronger, he may have been able to delve deeper, but such an act would surely only lead to damnation and pain, for all those involved.

Removed from the battle, Spike did not see the unfolding push, but rather felt it from a hundred angles, the fear of an engineer as his reactor pushed into the red, the stoic calm of a gunnery officer, and of course, countless lives being snuffed out one by one. When that happened, Spike severed the connection, and yet even the flashes weighed on his mind, compartmentalised and pushed aside by Moonstone to be worked through later.

Suddenly, all the feelings began to shift, elation spreading through the fleet, Spike risking a return to his own body, unsure of whether he’d be able to regain control if he fully relinquished it, but as he opened his eyes he realised there was no further need, the Star Forge looming ahead, Harmony streaking forward with a near perfectly unblocked view, a mere handful of fighters still in their way.

“Signal the Admiral,” Spike ordered. “Fireshot is sending borders to assist the Jedi push. All ships deploy raiding parties and fall back, full command passes to Republic captains, listen to them.”

With that, Spike turned, striding down towards the hanger bay. Harmony was a small ship, no crew could be spared for boarding actions, at least not en-masse, but a single individual would be more than sufficient from the vessel. As he entered the hanger, his eyes fell upon his own Basilisk War Droid he and the Special Forces had captured so long ago.

Leaping atop the droid, Spike entered the activation sequence, integrity fields flaring into life around him. A split second later, the aperture beneath the droid opened with a thump that was almost instantly torn away, decompression blowing Spike and the War Droid into the freezing void beyond.

Automated Factory

Spike shrieked through the void in an erie almost silence, the only sound reaching him coming from his own breath, recycled through his helmet as a soft hissing sound each time he drew in more air. It was strange that he could hear anything at all, he mused as he rocketed forward, spinning to avoid a flurry of laser blasts that he was not sure were aimed at him or just happening to cross his path in the chaos of battle.

Normally, Spike’s flights through open space had been silent affairs, surviving due to his draconic nature but unable to escape simple science. The silence had been deafening, but somehow, the breath alone was worse. Each second brought a fresh sound, as each second brought a new series of death to his eyes; ships exploding, escape pods launching from doomed vessels. The numbers of the dead who now lay in the void forever more was staggering, and for each one, Spike could only hear his own breath, the sound seeming to accentuate the passing of so many lives.

Each breath brought him closer to the looming Star Forge, a gaping maw opening before him, a large hanger bay with the telltale flashes of blaster discharges and lightsaber deflections all too clear even from here. The Ebon Hawk and a score of single man attack craft dotted the hanger, alongside a Basilisk war-droid, the sentient weapon laying down its own covering fire. For the droid to be fighting still, it must have been a fierce fight indeed, Spike letting out a roar as he drew his own lightsaber, igniting the blade as he passed through the integrity fields and leapt from his mount, his droid joining Seu’s, Spike barely noting it as he dived into the fray.

Two jedi lay dead, one riddled with blaster bolts, another with a deep lightsaber wound through her chest. Besides them, two Jedi dueled with a pair of Sith, while others worked to cut down Sith War Droids as they flooded into the hangar. Nor were the temple Jedi alone, other individuals who could only have been the crew of the Ebon Hawk fighting alongside them. Some of them were unknown to Spike, a young Twi’lek fighting beside a huge Wookie, the girls twin blaster pistols singing out, accompanied by the crack boom of the Wookies giant bowcaster. Besides them, a human Jedi clad in the brown robes of a Grey Jedi fought beside a T3 astromech droid, fighting in a defensive stance to cover the droid as it sliced into a computer console. Spike dimly was aware he should have recognised the man, sure he had seen him about the temple in years gone past, but instead his mind was taken up almost entirely by the battle...and three individuals who fought against the Sith.
The first he didn’t know personally, but her very existence was a surprise, a young woman, barely old enough to no longer be called a girl, her features marking her unmistakably as a member of a dead species; Cathar. The species death had been a rallying cry for the Revanchists during the Mandalorian Wars, to see one here was shocking to say the least, even more so when Spike looked at her companion, his heart sinking as old memories rose.

Canderous Ordo, barely changed from his time in the Mandalorian Wars. Spike had only seen his face once, but that had been enough to remember it forever, his face a lancing memory of Desolation and the horrors he had inflicted on Ranox. Canderous fought side by side with Seu, one wearing ancient armour studded with bone, Cancerous still wearing what looked to be Neo-crusader armour, albeit without a helmet, both warriors seemingly untouchable as they moved around blaster bolts, firing perfectly accurate shots back in reply. Not for the first time, Spike remembered exactly why the Republic had almost fallen to such warriors.

And yet, for all the memories Canderous dredged up, it was the last figure that caught Spike’s gaze the most. It wasn’t a man, though it shared their form. Brown armour plating covered a skeletal exoskeleton, a devastating and heavily modified Charric disruptor in its metal hands, while gleaming red eyes seemed to light up more with each kill, satisfaction radiating from the droid in a way Spike would normally have said was impossible. But then again, Spike had crossed paths with HK-47 before, he knew what the droid was capable of.

Spike took in everything in the time it took him to leap from his droid to impacting on the floor, the moment he touched down all thoughts of who he now fought alongside were banished from his mind. Lightsaber in one hand, a heavy blaster in the other, Spike dived into combat, hitting the Sith line like a cannon shot. They had been holding before, not advancing, not falling back, in perfect equilibrium with the forces assailing the station. Spike’s arrival tipped that balance, the intense fighting lasting for a further ten minutes and claiming the life of a final Jedi, before finally, the Sith broke, the survivors withdrawing back into the station, a heavy blast door sliding shut behind them, barring the way for any who wished to follow them.

As calm overtook them, Spike and the others looked at each other. The mood was icy cold, barely any better than when they had been fighting for their lives. Clearly there was no love lost between any party; a war criminal, a pair of Mandalorians, an assassin droid and a bunch of sanctimonious peacekeepers. It sounded like the set up to a bad joke. If they hadn’t been in the middle of a raging war to decide the fate of the galaxy, Spike would have laughed. As it was, he simply waited as one of the Jedi stepped forward, looking at Spike with a critical glare before finally speaking.

“I didn’t believe Master Vandar when he said to expect you,” the woman’s voice was icy, Spike fixing her with a glare, rendered utterly emotionless by his helmet.

“Believe it,” Spike retorted dismissively. “Where’s Carth?”

“He’s gone on ahead, alongside Kandar,” the Grey Jedi answered, dusting his robes down as he approached Spike, a name finally coming to Spike to match with the face; Jolee Bindo. Solaris had spoken highly of the passionate Jedi, his defiance of the Council to aid the Ukatis system before the Exar Kun war was one of his greatest acts, at least if his old master was to be believed. “Some other Jedi have as well, we were going to move to reinforce them but the Sith keep pouring into the hangar. We haven’t been able to advance for fear of being cut off.”

“[Statement]. This is an automated factory, the adversaries we face are war droids. [Conclusion]. If we only remain reactionary, we shall remain under constant attack as more of these inferior kill droids are created to throw against us. [Addendum]. This is likely their primary strategy. They do not need to kill us, just hold us while their forces destroy the meatbag fleet.”

Spike let out a growl at this, taking a step towards the War Droid, prepared to scrap him permanently this time, before a hoof held in front of him stopped him, Moonstone appearing and shaking her head, before looking around.

“HK-47 is correct,” she spoke, most of the group taken aback by the sudden talking pony in their midst, HK-47 himself appearing confused, the mind-wipe they had done to it clearly still in effect, leaving the droid confused as to how any would know its name without it being stated. Moonstone didn’t seem to notice or potentially didn’t care about the effect her words had, continuing on. “Sitting here is a fools game, with all the forces we have we should be able to send a party to deactivate the droid foundries and secure this hangar properly.”

“Who put the little pony in charge?” the Twi’lek asked, folding her arms as she spoke, her voice laden with the brash bravado and contempt that could only come from a child.

“Hush now, Mission,” Jolee spoke smoothly. “She,” he looked at Moonstone expectantly, Moonstone nodding at the assumption, Jolee continuing on, “has a valid point. With our forces here we have more than enough strength to split into two parties. Should take the pressure off us here and allow the wounded some respite.”

“I’ll go,” Spike nodded, Seu moving to stand beside him, canderous also following the other Mandalorians, glaring at Spike. Whether he knew who Spike was or had just figured it out from Spikes distinctive appearance, Spike couldn’t say, either way, it likely wouldn’t be an issue, the Mandalorian wouldn’t be stupid enough to try for revenge in the middle of a battle.

“As will I,” the Cathar stepped forward.

“Juhani,” Jolee shook his head. “You may be needed here.”

“There are more than enough Jedi to defend this hangar,” Juhani countered. “If my presence can aid in shutting down the foundry, then we will all have an easier time when we return.”

“I’m going too,” the Wookie stepped forward, its bowcaster held at the ready. “Attacking a droid foundry will need more muscle than defending this hangar.”

“Well looks like I’m coming to then,” the Twi’lek, Mission, moved beside the Wookie. “Not going to let Big Z go off and have all the fun with the newbies.”

“You should take a droid too,” one of the Jedi nodded. “Perhaps the HK...”

“No,” Spike said flatly, looking at HK-47 for a second, a flash of pain from their last fight crossing his mind. “The T3 unit will be more use anyway.”

The droid beeped its compliance, Spike looking around at the party and smiling. From their stances, none of them were unaccustomed to battle, even Mission, despite her age, was clearly ready for a fight, her blasters held in anticipation.

“We’ll move on the foundry then, watch our backs and hold the hangar,” Spike looked to the Jedi who would be remaining. “If Carth and this Kandar succeed at bringing bastila back or cutting her down, we’ll withdraw. Keep in comms contact.”

With that, Spike walked towards the blast door, the T3 unit already moving to the control panel, slicing the controls in a few heartbeats, grinding metal scraping open as if only a few motors had been turned against their master, the door resisting its inexorable opening.

As soon as they moved through, the doors began to slide shut again, Canderous and Seugtai smoothly taking the lead, Canderous lugging a heavy blaster with him, while Seu’s Ripper pistol swept the corridors, watching for any sign of movement. Constant beeps from the astromech droid, T3-M4 as it was proud to call itself, told the party which directions to take, clearly having downloaded a schematic of the immediate areas during its time in the Star Forges computer system.

It was quiet, eerily so, no Sith forces assailing them beyond a few automated turrets, popping up from the floor or dropping down from hidden hatches in the ceiling, destroyed almost instantly by a flurry of blaster fire.

“Didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” Canderous finally spoke, glancing at Spike. “Certainly not in my kinds armour. Realised it's better than anything your Republic can produce?”

“Nice to see you too, Canderous,” Spike shot back, a single blast shot destroying a turret in a shower of sparks. “And no, it’s not stolen or repurposed. It’s mine. Seu helped.”

“You’re giving help to the enemy now?” Canderous asked.

“War’s over, Canderous, Spike isn’t an enemy anymore,” Canderous shrugged. “Unless Ordo’s your enemy now, Spike’s part our clan, as is the right of our people.”

“The Beast of Ranox will never...” Canderous began, whatever he was about to say cut off as a blast door at the end of the corridor slid open, a veritable sea of Sentinel War Droids, as well as some strange, spindly droids bearing what looked like a large flamethrower.

Blaster fire filled the air, Spike and the others diving for cover, returning fire as best they could. Juhai was beside Spike, her blue Lightsaber active, catching Spikes eye behind his helmet visor.

“Cover us,” Juhani called, before leaping up, Spike wasting no time in following her, holstering his blaster as he focused all his energy into deflecting the blaster bolts flying towards them, his magic creating a shield to catch the worst of the blaster fire. They were strong shots, each one feeling like an icepick to the brain as it hit the shield, Spike forced to let some through to avoid being crippled by the pain. Not for the first time, he wished he still had his second lightsaber, one was good, and its design made absorbing shots easy, but the tonfa design meant that reflecting them back as Juhani was doing was all but impossible when used alone.

Pushing the thought from his mind, Spike continued to keep pace with Juhani, drawing fire and taking some of the danger away from the others, allowing them to return fire, blaster bolts slamming into the Sentinel Droids and tossing them aside. The spindly droids however seemed to be made of far stronger stuff despite their appearance, Spike watching no less than three blasts from the Wookies bowcaster slam into one with barely a scorch left behind, the flamethrower-like attachment turning to face Spike and Juhani and opening fire.

No flames billowed forth, instead a searing ray of carbinte lashing at Spike, hitting his arm and instantly getting to work. The pain was intense, Spike letting out a roar, before turning his attention to his rapidly freezing arm, preparing to let out a burst of flames, before realising he still wore his helmet. Cursing yet unable to spare a hand to remove it, Spike instead refocused his magic, the shield he had been maintaining dropping, forcing others back into cover as the fire re-intensified, in its place, magic flower into Spikes arm, heating the scales to fight off the freezing ray. The droid intensified its fire, the second unknown droid moving over, taking aim with its own carbonite emitter. Spike barely had time to react as it fired, dropping his lightsaber and thrusting both hands out, pouring all of his effort into his magic, hoping that his scales, Juhani and the others would be able to keep him safe from any other fire.

Spike roared in pain behind his helmet, dropping to one knee as the droids advanced step by step. Whatever they were, they were more powerful than any droid Spike had ever encountered, neither Mandalorian Basilisk or Hk-47 able to bring such firepower to bear. He had no idea where these things had come from, where Malak had got them and if he had more of them, all he could think of was survival, his mind reeling as he looked for any avenue to gain an advantage over them.

“Zaalbar, now!”

Spike barely had time to process the voice before a blur passed him, Mission now standing atop one of the droids. Behind him, the big Wookie, presumably Zaalbar, dived back into cover behind him. Had he just thrown the Twi’lek at the droid? The how didn’t matter, the fact remained that Mission was on the droid, jamming her blaster pistol into the things primary sensor node and pulling the trigger, set to full auto. The droid let out a mechanical scream, energy pulsing out of it as the pistol clicked empty, its tibana gas reserves depleted. Wasting no time and in an almost practice move, Mission removed the pistol, a burn hole gouged in the deep armour. In her other hand was a small, spherical device, its blue casing instantly recognisable as an ion grenade.

The grenade now jammed into the droid, Mission kicked off, skidding away from the droid an instant before the grenade detonated. Ionic energy radiated out from the droid, all systems fried beyond repair, the second of its kind battered by the storm, wavering ever so slightly. Before it could fully recover, Juhani was on it, her Lightsaber passing through the armour where the carbonite emitter met the body. In an instant, the ray faded, Spike falling forward, his arms screaming in agony as the near frozen limbs impacted heavily with the floor, his full weight bearing down on them. A pulse of magic soothed the pain, his lightsaber recovered, but he needn’t have bothered. By the time he rose once more, the last droid was dead, Juhani turning to look at Spike.

“Are you all right?” she asked, her heavily accented voice laden with concern.

“I will be,” Spike nodded, looking around at the devastation. “You’ve fought those things before, judging by how you and Mission knew exactly how to defeat them.”

“We have,” Juhani nodded. “While we were searching the galaxy for the Star Maps, we fought numerous droids of this type. We found more on the planet's surface below, remnants of the Rakatan Empire, steeped in the dark side.”

“Well the experience has clearly done well, I wouldn't want to face many more of those things at once,” Seugtai spoke as he advanced.

“Why were you searching for these...Star Maps?” Spike asked abruptly, before reiterating. “I mean, why you personally. I don’t doubt any of your abilities at all, but if the Star Maps led us here, then they were clearly of vital importance. Why were you all chosen?”

“We weren’t,” Canderous spoke this time. “At least, not by the Republic. We were chosen by Kandar. This is his mission, we’re just along for the ride.”

“His mission?” Spike asked in surprise. “I thought this was Carth’s?”

“No, he’s just a follower like the rest of us. Even Bastila was only ever a second or third in command, not that she ever saw it that way.”

“This Kandar must be important then, and skilled,” Seugtai mused. “Jedi Master?”

Spike would have had to be blind to miss the uneasy looks passing between Mission, Juhani, Canderous and Zaalbar, Juhani eventually speaking.

“I do not believe he is a Master, a Knight maybe. Perhaps once this is done you shall meet him. As long as we all survive.”

“Agreed, we need to move,” Canderous nodded, looking down at T3. “Are we close?”

A few beeps from the droid confirmed that they were, the group advancing again, Seugtai opening up a secure channel to Spike’s helmet, the pair conversing in hushed whispers.

“I don’t like how they all looked when we mentioned Kandar,” Seugtai whispered.

“Agreed. There’s more to that than they’re letting on. Can rule out an agent of Malak I think, but then again, this could be part of his ploy if it is a power grab. Destabilise Malak and rule in his stead. I hate feeling like I’m being used.”

“Don’t have much choice though,” Seu replied. “Good or not, we’re here to destroy this factory and aid Carth, the Republic Fleet needs this done or its history. We can find out more later, but right now...”

“We work with them until we don’t,” Spike finished. “Come on, lets not let them out of our sight.”

Sticking closer together than they had before, Seugtai and Spike followed the others, bursting into a cavernous room, hundreds of chunky cylinders spanning from the floor far below the gantry the group was on to the ceiling far above. Peering over the edge, Spike let out a gasp, his helmet bringing the distant figures into sharp relief.

There were hundreds of droids, possibly thousands of them, both regular Sentinel class droids and dozens of the more powerful Rakatan droids stood in neat ranks on the floor, yet more pouring out of the large tube like foundries. Off in the distance, larger manufacturing plants spat out other forms of war materiel, from suits of armour and blasters through to Sith Fighters. As he watched, Spike even saw a Sith Cruiser slide forth, integrity fields flickering on around it as it moved out into the void beyond, already firing.

Only now did Spike truly understand the power of the Star Forge. Before it had just been a shipyard, but that was too small a word for what this was. No, this was more that, this was an automated factory, given over entirely to producing not just armaments, but the means to use them. Sith ships could be made here to be largely automated, vast numbers of their crew created in droid foundries, boarding parties created from the Rakatan creations to bolster organic forces. With the Star Forge, the Sith Empire would be unstoppable. If the Republic lost today, even if their fleet survived, then the Sith would win through weight of numbers alone. All of their tactics, their seemingly endless fleet, this explained it all.

“We have to shut this down,” Spike murmured, more to himself than to anyone else, already moving towards a central control panel, scores of dead Sith and shattered Sentinel Droids already lining the walkway, the T3 unit interfacing with the controls.”

This is Admiral Dodonna to all Republic Forces. We have confirmation that Bastila Shan has been secured and returned to us, her battle meditation will no longer be aiding the Sith Forces. All capital ships moving into bombardment range of the Star Forge, any personnel onboard are to withdraw to boarding craft and break for the fleet. We cannot wait for you, if you are still on-board when our ships are in position you will be forced to evacuate under fire, I cannot guarantee you safety from our own guns.

Each of the group stopped at this, looking round to ensure the others had all heard what they had.

“Prepare to move back to the hangar bay,” Spike called. “Juhani, lead the way, I’m going to stay behind and deactivate this forge. If the fleet fails to fully destroy the station I want to deny as much of the production capabilities to the enemy as possible.”

“You heard the admiral,” Juhani protested. “We need to leave.”

“You need to,” Spike snapped forcefully. “This Kandar of yours will likely be falling back as well, you all came in one ship so you need to be there when he is to cast off. Seu and I can get out on our own droids, we can get out of here once the job is done, now go!”

Spike didn’t know why he had snapped so violently, Juhani had simply been asking a question, and yet it had felt good to do so. Without a word, Juhani turned and broke into a run back the way they came, Seu moving up beside Spike as he hurried to the console, beginning to work furiously on the ancient interface.

“Was that really necessary?” Moonstone asked, materialising beside the pair. “She was trying to help.”

“Her help would get her killed,” Spike said dismissively.

“And yet not five minutes ago, she saved your life,” Moonstone countered.

Spike paused at that. Moonstone was right, she had. So why now did he feel such contempt for her?

“We need to leave,” Spike’s eyes flew open as realisation hit him full force.

“What about the factory?” Seugtai asked.

“If we had time to destroy it then we should, but this place isn’t mundane,” Spike growled, his mood darkening even as he fought it. “The force is strong here, I assumed it was just Revan, but it's not. This station is powered by the Dark Side, if I remain here much longer...”

“We’re leaving,” Seugtai didn’t wait for Spike to finish talking, grabbing a thermal detonator from his belt. “This won’t destroy all of it, but it will hurt them if it survives the fleet.”

Nodding, Spike moved away, Moonstone disappearing as Seu affixed the detonator to the console, following it up with half a dozen more, expending his full supply before setting a timer. Three minutes.

“Cutting that close, aren’t we?” Spike asked, before following Seu’s finger as he pointed, comprehension spreading over his face.

Their intrusion hadn’t gone unnoticed, dozens of the Rakatan droids clambering up the sides of the mighty chamber, heading directly for where Spike and Seu now stood. The chamber was large, but they were fast, covering the distance quickly. In a few minutes, they’d be overrun.

For a moment, Spike wanted to fight them, feeling his grip tighten on his weapons, his muscles tensing, his wings unfurling, before Seu grabbed his wrist, pulling him towards the door. Fighting his own instinct to leap at the foe, Spike followed the Mandalorian, the pair sprinting down the corridor even as the first shots from the droids rang out, these models forgoing the carbonite weapons of the other droids in favour of more conventional, and still high powered, weaponry.

Spike barely paused to look back as they ran, flicking his hand out behind him to close each blast door as they past it, the sound of the droids tearing through growing closer with every passing second. Then, an explosion blossomed behind them, the shockwave washing over both of them and pitching them forward. Barely keeping his footing, Spike continued to run, pausing only to steady Seu before moving at full speed once more.

The station was shaking now, impacts from what could only be Admiral Dodanna’s bombardment ringing throughout the halls. With a certainty that could only come from years of experience in the void, Spike knew that at their current speed, they wouldn’t reach the hangar before the station came apart.

“Weapons away,” Spike roared as he ran, falling back slightly to be behind Seugtai, clipping his lightsaber to his belt, ensuring it was mag-locked in place. Seugtai didn’t argue or ask questions, doing the same with his own weapons an instant before Spike grabbed him, wrapping his arms around the man as he spread his wings, taking to the air and rocketing forward.

His wingspan was huge, far too large to properly unfurl in these small spaces and making the flight perilous. One wrong move and they’d be sprawled across the floor and easy prey for the droids just behind them. Time seemed to slow as Spike poured all his magic inwards, his vision blackening around the edges as all that mattered lay before him, tunnel vision setting in. The strain was immense, Spike feeling his body rebel as the magic pushed it beyond where it should have ever gone to.

With a roar of agony, Spike and Seugtai burst into the hangar bay. The Ebon Hawk and the Jedi’s own craft had all gone, leaving only the two war droids remaining. Half landing, half crashing, Spike sprawled over the desk, twisting to land on his back to cushion Sueugtai, relinquishing him the moment they had slowed and allowing the Mandalorian to jump onto his own war droid.

Spike followed his lead, clambering onto his own mount, his movements sluggish as he worked the controls as fast as he was able. With a confirmation pulse sent, Seugtai shot out of the hangar, Spike’s droid just behind it, operating as much under its own instinct as it did under Spike’s control, shooting the pair into the black of space, dodging Republic ships as they went.

Laser blasts were all around them, pummelling the station with everything they could muster, and mere moments after they had escaped, the station began to fall, caught in the gravity of the star that had fuelled it. Spike didn’t see any of this, his vision finally slipping away, his overtaxed body finally shutting down, Spike drifting into unconsciousness, feeling himself slide off his droid, unable to stop himself from drifting through space as he passed out.

Not the Warmest Welcome

Being unconscious, whether through fatigue, injury or any other form of unlooked for black out is a strange experience. It is hard to put into words had one not experienced it before, but it is both frightening and calming at the same time. The fear that you may never awaken mingles with the relief that you may not have to. The nuances were far greater of course, but they are difficult to describe had one not experienced it first hand.

Spike had been unconscious throughout his life more times than he could count.

As the dragon drifted in his own mind, the fear he had once felt in such a state was utterly absent, though in truth this was no surprise. He knew he was not dead. He knew the Star Forge had been destroyed with no chance of its recovery from the star of the Lehon system. He even knew Bastila had been returned to the light and had worked with the Republic once more to secure their victory. True he did not know the final fate of Malak, if Carth and Kandar had struck him down, if he had still been on the Star Forge when it had been destroyed, or if he’d escaped, but truthfully it didn’t matter anymore.

The Star Forge was the true threat, Malak was its leader and still a brutal foe to have to face, but without his Star Forge, his fleets and armies would no longer be limitless. If the war still raged, it would be a new chapter, one far more evenly matched than those that came before it.

Even as Spike mused, he felt his corporeal body pulling at him from afar, beaconing him back to the waking world. Spike neither resisted the pull nor ran towards it, both actions meaningless in such a place. He would wake when his body was capable of doing such, not a moment before, not a moment after.

As Spike’s real-world eyes shot open he let out a huge breath, sitting bolt upright and nearly slamming his still helmeted head into the top of the medical scanner he lay upon.

He was still in full armour, a quick glance around telling him that only Seugtai and a medical droid stood within the infirmary.

“Nice of you to come back to us,” Seugtai laughed, his own helmet still in place. “Took your sweet time about it too, we almost missed the request for our presence.”

“Our presence?” Spike asked, shaking his head to try and clear his senses. “The battle’s still going then?”

“Oh no, the battles won, we won,” Seugtai helped Spike to his feet. “Malak was killed on the Star Forge, this Kandar managed to kill him, must be one hell of a prodigy, definitely not Sith either, the Republic is currently holding a celebration ceremony on the surface of Lehon for him and his crew, we’re also invited, same with the surviving Jedi borders. Seems like anyone who made it onto the station is being recognised for their achievements.”

“The Republic...wants to honour us?” Spike asked, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Not too long ago they tried to arrest us all on Kashyyyk, now they’re celebrating us?”

“New galaxy,” Seugtai shrugged. “War’s over, healings more important to the Republic than revenge.”

“Good to hear, though I doubt the order will be as accommodating. They don’t have a good track record of welcoming back wayward warriors who the Republic loves, if Meetra’s anything to go by.”

“Fuck the Jedi,” Seugtai laughed, giving a terse nod to the medical droid as the pair left the small room, Spike instantly realising they were on one of the many Hammerheads in the grand fleet, whether one of his or the Republic’s he wasn’t sure, but the design was obvious. “Meetra didn’t have to go back, she chose to, you said that yourself. You don’t have to go back either, and if I’m honest, I’d rather you didn’t. Ordo’s still out there, Spike. You wore the armour well in combat, the way of the Mandalorians is in you now, don’t throw it away for the Jedi. You deserve better than that.”

“I won’t be, don’t worry there, that bridge has been well and truly burnt.”

The pair continued down towards the hangar bay, soldiers passing the pair and confirming Spike’s suspicion that they were indeed on a ship in the Republic fleet, not one of his own vessels, something he quickly brought up with Seugtai.

“The fleets on the system edge,” Seugtai replied by way of explanation. “Most of the captains have a criminal record or are escaped cons, they were fine fighting alongside them in the battle, but now it's over, most of them are worried that the goodwill of the Republic will find its limits. They’ll wait for us, but they’re waiting at a distance.”

“Fair enough, I suppose,” Spike nodded, knowing full well the desire not to be returned to any of the prisons that likely would have awaited any of them. Truth be told, he wasn’t optimistic himself about being surrounded by Republic soldiers just yet, but he trusted Seugtai. If the old mandalorian said they were safe, they were safe.

“So,” Seugtai spoke again as they entered a turbolift, rocketing across the ship towards the hangar. “How was your first outing in your own beskar’gam?”

“Weird,” Spike admitted, suddenly actually aware of the tight suit and armour he still wore. “I’m not used to as much restriction when I fight, and the helmet? Nearly melted it onto my face trying to fight those blasted droids.”

“Yeah, good point on that one, maybe a re-designed helmet is needed,” Seugtai laughed. “To be expected though, everyone feels clammed up their first time, it gets better. Trust me, soon you’ll not even know it's there anymore.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Spike grinned, exiting the lift and striding across the hangar.

Both of their War Droids were sitting in the hangar, idling as if they too needed a rest after the battle they had been in, Spike and Seugtai walking past them to instead board a waiting shuttle, the craft taking off the moment they were on board, the ramp and airlock sealing as they shot into space and headed for the surface of Lehon.

“Looking forward to meeting this Kandar,” Seugtai admitted as they approached. “Anyone who can go toe to toe with someone like Malak and win? They deserve a drink.”

“Several,” Spike agreed. “Honestly all of them do, well, maybe no that Mission kid? How old do you think she is?”

“Probably not old enough to drink by Republic laws, but by my estimates, that would also make her not old enough to save the galaxy, so I say forget that age, she deserves one as much as any.”

They lapsed into silence as Spike thought about the members of Kandar’s and Carth’s party. Most of them seemed fine, but to have both Canderous and HK-47 travelling with him, it smacked of ill-fortune, some cosmic force at work or, worst of all, active attempts to gather those who had ties to Spike. Spike dismissed the last one with a grunt. He wasn’t that important, he doubted that in a race to save the galaxy, kandar hadn’t spared him a single thought, if he knew him at all. The Jedi order was huge and Spike was a black mark in it at the best of times.

“Strange to see Canderous again,” Seugtai broke the silence, as if reading Spike’s mind. “Must have been two years before the end of the war since I saw him last. Good to see other members of Ordo are still around.”

“The clans are scattered, we saw to that,” Spike sighed, not for the first time regretting how completely they had destroyed the mandalorians. At the time it had seemed so final and definitive, securing the Republic for all time. Now, his mind wondered what would have happened had the mandalorian clans still been armed and had stood against revan and Malak.

“We’ll rebuild, that I swae to you,” Seugtai’s voice had the conviction of someone who wouldn’t rest until his words came true, Spike not doubting him for a second.

The craft touched down just outside an ancient stone building, its design and inscriptions making it look like some form of temple. Dozens of other ships were present alongside hundreds of soldiers and Jedi, Spike even doing a double take as he saw Supreme Chancellor Tol Cressa present. Either the Supreme Chancellor had been waiting for this moment just outside the system, or Spike had been unconscious long enough for him to reach Lehon from the capital world.

An escort met the two as they exited the ship, leading them inside the vast temple building, a room set aside where Master Vandar was already waiting.

“Master Vandar,” Spike nodded as he entered the room, Vandar looking at Spike with a look of surprise on his face.

“Spike? The war has clearly taken you down a very divergent path than the one you were set upon before its start.”

“I’m not in prison, so of course,” Spike retorted, keeping his annoyance in check just barely, thanking whatever was looking over him that it was Vandar and not Atris standing before him. “This is Seugtai Ordo, he’s stood beside me and shown me his ways.”

Seugtai nodded to Vandar, the diminutive Jedi bowing his own head in return.

“We are just waiting upon the others and then we can begin. Spike, there is something I must say before they arrive...”

Whatever Vandar was about to say, he never got a chance to say it, the door sliding open behind them, Spike whirling to see the newcomers. He recognised every single one of them. Bastila and Carth from their pictures, Canderous, Mission, Zaalbar, Jolee, Juhani, T3-M4 and HK-47 from the Star Forge, and at their head...

“REVAN!” Spike roared, leaping forward as he saw the man who he had once loved and now despised above all enter the room.

Revan looked identical to how Spike remembered him, before he had put on the damned mask. His face and beard were weary with age, but he had clearly not been diminished by any of what had transpired in the past few years. The last time Spike had seen him, Revan had stood with Malak, the trio crossing blades, Spike forced to retreat before their combined fury.Now, he would finish the job.

Elusive roared into life in Spike’s hand, the gleaming white blade descending, only to be met with a glowing purple blade as revan ignited his own Lightsaber. The blades clashed for an instant before Spike was hurled backwards, Bastila’s hand outstretched, her own lightsaber igniting.

Spike twisted in the air, managing to land well enough as he drew his blaster, Seugtai’s own weapons out and readied as he stood beside Spike, Revans companions doing the same.

“Hold, Spike,” Vandar spoke, moving between the two groups.

“What, the hell, is going on,” Spike growled, his anger barely contained.

“I’d like to know too,” Seugtai agreed.

“And I would like to know why a criminal is here,” Bastila shot back, glaring at Spike. “Even under that armour I recognise you, Spike. Have you betrayed the Republic now just as you betrayed the Jedi?”

“Why you self sanctimonious...” Spike began.

“Master vandar said hold.”

The voice was calm, one Spike knew oh so well, watching as Revan deactivated his lightsaber and approached Vandar.

“It appears I should have waited for longer.”

“I was about to explain as you entered,” Vandar looked back at Spike. “Lower your weapons.”

“Why should I?” Spike snarled.

“Because I am about to explain.”

“You can explain with my weapons out just well enough,” Spike snapped. “Talk, tell me why he’s here and not in chains.”

“The same reason you aren’t Spike,” Vandar countered. “Because the Republic has forgiven his crimes.”

“His crimes are not comparable with mine!” Spike roared, rounding on Vandar. “He led an invasion of the Republic, I tried to stop it, do not place me on a level with him.”

“Calm yourself, Spike,” Revan spoke softly, Spike hating the fact that his voice did indeed make Spike want to calm down, laden with authority that could never be taught or learnt, it was something that some people naturally had. Revan had always had it.

“Why?” Spike repeated again, gritting his teeth to keep his voice contained, though both his lightsaber and pistol were still held ready.

“Bastila was sent not to kill, but to capture Revan,” Vandar started. “While they fought, a life bond was formed through the force, binding them together.”

“When Malak attacked, most of my strikeforce were killed, and Revan was injured,” Bastila continued. “We managed to escape and took him to Dantooine, we wrote a new personality atop his own, in the hopes he would subconsciously lead us to the Sith Empires secret weapon.”

“And I thought the Jedi were above such use of prisoners of war,” Seugtai laughed, Canderous letting out a laugh of his own at the other Mandalorians' words.

“Oh and the Mandalorians are any better?” Mission shouted.

“We never claim to be any different,” Seugtai countered. “We never hid behind a veneer of nobility while sinking to the depths of the enemy.”

“Because every action is justified if victory is gained,” Revan finished.

“And that’s why you beat us,” Canderous nodded.

“So you wiped his memory? Seems like he’s got it back to me,” Spike snapped.

“I do,” Revan agreed. “There was an...incident during the war. My ship was captured, Bastila taken by Malak who revealed the truth to me. Knowing that broke the bonds the Jedi had placed on my mind, for the most part at least, and yet I still stand here, fighting for the Republic.”

“You should have stayed dead,” Spike growled.

“And then we would all be dead. Do not be a fool, Spike. I know my crimes are great, but to wallow in them is to accept defeat. I taught you far...”

“YOU TAUGHT ME NOTHING!” Spike roared. “You were not my master, you were not my teacher. You were my general, my friend, and you betrayed everything we stood for at Malachor, then you abandoned us all to lead a war against us.”

Spike seethed, before closing his eyes beneath his helmet, taking a long, deep breath before finally opening them, deactivating his lightsaber and holstering his pistol.

“If the Republic and the Jedi already know about this, then it’s not my place to have any say, but I do not have to like it.”

With that, Spike pushed past Revan, storming off into the temple interior, Seugtai following after him, leaving Vandar with Revan and his companions.

Despite the fact that Spike had only left a few moments before Seugtai, the dragon was nowhere to be found and when Seugtai went to find Spike’s armour locator, he found that it had been purposely deactivated. Resigning himself to a manual search, Seugtai began to move around the temple, noting the recent carbon scoring on the walls as he went. There had been a fight here recently, likely during the battle in orbit above.

Finally after hours of searching, Seugtai emerged at the top of the temple, a small stone courtyard that looked like it had been used as a landing pad recently. If Spike wasn’t up here, Seugtai was out of ideas, but as he exited the stairwell, he saw Spike standing alone, his helmet removed as he looked up at the sky.

“A Mandalorian isn’t meant to remove his helmet,” Seugtai pointed out.

“You always did,” Spike looked round as he spoke. “I’ve seen your face more than enough times.”

“Maybe that’s my failing,” Seugtai conceded, before reaching up and removing his own helmet, revealing the aged Taung behind it. “Brooding then?”

“Brooding,” Spike nodded. “Everyone can be redeemed if they are willing, Seugtai. I’ve tried to hold onto that from my home, failed more times than I can count in the heat of the moment, but I’ve tried, at least when my head’s clear. I think Twilight and the others would at least approve of the effort, if not my failings.”

“Haven’t heard you talk about your home for a while,” Seugtai sounded surprised.

“It hurts to think about,” Spike shrugged. “I still don't know if they’re even out there, if the world is somewhere physical or something else. I don’t even know for sure if its real, if all my memories are just in my head, the scroll I puked up some manifestation of a life that doesn’t exist. Goddess help me but I’d like to have some closure on that. I could use it now.”

“Moonstone can help?” Seugtai half asked the question, half spoke as if he was pointing out the obvious.

“She tried, but in this case she can’t. She’s a reminder, not her fault but I asked her to leave for a bit. I needed time to think. Like I said, I’ve always tried to see redemption in people, even those I’ve failed to see it in at the time I can see it after the fact, but Revan? To know he’s walking around after Malachor? After Telos? After the whole war he led?”

“Want my advice?” Seugtai asked, standing beside Spike, the two resting on the parapet and looking down at the celebrations far below.

“I feel you’re going to give it to me anyway, so go on.”

“Forget it,” Seugtai replied simply. “Revan’s not your concern anymore, the Jedi and their politics, even the Republic, they’re not your burden to bear any longer. They cast you out, their loss, but I told you, Ordo will find a place for you. Mandalorians are usually a more forgiving kind when it comes to enemy combatants.”

“You can say that again,” a voice called from behind the pair, both warriors whirling round to look at Canderous, the man striding towards them, his heavy blaster holstered on his back, his own armour glinting in the light of the worlds star.

“Shouldn’t you be down there with Revan and the others?” Spike asked icily.

“Pah, they pinned their little Cross of Glory to my chest and said how grateful they all are, what does that matter though?” Candeous laughed, before looking at the pair. “It is good to see more Mandalorians from the war, even if I only knew you as an enemy, Spike. The galaxy makes for strange coincidences, doesn’t it?”

“Never thought I’d be wearing this armour and it actually meaning something if that’s what you mean,” Spike nodded.

“Always a good day when an old enemy sees the light of the way,” Canderous nodded, before addressing both of them. “I’ll be shipping out soon, Revan has offered me one final ride in the Ebon Hawk to the Hydian Way, from there I’ll be making my way back to Ordo, whatever's left of it. I could travel alone, but travelling together seems smarter, lots of people in the Republic still hold a grudge against one Mandalorian, enough to take a pot shot at least. Three of us would give anyone pause, especially one the size of the Beast over here.”

“Don’t call me that,” Spike growled.

“I’ll call you it until you give me reason not to,” Canderous retorted. “I saw what you did on Ranox, the title should be an honorific, one warrior bringing an entire world to its knees? That takes skill, worthy of memory.”

“The only reason you need is I said not to,” Spike’s teeth glinted as he snarled. “I was a different person on Ranox, physically different. That’s all you need to know.”

“I...” Canderous began, Moonstone appearing beside Spike and cutting him off.

“Spike asked you not to speak on it, Rally Master, I would ask the same, as well as advise you not to press the issue.”

“On this, I’d agree with Moonstone,” Seugtai nodded. “It’s a...touchy subject.”

“What the hell are you?” Canderous seemed to forget about the prior conversation, looking at Moonstone who smiled, before fading from sight.

“Trust me, brother, you’ll get used to it in time,” Seugtai laughed, before securing his helmet in place, Spike following suit. “Come on, we have a fleet to figure out what we’re doing with, and then onto Ordo.”

With those words, Seugtai, Canderous and Spike left the courtyard, heading back down to the temple towards the awaiting shuttles. For the first time in as long as he could remember, Spike truly had no goals, no Republic to rebuild after the Exar Kun War, no padawan to train after the Mandalorian Wars, no galaxy spanning foe to fight. Now, Spike was free to just be Spike, Spike the Mandalorian, Spike the Ex-Jedi.

Spike, the dragon.

Author's Note

And with that, Act Three is now closed

Those Left Behind

The wind whipped quietly across the mountains, kicking up paint puffs of snow as it passed through the glorious night. Stars twinkled far above alongside the crater-marked moon that hung as if in judgement of the entire planet. Far below, the vast waterfalls and lakes that surrounded the great stone keep rippled and bubbled quietly, small animals jumping or swimming around the life-giving water, unaware of anything beyond their own existence, content in their blissful ignorance of the wider world.

Twilight Sparkle looked down at the creatures before sighing and turning away.

Her eyes were heavy, bags clearly present under both of them, it was clear to anyone who looked that she hadn’t slept for a long time. And yet Twilight had slept only hour before, and yet, no matter when she rose or how long she slipped into the slumbering world for, she could not shake her tired expression.

Everyone had tried to help her, from the finest doctors of Canterlot, through to Rarity, her friend working her magic with makeup and clothes to draw attention elsewhere and distract from the unsightly and unwanted additions to Twilights face, and yet nothing worked. No makeup would cover them, no malady was found to be affecting the princess, no flowing gowns could draw the eye away from her face. Twilight had long since resigned herself to the fact that this was her new look. Stress, she imagined, that was the most likely cause, and she didn’t feel that dissipating anytime soon.

“It will be worth it,” she whispered, to herself as nopony else was around to hear her.

Walking through the castle, Twilight passed a scant few ponies, mostly those in the segmented green and purple armour of the Interior Guard. Each gave a curt salute but remained silent, as all their kind did while on duty, their face covering masks and full body armour making them an imposing sight, any who saw them knowing that they were here to guard and nothing else, unlike those of the Exterior Guard, who still maintained the ancient armour they had done since time immemorial, helping the ponies of the capital as well as keeping them safe.

A lot had disliked the splitting of the Canterlot Guard into the Interior and Exterior Guard, entrenched military families outraged by the perceived loss of prowess as almost all of the older members were re-allocated into the Exterior units, fresh blood being brought in, each member hoof selected by Twilight herself, the only unit to now wear her personal guards armour. Some still saw the Interior Guard as unneeded, the combined Royal guard having always been responsible for both the capitol and the Princesses. Some even saw the use of Twilight's own guard as the basis for this new unit as a dangerous precedent to set, and yet to the vast majority of the nation, it was a necessity. Since the destruction of Mount Turg all those years ago during Twilight's ascension, relations with Gryphomry had swiftly degraded, the Gryphons seeing the desecration of one of their holy sights as an insult at best, an open challenge at worst. Political pressure had increased exponentially in both empires, boiling over when evidence of an assassination plot was uncovered against Twilight Sparkle herself.

The war that followed had been swift and brutal, the Gryphons proud fighters but lacking in magic, eventually being defeated by the combined Equestrian Army. The lands north of the Cawstone Mountains had been under military occupation ever since, the army ratified into a permanent standing force by the Equestrian Senate, all overseen by Twilight, appointed head of this new army.

“Twilight, I did not expect to see you up so early.”

Twilight didn’t need to turn to see who had spoken, but she did anyway, seeing Celestia walking up behind her. Like Twilight, her eyes were heavy with the tell-tale signs of stress, but whereas for Twilight sleep was not an issue, for Celestia it most certainly was, the tear marks dominating her face made that obvious. Twilight supposed it wasn’t all that surprising, all things considered.

“You should get some rest,” she cooed soothingly, putting her hoof around her old mentor's neck and gently leading her back towards her chambers. There had been a time where Celestia had towered over all ponies, Twilight included, but that time had long passed, grief and the ever-growing need for more stringent leadership in Equestria that Celestia simply couldn’t provide anymore had seen the older Alicorn transfer much of her own powers to Twilight, the younger Princess now ruling almost alone, Celestia appearing at the highest formal functions, leaving Twilight to rule at all other times.

“She’s a good pony,” Celestia whispered, her voice quavering as she spoke.

“Of course she was,” Twilight nodded, opening the door to Celestia’s chambers and ushering her former mentor inside. “The Nightmare is strong, but once this storm has passed, we shall retrieve her and aid her once more, I promise.”

“Thank you, Twilight,” Celestia managed a smile, though the sorrow in her face rendered the attempt meaningless. Even so, she laid a hood upon Twilight's face, stroking it softly. “My ever faithful student.”

Twilight smiled back, her own gesture radiating a confident power celestia simply couldn’t match anymore, allowing Celestia to drop her hoof of her own volition, before letting the doors swing shut. A brief burst of magic saw a spell cast on the door, the next time it opened, Twilight would know, it would not do to have Celestia seen by the general public in such a state, Equestria must remain strong, a weakened and defeated Princess would destroy everything Twilight strove for.

When she finally reached the courtyard, the sun was just beginning to crest the horizon, Twilight barely registering the effort to raise it anymore, Celestia’s power, combined with her own and that of Luna made the gesture trivial at best.

“Good morning, Spike,” Twilight looked up at the statue that dominated the large courtyard. In every way, it was identical to how Spike had been the last time Twilight had seen him, that last fateful day. Everything had changed then, Twilights station, Equestria’s security, and yet the one thing she had always held onto was hope. Hope that he was still out there. In her brain she knew he was dead, there was no other explanation, and the magic that had stolen him, while rogue, had been more powerful than anything she had ever experienced. She knew of some things that may have been able to survive it, holding herself as chief amongst them, but Spike was not counted in that list. Her heart ached whenever her brain told her that, continually holding out a fools hope, the last of such foolish emotions Twilight could afford to feel in these dark times.

“Princess, they await you in the throne room,” A guard approached, the magic on each of their helmets modulating their voice to be identical, a mixture of a hundred voices from across Equestria, symbolic of how the faceless guard ponies could be anypony, any could aspire to join their ranks. Twilight was proud of that deception, it gave ponies hope.

“Thank you,” Twilight nodded to the guard, sending them on her way as she took to the skies, her wing beats practiced enough to barely cause any disturbance as she flew by a flock of birds, an old Pegasi trick Rainbow Dash had taught her. Within moments she was in the throne room, landing on her throne that now stood in the centre of the raised dias, a golden throne off to the right hoof side, a throne covered with a black cloth to her left.

“Princess Twilight Sparkle.”

The voice came a large Buffalo, his head bowed and one knee bent in respect.

“High Chieftain Thunderhooves,” Twilight smiled, looking down at the Buffalo. “Please, rise, a ruler such as yourself does not need to kneel for this long before me. I know why you are here.”

Thunderhooves nodded, rising as he did so, looking directly at Twilight.

“Thank you my Princess. Long have I travelled to be here in person, I believed that a face to face meeting would be more fruitful than continuing this conversation between emissaries who must report back before decisions are...”

“My emissaries speak with my full authority and voice,” Twilight cut in, her voice remaining level, though a sudden icy hardness ran underneath. “If you believe that the same argument will garner a different response from me than it did from Captain Protector Shadow, then you are sadly mistaken and you will have wasted a long trip.”

“Of course, your highness, I meant no disrespect to your emissary,” Thunderhooves dipped his head slightly in apology before continuing. “I only meant that I wish to speak directly to you, I have not come with the same words as my daughter spoke on my behalf.”

“Then by all means, speak them,” Twilight smiled, the ice banished from her voice once more.

“I once again petition for the removal of Equestrian soldiers from the territories of Gryphomry, the occupation has gone on for too long. The Gryphons and the Buffalo one traded great commodities with one another, and while for Gryphomry they were but trinkets, the trade we received in turn was vital to our way of life. Without such trade, by people are being forced ever further south to seek fresh supplies of water and new grazing lands, but pickings of such are slim, and I fear we do not have much farther to go before we reach the Great Salt Sea.”

“Equestria trades vast quantities of raw goods with your people,” Twilight replied bluntly. “If you wish to renegotiate this balance then I would be happy to send down one of my trade ministers to oversee the alterations.”

“Your trade favours those Buffalo Tribes who have agreed to provide supplies for the Equestrian Army over those who supply goods to the Equestrian people,” Thunderhoof protested.

“Equestria is not in as dire a need of such goods as they are in need of what those tribes can provide to our armed forces,” Twilight responded in turn. “There is still resistance in the territories of Gryphomry, many of the King's supporters escaped our initial conquests thanks to outside aid. We are still seeking down these dissidents as well as those who aided them, until we do, the occupation remains for the purposes of Equestrian security, all of this will have been made clear by Captain Protector Shadow.”

As if on queue, the doors to the chamber opened, a single pony entering the room, clad in the armour of similar to that of the Interior guard, though many of the green plates were instead coloured jet black. Thunderhoof turned to look at the newcomer, surprise and worry crossing his face as he recognised the newcomer, even with her all encompassing armour, the metal horn making such easy.

“Ah, you have arrived, good,” Twilight smiled, becoming Tempest Shadow to her side, the captain of the Sovereign Protectors, the elite of the Interior guard, moving to Twilights side, whispering in the princesses ear.

“I was not aware you had left Appleloosa,” Thunderhoof’s words were slow and measured.

“I am not beholden to make my movements known to you,” Tempest replied, her own voice filled with the contempt that she was well known for, ever since her days in the Storm King’s employ, before he defection to Twilights service, the Storm King vanquished soon after.

“Of course, I...” Thunderhoof began, but a raised hoof from Twilight silenced him, allowing Tempest to continue her whispered conversation with the monarch. When she finished, Twilight's smile was gone, replaced with hard determination.

“High Chieftain Thunderhoof, you insult me.”

“What has she whispered in your ear!?” Thunderhoof roared, surging forward, a pair of magical spears baring his path, Tempest readying her own weapon, the double ended glaive of her cadre.

“She has told me of your true purpose here, of your attempt to distract me while your tribe breaks the Appleloosan Treaty Line.”

“My people are starving!” Thunderhoof protested. “We struggle to simply feed our young and hold to our own convictions. We will not supply your army, but if you will not see sense and allow trade to resume or allow fairer trade to flow from your lands, my people have no choice.”

“Withdraw them,” Twilight hissed, her voice low and menacing as she stood, pulling herself up to her full height as she descended the steps towards Thunderhoof, even when they stood on the same level, the Buffalo still forced to look up to meet the Alicorns gleaming yellow eyes.

“I must do what is right by people, and by those of Gryphomry you stand as oppressor over,” Thunderhoof did not back down, it was admirable. It was foolish.

“High Chieftain Thunderhoof, I give you one final chance, withdraw behind the Appleloosan Line or I shall regard this as an act of war,” Twilights voice boomed around the throne room, the ancient Canterlot Voice one of the first tricks she had learnt in her time as a Princess, its effects useful for bringing the masses in line when used correctly.

“I cannot, and I will not,” Thunderhoof stood his ground.

“So be it,” Twilight nodded. “High Chieftain Thunderhoof. By your actions are our two peoples now considered to be in a state of open war. You shall be held here until your people and armies surrender to Equestrian Forces, whereupon your crimes against Equestria shall be more closely examined and punishment meted out in accordance with our laws and the severity of your transgressions. Only one of us wished for this war, but I shall end it and ensure the continued safety of my ponies. Guards, remove him to the dungeons, there are preparations that must be made.”

With that, Twilight turned, ignoring Thunderhoof’s roar as he attempted to burst from the room, only to find himself enveloped by a magical field from one of her guards. When would the younger races learn, without magic they were powerless before the Equestrian’s, and yet they continued to push her.

Twilight left the room, Tempest Shadow beside her, removing her helmet as they walked.

“Excellent work,” she murmured as the pair walked down a set of hidden stairs behind the Equestrian thrones, the grandeur of the public meeting room soon a distant memory, replaced with a more brutal architecture, runes of power cast in Gryphomry Iron decorating the walls.

This was where the true power of the Equestrian Empire was housed, not in the throne room above. As relationships worsened with the Gryphons, Twilight had ordered its construction as a ready room, a place to plan the future of Equestria away from the eyes of the masses. When the order had been given to invade, it had been given from here. When Luna had launched her ill-fated rebellion in protest, Twilight had received the news from this room. This was the beating heart of her nation, and now it was called for use again. Few knew of its existence, fewer still knew of what was truly being wrought here.

Two Sovereign protectors lined the walls, permanently on station within the war room to protect Equestria’s secrets. Both were Unicorns, ones Twilight trusted above all others; Sunset Shimmer, Celestia’s former student before Twilight, Starlight Glimmer, an attempted reformist from the North, now brought into Twilights service. Together, alongside the Element Bearers themselves and Tempest Shadow, they represented Equestria’s might, the power of Friendship used by the Element Bearers, while the Sovereign Protectors practiced magic in its more arcane and ancient form. In truth, between the two, the Elements were the greater face of Equestrian power, but the Protectors were its true might. With magic taken from Star Swirls lessons and combined with Twilights own mastery, few could stand before them, either on the battlefield or in the reshaping of Equestria that was underway.

“It is done then?” Starlight asked, the first of the pair to speak.

“The Buffalo have been pushed to the edge, they launched their own attack,” Tempest nodded. “Our response can be swift and brutal to cull their ranks.”

“Precisely,” Twilight smiled. Tempest’s smile joined Twilights own, Starlight also smiling beneath her helmet. Beneath hers, Sunset Shimmer looked uneasy.

“Sunset,” Twilight’s voice cut through Sunsets uneasy. “Call the Element Bearers and ready the Protectors. I will address the nation shortly before we march south. Starlight, prepare the bodies in Gryphomry, they are to be found in two days time.”

“Of course, my Mistress,” Starlight bowed deeply, Sunset wordlessly mimicking her actions, before the pair left the room, leaving Twilight and Tempest alone.

“Soon the time will come,” Twilight spoke, not looking directly at Tempest as she instead looked over a map of Equestria. “Equestria will be made the same under my rule, you have done well, my apprentice.”

“You honour me,” Tempest bowed deeply. “Soon we will be able to reveal ourselves fully, not simply this charade of servitude we must put on.”

“Quite,” Twilight nodded. “We must just stand firm for a few moments longer. To move too quickly would see the Elements rise up against us. We must ensure we ever act as the victim party, others must ever be the aggressor. Your skills are unmatched by any of our foe, and yet now will be your greatest test, the Gryphons and Buffalo were a simple matter, all who now remain in our way our the Changelings. Ensure the fires of resentment are stoked, give them no reason to think we care for reparations and reunification with their kind. They must be our final conquest, a foe great enough to spin the wheels of change upon this nation.”

Twilight regarded the map with scorn now.

“The Crystal Empire, Saddle Arabia, Maretonia. All once part of Equestria, all now seeing themselves as equals. This nation has grown weak under the Monarchy, there should be but one Empire, one nation of ponykind, all should answer to a single power. And soon, very soon, they shall.”

Tempest bowed one final time before leaving the room, Twilight now alone to look over her future plans. Everything was going the way she had predicted, the power she had found in the wake of Spike’s disappearance had granted her ever more clarity of future events, foresight she once could have only dreamed of. With this new power, everything would unfold as she predicted, the world would be made safe, and Spike’s death, though tragic, would herald in a new era. An era of peace, of prosperity, and of pony kinds supremacy above all others, an Empire that Twilight would rule throughout the ages, alone. One Alicorn had already fallen, another was powerless. The Ascension of the Equestrian Empire was assured.

Ordo

The warship slipped through hyperspace with a practiced ease, its hyperdrive creating a soft hum that echoed round the battle worn hull. Its armour still bore the carbon scoring of its recent battle, emergency integrity shields active in some parts of the ship, while in others crudely welded plates were keeping the ship space worthy. Even those with only the barest knowledge of void warfare would be able to see that the ship had been in a hellish battle, but such was only the beginning.

The ship was old in form, yet advanced in everything else, its systems, weapons and defences all refitted and revamped a hundred times over. It has seen war, fighting for three different factions under multiple different masters during two galaxy spanning wars, and no matter how damaged it was, no matter how battered and bruised it became, it always left the fight, sometimes limping, sometimes fleeing, but nothing and no one had ever caught up to it to make the wounds done to it a permanent addition.

Spike smiled at this, softly running his hand along the command chair of Harmony, remembering everything he had put the ship through, and everything she had done for him.

The ship was decidedly empty after the battle that had nearly proven to be its end, the destruction of the Star Forge and the end of the Jedi Civil War a calamitous event, but once more, she had come through it. With the battle concluded and the war won, Spike’s forces, the underbelly of the galaxy, had been set loose on their own, freed from the organisation Spike had implemented to aid the Republic. Some of the larger and more ancient ships, those Spike had always considered an intrinsic part of the Fireshot Fleet, had been returned to the mighty station, droid or skeleton crews taking them home, but the majority had been kept by Spikes warriors, granted to them for exceptional service. The Republic had honoured his decision, the Republic drawing up Letters of Marque for each ship and their captain, signed and ratified by none other than the Supreme Chancellor himself. With a single stroke, they were pirates and outlaws no more, now considered privateers in the eyes of the Republic, free to continue their way of plunder and treasure, so long as they confined their activities to the Republic’s enemies or those unaffiliated with the Empire. It was a reasonable request, and in a stroke, the Republic had secured itself against the predilections of the scavengers who so often picked at the winner as much the loser after any conflict.

In this, Harmony had of course been different, the vessel belonging to Spike and no other. He had liberated her in the Mandalorian Wars, flown her against her own kind before taking the fight to Revan and his Sith Empire. And now? Well, now he was flying it back to its people. The irony of its return was not lost on Spike.

“I remember this ship,” Canderous spoke as he entered the bridge, the Mandalorian having been pacing the corridors alone since they had left the Lehon system. “You took this above Ranox, didn’t you?”

Spike still smarted at the name and the memories it brought, just another planet to add to the long list of ones that brought back unsavoury memories alongside Maryx Minor, Dxun and Graola, all the places where his shame or agony was first and foremost. Instead of answering Canderous’s question, Spike opted to simply nod instead.

“Thought so,” Canderous nodded. “A prototype if I remember, offered to the Mandalore in an act of fealty. He was fond of it if I remember, your theft put an end to that. Imagine what we could have done with more ships like.”

“Probably still lost,” Spike muttered. “It wasn’t ships you lacked, Canderous, it wasn’t manpower or weapons or training. You beat the Republic, you didn’t match the Jedi, that’s all. Physical weapons wouldn’t have changed that.”

“You’re right there,” Canderous agreed, unphased by talk of losing the war. “We should be coming up on our exit point shortly.”

As if on queue, the navicomputer beeped twice, before the ship slowed drastically, Spike and Canderous swaying forward, though remaining firmly in place with practiced skill. The blue spiral of hyperspace faded instantly, replaced instead with the cold black of space and, hanging in the void before them, a single word.

“Good to see home?” Canderous asked, not looking round as the door opened a second time, Seugtai walking in to stand beside Canderous, the older Mandalorian having also removed his helmet, his leathery green skin standing out beside Canderous’s own skin tone. It was so easy to forget that Seugtai was not a human, likely standing as one of the last of the taung, the original species of the Mandalorians.

So many of his kind had been killed over the years, unnumbered at the hands of the Republic and the Jedi now Spike came to think about it. Reports stated that during the Great Sith War, the vast majority of the Mandalorian horde had been of their kind, and so they had taken the largest number of casualties. By the time of the Mandalorian Wars, they were a smaller percentage, still comprising a vast portion of the Mandalore’s new army, usually as veterans and high ranking officers, placed in the vanguard of the assaults against the Republic. By the time of Malachor V, so few of their kind were left, most believing they had been wiped out, or at least driven to an inevitable extinction. Spike never brought it up, Seugtai giving no outward impression that he was alarmed by his own race's demise. Spike wasn’t sure if that was just bravery on the part of his friend, or if Seugtai simply didn’t see himself as Taung as much as he did Mandalorian. If it was the latter, then Spike supposed he could understand the ease with which Seugtai carried being one of the last Taung. His people’s creed would live on, their legacy would endure, and now, Spike was a part of that, Seugtai’s people growing once more, even as his race dwindled.

“We need to address the Pryss in the room,” Moonstone cut in suddenly, appearing beside Spike. “I don’t know how much of Spike’s physical appearance was known amongst the Mandalorian ranks during the war, or his...specific roles against your,” she paused before correcting herself, “our people.”

Seugtai knows I can change my appearance, take a different name, hide my lightsaber if that is what’s demanded, but...” Spike trailed off, having picked up where Moonstone left off, feeling a pit open in his stomach as the question he had avoided was aired at last.

“Hiding who you are is part of being a Mandalorian,” Canderous mused. “Behind the helmet you could be anyone, but we never force the destruction of one's past. We Mandalorians do not hold grudges easily, and while some may have hated you were you to still stand as a Jedi and part of the Republic, you have joined our way now. That will count for a lot.”

“A lot, but not everything,” Seugtai pointed out. “Canderous and I both know much about your service record, and I think more would, if it wasn’t for...Ranox,” Seugtai almost spoke the word apologetically, looking at Spike before continuing. “We, Canderous and I knew your name as Spike, the Mandalore himself did, as did other high ranking officers, but most simply referred to you as the Beast of the Republic. You’ll stand out regardless of what you call yourself or what colour your scales are, people will put two and two together sooner rather than later.”

Spike nodded in agreement. “Advice then?”

“Come clean, or at least, partially clean,” Canderous answered. “Don’t lie, but keep some of the darker elements out of the public light. You were a Jedi, you were a Republic General, now you’re not, you have joined our creed and that should be the end of it.”

Canderous let out a clipped laugh before continuing.

“It’s strange, normally we Mandalorian’s take in members of defeated civilisations, offering them a chance to fight with us after we have already defeated them in battle. Not many come from a victor to join our ranks.”

“I aim to surprise,” Spike chuckled. “This is either going to go well, or really, really horribly. I hope my lucks changed.”

“You and me both,” Moonstone laughed. “I’ll stay quiet for a while, Spike. Don’t want to add even more glue into the mix.”

With that, Moonstone faded from sight once more, Canderous and Seugtai taking up seats on the bridge, the three working in tandem with the droid brain of the ship to bring it into land. Were the Harmony any larger, such a landing could have proven perilous, Spike had heard of old Command Ships or Inexpugnable’s being destroyed under their own weight when landing as repulsorlift engines failed, gravity destroying the vast behemoths or else permanently grounding them. The Harmony however was far smaller, able to support its own weight with ease, allowing such landings in the powerful warship, or even allowing for in-atmosphere support without too much difficulty on behalf of the crew.

As they approached, Canderous worked the comms system, exchanging clipped words in Mandalorian that Spike struggled to follow along with, but understood the general meaning behind, announcing who they were and their intentions, ensuring that their arrival wouldn’t cause any issues, that clearly coming later when they saw who the ship belonged to.

Spike didn’t have long to ruminate on the upcoming trials, the ship touching down in a clearing just outside a small village. As Spike looked out, he found himself shocked by what he saw, having been imagining brute architecture and defence platforms dotting the area, but instead being greeted with an idyllic looking township, huts and yurts worked into the edge of the forest, small pillars of smoke rising from each of them. Throughout the town moved the people of Clan Ordo, the mish-mash of species astounding Spike. Humans, Rodians, Twi’leks, Togruta, Trandoshans and more besides.

What struck Spike the most however was how few were in traditional Mandalorian armour, such an important part of the cultural heritage of the Mandlorians. Some still were, a few wearing Neo-Crusader plate, others wearing older armour that conformed to the ancient Crusader patterns, but far more simply wore more generic armour, Spike spotting armour of Echani or Cinnagar make.

“We still have enough suits for the population,” Candrous caught Spike’s eye as he looked through the viewscreen, “but it doesn’t do to have every member armoured at all times, not with the Republic breathing down our necks every five minutes ensuring we hold to the truce. If we move as a Clan, we armour up, if we move as individuals, then to hold to the truce we usually forgo our armour. Just yet another thing Revan forced on us that we shall overcome.”

“You don’t hate him, do you?” Spike asked, his own mood darkening at the thought of Revan, now redeemed and serving the Jedi once more.

“Of course I don’t,” Canderous spoke as if such an answer was obvious. “He defeated us in battle, we longed to find an opponent who could best us. I’ve fought against Revan, I’ve fought alongside Revan reborn, and I can say now there is no one I respect more.”

“Daylight's burning,” Seugtai cut in. “Come on, the clan will want to see us, I haven’t been back in some time, much has probably changed and I’d like to see what exactly those changes are.”

With that, Seugtai left the bridge, heading towards the exit of Harmony, Spike and Canderous following after him. Mentally preparing himself, Spike slowed down just enough to be behind Canderous, securing his helmet in place before exiting the ship and heading into the village of his new Clan.

A large crowd had already gathered at the bottom of the ramp, both Canderous and Seugtai being welcomed with open arms, other Mandalorians clearly recognising the pair and celebrating their return. As Spike exited however, new whispers started up, looking at the new warrior with interest and suspicion.

Before Spike could say a word, Seugtai spoke, his helmet amplifying his voice so all could hear.

“We bring with us a new convert, one who has taken his first steps upon our way. I have taken him under my own tuterledge, I can vouch for him as a brave warrior who fought against the Sith from the very beginning of this latest war. He knows our ways well enough, I am proud to call him Ordo. Speak your name, so all may know it.”

Spike froze for a moment, caught like a bantha in a speeders headlights, before raising his own voice.

“My name is Spike,” he spoke carefully, before closing his eyes and continuing, knowing there would be no return from what he was about to say. “What Seugtai says is true, I fought the Sith, and was honoured to fight alongside Seugtai in conflict, it was not my first, nor my first brush with your kind.”

He took one final, deep breath, before continuing.

“At the start of the Jedi Civil War, I was a Jedi Master and a General of the Republic. Before that, I fought in the Mandalorian Wars alongside Revan from the wars beginning to Malachor V. Even before that, I fought your kind in the Great Sith War, locking blades from Empress Teta to Coruscant itself. Your people have stood as my adversaries for as long as I can remember, the Jedi and the Republic pitting me against your kind, and for a while I thought it just, we were right and you not. I see differently now, Seugtai has helped open my eyes, and I hope that despite my past, I can learn what it means to be one with your people, to be Mandalorian.”

For a moment, none spoke, Spike feeling his nerves rising as he saw the number of weapons in the crowd, each warrior possessing at least a blaster, most having far more. Dimly he remembered something Seugtai had said once, ‘Weapons are my religion’, and see this group now, Spike believed it all the more. Finally, just as Spike was about to speak again, another voice rose from the crowd, Spike not seeing who spoke it.

“Cin vhetin.”

The words were unmistakably in Mandalorian, but he didn’t know their meaning, opening a private channel to Seugtai with a thought.

“White field,” Seugtai said without prompting. “Clean slate, it’s a good sign.”

Spike smiled, before speaking once more, running the words over in his mind to ensure they were correct before speaking.

“Vor talyc.”

Spike had been meaning to say a simple thank you, but as he spoke, laughter broke out in the crowd, Seugtai and Canderous joining in.

“I’m glad you accept blood, Spike,” Canderous laughed, the tension disappearing almost instantly.

Vor entye Moonstone’s voice hissed in Spike’s head, Spike repeating the words quickly, his helmet hiding his embarrassed face perfectly. “Thank you, I will not let you down.”

***

Days passed quickly as Spike soon became known throughout the village, along with his past. Most didn’t mention it, or if they did, it was to ask of his experiences in the war against their kind, seeming genuinely interested in picking the mind of a warrior who had stood against them and won not once, but twice. A few, very few but a few nonetheless, steered well clear of him, granting him only angry stares. If they knew the full truth, he’d probably be getting a lot more of those stares, Spike reasoned to himself.

As the third day dawned, Spike exiting Harmony to continue his lessons in the creed of the Mandalorians, a commotion drew his eye, following a flock of Mandalorians towards the centre of the clans village, standing at the back of the forming crowd as more warriors flocked to find the source of the commotion. They did not have to take long, Canderous striding out of one of the buildings, clan in silver Mandalorian Battle Armour, his head bare still, looking around the crowd before raising his voice.

“For too long has Clan Ordo been without a guiding voice! Ever since Alore Elgon Ordo fell at Malachor V, we have been scattered, just as the Clans as a whole have been scattered and listless without our Mandalore! That changes this day! I claim the title of Alore of Clan Ordo, let any who refute my claim step forward now, the dispute to be settled in the ways of old, as our people have done for generations!”

A hush fell over the crowd, before a familiar voice spoke up, Seugtai moving to the front of the crowd, his own helmet also removed, facing Canderous face to face.

“I stand in opposition of this claim, and claim the title for my own,” he spoke clearly, lacking some of the fire Canderous had spoken with, Spike knowing instantly that Seugtai’s announcement had not been a surprise to Canderous, the two likely planning this together.

“Then as our custom, the challenge has been issued! I have been challenged, and so I select that we shall settle this with just our blades, the rules of the Battle Circle to govern our actions.”

The effect was instant, the Mandalorians around them moving back, forming a circle around the two warriors. Hushed whispered passed through the crowd, Spike picking up some of them. Since Elgon Ordo, the Alore who Spike supposed was the leader of a single clan, as opposed to the Mandalore who ruled all of them, Clan Ordo had been governed by no one, a council of elders speaking when mediation was needed, but none possessing the drive required to step up and lead in these broken times. Canderous was different, a war hero and distinguished member of the Neo-Crusader movement. Seugtai was also a well known war hero, though of a far older war, their challenge coming as a surprise but a welcome one.

Still clad in their armour, helmets placed to one side, Seugtai and Canderous both drew proffered Beskad sabers, the single edged blades glinting in the morning sun. Without words, both warriors raised their blades, pressing the flat edge against their foreheads in a salute, preparing for the fight ahead. Spike knew enough about the Battle Circle to know that to kill inside it was considered the height of dishonour, the circle for settling disputes and duels of honour, but he still felt worry grow in the pit of his stomach as Canderous let out a roar, diving at Seugtai as the duel began.

The blades sang as they clashed into one another, sparks flying as they slid apart, Canderous following up with a elbow aimed to smash into Seugtai’s nose, the Taung barely getting out of the way in time before delivering his own strike, spinning the sword in an arc before thrusting forward, the spin forcing Canderous to dodge backwards, unable to predict exactly where the strike would come from. Pressing his advantage, Seugtai let lose a series of wise chops, Spike instantly reading the axe blows he was tying to land, perfectly executed for use with Seugtai’s normal weapon, but inefficient with the blade he now wielded.

Canderous sensed it too, stopping his retreat before surging forward, getting in close with the other warrior and delivering a brutal blow to Seugtai’s face, blood exploding from around the impact. Seugtai stumbled from the blow, canderous pressing his advantage, striking his opponents wrist with the rear of his blade, a cracking sound echoing around the village alongside a roar of pain as the bones broke, his saber dropping from his hand. Before he could do anything else, Canderous swept low, kicking his opponent's legs out from under him, before placing his blade against Seugtai’s throat.

“Yield,” he spoke the single word.

“I yield, Alore,” Seugtai intoned in turn.

As if a switch had been thrown, Canderous offered his unarmed hand, Seugtai grabbing it with his uninjured hand and allowing Canderous to pull him up.

“Are there any others who would challenge my rule?” Canderous thundered, looking around expectantly.

Some warriors looked as if they wished to step up, others glanced towards Spike, seemingly expecting Spike to challenge Canderous. He couldn’t imagine anything worse, the ways of the Mandalorians so new to him that even the prospect of leadership utterly alien to him.

A minute passed, then two, utter silence falling across the crowd before Seugtai raised his voice in a simple chant, soon taken up by every other Mandalorian.

“Alore! Alore! Alore!”

Without even realising he was doing it, Spike found himself cheering along with the others, his voice rising to join the chorus of Clan Ordo.

“Alore! Alore! Alore!”

“My people,” Canderous roared, raising his own voice and instantly quieting all others as they listened attentively. “For too long since the Mandalorian Wars, our kind have languished, listless and without a leader to unite behind! The days of the Mandalorian Wars are over, but the days of the Mandalorian shall rise forever more! I swear to you as your new Alore, that Clan Ordo will stand strong once more, but more than that, I pledge this day that it is we, not any other, who shall find the Mandalore’s mask, hidden by Revan at the end of our great war. I swear this as your Alore, that I shall become Mandalore, and I shall lead Clan Ordo back to the heights of which we have occupied in our long and storied past! Haat! Ijaa! Haa'it! Truth! Honor! Vision!”

The roars of the Mandalorians returned in full force now, Spike joining them instantly, whooping in support of his new Alore and now, his future Mandalore. Part of him felt odd, cheering for a new Mandalore when he had stood in opposition of the prior two Mandalore’s but that was then, he ruminated. He had stood against those Mandalore’s as a Jedi and as a member of the Republic, opposing them was common sense. Now however, standing here, listening to Canderous reignite the fire in a people on the verge of defeat, he finally understood just what a Mandalore meant to the Mandalorians, not just a military leader or supreme overlord. A Mandalore represented hope in its purest, most basic form. Hope of victory, hope of unity, hope for the future. For the first time since before the Spike had marched to war against the last Mandalore, Spike felt an odd sensation, one he had chased for years since losing it, one he had attempted to claim was filled by the Republic itself or by his Syndicate.

Spike felt like he belonged somewhere, instantly knowing that while he had allowed this feeling to slip from him once before with the Jedi, he would never allow such to vanish again. No matter where his path took him, no matter what roads he walked in his uncertain future, Spike was proud to call himself Mandalorian.

Beskar'gam

“I’ve just got here, and now you’re kicking me out?” Spike asked, a small smirk betraying his true emotions as he folded his arms.

“Oh yeah, casting you out completely, may you never return,” Seugtai shot back, his helmet unable to hide the smile he too wore. “I told you when you first made that armour that it was just a temporary set. My ancestors' traditions dictate that armour has to be able to protect your from your own weapons, since you wield your lightsaber, that leaves you with very few options. Normally I would suggest Beskar, but since the war that’s extremely rare, Canderous reserving it for more...normal suits of armour than what you’ll need.”

“Lucky me,” Spike deadpanned. “What about you? What plans has Canderous got for you?”

“Searching the Outer Rim,” Seugtai replied simply. “When Revan beat us, he hid Mandalore’s mask, but there’s only so many places it could be, he only left his forces for three days after Malachor V before departing. Anything within a day and a half of Malachor, that’s our search area.”

“Unless he handed it off to someone who took it further,” Spike pointed out.

“Unless he handed it off to someone who took it further,” Seugtai conceded. “Regardless, Canderous wants us to start the search, and as my Alore I obey. When you return, you will join us, or be welcomed to the Clan of the new Mandalore, whichever one happens first.”

Spike considered that for a moment. On one hand, he felt like he was abandoning the Mandalorians just moments after they had taken him in, having only arrived on Ordo a few weeks earlier, and yet on the other hand, Spike was more than old enough to forge his own path in the galaxy, not some newly found child warrior still being shown the ways of the Mandalorian. Creating his armour was the amongst the last of the steps to finish on his path forward, even his grasp on language growing rapidly now he was more readily exposed to it. Nor was he about to question Seugtai’s traditions, the old Mandalorian having taken him in, the least Spike could do was respect his wishes in this.”

“Canderous is ok with my departure?” Spike asked.

“Not particularly,” the voice caused Spike to turn, Canderous approaching them both, his face obscured behind a neo-crusaders helmet. “If it were up to me entirely, every warrior would be beginning the search now.”

“You are the Alore, it is up to you,” Spike pointed out.

“You still have a long way to go before you understand what being in command of Mandalorian’s truly means,” Canderous laughed. “I may be in charge but nobody truly ‘rules’ anyone else save the Mandalore. I just make the most sensible suggestions that those beneath me wish to follow, and since when have Mandalorians needed to be told what makes sense?"

“Canderous has agreed on my behalf,” Seugtai added. “He knows my traditions are declining, he has agreed that we can spare you to keep them alive for at least another generation. Be quick though, our Alore is right, an extra pair of eyes could make all the difference.”

“I will return when I can,” Spike bowed his head towards Canderous. “My thanks, Alore.”

“Don’t make me regret this by doing anything foolish,” Canderous warned, before turning, Seugtai falling in beside him, the two warriors already deep in conversation as they left Spike by the edge of Harmony.

“So, ideas?” Moonstone asked, appearing at the top of the boarding ramp.

“A few. We’ll break orbit first, I need to plan our jumps and path from there.”

In short order, Harmony had lifted off from the outskirts of the village, breaking orbit from Ordo and slowly heading for the systems jump point, its engines idling as Spike moved to the chart room, a holographic galaxy map springing up as he entered. It had been a while since he had come in here now he thought about it, the room staffed by a dedicated crew during the wars. Now it was just Spike however, any detailed planning would have to be done from here, by Spike alone.

“Feels weird to be completely alone, doesn’t it?” Moonstone appeared once more. “Well, as alone as we can be.”

“It has been a while,” Spike admitted. “We don’t exactly have the best track record when alone either. Last time was after killing Desolation, I’m not intending to become a gladiator again.”

“Well what are we intending then? There’s plenty of places you can find materials needed for new armour, but I have a feeling you want to do more than just ‘make do’.”

“I do. Seugtai has placed his traditions on me, I want to do them proud, but if I’m going to be carrying them forward, I’m going to add my own legacy to them. I just need to figure out exactly what that’s going to mean.”

Spike lapsed into silence as he looked at the galaxy map, occasionally zooming in on a specific part with a gesture, looking at individual systems or planets for a while before banishing them and moving on. Dozens of planets would make sense to start, any mining worlds that could provide Ultrachrome or Songsteel, but none that had a link to Spike himself. Those worlds he did have a greater link to, Kashyyyk springing to mind instantly, lacked the resources required for the main point of the journey.

Then, a thought came to Spike, casting his mind back further than he had in a long time, before Revan and Malak, before the Mandalorian Wars, to the days of the Great Hunt when the Terentatek had stalked the surface of a hundred worlds. Spike had fought dozens of such creatures alongside Nexu Clan when the majority of them were still alive. He had fought close to half a dozen more alone after the Great Hunt was mostly put to an end, the death toll amongst the Order considered too grave for most to continue. Of all those hunts, few had affected Spike as much as his final one, when Moonstone had at last returned to him, and on a planet that held a deep meaning to the Order he had once called his own.

“Tython?” Moonstone sounded surprised as the planet enlarged. “It’s lost, the hyperlanes collapsed after the Great Hunt ended.”

“It will take time to find it again,” Spike agreed. “If we were trying to rebuild the hyperlanes then that time would take even longer, but as it is...”

He trailed off, his mind already running through possible outcomes of his plan, reasonings and chances for success. Tython was the ancestral homeworld of the Jedi order, more than that, it was the home of the Je'daii, those who came before either the Jedi or the Sith, some of the first recorded Force Users in the galaxy. It had been their main point of operations in the galaxy before they had moved to Ossus before finally moving to Coruscant itself, and yet Tython had always remained a vital part of the Jedi Orders history. At least until the Great Sith War. With the destruction of the Cron Cluster and the ruination of Ossus, the Jedi had relocated much of their workings to the capital of the Republic itself, and when the war had come to an end, the force rich world of Tython had become a breeding ground for the force-hungry Terentatek. The hunts on the world had been long, Spike killing the last remaining creatures on the planet himself, but the damage of such an outpouring of creatures had damaged the reality of space itself. The Hyperlanes that connected the deep core world to the wider galaxy had collapsed, and so far, none had tried to re-establish them, cutting the planet off from the wider galaxy.

“An outcast,” Spike chuckled to himself. “It sounds fitting if you ask me.”

“You always were melodramatic,” Moonstone laughed. “Best get a course plotted then, we have a long way to go.”

***

Lightning lashed the ship as Spike fought with the controls of Harmony, the droid pilot beeping in protest as it attempted to assert some level of control over the craft. All around them, reality and hyperspace seemed to blend together, every calculation at this speed needing to be perfect to avoid smashing into a comet at hyper-luminal speeds. There was a reason hyperlane scouts were considered mavericks.

“Just a few...more...seconds,” Spike grunted, fighting with the controls as a timer counter down.

As it hit zero, a screeching sound was heard through the ship, cut short as Spike wrenched a lever back towards him, the ship slowing with a jarring lurch as they were spat out of hyperspace. Klaxons sounded as automated damage repair systems kicked in, Spike allowing the droid brain some control once more as he looked at the scanner.

“We made it,” he breathed softly, his eyes darting between the scanners and the viewport, a vast continental world looming before them, Spike’s heart stopping for a moment as the memories washed over him. Moonstone returning, the Great Hunt, back when life and the Jedi Order had all been so simple. There was good, there was evil, black and white, Spike knew where he stood. Then grey had appeared. Spike hated grey.

“Chart a course for Vur Tepe,” Spike ordered, the droid beeping its ascent to the order, the ship beginning to move towards the planet.

For being abandoned for decades, the temples that loomed out of the clouds were in remarkable shape, their stone walls covered in overgrown trees, but each one fully intact, their stonework unblemished by age, the ancients knew how to make something to last.

Rain lashed Harmony as she descended through the clouds, heading for a vast mountain range Even from this distance, Spike could ready see the great pyramidal ship, the Tho Yor. The ship still hung just above the tallest mountain peak, lacking discernible entrances, sensors already wailing as they returned a hundred impossible false positives and paradoxical readings from the great ship. No one knew where they had come from, who had built them, even how the early settlers of Tython had travelled in them was a mystery, the lack of doors making such a strange craft indeed.

“Are we here to find the history of the Jedi, or take a step on the path of the Mandalorians?” Moonstone teased, breaking Spike out of his rumination.

“The latter, of course,” Spike answered, taking his seat once more. “We’ll be there shortly, let's just hope everything works.”

It took Harmony an hour to reach the landing pad, and a further thirty minutes to negotiate the landing as gale force winds slammed into the ship. More than once Spike had to break off the descent, starting again so as to avoid slamming into the walls of the temple of Vur Tepe, but eventually, they were down, Spike and Moonstone battling through the elements that lashed at them as the moved from the ship to the temples main entrance, the doors sealed, but at Spike’s approach, machinery long dormant spurred into life, the doors screeching as they opened, plants stuck to them now dislodged, permitting Spike inside.

Were he on Coruscant, alarms would now be sounding at the presence of an unauthorised intruder, Spike ruminating as he walked through the barely familiar halls. Tython being long abandoned had its perks, there was no one to update the records of the Jedi who entered. Before today, Spike had only been to Vur Tepe once, but that was enough, reaching the central complex that all paths in the temple led to, pushing the door open to be met by a physical wall of heat blowing up from the planet's core. The ancient forge’s fire was still lit, and no wonder, Spike approached the centre of the room, pushing aside the cover of the forge, laying his eyes upon the caldera of an active volcano.

“You’ve never done this before,” Moonstone pointed out as Spike began stripping his armour off, piece by piece and laying it to one side.

“I’ve worked a forge before,” Spike shrugged. “Can’t be that much different.”

“Not this forge. Not here. Not for this purpose. Can you do it?”

“Lets find out.”

Spike was now stripped down to just a belt around his hips, his armour piled neatly beside him, his Lightsaber holding pride of place beside his helmet. Emptying his mind, Spike allowed his body to relax, his magic melting away as he instead reached into the force.

It was an odd sensation, Spike growing so used to the sensation of magic on its own or a mixture of his own magic and the living force that he had almost forgotten what it felt like. For a time, Spike simply stood, unmoving, barely breathing, his situation washing over him.

Jedi. Mandalorian. The Force. The Resol'nare. Two schools of thought. Two ways of life. Conflicting. Intertwining. Never Merging. Forced Together. One could not exist without the other. One could not exist with the other.

Spike’s hand shot out unbidden, a simple hammer flying from its moorings on the wall. The air whipped around Spike as he brought the hammer up in a swinging arc, the forge seeming to come alive as his force poured into it, in control of Spike as much as he was in control of it.

Mandalorian

The hammer slammed into a durasteel bar that had appeared on the forge, Spike not sure where it had come from, the white hot metal bending beneath his touch. His body was on auto-pilot now, it knew what it wanted to do, it knew what Spike needed. Nothing could stop it now. This was different from when Moonstone or Desolation had taken over his body, he was less a passenger and more a completely separate observer, and yet he still felt his arm come up once more, slamming down into the metal bar for a second time.

Jedi

Again and again his body worked, ceaselessly striking the metal into its new shape. Each strike was met with a near blinding flash, each flash heralding more memories as here, alone on the ancient homeworld of the Jedi order he had once been a part of, forging the arms and armour of the Mandalorians he now sought to be one of, his mind finally went to war with itself, settling in differences on the face of the metal, Spike pouring everything he had into his creation.

Clan Ordo

Hammer rise. Hammer fall.

Nexu Clan

Hammer rise. Hammer fall

Ba'jur bal beskar'gam

Hammer rise. Hammer fall

There is no emotion, there is peace

Hammer rise. Hammer fall

Ara'nov, aliit,

Hammer rise. Hammer fall

There is no ignorance, there is knowledge

Hammer rise. Hammer fall

Mando'a bal Mand'alor

Hammer rise. Hammer fall

There is no passion, there is serenity

Hammer rise. Hammer fall

An vencuyan mhi.

There is no chaos, there is harmony

Hammer rise. Hammer fall

There is no death, there is the Force

Spike raised his hammer for the final time, bringing it down as a light brighter than all that had come before it engulfed Spike, pushing him from his body entirely. The forge, the blade, the armour, all were forgotten as Spike tumbled through his own mind.

“Awaken.”

The word brought Spike clarity, brought his mind into focus, his out of control tumble stopping in an instant, Spike now looking out at an endless grey environment, floating alone.

“Not alone.”

Spike turned, though he felt no movement, the horizon utterly identical, Spike utterly alone.

A figure appeared in front of Spike. They did not walk, they did not move, they just were there, Spike struggling to remember that they weren’t always there.

No words were said, even as Spike wanted to speak. There were no voices here, Spike knew that to be true, despite the fact he had heard a voice not moments ago. This was not a place of the living, nor a place of the dead. This was not even a place of magic, and yet it would forever be a part of him, the Living Force now surrounding him.

The figure before Spike was Spike, or perhaps Spike was the figure, reality blurring, Spike seeing the other as if he was looking directly at it, both images held in his mind. Which was real, which was the image?

On one side was the Jedi, Spike clad in the flowing armoured robes of a Jedi Master, both his lightsabers upon his hips, a sense of serene calm written across his face. His body was unmarked by scars, untroubled by injuries.

On the other was the Mandalorian, battered armour covering his form, determination writ across his entire body, the anger of a soldier flashing behind his eyes. Pistols lay at his hips, a huge two handed axe across his back, his wings ragged but outstretched.

Spike knew which one he had preferred once, which one part of him still preferred, the peace of the Jedi clear for any to see.

Reality blinked.

When it stabilised once more, the Mandalorian was unchanged, the self-same expression and pose still evidenced across his form, across Spike’s form, the feeling of looking at yourself as if through a mirror but not feeling it fully sending Spike’s mind spinning.

The Jedi was changed. Hatred written across Spike’s face now, his robes now jet black, the armour well used and more prevalent. Once again, the figures moved without ever seeming to change, the lightsabers both erupting into light, but these were no white and purple blades, crimson light dancing off Spike, Jedi no longer, now standing as Sith.

Peace is a lie. There is only Passion

Emotion, yet peace

Through Passion I gain Strength

Ignorance, yet knowledge

Through Strength I gain Power

Passion, yet serenity

Through Power I gain Victory

Chaos, yet harmony

Through Victory my chains are Broken

Death, yet the Force

The Force shall free me

“No!”

Spike’s voice roared out as the illusion shattered, Spike back in his body, the hammer still in his hand. He didn’t know how much time had passed, a pile of armour held in the air beside him. Looking down, an axe rested on the anvil, almost finished.

“No!” Spike roared again, raising the hammer for what would be the final times.

He would not have this, no Sith or Jedi, no choice between the two and the way of the Mandalorian. For once, Spike would make his own choices, for once Spike would be his own person, he would form his own tradition in the footsteps of Seugtai’s.

“There may be bitterness, but there is kindness!”

Slam, crack.

“There may be betrayal, but there is loyalty!”

Slam, crack.

“There may be deception, but there is honesty!”

Slam, crack.

“There may be greed, but there is generosity!”

Slam, crack.

“There may be sadness, but there is laughter!”

Slam, crack.

“When all five elements are united, magic will burn bright!”

Slam, crack.

“And Harmony will bring peace throughout life!”

As Spike roared the last line, his hammer hit the anvil, the tool shattering in an explosion of energy that sent Spike sprawling across the room. The wind that had been whipped up since he had started died instantly, the axe and the armour glowing softly as Spike got back to his feet, his eyes taking in every detail of the new armour and weapon.

Both were crafted from the same dark durasteel, yet both glowed with the inward light common amongst force imbued weapons. The axe mirrored Seugtai’s own weapon, overlapping blades forming the fan crest that normally would have been made from the bone of the long extinct Mythosaur. The armour was similar to Spike’s original design, and yet was in a different class from that armour. Raised pieces on the gauntlets housed pairs of heavy looking blasters. Scales that looked as though Spike had plucked them from his own body covered the gaps where the plates would leave him exposed. The helmet, elongated and still possessing the T-Visor so linked to Mandalorian culture now had a built up mouth piece, Spike knowing with the surety of the armours creator that such would allow him to once again breath fire without fear of damaging his own armour, despite not remembering forging the plate at all.

He didn’t remember anything, and yet he knew everything. The ancient techniques of imbuing weapons with the force was strongly connected to Vur Tepe, the techniques first devised in these very walls, in this very forge. The metal was stronger now than any mundane forge could hope to make, a little of Spike held within each piece. Blasters would not sully them, armour would not stop the fall of his blade, even his own lightsaber would not slice through the armour, every bit as strong as the Beskar Ore Seugtai had wished to be available.

Moonstone appeared beside Spike, looking as confused as Spike himself was, and yet she didn’t speak. There were no more words for this place, nothing more to say. Whatever power Tython had held, it was gone now, just an abandoned temple on a near forgotten world. And yet, despite that, Spike felt more connection to Tython than he had ever thought possible, more connection to the Force than he ever remembered. Clarity filled his mind as he donned the armour, carrying his old plates back to Harmony in silence.

The force was not the Jedi, the Jedi were not the Sith, and Spike was neither of these things, and yet he would always be part of them. He could run, he could turn exile like Meetra Surik had done before him, cut off from the force as if it were simply something you could forget. He could no more forget the force than he could tear off his own wings and still hope to fly. Having the force did not make a Jedi, having the force did not make a Sith. Spike was one with the force, the force was one with Spike, and though he had told himself the self-same words numerous times before and truly meant them, only now did he feel them fully.

On the bridge of Harmony, clad in new armour forged from the techniques of the Jedi in the visage of the Mandalorian clans, Spike knew who he was. He did not need labels for it, he did not need the creed of the Jedi to know himself or the code of the Mandalorians to anchor himself to reality. Freed from his own shackles, Spike knew his path was now his own, one that would lead him in service of an old enemy and now friend in the Mandalorian clans, and yet that path was his own. He could leave it, he could join it. It was his alone and no other could make him step from it.

“I am Spike,” he breathed softly. “I am a dragon. I am free.”

Rekkiad

Harmony shot out of hyperspace with a rumble, Spike making a note to check her engines when he got a moment. She had taken them to and from Tython perfectly, he couldn’t have asked for more, and yet travelling through uncharted hyperlanes was always a perilous journey, and always taxing on hardware. If you pushed too hard, you could find yourself with a hole where your Hyperdrive had once been, and a whole heap of problems as simple physics caught up to you and tore you apart. Spike had heard horror stories of ships in similar situations, seen the remains of a vessel with walls coated in frozen jelly that had once been living creatures. He’d seen a lot. That still made him shudder.

Even as he lay in a course towards the village, something seemed wrong to Spike, his eyes narrowing as he tapped a few buttons, a magnification of the village appearing before him. Or at least, the area the village had been, now replaced with a huge crater gouged deep into the earth, scanners indicating about half a kilometer across at the widest point and deep, worryingly so.

“What could have caused that in so short a time?” Spike breathed, almost to himself, Moonstone looking on even as Spike began scanning the surrounding system, his mind racing.

Sith holdouts? Republic forces cleaning up the Mandalorian village? Something else entirely, some new threat that would drag Spike into yet another war and take something else from...

“Spike, there’s a ship approaching,” Moonstone pointed out, breaking Spike from his sudden worry, Spike turning all the sensors on the vessel.

It was a large ship, of a class Spike knew all too well; a Jehavey'ir-type assault ship, the staple of the Mandalorian fleets in the Mandalorian and Great Sith Wars. He had thought all of them had been destroyed at the disarmament treaties after Malachor, clearly he had been wrong.

“We’re getting out of here,” Spike muttered, his hands flying across the controls, bringing shields to full readiness as he drained the power from the weapons, diverting it to the engines. Harmony was a good ship, one of the best, but against a Battleship in a one-on-one duel, there were some things even she couldn’t survive.

“We’re being hailed,” Moonstone called again, Spike already seeing the flashing light to indicate as such, still turning the ship away even as he answered the call.

“Whoever you are, whatever you’ve done to Ordo, I swear...” he began.

“Stand down, Spike,” Canderous’s voice was firm as he appeared across the viewscreen. “Come about and prepare to come aboard, we have much to discuss.”

“Where the hell did that come from,” Spike demanded, though the tension that had built up in him was rapidly diminishing. “Where’s the village?”

“What, this?” Canderous asked with a small, ever-so slightly cocky smile. “This was one of our vessels during the Mandalorian Wars, we decommissioned it in the final year of the war due to engine troubles, thanks to you and the Republic we didn’t have the means to properly repair it, so instead we hid it. That ‘village’ you saw was a new one, built on top of our greatest asset.”

“You’ll attract a lot of attention flying that thing around,” Spike pointed out.

“Not as much as I will attract,” Canderous countered. “But enough of this. Come alongside my airlocks and come aboard. As I say, we have much to discuss and I would rather this be done in person than by holo-link.”

With that, the link went dead, Spike following his Alore’s instructions without further hesitation, Harmony soon sliding alongside the far larger vessel, an umbilical extending from Spike’s ship and clamping over one of the external airlocks of Canderous’s.

“Let’s see what he has in store for us then,” Moonstone laughed, Spike joining in as he grabbed his helmet, slipping it on and mag-locking his weapons to his belt, his lightsaber clinking softly against his axe.

In short order, Spike was onboard the larger vessel, walking down the corridors he had never been in, and yet bore a familiarity born out of a lifetimes worth of combat against those who had made the vessel. Mandalorian’s were a utilitarian people, their design-work tried and true, tested over countless eons to maximise efficacy for their own warriors, while hindering those of the enemy. No single straight path existed towards the bridge, the internals of the ship a veritable maze, and yet synced to a centralised system, all Mandalorians could navigate with ease, a holographic overlay imposing itself on Spike’s viewscreen automatically as he walked, tracing a line towards the bridge.

Spike passed very few in the way of crew members as he walked. At peak efficacy, nearly two hundred warriors would be required to man this vessel, but in a pinch, barely a fraction of that number would be able to fly the ship, three on the bridge, another in engineering, a final member in weapons. Of course, such a skeleton crew would barely be able to do more than fly the ship, in combat it would be woefully outclassed by far smaller vessels, and if anything went wrong, then repairs would take exponentially longer for even simple fixes, if they were possible at all. By the small number he past, Spike assumed they weren’t quite at that level, but the crew could not have been more than a few dozen at most, all nodding in greeting as he walked past before continuing about their allotted tasks.

Finally, Spike reached the bridge, the heavy blast door spiralling open with a faint grinding of metal on metal, barely having time to fully open before Spike stepped through and it closed once more. True to his predictions, the bridge was sparse, five Mandalorians sitting at the most important stations, helm, comms, weapons, shields and life support, overseeing the vital functions of the ship, all overseen by a familiar figure.

“Alore Canderous,” Spike inclined his head slightly.

“Spike,” Canderous turned to face the dragon, his helmed visor locking gazes with Spike’s own impassive helmet. “I am glad you arrived when you did, we were considering leaving a comms buoy behind with your next orders for when you finally returned. I trust your journey was productive?”

“It was,” Spike nodded, placing a hand against his new breastplate, feeling barely contained energy surge within the metal at his touch. “How goes the hunt?”

“On going,” Canderous replied, his words clipped and measured, putting Spike on edge. Something more was afoot here. “A dozen worlds have been searched, many more lie ahead. We had no way to narrow things down further.”

“Had,” Moonstone pointed out, picking up on the word instantly. “Past tense? What’s changed.”

“Something neither of you are going to like,” Canderous shrugged, before gesturing towards a small side room, Spike exchanging a quick look with Moonstone before walking through the door, Canderous close behind.

Passing through the door, Spike found himself in a small corridor, running parallel to the main entrance to the bridge before angling downwards towards what must have been the captain's quarters. In short order, he reached another door, his mood darkening and his hands moving to hover over his weapons as the door slid back to reveal the rooms occupant.

“It is good to see you as well, Spike,” Revan bowed deeply, noticing Spike’s move, his own hand twitching ever so slightly but remaining away from his lightsaber. “Or at least, I presume it is you under that armour, judging by Moonstone’s presence by your side. It is good to see you as well.”

“I would thank you not to use my name,” Moonstone shot back, her own voice icy and laiden with barely contained bile that Spike was feeling in bucketloads.

“I meant no...” Revan began, the ex-Jedi raising his hands in a placating gesture.

“We do not have time for this,” Canderous snapped as he entered the room, removing his helmet and bidding Spike to do the same with a curt signal, Spike growling but complying. “I did not ask you to come aboard to argue, Spike, and you, Revan, did not come aboard to antagonise my warriors. You said you have vital information for my clan and our kind, I would hear it. I am already behind schedule of where I would like to be, I won’t be held up by anyone, even you, old friend.”

“And this is why I have come. You search for the mask of the Mandalore,” It was a statement, not a question, Spike and Canderous exchanging a wary look. The search was meant to be a secret, there were a lot of parties in the galaxy who would wish for the mask to never be found.

“We are,” Canderous finally nodded, his voice careful and measured. “Your thoughts on the matter?”

“That you are looking in the wrong place,” Revan said bluntly. “The worlds you have looked upon are in the wrong direction entirely, it will be many years until you reach its true resting place at your current pace. I know precisely where the mask is, Canderous, that of Mandalore the Ultimate, and I would see you be the one to find it, to claim it, and the ancient title of mandalore along with it.”

The power behind the words was absolute, Spike and Canderous equally stunned by the proclamation.

“Don’t look so surprised,” Revan shook his head before sighing deeply. “You know I lost my memories, all of who I was as Revan before my fall. They are returning, some vividly and instantly, some as only a slowly growing haze, but they are returning nonetheless. Most are benign enough, or else are simple memories of acts during the Civil War...”

“Oh, is that all? Nothing major then,” Spike sniffed dismissively, Canderous snorting as Revan continued unabated.

“One is sticking out more than others however, just after the Mandalorian Wars, travelling into the unknown regions and finding...something, a darkness beyond anything seen in any of our lifetimes, and that includes you, Spike. Exar Kun, Mandalore the Ultimate, me, Malak, all pale in comparison. Someone needs to combat it...I need to fight it, but the galaxy needs to be ready. The Republic is...”

“Weak and crippled by your actions,” Spike finished.

“Apt and correct,” Revan conceded. “The Republic won’t recover for years, decades even, the senate will move slowly as it always does and the Jedi are too few to do much. Only one people can rebuild quick enough to stand against this threat, your people, Canderous, given hope by a new mandalore. I have seen your people fight, Canderous, the fact Spike stands with you now only furthers my belief in you. There is no one else I could come close to entrusting this task to.”

“If there is something that big...” Spike began, before Revan raised a hand.

“No one can come with me, Spike,” Revan shook his head. “This is something I must do alone, but I would not leave the galaxy defenceless. The Mandalorian Clans need to be reformed under a true leader, they need to be preserved under a Mandalore who wishes to see the galaxy strengthened. They need you, Canderous.”

As Revan finished speaking, he looked expectantly at Canderous, the Alore of Clan Ordo having remained silent throughout the exchange, his expression betraying the intense debate he was having with himself even now. Spike could imagine some of the content, the benefits of the Mask of the mandalore being found weighed against being aided by Revan, even the Mandalorians famed forgiveness of those that defeated them knowing some limit, Spike knowing that all too well. Likewise, whatever this darkness that Revan spoke of was clearly a threat, irrespective of where anyone stood in the galaxy, and for all his faults, Spike found no trace of a lie in Revans words, nor any insincerity in the urgency he sought to impart upon Canderous.

Finally, Canderous nodded, opening his mouth to give voice to carefully considered words.

“You are not a liked figure amongst my kind, Revan. But you also have...unique insight into the location of Mandalore’s Mask, and I would be a fool to pass that up. If you can lead us to it, then I will accept your assistance, but your identity cannot be known. Your face was unknown but your abilities and your saber,” he indicated the very distinctive lightsaber resting at Revan’s hip, “are known. The search is not just Clan Ordo anymore, and we will almost attract attention if we up sticks and move to a new world. So, no fancy Jedi tricks, that goes for you too, Spike. You may be Mandalorian but right now a lot of tension is separating our people, some may not hold to the old ways as much as we do. No tricks, no lightsabers, and no revealing who you are, understood? Once I have the mask, perhaps that changes, but until then, nothing.”

“Of course,” Revan nodded.

“As you will it,” Spike nodded as well.

“That settles it then,” Canderous smiled. “So, where are we headed? I will need to signal the clan to move out.”

“The Chorlian Sector,” Revan replied, tapping a few buttons on a vambrace display, a holo-map projecting upwards, highlighting a system on the very edge of the outer rim. Spike knew that system well, Canderous did too, Malachor located at its heart. As Revan continued to speak, the image zoomed in finally settling on a single world.

“This is Rekkiad, unassuming and covered in ice. The Republic has never set foot upon it, if they knew what was there, they likely would have destroyed it long ago. There are a pair of pillars, known as the Ice Spears and atop one, is a tomb, containing the mortal remains of...”

“Mandalore the Ultimate went to Rekkiad,” Canderous suddenly cut in, his brow furrowing, in a galaxy of tens of thousands of inhabited worlds, such could not be a coincidence, Revan sighing and nodding in agreement.

“He did, at the behest of an emissary of the darkness that I now sense. I don’t remember everything, but I know enough to understand the significance. About two years before he declared war on the Republic, the then Mandalore was approached by a man with skin the color of blood and eyes the colour of suns.”

“A sith?!” Spike all but roared. “A true blooded Sith? They were killed generations ago, all of them!”

“They weren’t,” Revan shook his head, Spike now understanding exactly why Revan was as worried as he was. If the true Sith were still out there...

“This sith came to mandalore, claiming to be an emissary of a powerful master, and he spoke of a tomb upon Rekkiad for a Sith Lord named Dramath the Second. His master was a descendant of the Sith Lord who had driven Dramath into exile, and the emissary convinced Mandalore to help him search for his enemy's tomb. I don’t know what passed between the pair, what bargains, if any, were struck. All I know is two years later, Mandalore the Ultimate declared war on the Republic, and everything changed forever.”

“Mandalore was changed in the years prior to the war,” Canderous murmured, “but what you suggest would indicate that he was under the thrall of...”

“A monster,” Revan finished for him. “This is what we stand against. The Republic will never believe it or move to stand against it properly, the Mandalorians are the only ones who can prepare for it if I fail.”

“It’s far more than that,” Canderous scowled. “If these Sith have been manipulating the Mandalorians for their own goals, then I will take great pleasure in tearing down their plans for the galaxy. Head to the helm, Revan, give my warriors Rekkiad’s coordinates. We’re going to find this damn mask, and we are going to make whoever is foolish enough to try and manipulate the Mandalorians understand exactly how bad of an idea that is.”

The Man in the Mask, Unmasked

Harmony shot through the otherworldly realm of hyperspace like a knife, darting ahead of Canderous’s far larger vessel as they both shot towards what Revan assured them would be the start of their final destiny. Spike wasn’t sure about that last part, he’d heard enough similar sentiments down the years from Jedi Masters, jumped up General’s or maddened Sith, but he kept such thoughts to himself, seeing the effect such words were having on Canderous. The old warrior's eyes had a fire in them that had not faded one but since Revan first stoked it into life, sending out the word to the rest of Clan Ordo to converge upon Rekkiad. Already scattered over half a dozen nearby systems, it had not taken long for the sudden convergence to be noticed, and already reports were streaming in that multiple clans were now dotting the icy surface of the world. In short order, Rekkiad had gone from an unknown world, to a poorly kept secret, to a race against the close, Canderous driving his clan onwards to ensure that it would be Ordo who stood to take up the ancient mantle once more.

“We’re approaching the system,” Moonstone called out, Spike drawn from his silent contemplation to look towards where she was sitting, a smile crossing his face as she ‘worked’ the controls.

Both Spike and Moonstone knew, at least as much as either of them truly knew anything about Moonstone, knew that she had no real physical presence, her hooves visual manifestations, the dials beneath moving thanks to tiny portions of Spike’s own arcane power that she drew and manipulated as she mimicked the action a creature of flesh and blood would make. Despite everything, Spike found himself transfixed by the odd scene as it struck him just how out of place she was, even beside a displaced dragon such as himself. First she had simply been a manifestation of his ‘inside voice’, then a personification of his force and eventually magic. She’d been an unknown figure, then Twilight, now finally the green Alicorn she was now, and yet beyond the obvious, she was an enigma.

She was so like Desolation in what she was, and yet where Spike had felt fear at the mere thought of his darker self, he had never once felt anything of the sort from Moonstone. He trusted her with his life, a trust she had earnt time and time again, but was that trust true, or was it a part of her, some compulsion of her acne nature forcing him to trust her?

Spike shook his head as he forced the thoughts out of his head. She had done nothing to ever make him doubt her, and without someone far more skilled in magic aiding him, he would likely never know for certain, and the galaxy was seemingly bereft of those.

“Another reason to find home,” Spike murmured, his voice all but a whisper yet Moonstone’s ears flicked all the same. For a moment she looked as though she would turn and speak about it, but a second later the moment was gone, the bantha in the room being ignored yet again.

Spike couldn’t blame her, even if he hadn’t shared her longing deep in his heart. If she did have her own personality, rather than merely being a fragment of his own mind, then she had her own wants and desires, hopes and dreams and a longing for a place she had never seen, a yearning to stand beneath a sky she had never seen, and most damning of all, to meet people, no, that wasn’t enough, to meet ponies whose image she wore through force of habit and a heritage she would in all likelihood never see. It was an impossible mission that would consume their minds on those rare occasions that the pressing matters of the now allowed them respite to look to the future, and yet to find a single world upon millions was all but impossible without additional information, to find a world as technologically limited as Equis even more so. Over the decades, Spike had collated all the information he could, the sum total of a single scroll vomited up in his weakest moment, and all that had done was narrow down the size of the haystack he had to search from the size of the senatorial chamber to that of the Jedi Council chamber, a task that was for all intents and purposes, impossible.

Spike’s mind was finally snapped back to the present as the ships bridge lights dimmed almost imperceptibly a split second before it lurched under the strain of rapid deceleration, dropping out of hyperspace a split second before Candeous’s vessel. As easily as flipping a switch, Spike pushed all thoughts of Equis and Equestria from his mind as his hands raced over the consoles. Shields flared into life around Harmony even as laser batteries charged and sensor arrays pulsed to bring a picture of near space, Spike knowing that Candeous would be doing the same as his eyes watched the sensor returns on the ships around Rekkiad. This was going to be a race alright.

Of the dozens of ships in orbit, close to half bore the sigils of Clan Ordo, but there were just as many from other clans; Brars, Jendri, Vizsla, Djarin, Saterr and more besides, a veritable gold rush for the greatest prize of a shattered people, and if Spike had his way, each would be disappointed when Candeours and Clan Odo stood above all others.

“Seems like we’re late to the party,” Canderous’s voice sounded over the comm, appearing unbidden on the deck’s holo-projector an instant later. “I’m sending landing coordinates to you now, you and the Harmony will descend to our camp on the surface to provide close air support, my warriors and I will descend on Basilisks and join you.”

“Understood,” Spike nodded. “Though if you’re wanting dedicated fire support, sending a few gunnery crew over wouldn’t go amiss, the targeting computer is hardly top of the line anymore. “

“I’ll send over three of my best,” Canderous’s reply was clipped and to the point, the channel going dead as he finished speaking. Not for the first time, Spike found himself marvelling at the warrior he had once named enemy.

The fire in Canderous’s eyes when he set his mind to a task was breathtaking. Of a calibre he had only seen its like in three others besides the Alore; Solaris, Meetra Suurik, and of course, Revan himself. Others could lead, Conel Mika had led the Special Forces with near unmatched skill, Master Kavar had been regarded as the greatest of the Jedi’s warriors before Revan had risen to prominence, and Spike himself had fought at the head of armies more times than he could count and forged a path to victory, and yet all paled in comparison. It was one thing to lead, but those three, and now Canderous besides them, could do more than simply lead, they could inspire entire worlds, entire peoples, driving them through fires than lesser commanders would have turned away from or perished within.

“If you’re quite finished gushing over Canderous,” Moonstone cut in with a giggle,” the crew from his vessel are almost here, opening aft airlock now.

“Yeah yeah, laugh it up,” Spike laughed back, feeling the ship move almost imperceptibly as the airlock drained its air, opening to admit the newcomers before repressurising in mere moments in an almost textbook example of efficiency.

“Welcome aboard,” he didn’t look round as the trio entered, his hands gripping the flight sticks as the cockpit view screens briefly flared with fire before resolving, giving Spike his first look at the barren world below.

Ice stretched as far as he could see, almost featureless, the landscape utterly dominated by a pair of tall plateau’s rising from the frozen desert that could only be the so-called Ice-Spears that Revan had spoken of. Even from here, Spike could sense the wrongness of this place, echoes of an ancient and powerful energy radiating outwards, even a novice Jedi able to identify the pall of the darkside that engulfed the world. This was not like Exar Kun or Malak however, nor even Revan, but rather more refined, a honed blade to their blunt cudgels.

“That’s new,” Moonstone remarked dryly, her face screwing up in discomfort at the aura they were flying towards.

“New flavour, same shit,” Spike grunted, pulling his helmet on as if such an act would block out the feeling. “Everytime anything happens anywhere in the galaxy, the force has its hands all over it. Jedi, Sith, doesn’t matter, everywhere is infested by it. I wonder if the galaxy will ever be able to just...be free of it, to live in peace without the influence of either sect. Doubt half the galaxy even knows the difference between them anymore.”

“Wow,” Moonstone slowly looked at her empty foreleg in amazement, as if inspecting something there. “It didn’t take you long to go native at all, did it? What’s next, going to take up the bes'bev?”

“I just might,” Spike shot back. “I think I’d play it well.”

“Please, save us from the delusions of dragons,” Moonstone deadpanned, before her face cracked and she broke down in hysterical laughter, it being all Spike could do to not join her, his humour limited to a broad smile beneath his helmet as the ship touched down.

“You have the ship,” he glanced at the three Neo-crusaders briefly, fighting every instinct honed during the war to strike down the armoured figures on his bridge as he strode past them.

Even for one who had strode the void, Spike couldn’t help but shiver as the winds bit into his scales, seeming to pass through his scales and armour as if they weren’t there. For a moment, Spike allowed the wind to fill him, chilling his very bones, before he opened the vents on his helmet, letting out a small burst of fire through the grill-piece, banishing the cold in a puff of sublimated steam.

“I am not sure if you can cheat in survival tactics, but that is definitely cheating,” a familiar voice called out, Spike turning to see Seugtai approaching, Spike throwing his arms wide to embrace the Mandalorian, his father technically, though such a word still felt alien and strange in his mouth.

“It’s like standing next to a plasma coil,” Segutai sighed happily, before finally breaking off the hug and stepping back to look at Spike, his visor obscuring the eyes that Spike was sure were examining every inch of his battleplate.

“Well, I told you to uphold the traditions of my lineage, and you definitely didn’t disappoint,” he nodded approvingly. “Composition?”

“Durasteel and Obsidian,” Spike answered without skipping a beat, drawing a cocked head from Segutai. “With a few auditions from the Temple of Vur Tepe. It will hold up, trust me. Same with the axe.”

Spike held out his weapon, Segutai laughing as he drew out his own near identical axe, save for the bone construction of his blade, and the sheer size of Spike’s new weapon.

“Compensating for something?” Segutain smirked beneath his helmet, taking hold of the weapon with a single hand, before swiftly putting his other hand on it, straining under the weight as Spike let go, a smirk of his own crossing his face.

“A weak mentor?”

“Yeah yeah,” Segutai strained as he proffered the weapon back to Spike, who took it in a single hand with ease. “Show off.”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Canderous’s voice cut through the wind, any further response Spike was going to give dying at his arrival.

The Alor was flanked by a pair of hulking Basilisk War Droids, joining Spike’s own mount that had deployed from Harmony shortly after the ship touched down, the pair now standing with it and the three other droids that were already within Ordo’s camp. Once again, Spike found himself amazed that the Clan had managed to keep a single Basilisk intact and active, let alone five, the Republic had placed a high importance on the destruction of such weapons of war. Even a single one could threaten a platoon of lesser troops, six was enough to overwhelm a garrison on any number of backwater or rim worlds.

Segutai began to take a step towards the Alor, before freezing as the figures with Canderous materialised out of the snowstorm. Most were clad in the standard neo-crusader armour, but the last was clad in far lighter armour of Echani make. Blasters hung at both his hips, while a worn backpack sat upon his back, looking every bit the grizzled mercenary that the galaxy at large would see him as. Spike knew better, and so it seems did his father, as a split second later a private comm channel sprung into life in Spike’s helmet.

“Revan?” Segutai hissed, his hand already dropping to his weapons, hovering just above them, ready to draw and launch into combat in an instant if the situation demanded it.

“Yep,” Spike nodded with a hard edged tone. “He came to Canderous while I was away, probably the last man alive who knows where the mask actually is.”

“Explains why Canderous ordered me away from Hyrakral, though if we had a guide we probably could have done this subtly. It’s hard to hide the movement of so many, now we need to contend with the other clans,” Segutai glanced at Canderous as he and Revan strode past.

“Doubt he wants to ascend in secrecy,” Spike shrugged. “He needs to be seen finding the mask, has to be genuine and not some fake for his claim to be taken seriously.”

“I guess. Doesn’t make our job easier though.

As they spoke, other members of Clan Ordo had gathered around their Alor, some Spike knew from his time in the clan’s village, but the vast majority were unknown to him, his helmets systems integrated into the Ordo battlesphere displaying names over the top of the otherwise faceless neo-crusader armour almost every one of them wore, Segutain and Spike the only two in the garb of the far older crusaders, while Canderous wore an armour that seemed to bridge the gap between the two, ensuing the cowled helmet that had become so feared for an almost entirely unadorned piece. This was the first time Spike had seen him in this new war-plate, more used to seeing him in the armour he had worn as a mercenary during the Jedi Civil War, or the true Neo-Crusader armour he had worn before that, but he did not have time to muse on the reasonings behind his Alor’s attire for long, Canderous raising his voice to address the assembled clan.

“Clan Ordo! I am grateful for your swift answer to my summons. I am sure you are all aware of why we are here, yet this is not a fruitless search on hearsay and rumoured hyperlane trails, not this time.”

He stood to one side, allowing the clan to see Revan, gesturing to him as the greatest killer of the Mandalorian people stepped forward without hesitation, his gait betraying nothing but a cocky swagger that could easily have been found on any smuggler, mercenary or bounty hunter across the galaxy.

“This is Avner, a smuggler I’ve had dealings with in the past, running guns for us during the Great War against the Republic. During that time, he used this world as a base of operations, and was here in the wake of our final defeat above Malachor.”

The word seemed to hang in the air for eternity, even as Canderous continued without pause.

“From how Avner tells it, no one had been to this world other than him for years, hence why he used it, and yet mere days after the battle, a single ship landed, just up there,” Canderous pointed towards the summit of the Ice Spear they were clustered around. “Avner, if you will.”

‘Avner’ nodded, stepping forward and adopting a Nar Shaddaa accent as easily as if he had lived there his entire life, the change jarring from the commanding voice Spike knew so well.

“As yer lord says, ain’t nobody ever come to Rekkiad willingly, nor with a purpose that isn’t suspect at best. Ah decided to keep an eye on ‘em, see if they had anything good they were stashing that ah could take once they were gone. Their ship was some fancy Republic shuttle, big enough for a platoon of troopers, but only two stepped out. Ah may try and avoid politics, but even ah knew them; bald and tattoo’d one and another wearing black robes and a mask, same bastards who led the war against you lot, and against the Republic.”

‘Avner’ spat at this before continuing.

“They were carrying something else though, Revan treating it like the greatest prize in the galaxy, another mask, looked like the one that belonged to yer king. Had it with ‘im when he went into the cave up there. Didn’t have it with ‘im when he came back out and when they flew off. I ain’t mad enough to go poking my nose around the business of those two, but ah think that information alone is worth my fee.”

“If the mask is up there,” Canderous folded his arms, drawing a scowl from ‘Avner’. Spike was grateful for the helmet that hid his smirk, the pair playing the parts perfectly.

“We’re taking the word of smugglers now?” a voice called out, a woman pushing her way to the front, her helmet removed as she stared daggers at Canderous.

“Veela,” Canderous’s face was obscured behind his own helmet, but Spike was taken aback by the tone in Canderous’s voice, even distorted through his helmet speakers, a sense of longing? Regret? “It is...”

“Don’t say it’s good to see me,” the woman, Veela, replied, her voice as icy as the ground at her feet. “You abandoned the Clan, went off to fight as a gun for hire like that’s all we were after our loss, now you waltz back in and claim rulership and expect us all to just jump to your words and the words of a smuggler?”

“You and I both know that I have gambled far more on far less,” Canderous shot back, the tone in his voice now hardened once more. “I trust Avner’s word enough to search here especially as we weren’t getting anywhere fast on the other worlds we were searching. Any lead is better than no lead, so if you don’t like it, I invite any here to invoke the rule of challenge.”

Canderous paused, looking pointedly at the rest of the clans, his gaze ending on Veela, his visor locking onto her eyes until finally, she turned away just a fraction, averting her gaze from her Alor.

“In that case, prepare to move. Scans show that the tip of the Ice Spear has destabilised with time and the season, we’re not going to be able to land heavy equipment up there, which means we have a climb ahead of us. If you are lucky enough to have a jetpack, or wings,” Canderous glanced at Spike before continuing, “you’re on recon. We move in one hour.”

With that, the crowd began to disperse, Veela taking a moment to look at Canderous and ‘Avner’ before turning and walking away, sliding her helmet into place as she did.

“So that was...clearly something,” Spike mused, glancing down at Segutai. “What’s the story?”

“Between Veela and Canderous?” Seguati asked, before shrugging. “They were married during the war, she stayed behind when he left, after Malachor. She never forgave him. Same story’s probably been told dozens of times across the surviving clans. The loss of the mask fragmented us like nothing else could.”

“Even the great Canderous isn’t above a little loved squabble,” Moonstone laughed, before sighing, a wistful smile on her face. “I wonder if finding the mask will help to quiet those squabbles?”

“Who knows,” Spike turned to face her, opening his mouth to speak more but before he could give voice, his eyes shot wide beneath his helmet, a sense of foreboding and doom lancing into his brain. In the same instant, Spike saw a similar expression written across Moonstone and ‘Avner’s’ face and without thinking turned to dive atop Segutai, throwing up his wings in a protective barrier. Not a moment later, a lancing pain struck Spike, scything through the membranous portion of his wing with ease before bouncing off his helmet, the initial impact having robbed the round of its momentum, though still leaving Spike’s ears ringing, almost missing the whip-crack of the rounds firing and the roar of engines and battle cries.

“For Clan Jendri!”

Spike was moving even before the battle cry had faded, spinning and bringing his gauntlet to bear, Segutai following his lead as the pair unleashed a flurry of shots into the air, only for them to harmlessly impact the underside of a Basilisk War Droid, the mighty war machine howling as it shot overhead, followed by three more of its kin, blazing a trail for close to fifty Mandalorians, all presumably belonging to Clan Jendri. Some of the clan were born aloft upon tongues of fire, swords and pistols ready for imminent combat, while further out more warriors took up positions with rifles, pinning Ordo down with withering volleys of fire.

Spike took in the battle in an instant, yet even that wasn’t quick enough, a glint catching his eye as the light of the sun reflected off a sniper's scope, Spike barely having time to throw himself to the side, the round flattening itself against his thigh plate. The armour held, but from its impact Spike knew the shooter was no novice, having chosen his rounds well.

With a flash, the squashed explosive detonated, Spike hurled through the air and landing heavily on the snow, carving out a deep furrow before finally coming to a halt. The air was alive with blaster bolts and solid slug rounds, Spik hauling himself to cover even as he watched a pair of Clan Ordo warriors cut down, one of them bursting into a flare of rapidly dissipating particles as he was struck with a disruptor round. Grimacing, Spike hauled himself into cover behind a rock, looking at his wing and the fist size hole punched through it. Whatever had made the hole was big, some slug thrower or ripper, bad news either way.

“Canderous!” Spike roared into his helmet, only to be met with the hiss of a jamming signal.

Canderous Moonstone’s voice echoed in his mind, bridging the gap between him and the Alor through the interference.

Spike? Canderous sounded surprised for an instant before recovering. I’m pinned down with fifteen of the clan, what can you see?

Four Basilisks, about fifty Jendri split between rifles and storm troops, they have at least one big gun on the ground too.

Canderous swore in a language that was neither basic nor Mando’a as Spike ducked his head to avoid another barrage of blaster shots and solid slugs.

Revan, Moonstone instinctively threw his mind wider as Spike called out, the voice Spike knew and hated sounding back without hint of surprise by the magical communication.

We can’t just sit here, we’re outnumbered and outgunned on the ground.

No shit Spike growled, wincing as a Basilisk soured overhead, raking the rock he hid behind with pulse-cannon fire. Any bright ideas?

Have you tried shooting the pilots Revan’s tone was dry even across the magical link.

Gee, why didn’t we think of that? Canderous retorted, Spike rolling his eyes before leaning out and unleashing a fusillade of his own, scouring a glancing hit on one of the pilots but doing little more than scuffing the finish of his armour, the majority of the shots impacting the droids heavy armour to no effect.

I can’t get a good angle, and I don’t know how well transforming is going to go in my new armour Spike cursed that he hadn’t thought to test his capabilities before entering a war zone, resolving it to be one of the first things he did once they got out of here. I may be able to get into the air, but with this many enemies... he trailed off.

If you can cause a distraction, I should be able to reach our own droids and see them off Canderous sounded as if he was firing as he spoke, grunting in pain as something presumably hit him.

I can cause a distraction, but the clan probably won’t like it Revan’s voice was low and hard.

Well they can be disgruntled and alive or ignorant and dead Canderous snapped back, Spike feeling Revan’s mind harden and push him out.

Just be ready Spike finished before cutting the connection, looking over to where Revan was taking cover, the ex-Jedi reaching into his backpack, Spike reaching into his own belt-pouch, grasping the hilt of Elusive.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he prepared himself, watching Revan even as he instinctively knew that Revan was watching him. They had to time this just right, act too early...

Revan blurred into motion, Spike joining him as he left over his cover, Elusive flaring into life, its blade almost lost against the storm as Revan’s own paired lightsabers did the same, the green and purple blades a whirling vortex around the man, deflecting blasters that now seemed to have eyes for nothing but the two Jedi in their midst.

Spike couldn’t help but grin under his helmet as he moved to stand by Revan, relishing the opportunity to fight beside the man he had once followed into war despite everything that had happened since. It had been a simpler time, before war had claimed the soul of the Jedi, the Republic and Spike, before Revan’s own fall and everything that had followed. For a glorious moment, Spike felt a peace he hadn’t known for a long time, focusing purely on his bladework, Moonstone beside him as she focused his magic against the worst of the incoming fire.

“Don’t go getting all sentimental now,” Moonstone’s face was screwed up in concentration, the weight of fire, mix of slug, blaster and disintegration rounds and swarming tactics of the enemies taxing even their magic, more used to smaller, more focused applications.

“You’re loving it too,” Spike shot back, drawing a small smile from Moonstone, before he turned his head and shouted, not wishing to risk expending power on another link.

“Canderous! Get in the air and take the droids out!”

The Alor seemed to need no further instruction, bursting from cover as he and his warriors ran towards the Basilisk droids, the mighty war machines firing at the incoming Clan Jendri but seemingly unable to take to the sky without their riders atop them. With Spike and Revan drawing most of the fire they made it through, though even with the distraction, Spike watched a number of them fall, some roaring in agony while others twisted into unnatural angles, sprawling across the ice in a way that made it clear they would never again rise from it.

“Hurry up,” Spike grunted, leaping backwards as a missile streaked towards him, impacting where he had been an instant, the blast buffeting him even as jagged barbs of metal exploded outwards, most impacting off his armour though more than one slashed against his wings.

“Canderous!” Revan roared, but his roar was quickly lost against the roar of six new and terrible steeds taking to the air, Canderous and four of his warriors taking to the air, Spike noting that one of them rode his own war droid, the sixth and final droid little more than a smoking slag pile.

In an instant, the battle took on a new momentum, Clan Jendri suddenly not only contested in the air but outnumbered and outgunned. In a single pass, the five Ordo machines tore into the Jendir fliers, one of them spiralling to the ground in flames.

Sensing the battle had turned, Clan Jendri began to disengage, Spike watching as many of the jetpack equipped Mandalorians shot upwards and twisted away from the Ordo encampment, but Canderous was clearly not in a forgiving mood, spurring his steed onwards as he and his warriors engaged the remaining Basilisks.

For a moment, Spike stood transfixed, watching as Canderous effortlessly piloted the droid, cartwheeling around the enemies fire and delivering pinpoint accurate shots of his own. A blaster bolt impacting with his helmet brought him out of the daze, doing little to his plate but setting his ears ringing. Lightsaber still in one hand, Spike drew his axe in the other and charged, Revan doing the same as they clashed with the retreating Mandalorians.

“Just like old times,” Revan called out, decapitating a Mandalorian Rally Master, before hurling one of his blades at another warrior scrambling to get away.

“Shut up,” Spike growled, even as he admitted once again that it was exactly like that, images of the early days of the Mandalorian Wars filling his mind.

With the Ordo Basilisks in the air and Spike and Revan now on the offensive on the ground, the battle swiftly turned from an ordered withdrawal into a bloody rout, the final guns falling silent mere minutes later. The ground was littered with the dead and wounded of both sides, Ordo showing no mercy to their defeated foes, putting them to the sword with detached efficiency.

“Spike, Avner, go secure the base of the Ice Spear,” Canderous’s voice swam across an open channel. “If Jendri is going to try something, it won’t be long until others get the same idea. We’ll take a smaller party up and move quickly. The rest of you, gather the dead, treat the wounded and maintain battle footing. We will not be caught with our helmets off again.”

“Come on,” Moonstone gestured. “We should probably get going. The less questions we have to answer about...all this,” she gestured around them, “the better, at least while Canderous is still only an Alor.”

“Agreed there,” Spike nodded, putting his hand to his ear. “Segutai?”

“I’m ok,” the Taung’s voice was pained but strong enough. “Clipped me good in the fight, I doubt I’ll be making the climb with you. Just get the bloody thing back, ok?”

“Don’t go pulling anything heroic,” Spike replied, before letting the channel go dead, looking upwards at the Ice Spike stretching away above him and flexing his wings. Magic was already starting to flow into the wounds and he would likely be able to fly on them, but for how long was up for debate.

With a grunt, Spike beat his wings, beginning the task of scouting a way up the sheer ice face as Canderous and Revan began to climb, leaving the rest of the Clan at the bottom to tend the wounded. Even from this distance, Spike could feel eyes boring into him from below, already preparing himself for what he feared would arise when he returned to the ground.

Author's Note

To everyone who voted in the recent poll, and just in general to everyone who has stuck around and gives this chapter a read, thank you. From the bottom of my heart it means the world to me that there are still people interested in what I put out, and in the fandom stil in general. Each and every one of you are utterly utterly awesome, and while I doubt I will be as quick as I used to be in putting out chapters, I will try to never let my absences get to the ridiculous levels that did in the last few years.

Shadows of the Past

Spike's wings burnt as he landed upon the Ice Spear yet again, his talons digging into the ice and anchoring him there.

Finally Moonstone’s voice echoed in Spike’s mind before she materialised beside him. Though she was perfectly capable of floating in mid air, she instead opted to appear as though she clung to the mountain alongside him, her ephemeral hooves granting her a surety of purchase that no talon ever could, while a thick snow jacket and scarf were bundled around her.

“Why do you never take me anywhere nice?” She had to shout to be heard over the wind.

“Once this is all over, I’ll find us a nice beach planet, we can have a holiday,” Spike roared back, before glancing down towards the specs of Canderous and Revan far below him.

“Getting...tired...again?” Canderous called over the comms, the effort of the climb evident in his voice.

“Hey, if you want to scout a path yourself, you’re more than welcome to try,” Spike shot back. “There’s a stable shelf just above you which should hold you both for a while at least, then it’s a straight shot to the summit.”

“We’ll rest here, then come up and join you and reach the summit together,” Revan called out, his voice far harder to make out, his environment suit not fully stopping the wind from snatching and clawing at each word before they reached Spike, but evidently having an easier time of it than Canderous. “I can’t remember precisely what we’ll find up there, but it would be better if we did not go alone.”

“I’ll wait for you to catch up then, that shelf won’t hold three anyway.”

With the comms channel flickering out, Spike turned to face out from the Ice Spear, digging his talons back into the icy wall in defiance of the wind that sought to rip him from his perch. For a time, he remained motionless and silent, Moonstone beside him as they simply looked into the constant storms and thin atmosphere of Rekkiad at the infinite nothingness that lay beyond this tiny pale sphere. Finally, Spike broke the silence with a contented sigh, a small gout of flame accompanying the sound to banish the cold that was setting in.

“You know...ignore what we’re here for, and there’s a strangely peaceful side to this world. Sure it’s like the Crystal Empire before Sombre’s fall, but still, you close your eyes and...”

“You could almost imagine you’re back there,” Moonstone finished for him.

“Or visiting for the first time,” Spike nodded slowly, his shoulders relaxing some of the tension he barely even registered he was carrying anymore before he turned to look at Moonstone directly. “What are we even doing anymore, Moonstone?”

“What do you mean?” She asked, meeting his question with a cocked head and inquisitive look.

“I mean what are we doing here, with Ordo? With ourselves,” Spike shrugged, or managed the best approximation he could on the cliff-side. “When does it end? Scooped up by the Jedi, thrown into their war. Join Revan and get dragged into his. Fast forward and we’re fighting Revan and Malak as well as half the Jedi council. And now? Now we’re working with Revan and the Mandalorians and Revan to undo what both of us did less than a decade ago.”

“We could just stop,” Moonstone pointed out. “Just fly off, take [i[Harmony and disappear into the galaxy. It’s a big enough place, and if you’re not punishing yourself this time, you may even stay beneath the radar.”

“I made a good gladiator,” Spike huffed, but part of him could see the logic in what she said. The galaxy was vast, and he had given it more than his pound of flesh. He could find somewhere to grow old, some tropical paradise where he could sip cocktails for however long he had left. It was tempting.

“You and I both know that you’d last a year at most,” Moonstone laughed, punching him on the shoulder, only for her hoof to pass through him, her expression becoming crestfallen for an instant before she recovered and continued. “You couldn’t just stop, not unless...”

“I don’t know how we’d even begin to find Equis,” Spike cut her off, knowing where she was going, tapping his wrist-mounted controls and allowing a holo-reader to spring into life, projecting a block of text into the air between them.

Neither of them needed the words before them to know what it said, long having memorised the scroll which now lay safely within Harmony, and yet it was still the only link they had ever found to their true home, Spike taking in each word of the digitised message with the same reverence as he always did.

~~To~~~~Dear~~ To My Dearest Spike.

I don’t know if this will ever reach you. I don’t know where you are. I don’t know if you even survived whatever it was that took you.

I’ve been thinking back to that night so much in the past year, replaying every moment, running tests on the tree, trying to find out what that orb was. I’ve found nothing that can help, nothing that tells me where you are, or how to reverse what happened. Months of searching, more data than I know what to do with, ~~me, not knowing what to do with data, imagine that~~ and yet I’m no closer to finding out where you’ve gone, or what that thing was.

I’m so sorry that I can’t do more, I want to find you, to hold you again. Everything is so different without you, so quiet, so boring. I feel like I took you for granted when you were here. Now all I wish is that you would come back for just one day. Somepony wrote that you never truly know what you have until it’s gone. I know what I had now. All the magic, all my friends, even the princesses. I’d give them up for you Spike.

The others, they don’t understand, they think that I’m just grieving, that I’m still trying to adjust to what happened to you, but I’m not. I’m not going to accept this. No matter what it takes, I will find you again, and I will see you again. I’ve been trying to master Celestia’s message spell for months now, following her notes on how she originally bound the pair of us together back when you first hatched, initial observations when we were both young, everything I can get my hooves on. Celestia thinks I’m crazy, she thinks that I can’t make a link between me and you without you being here with me, but she’s wrong. We’re magically linked you and I Spike, paired at birth for life. I feel your pain, you feel mine~~, well, you’re a Dragon, pony pain probably isn’t that much too you so maybe you don’t, or maybe it’s a one way street and I feel yours but you don’t feel mine. Who knows?~~ I know you’re still alive, I can feel it, the pain you’re feeling, the anger, the sorrow. I won’t stop, I’ll never stop until we’re back together again.

The others want me to stop, Celestia, Luna and Cadence. They tell me I should focus on my duties, but this is my duty. If you can be taken, so can others, and I will do everything I can to find out more about your disappearance so that nopony else ever has to go through the same pain as I’m going through. I won’t ever stop searching.
Ever.

If you are reading this, if it somehow gets through to you, promise me one thing. Don’t ever stop believing in yourself Spike.

Never give up on what you believe in. Someday, hopefully soon, I will find a way to bring you home, I promise you on everything I own. Please don’t give up on yourself, wherever you are.

Eternally yours

~~Your mother~~
~~Your sister~~
Twilight Sparkle

“If we searched the galaxy for an eternity, we’d have as much chance of finding it as a grain of sand on the foot of a starfighter has at finding its way back to Tatooine,” a sorrowful smile spread across his face before be continued, “Our one ‘connection’ to Equis has precisely zero connections to Equis. The magic that spawned it is ours, the elements that make up the parchment came from the surrounding atmosphere of Taris. Everything about this scroll is you and me, Moonstone, save the words that were upon it, and you can’t trace words through the stars. Least, I can’t. I have no idea about magic beyond what you can make it do or what feels natural, and nothing about this is natural.”

“So still square one,” Moonstone sighed

“We’re not even on the board yet, let alone square one” Spike shook his head, before taking a deep breath and hardening his mind once more, his smile becoming one of resigned determination. “I guess the fact is we’re here, the why doesn’t matter. Ordo’s where fate’s taken us, we just need to ride it out and make the best of it.”

“Story of our life,” Moonstone gave a weak laugh before the pair lapsed into an uneasy silence, neither placated by the words of the other in the slightest.

It took another hour for Canderous and Revan to climb to their position, Revan leading the way while Canderous brought up the rear, panting hard through his helmet. Wordlessly, Spike waited for them to pass, before pushing off from the Ice in a manoeuvre he had repeated half a dozen times already, his talons tearing free a hail of ice that would have peppered any climbing beneath him, sending him plummeting a few pulse pounding metres towards the distant ground before his wings snapped out, a single powerful downbeat sending him soaring up past the still climbing pair, Moonstone soaring along beside him. With each beat of his wings, Spike felt the joy of flight banishing the doubts of his place in the universe, and by the time Canderous and Revan hauled themselves over the lip of the Ice Spear and Spike touched down beside them, he’d buried them away once more, at least for a while longer.

“You two look like shit,” Spike laughed, clapping Canderous on the back and earning a glare he could feel even through his Alor’s helmet, though no response was forthcoming, Canderous still struggling to catch his breath. Finally he straightened up, looking around the plateau.

True to the scans, the ice was treacherous, each step sinking through a half-melted layer of slush or sending cracks rippling through the surface, echoing ominously through the structure, Spike taking to keeping his wings spread wide, beating them every so-often when he found a particularly weak part beneath his bulk.

“The entrance must be buried,” Revan called out.

“Scans are picking up something about ten metres down,” Canderous nodded, before looking at Spike expectantly.

“You know that large amounts of fire and unstable ice is a bad combination, right?” Moonstone asked wryly.

“By all means then, you can dig the tomb out,” Canderous nodded, looking at Revan. “I’m sure the pair of us won’t find freezing to death up here.

Moonstone opened her mouth before thinking better of it and closing it again, they had a point; the wind was howling across the top of the Ice Spear, and while Spike and Moonstone had little to fear from the elements, Canderous and Revan were not so lucky. Without the wall to break the wind, they would start to show the burden of the cold before long, even Canderous’s armour not able to keep it out forever.

“Stand back then,” Spike gestured, before reaching up and removing his helmet fully, working his jaw now it was free. He could breathe through the grill on it, but that didn’t mean he fully trusted it for what was required of him now.

Revan and Canderous dutifully stepped back as Spike took a deep breath in, the freezing air filling his lungs, before he roared, flames billowing forth in a wild cone before Moonstone focused the flames into a tight beam, ice turning to steam at the merest touch of the arcane fire. For close to half a minute, Spike continued the stream, until a rebounding wall of heat indicated the fire had struck something that was decidedly not ice, stopping his roar in an instant and watching as Canderous and Revan walked forward.

“And you wanted to dig,” Canderous laughed as he walked past Moonstone, peering over the edge of the freshly bored hole as the steam began to clear, revealing what they had climbed all this way for; deep in the ice lay a door, carved from blackened rock, scorched by the flames but still whole.

Without needing words, Revan, Canderous and Spike stepped over the edge, sliding down the steep slope, arresting their speed with talons and knives until they arrived at the bottom, clustering around what they now saw as a crypt door. The dark feeling that Spike had felt from his first moment on the world had now grown to an almost physical presence before him, Moonstone wrinkling her nose as if she could smell the evil that radiated off the stone.

“I give you the tomb of the Sith Lord Dramath the Second,” Revan intoned with a sense of ominous foreboding, removing his environment suit’s helmet as he spoke.

“How long did you say this guy’s been dead?” Spike asked, his scales crawling as the waves of dark side energy lashed at his mind.

“Over a thousand years, and if his hatred is still this strong now...” Revan trailing off, Spike beginning to feel physically sick at the thought that Exar Kun, Ulic Qel-Droma, Malak, even Revan himself, were all akin to children besides this Dramath.

“Oh stop being so dramatic, it’s a tomb, nothing more,” Canderous scoffed. “Whatever’s in there is long dead, let's just get this open, get what we came from and get out of here before we all freeze.”

Spike rolled his eyes, but had to admit that Canderous had a point about speed, reaching down and grasping the rock with his talons and straining. Spike had bested war droids twice his size, marched in galactic conflicts three times over, fought with some of the greatest threats known to the Republic, when he wished something to move, it moved or was torn asunder.

The rock did not move.

Spike’s muscles burnt as he strained, before finally relenting, letting go of the covering and turning to look at Revan, a sardonic look on his face.

“So, you’re now going to tell me that you know exactly how to open the tomb, knew that wasn’t going to work and let me do it anyway?”

“Pretty much,” Revan smirked, before stepping forward and closing his eyes, his hand extending out towards the stone.

With a crunch, the rock moved upwards, Spike however was more concerned with Revan himself. His face was screwed up, but not from the effort of opening the tomb itself, but from the energies Spike knew surrounded them both, yet where Spike held them at the walls, Revan had thrown wide the gates, opening himself to everything.

“Revan...” Spike growled softly, his hands dropping towards his weapons.

“I’m...fine,” Revan grunted, before his eyes opened, Spike seeing a flash of yellow before it was banished as he let the rock go, the tomb now open before them. “Come on, we should not linger now that it is open, and we must still confront whatever is within.”

Revan made to step forward, but Moonstone appeared in front of him, Spike likewise sticking his arm in front of the man to stop him.

“Maybe you should tell us what we are going to find in there before we all go marching in,” Moonstone raised an eyebrow.

“I have no idea what’s within,” Revan admitted after a brief pause.

“But you’ve been here before,” Spike pointed out.

“After the Mandalorian Wars,” Revan nodded, “but before the Civil War, before my fall and my capture by Bastilla. Rewriting minds is not something that should be done lightly, nor does it come without its own set of strings attached.”

“So, how much do you remember?” Spike asked slowly.

“Bits and pieces, fragments really,” Revan shrugged, Spike nearly missing the barely suppressed shudder, nearly.

“Nightmares?”

Revan didn’t respond straight away, before merely nodding. “Something like that.”

“I know full well what that’s like,” Spike’s attitude towards Revan softened just a bit, before he moved past Revan. “But if you don’t remember what’s in here anyway, there’s no reason for you to go first, and with some offence intended, I don’t want you of all people being the first one back inside a tomb filled with the dark side. Moonstone can bring up the rear.”

“Shouldn’t the order be my decision,” Canderous asked, crossing his arms in mock indignation.

“If you’d like me to have to explain to you everything bad in front of you before you take a step and how to avoid it, be my guest, Alor,” Spike bowed.

“Perfect,” Canderous nodded. “So, order; Spike you’re first, then Revan, then me, Moonstone brings up the rear.”

Spike gave the Mandalorian a withering look, before turning and marching into the tomb. For a few metres, light continued to bounce around the complex from the entrance, but after turning yet another corner, they were plunged into blackness, both Spike and Revan drawing their lightsabers, while Moonstone lit her horn, casting rays of purple and white light across the corridors.

It felt like they were walking for an eternity, the tomb far larger than anything Spike had anticipated, going deep within the Ice Spear. Fears of getting lost had seen both him and Canderous beginning a mapping program within their armour, as well as resorting to more primitive means of direction finding as Canderous meticulously marked the walls in Ordo cyphers, laying a path back to the surface, as well as ensuring any not versed in the clans ways would become hopelessly lost if they tried to follow the quartet.

Down and down they went, until finally they emerged into a chamber larger than any they had entered before, the cavernous ceiling soaring away into the darkness high above, even the light that the party was casting not reaching all the way to the top. Carved from the same dark granite as the rest of the complex, the room was cut with meticulous patterns of flowing glyphs and sharp, angular lines, their providence unknown to Spike and yet their meaning somehow clear, drawing the eye inexorably to the centre of the room, no matter where one sought to look, towards the rooms one dominating object.

The sarcophagus of the Sith Lord Dramath the Second.

For such a simple object of carved, angular stone, the feeling of dread that Spike had felt since coming to the world grew only stronger, and it was all he could do to take one step after another towards the foreboding object. None spoke, even Canderous sensing the wrongness of this place and fighting against it, but finally they reached the sarcophagus, clustering around it and exchanging wordless glances.

Revan laid his hands upon the lid of the sarcophagus, before nodding at Spike and Canderous in turn, the pair grasping the heavy stone lid, before with a shared grunt of exertion, they lifted it away. Instantly a hiss of stale air escaped the sarcophagus, filling the room with dust and filth that set the light cast from magic and sabre bouncing erratically around the room, temporarily obscuring everything, even visor filters struck dumb by the power of the tomb, but soon that too cleared, Spike getting his first look into the resting place of the ancient Sith Lord.

Spike hadn’t known what to expect; a desiccated husk of a body, disintegrating bones, an impossibly hale and whole body that could be sleeping rather than long since dead. What he saw however was none of these things, for what he saw was nothing to do with Dramath the Second, no body, no bones, no indication that a being had once been laid to rest here. Where he had once lain, now rested only a singular object, one that Spike knew and hated, yet now sought above all else.

“Mandalore the Ultimate’s mask,” Canderous breathed softly, reaching out a hand towards it, before stopping, his helmet turning towards Spike, his voice low. “What are you doing?”

His words chilled Spike to the core as he looked down, seeing his own claw outstretched towards the mask. Time seemed to freeze as Spike tried to remember extending it, only to come up blank as a voice whispered in his ear.

Take it.

Spike’s mind raced as he sought to place the voice as it spoke again.

Take it. Go on. Take up the mantle yourself.

“...I,” Spike began, his throat impossibly dry.

Take up the Mantle of Mandalore. Lead. Do not follow.

“I don’t...” Spike tried again, but the voice redoubled its efforts, echoing around the room and through SPike’s mind, speaking multiple times at once, the words seeming to crash into Spike all at once.

Mandalore the Draconic

Mandalore the Victorious

Mandalore the Imperishable

Mandalore the Betrayer

Mandalore the Fallen

Mandalore the Desolator

“N...no,” Spike managed, before suddenly feeling a sting across his face, Canderous’s fist drawing back to deliver another blow into his helmet, the metal reverberating with the blow.

“Snap out of it, withdraw your hand,” Canderous’s voice was strained, the telltale signs of combat stim use tinging the edges of the words, as if the Alor was speaking through gritted teeth, which, Spike realised, he probably was.

“I don’t know what came over me,” Spike muttered, stepping back away from Canderous, his mind reeling.

“Can we please grab that thing and leave,” Moonstone looked just as uneasy, only Revan seemingly unaffected by what had just happened.

“Gladly,” Revan nodded, now the closest to the sarcophagus turned, reaching down and grasping the mask from where it lay, holding it out towards Canderous.

“How dare you defile Mandalore's Mask with your filthy Jedi hands!"

The voice startled everyone in the room, all attention having been firmly on the mask. In an instant, all weapons had been drawn, Spike holding his axe in one hand, his gauntlet-blaster pointed at the door, only to be met by the helmed form of half a dozen Mandalorian’s, each aiming their own weapons at the group.

“Veela?” Canderous sounded taken aback for a moment before anger slipped into his voice once more. “What do you think you’re doing?!”

“Put the mask down!” Veela shouted again, not paying attention to Canderous’s words, Revan not moving an inch.

“Put your weapons down, now,” Canderous growled.

“I will not order that,” Veela snapped.

“This is a betrayal,” Canderous’s aim never faltered, his heavy pistol trained on Veela. “You had your chance to invoke your right of challenge, that time has passed so again, put, your weapons, down.”

“Betrayal?” Veela let out a sharp bark of a laugh. “Who are you to talk of betrayal? You who turned your back on your people? And for what? To throw in your lot with him? With Revan the Butcher?”

The words echoed around the room as Revan’s identity was so comprehensively and unequivocally stated.

“Veela,” Spike began, trying to take a step forward.

“Oh, sorry,” Veela snapped, still not taking her eyes off of Canderous. “Not just Revan the Butcher, that would be too easy, too small a scale for our grand Alor. No, you had to invite the Beast of Ranox into our clan as well. What’s next? Will you kneel before Meetra Surik too? Whore yourself out for the sanctimonious Jedi?!”

“Veela, don’t do this,” Canderous warned. “Please.”

“Begging?” Veela scoffed. “We do not want to kill you, Canderous. For all your faults you are my Alor, and I will pledge myself to you until my final day as Mandalore. We’re not here to kill you. Just them.”

“I cannot break my oaths to Revan, nor my oath to protect all members of Clan Ordo, from threats inside and out. Do not become a kin-slayer, Veela. Do not make me become one either.”

“Last chance, Canderous. Stand with us against the Jedi, take up the mask in a way befitting our people and your honour.”

“My honour is unquestionable,” Canderous sighed. “And my honour keeps me here, Veela.”

“So be it,” the words were hollow as Veela spoke them, yet her actions were unshaken as the six opened fire.

With a roar, Spike launched himself at one of the Mandalorians even as Revan deflected the first volley, blaster bolts riddling one of their attackers. His axe howled as it sliced through the air, meeting little resistance as it punched through the other warrior's chest. Even as two of their number fell, the other four stepped back into the corridor as a cluster of grenades was tossed into the room, detonating a split second later with a deafening screech of noise and electromagnetic static.

In an instant, Revan’s lightsaber shorted out, a battlecry ripping from Veela’s lips as she leapt into the air, sword in one hand, a gout of flame billowing forth from her gauntlet to engulf the disorientated Jedi. Spike turned, but the remaining Mandalorians were already charging back in, their weapons trained on Spike and Moonstone as Spike realised that even had they not been distracting him, Veela was moving too fast, her sword already descending towards Revan.

“Revan!” Spike roared as the sword slashed down, before a single disruptor shot rang out across the room, the bolt hitting Veela squarely in the chest. She did not even have a chance to scream as the maximally-powered disruptor did its hellish work, every atom in her body superheating in an instant as she turned into a human-shaped mass of ash which rapidly dispersed.

Veela’s death was like a physical punch to her warriors, buying Spike a second to bring his own weapons back around, Revan likewise drawing his second lightsaber and leaping into the remaining Mandalorian. In as many heartbeats, three more Mandalorians fell to join their comrades, Canderous looking at one of the larger piles of ash as his pistol dropped to the floor, his helmet joining it a second later.

“Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum,” his voice was soft, emotion clearly warring with duty behind his otherwise stoic features. “Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum”

“Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la,” Spike spoke the phrase slowly and carefully, determined not to make a mistake now, a small nod from Moonstone confirming that he had not.

“So ends the story of Mandalore the Ultimate’s war,” Canderous muttered, standing up and moving to retrieve the mask that had been dropped in the brief firefight. “We begin a new story today.”

Spike’s eyes were glued to the mask as Canderous picked it up, taking in every inch of the mask for the first time in years, every detail was exactly how he remembered it. Forged from beskar iron, the mask itself was a ruddy golden colour, impossibly maintaining the same hue even in the strange lighting of the tomb, decorated with concentric lines and emblems of the ancient Mandalorian Crusaders that surrounded the imposing T-Visor that was so iconic to the people who followed this mask. Trailing from it was a hood of thick armourweave, fully capable of sealing the wearer away from the elements with the surety of any full helmet

“Mandalore,” Revan intoned, bowing his head, Spike and Moonstone following a split second behind, Spike softly thumping his fist into his breastplate.

“Mandalore. Mandalore. Mandalore.”

Each word reverberated around the tomb with the pounding of fist on armour as Revan slowly and solemnly pulled the mask up, the armourweave easily fitting over his head as if it had been made for him. As the mask slid home, Spike, Revan and Moonstone fell silent, the sounds echoing away down the corridors of the tomb as Canderous drew his sword.

"Mandalore has returned! I am Mandalore the Preserver, and I will restore the honour and glory of my people!"

Revan watched on, a sorrowful smile across his face as he reached into the sarcophagus, pulling a red-glass pyramid from within and stowing it within his pack. Spike knew he should have questioned Revan, and perhaps he would when they returned to the surface, but for now Spike was wrapped up in the moment, thrusting his own axe into the air and joining his voice with Canderous’s.

“For Mandalore! For the Preserver!”

“For Clan Ordo!” Moonstone cried out, rearing up on her hind legs, likewise given over to the spectacle.

“Thank you both,” Canderous, no, Mandalore the Preserver, turned to face Spike and Moonstone, clasping Spike’s forearm in a warrior's embrace before turning to do the same with Moonstone, the Alicorn merely bowing her head in place of the gesture. “Know that your presence here and your aid will not be forgotten, but for now we have much to do, the work of rebuilding our people has just begun, and I will need your aid to accomplish it.”

“As you command, my Mandalore,” Spike knelt, his head lowered, his axe held out hilt first. “My blade is yours.”

Part of Spike was shocked by the commitment in his own voice, even as another part rallied against it. Quashing the thoughts of cognitive dissonance that seemed to be his constant companion in these strange times, Spike allowing his weapon to be taken from him, before the hilt was proffered back to him.

“Your blade is your own, Spike. Your oath and bond is to Clan Ordo and to me, but while I am Mandalore, your blade shall forever remain your own, to use as you see fit. I will not become Ultimate, nor even Indomitable. This is a new dawn for the Mandalorians, we best make it a glorious one.”

With that he strode from the tomb of Lord Dramath the Second Spike, Moonstone and Revan following behind him, leaving the place an empty tomb for Veela, those who followed her, and Canderous, the warrior that once was now no more as he walked to face the galaxy under a name that would forever reverberate through history, as Mandalore the Preserver.

Author's Note

So this one has been a long time coming, however it may be a bit of time before the next chapter comes out. Re-reading all my plans for this Act of the story has made me realise how much I dislike it, and how much I would have just been sticking to established events in this Act, and in the entire story so far really, Spike being present for events and impacting them, but not changing them much.

Not sure what I will be doing, but I know I plan to change the act going forward to get us properly ready for the big final act.

Anyway, hope you enjoy it!

An Unwelcome Return

The descent from the Ice Spear was a far quicker affair than the ascent, Revan and Canderous...

Mandalore the Preserver Spike forced himself to remember.

Revan and Mandalore had paused as they left to retrieve the jet packs of the fallen warriors from the tomb, neither of the ageing warriors wishing to test their muscles with yet another arduous climb, and yet despite the roar of the flames as they plummeted groundwards, the mood was silent, Spike’s wings slowing his own descent. Revan’s environment suit once again obscuring his face, Mandalore’s new mask obscuring his, while even Spike’s own helmet was tightly in place, the warriors looking implacable even as each warrior was locked in their own internal thoughts.

What the others were thinking was a mystery, one that neither Spike nor Moonstone had any right nor desire to intrude upon, yet Spike’s own mind was racing, the warrior he had become warring with the monster he had been when he had last saw that mask, the desolation beast he had sought to crush from his memory yet could never fully escape from. Veela’s words had cut him like a knife, dredging up the one event above all others Spike had no wish to ever recall, and while he had more than his fair share of demons from the past three wars he waged, from nearly losing himself on Dxun to the deliberate and calculated death of Vasdu, none would ever come close to the horror that was Ranox in his mind.

That thing has been dead for close to half a decade and we still can’t let him go Moonstone didn’t speak as dropped alongside him, his voice resonating directly inside his mind.

We do know how to pick our friends. Spike agreed in the same manner. Any group of people in the universe, and we throw our lot in with the one faction who has even a chance of knowing that...thing.

Guess no one else would take us

It was a strange thing to hear laughter reverberating around your head while the person who the laughter belonged to kept a straight, almost dour face, Spike unable to contain his own mirth at the sight as his lips cracked into a smile beneath his helmet, his own laugh being snatched away by the wind. Moments later, Moonstone’s composure cracked and she likewise burst into fits of hysteric giggles, drawing looks from Revan and Mandalore.

“Care to cut us in on the joke?” Mandalore asked.

“No joke,” Spike howled with laughter, fighting to keep his flight level as his entire body was rocked with an uncontrollable laughter that could only come from a mask over something far more painful. “Goddess help me, I’ve seen bad holo-drama’s with less twists than this!”

“Less than what?” Mandalore snapped this time, his humours obviously hanging on a knife's edge with everything that had happened and everything that was to happen.

“Than everything!” Moonstone laughed, disappearing and reappearing in front of Mandalore. “Than my life? Than Spike’s? We just had someone try and kill the four of us and we’re rushing to give the rest of them commands after these two broke them the last time!”

The rest of her words were lost as she broke into full hysterical giggles, Spike’s own laughter dying as he watched her, her actions the spitting image of...”

“Kids,” Revan shook his head with a soft chuckle of his own, breaking Spike’s train of thought.

“You do realise I’m like, a decade older than you right?” he asked, before cocking his head. “I think?”

“I was still a teenager when you were fighting on Coruscant,” Mandalore’s voice was entirely nancelant as he brought up an assault on the galactic capital.

“I wasn’t even a teenager,” Revan agreed. “Still...kids.”

Spike rolled his eyes, turning back to face Moonstone, but the arcane Alicorn had controlled her laughter by now, the similarities to a life long ago now banished.

“Brace,” Mandalore called out before his jet pack flared brighter, Revan’s joining it a second later, ice turning to steam as they touched down, only for the steam to be banished as Spike arrested his own fall with a single flap of his wings.

“Well, this will either go well...or really shit,” Spike muttered as he looked at the Clan Ordo camp, the warriors within already moving to greet the returned party.

“It will go well,” Mandalore’s voice was strong as he strode forward, possessed of a confidence Spike had rarely seen in anyone. As he approached, Spike could see the ripple move through the oncoming warriors as they drew close enough to see the mask many had thought forever lost, already a cry echoing along the winds before Mandalore came to a halt and drew his sword.

“My people!” he roared, Spike’s helmet flaring into life as a wide-band communication frequency transmitted the words and mask of the Mandalore to every helmet within range. “What was sundered and thought forever lost has been returned to us this day. In the footsteps of Mandalore the Ultimate, of Mandalore the Indomitable, of Mandalore the Conqueror, of Mandalore the First, so a new Mandalore rises once more, not of one clan but of all clans, of our people and history, our culture and ways of life. This I shall defend as Mandalore the Preserver!”

“For Mandalore!” Spike roared, his words almost drowned out by the echoed cry from across the assembled Clan Ordo warriors, many of whom had weapons thrust skywards and Mandalore continued to speak.

“The people of this galaxy think us scattered and broken; a mere shadow of a fractured remnant, such a far cry from our former selves that we might never recover. Together, we shall prove how wrong they are, and this I swear to you! The galaxy will forever remember the Mandalorians!”

This time the cry was louder still, a wordless roar seemingly directed at the galaxy itself, both Spike and Moonstone caught up in it, the sound building until finally Mandalore raised his hand once more, silence falling almost immediately.

“The road before us is long...”

Spike wanted to listen to the words of his Mandalore, but something caught his eye instead, breaking him from his rapt attention as he looked towards the figure slowly moving from the camp.

“Leaving so soon?” Spike asked, a few quick strides putting him beside Revan, not fully in his path, but not fully out of it either.

“This is not my victory,” Revan shook his head. “This belongs to the Mandalorians...to you, Spike.”

“I don't think I will ever get used to you of all people calling me Mandalorian,” Spike let out a laugh he didn’t feel, Revan likewise putting on a smile that didn’t reach anywhere near his eyes. “What’s going on, Revan?”

Revan’s shoulders sagged a little as he wistfully looked into the sky at nothing in particular.

“There’s something out there, Spike, something I desperately need to remember. Dramath was as powerful a Sith as either of us have ever felt, and yet he was driven into exile, ignominy and death by someone, or something, far greater still. An emissary of another shadowy power cast a spell over Mandalore the Ultimate and caused the Mandalorian Wars that almost brought the Republic to it’s knees, and when Malak and I travelled after them...”

“...that same someone or something twisted the pair of you and sent you back here to finish what the Mandalorian’s had started,” Moonstone finished with a frown of her own. “You don’t think...the Sith survived extinction, do you?”

“Nothing’s impossible. The Mandalorian’s wiped out the Cathar, we all thought that was it for them...then one helped me save the galaxy.”

“And the Holocron from the tomb, you think that’s going to lead you to any survivors?” Spike asked, Revan having the good graces to at least look shocked that Spike had seen him pocket the device, before pulling out the red pyramid.

“Given our history I had thought to keep this from you,” he admitted, pulling the holocron from his backpack. “I didn’t want you to be in a position where you thought to take it from me.”

“I have half a mind to,” Spike admitted as his eyes fell upon the ominous pyramid, the soft red glow pulsing within his minds eye before he tore his gaze away. “You’re playing with fire Revan, but it’s Jedi fire. I’m not part of the order anymore. Just, leave me out of it.”

Spike lapsed into silence for a second, before the crunch of snow heralded a new arrival, all three of them turning to face Segutai, the Mandalorian holding up his hands in mock surrender.

“How’s the conspiracy going? Figured out how to overthrow Mandalore yet?”

Segutai let out a sharp laugh, Spike and Revan exchanging wary looks of their own.

“I would rather the Mandalorian’s not fall under the sway of Jedi, Sith, or any other force users again,” Revan looked at Spike, before extending his hand. “I know we will never be friends, Spike, but it was good to see you again. Keep Canderous safe, rebuild the clans and protect the galaxy and the Republic. If I fail...”

“If I know anything about you, Revan, you won’t,” Spike hesitated for just an instant, before grasping the other man's forearm, embracing as comrades in arms as they had done so many years ago.

For a moment, the pair locked arms, until Revan broke off the embrace, inclining his head towards Moonstone before turning on his heels and striding away in the direction of the clustered ships, Spike watching wordlessly as he first disappeared into the snow, before a ship took flight and rose until it too became nothing more than a spec against the sky, and then finally nothing at all, lost to the void. Finally, Spike broke the silence the trio had lapsed into.

“A true Sith...” he began, letting out a breath he didn’t even know he’d been holding.

“Oh no,” Moonstone cut in, teleporting in front of him, his eyes finally broken from where Revan had last been seen and now fixed on her. “No no no. Absolutely not.”

“What?” Spike asked in genuine confusion.

“We don’t need to get involved with it, if he’s right, that’s the Orders business. The same Order that threw you.

“I thought you quit,” Segutai glanced at Moonstone, his voice neutral and his expression hidden behind his helmet. “Violently.”

“Left, not allowed back, kicked out, you’re splitting hairs and getting off track,” Moonstone snapped, Spike actually taken aback by the sudden fervour in her voice. “Point is not everything in the galaxy is your mess to fix. It isn’t your fight and you are not being drawn into something else to give yet another pound of flesh.”

“Only a pound? Thought Spike was measuring that in tons these days,” Segutai laughed, before his voice also took on a more serious tone. “She does have a point though, Spike. There’s also every chance Revan is talking out of his ass and all he’s going to find is some bones of a long dead asshole. And if not, he can handle himself, he’ll be fine.”

“Last time he went out there he came back and almost destroyed the Republic,” Spike pointed out.

“Last time he already had an army,” Segutai countered, folding his arms. “You’re not a Jedi anymore, Spike. You’re Mandalorian. If yet another fallen Jedi or a full Sith rears their head, the Mandalorians will be there to stand against them, but right now, we look to our own, and equally right now, that includes you.”

Spike looked between the pair, the wind well and truly stolen from under him as any thoughts on the existence of a member of the Sith species, rather than merely their ideology, fled before their withering gazes.

“Alright, I’ll put it out of my mind,” he held his hands up in contrition.

“You realise I’m in your mind, right? That wasn’t even a good lie,” Moonstone’s glare intensified, her unblinking eyes boring into Spike’s until finally, the dragon blinked and looked away.

“We have more important things to be worrying about anyway,” Segutai saved Spike from any further rebukes from the Alicorn. “We’re moving out soon.”

“Back to the village?” Spike asked, leaping at the chance to turn the topic away from the Sith now Moonstone had shown herself so opposed to the thought. “Well, what’s left of it anyway.”

“You didn’t listen to a word Mandalore said, did you?” Segutai shook his head.

“I did...at the beginning,” Spike admitted.

“Of course,” Spike could almost hear Segutai’s eyes rolling. “No, Ordo is my home, it’s Canderous’s home, but it is not Mandalore’s home. We need somewhere that unites us above and beyond any clan.”

“So, Mandalore then?” Spike asked, his mind dredging up all the information he had on the Mandalorian’s official homeworld, always present but never central in any galactic events. “There’s a standing garrison force from the Republic there, on the lookout for, well, for exactly this. They won’t be pleased with us turning up.”

“Precisely, far too many eyes. Mandalore has a far more fitting world in mind for our rebirth.”

Spike’s blood ran cold as Segutai spoke the next word, memories and shame flooding back as the place he knew would come back to haunt him sooner, rather than later, was dropped upon him.

“Dxun.”

***

Spike let out a grunt of exertion as he snapped through a rivet holding the tattered remnants of an armoured plate to the twisted and blackened husk of metal that was only a Basilisk War Droid by the loosest definition. Clan Jendri may have been driven off from their abortive attack, but the raid had been anything but inconsequential. Indeed, if Revan or Spike hadn’t been present, Clan Ordo may have found themselves overwhelmed entirely, pinned down from the air and picked off to the last soldier. Though that fate had been avoided, many warriors had paid the final price, many more injured and requiring extensive recovery or rebuilding.

As he dove into the inner workings of his war droid, Spike still wasn’t sure which way the Basilisk fell, teetering between a repair job and a scrap job.

“Remind me why I keep this thing around?” Spike grunted before yanking his hand back and letting out a particularly colourful expletive, smoke barely obscuring the cascade of sparks that chased him out.

“Because you love to keep pointless distractions around to keep your mind off of any number of things you’d rather not focus on?” Moonstone asked, dryly.

“I know you understand rhetorical questions, maybe one day you could, you know, just not answer one of them, right?” Spike huffed with a small smile.

“Of all the things in the galaxy, I think we both know that that’s not going to happen, don’t we?” Moonstone shot back with a smile of her own, Spike shaking his head in mock exasperation, before sighing and tossing the wrench into a pile of tools.

The steed had been good to him, serving well ever since he’d taken it from the convoy in the war, boasting the perfect blend of savage efficiency and brutal terror, and yet as he looked on it, he saw it for what it truly was; just a machine. Stories of Basilisks dropping like rain and laying waste to armies and cities glorified the droids, elevating them into something more than simple weapons of war, but at their heart, they were just weapons. It was the rider that made the mount, not the mount that made the rider, and with everything Spike was, the mount was fast becoming superfluous to his needs.

“I’m sure Mandalore can always find use for the spare parts,” Moonstone shrugged at Spike’s thought.

“Yeah,” Spike nodded wistfully. It was probably the best thing for it, the other War Droids that Ordo boasted had likewise been damaged in the fight, though to a far lesser degree, and spare parts were all but impossible to come by. But then...

“Don’t tell me you’re growing sentimental for another piece of Mandalorian hardware,” Moonstone laughed. “That’s what, ship, armour, weapons and now the droids?”

“Yeah yeah yeah,” Spike rolled his eyes. “I bled hard for this thing, that’s all. Having it ends its life being pulled apart and turned into spare parts feels...wrong, somehow.”

“You hardly need it anymore, even if you could repair it,” Moonstone pointed out.

“I know, I know,” Spike conceded, lapsing into silence for a few moments before a smile crossed his face. “But I may have an idea all the same.”

Turning from the droid, Spike crossed the cargo bay in a few strides, sweeping various spare parts of removed plating from a workbench onto the floor. Once more, Spike’s eyes were alight with the spark of an engineer as he explored just what was possible with his latest idea, engrossed in yet another distraction, trying and failing to keep his mind away from the destination they were speeding towards, and a world he dreaded above almost any other.

***

Spike stood motionless on the ramp of Harmony as the sounds of a thousand different creatures rolled over him, mixing with the hissing rain of a distant storm and the clamouring of dozens of warriors running to and fro. The heat was intense, mixing with the moisture of a planet-wide jungle and ensuring that, though he didn’t sweat, his scales were nevertheless covered in a thin layer of sticky dew-like residue.

It had taken them weeks to get to this point, Rekkiad not so distant from Dxun that the trip itself took long, but reaching the moon from the system's jump-points had been another story altogether. Onderon had been amongst the first of Mandalore the Ultimate’s conquests, and though they had fallen in battle against the united clans, they had fought a brutal war that had not ended with their occupation, instead switching to brutal guerilla tactics, taking the war underground and single handedly keeping hundreds, if not thousands, of Mandalorians from the front line. The world had been staunchly proud of their defiance and maintained a hatred of the Mandalorians, none moreso than the Gifted general Vaklu, now Commander-in-Chief of the world's military might. Though the war may be over and individual Mandalorian’s or even small groups of the scattered clans now plyed the space lanes as mercenaries and bodyguards within the bounds of Republic law, what was being born on Dxun was far above such petty and ignoble individuals, and if they were detected, things would go bad, quickly.

In ones and twos hours or days apart, vessels of Clan Ordo and other clans answering Mandalore's call slipped into the system, skirting close to the Daemon Moon and allowing those within their holds to drop on tongues of fire, or else dropping cargo pods before moving off once more, never lingering long enough to cause any untoward suspicion of what was growing beneath the dense foliage. Finally, the groundwork had been laid for the final piece, Mandalore ordering that Harmony be loaded with the last of the vital cargo before making a run for the world. She would be the largest of the Mandalorian vessels berthed upon the moon, Mandalore scattering his other ships to the void, dispersing his strength so as to not allow any to know their true and growing strength.

The flightplan Mandalore had provided Spike had been precise to say the least, coinciding with a stellar event and a little bit of non-permanent and non-vital sabotage of a monitor satellite and allowing Harmony to slip through sensor-nets unseen by eyes that were focused elsewhere, touching down and almost immediately being covered by camouflage cloth and vast trees felled for just this purpose. In the span of minutes, the entire ship had been hidden from site, likely able to remain hidden from all but the most intense of scrutiny, and if anyone was looking that closely, the presence of Spike’s ship would be the least of anyone’s concerns.

“Another world, another place tainted by the Dark Side,” Moonstone commented, extending a hoof outwards as if to comfort Spike, Spike reaching out at the gesture, appreciating it even as claw passed effortlessly through hoof that wasn’t there.

“Yeah,” Spike finally managed, his voice horse, his throat bone dry despite his attempts to wet it and the planetary conditions.

“We can stay on the ship for a bit longer,” Moonstone suggested. “Mandalore hasn’t given you any orders to the contrary, and even if he had, when have you ever listened to orders you didn’t want to?”

She let out a painfully forced half-laugh that died on her lips, Spike knowing that despite her attempts, she could feel everything he felt, and right now, he wouldn’t have wished that on anyone, not even his worst enemies.

Like Rekkiad, the world was permeated with the stench of the Dark Side of the Force, generations of Sith Lords under the ancient Naddist banner had occupied the moon and the world below before being cast out, their physical taint purged as best the Republic and Jedi could manage, and to any other Jedi, that would have been all, more than enough to set teeth on edge but little more. For Spike and Moonstone though, there was a far more acute, far less ancient presence upon the world, the final part of a triumvirate now forced into a duumvirate.

“We’ve got to face it, Moonstone,” Spike intoned softly, his words halting as he searched for the right ones. “What he...we...what I did. What I was. No point loitering on the ship, sooner or later the past comes due, and sooner or later I have to face up to that. “

Moonstone wordlessly nodded as Spike steeled himself before stepping off of the ramp and striding with purpose into the dense foliage, keeping his wings folded, not wishing to risk drawing attention if he took to the skies. None called after him as he disappeared, all too busy with their own tasks and in seconds, the jungle had swallowed Spike as if he had never been there.

By any conventional means, Spike was hopelessly lost as he loped onwards. The jungles rapid growth made all but the most recent maps useless, the geo-surveyors that the Mandalorian’s had used during the war long since destroyed, removed or taken offline by the world’s harsh conditions ensuring that pinpointing their exact location on the world in relationship to anything else was near impossible, and yet Spike was not guided by technology or foreknowledge, nor even by the force or his innate magical abilities. What drove Spike on was something deeper, more instinctual, drawing upon his draconic nature in a way he wouldn’t have been able to replicate if he had set his mind to the task for a thousand years. Racial memory drove his actions, the beasts of the forest seeming to melt away from him, perhaps recognising the steely presence of an alpha predator on the hunt, perhaps simply not caring for the return of an old beast.

For hours Spike pushed through vegetation so thick that even his lightsaber and axe struggled to cut through them at times, requiring him to hack away until they parted to allow him to continue. Throughout it all he was intensely aware of another method he could use to traverse the forest floor with ease, a tried and tested method, yet he crushed those thoughts whenever they rose, clamping down on them with ever greater strength of will. Never again, not upon this world of all worlds. Finally, long after the moon had passed out of the light of the system’s star, the vegetation abruptly ended, Spike finding exactly what he wished for and dreaded as he looked into the clearing before him, one far from naturally forming as the blackened scar stretched away before him.

“Here we are again,” Spike all but whispered, the first words he had spoken since beginning, Moonstone similarly silent as she merely nodded, her own features distorted by resolution that didn’t completely cover the fear, no, the terror, the magical alicorn felt. Steeling themselves, the pair stepped forward, the jungle left behind as they stepped into the scarred wasteland that marked Spike’s last visit to this world.

In mere seconds, ash caked Spike’s scales, sticking to the moisture that had settled there throughout the day, his scales going from a vibrant purple to a washed out parody of themselves, before finally reduced to grayscale, the ash seeming to seek out its creator, clinging to his legs and tail. For all it’s harrowing disfigurement however, this scar was nothing, merely a prelude for what soon loomed out of the night, Spike stepping through the melted and re-solidified remains of a curtain wall, emerging into what was once the heart of a galaxy-conquering army, now serving as little more than a graveyard of warriors of both creeds, and memories once buried, now disturbed.

“He’s not coming back,” Moonstone whispered, as much to reassure herself as it was aimed at Spike.

“No...no he isn’t,” Spike agreed, his voice matching her tone almost perfectly as he sank to his knees, a cloud of ash billowing outwards as he did so. “He’s never coming back, not again. I can’t guarantee much, but I can tell you I’d rather die than let that happen.”

If he came back, he’d probably be more than happy with those terms

Spike growled at the unbidden thought.

“All our worst moments...all my shames and fuck ups across the decades, they led us here, or they spawned from here. Eres III, Taris...Ranox,” he shuddered at the mere mention of that world but forged on. “Even before all that, Cathar? Maryx Minor? Hell keep it going and you have Coruscant Empress Teta. One long string of events that brought me here. If any of them had changed, I may never have come, or may not have been so influenced by him.”

“And go the other way and Dxun turned you from the path you were on,” Moonstone managed a weak smile. “Meant we weren’t at Malachor, we didn’t go with Revan and Malak into the unknown regions...”

“We killed a world,” Spike muttered, images of Vasdu filling his mind.

“We saved trillions,” Moonstone continued without missing a beat or even acknowledging what Spike had said. “We separated ourselves from the Jedi and now? Now we can actually do some good, even if it’s an...interesting interpretation of the word.”

“Amazing how one world can be the catalyst for so much,” Spike mused, before closing his eyes and opening up his mind to the living force and the arcane ley lines that criss-crossed the area, linking what was with what would be to create the present.

Silence washed over him, before the screams of the dying crashed against him, threatening to drown him, yet he remained resolute, Moonstones presence a constant by his side, the dragon drawing strength from the Alicorn and she in turn drawing strength from him. This was his nexus point, the place he’d been made and unmade. There was strength here as well as hurt, power as well as loss and sorrow.

They did not speak, no words were needed, for this was not about Spike, at least not about the Spike who now knelt in remembrance. This was about the Spike who had fought in the war, the Spike who had lost himself and at the climax, at the very precipice from which there would be no turning back, he had finally seen what he had become and turned away. Such an act took strength, but it did little to soothe the weakness that had allowed him to reach that point, nor provided succour to those on both sides of the conflict who had perished in agony or needlessly to serve his callus war-lust.

Time had no meaning to the pair at that moment, they would have knelt for years if that is what the magic demanded, but even remembrance had to come to an end, Spike woken from his as a hand softly brushed against his shoulder. Cracking his eyes open, dried ash cracking and splintering as he did, Spike turned to see Segutai, the older Mandalorian likewise caked in ash, his helmet held beneath one arm, exposing the skin beneath.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” he asked, his voice carrying no judgement or condemnation for what some in the Republic had decried as a war crime after Malachor.

Spike cast his eyes around the compound one more time, the echoes of the past receding as he got to his feet, squinting in the midday sun. With a single nod, Spike turned and strode from the ashen ruins, everything he had done, everything he had suffered had led him here, yet his journey was not over, his story not yet at an end. Only time would tell when that end would come.

Table of Contents

THE DRAGON AND THE FORCE

Table of Contents

ACT 1: A New Life
Only the Force
Engulfed
Guardians of the Peace
Rapi-dash
Welcome
Ascension
Lessons in the Force
Duel & Closure
The Weapon of the Jedi
Illum
The Lightsaber
The Apprentice Tournament
The Final Frontier
An Unsavoury Empire
Slavery
Rescue
Loose Ends
Debrief
The Word of the Empress
Up a Creek Without a Paddle
The Capital
This can’t be Right…
Trapped
Defend the Cannons
The Longest Night
Breaking Dawn
Up on Trial
Duel in the Senate
Trial by Fire
No one can hear you
Torture (TW: Heavy Gore & Torture)
Recovery
The Wall of Light
The Hunt Begins

Act 2: Honour, Glory, Victory
Lost Contact
The City of Fire
Perpetrator
Surprise!
Mandalore
Escape
The Curse of Ranox
Long Overdue
The Jedi Council
Revanchist
Advanced Scouting
The Demon Moon
Demagol
Sleeper
Outside Support
The Bonds that Tie
Initiate Protection Detail
Cathar
Revan
Making Plans
Orbital Defence
Familiar Faces
Someone your own size
A little Reprieve
Off Course
Places Reversed
Forward Command
The Jedi Tower
Cyberniesis
Command Position
Going Through Changes
Supply Raids
By Senatorial Writ
Spike the Guns
Another One Falls to Rise no More
Let Loose the Dragon of War
Calming Technique
The Mandalore’s Fleet
War’s End
No More

Act 3: Betrayal and the Fall
Freedom
Reinstatement
Hit and Run
The Dark Lords of the Sith
Devastation
A Hero Falls
But the Legend will Never Die
Holding Action
Last Ditch Plan
Old Friends, New Enemies
Brothers Clash
The Weight of Your Sins
Fighting Yourself
An Old Foe
A New Ally
Criminal Underworld
The Deal
Fireshot
Beginning of the Syndicate
Supplies
Meatbag
Teller of Truths
Interdictor
One Shall Stand
One Shall Fall
The Final Members
Nexu Remnants
A Position of Strength
Mando’ad
Resol'nare
The Final Battle
The Star Forge
Automated Factory
Not the Warmest Welcome

Those Left Behind

Act 4: The First Purge
Ordo
Beskar'gam
Rekkiad
The Man in the Mask, Unmasked
Shadows of the Past
An Unwelcome Return
Opportunities on the Rim
Something to Strive For
Hungering Wound
Old Faces
Like Old Times
Battle Ring
Meatbag. Round Two
The Argazdan Redoubt
The Outer Rim Territories
Civil War
Let there be Fire
The Neo Neo-Crusaders
Still Not Home
Not a Second Time
Back to Back to Back
The Last of Nexu
The Debt is repaid
One Last Jump

Act 5: Homecoming
A Lone Planet
Homecoming
Reunion
Not what you Remember
The Champions of the Sun
Fuck That
It Can’t be Possible
Draconian Champion
The Arcane Science
The Spy Network
First Contact
Backup
Father
Pushing Back
Dirt
Prison Break
The Rein River
An Old Relationship
Embarrassment
Harmony Down
The End of Nexu
Keep Pushing Through
Canterlot
Tartarus
The Last Straw
Closure
Upgrades
Old and Tired

Act 1: A New Life

ACT 1: A New Life

Spike, the baby dragon and pseudo-brother of the element of magic, has been ripped from his home. Now, in a galaxy that stands on the precipice of war, this baby dragon will have to learn the ways of the force, train to be a Jedi, and fight in the biggest conflict for generations. Meanwhile, back in Equestria, Twilight Sparkle will take the events that rock her life to heart, using them to shape her own future, and fuel the fires for Equestria’s change.
Sounds promising.
...
...
...
...
...
...
...
Right?

Act 2: Honour, Glory, Victory

Act 2: Honour, Glory, Victory

For nearly thirty years, the galaxy has known peace once again, but it has not been easy. Even after three decades, worlds are still struggling to recover, and the Jedi are hard pressed to help all of them. As war once again beckons, Spike will have to decide where his loyalties lie. The Jedi council, or the splinter group dismissed as radicals? The Republic, or his friends?
Maybe it's all of them.
Maybe it's none of them.

Act 3: Betrayal and the Fall

Act 3: Betrayal and the Fall

The end of a war should signal the arrival of peace, but even with hard fought victories and bitter defeats, dark forces still remain in the galaxy. Now, amidst the blood and chaos of the new war, where foes are everywhere and allies are simply tomorrows enemies, Spike must decide exactly how far he is willing to go, and what he is willing to do to ensure victory for the Republic
...
...
No pressure.

Supplies

Spike didn’t know exactly how the battle was going as he sped through the Sith lines. Any commlink he could have worn while onboard the Harmony would have been useless at his new size, and it was difficult for him to open his tiny pocket dimension at this size, so storing one in there was impossible as well. That was why Lowell and Seugtai, and even Herank, oversaw their own pieces. They would command where Spike could not, while Spike did what he did best, ripped apart his enemy, and inspired others to follow.

Flapping his wings, pushing magic into them to allow him to ‘fly’ even in the vacuum of space, Spike twisted mid-flight in a move that would have torn a ship in two, and taking the fighter following after him completely by surprise, although Spike was sure he was already surprised by the fact he was chasing a literal dragon through space.

The pilot tried to dodge but Spike was not a static ship, and his claw shot out, grabbing one of the wings of the fighter and crushing in to so much metal before releasing it, sending it spinning into the distance before it exploded in a silent fire ball that died as quickly as it was born.

Diverting his attention back to his initial target, Spike pulled his body out of the way as a turbolaser volley targeted him, twisting around the shots with ease, his magic helping to predict their paths for him, and his scales deflecting those that did hit him at shallow angles, Spike thanking whatever was out there that these were only light cannons, he did not relish the idea of finding out how he’d stand up to a heavy shot. Before the ship could fire another volley, Spike was on it, all four talons grabbing hold and tearing huge holes into the hull across multiple decks, his head level with the bridge.

For a moment he looked inside, the tiny figures inside desperately giving orders to their subordinates, before Spike opened his mouth, a green jet of fire engulfing the structure. Dragon fire was not like normal fire, it required nothing but magic to burn, and Spike was full of that. The bridge held for a scant few seconds before the metal turned to slag, those inside being incinerated before the void could even touch them.

Without its helm, the ship listed lifelessly, men spiralling away from it as they were sucked from the holes Spike had made. Some were still twisting in defiance, their fully sealed armour keeping them alive for as long as their internal air tanks remained full, but that would not be long, and they would soon suffocate inside their own armour. One or two were already scrabbling at their neck seals, trying to pull their helmets off to end it all quickly, rather than agonizingly slowly over hours as the fight clearly swung further and further away from a Sith victory.

Looking around, Spike saw two Sith ships remaining, Seugtai already racing for one at the head of a bomber wing that had formed up around him, expertly piloting the ‘Basilisk’ that Spike had liberated from the Mandalorians all those years ago. He was born for that saddle, and Spike was glad that he had given his old enemy and newfound friend such a deadly war machine to bring death to the Sith.

Spike knew with the surety of a seasoned warrior that the bomber wing was more than capable of taking out both ships in short order, and already he saw the rest of the fleet knew it to. Ships were breaking from the battle line and larger drop ships were already heading for the surface, skirting the outer limits of the battle as both enemy ships finally succumbed. The battle in the void was over, the battle on the ground however would be quite another thing.

The Sith fleet had been outnumbered, but they had outgunned Spikes fleet, and that had cost them dearly, Spike had lost more ships than the Sith fleet had, and he knew it would be the same story on the ground. They couldn’t even just bombard the installation, they needed the armouries and ammunition stored there. Only through a ground assault would they be able to get the resources they so desperately needed.

With a powerful beat of his wings, Spike shot towards the planet, forming up beside one of the largest drop ships as they pushed through the atmosphere. As they did, Spike felt his scales heating up, flames licking at him as he entered the atmosphere. Any other creature would have burnt up in the hellish boundary between the void and the worlds sky, even lesser ships had been destroyed attempting this, but for a dragon, fire was never a threat, heat was his ally, and the flames did nothing to stop his descent that quickly turned into a controlled fall as he finally passed out of the vacuum of space.

Wrapping his wings around himself, Spike plummeted towards the base far below him. This world had no cloud cover, and Spike could already pick out the faintest outline of the massive facility. He had been here once before when it was still in Republic hands, and he knew its strengths and weaknesses. For a conventional force attacking it, they would have no choice but to land on the outskirts and fight their way through rings of security all the way to the armouries buried deep underground, and with their only entrance right in the middle of the compound. Spike however had another plan.

Streaking through the air, Spike angled himself like a rocket, channelling his magic around him into a shield, growing thicker and thicker with every passing second, protecting him from anything the enemy could throw at him. The turbolasers were not his target however, and Spike slammed downwards, smashing into the roof of the facility like a missile, but without the potentially damaging explosion.

Throwing his shield outwards, Spike magnified the shockwave of his immense landing, directing it upwards at the ceiling and close by defence towers. In an instant, the heavily defended heart of the fortress had become a makeshift hanger, and those following behind Spike took the opportunity to land, men jumping out and rushing around Spikes talons, executing the wounded Sith soldiers with gleeful abandon.

Spike watched them fan out, quickly overwhelming the inner most ring of defences which had all been facing the other way, expecting an attack from outside, not within, taking command of them themselves. Spike was confident they would be able to hold for a while, but if the Sith managed to pull themselves together and launch a full-scale counter attack, they would break through, and this would fast become a massacre. He was useless at this size however and settled in to direct his magic inwards once more, forcing his body to return to its smaller size.

When he eventually did so the next wave of troops had already landed, bomber wings starting to attack parts of the facility that had no danger of damaging the supplies they had come to steal with far more precision than could be achieved from orbit. As the last of his magic faded away, Seugtai approached Spike, a Ripper in one hand, and his axe in the other.

“You do like to make an entrance, don’t you,” he laughed, watching with a cocked head as Spike tore into his pocket dimension, pulling his glaive free. “Handy trick that, you’d make a damn fine smuggler with that.”

“Well as long as I wasn’t smuggling anything larger than a particularly long stick, sure,” Spike shot back, twirling his weapon. “Come on, we need to crack the codes to the supply depot and deactivate the remaining turbolaser towers. I’m not risking the bulk transporters coming down with those still active.”

“Thought you’d say that, it’s why I arranged to have some friends meet us as our own little squad,” Seugtai threw a commlink to Spike, Spike screwing it into his ear as the first of these friends arrived.

Dropping in on tongues of fire from personal jetpacks, twenty neo-crusaders in the silver armour of shock troopers. Spike knew the armour well, some of the best warriors in the Mandalorian army had worn such armour during the war, and he instantly felt the urge to attack them. These were strange times however, and instead he turned on his heels and broke into a run, the Mandalorians quickly forming up behind him. If anyone had told Spike a few years ago that he would be leading Mandalorians not killing them, he would have laughed. Time made fools of everyone, and Spike was no different, he just had more time to be made the fool.

Cutting through bulkheads and sealed doors with plasma torches, they made quick progress into the complex’s command tower, any resistance they encountered was put down by single blaster bolts from the Mandalorians, and Spike found himself gaining a very begrudging respect for them. He had trained Republic Special Forces as best as he could, he thought they were the best of the best, but he never fought Shock Troopers en masse, and he was fast realising that they were simply a cut above anything the Republic had at their disposal, short of the Jedi themselves. Even defeat hadn’t dampened their skills, Seugtai’s words ringing true that most Mandalorian’s really didn’t care if they had won or lost.

In short order the group had reached the final door to the command room of the entire complex. From there they could shut down or activate defences, and they would be able to put the next step of their plan into action. Slicers were already making their way up behind them, but Spike knew the Sith wouldn’t give this room over quietly. This was made even clearer when they forced the door open, a flurry of blaster shots pitching one of the Mandalorian’s off his feet with a smoking hole in his chest and forcing the rest into cover.

“Come on!” Spike roared, spinning his glaive in a wide arc as he sprinted forward, dodging or deflecting blaster bolts aimed at him with precise bolts of magic. He hit the Sith line like a wrecking ball, his vibro-glaive cutting through their armour like it wasn’t there, although it was nowhere near a lightsabres power.

The Mandalorians were close behind, fanning out and taking up positions in the chaos, while Seugtai ran forwards with Spike, the old warrior fighting side by side with the massive dragon, his older bone coloured armour picking him out in the sea of shiny metal protective plate, but none could hit him, decades of practice made sure of that, even without the force or magic to guide him. Once again, Spike was stunned by his skill, remembering again why Mandalorian’s had always been deadly in the war, even to a Jedi.

Eventually the room was clear, two more of the Mandalorian’s falling, but Spike was assured they would rise again. The one who had fallen at the door was not so lucky, dying from his injuries before any could stop to help him. It was a blow, but one they could live with and had expected. With the Sith neutralised for now, the slicers began their work, quickly breaking down the firewalls of the Sith, who had yet to fully replace the old Republic system with one of their own. It was almost child’s play.

“You five, stay and watch over the slicers,” Spike ordered, indicating a group of the surviving Mandalorians, before stooping down and picking up one of the injured. “The rest of you with me, get the wounded and the dead down for extraction and then meet by the cargo lift. It’s time to crack this place open and be gone from here.”

“Not a moment to soon either,” Moonstone commented, appearing beside Spike, a few of the Mandalorian’s drawing guns at the sudden pony.

“Oh, settle down, it’s just magic, haven’t you ever seen it before,” Spike rolled his eyes, before turning and stalking down the stairs.

“We need to hurry, Spike,” Moonstone reiterated. “You know the Sith will already know about the attack, they’ll be organising a proper fleet to retake the world. We don’t have ships that can match their battleships.”

“You say like I don’t know it,” Spike didn’t break stride as he spoke. “We’re going as fast as we can, but we need everything stored here, we have to cut things as close as we can.”

“I just hope you know what you’re doing, Spike.”

“So do I, Moonstone. So do I,” Spike sighed, finally reaching the bottom of the tower once more and placing the wounded Mandalorian in a transport already full of wounded. “Have you sensed anything?”

“Nothing yet,” Moonstone shook her head. “But we’re hardly clairvoyant, now are we?”

“Then we best get a move on.”

As if on que, the lights turned from bright white to a dim yellow, alarms sounding as the central door in the floor began to grind open, being replaced with a huge cargo lift that would have supported Spike even at his larger size. With a snap of his talons, Spike ordered men onto the platform, taking his place as well, with Seugtai standing beside him.

“Take us down,” Spike called to no one in particular, the lift grinding into life in response.

They fell quickly and for what felt like an eternity, but eventually it did slow, finally stopping as lights flared into life, illuminating the huge warehouse that dominated the space beneath the massive complex. Even knowing what was down here, Spike could not stop himself from gasping in awe.

Weapons of every kind were arrayed before them, from blaster pistols and man portable cannons, right up to torpedoes and turbolaser capacitors. There was enough firepower here to level a planet, and Spike’s only regret now was they didn’t have anywhere near the fleet power to transport it all.

“Get to work!” he ordered loudly, the various members of what was now his army scurrying outwards, a few of them grabbing some of the smaller weapons for themselves as the spoils of war. “Focus on personal weapons and turbolaser parts, the fleet will need the enhancements and I don’t know what shit you’re all using for your own weapons.”

His orders given, Spike began to move as well, heading for a large hover-transporter that bore 4 large turbo-laser focusing lens. Flicking on the anti-grav generator, he quickly pushed the trolley to the lift, depositing it there while others did the same. Soon the lift was full, being sent up to the top, before being returned empty once more. Twice more they filled it and sent it up to the top, until Spike finally got the message he’d been waiting for.

“Spike, the fleet is full now, I would any more spoils, we’d men behind to take them,” Herank spoke over his comms, her voice seeming slimy even over this distance. “If I were you, I’d get everyone out of there and leave the system. If were you, of course.”

Spike fought back a snarl but nodded to himself.

“Alright everyone, onto the lift, anything you can’t carry yourself leave behind, we’re dusting off.”

Men and women quickly scrambled onto the lift, but Spike paused before he did, looking around the still very full warehouse. Almost as an afterthought he grabbed a box of detonation charges, setting the timers for one hour. The timers now clicking down, he threw the charges in different directions, before affixing a pair to a torpedo storage container. If the Sith got down here they may disarm some of them, but they would never find all of them, and the damage would hopefully make at least some of the stuff useless.

Hopping onto the lift just as it began to rise, Spike began to run through calculations in his head. It would take his forces at least twenty minutes to get into their ships and leave the complex in their entirety, add on to that another fifteen minutes to break orbit, and ten to get back to their ships in close orbit, and they wouldn’t be ready to even make for the systems jump point for closing on an hour. Time was fast becoming their enemy, and as Moonstone had pointed out, the Sith would be on their way.

As soon as the lift stopped everyone was running for their ships, Spike briefly pausing to look at the closing bulkhead door over the lift, debating fusing it closed, before shaking his head and clambering onboard a shuttle. It would take too long, and it would likely hamper any blast from underground anyway. Spike would just have to hope the Sith didn’t find the bombs quick enough.

The shuttle doors slid closed, plunging everyone into darkness as they lifted off. The ship shuddered horrendously in the atmosphere, clearly showing its age, but soon it stopped entirely, Spike feeling the artificial gravity plates kick in as they left the world.

This shuttle was bound for Harmony, and as soon as they touched down, Spike was out and already speaking into his comm.

“Lowell, as soon as the last shuttle is onboard prep the fleet for a jump, plot a twenty-point diversion before taking us to Fireshot, think this has been a success. I want us gone…”

Before he could reply, he felt his mind turn to ice, a spike of pain crashing into it, sending him crashing to the floor with a roar of agony. He felt what was causing this and he knew its source far before anything spoke to him.

My my, oh all the things I didn’t expect to be attacking our world, you were certainly at the bottom, Spike, came the unmistakable voice of Tarhal.

With a roar, Spike forced his mental barriers up, but Tarhal was already in his head, the Wookie had always been gifted at this sort of thing, and his powers had only grown since his fall. Meanwhile Spike was still learning how to cope with his magic, his force powers now all but extinguished.

“Lowell!” Spike managed through the pain. “Move the fleet, take us out of here!”

The pain was fast rising to unbearable levels, and Spike knew if he didn’t act soon Tarhal would kill him without them ever crossing blades again.

“Spike, your magic grows when you do,” Moonstone appeared, speaking hurriedly as Spike collapsed to his knees, clutching his head in both hands.

“Clear the deck!” Spike roared in response, not having to be told twice, instantly grasping her meaning.

Those still near Spike moved as if their life depended on it, which in all fairness it did as Spike staggered towards the hanger controls. All the shuttles and cargo had been secured already, or at least he hoped it had, and as the last man left the hanger, the door shutting behind him, Spike deactivated the hangers ray shields.

In an instant he was shot back into space, far more violently than before as far more atmosphere was shot outwards from the side of the ship. Harmony listed heavily at the sudden thrust to her side, and Spike knew that Lowell would be fighting to keep her on course even as she moved away from Spike, still accelerating.

Unable to see through the pain now, Spike focused everything he had on channelling his magic. It wouldn’t be painless, but his already raised mental barriers would give him a spurt of power. It was risky though, to drop them even for an instant would let Tarhal have free reign, but it was something Spike had to risk, and with a silent scream, he let go, his mind becoming vulnerable for the briefest of moments.

The transformation was agonising, far more so than usual as Spike felt every bone in his body pop and crack as the magic reshaped him. Far away on the Sith bridge, he could feel Tarhal roaring as he felt the pain himself. Then, just as suddenly as it had started, the roaring pain in his head stopped, his mental powers now magnified by his enhanced magic that was no longer forcing his body into an unnatural size.

Turning, Spike looked across the void at the oncoming Sith fleet. Already fighters were approaching at frightening speeds, and they had enough battleships to destroy Spike’s entire fleet without much trouble at all. Dozens of Interdictor Cruisers were clustered around the fearsome form of a Centurion Battlecruiser, all burning their engines to catch up to Spike’s fleeing forces.

For a moment, Spike debated ordering his forces to turn, to face the enemy head on and be done with it, but he knew it would have been suicidal, even if the crews of all the ships had been willing soldiers, not the galactic scum.

With a silent roar of rage, Spike turned and powered back towards the fleet. There wasn’t enough time to transform back, not with the Sith fleet closing the gap between them so rapidly, and Spike couldn’t risk jumping to hyperspace himself, as he had no way of coordinating his jumps yet, and so he did the only thing he could think of.

Carefully approaching the Harmony he grabbed hold, careful not to tear through any bulkheads as he latched on. The ship shuddered slightly, and Spike prayed that they wouldn’t abort the jump, but if there was anyone he trusted to be able to do this, it was Lowell, and quickly he was proved right, feeling the discomforting feeling of being stretched out as his front accelerated away from his rear at an impossible rate. The last thing he saw before he disappeared was a flash of light from the planet, as the detonation charges he set detonated, taking the weapons, the facility and the thrice damned Sith along with it.

Then it was gone, and all Spike could do was hold on for dear life and try not to slip away from the ship that was now carrying him.

A Position of Strength

Revan is dead.

The words seemed to hang in the air between the pair for an eternity, Spike feeling like he had taken a physical blow to the stomach as his mind tried to process the magnitude of what Zule had just said.

“Dead?” he all but whispered. “How? When?”

“Recently,” Zule admitted. “Well, recently enough. Some of the Republic higher ups know it now, we don’t think all of the Sith know it yet, but he’s gone. The Jedi organised a strike on Revan’s flagship, led by Bastila Shan...”

“Bastila?” Spike asked, the name ringing a bell but no face being forthcoming in his memory.

“A young Jedi Knight skilled in battle meditation,” Zule prompted. “She and her team managed to board the Sith Lord's flagship, but they didn’t kill him. They were sent to capture only. Malak opened fire in the confusion, perhaps he hoped to kill both Revan and Bastila to deny her abilities to the Republic, we’re not sure, but it seems the ways of the Sith run deep within Malak. Betrayal is his nature now, and with Revan gone...”

“Malak is in charge,” Spike finished. “This is good, no? Malak is not half the commander Revan was.”

“Yes and no,” Zule admitted. “Revan was a better commander but Malak is a butcher with seemingly limitless forces. We’ve already found ourselves pushed back relentlessly since Revan’s death, worlds that Revan never would have attacked are suddenly falling in mere hours.”

“The war’s not going well, then?” Spike asked.

“Not going well makes it sound far better than it is,” Zule sighed. “Our strategies, they...”

Zule trailed off, shaking his head before continuing.

“You are not authorised to know more, but you have the right to know of Revan’s demise. I know you were close once.”

With that, Zule turned and followed Katara, leaving Spike alone in still-shocked silence. Death was a part of war, and the death of your enemies was the reality that all soldiers had to strive for, so why did he feel so empty inside at the thought of Revan’s death?

“You cared for Tarhal,” Moonstone pointed out, appearing besides Spike. “Is it so much to believe you also cared for Revan?”

“It’s not the same,” Spike muttered.

“Oh?” Moonstone raised an eyebrow. “You fought together, bled together, Tarhal followed you, you followed Revan. You shared a bond that was torn apart in war and now stand on opposite sides of the divide. The only differences are length and the hand he perished at, semantics at best.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Spike nodded. “What’s one more outlived friend?”

Moonstone didn’t respond to that, Spike extending his wings and taking to the skies. Below him, he saw Zule look up, calling out something, but he gave it no heed. He didn’t need a guide to reach Tarhal’s village, he’d been there enough times in his youth, and in short order he was touching down once more, a powerful downbeat of his wings ensuring he landed softly, small bits of twig and dust going flying as he touched down.

“Too good for walking?” Katara asked dryly.

“I want this over with,” Spike admitted, looking down at his former padawan. “It is good to see you though, Katara. Maybe once this is over we can catch up, as friends, not master and apprentice.”

“Yeah, right,” Katara snorted. “How’s the weather, get up to anything nice over the weekend, by the way the Jedi still have a warrant out for your arrest so come quietly and don’t resist the manacles?”

“Good point,” Spike conceded with a laugh of his own, before his face hardened. “But I do wish this to be done. I’ve been to enough funerals before, I don’t like to drag them out.”

“You were happy to stare at flames for an hour,” Katara pointed out.

“I was,” Spike nodded, no explanation or defence of his seemingly at-odds actions, walking forward towards the central hut, Katara following behind him.

The two guards at the doorway stood aside, Spike entering the crowded room, the eyes of many of the wookies turning to face him. Scars were seemingly ubiquitous amongst the villagers, every member having at least one, many with far more. Slavery had hit this world hard, collar marks clear even beneath fur, and it seemed the freedom from such slavery had borne just as heavy a price.

“Harrowing, isn’t it?” Katara asked.

“It’s not the same as war,” Moonstone mumbled, her eyes darting around the room.

“No it’s not,” Katara shook her head. “The Jedi Council does have a good point, every now and again at least. This is what we should be stopping, injustices against the people of the galaxy. Instead we’re being dragged from war to war, our numbers falling daily.”

“When did you start speaking for the council?” Spike asked.

“I don’t speak for them,” Katara snapped, anger briefly flashing across her face before she regained her composure. “I said they have a point, Spike, not that they are perfect. I know you believe in that as much as they do, peace, prosperity, serenity, all of it.”

“War’s won’t let me go,” Spike shrugged. “We tried peace and the council broke that, remember?”

“That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t strive for it,” Katara pointed out. “Look at you, Spike. What you’re becoming. You’re a Jedi, no matter what the Council says, not a Warlord. I don’t want to see you become that.”

“Well someone has to,” Spike felt his temper rising as Katara spoke. “Yes I want peace, I would love to retire and sip on little cocktails on some tropical resort somewhere, but first we have to fight for it, and every day we do that we force ourselves deeper, our hands get a little messier, and after every enemy we strike down another one rises who has to be opposed just as the first one was. Mandalorian, Sith, whoever comes next, they all want to win, and we need to be there to oppose them, always.”

“Fighting for peace is like fucking for virginity,” Katara pointed out.

“That sounds like one of my lines,” Spike snorted.

“It was,” Katara nodded. “Way back, just after you first became my master. You wanted everything to just...end, back then. The war, the death, all of it. You just wanted a peaceful life, remember?”

“I did,” Spike conceded with a sigh, his temper evaporating. She was right of course, he had become jaded. He had his reasons of course, but it didn’t change the outcome.

“Spike says thank you,” Moonstone shook her head with a smile. “He needs a good kick into place sometimes.”

Spike wanted to protest, but stayed silent, a hush coming over the crowd as Trras stood up from where he had been seated, clearly about to speak.

“We are gathered to mourn the passing of yet another loved one,” Trras began, his voice low, wavering as if it may break at any moment. This must have been tearing him apart inside, but he continued, Spike’ respect for the old Wookie only growing. “We are no strangers to violence and lost. I do not know of any who have not been touched by Czerka’s influence upon this world. Slavery, executions, lives lost in the rebellion. Brothers, sisters and friends all.”

Trras looked at Spike as he continued, raising his hand and beckoning Spike forward.

“Tarhal however is not one of these, he was not lost in the fires of our rebellion, but in the fires of war that grip the galaxy at large. He was our brother, all of us, a member of Tojj Clan taken from us many years ago as a slave, and yet he rose from his chains to stand within the Jedi Order. Tarhal never forgot who he was or where he came from, he returned to our village numerous times, against the wishes of a council who would see him sever those ties, and now, at the end when he has paid the final price, he has been returned to us, his body made one with our home.”

Spike reached the front as Trras finished speaking, the Wookie turning and taking hold of an object that was both familiar and unknown to Spike.

“This warblade was part of Tarhal’s familial line for generations,” he spoke, holding the blade aloft, allowing Spike to get a good look at it.

The weapon was near identical to Tarhal’s lightsaber, a long handle, curved away from the body at either end, a blade stretched between the two protrusions. It was a beautiful weapon, Spike finding himself unable to look away, missing what Trras said next.

“Spike, did you hear me?” Trras asked, breaking Spike from his stupor.

“I...” Spike began, before shaking his head. “Forgive me, Chieftain, I did not.”

Trras nodded, before repeating himself.

“By all accounts, both your own and his, you were his closest friend and ally, even if your paths led you against one another by the end, you brought him home and gave him his last request. With his death, Tarhal’s family line comes to a close, his grandparents are both dead, his mother died in slavery, his father in the uprising, no siblings recorded or believed to exist. By tradition, each family has a ceremonial blade, kept by the village to mark their deeds. Normally, as long as one member of the family yet lives, no matter where they stand within the galaxy, the blade remains with us, but in instances where the family is no more, the blade must be removed, entrusted to the care of those closest to the family. Given your closeness with Tarhal, will you take up this tradition, and carry his blade forth?”

Spike was stunned for an instant but forced himself to react, nodding solemnly and bowing his head.

“If this is the way of your village, then I shall honour it, I shall honour this blade, and all of Tarhal’s line.”

Trras smiled, laying a paw on Spike’s lowered head.

“Then go, Spike, walk from this village with this blade in hand and know that from this day until your final day, you are a friend of the Tojj, our hearth is your hearth, your story part of ours, and when you also follow Tarhal in death, you shall have earned your place in the Shadowlands amongst the ancestors of your friend.”

Tears sprang to Spike’s eyes as Trras spoke, the other Wookies following their Chieftain’s example, laying a single paw upon Spike, before turning and leaving, soon only Trras, Spike and Moonstone remaining, Katara and Zule having exited alongside the wookies.

“I know what Tarhal became at the end,” Trras whispered, stooping down and raising Spike’s head to look at him, Spike drying his eyes as he looked gazes with the chieftain. “I was old when Tarhal was but a boy, I have seen what the Sith can do, and as such I praise you for putting an end to him while continuing to remember the true Tarhal. But I offer you this wisdom, freely and without cost, only that you take it to heart. Do not allow yourself to become possessed by the same grave spirits that claimed Tarhals mind, for the pathway he took is paved with good intentions. The lesser of two evils is still an evil, and you must always treat it that way, never lie to yourself that because one evil is lesser, it makes it good.”

With that, Trras pressed the warblade into Spike’s hand, resting a final hand on his shoulder, before standing and striding from the room. Spike looked down at the blade as Trras left, feeling miniscule in comparison to it, the heritage he now held weighing far more heavily than it’s wood and metal construction ever could match.

“You’ve been given a heavy burden,” Moonstone murmured.

“What else is new,” Spike murmured back. “I’ve been given history, Moonstone, plain and simple. I’ll do right by this sword, for Tarhal, and for Tojj. We need to leave.”

“Zule and Katara aren’t here,” Moonstone noted, Spike nodding in agreement.

“They’ll either be outside or on the landing platform. Now the funeral’s over, Zule won’t just leave and let me go.”

“Agreed. If he’s been foolish, he’ll be waiting outside and we can fly to the landing pad before he gets there.”

“Which is why he’ll be at the landing pad already. Lets see if we can beat him there, otherwise, we’ll improvise.”

“Joy,” Moonstone said dryly, before vanishing, Spike breaking into a run, leaping from the walkway and streaking towards the shuttle that had taken them from the ship to the world's surface.

***

Spike landed heavily on the landing pad, Zule, Katara and a squad of Republic special forces standing at the entry-ramp to the shuttle. As he touched down, an unspoken command saw each of the soldiers bring their rifles up, each one pointed squarely at Spike. Their forms drew Spikes attention more than they should, his lips curling into a grimace at the hypocrisy he was looking at.

“Disruptor Rifles are outlawed across the Republic, even in wartime,” he pointed out, fixing Zule with a glare.

“Desperate times, Spike,” Zule retorted. “You are a dangerous fugitive, and you are known to be resilient to standard blaster rounds. Steps have been taken as a result.”

“Oh so the Council can break Republic Law for the greater good and no one will bat an eye, but I put the collective above the few and I’m a wanted fugitive.”

“Spike...” Zule began.

“At least admit your hypocrisy!” Spike roared suddenly, his anger rising. “Admit that you are a hypocrite, Zule, admit that hypocrisy runs from the top of the Jedi Order, just say it.”

“Spike...” Zule attempted again.

“You can’t can you,” it was Moonstone who stepped in this time, materialising beside Spike, several of the soldiers glancing at her, then each other, though their rifles never waved them.

“Spike, Moonstone,” Katara this time, stepping forward and raising her hands as a show of peace. “This doesn’t have to be violent, but you cannot be allowed to leave. The Council and the Republic won’t allow it. We have ships in orbit, they will block any attempt to leave the system if they haven’t already detained the ship you arrived on. I’m sorry, Spike, I truly am, but you have exhausted all other options. Please come quietly, I will beg mercy on your behalf.”

“Do not beg, not to the council,” Spike looked at her, ensuring it was not accompanied by a scowl or a concealed threat. “Begging does no good against them, and there will be no mercy, Katara. You know that. There was barely any when I was imprisoned the first time, and my crimes are far worse now.”

“So you do admit it,” Zule cut in, stepping forward, his Lightsaber flying into his hand, Spike calling Elusive into his in response, his finger hovering over the activation switch, Tarhal’s war-blade held tightly in his other hand, Spike gauging the weight of the new weapon.

“I don’t want my first act with a ceremonial weapon to be to draw blood,” Spike forced his voice to retain some level of civility, Trras’s words ringing in his ears. “I am not trying to seek a fight here, I don’t want to hurt any of you, any who serve the Republic, even those who deserve it.”

He glared at Zule pointedly before continuing.

“And yes, I admit it. I admit my crimes may seem monstrous to those who look upon them with blinkered eyes, seeing only the actions, not the ripples those actions will have. There is such a thing as the greater good and I will defend that and the needs of the many until my dying breath if I need to.”

Zule looked like he wanted to speak, but Spike ploughed on regardless, taking a step forward as he did so.

“You hate me, I know that, maybe I even deserve that, but like it or not, you need me. You need the wolves and the pirates to fight for you, not against you, in this war and in all wars yet to come because the alternative is they fight against you, and the Republic is stretched enough as it is. Such forces only respond to power and fear, the power to keep their pockets filled, and the fear that keeps them in line should they fail. I don’t know what’s coming, I don’t know if the Republic will win this war, but if they do, we will be weakened, and if the forces I command are not kept under thumb and bred to work alongside the Republic, not against them, then the Republic will be torn apart as it stands bloodied and battered from victory.”

Spike was almost on top of Zule now, fire burning bright in his eyes as he still continued.

“So stop me if you must, if you truly believe that to be in the best interests of the Republic rather than to soothe the pride of a few. If I’m wrong then you’ll have let a pirate go and you’ll have to begin your hunt again. If you’re wrong, then even in victory could the Republic die. Those are not equal choices and you know it.”

With that, Spike brushed past Zule, heading for the special forces who were now exchanging glances with each other. He managed a few steps before he heard the tell-tale sound of a lightsaber igniting, whirling round and drawing his own weapon, the white blade flaring into existence, held defensively as he prepared to parry Zule’s strike.

None came, Zule had not moved, instead Katara was holding her lightsaber in both hands, the blue blade held in her characteristic high guard stance. She looked determined, though had not yet moved to attack, seemingly waiting for a signal from Zule.

Zule however had not moved, his lightsaber still in his hand but lying dormant. Spike could see a war being waged in his mind over his next course of action, between his duty to the Jedi Council, to the Republic, and to the possibility that what Spike said was true. Finally, the storm seemed to settle, Zule letting out a small breath, his shoulders relaxing as he placed his lightsaber back upon his hip, his other hand gesturing for both Katara and the soldiers to lower their own weapons.

“The possibility that you’re right outweighs the small-term gains of arresting you now,” he murmured. “I will order my forces in orbit to stand down and report back to the council of what happened here today. I doubt they will be pleased, but they will come around.”

Spike nodded, turning and heading for the shuttle entrance, the soldiers moving from his path as he did so, hushed murmurs coming from their helmets. Spike paused only briefly as he climbed the ramp, half turning to look at Zule, a small smile crossing his face. For all the animosity Spike held for him and he for Spike, no matter their differences, they still served the same cause, and though they stood at odds, Spike took comfort in that fact.

Taking one last glance at both Zule and katara, Spike stepped fully inside the shuttle, the door sliding closed on his old friend and his student.

Had he known what the future would hold, he may have spent longer looking upon them both.

Act 4: The First Purge

Act 4: The First Purge

War. It is a constant force in the galaxy. For some it is to be feared. For others it is to be opposed. For yet more it is to be embraced and rushed towards, the great equaliser to forge yourself within.

Spike knows this as well as any in the galaxy, the wars he has fought in long and brutal, tearing away the life he knew and gifting him with a new one, a life filled with charred bridges he must now rebuild if he is to stand once more. The Mandalorians, once his greatest enemy, are now his own people. The Jedi, once his people, are now a bitter reminder of his own painful growth.

The Mandalorians know war, yearn for it, wage it to force their civilisation to grow and flourish,and yet now there is no war, there is no great enemy left to fight save the shadows themselves. In leaving the conflict avoiding Jedi, Spike has found peace. In joining the war-loving Mandalorians, Spike has found a calmness that he never believed possible.

Unsure of how long such could possibly last for one such as him, Spike vows to make the most of this new life, even as across the galaxy, the lives of those he once knew begin to be snuffed out by an enemy that cannot be fought, cannot be seen...cannot be satiated.