Objective: Disrupt Supply Lines
Equipment: The Veil Guardian Armor
Opposition:
Tu'teggacha
Onrai
The tone of the fight had shifted entirely, a complete reversal of the initial clash where a single lone warrior approached a howling mob, a beacon of liberty and hope crashing in to offer salvation, the lone sheriff riding into town to clean the place up. Now as the moments dragged on, it was appearing to resemble what would normally be the outcome of a single man deciding to fight a crowd of lunatics.
It was a losing battle, skill had nothing to with the equation. A skilled mundane fighter could beat two unskilled opponents without much issue, three was within the realm of possibility, anything above four was pushing it.
Aaran was of good genetic stock, forged his body to push itself to the limits of human potential, had fought in more wars than he had lived decades and trained with some of the best fighters the Galaxy had to offer.
But without the aid of The Force, all those accomplishments amounted to barely keeping himself alive as the blows reigned down. The Force was the multiplier that allowed a skilled fighter to battle and win against two hundred men instead of just two. Instead he was a single fighter currently pinned down by a mob, making them work for it certainly, but over the course of perhaps a minute the fight was decided.
Between shock mauls, numbers and grasping hands, Aaran stood there, armour torn off him, arms held tightly by a pair of the enhanced warriors, their enhanced strength capable of holding the Jedi still, even as he attempted to wrestle his way out of their grasp. The rest of the mob cleared a small semi-circle around the Jedi and his captors.
From the mob strode forth an imposing figure, a wicked and scarred human, standing easily over two metres tall, some minor warlord or barbarian chief who had been plucked by the Maw from one of the worlds under their control, some primitive culture that exalted violence and had their own pantheon of dark gods, maybe even a Force User or two who masqueraded as a sage or wizard.
Clutched in one hand was Aaran's saber, held triumphantly in the air, a spoil of war that rallied the mob, each of them letting out a fierce bellow as the chief looked up towards the two masters above, the Taskmaster and the Goddess, averting his eyes out of respect and bowing his head. His intent was clearly able to be plucked from his mind by the two observers.
He was going to carve out the Jedi's heart with their own weapon and present it to them as a show of fealty, a sacrifice of a worthy foe to the greater powers of the universe.
Turning back to their quarry, a cruel smile blossomed over their face. Their finger reached over to the activation switch of the saber, meaty thumb pressing in on it.
Click
Only to receive nothing in return, no flash of plasma, no sword of fiery death. The upside of having a sword that switched off when the user was not appropriately serrene was that such a weapon was rather reluctant to switch on in the hands of a murderous psychopath. The confusion lasted all of about ten or fifteen seconds, the marauder attempting to activate the saber a few more times, whacking it against his leg, waving it in the air, before he realised he was losing the crowd, their bloodlust unable to be restrained for too long.
With a curse, the chief simply stuck the saber in his belt, claiming the trophy as his own, unable to make a poetic sacrifice, he barked an order for the Jedi to be held up straight, pulling a wicked looking knife. If the saber would not work, he'd simply have to get his hands dirty, but one way or the other, he would feel a Jedi's heart beat its last in his hands today.
As he stalked forward, knife ready, Aaran's mind was still trapped within itself, the same memory repeating again and again in his mind's eye, the crushing weight of his own failures pressing down on him, dulling him to the touch of the Force and rendering him truly blind to the situation around him, the Sith curse sapping the strength from his muscles, stopping him from leveraging his superior skill against his captors.
Because if he could see what was going on right now, he wouldn't be able to restrain himself.
He wouldn't be able to stop the smirk from appearing on his face. As everything started to fall into place as he foresaw.
Let's dial the clock back a few hours.
In the abandoned tunnels of the undercity, a rebel encampment stood, one quietly being reinforced by the Galactic Alliance in preparation for the retaking of the system. Tensions were high, many did not want to wait for a greater strike force to liberate their world. They knew their loved ones were suffering right now, they knew where some of the camps were, and based on previous intelligence, they knew that most slaves from conquered worlds tended to stay in large groups for a time, even after being processed.
It was simply easier for logistics sake, to ship a few thousand from Empress Teta back to some other world and lump them all together. So some brave volunteers took with them parts and receivers, implanted under the skin to track them in the short term individually, and for the long term would be later removed and assembled to make a more broad range receiver for later rescue.
Not a perfect plan, but one that could work. Various volunteers would allow themselves to be captured by various gangs to be shipped off to various camps, all ready to be processed and lumped with the rest of the Tetan slaves in hopes of acting as a beacon for rescue.
It was an utterly reckless gamble, a complete leap of faith and surprisingly it was the Jedi who warned against such a risky move, while the promise of future help was an honest one that the Alliance intended to fulfil, he warned against the risks, a very low chance of success with an extremely high cost if they failed.
But so many did not care, they wished to be with their loved ones again, be it freely or in chains. And ultimately, he managed to bargain them down to at least attempting to free some of the slaves as a trial run/
And said plan was overheard by another hand of the Alliance who was operating on Teta. A bagman, a spook, a shadowy finger of the SIA who decided to take advantage of the upcoming strike. Appearing to the Jedi and striking a devil's bargain, one that would only come into effect when things seemed most dire.
The Jedi was the bait for the occupying forces, drawing the attention of the Maw while the rebels freed the captives.
But the entire operation was bait for the Taskmaster. After all, he was near the top of the list of priority targets as far as the Alliance was concerned. Such was the price of glory. The operation was another gamble, they had an idea of where Tu'teggacha was holed up, but knew he could not be reached so easily. Instead by hitting a nearby processing plant, they hoped to draw them out.
All so another head of the hydra could be cut off and the stump then burned so nothing would grow back.
Two things happened within seconds of each other, one of which was somewhat expected. The charges on the side of the prisoner's cages blew, blowing open a wall to the outside, the rebels surging to freedom, providing a protective wall around them, rushing their way through the streets, desperate to get to cover and vanish into the undercity where they could disappear among the endless tunnels that snaked beneath a city that covered half a world.
A task that was much easier for them when a large portion of the guards were engrossed in the ongoing spectacle.
The second event was a far more subtle one, but no less important, as the entire event itself was nothing more than a smokescreen. Perched up high in one of the towering buildings of the once proud city of Cinnagar lay a figure, there to do one thing and one thing alone, kill the Taskmaster.
And it was a dirty dealing they were well prepared for, in their pack sat an adolescent Ysalamir, the lizard projecting around them a bubble of cosmic silence, muting their actions from any supernatural senses, the Force users present, from the one-trick pony Mind-breaker to the Primordial Goddess could not sense them. They would have no flash of foresight warning them of the attack, no tingling of the assassin's killing intent running up their spine.
They were hidden from physical sight as well, a simple but effective cloaking device keeping them masked, hiding the muzzle flare of a truly impressive sniper rifle. One carrying a devastating payload for Force users.
At the same time the explosion went off, a hypersonic round of voidstone was sent hurtling through the air. The gunshot masked by the boom, aimed directly at the Taskmaster's shrivelled excuse for a heart. The deadly payload was unable to be sensed through the Force, and even if it was, they could never attempt to directly affect it. The only warning Tu'teggacha would have was a red dot appearing on his chest a moment before the shot was fired.
Everything was going exactly to plan, and if the Assassin was especially lucky, they'd even be able to save the Jedi and the captives as well.
Kralmus Orr
,
Marlon Sularen
,
Chris Walker
