Strike from the Shadows
Prakith
Black Spire
Objective 1: Operation: Black Spire
The clang of metal echoed through the skeletal corridors of the Super Star Destroyer, a symphony of hurried construction masking a discordant truth. Here, on the remote world of Prakith, Superior General Kallux Strade was forging his bid for power, a weapon of immense scale built in clandestine defiance of the fractured Imperial Remnant. Amidst the sparks and shouted orders, a lone figure moved with deceptive ease: Jedi Shadow Connel Vanagor.
Connel wasn't here to admire Strade's ambition. He was a wraith in the machine, a distraction meticulously crafted to draw the eye of the beast while other, more specialized teams attempted to surgically remove its heart – the schematics detailing the vessel's construction. Let the others steal the future, Connel would ensure that no one saw them do it.
He wasn't looking for a fight, but he understood its grim necessity. Each blaster bolt deflected, each Stormtrooper neutralized, was a precious moment bought for his allies. And so, he moved, a blur of calculated chaos in the Imperial shipyard.
A grenade arced through the air, detonating with a deafening roar inside a secondary armory. The blast doors buckled, showering the corridor with shrapnel and sparking wires. Connel didn't linger to admire his handiwork. He was already moving, his boots drumming a frantic rhythm on the unfinished durasteel floor.
He tossed another grenade, this one a thermal detonator, into a junction box controlling the ship's internal comms. The resulting surge fried circuits, plunging several sections of the ship into temporary darkness and silencing the frantic shouts of panicked officers.
His path seemed random, a chaotic dance across the warship's nascent structure. One moment he was sprinting towards what looked like a turbolaser battery emplacement, the next he was backtracking, weaving through a maze of support struts and exposed wiring. The Stormtroopers, predictably, were baffled. Was he heading for the bridge? Engineering? Or was he simply lost in the sprawling labyrinth?
Only Connel knew the truth. He was moving according to the Force, guided by a faint, almost imperceptible tug that resonated deep within his soul. It wasn't a strategic destination he sought, but something else entirely, something far more personal.
As he vaulted over a stack of power conduits, the sensation intensified, a familiar ache that resonated in his very bones. It was a call, a desperate whisper that had been growing stronger with each passing day. He recognized it, the dark echo of the Force that originated from his lightsaber crystals, those that had been bled and corrupted by a now dead Sith Lord who had taken them from Connel in their last encounter.
The memory of that battle, the searing pain of defeat, the agonizing loss of his lightsaber – it all flooded back, threatening to overwhelm him. He pushed it down, channeling his pain into a sharper focus, a steely resolve. He couldn't afford to be consumed by the past, not when the present demanded his full attention.
A squad of Stormtroopers rounded the corner, their blasters raised. Connel reacted instantly, Force-leaping over them, scattering them like bowling pins. He landed gracefully, drawing his borrowed lightsaber, a nameless weapon with a cool, blue glow.
He activated the blade, the hum resonating within him as if he was a conductor, his own body a wire that vibrated with the Force. The Stormtroopers struggled to regain their footing, their white armor gleaming in the harsh light. He moved with lethal precision, his blade a blur of incandescent energy, deflecting blaster bolts and disabling his opponents with swift, non-lethal strikes.
He didn't want to kill them. They were just soldiers, cogs in a machine they barely understood. He pitied them their servitude, their blind obedience to a cause built on lies and oppression.
As he fought, the tug towards his lost crystals grew stronger, pulling him deeper into the bowels of the ship. He felt the presence of the one who corrupted his kyber, the Sith Lord who had tainted them with his darkness. The presence was weak, a mere echo, but it was enough to confirm his suspicions. Strade had acquired his crystals, hoarding them like a macabre trophy.
Connel pressed onward, leaving a trail of deactivated Stormtroopers in his wake. He navigated through the ship's labyrinthine corridors, guided by the pull of the Force and the distant echo of his corrupted lightsaber. He passed through gigantic cargo bays filled with crates of unassembled equipment, and maintenance tunnels teeming with scurrying droids.
Finally, he reached a reinforced blast door, sealed with a complex locking mechanism. He could feel the presence of his crystals on the other side, throbbing with a dark energy that made his skin crawl. This was it, the heart of the darkness.
He deactivated his lightsaber and reached out with the Force, probing the locking mechanism. He could sense the intricate web of wires and circuits, the subtle fluctuations of energy that controlled the door's security interface. He closed his eyes, focusing his mind, and began to unravel the system, disarming each lock one by one.
The door hissed open, revealing a small, heavily guarded chamber. Inside, bathed in a crimson glow, was a single pedestal. And resting upon that pedestal, encased in a dark energy field, were lightsaber crystals. They were not his, this was a message.
They pulsed with a malignant power, their once-pure facets now clouded with the taint of the dark side. The red glow emanated from within, a mocking imitation of the blue of the Sith Lord who had bled them, and him.
Standing guard before the pedestal were four figures clad in black armor, their faces obscured by menacing helmets. They wielded electrostaffs, weapons capable of delivering crippling shocks without lethal force. These were not ordinary Stormtroopers. They were Strade's personal guard, elite warriors trained to protect his most prized possessions.
The guards advanced, their electrostaffs crackling with energy. Connel activated his lightsabers, the blue and violet blades a stark contrast to the crimson darkness of the chamber. He knew that this would be a difficult fight. These guards were well-trained, disciplined, and fiercely loyal to Strade.
He parried their initial attacks, the impact of the electrostaffs sending jolts of energy through his arms. He couldn't afford to be touched by their weapons. One direct hit could incapacitate him.
He fought with a controlled fury, his movements fluid and precise. He deflected their attacks, maneuvering around their formations, searching for an opening. He knew that he couldn't defeat them with brute force. He needed to use his skills, his cunning, and his connection to the Force to outwit them.
He feinted to the left, drawing the guards towards him, then spun to the right, unleashing a Force push that sent them stumbling backward. He followed up with a series of rapid strikes, disabling their weapons and knocking them off balance.
One by one, the guards fell, their bodies twitching on the floor. Connel stood panting, his lightsaber humming softly. He turned his attention to the call, his heart pounding in his chest.
He reached out with the Force, sensing the dark energy that surrounded them. It was a palpable presence, a suffocating weight that threatened to crush him. He knew that he couldn't simply take the crystals. He needed to purify them, to cleanse them of the Sith's corruption.
He closed his eyes and focused his mind, channeling the light side of the Force. He reached out to the crystals, gently probing their darkness, searching for the spark of purity that still remained within.
Slowly, painstakingly, he began to draw out the darkness, to separate it from the light. It was a painful process, a spiritual battle that raged within him. He could feel the Sith's presence resisting him, clinging to the crystals, refusing to let go.
But Connel was persistent. He refused to be deterred. He knew that he had to save these crystals, to reclaim them from the darkness. He had to honor the memory of the Jedi who had created them, to restore them to their rightful purpose. They were not his, but he would make this right, and he knew it, but
Darth Kizash
would not relish his new toys much longer.
Trent Perris
(Present) & Veythun (Distant)
