Chapter 53
Just shy of a standard hour passes until Anhiel rises from the ground and straightens her robes. With determined strides she exits the outcropping and heads towards the newly fashioned trench and defensive fortifications. She appraises the area as she is approached by the Sith Commander, “Ma’am, we have erected what defenses we can, though the enemy has shown no signs of striking.” Her contemplative expression is hidden beneath her armored mask and she remains silent for many moments before speaking as if to herself at first, “That is easier…” Before the perplexed officer can ask the question on his tongue, the Grandmaster turns slightly and speaks solemnly, “Hold your position, commander. I sense the enemy soldiers will not interfere. But should I fall, I expect you and your forces to crush them, or die trying.” The nearby soldiers all rise despite their exhaustion and salute as the Commander bows his head, “Your will be done, my Lord.” With the aid of the Force, Anhiel leaps from the trench, landing on the raised, flat area where she begins to stride forward. After covering more than a hundred meters, she stops, watching a shuttle swoop in and come to hover a meter off the ground. Prince Arcann leaps from the vessel and kneels as the shuttle peels away. He rises then takes long strides towards the woman opposite of him and only stops once no more than ten meters away.
Now near enough to appraise his opponent, he notes it is a woman before him; height and strength are clearly in his favor but he tilts his head with intrigue as he probes her with the Force. Neither speaks as they gaze towards each other, the sounds of battle nearly fading from existence as they focus. Anhiel is the first to move as she lifts her hands up from her sides somewhat, her sabers rising from her belt towards them. Upon making contact, deep purple blades erupt from the hand crafted silver hilts and with a flick of her left wrist, she shifts that blade to a reverse grip. Gracefully, she slides her right foot back and crouches, pulling her left arm across her body so the reverse held blade is horizontal infront of her. The right arm is raised up with the blade angle slightly downwards, pointed toward the woman’s foe. Arcann, still intrigued at meeting a Jedi on this planet, lifts his weapon and summons the golden blade from within.
From the view of the onlooking Sith soldiers, time seemed to drag on as the anticipation grew. In a flash, the combatants nearly vanished for a moment as they darted towards each other. They meet in the center, the Prince bringing a double handed slash diagonally down from his right, expecting the physically non-imposing woman to parry in an attempt to absorb the force of the strike. The surprise on his face when the strike halts was due in part to unexpected directness of the unknown opponent but more so the shockwave emitted when their weapons clashed. The force with which the blades came together pulled the atmosphere in and with the pressure of the strike and heat of the blades, the air superheated in an instant, sending a shockwave over the open field. It carried enough force that the onlookers stumbled and looked on in awe. Anhiel’s right saber was now also held in a reverse grip and she had brought it to bear to intercept the strike directly. The gold and purple blades crackle as contact is maintained until the masked woman releases a guttural growl and presses forward with her right arm, pushing the opposing blade to the side. She spun with the movement, opening her back to her opponent as she brought her left arm back, the tip of the blade angled towards the man’s chest.
The blade narrowly skims the edge of one layer of white fabric and it passes by. While leaning back, the Prince whips his right arm across with a wild strike which Anhiel spins over top of using her momentum to power the leap and spin. She lands low, back towards her opponent and leaned forward before delivering a heavy kick to his midsection. The blow connects, sending the man backwards but he lands on his feet, sliding a meter or so before stopping. While the Prince watched, calculating his opponents capabilities, Anhiel straightened and rolled her head from side to side while turning to face her opponent once more. Arcann offers a smirk, followed by a command, “Tell me your name, Jedi. No one has survived even an initial confrontation with me, save you. It would be imprudent to not know your name before ending you.” Cooly, the Grandmaster responds, “My name is inconsequential. I am merely a champion of the Force and no matter who prevails, I will have served my purpose.” With a pause, she smirked behind her mask before adding, “Which is more than I can say for you.” Time for a response is not allowed as green electricity crackles around Anhiel just a moment before she raises her left hand. The storm that erupted from her outstretched arm raced towards the prince. Caught off guard by the use of lightning by a Jedi, his saber did not come up quickly enough to catch all of the attack. Several bolts of high energy electricity streak across his body, causing him to kneel as he growls angrily against the pain. Anhiel doubles her efforts, sending a massive surge forward until Arkann positions his saber to where it intercepts all of the attack.
Anhiel relinquishes the attack, straightening as she shifts her weapons in her hands. The prince rises after several moments, sections of his once pristine white outfit now singed and smoking but his expression is one of resolution, hinging on the edge of excitement at the conflict. Behind the mask, the Grandmaster’s eyes hold only contempt for her foe as she prepares her next attack. In an instant, she leaps through the air, her being opened wholly to the Force as she strikes, her muscles and cells pushed to the limit to drive several successive thrusts forward; each dodged narrowly by the Prince before he parried the follow up slash from the right saber. Blows, blocks, parries, thrusts, slashes all fly precisely between the pair so quickly that they appear to be wild to the onlookers. Minutes pass without relent of the ferocity of the battle; the crackle of clashing sabers echoing loudly across the battlefield louder than any sounds of combat nearby.
Dozens of kilometers away, Mirr’s ship swoops in with the ramp extended and lowers just above the ground. Thea stands towards the end of the ramp, gripping one of the pylons as she scans through the dust and is surprised as Joash leaps aboard. She grips his forearm to steady him as the ramp begins to close almost immediately, bringing the pair into the ship. No more than a second passes after the seal sets before the Mandalorian pilot pushes the throttles to max, rocketing the ship forward more quickly than is advisable in atmosphere. Thea and Joash stride up the ramp and enter the main cabin of the ship to find Athin in a more nervous state than ever before. Without hesitation, the elder man strides over and pulls the Miraluka into a tight embrace, forgoing his usual tendency to tease Athin regarding emotions. They remain silent for several moments before Joash releases the grip to allow some separation but keeps his hands on the other man’s shoulders now, “Thank you for calling me, Athin. That woman is the most stubborn thing I have ever encountered in my life but fear not, we will deliver her from this place.” With a reassuring squeeze he adds, “I daresay since Dulci’s passing, there is finally another being in this galaxy that loves her as much as I do.” Anguish smears Athin’s face and should his physiology be different, tears would coat his cheeks at the remark.
Kilometers away, the Prince was now on the offensive. Despite the single blade, his strikes were rapid, methodical, requiring all of Anhiel’s focus and skill to deflect while repositioning to find an advantage. Neither held back as the battle continued; Thrusts, parries, slashes, all continued in a blur while several minor wounds were accumulated by both parties due to the fierce combat. Several minutes pass as this continues until Anhiel senses a risky opening and moves to capitalize. She opens her right side to a backhanded slash, relying on the Cortosis imbued armor to interfere with the saber blade enough to spare her life. As the blade impacted her side, she spun into it, bringing the reverse held saber in her left hand to bare in an attempt to sever his arms at the forearms, but the enemy blade is more skillfully crafted than most she had encountered and the blade only flickers some, penetrating the Cortosis armor decently well before opening a large gash in her side. The searing pain shifted her attack, only skimming the right arm but did catch the unarmed left that was positioned to counterbalance the movement. It fell limply to the ground, causing the man to cry out in rage before whipping the right arm back the way it came wildly, the blade it held catching the woman’s mask, ripping it off while lightly grazing her right cheek. Doing her best to suppress the pain, Anhiel reached an arm out and summoned a blast of the Force to send her opponent flying backwards, creating distance between them.
All sound seemed to fall away as the Grandmaster knelt, bent over, clutching at her wounded side. Several meters away, the Prince stirred much more quickly than she could have anticipated and for a fleeting moment, dread entered her mind before it was promptly rejected. To the shock of those looking on, Arcann rose seemingly unphased by the amputation and with his chest heaving from exertion, he began to stalk towards Anhiel. Drawing on the Force for strength, she straightened, racking her brain for a strategy. The Prince leaps in the air from several meters away, intending to bring his superior weight and strength directly down on the wounded woman but with a flick of her wrist, Anhiel summons a spherical object from the belt of a fallen Sith soldier not far away. The thermal detonator hurtles towards them as the Prince continues to fly through the air and it arrives as he is only three meters away. The activation switch had been triggered already and the lights on the detonator blinked rapidly just before a bright light engulfed the immediate area, followed by flames and a shockwave. Anhiel turned somewhat, exposing the undamaged side of her armor to the brunt of the blast that launched her several meters before she rolled a couple additional meters until she stopped, face down in the dirt.
Smoke rises steadily from debris strewn about by the thermal detonator blast, as well as a pair of bodies, one Sith and one in mangled golden armor. The stench of burning flesh and plastics fills the air while Prince Arcann lies still, barely breathing, unconscious. His severed arm is cauterized, stopping any bleeding but his left face, neck, and outfit are singed heavily and torn. Several meters away stands Anhiel, having somehow dragged her wrecked body up from the ground after the greatest battle of her life. Blood runs down the under fabric of her armor, leaking from the lacerations where metal shrapnel impacted her thighs between the armor. The once light colored armor is tarnished heavily, blackened, broken; the large gash across her right side blatantly apparent. Within is burned flesh and muscle with dark, paste-like material oozing from the subcutaneous tissues. Her arms are numb from the intensity of the previous battle and the margin with which she survived is not lost on the Grandmaster. Both sabers remain ignited, humming steadily while her chest rises and falls heavily, but her stance is fatigued and the tips of her blade rest on the ground crackling against the dirt. Blood soaks her bangs and runs down her forehead and down her left cheek while she gazes off into the distance. Beyond the range of physical sight, a powerful presence in the Force hurdles in her direction. The feeling is nearly identical to the unconscious prince that lay nearby and Anhiel’s thoughts are remarkably calm, “There is another…very well.”
Aboard the stealth ship speeding through the atmosphere, Joash gazes at Thea with an uncharacteristically calm and somewhat peaceful expression. His gaze is both direct while also far off as his dark eyes lock with the diamond irises of the alchemist before he embraces and addresses her, “Thea, keep the child safe, she needs you more than you know.” Thea, confused, barely able to comprehend the old man, stares for a moment before she returns the embrace. Joash continues, “When we land to collect our Grandmaster, no matter what happens, get her to Rend. He should be exiting hyperspace soon and will be able to navigate the path that has been set before us.” Athin interjects, “My friend, have you gone mad? Rend isn’t in this system.” Joash switches his gaze and replies, “He will be here, use that sight beyond sight thing and look just a few degrees past our horizon.” Athin spins around and looks through space with his Miraluka sight. There he sees a capital ship blazing through hyperspace and on the bridge is a familiar but different aura. What was once timid, flickering brass colors is now bold and bright as a newborn star. He speaks hopefully, “You are right. He approaches with haste.” Thea nods and takes a few steps back to grab a strap handle near the exit ramp and as the ship begins to slow, she adds in a resolute voice, “You have my word, Joash. I will protect my friend with my life, and her child with even more.” The stealthed ship comes to an abrupt halt and the ramp begins to open. Dirt and debris rush in from the low hover causing Thea to throw her left arm in front of her face. The old Jedi peers out the ramp and locates his weary master. He grabs his saber and tosses it to Thea as he yells over the hovering engines, “Keep this safe. You may need it.” A few more words are lost in the tumultuous air as he quickly leaps out the hatch, landing in a crouched position several meters behind Anhiel. Joash peels his tattered overcoat off as he walks up beside his Master. Once just behind her and to her right, he addresses her while placing the coat on her shoulders, the large oozing gash drawing an anguished expression, “Wow, you really went all out on this one, Grandmaster. But worry not, the reinforcements are here.” Too exhausted to deal with Joash’s antics, Anhiels replies with as much energy as she could muster, “Leave, Joash. I do not recall giving you leave to abandon your post. This is my fight.”
Several dozen meters away an enemy shuttle touches down on a flatter patch of land. The moment the struts touch the ground, a single man leaps from the shuttle and immediately moves towards the motionless body of the wounded prince. The unknown man is clad in an identical outfit to Prince Arcann, save for its deep black material, and seemingly ignores the duo meters away. Prince Thexan kneels by his twin brother and quickly checks him over, noting the severe wounds he had suffered but he was still alive. He turns towards Anhiel and speaks in an unsettling quiet voice that still carries clearly across the space between them. “Death is a mercy you shall beg for, Jedi.” Joash turns to Anhiel and says, “You have done your part my friend, now let me do mine, master.” With a wave behind them Athin jumps out of the ship. Just as her eyes left Joash’s face to see Athin exit the ship Joash force pushes her towards Athin’s landing area with as much grace as he could manage. Athin moves quickly, reaching an arm out to slow her momentum before catching her in his arms.
Joash quickly turns to face the new assailant and addresses him with a harsh tone, “Your friend has been measured by my master and found wanting. You are not worthy to face her.” The second princes’ gaze is still locked onto Anhiel and seems unphased by his comments. Joash yells again, “I said you are not worthy!” With a swift arm movement Joash begins to compress the air over Arcann, crushing the injured relative which brings him back to a form of consciousness where he screams in pain as the increased pressure exacerbates his internal wounds. Thexan quickly adjusts his focus towards Joash, causing Anhiel to scream out from Athin’s embrace, “No! He is going to kill you! It should be me!” At that moment everything went silent. An invisible force flows through the immediate area, compressing the space as the perceived gravity begins to increase continually. Anhiel looks around for a moment before noting a familiar feeling of the power being wielded. She smirks at her old friend for a moment and speaks within his mind, “I see you have finally accepted my teachings fully.” With both hands held out and fingers spread wide Joash grunts his reply, “Yes…Ma’am. I was slow…but now I see.” He turns his head just enough to let his left eye see her one last time. His typical hazel irises now have streaks of yellow blended in them as his tumultuous emotions rise up. In front of him, frozen only a few millimeters from his neck is the golden blade of Prince Thexan, who had moved with remarkable speed moments before. Anhiel looks at the scene in front of her as Athin backs towards the ship. Her voice echoes in Joash’s mind once more, “Why do you insist on taking things from me?” Joash trembles from the amount of raw power flowing through him and manages to reply with several images of visions he had gleaned from the Force in lieu of a verbal response initial: the potential of the gravity related technique to act on time itself, a young miraluka child with pristine white hair running through a lush meadow, the same child now a young adult training with a passion and ferocity inherited from her mother, and finally the child now grown standing aboard the bridge of a capital vessel in a pristine uniform with a vast enemy force in the distance. Through his teeth Joash grunts, “I can’t hold this forever, you know. But I have seen how to exceed my limits to ensure your survival, not only because it’s you but because of who you are carrying. Now get out of here. The child has more significance than we realize.” Summoning as much remaining physical energy as he can, Joash barks out loudly “Athin, take her and get to Rend!” Veins erupt from beneath his forehead as his stamina is slipping, his arms dropping slightly and his legs begin to sag. Athin nods once and turns quickly, taking a few more large strides before leaping up the extended ramp. Once inside he sets Anhiel down just inside the ramp so she can see her old friend reach his peak until the ramp closes. The final image of the grizzled Jedi is one of him and his foe frozen in time and space until the ramp closes. Thea, still in shock, stares blankly at the gift that Joash gave her. Its old, battle worn hilt reminds her of him as she glances towards Anhiel and the tattered coat on her shoulders.
Just as Mirr lifts the vessel from the ground and begins to ascend rapidly, Thea drops to her knees with tears flowing as she looks at Anhiel and Athin, helpless. Anhiel speaks somberly, “I felt it too. He is…” Thea grips the old man’s saber close to her chest as she weeps. The space is quiet for a moment until static begins to build up in the cabin. Confused, Thea looks up to see Anhiel bent forward on her knees, arms extended and palms flat against the metal deck. Sparks of vibrant blue lightning arc across her hands and begins to move up her arms until bolts snake across her whole body. Her blood covered face contorts angrily, matted bangs hang forward and Thea catches a glimpse of yellow irises deeper than any she had seen in her time with the Sith. The lightning storm continues to grow and is accompanied by a scream that carries so much pain and sorrow that Thea shudders. The level of power being expressed is tangible in the air and continues to grow until the ornate bracelet on Anhiels arm shatters into a million pieces. A moment later, the storm ceases and the Grandmaster falls forward onto her face, unconscious.
“The amount of time it takes to get to Koriban is almost up” Rend sits at the helm of his capital ship deeply meditating, fully aligned with the Force and his new mission. The indicator beeps and the helmsman responds loudly, “General, we have arrived, dropping out of …” Rend cuts him off abruptly, “No! Not yet.” The helmsman replies quickly, “But sir!” Rend replies calmly, “We will drop when I command.” The helmsman gulped loudly as another alarm goes off, indicating the threat of planetary collision increased above the acceptable level. The helmsman clears his throat, “General?!” Rend replies harshly, “Hold!” More indicators and alarms fill the bridge as collision calculations exceed the ability of the navi-computer. Just as the sweaty helmsman was beginning to speak again Rend expands his presence to his crew with his version of battle meditation and commands, “Drop and full reverse immediately!” His crew, now under his influence, react as if they were an extension of himself. The Nephilim drops just outside the atmosphere of Korriban and begins to shutter and moan under the stress of the directional forces. Rend commands, “Lock on to the stealth fighter signature and defend their position; ensign, reroute full power to the forward shields. Helmsman, establish return hyperspace vectors. As soon as we clear the gravitational pull, take us home.”
Orange plasma coats the nose of Mirr’s stealth vessel as it punches through the atmosphere at the fastest speed the ship’s frame could handle. A squadron of five fighters fly out of the capital ship’s hangar while a pair of enemy fighters peel away from attack run on the planet to chase after the escaping ship. A green light flashes rapidly on the console before Mirr and he initiates the communication link to be greeted by a grizzly voice: “This is Gold Leader to Captain Stynn. Please proceed directly to the hangar and prepare for immediate jump. Medical personnel are present to receive your wounded. We will deal with your pursuers and rendezvous with our remaining forces.” The implication of the words are not lost on Mirr and he pauses for a moment before responding with gratitude, “Understood, Gold Leader. Thank you.” A single click of the mic is received in response as the squadron passes by in the opposite direction towards the approaching silver ships. Mirr banks the ship to line up with the Shadow Redeemer’s hangar, causing the cockpit to begin reflecting the flashes of green and red coming from the nearby dogfight. With a flick of a silver switch, the shipwide speakers are activated allowing Mirr to address Athin, “Master Athin, we are entering the hangar now. Prepare to receive medical personnel. I will drop the ramp the moment we touch down.” Athin’s voice is beyond exhausted but he still manages to rise from the floor where he had been cradling Anhiel’s head in his lap, “Understood, Captain.” Somewhat dazed, he turns towards Thea and asks softly, “Miss…Miss Tragonus?” The woman’s uniform is singed all over from the uncontrolled power Anhiel let out before falling unconscious. Her hair is in a messy bun that is falling out as she looks up towards Athin; her usually dark diamond irises appear grey and her gaze feels far off while she nods ever so slightly. Words fail to come to Athin’s mind as the two gaze at each other and only the hiss of the seal breaker while the ramp descends bring him back to the moment.
Mirr hurries back and halts to salute quickly after being surprised, “General Vega, I do not know why you are here but I am ever grateful.” Rend stands with an air of command that is much more natural now and he looks over the trio standing then the woman lying on the floor with a reserved expression. Somberly, he asks “Where is Master Joash?” Their expressions are answer enough and the General holds up a hand to stop Mirr, “I understand, Captain. We will speak more once our Grandmaster is stabilized. For now just rest, all of you. We have already entered hyperspace and are en route to rendezvous with Commander Veruna and the enclave’s forces.” Medical personnel stream in and begin attending to Anhiel primarily while others do cursory exams of the Mirr, Athin and Thea. Rend departs with heavy footsteps, heading towards the bridge with several emotions swirling about within him. In the hallway before the bridge, the elder commander halts the General’s movements. “General, forgive me but I think it is best that you rest, given the current circumstances.” The screeching of durasteel being bent without any form of heating cuts into all eardrums in the vicinity. The base of Rend’s clenched right fist indented several inches into the hardened steel as he lashed out. Frozen, the elder commander just stares as the large door slides open behind him. Those on the bridge had also heard the strike and watched on, shocked. A dark shadow flitted across Rend’s features as yellow swirled across his irises for a few moments. Ignoring the pain of his decimated hand, despite the augmentation of the Force with the blow, Rend looks through the soul of his subordinate before commanding, “I shall rest once my Grandmaster is well. Until then, we shall all do our utmost to endeavor to perform to a fraction of her level. Send a communication to Commander Veruna as soon as able and inform her that Master Rajavia’s extraction is her priority.” With an inclined head, the Commander responds, “As you command, General. I shall inform you once the Admiral is stable. Messages shall be sent once we reach the Hyperspace transfer point.” Rend waves his right hand upward slightly in dismissal, “I shall be in my meditation chamber, Commander.”
Forward of the bridge near the center of the capital ship is a maelstrom of activity as a hovering gurney carrying an unconscious Anhiel is rushed down a long hallway. Several medical personnel are gathered around as they move quickly, followed by Athin, Mirr, and Thea after all three had cut their exams short once the Grandmaster was taken away. The entrance to the medical bay is constructed of a large, clear, dual sided door that opens as the group approaches. Others take the gurney back through a second set of doors as the remainder of the group pauses, the head medic addressing Athin, “Sir, I must ask you to remain here until she is stabilized.” Disagreement is not unexpected but the snarl emitted by the usually tame man is unnerving. Thea steps over and places a hand on Athin’s shoulder as she wipes away moisture from her darkened eyes, “Athin…I shall tend to her. Please rest.” If the Miraluka had eyes, they would be wide at Thea’s request but before he could retort Mirr steps forward, “Please, Master Athin. Rest. I shall watch over your riduur until you are fit to do so yourself. As soon as anything changes, I shall inform you myself.” Athin releases a long exhale in an attempt to relax his spiralling thoughts then inclines his head to Mirr and Thea, “Than…..thank you…both.” Still somewhat reluctant, Athin spins slowly and strides from the medical bay then stands motionless just outside for the better part of a minute before moving off down the hallway.