The alley's cortosis walls wept rust like old blood, their jagged edges clawing at the humid dark where vines hung heavy, strangling the air with sap and rot. I tilted my head, Zha-Korran's judgment pressing my bones. Beneath my mask, the Force churned, a restless beast pacing its cage. A guttural roar split the silence, raw and primal, like a world's spine snapping under a titan's heel. My violet saber ignited, its hum a defiant hymn against the shadows. Ahsoka's white blades flared beside me, her montrals rigid, poised for war. Galen's twin sabers roared, their unstable white-blue glow carving the gloom, his breath sharp with caged fury. Shapes erupted from the vines: liquid-metal armor, shimmering like spilled mercury, their silhouettes wrong, too fluid, as if the shadows birthed them. The Force screamed ambush, its warning a cold spike in my chest. My blade met the first strike, a strange, shimmering edge that resisted my saber's plasma. Sparks showered, the weapon's alien hum grating. "Spread out!" I snapped, shifting my stance, boots grinding slick vines underfoot. "Don't let them flank us, Ahsoka, left! Galen, push the alley!" A ripple of acknowledgment passed through the Force. Ahsoka sidestepped, twin white sabers a bright wall against the encroaching shadows, her movements a dance of precision honed by years of war. Galen dove into the fray, sabers arcing low, his strikes quick and brutal, no wasted effort, every step a predator's calculus. A power not of the Force, but akin to the fields Shepard wielded, grated against my senses. My second slash broke its barrier, flesh searing beneath, the stench of cauterized scales sharp in the rot-choked air. The enemy shrieked, a sound half-metal, half-animal. I ducked as another warped blade hissed past my head, the heat brushing my scalp. "They're faster than they look," I growled, teeth bared. Ahsoka spun in, intercepting the next blow with a sharp twist of her wrist, her montrals flicking in focus. More came, a swarm of shapeshifters melting from walls and vines with a predator's grace, operatives of the Veiled Covenant, their evasion twisting the Force's clarity. The alley was a butcher's altar, and we were its offering, yet I felt the Je'daii Code stir within me: balance in all things, even in slaughter.
A blast of unseen energy tore through a cortosis slab, its shards biting my shoulder, blood warm beneath my rune-etched robes. The Force faltered, my foresight clouded by a haze like in my spars with Shepard, bending gravity and will. I spun, letting the Force flow through my grip as I caught the enemy's wrist and twisted hard. With a flick of my saber, I sliced a diagonal gash from elbow to shoulder, sending its weapon spinning into the muck, the limb hanging limp, nerve clusters hissing, flesh cauterizing in violet light. The haze dulled my senses, a psychic weight I hadn't felt since Vitiate's mind-traps. Ahsoka's Jar'Kai was a storm of white light, her blades parrying another shimmering edge, her strikes precise despite the haze. "Hold them here!" she called, voice tight but steady. "If they split us up, we're dead." Galen snarled, clipping the legs from a shifting form with a savage sweep. "Let them try." I sensed Ahsoka's pause, a flicker of rebellion, her past defiance of Jedi dogma surfacing, a gray pulse in the Force that echoed my own balance. Galen let the dark and light war inside him, channeling it into a sudden sweep. His saber carved low, not just slicing through the shapeshifter's thigh but igniting the air with a burst of kinetic energy that flung the enemy against the wall. As it slid, he finished it with a swift, underhand thrust through its exposed back. Rakata tech, dark and alive, snared him, its energy coiling like a serpent. His lightning answered, frying the trap, arcs dancing across his sabers, but the swarm pressed, their blades relentless, each strike a test of his redemption. The city's breath was violence, blood painting cortosis, sap burning like pyres, the air reeking of charred flesh and ozone, a grave's perfume. Shadows danced, not just from our sabers but from something older, Rakata ghosts, their whispers clawing the Force, urging slaughter. A figure lunged, its form shifting from vine to a scaled threat. I Force-pushed it into a wall, bones crunching, the impact a dull echo in the alley's throat. Ahsoka's voice cut through, sharp as a blade: "Hold the line! Don't let them break our formation!" Her montrals strained, her blades a whirlwind, but I felt her resolve harden, a harmony of light and dark. She wasn't just fighting; she was remembering Malachor, Mandalore, every moment she'd walked away from the Order's chains, her gray pulse a beacon I rallied to through the Force.
The alley shrank around us, my back brushing crumbling stone, the air crackling with every clash. For a heartbeat, time slowed. Ahsoka met my gaze, defiant and determined, while Galen's eyes blazed with the memory of every scar. The Force wove between us, not just an energy, but a dialogue: warning, support, challenge. We fought as one, a trinity of light, dark, and gray. Ahsoka's Jar'Kai guarded our flanks, her movements fluid, a dance of survival. Galen's Juyo broke their ranks, each strike a vow against the despair that haunted him, his sabers carving through liquid-metal armor with a fury that bordered on art. My Niman wove the center, blending saber and Force, each strike a meditation on balance, a promise to the Je'daii who'd fallen on Tython millennia ago. The alley's walls groaned, cortosis splintering like broken vows, and vines lashed, their sap burning my skin, a venomous sting that tested my focus. A foe's strange blade grazed my thigh, its edge humming with alien power. I countered, stepping into its swing and guiding the attack past me with a Force-augmented shove. My saber cut a crescent through its ribcage, the blade's heat fusing armor and bone, and I let the weight of the dying foe carry it to the alley floor, never breaking stride. The swarm's numbers were a tide, their forms melting into shadows, striking from angles the Force couldn't trace, but our unity held, a vow against the never-ending dark. The alley birthed us onto a flooded causeway, its cortosis bridge swaying under murky water, mag-lev tracks converging to an underground station ahead. Pillars loomed, their cracks weeping dust, and the Force pulsed with Rakata malice, a dark side hunger woven into the stone. A shadow melted from the water, its blade slashing for Galen's back. I Force-pulled him clear, my saber severing the foe's spine. "Galen, on your left! Watch it!" I yelled, boiled blood mixing with the flood. Galen stumbled, catching his balance. "Good save. Still trying to catch me off guard, Herald?" His smirk was quick, vanishing beneath another parried blow. Ahsoka leapt from a broken pillar, landing beside me with silent grace. "We need an exit. Now."
"Eyes on the mag-lev," I answered, glancing toward the shaking tracks. "That's our choke point." Ahsoka's blades spun, parrying a strike, but a pillar cracked, its collapse forcing us to leap. The causeway's sway was a drunkard's dance, vines coiling like nooses, and the ghosts whispered louder: "Kill or be killed." I sensed Galen's rage flare, each kill a futile offering to his ghosts, wounds that bled anew with every step. We reached a ruined plaza, toppled statues sprawled like fallen gods, their kyber eyes glowing with dark side spite. Altars pulsed, their energy a lash against the swarm's alien power, weakening their strange fields. A foe shapeshifted from a statue's shadow, its blade clashing with mine, the hum defying my saber's edge. Ahsoka ducked low beneath its strike, then hooked one blade behind its ankle, yanking the shapeshifter off balance. She drove her second saber through its abdomen and, as it spasmed, pulled upward, splitting armor and form until it crumpled in a single, twitching motion. Galen's blades carved through three more, his fury a controlled blaze, each kill his Sentinel's oath to the Je'daii. He advanced, sabers whirling: one, two, three, four more foes fell, their bodies twitching on blackened stone. Their leader stepped from the gloom, a salamander-slick figure, her strange energy blade-like saber shimmering with a warp field like Shepard would manifest. Her slitted eyes glinted with ruthless precision, her liquid-metal armor shifting like a second skin as she came in for a kill strike. "Your Je'daii will bleed and break, Herald," she hissed, her voice a blade forged from an ancient grudge. "The Great Ones, I will see them rise, and the galaxy will remember it was your weakness that opened the way. You're a relic, Revan, clinging to a dead order's ashes." I bared my teeth, saber pressed to hers. "I've outlasted empires. You think I'll fall to an echo and a shapeshifter?" The taunt stung, a thorn in my doubt, conjuring Vitiate's shadow, the Sith Emperor who'd broken me centuries ago. Was I a fracture, as she claimed, or the balance I swore to uphold? I met her blade with Niman, sparks showering as her weapon held against mine, its alien field resisting the plasma. Her speed was a predator's, each slash surgical, and the Force haze thickened, her psychic presence clouding my foresight, a snare I was unable to shake.
I parried, my violet saber a blur, but her words burrowed deeper as she rebounded. "You think you're balance? You're chaos, Herald, a fracture in the Force, leading your followers to ruin." Her blade slashed, grazing my arm, blood sizzling on cortosis. Doubt clawed, memories of the Jedi Civil War flashing: worlds burned, lives lost under my command, the weight of my fall as Darth Revan. The Force surged, Ashla's clarity cutting through, and I countered, my saber striking her shoulder, scales charring. Ahsoka's Jar'Kai spun, shielding Galen, her strikes mirroring my resolve. Galen let his rage spill through his fingertips, lightning crackling from his hand into the nearest foe. The shapeshifter's armor warped and smoked, scales popping as the current cooked it from the inside out. Before the corpse hit the ground, his saber swept through the smoke, bisecting the twitching body, the stench of ozone burning the air. The plaza bled chaos, a kyber altar pulsing, its dark side wave shattering a dome, debris raining like a warlord's tears. I Force-pushed a shapeshifter into a statue, stone cracking, but their leader pressed, her taunt cutting deeper: "The Je'daii fell to their own arrogance, Herald. You walk their path to extinction, and when my masters rise, your fall will make their legends look like a mercy." Her blade slashed, a whip-like arc I barely parried, sparks blinding. I sensed Ahsoka's resolve harden, her Force barrier shielding Galen, her blades a storm. "Galen! On your guard!" she called, her voice a lifeline. My Niman wove saber and Force, a vow to prove this foe wrong, but the haze thickened, her alien power a psychic snare that tested my balance. The fight spilled into a cortosis spire, its halls a labyrinth of pulsing conduits, their dark side hum a scream in my bones. The air burned, conduits sparking, and foes shapeshifted from walls, their blades relentless. I Force-pushed one off a ledge, its scream lost in the spire's roar, but their leader's saber grazed my torso, blood seeping through robes. The spire's traps flared, dark side arcs searing flesh, and Rakata specters flickered, their forms urging blood. A foe pinned Galen to a stairwell, the enemy's blade humming defiance. Ahsoka's Jar'Kai freed him, her strikes precise, a crack in her restraint I felt as harmony. My saber spun in a sudden feint, drawing her blade wide. I slammed my hilt into her solar plexus, knocking the wind from her lungs. With a rising arc from hip to opposite shoulder, I left a smoking furrow in her armor as she dropped. Even on her knees, venom burned in her eyes. She spat blood at my boots and snarled, "You're a shadow cast by history, Revan. My masters will erase you." I pressed forward, sweeping past her as she clutched her wounds, leaving her words to echo in my wake, blade ready for the next onslaught.
The spire opened into a marketplace, a warren of cortosis stalls strangled by vines, their coils a betrayal's snare. The open center, ringed by kyber obelisks, was a slaughter pit, chaos erupting like Mustafar's heart. An obelisk collapsed, its dark side pulse shattering cortosis, violet arcs searing flesh and weakening their alien power. A mag-lev track surged, hurling shrapnel that bit my shoulder, blood welling. Vines exploded, their sap burning my eyes, a toxic haze clouding the air. Conduits ruptured, showering sparks, bleeding violet ruin as the dark side roared, the dead's judgment on the living. The shapeshifters swarmed, their forms melting from stalls and shadows, their warp blades shredding cortosis, their intentions missing in the Force. I deflected a crackling field, my saber a blur, the Force guiding each strike. The marketplace was damnation's anthem, blood pooling, limbs littering the ground, and the ghosts wailed, their dark side hunger feasting on our struggle. For a breath, I met Ahsoka's gaze, sweat streaking her brow, her mouth set in a hard line. "We stay together or we die here," she said, low but unyielding. Galen bared his teeth. "No one's dying but them." The marketplace festered, its cortosis stalls sagging under rust and decay, vines slithering through cracked frames like whispers of a dead empire. The air hung heavy with fungal rot and scorched metal, a stale breath that clung to my robes. A Rakata warlord's specter flickered, its hollow eyes urging carnage, and the ground quaked, an obelisk's pulse searing a stall into splinters. A shadow melted from a stall, its blade shimmering with alien power, slashing for Ahsoka's throat. My violet saber burned, a defiant scream, but the marketplace was a crucible, and blood would be its currency. Dozens swarmed, their liquid-metal armor rippling with every shift in form, too swift for my senses to grasp. Ahsoka's white sabers spun, parrying a blade, its glow resisting her plasma, sparking as she struck again, her Jar'Kai weaving through vines like a dancer's grace. Galen's twin blades flared, lightning searing a foe into a charred husk, but another shadow pierced his side, blood spilling like ink onto cortosis, his snarl a vow of fury and balance. I pushed forward and parried its lashing blade, then caught its wrist with a sudden burst of the Force, freezing the limb mid-swing. I let my saber dip, slicing through its bicep in a swift, precise cut. The shapeshifter staggered, fluid sizzling down its arm, and I finished the motion with a brutal backhand slice across its chest, dropping it before it could recover.
A foe grazed Ahsoka's montral, blood trickling down her lekku, her cry sharp as her barrier wavered. Galen staggered, another blade digging into his wound, his sabers trembling as blood pooled. The Force roared through me, Ashla and Bogan entwined in the balance I wielded unbound. The specter hissed, "Prove your worth." My crimson saber ignited, its snap-hiss a warlord's promise, a whirlwind of wrath and harmony. My blades spun, Force-enhanced, a crimson apocalypse carving through foes, their forms bursting in cauterized flesh and metal. I slammed attackers into stalls, cortosis splintering like faded lies, my Niman ruthless, Darth Revan reborn, if only for a moment, each kill an offering to the ghosts who spectated, a defiance of their judgment. The leader's saber pulsed with a familiar alien hum, clashing with my violet blade, unyielding in her advances. "Your Je'daii bleed easy, Herald, reports promised more strength, disappointing," she hissed, slashing, grazing my torso, blood seeping through. "Your order will bow to the Great Ones." I countered with crimson, sparks flying, my violet saber striking her barrier. The marketplace shook, conduits spitting sparks, vines curling like ash. Ahsoka's Force surged, shielding Galen again as he advanced on our flank, her strikes mirroring my flow, a synchronized harmony. Galen's lightning flared, but the leader slashed for Ahsoka's throat, another foe pinning Galen. The specter demanded blood. My blades became a tempest born of balance, violet and crimson spinning through shrapnel, crafting the Force into a honed weapon, slamming foes into the ground in a linear fashion, mimicking one of Shepard's tricks to flip the balance in my crew's favor. I hurled another scaled foe off Galen, his twin sabers reigniting, blood leaking his side. She lunged for my exposed side, fast, but I was faster. I pivoted, my saber flicking up with clinical precision. The blade met her forearm just above the wrist, severing her hand in a single, decisive cut. Her weapon clattered away, the cauterized stump smoked, but she barely flinched, staying upright, eyes blazing hate. The specter stirred, demanding more. The marketplace quaked, roofs sagging, shrapnel flying, an obelisk's pulse fading. Their leader staggered under exhaustion, saber lost, her slitted eyes burning. "You were never worthy, Herald of ruin, architect of the galaxy's extinction. The Je'daii fell for less before. You're just a shadow in their grave, and when my masters rise, the galaxy will curse you for every life they take." She spat, blood starting to fall from her lips, her venom a poison in my resolve.
The city seemed to pause, an expectant hush before the next storm. My senses tingled with the old, cold dread of judgment, but I stood tall. The Force was a blade and a shield, and right now, I was both. The specter's whisper grew louder: "We demand sacrifice!" I turned to the leader, my gaze a blade of raw intent commanding the Force to clamp her throat, lifting her into the air, her gasps a choking hymn as her form writhed, attempting to kick the empty space. Her eyes widened, defiance fading, and I released her, letting her crumple to her knees, gasping, broken. She looked up, blood a river from her mouth, eyes burning with hate even as the last strength bled out. Her final curse was a hiss through broken teeth: "You're nothing. A mistake in the void." I met her glare, letting the silence thicken, the Force curling cold around my intent. My voice was a verdict, low and absolute: "Let the void judge us both." I stepped in, sabers crossing, a judgment to be rendered in violet and crimson. The snap-hiss sang through the ruin, the hiss of cauterized flesh a resonance for all her malice. Her head parted clean, tumbling across cracked cortosis, painting the stone with a red-blackened arc. Her body folded, a marionette cut loose. The scent of scorched blood lingered, her curse unraveling in the city's breath. Lehon exhaled. My grip did not falter. The specter's laugh faded, its dark side hum an echo. The remaining foes faltered, their power dimming, and fled, melting into vines like shadows fleeing dawn. We stood, blood dripping onto cortosis, stalls crumbling, vines smoldering. Ahsoka's blades dimmed, her harmony a faint pulse, her gaze steady despite the pain. Galen's sabers crackled in his underhand grip, his balance ready for more, his wounds a testament to his resolve. The Rakata ghosts shifted, their hum a shroud, but we stood where this empire died, knowing the dead kept the tally, and this city would never be clean.
Rust wept from shattered durasteel, pooling in murky rivulets as Zha-Korran's drowned tunnels flickered with algae's fevered glow, beckoning the clash below.
The water was a cold grip, chest-high and thick with muck that clung like a bad debt. Cortosis walls loomed, rusted like a gutted frigate, their jagged edges snagging the humid dark. Bioluminescent algae flickered, a fever-dream shimmer that made the tunnel feel like a coffin one size too small. The air stank of rot, ozone, and spent plasma, heavy enough to choke a krogan. Beneath it, a hum pulsed, not mechanical but alive, a migraine that scraped my skull, like Reaper whispers in my dreams. Zha-Korran's underbelly didn't want us here, and it wasn't shy about saying so. "You sure this is the right way?" I called up to Vicrul, my voice bouncing off wet stone. The echo sounded braver than I felt. He didn't answer, just kept moving, shoulders hunched like he was marching through artillery fire. My boots slogged through the murk, N7 armor creaking, the Wraith shotgun clipped to my lower back a familiar anchor. My omni-tool flickered, its orange glow spitting static. Vicrul trudged ahead, his black armored suit clanking, the silver phrik blade of his Vibro-Scythe catching the algae's light, its obsidian-wrapped haft steady. He moved like a predator, eyes scanning shadows, but a restless edge betrayed him, like me chasing my home's stars. Huyang trailed, his photoreceptors glinting, data-slate clutched, muttering about Rakata glyphs. "These structure designs predate the Republic," he said, half to himself, his voice dry.
"Professor, we're a little short on time for a history lesson," I said, glancing back as I swept my omni-tool in a slow arc, scanning for movement. My HUD flickered, hostile signatures popping and vanishing, the city's heartbeat throbbing in my teeth. Vicrul snorted, his helm tilting, a flicker of Wrex's battle-hardened grin in his stance. The tunnel tightened, walls pressing like a vice, water dragging my legs. A tremor shook the cortosis, dust sifting, and I froze, hand on my omni-tool. "Vicrul, report." He paused, eyes scanning. "Nothing yet. But this place remembers its debts." The hum spiked, a needle in my brain, and I pictured Revan up top, sabers blazing, Ahsoka's defiance cutting through. The thought was a splinter: home, the Normandy, a life not buried in this galaxy's wars. The water locked us in this drowned sepulcher, and I focused on getting out. My heart thudded. For a second, I swore I heard Garrus's laugh behind me, gone in an instant. I set my jaw and pushed forward.
A skittering echoed, metal on cortosis, and the algae dimmed. Vicrul's scythe snapped up, his stance low. "Eyes up, we have movement," he said, tone shifting to a combat veteran's intensity. Huyang's photoreceptors narrowed, his frame tensing. "Rakata automatons," he warned. "Their kyber cores are vulnerable, but their cortosis plating resists most attacks." I cut in, unclipping my shotgun, its weight steadying my hands: "Short version, professor." Four spider-like droids scuttled from shadows, kyber-core eyes flickering like dark side embers, their cortosis-plated limbs slashing through water. Plasma bolts seared, one grazing my shield, heat kissing my armor like a Cerberus flamethrower. I dove behind a conduit, shotgun barking, pellets sparking off their plating. Vicrul charged, his scythe's blade swinging, clanging against a droid's claw. "You want a piece, come get it!" he roared. The scythe moved in a blur, carving a crescent of sparks. Huyang grappled one, slamming it against the wall, servos whining, then backed off, data-slate raised. "The core, Shepard! Go for the core!" he called. I lined up my shot, the tunnel lighting up blue as my biotics surged. One droid jerked, spasming as the core exploded. Oil spattered my visor. "One down!" It sparked, collapsing in oil that swirled like blood in the water. Vicrul's Force push pinned another, his scythe carving its core, phrik glinting in the algae light. "Nice work," I barked, watching him drive the blade home. He grunted, half pride, half challenge: "Don't slow down, Spectre. Talk won't get us out of here." A claw raked his arm, blood clouding the murk. I charged, biotic energy surging, smashing a droid into the wall. Huyang pinpointed the last attacker, my shotgun finishing it, oil and sparks painting the water. The tunnel shook, cortosis groaning, a tremor from above. "That's gotta be them up top," I said, voice tight, shoulder aching where debris clipped me. "And it sounds like they've found something big." Vicrul's eyes narrowed, his grip tightening. "Or something found them," he growled, his loyalty to Revan a fire that burned through the gloom. The rumbling suggested a warzone up top, and my gut twisted—Revan, Ahsoka, Galen, bleeding or worse. We had to get topside.
The passage narrowed, water rising, walls close enough to taste their rust. My omni-tool flickered, nothing of use across its screen, the city's hum a blade in my skull. Vicrul froze, scythe raised, eyes distant, like he saw something I couldn't. Then it hit: a roar in my mind, not sound but presence, the same voice that haunted my dreams on the Star of Ashla. The Normandy burns, its hull splitting, Garrus's voice pleading, "Turn back, Shepard, or we're lost." Liara's eyes flicker in the flames, Tali's mask reflecting the blaze. The voice curls, a serpent's promise: "Abandon Revan's vision, his friendship. I'll take you home, to your universe, your stars. We are not a threat, but a mercy." It was real, a telepathic claw digging into my will, tempting me with the Milky Way, my crew, a life not drowning in this galaxy's wars. I staggered, water sloshing, hand gripping a conduit. Vicrul's armored hand clamped my shoulder, voice rough but steady: "Pull it together, Spectre. Zha-Korran will eat the weak." His grip anchored me, the vision fading, but the voice lingered, a splinter I couldn't shake. I saw the same shadow in his eyes, a wound he carried like I carried Earth's fall. "You've seen something too," I said, voice raw. He nodded, helm dipping, a warrior's confession. "It lies. Always does," he muttered, bound by scars. I forced a breath, anchoring myself in the moment. "Earth's gone, Garrus. I'm stuck here." The words felt like a prayer, a lie, or both. But I kept moving, hand steady on my gun.
I fumbled for my comms, omni-tool sputtering. "Revan, you copy?" Static roared, then saber hums, Ahsoka's shout, a guttural roar. The signal cut, but it was enough. They were fighting, bleeding, maybe dying. My jaw clenched, the tunnel's weight pressing harder. Vicrul carved through debris, his relic-hunting instincts sharp. "This way," he said, tracing glyphs. Huyang followed, data-slate humming. "These conduits power something close. A massive energy source," he said, his voice a scholar's calm in the storm. We hit a gate, its cortosis frame etched with Rakata runes, the city's heart pulsing beyond. Vicrul's helm tilted, urgency sharp. "Our exit's through there. The others need us." His loyalty was iron, a warrior's fire. I held up a hand, voice hard: "Slow down. Rushing in gets us killed before we can help them." His eyes flashed, but he nodded, respect cutting the tension. My omni-tool flared, Revan's signal spiking—they were above. Vicrul pointed to a side passage, glyphs glowing. "Hovertrain terminal," he growled. We slogged forward, water receding, the tunnel yawning into a cavernous chamber.
The metro station sprawled, a rotting cathedral of decayed cortosis platforms, mag-lev tracks sparking like a warlord's sneer, their hum a heartbeat ready to break. A Veiled Covenant camp festered ahead, amplifiers pulsing blue like Cerberus shields, holo-terminals flickering with alien glyphs. The tech was too familiar, a ghost of my universe stitched into this ruin, tied to the same invading force I ran into on Nar Shaddaa months ago. A shadow stirred, shifting, their slitted eyes glinting like oil in torchlight, biotic barriers flaring blue arcs. From their wrists, orange light flared, omni-blade edges pulsing with biotic warp fields, a twisted mirror of my own tech. They'd seen us, their presence a spark in the gloom. I unclipped my Wraith shotgun, its promise always consistent. A smirk tugged my lip, the kind before a fight you might not walk away from. Vicrul twirled his scythe, silver phrik blade catching algae's glow. "Finally, real opposition," he muttered, a predatory grin flickering. Huyang retreated, data-slate clutched, fading into the tunnel's mouth, a philosopher shunning bloodshed. The city tensed, as if ghosts of lost wars leaned in. Zha-Korran's hum was a drumbeat of doom, and we were three names waiting to join the ruin.
Vine-choked durasteel sagged under Lehon's storm-charged sky, mag-lev tracks sparking violet as Zha-Korran's slaughter pit stirred, summoning blades and blood.
The marketplace was a cortosis graveyard, its stalls splintered into jagged relics of a dead empire, vines smoldering like pyres of broken oaths. Blood pooled on cracked stone, black as spilled ink, the cauterized flesh of shapeshifting warriors stinking of charred ruin. Kyber obelisks flickered, their dark side pulse a low hum of damnation, and the air clung heavy with fungal rot, ozone, and scorched metal. Zha-Korran's breath was a crypt's perfume. I stood in its heart, boots grinding rust, my side wound throbbing like a drumbeat of war. Revan's violet and crimson sabers snapped off, the hiss of their silence louder than the fight's end. The enemy leader's head lay at his feet, her slitted eyes frozen in hate, her severed neck a blackened arc across cortosis. Her curse, "You're nothing," hung in the decay, but Revan's strike was justice, swift and balanced, the Je'daii way. As Sentinel of Shadows, I saw my own blade in his, a gray vow carved in blood and fire. Pride swelled, sharp as my twin sabers' crackling hum, my loyalty to the Herald ironclad, a brother-in-arms who led where I followed by choice.
The Rakata specters faded, their whispers dissolving as silence fell. Zha-Korran exhaled, its dark side hum scraping my bones, but the marketplace was ours, claimed by Je'daii and Jedi. The silence after slaughter was always the loudest. For a breath, the world paused, only my own pulse and the rasp of battered lungs filled the air. Ahsoka's white sabers dimmed, her montrals rigid, a thin burn seeping ash down her lekku. Revan adjusted his rune-etched robed armor, mask unreadable, his silence a soldier's focus, a commander weighing the cost of victory. We were battered, bloodied, but unbroken, the Force binding us like stained cortosis beneath our feet, a vow against the ruin. I kicked aside debris, clipping my sabers, and pressed a hand to my side. The wound stung, blood clotting under my coat. I pulled some medi-gel from my gear, squeezing it onto the gash, the gel hissing, cool and sharp, a marvel that outpaced bacta. Shepard's tech was alien, like the attackers' blades, and I wondered what price his universe paid for such power, a question that gnawed at what-ifs of having something like this in Juno's final moments. Ahsoka's voice broke the thought: "What is that stuff?" Her eyes narrowed at the gel's glow, curiosity cutting through her pain.
"Shepard's magic tech," I said, dry, a flash of humor to cut the ruin's weight. "Fixes you faster than bacta, hits sharper than a stim." Revan snorted, his voice a rasp: "Effective. Messy." He pulled a vial from his robes, smearing medi-gel on a graze across his torso, movements precise, ritualistic, despite the mask's shadow. He tossed another vial to Ahsoka, who caught it, dabbing the burn on her montral, her lekku twitching as the gel worked, her gaze flickering with questions about this alien craft. "Messy's better than bleeding out, I guess," Ahsoka said, a spark of camaraderie in her gaze, sealing the vial. We stood, three veterans in a crypt, our unity a vow against decay. Ahsoka knelt by a fallen foe, tracing the hilt of its weapon, its liquid-metal armor a sheen dull in death. "Veiled Covenant," she said, voice sharp with certainty. "These are Zel'thar, their elite shapeshifters the computer spoke of. I fought Varnis, one of them, who shifted from human to something like this at Echo Prime. They're not just warriors, they're a warning of something greater, Revan." Her words cut the silence, a warrior's clarity forged in old battles, her memory of rebellion stirring, her eyes narrowing with recognition and unease. Revan's mask tilted, absorbing her words, his silence a Herald's weight. "The Thalassian vassals," he murmured, voice low, piecing together the leader's taunts about the Great Ones. "She spoke of their rise being on the horizon. We need to know more." His tone was strategic, a commander reassessing the battlefield, doubt flickering beneath his resolve.
A thermal detonator's roar shattered the silence, followed by blaster fire from the marketplace hovertrain terminal's entrance. The ground trembled, cortosis dust sifting, the blast cutting our victory's afterglow. My twin sabers roared to life, white-blue glow carving gloom. Ahsoka's montrals twitched, her white blades flaring. Revan gripped his violet saber as it sprung to life, stance alert. "Someone's throwing a party," I said, humor masking the tension. The terminal's arch glowed, rusted cortosis framing a call to war. "We move. Now," Revan said, his voice a Herald's command, boots grinding rust, the Je'daii Code in every stride. Ahsoka added, her voice iron, forged in the fight's fire: "Agreed. Let's finish what they started." I followed, sabers humming, Sentinel's pride burning brighter than the obelisks' dying light. The causeway stretched, cracked and swaying, the terminal's glow pulsing like a heartbeat. Explosions echoed, blaster fire a staccato hymn, Zha-Korran's ruin watching as we descended. The Je'daii endured, gray and unbound, and whatever waited below would learn our name.
The causeway's rust flaked under our boots, a cortosis skeleton groaning as we descended into Zha-Korran's subterrain. Screeches echoed, sharp as shattered durasteel, mingled with the thunder of Shepard's shotgun. The air thickened with scorched metal, ozone, and the sour reek of blood, a slaughter pit's call pulling us deeper. My twin sabers hummed, their glow pulsing with hunger, my blood roaring with Je'daii pride. Revan led, his violet blade a Herald's vow, his rune-etched robed armor catching flickers of dying light. Ahsoka's white sabers flared, her Jar'Kai stance a coiled promise of ruin, her rebellion a spark in the Force. The terminal's chaos was a war drum, and we were its pulse. We wove through upper causeways, boots echoing, drawn by screeches and flickering blue light below. A jagged platform loomed, overlooking a makeshift Covenant outpost, machines pulsing like a dark heart, holo-screens flickering with alien runes, crates strewn like a scavenger's hoard. Two shapeshifters lunged from the shadows, their slitted eyes gleaming, scaled limbs rippling under liquid-metal armor. One blurred, evading my Force sense, but I feinted, lunging. My blades pierced its chest, seared smoke sizzling, blood sour in my throat. Ahsoka's Jar'Kai deflected an enemy's blade, her sabers weaving through vines like a raptor's talons. She slid under its guard, trapping its wrist between her twin blades. With a precise, circular cut, she disarmed the foe, then spun and swept one blade behind its knees, toppling it. As it fell, her opposite saber struck home at the base of its neck, ending the fight with practiced finality. Revan shifted his weight, using the opponent's momentum against it. His saber flickered up, raking across the throat in a shallow crescent. As the enemy recoiled, clutching at the seared wound, he pressed a palm to its chest and sent it flying with a Force push, hurling it into the path of an incoming attacker.
The others battled in the central pit, a sunken arena ringed by causeways. Shepard's gun roared, shredding scaled armor like flimsi, each blast a thunderclap echoing off the terminal's rusted arches. Vicrul's vibro-scythe carved a fiery path across a lower causeway, his Force aura flaring like a pyre, scales charring under his strikes. Huyang grappled foes in the pit's heart, his durasteel frame shielding allies with a calm born of centuries. Several elites in their liquid-metal armor swarmed, their blades glowing blue and twisting like living things. Revan's mask tilted, his voice a low command, sharp as cortosis: "Galen, Ahsoka, sweep their left flank, cut them off! Keep Shepard and Vicrul on the right. I'll carve through the center!" His saber flared as he readied for the clash, rallying us to flank and shatter the enemy's heart, a commander's will binding us to join the fight. We leaped with grace, the Force a gray tide lifting us over the platform's edge. I landed in a crouch on a lower causeway, sabers blazing, their heat warming my knuckles, their crackle a defiant roar. Ahsoka touched down beside me, balanced on a rusted strut, Jar'Kai poised like a predator's claws. Revan landed ahead, violet saber at the ready, a mythic shadow against the blue glow of the outpost's machines. The shapeshifters spun, their scaled limbs shimmering, but Shepard, fighting on a right-side platform, caught my eye, his voice slicing through the carnage with a playful grim edge: "Way to be the one that's late this time, Marek!"
"Told you I'd end up cleaning up after you, Shepard!" I shot back, a ghost of Juno's grin flickering in my chest. Shepard's nod from the right platform, weary but resolute, grounded me like a brother-in-arms. The terminal sprawled, a durasteel slaughter pit where scaled armor glinted under blue glow, their forms shifting like quicksilver. My twin sabers burned white-blue, humming with Je'daii purpose, the Sentinel's pride steady as cortosis, a vow to honor Juno's memory with every strike. A foe lunged, its blade glowing, pulsing with a field that's grown all too familiar, slashing my arm. Blood welled briefly, pain spiking like a reminder of my failures. I vaulted past the creature's wild swing, boots skidding over fractured stone. It lashed out, but I hooked my left saber behind its knee and wrenched, sending it crashing down. Before it could recover, I brought my right blade in horizontally beneath its chin, feeling the resistance as plasma burned through bone and brain. Its shriek cut off in a burst of sparks, and I yanked my saber free, letting the corpse collapse at my feet. Ichor hissed, pooling like a dark sacrament, its stench sour. One down, but the Rakata specters watched in the shadows still, blood for the worthy. Ahsoka flipped onto the higher platform, spinning as she landed. She parried a blow with one saber, then hooked her offhand blade under the attacker's chin, lifting its head just enough for a precise upward thrust that speared through the bottom of the jaw, pinning the shapeshifter in place. With a swift twist, she yanked the blade free, leaving the body to topple, smoke curling from the wound. She landed beside me, montrals quivering. Her Jedi-honed resolve steadied my paranoia, a beacon in the chaos.
Revan stormed the ramp, Niman precise, his violet saber piercing a shapeshifter's torso. A faint blood mist sprayed, sealed by plasma, cauterized ruin smoking as it fell. "We end this now!" he roared, deflecting a blade's shifting arc, sparks raining. A foe slashed his leg, cauterized, smoking, but he countered, thrusting through its chest, scales charring. The terminal rumbled, mag-lev tracks groaning, sparks flaring near the pit. On the right platform, Shepard's kinetic charge crushed a shapeshifter into a crate, cortosis splintering, his Wraith blasting its head into pulped ruin, his eyes weary but defiant. Vicrul's vibro-scythe swept up in a brutal arc, the phrik blade splitting a Zel'thar trooper from groin to shoulder. Blood sprayed across his armor, his face impassive beneath the helm. He didn't break stride, using the dying enemy's corpse as a shield against a hail of blaster bolts before casting it aside, pressing on into the slaughter. "They'll burn in the name of the Je'daii!" he bellowed, his fiery aura scorching scales to ash. Huyang emerged to grapple in the center, crushing a skull, arm sparking from a blade's cut. "That one's form lacked precision," he quipped, unyielding despite the damage done to his arm. A thunderous shockwave staggered Ahsoka mid-strike, pinning her against a railing. She rolled, dodging a blade's whip-like arc, sparks flying. "Move, Marek!" she yelled. I vaulted over debris, sabers deflecting a shapeshifter's blade, its barrier field buzzing. The Force faltered, their intent clouding my senses, but I shoved it into a Rakata amplifier with a Force push. Ichor vaporized in a blue-white flare, scales cracking like shattered promises. Ahsoka shouted: "Finish it!" She moved in a blur, sidestepping as her foe's blade hissed past her montrals. She dipped low, her right saber cutting across the back of its knee and dropping it to the ground. Before it could even scream, her left saber hooked behind its neck and dragged forward, severing its head in a smooth, merciful stroke. The body collapsed, silent but for the sizzle of flesh on stone. She was stronger than the Jedi ever knew.
Shepard kicked a shapeshifter into a mag-lev track, a shimmering force shredding its torso. "Keep 'em boxed in, Marek, don't give 'em room to breathe!" he growled, his armor scored, fatigue etching his face like a map of battles lost and won. Vicrul's vibro-scythe carved a foe's chest, scales charring, fluid hissing like a pyre's death rattle. Huyang snapped a neck, his sparking arm steady, durasteel calm in the slaughter's storm. My Shades hold, I thought, sabers humming, white-blue glow a defiant scream in the terminal's rotting gloom, but blood's the toll. A holo-terminal flared, glyphs pulsing like dying embers in a grave. A scaled humanoid, slitted eyes glinting like wet obsidian, slammed a clawed hand on the controls, and the air shuddered, a mechanical pulse sinking into my bones. Mag-lev tracks sparked violet, three hovertrains roaring awake, cortosis hulls gleaming black, angular and scratched with Rakata runes bleeding dark side malice. Kyber cores throbbed, Lehon's ancient craft a warlord's dirge, their hum a blade in my marrow. The shapeshifters broke rank, some sprinting, others morphing, liquid-metal armor rippling into crates, trooper forms, quicksilver cloaking scaled limbs. They vaulted into cargo bays, slashing with glowing blades, hurling force-like pulses akin to Shepard's strange craft, a power alien to the Force, their intent a void in my dulled senses.
"They flee! Push forward, do not let them vanish into the shadows!" Revan's voice rang out, commanding yet warm, his rune-etched robed armor catching the rune-light, violet saber a beacon as he surged, a mythic shadow guiding us to Zha-Korran's portals. Ahsoka's white blades wove through strangling vines, their sap caustic, Jar'Kai fluid despite the burn on her montral, ash trailing her lekku. "Left side! Don't give them an opening, cut them off!" she called, her voice defiant, eyes tracking foes with the sharpness of hard-earned caution. Shepard's wrist glowed, a blade of light slashing, a strange shield stopping a blast, his craft mirroring the enemy's. "Move it! Let's not let the bastards regroup!" he barked, his tone dry, urgent, a soldier's grit cutting through the chaos. Vicrul's scythe arced, fiery aura scorching a trooper-form foe, fluid steaming, scales blackening like charred oaths. "No mercy. They will fall to us or bow in obedience!" he growled, his voice controlled but laced with vengeance. Huyang grappled a straggler, data-slate humming, photoreceptors cutting the gloom. "The amplifiers control the tracks, disable them now!" he said, his tone analytical. I charged, sabers spinning, Juyo a tempest of wrath honed by purpose, Juno's WESTAR-34 at my back ready. I cleaved a crate-form foe, armor rippling to scales, fluid charring, stench sharp as a battlefield's dregs. The terminal was Lehon's crypt, cortosis walls weeping rust like old blood, vines choking air with fungal rot, sap burning my skin. Mag-lev tracks sparked, a warlord's sneer, Rakata traps flaring, dark side arcs searing vines, conduits collapsing in violet sparks, the planet's breath a grave's perfume urging slaughter.
The first train screeched, its last train car swallowing shapeshifters, armor shifting back to trooper forms. Revan leaped, Niman carving a straggler's arm, scales smoking in rune-light, his leadership a beacon. Ahsoka followed, Jar'Kai parrying a glowing blade, boots denting cortosis, sap hissing on her blades. They held the first train, a spearhead against the Covenant's veil. The second train hummed, kyber core a dark heart, and Shepard surged, kinetic push blasting a foe, wrist-blade carving blood-soaked scales, his defiance a soldier's answer to the Rakata's scorn. Vicrul vaulted after, scythe splitting a trooper-form foe, aura a pyre, eyes scanning ahead. Huyang advanced to jump aboard, grappling another straggler, data-slate pinpointing controls for the train's navigation. Revan and Ahsoka secured the first train, but the second roared, another cargo car at its end. Shepard, Vicrul, and Huyang sprinted across the buckling platform, eyes locked on the second train's cargo car, where the Covenant's lieutenant who must have signaled the retreat fled. Zel'thar stragglers swarmed, force-like pulses staggering them, liquid-metal armor morphing into surroundings mid-stride, a desperate bid to block our path. I roared, sabers severing a trooper-form foe's leg, scales smoking, the foe crumpling lifeless, stench sour as Lehon's rot. "Go! I've got you covered!" My sabers blazed with every stroke, white-blue arcs slicing through scales and armor. Each foe fell with a snarl, plasma charring flesh, each kill a vow for my Shades. Shepard's strange barrier shimmered, deflecting a pulse, but rusted cortosis splintered beneath him, shards biting his boots. Vicrul's scythe slashed at an enemy, a glowing blade grazing his arm, blood seeping through armor's seams, his aura a controlled blaze through the pain. Huyang's sparking arm strained, data-slate teetering as a pulse blasted him back, durasteel skidding. The train's kyber hum surged, tracks screaming to life as it started to depart, and my heart pounded. We're not going to make it on, not without a miracle.
I thumbed off my sabers, white-blue plasma fading with a snap-hiss as I clipped them to my belt, and extended both hands, the Force roaring, Ashla and Bogan entwined in the storm I'd forged from ruin. I gripped the second train's cargo car with the Force, clawing a leviathan of cortosis and kyber, its mag-lev surge a comet's rush, the hull's groan a beast's death knell. Mag-lev tracks buckled, violet sparks showering, kyber core flaring like a dying star, its dark side pulse lashing my will. My limbs trembled, blood flecked my lips, vision blurring, bruises searing beneath medi-gel's seal. A Rakata ghost taunted: "Show your strength." Its echo swallowed by Lehon's gloom, shadows coiling like a noose. Juno, my Shades, failure's not an option, I thought, redemption my inferno, Zha-Korran's portals our crucible. The train shuddered, rune-light jagged across rune-scratched crates, amplifiers, relics, my Force grip a ripple felling Zel'thar attempts at escape. Shepard leaped, kinetic surge carrying him aboard, wrist-blade slashing a straggler's throat, crimson spraying across the train's hull, scales blackening from the heat, his grit a soldier's defiance. Vicrul vaulted, scythe arcing, boots denting cortosis, aura scorching air, Revan's iron hand unyielding. Huyang grappled on, data-slate clutched, durasteel frame steady, wisdom anchoring chaos. Everyone's aboard, I thought, Force a tide in my veins. I coiled it, a pulse surging, and released, flinging myself forward from the platform, a slingshot through chaos. I thumbed my sabers mid-air, white-blue sabers igniting with a crackling snap-hiss, unstable plasma flaring like my past, shroud billowing, Juno's WESTAR-34 steady as a blade's oath at my back.
I landed hard, cortosis denting, the cargo car's hold sprawling, rune-etched crates looming, amplifiers dim, relic shards glinting, shadows coiling like a trap, runes pulsing a portal's veiled threat. The train plunged into a tunnel, Lehon's rot receding, its hum a fading dirge. "This train is their grave. May Bogan's Justice be done." The runes flickered, a cipher of ancient intent, Archeon's shadow lurking in the unknown, the cargo car's darkness poised for the fight to come.
Rust flaked from the shuddering train's rune-etched hull, plunging through Lehon's blackened spires as kyber veins pulsed, drawing the chase to Zha-Korran's heart.
The hovertrain tore from the tunnel, Lehon's desolation sprawling beyond the viewport, black spires piercing a storm-charged sky like shattered blades. Inside the rear car, cortosis walls shuddered, their rune-etched surfaces slick with rust, vines clawing through cracked seams, sap hissing on the floor. The mag-lev tracks hummed beneath, a violet spark of Rakata malice, the train's kyber core pulsing like a wound in the Force. My montrals twitched, the Force ran uneasy through the rails, as if the city's bones themselves wanted to derail us. I gripped my sabers tighter, their purified kyber silent but ready. I stood on the rear car's end, boots braced on dented cortosis, the wind tearing at my lekku. Revan stood across the car, violet saber unlit from his leap aboard, his rune-etched robes dark against the flickering glyphs, mask a red and silver-gray enigma etched with Mandalorian runes. His presence was a tide, commanding yet edged with a pompousness that continued to prickle my caution. I respected his leadership, but his Je'daii mantle felt too grand, a myth he leaned into too easily. Still, a crack of understanding stirred: he saw the Force's balance, as I did in my exile.
"Tano," he said, voice a low rasp, heavy with parable, "do the warlords of this ruin speak to your Jedi soul, or do they challenge it?" I watched his masked nod, always a gesture of the legend, rarely just the man beneath. For all his insight, he never quite shed the showman. I tilted my head, voice gentle but firm, a storyteller's calm: "They speak of cycles, Revan. Empires rising, falling, and leaving nothing but scars on the galaxy. My soul's not Jedi alone, but it listens to peace." My words carried caution, respecting his insight yet wary of his grandeur. His masked nod held a flicker of warmth, a commander acknowledging a peer, and I felt that crack widen, his balance a quiet echo of my own. The car lurched, shadows rippling. More Zel'thar shapeshifters, liquid-metal armor glinting like spilled oil, scales shimmering beneath. Their slitted eyes burned, blades flaring with alien blue energy. I ignited my sabers, Jar'Kai blades spinning, Ataru's grace meeting their fluid strikes. A shimmering edge clashed with my white plasma, sparks showering, its strange energy resisting, a cold snag in my senses. I pivoted, Niman's flow carving an arm. Charred, it smoked, lymph pooling, sour as Lehon's decay, vine-sap burning my nostrils. Revan's violet saber roared, Niman weaving saber and the Force, slamming a trooper-form foe into a wall, scales crunching, fluid steaming like a pyre's dregs.
We fought forward, car to car, boots scuffing cortosis, vines coiling like nooses, their sap searing my skin, a bitter sting I ignored. A Zel'thar morphed from a conduit, its blade slashing my shoulder. Pain flared, blood welling. I rolled, sabers cleaving its chest, scales charring, stench sharp. I smeared the medi-gel from my belt onto the wound; its cooling seal knit flesh, pain fading to keep me fighting. Revan's Force push cleared a path, his strikes ritualistic, though his pompous aura grated, a leader too certain of his own legend. A platform car yawned to the chasm, Lehon's spires like broken fangs below, the second train roaring on a parallel track, its path arcing toward ours. Flashes lit its cars while blasts thundered, lightning seared, a fiery arc carved the gloom, silhouettes battling in a storm of ruin. The other's fight was our mirror, a vow against the Covenant's veil, my heart steady at their defiance. My montrals caught the chaos, the Zel'thar's alien force clouding my Force sense, a haze like Echo Prime's ambush, sap and rust thick in my throat.
Revan's voice cut through, grave, commanding: "Tano, the tracks converge, the trains will collide if we don't do something." His foresight, forged in wars, chilled me. I scanned ahead, spotting a mag-lev switch, its cortosis frame pulsing with Rakata runes, rigged to merge our path with the second train's, a collision to bury us in Zha-Korran's crypt. The second train barreled down; if we failed, this fight would end in fire and ruin. I couldn't let it. A shadow darted forward out of our reach, a Zel'thar elite, slitted eyes glinting, alien blade trailing blue energy, its hum a grating echo of Echo Prime's ambush. Pursuit was our blade. I Force-leaped to a tanker car, boots skidding on slick cortosis, vines lashing like whips, sap searing my arms, a bitter sting. Revan landed beside me, violet saber felling a straggler who was following us, his voice iron: "To the engine, Tano, now!" His command held a fatherly trust that steadied me, despite his pompous self.
We raced forward, leaping cars, my Jar'Kai parrying alien blades, their strange energy snagging my senses. The mag-lev switch neared, tracks screaming, the second train's roar closing, cortosis dust choking the air, Lehon's spires looming below like graves. The engine car's hatch loomed, cortosis etched with sparking kyber conduits, their pulse a dark side scream. A Zel'thar conductor, shapeshifted as a Rakata automaton, lunged at us, its blade humming. My sabers spun, parrying, Revan's thrust piercing its chest, scales charring, fluid hissing, stench sour as a battlefield's dregs. It collapsed lifeless, but the controls it had operated resisted, kyber glyphs flaring, Rakata tech alive with spite. I slammed the console, switches sparking, but the train surged, unyielding. Revan's mask tilted, voice steady: "Here, the emergency stop." He pointed to a cortosis lever, runes pulsing, high on the console. "We leap to the second train, Tano. Timing will be everything." His tone, warm yet commanding, anchored me in a way I didn't expect. We climbed to the engine's prow, wind tearing, tracks converging, the second train's cars glinting across the chasm, sap and rust thick in my lungs. The switch loomed, cortosis blazing, collision seconds away, the kyber core's pulse a roar in my bones.
"Now!" Revan bellowed. We leaped, no time for doubts. The Force caught us both, but so did the thread of trust I'd found for Revan in the storm. Mid-air, I reached with intent, entwining with Revan's, wrenching the lever. The train shuddered, kyber conduits bursting in violet arcs, cortosis cars twisting, mag-lev tracks buckling, a cataclysm of Rakata tech's volatile heart. The hovertrain's derailment roared, cars skidded, kyber cores flaring like dying stars, debris grazing the second train's track, raining onto Lehon's spires and the city below, a ruin carved in rust and malice. We landed roughly onto the second train's mid-car, my boots skidding, Revan's mask glinting as he steadied me, cortosis dust swirling. For a split second, the war felt winnable again. Lightning flashed ahead, blasts thundered, a fiery arc blazed, durasteel grappled foes, their silhouettes etched in ruin. Relief surged: they fought, lived, endured. The train plunged into a tunnel, Lehon's heart swallowing us, air thick with rot, ozone, and sparking tracks, action's pulse unrelenting, vine-sap's sting lingering as the blackness swallowed us. The Covenant's leader trail burned toward the engine car, their last stand. My sabers flared, Jar'Kai poised, Revan's violet blade igniting beside me, our unity a vow against the dark. We advanced, boots grinding cortosis, the fight's rhythm our anthem.
The hovertrain screamed out of the tunnel, its cortosis hull a blackened beast lurching into the heart of Zha-Korran's portal network station, a monument to the Rakata's lost dominion. My montrals quivered, catching the kyber conduits' pulse, a dark side hum that clawed my bones, woven into the station's cortosis veins, my boots braced on dented cortosis. Shadows stirred beyond the viewports, the Veiled Covenant's fortified base, a sprawl of holo-barricades flickering blue, automated turrets whirring, and cultists clutching weapons. Humans, Twi'leks, Rodians, stood as a chaotic mix: civilian zealots in tattered robes, military-trained fanatics in scavenged armor, blasters and vibroblades gleaming. Zel'thar elites, scales glinting, moved among them, their alien blades humming with blue energy. The train's brakes screeched, but the Covenant lieutenant leaped from the lead car, his blade trailing that strange energy. Elite guards followed, their scales shimmering, vanishing into the hub's corridors toward the teleporter lobby, their retreat a cowardice action.
Vicrul didn't hesitate. He vaulted from the moving train, vibro-scythe a fiery arc, phrik blade cleaving a fleeing human cultist, claiming first blood. His obsidian-rune armor glinted, a warlord's wrath unleashed, slaughtering all in his gaze, no quarter given in his reaper's dance. Shepard leaped beside him, his energy blade shredding a Twi'lek sniper's holo-barricade, his N7 armor scored, eyes weary yet unyielding. The train lurched to a stop, and I sprang through the hatch, boots slamming cortosis, Revan at my side, his violet saber humming with resolve. Galen and Huyang followed, Galen's twin sabers crackling white-blue, Huyang's durasteel frame steady for the fight. The depot was cortosis platforms pitted with rust, vines coiling like nooses, sap burning the air. Blaster bolts seared, turrets spat plasma, and Zel'thar elites morphed from shadows, their blades humming, energy snagging my senses. I spun, Jar'Kai blades a whirlwind, Ataru's grace parrying a shimmering strike, sparks showering, vine-sap stinging my arms. I let the rhythm take over: Ataru, Jar'Kai, every lesson paid for in exile and war. The white sabers moved as one, clearing a path that was equal parts memory and will. Revan's Niman wove beside me, violet saber cleaving a Rodian's chest, his Force-push hurling a barricade, his pomp grating but his precision undeniable.
We pushed through the corridors, a tide of the Force's balance against the Covenant's veil. Vicrul bulldozed ahead, scythe arcing, a Twi'lek's scream cut short, his wrath a pyre without mercy. Shepard caught a Zel'thar as it lunged, its blade missing his ribs by a hair. He stepped in, orange blade flaring a blue aurora as he slashed hard across the creature's neck. Blood fountained over his N7 plates, quick and hot. "Keep moving, don't let them shift forms to regroup!" he barked, adrenaline propelling him through the melee. Galen's Juyo carved a path, lightning frying a turret, his snarl a vow against despair, while Huyang grappled a cultist in both hands, the servos in his arms whining as he lifted the foe overhead. With methodical precision, he slammed the cultist down, cracking the cortosis floor. He calmly released the limp body, adjusting his grip on his data-slate as if making a classroom note. A human fanatic lunged, vibroblade slashing, my sabers severing his head in a blur, cauterized, smoking as his body fell. Revan's Force push cleared a wave, his voice Socratic yet commanding: "Tano, their line falters, we hit with everything, now!" His trust steadied me, our blades a synchronized hymn.
The corridor tightened, cortosis walls weeping rust, kyber conduits sparking, their pulse a dark side roar. A Zel'thar elite morphed from a pillar, its blade grazing Revan's shoulder, scales glinting. I parried, sabers spinning, severing its leg, the leftover glow of flesh burning out like a dying star as Revan pierced its chest. Galen's lightning flared, frying a sniper, while Huyang's data-slate pinpointed another turret, my Force push crushing it. Vicrul's scythe split a fleeing Rodian, red liquid misting across the floor, his roar a warlord's oath. Shepard's blue energy formed a barricade against the unyielding assault, cortosis splintering under its weight. The portal hub's lobby opened, a grand monument of Rakata might, its dome soaring, towering pillars etched with violet runes, kyber conduits glowing like veins, vines strangling stone, sap searing my skin. Teleporters glowed at the far end, their hum a dark side scream to the unknown. The Covenant's remnants rallied: Zel'thar elites and cultists, disorganized, their zeal fraying. Vicrul charged, scythe a fiery reaper, cleaving another cultist, no pause for surrender. Shepard's blue energy imploded a Rodian's chest, his advance relentless. Galen's sabers spun, lightning searing a Zel'thar into a charred husk.
I surged forward, Revan at my side, Jar'Kai parrying a Zel'thar blade, its alien energy a cold snag, sparks blinding. Revan's violet saber dug into a cultist's heart, blood mist sealed by plasma. A turret's plasma grazed my lekku, heat kissing my scar, but I rolled in time, sabers severing its base, sparks showering. The Covenant's line broke, cultists fleeing, Zel'thar morphing back into shadows, their retreat a desperate tide, the disorganized mob's zeal shattered. The lieutenant we chased stood at the central teleporter, elite guards vanishing through the violet horizon, scales glinting. He turned, slitted eyes locking with mine, his salamander-slick form rippling. My breath caught, montrals rigid, as he shapeshifted, scales melting into human flesh: Varnis, angular jaw, sharp glowing eye. The memory struck like a bolt—Tayra in chains, Korrin trapped in carbonite, his sneer as I was bound, the haze of his alien tech clouding my senses to avoid his trap. My sabers trembled, resolve hardening, a Jedi's clarity forged in my trials. His grin widened, a silent taunt, menace in every movement as he stepped backward, the teleporter's violet horizon swallowing him, snapping shut with a kyber crack, the hum fading to silence. The lobby quaked, cortosis dust sifting, vines hissing, Zha-Korran's warlord's judgment lingering. That grin, before, on Echo Prime, when everything went to hell. Rage spiked, but training held during our last encounter. This time, there'd be no chains, no mercy.