Juvl – Syn System [Transmission Incoming…]
The blue flickering projection of Empress Rayne shimmered in the dim briefing chamber aboard the ISN Gremlin, the Star Destroyer looming toward the jungle-covered world of Juvl.
Her golden eyes blazed through the static, cold and commanding.
“Quaestor Siphaar. You are to bring the pirate leaders back alive. They’ll serve as an example when they stand trial before the Empire. But their crew, their guards, their wretched enablers - show them no mercy. Let Juvl remember what treason costs. Codename Black Pearl”
The transmission ended with a sharp crackle of static.
Standing beneath the projector, Hugo Siphaar, a towering Besalisk clad in pristine white Imperial uniform, silently turned the projector off. The room was filled with officers, agents, and loyalists of Acclivis Draco.
He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.
“Orbital insertion begins in ten minutes,” Hugo grunted, his thick arms folded behind his back. “Primary objective: extraction of Valsi Vale and his inner circle. Secondary: neutralize all others. Shuttles will descend under sensor jamming. Cloak and strike.”
A silent nod to a tech officer. The room’s lights dimmed, revealing a holographic map of the pirate compound - warehouses scattered through the dense jungle, with makeshift landing pads carved from the undergrowth.
“Three squads will land outside the northern tree line. Fireteams proceed to breach points Alpha, Beta, and Gamma. Support comes down in the second wave once we confirm suppression.”
He cracked two sets of knuckles in sequence. “Do not underestimate them. These are pirates with credits to burn. Expect turrets, mines, and desperation.”
Beyond the command deck’s viewports, Juvl’s green horizon yawned wide, flashes of stormlight flickering across the sky. The ISN Gremlin burst from hyperspace above the atmosphere, engines humming as hangar bay lights flicked green. Rows of sleek, armored shuttles powered up, their lights blinking to life as boarding teams prepped to descend into chaos.
Surface, Pirate Warehouse
Rain streaked down the cracked durasteel of the pirate compound’s roof, turning the red jungle soil into slop. Inside the warehouse, mockery and cruelty reigned.
Labourers, stripped and masked, moved in exhausted silence. Around them, pirates barked orders and laughed - a Trandoshan slammed the butt of his rifle into a hostage’s back, drawing more laughter from his grimy comrades.
One of the workers shuffled by, pushing a repulsor trolley stacked with supply crates. A nameless Quarren, skin slick and dulled by the muggy air, paused to exchange a casual high five with a nearby guard. The pirate didn’t think twice.
The Quarren turned a corner, wheeling the crates into a supply alcove. He knelt beside a rusted terminal, seemingly to scan his cargo.
But instead, he slid open a hidden panel beneath the console and typed a brief sequence on the exposed keys. A soft green light blinked twice. Then once.
“Confirmed. I’ve infiltrated the inner compound. Slave routes mapped. Hostages located. Awaiting signal.”
His voice was distorted, flattened by a voice scrambler.
Then his features shimmered, the mask of a nameless worker flickering with faint blue static. Beneath it, Qor’s angular face emerged - his tendrils curled close, expression unreadable.
His blue eyes narrowed toward the warehouse corridor, where the pirates laughed louder now, unaware that judgment had arrived with the storm.
Vincent sneered beneath his helmet, completely unseen by the guards thanks to the optical camouflage provided by his armor. He had infiltrated the building easily; slipping into the building as shift rotation occurred; taking advantage of the open door while cloaked to the point of near invisibility.
Once inside, he had made his way to one of several predefined target areas. Here, the guards sat watch of the slaves forced into making batches of Daytripper. Stripped completely of their dignity… and the majority of their clothing, they focused hard on weighing and mixing ingredients. Vincent could sense their fear, their desperation. If their shift ended, and they hadn’t made the expected amount of product, there would be repercussions, and their bruises and scars showed proof of that.
They were thirsty. Vincent could tell that much. Within his mind he was transported back to his childhood. Back to Tatooine. The colosseum. He stood, shackled at the ankles and the wrists, in a line with other “fighters”. Today, half of them would go “home”. Maybe they’d be rewarded with something to drink. He was thirsty. Gods, was he thirsty.
A beep in his ear brought Vincent back to reality. Across his visor read the words: “Awaiting signal.”
The Sith stared at the three guards in front of him. Eager to send them to whatever afterlife they preferred. He’d have to be quick, or he’d draw the attention of other guards. He pulled out a datapad and typed in the words:
“WLVB, in position. Just give me the word.”
meanwhile..
“Kark kark kriffing Kark” Wenet whispered to herself in anger as she looked at the holomap that was projected from her wrist mounted comlink.
The Kushiban had found a way into the Pirate’s compound by using the ventilation shafts. Her prime objective was making sure no one could escape. She was on her way to the landing pads to sabotage the docking clamps to stop ship from trying to leave. Or perhaps to blow something up to cause a distraction. But neither of that was possible now that she had taken a wrong turn.
On the comms she heard Qor and Brujah were already in position. This only made her feel more anxious as this was her first mission with the clan. Wenet still had to prove herself. “do better Wenet.. Come on” she said to herself and started to back up towards the last junction.
Luckily it wasn’t far and she was quite fast. Back on route she continued to move through the vents. “I’m almost in position” Wenet said over the comms as she began to slow down. She could hear voices beneath her in the corridor. For a moment she stopped to look through one the grates and saw how labourers were moving crates down the corridor. They were loading them on one of the ships on the landing pads outside.
Wenet continues to follow the ventilation shaft untill she reaches a grate that looks out over the landing pads. As she thought, the laborers are loading the crates on a ship. “I’m in position.. Looks like they are preparing for departure” she reports to the others…
It had only been moments since Vincent had sent his message, but the seconds stretched on like an eternity, his anger growing more and more with each passing breath. He watched the slaves as they continued measuring and mixing chemicals. They were hot. They were thirsty. He could sense their hopelessness and desperation. Viewing them, he could see that they were no longer sweating, though their skin was flushed but dry. One of them looked like he was moments away from getting sick. One of the three guards seemed to notice as well.
“You! Pull it together! Your shift is not over and if you keep up at this rate you will miss your quota. I think you know what happens if you miss your quota…” the guard said.
The man took in a few rapid breaths, trying desperately to regain his composure. He nodded at the guard and attempted to continue, but he was overwhelmed with nausea.
“Please sir… I’m so thirsty. If you could just spare us a moment for a drink of water, we could surpass the quota. I’m sure of it.”
Scoffing, the guard slowly walked over to a tub of tepid water and pulled out a ladle of it. He clumsily walked back to the slave, spilling precious drops of nourishment to the clay floor at his feet with every step. The slave puckered up as he approached, desperate for even a single drop of liquid, but as the guard reached him, he lifted the ladle up towards the slave’s mouth before intentionally spilling the remaining contents on the ground. With anger in his voice, he spoke.
“You can have water when you reach the quota. Get back to work!”
The slave had seemingly taken all that he could. His eyes rolled back into his head before he collapsed to the ground. Letting out a grunt the guard gave him a kick to the ribs.
“GET UP!! GET UP AND FINISH YOUR WORK… OR ELSE…”
“Or else what?” a modulated voice came from an empty area of the room.
Vincent had seen enough. Signals be damned, these men were dead where they stood, they just didn’t know it yet.
Dropping the ladle, the guard that seemed to be in charge brought up a blaster. His two partners raised their blaster rifles as well, stepping gingerly towards the location the voice came from. The guard in charge spoke up.
“Who’s there?! Show yourself or be smoked!”
Before the two approaching guards could determine exactly what was going on the room filled with the snap-hiss of lightsabers igniting. Crimson and orange light filled the room as the two blades, that seemingly held themselves in the air, swiped in on each other like a giant pair of scissors. Before a shot could be fired, the two closest guards dropped to the ground, their heads quickly following and rolling in opposite directions. The lead guard, clearly shaken, raised his blaster, but as quickly as the threat had appeared, it was gone. The lightsabers deactivated and the room again appeared empty except for the slaves, the two dead guards, and the one remaining guard.
“SHOW YOURSELF!!” the guard screamed.
Inside his armor, Vincent pressed a combination of buttons that disengaged his optical camouflage. Suddenly, the guard wasn’t alone, but instead was staring down the glossy black helmet of Warlord Vincent Brujah. The Sith’s lightsabers had already been hooked back to his belt. He stood, apparently unarmed in front of the guard that had a blaster rifle fixed on him.
“I said, or else what?” Vincent said calmly.
“Or else this!” the guard shouted back as he fired a bolt towards the Sith.
Smirking under his helmet the Sith raised a hand. The bolt held itself in place centimeters from the front of his helmet. Raising his other hand, Vincent grabbed the guard by the throat with the Force, squeezing his windpipe as he dragged him violently forward. The toes of the guard’s boot dug in to the ground, but it wasn’t enough to even slow the movement. Before he could do anything further, Vincent had pulled him through the stationary blaster bolt, face first. Releasing his grip on the man, he let him fall to the ground dead, next to his dead comrades.
As Vincent admired his work he heard a distinctive “click” behind him and then heard words.
“Keep your hands where I can see them!”
Complying, Vincent left both of his hands in the air. He could sense the guard approaching him from behind. Just as the guard reached out for him, Vincent side-stepped and released his hold on the blaster bolt floating in the air. It screamed forward and through the head of the guard as he, too, fell to the ground.
Vincent activated his comlink:
“Section Delta clear. I’m moving to Section Charlie.”
Patiently, Wenet waited for the signal while she watched the slaves through the ventilation grate. They were malnourished, starving and were forced to work. Anyone who was too slow would get yelled at and if they still didn’t hurry up the guards would hit them. It was difficult for the Kushiban to just sit there and watch the suffering and do nothing. ”you can do this.. Just follow orders.. Wait for the signal” she whispered to herself.
But then suddenly something happened. Something caught the attention of the guards, the sound of a blaster being fired in the distance. ”What was that?” one of the guards asked. ”let’s check it out” two of them moved towards the corridor. ”you! make sure everything gets loaded” one of the guards ordered a young weequay male. ”Me?” he looked shocked, ”time to prove yourself” his senior replied before walking through the doors into the corridor. The young weequay wasn’t alone, there was another guard, a Nikto female. ”wow..they leave you in charge” she sneers at the boy, clearly not agreeing with the decision of their superiors. The boy smirks with pride and then turns to the slaves ”Who told you, you could rest?!.. Pick up the pace!!”
Wenet wondered what it was that drew the guards away. She didn’t hear anything else, nor did the guards say anything about it. One thing she did know was that she now had an opportunity. Instead of four guards, there were only two.
The Kushiban looked over her shoulder down the ventilation shaft, as if she was worried someone was watching her. Then she quietly opened the ventilation grate and slipped through.
Hiding behind some crates she had a better view on the situation. The guards stood on the loading ramp, watching the slaves as they pushed in the crates. They weren’t really paying attention to anything else. ”this is it Wenet.. You can do this” she thought to herself and took a deep breath.
On all fours, the Kushiban leaped forward, out from behind the crates. Staying low, she dashed across the landing pad, keeping cover behind crates and speeder bikes that were parked there. Within a few moments she reached the first docking clamp. Wasting no time she grabbed the all-kit tool and began to work on sabotaging the clamp to make sure it wouldn’t release when they’d try to depart.
Location: Juvl Spice Refinery – Lower Compound
The shot breaks the air like glass.
Qor freezes.
Around him, the other labourers flinch or shrink, eyes downcast. No one dares raise their head. The scent of scorched carbon lingers faintly, drifting in on the chemical wind.
He doesn’t need confirmation. That was no warning shot.
Our Warlord has begun.
The Warlord had promised thunder — and Qor knows all too well what his version of mercy looks like: a grave.
He shifts the crate in his grip and lets it drop near a broken trolley, grunting for effect. His cover is still intact — a filthy labourer in the spice fields, reeking of sweat and solvent. His robes are soaked. His hands, stained. No one notices him. No one ever does.
And that’s exactly how he wants it.
Then another ripple — soft, sharp. Anxiety. A tremble in the current of the Force.
Qor’s eyes narrow slightly, tuning his senses through the pain in the air. There you are.
Through the haze of heat and pheromones, he feels Wenet — the Kushiban like a trembling note on a taut wire, threading her way through the shadows near the transport clamps. She’s scared. Not broken. Not panicked. But riding the edge of it.
”You’re doing well, little one.”
His thoughts slip out like breath into the Force — not a command, not a pressure — just presence. A tether. A cold hand on her shoulder that says: You are not alone.
He shifts his weight, rotating his shoulder as if to stretch, and uses the motion to slip his fingers beneath the folds of his robe. The throwing dagger finds his palm effortlessly — the cool bite of the blade a welcome touch.
Alchemical steel. Coated in a neurotoxin designed to numb within seconds. A proven lab trial. Efficient. Silent. Qor smiles under the crusted rebreather strapped to his face.
A Nikto guard rounds the perimeter with lazy, predatory steps. He’s armed, but bored — bored enough to poke a labourer with a stun rod, just to hear them squeal. He mutters something obscene about the Weequay’s mother, then flicks a glob of paste from his boot.
Perfect.
Qor pretends to stumble.
He trips into a crouch, dragging the empty crate down with him behind a stack of barrels. Out of sight. No one looks. No one ever looks.
One breath in.
One flick of the wrist.
The dagger hums through the air, whisper-quiet — and buries itself in the Nikto’s throat with a wet, soft thup.
The man chokes once, then collapses. No scream. Just a twitch.
Qor is already there, dragging the body into the shadows, fingers already searching the belt and pockets.
Keycard. Encrypted comm. Slug pistol. Two vials of spice. One rusted dog tag. “Mert.” One secret no one will miss.
He wipes the blade on the Nikto’s vest and slides it back into its hidden sheath along his forearm.
The body disappears under a solvent tarp.
No witnesses. No sound.
No mercy.
Moments later – Refining Hall Access Corridor
Qor moves through the corridor with a limp. It’s subtle, but noticeable. Another layer to the disguise. No one questions the injured. They’re already forgotten.
The stench of the refining compound thickens as he draws closer — ammonia, blood, old coolant. The floor hums with the tremor of machines, but they’re not running clean. Something in the rhythm is off. Incomplete.
He pauses outside a heavy blast door.
This is it.
The source of the drugs. The mixing vats. The core of Juvl’s operation. Sabotaging this would cripple production.
Contaminating it would do more damage. And if neither works? He’ll bring it down with them still inside.
The stolen keycard slides through the slot. The panel blinks red for a moment — then green.
Chirp. The door hisses open.
And immediately -
-every gun in the room trains on him. A squad of guards.
Slugthrowers.
Heavy rifles.
One of them shouts.
“HEY! STOP RIGHT THERE!”
Another:
“Hands up! You’re not supposed to be in here!”
Qor freezes mid-step, posture shifting subtly — no longer a labourer. No longer hunched.
Straight.
Calm.
Silent.
Another guard leans into his comm. “Charlie to Control — intruder in the refining wing! Request immediate reinforcements!”
Control responds: static, panicked shouting. Vincent’s doing his work.
But the squad doesn’t wait. They don’t ask twice.
They open fire.
Time bends.
Qor drops.
Two slugs snap overhead — one ricochets off the doorframe, the other punches through a vat pipe, spraying hot steam across the room. The guards fan out, shouting. Someone knocks over a crate of vials — they shatter across the floor. Qor rolls into cover behind a centrifuge unit. He doesn’t reach for a vial — not yet. Not until he needs to.
Instead, he draws another dagger — this one curved, decorated in Sith Runes. His voice echoes low in the Force as his eyes gleam behind the visor:
“Let’s test your threshold for fear.”
He vanishes into smoke and shadows, like a phantom behind the pipes.
The hunt begins.
Staying focused, Wenet quickly sabotaged the first docking clamp. But by the time she’s done, she can hear a voice over the radio of the guards. ”Charlie to control, intruder in the refinery wing! Request immediate reinforcements!” followed by the sounds of shots being fired and screams.
Wenet wasn’t the only one who heard, the slaves started to whisper to each other. At first the guards didn’t notice as they were debating with each other about going to the refinery. ”Don’t be stupid. We can’t leave. The ship needs to be loaded.” the Nikto female told the Weequay boy in charge. ”Kriff. We’re missing all the action” the boy sighs. ”you would get yourself killed anyways” the Nikto mutters to herself as she walks away to check the cargo hold. ”Wait.. What?.. What did you say?” the boy yelled up the loading ramp. The he noticed the slaves whispering. At once he hits one with the back of his blaster ”Don’t get your hopes up.. Get back to work!”
At that point Wenet dashed to the other side of the landing pad to sabotage the second docking clamp. With all the chaos created by her clan mates she could finish the job without any interruptions.
Wenet had several options now, she could crawl back into the ventilation shafts to try to find their main target. But where would be the fun in that? Besides, they were ordered to neutralize all the others. Having seen how the two young guards treated the slaves, Wenet of course chose to follow the order of neutralization.
The Weequay boy had entered the corridor again to check on the last crates. The nikto female descended the loading ramp again, keeping an eye on the slaves as they loaded the crates. ”move!.. Stop wasting time” she yelled as she shoved one of the slaves. A fragile looking rodian, who tripped and fell. ”get up!!” ”yes.. I’m Sorry… So Sorry” the Rodian begged, afraid that they would hurt him again. He quickly got back up and started pushing the crates again.
Puffing up her fur, Wenet confidently walked up to the ramp. Hands on her hips, trying to look bigger she stood there. ”Hey! That’s not very nice” she said as a soft breeze fluttered her white fur making her look majestic. ”What the Kriff are you doing here? Get back in line!” the Nikto yelled, obviously thinking that the Kushiban was just another slave. It was definitely not the reaction she expected and that kinda pissed her off. ”I don’t think so!” she said and grabbed her lightsaber. ”I said get back into line!!” The Nikto said once more but then Wenet switched her lightsaber on. With a loud crackle and hum the blue blade ignited.
Now the Nikto guard finally realized, Wenet wasn’t a slave. She was about to fire her blaster, but the Kushiban was faster. With her strong legs she launched herself towards the guard. With one swift motion as she came down on the guard Wenet struck her with her saber, cutting off the hand which held the blaster. ”Aaargh!!” the guard screamed as she looked at her severed hand. Before she could do anything else, Wenet twisted on her feet, swinging her long tail so hard at the guard’s head that it knocked her out.
That’s when the Weequay boy re-entered the landing platform. ”What the Kriff is going on here?.. Why aren’t you loading?!” he yelled at the slaves who had stopped working when Wenet and appeared. ”What the …” he noticed Wenet, ”what’s going on.. Get back to work” but then he notices his partner on the floor. Quickly he raised his weapon but Wenet was already half way the landing platform, dashing towards him at great speed. At the last moment she dropped to her knees, sliding across the floor, past the guard with her ignited lightsaber…
At the door she hopped back onto her feet. Behind her the Weequay collapsed. Both his feet were cut off by the ankles.. He screamed in pain. ”he’s all yours” Wenet said to the slave and then casually left through the open doors..
Blood dripped from Vincent Brujah’s freshly sheathed Sith Dagger. Cries and howls from the wounded and near dying echoed through the corridors. The Warlord had decided that his lightsabers were too clean of a death for most of this slaving scum. Their ever weakening sobs for help as they slowly bled to death brought a twisted smile to the Sith’s face under his helmet.
“Section Charlie is cleared. Enough of this, I’m going for Vale…”
“Vincent wait, don’t fo….” a voice came back to him over his comlink before he shut it off.
The Sith stalked his prey, reaching out to feel for lifeforms that he didn’t recognize. He felt the agony of those that had not yet perished, but elsewhere, he felt fear, anxiety… a small group in a small room on the second floor. Scholae Palatinae’s dealer of death was on his way.
The path upstairs was clear. The Empire had made their noise, and those who hadn’t been killed had taken to hiding, escaping, or fighting in another location. Each step down the long hallway was followed by an ominous tap as Vincent’s armored boots clanked off of the floor of the upper level.
He reached the door blocking the entry to the room where he had felt Vale and his guards hiding. As he approached his senses alerted him to a small, but consistent beep coming from the other side of the door.
”A mine…” the Sith snarled inside of his own head.
Closing his eyes he reached out once more. There were four warm bodies in the room. One in the far corner and three posted up in the closer back corner. An invisible hand grabbed one of the three guards as he yelped and dropped his blaster to the floor. He was jerked forward until he landed directly where Vincent had heard the beep coming from. A small, but powerful explosion rang out and the door burst into pieces.
Vincent used the smoke from the explosion to his advantage and entered the room without being immediately spotted. As the smoke cleared, the two remaining guards screamed out.
“There he is! Get him!”
What they didn’t notice was Vincent’s right arm raised and pointed at them. With the press of a button on his wrist, his Sith Lanvarok spat out a stream of fluid followed by a net that neatly wrapped around the two guards. After a brief pause there was a quiet click and then a spark emitted from a section of the net, setting the liquid, an accelerant, to flame while the guards remained trapped in the fireproof netting. Having them neutralized, Vincent turned to the Devaronian. Without a word, he lifted his left hand and sent crackling violet and azure bolts of lightning flying at Vale.
They’re trained - but not for this.
A pair of boots crunch across shattered glass. Another set pounds against the metal gantry above. They’re flanking, sweeping corners, syncing their lines of fire. Good discipline.
It won’t matter.
From the steam, a hand shoots out - not to kill, not yet - just enough to drag one by the ankle, slamming him skull-first into the machinery. The rifle clatters. The scream is short. The body doesn’t rise.
“Unit Two, report! I said, REPORT!”
A muffled snap-hiss answers instead - not a lightsaber, but the sickening pop of bones parting as Qor forces another into unconsciousness, injecting just enough paralytic to delay death.
Let them feel it.
He dances between shadows, his breath slow, blades reversing grip with every turn. A flash of movement - a shot - it grazes his shoulder. Pain blooms. He grunts, then hurls a dagger mid-spin. The curved rune-etched weapon sinks into a neck. A gurgle. Collapse.
Now only three remain.
The steam clears slightly. One of them sees him.
“There! On the-”
He doesn’t finish. Qor doesn’t allow it.
A vial cracks at their feet - not poison, not explosive - something worse. A hallucinogen. Sith alchemy in liquid form. It seeps into their lungs like smoke, clawing at their minds. They see shapes in the fog. Hear whispers that aren’t real.
One drops his rifle and claws at his own helmet.
Another opens fire blindly, spinning, whimpering.
Qor steps calmly from the fog, eyes gleaming crimson.
“You should’ve run.”
His blade finds the last one’s back.
It’s over in seconds.
Silence again, save for the drip of fluids, the hiss of punctured pipes, the low hum of the refinery spinning down into chaos.
He kneels beside the console, fingers dancing across the interface. A crude map of the facility flickers up.
Storage. Labs. Central core.
And beneath it all… the main feed line. The source.
His voice, low, through the enemy comms - maybe Vincent hears it, maybe no one does.
“Contamination begins now.”
He moves, smoke trailing in his wake like a curse.
The refinery stank of smoke, blood, and alchemy.
Qor stood alone in the aftermath - bodies cooling behind him, the sabotage complete. Toxins now flowed through the feed line: not enough to kill, not yet. Just enough to ensure the product turned rotten in transit. He adjusted the valve one last time. The console sparked and died.
“Let them choke on their own greed.”
He vanished back into the corridors, the shadows welcoming him like kin.
He found Section Charlie scorched and silent. Crumpled bodies, some missing limbs, others smoldering, told of Vincent’s wrath. Qor stepped over them without pause, only stopping at the edge of the upper level. He could feel the storm ahead-lightning. Rage.
And Vincent.
He entered just as smoke curled from a shattered doorway. Two guards screamed inside a flaming net. A third was already dead-bait for the mine. At the far end, Valso Vale, trembling, red-skinned, horns scorched, struggled to stand.
Vincent raised a hand. Lightning crackled.
Qor stepped into view.
He didn’t rush. Didn’t speak. Not until the last bolt faded.
Then, his voice - quiet, low, unshaken:
“The Empress sends her will.”
Vincent turned slightly, shoulders still pulsing with dark power.
“To all but Valso Vale - no mercy.”
His tone held no demand. Just fact. Absolute. Final.
Qor’s gaze moved to Vale, who whimpered, clutching a burnt arm.
“She requires confession. Not ashes.”
He stepped closer, the fumes from the lab still clinging to his robes.
“You’ve done fine work, Vincent.” His head tilted. “But the Empress plays a longer game.”
He didn’t wait for approval or thanks. He simply watched.
Watched to see whether Vincent would obey - or indulge.
The room held its breath.
Vincent lowered his hand and the lightning stopped. He pressed a button on the side of his helmet, releasing the seals with a hiss. He pulled his helmet off revealing his glowing red eyes. He looked to Qor and registered the words, but his hate was still palpable.
He raised a hand, and as it lifted, so did Vale. Vincent held him about a meter off of the floor, his legs dangling and his voice nothing more than a whimper. In one swift motion, Vincent called his lightsaber to his hand and ignited it. With a twist, he removed both of Vale’s legs just above the knee and then tossed him back to the ground to to suffer. He turned to Qor.
“He’ll live…”