Bridge The Light of Orian Redacted Space
Hades stood slightly sideways, his back straight, arms crossed behind his back as he watched the TIE Defenders scream into view. Harbingers of the Bloodline and the Lion’s Ascent, he pivoted slightly, keeping the Rowdy Toddler in view. He had a hard time trusting privateers, let alone smugglers and pirates. Sure, they had their uses, but they had their uses to the enemy as well.
“Fleet Admiral, there’s a datawave from the Harrower.” An ensign called out. “Data from their scanning crew.”
Well, at least something was working right.
Hangar Derelict Harrower Redacted Space
It seemed that nothing was working right.
Muz watched silently as a second scanner droid went offline near the bridge. A brief image of… was it teeth or was that a talon…filled the screen before endless static. Black eyes drifted to the other feeds, mentally calculating if enough of the droids remained to complete the work.
It was, but only if they didn’t lose too many more. An eyebrow curled in frustration, his mind reaching out to the others, his voice carried to them on currents of the force, weaving its way into their heads directly.
To the bridge. He paused for a moment, debating joining them. They were more than capable of handling this threat on their own, he presumed. And keeping the landing zone clean and the scanners monitored was the mission. But combat called to him, the problems solved by a blade so much easier to contend with. He glanced down, seeing that his palms had filled themselves with his hilts by instinct. No. Not today. Let them hunt.
Bring me their heads.
Hangar Derelict Harrower
A mere moment earlier, Daro had been quietly brooding in the Seven Tooth Cantina. Warpa, by his side, was enjoying a bubbling green brew that was known to rot the stomach of a Human. Now, they were stepping from the darkness and into the light on a derelict Harrower. A visual metaphor that the Obelisk didn’t care for. The irony.
The voice of his Proconsul filled his mind and, while late to the party, he remained ready to join his comrades. He was always ready, prepared, and eager to test his mettle. To master his passion, combat, he never passed up on an opportunity.
He slowly approached, keeping his emotions in check, even as his heart pounded in his chest. Fed by adrenaline. A drug more addictive than Glitterstim. His black hair fell down over his face but a single eye scanned the surrounding area as his hand rested on the lightsaber pommel tucked inside his flowing robes. His perception was trained, not as keen as Muz’s scanners; but there wasn’t much he didn’t pick up on. He analyzed the movement in the flickering light and wrestled with his patience.
Hangar Derelict Harrower Redacted Space
She turned towards him as the second scanner droid went offline. She knew what he was thinking. He was tempted to join them. His hands flexed for a moment and then his saber hills filled his hands. She hadn’t even blinked.
She gently touched his arm and he looked at her. A silent look passed between them and he nodded to her.
She turned on her heels and went to the exit without a word.
Ashia moved through the corridors cautiously, her fingers tightening around the hilts of her sabers. The stagnant air filled her lungs and made her nose itch but she suppressed it down.
Tendrils of thought drifted ahead of her as she sought the one that had left right before her. She didn’t want to spook him.
She came around the corner to find Daro moving just ahead of her. He turned as she approached.
Hangar Derelict Harrower
Creeping waves of Force energy tickled Daro’s spine. Typically when this happened, he was wise to turn. A slave to his instincts, he did so and flicked the hair away from his face in case the threat was more, real.
He saw the red haired porcelain one who was cut from a different mold. She too had seen combat, Daro could practically taste the blood staining her hands. He smiled inwardly, careful not to expose himself.
“You move with the grace of a shadow, Ashia,” he cocked his head to the side as he reached out from within. He admired that her emotions, too, were safeguarded. “I’ve heard of you, friend.”
He never took his hand away from his hilt.
Hangar Corridor Derelict Harrower
Tasha’vel heard the call in her head. “Trouble on the bridge, I suppose I can get myself up there. About time I had some fun with hunting. Let’s see if I can make it up there.” She turned to Vance as she began to roam further. “Come on, we are needed on the bridge of the ship.” The half-Sephi saluted and started to follow her. “Off along the merry way we go to satisfying glory, or painful agonizing death, either way, sure as nine hells ain’t boring. Anyone else coming with us?” He gestured to the others around them. “I don’t think she is just waiting anymore, anyhow if you all decide we will be making our way to the bridge.”
Doom. Gloom. Dread.
All sorts of bad feelings.
He was so much in his own head that Bentre almost missed the departure of his wife and her boy toy.
“Like Hells.” He shook his head as he muttered. He set off at an even pace, following Tasha. The last thing she or he needed was some dead weight getting in the way. Tasha'Vel was capable. He hadn’t seen the Sephi in action yet.
The time for introspection was past. Now was the hunt. Deadly prey awaited on the bridge.
They moved in hushed silence, eyes digging deeper into the shadows ahead. The old ship had a labyrinth of corridors, but the overall layout wasn’t unfamiliar. Some had recalled that Palpatine had based the Imperial Fleet off of the Sith Harrowers, and it was becoming rather obvious that this was the case now. It seemed all but natural to those who had spent time aboard those wedge-shaped ships.
Curiosities flared and theories screamed through their heads, not just abut the ships, but what manner of threat loomed ahead. Not the wild and skittish humanoids, no. Something that was actively seeking and preying on movement.
Bring me their heads.
Four words. The Lion’s words held so much meaning. So much promise. Glory, reward, recognition. But beyond that, a nervous anxiety. Not fear, but second cousin to it. They had all made their peace with death long ago. No, this unknowing was worse. Fingers grazed ignition switches and triggers, steps placed carefully around downed cables and bits of bulkhead. If they could maintain surprise, keep stealthy, maybe, just maybe they could have the upper hand whenever they found their own prey. When they found their own predator.
As he stalked through the corridor towards the bridge, Bentre felt his confidence bolstered. It seemed as though little stood in his way. He could still feel that hunger more deeply in. Though his hand was tight on his lightsaber, he was still buoyed by the ease of it all.
He was ready to hunt.
Muz’s words had only spurned on his desire to spill blood.
Tasha'Vel already was moving quickly to the bridge. “Finally, something I can kill.” She kept going with Vance behind her as she practically flew almost down, around and finally to the bridge. She had stopped before entering and peered in.
In the dim corridors of the Harrower, shadows trailed along the cold walls like outstretched tendrils. DarkHawk moved steadily, every step deliberate, his boots barely disturbing the metal floor. He continually scanned the area with his HUD’s assistance, noting the small details of neglect and decay that hinted at the Harrower’s troubled past. The air was heavy, filled with a sense of anticipation—and something more. It wasn’t just the smell of rot; there was an undercurrent of sickness here, as if something ancient and insatiable lurked just beyond the light.
As his hand brushed against the cold bulkhead, his fingertips came away smeared with something dark, not quite oil…more organic, more alive.
We are not alone here.
DarkHawk’s breath slowed as his senses reached outward through the Force, searching, feeling. A flicker of motion caught his eye—a smear along the wall, something not left by humanoids. The markings were deep, etched with brutal force. Claw marks? No, this was something larger, chitinous, like the ancient horrors he’d read about on Korriban. His pulse quickened at the realization.
His thirst for blood sharpened.
This ship will not slip away from us. The Sadowans would see to that. The bridge was the goal, but it wasn’t just about securing territory or spoils—it was about the hunt. The humanoid crew who had once filled this ship wouldn’t offer any satisfaction. They were prey long since consumed or scattered. No, it was whatever was hunting now, breathing in these shadows, that would offer the true kill.
His hand clenched around his hilt instinctively, the desire to spill fresh blood burning hot beneath his composure. Maybe there was a darker purpose after all. What if leaving one person alive actually meant something? The Summit might be able to use a living specimen—teasing out its secrets and even turning them into weapons for the Clan’s never-ending wars.
As he neared the bridge, his irritation flared. “I really wish Ty would get us more power for this old wreck,” he grumbled, all too aware of how the ship’s systems were barely holding on under years of abuse.The lack of proper lighting only fueled the tension, but it also played to his advantage. Shadows were allies to hunters like him.
Then, he saw it—evidence undeniable now. A patch of the wall, shredded by something massive. Black ichor streaked the floor beneath it, still wet. His anticipation surged like a drug through his system. We’re close.
To the bridge, the mental command from Muz still echoed in the back of his mind, but DarkHawk’s focus was laser-sharp now. This wasn’t just about securing an objective anymore. It was about domination. About drawing blood from something that dared to claim this ship as its lair.
Bring me their heads, Muz’s words rang true, but DarkHawk’s hunger sought something greater…satisfaction.
Whatever was hiding on this ship was about to learn that they weren’t the apex predators here.
Not anymore.
Tasha looked at the torn up droids, scratches and blood about. Something indeed made a nest, and it was smart. Following its instimct to hide, wait for its prey before striking and returning to the shadows. “A perfect Apex predator.” She whispered. “Careful now, we are in it’s home and it will be hunting.” She scanned the room for anything else slightly out of place or a shimmer of anything that could tell her she wasn’t alone and that this predator was watching her.“ She concentrated and raised a small piece of torn metal and threw it across the rafters above the bridge. "No one ever likes to look up, soon as you do, you usually can see things that hide.”
Vance meanwhile just had this constant uneasiness to him. He looked about keeping his slugthrower ready. “I don’t like how this place feels Tash. It’s too quiet.”
DarkHawk moved with measured steps, his head on a swivel, his movements swallowed by the oppressive silence. The air thickened as he neared the bridge, a stench of decay clung to his senses. Each breath even through the helm’s filters, the air tasted of death, enough to gag a maggot. That bouquet was all too familiar, which made him even more vigilant.
Then, in the dim glow of his HUD, something caught his attention, more deep scratches. Clawed clean through the metal bulkheads, jagged and deliberate. After further examination of the bulkhead, these definitely looked deliberate, almost as if it was territorial defacement of something… other. His gloved hand brushed along the gouges, visioning the raw violence behind them. He turned slightly, his gaze focusing as he spotted something half-buried beneath broken ship panels and heavy shadows. “Remarkable” he thought. The exquisite remains of a discarded exoskeleton.
A shell of dark green chitin, thick as durasteel, its ridged surface blanketed by a thin layer of dust. This shedding was old, meaning it was still here…and much larger now. As DarkHawk studied the remains, he found his mind sifting back to his studies of Sith alchemy. Its teachings nagged at the edges of his memory. Korriban. Dromund Kaas. Some indigenous creatures were deemed too dangerous even for Sith meddling. It was only a footnote in the teaching, forgotten until now.
The predator was near, instinct told him that. The predator lingered just beyond his perception, watching, waiting. His blood burned with anticipation, a hunter recognizing another.
The bridge was close now. But so was the beast.
Activating his comlink he hailed his comrades. “I’m near the bridge. I’ve discovered some remains of a molted exoskeleton. The predator is close. Stay sharp and watch your six” he murmured just above a whisper.
Let the hunt begin.
“I am already at the bridge as well just yeah tons of debris and things blocking the way atm.” She looked about trying to find some way of getting through or in. Then the rotten decayed smell hit her. She quickly pulled out her kerchief with a mint oil and put it to her nose before she gagged. “Damn Tasha, you really aught to warn a guy when you ladies decide to rip one. That is nasty.” She turned and glared at Vance who decided to pipe up. He cracked a smile at her as he held his nose. “I’m just kidding come on.”
Hades began to chew his lower lip, mulling over the problem that lay in front of his Task Force. He turned to the bridge crew, looking for anyone that belonged to Logistics. Finally, spotting a Senior Chief Petty Officer, he spoke up.
“Chief Rimpac, please inquire throughout the Task Force as to how many gonk droids we have in total. Please be quick.” The Senior Chief kept his surprise at being called on at bay, but it shown like a spotlight through the Force. “Aye aye, Sir.” Was the response.
After a few minutes he had the answer. “Sir! We have 22 gonk droids throughout the Task Force.” Hades nodded. “Thank you, Senior Chief.” He quickly turned towards his Communication Officer.
“Lt, have Gamma 4 return to our hangar. Advise all personnel on all ships to gather all unused gonk droids and any spare generators they have down to the hangar bays or appropriate airlocks. Have Gamma 4 start with us and move through the rest of the Task Force. We are going to help Lord Ashen with his power problem.” Hades heard the reply from the lieutenant but was already bringing up his own comm unit and plugged in a code. The line went live, but there was not a greeting.
“Sir, I have an idea.”
Tasha'vel looked at the debris and whispered. “I am going to get past this and get to the bridge.” She quieted herself and attempted to climb around the debris, as she made her through towards the bridge, Vance meanwhile went radio silent and crept silently making sure to watch where he stepped as he advanced past the debris. Meanwhile a bit farther ahead Tasha'Vel had gotten about halfway past when she accidently dislodge a rather long chunk of metal and sent it clanging down the corridor. She silently cursed.
DarkHawk moved with careful precision, distributing his weight equally across the unstable wreckage as he advanced toward the Harrower’s bridge. His HUD’s Multi-Frequency Target Acquisition System scanned the ruins, its interface flickering with readouts. Heat signatures, structural integrity warnings, and the occasional ghostly blip of movement from shifting debris bounced across its screen. Every movement required patience. Collapsed bulkheads, torn support beams, and loose plating turned the pathway into a dicey obstacle course.
As he scaled over a fallen support stanchion, something unusual caught his eye. At first, it was just movement, a subtle twitch in the darkness. Then he saw it.
The beast’s form was rugged, covered in jagged, rock-like protrusions that blended with the wreckage. Its head had a large bony frill with points on its edges. It had three sets of appendages that flexed near its mouth, two looked to be fangs, the third resembling pedipalps, encased in the same dense scales that armored its body. That third set twitched constantly before each movement, as if sensing through scent rather than sight.
DarkHawk sat silently watching the beast. He could make out no eyes. Although its movements were efficient and calculated. It was adapted to the shadows, each tendon and fiber honed for its environment. He wasn’t sure what he was observing yet, but one thing was certain, it stood in the way of clearing this ship and getting her home to Sepros.
“Great, nothing better than a cage fight,” DarkHawk thought to himself.
Activating his commlink, he spoke barely above a whisper.
“Sadowans, I have the beast in sight. Converge on my location… silently.”
Now, the real test will begin…
It was foul, an evolutionary aberrationn harkening back to when everything that lived was either insect or reptile. It clattered mandibles together slowly, as if it were speaking in some harsh andcruel tongue. But to whom? Not the accumulated Sadowans, mostly out of view, hidden behind a millenia’s worth of detritus. Was there another? A full colony of spined and horrible beasts from an era thought lost to the sands of time? Or in madness inspired by loneliness, to itself?
Darkhawk didn’t much care. He knew what this was. Something from the ancient times. Something that had secrets that only its genome could tell. Something that he could use, that the clan could use. That they could breed, and restore the wilds around their capitals, to bring back the savagery of the lands on Sepros as they had once been on Dromund Kaas. On Korriban, before it was dust and sand. Beneath the mask, Darkhawk might have smiled. He wanted it alive, if it could be managed. If not, the madman’s craft would be needed, but it would do if they must.
He tilted his mask, keeping the creature in his peripheral as the others crept up. In a moment, they would do away with the quiet, and Hell would bloom with their wrath.
Tasha'Vel began climbing past the rubble to get closer towards the bridge as she squeezed past, she unfortunately dislodged a few pieces and they clamored loudly to the ground as she steadied herself, she could finally see the creature. She immediately ignited her violet-hued blade with a crackling snap-hiss. Concentrating on her hatred for the creature, she felt the rage behind her eyes building. “Well look at you..”
Bentre watched Tasha'Vel starting to scale the debris. “Oh no, you don’t,” He whispered. He started to make careful steps to begin his ascent. He wasn’t about to let his wife be the first to meet this threat in combat, if he could do anything about it. His feet slipped a few times, causing him to pause briefly uncertain if he had been heard. Once at the top, he saw that his wife already had her lightsaber ignited. With a soft hoot, he tried to step down from his high point but felt his footing slip a bit as he descended. Throwing caution to the wind, figuring it was already a bit too late to go unseen, Bentre ignited his own lightsaber.
“Fall back, Tasha. I got this.”
DarkHawk studied the creature in silence. Minutes felt like hours. In his peripheral vision, he caught Master Stahoes stepping forward.
Without looking away, he called out, firm but calm.
“Master Stahoes, hold your position.”
The Elder stopped mid-step, glancing back, confused. DarkHawk raised a clenched fist, his silent command for the others to stay put.
Reaching out telepathically, he contacted Lord Keibatsu.
“We’ve found the squatter occupying our ship. You have to see this to believe it.”
The Keibatsu, still monitoring the ship through his drones, raised an eyebrow.
“Identification?”
“It’s a Yozusk. Alive and eating its way through this ship. It had to have been feeding on the crew, claim jumpers, anything it could find. For centuries.”
There was a pause before DarkHawk spoke again, “We’re taking it alive…”
The PCon processed this with growing interest. The Lion of Tarthos couldn’t deny the thrill that came with that news.
“Inbound.”
DarkHawk turned to the others.
“Sadowans, you might hate me for this… but we need to take it alive.”
“You want to do what?!” Daro hissed.
“You’re not serious,” Tasha said, wide-eyed.
“You heard correctly,” DarkHawk replied. “The Clan can learn from it—use it. This creature has value. A purpose. Master Stahoes, surely you can see the value in that”
“This vile thing?” Bentre said with a devilish grin.
DarkHawk nodded. “Vile… but beautiful.”
Beauty was in the eye of the beholder. Daro could see the potential in such a creature but was careful to weigh each possible failure in his mind. He moved closer to the group after delivering a nod to Ashia.
He dropped to his knees and channeled his breathing. Pulling in air with slow inhales and focused exhalation driving out all distraction. The Force, like water being poured into a glass filled him to overflowing. With careful manipulation the rest of the group could feel their reserves refresh. Brandishing an all new focus as their nerve endings quieted and the power within roared in a hushed whisper. Still but concentrated. They felt more alive than ever before.
This challenge once a daunting task seemingly became easier within their minds. Not overconfidence or arrogance. But a reassurance. A boldness that lingered over their being. A preparation for what was about to occur within the ruins of the Harrower.
The half Sephi had made his way with Tasha'vel, but kept a bit more distance from her. He could see the creature up ahead. Then he heard Darkhawk’s instruction. “You want this creature…alive..Karking Nine hells..” He cursed under his breath. “Fine, but i’m watching it.” He brought his slugthrower into his hands and carefully aimed it towards the creature. He maintained a careful watch on it and waited, ready to pull a bead if necessary.
The scramble at the corridor had gotten the creature’s attention. It seemed to straighten it’s back as it turned its head their direction, mandibles scraping against each other in a frenetic rhythm. It pounded it’s forearms into decking already work thin by centuries of age and scrapes, bounding toward the intrusion, toward the brilliant glow of freshly ignited saberlight.
The beast stomped through the detritus as it stampeded toward them, piles of discarded wallboard and rusted metal curling at it’s feet as it went. A heavy fist collided with Bentre as it moved past, caught underfoot as it galloped over him, sending him reeling in the dust as it continued its course. It roared, a hoarse and cruel warning as it rammed into the bulkhead a foot away from Tasha with a giant rock-horned protrusion. The thud echoed across the beasts’s head, a resonant sound that filled their ears.
Movement flickered in the Mercenary’s periphery, hiding among the ruined walls, in the piles of debris. Were there more of them, or was his paranoia setting in? He dared not shift his view, watching the beast as it panted a few feet from his blue-skinned friend, finger caressing the trigger as if it were a lover.
Had Darkhawk not been wearing his mask, they would have seen him sneer. Bentre lay int he dust, curled into a fetal position, but still awake and aware. How badly he was hurt remained to be seen. And his heart felt the monsters, plural. How he hadn’t tasted them before, he’d curse himself later about. He grimaced, his mind whispering things he had read a decade ago. Yozusk… Rock wardens. Good sense of smell. Subterranean. And most importantly…
Territorial.
But this territory was claimed for Sadow.
Darkhawk lit his saber, nodding to Tasha'vel.
After all, he only needed one.
Bentre snarled as his body was racked with pain. He stretched out an arm and with a deep growl he drew upon the Force. His fingers grasped at the air, causing the creature to halt as he clawed at a limb in the Force. He was not going to let it get away from him.
For a moment, it seemed as though he had succeeded. Then, he felt a shudder in the Force as the beast pulled free of his grip. The pain was muddling his focus.
“Karking hell.” He sputtered as he clamored to his feet. He drew a sharp breath. This was not going as he had planned. Not in the least.
DarkHawk watched as his comrade slowly regained his composure, then turned to draw the Yozusk’s attention upon himself. The creature made a deep snarling sound, its mandibles clacking in a rapid rhythm as it pivoted towards him. The Shaevalian sprang into motion, gliding through the wreckage with fluent precision. He vaulted from the skeletal cockpit of a fallen starfighter, his boots pushing off a rusted support beam mid-air. The Force coiled around his limbs guiding him as he twisted through narrow gaps. He spun off vertical panels, then flipped between leaning bulkheads that groaned beneath their own weight. Finally, landing atop a fractured support stanchion, six meters above the Harrower’s floor.
The Yozusk was close behind, swiping viciously as it clambered toward him. Just as DarkHawk found his footing, the beast rammed the stanchion with brute force. Without missing a beat, he launched himself into the air, flipping over the raging monster below. But the Yozusk reared up, striking him mid-flight with the edge of its spiny frill. The blow sent his trajectory spiraling out of control and way off-balance. He lashed out with his lightsaber as he spun away, only managing a glancing blow across the creature’s scaly upper flank.
The force of the strike was enough to hurl DarkHawk through the air, crashing him into a crumbling stack of storage crates. Pain exploded through him, reverberating all the way to his toes. He thought, how was that even possible? He couldn’t even begin to fathom the prognosis. From the other side, the Yozusk let out another burst of rapid clacking, its stance low and poised, readying for another assault.
Following the sounds of battle Quentinshadows moved at a hurried pace through the darkened corridors as his black Naga Sadow robes flow behind him “blasted ship is a maze” he says to his apprentice as he pauses for a moment to focus on the sounds that seem to reverberate through the halls. “Have your droid scan to locate our brethren” he orders his apprentice.
Within moments the little droid floating over his apprentice shoulder begins to chime and beep as it flies off down the hall leading the way. The master and apprentice begin following the little droid that was leading the way.
Entering the room, seeing a rather large creature raging and his overlord on his back on broken crates “Sir, sorry we are late, we seemed to have gotten turned around on this ship” The archpriest says as he offers his hand to aid his overlord to his feet. As his apprentice takes a guard position near them.
Quentin rounded the corner, chaos unfolding in front of him. A ruinous mountain of wreckage where the doorway onto a bridge once was, the Consul bouncing off of his back and onto his feet with an agility that masked the pain of his fall. A faint groan from out of view sounded like it could have been Bentre, while Tasha spun away from a smashed panel, her blade alight.
And in the midst of it all, It.
Chitinous and writhing, the beast was heavily muscled, giant forearms pounding the deck as it smashed through piles of rubbish, mandibles clacking in infuriating patterns that drove them all to wrath. To madness. To Rage.
It swung its upper body, a head so encased in spiked armor that it had no neck to speak of. Spinning between targets, it noticed the blue Twi'Lek and her glowing saber, and the sprawling Consul that had just drew a line of char across its back. Malice bloomed behind bestial eyes as it charged, it’s mind made up. It slammed its claws to the deckplates with a resounding thud and bounded toward DarkHawk, scattering debris in its wake as it charged toward him. As the Consul flung, it skittered to a halt, throwing it’s head back and howled, a dirge of wrath and emnity that echoed across the derelict, seeping into their ears and hearts.
Forcibly reintroduced to the ground several feet away, DarkHawk felt pain at his ribs, his bell fully rung by the creature.
Perhaps, DarkHawk thought to himself, dead would do just as well.
Perhaps.
For half a second, everything snapped to white. No pain, just a blinding pop like a camera flash behind his eyes. Then came the ringing, shrill and endless. Much like a siren trapped in his skull, blaring to be released. DarkHawk’s balance teetering. The world seemed tilted slightly. Lights blurred, his limbs felt disconnected, floating.
He blinked hard. Once. Twice. Static crawled at the edges of his vision. He shook his head violently, gritted his teeth and growled. Instinct kicked in before thought did. Drop low. Guard up. Breathe.
Focus came back in waves, first the floor under his feet, then the shapes of the fight sharpening around him. The ringing didn’t stop, but he pushed it down. Anger helped. So did the taste of blood in his mouth.
DarkHawk planted himself, found his center, and when his eyes locked on the Yozusk, he was back. Not steady. Not perfect. But dangerous again.
In a fit of triumphant rage, the rock warden slammed its frill against a bulkhead. Turning toward the others Its mandibles clacking together rapidly. Snap-snap-snap, snap-snap-snap. The sound mimicked heavy stones being cracked under pressure. Echoing off the walls with a mechanical rhythm.
DarkHawk floated his saber back to his hand, igniting the blades. He twisted his neck back and forth until he could no longer hear or feel his joints crack. “Third time’s a charm” he thought.
DarkHawk leapt toward the Yozusk, vaulting over a pile of debris. The creature sensed the movement, turned, and charged straight at the Consul. As DarkHawk closed the distance, he felt the Force pulsing through him.
Wait… wait… wait, he told himself.
The Yozusk was nearly on top of him when, at the last second, it reared back on its hind legs.
Now!
DarkHawk dropped to one knee and launched into a power slide. Spinning his blades in a tight arc, he slashed down with one, then up with the other, severing one of the beast’s rear legs clean from its torso.
He slid past as the Yozusk crashed to the ground, howling in pain. Its screams were deafening. It thrashed about violently, struggling to get its remaining legs beneath it. Confused and crippled, the beast’s fury turned to panic as its massive frame began to betray it.
The archpriest steps forward raising both of his hands and unleashes force lightning its purple blue tendrils strike out from his finger tips at the Yozusk that had been trying to stand with its missing leg. The lightning engulfs it forcing it to cry out in pain as its flesh burns and get chard black from the blast it had just taken. It collapses to the floor barely able to move from the pain. Quentin lets a smirk slip past under his hood knowing the beast was almost dead “Quickly brethren end its suffering before it can get back up!” he shouts.
Upon seeing Tasha’Vel on the ground pushed back, something within Vance just snapped and he stowed his slugthrower and with a flick of his wrist, his lightsaber came to his hand while Darkhawk and Quentin were dealing with the creature. Eyes steeled and focused, he ignited the blade for the first time in a long while, its cyan blade crackled to life with a snapping hiss as he turned to the very crispy looking Yozusk. He flipped the blade majestically between his hands as he strode forward up to the downed creature. “I am not gonna let you hurt anyone else ever again.” And with a primal cry from his lips, The maroon haired,pink skinned Sephi plunged the cyan blade into the belly of the beast and ripped the blade upwards,splitting it in half and then proceeded to come around and bring his blade down again in a series of strikes to make sure the beast was thoroughly dispatched. After a few moments, Vance deactivated his lightsaber,putting it away, wiped the sweat off his brow, and sat down for a moment on the ground. He then looked at Darkhawk and Quentin. “I hate creepy crawlies, especially large angry ones.”
Bentre’s eyes narrowed as he strained to listen. That wasn’t the last threat here. He caught bits of sound further in on the bridge.
“No time to waste, I suppose.” He muttered. He motioned to the Overlord, and tapped the side of his head, then his ear before pointing in the direction he heard….something. He could hear movement and something else that he couldn’t really pin down.
Do you hear that, Takagari? He spoke the words silently, projecting his thoughts through the Force. He glanced away, considering his options. If there are more yet, I don’t know how you feel about my forging ahead solo and unseen.
Yeah, he could have forged ahead alone. He might have even managed to do some real damage before having to retreat. As loathe as he was to admit it, he wasn’t about to let Darkhawk know how rattled he had gotten. His ribs still ached.
He looked at the Overlord. Your call, big man.
Every breath stung. His body still throbbed from the Yozusk attack, though the pain was slowly fading. The Yozusk was strong, relentless, a predator the Shaevalin definitely admired. Watching it die brought satisfaction, but part of him wanted to study it more, to learn from its instincts, to sharpen that raw predatory force into a deadly art.
Master Stahoes’ voice echoed through his mind. His questions cut through the constant ringing in his ears. DarkHawk closed his eyes, focusing, Breathe… control, rhythm, flow. Listen.
Using the Force, he blocked out the noises around him and locked onto one thing, a presence. The tendrils of the Force stretched out flooding the bridge. A heartbeat, shifting from a steady thump, thump, thump to a quicker thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump. Listening to the rhythm, his eyes widened…*two?! * The rush of anticipation for another hunt began to resurge through him.
DarkHawk flashed a series of hand signals back at Master Stahoes: flank nine o’clock, low and slow.
Then came DarkHawk’s voice through the Force: “Master Stahoes, I am picking up more than one presence. I feel two small force signatures hiding in the bridge. Stay sharp, keep your head on a swivel, no lone engagements. We use our numbers. If my instincts are correct, I want whatever is on that bridge back on Sepros. Alive. But more than that, I want you back alive.”
Master Stahoes gave a firm nod.
Bentre was mildly irritated at no lone engagements but he was already less than primed having gotten bowled over. He started to slowly move forward, drawing on the Force as he disappeared from view. He would be a good little soldier, for now.
He moved forward, as indicated. He would keep his eyes open. He would serve his purpose. For now.
The smell of the chard yozusk corpse was pleasing to the archpriest, he could see Darkhawk and Bentre pushing on towards the bridge their senses focused on what was ahead of them. Quentin move to bring up the rear letting the shadows close around him as moves silently just a short distance behind them making sure nothing would surprise them from the rear. “Damn apprentice got lost again” he whispers to himself fully knowing she could handle her self if she gets in trouble.
Beneath the acrid scent of burnt chitin and spilled blood, there was something more. Their hearts twitched, muscles spasming, looking for the next avenue of destruction as the last heave of breath billowed dust away from the Yozusk’s maw. Adrenaline was a cruel mistress, one that shelved pain and stored it to be paid back later with interest. A fine that they would all pay later. Eyes darted, breaths grew deeper, awareness brewed.
Two.
Always two, there were.
But not Sith, not this time. Their heartbeats thrashed a moment outside of their sight, the sounds echoing within the cavities of the walls, the decking. Quick thoughts constrained the survivors as to the size of their prey. They would have to be smaller than loth-cats to fit between the wallboards. They were not juveniles, they were babies.
As their eyes cleared from seeing without eyes,a slight smile formed across several sets of lips. Babies were malleable, trainable, easily taken for their own purposes. And a few steps further, on what once was a bustling bridge of the destroyer, a larger prize. A pillar, untoughed by time or beast, floor to ceiling. Stark grey, a thick layer of dust on the ancient interface, the cables ripped aside in haste, angling as if cut intentionally. Perhaps the last acts of a defiant captain, preserving what he could of his ship. The Harrower’s computer. The log within would have full schematics for the ship, and untold informational treasures about their engagements. Maybe even what caused the wreckage.
Hearts and minds.
The stench was brutal. Whatever this place used to be a bridge, a command center. It wasn’t anymore, those days were long over. Now it was a graveyard. DarkHawk scanned the wreckage, taking in the destruction that had chewed through the legacy of what was once a top-tier warship.
And yet, he had to hand it to the Yozusk. Surviving this long, in this part of the ship, one of the most secure levels, with full access to the rest. It had turned the place into its hunting ground. It picked off crew and scavengers alike, relentless and smart.
The ship had been dormant for years. That meant the Yozusk had gone into survival mode, feeding only when necessary. DarkHawk couldn’t help but picture the first unlucky scavengers who’d stumbled in after that long fast. The creature must’ve gone full primal, driven by instinct, killing not for food but for the thrill of it. Brutal. Beautiful.
He activated his comlink. “Ty, we’re on the bridge. We’ve got mainframe access. Get up here with the Gonks and crack this thing.”
“Copy that, ol’ boy. I am oscar-mike.”
“Oh, and Ty? Move cautiously. We’ve got Yozusks onboard.”
A beat of silence. Then, “Are you sure this is the best environment to wind me up? Just wanna have a laugh do we?”
“Confirmed visual. It fought hard.”
“Bloody’ell, man.”
The comlink went quiet again. The hunt wasn’t over, and that electric tension was still in the air. Hopefully, this round would hurt less than the last. Though the pain in his ribs reminded him just how vicious these things could be. Still, there was no way he was backing off now.
“I am thinking Sadow Palace has a new set of rock wardens safeguarding our perimeters. Anyone have any tranks? Mine are Type II inhibiting, might be a bit overkill. Emphasis on the kill…”
Bentre strode over to the machine, looking it over. The power issue was thankfully a rather minor issue.
“Can you bring one of those power droids over here, Darkhawk?” He peered over the surface of the computer, looking for a data access point. He fumbled through his mission bag to fish out a small retangular datapad. “Once we have the computers spun up, I can take a stab at plumbing through the inner depths. I am not sure if I have enough space on this thing,” he held up the datapad, “top copy over everything. I can probably grab the floorplan and systems data for the ship. Anything else in particular hit your fancy, or do you just want me to grab whatever looks shiny?”
With impeccable timing, Ty entered the bridge. “Master Stahoes, I believe you requested power droids? I hope these two will suffice,” he said, gesturing to the two Gonks wobbling in behind him. Bentre nodded. Ty got to work immediately, powering up the Gonks and splicing them in.
“There we go, easy-peasy,” Ty said, brushing the dust from his hands. “Shall we get to it then?”
Bentre held up his datapad. “I only have this.”
Ty held up a finger, signaling a pause. He patted down his flight suit until he found the pocket he was looking for, then pulled out a datadisk and held it up. “I believe we’re covered, sir.”
DarkHawk spoke up. “Download everything you can, as much as you can. We still have unanswered questions that still might be tucked away in there. Consider everything a shiny.“
Bentre and Ty began powering up the computer systems. Control panels slowly came to life, workstation lights flickered on, and monitors blinked erratically as system caution lights began to flash.
“The rest of us need to box these little delinquents in,” DarkHawk added, “Then figure out a way to make them sleepy for a few hours.”
DarkHawk reached out with the Force, sending its tendrils slithering outward, trying to pinpoint the Yozusk’s position. The noise of the world faded, not silenced, but filtered, bent around him like light around a blade. His breath slowed. The dark side sharpened.
He reached not with thought, but with instinct sharpened by hatred, laced with waves of anticipation. DarkHawk casted out those invisible tendrils of awareness, sifting through the Force like a predator in still water. The abandoned vessel groaned around him, the hull complaining in the quiet like a dying beast. Rusted panels, broken consoles, the stale scent of ozone, it all spoke of death.
He extended his mind. The Force obeyed, rushing outward like water flooding into cracks. He felt the echo of long-past fear, blood dried into the deck plating. He probed deeper, reaching into the crevasses along the bridge, the dark hollows between collapsed bulkheads and ruptured conduits.
Nothing…No fear…..No thought…No breath.
He narrowed his focus. Somewhere in this floating crypt, two Yozusk younglings were hiding, barely more than children. And yet, they were invisible to him. He shifted his weight, fingers flexing slowly at his sides. His Sense had tracked assassins across smoke-choked battlefields. He’d felt the heartbeat of liars through walls. Even Force-dead creatures still left ripples in the current.
But here, there was only deafening silence. A dead zone in the Force. He tried again, reaching with more precision. Still nothing. The void did answer back, it was just stale and cold. It wasn’t a suppression field. It wasn’t interference. The Force flowed, but not into them. Not through them.
Unusual species, he thought. Yozusks…they are Dromund Kaas born. Shadow-bred. Twisted in the dark. Those ancient scripts flashed in his mind. Maybe something in their blood hides them, pulls them into the folds of the void. Or maybe…
His jaw tightened. That void of nothingness angered him. Time to recalculate the scene.
Perhaps they were hiding not just physically, but instinctively, in the Force. Like predators learning to be prey. That thought pleased him.
DarkHawk exhaled long and slow. “Smart little beasties,” he muttered.
But even the Force has limits. And he knew how to hunt without it. “They’re cloaked to me in the Force. Has anyone else sensed them,” he asked, turning to the others.
“If we can narrow their position, we can flush the little squatters out to us.”
DarkHawk stood still for a moment, formulating a plan, rudimentary at best. “If the Force won’t reveal them, technology can”, his voice boomed in his head. The Shaevalian retrieved his data pad and pulled up the MFTAS screen. Ty had given him a crash course on all the features of the Multi-Frequency Target Acquisition System built into the helm, plus a few little nuances he’d crafted in himself.
“Alright, Ty,” DarkHawk muttered, “Let’s see if your teaching is as good as your flyin.”
Ty perked his head up from the console he and Master Stahoes were still slicing into. “You are talking absolute bollocks! Bloody manchild. If you can’t circumvent menial tasks, that’s a you problem, not a me problem. Tick-tock, ol’ chum.” Then he went right back to slicing.
DarkHawk shook his head in jest then tapped a few keystrokes on his datapad. The MFTAS came alive, displaying selectable pre-programmed snapshots alongside custom ones within the HUD. First, he toggled the system to deactivate infrared signatures and recalibrate sensors to highlight thermal voids, areas colder than ambient norm. Cold-blooded creatures typically absorb ambient temperatures. In warm regions, they might blend in, but in a cool or shifting environment like this Harrower, they can stand out as relative cold zones.
The initial scans returned no anomalies.
DarkHawk switched to multi-frequency mode. The MFTAS began layering multiple color spectrums into HUD overlays. The system was scanning for unusual surface refractions and possible biological residue trails, more importantly, subtle silhouette outlines that might deceive active camouflage.
Bulkhead, ten o’clock. Mucus residue.
Following that ping, DarkHawk deployed a Sensor Telemetry Pod. The pod emitted pulses like LIDAR, bouncing off every surface and feeding back the data. It was scanning for depth distortions, micro-movements like a tail flick and any density inconsistencies. Low-frequency pulses rippled outward, returning back to the HUD just a few seconds later.
He advanced toward one of the main support stanchions, pointing to the floor panel just right of it. A non-standard displacement registered beneath the plating. Something was coiled low and tight. Too dense to be metal. No heat. No sound. But it moved just enough.
“Mark One,” he said with quiet precision, even through the helm’s voice modulator.
A second scan revealed similar readings in the upper bulkhead panels to the left of the main viewports. DarkHawk stepped directly beneath them and pointed upward.
“Mark Two.”
He took a moment to survey the chaos around them, the shattered bridge of what was once a menacing war machine. Remembering all the steel cargo container cubes lay scattered about the ship. They might do the trick until the transports arrive with proper containment systems. The two Yozusks might be infantile, but they are as strong as Banthas. Those cubes wouldn’t hold them for long. Especially if they want to throw a tantrum.
“The container cubes. We can use the cubes. I can pull the panels easy enough, but we’ll have to wrangle them in and hope they hold until the transports arrive.”
“Oh, bloody ’ell…” Ty muttered from behind the panel.
The transports pitched as they made their way to the derelict, retro-rockets firing to slow them down and maneuver them into the hangar. Black eyes lifted from the work as the last of the scanning probes settled into the foam-lined case. Turning from them, he let his mind reach for them, the subtle presence washing over the team as he did.
We’re done here.
Bentre snarled at the thought, his fingers working to gently disconnect the last of a corroded wiring harness and mounting bracket from his prize. The reinforced and heavy crate lay beneath the runed deckplates, the scent of something foul having permeated the metal around it. He drew back his focus as Tytus detached the gonk from the mainframe, the bloody computer having irritated him to no end.
Bentre snarled, redoubling his efforts. This was the only method that he had left, the only path left to plunder the wealth of knowledge once contained on the ship. Eyes narrowed as he tried to reach through the awkward angle of access, fingers snagged by a bit of metal sharpened by age and rust. The curse that left his lips was not silent, his response was not measured. Roiling back, the weapon was in his hand without so much as a thought, the razor hum of an activated adegan scoring the air before sneering through the ground before him. Precision strikes cleft the bracket from the crate, the wires falling dead and loose around his prize.
If Tasha’vel had an eyebrow, it would have lifted. Bentre turned his head at her as the weapon went silent, then to his belt. She nodded slowly at him, then turned to the other matter. Darkhawk positioned himself carefully, heavy boots causing a ruckus on one side of the bridge, the skittering within the walls resonating faintly as he drove them toward an opening. An opening that had a small stasis generator bolted hastily onto a container cube. It was inelegant, but it would work. If they could get the little monsters into it. Would that the Beastmaster was here to help them. He imagined a herd of the chitinous monsters patrolling the jungle outside of the new Temple. The temple that they had reconstructed from Naga Sadow’s own design.
“Two?” the consul sneered. “More would be nice.” He stomped forward, forcing himself to override his lifetime of training. The skittering paused, changing direction beneath wallplates and decking thick enough to throw off his sensors. Wordlessly, he dropped to the floor, a heavy gauntlet pounding the deck and sending reverboration through. The skittering froze for amoment, then bolted back the direction he had intended.
Closer, closer they moved, hidden between the walls, a meter from the opening. Less. Tasha’s arm raised, the invisible hand of the force crushing the end of the plates, squeezing the beasts toward the opening. Faint squeaking resonated from the wall.
Good. Darkhawk smiled beneath his helmet. Let them know fear.
When the heads peeked from the corner, they used their overbuilt arms to wedge between the container and the wall breach. Somehow they knew his plan, their plan. They chose freedom instead, no matter the cost.
The tendrils of the Force reacted to his mind with ease, his will congealing around the young beasts.
The Force shall free me.
———
Muz stood facing the corridor, arms clasped behind him, backlit by the glow from the last transport. Quentin appeared first, his tired eyes adjusting to the difference in lighting slowly. The temporary base that they had set up in the hangar had been dismantled already, packed up and returned to the fleet. Quentin dipped his head in deep respect as he moved closer.
Bentre appeared next, Tasha’vel not far behind, her weapons in hand. For his part, his arms were full, a heavy metallic crate the size of his torso. The black box and backup hard drives for the derelict would be a great prize. Whatever secrets from the Sith empire could be gleaned, it was worth the frustration, and the blood that flowed from his hand.
Finally, Ty and DarkHawk appeared, the hovercart between them full of materials salvaged from their work. Ty tilted the cart controls, trying to get it to head up the ramp easier as Muz looked at Darkhawk and then the cart.
———
Bridge The Light of Orian Redacted Space
“All accounted for?” It was as much of a question as it was a statement. Hades watched stoically out the viewport at the wreckage below them, bits of metal from ages long dead reflecting light from stars that had probably also died. The irony was not lost on him.
Darkhawk didn’t need to answer, merely nod his head. To the far side, the Lion watched, the starlight reflected in black pools as he considered. They couldn’t risk it, after all. If any of their enemies were to have the same idea as they, it would be … Muz let his head dip into a nod before he turned briskly and walked away.
Hades dropped his hand, the report from the ships guns shaking the ship. A full orbital bombardment seethed from the Light, bringing apocalypse to the ruined memory of history below. The failures of the ancients were to be learned from, accounted for, overcome…and then erased. Hades watched as fire golden and crimson erupted from below, what little atmo that the derelict had exploding in a glorious display of their might. Vitiate’s failures, like Palpatine’s, like Bane’s were all the same.
Sadow remained.
If the consul weren’t wearing his helm, he would have smiled.