The Last Acolyte: Chapter 5

Sakali’s green blade, the large and smooth duel-phase hilt of that belonged to her master, hissed alive and plunged into the most vulnerable part of the fortress’s walls, or so her senses had told her. Working with quick practiced motions, Sakali traced a perfect circular opening large enough for Gre’vir and herself to pass through.  Sakali met the Ithorian’s gaze and held it for what seemed like years, they both knew they were outnumbered one to ten at best, at worst… neither dared to think of their chances in numerical terms. Finally, Gre’vir nodded at Sakali and made for the stairs that, according to the schematics, would lead Gre’vir to where he would most deadly, the high ground.

Good luck, Old man.

With that, Sakali turned around and crouched, the young echani drew on the power of the Force and enact one of the Force techniques that the great Jedi Master, Dooku, had taught her. The Art of the Soundless, calling on the ever present power of the Force, Sakali closed her eyes and imagined a bubble encompassing her body, every inch of it, until her steps became mute and her breath inaudible. Confident that she her movement had been muted, Sakali took careful and timid steps, each time she stretched out and felt the live forms around her from the smallest of creatures to a strange being that seemed to have talent with the Force. No, Sakali, just focus. Ignoring the potential Force sensitive, Sakali continued to prowl around the complex, which was surprisingly under-guarded.

Or maybe they’re all just outside. She mused.

After moments of listening and sneaking around, Sakali finally heard voices; they spoke of idle things, swoop races, bets and dreams typical of a space pirate. Then, she heard it, the name of the man who killed her master…

Jango Fett.

Sakali felt something tug at her, an anger that went beyond what a Jedi, and a Padawan learner at that, was allowed. Her brows narrowed, her nostrils flared; her grip on the hilt of her master tightened and lightning, white as snow and pure as fire, encompassed her hilt.

Sakali exploded into action, moving so fast that she seemed to be a physical blur of brown and green. Sakali swung the emerald blade high, aiming for a Weequay’s neck and then, as her blade connected, she turned to her left and loosed an upward slash that disarmed a Rodian. Before the Rodian could even scream in pain, Sakali immediately flicked her wrist at the end of her strike and severed the Rodian’s head from his neck, ending both pirates before they could even register an expression,

Sakali panted, her breath coming in short, rapid bursts. The fight hadn’t taxed her, in fact it empowered her, but she felt a bloodlust she could not control, an urge to cut every single being in this complex into tiny pieces and then feed them to the Womp Rats.

”A Jedi does not feel pleasure from a kill, even if the Jedi is a practitioner of Juyo and those emotions are even more forbidden among the Vaapad Masters. “ Her master had once said during a mission on the planet Royloth after they had returned the young boy, Cham Syndulla, to his parents. But despite her master’s lesson, Sakali felt only hatred, only anger, only a lust for blood.

Suddenly, a door to her left opened, revealing a Twi’Lek woman. The Woman’s eyes widened as she took in the scene around her, then she set her gaze on Sakali’s glowing blade, she opened her mouth to scream.

But in the second it took her to open her mouth, in the precious microseconds it took for brain to send the order to her muscles to move, Sakali had already plunged sliced the Woman’s head clean off with a swipe of her blade.

Sakali stepped outside into fray, knowing that there were more than fifty or so mercenaries working. Knew too, that there was twice as many attack droids guarding the complex and that they would all be upon her once they sounded the alarm.  Yet still she walked on, her emerald blade, the blade of her Master, blazing with snow white lightning, lightning that seemed to snake all around her body, lightning that should have caused her pain or at the very least, concern.

Sakali felt the mercenaries stop and stare, felt too, their fear, hate and anger spike as they laid their eyes on her blade. Sakali didn’t even need to look at them to know that they, the dozen or so mercenaries, had already drawn their crude weaponry.

They fired.

————————————————————

Gre’vir slammed himself into a wall as he spotted three Weequay mercenaries walking about, patrolling, or rather pretending to patrol. Gre’vir could have easily picked them off one by one with his Czerka Adventurer or even with a normal blaster pistol, but that would merely draw attention to him and he was too old and too tired to fight hordes of enemies, perhaps in his youth, he would have come in loud and gun blazing, but now he had his, and the safety of Sakali, to worry about.

So he waited for the familiar hum of a lightsaber, waited for the all too familiar sound of a blaster bolt, waited for the even more familiar sound of a bolt bouncing off a lightsaber and into the chest of some poor fool. After moments of anticipation, Gre’vir heard it, the sound of blaster fire, wild and full of panic. Gre’vir moved with a swiftness one could only expect from a Jedi, drawing his Adventurer and firing thrice, acting on instinct instead of thought, practiced motions instead of panic. The three, unfortunate Weequays fell one by one, none realizing that his brother had fallen.

Gre’vir pressed forward, his weapon held at that hip, his reflexes sharp as can be. Suddenly, four mercenaries poked out from a corridor and fired at him. Gre’vir scurried back to the corridor where the three Weequays laid dead, then spat a string of curses as he put his back to the wall and held his Sniper Rifle aloft. Gre’vir stilled his breath, inhaling and exhaling slowly; he willed his heart to beat a slower pace, to calm. It was an old hunter’s technique called The Drunk-Man’s Calm, a crude and unusual name in Gre’vir mind, but the technique itself had proven vital to him on several occasions, and had even helped him survive several skirmishes in the outer-rim territories.

He just hoped this would be one of those times where it would help him.

Gre’vir poked his head out cover and immediately ducked back into cover when a bolt screeched past his head. Okay, bad idea. Thinking frantically, the old ithorian pulled out his trusty Hold-Out Blaster pistol, Old Unreliable, a less than ideal name for a weapon he was about to use, but Gre’vir merely shrugged and, with a speed impossible to his people, he twirled out his cover and fired his Czerka Adventurer, then his pistol. Gre’vir expertly alternated between shooting his weapons and though his first bolts had taken down two of the four mercenaries, he continued to keep a steady barrage of fire on the remaining two until they too lay dead on the floor.

Gre’vir took several, tentative steps to the area that four mercenaries were guarding and smiled, as best as an ithorian could, as he saw a stairway leading to a watch tower where he would be most deadly. The old Ithorian pressed on and saw that the night was filled with the sounds of panicked screams and blaster screeches. Two mercenaries, a man and a woman, were shooting aimlessly at a web of pure light down below, a web of emerald light.

Gre’vir drew Old Unreliable and pulled the trigger on the man’s head, then turned to the female, apologized and fired directly at her stomach, twice, three times, four times.

The woman dropped to the floor. Gre’vir didn’t bother honoring her body the way his people, not the Ithorians, but rather the hunters, did, instead, Gre’vir holstered his blaster and took out his Czerka Adventurer. He gently and expertly placed the magnifying scope on his Adventurer, reloaded the weapon with a new charge magazine and took aim.

Jungle Mother, may aim be true, may hands be swift and my mind sharp, guide my hand Jungle Mother, so that my young may live long and prosper. And above all, protect her, Jungle Mother. Gre’vir zoomed in on a man with a rocket launcher and pulled the trigger, then again, and again, and again….

————————————————————

Sakali spun her blade about, batting away at the barrage of fire that the foolish mercenaries dared to shoot at her, she deflected wildly, toying with them, Sakali had trained in all forms of battle, including Form V’s Shien variant, she could have easily redirected their fire back at them, but this was personal, Sakali wanted to slay them all….

Personally.

Sakali leapt up to one of the walkways and lashed out, her blade, still in its single phase function, held firm in a two handed grip, as she landed, Sakali brought her blade down onto a Rodian’s head, the emerald sword sliced the mercenaries in half, Sakali turned to her left and raised her arm, she drew on her power, the power of darkness and hate, of grief and anger, the power or revenge. Lightning shot out from her hand, but it was different from the first time she had used it, instead of coming out as snaking forks of power, the lightning, bright as light and deadly as fire, came out as a ball of cackling energy, leaving a trail of smoke as it flew towards the man that stood beside her and the dead Rodian. The ball disappeared into the man and then, unexpectedly, the man’s body began to convulse, his body became enveloped with electricity, his mouth foamed as he thrashed about on the ground, his skin peeled away, burning, almost dissolving from the sheer amount of electricity and finally, the man was nothing more than ashes.

Sakali spun around and deflected blaster fire. She took note of the dozen droid guards joining the battle, supporting the remaining twenty-four mercenaries firing at her, she would not hold out against so many, but she didn’t need to. Sakali turned her gaze upwards, to the northwestern watchtower and smiled as she saw a flash of red.

Time slowed for Sakali, each blaster bolt became incredibly visible to her eye, each flicker of movement, each pull of a trigger, the world slowed, and she could see it all. Sakali closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, the young Echani opened herself to the great power that swirled around, she allowed it to encompass her body, her mind and her very soul. She thought of her master, thought of the ignorance of the council, the inaction of the council! Sakali opened her bright eyes and exhaled, her thumb hovered over the duel-phase ignition button and then, just as a blaster bolt threaten to strike her, just as Gre’vir began to pull the trigger to his Czerka Adventurer, Sakali pressed the ignition switch and redirected the bolt towards its master.

The Echani assumed the battle position of a Saber-staff user, the position her master had used, and lunged at the mercenaries. They would pay, they would all pay!

--------------------------------------------

A/N First off I really wanna dedicate this chapter and the entire fanfic to the late and great Christopher Lee who left us earlier this week, he was one of my all time favorite actors and made for one of the best characters in the star wars universe and Lord of the Rings universe.  He was a great inspiration for me as an aspiring Voice Actor , his work as Dooku is incredibly well done, Christopher Lee brought the elegance, the charm and the personality to one of my all time favorite star wars characters, so really this chapter is a tribute to a wonderful and talented man who is forever immortalized in the great universes of Star Wars, Lord of the Rings and of course, in the Horror genre.  May this man rest in peace.