Meanwhile, on Dathomir
"Forward, push them, drive them back!" Warren shouted, coordinating the attack on one of the Dathomirian witch temples.
The attack that fell upon the witches was not so unexpected; the witches knew and were preparing for the arrival of uninvited guests—moreover, they were themselves preparing for a stab in the back, for there is only one power on Dathomir—Their power, and no one else's. Even Damask had to tolerate and cooperate with the witches. But what they miscalculated was the power that the outsiders unleashed upon their heads.
Versatile loners, previously working mostly in teams of up to twenty fighters, had already managed to work together. Over two campaigns, in which battles went one after another, the fighters had bonded and learned to work in larger groups. Squads divided by specialization did not give the witches even a second's respite.
Some, like locusts, flew over the thickets, dropping grenades and picking off those who tried to climb higher. Others encircled the main temple of the Nightsisters, cutting off the escape route, aided by droids. Still others conducted the attack itself, clearing the forests and pushing the witches toward the temple entrance, where a small fourth group awaited them. The boys insolently positioned themselves near the entrance, setting up a shooting gallery for themselves.
Another group searched for hidden passages. Unlike the others, these Mandalorians acted in pairs. One experienced fighter, capable of both tracking a target and recognizing camouflaged entrances, and one covering him. Centuries of life as bounty hunters had taught them to pay attention to such seemingly minor details that many outsiders not connected to Mandalore called it behind their backs: "Mandalorian Hunch," from which it was impossible to hide.
And this was just one single temple, while the attack was going on simultaneously on three sites. Ships positioned in orbit didn't let anyone leave the planet. One after another, ships tried to fly off. Receiving an order to stop, some actually braked, some turned around, and some tried to slip away. The Fangs waiting for their targets didn't give them a chance, accurately picking off everything trying to leave.
The witches, meanwhile, sensing what was at stake, applied everything in their arsenal. Spells that made their cultists look like ghosts interfered with targeting systems. Alchemical stimulants with which they pumped themselves allowed the witches to dash with simply unthinkable speed for mere mortals, but it didn't help. It doesn't matter how fast you run, for a blaster is faster, and they couldn't deflect shots like other Force-users. Force taken from others, for all its pluses, couldn't replace innate ability.
The Basilisks also found worthy opponents in the form of rancors. Thick skin, strong bones, and developed musculature made these creatures a very formidable weapon in the witches' hands. Even the laser units mounted on the Basilisks couldn't pierce the rancors' thick hide and protective plates on the first try. Heavier weaponry could already oppose something; those same baradium missiles carried a significant threat, but they too were not a panacea.
The iron beasts clashed in close combat with the living monsters. The rancors tried with all their might to harm the Basilisks, pounding with their heavy paws like hammers and scratching the hull with claws strong as steel. But it was not enough. The armor was too strong, which couldn't be said of the rancors' hide, which was torn to shreds by the Basilisks' vibro-claws. Deep furrows remained on the hide after every strike. The Basilisks felled the rancors one after another, impaling them and throwing them onto their backs.
And somewhere there, on the front lines, three Forcesabers flashed. The Terrans took the most active part in the frontal attack, luring particularly dangerous opponents toward themselves.
When it seemed the entrance was about to be captured, the unforeseen happened. Green mist began to fill the area, worsening visibility and creating interference for instruments. But more than that, the Mandalorians caught in this mist began to feel unwell. Warren felt the strange effect of this "mist" on himself.
His heartbeat quickened; a moment of weakness was replaced by a rush of strength and anger. And in his head, somewhere far away, a voice appeared that persistently whispered of betrayal. That you had been betrayed, that you would now be shot in the back and, to prevent this, you had to shoot first. Unfounded rage only stimulated this impulse, clouding the mind. Another's will replaced your own; it seemed that any moment the attackers would throw themselves at each other as they began to exchange glances. For seconds the battle quieted, but only to flare up with new force.
Gathering their will into a fist, the Mandalorians directed the rage bubbling in them at the enemy. Dis hadn't been badgering Shade for his techniques and suggestion abilities for nothing. Having learned to fight independently, he had, thanks to Aero, compiled a sort of manual that had been learned from start to finish by all RAVEN fighters over six months.
When the witches realized their ploy had failed, they applied another "magick." Special cocoons, indistinguishable from other fruits, hung from the tree branches. Only, from these cocoons, undead suddenly began to emerge.
"Truly, the Dark Side does not let one die," Warren mentally recalled Shade's words when he saw what was happening. Blasters didn't help; the risen continued to stand even with a through-hole in the head. One of the most reliable and effective ways, in which the corpses stayed down once and for all—a baradium charge, from which the bony bodies covered in withered skin flew apart. Another effective option—flamethrowers. Doused with a combustible mixture that melts even steel, the corpses burned like matches. Yet another way to get rid of the extremely resilient creatures—dismemberment. Hanharr personally led one such group, which included several other Wookiees, a Besalisk, a pair of Verpine combat soldiers, and several other representatives of large races. Wielding vibro-axes and vibroswords made of cortosis, the squad extremely successfully and cohesively hacked everything that approached them.
And when specialized flamethrower units, with fuel tanks instead of jetpacks, jumped from the arrived landing shuttles, a real hell began for the witches, in both the figurative and literal sense. "Burners," as these specialists were dubbed by other Mandalorians, literally walked through the flames they created. Armor made of Mustafarian iron was inferior in strength to the flyers' equivalents, but in return it withstood colossal temperatures, allowing the wearer to easily endure heat unbearable for the rest.
Having broken the witches' struggling forces on the surface, the outcome of the battle was decided. The defenders were killed or scattered through the forests; magick didn't help and, moreover, its reserves were practically exhausted from active mass application. The Mandalorians burst into the temple-city; the sweep began.
Underground, the Mandalorians were met by a fairly large city. On an underground lake, pyramidal structures stood as islands, connected to each other by bridges and transitions. The dim lighting of green streetlights. Ordinary yellowish light burned in the windows of houses; frightened youth could be seen peeking from windows and openings.
Unfortunately for the witches, minds clouded by magick and filled with rage didn't give the fighters room for hesitation. Absolutely everything was destroyed. Because of the witches' magick, the task set by Mandalore—"destroy the Rakatan legacy"—turned into something more. Something that made not a single fighter even think about prisoners. No pity, no compassion. And even the Mandalorian code, which dictated taking the youth with them rather than killing them, did not manifest itself in any way.
One of the last to fall was Daka—the leader of the Nightsisters. She was found and prevented from escaping by the Terrans. Capable of hiding in shadows and entering a non-material state, she had counted on escaping but found herself in a cage. The Immortals saw her perfectly even in the spirit world, for they are essentially spirits themselves.
Unbelief was forever frozen on the face of the witch's severed head. As for the place that had served as home for the Nightsisters for centuries, it was completely destroyed. Finally, upon leaving, explosives were left on the supporting columns. When the Mandalorians left, the small city was forever buried under the mass of earth, and in its place, on the surface, a wide and deep depression formed.
The other witch clans were a bit luckier. The Beastwardens preferred to lay down their arms and surrender. The Mandalorians' goal was not to destroy all witches; their task was to destroy the legacy of the Rakatan Empire. The third clan, which did not wish to surrender, was destroyed; the Mandalorians took the children with them.
And by the next day, the witch conclave had ceased to exist. The survivors, under the supervision of the Terrans and with their help, were forced to renounce their connection to the Force if they had one, and then handed over to the authorities in the only city on Dathomir. If there was anyone with whom there were no problems, it was them. The city government met the Mandalorians almost as saviors and opened all doors to them, although the residents regarded the appearance of the outsiders with less cordiality, and some with outright hostility. This mostly applied to those who had in one way or another had close and fruitful cooperation with the witches, but such people were quickly silenced.
And then it was the turn of the Mandalorians, and even the Terrans, to be surprised. For besides the clans that had built their power on the legacy of the Rakatan Empire, there were those on Dathomir who used the Light Side of the Force. There were few of them; moreover, just like the Sith and the Jedi, the Light witches were constantly at odds with the Dark ones. In the end, on the whole planet there were only two Light clans. They didn't play a big role in Dathomir's life, didn't show themselves, and didn't attract attention in any way. Even the Terrans had lost sight of them; as it turned out—in vain.
In a world full of pain and fear, in a world where sacrifices occur, finding those who sincerely try to help not only their neighbor but the world in which they live—this is a very unexpected find. Yes, there were few of them. Only fifty-two witches, and that was across two clans. But all of them were gifted by the Force itself. They didn't take energy from others, but gave their own. Although the city submitted to the Dark clans, it withstood in both spirit and body thanks to the Light ones.
At the same time, they couldn't even be closely compared to the Jedi. To start with, they also used Dark techniques—no matter how you looked at it, the world in which they lived necessitated it. Furthermore, they were as merciful as they were cruel. The world is harsh, there is no place for the weak in it, and the remaining Light witches, though few, could each fight the Dark ones alone. The weak were long dead or sacrificed, and it was better not to conflict with the strong—it could prove too costly. For this reason, no one even tried to look for them. They live their lives, don't meddle anywhere. Thus, over time, some unwritten rules appeared between the two camps that neither side sought to violate.
Neither side intended to leave Dathomir. Each considered the planet their home and was ready to defend their interests. Amusingly, both were to blame for the Sith's actions. Yes, the Dark ones found the Kwa temple, but it was only thanks to the Light ones that it was successfully opened. And the Sith... in their traditional manner, they used both.
Now the Light ones expected that after the destruction of the Rakatan legacy and the killing of the Sith, the Mandalorians would leave. Their task was done; what else were they to do here? But when Warren said that from this moment on Dathomir was part of the Hadian Empire, the mood changed. Looking at the example of their Dark sisters, they didn't dare raise a sword, but words weren't needed to understand how much the witches disliked such an answer. They had no choice but to reconcile themselves to the planet's new masters.
True, that was not the end. During another negotiation between Warren and the head of the Light witches, the latter learned a number of extremely pleasant news for themselves, from which they again changed their attitude toward the outsiders. In forty-eight hours, they managed to rejoice at the Mandalorians, then hate them, and then openly love them. To themselves, the RAVEN fighters, watching this, joked briefly and succinctly: "broads," ignoring the fact that there were a couple of men among the Light witches.
And then a meeting crucial for all Dathomir took place, attended by representatives of all sides.
"Wait, Warren," a pleasant-looking woman of about forty raised her hand, with long hair as white as snow falling to her waist.
Neat white brows, a sharp short nose, an elongated chin, and a sharp gaze from amber eyes. She was dressed in a blue loose-fitting dress with a silver pattern, boots without heels on her feet, and wide, long slashed sleeves on the dress.
"What is it?" the Mandalorian leaned back in his chair. Radiy sat beside him at the same table as a representative of the Terrans' interests.
"How can it be that your leader so easily activated the ancient temple? Who is he?"
"Lord Aero is an Ancient. He is the last living representative of his era. He is a Tythonian," Radiy said, as usual, without a drop of emotion in his voice. "Naturally—he would know how to use the gate. After all, he has used them before."
"Impossible!" the woman exclaimed fervently, half-rising from her chair.
"Will you deny the facts?" Warren inquired with mockery in his voice, pointing to the window beyond which work was underway to clear the Sun Guard camp.
"Here... On our planet... The Ancient himself..." the witch whispered with only her lips, sitting back down and staring at the table with empty eyes.
"I answered your question, witch. Now you answer: what is the reason for your reaction? Why did you insist on this meeting?"
"This stretches back to ancient times. Once, an ancient ship flew away from Dathomir, carrying with it our Force-wielding brothers and sisters, and with them their pet beasts. Much later we learned both where they flew and what happened afterward. We know and remember the name of Shade Aero thanks to the archives of the Infinite Empire remaining here. What the Rakatans wrote about him—is very interesting."
"I can well imagine what they wrote about him," Warren laughed.
"Knowing much of the past, we were surprised when the planet's background began to change. Over these two days, many sources of the Force have closed, both Dark and Light. Moreover, the background has begun to gradually level out, to stabilize. The darkness is leaving, Mandalorian; we feel it very vividly. Given that all this began with your arrival, putting two and two together was not a problem. Someone entered the temple—and did something. And if it is the Ancient himself... If you serve him..." she looked at Radiy. "And you—are followers of his teaching?"
"Terrans," the immortal nodded.
"After all these years. You didn't just survive, but continue to live and prosper. And now you are also restoring yourselves. Now I understand why you need Dathomir and the ancient temple. It explains everything." After a short pause, she continued: "I want to offer, on behalf of my sisters and brothers, an offer of peace between us. And to ask for help from the Terrans. Can you share ancient techniques?"
"Ours? No. They won't suit you. But there are others. And whether we share depends on you."
"I thank you. I dare to hope that we can prove useful to you." The witch bowed respectfully.
"Perhaps."
"Allow me to satisfy my curiosity. Tell me, have you—been to Tython?"
"Yes," Warren nodded affirmatively.
"What is it like?" the witch perked up, and a childish delight mixed with irrepressible interest sparkled in her eyes.
"Unfortunately, it is a dead world now. It did not survive the war. And I am not talking about a planet, but an entire system."
"Sad..." the witch grew gloomy. "We wanted to see that world one day. The Tythonians freed many planets from the oppression of the Infinite Empire; Dathomir is no exception. What a pity that the Infinite Empire destroyed Tython after all..."
"The Infinite Empire?" Warren caught the word. "Oh, no, not them. Not them at all."
"What do you mean, not them?! Who then?"
"It was the liberated peoples."
Thus, where they didn't expect it, the Mandalorians found a small but loyal ally. The witches used techniques that were partially considered obsolete, others ineffective, and others could be classified as dangerous. Но because they used both the Light and the Dark sides of the Force, it was possible to retrain them according to the Je'daii method.
Shade Aero
"I see. It seems the Force took my lamentations about a clone too literally..." I reflect, remembering the gaze of my small copy. How strange it is to hold your own small reflection in your arms. Memories of childhood, of how Aala once held me in exactly the same way, came to me on their own. Eh... How long ago that was; so many years have passed, even by my standards...
Forwarding the coordinates of Damask's hideout to the Terran fleet, we took his personal yacht and set off for Tatooine. Aala sat in the pilot's seat, I diagonally from her in the navigator's seat. Looking out the window, watching the bluish haze of hyperspace, I indulge in reflections. On one hand—I want to wax nostalgic. On the other—a modicum of tranquility is felt in my soul, for there is one less big problem. But the realization of how much still needs to be done—is terrifying and doesn't allow for proper relaxation.
"What now?" Mom broke the silence without turning her head. Leaning back in her chair, she looked at the ceiling... if she was looking at all, though from the looks of it the systems were off.
"In what sense?"
"Damask is gone now. From this moment on—the Sith are officially extinct. And yet they... or he, could have been useful to us."
"He could have. Но I don't want to risk it. Besides, the Sith are not extinct," I shake my head. "They will never go extinct as long as there is a division into the Dark and Light sides of the Force. Someone else will surely turn up later. Unless the Terrans become the dominant Force among Force-users in the galaxy."
"Such a large Order? Not only would it take an enormous amount of time, but far from everyone would agree to participate in it. The followers of Terra will easily face the same problem as the Jedi—recruitment."
"They won't, and there are a number of reasons for that. First, they can make a Force adept out of a non-Force-sensitive. It's a proven technology, especially since the Terrans aren't Jedi and freely form relationships. Second, it's not necessary at all for there to be a single Order of my daughter's followers. The important thing is that everyone is united by a common Force. The Unifying Force. If someone doesn't want to remain part of the followers of Terra, fine—that's their right. What matters is that they will still be able to come and be trained in the Unifying Force at least at a basic level. That way they won't kill themselves or others by accident. Moreover, an adept already trained in the Unifying Force won't be able to retrain. The chain will be launched, the mechanism will set in motion, and then the Force-sensitives themselves will carry the Unifying Force into the far corners of the galaxy. Traders, rulers, anyone. What matters is what unites them, for the Force does not tolerate a violation of balance and always seeks to fill a void."
"You're right. I just hope that with Damask's death someone more dangerous doesn't appear. Especially since you also reduced the Dathomirian witches, which further shook the scales."
"I know. But we have time, during which I want to level the scales."
"And what about the Jedi?"
"What about them?"
"To realize your idea, you'll need to get rid of them."
"We'll get rid of them," I shrug. "But not immediately. First, with your help, we'll clear their ranks of particularly active adepts. After all, the fact that the Sith are no more is known only to you and me. Besides, you'll pass for a Sith perfectly," I smile, looking sideways at my mother.
"If only Tsikuna could hear you now."
"I hope she hears and one day tells me everything. I won't even interrupt."
"He-he-he-he. So what about the Jedi?"
"They will die out on their own. The threat of Dark Force adepts in your person remains real, and we can use that. Now we'll hand Damask over to them; that, by the way, is an excellent pretext for me to personally visit the Order. I'll provide the body of the enemy of the people, so to speak, have my say, talk with Fay. Parallelly—there will be a blow to their reputation, for why is everyone catching the 'mice' except them? And you, at that moment, will pull something off. By the way, you can do it right on Coruscant. You need to check on Black Sun, how they're doing without your presence, and once you've checked—arrange something fun and memorable."
"Easily."
"By the way, you can arrange another action similar to the one Damask pulled. The Senate thinks my station idea is crappy? Let's see what they say after a second bombing of the temporary Senate building, which has now been assigned to the consular sector near the Judicial Corps."
"Maybe take that out too?"
"No, no need to take it out, but we can rough it up. Most importantly, don't mess with the Jedi in the Temple."
"Fine."
"Eh..." I sigh, twirling a Forcesaber in my hands.
"What is it?"
"So much needs to be done—it's a nightmare. Re-form the Hadian Empire, find and punish the outsiders Fay spoke of. By the way, I need to listen to the scouts."
"Well, you signed up for this yourself, son," she smirked.
"I know... But there are pluses too! Two whole ones!" I cheerfully grab the spinning saber. "First—sort things out now and it'll get easier later. And two—the heirs. As soon as I deal with everything now, I'll take them up in earnest and transfer my powers with a peaceful soul."
"And it seems to me you're so tired that you've already grown used to the powers and responsibility."
"How can one get used to what they don't like?!" I protest. "I just want to sit quietly and peacefully in my temple and learn the Force, knowing that I live in my own state, among my own people, and where there are worthy individuals on the throne. And as long as I am alive, the Hadian Empire will live too."
"Whatever you say, however much you resist, Hadiya did instill something in you," Mom replied mockingly, propping her chin with her hand.
"And what's that?"
"You won't take your hand off the pulse, Shade. You may not like power, responsibility, and ruling itself, but as long as you are alive, you will always be somewhere near the ruler. Moreover, you will always be near your people. Yes, you will step aside, you can resign all your powers, they might even lose track of you. Но. You will remain that shadow standing behind the back of not only the ruler, but also the simple citizen of the Hadian Empire. The shadow that will punish anyone who dares to encroach upon your home, your family, your citizens. And for this—Hadiya is partly responsible. I taught you to value family. And she made it so that your family—is the entire Hadian Empire."
I didn't answer. Seriously puzzled by my mother's words, I stared at the ceiling and reflected. I only distracted myself from my thoughts when I felt the child's dissatisfaction. I had to get up and walk to the little one to feed him.
And so the journey to Tatooine passed. Either I or Aala would dash to the clone. At the mere sight of my small copy, Mom would freeze up quite a bit. She didn't comment on it, but it looked amusing. There she stands, holding him in her arms, and instead of a face mask, I clearly saw a stunned face. I'm afraid to imagine how she felt, finding herself surrounded by hundreds of my dead clones. Truly, for her, it was the most terrifying nightmare.
The question of adopting this little one didn't even stand. He was ours, period. And we decided to name him without further ado, simply and succinctly—Rossash, which means "other" in Togruti. The little one himself behaved exactly like any other child, although I secretly feared some quirks, oddities, or something else. Who knows what kind of experiments the Sith performed, but everything seems fine, and only time will tell. But from the looks of it, as in the Force—he's just a child.
I didn't inform anyone at home over the comms who we were bringing. Nor did they inform me that someone would be meeting us. When we landed, the Mandalorians organized a guard of honor at the ramp. And at the end of this corridor stood Talia. Happy and refreshed. The girl was dressed in form-fitting pants tucked into boots with a small heel, a tank top on top, and an unbuttoned Mandalorian leather jacket. A diadem, vaguely similar to the one Hadiya wore, graced her head.
Essentially, the girl's very appearance had become bolder. Her gaze had changed too, from soft and pliable to more serious, combative, cold. But at my appearance, it immediately warmed.
When I stepped onto the ramp, the Mandalorians saluted. Talia, ignoring propriety, first walked and then broke into a run, closed the distance with me, and immediately hung on my neck, kissing me. Eh... That is happiness. You return from a trip, and you are waited for and met. Feeling her emotions, I soak it all in, drowning in them completely. Shivers even ran down my spine.
"Hi, Sunshine."
"Shade!"
"How are you?"
"Fine. Kassh finished his work; I am completely healthy," she informed me joyfully, rubbing the top of her head against my chin.
"That's good."
"He's waiting for you in the palace. And not just him."
"Mmm?"
"A lad flew in to see you. The Senator from Naboo."
"Sheev?!"
"Yes."
"Amusing."
"Oh!" she paid attention to the bundle in my mother's arms. "And this is..."
"It's a long story," I sigh. "Let's go into the fortress; I'll explain everything."
***
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