**Chapter 420**
**Dagon POV**
The bridge of the *Valiant* felt alive with subdued power as the last echoes of the Force illusion faded from my mind. I leaned against the command railing, exhaling slowly while the subtle thrum of the ship's upgraded solar ionization reactor vibrated through the deck plates. Whoa… that was intense. Maintaining a detailed Force illusion across that distance, projecting not just my image but the full sensory weight of the black armor and the raw presence of the Soldier, drained more out of me than I cared to admit. My temples throbbed with a dull ache, and for a moment the red-and-black markings in my irises seemed to pulse in time with my heartbeat.
But it had been necessary.
I had said what needed saying. Goodbye, for now. The girls deserved honesty, not comforting lies. Ashara and Nox had tried their best—pushing for reconciliation, hoping tears and raw emotion could pull me back from the path I had chosen. Part of me respected the attempt. Another, colder part had already anticipated it and prepared the illusion accordingly.
"Status?" I asked quietly, not turning.
"Fleet is formed and ready for jump, General," came the crisp reply from the comm officer. "All vessels report green across the board."
"Good. Set course for Rothana. We'll make the rendezvous with Skywalker, Kenobi, and the third Jedi general there before pushing on to Ryloth."
Rothana first. The icy shipyards would provide the final resupply and any last-minute reinforcements before we hit the real meat of the campaign. Wat Tambor and the Separatists had turned Ryloth into a fortress. Liberating it wouldn't be clean. It never was.
My fleet—*our* fleet—hung in formation beyond the viewport. Even after the repairs and modifications following Dentaal, the sight still stirred something primal in me. These weren't just ships. They were extensions of will. Tools forged for victory in a war that refused to end cleanly.
At the center of it all stood the *Valiant*-class Star Destroyer itself, my flagship. 1,690 meters of reinforced wedge-shaped fury. Its split prow gave it that distinctive twin-prong silhouette, with stacked hangars between them protected by powerful force fields. The bridge sat safely at the rear, just like the old Venators and Harrowers, allowing clear strategic oversight while keeping command protected. Upgraded shielding hummed at full strength—3,600 SBD and reinforced to withstand sustained bombardment that would cripple lesser vessels. Its armament made it a monster in both long-range duels and close-quarters brawls: 24 DBY-877 heavy dual turbolasers, 12 DBY-676s, 18 XX-10 ultra-heavy batteries, dozens of medium turbolasers, over 150 point-defense lasers and flak cannons, plus heavy proton torpedo tubes. It carried 225 TIE Whisper starfighters, 225 TIE Advanced, 50 Defenders, gunships, walkers—the works.
This ship had been modified from ancient Sith design principles layered over Republic engineering. It felt right in my hands.
Flanking it was the *Sovereign*, under Grand Captain Wilhuff Tarkin. That man was a cold predator behind those eyes, exactly what I needed. Then came *Yaddle* with Commander Hellman Gramb, *Hood* with Grand Captain Pellaeon—steady, brilliant, already proving himself a master of fleet maneuvers. *York* under Grand Captain Ray, *Enterprise* with Commander Ethan Clairmoor, *Vanguard* commanded by Admiral Solvan Kobayashi, *Independence* under Commander Ben Del-Dala, *Blackfire* with Captain Arten Su, *Knull* with the ever-reliable Captain Firmus Piett, and *Necrosword* commanded by Captain Brom Titus.
Sixty-four Lancer-class frigates formed a lethal screening net—fast, agile, deadly against starfighters. Seventy-five Braha'tok-class gunships, each 90 meters of pure missile and turbolaser bite, ready to swarm enemy formations. Forty-five Starkiller-class light cruiser/carriers—triangular, 340 meters long, with forward light turbolasers, scattered dual laser cannons, and torpedo launchers. Their hangars at the base made them excellent for rapid fighter deployment.
Six Resurgent-class Star Destroyers completed the heavy core: *Steadfast*, *Fulminatrix*, *Fortitude*, *Grey Wolf*, *Avenger*, *Vigilance*, . Each 2,500-meter behemoth carried devastating firepower—over 1,500 turbolasers and ion cannons, Kyber-modified solar ion reactors that fed directly into weapons and shields. Eighteen thousand crew. Capacity for 55,000 troops and pilots. These were the sledgehammers.
The troop and escort fleet added flexibility. Twenty Pelta-class frigates for medical and logistics, thirty Aegis-class Hammerhead cruisers for ramming and boarding actions, twenty Marauder-class corvettes (195 meters of fast assault power with eight double-barreled light turbolasers and fighter capacity), twenty-five Consular-class light cruisers, twenty-four Arquitens-class command cruisers (modified with extra missile launchers and heavy batteries), and thirty standard Arquitens light cruisers. Six massive Allegiance-class battlescruisers—*Allegiance*, *Ravager*, *Dominion*, *Eclipse*, *Nighthawk*, and *Alliance*—each 2,200 meters of brutal long-range firepower with XX-10 heavy turbolasers, octuple barbettes, and strong anti-fighter batteries.
Fifteen Venators—1,150 meters each, classic workhorses with 18 heavy turbolaser turrets, medium cannons, point-defense, and massive hangar capacity for 420 fighters plus 2,000 troops. Twenty Accumulator-class assault ships, 752 meters long, bristling with heavy torpedo tubes and turbolasers, each capable of delivering 9,000 soldiers straight into hell.
I let the numbers settle in my mind as the fleet began its calculated jump preparation. This force could liberate Ryloth on its own if needed. Combined with Anakin and Obi-Wan's forces, it would be overwhelming.
But ships were only half the equation.
I turned my thoughts to the armies I had forged. From the corps under my command, I had carved out a personal legion—elite, hardened, loyal to the bone. The three Alpha-class ARC troopers—Puck, Lucky, and Devil—now wore modified beskar'gam salvaged from fallen Neo-Crusaders on Malachor V. The dark metal, reforged and reinforced with Sith alchemy, gave them near-invulnerable protection while retaining full mobility. Fifty elite commandos received the same treatment, jetpacks integrated seamlessly. Another 10,000 clones now operated in similar upgraded armor—black and grey plating fused with salvaged droid shell composites for added durability.
Every soldier in my personal fleet—over three million sentients when counting support and auxiliaries—had been issued advanced armor inspired by Helldiver drop suits crossed with Spartan lines. Sealed, powered, shielded, with integrated life support, targeting HUDs, and exoskeletal strength enhancement. The standard blaster rifle was now the ST-W48—high rate of fire, auto mode, and that devastating quarrel-bolt launcher underneath the barrel using enhanced bowcaster technology for explosive punches that could crack open armored positions.
My ground commanders were a force unto themselves. Lieutenant Veers and his armored battalions—cold, precise, already legendary for walker operations. Clone Commander VC-541 "Vic," steady and ruthless. The Clone Marshal Commanders: Blam, Zilo, H, Enok, Turn, Plasma. And Chuck, leading the commando units with terrifying efficiency. Over three hundred ARC troopers had advanced through constant battlefield experience, each one worth ten regular soldiers.
The vehicle complement matched the infantry's lethality. Raven-class gunships, MAAT gunships, LAAT variants, and the new UAAT heavy assault transports provided air superiority and troop delivery. Walkers formed the iron fist: All-Terrain Anti-Aircraft units for expected desperate Separatist air swarms over Ryloth's skies, upgraded AT-ATs resembling the Imperial variants I remembered—massive, imposing, heavily armored. AT-STs with rotary cannons for anti-infantry work, AT-XTs packing blaster cannons and mortar launchers, and modified AT-TEs bristling with heavy repeating blasters. Finally, the 125-Z treadspeeder bikes—rugged, shielded, fast at 200 km/h, with heavy laser cannons. Perfect for Ryloth's rocky, unstable terrain.
I walked slowly along the bridge walkway, hands clasped behind my back, letting the crew work around me in professional silence. The Force illusion had cost me, but the clarity it brought was worth every drop of exhaustion. The girls' faces still lingered in my memory—Stella's tears, Kayla's raw Zeltron passion, Flare's elegant pain. They had poured out their hearts, and I had given them truth instead of comfort.
*Relationships are not meant for soldiers.*
The equation hadn't changed. I was damned the moment I chose this path. Anger, ego, the refusal to yield—they had carried me this far and would carry me through whatever came after this war. Skynet. Malachor. Dentaal. Ryloth. More threats beyond. Always more.
I would burn everything necessary so others could see a sunrise I might never witness.
"General," my comm officer reported, "Rothana control has acknowledged our approach vector. Skywalker's flotilla and Kenobi's forces are already in system. The third Jedi general—Master Windu's representative—is waiting."
I allowed myself a small, cold smile. "Excellent. Transmit fleet status and request joint operational planning session upon arrival. Inform Tarkin, Pellaeon, and Kobayashi they'll lead the initial strategy brief."
The stars began to streak as the fleet jumped into hyperspace. The *Valiant* shuddered slightly as it led the formation, its powerful engines and reinforced hull handling the transition with ease.
I moved to the tactical holotable, pulling up Ryloth's planetary data. Wat Tambor had dug in deep—droid factories running at full capacity, ion cannons on the mountain ridges, blockade runners trying to slip through the outer system. The Twi'lek population suffered under occupation. Liberation would mean urban fighting, hit-and-run raids in the wastelands, and brutal fleet actions to break the orbital defenses.
My forces were ready. The Resurgents and Allegiances would punch holes in their lines. The Starkillers and Braha'toks would provide fighter cover and close support. The troop carriers would deliver my enhanced legions straight into the teeth of the enemy. Veers' walkers would dominate the ground once we established beachheads. The beskar-clad ARC troopers and commandos would strike at command nodes and factories with surgical precision.
Three million warriors. Thousands of advanced starfighters and gunships. A fleet capable of glassing continents if I gave the order.
And still, it might not be enough if we hesitated.
I thought back to the secret chambers on the Finalizer. The girls standing up, hope in their eyes, only to be met with the cold reality of the Soldier. The black armor. The final words. The vanishing.
They would understand eventually. Or they wouldn't. Either way, the path continued.
"Captain," I called without looking up from the holotable, "ensure all captains review their anti-droid warfare protocols. Wat Tambor loves his super battle droids and droidekas. I want counter-measures prepped and drilled."
"Already underway, General."
Good.
The journey to Rothana would take several hours. Enough time to review every ship spec, every troop disposition, every potential failure point. Enough time to meditate on the dark side currents that now flowed through me stronger than ever after Malachor. Two hundred and fifty thousand years of mind-prison training had forged a will that few could match. The "dark side" wasn't darkness anymore. It was simply *me*—the Soldier, uninhibited.
The current Dagon Marek—the one who still carried some light—had been pushed back, contained. Necessary for what lay ahead.
I straightened as the tactical display updated with projected Ryloth battle plans. Anakin would want speed and aggression. Obi-Wan would counsel caution and precision. The third general would likely balance them. I would provide the overwhelming force and the willingness to do what needed doing.
The girls' voices echoed faintly in memory. Their tears. Their confessions. The love, the need, the pain.
I buried it.
Sacrifice everything.
The fleet streaked onward through hyperspace, a dagger pointed at Ryloth's heart. My armor—metaphorical for now—felt heavier than ever, but the path was clear.
No rules going forward.
Only victory.