Long have we waited,
For our home back in our hands,
Now our time has come.

What was done to us,
And the errors that were made,
They shall be made right.

Our foes will know pain,
And there weakness will be clear,
When we strike at them.

And now we have won,
Or we have at least begun,
The foe now retreat.

Our work is not done,
They still resist our forces,
But they now are weak.

They may strike at us,
But we will be the stronger,
They will surely fail.

So we clear their nests,
And kill the vermin we find,
Mercy has no place.

I am proud that I,
Will be with my Clan and House,
When we wipe them out.

Welcome Home

Kar Alabrek
Tarthos
Orian Space

Malisane stood over his pilot's shoulder in the cockpit as the Deathshead made it's final approach. Below battle raged through the streets of the city surrounding the cathedral. He had not been here much since the completion of the work he had done all those years ago. Possibly an award ceremony at some point or other, he could not recall. It had changed, the cathedral and it's city had an unfortunate habit of being razed and rebuilt numerous times over the years. He idly wondered if given the frequency of this whether it even was the same cathedral? He had not intended to come here now, but with things having quietened on Aeotheran a request had gone out to support the Ragnos summit from it's new Quaestor. He had responded.

“Put us down in that square,” he ordered. His blind miraluka pilot guided the freighter down and the ramp lowered. Malisane ran down it, and then waved and watched as the Lancer rose back up into the air. He looked around him. It was quiet here, though the sounds of battle were nearby as the Ragnos forces made their way across the city, scouring out pockets of resistance. He gripped his scatter gun and made his way across the square towards the sounds of blaster fire.

He turned into a large street and immediately came to face with a group of soldiers, wearing the armour of House Marka Ragnos. At the sight of an armoured figure they raised their blasters. One, with a sergeants insignia on his shoulder, approached, weapon raised. “Identify yourself,” he ordered harshly.
Malisane met the sergeant's gaze through the tinted lenses of his helmet. “Malisane Sadow.”
The sergeant backed off slightly as he hurriedly lowered his weapon and then saluted “Sir!”
“Good, you have heard of me. Where is your Quaestor?”
“At the mobile command centre. I will take you to him, sir, if that is your wish.”
“Do so.”
Malisane followed the soldiers down the street past more Ragnos soldiers. They appeared to be making preparations for an advance and there was evidence of restlessness. Malisane nodded with approval, he liked a willingness to serve and get stuck in amongst the Clan's soldiers. Eventually they reached a squat mobile building and at a quick word from the accompanying sergeant Malisane was ushered quickly inside.

The Ragnos Quaestor was stood looking at a map on a table, alongside a tall verpine figure. Several officers were with them though they stood to attention when the Battlelord entered. Malisane knew both the House and Battleteam leaders, he had served with them during the previous years war with the Collective.
Xolarin turned. “Malisane,” he said by greeting, recognising the familiar armour. “How are things on Aeotheran?”
“Our forces have control of the capital,” he replied, “The Aedile is keeping things together while we assess the nature of Collective infiltration on the wider planet. We have little news from Kel Rasha.”
“I heard about Takagari's departure to join the Overlord,” Xolarin replied, “rumour has it they will choose a new Quaestor soon.”
“So I hear,” Malisane replied with a shrug, “one of the former Consuls probably.”
“Not yourself?” Xolarin asked with a raised eyebrow.
“I seriously doubt it,” Malisane replied scornfully, “I am a servant of the Clan, no more, and no less.”
“I see,” the Quaestor replied.
“So what do you need?” Malisane asked.
Xolarin glanced at Hilgrif. “Were just discussing that. As you can imagine we have many of our members are dispersed with our forces across this city, Mucenic and Markosian City, to strengthen their resolve.
“Sounds sensible,“ Malisane grunted.
The Quaestor nodded. “Unfortunately this has left us short handed here and now a problem has arisen.”
“We have received news of several devices,” the Verpine Battleteam leader added, “any of which will do serious damage to this city, and together...”
“Together they would destroy the city, the cathedral, and a significant part of the surrounding area.” Xolarin added.
Malisane took this in. “So what are you doing?”
“We have the three suspected locations,” Xolarin replied, “Hilgrif and the Night Hawks can move on two of them. We have been loaned an infiltration and demolitions specialist from the Warhost, and I would like you to accompany him to the third location.”
“Which specialist?” Malisane asked.
“Battlelord,” a familiar voice said from the corner of the room.
Malisane turned to see the black armoured clone. “Senth. I have not seen you for several weeks since Seng Karash.
The former Dlarit Advanced Commando nodded. “I was reassigned. We depart in ten minutes.”

Malisane and Senth made their way quietly through the back streets, the clone trooper leading the way. “The collective agents are holding up in a warehouse building,” Senth said quietly over the communicator. “The Ragnos Summit are concerned if they send a larger force in they may trigger the device.”
“And there are three of these?” Malisane asked.
“Possibly, though we can not be sure,” the clone replied, “If it is so then the destruction of one will likely trigger the other two. I hope the Night Hawks succeed.”
“I used to command them,” Malisane replied, “for a short time many years ago. They were good.”
“I hope they still are, “Senth replied, “otherwise we may be dead alongside everything else for miles before we even get a chance.”
“We can not worry about that,” Malisane told him, “we will concentrate on our own mission.”
“It would be a tragedy if the city and cathedral were destroyed.”
A slight smile touched the Sith's lips. “They have been before,” he muttered, “they can be rebuilt.”
“Not this time,” Senth replied, “if your information is correct there will be a crater without anything to rebuild. Of course we would not be there to see it.”
As they proceeded they heard the sound of blaster and artillery fire to the south. “It sounds like the Quaestor is moving out,” Senth observed.
“Good,” Malisane replied, “it will provide a distraction.”
“So long as it does not alarm the enemy too much,” the clone added.

Senth stopped and ducked down in an alleyway. “Our target is that building opposite.”
Malisane followed his gaze. “Guards on the outside, both entrances likely.”
Senth looked up. “I would prefer a roof assault.”
Malisane glanced at him. “You normally do.”
The clone turned to give him what would have been a withering glance had he not been wearing a helmet. “You would prefer to spend a week tunnelling in?”
“Get a move on.”
Senth looked up at the building they were sheltering under. And then with a quick burst of jet fire he quickly ascended, disappearing from view. Malisane took a breath and then grasped the side of the building and quickly dragged himself up, his bulk offset by his strength as he quickly clambered upwards before climbing over the parapet and moving over next to the clone who was watching the target.
Senth glanced at him, and then pointed. A lone guard was stood on the roof of the warehouse, blaster in hand. “I can take him,” the clone said as he readied his blaster carbine.
“If you miss you will not get a second attempt,” Malisane advised.
“If you have a better idea I would be interested.”
Malisane considered it, judging the distance. “Be ready to move.” He raised a hand and focused on the guard.
“Quietly,” Senth hissed.
The guard suddenly raised his hands to his throat gripping it through his armour, as he struggled breath. As the Sith Battlelord intensified his grip the Clone burst across the gap in the roofs with a blast of rocket booster, his arms snaking out as he grabbed the guard and thrust up through a gap in the armour with the sharp needle like blade before lowering him to the ground. A few seconds later Malisane leapt and pushed himself across the gap, landing on the roof slightly louder than the clone commando.

Senth moved over the a panel on the rooftop and knelt. “I can open this.”
“It could be a trap,” Malisane pointed out.
“It could indeed,” the clone replied, “if it is we will never know.”
There was an agonising pause, and then the clone slowly moved the panel back and looked down into the hole. Then he looked back up again.
“Setup?” Malisane asked quickly
“Thirty feel drop. Seven targets. Two previously seen outside front and back door. One by device. Two stood by windows on either side. Two resting and eating.”
“Weapons?”
“Four with rifles, two with side-arms, one by device appears to be unarmed. However he's holding what appears to be a control. Probably a dead man switch.”
Malisane nodded. The former DAC was a trained observer and his assessment was likely to be flawless. “We need to take out the one with the device. The rest are incidental.”
Senth shook his head. “Not if they message the other two cells. We do not know the Night Hawks progress.”
“If there are another two cells,” Malisane argued, “we can only deal with the present situation. Can you drop down on the one with the device?”
Senth shook his head. “No inconveniently they are not directly beneath this hatch. And in any case he only needs a second. Not even that if he just needs to let go.”

Malisane paused for a few seconds and then stood. He began to walk across the roof. “Tell me when I am over him.”
The DAC looked down into the hole, and then up at the Battlelord. “You are planning something insane?”
“Yes.”
Senth sighed and glanced into the hole again. “Another four feet. Okay stop.”
“You are sure?”
“As close as I can tell.”
“Good.” Malisane crouched, There was a hiss as his white bladed saber ignited, and then with a sudden movement he stabbed it down into the roof. With a quick roll of his wrist he widened the hole.
“What are you planning?” the clone asked suspiciously.
“I have seen something attempted like this once. A long time ago. By one more powerful than myself.”
Senth gripped his blaster carbine. “And it worked?”
“No.” Malisane dropped the hilt of his saber into the hole he had cut, and watched it turn end over end as it fell silently through the air towards the man below. Senth ducked his head into the hatch and watched as the tiny object fell and then there was a sudden burst of energy, as the saber ignited once more in an arc that followed the spin of the blade. There was a cry of pain from the man as something slightly larger than the saber hilt flew quickly up into the air to be caught by the Battlelord who had reached one hand through the hole.

“Got it!” Malisane said in triumph as he held the disembodied hand his own, pressing the fingers closed on the switch.
Senth lowered his blaster through the hatch and fired, with one shot hitting the wounded man in the head and sending his corpse sprawling backwards away from the device. As chaos erupted below the commando dropped into the hole, firing as he fell, his jet pack boosters slowing and controlling his descent as his pinpoint shots picked off the guards by the windows. He turned as the two who had been resting got to their feet and began to run towards the device.
At that moment there was an explosion of telekinetic energy and part of the roof collapsed and the armoured battlelord dropped through the air faster than the commando. As the two guards stopped in amazement as he hit the ground hand and rolled, Malisane raised his scattergun and fired. He was not as precise a shot at the clone commando but he did not need to be. Dozens of pellets hit them, smashing through their armour and knocking them backwards bleeding from multiple impact wounds.

Malisane's hand reached out and his discarded saber flipped into his grip. Senth landed and shot the guard at the front entrance when he burst into the room, blaster raised. Malisane leapt forward to meet the rear guard and cut him savagely down. “The device!” Malisane quickly ordered.
Senth did not need to be told. He was already making for it, removing his helmet as he quickly took a device from his belt and began to work.
“Well?” Malisane demanded as Senth busied himself with the device.
“Quiet!” the clone snapped as he focused.
Malisane stood quietly watching him as the clone worked silently. The Sith had faced death many times. It had been one explosion he himself had caused that had wrecked his body and nearly killed him, all those years ago. This one likely he would not even have time to react, as possibly nor would anyone else in the surrounding area. And this was potentially one of three. Even if the clone succeeded they could still be dead in seconds.
“Done,” Senth said taking a deep breath.
“You are sure?” Malisane demanded.
Senth nodded. He raised a communicator. “Quaestor, this is Lieutenant Colonel Senth. Objective secured.” There was a pause and a crackling sound. “Sorry, did not receive message clearly. What was that about the Night Hawks?”

THE END.

Scurvy - Malisane Sadow 6169

Slowly he opened his eyes. He was hungry. He turned his head to the left and stared at the blank metal walls, and then rotated it to regard the equally featureless right. He tried to angle his body upwards to look ahead but the restraints holding his arms in place restricted that. He lay back looking up at the dull light shiny down on him and closed his eyes again, the black lenses sliding over them. He listened and reached out with his limited force senses. There was only silence and he could not feel anything around him. That was unusual, for the past few days between them gassing him he had heard the hum of machinery and the rattle of the ventilation pipes, and occasional footsteps followed by the door opening and the black armoured guards entering to stare at him before spoon feeding him the thick, grey and flavourless liquid that counted as food here. Now their absence was clearly noticeable.

He took a deep breath. “Hey!” he shouted. He waited. They ought to be able to hear him if they were listening, the cell was constantly monitored from the camera he knew was pointed at his bed. They had made it clear when they had brought here. “I know you can hear me!” He waited for a few more seconds. This was not right. In the first few days of his captivity the slightest appearance of movement or resistance had brought the guards with their sedatives and blunt weapons which depending on their mood lead to a drug or trauma induced unconsciousness. By now they should have been bursting into the cell. As a further test he began to rattle his wrists and ankles against the restraints, creating a loud jangling noise. Finally he stopped. Was this a test of their own to see what he would do?

He waited for a few more moments and considered his options. He could stay here and try and sleep or wait for them to give up whatever game they were playing if that was the case. Or he could try and escape and see what happened. The worse scenario of the latter was another sedative or beating. He could live with that, probably. In either case he had nothing to loose. He still had no idea why he was here or what they intended for him, whoever they were. He raised his wrists a little testing them against the restraints. They were made of a thin metal, but despite their thinness they felt quite secure. He took a deep breath and focused, and then pushed upwards as hard as he could with his arms, but the restraints held. He sagged back down. He was weaker than usual, partly due to the sedatives or the diet they had fed him. Taking a deep breath he closed his eyes, focusing with the force. After a few seconds there was a satisfying metallic snap, closely followed by three others. Cautiously he raised his arms, and then got to his feet, slowly manoeuvring himself off the metallic bed.

He looked around him, glancing up at the camera above him which was stationary. After a few seconds he turned to the door and walked towards it. He felt it's smooth surface and then moved to the edge, and was surprised to find a slight gap. He took a breath and pushed his fingertips into the gap, before planting his feet and beginning to pull. The door slid aside with a slight grating sound. He frowned. He could not understand why was it even unlocked. He opened it a little more and stuck his head out. Either side of the door was a blank metal corridor. It was empty and like his cell silent. He slowly pulled the door further open and walked out as quietly as he could manage. Unsure of which direction to head on he went left, making his way slowly along the corridor. There was a strange warmth in the air, bearable but uncomfortable. He continued to walk his body tensed as the numbness he had felt on the bed began to wear away. He came to the end of the corridor to reach another metal door. This was also unlocked with a handle he used to pull it open. Slowly he entered the room beyond.

He looked around suspiciously. It appeared to be some sort of small mess hall and had odd signs of recent abandonment. Several metal dishes stil lay on the table containing a browl rice substance, and when he walked over and inserted a finger in one it was still warm, though that might have been the room temperature. He picked up the plate and began to eat with his fingers. It was not well cooked but after the diet he had been fed it was an improvement. Thoughts raced through his mind. What he had suspected to be a trick of some sort was now looking more like an abandonment. Why? He picked up a half drunk container of liquid and knocked it back. It was also warm and slightly sickly but it quenched his thirst a little. Finishing the rice substance he put the plate back down and picked up a knife discarded on the table. It was small and quite blunt but it was a weapon at least. Slowly with a glance around the room he made for the opposite door to the one he had entered.

The next corridor was as quiet and featureless as the last one. The temperature was slightly warmer here and he sensed he was moving forward. He pulled the door at the end open and walked cautiously through it, his blunt knife held in one hand. The flight deck was also empty. He walked forward and then stopped, a cold feeling passing through him despite the heat. At the other end were two chairs in front of terminals that were mostly dark except for a few dull lights that suggested the vessel was running on minimum power. Above the terminal was a large viewscreen and filling most of it was an even larger yellow sun.

Slowly he made his way forward and sat at one of the terminals, studying the controls. He was not much of a pilot, certainly not as good as he used to be but he was familiar with basic ship controls. He flicked a few switches and was dismayed by their lack of response. The navigation system was
locked out, whether purposefully or through failure he could not tell. He suspected the latter, it fitted into place like the last piece of the puzzle he had been trying to figure out since he had regained consciousness. If his captors had abandoned their ship in the face of the sun ahead then he would guess they had been unable to do otherwise. He flicked another few switches that should have brought up a display of the ships status and this was also unresponsive. Finally he tried everything in front of him and the best result he obtained was a slight flicker of the remaining dull lights.

He got to his feet, his mind racing. The situation did not look promising. Without the ship's computer he had no way of judging how close he was to the sun or the rate at which it's gravity was pulling the ship towards it. He looked around the rest of the flight deck. There were a couple of cupboards that were open and empty, presumably their contents taken by the evacuated crew. After a few moments he turned and walked back off the flight deck, heading back the way he had come.

As he walked out of the canteen and past his cell he was considering his options. He could not reverse or steer the ship away from the sun. He clearly only had a limited time before they temperature on board the ship was past his tolerance and he had no obvious way of leaving, so far at least. There had to be a way off the ship somehow, given the crews disappearance, a hangar or escape pods. He just had to find them and hope they gave him an option.

Just beyond his cell was another door. Curiously he pulled it open and entered. It was a dark storage room, one dull red light illuminating it. The shelves were half empty, presumably the more valuable items had been taken by the escaping crew. Looking for something that might be of use he searched several boxes. They contained a mixture of dried food and bottled water, random cables and tools, stationary and crockery, and a couple of tanks of a gas, the identity of which appeared to be written in a foreign language. The tools might be of use, the rest probably were not. After a few moments he turned and left, heading back along the corridor.

When he finally reached the docking bay he examined his surroundings. There were several discarded crates that either had not been a priority or had not fitted in whatever vessel the crew had departed on. The large doors at the other end were shut and he wandered over to examine them. There was a panel next to them that was palm sized and he guessed that this operated the emergency release. He guessed he would be unable to operate this as he would not be on the crew's list of registered users, but was unwilling to experiment with it in case it actually did open and blasted him out into space to a certain and fairly rapid but unpleasant death. He turned and stopped in surprise. At the other end of the bay near the door behind two of the crates he could make out a space suit. He quickly walked over and knelt by it. The suit seemed in good condition and a check of the oxygen supply showed it to be three quarters full, probably good for about eight or nine hours of breathing. Whether it was any use in his present situation was unclear. He gave it a few minutes thought then headed back to the main corridor.

Turning left at a junction he came upon the ships medical bay, which oddly bore a strong resemblance to his cell, including the bench in the middle with the same restraints. Like his own this was also occupied, though in this case the occupant was definitely dead. He moved closer and examined the corpse. He was not medically trained but could not identify any signs of injury or serious disease, though from the uniform it appeared to be a member of the crew. He had been a middle aged male human, about five foot eight tall and average build. He was not wearing any identification tags or bracelets and there was no indication of why they had been left behind during the evacuation, either to avoid contamination or to save space. Looking around the room there were a series of medical instruments and tools, some obvious like saws and scalpels, others that were more of a complex or intimate nature. There appeared to be nothing of any obvious use.

With no much else to do he returned to the bridge, collecting a bottle of now warm water en route from the stores. The air was warmer now and the star in front of him seemed a little larger. At his current rate he guessed he had maybe a few hours left before the temperature increased to an intolerable level, leaving aside how much oxygen he may or may not have left. At the moment his death seemed fairly assured. He felt oddly calm. He had faced it many times, admittedly with a chance of survival, but even when the situation seemed at it's darkest a solution usually presented itself. He had to admit at the moment though he was fairly stumped.

He sat down in a chair and sipped the water, considering his options. Firstly, he had to get off the ship. Secondly he had to do so in a way that he could survive. Thirdly then had to find a way back to civilisation. He took a mental inventory of his assets. He had a space suit, admittedly with a limited air supply, some tools, some gas of an unspecified nature, food and a corpse. Slowly a plan began to form in his mind. Sipping his water he got to his feet and began to walk back towards the rear of the ship.

It had taken about ten minutes of assembling his plan, made harder by the fact his breathing was becoming more ragged with the thinning air supply and the now dry heat on the ship. He felt a little comfier now though with the helmet of the space suit over his head. The panel on the front was still open though, he wanted to close it at the last minute. Slowly he walked forward, the suit made heavier with the gas cannisters strapped to him held in place with the cables he had found. He reached the bay doors and took a deep breath, and then raised the long handle of the broom and glanced at the severed hand that he had nailed to it's end. Taking a deep breath he brought it forward and then pushed the palm of the hand against the panel as he closed his helmets visor.

He felt an impact as the force of the escaping air from the opening doors blasted him out into space, sending his suited body spinning end over end away from the vessel, his rapid rotation occasionally bringing it into view on each cycle as it and the burning sun beyond moved further away from him. So far so good. His momentum begun to steady out after a few seconds and he felt himself begun to slow, as the gravity of the sun began to match his escape speed. Hoping for the best his hands went to the bottom of the cannisters and turned the release wheels, feeling a gratifying surge again as the escaping pressurised gas propelled him forward again.

As he began to drift away from the sun now he felt it's heat slightly decreasing. He reached down and found the controls on the suit. There was a small beacon fitted into it, presumably in case the wearer somehow managed to accidentally propel themselves into space like he had. He did not know how strong it was or how long it would last but with nothing to loose he activated it. He still estimated his air supply at the original eight hours or so. He had one option remaining. Slowly he began to calm himself and slip his body into a preserving meditation trance. As he felt himself begin to calm and his pulse slow and his breathing lessen he gave one last glance at the empty space around him. He had a slim chance, but it was still a chance. Reassured by this he closed his eyes and waited.

Manually added by Warlord Bentre Kairn'tel Sadow

Nightmares & Dreamscapes

Research Site
Planet Morak

Sergeant Lorgan sat making the final checks to her equipment as the shuttle made it's final approach towards the planets surface. She looked up at the platoon who were doing likewise. She stood up from his place on the benches either side of the cabin. “Alright boys and girls this is it. We make landfall and move out. This might be nothing or it might be something serious. Either way we remember we're the best platoon in the best company in the Warhost. Do you hear me?”
“Yes ma'am!” they responded.
“Officer on deck,” Lorgan announced as she stood and saluted, the other eighteen members of the platoon doing likewise.
The officer in question was Lieutenant Treger. Twenty years old and determined to prove himself in what was his first solo command. “At ease,” he said as clearly as possible and waited until they sat down again. “Okay platoon here is the situation. We are inbound to the planet Morak to investigate why our research station has gone quiet. The last communication we had from them was five days ago and reported normally. It is entirely possible they have a communications problem they have been able to fix. If that is the case we will lend any assistance possible to get them back online. If however it is not that simple then we will do whatever is necessary to determine what and resolve the situation.”
“Whatever that may be,” a voice said from the corner of the cabin. An armoured figure was stood leant against the wall, swaddled in a black cloak. He had drawn curious glances from the platoon when he had unexpectedly boarded as they departed the ISD Perdition. After a quick conversation with the officer and the sergeant he had withdrawn to quiet corner of the shuttle and rebuffed all attempts at conversation. Now he detached himself and walked calmly to the centre of the cabin. “Listen to me all of you. I am Malisane Sadow, some of you may have heard of me.” The sudden serious reaction around the room indicated they had. “The Morak research site is of extreme interest to the Clan we serve. As your officer and your NCO have indicated the fact it has gone quiet is a matter of concern to us. The nature of the work being done here is not your concern, only that it is of the highest secrecy. I am here to ensure the security of this mission. Anything you find out of the ordinary you will report to your lieutenant, sergeant or myself. Anything you see you will not share with anyone outside this platoon until you are debriefed. . The consequences for doing otherwise will be grave.”
“I am sure we all understand that do don't we?” Sergeant Lorgan asked loudly.
“Yes sergeant!” the platoon responded.
Lorgan glanced over at a right light which had begun to flash. “Alright this is it.”

The shuttle landed and immediately the platoon disembarked, forming into squads. At an order from the sergeant four of the troopers moved into position flanking the ramp. The rest of the platoon made their way across the rocky ground towards a squat fabricated building fifty metres away. Malisane walked beside the lieutenant as the sun shone down on the approaching building, the metal glinting in the light. Ahead of them Sergeant Lorgan lead the way, looking to her left to her left at a trooper who was carrying a scanner, concentrating on it. Malisane heard the trooper say something to the sergeant who raised her voice, “No signs of life in the immediate area sir,” she advised, “and no sign of power from the building either.”
Lieutenant Treger nodded and glanced at the Sith who appeared unphased by the news. “Ok we proceed with caution, sergeant send a squad in to investigate and secure the perimeter building.”
“You heard the lieutenant,” Lorgan said loudly, “A squad proceed on target. B and D Squad circle the perimeter and report anything.”
Cautiously holding their rifles ready the squad of four troopers approached the building. One of them placed a hand on the panel next to the door. There was no response. Carefully with his squad members ready he tried the door which slid open as he pulled it. Immediately a light illuminated on his blaster rifle and helmet as the squad entered the building. Malisane and Treger waited while Sergeant Lorgan listened to her communicator. After a few seconds she turned. “It's secure but they've found something sir.”

Leaving the remaining squad outside the officer, the NCO and the Sith made their way inside, turning on their own lights. Inside the entrance to the building was dark, and the area was quiet except for their footsteps. Malisane's display flashed as he looked round the room and regarded the trooper who was crouched next to a mass which was clearly a body. “There are more in here,” another trooper reported from a nearby room. Malisane joined the trooper. The corpse was wearing the armour of the Warhost, similar to the troopers with them. The surface of the chest was ripped, leaving a long tear in the metal covered in dried blood which had pooled out onto the floor. Malisane felt an unusual unsettled feeling. He stood and walked into the nearby room. It was a laboratory. One of the troopers was assembling a more powerful light from his backpack which eventually illuminated the room in a soft light. It was a laboratory, with several benches around the room and a large machine at one end and several cabinets. Another trooper was examining a white suited body on the floor whose clothing was soaked with blood, while another dead trooper lay by the machine.
“There's more in the personnel quarters,” Lieutenant Treger said quietly as he entered the room. “All ours, all deceased and they've all been ripped by someone or something.” Malisane could feel fear and queasiness radiating off the young officer.
“Anything else?”
“The generator has been smashed,” Treger replied, “the sergeant is assessing the nature of the damage but she says it doesn't look good.”
Malisane crouched by the body of the second trooper. He picked up the blaster rifle held in the corpse's hand and examined it, then glanced at the wall. “He was shooting at something,” the Sith mused as his gaze tracked around to the wall, “the shots were erratic whatever he shot was moving quickly.”
Treger nodded. “It looks like it yes. We should secure this building then report back. With the power down here that means the shuttle.”
Malisane stood. “Very well.”

Back on the shuttle Lieutenant Vorcer sat in the pilot's chair. She was reading a datapad calmly while her co pilot was in the back making drinks in the tiny galley. She thumbed the communicator to she troopers stood outside. “Anything going on out there?”
“Negative ma'am,” the reply came back, “all quiet.”
“Very well,” she replied. She turned her head. “Is it coming Drack?”
“Nearly ready ma'am,” the co pilot replied, “you like it strong.”
“Yeah make sure it is,” she replied back in a mock stern voice.
“Affirmative ma'am.”
She smiled as she sat back. After a few seconds she hit the communicator again. “Hey do you guys want some refreshments out there?” she asked. She paused listening. “Hey can you hear me?” She frowned studying the display. “Drack the comms might be playing up again, get in here.” She waited again. “Drack!” She pushed herself out of the chair and turned. Then she froze in horror at what was in front of her. Then she felt a brief second of agony as claws pierced her chest.

Malisane waited outside the building while the sergeant was giving orders to her troopers. “A Squad remain in the building keep working on the generator. D Squad secure the exterior. I want regular reports. B and C with us.”
Treger was also waiting. “Alright with us. Keep your eyes peeled. Whoever did this might be long gone or they may be around. Once we've reported back we'll make a wider search.
Malisane could still feel the lieutenant's nervousness, which was also radiating to a lesser extent off the other troopers. He felt an apprehension himself, an emotion he was not used to. There was something familiar about all of this. He followed the officer and the NCO as the two squads fanned out either side of them, studying the empty rocky landscape for signs of life. Treger was on the communicator. “Lieutenant Vorcer, this is Lieutenant Treger we are returning. Please prepare for a transmission back to the fleet.” He paused. “Please come in Vorcer.” There was still no reply. He turned to the Sergeant who had stopped. “This is damn peculiar.”
Sergeant Lorgan was looking ahead suspiciously at the shuttle. “E Squad should be outside. Where the hell are they?” She clicked her communicator. “Lorgan to E Squad, why aren't you at your posts?” After a few seconds of silence she raised her voice. “Gormer, Arnock, any of you, report.”
“There's something here,” Treger said quietly.
Malisane focused. “I can not feel anything ahead.”
“Scanner,” the sergeant snapped at one of her troopers.
“Negative sergeant,” the trooper replied, “no movement, no sign of life.” He made an adjustment. “And no power signals sergeant.”
“The hell,” she muttered. She glanced at the lieutenant who was staring at the quiet ship, it's ramp still down. “D Squad anything at your end?”
“All quiet sergeant.”
“Proceed cautiously,” Treger ordered.
“Just as the lieutenant says,” the sergeant ordered, “keep them peeled.” Slowly the three of them moved forward, one of the squads moving in front of them and the other splitting to flank them.

Malisane could sense something faint now, something unnatural. He drew his sword, gripping it as he followed the troopers, trying to make sense of what he could feel. “Blood here,” a trooper reported near the ramp, “lots of it, leading inside.”
Lorgan looked up the ramp, her rifle aimed inside. “They're in there.”
“But what?” the Lieutenant asked nervously.
“There is only one way to find out.” Malisane watched as the Sergeant lead a squad inside. He was still trying to sense what was in there. Then he heard the familiar sound of blasters firing and he made for the ramp quickly, sword raised. Then something hit him, a grey shape that smashed him out of the way as it bounded past, sending him crashing to the rocky floor and his sword tumbling from his fingers. Two troopers fired and blaster bolts scorched flesh before it was amongst them, lashing out with it's long arms and claws rending through flesh. Malisane quickly rolled to his feet, his hand going to his lightsaber and igniting it as he could hear more blaster fire as the troopers from outside the building nearby began to run forward, shooting. He looked around and saw a grey flash as whatever was there leapt onto the roof of the shuttle. The Sith moved quickly to follow, turning to try and follow it's movement and then he froze.

From on top of the upper wing of the shuttle something perched. Malisane stood holding his saber in his hand as he looked up at it. “Not here,” he murmured, “it can't be.” Slowly the reptilian eyes moved from the approaching troopers to focus on the Sith and they slowly narrowed in recognition. Then it leapt. Malisane stood frozen as the grey shape dropped towards him, his vision absorbing every familiar feature as the grey scaled reptilian filled his vision before he moved by instinct alone, leaping aside creature slashed at him, claws tearing his cloak as it swirled behind him. The creature landed and leapt again as Malisane swung the saber towards it, slicing the blade along the skin but not piercing. Blaster bolts hit the creature as it landed knocking it forward slightly but glancing off the scaled flesh. The creature turned as the troopers reached it and fired. Malisane watched, emotion raging through him, watching it leapt towards them with a morbid fascination. Then he felt a hand grip his own, dragging him. He vision snapped around as he saw the armoured figure of Lieutenant Treger. “We must retreat.”
Malisane raged with emotions. He ran from nothing, he had faced all the Clan's enemies alone or alongside his fellows with confidence or a determination not to back down in the face of even overwhelming odds. But this was something else. He turned and with the Lieutenant ran up the ramp, two troopers firing at the creature as they followed. As it moved for them Malisane lashed out with the force, smashing it as hard as he could at the creatures chest sending it sprawling backwards. “Emergency lock,” he shouted and one of the troopers wrenched a lever on the wall, and the mechanism dragged the ramp up, closing it with a loud clash of metal. Malisane fell back against the metal wall, his heart racing. Then slowly he sank to the floor, pulling off his helmet as he gasped for air. He rested his head against the wall staring at the wall opposite, his heart racing in his chest and the smell of blood in his nostrils sickening.

Lieutenant Treger looked around the dark cabin, his light ignited again. The floor was covered in bodies, only this time these were his own troopers. He heard a groan and moved quickly forward. Sergeant Lordan was slumped on the floor clutching her side, her helmet removed revealing her pale face shrouded by short dark hair. “Sergeant are you alright?”
“Just a scratch sir,” she replied weakly.
“Check the cockpit,” Treger ordered loudly as he moved her hands and examined the wound under the torn metal. “It doesn't look too bad if we can patch you up you should be alright.” One of the troopers knelt by her with a medikit.
“As I said just a scratch sir,” she replied, “I was the lucky one.”
“Lieutenant Vorcer and the co pilot are dead sir,” the other trooper reported, “and the controls are smashed, as is the power generator.”
Treger removed his own helmet, wiping a hand over his face. “Who do we have left? What about A Squad? Did they leave the building.” He clicked his communicator. “A Squad, come in A Squad. This is Lieutenant Treger, report.”
There was a crackle then, “Here sir, we're still inside. The generator is fried we can't reactivate it. Do you want us to report back?”
“Negative. There is an unknown hostile outside. Barricade yourselves inside as possible and await orders.”
“Affirmative sir, wait sir there's..” The sound of blaster fire came over the communicator and then silence.
“Are you there?” Treger demanded. A Squad, report!”
“They're dead sir,” Sergeant Lordan told him weakly. “What the hell is that thing?”
“It's called Firak,” a voice replied quietly.

They turned to the Sith who was sat quietly on the floor, his scarred and damaged features studying them.
“You know that creature?” the Lieutenant demanded.
Malisane shut his eyes, integral black lenses covering them beneath where his eyelids had been. “A long time ago I was a young Imperial officer, not much older than you. I was sent to lead a force to investigate a group of rogue scientists who were hiding on a remote planet. To protect themselves they had set up multiple defences, highly sophisticated. And something else they called Project Firak, that creature, designed to defend from or hunt force users. Strong, fast, intelligent and highly resistant to weapons and the force. As far as we can determine it killed them when we got there we found an empty facility and that creature. It wiped out most of my force before I ordered a heavy weapons strike trapping and killing it in a building. Or so I thought.”
The sergeant raised her head. “I'm guessing not.”
“No. A decade later it turned up in the Orian system. How we do not know we think it stowed away on a ship. We encountered it on the planet Aeotheran when we were infiltrating a group of terrorists and we fought it and once again we failed to kill it though we lost several members. It has turned up several times since with fatal results and each time we have driven it off but we can not put the thing down.”
“So what is it doing here?” the Lieutenant demanded.
The lenses retracted. “I have no idea.”

The Lieutenant thought for a few moments. “It's obvious we can't stop that thing, but it shouldn't be able to get in here. Procedure dictates if we do not contact command in forty eight hours they will send a company strength rescue party. They ought to be able to handle it.”
“That will not help Lieutenant,” Sergeant Lordan replied weakly, propping herself up on her elbows, “the power is off. That means the oxygenerator is also off. With the ship sealed that means we have the air we came in with. We'll have suffocated before they even realised we were missing.”
Treger glanced at Malisane. “So what are our options?”
Malisane did not answer. His eyes were fixed on the metal floor in front of him. What could beat the creature. He had seen it shot, sabered, blown up and it healed and kept coming. If he had a party of strong Clan members he had a hope. With himself, four troopers one of which was injured and no heavy weapons what hope did he have? But his other option was to sit here and die a cowards death. That was against every instinct in his body. Finally he stood up. “I will not die like this. What weapons do we have?”
“There are explosives in the munitions cabinet,” the Sergeant replied.
“Show me.”

The creature crouched on a rock patiently, watching the shuttle. It could sense the force user inside, and the others as a weaker presence. Hatred surged through it. It studied the ship in front of it, memories of similar technology flicking through it's memory as it looked for a weakness that would allow it in to find it's prey and kill. Then it tensed as it saw movement in front of it. With a metallic clang the ramp dropped quickly. Firak tensed as it sensed the force user and slowly the figure walked down the ramp and the preys head turned towards the creature as their gazes met. It flexed it's limbs waiting for the moment to strike, and then it stopped, it's reptilian eyes flickering over the figure, recognising the devices strapped over the body.

Malisane looked up at the creature slowly, resisting the urge to run back into the shuttle. He would not run. Gripping the device in his hand he slowly began to walk towards the rock it perched on, hearing the ramp shut behind him as the Lieutenant and the remaining troopers winched it back up. Firak's eyes bored into him and he could sense the indecision it must feel, between the urge to kill it's prey and it's preservation instinct. He knew the creature was assessing the situation in it's reptilian brain, looking for an opening. Slowly he walked forward, moving a hand down to one of the explosive packages strapped to his chest and unclipped it. He saw the creatures eyes move to the hand watching it as slowly he drew it back. The battlelord tensed himself, and then threw the package. The explosive bounced onto the rock and then exploded, sending debris flying into the air as the creature leapt backwards, seeming to almost somersault in the air before landing smoothly. It growled at him, and began to slowly circle him. Malisane kept an eye on the creature as he gripped another package, still holding the detonator in his left hand. He began moving slowly away from the creature and the ship, keeping an eye on Firak's movements. The creature followed him, ready to move again if he threw.

Slowly the ramp lowered again and Lieutenant Treger looked out. He gestured to the troopers behind him, and slowly they made their way down the ramp, Sergeant Lordan doing her best to ignore her bandaged wounded side as the pain drugs did their work. Each gripped their rifles as they made their way across the ground, keeping their movements subtle. The creature's eyes flicked to them, judging them for any hostile intent, before they flicked back to the battlelord. At that moment Malisane threw the second explosive, and then broke into a quick jog. As the creature leapt the four troopers quickly broke into a run. Firak emerged from the explosion unscathed as it bound away, it's eyes moving from the lone Sith to the troopers as they made for the building nearby. It focused on the Sith who suddenly turned as it padded after him, then stopped again. Malisane kept his gaze fixed on the creature as out of the corner of his eye he saw the troopers make the building and head inside.

Malisane kept backing off, watching the creature as it followed him. He was becoming increasingly concerned, sweat rolling down his burned flesh beneath the armour. He was alone now. He could die at any moment. He had provoked the creature enough to possibly overide it's survival instinct. The creature was tough and resilient. The explosives on him would probably kill it if it leapt at him, but perhaps not. He was aware of it's regenerative abilities. There was no doubt though they would kill him, preferably before the claws did. He moved slowly backward, his gaze daring it to leap. It followed. Malisane stood facing it for a few seconds. Slowly he removed his helmet, meeting the creatures reptilian eyes with his own. He began to edge forward, his free hand now reaching for his saber hilt. “Come on then you think I'm afraid of you?” he demanded. He raised the blade and ignited it, holding it in one hand. “What are you waiting for?”
Firak opened it's maw, showing it's fangs that glistened with dripping saliva. Then it leapt as Malisane sliced out with his saber in one hand. He felt the creature hit him and drove his blade into it's chest as his other hand pushed the detonator button and everything went quiet.

Lieutenant Tregor stood to attention as the superior officer studied him him. Around then armoured Warhost troopers were moving out to secure the nearby building. Lieutenant Colonel Senth of the Warhost regarded the scene and then his junior officer. “So you do not know what the creature was Lieutenant?”
“No sir. Following the initial attack we managed to secure ourself in the shuttle and restore partial power. I had no other communication from the rest of my platoon. Only myself, Corporal Myer and Trooper First Class Devar survived, Sergeant Lordan did not regain consciousness sir and died this morning. I accept full responsibility sir.”
Senth considered this, the clone had his own suspicions of the nature of the creature but was not about to share them with the junior officer. So far the searches had found nothing. “The enquiry will determine fault Lieutenant.”
Treger nodded. “I understand sir.”
“And the Battlelord.?
“Inside sir.”
Senth nodded. “Show me.”

They walked inside the smaller shuttle, pausing as two troopers carried a corpse out on a stretcher and towards the larger troop ship the reinforcements had arrived in. Senth looked around the small bloody cabin, and finally crouched down next to the cloaked figure leaned against the wall. The Sith's eyes were glazed, and his arms crossed holding his saber hilt clutched to his chest. “How long has he been like this?”
“Since we sealed ourselves in sir. We have not been able to get a response from him.”
The clone officer reached down and touched the Battlelords hand and tried to prise the fingers apart. “He should not be left with this.”
“We tried that as well sir. We could not remove his grip.”
Senth stood. “The medics will manage to get it from him, if necessary by breaking his fingers.”
He turned as two more troopers entered carrying another stretcher. “Be careful with him, for your own safety as much as anyone else's.”
“Yes sir.”
Senth turned back to Tregor. “You will be escorted to the transport under guard. Do not speak to anyone until I arrive.”
“Yes sir.”

The troopers continued to search the area, while others were removing equipment and samples from the abandoned medical building and carrying them towards the large transport. Above them on a rocky outcrop something crouched on a rock. It watched all beneath itself assessing the numbers in it's reptilian brain. This was not the time, there would be another.