There was a reason why Admiral Firion was known as ‘Hellfire’ amongst his enemies and friends. Over an icy planet, Werven, in the heat of the short-lived and bloody Exar Kun War, his strategies decimated the Mandalorian fleets. His positioning was brilliant, hyperspace warps utilized with surgical precision, and the Mandalorians never knew which way he was going to move.
Predictability meant death for the troops under a general, and efficiency under duress was his specialty. He blazed the skies with fallen enemy cruisers that day, and the icy blue above Werven was scorched crimson for hours. Hellfire had come.
And now, he had come again.
“Fleet has completed its spin, Admiral.”
“Report!”
“Swordhand is too far away to lend any meaningful support, Diamond and Defender are dust, Admiral.”
Any chance at victory was slim, if at all. In truth, Firion knew defeat was inevitable in the face of the numbers and damage already inflicted upon the ships in his command. He did not show a single break in his resolve, the mask of his leadership held firm.
FRS Tiger was locked within a firestorm of a duel between two Mandalorian cruisers. The offensive machine the Tiger was held up admirably, putting serious holes in the durasteel shielding of both ships. He pondered for just a second.
“How long would it take to overload the Tiger’s power core?”
“Sir?”
“Answer the question!”
“Thirty minutes, sir.”
“Send immediate orders to the Tiger for every possible personnel to evacuate the ship, hit the escape pods straight down planetside. Overload the core, and drive directly in the middle of both Mandalorian warships.”
The officer opened his mouth in disbelief, like the Admiral had just sprouted wings.
“Y-yes sir!”
After the order went out, the com-links between Tiger and Haergeras flashed an incoming message. Firion accepted the message and saw the familiar face of his old academy instructor on the other end, Commander Shaiwon Orr.
“I’ve just received your orders, Admiral.”
“You don’t approve?”
A loud laugh, and Firion smiled like he was in on the joke.
“Goddamn kid, you’re the most insane damn Admiral I’ve ever seen. The plan’s brilliant. I’m just calling in to-“
“To say you’re going down with the ship.”
“Yes, Admiral. It’s been a hell of a time piloting by your side, best student I’ve ever had.”
“It’s been an honor learning from you, Shai. I don’t give a shit what you say, you’re still the best.”
“Good to hear, even if it’s bullshit. I’ll see you on the otherside Hellfire. Commander Orr out.”
The coms went dead. Firion watched the battle unfolding as the largest cruiser of the Mandalorian fleet was headed right for him with a battalion of ships crushing through his fleet like a hammer over a field of glass. He called his officer back to his side.
“Does the Swordhand have time to get in range?”
A flicker of understanding showed on the officer’s face.
“I’m on it!”
When he was out of sight again, Firion directed all his attention on the oncoming wave of destruction headed towards him. He always wondered how he might die, and defending his home seemed the best way for it to happen. Firion wished he could send a message to his wife along with his two sons. A final farewell, but the chance did not lend itself to him. That’s the way it was sometimes, one moment laughing with family around a warm fire, and the next he would be gone. Not everyone captured the elusive moment of closure, not everyone received those goodbyes, and he seemed content with it. He lived a good life, and that was enough.
Yet, life still had its surprises. His fighters and ships poured blaster fire on the incoming Mandalorians, peppering them with superheated plasma. He had expected to been blown to pieces by torpedoes by now, yet it hadn’t happened except for a single torpedo smashing into the Haergeras with brutal precision incapacitating the ship for any escape.
“What’s going on?” He asked.
“They’re boarding, Admiral.”
He must have looked crazy, but Firion laughed anyway. Mandalorian honor, he pondered. They were going to let him go down fighting.
“Get my armor, my blade, and my gun.” Firion commanded. “Let’s give them Hell!”
His men cheered.
Waiting was always seen as the worst part of combat by many Mandalorians. The agonizing silence before the loading bay doors opened and a cascade of blaster fire and grenade explosions marked the beginning of battle. Most warriors he knew hated the wait, the patient sitting within their fighters. They all knew an intense battle was raging outside over Feraxis, and every single soldier under his command was burning to get out there.
But for him, for Mandalore, the silence was delicious. He could smell blood in the air, the metallic taste of the thrill kissed his tongue, and the pounding of his rush forcing up into his chest. It was glorious.
He sat atop a Basilisk War Droid, newly made for this exact war. The Republic had not seen what these machines of devastation could yet do, and he was eager to show them. This was his statement, his exclamation point in the history of the galaxy. Hundreds of men waited in the hanger atop droids or ships, looking for his command and his command only.
Mandalore raised his sword. The hangar bay doors opened and the vacuum of space rushed forth.
The sound of breath in helmets, flames of explosion flickered against visors. Mandalore slashed through the air and every fighter and basilisk dropped out into the battle. Mandalore felt the free-fall of his droid cutting through the void as he dropped towards the Haergeras watching as a well-placed torpedo left it incapacitated; a wounded kath hound to be put down.
For those who didn’t know, they would look at Mandalorians atop these metallic hurtling beasts as men with a death wish. Suicide. That is, until those beasts opened fire with shocking lethality. Rate of fire and power behind the turbo laser rounds cleaved fighters in half. Extendable claws lashed through space and tore wings off, sending pilots hurling to their final fiery resting places.
Firion’s maneuvers were impressive, the amount of calm order returning to the fleet amidst panic declared the Admiral as a worthy adversary. He understood why Indomitable respected him and lost to him, but he couldn’t help but feel disappointed by the fact that it was still a definitive route. A massacre in its own right as he targeted three incoming fighters and ripped them to shreds in a single line of fire.
This was Hellfire? Varen’s armor wasn’t even scorched yet. He hoped for a greater fight than this, but it would do. With precision fire he opened up a hole inside the Haergeras and landed inside. The shock of his landing sent Feraxis soldiers spinning, falling against corridors of the ship as simultaneous landings of his army boarded the command ship.
Blades were drawn. The clang of vibroswords rang thick in his ears, explosions deafened him. A soldier charged towards him and Mandalore gripped him by his throat, lifted him up and cracked his neck with a show of brute strength. The cold corpse crumpled to the steel floor. The defenses within the Haergeras were valiant, but the never-ending onslaught of oncoming Mandalorians broke their lines. The ferocity of their war cries and bloodied blades stained the ship red.
Before the command bridge, three Feraxis Knights stood clad in their golden and turquoise armor. Vibroswords out and ready to hold the line until Mandalore shouted.
“Hold!” And his men stopped. “Who wishes to strike these three men down? Rally Master?”
Uruk was behind him the entire time, cutting down foes and watching his leader’s back. But, the entire time he couldn’t help but admire his leader’s poise. Mandalore hammered his opponents like he was the rumble of a destroyer cannon, thunder made into flesh. His strength gave him strength, and the clan was only as powerful as their leader. Uruk felt he could do anything.
“I will honor your name with their blade, Mandalore.” He stepped up to the knights. The soldiers raised their swords, bellowed, and stomped their boots against the floor. Uruk struck first to frenzied cheers, his blade clashed against the knight in the center. He whirled around to deflect an oncoming slash, dropping down in a roll to evade the third attacker before raising his shoulder and leaping up to crash his armor into the knight’s helmet. The two of them went crashing against the wall and Uruk heard the sound of bone on metal, the wet tear as he withdrew his sword and it dripped with fresh blood.
He smiled under his helmet. Two left.
He could sense the dread amongst his remaining men, nearly a hundred of them on the bridge. Firion wore the turquoise and gold armor of an admiral, heavy shielding but made with renown Feraxis metal alloy that could bend and provide the flexibility of light armor. His sword was not yet drawn, rather he waited at the front of them all with a plasma gatling gun held in both of his hands. Firion did not flinch in the face of the thunderous echo of Mandalorian boots stomping with their war chants.
Instead, he faced his men. “I thought this was a war, I guess it’s a concert.”
His men laughed. He hadn’t lost them, not yet.
“Sons and daughters of Feraxis. This is our end, but not the end of Feraxis. Our story ends on this ship after the battle coming beyond that door. But I want you to remember this, another story comes after ours. The fleet of Haergeras may burn today, but may rise again tomorrow and burn the Mandalorian scourge from the galaxy. We die today, so we can live tomorrow!” He roared, and proud soldiers echoed his call.
Smoke from the door, plasma chewed away from the other side. Bangs of explosives. The enemy was coming.
Firion turned around to face his end, his gatling gun trained on the entrance way. He raised a fist to his chest and smacked his armor. Thud! Thud! Thud! It turned out, Firion was not alone at all in his end. His rhythm was matched by the final few behind him.
Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud! His loyal soldier’s cries sounded up behind him.
“Give ‘em Hell boys!”
The door opened, Mandalorian blades charged and Firion opened fire. His stream of blaster fire created a sea of death. Seemingly endless blue-clad armored soldiers fell to his defense. The spray cut off limbs, splattered blood, smoke clouds lifted from the heat of the weapon. No commanders, no rally masters, the pawns thrown against the front. Until at last the weapon ran out of bolts and overheated.
Firion backed off, and his soldiers took the front and volleyed with their own blasters. Mandalorians were torn to pieces, but soon they took positions and fired back. The bridge was a bloodbath, and the Feraxis men proved they were no cowards. They were warrior born as any Mandalorian.
When swords were drawn, Uruk and Varen stepped inside and cut through swaths of Feraxis troops. Uruk had earned his golden commander armor for the three knights he slew singlehandedly behind them.
Mandalore spotted Firion, and Firion spotted him. A tense moment of silence as they worked their way to eachother. Hellfire cut down two warriors as Mandalore broke through a wall of five men with terrifying ease. Firion remembered Mandalore the Indomitable, and he heard the reports of the clans calling this man Mandalore the Ultimate. The name was earned, he could tell. Not just by his presence of command, or his immense size. This Mandalore was a freak of nature, a warrior prodigy.
But, he would meet him in battle nonetheless.
When all of his men were cut down, the Mandalorians formed a circle to watch as the two legends clashed swords. One legend had a written history, and the other was building his name on a conquering trail.
Uruk considered himself an excellent swordsman, but he had to admit that Hellfire Levalle was as fierce as any man he had seen. Perhaps not what King Haergeras was in his prime, but he was not defeated by Mandalore. That alone earned Uruk’s respect, earned all of their respect. Firion was the first man he’d seen not fall to Mandalore’s sword in the first minute of a duel.
Mandalore the Ultimate was younger, stronger, faster, and undoubtedly a better fighter. Yet, Firion knew he had seen more battles in his own time. He used his tricks to his advantage, lulling Mandalore into a sense of security before landing a strike against the man’s helmet. The helmet earned a small dent from the hit.
His opponent was not surprised, rather he seemed pleased. Mandalore roared in delight. “Finally, a worthy opponent. So far you’ve disappointed me, Hellfire. I’ve thought your name was just smoke, and nothing more.”
Just wait a few minutes longer, Firion thought. “Give it time, you’ll know soon enough.”
It felt like an eternity, the two of them fighting. But no matter how stalwart Firion’s defenses were, Mandalore pressed forward with merciless confidence that broke his lesser skill. A flash of movement and his sword was in the air, and then another, Firion felt the hot stab of steel piercing his body.
He choked, coughed blood. The crusaders erupted with victorious cheers as Firion looked on outside, watching as the Swordhand found itself within range of other Mandalorian ships. The Tiger approached the center of two others, and the coms aboard the Haergeras bursted to life with the cackling of the crazy old man.
“Tell me how this tastes you Mandalorian sons of bitches!” He laughed like a maniac all the way, and Firion chuckled when the entire ship erupted from the overheating core. A blue-white blast as the Tiger took two Mandalorian ships with her. The Swordhand opened up with a central cannon, a hidden weapon developed by Firion himself. It had the name for a purpose, as a great plasma beam bursted forward in the shape of a sword; one continuous laser cutting through three cruisers and hundreds of fighters. It lasted for but moments until the Swordhand was finally taken down. But, the damage was done. Firion had inflicted heavy casualties in a battle where he was expected to get massacred.
Firion’s laughter died when he collapsed to the ground, looking up at the Mandalore who now knew why the Admiral was known as Hellfire.
The display of destruction blazed through the sky, and the flames bathed Mandalore’s gaze. He expected to feel enraged by the sudden explosions, but instead a tremendous rush of thrilling victory surged through him. This, this was Hellfire. A warrior who did not leave his post, a commander whose men did not flee, a fighter to the end who intended to cause maximum devastation despite inevitable death. It was he, Mandalore, who had slain this man.
His own men even seemed to recognize it, slamming their chests with their fists in the wake of a successful capturing of the Haergeras. They had taken the flagship of the perhaps the greatest fleet of the known galaxy.
Death was in his wake, a trail of corpses. His men and his enemies lied in a pool of blood together, unified in the fires that forged them. If all of the Republic provided this kind of resistance, he would reach the highest peaks of honor.
“Commander.” He remembered to call Uruk.
Uruk burst with pride at the sound of his new rank. “I’m at your command, Mandalore, always.”
“Set up a transmission with King Haergeras. It’s time to discuss terms.”
King Haergeras popped up on a holo-feed, and Mandalore made sure the audio of their discussion was spread across all local channels. Every network in the galaxy picked up the transmission and relayed the words between both lords.
“You call that honor, Mandalore? Striking a foe behind his back?”
“War is war. Did you expect me to run straight on and have my invasion end before it could really begin? Kill more, lose less, that is what all leaders must do. We do not retreat, but we shall win at all costs.”
“You’re a shade to your predecessor.”
“And you’re past your prime. I’ve broken your fleet, and you have no defense. You can surrender or die, it’s that simple.”
“No chance of that. You’ll have to bloody my palace corridors with your men if you want to take my kingdom.”
“Who said anything about coming down?”
“You wouldn’t bomb the palace with the city so close by, many will die.”
Mandalore spoke with a measured, eerie calm. “King Haergeras, do you surrender?”
“Burn in hell.”
“So be it. Glass the palace.”
“Wha-“ Mandalore cut the transmission.
The whole galaxy watched the lasers paint the palace with their targeting systems. In mere minutes, the grand palace was rubble. Bodies and blood. King Haergeras was dead, and thousands of soldiers and innocent civilians were slaughtered in the fire.
The council chamber had never been packed before, for this was the first time in a long time since the master allowed knights and padawans to sit in on a session. Aria and many others waited out for an entire week to see what the council would decide. Nervous energy rushed from one person to the next as they listened to the words of different students.
Aria had not spoken, though her stance was firm. A week ago, she did not know what she wanted and felt conflicted by the things she had seen in her dreams. The Mandalorian attack showed her that she could see, she could see what was happening before it happened.
Her skills were not meant to sit in idle wait as a war happened around her, Aria could not sit and watch by as entire fleets were massacred, as civilians were fired upon without hesitation. The final words of the Mandalore haunted her every day since. It was like he wanted Haergeras to say no, like he wanted an excuse to burn the palace to the ground.
They had to go to war, there was no other choice. The Mandalorian threat was too powerful for them to go unchallenged. Greatest warriors marching to war without the esteemed jedi to match them, it seemed wrong to her. Aria felt an inner sense of resolve, a duty, a code exclusive to herself.
Had she been living a lie all this time? Ignoring her natural duelist talents, her sense of presence that captured many friends. No more.
When Master Zhar spoke at last, she felt her rage coursing with the flow of all the students.
“The council has decided, for the best interest of the Jedi and the preservation of the galaxy itself that we must wait out the war for now and not engage. This-“
He was shouted down. Students roared their anger.
“They murdered children!”
“Did you see how they fought, did you see the palace ruins?”
Some students tried to fight against the expressive majority, but their voices were silenced in the tidal wave of chaos. It wasn’t until Aria stepped into the circle of the council chamber and raised her lightsaber into the air did everyone become quiet.
“Aria?” Zhar spoke, “Time for speaking has concluded, the decision is –“
“Enough!” Aria barked. The masters were taken aback as her voice carried with an echo of power. This was not the Aria they all knew. “I think we’ve heard enough, Master Zhar, heard enough to know that the council’s wishes do not echo the wishes of the Jedi that you teach. I can tell not even all the masters in the order agree with this sentiment.”
Vrook exploded. “Who do you think you are? You brash, arrogant child! You’re nothing but a padawan who can’t control her emotions. What do you know of the dark side or war? Nothing!”
All eyes turned on her, for Vrook had a point. Aria wanted to bark back at him and knock him down, and she knew she could, but the girl sighed. She refused to give into the instinct of anger.
“I was with you that day, all of you.” Aria ignored Vrook, and looked around at the crowd gathered. The decision, the moment, it was all on a holo-feed transmitting back to the council chambers on Coruscant. Every Jedi from both major enclaves were collectively watching Aria address the Jedi and the council. Aria made sure to look at the camera, as though she were reaching out to the Jedi on Coruscant as well. “I was with you that day when the Mandalorians attacked Republic space. I watched them destroy a fleet, I watched them kill men, and I watched them murder thousands of defenseless people. Did all of you feel that cold, choking terror? A hand of frozen glass sinking into your skin… I’ve felt it, in truth I have seen visions of the Mandalorians raiding planets the past few weeks, and now I see the truth. They were always coming, and we have waited and waited while they have built their numbers so they could kill us all, to destroy the Republic.”
Vrook shot up out of his chair and tried to yell out at her. “This is—“
“Hold your tongue, Old Man!” It was an easy and low shot, well beneath her. Aria regretted saying it, but it worked to her desired effect. There were laughs in the crowd, and Aria suppressed a grin. “I’m not finished, you’ve had your turn. You see, it’s natural to be afraid. The masters are too, and they would have us believe that if they do nothing that it will have no consequences. That no one will die, that no one will be murdered. And if we dare speak with our own voice, we will be asked to quiet down. Is that not what you want me to do, Master Vrook?”
There was a deadly silence, and Vrook sat down for he had no words to strike back with.
She held her lightsaber and looked at her smoothly, individually crafted hilt. “We are Jedi, we are the paragons of justice in the galaxy, the protectors of the innocent. Are we to sit and watch as the innocent die?”
“No!” A loud wave of answers.
“Are we to sit and watch as the Mandalorians pillage and burn?”
“No!”
“Are we to sit and watch as the Republic collapses?”
“No!” The crowd of padawans and knights was deafening, Aria’s energy was electric and infectious. Her fire spread, alighting the hearts and minds of those gathered. The masters were stunned frozen, as though they were watching the ghost of Exar Kun walking around the council circle. Resurrected to finish what he started.
Aria waited for the crowd to calm, and when it was quiet once more she spoke. “My saber will be an arm for the Republic, a tool to dispel these monsters from the galaxy. Who of you, brave Jedi, will join me?”
Nothing, a bubble of silence akin to Dantooine’s heavy winter snow drowning the planet in a blanket of cold sleep. Until, Alek, the recognized and massive Jedi guardian stepped inside of the circle. He raised his saber high, unignited.
Alek had almost left the chamber in his outrage before Aria took the floor. He didn’t think much of the girl until he watched closely, until he felt the swirling pools of her power resonating within and then becoming a hurricane that swept the room into her corner. She said what he felt better than he ever could, he had never considered himself a follower, but he believed in what she said.
“You have my lightsaber, Aria. I will fight with you til’ the end, to the day we butcher those animals!” His fury echoed the students, and they roared in approval. One after another provided their loyalty.
It was a day the council would never forget.
She had been used to a large following of friends, but her arrival to Coruscant was unexpected. A vast following of padawans and knights all stood in awe, watching Aria. That’s the girl, they said. That’s the girl who stood up against the council. That’s her, that’s her.
Aria didn’t know who ‘her’ was, the rousing speech came from somewhere inside of her, from a place she didn’t know existed. Her gentle calm, her firm hand, and biting insults, Aria hated to say she enjoyed the power of the moment. Control of her own destiny. They say the force guides and a Jedi walks upon the predestined path, and for a long time Aria believed it. But now, for the first time, she believed the path could be manipulated.
Republic soldiers, captains, sergeants, commanders, all of them showed up with soldier shuttles to transport enlisting Jedi to major command posts and battleships. The council explicitly stated that those who went to war were subject to investigation afterwards, and a strong chance of banishment from the order.
Nevertheless, Aria, Alek, and hundreds of others enlisted anyway, most of them with the desire to fall behind Aria’s lead.
It was there on Coruscant, that Aria discovered her master would be joining her. Arren Kae openly defied the council, a Jedi master joining with no hesitation at her student’s request created a devastating problem for the council. It leant the young Jedi credibility, and another piece to the puzzle that was her growing mystique. She needed Arren now, for she had not completed her training.
“The council is full of fools.” Arren said. “Do not worry about their decision, you have seen what they wish they could see, known what they wish they could know, and done what they cannot understand and never will. I follow you of my own free will, because I believe in your choice.”
Aria remembered that, and she always would. Arren’s approval, her commitment to being loyal to Aria meant more than any of the kind words from the hundreds of Jedi who wanted to meet her. And she needed it today especially, because today was her first mission.
She’d been assigned with multiple others on an excursion to world outside of Republic space, Cathar, the homeworld of the Cathar race. Aria looked in the database, and she recognized their cat-like faces from her dreams. This was where she was meant to be, and all doubts were silenced.
The young, now nineteen year old padawan marched into the line towards the ship noticing a man and a woman together. Anna and Leon. Arren stepped forward first. “We have met once, and now again it seems Major. I wonder what else fate has in store for us in the future. I’m here to supervise the Jedi in your unit, I don’t believe you’ve had the chance to meet my padawan yet.”
Aria stepped up and held out her hand. She was tall, and stood as though she were in command.
“Aria Blair.”
Predictability meant death for the troops under a general, and efficiency under duress was his specialty. He blazed the skies with fallen enemy cruisers that day, and the icy blue above Werven was scorched crimson for hours. Hellfire had come.
And now, he had come again.
“Fleet has completed its spin, Admiral.”
“Report!”
“Swordhand is too far away to lend any meaningful support, Diamond and Defender are dust, Admiral.”
Any chance at victory was slim, if at all. In truth, Firion knew defeat was inevitable in the face of the numbers and damage already inflicted upon the ships in his command. He did not show a single break in his resolve, the mask of his leadership held firm.
FRS Tiger was locked within a firestorm of a duel between two Mandalorian cruisers. The offensive machine the Tiger was held up admirably, putting serious holes in the durasteel shielding of both ships. He pondered for just a second.
“How long would it take to overload the Tiger’s power core?”
“Sir?”
“Answer the question!”
“Thirty minutes, sir.”
“Send immediate orders to the Tiger for every possible personnel to evacuate the ship, hit the escape pods straight down planetside. Overload the core, and drive directly in the middle of both Mandalorian warships.”
The officer opened his mouth in disbelief, like the Admiral had just sprouted wings.
“Y-yes sir!”
After the order went out, the com-links between Tiger and Haergeras flashed an incoming message. Firion accepted the message and saw the familiar face of his old academy instructor on the other end, Commander Shaiwon Orr.
“I’ve just received your orders, Admiral.”
“You don’t approve?”
A loud laugh, and Firion smiled like he was in on the joke.
“Goddamn kid, you’re the most insane damn Admiral I’ve ever seen. The plan’s brilliant. I’m just calling in to-“
“To say you’re going down with the ship.”
“Yes, Admiral. It’s been a hell of a time piloting by your side, best student I’ve ever had.”
“It’s been an honor learning from you, Shai. I don’t give a shit what you say, you’re still the best.”
“Good to hear, even if it’s bullshit. I’ll see you on the otherside Hellfire. Commander Orr out.”
The coms went dead. Firion watched the battle unfolding as the largest cruiser of the Mandalorian fleet was headed right for him with a battalion of ships crushing through his fleet like a hammer over a field of glass. He called his officer back to his side.
“Does the Swordhand have time to get in range?”
A flicker of understanding showed on the officer’s face.
“I’m on it!”
When he was out of sight again, Firion directed all his attention on the oncoming wave of destruction headed towards him. He always wondered how he might die, and defending his home seemed the best way for it to happen. Firion wished he could send a message to his wife along with his two sons. A final farewell, but the chance did not lend itself to him. That’s the way it was sometimes, one moment laughing with family around a warm fire, and the next he would be gone. Not everyone captured the elusive moment of closure, not everyone received those goodbyes, and he seemed content with it. He lived a good life, and that was enough.
Yet, life still had its surprises. His fighters and ships poured blaster fire on the incoming Mandalorians, peppering them with superheated plasma. He had expected to been blown to pieces by torpedoes by now, yet it hadn’t happened except for a single torpedo smashing into the Haergeras with brutal precision incapacitating the ship for any escape.
“What’s going on?” He asked.
“They’re boarding, Admiral.”
He must have looked crazy, but Firion laughed anyway. Mandalorian honor, he pondered. They were going to let him go down fighting.
“Get my armor, my blade, and my gun.” Firion commanded. “Let’s give them Hell!”
His men cheered.
Waiting was always seen as the worst part of combat by many Mandalorians. The agonizing silence before the loading bay doors opened and a cascade of blaster fire and grenade explosions marked the beginning of battle. Most warriors he knew hated the wait, the patient sitting within their fighters. They all knew an intense battle was raging outside over Feraxis, and every single soldier under his command was burning to get out there.
But for him, for Mandalore, the silence was delicious. He could smell blood in the air, the metallic taste of the thrill kissed his tongue, and the pounding of his rush forcing up into his chest. It was glorious.
He sat atop a Basilisk War Droid, newly made for this exact war. The Republic had not seen what these machines of devastation could yet do, and he was eager to show them. This was his statement, his exclamation point in the history of the galaxy. Hundreds of men waited in the hanger atop droids or ships, looking for his command and his command only.
Mandalore raised his sword. The hangar bay doors opened and the vacuum of space rushed forth.
The sound of breath in helmets, flames of explosion flickered against visors. Mandalore slashed through the air and every fighter and basilisk dropped out into the battle. Mandalore felt the free-fall of his droid cutting through the void as he dropped towards the Haergeras watching as a well-placed torpedo left it incapacitated; a wounded kath hound to be put down.
For those who didn’t know, they would look at Mandalorians atop these metallic hurtling beasts as men with a death wish. Suicide. That is, until those beasts opened fire with shocking lethality. Rate of fire and power behind the turbo laser rounds cleaved fighters in half. Extendable claws lashed through space and tore wings off, sending pilots hurling to their final fiery resting places.
Firion’s maneuvers were impressive, the amount of calm order returning to the fleet amidst panic declared the Admiral as a worthy adversary. He understood why Indomitable respected him and lost to him, but he couldn’t help but feel disappointed by the fact that it was still a definitive route. A massacre in its own right as he targeted three incoming fighters and ripped them to shreds in a single line of fire.
This was Hellfire? Varen’s armor wasn’t even scorched yet. He hoped for a greater fight than this, but it would do. With precision fire he opened up a hole inside the Haergeras and landed inside. The shock of his landing sent Feraxis soldiers spinning, falling against corridors of the ship as simultaneous landings of his army boarded the command ship.
Blades were drawn. The clang of vibroswords rang thick in his ears, explosions deafened him. A soldier charged towards him and Mandalore gripped him by his throat, lifted him up and cracked his neck with a show of brute strength. The cold corpse crumpled to the steel floor. The defenses within the Haergeras were valiant, but the never-ending onslaught of oncoming Mandalorians broke their lines. The ferocity of their war cries and bloodied blades stained the ship red.
Before the command bridge, three Feraxis Knights stood clad in their golden and turquoise armor. Vibroswords out and ready to hold the line until Mandalore shouted.
“Hold!” And his men stopped. “Who wishes to strike these three men down? Rally Master?”
Uruk was behind him the entire time, cutting down foes and watching his leader’s back. But, the entire time he couldn’t help but admire his leader’s poise. Mandalore hammered his opponents like he was the rumble of a destroyer cannon, thunder made into flesh. His strength gave him strength, and the clan was only as powerful as their leader. Uruk felt he could do anything.
“I will honor your name with their blade, Mandalore.” He stepped up to the knights. The soldiers raised their swords, bellowed, and stomped their boots against the floor. Uruk struck first to frenzied cheers, his blade clashed against the knight in the center. He whirled around to deflect an oncoming slash, dropping down in a roll to evade the third attacker before raising his shoulder and leaping up to crash his armor into the knight’s helmet. The two of them went crashing against the wall and Uruk heard the sound of bone on metal, the wet tear as he withdrew his sword and it dripped with fresh blood.
He smiled under his helmet. Two left.
He could sense the dread amongst his remaining men, nearly a hundred of them on the bridge. Firion wore the turquoise and gold armor of an admiral, heavy shielding but made with renown Feraxis metal alloy that could bend and provide the flexibility of light armor. His sword was not yet drawn, rather he waited at the front of them all with a plasma gatling gun held in both of his hands. Firion did not flinch in the face of the thunderous echo of Mandalorian boots stomping with their war chants.
Instead, he faced his men. “I thought this was a war, I guess it’s a concert.”
His men laughed. He hadn’t lost them, not yet.
“Sons and daughters of Feraxis. This is our end, but not the end of Feraxis. Our story ends on this ship after the battle coming beyond that door. But I want you to remember this, another story comes after ours. The fleet of Haergeras may burn today, but may rise again tomorrow and burn the Mandalorian scourge from the galaxy. We die today, so we can live tomorrow!” He roared, and proud soldiers echoed his call.
Smoke from the door, plasma chewed away from the other side. Bangs of explosives. The enemy was coming.
Firion turned around to face his end, his gatling gun trained on the entrance way. He raised a fist to his chest and smacked his armor. Thud! Thud! Thud! It turned out, Firion was not alone at all in his end. His rhythm was matched by the final few behind him.
Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud! His loyal soldier’s cries sounded up behind him.
“Give ‘em Hell boys!”
The door opened, Mandalorian blades charged and Firion opened fire. His stream of blaster fire created a sea of death. Seemingly endless blue-clad armored soldiers fell to his defense. The spray cut off limbs, splattered blood, smoke clouds lifted from the heat of the weapon. No commanders, no rally masters, the pawns thrown against the front. Until at last the weapon ran out of bolts and overheated.
Firion backed off, and his soldiers took the front and volleyed with their own blasters. Mandalorians were torn to pieces, but soon they took positions and fired back. The bridge was a bloodbath, and the Feraxis men proved they were no cowards. They were warrior born as any Mandalorian.
When swords were drawn, Uruk and Varen stepped inside and cut through swaths of Feraxis troops. Uruk had earned his golden commander armor for the three knights he slew singlehandedly behind them.
Mandalore spotted Firion, and Firion spotted him. A tense moment of silence as they worked their way to eachother. Hellfire cut down two warriors as Mandalore broke through a wall of five men with terrifying ease. Firion remembered Mandalore the Indomitable, and he heard the reports of the clans calling this man Mandalore the Ultimate. The name was earned, he could tell. Not just by his presence of command, or his immense size. This Mandalore was a freak of nature, a warrior prodigy.
But, he would meet him in battle nonetheless.
When all of his men were cut down, the Mandalorians formed a circle to watch as the two legends clashed swords. One legend had a written history, and the other was building his name on a conquering trail.
Uruk considered himself an excellent swordsman, but he had to admit that Hellfire Levalle was as fierce as any man he had seen. Perhaps not what King Haergeras was in his prime, but he was not defeated by Mandalore. That alone earned Uruk’s respect, earned all of their respect. Firion was the first man he’d seen not fall to Mandalore’s sword in the first minute of a duel.
Mandalore the Ultimate was younger, stronger, faster, and undoubtedly a better fighter. Yet, Firion knew he had seen more battles in his own time. He used his tricks to his advantage, lulling Mandalore into a sense of security before landing a strike against the man’s helmet. The helmet earned a small dent from the hit.
His opponent was not surprised, rather he seemed pleased. Mandalore roared in delight. “Finally, a worthy opponent. So far you’ve disappointed me, Hellfire. I’ve thought your name was just smoke, and nothing more.”
Just wait a few minutes longer, Firion thought. “Give it time, you’ll know soon enough.”
It felt like an eternity, the two of them fighting. But no matter how stalwart Firion’s defenses were, Mandalore pressed forward with merciless confidence that broke his lesser skill. A flash of movement and his sword was in the air, and then another, Firion felt the hot stab of steel piercing his body.
He choked, coughed blood. The crusaders erupted with victorious cheers as Firion looked on outside, watching as the Swordhand found itself within range of other Mandalorian ships. The Tiger approached the center of two others, and the coms aboard the Haergeras bursted to life with the cackling of the crazy old man.
“Tell me how this tastes you Mandalorian sons of bitches!” He laughed like a maniac all the way, and Firion chuckled when the entire ship erupted from the overheating core. A blue-white blast as the Tiger took two Mandalorian ships with her. The Swordhand opened up with a central cannon, a hidden weapon developed by Firion himself. It had the name for a purpose, as a great plasma beam bursted forward in the shape of a sword; one continuous laser cutting through three cruisers and hundreds of fighters. It lasted for but moments until the Swordhand was finally taken down. But, the damage was done. Firion had inflicted heavy casualties in a battle where he was expected to get massacred.
Firion’s laughter died when he collapsed to the ground, looking up at the Mandalore who now knew why the Admiral was known as Hellfire.
The display of destruction blazed through the sky, and the flames bathed Mandalore’s gaze. He expected to feel enraged by the sudden explosions, but instead a tremendous rush of thrilling victory surged through him. This, this was Hellfire. A warrior who did not leave his post, a commander whose men did not flee, a fighter to the end who intended to cause maximum devastation despite inevitable death. It was he, Mandalore, who had slain this man.
His own men even seemed to recognize it, slamming their chests with their fists in the wake of a successful capturing of the Haergeras. They had taken the flagship of the perhaps the greatest fleet of the known galaxy.
Death was in his wake, a trail of corpses. His men and his enemies lied in a pool of blood together, unified in the fires that forged them. If all of the Republic provided this kind of resistance, he would reach the highest peaks of honor.
“Commander.” He remembered to call Uruk.
Uruk burst with pride at the sound of his new rank. “I’m at your command, Mandalore, always.”
“Set up a transmission with King Haergeras. It’s time to discuss terms.”
King Haergeras popped up on a holo-feed, and Mandalore made sure the audio of their discussion was spread across all local channels. Every network in the galaxy picked up the transmission and relayed the words between both lords.
“You call that honor, Mandalore? Striking a foe behind his back?”
“War is war. Did you expect me to run straight on and have my invasion end before it could really begin? Kill more, lose less, that is what all leaders must do. We do not retreat, but we shall win at all costs.”
“You’re a shade to your predecessor.”
“And you’re past your prime. I’ve broken your fleet, and you have no defense. You can surrender or die, it’s that simple.”
“No chance of that. You’ll have to bloody my palace corridors with your men if you want to take my kingdom.”
“Who said anything about coming down?”
“You wouldn’t bomb the palace with the city so close by, many will die.”
Mandalore spoke with a measured, eerie calm. “King Haergeras, do you surrender?”
“Burn in hell.”
“So be it. Glass the palace.”
“Wha-“ Mandalore cut the transmission.
The whole galaxy watched the lasers paint the palace with their targeting systems. In mere minutes, the grand palace was rubble. Bodies and blood. King Haergeras was dead, and thousands of soldiers and innocent civilians were slaughtered in the fire.
One Week Later
Aria Blair
Dantooine
Aria Blair
Dantooine
The council chamber had never been packed before, for this was the first time in a long time since the master allowed knights and padawans to sit in on a session. Aria and many others waited out for an entire week to see what the council would decide. Nervous energy rushed from one person to the next as they listened to the words of different students.
Aria had not spoken, though her stance was firm. A week ago, she did not know what she wanted and felt conflicted by the things she had seen in her dreams. The Mandalorian attack showed her that she could see, she could see what was happening before it happened.
Her skills were not meant to sit in idle wait as a war happened around her, Aria could not sit and watch by as entire fleets were massacred, as civilians were fired upon without hesitation. The final words of the Mandalore haunted her every day since. It was like he wanted Haergeras to say no, like he wanted an excuse to burn the palace to the ground.
They had to go to war, there was no other choice. The Mandalorian threat was too powerful for them to go unchallenged. Greatest warriors marching to war without the esteemed jedi to match them, it seemed wrong to her. Aria felt an inner sense of resolve, a duty, a code exclusive to herself.
Had she been living a lie all this time? Ignoring her natural duelist talents, her sense of presence that captured many friends. No more.
When Master Zhar spoke at last, she felt her rage coursing with the flow of all the students.
“The council has decided, for the best interest of the Jedi and the preservation of the galaxy itself that we must wait out the war for now and not engage. This-“
He was shouted down. Students roared their anger.
“They murdered children!”
“Did you see how they fought, did you see the palace ruins?”
Some students tried to fight against the expressive majority, but their voices were silenced in the tidal wave of chaos. It wasn’t until Aria stepped into the circle of the council chamber and raised her lightsaber into the air did everyone become quiet.
“Aria?” Zhar spoke, “Time for speaking has concluded, the decision is –“
“Enough!” Aria barked. The masters were taken aback as her voice carried with an echo of power. This was not the Aria they all knew. “I think we’ve heard enough, Master Zhar, heard enough to know that the council’s wishes do not echo the wishes of the Jedi that you teach. I can tell not even all the masters in the order agree with this sentiment.”
Vrook exploded. “Who do you think you are? You brash, arrogant child! You’re nothing but a padawan who can’t control her emotions. What do you know of the dark side or war? Nothing!”
All eyes turned on her, for Vrook had a point. Aria wanted to bark back at him and knock him down, and she knew she could, but the girl sighed. She refused to give into the instinct of anger.
“I was with you that day, all of you.” Aria ignored Vrook, and looked around at the crowd gathered. The decision, the moment, it was all on a holo-feed transmitting back to the council chambers on Coruscant. Every Jedi from both major enclaves were collectively watching Aria address the Jedi and the council. Aria made sure to look at the camera, as though she were reaching out to the Jedi on Coruscant as well. “I was with you that day when the Mandalorians attacked Republic space. I watched them destroy a fleet, I watched them kill men, and I watched them murder thousands of defenseless people. Did all of you feel that cold, choking terror? A hand of frozen glass sinking into your skin… I’ve felt it, in truth I have seen visions of the Mandalorians raiding planets the past few weeks, and now I see the truth. They were always coming, and we have waited and waited while they have built their numbers so they could kill us all, to destroy the Republic.”
Vrook shot up out of his chair and tried to yell out at her. “This is—“
“Hold your tongue, Old Man!” It was an easy and low shot, well beneath her. Aria regretted saying it, but it worked to her desired effect. There were laughs in the crowd, and Aria suppressed a grin. “I’m not finished, you’ve had your turn. You see, it’s natural to be afraid. The masters are too, and they would have us believe that if they do nothing that it will have no consequences. That no one will die, that no one will be murdered. And if we dare speak with our own voice, we will be asked to quiet down. Is that not what you want me to do, Master Vrook?”
There was a deadly silence, and Vrook sat down for he had no words to strike back with.
She held her lightsaber and looked at her smoothly, individually crafted hilt. “We are Jedi, we are the paragons of justice in the galaxy, the protectors of the innocent. Are we to sit and watch as the innocent die?”
“No!” A loud wave of answers.
“Are we to sit and watch as the Mandalorians pillage and burn?”
“No!”
“Are we to sit and watch as the Republic collapses?”
“No!” The crowd of padawans and knights was deafening, Aria’s energy was electric and infectious. Her fire spread, alighting the hearts and minds of those gathered. The masters were stunned frozen, as though they were watching the ghost of Exar Kun walking around the council circle. Resurrected to finish what he started.
Aria waited for the crowd to calm, and when it was quiet once more she spoke. “My saber will be an arm for the Republic, a tool to dispel these monsters from the galaxy. Who of you, brave Jedi, will join me?”
Nothing, a bubble of silence akin to Dantooine’s heavy winter snow drowning the planet in a blanket of cold sleep. Until, Alek, the recognized and massive Jedi guardian stepped inside of the circle. He raised his saber high, unignited.
Alek had almost left the chamber in his outrage before Aria took the floor. He didn’t think much of the girl until he watched closely, until he felt the swirling pools of her power resonating within and then becoming a hurricane that swept the room into her corner. She said what he felt better than he ever could, he had never considered himself a follower, but he believed in what she said.
“You have my lightsaber, Aria. I will fight with you til’ the end, to the day we butcher those animals!” His fury echoed the students, and they roared in approval. One after another provided their loyalty.
It was a day the council would never forget.
Two Weeks Later
Aria Blair
Coruscant
Aria Blair
Coruscant
She had been used to a large following of friends, but her arrival to Coruscant was unexpected. A vast following of padawans and knights all stood in awe, watching Aria. That’s the girl, they said. That’s the girl who stood up against the council. That’s her, that’s her.
Aria didn’t know who ‘her’ was, the rousing speech came from somewhere inside of her, from a place she didn’t know existed. Her gentle calm, her firm hand, and biting insults, Aria hated to say she enjoyed the power of the moment. Control of her own destiny. They say the force guides and a Jedi walks upon the predestined path, and for a long time Aria believed it. But now, for the first time, she believed the path could be manipulated.
Republic soldiers, captains, sergeants, commanders, all of them showed up with soldier shuttles to transport enlisting Jedi to major command posts and battleships. The council explicitly stated that those who went to war were subject to investigation afterwards, and a strong chance of banishment from the order.
Nevertheless, Aria, Alek, and hundreds of others enlisted anyway, most of them with the desire to fall behind Aria’s lead.
It was there on Coruscant, that Aria discovered her master would be joining her. Arren Kae openly defied the council, a Jedi master joining with no hesitation at her student’s request created a devastating problem for the council. It leant the young Jedi credibility, and another piece to the puzzle that was her growing mystique. She needed Arren now, for she had not completed her training.
“The council is full of fools.” Arren said. “Do not worry about their decision, you have seen what they wish they could see, known what they wish they could know, and done what they cannot understand and never will. I follow you of my own free will, because I believe in your choice.”
Aria remembered that, and she always would. Arren’s approval, her commitment to being loyal to Aria meant more than any of the kind words from the hundreds of Jedi who wanted to meet her. And she needed it today especially, because today was her first mission.
She’d been assigned with multiple others on an excursion to world outside of Republic space, Cathar, the homeworld of the Cathar race. Aria looked in the database, and she recognized their cat-like faces from her dreams. This was where she was meant to be, and all doubts were silenced.
The young, now nineteen year old padawan marched into the line towards the ship noticing a man and a woman together. Anna and Leon. Arren stepped forward first. “We have met once, and now again it seems Major. I wonder what else fate has in store for us in the future. I’m here to supervise the Jedi in your unit, I don’t believe you’ve had the chance to meet my padawan yet.”
Aria stepped up and held out her hand. She was tall, and stood as though she were in command.
“Aria Blair.”