Chapter Text
“You’re telling me the entire expeditionary group was destroyed near Columex?”
“Not destroyed. Routed. There’s a difference.”
“A difference that still left us with six surviving starfighters and half a corvette limping home.”
“You don’t understand what’s happening out there.”
“Then explain it.”
A long pause followed in the transcript before the pilot answered again. Background audio picked up shouting, medical droids, and what analysts later identified as a bacta respirator cycling somewhere inside the debriefing chamber.
“We entered through the smuggler route Solo provided. The corridor was clear for almost two systems. No patrols. No probes. Nothing. We thought maybe the Imperials in that sector were stretched thin.”
“And?”
“And it was bait.”
According to surviving sensor logs, Expeditionary Force Gamma-14 encountered minimal resistance until approaching the Columex corridor leading toward Mon Cala and Lothal. At approximately 0217 local fleet time, multiple gravity well signatures emerged from the outer system before hyperspace withdrawal became impossible.
“They boxed us in before we even realized they had Interdictors.”
“Imperial Interdictors?”
“No. Bigger.”
Further review identified the vessels as Leviathan-class cruisers, a previously unknown Sector Imperial redesign of ancient Sith Empire gravity-well cruisers. Their interdiction fields reportedly covered nearly the entire operational battlespace.
“Then the real monster showed up.”
The surviving pilot reportedly became visibly agitated at this stage of the debriefing.
“The fleet split formation when it emerged. We thought it was another carrier at first because of the silhouette. Long central hull. Heavy forward structure. We couldn’t get a clean sensor read through the interference.”
“You still haven’t explained why an entire expeditionary force collapsed.”
“Because the Sector Empire dragged a damn Subjugator-class heavy cruiser out of the Clone Wars!”
Transcript notes indicate several officers spoke simultaneously afterward.
“A what?”
“That’s impossible.”
“The Separatist ion dreadnoughts were destroyed decades ago.”
“Apparently not.”
Recovered sensor footage later confirmed the identification.
The vessel matched archived Republic military records describing the Subjugator-class heavy cruiser, one of the largest and most feared warships deployed by the Confederacy of Independent Systems during the Clone Wars. Historical records described the vessel’s primary weapon as a fleet-scale ion superweapon capable of disabling entire formations in a single discharge.
Most Republic analysts assumed the remaining hulls had been scrapped after the war.
They were wrong.
“It fired once.”
The surviving pilot’s next statement became widely circulated through New Republic Intelligence afterward.
“Stars vanished.”
Debriefing records state the ion discharge crossed nearly the entire battlespace in seconds. Shields collapsed immediately across multiple New Republic vessels before reactor systems, engines, targeting arrays, and communications failed simultaneously.
One Nebulon-B reportedly lost all power so quickly its crew never managed to sound a distress signal before colliding with another disabled escort frigate.
“The whole fleet just… stopped.”
“How did your squadron survive?”
“We were outside the main firing line escorting the corvettes. Barely.”
Additional surviving pilots described Sector Imperial fighter doctrine as “completely unlike standard Imperial engagements.” Droid fighters reportedly operated alongside advanced TIE variants while heavy carrier formations coordinated strikes with unusual precision.
“Those weren’t warlord pirates pretending to be Imperials,” one pilot stated later in the report. “That was a real military.”
The debriefing concluded with a direct recommendation against further reconnaissance pushes toward Sector Imperial territory until the New Republic Navy reassessed the scale of forces operating near Mon Cala, Lothal, and the surrounding hyperlanes.
One final statement from the surviving squadron leader was attached to the end of the transcript by New Republic Intelligence analysts.
“Whatever’s happening in that sector, it isn’t some dying Imperial remnant holding onto scraps.
They’re building something.”
— Partial debriefing transcript recovered from Expeditionary Force Gamma-14 survivors following the Columex Incident, 6ABY.
Rain hammered the ruins of Ossus hard enough to turn the ground into black mud.
Lightning cracked overhead in violent flashes, illuminating the ancient world in brief bursts of white-blue light. Massive lightning towers surrounded the old outpost, their durasteel spires pulling electrical discharges away from the landing zones and command bunkers scattered across the valley.
Marrok stood motionless in the storm.
Beside him, the Crow slowly scanned the ruined compound with the cold patience of a hunting animal. The former Eleventh Brother looked almost corpse-like beneath the rain, black robes hanging heavily from his armored frame while his crimson eyes reflected each lightning strike.
Ahead of them stood their new master.
Starkiller.
The new Grand Inquisitor wore armor unlike anything remaining from the old Imperial Inquisitorius. Black durasteel plating wrapped around him in layered segments resembling ancient Sith stalker armor recovered from Dromund Kaas. The mask concealed his face entirely save for faint crimson lenses staring out through the storm.
He looked less like an Imperial officer and more like something dragged out of a Sith tomb.
Which, Marrok suspected, was intentional.
A squad of Sector Imperial stormtroopers approached through the rain accompanied by two BX commando droids dragging a corpse between them.
The dead man wore shadow trooper armor.
Or what remained of it.
The body hit the mud at Starkiller’s feet with a wet metallic thud.
The stormtroopers themselves looked nothing like the soldiers of the old Empire. Their armor was cleaner, heavier, and more angular than the plastoid suits stormtroopers once wore under Palpatine. Black undersuits connected reinforced white plating modeled after experimental Project Necromancer designs recovered from classified Imperial archives.
Clone commando influences were obvious around the shoulders and torso.
Death Trooper sensor systems had been integrated into the helmets.
Ancient Sith Empire combat armor inspired portions of the chest and thigh plating.
And unlike the old Empire, the armor had been designed for more than humans alone. Wider shoulder variants, altered leg joints, and modular internal fittings allowed near-human alien species to wear the same equipment without issue.
The Sector Empire could not afford human exclusivity.
Not in this region of space.
The captain leading the patrol removed her rifle sling before saluting sharply. Rainwater streamed down the polished white armor while the modified DC-15A rifle hanging at her side vented heat from its enlarged power cell housing.
“We swept the entire facility,” she reported. “Most of the data systems were wiped before extraction. Whoever abandoned this place knew we were coming.”
“Connections?” Starkiller asked.
His vocoder turned the words into a distorted metallic growl.
The captain nodded once. “Confirmed communications traffic with the Greater Maldrood. We found relay equipment hidden beneath the lower bunker levels.”
“Anything recoverable?”
“Negative.”
Starkiller looked down at the dead shadow trooper for several silent seconds.
Then he hummed softly.
The sound barely sounded human through the mask.
“I see.”
Lightning illuminated the ruined compound again.
“Transmit to the Raider’s Message,” Starkiller continued. “Tell them our investigation will continue planetside. Marrok and Crow are more suited to this work than stormtroopers.”
“Yes, sir.”
The captain saluted again before turning away. The BX droids followed her immediately while more Sector Imperial troops pushed deeper into the shattered outpost alongside marching B2 battle droids.
The old Confederacy machines looked strange beside modern stormtroopers.
But that was the Sector Empire.
A fusion of whatever survived.
Republic.
Separatist.
Imperial.
Sith.
All reforged into something new.
Starkiller activated the private Inquisitorius frequency.
“Report anything unusual immediately,” he ordered. “I’ll return to the Heated Torch and prepare a timeline for the Grand Admiral. If Maldrood intelligence has penetrated this far into our territory, Hreen will want answers quickly.”
Marrok and Crow nodded silently.
Then the Grand Inquisitor turned and disappeared back into the storm.
High above Ossus, the Inquisitorius fleet waited in orbit.
The Heated Torch hung at the center of the formation, its massive Providence-class dreadnaught hull lit by cold blue engine glow. Nearby drifted the Raider’s Message, another Providence vessel assigned to patrol duties along the Perlemian routes.
Around them floated warships from half a dozen different eras.
Ancient Interdictor cruisers redesigned into Leviathan-class gravity well ships.
Munificent frigates updated with modern reactors and shields.
Arquitens cruisers.
Lancer frigates.
Vindicators.
Even old Separatist support craft rebuilt using Sector Imperial engineering standards.
Goji Hreen’s fleets did not follow traditional Imperial doctrine anymore.
The old Empire built fleets around Star Destroyers because Palpatine valued overwhelming dominance above flexibility.
Goji valued logistics.
Cruisers.
Escorts.
Carrier groups.
Interdiction vessels.
Supply ships.
Everything existed to keep the machine moving.
And it worked.
From Columex to Mon Cala, from Lothal to Pammant and the ancient Sith worlds surrounding Dromund Kaas, the Sector Empire controlled nearly a thousand systems tied together through trade routes, shipyards, and industrial corridors.
The Perlemian Trade Route served as the backbone.
The Shaltin Tunnels connected outer systems toward Zygerrian space.
The Triellus routes remained heavily fortified to prevent Greater Maldrood incursions.
Every lane mattered.
Every junction was watched.
Especially now.
Treuten Teradoc had grown bolder in recent weeks as the New Republic pushed against Maldrood territory elsewhere. Border raids increased. Spy networks expanded. Smugglers vanished along hyperspace corridors near Ossus and Belderone.
Goji Hreen viewed the Maldrood as a future threat.
Marrok agreed completely.
The rain intensified as the two Inquisitors entered the ruined bunker.
Blaster scoring covered the walls.
Bodies had already been removed, but the Force still clung to the place like rot.
Marrok crouched beside an overturned chair and let his gloved hand brush against the metal.
The vision hit immediately.
“...Karking Sith hells, who sold us out?!”
Running feet.
Blaster fire.
Screaming.
A plasma blade igniting somewhere in the darkness.
Orange-red.
Not Imperial.
Not Sith.
Marrok’s breathing slowed.
More flashes followed.
Shadow troopers firing wildly down corridors.
A figure moving through them with brutal precision using wide, efficient strikes that reflected blaster bolts back into the spies.
Shii-Cho.
Heavy.
Disciplined.
“...Why are you here? Teradoc said we’d be protected from the Inquisitorius!”
A hand lifted into the air.
Force grip.
A man in dark robes stepped forward as an orange-red blade illuminated part of his face.
Marrok recoiled violently from the vision.
Pain stabbed through his skull hard enough to nearly drop him to one knee.
The Crow grabbed his arm immediately.
“What did you see?” he asked quietly.
Marrok looked up slowly.
“Baylan Skoll.”
Even the Crow stiffened slightly at the name.
“The Inquisitor butcher,” he hissed.
Marrok nodded grimly.
Baylan Skoll had once been a Jedi General during the Clone Wars. Later, during the rise of the Empire, rumors spread through the surviving Inquisitorius about a rogue Jedi hunting isolated Imperial dark side agents across the Outer Rim.
Most believed the stories exaggerated.
Until bodies started appearing.
“I did not survive death itself,” the Crow muttered bitterly, “only to be hunted again by that Jedi.”
Marrok rose slowly back to his feet.
“Then Teradoc has made his position clear.”
Lightning flashed again outside the shattered bunker.
Rain poured through the broken ceiling.
And somewhere above the storm, the Heated Torch waited in orbit while the reborn Inquisitorius prepared for war.
The Shaltin Tunnels were never truly safe.
The hyperlane cut through unstable regions of space between Ranroon and Zygerria, threading narrow gravitational corridors surrounded by dense stellar phenomena, fragmented asteroid fields, and the territorial hunting grounds of massive void predators. Purrgil pods used the route during migration cycles, while several subspecies of Summa-verminoth nested deep within the tunnel systems surrounding the trade corridor.
Most captains hated the route.
The Sector Empire used it anyway.
The Shaltin corridor connected the Perlemian-adjacent systems under Grand Admiral Goji Hreen’s control to Zygerrian intermediary trade hubs and, through them, the Corporate Sector Authority. Raw materials, reactor components, food shipments, medical supplies, and industrial equipment moved constantly through the hyperlane despite the dangers surrounding it.
And where trade flowed, raiders followed.
Captain Formen had made a career of that reality.
For nearly a month, his task force had struck Sector Empire convoys throughout the tunnels before vanishing back into Zsinj-controlled territory. The attacks were efficient and disciplined. Interdictors ripped freighters from hyperspace. Assault shuttles disabled escorts. Cargo disappeared before local patrol fleets could respond.
The profits pleased Zsinj.
Which meant promotions followed.
Formen leaned back slightly in the command chair aboard the Imperial Star Destroyer Irrational while the stars of realspace drifted slowly beyond the forward viewport.
“Any sign of the convoy?” he asked calmly.
“Negative, Captain,” the sensor officer answered. “Estimated arrival in four minutes.”
Formen nodded.
Routine.
Everything about this operation was routine now.
The Sector Empire clearly lacked the naval reach to patrol every stretch of the Shaltin Tunnels effectively. Most of their larger fleets remained concentrated deeper toward Mon Cala, Lothal, and the Perlemian sectors protecting their industrial core worlds.
Which left routes like this vulnerable.
Or so Formen believed.
“Prepare the gravity wells,” he ordered. “I want the convoy dragged out before they even realize what’s happening.”
His communications officer relayed the command immediately toward the Rising Striker, the Immobilizer cruiser hidden further along the corridor.
Outside the viewport, darkness stretched endlessly around the fleet.
Three escort frigates.
A pair of Carrack cruisers.
The Immobilizer.
And the Irrational herself.
More than enough for freighter hunting.
“Gravitational wake detected,” sensors announced suddenly. “Incoming hyperspace signatures approaching the interdiction zone.”
Formen smirked faintly.
“Activate.”
Far ahead of the ambush point, invisible gravity wells ignited across the corridor.
Space twisted violently.
Blue hyperspace ruptures tore open.
And the convoy emerged.
Except it was not a convoy.
The smile vanished from Formen’s face instantly.
The thing that appeared before the Irrational blotted out the stars themselves.
Massive.
Angular.
Predatory.
Nearly five kilometers of dark warship erupted into realspace directly ahead of the ambush fleet, its enormous hull illuminated by reactor glow and countless lines of burning crimson weapon ports.
For a moment, nobody on the bridge spoke.
Because every officer aboard the Irrational recognized the silhouette.
Even after decades.
Even after the Clone Wars.
“No…” someone whispered.
A Subjugator-class heavy cruiser.
The nightmare of the Republic Navy.
Formen felt his stomach drop as the ancient Separatist warship slowly rotated toward the ambush fleet. Sensor data flooded across tactical screens faster than crews could process it.
The ship was modernized.
Heavily modernized.
Reactor output exceeded original Clone Wars estimates by catastrophic margins. Shielding was stronger. Weapon systems larger. Entire sections of the hull had been rebuilt using newer Sector Imperial engineering methods.
And mounted along both flanks sat the massive ion cannons that made the class infamous.
“Captain,” tactical said shakily, “that vessel is powering weapons.”
Formen snapped back to reality instantly.
“All ships open fire!” he roared. “Concentrate everything on the ion batteries!”
Too slow.
The Subjugator fired first.
A blinding blue-white wave erupted from the heavy cruiser’s lateral ion cannons and crossed the battlefield in seconds.
The impact struck the Irrational head-on.
Every system aboard the Star Destroyer died instantly.
The bridge lights vanished.
Displays flickered black.
Engines failed.
Shield generators collapsed.
For one horrifying moment, silence consumed the entire ship.
Then emergency systems began screaming across the bridge.
“Main reactor offline!”
“We lost helm control!”
“All batteries unresponsive!”
“Shields are gone!”
Outside the viewport, the Subjugator advanced through the darkness like an executioner.
Turbolasers opened fire.
Not the old dual heavy batteries recorded in Republic archives.
Triple-barreled turbolasers.
Octuple heavy cannon arrays.
Entire broadsides slammed into the helpless Star Destroyer without resistance. Armor plating vaporized beneath the bombardment while molten durasteel vented into space alongside atmosphere and bodies.
The Irrational began breaking apart almost immediately.
Escort frigates attempted to flee only for hidden Leviathan-class cruisers to emerge from the surrounding debris fields, gravity wells igniting across the corridor and trapping the raiders inside the kill zone.
It had never been a trade convoy.
It had been bait.
The Sector Empire had finally traced the raiding pattern through migratory data gathered from local Summa-verminoth movements. The massive creatures avoided certain stretches of the tunnels whenever large concentrations of warships disturbed their nesting grounds.
Goji Hreen’s analysts simply followed the absences.
And waited.
“Captain!” someone shouted desperately. “Hull breaches across seventeen decks!”
Formen gripped the arms of his chair tightly as the bridge shook around him.
Another volley struck the ship.
This time the armor failed completely.
Turbolaser fire punched through the command tower in a storm of molten metal and explosive decompression.
Captain Formen died before he even realized the bridge had been hit.
Far outside the shattered remains of the Irrational, the ancient Subjugator-class heavy cruiser continued drifting silently through the wreckage field while Sector Imperial patrol craft moved in to finish the survivors.
Along its darkened hull, newly painted Aurebesh markings identified the vessel clearly.
SES Harbinger.
One of several patrol fleets quietly unleashed into the hyperlanes by Grand Admiral Goji Hreen.
And somewhere deeper within the Shaltin Tunnels, something enormous stirred in the darkness as the echoes of battle rolled through the void.
Captain Darlina watched the wreckage drift across the viewport of the Harbinger with open contempt.
The shattered remains of the Imperial Star Destroyer Irrational burned silently against the darkness while secondary explosions rippled through the broken hull. Nearby, the remains of its escort ships floated in expanding debris fields illuminated by reactor fires and leaking atmosphere.
The old Immobilizer cruiser had fared even worse.
One of the Subjugator’s heavy ion volleys overloaded the interdictor’s reactor containment systems almost instantly, leaving the vessel dead in space long enough for Sector Imperial escorts to carve it apart with concentrated turbolaser fire.
Now the remains of the raider fleet drifted through the Shaltin Tunnels as little more than salvage.
Or scrap.
Depending on how generous recovery crews felt.
Darlina leaned back slightly in her command throne while officers and tactical droids moved across the bridge around her. The bridge of the Harbinger still carried traces of old Separatist architecture despite the Sector Empire’s extensive refits. Wide command pits. Holographic tactical projectors. Banking stations designed originally for droid coordination crews now operated by a mixture of organic personnel and modern military intelligences.
The Sector Empire did not particularly care who served so long as they remained useful.
A comm signal flashed across her armrest display.
Darlina pressed the accept command immediately.
The blue hologram of Grand Admiral Goji Hreen appeared above the projector.
Young.
Too young, most outsiders still thought.
Then they met him.
“Trade route secured, Grand Admiral,” Darlina reported. “Confirmed Zsinj raiding group. Same operational pattern as the previous convoy attacks.”
Goji nodded once.
“Expected.”
That irritated her more than it probably should have.
Not the answer itself.
The fact that he had clearly predicted this entire situation weeks ago.
“We traced their interdiction timings against merchant traffic schedules,” the Grand Admiral continued calmly. “Only Sector Empire convoys were being targeted after the Zygerria negotiations concluded. Too selective for random piracy.”
Darlina glanced back toward the ruined Star Destroyer.
That much was true.
The Zygerrians maintained neutrality between the Sector Empire, the Corporate Sector Authority, and Zsinj’s territory after the border conflict months earlier. Nobody wanted open war around the trade exchanges. Too much money moved through the routes connecting the Shaltin Tunnels.
Officially, everyone behaved.
Unofficially, Zsinj had clearly decided raiding Hreen’s convoys was worth the risk.
“Recovery operations?” Goji asked.
Darlina sighed quietly.
“If the Irrational still has a functional owner after this, we’ll return what’s left,” she said dryly. “Otherwise we’ll drag the wreckage back for processing.”
“Good. Lianna and Pammant both requested additional raw materials for current production schedules.”
Of course they did.
The Sector Empire consumed durasteel the way starving nexu consumed meat.
New fleets.
New shipyards.
New orbital platforms.
Half the sector looked like it was under permanent construction.
“Understood, Grand Admiral.”
The hologram flickered slightly as Goji glanced toward something offscreen before speaking again.
“Increased patrol rotations through the tunnels. If Zsinj committed one raiding fleet, he may have others operating deeper along the route.”
“We’ll handle it.”
“I know.”
The transmission ended.
Darlina stared at the empty hologram projector for a moment before muttering something impolite under her breath.
The bridge crew wisely pretended not to hear it.
She looked back toward the drifting slag heap that used to be an Imperial Star Destroyer and resisted the urge to slam her head into the command throne.
Seriously.
Why couldn’t this assignment have gone to Commodore Pepper?
The infamous “delivery driver” of the old Empire spent years hauling impossible cargo through pirate territory, warzones, Hutt space, and collapsing hyperlanes without somehow dying. Then the Empire collapsed and the man simply vanished alongside his fleet.
No body.
No records.
Nothing.
Some crews claimed he got himself killed near Byss.
Others swore he started some shipping corporation operating in the Outer Rim under a fake name.
Darlina honestly hoped the rumors about the corporation were true.
Because if Commodore Pepper really survived the death of the Empire by becoming a freight hauler, then he was either the smartest officer Palpatine ever promoted or completely insane.
Possibly both.
Maybe she should have transferred to Director Orabashi’s territory near the Maw instead.
At least there the danger usually announced itself with superweapons or classified research disasters.
Out here it was pirates, raiders, hyperspace predators, and whatever fresh insanity Grand Admiral Hreen dragged out of ancient military archives every other week.
Darlina exhaled slowly before straightening in the command throne.
“Tactical,” she called.
“Yes, Captain?”
“Dispatch salvage teams. Recover anything useful from the wrecks before the Summa-verminoths decide to investigate.”
“Acknowledged.”
“And somebody send a message to logistics command that the Shaltin route is secure again.”
The officer nodded.
Darlina glanced once more toward the endless darkness beyond the viewport.
The route was secure.
For now.
But if Zsinj had been willing to quietly bleed Sector Empire convoys for months without provoking open conflict, then the old warlord was already preparing for something larger.
Which meant this little ambush in the tunnels was probably only the beginning.
Dromund Kaas never truly slept.
Storms rolled endlessly across the ancient Sith world, black clouds splitting apart beneath constant forks of violet lightning that illuminated the rebuilt citadel towering over the jungle below. The massive structure dominated the mountainside like a blade thrust into the planet itself, its upper spires disappearing into rain and darkness while thousands of lights burned within armored windows and landing platforms.
Once, the citadel belonged to the Sith Empire.
Now it belonged to the Inquisitorius.
Shuttle traffic moved constantly around the structure despite the storm. Black-armored transports descended toward lower hangar bays carrying recruits, intelligence officers, stormtrooper detachments, and supply convoys. Patrol craft circled the mountain while TIE Defenders screamed overhead in rotating security patterns.
Deep beneath the citadel, laboratories and training chambers stretched through the bedrock.
Death Troopers trained there.
Revenant candidates died there.
The fortunate ones survived augmentation.
The unfortunate ones became another corpse hauled into incinerators by medical droids.
The Sector Empire did not possess the manpower reserves of the old Galactic Empire. Every soldier mattered now. Every operative had to become deadlier, faster, and more efficient than the forces fielded by rival warlords.
Which was why the Inquisitorius had been rebuilt.
Not merely as hunters.
As weapons.
Marrok and the Crow moved silently through the upper citadel corridors while black-clad personnel stepped aside immediately at their approach. Inquisitor officers, intelligence agents, stormtroopers, even Death Troopers instinctively avoided eye contact as the two dark side warriors passed.
Fear still worked.
At the highest tower of the citadel, massive doors groaned open before them.
The chamber beyond overlooked the storm-covered world through towering windows lined with ancient Sith statues. Lightning flashed constantly outside, illuminating holomaps and tactical displays projecting across the center of the room.
Starkiller stood near the central platform with his hands clasped behind his back.
The Grand Inquisitor’s armor absorbed the surrounding light like a void. Ancient Sith stalker plating merged with Imperial engineering covered him from head to toe, while the mechanical respirator integrated into the mask emitted a low rhythmic hiss.
Beside him stood something far more openly dangerous.
The Twi’lek woman leaned against the tactical table with visible impatience, crimson skin illuminated by the holodisplays surrounding her. Black tattoos curved across her body in ancient Sith patterns while armored plates covered portions of her limbs and torso. Twin lightsabers hung openly from her belt.
Darth Talon.
Or simply Talon now.
Most of the Inquisitorius avoided her entirely.
Marrok understood why.
She radiated violence the same way stars radiated heat.
Rumors throughout the citadel claimed Starkiller discovered her imprisoned in stasis beneath Korriban alongside other relics of the old Sith Empire. The same rumors claimed she attempted to seize control of the reborn Inquisitorius shortly afterward.
Those rumors usually ended with descriptions of Starkiller nearly beating her to death inside one of the lower training chambers.
Nobody knew if that part was true.
Nobody was willing to ask either of them.
A blue hologram flickered above the center of the chamber.
Grand Admiral Goji Hreen.
Young.
Calm.
Watching them silently.
Marrok felt the ritual pull immediately upon entering the room.
Every member of the Inquisitorius felt it.
The chain.
An ancient Sith binding ritual buried deep beneath layers of Imperial adaptation and dark side manipulation. The ritual bound each Inquisitor to the hierarchy above them, enforcing loyalty through the Force itself.
No betrayal.
No assassination.
No ambitious apprentice quietly murdering their superior like the old Sith.
Goji Hreen stood at the top of that chain.
Which meant none of them could harm him even if they desired to.
The Grand Admiral had effectively solved the greatest weakness Palpatine’s Inquisitorius ever possessed.
Starkiller finally turned toward them.
“You returned from Ossus sooner than expected,” he said.
“Baylan Skoll was there,” Marrok answered immediately.
The room became still.
Even Talon’s expression sharpened slightly.
“The Jedi survivor?” Starkiller asked.
“The same.”
Crow folded his arms. “He’s working with the Greater Maldrood. The spies on Ossus were under his protection.”
Talon gave a low, humorless laugh.
“A Jedi protecting spies and warlords. How noble.”
“Treuten Teradoc grows desperate,” Goji said through the hologram. “The New Republic pressure along his northern territories has worsened significantly over the last month. He’s looking for advantages wherever he can find them.”
“Hiring Baylan Skoll is more than desperation,” Starkiller replied. “It’s a message.”
Lightning illuminated the chamber briefly.
Goji nodded once.
“Agreed.”
The Grand Admiral touched something offscreen and the holotable shifted immediately. A jungle world appeared above the projector surrounded by tactical overlays, fleet markers, and orbital scans.
Massive gothic cities stretched into the upper atmosphere like black iron mountains.
“The Thirteenth Wartime Fleet is already moving toward the target system,” Goji explained. “Zsinj uses the world as a regional logistics and fleet coordination hub near the Listehol Run. If we secure it, our fleets gain a stable forward position deeper into contested territory.”
Marrok studied the projections silently.
Orbital defenses.
Ground batteries.
Industrial districts.
Dense urban terrain mixed with jungle regions.
A difficult battlefield.
Perfect for the Inquisitorius.
“You want us planetside,” Crow realized.
“Yes,” Starkiller answered before Goji could speak. “The initial assault will overwhelm the orbital fleet while Revenant and stormtrooper battalions secure the primary cities. You and Crow will assist the Thirteenth in eliminating resistance leadership and securing strategic infrastructure.”
“And Baylan?” Marrok asked.
“We assume he may appear,” Starkiller said calmly.
That explained their deployment.
Talon pushed herself away from the holotable slowly.
“And me?” she asked.
Starkiller looked toward her.
“You will accompany them.”
Crow visibly stiffened.
Marrok remained still only through long practice.
Because Talon was not a scalpel.
She was a massacre waiting for permission.
Starkiller noticed their reactions immediately.
“Marrok and Crow are precision tools,” the Grand Inquisitor continued. “You are not.”
Talon smiled slightly.
The expression carried absolutely no warmth.
“The battlefield requires both.”
Goji’s hologram shifted slightly as another tactical overlay appeared showing Sector Imperial landing zones already marked across the planet’s surface.
“Zsinj’s forces are reinforcing the lower industrial districts,” the Grand Admiral said. “Raptor Troopers confirmed among the garrison alongside veteran Imperial Army units. We anticipate prolonged urban combat after orbital superiority is established.”
“Then why send her?” Crow muttered darkly.
Talon looked at him immediately.
The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
“Because,” Starkiller said before either could escalate the situation, “sometimes a surgical strike still requires a chainsaw.”
Silence lingered briefly after that.
Then lightning crashed across the skies of Dromund Kaas hard enough to shake the tower windows.
Far below the citadel, alarms echoed through training chambers as another class of Revenant candidates began augmentation procedures beneath the mountain.
And high above the storm world, fleets gathered for war.