Han Solo was no stranger to death.

He grew up an orphan on the rough streets of Corellia. He had seen comrades and enemies alike die in droves on Mimban, back when he still served with the Imperial Army. As a smuggler, he and Chewie had to gun their way out of more than a few situations.

But what he saw now genuinely horrified him more than anything he had ever seen before.

As he was just exiting Arcadia's atmosphere in the Falcon, a bright, white light exploded into being, temporarily lighting up the night side of Arcadia. He threw up his arms in front of his eyes, shielding them from being permanently blinded by the brilliant explosion of rhydonium in front of him.

In a matter of seconds, a hundred Star Destroyers and their escorts were vaporized, ripped apart by debris, or wracked by secondary explosions as the two-thousand-kilometer diameter explosion consumed metal and flesh alike.

As the conflagration subsided, Han could see the true terror that unfolded- charred debris and ashes floated freely through space, the remains of once-mighty destroyers and frigates, along with the bodies of anyone unlucky to not be instantly vaporized, their expressions permanently etched in pain and fear, forever.

He refused to turn on the comms to all channels. He didn't think he could handle hearing the desperate calls for help or the animalistic screaming of the wounded and dying aboard the lifeboats floating helplessly among the debris.

Chewie roared something, which shook him out of his horrified stupor. He looked back behind him to see the two Mandalorian bodyguards encased in their infamous armor, their helmets betraying none of their emotions.

Han sighed. "Right, let's get to Sakifwanna and warn your boys. Gotta feeling that this is about to get hairy here before the end of it all." He turned to Chewie. "Alright, Chewie. Punch it and let's blow past these Imp losers."

Chewie roared in agreement, and as soon as they cleared the field of debris, still burning from the bomb, the Millennium Falcon jumped into the swirling blues of hyperspace, leaving behind the opening stages of a battle….one that might spell an ill omen for the galaxy.

Han had a bad feeling about this.

As ever, Thrawn kept his exterior cool- a façade of impeccable calm and stone.

Inside, however, he was livid.

Konstantine, damn you. Damn you to the deepest hell in existence.

Why did that damn fool decide to be a glory hound and go against orders? Damn it all, he knew that Pellaeon should have overseen the left-wing, not that spoiled brat from Coruscant. In the beginning, Thrawn had thought Konstantine could prove useful, yet time and time again he proved a bungler, not even capable of commanding an Arquitens, let alone an entire fleet. It was only thanks to the Emperor that he had not been sacked.

He closed his eyes for a moment. He wondered if Vader had a point in executing people who failed so often. Normally, Thrawn would use failure as a teachable moment, and most of the time, those under him learned from their errors, and those who demonstrated insight and cunning found themselves promoted. The only things he couldn't tolerate were saboteurs, traitors, and insubordinate underlings, and those he could deal with as harsh as he wanted to.

Now that he thought of it, he really should have executed Konstantine and explained it to Vader and the Emperor later, politics be damned.

He heard whistling behind him, and it was not his faithful associate, Captain Karyn Faro. Rather, it was annoyance the Emperor insisted on having in on the final assault- a certain Inquisitor known for her brash nature, freakishly large size, and uncouth ways.

"Damn, Thrawn, your fleet's getting karked to hell, and it hasn't even been thirty minutes, yet," the Ninth Sister mocked, leaning on the bulkhead behind him and teasingly pointing out the window. "Wonder what the Emperor or Lord Vader would say about 'the greatest military mind ever' getting his blue ass kicked by a cargo hauler, eh?"

Thrawn did not give her the pleasure of a reaction. "Inquisitor. I thank you for your intrepid insight," he shot back. "I must wonder out loud, though, why you and your purge troopers aren't getting ready for the ground assault along with the rest of the troops. Lord Vader would have already been making his way."

Ninth snorted. "Hah. The boss would have loved to be here. Emperor summoned him to Coruscant though for some special assignment, and he was pretty mad about it, too. Malleus is heading to our fortress on Nur in the Mustafar system, so that leaves me as your resident Dark Sider," she shrugged. "Don't worry though, blue guy. I can handle myself against some half-trained king."

"Which explains the cybernetics," Thrawn coolly shot back, earning a sneer from the huge Force-sensitive before she thundered off the bridge towards the hanger bays.

There's at least one victory for today.

He turned his attention back towards the battle unfolding. Earlier they had detected a hyperspace jump that happened right after the explosion. He assumed that the Arcadians got a scout ship through, as one of the interdictors was in Konstantine's wing so that it must be meant that their timetable was reduced, significantly. He was running against the clock, and not to mention that his force had been cut down by a third, but if he could knock out the shield generator and cause enough damage, he could still turn the tides in his favor.

"Ugh. That woman is insufferable. Why did the Emperor insist that we bring one of their kind?" Thrawn's faithful subordinate and capable commander, Captain Karyn Faro complained to him.

"The Emperor suspected that the king may have employed Force-users as his spies before his untimely death. Our agent that was on the planet reported to Lord Vader and me that Ezra Bridger was on the planet alongside his compatriot, the Mandalorian Sabine Wren. Therefore, it makes sense that we would need the assistance of those who have experience dealing with Jedi…if the Grand Inquisitor hasn't dealt with him already," was Thrawn's answer.

Before Faro could inquire anything of him further, however, a shout from the bridge crew alerted them.

"Admiral, the Arcadian fleet is forming up behind the defense platforms. I count a hundred vessels in all!" one of the bridge technicians reported.

"They're going to be using the platforms as cover while their ships take potshots at us with their long-range cannons," Thrawn observed. "Very inspired. It's as if the person in charge of defending the planet has a lot of experience. Which means…"

"Alexios isn't in charge of defending his home." Faro realized as well.

Thrawn nodded. "Precisely, Captain. The commander we're dealing with uses the unorthodox and the conventional in equal measure. He's trying to keep us off balance, and at the same time studying us in turn as we are studying him. He knows of our strengths and weaknesses as we know the Arcadians, and thus caught us off guard with that cargo hauler."

Faro frowned. "Sir. Are you suggesting that a Rebel is in charge of Arcadia's defense?"

Thrawn stroked his chin. "It's a possibility that we cannot ignore. But he's played his card and expects a response," he said while deep in thought. "Have the armada move forward. Once we come into range of the Arcadians, we order all ships to cut power."

Faro's eyes shot up in surprise. "But…sir! That would leave us…"

"…completely immune to their first wave ion shot. Once that has washed over us, we turn all systems back on and set shields to double strength. Their ion and mass accelerator shots have a ten-second delay between them, and that delay will be crucial. After that, it takes five minutes for their Aggressors' main cannons to fully recharge, so we speed at double until our turbolasers are in the range of their ships. Then, we need to cut a path through the defending fleet to allow our ground forces through to the planet's surface."

Faro nodded. "Should I give the order to scramble fighters, sir? Commander Skerris has been begging to be launched in the first wave to clear the way, along with his squadron."

"Do it," Thrawn gave his assent, "and tell General Veers to get his walkers loaded up and ready for an assault on Mount Theron. The rest of our combined arms will make a play for the capital and either capture or kill the royal family. Remember, we only have a two-hour window to accomplish this, so inform the jump troopers that they are to make a beeline towards the palace and the communications array post-haste."

"Yes, sir," Faro replied, giving him a sharp salute before getting on her comlink and giving out the orders. Meanwhile, Thrawn nodded towards the communications technician to open fleet-wide comms.

"All ships on this net. Proceed towards Phase Line Cresh. Wait for my mark. Thrawn out."

The armada began to roll forth, as sublight engines blazed blue, propelling the ships forward to their destination.

Twenty-thousand kilometers.

Fifteen-thousand kilometers.

Ten thousand kilometers.

Within five-thousand kilometers of the planet- which was beginning to fill the viewports of the bridge, the sensor technician alerted Thrawn and Faro.

"Sir! I'm detecting ion bursts coming from their capital ships! Ten seconds till impact!"

"Cut power to everything except life systems. Now!" Thrawn ordered. Within seconds, every ship in the fleet had cut power off to nearly all systems, and not a moment too soon.

Several truly gigantic bolts of packed ion particles, as blue as the oceans of the planet, struck the Chimera and several other Star Destroyers and escort ships, the impact making the ship shudder underneath their feet. The crew held on to their terminals to steady themselves, feeling as if they were going through a large ground quake. Visible electric discharge sparked and cracked throughout the hull as it absorbed the ionization, but as the systems were shut down, it acted as a natural Faraday cage.

"All systems on, now! Shields to double strength!" Thrawn commanded yet again, and as if motivated by some divine wind, the fleet turned their systems back on and put most power towards the shields.

And again, not a moment too soon.

As soon as the shields were up, the mass accelerator projectiles hit, causing the Chimera to rock and groan, sending a few men sprawling to the ground and others clinging to their stations for dear life.

"Shield strength down to 75 percent and holding!" one of the technicians reported.

Other vessels were not as fortunate, as Thrawn came to find out.

Several Arquitens frigates were completely blown apart, killing most of their crews. The destroyer Judicator had not gotten its shields up in time, and the kinetic round that struck it had completely peened it from bow to stern, causing the primary reactor to fail and the ship to drift helplessly through space as secondary explosions began to wrack the stricken vessel. The other ships in the fleet seemed to be holding up well, however.

"All ships under my command. Ahead full." He ordered once more, and the fleet sailed forth once more, putting more power in their engines.

Four thousand kilometers

Three thousand kilometers

Two thousand kilometers.

"Sir," the gunnery tech informed, "we are now within an effective range for our turbolasers. Permission to open fire?"

Thrawn nodded. "Permission is granted, ensign. Clear a path for our ground assault teams."

On every destroyer and frigate present, batteries swung and achieved a lock on their target. Soon, green and red bolts were exchanged like some sort of deadly game of laser tag, as fighters launched from their ships and started to engage one another in dangerous dogfights.

The battle was on.

All his life, Fenn Rau had been flying, one way or another.

Whether it was using his jetpack to zip across the battlefield in the way of the Rising Phoenix or engaging enemy fighters in the cockpit of a Fang, there was nothing quite like the exhilaration of flight. The way the G-forces pulled and tugged at you, the feeling of the air blasting against your helmet. There was nothing quite like it.

On this occasion, he found himself in a brand new Incom T-65 X-Wing, in a squadron of the new multirole fighters, doing pre-flight checks aboard the Atlas-class carrier Agema before takeoff. Blue Squadron was their call sign, and Blue Lead was his designation.

Around him in the carrier's primary hanger bay, older but still reliable and deadly Z-96 Headhunters were taking off and joining the fight against the TIE Fighters of the Imperial fleet, while NTB-630 tactical bomber craft- descendants of the venerable Y-Wings- took off to engage against the Star Destroyers, who were trying to knock out the Arcadian Home Fleet, escorted by RZ-1 A-Wing interceptors.

"All wings, this is Blue Leader," he keyed into the comm. "Report status and prepare for take-off on my mark, over."

"Blue Two, all systems go, over."

"Blue Four, report all systems green, over."

"Blue Six, everything checks out, over.

"Blue Eight, solid on all systems, over."

"Blue Ten, green on everything, over."

Rau nodded, grimly smiling underneath his helmet. "Tower Two, this is Blue Lead. All wings are green. I say again, all Blue Wings are green, over," he informed the hanger's flight control station, which overlooked the entire bay.

"Blue Lead, this is Tower Two. Confirm all wings green. Permission granted for take-off. Give 'em hell, Blue Lead. Tower Two, out."

At the end of the bay, a flight director switched his hand-held panel from red to green and gave the sign for takeoff.

Rau turned on his repulsorlifts and his sublight engines, feeling the fighter lift into the air. He turned it towards the direction of the bay's entrance and nudged on the controls.

Soo, the small squadron of six X-Wings flew one after another out of the hanger, and into the waiting battle raging around them. Green and red turbolaser blasts were traded between Imperial and Arcadian capital ships, which were either absorbed harmlessly by powerful, shimmering shields, missed their mark entirely, or took chunks out of doonium and durasteel armored plating. TIE Fighters and TIE Interceptors engaged in deadly dogfights with Headhunters, X-Wings, and A-Wings, the winners often being determined by a combination of luck, skill, and teamwork.

"Squadron, this is Blue Lead. Form up behind me and lock S-foils into attack position. We need to clear a path for Greyjoy's commando teams to board the Chimera. Keep any fighters or gunboats off their back," Rau keyed into the commlink.

"Solid copy, Blue Lead."

Rau then pressed a button to put his fighter into attack mode, hearing a satisfying "click" as the audio receptors in his craft confirm that the S-foils were extended for combat mode.

Time to make some noise.

Soon, they were beset by a squadron of TIE Fighters, their eerie, screeching engine roar sounding through the audio receptors.

Fenn immediately went to work, targeting the nearest TIE and gunning it down with pinpoint accuracy. These TIEs were numerous, but their pilots were mostly barely trained, their craft essentially an unarmored coffin. By comparison, his boys were put through their rigors, and they had craft which could make mincemeat out of most of what Sienar could produce, and they were proving it right now, out flying and outgunning the Imperial pilots by a ridiculous margin

However, quantity had a quality all its own, as they say.

As soon as they downed or made one squadron of TIEs back off, another took its place.

"Blue Lead, this is Blue Two. How many gods' damned eyeballs are there out here? Space is thick with them!"

"Blue Four, Six. Got a TIE on my tail, need to shake him off!"

"Six, Four. Got ya covered, over. Forn Two, Forn Two."

A proton torpedo rocketed out from the missile bay of Four's fighter, the blue-trailed projectile homing in on its target via infrared sensors.

"Four, this is Eight. Confirmed kill on TIE, over."

"Lead, this is Two. I got a new eye on my scopes. Looks different from the other-."

That was all Blue Two got out, as green laser fire struck his fighter, destroying it outright and sending the wreckage hurdling into space.

Fierfek, Rau cursed to himself. It must be that new TIE Defender that Bridger was warning him about during the briefing.

To make matters worse, it was being piloted by an ace.

"Shit, he's on my tail! I can't shake this bastard!" Blue Four yelled into the comm in absolute fear.

"Karking fuck! He's got shields!" Six screamed in frustration

"Oh gods, I'm hit! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-!"

Rau looked to his right and saw Four's fighter's engines get blown out by laser cannon fire, sending him tumbling- and screaming- into a cruiser, vaporizing him outright upon inevitable impact.

Haar'chak. Sabine wasn't kidding when she said this guy was the Empire's best pilot.

He keyed in his comms to relay commands to the rest of his fighters. "All remaining Blue Wings, this is Blue Lead. Fall back to the carrier and escort the Marties! I'll handle the new TIE!"

"Roger, Blue Lead. Will rendezvous at the carrier. Godspeed to you, sir." Blue Six reported to him. The remaining X-Wings broke off and retreated to the Agema. After the rest of his squadron had gotten to relative safety, he decided to open comms to all channels.

And his signal was picked up.

"Arcadian fighter, this is Commander Vult Skerris of the 181st Imperial Fighter Wing," the stentorian voice at the other end announced. "You are outmatched and out-gunned. Surrender immediately or perish."

"You first, di'kut," Fenn growled and turned his fighter to meet Skerris one on one.

The TIE Defender was quick, which was apparent and well-armed for its size. Six wing-tipped laser cannons roared to life, as Fenn nimbly dodged the emerald fire that spat at his fighter like cobra venom.

Alright, time to test the limits of this puppy.

He pulled the X-Wing into a hard-left turn, feeling the G-forces starting to stretch his skin as the internal dampeners were pressed to their absolute limit. However, it seemed that the Defender was more maneuverable than his fighter.

Much more so.

Try as he might, he simply could not get behind Skerris; Skerris was starting to get behind him. Fenn looked around. There must be something he could use to get this bugger off his tail.

He then looked toward's his left. Below them, a Star Destroyer was engaged in a fierce duel with an Arcadian cruiser, turbolaser flashes answered with shields flaring and armor plating being blown off.

That's it.

He broke off the engagement and swung his craft downward, flying towards the destroyer at top speeds before suddenly veering up, skimming only a few meters above its white-gray hull.

As he expected, Skerris followed suit, zealously chasing after him as a Kath hound does to fresh meat.

He put the fighter into full throttle, aiming for the bridge tower of the vessel. If he could time this right, then there was a good chance that Skerris would overshoot him and crash right into the bridge. If not…

Well, at least it would be a quick death, wouldn't it?

He kept up his speed, which would be suicidal for any sane pilot, dodging the steady stream of emerald fire spewing forth from wing-tipped muzzles, and just when he was only a few dozen meters away from the bridge tower…

He stopped his craft completely.

Hitting the brakes, he locked the S-foils back into flight position and let his craft "fly" backward and nose tilted-up.

Barely clipping the still-speeding Defender piloted by Skerris.

Rau was launched up and away, tumbling through space several hundred meters before he managed to right his craft and regain control, igniting the engines and pulling back towards the destroyer.

Skerris…had not been so fortunate.

As Rau's X-Wing had clipped his Defender so close to the bridge tower, the veteran Imperial pilot hadn't been able to pull up in time to avoid a collision with the right side of the command module.

The results spoke for themselves.

A sizable hole had been blown into the Star Destroyer's tower, right next to the command bridge, flames jettisoning out like a lightsaber. All that remained of Skerris and his fighter were particles and debris, forever floating in the vacuum of space.

Fenn breathed a sigh of relief he didn't know he had been holding in.

He had done it.

He had entered a dangerous duel with one of the most dangerous fighter pilots in the Empire and come out victorious.

Score one for the Mandalorians

His victory was short-lived, however. It was just then he noticed that the Arcadian cruiser Archaeon getting broadsided by two ISDs, it's shields having been depleted and now was withering under intense fire. One lucky turbolaser shot managed to peen both her primary and secondary reactors, setting off multiple explosions that ripped her hull apart, culminating in a brilliant yet horrifying conflagration as the ship was torn asunder.

As the fire died down, Fenn could spot hundreds- scratch that, thousands- of Imperial transports of various makes and models making a beeline for the surface.

He sucked in a breath and made a beeline for the Agema to relay new orders to his squadron. Theon's raid would have to wait for now.

Giving Robb and the others a fighting chance on the surface was their priority, now.

The turbolaser towers were the first to respond.

Orange-red fire spewed forth from barrels as large as oak trees, the roaring wallop drowning out the yells of sergeants and the screams civilians sheltering in their homes, praying that a stray artillery shell or bomb didn't strike their house and kill them all.

Above them, one could see the flashes of light that marked turbolaser fire and missile contrails exchanged between capital ships, as smoke trails indicated doomed fighters hurtling towards the earth, their pilots either dead or soon to be dead.

In the distance, Ezra could spot the large, dagger-like shapes of several Acclamator-class assault ships and dozens of Gonzanti-class transports, backed up by hundreds of Imperial dropships and gunships, of the IDT and IPT variety, escorted by several squadrons of TIEs that had all broken through the defensive perimeter around the planet.

He winced inwardly and tried not to think about nausea from earlier.

When Robb's improvised bomb went off and wiped out a third of Thrawn's fleet, it had felt like a speeder bike had hit him right in the stomach. The deaths of so many men and women had caused a void in the Force, which nearly caused him to throw up.

"And so, we've come to it at last," Alexios observed grimily, having come to stand beside Ezra as they saw one of the Gonzati transports get obliterated by red canon fire, along with the tanks it was carrying. The king turned to the major who had accompanied him, as the Imperial transports began to land and disgorge thousands upon thousands of stormtroopers, accompanied by hundreds of tanks and armored personnel carriers. "Are the defenses prepared?"

"Yes, your grace. Your orders stand. No one will fire until we see the grill ports on their helmets."

"Good," Alexios nodded curtly, then turned towards the troops manning the walls, and bellowed in the loudest voice he could, making sure the radio transponder could pick him up so he could be heard all along the frontlines.

"STAND WITH ME AND HOLD THIS CITY!"

A loud war cry shook the gargantuan fortifications, echoing down the six-hundred-kilometer distance.

He looked at Ezra and nodded, then put on his helmet, and drew his lightsaber, igniting it and letting the golden blade light up the night sky.

Over the roar of the turbolaser fire that was now being aimed at the approaching Imperial tanks and armored transports, Ezra thought he could hear a low, distinct whine. Puzzled, he tried to figure out what it was until someone shouted out one, dreaded phrase.

"ARTILLERY! GET DOWN! EVERYONE GET THE KARKING HELL DOWN!"

Not willing to argue with the sergeant who had noted the incoming artillery fire, Ezra dove for the surface and covered his head, as the wall beneath him shook with the impact of heavy shells exploding against durasteel, duracrete, and doonium. Behind him, he could hear the rounds impacting the streets and buildings, sending debris flying everywhere, with some of it landing on him.

And over the roar, he thought he could hear the screams of wounded and dying men and women.

After what seemed like hours of the shelling, though in truth it had only been a few minutes, the incoming fire ceased. Jumping back onto his feet, Ezra looked over the parapets, and what he saw made his gut drop.

The Imperial forces, which had been few hundred kilometers away, were now only two kilometers away and closing.

"HOLD!" Alexios shouted for all to hear.

Ezra drew his lightsaber and ignited it, the vermillion hue contrasting nicely with Alexios' topaz blade and waited for the enemy to get closer.

One kilometer out and closing.

"NOW, ENGAGE!" Alexios bellowed.

The command was repeated down the line, and all of the weapon systems from blaster rifles to tank cannons opened fire, completely drowning out any other noise that dared to raise itself.

In the front of the wall, the tanks and infantry manning the forward defenses slugged it out with the Imperials trying to take them. Arcadian M102 main battle tanks had a field day knocking out Imperial 2-M medium tanks and shredding ITTs, though most had disgorged their stormtrooper complement a kilometer back and were now providing cover-fire for the Imperial soldiers trying to storm the trenches and the wall beyond.

Ezra, for his part, was trying to stay alive, deflecting blaster bolts with his lightsaber and nimbly dodging any laser cannon blast that was too large for him to block. Below him, he could hear the yelling of orders, the shouts of the men…

The screams of the wounded.

The cries of the dying.

A soldier of the Royal Arcadian Army was well-trained, well-equipped, and lead by NCOs and officers who had earned their mettle in the Clone Wars. Pound for pound, they were more than a match for the average Imperial stormtrooper, and right now they were proving it, as wave upon wave of Imperials were cut down by the precision of Arcadian weaponry.

However, quantity has a quality all their own, so they say.

It was only a matter of time before those in the trenches and foxholes before the wall ran out of ammunition, and for every stormtrooper they cut down ten more took his place. Soon, there were too many for those in the trenches to handle, and bloody hand to hand fighting began.

To his horror, Ezra saw men in the trenches and bunkers being burned out of their fighting positions by flamethrower-wielding stormtroopers, the shrill screams of the dying, incinerating men somehow reaching his ears over the din of battle. The tanks, mighty though they were, were soon flanked and destroyed by troopers with rocket launchers.

"Your grace!" a radioman called out to the king, who had deflected another shot. "The Imperials have broken through the front lines! They're going to be at the Sofios Gate at any second!"

"Tell Colonel Antiochus to pull his men from the reserves and defend it. The rest of you, with me-,"

That was about as far as the king got, for that moment, a stray blaster bolt hit him right in the shoulder, sending him reeling to the ground.

"Fucking hell!" he cursed through gritted teeth. Before Ezra could examine the wound, a medic ran up and began dragging the king towards the turbolift, the two Exorsitoi running right beside him.

"Bridger!" he yelled out to Ezra. "Hold the line! Do you hear me? Hold the bloody line!"

The wounded, yelling king was dragged almost kicking and screaming into the turbolift, where he disappeared out of sight, heading for a field hospital in the rear.

And he could feel the soldiers' morale start to drop like a rock.

Panic and despair were starting to set in, he could feel it. He even felt it creeping into himself. He needed to think of something, and he needed to think of it fast. The Imperials were going to come bursting through the gates at any moment. He thought. What would the Jedi of old do? Men and women like Ahsoka, or Obi-Wan, or…

Wait…

That was it.

"I'll lead the defense," he whispered at first, then he found his voice. "I'll lead the defense!" he yelled to the men, who were already starting to abandon the walls, their hope waning by the second, some murmuring in discontent, others angrily calling him names, such as "boy" or "foreigner"

"You want to call me a boy?" he finally cried out of frustration. "Go ahead! But if a boy is willing to defend your city, why aren't you men willing to do the same?"

"The enemy's already at the gates!" one soldier complained to him. "There's too many of them!"

"We can hold them off!" Ezra countered, formulating a plan in his mind. It was risky, and even in the best case it would drain him immensely, but if he pulled this off, then it could give the defenders more time. "Just stick behind me. We'll hold the archway and throw those bastards back into the sea!"

A few men got a chuckle out of that, though many more still looked unconvinced. He had to get their morale up some way. They needed something to fight for…

Wait…

That was it.

"Don't fight for your king…" he began, a fervor rising in his voice that he scarcely knew existed, "and don't fight for his kingdom. Don't fight for honor, don't fight for glory, and don't fight for wealth- you sure as hell won't get any!" He yelled, pointing his lightsaber towards the Imperials trying to swarm the walls. "This is your city Thrawn means to sack! That's your gates he's breaching! If they get in, it will be your homes that burn, your money they steal, your spouses they rape, and your children they enslave!" He pointed his saber at all of them. "Thrawn's a brave man for knocking at your door, lads. LET'S GO KILL THAT SON OF A BITCH!"

That was what seemed to do the trick, as the men below him on the streets and beside him on the walls suddenly erupted into a loud cheer, and as he took the turbolift to head to the Sofios Gate, he could hear chanting, though he couldn't make out what they were saying since he didn't speak a lick of Tionese.

He never had Sabine's talent for learning multiple languages fluently, after all.

After several minutes of walking, he found himself at the gates with a full regiment of troops stationed in various trenches, barricades, foxholes, bunkers, and all manner of defensive works.

He found himself standing at a laser gate, emitting a wall of electrons so powerful that it could incinerate anything that encountered it. Beyond that, he could see that the Imperials were trying to make their way through the outer blast doors, as the two-meter-thick gate was starting to buckle and crack.

He turned to the colonel in charge of the gate defense, Antiochus. "Open the laser gate. I'm going to confront the Imps. Once I give you the signal, your men will surge forth in a counterattack and take back the gates."

Antiochus looked at him as if he were growing genitals out of his forehead, "Are you completely cracked, mate? You won't survive ten minutes out there by yourself."

Ezra just stared at him through his helmet. "Just do what I say, please. I need to do this if we all want to live through the rest of the night," he spoke in a calm, yet authoritative manner befitting a Jedi.

Antiochus hissed through his teeth, but ultimately relented and signaled to the controller manning the laser gate to open it up.

"Alright, mate, it's your plan. Just don't bloody fucking die out there, hear me?"

Ezra nodded and strode forth to the now-open gateway.

The Periclean Walls weren't just tall, he noticed, but also thick- at their base the walls had to be at least twenty meters thick at the base, and the gateway he strode through now was more akin to a cavern, with a ceiling height of ten meters. He wanted to whistle. No wonder why so many of Arcadia's foes had been unable to take the city by force of arms.

Now he just had to make sure that record was unbeaten.

About halfway through, he stopped and waiting for the inevitable breach of the blast doors that would be made at any second.

Sure enough, the doors gave way, bursting atwain and allowing multiple companies of stormtroopers to pour through.

Behind him, the laser gate closed again, as the Arcadian soldiers awaited his signal.

"You, there! Jedi!" a stormtrooper shouted. The commander, by the looks of him, if the orange pauldron was anything to go by. "Halt! In the name of the Galactic Empire, lay down your arms."

Bridger said nothing, instead just choosing to stand there and stare at the commander, who grew increasingly frustrated.

"Are you deaf, you freak? Unclip your little glowstick, put your hands in the air, and surrender!"

Ezra breathed in deeply and exhaled just as deeply. Closing his eyes, he let himself get lost in the currents of the Force, letting the energy field guide his motions and control his movements. He was one with the Force, and it was with him.

He vaguely heard the commander give the order to his troops to open fire, but he was not concentrated on this. Instead, he put his hands out in front of him, and let the Force flow through him, and out of him. He heard hundreds of blasters firing, yet no bolt reached him…

For each one of those bolts was now being suspended in mid-air, about two meters in front of him.

He never felt such strain before. Using Force Freeze on a single target had been challenging enough and had required a good deal of concentration. Using it on hundreds at a time was pushing his limits, to the point where he felt his muscles start to strain and his vision start to go red. Gritting his teeth, he pushed through the pain. He needed to wait until the right moment to release this.

The space before him was now filled with red and orange fire, as hundreds of ruby blaster bolts were struggling to break free, and when he felt that he could contain it no more, he gave it his all…

And pushed.

The bolts, which had all been intended for him, now flew in the opposite direction, into the bodies of the men who had fired them only a scant few moments ago. Hundreds of stormtroopers fell where they stood, their bodies pierced all the way through, with some being hit by multiple bolts. The stench of burning blood and flesh was heavy in the air, and as the surviving troopers tried to regroup and figure out what to do, Ezra heard that same chant from before coming from behind him, only this time it was yelled one time- as a war cry.

"ORA!"

Behind Ezra, sixteen hundred Arcadian soldiers came pouring out of their defensive positions, bayonets affixed to their blaster rifles and yelling at the top of their lungs, with murder in their eyes, intending to destroy the invaders who had defiled their world.

The young Jedi Padawan collapsed to his knee, exhausted from the intensive Force Freeze, as thousands of troops on either side of him and in front of him were engaged in the brutal clamor of close-quarters fighting.

There, an Arcadian was beating a stormtrooper to death with the latter's helmet.

Here, an Imperial stabbed his opponent in the throat with his vibroblade.

Punches, kicks, knives, bayonets, and the blasters themselves being used as makeshift clubs. Everything flew in this chaotic melee, as the screams and yells of the living and the dying morphed into a hellish chorus.

And he could concentrate on none of that.

As he tried to gain his breath and fight off the exhaustion that threatened to overcome him- a combination of little sleep and the events of the past twelve hours- he felt a sudden sense of cold overcome him. He grimaced. Great, just what was needed now. Another one of Palpatine's agents.

He stood up on shaky legs and drew his lightsaber, the orange light bringing small comfort to him, as a pair of heavy boots thundered in front of him. There, before him, was the biggest Inquisitor he had ever seen- a Dowutin female. Her eyes were covered by a split visor, but there was no hiding that predator's grin of hers. She must have seen a lot of battle, judging by the cybernetic leg and hand and the scratches on her pauldrons.

"Heh, so you're the Jedi brat Malleus couldn't kill," the Inquisitor thundered in a mocking voice. "Gotta hand it to ya. You're pretty impressive for Jedi scum. Not a lot of your kind can manage a Force Freeze like that, especially after fighting one of my kind, let alone fighting the Grand Inquisitor and surviving Lord Vader." She smirked. "Too bad your luck ends here, kid."

"Wouldn't count on it, whoever you are," Ezra retorted, adopting his familiar Ataru stance.

"Your exhausted, probably sleep-deprived, and you've been fighting for well over an hour now," the Inquisitor pointed out in that mocking tone again. "It would almost be unfair killing ya right now. But where are my manners? You can call me Ninth Sister. Heh, not that it's going to do you any good here in a few minutes," she announced, activating both ends of that annoying Inquisitorial lightsaber.

As the two prepared to duel, one thought wormed its way into the young Jedi's tired mind.

Oh. Oh, this is bad.

A coward. Dar'manda. That's all I am.

The normally lively Johannes Cato was unusually sullen. As the din of battle could be heard outside, he was reminded of a time when he had served proudly under the banner of House Vizsla, fighting for Mandalore's return to the Old Way. Though he had always been an artist and a damned good one at that, he had considered himself an even better fighter, fighting on battlefields from Carlac to Sundari. It was serving in Death Watch where he had met his sister-in-law- the ever stubborn, proud, and honorable Ursa Wren, who was back then the heir to Krownest and the right-hand of Lady Bo-Katan Kryze.

He forced a smile onto his face. He remembered the joy he felt at the wedding of his little brother Alrich and Ursa, the elation he experienced as he became an uncle, first to Sabine and then to Tristan, and laughing as he had discovered that the elder of the two Wren children had picked up her father's talent in art and his humor, as well as her mother's feisty stubbornness and warrior prowess.

He then settled back down into a frown. How quickly it all went wrong. The Saxons had done their work well- them and their Imperial backers. Murdering his brother-in-law, pinning all the blame on his dear niece, forcing his sister-in-law to declare her daughter as a traitor and having to give her son and husband as hostages to ensure her loyalty. And what did he do?

He fled. He abandoned his home, his lands, and his duty, and disgraced the armor he once wore with his selfish cowardice, always putting up a cheerful façade and whoring out his artwork to those who just wanted something "pretty".

He stared into the fireplace, barely listening to the newscaster on the local channel, lost in his self-pity…until…

Until he heard a beep.

He shot his head up and looked at the tracking fob on the table. That signal…it couldn't be…

It was the signal he had given Sabine once- a code he had designed for her and Tristan that they could send out if they were in trouble.

He shot up, grabbing the fob and sprinting towards his closet, a few meters away. Keying in a few commands, he opened the doors, and shoving aside clothes hangers, he beheld the armor he had not worn in years, having forsworn it due to his cowardice and shame.

It was still in pristine condition, and he had applied a fresh coat of paint only days earlier to the beskar- a base of gray replete with green trimmings over a black bodysuit. On the right pauldron was the green rancor skull of Clan Cato.

Loyal to the End.

Those were the words passed down to him by his ancestors. The official saying of the clan. He had not lived up to those words, nor did he live up to the Resol'nare, but that would change…now.

He took a deep breath as he began the process of removing his clothes so he could get on his bodysuit and the rest of his armor, with one phrase coming to mind for him, one that all Mandalorians repeated on confirming to live by the tenants of the code.

This is the Way.

The ground shook beneath his feet.

Robb sucked in a curse as he heard yet another one of the turbolasers defending the mountainside get knocked out, the blip representing it on the holomap flickering and dying.

"Sir, we lost Battery 3!" an aide yelled.

"AT-ATs two kilometers and closing!" another one yelled out.

The former Lord of Winterfell clenched his fist. Although their outer defenses had knocked out or disabled a few dozen of those mechanical monstrosities, there were simply far too many for them to effectively hold off. Over a hundred of those lumbering behemoths had landed, and true to form they were blasting away at the bunkers and turrets that guarded the entrance to the mountain, supported by the nimbler and more numerous AT-STs. The only fortunate thing about their situation so far was that the anti-air defenses had been keeping away any TIE Bomber that had broken through the Home Fleet's defenses.

"How long until the shock troopers are at the gates?" Robb asked.

"Not long" the major reported. "Around ten mikes out, I'd say."

"Have the tagmata pull back from the outer defenses. There is only one way in or out of this mountain, and the Empire doesn't have the firepower at the moment to simply level this place. They're going to have to clear it room by room," he said, turning to the division's general. "I want your men defending every hallway, nook, and cranny of this place. Turn every place you can into a fatal funnel. The longer we can slow them down, the more time we buy for the reinforcing fleet to turn the tide," he commanded. The general saluted him, and after returning the salute, he turned back to the major. "If they get close enough, I want you to start deleting every file and destroying every piece of experimental equipment this place has. No matter what, the Empire cannot get their hands on any of this, or it will spell doom not only for us but for any hope the galaxy has of freeing itself. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir," the major responded in the affirmative.

Robb nodded. "Good." He looked around the room. "If things get too hairy, I will assist directly in the defense, and you will have the command of this chamber. If worst comes to worst, we will destroy the entire facility, and take everything with us."

"Yes, sir!" everyone in the room cheered. Call Arcadians what you like, but they were steadfast in their duty, and dedicated to their homeworld, even if it meant laying down every one of their lives.

He heard at one point that the Arcadians were much like the mountain that he found himself inside of- mighty, unbending, and could withstand any challenge thrown at them, able to last through the darkest days.

He sighed. Well, that sentiment would be put to the test now.

They did not have to wait long. A few scant minutes have passed, and then he heard the gatekeeper's panicked voice.

"Alert! Imperial troops have breached into the base. Imperial troops ha-,"

That was all the gatekeeper got out before blaster fire ended the transmission in static.

"Patch me through to the closed-circuit cameras, now!" Robb barked out. Shortly, the central screen blazed to life, and he was greeted towards a gut-churningly familiar sight.

Scores of shock troopers were pouring into the destroyed front gate, already engaged by tagmata defending their positions with their dear lives. Robb was no stranger to war, so he gave no outward reaction as a rocket blast from a PLEX launcher blew apart a squad of shock troopers, with their limbs and other body parts hitting the bulkhead.

Despite the ferocity of the defenders, who cut down score upon score of attackers, there were simply too many of them for that narrow hallway, and so they were forced to fall back to a better-defended position.

Robb grimaced. They needed to buy more time.

It did not look good, he had to admit. As more shock troopers poured into the base and the more the tagmata were forced to fall back, he was tempted right there and then to give the order to start burning every file and project…and to start the countdown timer to the base's destruction.

He was about to leave the command center and take direct command of the defense when something extraordinary happened.

Something he would not have thought would happen now.

"Sir!" an aide alerted. "I'm getting a massive temperature spike coming from the gateway! It's off the charts! Over two-thousand degrees centigrade!"

Robb's eyes widened. Sure enough, he saw on the screen just before the feeds cut out a massive wall of flame engulf the shock troopers pouring into the base.

"Close the blast doors," he ordered. "YOU HEARD ME! CLOSE THE BLOODY FUCKING BLAST DOORS, NOW!"

A quick-thinking aide did as she was ordered, and before the wall of flame could reach the tagmata at the very end of the hallway before the main laboratory, the heavy durasteel blast doors slammed shut… and then they started to glow red hot.

Robb couldn't believe his eyes. Just what in the name of the Old Gods was this? Adding to the mystery, another aide who oversaw monitoring the sensors motioned to him.

"Sir…I think you need to hear this…"

Robb rushed over to the sensor monitor and took the earphones out of the technician's hand, and listened closely.

What he heard…

What he heard was a sort of shriek, a shrill cry that sounded like it came from some sort of huge bird or a lizard…or…

No…it can't be…

He shoved the earphones back into the tech's hands, too shocked for words now.

"Major…" he finally spoke, his voice gone quieter than he remembered it being before, "how long until the main hallway cools down?"

"A few more minutes, sir. The heat was enough to warp the durasteel, it seems."

Robb only nodded silently, making his way towards the door.

About thirty minutes of walking later, he had reached the front gates. As the major had said, the halls and the door had been warped by the intense heat of the fire, looking more like solid wax now than metal. He stepped outside into the crisp night air and saw a picture out of the Seven Hells.

All around him were burning husks of walkers. Some looked like they had a hole melted into them, others appeared as if some mighty force or wind toppled them over. Strewn everywhere were the burnt corpses of shock troopers and the ashen remains of others floating through the wind.

"By the gods…" one of the tagmata troopers who escorted him whistled, "what the hell could have caused this?"

Robb didn't turn towards the trooper. Instead, he intently stared at a set of rather large, reptilian footprints.

The creature was huge, judging by the size of the prints, which were themselves about as large as an average land speeder. There were three toes in front, and one in back.

"There's only one kind of creature that can cause this kind of destruction, lads,"

As if to answer his question for him, a gigantic shadow passed over them. Robb looked up to see the beast that conquered Westeros and helped to end the Long Night all those eons ago. Its scales looked once to be black but were faded to a dark gray, and as it flew off into the distance, it let out a long, shrill roar.

And it was at that moment Robb knew…

That they had been saved by a dragon.

Haar'chak, this was more complicated than even she had realized.

Whatever program Moreena had uploaded to the central defense network was, it seemed that the Imperial eggheads had designed it rather well. Every antiviral command or counter-hacking measure she tried, it seemed that the virus eluded her. It was extremely adaptive, almost as if it were sentient.

However, they were starting to make headway. As intelligent as the minds in the Imperial Military Research Division were, she could outwit them by a rural kilometer.

"How far away are we on getting comms back up, your grace?" she asked Theodora, who was busy replacing a fried power cell with a new one.

"About fifty percent of the way there," she replied. "Once you get that virus isolated and destroyed, we can power this tower up and get the stations back online."

"Easier said than done," Sabine sighed. "Whatever program our dear, sweet friend Moreena uploaded to the database, it's more advanced than your standard Imperial sheb. It's almost like…"

It then came to here in a flash. That's it!

"Like what?" Theodora asked.

"A spider program," Sabine explained. "I learned about it when I attended the Imperial Academy on Mandalore. It's a form of overwriting virus, and it can learn to defeat most antivirus programs that detect it."

"Right…" Theodora realized. "It's likely deleted the files start up the communication dishes and the power generators for the orbital defense platforms."

"Do you have any backups?" Sabine asked. "Even if I get the virus contained and destroyed, I'll have to restore the files it overwrote."

Theodora nodded. "Yeah. They're usually kept in an upload cylinder in a safe box. It's pretty close by. Right next to the computer console."

Sabine looked to her right and found next to the computer she was working on a metal box, locked up tighter than a Kuati purse.

How did I not notice that before?

Quickly shifting over to the box, Sabine immediately scanned it over. Great, it was a passcode-protected strongbox. She just needed to figure it out.

Let's see… the tower is located near the Ministry of Defense, so the numbers have to do something with it. Must be a date of some kind, something related to Arcadian history.

"Hey," she yelled out to Theodora, neglecting to use her title, though she thought it was forgivable due to time being of the essence. "When was your country founded, again?"

"The year 4970, by the Core Reckoning calendar," was Theodora's response.

Sabine nodded, and typed in the numbers 4-9-7-0, hearing a satisfying click.

Score one for the Mando girl.

Opening the safe box, she quickly located the backup cylinder and took it, heading back over to the computer desk, cracking her knuckles as she did so. It was time to work her magic.

She knew now how to defeat this virus. All it would require was one simple command.

The virus was aware of what she was trying to do, sending her warnings and danger signs her way. She ignored them completely. If the system had to be wiped clean for the virus to end, then so be it.

Confirm: Do you wish to go through with a complete reset? - the screen read.

She typed in the command: Affirmative.

The computer screen went blue for a few moments, followed up a series of pop-ups screeching of danger and peril- the death throes of a malicious program- and then completely black.

Great, now I just need to plug in the cylinder while this thing reboots.

It was just then she looked up…and saw a stream of jet trails heading her way. She knew that the Exorcistoi were busy guarding the palace or fighting alongside the King and Ezra, so that left only one other option- the kind that made her stomach churn.

Karabast, she cursed to herself, Imperial jump troopers!

"Your Grace, I'll cover you! Just finish with the system reboot while I hold of these Imps!" she shouted, jumping to her feet and readying her Westar blaster pistols.

"Got it!" Theodora replied, running over to the computer screen while Sabine zoomed her rangefinder in towards the Imps. She counted at least 12 of the bastards- a standard fireteam, in all regards.

She grimaced underneath her helmet. The options weren't good. She'd be outnumbered in the air by a good margin, but if she engaged them here, she'd put the queen at risk, and that was something she couldn't afford.

Making her decision quickly, she ignited her jetpack and flew off to meet the threat, the wind whipping around her as she took flight, the tower shrinking in the distance behind her.

She willed herself not to get lost in the nostalgia of flying without the aid of a spacecraft. Being taught in the ways of the Rising Phoenix was the last thing a young Mandalorian learned before going on the verd'goten- the Trial of Proving. She remembered that right after her Proving she accepted to learn at the Imperial Academy in Sundari…and then everything had gone downhill.

Focus, Sabine, she mentally chided herself. When she was within a few dozen kilometers of the incoming jet troopers, she lowered her head and fired her jetpack's heat-seeking missile.

The data feed on her HUD registered a confirmed kill, with at least five tangos going down in various states of dismemberment. So far so good, she decided, but that still left seven other troopers to contend with.

But then again…they were Imperials. Dangerous, perhaps, but still glorified police when it came down to it, ultimately. They were no warriors. They may be using jetpacks like her people, even fight like them after a fashion, but they weren't Mandalorians.

And she was going to prove it to them.

Within seconds of contact, she drew her pistols and started blasting, scoring a hit on one hapless trooper, as her bolt struck his jetpack and sent him into a tailspin hurdling towards the distant city below.

With no time to celebrate, she then got in a dogfight with another two troopers, as they twisted and turned through the night air like fireflies…

Fireflies were trying to kill one another.

She scored another hit on another trooper, sending him crashing into his compatriot and sending them screaming into the high-rises below.

It went on like this for several more minutes. Dodge blaster bolts, shoot the jetpacks, send them plummeting to their deaths. It was only a matter of time before she shot down all six targ-

Wait…

She counted seven originally.

So where was…

Sheb!

She turned around and flew back toward the tower as fast as her jetpack would allow her. Gods damn it all, how could she be so stupid? It was an obvious trap- their commander had known what he was doing. He chose to sacrifice his men as pawns so he could capture the queen, and that didn't even take into account the possibility that possibly more jet troopers were trying to go after the princess. It was clear she needed help, but who could she call. Every one of her friends and loved ones were either engaged in battle or too far away to call, all except for…

She quickly keyed in a comm code, a secret emergency code that she and Tristan had come up with, intended only for their family to come in their hour of need, and thanks to Irene, she knew she had family here on Arcadia as well.

She just prayed he could reach them in time.

When she got to the tower and entered the computer room, she was greeted to an alarming sight- the jump trooper commander had the queen in a hold around her neck with his left arm, and with his right was pointing his service rifle at her temple. Fortunately, it seemed that he had arrived at the tower right before Sabine did, as she noted that the reboot was still happening on the computer screen, and the cylinder was still plugged in.

Good¸ she thought, now I just need to keep him talking until Uncle Jo arrives.

"Honestly didn't think that would work," the commander growled through his helmet. "Can't believe you fell for it, you stupid Mandalorian bitch. I thought you would have stayed here and picked us off one at a time. Lucky for me you're such a dumb cunt."

"Are all you jet boys so charming?" Sabine deadpanned.

"We can be when we wanna," the commander retorted. "Why don't you hop in my bed like the good slut you are, and I can show you just how charming an Imperial jet trooper can be?"

I know more than a few people who would cut off your balls for that.

"Flattered, but I don't do sexist asswipes," Sabine shot back, leveling her blasters at the Imp. "Now, I'm going to ask nicely- release the queen, and fly back to your blue admiral currently getting his ass kicked up there by my friends."

"Not a chance, whore!" the commander snarled. "This harlot royal here is our ticket for negotiations, her and that bitch sister of the new king. Got some boys trying to break into the royal palace right now."

Shit, it was just as she suspected. She prayed to the manda that Irene took her advice seriously, that they had enough guards patrolling the halls, and that her and Ezra's wolves were on alert.

"They won't get far," Sabine chose to warn the commander. "This is your last chance, auretii. Let the Queen go or die."

"How bout you stick your gods-damned blaster up your cunt and kriff yourself with it, you karking Mandalorian th-,"

Before he could finish his sentence, a vibroblade suddenly protruded through his throat. His grip slackened on his blaster, making a loud clattering sound as it fell to the floor. Behind him, dagger in hand was another Mandalorian, taller than Sabine by a head and fair bit more muscular. His beskar was silver, replete with green trimmings, and on his right pauldron was the green, grinning rancor skull of Clan Cato.

"You aren't touching my niece," the Mando said, in a higher-pitched voice for a man than was normal, "and you aren't taking the queen, you demented fascist piece of shit."

The Mando withdrew his blade, and the Imp fell to the floor in an undignified, dead heap, his twitching body oozing blood.

"Uncle Jo!" Sabine exasperated, holstering her blasters and running over to her uncle.

"It's been a long time, ad'ika," Johannes greeted, his voice soft behind his helmet.

Memories came flooding back to Sabine, memories of home, of their family, of everything before it went all wrong. Unable to contain herself, she launched forward and wrapped her uncle in a tight hug, struggling to hold back her tears.

"I missed you, ba'vodu."

"I missed you, too, Sabine," Johannes said, returning the embrace. "Gods, how long has it been since I saw you and Tristan?"

"Too long," she muttered, pulling back from the embrace, "and much has changed."

"That I know," Johannes observed sadly. He then looked at a familiar object hung on her belt. "By the manda…" he breathed. "Where in the nine hells of Corellia did you find the Darksaber?"

She sighed. "Ir's a long story, Uncle Jo. I'll have to tell you later. Suffice to say Maul won't be a problem for our people any longer."

Johannes whistled. "By the blood of my ancestors. Maul is dead. Never thought I'd live to see the day that bastard was murdered," he said, then he looked straight at her. "You're going to have to tell me another time. Right now, we have the battle to win…and I don't intend to run from the fight a second time."
Sabine nodded. "Right. The princess is still in danger," she exclaimed, and then looked at Theodora.

The queen nodded at her. "Go, Sabine. I got the rest of this. May the Force be with you."

Johaness nodded as well and put his fist to his chest. "This is the way, ad'ika."

Sabine returned the gesture, putting her fist over her heart. "This is the way."

With that, she activated her jetpack yet again and flew off, leaving Theodora in the care of her uncle.

She had a princess to save.

She had cried for hours.

She did not remember feeling this broken before. She was too young to remember the death of her mother, and while seeing poor children at the orphanage was heartbreaking, none of that could even come close to the pain and despair she was feeling down.

The woman she had considered a best friend, a confidant, and something even more than that…had betrayed her completely- sold their family out to the Empire like a cheap whore.

Her father- the man she looked up to, the one who had guided Arcadia for over forty years through trials and triumphs, now lay in a coffin, slain by a monster he had invited to their halls as a guest.

The city she admired, and the planet her brother was mean to rule, was now under siege from a ruthless foe who would enslave them all, burning homes and slaughtering civilians.

There was no hope.

No meaning to life.

There was only pain and fear and anguish.

She looked at the dagger Sabine had given her, gripping it tightly in her shaking grasp. It would be so easy. With simple lengthwise cuts on both her wrists or by giving her throat a red smile, she could free herself from her pain- achieve everlasting peace and redemption from her failure.

She made up her mind. Rolling up both her sleeves on her dress, she took the dagger and pressed it to the skin of her left wrist, ready to begin the cut that would liberate her.

That was when she heard a knock on the door.

She sighed. Did the guards truly not yet understand that she didn't want to see anyone? No matter how many times they begged to enter or for her to eat something or drink something, the answer was still the same. She didn't want to talk to any of them!

There was silence at the door. That was odd. Normally she would hear a guard's voice, and the knocks they used were quite different as well. Theirs were gentle and soft. This one sounded harsher, almost as if the person on the other end was demanding entry.

She raised the dagger from her skin and jumped to her feet, clutching her knife in front of her like a shield.

Soon, the door flew open, a white armored boot appearing at the other end. Inside her room stepped three Imperial jump troopers.

"I have eyes on High-Value Target number 2," the one in the front said, motioning to his men. "Proceed with extraction and rendezvous at Waypoint One."

Her heart was racing. No, no, no. What did these men want? Were they trying to capture her? Enslave her? Rape her?

"S-stay back!" she warned, her voice quivering as she held the dagger out in front of her, shaking from fear. The trooper in the lead didn't respond and just raised his blaster rifle.

It was then she heard snarls coming from behind them.

The third trooper turned way too late and was tackled by a black, snarling mass of fur.

"What in the karking…?"

That was the last thing the second trooper managed to get out before he was taken down by a tan canine.

Both men fell screaming, and those screams morphed to gurgles as Storm and Runi angrily tore their throats out with sharp teeth

The wolves of Ezra and Sabine must have sensed that she was in peril and came to her aid as soon as possible. They recognized her as a friend of their pack, she realized.

She had to make her move now.

While the first trooper was distracted by the grisly spectacle before him, Irene ran up behind him and attempted to sink the dagger between his shoulders. He managed to turn around at the last second and grabbed Irene's wrists.

The two began to struggle over the knife, and though Irene was physically weaker than the man, she still held on for dear life, holding onto the blade for dear life, even slipping a few times and cutting her hands.

Though she was stubborn and determined, the trooper was way more physically strong and experienced than her, and soon landed a punch that left her seeing stars. She recovered long enough to see him standing with the knife, ready to sink it into her heart…

Only for a black, strange-shaped lightsaber blade to burst out of his chest. He gasped in shock, dropping the dagger, and was promptly shoved off the deactivated blade, his body crashing right before Irene's feet.

Behind him stood the armored form of Sabine Wren.

Sabine rushed over to Irene, and although Irene could not see Sabine's expressions behind her helmet, she guessed that she was wincing at the sight of her. And why should she not? Irene looked to be a frizzled, dehydrated, overall mess who was depressed to the point of attempting suicide only moments earlier. "Princess," Sabine asked, her voice filled with concern. "Irene, your hands are bleeding. Are you alright?"

She did not know how, but fresh tears began to fall from her eyes and spill on her cheeks. "No," she said, in a quivering voice that threatened to break free.

Sabine said nothing and instead wrapped her in a warm embrace, letting the Crown Princess of Arcadia weep freely into her shoulder.

A/N: Done with the second chapter of this battle, finally!

In total, I believe I wrote around 11k words for this chapter, which beats my previous total by a good margin. It is, as of now, the longest chapter in this story. Whether that will remain the case is up in the air, as future chapters could very well be longer, though I doubt it as of now.

If you're unfamiliar with some of the terms being used, I included a list of Arcadian weapons, vehicles, and uniforms on my Tumblr page. Just look up GreyWolf93, and you should see my profile pic.

The next chapter will feature a surprise, but I'm not going to tell you what it is, yet.

Stay tuned.