The Corellian League Back Story - Chapter One - Part 11

The blows from the pair of red lightsabers were merciless. Like luminous crimson rain they descended upon Perth again and again, striking high and low, both battering defenses and seeking a means to circumvent them. The raw rage being channeled through the aggressive Juyo stance was not within his skills to repel by blade alone. As the Consular twisted and turned, attempting to break free of the Sith Warrior, the Zabrak effortlessly matched his movements, twin blades angling in for the killing blow even before Perth could establish a new foothold.

The momentum of their duel carried them into the shadows of the archive pillars, and at his back he felt the building heat from those pillars now consumed by fire. Another explosion rocked the chamber, and both Force wielders careened to the side. With the Zabrak’s relentless attack abated for a moment, Perth seized his opportunity. Twisting at the waist, the Consular thrust out his hand and formed a wall of Force energy behind the nearest flames. In desperation he thrust his open palm toward his adversary, falling flat against his chest as he did so.

The wall of force energy propelled and sustained the flames for a blistering moment, long enough to strike the Sith Warrior with a wave of lashing fire.

The Zabrak could merely shield his face as the flames rush over him. The Sith was propelled back several feet and collapsed to his haunches as the Force wave moved past him and the flames dissipated. Smoke coiled up from his dark robes and charred battle armor, and those horrid yellow eyes fixed on the Jedi with unbridled malice.

Perth was to his feet quickly, orange lightsaber close to his chest and upright in a ready, defensive position. With a snarl the Zabrak leaped up, coiling into a summersault that carried him close the Jedi and ready to strike. But as Perth shifted his weight to his heels, the Sith Warrior altered his course. Launching himself laterally, the Zabrak hurled one of his blades at the Consular. The glowing red blade severed the amber tinged shadows like a spear, and Perth forced himself to contort around the deadly missile, leaving himself defenseless in its wake. The Zabrak came at him from the flank, his now free hand thrusting out and choking the young Consular.

Perth sputtered and stumbled back.

The Zabrak lifted the Jedi from the floor of the archival chamber, and with a look of disgust flung him back against one of the pillars. Torrents of pain wracked his body, and his lightsaber escaped his grasp and skittered away into the shadows.

Menacingly, the Warrior approached, grasping hand leading his advance and his remaining lightsaber angled up at the pinned Jedi.

“You are nothing but a puppet of an old and weak-willed council. Soon, the Jedi will be no more…and your death shall be but one small step for the glory of Sith Empire.”

And as Perth’s vision began to dim, a small semblance of doubt crept across his mind.

The counterthrust had been well timed, and finally Jaxon had managed to land a blow past his adversary’s defenses. His lightsaber glanced off of the black, plastoid shoulder pauldron, leaving a deep, smoking gash. The Zabrak recoiled back, noted the strike with a look of indifference, and flared his teeth at the Jedi Knight in animalistic rage.

Jaxon thought of launching into an attack of merciless zeal, to take the offensive against this creature, this slave to the dark side. But he thought back to Korah Vorn, remembering well his master’s teachings and warnings of what such aggression could lead to.

Unfortunately, the Sith Warrior knew no such temperance.

The Zabrak’s body coiled like a serpent, shifting menacingly into Ataru form, and he fell upon the Jedi Knight in full acrobatic fury. Red and blue lightsaber danced and clashed in a deadly ballet through the darkness of the archival chamber, the blue neon lights beginning to flicker and die out all around them.

Jaxon vaulted himself high into the dark lofts of the chamber, a high arcing summersault that carried him to the elevating command platform. The Sith followed, matching his movements, but it was then that Jaxon noticed Perth’s duress.

“Master Bel!” The Jedi Knight cried out.

Bel, still weak, had managed to pull himself to his feet and struggled across the foyer of the archival chamber.

“Help Perth,” Jaxon yelled again, at that very moment intercepting and deflecting each of the Warrior’s lightsabers. “Do not worry about me.”

Bel’s weary and wary eyes glanced between Jaxon and the distant turmoil of Perth battling the second Zabrak warrior. With reluctance, he skirted the command console and the clashing Sith Warrior and young Jedi Knight.

Jaxon repelled strike after strike, the Ataru assault merciless and fueled by hatred. The dark side of the Force made the Zabrak undeniably powerful, and as Jaxon’s strength began to wane, he knew he could not match the Sith blow for blow much longer.

The Zabrak struck high, and Jaxon parried. But the second blade swept in low, angling for the Jedi’s knees. Jaxon leaped up and over the strike, but even as he cleared the searing strike, he grimaced. He was defenseless against the inevitable follow-up attack. The Zabrak wheeled about, his booted foot high and leading the spin. The roundhouse kick struck Jaxon in the sternum, and he was propelled painfully atop the command console. Buttons chimed in affirmation and a succession of lights illuminated on the readout. The platform trembled slightly and then began to elevate, slowly rising from the floor of the archives.

Stunned, Jaxon writhed atop the console before sliding to the floor of the platform, the Sith standing menacingly over him.

“Pathetic,” the Zabrak spat in disdain. “I have apprentices that could best you, Jedi dog.”

With the breath slowly returning to his lungs, Jaxon fixed a resolute and nearly resigned stare upon the Sith Warrior.

“You think only of dominance,” Jaxon said with calm confidence. “Victory can be found in but a single moment.” With a flick of his wrist, Jaxon tore one of the crimson lightsabers free of the unsuspecting Zabrak’s grip. From his haunches, Jaxon launched himself up and away from the platform, trusting in the Force that the platform was high enough and his trajectory true enough to carry him toward the precariously hanging remnants of the catwalk.

With a snarl of hatred the Sith Warrior leaped along the same trajectory. Grasping his remaining lightsaber with both hands and raising the hilt over his head, the Zabrak fully extended himself, arching his back to bring the final catastrophic blow down upon the Jedi.

Jaxon sensed the Sith behind him, and he knew all too well that he could not hope to land this desperate leap and adequately defend himself. Midflight he contorted his body, whipping the red lightsaber about as he turned. He released the blade at the last possible moment, sending it tumbling toward the Sith in a vicious spiral. The Zabrak’s yellow eyes widened at that moment. His anger…the darkside – both had betrayed him.

The Sith’s own blade struck him above the waist, severing his body in two, and he fell to the shadows, a smoking ruin.

For Jaxon, the victory was momentary. He had committed fully to the attack, and as such, he was not prepared to find a handhold on the collapsing catwalk. He struck the steel girders with the full force of his errant flight, and he tumbled away into the darkness below.

Perth’s vision had almost succumbed to darkness, all about him devolving into murky shadows silhouetted by the muted glow of the growing flames. The Sith Warrior sneered up at him and pressed the searing edge of his lightsaber against the Consular’s hip. The green fabric of his robes burned away and flesh withered beneath the vehemence of the red force crystal.

Perth did not cry out, but used the pain to center his mind. Drawing up every facet of his faith in the light side of the force, every remnant of training he could muster, the Consular reached out with the Force.

Behind him, the archival pillar to which he was pinned began to shudder. Behind the Zabrak two more pillars began to groan, the metal at their bases beginning to twist and collapse.

The Sith Warrior screwed up his face in confusion, glancing over his shoulder and then once more to the Jedi in enraged disbelief. He tried to leap away, but the pillar on his flank came crashing down, its immense weight obliterating dark side warrior in cry of twisting metal and leaping sparks. Perth collapsed to the ground as the pillar hovering high above him groaned and toppled towards him. But his will was spent, his mind unable to call upon the force, his body unable to flee. Closing his eyes, he awaited the end, at peace with his contributions to the force and his comrades.

But the pillar did not fall.

Opening his eyes, he found the pillar hovering but feet above him. His head rolled to the side, and he saw Bel, weak and faltering, both hands outstretched and holding the pillar aloft.

“Perth,” the old Jedi breathed desperately. “Get out of there, boy!”

Finally mustering the strength, the young Consular rolled to the side. With a cry of pain, Bel released the pillar and it came crashing down. The old Master stumbled to one knee, but he held up a hand as Perth approached, his once Padawan crawling on all fours toward his Master.

“No, Perth…I am fine.” Bel’s words were raspy, escaping his lips between heaving breaths.

“But Master…” Perth pressed, forcing himself onto his haunches.

“Enough!” Bel snapped. “Tormax is need of you…I sense the Sith Lord is with him.” Bel looked at his former Padawan, a man he fondly referred to as nephew, and urged him away with his eyes. Perth saw something within the look, a moment of fond remembrance and a glimmer of resignation. “Go…” Bel breathed, and with a nod, Perth stumbled slowly away through the building flames within the archival chamber.

Bel collapsed to both knees, rolled his head back and closed his eyes.

“Be done with it,” he intoned gravely.

Karissa stepped from the shadows, twin blasters trained on the old Jedi’s back. The Bounty Hunter did not hesitate, for she was not beholden to even a fleeting moment of compassion or honor.

She fired both pistols.

The saga continues... Chapter One - Part 12