Nar Shaddaa
Hutta Town
He was grateful for the battle.
The smoke and the fires masked the stench of the dianoga-infested trash covering everywhere. The enormous tower blocks, with slums built in every available space between them, didn’t have proper garbage disposal. Garbage barges would take the trash of citizens who paid for their services, uncaring whether any fell to the ground.
Of which a lot had fallen.
Twelve hours in and he couldn’t decide whether the brown, polluted air or the filth on the ground level was worse.
He couldn’t standby while calling billions to war. He also couldn’t help everyone at once. Instead, he chose to target the gang strongholds, killing enemy leaders or raiding supply depots to arm the people.
The casualty count was staggering. Millions were dead already, and it was only going to climb up. The fleet had resorted to precision bombarding once the shields were down. Large swaths of criminal territory were flattened without mercy. It barely slowed the tide.
Grakkus’ guards had set up a chokepoint, cutting the path to his palace. He was protecting the advancing forces with a massive shield, but it was draining him. He had already requested assistance from the fleet. Unfortunately, they had nothing to spare.
“Incoming gunship!” Bentilais shouted. Rocket launchers stepped forward, ready to aim.
“Wait,” he ordered. He couldn’t drop the shield, but there was something else he could do. He called on the Force through himself and everyone fighting with him. Applying the principles of the Mystic Arts to the Force had yielded interesting results. He was hoping to repeat it for a more aggressive approach.
He felt himself connect to the soldiers and the revolting workers, feeling their miniscule flames in the Force coalesce into a raging inferno. Guided by him, the gunship was flung into the chokepoint. It broke through the barricade, mostly rusted steel, and exploded, creating a hole.
“Now,” he ordered, pushing forward with the shield. The staggering amount of blaster bolts hitting it was enough to turn any man to ashes. He didn’t let it stop him. There would be many deaths. He would at the least save the ones he could.
His reinforcements arrived, albeit a bit late. Bombers cut through the brown skies, dropping their payload through the shanty town, flattening the place. The enemy fire decreased significantly, but he was still blocking hundreds of bolts per second. His each step was heavy, a slow but unstoppable force carving its way through them.
—
Nar Shaddaa Orbit
Mystic Strike
“Concentrate fire on sector-12, grid 4. Enemy forces are gathering for a push,” he ordered, marking the section on the map. The enemy communications weren’t encrypted well. They managed to retrieve a lot of intelligence. Senok’s Star Hounds were gathering two dozen gangs for an assault on their landing area.
Reckless orbital bombardment on such a densely populated settlement would have devastating results on the civilians. Precision strikes eliminated most of the danger, as did Anakin with how he managed to draw so many enemies. It was easy to eliminate large numbers of gangsters when they were all concentrating on one place.
Black Suns, the Pyke Syndicate, and the Crymorah Syndicate were the largest organized crime groups operating in Nar Shaddaa in addition to the Hutt Cartel. Rather than block their competitions, the Hutts taxed them heavily instead.
Outside the ship, the massive turbolasers ceased firing for a moment. They re-oriented, targeting the indicated location and fired once more.
Cameras of the scouts overlooking the grid came online just as the bolts impacted. Each turbolaser shot, meant to melt shiphulls, left nothing but ashes behind. Thousands were annihilated in seconds, and he exhaled quietly. The offensive of the Black Suns was over before it could begin.
“Sorcerer,” he called out to his brother. “You have been fighting for too long. Finish your assault and retreat to rest.” He knew Anakin couldn’t just sit down after his speech. It would be hypocritical for him to order other people to die for his cause.
However, he wouldn’t let the young man burn himself out fighting.
“I was thinking the same thing,” Anakin grunted out behind him, stumbling through a portal. He was at his side in the blink of an eye, helping him sit down. At least he had the sense to know when to rest. He had witnessed too many warriors, either in guilt or fury, fighting till death.
“How are things down there?” he asked. It was difficult to get information on the state of the war while he was knee deep in it.
“The casualties are high, more so on the side of the criminal underground. They are surrounded from all sides. Victory will be ours.”
Anakin nodded, eyes closed, steadying his breath. “Come, I’ll get you to your quarters,” he said.
"Thanks, but you are busy enough as it is. I do have the energy for one last portal,” he replied, patting Qymaen on the shoulder. He opened a portal back to Tatooine, dropping on his bed, asleep before his head hit the cushion.
He dreamed of candles being extinguished in waves.
—
Nar Shaddaa
Hutta Town
The next morning, he took a quick shower, had an even quicker breakfast, and left to join the front. Their target was Grakkus the Hutt, the ruler of Hutta Town. He was the highest-ranked Hutt on the moon. Capturing and incentivizing him would neutralize a lot of forces.
The palace itself was built differently from the narrow, skyscraping towers dotting the moon. Thick walls and a gate meant to stop anything short of a starship's turbolaser; it was a mountain of durasteel.
It was also armed to the teeth. Heavy blasters, snipers, rocket launchers, and hundreds of Weequay and other aliens perched on the wall, turning any attack into a death trap.
He walked forward, gesturing at the men behind him to stop. He stood in front of the palace, well inside the firing range, but no shots came. “Tell Grakkus to surrender. His life will be spared and he will be treated like a prisoner of war,” he called out. If Grakkus refused, he knew just what to do.
His reply was a rocket fired straight at him.
He rolled his eyes, opening a portal and sending it back to the Weequay who had fired it.
“If that’s how you want to play,” he said.
His thumbs and index fingers touched, and as if he were a mirage, his arms multiplied, holding the sigil in place. He crossed his true arms before spreading them apart. Dozens of copies flew out, creating mandalas to give him a shield.
He spread his hands to the side, creating a line that quickly transformed into a circular saw. It grew and grew, dwarfing him but just the right size for what he wanted to do. Durasteel took time cutting down, but it was possible.
It's just time-consuming.
He sent the saw forward, and sparks erupted as it bit into the wall. The enemy fire was instant but futile, disappearing into nothingness. He gritted his teeth, focusing on keeping both spells up.
Fortunately for him, he only had to reach halfway through on the bottom side before the fat slug that was Grakkus the Hutt slid out of the gate, heaving for breath. “I surrender,” he screamed in a deep, breathy voice, raising his arms. His necklace jingled as the lightsabers tied to it hit one another. Anakin dismissed the saw, letting the Hutt crawl out of the gate. He turned to the armed men, barking something out in Huttese.
“Master Sorcerer, please excuse these fools. I accept your most generous offer.”
“You do?”
“Indeed. I am not like my brethren, you see. I am merely a collector of antiquities. I see no reason to resist your forces. I am fully prepared to comply with your demands,” he said, rubbing his grubby hands together.
Anakin narrowed his eyes, watching the Hutt. “So you will set slaves free, pay reparations, disband all your illegal businesses, and surrender your heavy arms,” he said, his tone flatter than his look.
The offer, to surrender peacefully or be taken down by force, was not accepted by the majority. They had to be beaten first. Back on Tatooine, only when Jabba was dead and the capital had fallen did the remaining slave owners and criminals surrender. Nar Shaddaa was not close to falling.
Either Grakkus had more sense than most or there was something going on.
“Very well. Tell your men to come down. We will also be inspecting the palace,” he said.
Grakkus bowed.
—
The Hutt was indeed a collector of artifacts. Specifically, Jedi artifacts. He saw three holocrons, dozens of lightsabers, sculptures, and more that he couldn’t name. Granted, they were all acquired from the black market, but he couldn’t be bothered to return them to the Jedi.
The remains of several Jedi were a different matter.
“I couldn’t care less about the holocrons and the rest, but you will return the remains to the Jedi with an apology.”
“Of course, of course.”
“Here are the names of everyone in my spice trade,” Grakkus said, handing him a datapad. Anakin didn’t even glance at the list, handing it to one of the men following him.
The Hutt’s smile ticked him off, but he didn’t say anything.
Unknown to him, most of the names on the list were dead. The spice production centers were razed to the ground, either during the fires or by orbital bombardment. Grakkus had already lost much of his network. Selling the rest to save his hide didn’t need to be thought out at length.
Slaves were taken out of the palace immediately to await medical assistance.
Grakkus’ armory was raided too, most of the weapons taken to be distributed to the rebels.
—
“Sorcerer! Come out and face me,” a Trandoshan screamed out in front of Grakkus’ palace. Anakin, who was overseeing the transportation of the freed beings to a safe place inside the palace, didn’t hear him.
“Sir!” A Kaleesh saluted him, standing at attention. “There is a Trandoshan outside. He is challenging you to single combat for the jagannath points you took from Bossk.”
He rubbed his temples. “We are in the middle of a war where millions are dying every hour and he wants to challenge me over some stupid points?”
“Yes sir.”
Anakin glanced around, seeing the soldiers look at him expectantly. A warrior culture, he didn’t think any Kaleesh would refuse such an offer. It was a matter of honor and pride, concepts deeply rooted in their culture. He could refuse. No one could talk negatively of him, not after all he had done.
It would just disappoint them with how expectant they looked.
“What did you say his name was?” he asked. Corlen had said there was a chance Bossk’s father would come after him. He simply did not remember the name.
“Cradossk, Bossk’s father.”
He nodded, letting the portal be, and flew over the wall, landing before the Trandoshan. Cradossk was similar to Bossk. He had the same scale color and the same clothing with reds instead of browns.
“You must be a special kind of stupid to think you can defeat me in single combat.”
“I studied your tricks and your fighting style.”
“Is that so?” Anakin asked, yawning. He could feel the Force warning him about danger from below. Cradossk grinned, and the Force screamed at him. He thrust his open palm to the ground, opening a portal to the Mirror Dimension. The ground erupted, but it all disappeared through the portal.
The blinding light of the thermal explosion shielded him from sight.
As the light dissipated, he stood there, floating over a crater. Cradossk must have planned this in advance. If he truly studied his behavior, he knew Grakkus would be a target. He must have planted the explosives in advance, waiting for him to arrive. Without the Force, he might have even been caught in it.
Seeing him unarmed wiped the smirk off the Trandoshan’s face.
He brought his hands together, fingers spread to create a cage. The portal to Mirror Dimension folded around Cradossk, directing the explosion to him.
“Oh,” he said. There was not a single sound from him. The focused explosion turned him to ash in the blink of an eye, creating a beacon of blinding orange. He dismissed the portal as the explosion ran its course.
The scorched ground was the only part damaged. The Trandoshans standing next to Cradossk didn’t even have a scratch.
“What about the rest of you? Do you want to try claiming the jagannath points too?” he asked.
Two of them shook their heads wildly, running away without looking back.
—
Coruscant
Jedi Temple
“The situation in Nar Shaddaa is… a crisis. The Sorcerer has called the worker class to war. They make up the majority of the population, around sixty billion. Not everyone accepted the call, but enough did. Billions are fighting at once, and it is utter chaos,” Plo Koon said. The Council was gathered once more to discuss the state of Freedom First’s war against the Hutt Cartel.
“I suppose it was to be expected. Freedom First does not have the numbers to take the moon. All other military options would have led to even greater tragedies,” Oppo said.
A wave of suffering and ongoing darkness had plagued several council members for the last few days. The death toll on Nar Shaddaa was on its way to reaching a billion, and it was barely the third day. The battles were intensifying, and projections showed it could go for months.
The death count by the end of this war would be the highest ever seen in recent memory.
“Master Yoda, are you alright?” Depa Billaba asked, concerned with how weary the Grandmaster appeared.
“Weighs heavily on me, this war does. Feel the loss of life in the Force, I do,” he said. So many were dying at once that the distance did not matter. He felt the wave of death wash over him each time he delved into the Force.
“On the bright side, the spice trade is down by an estimated forty percent. Without Nar Shaddaa’s massive refining and distribution capabilities, we could see a permanent decrease,” Ki-Adi-Mundi said. It was cold comfort, but the Smuggler’s Moon was a blight on the galaxy. If it could be cleared of the criminal elements and restored to order, the changes would be welcome.
“If only it didn’t come at such a cost,” Adi Gallia said. She too had felt the disturbance but didn’t delve deep as Yoda had. She didn’t feel she was ready to experience an event that depressed Master Yoda.
“There are times where only the least bad option exists,” Mace said. He too had sensed the deaths but had steeled his heart against it. This was war, and in a place like Nar Shaddaa, the death toll of billions was expected. Hence the reason why no one ever attempted to take the moon.