Nar Shaddaa
He stabbed the spear through the gangster’s stomach, immediately creating another one to stab it down her shoulder to her hip and one last through her skull.
He let the corpse fall, preparing to summon a storm of blades to gut the remaining gangsters. They had a different idea, however, dropping their blasters and kneeling.
“Take them,” he ordered. Guess seeing their leader die so easily made them reluctant to fight more. The soldiers, a mix of local populace and Freedom First troops, surrounded the surrendering criminals.
He had no idea where they would even be imprisoned.
Nar Shaddaa didn’t have prisons. Gangs and criminal organizations had cells but not enough for the millions that had surrendered.
He leaned on the wall, sliding down until he was sitting. He was tired from the constant fighting. Two weeks, five billion dead, and it only got worse. The crematoriums were constantly working to avoid a plague. Given Nar Shaddaa’s lack of public health services, the situation was more worrisome than anything else at the moment.
Qymaen was even considering sending troops with flamethrowers to burn the corpses to clean the streets.
“Sorcerer, come in." The said Kaleesh’s voice came from the comms. “What is it, Marshall?”
“Black Suns and Pyke Syndicate fleets have entered the system. We won’t be able to provide assistance until we repel them,” he said.
Anakin sighed. ”We’ll make do. Good luck up there."
“I’ll let you know when it is over.”
—
Nar Shaddaa Orbit
Mystic Strike
“I want all our fighters and bombers to refuel and rearm immediately,” Qymaen ordered. The numbers on both sides matched. He had eighty ships under his command, excluding the transports. Both the Pyke Syndicate and the Black Suns could only muster forty ships each.
Still, a dangerous battle. His fleet was weary from the constant bombardment of Nar Shaddaa. There were no surprises to spring upon the enemy either. This battle would be a bloody one.
“Set a course to meet the enemy. Move the cruisers in a wedge formation, and keep the rest of the fleet between them,” he ordered. If the rest of the fleet shared the weapon range of the cruisers, he would have the ships constantly retreat while whittling the enemy down.
He wouldn’t sacrifice the rest of the fleet to do it.
Gozanti-class cruisers, YT-1300s, and more sped towards his fleet without hesitation.
“Once the cruisers pierce through the enemy line, the remaining ships will execute flanking maneuvers," he added.
The battle, for now at least, was a game of waiting as the fleets crossed thousands of clicks of empty void. He inspected the enemy fleet stance over and over again, searching for anything to give him an advantage. They weren’t exactly coordinated, just a mass of ships burning at full speed towards his fleet.
An advantage they had was the fact that neither of these organized crime groups had proper fleets. Backroom deals, assassinations, blackmail, and compromises were more their forte. His cruisers fired first, focusing on the foremost YT-1300s.
The enemy had shields up until the moment they entered firing range. However, the concentrated fire managed to take down several modified freighters.
Then the enemy opened fire.
Qymaen held on tight as the ship rocked from the impacts. The Action VIs had thick armor plates. As they consisted of the bulk of their firepower, he wanted them to be armed and armored to the teeth.
The spearhead held as it took all the punishment the enemy had to offer. Armor plates were blasted to space; turbo lasers took damage on several sections. The fleets were on a collision course, but he waited. Just before the point of no return, the enemy fleet spread apart on both sides, their undisciplined formation breaking first.
“Now!” he ordered. “Hard to starboard. Split the fleet evenly; target the enemy engines first. Release all our fighters.”
The Mystic Strike moved to starboard as ordered, engines at maximum output. The fighters and the remaining ships left the safety of the cruisers. They were faster than the cruisers, striking the enemy from the rear. They tried to reorient to face his fleet. His commanders were relentless, however, matching each maneuver to keep the enemy in sight.
He would make both sides rue this doomed military action.
—
The Sorcerer was the singular greatest asset of Freedom First.
He couldn’t create fuel for the ships, however.
Upon the destruction of the combined Pyke Syndicate and Black Suns fleet, Qymaen sent half his fleet, under Corlen’s command, to blockade and lock down Sleheyron. Its hypermatter refineries were their best option to keep their ships fueled.
The refineries couldn’t be taken with brute force and risk any damage.
Ruled by Hutt families, barons and slavers, it was a highly competitive, corporate-feudal state. They were already occupied with Nar Shaddaa and couldn’t start another ground war. Instead, they blockaded the world, grounded all ships and barred all food transports until every criminal with a say on the planet’s fate had surrendered.
All tankers were seized for the war effort. With how many were out and wouldn’t return to Sleheyron, they weren’t enough to resupply the other half of the fleet.
—
Nar Shaddaa
“Oh stars!” The men around him began to exclaim a variation of the classical saying. It was appropriate to the situation at hand as the upper half of a massive tower block came down on them. The Black Suns were vicious fighters, but he did not expect them to blow a tower in half with thermal explosives.
The firefight stopped, a sudden shock freezing tens of thousands on multiple levels of the ecumenopolis. Anakin growled, raising his open hands, connecting and drawing on the Force. Not just his, but every single person he could reach.
The combined might made the tower block light as a feather, allowing him to lower it right on top of the enemy lines. It flattened a sizable part of the shanty town, but the civilians inside were safe.
The firefight didn’t continue, however. The Black Suns dropped their weapons before the sheer might of the act. The tower already crushed hundreds to death. If he suddenly started swinging it around like a club, they were going to die without the chance to fight back.
Anakin reveled in the cheers of the soldiers.
—
Battle of Nar Shaddaa
Third Week
He summoned the Winds of Watoomb, ripping the gangsters out of their cover with a violent tornado. Combined with the smoke and the polluted air, it turned into a death trap, choking everyone caught in its pull. He ripped the entire shanty town apart, killing an untold number of criminals.
Then came the flames.
One of the buildings he flattened released a distinct red gas to the air. The tornado incorporated it as well, gaining a red hue among the brown and black. One of the stray blaster bolts was all it took to light the gas. The tornado flared, brightening the sky with the flames. The wave of heat made him flinch, but he didn’t lose his concentration, working to drive the burning tornado away. It continued through the shanty town, an unnatural freak event scouring the moon clean.
Just a few more to the seven billion dead and counting.
—
Fifth Week
A local mercenary outfit, Dread Wings, had an entire tower block as their base. Armed from top to bottom with repeating blasters, cannons, and heavy weapons and teeming with men on every level.
Seven pillars struck the fortified tower. Each one was a lance of unforgiving heat, melting and twisting the durasteel. Shrapnel turned into rain, pieces as small as splinters to shards that cut men in two coming down in waves.
The first one destroyed the top floors where snipers were trying to kill him. The second sun of Cinnibus silenced the rockets and grenades. The eldritch beams continued until half the tower was gone.
The orbital strikes took the rest out.
He sighed, weary from the fifth continuous week of battle. An estimated ten billion were dead, more than one-eighth of the moon’s population. At least four to six billion enemy combatants were left.
—
Nar Shaddaa Orbit
Mystic Strike
“Marshall, the ships need maintenance, refueling, and rearming in a proper dock. We can’t keep going like this,” Vega said. The cargo ships simply couldn’t keep up with the demand.
“Aren’t the supply ships enough?” he asked. Seizing assets didn’t work when there was nothing to seize. They would have to access the wealth of the Hutts soon.
“Unfortunately not. If we can have the Sorcerer open a portal for maintenance materials and fuel pipes, that would be a different matter.”
Qymaen grumbled under his breath. The men’s morale suffered if Anakin was away from the front for too long. The ships were essential for the battle on the surface. His available firepower was already halved to secure Sleheyron. They couldn’t leave and they couldn’t afford to remove the Sorcerer from the board for too long.
“Ahh, excuse me?” a voice, one that definitely did not belong to his bridge, called from behind. He reached for his blaster.
“Madam?!” he exclaimed, almost uttering her real name. “What are you doing here?” he asked as she stepped through the portal, wearing a hood and a mask to hide her face. With the number of people who knew Anakin’s identity already limited, this could be only one person.
“My son is fighting down there. I see every day how it affects him. I can’t fight like him, Marshall, but at least I thought I could help move supplies and soldiers,” she offered. Every night her son returned, too tired to say anything more than a goodnight before he fell asleep.
He was split between fighting and supplying ships. She couldn’t take place on the battlefield, but she could at least take over his remaining work.
“Then you have thought well. We were discussing how to move enough fuel and material for the ships without leaving Nar Shaddaa. You came just in time,” he said, a quiet sigh escaping his lips.
Anakin could rest properly now.
“That’s great. What do you need me to do?”
—
Her first task was to open portals for fuel pipes.
Freedom First’s fledgling fleet was lacking when it came to logistics. Half of the fleet had to stay on Sleheyron. The other half on Nar Shaddaa had to pick up the slack, burning through their reserves quicker than normal. The seized tankers weren’t enough, and no one was willing to risk sending tanker ships to a battlefield.
At least not without exorbitant sums in payments.
Once livestream images of where she had to open the portals were supplied, Shmi got to work. Soldiers and workers stopped to watch her, confused as to who she was. Qymaen didn’t allow them to slack, however. His mere presence was enough to discourage it.
Within hours, the fleets were receiving much-needed fuel so the strikes on Nar Shaddaa could continue.
Materials, such as armor plates and spare parts, were next. The droids were already plenty, only constrained by their supplies.
The real trouble was with medical supplies.
There weren’t enough materials to seize from the Hutts, slavers, or pirates. Freedom First didn’t have the credits to buy supplies for billions of people. Humanitarian aid from Republic worlds wasn’t enough either.
The doctors and aid workers did their best, but just as many died from lack of proper healthcare as in battle.
—
He opened a portal to Mystic Strike’s bridge, ready to ferry supplies. Qymaen was there, coordinating strikes as usual.
“Sorcerer, go home and rest,” Qymaen ordered without even turning around.
“Why? Did we get enough supplies?" he asked. Maybe they had finally found enough cargo ships?
Now the Supreme Marshall faced him, a teasing edge to his tone. “Visit the cargo bay and you’ll see,” he said, returning to his screen.
Anakin rolled his shoulders, opening another portal. He stepped through, seeing another portal with supplies pouring through.
With an unknown woman covered from head to toe standing next to it, a sling ring on her fingers.
“Mom?” he asked, exhaling sharply.
“My boy,” she said, gently caressing his cheek, wiping the dirt away.
His hands waved around at the portal and then to her. “You, how?”
“I wanted to help you so I learned how to open portals. Isn’t it great?” she asked.
“Yeah, it is.”
“Which means you can go home, take a shower, eat something, and sleep properly,” she said, the warmth in her voice leaving its place to a tone that would broker no argument.
He took a step forward, about to refuse it, to ask her to go back home.
“I was not asking,” she said, looking down at him with sharp eyes behind her mask. He looked around, seeing the guards surrounding her, and nodded. At least her security was taken extremely seriously.
“Okay. But if anything dangerous happens, you’ll return to the Sanctum.”
“I know. Now go.”
—
Tatooine
Sanctum Sanctorum
He stepped into his room, still unsure about leaving his mother on Mystic Strike. Regardless, now that he had the time, he took his clothes off. The cloak floated to wrap itself around the stand.
He would have to clean him as well.
The shower felt divine. He soaked in the warm water, scrubbing the accumulated dirt off rigorously. Then came feasting on what he could find in the kitchen. 3PO always made sure to have ready-to-eat meals on hand due to his late arrivals.
His teacher was nowhere to be seen, though.
“Where is he?” he asked 3PO, who finally stopped babbling about how delighted he was at his return. He didn’t want to waste energy by telling the droid to change the subject.
“In the library, working on a way to break his curse.”
“Huh. I’ll go see him now.”
—
“Master.”
“Anakin, come in,” Strange said, taking notes from the book before him.
The Tome of Mending the Ruined Weave.
“How is it going?” he asked. He too had read that book many times to free his teacher. Perhaps Strange would find an angle he had missed.
“As well as it could be expected.”
“You taught Mom how to open portals?” he asked. His mother, his teacher, and 3PO were the only family he had. His mother was the least suited to be helping him in this war.
“Yes. Since I am still stuck here and she is not, she wanted to help you.”
“But…” he began, but Strange turned to him, shutting the book hard.
“But it is dangerous? She shouldn’t be there?”
“Yes.”
“Neither should you be,” he said, putting the book back on the shelf. “Unfortunately, you are dealing with a situation that doesn’t really care about our opinions.”
Anakin squeezed his fist before letting go. He couldn’t disagree with that.
“Go and rest, kiddo. I know you won’t stop but at least be at your best out there,” Strange said, patting him on the shoulder.
He did as advised.