Spike stood in the hanger bay of a Hammerhead Cruiser, staring out of the blue tinted transparent shields that separated the interior of the ship from the freezing void of space. The ship was teeming with activity, soldiers running around as they prepared the four shuttles that squatted in the hanger bay, readying them for the assault that lay ahead.
Outside the ship lay the planet of Flashpoint, the airless, barren rock seeming to glow as it drifted far too close to its sun for comfort. Spike knew that the planet was deadly, and that this assault would be hazardous at best for the soldiers with them, and deadly at worst, but they had never expressed any doubts. When Spike had called, they had answered.
“You’re sure they’re there?” Cortez asked, looking at Spike and Revan.
“I know Alek, I can sense him through the force.” Revan nodded. “He’s there alright, and…”
“And what?” Spike pressed.
“And he’s in pain.” Revan finished.
“The Mandalorians can be, creative, with their torture methods.” Spike said sullenly, suddenly exceptionally glad that he had convinced Revan to let him accompany him to Duxn.
“How you holding up Spike?” Cortez asked, catching the signs of Spikes darkening brow.
“We’ve got to get them out quickly. Else it drags on a bit.” Spike said dismissively, before turning to properly face Cortez.
The Sergeant was just like he had remembered, his features remaining as bland as ever, with the exception of a small scar across the bridge of his nose. His body was covered by an Enviro-suit, ready to be sealed as soon as the helmet was attached. The suits were unwieldy, and would make fighting hard, especially in the confined spaces of the research station far below them on the planet’s surface, but given the choice of a little discomfort or the possibility of dying due to being exposed to the surface of the planet, it was little wonder that the 59th had opted to break out the Enviro-suits.
Revan to had donned an Enviro-suit, this one being his own personal suit, and was a much more advanced model than the soldiers used, covering him in a skin-tight armoured bodysuit complete with a full face mask, the front of which was clear and allowed Revan a panoramic view of his surroundings.
Spike was the only member of the ground assault who had opted to not wear any sort of protective suit, the decision being as much a practical one as it was a choice. Spike wanted this to be over, too many bad memories of what Mandalorians could do when they wanted to were filling his head up here, and he didn’t want some bulky suit slowing him down. Besides, he knew he could survive in the void before, and his scales and lungs had only gotten stronger since then.
“Cortez. You never told me about how you got off Thresh.” Spike said, looking expectantly at the Sergeant.
“It’s quite simple really.” Cortez began. “A republic ship was close enough to catch our distress signal and came to pick us up. Your little friend Katara was on board as well. We managed to get back to the Mid Rim before the Mandalorian came back to the planets and sacked them. 59th was still operational, and I was still alive, so we were sent to Taris.”
“Sergeant. Jedi.” A soldier ran up, saluting as he looked at the three. “The shuttles are ready to go now, the men are standing by. We’re waiting on you.”
“Has the fleet made any movements towards this ship?” Revan asked.
“No my lord. We haven’t been detected yet and we are jamming their signals.”
“Good.” Revan nodded, before turning to Spike. “Spike, you know these men, and it would be hard pushed for me to claim to be the better swordsman, you have command of this mission.”
“Thank you.” Spike nodded back, before raising his voice. “All hands, prepare to launch! Helmets on and preserve atmosphere!”
Walking towards the shuttle that had been set aside for the two Jedi, Spike ducked through the door after allowing Revan to enter first. Once again, Spike would have been hard pressed to fit into any of the seats, so he was content to stand at the rear of the shuttle now that everyone had sat down. Touching his hand to his ear, Spike opened a wide band communication to the rest of the strike force.
“Alright listen up. We are going in to rescue hostages, Jedi captured on Suurja. There will hopefully be around one hundred of them and I don’t want to lose any of them to friendly fire. Check your targets and don’t hit the outside walls or the mag-shield, you may be suited up, but I can’t guarantee any of you that we’ll be the ones to bring you back in.”
“Sir! yes sir!” Came the chorus of replies, and Spike grinned. Even after all this time, the men of the Vipers still looked up to him for reasons other than being a Jedi. He had fought with these men before, and Spike would be fine with placing his life in the hands of any of them.
“Pilot! Punch this shit!” Spike roared, being forced back slightly as the shuttle powered out of the hanger.
All four of the shuttles sped towards the planet, keeping in formation as Spike continued to give orders to the strike force.
“First and second Platoons, you are with Revan and I. We are the assault group, it’s our job to draw the Mandalorians attention and rescue the prisoners. Third Platoon, you’re with Cortez and are responsible for securing the hanger. I want any ships that are space worthy checked over and prepared to get us out of here. Forth Platoon, make your way to the communications centre and jam their transmissions permanently. I don’t want them calling out for help. Is everyone clear?”
“Sir! yes sir!” came the reply again, and Spike braced himself for landing.
He did not have to wait long, and felt the tingling sensation that accompanied passing through a magnetic shield. Luckily for them the base was for research purposes, not military applications, and hadn’t been equipped with particle shields. If it had, this would have been a hell of a short mission. The ship screeched as it touched down before the rear door was flung open. With a roar, Spike stepped from the ship, igniting his Lightsabers and taking stock of the situation.
They had landed in the middle of the courtyard, and for the first time since they had entered high orbit over the planet, Spike could see more than just a plan of the facility. They had landed inside one of the many bubbles that made up the exterior of the base, the small, circular craters protected by a near-transparent shimmering Magnetic Shield that kept the atmosphere in and the deadly radiation from the sun out, and pockmarking the surface of the planet in blister like holes.
Most of the rest of the base was underground, these little blisters being the only bits that were visible from the air, meaning the base was actually very well protected by nature. Even if the mag-shields were shut down, the base supposedly had enough food to feed itself for over a year, meaning a siege would be a long affair. Luckily for Spike and the rest of the task force, this wasn’t a siege.
Leaping forward, Spike swung Dusk at the head of one of the Mandalorians, cleaving through his skull and brain, and cauterising the wound with a soft hiss. Not waiting to watch the body fall, Spike whipped around, swinging his tail as he went and catching the legs of another Mandalorian, before stabbing forward with both Lightsabers, embedding them in his chest.
By now, Republic troops were pouring from the two shuttles that had landed here, Revan already leading a squad forward and working his way towards the entrance to the base as a whole. Only two of the four shuttles had landed here to form the main assault, drawing the other Mandalorians from the rest of the base so that the other two teams had less chance of being stopped before they reached their objectives. Everything on this plan hinged on each member of the strike force operating in complete concert with each other.
“Revan! Open that door!” Spike bellowed, deflecting a few shots, before jumping forward at the Mandalorian who was firing them, neatly bisecting him.
“One minute!” Revan roared back, the Jedi fiddling with a control panel beside the airtight blast-door.
He could have just cut it open, using his Lightsaber to easily slice through the thick metal, or even use the force to rip it from its moorings, but that would have made the next phase difficult. They would be in a base surrounded by enemies, the last thing they needed would be an open door giving them the possibility of venting the entire base, and in the case of that, Spike didn’t rate the Enviro-suits the 59th were wearing. The Neo-Crusader armour that his enemies wore was better at both protecting them from blaster shots and protecting them from the void. If they were capable of flying through the void on the back of Basalisk War Droids, then Spike valued the design. He knew no Republic soldier would risk doing that.
“I’m in!” Revan roared, and Spike quickly made his way over to the Jedi, the Republic soldiers doing another check on their weapons before following the Jedi inside.
“Looks pretty tight in there.” Spike muttered, looking at the door.
“Yeah, how’s that height working for you?” Revan asked dryly. “You can either go first and block out line of sight, but protect everyone behind you, or you can go last and allow the others to fire, but not be able to fight yourself. Preference?”
“First. Stay on my tail and keep close.” Spike affirmed, before positioning himself in front of the door. “On my go. Three…two…one…go!”
The door slid open with a crash, and instantly Spike was moving forward, his Lightsabers flashing and sparking as they deflected the blaster bolts that were being hurled at him. The Mandalorians had taken the bait, and had set up their defences here, from the looks of things getting almost every Mandalorian in the base to repulse this attack, which worked fine for Spike.
It was hard work, each step being accompanied by a jolt as yet another Blaster bolt hit his blades, making this an uphill struggle. More than once, a bolt hit him in the lower legs, and Spike howled in pain as he was driven to a halt again, but he never fell. Everyone behind him was counting on his bulk to protect them, to make sure that they would be fine when they got near enough to spread out and begin returning fire. Until that time though, it was just Spike and Desolation, his alter-ego howling in his head to be let loose, to spill blood and to give into his bestial side.
Roaring, Spike squashed Desolation back into the recesses of his mind, before unleashing fire. The flames roared as they rushed down the tight corridor, consuming the oxygen as they sought out anything they could reduce to ash. The Mandalorians were completely unprepared for such an attack, and seemed to falter, many screaming as their armour bubbled and melted, fusing to their skin as it slowly cooked them alive. Spike took no pleasure in causing pain, even to the Mandalorians, but sometimes you had to break a few eggs to make an omelette.
Screaming, Spike lashed out, finding himself in the middle of the Mandalorian lines. He made sure to strike down those who were screaming first, putting them out of their misery, and praying that whatever Gods looked down on this universe wouldn’t curse him.
“Now!” Revan shouted, and suddenly Spike found republic troops swarming around him as the corridor widened out, firing indiscriminately into the wavering Mandalorian troops. They may have been brave, seeking glory on the battlefield, but they were still normal men, and this was the final straw.
It started with one turning and running back down the corridor, followed by a few more, until every one of them was running back down the corridor, fleeing the advancing Republic troops. As far as Spike could see, they hadn’t lost anyone, while the Mandalorians had scores of dead here. So far, this had been fairly successful, but it was not over yet.
“A good start wouldn’t you say?” Revan asked, moving up beside Spike.
“A good start yes, but far from over.” Spike grumbled, looking down the two corridors that lay before them. “We have to split up. Want to take the left or the right?”
“I’ll go left. I have a bad experience going right.” Revan chuckled. “Second Platoon, with me!”
Revan raised his Lightsaber, drawing a cheer from the men of the second Platoon, before running down the left passage way. Spike watched him go with a little twinkle in his eyes. Revan was odd, a natural born leader, and easily as skilled as Spike in swordsmanship and the force, despite the gap in years.
“First Platoon! You don’t want the second showing you up do you?!” Spike bellowed, before charging down the right passageway.
Spike sprinted through the corridors, his long strides quickly eating up the distance down the corridors. He could already feel the presence of the Jedi imprisoned here, as well as something else. It was tiring Desolation within him, and Spike scowled as he realised what this place was. This was just a new Maryx, and he’d be dammed if he didn’t see the commander of this place to the same fate as the other Mandalorian.
Approaching a locked blast door, Spike didn’t slow, throwing his shoulder against the heavy metal surface. The metal buckled but didn’t give, but it was enough for Spike, and he could already hear shouting on the other side. Plunging his Lightsabers into the edges of the door, Spike began to cut around the edges, before drawing back his foot and planting a solid kick into the weakened metal, enhancing his strength even further with the force. The door didn’t stand up to it this time, and flew backwards, exposing the room beyond.
The room was large, but barely lit, cells lining both walls. The door had been flung to the back of the room, a single boot donating that the unlucky guard had been standing in its way as it smashed into the rear wall. Panting slightly, Spike deactivated his Lightsabers and waved the soldiers behind him into the room.
“Open the cells up.” He ordered, before walking over to one of them and looking at the Jedi who was slowly getting to his feet within. “Alek?”
“Spike?” He squinted, leaning on the bars as he looked up at Spike.
The man had been badly treated, that much was obvious. His hair had been roughly cut or pulled out, leaving the man bald save for a few black tufts here and there, the scars that were covering it oozing blood down onto the rest of his face, and into his defiant eyes.
“We’re here to get you out, Revan and I.” Spike said, igniting his Lightsaber and cutting the lock off the door, wrenching it open and catching Alek as he stumbled forward.
“Revan’s here to0?” Alek asked, pushing off from Spike and standing un aided.
“Yes.” Spike nodded. “You there, soldier. I want you to lead the Jedi to the shuttles.”
“Very good sir. What about you?” The soldier asked.
“Alek, tell me who did this.” Spike asked, turning back to face the man.
“Demagol.” Alek spat, the word dripping with venom. “Let me come with you Spike. I owe that bastard a visit.”
“No.” Spike said simply. “You’re going to go with the soldiers and get to the shuttles. I’ll deal with this ‘Demagol’. Don’t worry, I won’t kill him. You’ll get a chance to see him again.”
“Much obliged.” Alek nodded, before turning to look at the other Jedi. “Come on, we need to get to the ships quickly.”
“Where is Demagol?” Spike asked, turning Alek back to face him.
“His lab’s down there.” Alek pointed down a corridor at the far end of the room.
“Revan?” Spike asked, pressing his hand to his ear.
“What?” Revan snapped, the sound of battle perforating the man’s speech.
“I’ve got the Jedi. Fall back to the ships and prepare the explosives.” Spike ordered.
“Copy that, I’ll see you there.” Revan replied.
“I’ve got to find someone first. Wait for me.” Spike ordered, before letting the comlink go dead.
“Good luck Spike.” Alek said as he exited the room. “Be careful with him.”
“Don’t worry, I know how to deal with men like him.” Spike grinned.
“There aren’t any men like him.” Alek warned.
“There were,” Spike grimaced, “but they didn’t mix well with Lava.”
With that, Spike took off down the corridor. Reaching the end of the corridor, Spike saw an unlocked door, gingerly pushing it to one side and glancing at the room beyond.
It was circular, the only light emanating from two spotlights on the end of telescopic arms pointing at an operating table, a blood spattered operating table. All around the room were needles and knives, ranging from crude butches weapons to precision laser scalpels. All in all, it looked like a much more advanced version of the chamber he had inhabited over thirty years ago. The room was however, conspicuously empty, and there was no sign of Demagol.
Walking inside, Spike suddenly felt a sharp pain in his chest, and looked down to see a large needle filled with a noxious green liquid embedded in his chest. Looking over to his right, Spike saw the person holding the needle.
He was tall and lithe by human standards, and his armour was closer to that of the old Mandalorians rather than the Neo-Crusaders. The majority of his body was covered by a tight black bodysuit, the fabric shining slightly as light hit it. The only bits that were actually armoured were his chest and his head, both of which had been modified to hold needles and other implements or surgery and torture.
“There there, don’t worry.” The Mandalorian who Spike assumed was Demagol said in a motherly like tone. “You may feel a bit woozy in a moment, just count down from ten and let me help you.”
“Demagol, are you sure we should be doing this now?” Another Mandalorian asked, this one wearing golden Neo-crusader armour.
“But of course Pulsipher, this represents an enormous opportunity for us.” Demagol smiled, before turning back to Spike. “I must say, I was impressed by what I saw on the monitors.”
“A needle?” Spike deadpanned, looking down at the instrument sticking out of his chest, the green liquid now having reduced by half.
“Yes, I gave you half a dose, you should survive.” Demagol said sweetly. “You are most welcome here you know. I have an endless supply of theories about your Jedi abilities, yet I keep running out of Jedi."
“Seriously, a needle?” Spike growled, pulling the needle out slowly and looking at it. “I’ve been shot at, fallen into lava, been attacked by the Dark Side of the Force, crossed blades with Sith warriors, survived in the vacuum of space and survived Mandalorian torture for over a month, and you use a needle?”
Demagol and Pulsipher took a step back, clearly unnerved by Spikes apparent resilience to whatever they injected him with. Clearly things weren’t following their little plan.
“I survived on Ranox for six months without supplies, and I got off world while the entire planet was hunting me, and you think this will stop me?”
As Spike spoke, he lifted the blade to my syringe to his mouth, flicked off the blood, and then began to eat it from the tip. Chewing each bite deliberately, he maintained his stare at Demagol, refusing to even blink as he chewed further down the needle. As he reached the glass container half full of liquid, Spike poured the stuff into his mouth, grunting slightly as it burnt his throat, but nothing he couldn’t handle, before clamping down on the rest of the syringe and swallowing.
“I am Spike, Jedi knight of the Holy Jedi order. I survived the Great Sith War, I lived through the horrors your kind inflicted upon me on Maryx Minor, and I defied the council to take the fight back to you. I am the beast, the curse of Ranox.” Spike growled.
“That was you?” Demagol asked in shock. “Mandalore said they killed him.”
“I’m still here, and so is Desolation.” Spike grinned, showing his teeth in a slight snarl. “I’ll give you one chance, come with me, as prisoners, or I’ll kill you.”
“You’re a Jedi.” Demagol sneered. “Jedi don’t kill prisoners.”
“No, they don’t.” Spike agreed. “But Desolation does. Now, one chance, live or die the choice is yours.”
“Fucking Jedi!” Pulsipher screamed, leaping forward, drawing a knife as he went.
“I warned you.” Spike said softly, before his eyes glinted yellow, and Spike was no more.
Shooting a hand out, Desolation easily caught Pulsipher’s weapon arm, plucking the knife from his hand and discarding it, before switching his grip to his neck, holding him in one hand as he lifted him from the floor. With his free hand, Desolation ripped off the man’s helmet, revealing a bald man beneath.
Pulsipher struggled in Desolations grip, trying to get free, but his armour was now working against him, giving the beast a place to hold onto as he observed his prey.
“Game over.” Desolation snarled, before he clamped his jaws over the man’s head.
Whipping his neck from side to side, Desolation ripped the man’s head from his neck, dropping the decapitated corpse to the floor as he swallowed, before advancing towards Demagol, the scientist now backing up until he hit the wall.
Reaching out, Desolation grabbed hold of the doctor as he had done with Pulsipher, removing his helmet and snarling, blowing a ring of smoke into the man’s face. He looked human, apart from the red skin in place of the pale pink skin on most humans.
“If we had more time, I’d make use of this room.” Desolation said casually, looking around at the medical instruments. “As it is, well, let’s just say it’s not an option.”
“What are you?” Demagol asked, looking up at Spike with something akin to fear in his eyes.
“Pissed off.” Desolation snarled, before slamming Demagol against the wall.
The Mandalorian slumped in Spikes grip as he was knocked unconscious, and after a quick check to see if he was still breathing, was slung over Desolations shoulder. Stooping down, Desolation grabbed Demagol’s fallen helmet, before running from the room, heading for the shuttles.
It did not take him long, even after stepping over the corpses of Mandalorians on his way, and he quickly emerged onto the surface again, looking out at a series of shuttles, four of which had originally ferried them to the surface, and the rest which had been stored at the base. Walking over towards where Alek and Revan were standing, Desolation unceremoniously dropped the unconscious Mandalorian on the floor.
“Time to go I think.” Desolation quipped, looking at the two.
“Desolation?” Revan asked.
“Spike.” Alek pointed out, looking at Revan in confusion.
“Complicated.” Desolation pushed. “We should go now, I don’t want to spend any longer here.”
“Agreed. We’ll explain on the way home.” Revan nodded, before raising his voice. “Sergeant! Have the wounded been loaded onto the transports?!”
“Yes sir! First shuttles are about to lift off, the rest are ready to go when you are all aboard!” Cortez replied, leaning out of the back of one of the shuttles.
“Let’s go then.” Alek said, running towards the shuttle, followed closely by Revan. Desolation stooped down to pick up the body of Demagol, before running after the pair, careful to keep hold of the helmet. Demagol had thought he had died, and he wasn’t going to have that. It was time the Mandalorians knew what sort of nest they had kicked when they came back.
***
Desolation was standing on the bridge of the ship, a jury-rigged comlink in his hand as he fiddled with a dial on the side. The wounded were being given medical treatment below, and the engineers were priming the ship to jump to Hyperspace. All in all, this had been an exceptionally good raid, very few fatalities amongst the 59th, none among the Jedi prisoners, and so far the Mandalorian fleet didn’t even know anything had gone wrong.
Smiling as he finally found the right frequency, Desolation decided he was going to change that last point.
“Mandalorian fleet, this is Desolation.” He growled into the comlink. “Your planet has fallen, your doctor is ours, your men are dead, and the base will soon be destroyed. You are not strong. You are not mighty. This is the second time I have disrupted your plans, and yet I live on. Continue to face the Republic, and you can face my wrath again. I am waiting. The Curse of Ranox is waiting.”