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While the battle rages on in space, one specially designed strike team goes in search of the Dark Lord of the Sith...
[ooc: black font = Bastila, blue font = Revan, stay tuned for the NPC post to follow~]
Dust stings her eyes as Bastila forces herself to press forward, hands, slicked with sweat, gripping the handle of her double-bladed lightsaber tightly. Rubble falls from the explosion, but her squad mates deflect it easily with telekinesis, creating a veritable shield with the Force. The Strike team was chosen specifically for their talent with Force manipulation, all of them qualifying under the Consular class.
All save one. Herself.
Bastila inhales. She cannot lose focus at a time like this. Not with so much at stake, not with trillions of lives on the line, and the galaxy in threat of tyranny.
Not with a monster in need of stopping.
The lessons of her Masters are in the forefront of her mind, and she steels herself before taking off in a dead sprint, knowing Revan awaited.
He’s surprised, and perhaps it’s because this is the first time he’s felt that sort of emotion in awhile.
Revan has been carefully putting all the pieces in place for over a year now, and to see even the slightest flaw in his design is both something that enrages him and intrigues him. He’s heard of her, of course. Her skill is what has been saving the Republic, been keeping them afloat as he threatens to drown them all. His anger and irritation fills him, the dark side growing stronger, and behind the mask he wears, he smiles.
He waits for them to come to him, working out the ways that this can play out, can end, and each of them only ends with their failure to bring him down.
A pity, especially in the case of their leader. Such promise, such talent.
His presence washes over her like a smothering blanket, and Bastila feels her breath catch in her throat, her feet fall slower against the ground. All of her training, all of the battles have lead to this moment.
Revan.
She sees him down the hall, back turned towards them all, isolated and alone. There are no guards, no detail. Hardly surprising, considering the rumors attached to him. He would find himself above such things. Above loyalty. Above the Order.
Bastila hopes some of the rumors surrounding this former Jedi aren’t true. Because they claim the hero of the Mandalorian Wars is unbeatable.
“Darth Revan,” she says clearly, her voice shaking slightly towards the end, thumb poised over the ignition switch of her saber, “You are to come with us, and surrender to the Grand Council.”
Even after she and her team have arrived, after she addresses him with her shaky declaration, he doesn’t turn. There’s a brief moment of silence before he speaks, an amused tone to his voice. “Am I? What if I don’t wish to surrender, dear Bastila?”
Finally, he turns to face her. His weapon remains at his side, but he is never truly powerful. Not when he commands the Force. Not when he is reveling in the power of the dark side. From behind his Mandalorian mask, he glances her over. Young, overconfident, and yet unsure.
Her team is the same, almost a reflection of their leader. It would be so sweet, he thinks, to turn the one team handpicked by the Council to his side. Make them allies and send them back out against the Republic, have them help to crush the Jedi Order.
“I’m afraid I’ll need to decline this offer.”
Her training tells her that it is time to attempt a new tactic, a different means towards achieving peaceful resolution, and offering an exit strategy that results in no bloodshed.
Bastila inhales, closing her eyes for a moment. She is afraid.
Fear leads to anger.
“Very well, Revan. You have made your choice.”
She hears the static hiss of lightsabers igniting around her, and she kneels down, closing her eyes.
Focus.
Her shaky inhale stills.
There is no death, there is the Force.
The auras of the Jedi, of Revan, begin to flicker behind her closed eyes.
Revan lifts one hand, squeezing his fingers slowly as one of the Jedi accompanying Shan lifts from the ground. He emits choked sounds of desperation before there’s a soft, subtle cracking noise, and the man falls limp in Revan’s Force grip. It all happens in a matter of seconds. The Sith Lord tosses the corpse against the walls of his ship as he takes a step forward, taking the lightsaber from his belt and igniting the blade with a snap-hiss.
He advances on the other strike team member.
The ship shakes.
An explosion can be heard.