"Imperial Shuttle, this is Clawbird Squadron. We have your ship surrounded and we will fire upon you unless you power down your shields and armaments. Failure to comply in ten seconds will result in your total annihilation. Do you copy?" came a voice over the intercom in the stolen Imperial shuttle manned by Han Solo. It had only been mere minutes since he exited Hyperspace in the sector given to him by the Sith assassin. He still didn't know why she would have given him this information, and expected a trap of some kind, but he was at least glad to be out of that torture rack and his prison. Han leaned over the cockpit's control panel and powered down the craft's shields and weapons and prepared the airlock for boarding. Through the cockpit's viewport, a Corellian Gunship appeared out of Hyperspace and brought itself along the lower section of the shuttle. Han could hear the boarding tube connect and lock into place. Any moment, the ship would be stormed by Rebels. Part of Han hoped that they'd simply put a blaster bolt through his temple as opposed to further interrogation.
"Clawbird Squadron from Imperial fugitive Han Solo. I'm powered down and awaiting your boarding party. I am not armed, and surrender to you willingly." Han rose from the pilots chair and moved to the center of the cabin, lowered himself to his knees, and placed his hands on top of his head. In the next second, six armed Rebel troopers stormed the cabin, weapons drawn on Solo.
"Han Solo, please rise and walk with us to our ship. Any sudden moves, and you will be executed immediately. Do you comply?" asked the nearest Rebel trooper.
"Yeah, I comply. Just get me off of this ship and I'd love a glass of water," said Han back in an even voice. "I have information for your squadron leader, and I'm not too keen on hanging around on this ship any more than I already have." With that, Han fell into step in the center of the pack of troopers, marching his way to the Corellian Gunboat awaiting him and his story. He really didn't have much hope of living past this. He didn't believe his own story, so why would anyone else? Once aboard the Corellian Gunship Tantive IV, Han was able to look outside a viewport and watched as a Rebel Alliance worker manned the stolen shuttle and flew off to destination unknown. That was the last thing he saw, as he was blinded by a black bag over his head and led away to a holding cell. Great, from the frying pan and into the fire. That blaster bolt was looking better by the moment.
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The sounds of lightsabers crashing against one another filled the training room, purple on red like flashes of flitter bugs in the night skies of Alderaan. Sweat glistened on Leia's body, her workout apparel covering only the bare minimum so as not to overheat or restrict her movements. While many Sith preferred armors, tattoos, and ornate garments, Leia preferred as little as possible. She didn't rely on fear of some corny outfit or a myriad of twisted tattoos, she made sure that any who looked upon her knew the face of their demise. Her tight, muscular abs twisted and flexed with each movement, while lines of violet and scarlet sweat trails entwined each sinewy fiber in her musculature. Her biceps flexed and heaved as she swung her lightsabers in tantalizing arcs and jabs, a mesmerizing light show which reflected darkly on the gleaming armor of her training opponent, Darth Vader. Leia preferred to spar with her father, not only because it was much more intense and useful than a roomful of droids and practice droids, or even an entire garrison of Stormtroopers, but because it continued to give her insight to her father's fighting tactics and strategies, all in hopes of finding weaknesses in his style that she would eventually exploit. Darth Leia's body erupted in a storm of violet energy, her Force power manifesting itself as a maelstrom of amaranthine destruction. She used her brilliant command of the Force to push her body past its limits and make her attacks even faster and more fluid. Pushing her limits even further, she lashed out with the Force and threw a Force Slam into the torso of Vader, hurling him backwards into the wall behind him. Without even a nanoseconds worth of pause, Leia reached out with the Force and hurled various bladed weapons which adorned the walls of the training room at her father, pushing them with enough velocity to pierce Vader's armor. At the last moment, the Dark Lord of the Sith erected a Force Shield to deflect the edged assault and rose again to his feet. With a quickness that surprised most, Vader closed the gap between himself and his daughter and again continued to hammer blows that would crush durasteel on her, each swing of his lightsaber expertly deflected by his apprentice and kin. Again, the cacophony of lightsaber combat rattled off the walls of the obliterated training room, each combatant willing to push themselves to the very edge, each unwilling to give the other an inch.
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Thena Skyblade sat alone in her room, staring at herself in the mirror of her refresher. She stared into her own beautiful, blue eyes, as azure as the oceans of Naboo. She stared into them, hoping to find a glimmer of her former life, innocent of warfare, unaware of any Galactic Civil War. All she saw were the eyes of an efficient, cold blooded killer. A sniper without equal, capable of putting a blaster bolt between the eyes of a Dug at ten kilometers in high winds, all she could remember was the body count, numbering in the thousands. Imperial and Rebel alike, she forgot who Thena Skyblade truly was. No longer could she remember the little girl who ran carefree over the plains of Naboo, her scarlet hair flowing in the summer breezes. No longer could she remember the faces of her mother and father, killed so many years ago when the Emperor ordered the massacre of the Naboo people, as well as the Gungans. Skyblade rose from her seat in front of the mirror to inspect the rest of her body. A beautiful, hourglass figure stood before her, her porcelain skin a light golden bronze, her voluptuous breasts heaving gently with each breath, her luscious red lips parting slightly to allow her sighs of regret pass them. If Thena were inclined to think about it, she would have perhaps thought that she would be considered beautiful by many people's standards. But all she could see when she scanned her body were her well trained shoulders, capable of hefting and steadying her sniper rifle. Her long, slender fingers, which only looked in her eyes to be instruments of death that pulled the trigger of said rifle. Where other saw an intensely ravishing woman, Thena Skyblade only saw a Harbinger of Death. Long ago, she did it to avenge the murders of her parents and to do what she felt was right. After her breaking at the hands of her now Mistress, the Dark Lady of the Sith known as Darth Leia, she did it to spare her own life. Soon, it wasn't about her own wellbeing, but instead to satiate the thirst for blood that had been instilled in her by her Mistress. However, a caged Tuk'ata who is poked and prodded, soon learns to bite the hands of its Master. Thena was tired of being the instrument of another's machinations. She was tired of taking the lives of the ones she once called allies and friends. She still loved the feel of her rifle kicking back against her shoulder, and the sound of a blaster bolt ripping through flesh. Now, however, she would again feel all of that as she tore through those worthless Stormtroopers. Even Darth Leia's Deathtroopers, though higher trained and outfitted, were no match for her fighting skills or blasters. Hell, she trained in hand-to-hand combat and close quarters combat at the hands of Darth Leia and Darth Vader themselves. There were very few who could go up against her and live to tell the tale.
Thena turned from the mirror, ashamed of what she was looking at and had become, and walked gracefully to her closet and opened it wide. Hanging there up front was the uniform that Mistress Leia had ordered to be created for her. The tight, black jumpsuit with black patent leather boots, belt, and shoulder pauldron did look good on her, an Angel of Death, but she hated wearing it. It represented the darkness with which she had become. She longed for the day when she could adorn her own combat suit again. She had done much planning for that moment. She supplied Solo with a comm code to give to the Rebel rendezvous once he had escaped, one that they would identify with her. Even if they suspected a trap, they would be prepared for when the Imperial assault came down on them. They will have evacuated any and all important personnel, leaving just enough to make the Empire think they crushed an entire cell of Rebels. She hoped that the right personnel would be on hand and would recognize her plans and facilitate them, whether they knew it or not. If not, she'd be dead, and it wouldn't matter at all anyway. Thena donned her combat suit, zipping up the back and attaching her pauldron. She placed her DL-44s in their holsters and slid her vibroknife in her left boot. Finally, she pulled her hair to both sides, winding them into buns on either side of her head. She was ready, whether she felt it or not. Skyblade walked over to her comm station and buzzed the control room to the Deathtrooper's Barraks.
"Attention Deathtroopers, Squads Delta and Bravo are to report to my ship immediately and prep for battle, full armaments required," said Thena in her most authoritative voice. She turned again to her mirror, took one last look at the fiend she had become, and turned in disgust, storming out of her room for the last time.
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"The time is rapidly approaching, my young pupil. The Force breaths winds of change in our direction, and I fear it is time to to confront our most ancient of opponents. Your training has all culminated to this point, and I think you are ready for what is to come."
"I feel it too, Master Obi-Wan. The enemy approaches and we must strike at them if the Alliance is to have any hope of rising once again. I've felt the Sith in the Force before Master, but this time it feels different. I can't place why, but something feels...more familiar. I've never faced Darth Vader or Darth Leia in battle, yet I can't help but feel a connection of some kind."
"My young friend, you have indeed become a powerful Jedi Knight. I've seen you rise to become stronger, faster, and more brilliant in the Force than even your father. You've faced many Dark Jedi and Sith Acolytes in the past, and your trials on Dagobah took you to the darkest depths of your own soul. The feeling of connection you feel is attributed to staring into your own dark places of your soul, nothing more," said Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. The venerable Jedi Master stood among the trees of Kashyyyk, tall and powerful. His muscular physique was hidden well in his dark green tunic, wrapped in his dark brown robe. His cybernetic arm clutched his lightsaber, azure blade extended at his side. His bearded face laid neatly in stark contrast to his cleanly bald scalp, his deep green eyes shone with brilliance in the dark of the depths of the forest floor. "Now, we must continue our workout and training, young Luke Skywalker. We must be prepared to join the Rebels shortly."
Luke Skywalker, tall and sinewy, stood at attention and ignited his viridian blade on his lightsaber. Standing in his Form V Attack pattern, his light grey tunic hanging over his navy pants, Luke enveloped himself in a jade fire, the manifest of his enormous Force potential. In the blink of an eye, he and his master crossed blades, the sizzle and clash of the electric fire resounding off the gigantic Wroshyr trees.
