Great support deserves a big chapter so here u go
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"Not bad," Ali muttered, his tone even, though the faintest trace of approval lingered in his words. He knelt by a pile of sun-bleached bones, his sharp, black eyes scanning them. Bits of torn fabric and the faint glint of metal dog tags confirmed what he already suspected. "That's the missing squad," he said, standing and brushing the red sand from his knees.
Without another word, the duo left the grotesque den behind and began walking toward their speeders parked a short distance away. The sun cast long shadows over the desert, painting the jagged rocks and dunes in hues of crimson and orange. The air hung heavy, with the tension of unseen eyes upon them.
Ali's steps remained measured, unhurried, as his instincts honed by years of danger whispered of an observer nearby. He kept his posture calm and voice steady as he spoke, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Drogath, do not act out of the ordinary. Keep walking."
Drogath, ever the loyal warrior, nodded subtly and continued his steady pace beside Ali.
"Someone is watching us," Ali said in a low, almost inaudible voice. "Northwest. I can't see them yet, which means they're far, but they're there. Gather the Force. On my signal, grab my arm and launch me in that direction. Full strength. No hesitation."
Drogath grunted his acknowledgment, his massive hands flexing as he prepared for the move. They walked another minute, their steps crunching softly against the sand, nearing the speeders where the desert winds muffled the sound of their approach. Ali's eyes remained forward, his body language betraying nothing.
"Now," Ali ordered suddenly, his voice sharp.
Without a second thought, Drogath's colossal hand gripped Ali's outstretched arm, his Force-enhanced muscles tensing as he swung Ali with all his might. The power behind the throw was staggering; the very air seemed to shatter as Ali soared like a human missile through the sky. The momentum from Drogath's monstrous strength turned Ali into a blur against the fiery horizon.
Mid-flight, Ali's keen eyes spotted the target. An alien figure clad in the standard acolyte uniform crouched in the distance, binoculars in hand. The spy's antennae twitched in alarm as they registered the impossible sight of a masked human flying toward them. In a panic, the figure fumbled with the binoculars, dropping them into the sand, and scrambled toward a speeder parked nearby.
Ali landed with precision but too much force to come to an immediate stop. His boots skidded against the sand, and he tumbled into a controlled roll before springing back into a full sprint. The transition was seamless, his movements fluid as if this had been practiced a hundred times.
The spy managed to reach the speeder and ignited its engine with frantic speed. The hum of the repulsorlift grew louder as the speeder began to rise, but it didn't get far. The spy pushed the throttle to maximum, but the vehicle jerked to a halt, trembling in place as if an invisible hand gripped it tightly.
The spy turned to look over their shoulder, terror etched across their face. Ali stood several meters away, his hand outstretched, fingers clawed as he manipulated the speeder with the Force. The mask's crimson sheen glinted ominously in the sunlight, amplifying the sinister presence that emanated from him.
"You're not going anywhere," Ali said, his voice darkened further by the mask, each word a promise of doom.
He clenched his fist slowly, and the speeder responded by crumpling in on itself with a sickening metallic groan. The repulsorlift engine sputtered and failed, causing the ruined vehicle to drop heavily onto the sand. The spy was thrown from their seat, landing hard on their back with a pained gasp.
Ali advanced, his every step deliberate, carrying an aura of impending death. The spy, clutching at their sides, raised a trembling hand to summon the Force in a last-ditch effort to defend themselves.
CRACK.
The sound was sickening and immediate. The spy's forearm snapped, bending at a grotesque angle that left the bone threatening to pierce through his skin.
"Huh?" the alien acolyte muttered in confusion, his mind racing to process what had happened. His head turned to inspect the injury, and his eyes widened in horror when he realised his hand was gone—dangling uselessly at an unnatural angle.
"AAAAAAAAAAHHHH!" The alien screamed in agony, tears streaming down his face as he clutched at the shattered arm.
Ali stood over him, silent and unmoving. His weapon, the grotesque, pulsating red blade of his quinque, flew from his back and hovered beside him. With a snap of his fingers, the blade disappeared from it's position, stabbing into the sand next to the spy's head. Its presence alone silenced his screams, replacing terror with a resigned whimper.
"Please… no… I-I was forced to do this!" the spy cried, mucus dripping from his nose as he trembled violently. "He made me do it! I didn't want to spy on you—please, don't kill me!"
"I know," Ali said coldly. His voice was calm, detached, as if he were discussing the weather. "I know who sent you. But you're weak. You're a slave who let themselves be thrown to the wolves. And now you'll pay the price for it."
The spy's sobs grew louder as Ali slowly raised his hand.
"Please!" He screamed, his voice breaking. "I'll do anything—"
SLASH.
The quinque descended with the precision of a guillotine, severing the acolyte's head in one swift, final motion. The crimson sands drank the blood eagerly as the lifeless body slumped into stillness.
Moments later, Drogath arrived on his speeder, pulling Ali's vehicle behind him. He stepped off, towering over the scene of death. His yellow eyes scanned the remains of the acolyte's broken body.
"Died for nothing," Drogath muttered, his deep voice carrying an unexpected tinge of regret.
Ali glanced at him, his tone firm yet instructive. "Many die for nothing. Make sure you're not one of them—or let anyone you care about fall like he did."
Drogath considered Ali's words carefully. With a heavy stomp, he shifted the sand beneath his feet, allowing the acolyte's remains to vanish beneath the desert. A quiet burial for a life that meant little in the grand scheme of Korriban.
As they mounted their speeders and headed back to the academy, Ali's mind churned with silent thoughts. 'He has compassion for the weak. A rare thing here. But Drogath will kill when I command him to. That much is certain.'
Ali and Drogath headed back to the hangar, their speeders kicking up faint trails of red sand as they slowed to a stop at the designated parking area. The hangar was alive with the usual flurry of activity: troopers moving crates, droids unloading supplies from a massive cargo freighter, and officers barking orders to keep the chaos in check.
Ali dismounted his speeder and casually surveyed the bustling scene, his black eyes sharp and calculating behind the red and black mask. He walked a few steps away from Drogath, appearing to stretch his legs after their ride, but in reality, his gaze was fixed on one of the industrial lifters—a massive machine designed to hoist heavy cargo.
He had been studying this lifter for days, ever since it caught his attention during their earlier trips to the hangar. It was a rugged, heavily used piece of equipment, its mechanisms exposed to wear and tear from years of service. Ali's sharp instincts had identified a specific vulnerability: a large screw deeply embedded within the lift engine, barely visible beneath a maze of wires and hydraulic components.
'This should cause a ruckus,' Ali thought as he leaned casually against a nearby pillar, his posture relaxed but his focus razor-sharp.
Ali closed his eyes momentarily, reaching out with the Force. His perception expanded, zeroing in on the lifter. He could sense the intricate details of the machine: the tension in the hydraulic arms, the faint hum of the motor, and most importantly, the tiny vibrations of the screw he intended to sabotage.
Through the Force, he began to rotate the screw, millimetre by millimetre. The effort required precision—too much Force would snap it outright, alerting the workers, while too little wouldn't achieve the result he wanted.
The screw resisted at first, its threads deeply embedded in the machinery. Ali applied more pressure, subtly increasing the rotation. The metallic groan of the screw loosening was inaudible amidst the din of the hangar, but Ali felt it in the Force as the tension in the lifter began to shift.
Drogath, standing nearby, glanced at Ali. He knew better than to interrupt but remained watchful, his towering frame serving as a natural deterrent to any wandering troopers.
Ali continued to work, his control unwavering. The screw turned slowly, its threads grinding against the metal housing as it edged further out of place. With each turn, the lifter grew more unstable, the strain on its components increasing as it struggled to balance its heavy load.
A faint shudder ran through the machine as the screw reached the tipping point. Ali sensed it immediately. He released his hold on the lifter and stepped back, blending seamlessly into the background of the bustling hangar. To any observer, he was just another acolyte preparing for his next mission.
"Let's go to the commander," Ali said quietly to Drogath.
Drogath nodded, following Ali out of the hangar and toward the commander's office. The guards stationed at the door recognised them and stepped aside, allowing the duo to enter.
Inside, the commander sat at his desk, scanning through a data pad. He looked up as they approached. "Ali and Drogath, please tell me you know what happened to my men," he said, his tone impatient.
Ali kept his voice calm, masking the layers of calculation beneath. "We found your men's speeders out in the desert. They were crushed by something very strong," he began.
The commander furrowed his brow but didn't interrupt.
"We followed a trail left behind by the attacker into a cave in the desert. There, we found a nest of Drexarids. Tens of adults and offspring," Ali continued, delivering the report with clinical precision.
"It's good you found them. I'll send a plato—"
CRASH.
The sound of metal collapsing echoed from the hangar, followed by shouts of alarm. The commander's head snapped toward the door, his face twisting with irritation. "What the fuck was that?" he barked, rising from his chair.
One of the guards opened the door, sticking his head out before reporting back. "Commander, the cargo fell, and two of our guys are stuck under it!"
"Useless bastards…" the commander growled, striding toward the door. He glanced over his shoulder at Ali and Drogath. "You two, wait here."
The door slammed shut behind him, leaving the room eerily quiet.
Ali turned to Drogath, his tone shifting to a low, commanding whisper. "Get the door and keep watch. Let me know if anyone's coming."
Drogath blinked in surprise but quickly complied, stepping to the door and positioning himself to guard against interruptions.
Ali moved toward the commander's desk with deliberate speed. His eyes flicked to the security camera mounted on the wall above, its lens now tilted slightly off-axis. Ali had disabled it earlier during the commotion, keeping it in place with the Force to avoid suspicion.
He extended his hand, and the camera floated free from its mount, its circuitry sparking faintly. Ali guided it gently to the floor, where it lay inert.
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