Saga - OT Saga - Legends Star Wars -- The Force Unleashed III

It is a time of renewed HOPE for the Rebel Alliance! With the surprise return of the mysterious STARKILLER, General RAHM KOTA's fleet launched a swift and decisive strike at the Empire's cloning facilities on KAMINO. Though many lives were lost, their sacrifices were not in vain as the rebels have scored their first victory over the Emperor Palpatine... with the capture of his dark enforcer, DARTH VADER!

With the Dark Lord in Alliance custody, General Kota has been charged with bringing him back to the rebel base on the planet DANTOOINE where Vader is to stand trial before the leaders of the Rebel Alliance for his crimes against civilization itself. The trial and subsequent execution of the Empire's Dark Knight will be the spark that the rebels hope will ignite flames of open rebellion against the Emperor.

And as Vader's trial looms, Starkiller must battle his inner demons to figure out what exactly he is--the real Galen Mark or a clone? His lover, JUNO ECLIPSE, assures him that he is the real Starkiller but Starkiller himself is not sure. The only hope to finding out about the truth of his identity lies with the monster he's battled with all his life: Darth Vader.




NOTE: This is a non-profit fanfiction of the Star Wars franchise and I do not own any rights to it whatsoever. This is just my attempt of answering the questions that people have been curious about for the past thirteen years; what happened to Starkiller and his allies?

This will not be a happy story, but it will have moments of hope and light to balance out the grimdark materials. Time is set several months before the Battle of Yavin IV...

 

You've got me intrigued. Looking forward to where you take this.

 

CHAPTER 1
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The Imperial Star Destroyer Devastator glided through the starship ruins that hung in Kamino's orbit.

Its mighty frame pushed aside the wreckage of smaller, less imposing vessels that bore both Imperial markings and the accursed rebel starbird that had been growing more in popularity in the past year. If there was any consolation to the sight of that damned symbol, it was that there were more rebel ships floating dead in space than there were Imperial. Sadly, even that small consolation was squandered by the sight of five Imperial Star Destroyers, the same model as Devastator herself, torn apart and left to float aimlessly in space. So far, there had been no survivors from any of the ImpStars.

Commodore Mertok Tion, lord of the Tion Hegemony and Imperial nobleman, took in the aftermath of the greatest military disaster in the Empire's history with barely concealed scorn. To think that a small band of insurgents could've brought the mighty Starfleet to its knees through trickery and surprise. It was disgraceful as it was humbling to look at. He had been led to believe that the rebels were nothing more than old Separatist fighters and backwater farmers, carrying slug throwers and using old freighters retrofitted into attack cruisers.

In the Emperor's court on Imperial Center, he had enjoyed telling many a tales about this nascent rebellion to fat nobles and court-dwellers through several rounds of drinks. He had chortled at how every time there was another uprising or terrorist attack carried out in the name of the so-called Rebel Alliance, those who waved their banner would cower and surrender almost immediately at the sight of his Devastator in orbit.

We could practically win the war in a fortnight, he almost had to shout over the cackles of the other nobles. If His Majesty would give each captain a Star Destroyer to command.

But now?

Now he wasn't finding anything funny about this situation. Not in the slightest.

"Status," he called out to the ship's comm officer.

The young man typed rapidly at the monitor on his screen, stared at it for a few minutes, before pursing his lips and shook his head. "Negative, commodore," he said with regret. Tion fought the urge to shout at him for showing such emotion on his bridge. "Scans are showing no other life-signs in the debris field from this sector."

"And the others? Any word from the Liberator or the Imperialist?"

He checked again, taking longer this time. Too long. Tion's hand started to twitch, fighting the urge to strangle the young officer for such speed before (mercifully) the officer looked up. And with the same expression as before.

"They said--"

"I get the point," he growled, turning on his heel to stare back out the viewport. "And next time, be sure to mask your true feelings before you answer. I'd rather get the info from someone who looked like they didn't come from the nearest morgue."

Tion heard the officer gulp and timidly respond with a, "Yessir" before the bridge faded back into its usual ambience. The sounds of loyal Imperial officers, working and quietly conferring data with one another in an organized and precise manner brought a small smile to Tion's face. At the very least, most of his soldiers would know by now to hide their emotions on the situation from him, lest they provoke his wrath. He'll be sure to remind the young comm officer of this soon enough.

His eyes drifted back out to the debris field, face souring as he caught sight of one of the burnt-out husks of an ImpStar. Scrunching his eyes, he could just make out the name stenciled into its underbelly: The Immovable.

Well, we can clearly see that its name didn't live up to her captain's expectations. The bloody thing looked like it was smashed through by another cruiser.

Which would probably the wreckage of that Nebulon-B frigate in the middle of Timira City. Such barbaric actions disgusted him. To think that the cowardly rebels would sacrifice their own ships for a suicide run onto their main objective, not even caring for the civilian workers who worked in the city below. Many human scientists and personnel, along with the Kaminoan skeleton staff that wandered the halls, were found dead in their laboratories or crushed beneath the wreckage of Timira City. From what ground troops reported in, no one had survived. And if they had, they would be in the custody of the rebels right now.

Along with the one who oversaw their operation here... Darth Vader.

On that, Tion shivered but quickly turned around to make sure that no one had noticed. His eyes scanned the room, looking for any signs of anyone who saw him perform that gesture. To his relief, none had taken their eyes off their respective station. Good.

But still, the thought troubled him.

He had been a young lad, barely reaching the age of his manhood, when the Clone Wars ravaged the galaxy and couldn't remember the days of the Old Republic and its slow, bureaucratic decadence. But he could recall the day that the Emperor called for the heads of all the Jedi Knights for their betrayal and the reformation of the Republic into the powerhouse that was the Galactic Empire today. And he was sure no one would forget the feelings of horror that spread across the galaxy of Lord Vader's first public appearance on Kashyyyk.

Vader was an enigmatic figure within the Empire's hierarchy. Supreme commander of His Majesty's Imperial Starfleet and reclusive Dark Lord of the Sith, a different religious branch of the Jedi Order or something similar to that, the man (if one could even call him that with his cybernetics and that awful, terrible breathing of his) had free reign to carry out his own business within any sector under the Emperor's thumb, answering to none but the galactic monarch himself.

Tion had heard many stories from veteran officers and those who worked alongside or served under Vader's crew in the past. Stories told with trembling lips and dead eyes of how he could strangle people to death with his mind, of charging alone into a battlefield of a thousand warriors and coming out with nary a scratch on his armor. He was death incarnate, a reaper whose purpose was to extinguish all life as the Emperor commands it.

He had scoffed at those ideas until a joint mission with the Dark Lord several years later wisely corrected him. They had combined their fleets together to quell a rebel uprising on Mygeeto and Tion had been surprised at the time by the heavy armor that the rebel insurgents had brought out; Clone Wars-era Separatist dreadnoughts and Republic-class starfighters, which had torn through their ranks like maggots feasting on a bloated corpse.

Tion had called for a retreat at the time, but a message from Darth Vader put a stop to that. The message was short and to the point, typical of the Dark Lord's personality, but the words chilled his blood like none other before.

"MOVING TO ENGAGE THE ENEMY IN CLOSE-FIGHTER COMBAT. HOLD FORMATION OR SUFFER THE CONSEQUENCES."

He proceeded to watch a single TIE Fighter leave the hanger bay of Vader's flagship and was horrified to learn that the Dark Lord would be engaging the enemy alone. But as Vader flew on, Tion's horror turned to astonishment and then vindication at the sight of rebel ship after rebel ship being obliterated by Vader's TIE. The dreadnoughts, panicking at the loss of their starfighters, broke formation and attempted to box the Sith in for a kill, which allowed Tion to finally see what Vader's plan had been all along; distract the enemy commanders and secure his fleet the kill.

The victory was costly but well-earned, and he had earned himself a nice comfy spot in the Emperor's court for his courageous valor. But that day, he knew that the stories about Vader--however outlandish they may be--had a grain of truth to them.

And now, Vader was gone. Captured by someone--or people? Tion wasn't sure which one terrified him more--that had enough power and skill to defeat even the Dark Lord in combat. And if that person (or persons?) was aiding the rebels in their fight, then dark times were ahead for the Empire and its people.

"Commodore! Incoming message from the governor," the communications officer spoke up, breaking Tion from his thoughts. He whirled around to glare at the young man, who faltered momentarily before spitting out the rest. "He, uh-- he wishes to discuss the Kamino search-and-rescue with you. Privately."

Tion glared at the man a few seconds longer, enjoying the feeling that he got from watching such a sniveling fool shiver under his gaze. And then he turned and walked briskly toward the bridge's exit and made his way to his private chambers.

He wouldn't dare show any of his crew the same type of reaction the communications officer got from him when Grand Moff Tarkin called for him alone.

Damned rebel scum. I swear, by the blood of my ancestors, you and the rest of your treacherous ilk will pay for this.