STAR WARS

Rage of the Shadow Warriors When Few Stood Against Many


Chapter IV - The Maverick, the Oddball and the Deadeye

In front of the OPEN PALM INN, Contruum

It took Ronan a moment to take in the oddity of the scene, and assure himself it was for real.

After he had first bumped into Eclan Graven a few years ago and worked with him on a job, he had been quick to learn that the Mandalorian bounty hunter was a trustworthy person. But for Ronan, trust wasn't earned lightly, especially not because back then he had still been with the Shirok police special operations department, ShenCresh Ops. One of the main tasks of his unit had been to deal with the widest variety of criminals, and the gun-for-hire Graven didn't have the cleanest slate. In his research on Graven's background, Ronan had dug deep enough to find out about Eclan's short-lived Jedi training. On the few other occasions he had worked with him again, however, Ronan had never addressed Graven on that particular bit of his past.

But now there he was, charging at one of the Slayers, his red lightsaber gripped, not in the manner of a typical Jedi, but in that of the classic Mandalorian swordsman.

Ronan wasn't the only one to be taken aback at the sight. The two Yuuzhan Vong had stopped dead at the spectacle of the Mandalorian Jedi.

But while Ronan was left in passive marvel, Graven's two companions had already taken position behind a knocked-over garbage container and were nailing the Slayer Eclan was closing on with a heavy barrage of blaster and slugthrower fire while they still could.

A question was starting to form in Ronan's mind as to why they hadn't also taken the other Slayer in their line of fire, but the answer revealed itself to him before he had even finished the thought.

Gladus was already in combat with the Yuuzhan Vong who had slain Skira, and although Ronan appreciated that the former assassin was in to avenge the murder of his brother-in-arms's son, he didn't regard it as Gladus's wisest decision. His opponent was the taller and apparently more skilled Slayer of the two. But Gladus had started taking action only fractions of a second after "the cavalry" had arrived—as a matter of fact, right after Kaz Koban's invisible blaster bolt had nearly pivoted the Slayer around—and so he had the advantage of surprise on his side, at least for the beginning of their duel. And Gladus's reaction to the sudden change of circumstances, exceptionally quick for a "normal" man, reminded Ronan of his lack thereof.

Snap out of it, you're getting out of practice.

With this advice from his military-drilled mind, Ronan eventually managed to break the chains of his bafflement and let the instinct and experience gained by many years of training and engagement gain control of him.

The first thing he did was to tear off his disguise clothes and to put on both helmet and gauntlets from his backpack, while carefully watching the action that was under way several dozen meters ahead of him, in front of the battered Open Palm Inn.

Koban and Navhett had since halted their suppressing fire, as Graven was now in a blindingly fast duel with the second Slayer, pacing and dancing back and forth as his opponent leaped and somersaulted all around him. The Mandalorian Jedi was working to confuse his opponent by sudden, but fluid changes of fighting styles and stances. Time and again, their moves put enough distance between them to give Graven's companions a chance to hose down the Vong with further precision fire. The shots were mainly coming from Koban, and each of his invisible blaster bolts did a number on the Slayer, confusing him and making him lose focus. Nevertheless, that didn't take him down, didn't even cause any serious wounds.

Gladus wasn't having quite such an "easy" time without the Force as his aide, and despite being a remarkably athletic and acrobatic man for his large, muscle-packed build and advanced age, he couldn't quite cope with the seemingly supernatural abilities of his genetically modified adversary.

He was in more need of support than Graven, and although Koban, whose expertise at sharpshooting was apparently second only to his skill at armorsmithing, was trying to get shots at Gladus's Slayer as well, he could only truly focus on one target at a time. And there was still Joras Navhett, who had just abandoned his Verp in favor of two vicious-looking vibroknives that popped out of his wristguards. He was glancing over at Gladus's duel, already making efforts to stand up. But something seemed to make Navhett change his mind, as he shook his helmeted head and reversed the action, snapping the blades back and retrieving his shattergun. At least, he gave a salvo from it while he still had a clean shot.

It was for Ronan now to come to Gladus's aid. The former special forces sniper had donned his helmet and activated visual filters to improve his sight through the dense dust, and in the increasing darkness of the dawning night. Unslinging his EE-23, he rummaged through his belt pouches for a high caliber ammo pack. Once he found it, he rammed it into the rifle's mag, and pushed the capacitor that switched the gun from energy to particle mode. Ronan didn't know the Slayer's armor in detail, but it was surely nothing less protective than vonduun crab shells. Nonetheless, he wasn't going to take chances with the highest caliber ammo, either. Too large a projectile might only send fragments ricocheting everywhere when it hit solid armor, shrapnel that could still inflict blunt trauma wounds on his comrades even if it couldn't penetrate their beskar'gam.

While steadily moving backwards to gather distance from the fights, he adjusted the marksman rifle via further switches and knurls for medium-caliber fire, set the effective range to below 150 meters, and decreased the velocity to the prevent bullets from shattering on impact and causing ricochets. He could have completed all that a lot quicker hadn't there been his aversion for excessive use of technical gizmos. BlasTech did offer the possibility to wire EE-23 modular weapon systems to armor suit systems such as a Mandalorian supercommando armor, but Ronan preferred to leave things like that to his own skill and manual control rather than to a computer. That was also why he went without the use of a 360-degree peripheral vision that usually came with every "good" Mandalorian helmet. He wanted to have all his focus on his natural field of view, and didn't relish being distracted by the overflow of input caused by electronically augmented senses. Some might call that narrow-minded, since their helmet gizmos worked for them all right, but they weren't professional snipers, and probably for a reason.

Now that he had finished prepping his weapon, Ronan crouched down and peered through the rifle's scope to zoom in on Gladus. Once he had a crisp image and saw that the two were too close to each other to get a safe shot, he swiveled the crosshair over to Graven. The lightsaber-wielding Mandalorian was currently in mid-air, while the Slayer was performing a series of backflips. Ronan saw his chance. Focusing on the target, he breathed in deeply, then held his breath and gently squeezed the trigger.

As expected, the recoil was remarkable, but not quite powerful enough to unbalance him. For once, he was grateful for his helmet gadgets, as the audio filters dampened the raucous uproar of discharge. Checking through his scope again, he could confirm a hit, if an immensely close one.

A fraction of a heartbeat before the Vong had come up from his last flip, Ronan had fired at where he had anticipated the warrior's chest to be when the shot reached him. A headshot would have been best, but Ronan didn't take chances. He had aimed for center mass, and was lucky that the projectile still hit the Slayer's ribs, because an inch more to the right and it would have been nothing but a graze. The impact had sent the Yuuzhan Vong whirling to the ground, face first, and as he struggled to get up again, his head spun around in fury, trying to make out where the shot had come from.

There was no visible wound any longer, even though Ronan had seen blood spatter when the shot had hit, but it gave Graven the edge to act on it, and act on it he did. But the Slayer dodged the vibroknife hurled at his throat with an extraordinary reaction. Ronan would've had a beautiful shot now, but his carbine was still charging up.

"Kark it!" he cursed silently. But he had himself to blame, potent firepower didn't come without its costs—long waits for the next shot were one of them.

Navhett and Koban, however, didn't have that disadvantage, and they were quick to show that to the Slayer, who didn't get an opportunity to focus again. The barrage hit him like a ronto kick, and he barely managed to block some of the Verp projectiles with his amphistaff, much less the invisible blaster rounds.

But that mutated osik of a crab-boy ain't dumb, Ronan realized as the Slayer started evasive action, once he was on his feet again. A faint click from his weapon told Ronan that it had fully charged up, but the timing of the rifle almost seemed to be mocking him. With unpredictable leaps and rolls, the Vong became impossible to hit, and within a matter of seconds, he was engaged with Graven again, setting a pace that the Force-user barely managed to keep up with, and never putting enough distance between them to make a good target.

Well here's the news, your enemy's adaptable, too...

Ronan allowed himself a brief sigh before he took the other duel in his sights again. It wasn't likely that the other Slayer had noticed his companion's change of tactics, seeing that he was busy himself. But Gladus and the Slayer were as close as they could get in their harsh sword play, and both already showed several ugly bruises.

There was no chance to get a shot this way, especially not while Ronan was on the same level as his target. He needed to find an elevated position to get a drop on the Slayers from above. He released the scope, and gave the buildings nearby another look. He didn't need to look far before he spotted it. An old factory building of sorts on the left side of the alley had an emergency stairway coming from the roof of the four-storied structure. And that was just what he needed, as it would get him also closer, at least below a hundred meters from the duels, what was perfect for an urban environment like this.

So he sprinted to the ladder, but it started at least three feet above him, and didn't appear to be extendable from below. Yet he could not waste time to find a switch now, and without further hesitation, Ronan slung his rifle over his shoulder and jumped, grabbing the lowest rung with both hands and steadily clambering his way up. The rusty durasteel strained and groaned under his rhythmic climbing motions, but eventually he reached the lowest level of the stairway. Dusting off his gloves, he started to make his way up the stairs, when the comm crackled.

"Ronan, this is Ara," a steady female voice replaced the noise, "we've made it to an abandoned storehouse a few blocks down, and Altair's already recovering, at least after we pumped enough sedative to tranquilize a reek into him. He stopped screaming long enough to say he wants something from you."

"Listen, Ara, I don't have time fo—"

"He's very pressing," she interrupted. "Says he wants Skira's body back, and more importantly, he wants you to keep that Slayer alive."

Great. Now an enraged father who's lost it starts demanding personal revenge. Just what I need.

Ronan had since reached the roof and was looking for a good spot to go prone, toting his rifle again.

"That ain't exactly a possibility, you can tell him. Gladus is on him, and it won't stop until one or the other of 'em has bit the dust. And Altair's not gonna get 'lucky' and see Gladus lose the fight." He paused, as he hadn't found a good position, yet. There was a low wall running the edge of the ceiling to prevent people from just stepping into the depth, but it also prevented any proper prone positions. "Actually, maybe he will, if I don't help him out. Listen, we'll get Skira's body once this is over, but there's no way that Slayer makes it out alive, he's too much of an unknown quantity."

"And that's why Altair wants him alive," Ara retorted swiftly, "so that we can make these new jetiyc vongese a known quantity."

Ronan grimaced. He didn't like her tone, but Altair was right, even though that surely wasn't his main reason.

"I'm sorry, but I can't contact Gladus now, he hasn't donned his helmet. He really needs supporting fire, and he needs it now. I don't care whether that shabla Vong makes it or not, but I won't let one of us die because of him. I'd love to get my hands one of 'em as badly as Altair, but right now, that's out of question. I'll get back to you when this is over, but I don't have time for this now. Ronan out."

He had headed back to the stairway during the conversation, and was now lying flat on the durasteel grill of the top platform, steadying his rifle on the edge, and taking aim through the scope. The EE-23's rangefinder readout said ninety-four meters, an excellent distance. He could see that Graven's fight had even gathered pace now, with his opponent nearly running mad, but neither could gain the upper hand. Gladus, however, was more and more driven back by the Vong warrior, but at least their combat allowed more distance between each other, and that should give Ronan an opening. Right now, however, they were too closely engaged, so he just watched.

Gladus was wielding his heavy beskad in one hand, letting him land blows both swift and with a good deal of power behind them. He nearly scored as many hits on his foe as the Slayer on him, but as Ronan zoomed in after one such blow, he could see the wound vanishing from the Vong's thick, supple skin within a matter of seconds.

"Regener-kriffing-ating skin?!" Ronan blew a brief whistle through his teeth. Osik. Looks like I have to go for headshots, after all. Their scarred heads don't look like they have the same level of protection.

But he didn't have an opportunity for a shot like that, yet, in either of the duels, so once more he was forced into passive observation. Though, this might perhaps be worth something later on, since his helmet and his rifle's scope were still A/V recording everything he was seeing through either of them.

The Slayer was just using his monstrous amphistaff as a whip to lash out at Gladus's feet, when the large Mandalorian somersaulted into the air, bringing down his beskad on the Vong's left shoulder. The bulky alien managed to avoid that swipe, but as he dodged with a brief backwards cartwheel, his amphistaff was still in loose whip form, and was swinging up into the air, where it crossed the way of Gladus's strike. The Mandalorian's sword connected with the most vulnerable part of the elastic organic weapon, and promptly severed its serpent-like head. As Gladus's feet reconnected with the ground, the Slayer was long back on his, his short coufee drawn and the slack, dying amphistaff switched to the left.

To stop the Vong from attacking and catching Gladus off guard, Ronan used the opening. Once again, he focused and unhurriedly squeezed the trigger. But he didn't hit. The Slayer had simply ducked to avoid the shot. In an incredible, jaw-dropping reaction.

Ronan scowled. Okay, no more headshots for now, waste of ammo...

But that little distraction for the Slayer had been enough to give Gladus an opening in turn. Clasping his beskad two-handed, the bearded man darted ahead. He feinted with an attack to the left, but ducked under the lashed-out amphistaff, and came up from his roll on the Slayer's left instead. Too swift for Ronan to properly make out, Gladus brought down his sword, slashing through the Vong's left forearm.

The last thing Ronan perceived was an ear-shattering scream of outrage—not of pain, so much was evident—from the alien, before his attention was drawn elsewhere. In the corner of the crosshair, Ronan had made out a slow motion, one that couldn't be related to the duels. And it wasn't, as he realized after swaying the reticule to the door of the Open Palm and zooming in. An ugly, shabby human man covered in blood was indolently crawling through the open entrance, one of his arms raised high, using only one to pull himself onward.

Ronan swallowed hard. In his lifted hand, the Peace Brigader was holding a primed thermal detonator, his thumb pressed onto the activator, clearly on dead man's switch. And no one save Ronan had noticed him, but he was dangerously close to Eclan and the Slayer, whose fight was going on as ferociously as ever. The wounded Brigader seemed unable to hurl the grenade, however, and was steadily crawling towards the two. But that spawned a plan in Ronan's mind.

With a few voice-issued commands, Ronan established a short-ranged directional comm connection, after releasing the scope and tilting his head in the direction of the two Mandalorian mercenaries. Since the connection was directional, Ronan made sure that no one else could pick up the comm traffic other than the receiver he was directly looking at, which in this case was Kaz Koban.

"Koban, this is Ronan, the bloke on that catwalk," he spoke into the internal helmet comlink. "I need to talk to Graven, so please send me the data of your comm channel over another directional link ASAP."

A few dozen meters away from him on the ground, Koban's helmet turned to face Ronan. There was a brief nod, and an instant later the frequency and password of the three mercs' shared comm channel popped up on Ronan's HUD. Koban added, "There you go."

"Vor'e, Koban," Ronan thanked him after logging into the new channel, then turned his head back to the scope and zoomed in once more. "Graven, do you copy? Barec here. This won't take much time."

"Better... make sure it doesn't," Graven's voice came back after a few moments, delayed by sharp in- and exhales and the unsteady hiss of his lightsaber, "cause I don't... have time."

"I need you to drive that Slayer back towards the Inn, there's a downed Brigader with a prepped dead-man-wired thermo who's real jumpy to play suicide bomber on you. Point is, I have him in my crosshairs, and once that Vong's in a safe radius, I can make sure the dead man's going to trigger off the detonator."

"Sounds like a blast, Barec. Just tell me... when I better run."

With that, Eclan left the conversation to turn his attention back to working on the Slayer. Through the scope, Ronan saw Graven quickening his pace while he put a good bit more force behind his strikes, but the Slayer managed to keep up with him—he barely even budged.

Meanwhile, the injured Peace Brigader had made a few feet progress out of the Palm's entrance, but not enough to get into the proximity of the duelers. There was no telling what blast radius this particular thermal detonator had, but at least five meters were standard. If it was more, however...

Well, then it's going to get hot for you, Graven.

"You might want to keep your Jedi sense extra cautious," Ronan added over the comm. "Ret'lini, burc'ya." Just in case.

He didn't get a reply from Graven, but he hadn't expected one. The other Mandalorian was making headway of his own, now, using blows that required extra acrobatics to dodge. But the Slayer was savvy enough not to give way easily, having learned the dire consequences earlier. So, Eclan had to stay close to him to forge ahead, and he was doing so quite nimbly. Meter by meter, they were advancing towards the Open Palm Inn, sometimes dropping back but overall, getting closer and closer. Exhaustion was starting to show in the movement of both of them, as the fight had been going on for quite a while now, and it was clear that this was coming to a close; however, the Slayer was less likely to be the first to lose by exhaustion, why it was about time someone dealt with him.

But within in a few seconds, all the progress the Mandalorian Jedi had made was rendered useless, as the Slayer managed to land a slam with his left, so hard that it sent Graven a few feet flying. And to avoid an upcoming attack, Eclan had to retreat even further after getting back to his feet, increasing the distance to the Open Palm tremendously.

"Ronan... we've got to... end this... now!" Graven commed, the strain in his voice obvious even through the interference. "I'm not making... any headway... here, and your swordsman's... being... overpowered!"

"If you got any ideas, I'd love to hear them!" Ronan responded, jacking another round—this time, the largest caliber he had—into the chamber.

"You could try... shooting... the frelling scarhead...."

"No can do," Ronan insisted. "The way you two are dancing about I'd be liable to hit you instead of the crab-boy, and—"

"Just do it!" Graven's voice thundered in his ears with a horrible sense of finality.

Swallowing, Ronan peered through his sights at the Slayer once more, exhaled and fired, certain that the slug would take the wildly weaving Graven full in the helmet rather than hitting its intended target. But suddenly, Graven was gone, and the Vong was soaring backwards, a fine black mist marking where Ronan's shot had struck him.

For what seemed an impossibly long moment, the Slayer appeared to hang in the air, stunned, but not any worse for wear than the last time Ronan had shot him—

—and then Ronan had to struggle to find hold on the guard-rail, as the staircase was trembling so hard that it could have been right above the epicenter of a gigantic earthquake. A tremendous roar and burst of light had come out of nowhere to swallow up the Vong and everything else that he had been able to see through his sniper sight in a single blinding flash.

As best as he could on the quivering, groaning durasteel construction, Ronan stood up to peer down into the alley. Koban was tossing aside the massive tube of what could only be some sort of anti-armor missile. Of the Slayer, there was no sign save scorched, smoldering earth, and wisps of acrid black smoke.

"Holy Kad Ha'rangir!" Ronan breathed. "Koban, you have any more of those?"

"Nope," came the terse response, "just the one."

"Pity. Would've been swe—"

The tremors on the staircase had just calmed down, as another white cloud blossomed in the distance. Fractions of a second after he heard the explosion of the thermal detonator, Ronan felt the catwalk buckle beneath him, and he was sent into a momentary state of hovering in mid-air as the rusty construction lost its hold to the building and sacked down more than two meters, crashing hard into the duracrete below.

Ronan dropped unluckily and felt a surge of pain spreading from his backside, which had hit the solid durasteel grill. But he didn't get time to get back on his feet, the momentum dragged the stairway even further to the ground and sent it toppling over. Thanks to the torque of inertia, however, Ronan remained in his position momentarily and managed to grab the rail that was now above him with both hands, his legs tucked up tight. As the top of the staircase connected with the ground, the collision shook the construction so hard that the Mandalorian lost his grip and fell the last meter onto duracrete below, but still managed to absorb a bit of the impact in a sideways role. All had happened so fast that Ronan hadn't even been able to voice a cry or curse, and now that his whole body ached, and he lay there doubled up and numb, he couldn't either.

Several drumming heartbeats later, his body started to recover from the stun. "Ouch," he eventually cursed, slowly struggling back on his feet. Dizzily, he shambled around, looking for his carbine.

Out of nowhere, the voice of Eclan Graven appeared. "Kriff, Barec, you okay?"

A little relief spread in Ronan, making him forget about his hurting body for a moment. "So that explosion didn't take you out then, Graven. Thought it killed you."

"You're not getting so lucky, burc'ya," Navhett piped up. "Ec planned it all and got away in one ori'kandosii leap before y'even pulled the trigger. Sweet shootin', by the way, gave Kaz the chance to show off his big guns." The last sentence ended in a quiet chuckle.

"You're all right, then?" Graven repeated soberly. He had caught up with Ronan, and Navhett was also coming.

"Just a few bruises," Ronan said. "But I'll be feeling that tailbone of mine for the next few days...." Grimacing under the visor, he rubbed the aforementioned part of his body. At least it didn't feel broken.

As he looked up again, he could see Navhett in his shrill, fang-striped armor examining a long black-clad rifle with bayonet. "Nice piece o' work, ner vod. I seen a Mini-Tak version of this some time ago, pretty nasty firepower." His head was tilted and he was holding the weapon away from his body, as though admiring it—but without his facial expression, that was hard to tell. "And of course, it had a beautiful grenade launcher."

Ronan didn't really know what to say, so he just took his EE-23 as the other handed it to him, giving a brief nod in thanks.

"Where's Koban?" he asked as he noticed that the mountain of a man in Mandalorian armor wasn't around. "Speaking of which... fierfek!"

His eyes had darted to where he had last seen Gladus. He couldn't believe that he had totally forgotten about his comrade. From the distance, and in the misty darkness, he could only see the silhouette of a kneeling figure. Even zooming in didn't help, so he started a sprint, not caring whether the two mercs where catching up or not. After a few meters, a grotesque image presented itself.

Two mutilated bodies were lying on the dirt-covered duracrete lane, next to which two severed forearms and a decapitated head lay. Everything was covered in crimson and black blood. Fortunately, the head wasn't Gladus's, but he had lost his left forearm, and evidently his consciousness as well. Koban was leaning over him, an open medpack to his side, and a syringe at the ready.

"Koban, what's his status?" Ronan commed the other sniper.

"Unconscious," Koban grunted. "Poisoned coufee."

"Oh, that's just great," Ronan muttered. "He'll be needing medical attention, then, ASAP."

"Not if that poison's the same as amphistaff venom, he doesn't," Eclan's voice crackled over the comm as Ronan skidded to a halt in front of the giant Mando-turned-field medic and his prostrate patient. "Kaz can neutralize it, maybe, but he's probably going to have problems with the dose. We've only managed to acquire a tiny bit of the stuff and we're still trying to figure out exactly how much will work without depleting our entire supply in the process."

"Great. Have you found out anything useful yet?" Ronan inquired, urgency tinting his voice with sarcasm.

"We've got the dosage worked out for male humans from Joras' size up to Kaz's, if that's any help," Eclan commed back, slightly irritated.

Ronan's gaze lingered on the kneeling Mandalorian's oversized frame. "I don't see the problem, he's only a little smaller than you, Koban," he pointed out, cutting the comm link and switching to direct speech over external helmet speakers.

"He's thicker," Koban muttered.

"Just give him everything you've got then... an overdose won't kill him, will it?"

"No," Koban responded, in a tone of voice that somehow managed to simultaneously provide Ronan with a negative answer to both his request and his question.

The ex-commando involuntarily stepped a pace closer, raising his left in warning. "This ain't about money, burc'ya, it's about saving a life. If that antivenin's hard to come by, I get it; you'll get enough compensation to fill a Hutt's freighter with that antidote, if that's all you're worried about. Now would you kindly give him the shot?" It was more an order than a request.

"When I say it's rare, I mean it's rare," Graven interjected, having since caught up with Ronan. "You'll be lucky to get your hands on enough of it to fill a small medpack. We don't even know if it works on him, and later on another man's gonna die because—"

"Oh, just leave it, ya big lug," Navhett's voice suddenly piped up. "Give him the shot. At the very least it'll help you figure out how big a dose you'd need for yourself, supposing you ever have to use it."

Eclan and Ronan exchanged glances. Koban's face was unreadable behind the grim mask of his helmet, but it wouldn't have taken a Jedi to see that he wasn't anywhere near happy. Still, after a few seconds of silence, the massive Mando shifted, bending over Gladus again and injecting the antidote through the brachial artery of his right arm.

"It'll take a while to work," Graven explained, as Koban began putting his tools back into the medpack. "You'd better move his body, unless you plan on selling tickets."

Ronan nodded briefly. "Ara, this is it, at least for now," he contacted the others over the comlink. "Tell Rios to find us a place to stay for the night, I don't think the Garridan's safe any longer. Bring everyone else back here, we've got to get the bodies of Skira and Gladus out of here. And no questions right now, please."

"Will do, Ronan," she replied, complying without objections. The comlink went dead.

Ronan took off his helmet and placed it under his arm. Involuntarily, he had to wrinkle his nose due to the disgusting stench in the air, and realized that removing the bucket hadn't been such a good idea, but donning it again would've made him look all the more ludicrous.

"I called back the rest of my team," he announced to three mercs, "then we're heading to a safe house. What about you, lads?"

It was Graven who took the floor. "We didn't come here to fight Slayers, as much fun as that was. We just happened to be in the right place at the right time, but we still have some things of our own that need taking care of."

"Whatever they may be...." mumbled Navhett, shaking his head slowly.

"Well, vor entye, then, I guess," Ronan addressed Eclan again. "Not only for saving Gladus's shebs, you also ensured the Slayers didn't come after the rest of us. I don't know what made show up here, and I don't wanna know. I'm just grateful that you did, me and my team owe you one." He looked into the round of three Mandalorian soldiers of fortune, all tending to their equipment, getting ready to move on. "All of you."

"Ba'gedet'ye, burc'ya," Graven asserted, raising his head slightly. "I don't like open debts, though...."

Ronan pondered for a few moments. Then he looked down to the blood-smeared ground. "Let me offer you a slice of the cake then. Unless you've dealt with 'em before, I think you'd like to get your hands on some Slayer parts as much as we do. I'm sure a sample of their regenerating skin could be put to some good use... since Koban left nothing but dust of your Slayer, take whatever you need here—just leave the crab-boy's coufee and his forearm untouched, I reckon Gladus might like to keep 'em." Both Koban and Navhett had looked up from their preparations, the T-slits of their visors staring blankly at Ronan. "I know, it's all a tad macabre, but it's all I can think of as compensation for now, burc'yase."

After a few heartbeats, Graven gave the sniper a brief nod. "That's a big favor, sharing trophies. Should be satisfactory enough...."

While he was talking, Eclan's two companions left their equipment to crouch down before the mutilated Slayer corpse. Navhett was poking a pointy vibroblade into the supple chest tissue, while his burly companion had grasped the tattooed severed head of the Yuuzhan Vong by its long, greasy hair.

"Oh, suuure," Navhett said as he noticed Koban's action. "You'd like to keep that, big fella, now wouldn't ya?"

The massive Mandalorian ignored him, and gazed at Ronan quizzically instead.

"You can take it, all right—just one thing," Ronan acknowledged. He stepped forward to approach Koban, producing a short vibroknife from his belt. The scarred head looked rather tiny in the Mandalorian's enormous gloved hands as he was turning and examining it. Ronan motioned Koban to hold it firm, and then he seized the jet-black hair, resting his knife on the pallid forehead. Although he had never taken a scalp before, Ronan managed to retrieve it with one brisk gash.

"Keeping that for Gladus as well," he explained to Koban after shoving the knife back into his belt. Then Ronan retrieved a small cloth bag from one of his pouches, and carefully wrapped the coufee, the Slayer's severed forearm, and the scalp in there, and laid it to the ground next to the still unconscious Gladus.

While Koban did the same with his own new trophy, Ronan walked back over to Graven. Navhett had since joined as well, casually toting what was left of the Slayer's body over his shoulder.

"We'll let you know when, or if, we get some results back from this," Eclan announced. "The war may be over soon, but that doesn't mean work for guys like us is getting short. See you around, Ronan Barec."

Tapping two gloved fingers in a nonchalant salute on his helmet, Graven turned on his heels to wander off through the dense smog. After both giving respectful nods to Ronan, Navhett and Koban headed off after their companion.

Aye, that's Eclan Graven and his mavericks...



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Eclan Graven and Kaz Koban are characters created by Quiet_Mandalorian; Joras Navhett is a character by Kenobi_Kid.

I can't thank Quiet_Mandalorian and Kenobi_Kid enough for letting me use Eclan Graven, Kaz Koban and Joras Navhett, great Original Characters of theirs. But even more kudos for their help with this chapter, not only for checking the characterization, scenes and lines of their OCs, but also for providing me with general support and feedback.

Also, thanks to Ray Ramirez (the "smith" of the most kandosii custom beskar'gam out there, and creator of the Verp sniper rifle) for giving me the most professional advice on sniping you could ask for... he is a sniper, after all.