Intense heat seared through his lower abdomen. The brilliant red light beam pulsed through his body. This betrayal finalized what he had already come to suspect - his companion was manipulating him all along. Anger, surprise, and shock seized his failing body. His face distorted under the immense pain. All of his feelings culminated into a single, solitary outcry. As he crumpled onto the floor, his final effort expelled, Sphin contemplated the events that led up to his demise.

"You were my... " he choked, "... I... trusted... you." he whispered, looking into to his master's sad, caring eyes.

"I'm sorry... My actions were beyond my control. You were my brother, but the darkside is stronger than both of us, Sphin - there's no use fighting it."

"You can be..." Sphin coughed again, "... saved. It's not too late - turn back... I can destroy the evil... if... you are at my side." Sphin swallowed with effort, "Please."

His master replied, crying as he began to turn, "I want to... but I can't. I can feel the darkside's power. Good bye, old friend."

Sphin gave his last breath, eeking out, "No." As he reached out, he died, his life in vain.

The Seige of Uparii

The small band of space-farers searched the floating debris, their lights probing for any signs of life among the twisted metal and shards of bodies. Breached escape pods and limp snub-fighters littered the sector of space known only as the edge of existence. In the distance, a menacing molten planet blocked out some of the far distant stars. The crew of the small recovery vessel sat motionless, in awe of the terrible destruction.

The path to that destruction started nearly eight thousand light years from where it ended, in a mighty empire formed out of the ashes of the Spirian Civil War. The Civil War began when the mighty general Spiralus had conquered the outlying planets of the Desertæ solar system and declared himself the governor of the outer-rim territories. The Sparatan senate, which was the established government at the time, though it was corrupt and no longer served the populace they swore to represent, could not stand to have their ultimate power contested, and a mighty civil war ensued. The large forty-three planet system was torn apart. Allegiances flew from one side to the other, each planet declaring to be it’s own marshal ruler, each senator claiming to control it, and the Spirian Rebellion attempting to usurp both. The Republic faltered and within twelve years decayed into a hodge-podge assortment of various senators and planets claiming independence from the rest of the system. This fractured system of governance was a way of life for nearly fifty years. The bigger planet-states gained power over the smaller ones, especially those in close proximity, until a Feudal system began to emerge – a glimmer of order in an otherwise chaotic universe.

Out of the dust and carbon soot, a faction began to emerge. A young, charismatic leader rose from among the wreckage of tyrants and failed grasps for power. His name was Vesirius. He was from the Tiran moon Rhömir and with just a handful of well trained pilots and the ancient battle cruiser Saevii, began to conquer and rally a considerable number of planets. Instead of abusing this power, however, he made a senate of the mightiest warriors from each planet. These representatives swore allegiance to the Republic of Old and thus a sort of order was formed. These elite warriors became known as the Knights Sparatæ, or Knights of the Old Republic, after the once great democracy their forefathers had served. This congress of knights held themselves to an unusual code of conduct for fear of repeating the horrible mistakes that doomed their grandfathers’ mighty republic to the groveling assortment of planet-states they now saw.

The ever growing assembly of knights faced many challenges, quarrels, and adventures.

One day, however, a faint radio transmission was received from Uparia, a planet outside of the order’s reign, which was being besieged by another of the great factions which had arisen - an evil faction whose sole purpose was to consume life to feed its power. Vesirius, who was now far too old to take on the journey himself, turned to his trusted order of knights, “To whom can I impart the honor of protecting the noble Uparians in their dire time of need?” Only apathetic silence answered. “Am I to understand,” the leader paused and looked at his assembly of senators in a glaringly astonished face, “that none would stand to further the cause of freedom and justice against the Xarii?” One knight stood in answer, “Commandant, The Uparians refused to join our Republic – why should we die for their ignorance?” Another broke in “And besides, the Xarii are ten times more powerful than we are. It is useless to stand against their might.” The commander replied coolly and in a grim tone, “Then you have forfeited our Republic, and everything it stood for, to the very mire we wrought it from.”

As Vesirius turned to leave the great hall of the Knights Sparatæ, the youngest warrior, who was from the capital of the Old Republic, Sparata, stood up, “Sir. Do not lose hope. I shall lead the assault on the Xarii siege.” The Imerii stopped in his tracks, while the young man continued, “I will sacrifice my freedom and my life that others may have liberty and vitality: happiness and life. I know that Uparia has the only jump-gate path into the Republic, and I would die to protect those outside our domain, if it meant the survival of our ideals. For what is a light if you smother it in darkness? What is freedom if you let tyranny go unchecked? Do you, senators, not understand? I will stand; even if I stand alone, against these intolerable acts against our kin of mind!” The assembly, though slightly invigorated by the young man’s bold speech, still sat in complacency at the Uparian request for aid. “Though… I do not wish to die in vain. My men are well trained and loyal, but we do not have the might to break the lines of the Xarii on our own.”

The commander of the senate turned and said wryly, “I can help you there, young one. Your sacrifice and the sacrifice of Sparata will not be in vain. Go, take your three hundred into the hallowed halls of the Sciparii – may it be the bulwark of freedom and liberty in these dark times.” The young man stood at attention, saluted his commander, and ran out of the chamber to collect his men. The elder then said to the remaining senators, “Your apathy will not go unrewarded. You shall reap the fruit of your labors; pray the young one does not fail, or his doom will be the doom of you all.”

The Sciparii set forth with three hundred noble Sparatans, each armed to the teeth with blaster rifles, armor, starfighters, and ion cannons. The procession of the noble ships Sparatæ, as it glided out of the Tiran system, was looked upon with solemn eyes by the people of the Republic. They knew that the mighty flagship and its convoy were not to return to free space. Sadness filled their hearts as the realized they price of liberty. The envoy of democracy made its way to the jump-gate which allowed for inter-planetary travel, and accelerated exponentially toward its goal.

The young knight who dared to brave these perils was Sci. As the Sciparii and its escorts jumped out of lightspeed, the true immensity of the Xarii fleet was made known. Sci stared out at the Xarii ships, which were so numerous they blocked nearly half of the planet. Sci was a graduate of one of the Republic’s most distinguished military academies, and had a knack for strategy. “Captain Tiro,” he said, pushing the button on the side of his helmet to transmit orders between vessels, “This jump-gate is our main priority now. Create a circular perimeter with your frigates. Captain Ræ, take a scout with you and make sure our flank is secure.” Sci let his arm fall back down to his side, but not for long. He faced the glass panel that served as a holo-map and planned out the impending conflict. He said to his advisor over his shoulder, “Our ships are stronger, that is for certain. If we hold our discipline and use our Sparatan maneuvers, our lines should last a long time.”

The battle began the next day. The endless waves of Xarii light fighters beat down upon the seemingly impervious Sparatan lines which absorbed everything with stoic dedication. Sci watched from the Sciparii’s command deck, directing the battle, playing every stutter of the Xarii line to his advantage. “All too easy!” cried one of the ship’s many bridge gunners. “Perhaps” said Sci with a pondering tone as he marched down to the hangar.

But this was not so, for behind the endless barrage of snub-fighters loomed a more ominous foe – twelve mighty flagships of the Xarian Empire. Cirii, Sci’s advisor, gasped, “Their heavy cannons could destroy a shielded city, much less our frigates, sir!” “Hold the line!” Sci warned as he climbed into his fighter’s cockpit. “There’s too many of them!” Suddenly the Saevii shook violently – the first of the flagship’s volleys had hit the bridge. “Cirii? Cirii!” Sci tried in vain to reestablish communications with his friend. Sci’s face emboldened. As the canopy of his tiny fighter shut, he burst out of the hangar just as another heavy round impacted on the Sciparii. “This is our last stand, men! We can’t afford to let them through! Red group, grey group, follow me!” Several wings of fighters joined Sci in a wedge formation. “Watch the flak!” The little band of ships weaved in between the giant lasers of the Xarii flagships. “Grey group, split up – hit the bridges with your missiles!” Sci’s dwindling group darted into the giant munitions reservoir of the largest of the Xarian flagships, “Red group, we’re going into the heart of the storm! For the Republic!” As the battle cry rang out, the Saevii’s hull was breached, the giant vessel bled air into the vacuum of space, bringing crew and munitions with it. The loss of the Sciparii disheartened the battle-brave Sparatans, as their casualties grew. Sci dodged the flak with ruthless efficiency as he led the final charge into the ammunition depot of the Xarii fleet. As the Saevii began to implode from its lack of hull integrity, and the final hope of the Sparatans faded into darkness of space, a giant flash encapsulated the battle. The mightiest of the Xarian warships vaporized and with the shock wave it released radiated into all the other battleships, cruisers, and frigates, tossing them about like light from a pulsar. The jump-gate was shattered, and both fleets fell silent.

The dark void of space consumed the heroes of that battle, but the message of their sacrifice could not be silenced. In the days that followed, the rest of Vesirius’s Knights rallied. The Xarian Empire was destroyed and Uparia flourished under the new found freedom that was bought with the sacrificial blood of the noble Sparatans.

Thunder. The roar of the heavens enveloped Sci as he trudged through the sludge of the battlefield. His cloaked troops followed their general, who was just knighted not three weeks earlier. This was his first test; a baptism of fire... and water. The war had split the Republic into shattered shards - the Mandalorians had a vast stronghold in the outer-rim, and had all but surrounded the Republic. The Jedi Council, wise as they were, had urged patience as the tumult unfolded to find the route behind the aggressive motions of the Mando'ade. One Knight, however, could not stand idly by and watch the Republic die. This Knight was Revan. Along with his charismatic comrade, Malak, Revan rallied a large number of Jedi Knights to go with him to the outer-rim in the hopes of destroying the threat. One the many hundreds that answered Revan was Sci, a young Jedi Knight who was himself thinking of rebelling from the Council's will. This battle was the first step of Revan's cunning plan, though the price would be immeasurable. The heavy rain made the Jedi General's armor speak in soft pattering. The hum of his lightsaber made the men feel more secure. The small collection of soldiers was making its way up a muddy slope, in hopes of flanking the enemy on the rainy, mud-ridden planet of Dxun. The dropship which put them there had already suffered immense damage - the hull was ridden with carbon scoring from the ion cannons. It had careened down in the muck, smashing into a mandalorian outpost. An intense battle ensued between the Mandalorians of the camp and the hodge-podge of Republic survivors. The Jedi General had gotten himself separated from the troops. Sliding around the wet, muddy grass, dodging Mandalorian fire and vibroblades the General made quick work of the younger Mandalorians. He also managed to slay half a dozen of their strongest warriors before what was left of his crew managed to break the enemy lines. The costs were already staggering. Nearly one hundred died of the vessel during the descent, a dozen more in the crash, and nearly fifty in the fight to secure the crash-site. Sci's silver lightsaber twirled and then disengaged. "Captain, how many men did we lose?" he asked. There was no response. "Captain?" "He's dead, sir." broke in a bloodied sergeant, who rose slowly from the fallen corpse of his commander. The Sergeant had a deep gash in his left side, and his uniform was soiled with mud, grass, and battle-gore. The General sighed painfully, "Then we press on. Take some of the rifles from their armory, get some blaster bolts - we're going to need them." The mauled sergeant rthen asked, "Sir... we... what of the dead?" After a moment of deliberation, Sci said ponderously, "Every second we spend with our dead kills the Republic: kills us - we must hack through the jungle and get to the top of ridge. Then we can establish comms with command and see where we may best serve." "As... as you command, General." The band commenced hacking through the lush, green jungle, toward the razor sharp mountains in front of them. The rain abated for a while, but the dark, ominous clouds remained ever vigilant. The thick foliage came with an assortment of wild creatures, many as hostile and exotic as the environment which spawned them. The occasional Boma beast rampaged through the jungle path the men were following, making the path extremely difficult to pursue. More often Cannocks harrassed the party. It seemed there was some sort of malevolent beast every fourty meters. As Darkness began to fall, the cold, wet men huddled together and set up camp nearly three-fourths the way up the path. They had no idea what awaited them in the darkness, nor how many would long sustain the wounds they had already suffered...

The stars stared as blankly back at Sci as he stared at them. The quiet had lulled him into kind of sleepless hypnosis, drawing him deeper into the black depths. Sci blinked and exhaled softly, as if time stood eerily still as he absorbed the dark beauty of the scene. The desaturated, luminous bodies hovered, immobile, impersonal. With this Sci broke from his conscious slumber. All the sounds and chaos from the capital ship returned in a crushing flood. Sci looked up through his helm at the infinite sea of lights in the long hangar. The large dropships and gunships whirred in preparation for the mission ahead. Everything was alive for the moment, if not for any other point in time. Every sound was intricately amplified, optimized, and romanticized. Every thought precise and clear. The light, desaturated blue hum of the hangar bay shield door pulsed through the hangar. The searing heat of the snub-fighters' engines gave an ambient warmth to the cool metal of the battleship. The sound of troops' footsteps clattered through the halls. The smell of burning fuel and excited ions filled the air of the hangar. Sci walked cooly into the lead dropship and secured himself. "This is going to get rough," he said under his helm. And then the ship vibrated and lifted off the hangar deck, pushing forward with it's ion-hybrid engines into the dark void of space...

The Knight of Old

The knight knew that his days were numbered.
On the eve of battle he roamed the empty walls of the once joyous castle, its great, grey halls making him feel smaller than the trial before him. As dusk began to fall, the noble knight looked over the wondrous green fields surrounding his lord's fortress. Every sound was drowned out by the bright heaven-sun. The orange-red sky was illuminated by the earth's immensely bright sky-candle, and not even the clouds could subdue it's failing glory. darkness chased it across the heavens. And thus in the calamity of cold and beauty the knights heart fell with its sun. The daylight gone. His life-days waning. Long had his heart longed for the joys of life, but also for the glory of the Lord. His life soon over and gloom approaching he savored this, the last sun set he would witness, this glimpse of fleeting beauty. Hence the knight lowered his head in humble submission not to the lord of this land, but to the Lord of the universe in agonizing surrender releasing his spirit to the arms of the Lord before the battle of doom and the his day of reckoning.
And thus his heart settled. His mind darkened and dreamt of the fell deeds to come. His mighty sword of iron, long by his side, he looked on not as a companion, but as an object of the world, doomed to lay useless by its masters side long after its blade wears blunt. He glanced at his mail shirt in apathy, its soft iron slinking sounds no longer giving him assurance. Finally, he stared blankly at his tunic, woven in his lord's royal colors. By next day's end it would not be more than a rag marred with battle-gore on the field of battle. In his mind, the words of his fallen comrade rang, "Nought shall remain of this world. Nought but empty halls and broken spears. Do not mourn my passing, for I am being called to a higher service." The warrior looked up in awe felt sorrow and breathed the evening's air deep into his chest. At last he saw the sun valiantly flourishing it's last light-beams as a farewell to all it had seen and loved on its sky-path across heaven against the darkness that followed. A tear he shed for all that awaited an all that had past. The knight, bound in his grief swore to meet his fate with such an end. An end which would be remembered long after his war-cries fell silent and his people scattered. Not for his glory, but his Lord's.

The knight dismounted his noble helm, looked towards the darkness which had just slewn the sun and whispered in a voice of utter defiance, "So be it, that this is the end of my days." He closed his eyes, and met his destiny ere the sun rose.

The wind kicked up. The small, golden banner flapped fearfully in the wind, anxious over what awaited the spear it was attached to. As the sun fell in brilliant autumn colors, the world was illuminated in a vibrant aura. Darkness impended. The blood-thirst of the swords had stilled for but a moment to honor the solemn fading of the blue sky into red - white sun into orange. Tumult was to follow. The horses snorted their last breaths of battle bereft air. The wind gave out with a final pulse and fluttered into the distance. Fell deeds would follow. Then the noble riders, on the edge of the night, peered down into the darkness. Glittering armor they could see and foul speech reached their ears - the clanking of metal implements as the darkness deepened. Then the bravest among the riders of light stepped forth from his band. His mail shirt of interwoven rings shone golden in the dusk-light. In battle-bold words he spoke. "Times of darkness have fallen on our homes! I see despair in your hearts, for it is in mine also. Long wave we seen this battle coming. Long have we strode towards it in heart-heavy grief for the circumstances of the end of days. For this is the last of your life days! The enemy must be slain! For the price of defeat is too great! Ride now! Embolden your hearts! Be bold under helm! For this is the end! Make known to them strength of the men of Rhömir! Make known to them your grief! Use your despair and turn it to battle-fury! Forge in their hearts the fear of your blade!" The hero then raised his mighty spear. "For this is the end of days! For glory! For wrath! For ruin! For vengeance! For a red sun's rising!" The brave warrior's war-horse rose up on its hind haunches and let loose with a neigh from deep within its breast, as the warrior spewed war-words with all his might, raising his spear on each surging of the word, "Death! Death!" And on the final utterance of doom the war-band said together with all hope lost and all dark thoughts giving power to their fury in fierceness of heart, "DEATH!" And thus they descended the hill, with sun's dim light failing behind them, galloping with all haste down into the dark of the enemy's forest of spears.

Rain.

Six months had passed since the tests of Doctor Vxu. SP 01/1116 awoke in his room. The graceful figure of the first being he laid eyes on entered swiftly. The being was tall with a long, thin frame. It's small, elegant head atop a very thin, stretched out neck. The arms were also long and wiry. Its voice spoke words in a loving tone as the being smiled, "Good morning little one. I hope you remember me. I am Lama Su. This is your first day. Today you will start your training. Now, rise and follow me." The little one stood and began to follow the long being's graceful movements. SP 01/1116 could now understand where he was with greater precision. The facility he was in had white halls. As he exited his room he could see on his right millions of the giant cylinder-vats grouped in threes or fours rotating around each other. Each with a creature quite different looking from Lama Su. They were smaller, they're necks were very short and they're heads very large. SP 01/1116 could not help but let out with tiny giggle as they turned away from the spectacles. The two continued to head down the bright, open halls. As they proceeded, another being passed them, this one much like Lama Su. It paused and greeted Lama Su, "Good day. Where are you taking this specimine?" Lama Su replied, "To the training room - this is his one-hundredth and eightieth day." The other being scowled, "What? He is an SP - he will not learn like the others. The neural testing is still in progress - we simply cannot know how he will react with the others." Rama Niu pondered for a moment, "I will put him with the independents - the Commandos." The second being responded, "At least there his skills may be put to good use. Very well." Then the being continued down the hall. SP 01/1116 looked up questioningly at Rama Niu, "Wha' Comman'o?" Rama Niu glanced at him with angrily curious eyes, "A question? Already? You are a strange one indeed. Come." As they progressed down the halls once more, a window came into view. Outside of the window was a darkness SP01/1116 only knew from his sleep. There were light streaks flowing downwards, also. The contrast to everything he had known before captivated the little one. A little falsh of light form outside iluminated the glass and a reflex in curiosity and fear; he paused. "What's wrong, litte one? Come. That's only the rain." Rama Niu gentley took the infants hand and led him onward, but his eyes still looked back at the amazing dark glass. Finally they reached a herd of slightly older variants of the wierdly shaped creatures he saw in the vats. They were in several long lines heading towards a creature that looked like Rama Niu who passing out bowls and cups. SP 01/1116 let out with a laugh at the sight of the spectacle. The others looked at him curiosly, and went back to their line as if nothing had happened. They then enerted the most open of places ever seen before by the little one. There were thousands of the strange new creatures. SP 01/1116 was now afraid of the masses. A group of four hundred were hooked via headgear into strange hologram projectors, with images flashing before them. Another horde was eating from the bowls and cups he had seen before. And yet another group was in the simulators. The two entered a large room with only fifty of the wierd beings. Rama Niu talked the largest one, who was clad in bright, reflective armor from shoulder to toe, "Master Sergeant Skirata, this is SP 01/1116. He is the last of his batch." the gruff sounding sergeant replied, "Very well. The others show great promise - let's hope this one can keep up.", the graceful Rama Niu replied, "I'm sure he can. His batch was very special. The fact that he survived will serve you well." The looked down displeasingly at the little new come, "Very well."

One.

Rama Niu walked off, bowing with a small courtsie at Sergeant Skirata. The Sergeant picked up SP 01/1116 and placed him into the small formation the others were assembled in. He grunted as he took a position in front of the assembly, "Welcome, Commandos. Welcome to the first day of the of the end of your life. I am Master Sergeant Kal Skirata and I will guide you through your training to make your the most fierce and effective warriors the galaxy has seen since the anient times. Upon your birth here at Kamino until yesterday night when you went to bed you were simply clones, bred to die for the Republic. Now you are Commandos. Bred to fight, bleed, and destroy the enemy in anyway neccasary to complete the mission." Skirata began to pace around as his speech went on, "You will call me sir, and I wil call you be the last two numbers of your name." SP 01/1116 had many questions at this point, but he realized that the sergeant's monolog should not be intereupted. It took several minutes, but SP 01/1116 suddenly realized as he was was the same as the freakish things he had laughed at earlier. Despair filled his heart. And his memory faded.

... To Be Continued...