Snipes sat, his face resting upon a fist; in the listing once-throne that occupied the bridge of his flagship Corellian Hound. The ship was a chaotic mess of wires, fires and carbon scoring. He brewed from his throne, his rich dress marked by blood, dust and ash. He wasn't really there at the moment, his mind was locked in dreams of revenge. Blood soaked hallways and the clash of men, war and destruction. The complete desolation of everything, the burning of the galaxy. His anger was greater than anything could really handle by itself, he could do naught but direct it at the entire galaxy, at this juncture all he wished to see was the entire galaxy burn in a magnificent fire.

Around him the crew worked constantly, but much like undead corpses their pace was slow, their moods tight, too tired to even be frustrated they just worked, because they didn't know what else to do. The ship was drifting, most of the systems were offline, the fires burning throughout the ship ate up the oxygen. The only thing keeping them from suffocating in the powerless coffin were old battery powered air scrubbers, and no idea how long their power cells would last.

As Snipes stared out through the cracked porthole he could almost feel himself losing hope, part of him anyway, the other part flared in anger, refusing to give up, refusing to accept defeat. The beast would not let him accept this, pride would not allow him to fall, not yet.

“Snipes.” Visha's taught voice made him shift his gaze. The dark females white hair was covered in grease and ash, almost black, her face and uniform were just as dirty, a grubby bandage covered her right eye and part of her head.

Snipes grunted a response.

“I have that casualty report.”

“Loverly”

“15 dead, 60 wounded, ten missing.” She said, ignoring him, “The doctor has set up a temporary medical bay in the cargo hold; however the old one is decompressed and so most medical supplies were lost.”

“Scavenge what you can, you know what to do, this isn't the first time this ship has been blown up.”

Visha's face tightened visibly, the last time held bad memories for all, “Yes, Boss.”

She turned on her heel and left; at Snipes feet the gurrcat stirred restlessly. Snipes could not help it, he too was restless, unsure what to do but sit and wait. The dim lighting and morose crew bothered him. He couldn't tell if they, too, had lost hope or if they were just tired. No Rest For The Wicked.

Snipes grunted to himself, dissatisfied, “Visha!”

It only took her a few moment to appear at his side, “What?” she was irritable, was it the situation, or was it Snipes? He never could tell.

“You have an estimation on the engines?”

She sighed, “An hour? A day? A month? Nobody knows,”

“Wonderful, we're all going die,” Snipes sighed.

Visha tightened, her teeth ground so loud he could hear it. Perhaps he had finally crossed the line, if there really was a line, Snipes could never be sure.

“Boss, permission to speak to you privately.”

Snipes sighed, “Yeah, yeah.”

He stood up then, so long had it been since had moved that every joint in his body cracked and groaned; he stretched his muscles, behind him the chair he had vacated spun backwards, he had been the only thing holding it somewhat in place. The gurrcat looked up at him, contemplating whether it should move or not, it too wore a bandage around it's neck, it's fur matted in blood, but it's face content. Snipes leaned over and patted it on the head.

“Stay here, Fury, I'll be back.”

Snipes turned then, whisking the ponytail over his shoulder to flow behind him, matted in blood and dirt as it was. He followed Visha off the bridge and into one of the officers quarters, a dead officer the room was now housing all the useless parts off the bridge section.

As soon as the door closed behind them Visha pivoted on her heel and, with a quick right hand, backhanded Snipes across the face, hard enough to cut his lips open. Snipes reacted as a beast does, his hand snapping out and grabbing her wrist, pulling her close, he leered at her, smiling, his teeth covered in blood.

* * *

Desolation. Utter desolation, that was the surface of the planet. Aside of the heretics funeral pyres there was nothing to the planet but falling shanties and rocky dirt. The Paladin hated it. It was truly a place forsaken by God. The residence of heretics and blasphemers.

The Paladin Jakith B'Luk hated the planet, hated the residents, hated everything about it. He had conquered it in less than a day, but no where was their king. No where was the beast he had hunted to long, the rest of this made the planet all too similar to every other world he had ever cleansed. The non-humans had been the first to burn, after them were those that would not renounce their evil ways. Those that would not accept God and fear him.

There were not many of them, at least at first, but the inquisitors stayed vigilant, in the city of refuse many men were liars. As the weeks went on they had found more and more of the savages reverting to their old life styles in secret.

“Lieutenant Brakon, how are the sweeps of the under-city moving?”

In a short second the lieutenant was by his side, a sickly looking man, glasses eternally sliding down his nose. He sweated constantly, as though in some way afflicted by a nervous condition. B'Luk knew that was not the case, a steady man in the face of heretics.

“Slowly, the tunnels are twisting and confusing and impossible to map. Our men get lost down there, beneath the city.”

The Paladin exhaled in frustration. There was nothing to to be done. He turned, his cloak flowing behind him and stared for a moment at the throne of the king. A great sore to his eyes, a behemoth of bones and wood and gold, something an arrogant cannibal would create. Demons.

“Keep pressing them, but don't devote too many resources to it, the vermin will come creeping out when they run out of food, and it'll make it easier to tell heretic from believer when we catch them sheltering those heretics.”

“Yes, my lord.” The lieutenant bowed gracefully and left.

Jakith B'Luk was left staring out of the ancient command center again. The towering poles, with the grotesque corpses of heretics either burned or left to enjoy the sparse atmosphere of the planet. They were scattered around the shanty town, a grave reminder of the fate awaiting heretics and blasphemers. B'Luk did not pity them, he hated them. He had witnessed the atrocities that such people created, the kind of sacrilegious practices they engaged in before their arrival. Prostitutes, gangs, drug addicts, mercenaries, pirates, and aliens had populated the city, controlling it, making it unsafe for decent humans. The galaxy was rotten with the fifth corrupting it, but this was without a doubt the most corrupted planet he had ever seen. So wracked with sin that the planet was left barren and desolate.

* * *

She elbowed him in the ribs and twisted free of his grip, pushing him away. She stood several steps back from him, inwardly composing herself, glaring at his angrily with one golden eye. He leered back, blood soaked grin of a predator.

Finally she spoke, “Is this the extent of the mad pirate king,” she spat the word, “Sniping101? Are done and ready to die? Have you finally given up on us?”

“I will never die, I will never surrender,” With that predators grin and his prehistoric blood boiling he looked more beast than man.

“Then act like it!” She yelled, slamming her foot on the ground and tightening her fists, “The mood of this crew, this ship, no the entire planet, mirrors you. If you lose hope they lose hope, if you're excited, they're excited. These people fight and die, kill and steal for you; the least you can do is pretend you care.” She sighed and composed herself, “Are you really so willing to let us all die.”

Snipes tipped his head back, pulled a cigarette from his jacket and, wiping the blood from his teeth with a dirty once-white sleeve, lit it. Then he looked at her again and cocked a half grin, arrogance.

“Ha!” a sound deep in the ship cut him off, a stirring, a whirring and grinding, the light above flickered dimly, then blinked, and then exploded in a rain of sparks and fire.

“Hahahaha,” Snipes laughed with true mirth then, “That is a good omen. Let us go, let us grind our enemies to dust.” The predatory grin was back, but more excited now than feral.

“That sounds more like the Unheil I know,” Visha said, letting a smirk cross her face, he glared at her for a second before passing through the door, she followed behind and they made their way to the bridge.

* * *

“Crewman, would somebody please fix my throne,” Snipes groaned as it spun the side again under the stress of atmospheric entry.

“Aye. . .Aye,” One of them groaned, under the strain of his controls.

Snipes couldn't help but smile and laugh to himself as he watched parts of his ship fly off, the control panel turn red and warning klaxons scream. It was a cacophony of chaos and madness and all that was good in life. Excitement. Snipes lived for the adrenaline rush right before the breaking point.

His crew was seasoned, trusted and madmen all, they all were grinning to each other, despite the state of the ship and their own bodies. With the return of the engines and the madness of their king the whole ship had found once again their fire, moving like the possessed they ran around, ignoring the tossing and bucking of their ship. Captain Visha shouted orders, standing tall and proud next to Snipes; she had done away with the bandage and spared a few precious moments to clean up, put on a fresh uniform, the spitting image of an officer, a better standard no military could lay claim to.

Then the ship lurched, the bow leveling out and the descent slowed, Snipes watched through the small porthole as the lush world below sped past, almost at his feet. He was giddy, even, as the ship pulled a halt above a small spaceport and slowly put down.

Snipes was the first to step out of the ship, he had bolted from his throne to the airlock, and then strode comfortably down it, behind him trailed Laughing Bastards, Kelevra wore a grin, a monocle and a thick cigarra. Snipes wore his crown, his shotgun and an ever present bottle of rum gripped in his left, a cigarette smoldering in his mouth.

All about the port civilians ran about, trying to hurry to their ships or their homes or anywhere but where the mad pirate king had landed. They did not know him, but they would never forget him, Snipes knew that. He was going to strip their town and rebuild his ship; contact Osk and reclaim his throne.

The wind was a little more than a dull roar compared to the cheering of the crowd: Humans, Togorians, Bith… They were all represented, one solid mass screaming for one thing: Blood. The wave of noise enveloped the entire arena. Light poured in from a massive open ceiling above, bathing ever rock, stone and dust particle, giving off a slight glittering effect. Lances of light pierced the clouds above, revealing a pale red sky flecked with brown and gold. The entire effect was rather surreal, especially considering the current situation.

A roar was heard across the arena, a challenge of dominance. A sharp spike in volume arose from the crowd; a favored victor perhaps. Or maybe it was all just so maybe they could watch the man burn… Burn for all the carnage he caused, the lives he ended… The money he lost. Perhaps it was time to put the newcomer out of his misery; if he was here, he couldn’t have been of much importance to the galaxy at large. A voice arose from the loudspeakers, announcing the arrival of the new combatant. He never gave a name. They only knew him as The Light Hammer. His arrival had put the entire planet of Rattatak into utter chaos. Moreover, so had the arrival of his cohorts… They never gave any names, no reason for being… They just… were. From what others had said, there were others to be found, but they were scattered. All the news indicated to some large scale battle. But no one knew anything for sure… They were all just rumors, speculation at best…

The newcomer – The Light Hammer – stepped forward from the shadows, his face covered by an ornate bronze-colored helm with inlaid with a black trim. As he stepped into the light, the armor gave off a brilliant gleam; it looked aged, weathered… it looked as if it had seen much battle.

If only they knew…

The warrior stood tall, a hulking figure of destruction and foreboding. In his right hand he held a polished, phrik-metal warhammer; his trademark, to some extent. The leather grip made a slight tightening sound as the Light Hammer gripped hard. The weapon felt light in his hands, almost weightless really. That was the way of a warrior; soon the death became second nature. On his left hip... No one really knew. They had all heard the rumors, but like everything else, it was all just hearsay. In the end, it didn’t matter what the crowd thought – the outcomes were usually the same as they had been for the past month. Dead gladiator after dead gladiator after lost bet after lost bet.

Another roar emanated from the other end of the arena. The battered soldier stepped further out into the area towards the center. Between a swirling dust cloud stood his opponent: an Abyssian; he was tall and looked like something hewn from the very stone itself. In his hands he held a crude cudgel with pieces of steel and stone connected to the head. The hammer wielding soldier listened as the ground shook with the force of the cheering from the crowd. Around his wrists were manacles; the chains that had once held the Abyssian down were snapped and broken. He stepped out into the light and towards the armored menace, the cudgel swinging back and forth in his hands. Soon the two combatants were standing meters apart. The shadows danced around the two fighters, the crowd a swirling mass of chaos and noise. From the open ceiling a droid flew; it was small, with a red cranial covering and large red light swinging around its chest. It came down to the center of the arena, floating 5 meters above the combatants. Seconds passed by… the roar of the crowd was almost silent now, a little more than a whisper…

And then the light changed to green.

Without warning the two fighters charged at each other, a vortex of steel, rage and muscle. It was so fast that most of the crowd missed it… a flash of bronze and silver… The soldier stood behind the Abyssian, a snap-hiss echoing through the arena as it fell silent. Blood dripped slowly off the end of his hammer, beading on the stone and sand floor. Then, without warning, the Abyssian dropped his cudgel, the sickening smell of burning flesh permeated the nostrils. He fell to his knees, his last conscious moments filled with a pain that went on as if without ending.

And then he was no more.

Just like that, the dance was over. The Light Hammer turned and stepped over the corpse of his newly slain opponent, stepping back into the shadows and fading into the dark underworld beneath him, the crowd roaring at his back.



A small cheer came up from the assembled pirates as Tanus began to walk toward them. As he removed his helm, someone slapped him on the back and started to laugh. Tanus smiled as he raised his helm above his head and gave a look around at his crew.

“Behold, our esteemed captain has once again returned from the games of blood and death and is gracing us with his presence! How’d it go today, ‘Light Hammer’?”

Garryll chuckled as he stood off to Tanus’ right. The crowd laughed again as Tanus walked closer towards the cluster of pirates; in the back of them was their ships. The battles scars still looked fresh; Tanus had to hide a sneer as he walked toward the center of the camp.

“It went well. There’s one more dead Abyssian for the pyre tonight.”

“Another Abyssian? I think these judges or whatever the hell they are should come up with a little more imagination, or else there aren’t going to be any left.”

Tanus nodded in agreement. His look was sullen.

“Did we get hailed today?”

He looked to Devis, his comm. Technician; a short man, and somewhat sickly looking. His brown hair and pale blue eyes gave him an appearance of being ghostlike. He bowed his head and shook it; silence closed in on the gathered group.

“All right. Just keep checking. I know we can’t be the only remains of the damned floating among the stars.”

The crew nodded and dispersed back to their stations; technicians working on the ships seemed were quiet, sullen. The Living Dead. It’s like they’ve given up living. He stepped up the walkway into the Iron Victory, his pride and joy – now a shell of what it once was. The blaster marks on the wall were still fresh; the panels on the wall were half-torn off or missing entirely. Every now and again something gave off sparks, or there’d be a power loss. Tanus turned to Garryll, who was steely eyed and quiet. His jaw was firmly set as his eyes met Tanus’. Tanus sighed as he cracked his neck, the stress of the former battle wearing off with each snap of his bones.

“I’m going to shower and sleep. Given that its already getting late, don’t wake me up till morning.”

“You got it. Any other orders.”

“Nope, same as usual. If anyone tries to get in, start shooting.”

Garryll chuckled as he turned back the ramp, hand resting near his blaster. Tanus walked silently to his room. He opened the door and tossed the helmet on a pile of dirty clothes in the corner of his room. He hung up his war hammer on the war and placed his lightfoil on a bedside table. As he began to take his armor off, the fatigue hit him. He was getting tired of fighting. Always fighting… Always running… Tanus shooked his head and ran his hands through his hair as he stood up and walked towards the refresher. As he stepped under it, he felt the dirt and grime wash away. On the outside he felt clean… but on the inside… All those people… Gone… He stepped out of the refresher and dried off, putting on a pair of training pants and sitting on his bed, head between his hands as he felt the entire galaxy push down on him. He sighed a long sigh and lay back, soon falling into a deep, dark sleep.



The fire was everywhere. The screaming was everywhere. Tanus stood out among them, hammer and lightfoil spinning around, cutting down all who stood in his path. The bright, metal armor of the Crusaders was soaked deep with the crimson stain of blood; blaster marks danced along their frames. Several more screams went up as a power generator exploded; Tanus heard the sound of bodies hitting the floor. One Crusader tried to lance out with a bayonet strike. Tanus’ face contorted in rage as he removed his arm at the elbow – and then his head from his shoulders. Tanus’ own armor was stained with battle; the blood of the Crusaders lay across it like a vast ocean.

Garryll was rallying a defence at the southern entrance, but even he could hold out forever. Ron was leading a group through the city, but they’d be caught… just like all the others… Lana had already prepped the ship for takeoff. It was only a matter of time until the rest of her crew got to her. Tanus lay into the Crusaders, dropping three of them with a massive swing of his weapons. As the three fell, blaster fire slammed in from behind Tanus; Hotah had taken the Z-6 for a joy ride. As more of them fell, Tanus extinguished the light and sheathed the steel, drawing his DT-57 and opening fire. Someone behind threw a thermal detonator into the breach, taking out the remaining Crusaders in a wave of flame. As the flames licked at the walls and ceiling some of it started to collapse.

“That should buy us some time,” Hotah said as he ran over to the Iron Victory.A technician started to unhook one of the remaining cables from the ship. Hotah started to work on one of the other cables as the docking bay shuddered from another turbolaser barrage. Hopefully the shields held long enough to board. Everything after that was just dumb luck.

“Aye, but how much? You’ve seen what they do when we give them a roadblock: They just ignore it. We’ve just got to put as much distance between us and them as possible.” Tanus looked over his shoulder to make sure there were no Crusaders charging through the flames; they had a nasty habit of doing that. Tanus ran over to the last cable and detached it as Hotah ran towards the ramp.

“Tell Lana that everything is detached and to get the rest of t crew prepped. I’ll handle out here.”

Hotah nodded as he made his way into the heart of the ship. Tanus stood outside the onramp, his weapons poised, his stance firm. If there were going to get past him, it’d be over his cold dead body. To the south, a yell came up through the smoke and flames.

“For the love of everything holy, get the fuck outta the way!”

Tanus turned his head to the left, and from the flames came an old friend. Garryll charged up the center, clad in full armor and bristling with explosives. He stopped at Tanus and nodded as the Grave Robbers ran up the gangplank.

“How’d the traps go over?”

“Like a charm. Crusaders won’t be getting through their without a drilling team and a few miracles.”

“Good man. Got on board and strap in. As soon as Ron gets here, we’re gone.”

“Looks like we won’t have to wait long.”

From one of the entrances, blaster fire and shouting could be heard. As blaster fire started to pour in through the door, Ron stepped back, blaster rifle in his hands, covering the remaining Grave Robbers as they ran back to safety. Tanus turned to Garryll.

“Tell Lana that Ron’s here. Tell her to get those codes to the doors locked in.”

“You got it.” Garryll turned and ran up the ramp as Ron and his team drew closer. Some of them were bleeding, and there were definitely some missing… Tanus didn’t have time to think as Ron sprinted the last 50 meters. He stopped in front of him, short on breath and looking over his shoulder.

“Are you all right?”

Ron looked up from his bent over position, a grim line on his face. Tanus knew the look all too well.

“I’ll live. What’s the ETA on leaving?”

“As soon as we get on, we’re out of here.”

Without a word, Ron and others ran up the gangplank. Tanus took one last look behind him and the gathering flames, and then turned his back to them.


Tanus woke in a cold sweat, his pillow soaked. He sat up and bowed his head, inhaling and exhaling deeply and slowly. He looked to his chrono and let out a sigh. Six hours had past, and Tanus still felt as if he needed an eternity. He got up and looked in his mirror; he was haggard, worn out from the battles, the trials of fire. He knew that he wouldn’t sleep easy for a while, not if he kept thinking about that. How can I? He walked into the refresher and turned on the sink, reaching his hands out and then running cold water through his hair. The headache he had started to fade as Tanus raised his head and grabbed a towel. As he tried his hair, a knock rang from his door. Tanus walked up to the door and opened it; it was Hotah. He looked almost no different than Tanus. He was scarred, bruised and beaten; he looked as if he had aged 100 years. He stepped into the room as Tanus stepped back into his room to find a shirt.

“So I hear you made another kill in the arena yesterday.”

“I wouldn’t be here if it were otherwise.”

“Fair enough. So I came with some news that you may find pertinent.”

“That right? What could that possibly be?”

Hotah stepped forward with a solitary piece of flimsy and stuck it out for Tanus to grab it. Tanus walked over to Hotah and pulled the flimsy out of his hand and looked at it. And then his eyes bulged out of his skull. On the paper was a single message; it brought hope. It brought justice. It brought revenge:

I’m not dead yet.
-Snipes

Tanus stood up and looked at Hotah; a wicked smile crossed his face as he grabbed his jacket and boots. He walked out into the hall, Hotah at his heels. As he pounded down the walkway, Devis was already standing at attention; he nodded his head and picked up the mic.

“Snipes? You alive?”

At first there was only silence, a staticy burst every now and again kept the crew quiet. And then a voice, a voice Tanus had not heard in ages.

“I’m coming.”