The Antagonist
Sadow Palace
Sepros
Orian System
Colonel Senth of the Orian Warhost Intelligence Directorate made his way quickly down the corridor to the Pro Consuls private quarters. He was surprised by the sudden summons. His life had been fairly quiet recently, since the events of the Clan ...
Submission Text
The Antagonist
Sadow Palace
Sepros
Orian System
Colonel Senth of the Orian Warhost Intelligence Directorate made his way quickly down the corridor to the Pro Consuls private quarters. He was surprised by the sudden summons. His life had been fairly quiet recently, since the events of the Clan split at Dantoran. Most of his duties had merely been directing intelligence collection and analysis. However a late night call to attend the penultimate leader of Clan Naga Sadow was unexpected and hinted at something out of the ordinary.
The clone commando reached a heavy door guarded by two troopers, who moved to block his way. He quickly raised his identification card and they saluted, before standing aside. One opened the door. Senth stepped into the interior and noted the comfortable but practical interior. The Pro Consul was stood waiting for him. DarkHawk gave a quick nod of recognition in response to Senth's salute.
“Thank you for coming so quickly Colonel,” he said quietly, “I would not have brought you over so late had the matter not been so urgent.”
Senth kept his features neutral. “It is no bother, Pro Consul.”
“I have a task for you,” DarkHawk told him, still standing and giving no indication that either of them should seat or take refreshments. “Have you heard of a smuggler in Seng Karash by the name of Den'Vilar?”
The clone nodded. “I have sir,” he replied, “he is a bothan. He has a small warehouse near the spaceport. He has a fairly minor operation, and with larger problems in the city the Aeotheran Security Force appear to ignore him.”
DarkHawk looked at him calmly. “Den'Vilar is my top agents on Aeotheran. He was instrumental in informing to us on the state of the planet under the rule of the Collective, and his intelligence was vital in retaking the planet. Even now he keeps me appraised of goings on the Shar Dakhan Summit does not necessarily bring to my attention.”
“I was not aware of that,” Senth said, surprised the agents activities has slipped past him, “so what is the matter concerning him?”
The Pro Consul looked deeply into the clones eyes. “I received a message from him that his cover may have been compromised,” he replied, “he feels he is unsafe where he is, and feels if he breaks cover he will be intercepted. I want him made safe and brought back to me here. Alive.”
Senth frowned. “If he is compromised then why not simply eliminate him?” he asked, “or allow them to take him and cut your losses.”
DarkHawk's features darkened, “I do not abandon those who have served me for so long Colonel,” he said in a quiet and deadly voice, “he is loyal to me and I will return that in kind.”
Senth nodded. “One question Pro Consul, why are you sending me? If you contact the Shar Dakhan Summit, they can have the ASF or Sapphire Squadron go in and retrieve him in a matter of hours.”
DarkHawk's features darkened. Senth raised his eyebrows slightly as the Pro Consul began to explain in the same quiet voice. Finally the clone nodded. “I understand sir.”
“Good. Then depart immediately. I will send you the location of his hideout to your data pad. Needless to say you will inform no one of this mission.”
Senth saluted. “Yes sir.” He turned and left.
Seng Karash
Aoetheran
Orian System
The customs guards took a laborious amount of time checking his well crafted false identification before allowing through. Senth took it all calmly. He could of course have bypassed the entire process by identifying himself, but he did not want to announce his presence. The new regime put in place by the current planetary governor was stricter than it had been under either the Collective or Naga Sadow's previous rule, and the arrival of a high ranking Warhost officer would have been recorded and perhaps relayed to the Dakhan Summit. He preferred to be subtle. He was wearing simple clothing and carrying a small bag. His equipment had been checked in and would be waiting for him in the cargo area.
A short while later he left the star port into the streets, carrying his heavy bag slung over one shoulder. If he was stopped and searched he would be able to bluff his way past the ASF, or offer a simple bribe. Despite the new regime the police were still the police. He thought back to the details he had been sent by the Pro Consul. The smuggler had left his warehouse and was holed up in a small flat above a shop in the commercial and leisure district. It was an hours walk away, so he made for the nearest monorail station, quickly ascending the steps along with other travellers. He check the time on the board above his head. It was 20:00 hours. He still had two hours until the newly implemented curfew. That was plenty of time. He reached the top, and pushed his way through the crowds to the front of the platform, looking down at the display on the ground marking the carriages stopping locations. A few moments later there was a whining sound and the train approached the station. Senth waited while passengers departed, then found horizontal seat against the wall, putting the heavy bag on the floor. He waited a few seconds for the train to depart.
About ten minutes later he made his way down an identical set of stairs to the main street of the commercial and leisure district. He looked around. The area was oddly quiet compared with how it used to be. At one time it had been the thriving hub of the Orian Systems largest city, with thousands of workers and their families out spending their money in the shops bars, clubs and restaurants and the place had been full and bouncing until early in the morning, before getting busyagain several hours later. Now with the curfew and tougher rules, the district was a shadow of its former self. The bars were still there and people were out drinking or eating, but the atmosphere was gone and there was a tenseness about it. The clone shrugged and continued. Using the mental picture in his mind, he made his way along the street and then down a dark side street, keeping his free right hand near the Syndicate blaster pistol tucked into his belt.
Finally after several turns he reached a small back street, quiet but still well lit by the street lamps above. Looking up he noticed the cameras attached to them. It seemed nowhere was private in the city any more. He looked down the street until his eyes settled on a small closed convenience store, its lights off and its window empty. There was a small doorway next to it. Senth cautiously approached, keeping his pace level. He examined the door. It was heavy and had a sophisticated lock. It took the clone several minutes to open it. Drawing his blaster pistol he made his way slowly up the stairs to the landing, and then stopped. He took a breath. “The lost porg flies a lonely journey.”
There was a sudden movement behind him. “Drop your weapon and bag,” a voice told him, “and raise your hands.” Senth complied, the pistol making a dull thud as it hit the floor. “Now turn around slowly.”
Senth complied, and a worried looking bothan came into view, his fur standing up on end and suspicious eyes boring into him. He was wearing a simple grey suit and holding a battered blaster rifle.
“Den'Vilar?” Senth asked.
“Possibly,” the bothan replied, “who are you?”
“I am Colonel Senth of the Warhost Intelligence Directorate,” the clone replied calmly, “I was sent to get you out of here, you are in danger.”
“Give me your identification, the real one,” Possibly Den'Vilar told him.
“It is in the bag,” Senth replied.
“Take it out slowly and throw it here. No sudden movements.” Senth slowly crouched, opening a small pocket on his bag and taking a card out. He threw it casually to the bothan, who caught it in his left hand, keeping a grip on the rifle with his right. He slowly stood again.
The bothan examined it, then looked up at the clone. Finally he seemed to relax. “Just you here?”
Senth nodded. “Considering who is after you it was considered best to keep this low profile. He has eyes everywhere here.”
Den'Vilar sighed. “It is true then. I feared as much. I have heard stories, and the recent broadcast and destruction of that mining sector does not make it easier.”
“That was him, yes. I know him well. He likes handling matters personally, especially with a hostile agent under his nose for so long.”
“I am not hostile,” the bothan replied in an injured tone, “I have served your Clan for years.”
“You are in his territory and you do not work for him,” Senth replied, “therefore you are hostile.” He looked around at the dull landing and rooms either side. “We can not remain here. We will be found, and these confined surroundings will suit him. I will prepare. Bring anything small you can not manage without. We leave in ten minutes.”
Senth, now armoured and heavily armed, lead the nervous bothan down the stairs and through the door. The street was still quiet. “We still have over an hour until the curfew,” Senth said quietly, “we should still watch for the Aeotheran Security Force though. The rules are tighter on open weapons carrying though.”
The bothan glanced down at the rifle held in his hands. “What do we do if they stop us?”
“I will attempt to bluff us through,” Senth replied, “I still have some official status.”
“And if that does not work?”
“I will handle them.”
Senth lead the bothan through the back streets. He was not heading for the star port. They would be checked leaving, and he did not have a spare identification for the bothan. Plus it would be the obvious place. There was a small shuttle terminal nearby that ought to have at least one ship in they could commandeer. Nightime supply flights in and out of the sector were still common enough for them to slip in the outgoing traffic. Hopefully.
They approached the shuttle terminal and surveyed it. “It looks like there are two ships in,” Senth observed, “we just need to be careful.”
“I have a contact inside,” Den'Vilar replied, “he ought to be able to get us aboard a flight.”
“You are sure?” Senth asked.
“I am a smuggler,” the bothan replied, “I know this place and its operations.”
“Good.”
They made their way to a side gate in the wall surrounding the facility. Senth made short work of the lock and they made their way inside. Then the clone stopped. “It's quiet,” he said as he looked around at the area, “too quiet.”
“It is odd,” the bothan agreed in a whisper, “they ought to be busy at this hour.” He glanced up at the office, which had its lights shining through the windows, but no sign of people.
Senth gripped his V-10 and made his way cautiously forward, the bothan following nervously. Then he stopped as the display in his helmet detected movement. He trained his weapon on the shadows. “If anything happens duck for cover and let me handle it,” he said quietly.
“I can help!” the bothan protested.
“Do as I order if you want to live.”
Then there was a sudden burst of movement and Senth fired as a shape descended from on top of the nearest shuttle, leaping towards them. Senth fired at it with his blaster, narrowly missing. As the bothan leapt away the clone fired his backpack as the figure landed, a lightsaber bursting into life in the robed figures hand. Senth's vision took in their assailant and the bothan kneeling behind a crate with his hands over his head. Still in the air, Senth fired again and the saber swept back and forth, deflecting the shots away from his body. Senth considered a grenade from the V-10s barrel, but judged the bothan too close and the risk too high. “Stop!” he shouted.
The robed figure looked up at the clone, his features covered by the masked hood. “I knew he would send you,” he said in a cold tone, “ and what you would do. You are too predictable.”
Senth kept the barrel of the V-10 aimed at the enemy as he slowly lowered to the ground. “You know why I am here Quaestor,” he replied, “and on whose authority. Allow us to go on our way.”
There was a quiet noise of derision. “No,” Malisane replied, “he is a spy. On my planet.”
“Your planet?” Senth echoed in surprise.
“Until the Consul removes me, yes. For now he is content with the funds and recruits I send him for his military. He allows me to rule as I see fit. So I will question the bothan to see what tales he has told the Pro Consul, and then he will die.”
“That will not happen Quaestor,” Senth replied, “I will follow my orders.”
“And do what, kill me?”
Senth paused for a few seconds. “I do not wish to Quaestor,” he told the Sith, “however I was ordered to bring him to Sepros, and I will carry out my orders, whatever it takes.”
There was a chuckle from the Sith. “I see. Ever the loyal soldier they bred you to be.” He reached out his left hand towards the bothans hiding place, keeping the saber between himself and the clone. “He is a weak little rat. I can kill him now, before you can stop me.”
Suddenly there was a burst of blaster fire from the left and the Sith body twisted round, blocking the shot with his saber. Senth cursed and then fired himself, the shot scorching the cloak of the Warlord but missing his body. He heard quick footsteps as the bothan scampered deeper into cover and then a roar of anger from Malisane. The Sith lashed out at the crates with the force, tumbling several and drawing a scream of fear from the bothan. Senth moved forward, trying to distract the Sith with more shots as Malisane backed off, his saber blocking them. Despite what he had said the last thing he wanted was to kill the Quaestor. The erratic Warlord might be an controversial figure, but he was still a title holder and a Quaestor and the ramifications of his death on what most would see as a trivial matter would rock the clan.
Malisane raised his left hand and directed it at the clone commando, and Senth felt a blow to his chest that rocked him backwards. The Sith roared again, and seemingly forgetting the bothan, he leapt forward at the clone, saber raised. Senth hit a crate behind him and saw the Sith closing in. He fired his jetpack again and felt himself lift, clearing the crates as the Sith's saber sliced through them in a shower of sparks. As the Quaestor looked up at him furiously, Senths gaze saw the bothan crouched behind a terminal, near to a shuttle with an open hatch. He held his rifle firmly in his hands but the fight seemed to have gone out of him.
Senth looked back down at the Sith. “This is foolish Quaestor. Would you have us kill each other over one bothan spy?”
There was a snarl from the Sith. “Only one of us will die Senth. You forget I have known you too long. I remember the newly hatched clone captain they sent to me all those years ago. There is little you know I did not teach you. I will kill the bothan, and you if you continue to interfer."
Senth studied the Sith. It was true. He had been assigned by the former Consul to become the Sith's unwanted agent and bodyguard. However that was before the Sith had become the monster he was now, and since then the clone had learned much more on his own. “Very well then you leave me no choice.” Senth raised the V-10 and fired a grenade.
The explosion rocked the area, causing crates to topple and crash to the floor and shaking the whole area. The sound would probably draw the local security force and who knew what else. He looked over at the bothan, who was scampering up the ramp of the shuttle. “Get it ready to go!” He fired the jetpack and flew over the burning crates towards the shuttle, landing in free space in front of it.
“We're still clamped,” Den'Vilar shouted back.
Senth cursed. “Very well, I need to release it.” He went to the terminal, placed the V-10 on the table next to it and removing his helmet. He began clicking buttons rapidly, knowing time was important. There was a whirr of machinery as the fuelling and power hoses detached from the shuttle, retracting back into their hosing. Senth checked it was all in place, and then made for the shuttle. Then he felt another invisible blow and he reeled backwards,
As he looked up in surprise a vision of horror burst out from amongst the toppled crates. Malisane's hood and cloak was gone now, and his robes were torn and smoking. Blood ran down the side of the Sith's scarred pale cheeks, and his torn mouth was drawn in a twisted sneer. His saber was still in his hand and he was moving quickly towards the clone, death in his eyes. Senth backed off from the shuttle, his hand instinctively going to his waist and drawing his sword. He raised it defensively as the enraged Sith lashed at him, the enhanced blade deflecting the fury of blows as Senth's years of training guided him. The clone knew he was in trouble though. He had sparred against Malisane in the past, and others amongst the best saberists in the Clan and had learned much on how to face them. However this was for keeps and in the confined space the Sith was stronger. He concentrated on his defence, trying to find a gap he could counter into and break the Sith's defence. “Go!” he shouted. The response was a roar of the ships engines and the ramp began to close.
Malisane roared again in anger, his mutilated head snapping round in fury at his prey escaping and Senth thrust at him, finding a gap and scoring along the Sith's ribs. The head turned back to him and Malisane hacked at him with both hands, nearly knocking the Sith sword from the clones grip,
Senth backed off, raising his blade, his gaze focused on his foe. He only needed to stall the Sith a few moments longer and the Den'Vilar would be away into the night sky. Surely then the battle would end.
“It's over!” he shouted.
Malisane's response was a roar of fury and he leapt at Senth, slashing at him in fury. Senth's back was against the wall, as he concentrated on the glowing saber. His strength was fading, the relentless blows of the enraged Sith were wearing him down. Finally he felt his sword leave his grip, and a second later a burst of agony as the saber bit into his side, and he collapsed, his strength fading.
As he lay on the floor he heard the shuttle roar into the sky, climbing swiftly and could make out the sound of the Quaestor shouting into his communicator, presumably with interception orders. Senth did not care. The bothan was away at least, it was down to him now. He had done his best to follow the Pro Consuls orders. He opened his eyes, and could just make out the Sith limping towards him, his hand clutched to his bleeding side. His rage had ended and he looked exhausted. The clone looked up at the Sith he had known since he had been created, had fought alongside and against on and off for over a decade. Then he saw Malisane's hand leave his side and draw his saber wearily. Senth focused slowly on the emitter now aimed right at at him. The clone looked at it for a few seconds, then back to the eyes of the Sith, awaiting his fate.
There had been a lot of stories told about Myrefall even before the town had become a mining town overnight. Cimozjen had been told by the Overlord about the importance of the location. A quick read over the dossier already revealed a good amount of the common knowledge about the outpost that had...
Submission Text
There had been a lot of stories told about Myrefall even before the town had become a mining town overnight. Cimozjen had been told by the Overlord about the importance of the location. A quick read over the dossier already revealed a good amount of the common knowledge about the outpost that had been converted into a village. Not all wanted to live in the cities of planets like that of the Markosians or the Dakhani. Even New Eden could not tempt those who wanted to stake their own claim in this Outer Rim system.
It wasn't as though Cimozjen could blame any of them, really. He had been driven back out to the Orian system again after many drunken days and nights around Coruscant. The visions were maddening enough on their own. Usually, even before he was given orders by the pretender to the throne in the New Sadowan temple, he was granted some vision by the Force. Strangely, such premonitions were completely absent of the worn Adept's hours, either day or night. He didn't consider himself a seer by any measure, but where visions failed, Kurios could normally depend on the dossier's provided by the 'rightful' masters of the system.
Stepping off of the speeder, the Coruscanti man turned to pay the transport's owner. The older woman's eyes darted up and down the single, long street the bisected Myrefall. The wrinkled human barely spoke a word as she scooped up his credit chips and tossed the change into his waiting hand. It was as though she couldn't get out of the place quickly enough. As Cimozjen turned to survey his surroundings, he heard the speeder lifting off. The sound of the speeder was quickly swallowed by the fog surrounding the town.
"Hey, you!" A Chiss glared up at the Sadowan Elder from his spot against a permacrete building that was designated by a simple sign as 'Myresfall Station'. An overturned hat, half-empty bottle and a mixture of seemingly random trash sat beside the alien as he strummed a scratched and scuffed quetarra mindlessly. "What brings a fella like you to our doomed little town?"
This caused Cimozjen to blink twice. "I heard something had befallen this quaint little place," he tried to choose his words as diplomatically as possible. "I was sent by the Overlord to ensure that we provided whatever aid you required."
The Chiss laughed at this. "You think that your lot are going to be able to do anything? The lost women, the lost children, the lost men and beings of all stripes are gone?"
"I know that phrikite ore can be quite valuable. We want to be sure that you all are safe."
The Chiss stood up, now clutching the bottle that had sat at his side. "I have heard the stories, stranger. We know the sorts of things your lot are willing to do in order to achieve power. You have twisted lives, you have twisted lives, you have twisted the very energy that binds the galaxy together to try to achieve your own wicked wills."
"We," the Sorcerer paused at the words thinking, "all have our burdens to bear. We cannot change the past. I can not undo what 'our lot' have done here. Surely you have to understand that you cannot hold the children responsible for the sins of their fathers?"
The fog seemed to creep in as the old man tilted his head backward in a throaty guffaw.
"The planet, the people, the damned Force- none of them give a damn for such moral nonsense. You could have stood up against them."
"What did you expect me to do?" It felt like the fog was pushing in on the too men. While Cimozjen glared into the alien's red eyes, he was overcome by a feeling of deep melancholy. "I can not be expected to solve all the problems of the galaxy. If the Jedi couldn't do it and the Sith just make it worse, what is there that we can do? So many of the Mundane population seem happy enough to wait for some hero or some space mystic to come out of the wood work and to save them. What do YOU expect ME to do?"
"You," the Chiss waved a single finger and shook his head, "you know there is more to it than that. The guilt has been eating you up all this time, pretender. You speak of the master you call Overlord as though he is the only one who is playing at a part. You know well enough what is happening here, Zachary."
"I have no idea what you are talking about." Cimozjen's tone was cold and flat.
"Oh, which part?"
"I don't know anybody by that name, and I don't know what is happening here. I was sent to solve a problem, and now I have some piece of poodoo who is trying to pin the galaxy's woes on me."
The Chiss chuckled, moving in upon the Sorcerer's personal space. "Something is killing people out here. They are being swallowed by the mist, and then they are being left as mere corpses. There is a monster out here that doesn't carry your colors, Sadowan."
"I am not a Sadowan."
"You might not claim that any more, Corellian, but you have the same blood upon your hands."
Cimozjen sat, thinking through what he was being told to him. "What is this thing? What does it want? Where did it come from? How can I stop it?"
"It is older the hills itself." The Chiss made a grandiose gesture. "It is a beast more alien than your Twi'leks or Aqualish, and more cunning than your humans or your Chiss."
"Aren't you a Chiss?"
The accusation brought a smile and a nod. "We are ancient, Sadowan. We are beyond your simple understanding, Corellian. And I can tell you, Zachary O'Maille, that there is nothing that you can do to stop us. One of two things will happen this day. You will submit, and be committed to the madness, or you will fight and become worm food. Your kind refuse to recognize their proper masters. Even when one of our kin came through the portal, you chose to fight our rightful claim to your world. You fought back against us, and you fought one of ours into a state of oblivion."
"This is madness."
The Chiss smiled, showing a gnarled mouth of teeth. While Chiss teeth were sharp, these teeth were arrayed around even soft surface. It was an unending grinder which lined a seemingly bottomless gullet. It both horrified and memorized the human for what felt like hours. "Perhaps it is a sort of madness," the not-Chiss's voice was unaltered, " that you all will suffer. Your asteroids contain several further gateways. There are nexuses that will allow us to use the Force itself to open new gateways. In time, we will find disciples who will accelerate the opening of the gates."
"You really think that we will not stop you? Do you think we won't fight?"
The not-Chiss let out a breath. It was like a sigh of resignation, but unnaturally deep and loud for the alien's slight frame. "Alas, you have made your choice Zachary. Whatever you may call yourself, we should have expected you turn from the path of wisdom in the end. It is sad really. We thought given the cowardice before that you might choose the right path out of fear. It appears," the fog closed in as the Chiss contined to speak, "that we were all mistaken."
"So, you are telling me that his corpse was all that you found?" Bentre Sadow looked down at his second in command from the hard throne in the New Sadowan Temple. His tone was usually business-like with his Proconsul but today he was in a far less charitable mood. "All those people turn up dead, one of our best free agents in the Clan turns up dead as well and we are no closer to figuring out what this whole disturbance in the Force is about! Surely, this can't be done by just one person. We need to figure out who these people are and how they are doing this."
"Sir, he isn't our best agent. There are plenty of others. We could call of Master Muz or any number of other Sons of S-"
"We are NOT getting any of them mixed up in this nonsense, Takagari! Tell me that you understand me!!" Bentre was standing now, feeling the heat in his face as he yelled.
A mixture of emotions washed over Darkhawk's face as the Consul stood there, shoulders heaving in anger. The Overlord's second was well-used to these kind of outbursts, but for once he felt a wave of his own anger pass over him. The Clan was doing the best that they could. Point them at a cult of force users or some low-life rebels and they would have the matter dealt with in weeks, on average. Even when the likes of the Collective could not be immediately sorted, they at least had a plan of attack.
This was something else.
"What do you propose, sir?" Darkhawk tilted his head.
"To the Hells with it all!" Bentre snarled. "I will have to go down there and sort out this trouble by myself!"
As the Overlord stormed out of the dark hall, Takagari had a feeling in the pit of his stomach that this matter would not be so easily resolved.
// Author note: this threat was not drawn from any outside influence I could pin down, outside of maybe the 'vengeful spirit' cliche(?) or idea
I heard it under my bed but chose not to look as it scratched and clawed its way from underneath. Beyond my blanket-covered feet, its glowing eyes peered at me.
Submission Text
I heard it under my bed but chose not to look as it scratched and clawed its way from underneath. Beyond my blanket-covered feet, its glowing eyes peered at me.
The leader of the group looked up at the peculiar birds circling, their shrieks nearly paralyzing the travelers of the mist, they grew louder before diving one by one. The group screamed in terror as their flesh was carved from their bones, picked bare by razor sharp beaks that were more machine ...
Submission Text
The leader of the group looked up at the peculiar birds circling, their shrieks nearly paralyzing the travelers of the mist, they grew louder before diving one by one. The group screamed in terror as their flesh was carved from their bones, picked bare by razor sharp beaks that were more machine than beast; their cries quickly stifled as blood soaked into the fresh snow beneath the cadavers.
This is to the tune of, and inspired by, "Shots Fired" by Megan Thee Stallion. Warning, highly explicit lyrics: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P8jNPawT-aM
Imagine you be lyin' 'bout beatin’ us forthwith
Just to save face for deadbeat losers you chill with
Imagine me givin’ a kriff you took the ...
Imagine you be lyin' 'bout beatin’ us forthwith
Just to save face for deadbeat losers you chill with
Imagine me givin’ a kriff you took the kriffin’ port away
Proud of your conquest, but as boring as a Core World ballet
Now imagine me distracted by some rural half-wit
Not even worth the governorship, you think the city is united
And now it’s up to me, this week, your death is expedited
You offer creds for support, I guess that made the gangs excited, hmm
Now y'all in cahoots, huh, but we’re absolute
You came at our clan with a broke hobo crew
Talkin’ ‘bout crooks and bandits like their fighting’s really frightin’
A panicked leader with a panicked army in his feelings
Okay, you on the broadcast with your silly sales pitch
You now see the power that we came back with
You talkin’ bout your daughter but she just a fake Sith
You tell her, “You not scary, you just a sullen kid”
Now here we we, Kasiya, still a traitor
And I’m gonna show you want I do to wannabe dictators
Any fighters on this traitors side are just cred chasers
A thug who’s fakin’ or a merc that you payin', uh
Imagine me, hahaha
Imagine me entertaining you kriffin’ goofy-arse traitors and you kriffin’ goofy-arse snitches
Who you takin' shots at, goofy-arse traitor?
Keep your snitch arse out a Tal clan districts
And that go for your forces too that's tryna get rich
Take a seat, I'll slice up you, this is not a trick
Ooh Sith, it's a lotta weak suckers with this snitch
They confused
They hate us, but see our powers ain’t a trick
You a fink. You shoulda never took away our hard fought gains
Now you a sneak check behind your back cuz you just turned into prey, ayy
We’re on the attack uh, you can't handle that, huh?
You want us to be the bad guy, kill you off with your spawn
Force chose, I didn’t ask to break the motherkriffin’ mold
Not even a meter tall and you’ll still find my victory is foretold
Wield the Force always, sabers do the talkin'
I know you want the clout, so I ain't sayin' y'all names
Oh, you out here fightin’, huh? Who you get those credits from?
Two gangs down but however long will that last, huh?
I be confident 'cause I come with some real Sith
And your army we will slay, our entire clan is close-knit
You know we got the power all you traitors should just quit
Just one Taldrya one deep, and I am worth your whole clique, ayy
Who you takin' shots at, feeble minded twit?
Watchin’ me defeat your armies, no sweat
I know you want attention but you ain’t even a threat
We are lords, you a servant, fool just leave our space
Real power, yeah, yeah, I ain't wieldin’ ancient tales
Force choke a dude while another dude just bleedin’ there
Twit think he overwhelmin' somethin’, tryna run and tell
Dolt, I got a bond with my Taldrya and they all aware, yeah
Who you takin' shots at? Shut up with your useless mass
Dumb as a brick, kill you and noone’ll be sad
Attack while we’re down bad, we’ll remember all that
Next traitor send a shot, my saber sends it right back