Shadows of the Republic
Written by Liam Torun-Urr, 7288

Young, afraid, and alone on the world of Umbara after his Master was killed during Order 66, Liam Torun was stranded and forced to survive after the end of the Clone Wars and the fall of Umbara. He escaped the planet after the fall of the Empire left the remaining Imperial forces on the world weak enough to overthrow, and then found the Jedi of Odan-Urr. It was there he found hope, and inner peace.

But this is not that time. There has been a disturbance in the Force; time itself has been rent asunder, and all feel its ripples and distortions.

In this timeline, Luke Skywalker failed in his efforts to defeat the Emperor. Darth Sidious grew wise to the betrayal of Lord Vader and killed him, before laying waste to his son, and the efforts to destroy the second Death Star were futile. Facing a renewed Imperial push to hold Umbara, still the Liam of this timeline fought, turning to a different path to victory… a darker path.

This is that man’s story.

35 ABY
Ghost Nebula
Umbara System
Umbaran Capital City

Pale faces, clad in armor and wearing atmospheric helmets that gave off a faint greenish glow, turned upward as the Lambda-class shuttle approached the Capital’s landing pad. Soldiers, all of them lined up in formation, all of them clad in black Umbaran armor and wielding their blaster rifles in military fashion, stood at either side of the landing pad. Fear crept among their ranks, yet they kept their pale eyes forward, away from the ship, as its landing gear touched down on the pad.
	A slow, dreadful hiss of atmosphere escaped the ship’s vents, and the boarding ramp slowly lowered itself down. Stalking down its length, his steps measured and slow, decisive, was the leader of their people; the general of the army; the self-proclaimed King of Umbara.
	Black, shining boots and jet-black robes covered the body of Liam Torun as he strode from the shuttle, his white facial hair trimmed down to a short goatee and his shoulder-length hair tied back behind his head. Eyes once brown and bright, now long-since bloodshot and stained an evil yellow scanned the landing pad, the lightsabers at his belt rattling as he moved. No one dared to meet his gaze, as he strode toward the Commander who awaited him, toward the masses of civilians awaiting his passage. Fear of him kept them in line.
	His power had made him their beloved King.
	“My King,” Commander Solu Danesh said, his hands clasped behind his back as he bowed low before the Dark Jedi. “Our scouts report that the city’s defenses are secure, and our land troops are ready to move out against the Imperial forces. They will not know what has hit them.”
	“Excellent,” Liam’s cold voice, slightly hoarse with age, said as it escaped his throat. The gruffness added to his image, rather than detracting from it; as powerful as he was, at 75 years of age, many had begun to think him immortal.
	Which was fitting; his studies of the Force centered on just that. He needed to keep up the fight. Umbara needed him to keep up the fight, to rule.
	“Commander, prepare our forces for a frontal assault. We will drive these Imperial dogs offworld and make them pay for their-”
	“My King!” A scout shouted, running toward Torun. Several blasters trained on him; Liam’s right hand simply came up in a clawing motion, as the man lifted off of the ground and began to choke. Liam let him hang there, anger at the interruption surging through him, before letting him drop to the ground. Shaken, clearly in terror, the man prostrated himself upon the ground. “My King. Imperial starships have just jumped into the system; our scouts have spotted landing craft.”
	“They reinforce their positions?” Liam asked, amused. “The fools. We’ll crush these as we did the rest.”
	“No, my King,” The Umbaran replied, his voice slightly crackling from the feedback of his helmet’s speaker. “They appear to be leaving.”
	Liam’s eyebrows shot up, as the Commander interjected. “The cowards flee! My Lord, we have them on the rocks!”
	Torun’s face contorted into a mask of cold, merciless calculation as he weighed the intelligence. From all reports, the Empire had been aware that they were making small, but nonetheless existent, gains against the Umbarans. It was a hard fight, but they had been able to nearly turn the tide; reinforcements would have helped them to do that. Instead, they fled. What could it mean?
	“More likely, they need the forces from here for some other upstart world. And good riddance to them,” Liam said, lifting his chin in a stately manner.
	“My King?” The Commander asked. “Are we to allow them to retreat?”
	He thought on it for a moment. “No. Mobilize the army, and prepare my speeder. We will give them a proper send-off.” With a devilish grin, he strode toward the Capital, toward his Palace, where he could prepare for battle.

***

35 ABY
Umbara, Western Quadrant
Imperial Staging Area

Screams and explosions of dirt, blood, and fire split the night, crimson blaster bolts trading surges of bright color with verdant green replies from the Umbarans as panicked, outflanked Stormtroopers poured fire into the trees and bushed around their makeshift base. Prefabricated structures shattered and burned, desolated by great, centipede-like tanks that seemed to move around any terrain and unleash greenish blasts of death.
	In the midst of it all, blue and green blades blazing, Liam Torun let out a cry of exultation and rage.
	The Dark Jedi turned, as an AT-ST walker swivelled its guns toward him. With a flick of his hand, he sent the Dark Side of the Force to slam into its side, rocking it onto the ground and leaving its crew helpless. They never had time to clear the cockpit, as Liam leapt upon their vessel and shredded them with the lightsabers, the green of his old Jedi Master’s blade and the blue from his time as a Padawan so long ago. They had claimed thousands of lives since then - and today, they would claim thousands more.
	Whizzing overhead, spinning above mechanical behemoths and explosions of fire and death, TIE fighters offered air support even as glowing Umbaran fighter-craft, their holographic cockpits spinning like gyroscopes within their frames, opened fire. Debris and durasteel rained down upon the enemy, even as transports desperately, futilely, tried to clear the distance between themselves and a Star Destroyer growing ever more distant. Liam’s eyes scanned the battlefield, looked past the thousands dying, the destroyed buildings and blasted landscape, before finding the target of his rage.
	The Imperial base commander, a young man who had only recently replaced his predecessor, ran for his shuttle as the world around him turned into a fiery hell. The boy Liam had been when his Master died would have tried to get him to surrender; the man he had been in the woods, scavenging to survive, would have admired his courage in staying for so long to ensure his men got out. Liam Torun was not that man.
	He was the King of Umbara, and he felt only one thing for his foes - true, unbridled hatred.
	Leaping across the thirty-foot distance with an unearthly roar, the Dark Side surging within him, he landed in front of the man and scored the platform before him, forcing him back. A vicious boot from the huge Dark Jedi cracked the man’s sternum and sent him flying backward, coughing and gasping in pain. His blaster came out; Liam effortlessly batted the shots aside before extending two fingers to pull it from his hand, crushing it with his mind in the air before the man. The Commander’s face, pale and afraid, quivered as the King approached. “I surrender,” He said feebly as he fought to stand up. “The world is yours.”
	“It was always mine,” Liam snarled, before planting both of his blades in the man’s belly and pinning him against the wall. The stink of burning meat joined the scents of mud and ozone, bringing a rush of primal exultation to the Dark Sider.
	The Commander’s face froze in a mask of pure agony as his guts became fire, feeling the first tremors of a slow, agonizing, and assured death. Yet as he looked at the King, and then past him, his face broke into a hollow smile and he began to cough out a laugh. Liam’s face drew into a mask of confusion, as he regarded the man, who whispered with his last breath, “You’re too late.” Liam turned, to look to the sky behind him. And froze, as he took in the sight of it.
	There, looming on the horizon, across the entirety of it, was a massive space station. Huge, round like a moon and similar in proportion, it crept slowly through the sky, the massive dish in its metallic face angling toward the surface of the planet below. Cold fury, futile, empty, and hollow, rang through the Dark Jedi; the rumors he’d heard, that he had dismissed out of hand, were true. The Emperor had built a second Death Star.
	A blast of green light was the last thing Liam saw, as all of Umbara turned to fire and ash.