This is a shorter chapter but I really wanted to emulate the battle scene here on it's own. I am also trying not to overdo Vader and Ayen together scenes too much as it's good to break it up once in awhile. 😉 The battle scene I was going for was a little more challenging to write.

【Ｌｏｃａｔｉｏｎ：　
Ｏｕｔｅｒ　Ｒｉｍ　

Ｔｅｒｒｉｔｏｒｉｅｓ　

Ｓｕｌｌｕｓｔ

Ｏｕｔｓｋｉｒｔｓ　ｏｆ　

ｃａｐｉｔａｌ，　
Ｐｉｎｙｕｍｂ】

V A D E R

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  THE SKIES WERE AWASH IN A HUE OF CRIMSON, reminiscent of bloodied fingerprints smeared across the clouds overhead. In the thick heat forged by molten veins of lava, noxious fumes with notes of sulfur arose through the planet's volcanic fissures, with a menacing hiss.

  The winds snapped at his cloak down the rocky crags of the cavernous mountainside, just east of the Sullust capital, Pinyumb. TIE bombers screamed overhead, leaving a fiery trail streaking the skies deafening the slow, steady breaths emitting from the vocoder of his metallic breathing mask. Every expelled breath pushed him to the fragile cusp of insanity within the stifling heat of the mask—a necessary measure.

  The clash of steel, the shrill of missles that speared from twin laser cannons off the TIE bombers, reverberated through molten rock. The sheer vibration pulsed beneath the soles of his boots.

  "The Emperor wants Sorosuub Corporation unscathed, they are still manufacturers for the Empire!"

  "Yes, Commander!"

  He moved with a lethality through the blackened haze, a purpose in his step across the scorched fields on the fringes of the mining industrial units.

  He had yearned for the day he'd be back on the battlefields. He was like death incarnate; the Supreme Commander of the 501st Legion leading the charge. Wielding a lightsaber of cerise that gleamed behind a blood-red lens, he was the very beast that had crawled up from the bowels of all nine Corellian hells. Propelling himself into the air with a powerful surge of the Force, he came down with a slash of his plasmic blade, cutting through the very boulders that served as barricades for the armed rebels.

The cry of lamented souls were left as smoldering corpses in his wake.

  Flanking him on either side, clone troopers advanced in lockstep, a monsoon of blaringly bone-white armor and cobalt markings. E-11 blaster rifles weighted in their grip laid waste to sentients and Sullustans with a crackle of blaster fire.

  "On your left CT-1409!" shouted Rex—CT-7567–through the crackle of his mic, the cobalt shoulder plate visibly signifying his rank as Captain. "Echo, watch out!" He hurled the trooper, marked with an azure handprint on his breastplate, to the ground just before a white-hot blast erupted from a thermal detonator going off.

  "Arrrgh I've got your cover!" The CT-27-5555 clone trooper Fives that had flanked their right dropped to his knee, the haphazard splash of blue off his helmet gleaming under the blood-red skies. In his gloved grip, he cocked back the blaster rifle, the fiery bolts striking several rebels. "Oz, Mixer, Charger—cover your Captain!"

  "Watch out for the quarries troopers, they've been rigged!" shouted Officer Molock. Sweat beaded his waxen face as grit rained down from a pit aft, several bomb squad stormtroopers specifically trained to disarm spring traps, ricocheting through the air—sent to their deaths.

  An AT-AT Walker loomed over the battlefield, its imposing silhouette dominating the horizon while the gunner at the helm unleashed a relentless barrage of firepower lighting up enemy targets.

  Another mine erupted, the massive machine careening. The sharp tang of ozone filled the air and all four plated legs buckled with a grinding of gears, disappearing into the obsidian plumes of smoke and debris.

Several dozen rebels suddenly began to retreat.  "Fall back!"

Amidst the raging chaos, several native Sullustans wielded their pistols in a frantic gesture, the rebel starbird emblazoned on their shoulder patches showcasing their allegiances to the Rebel Alliance.

  "I'll hold them off, get to the ships this base has been overrun!" shouted a male Sullustan who fell behind, a mixture of agony and terror prominent in his voice.
His joweled cheeks were smeared with soot, black beady eyes widening as they rapidly chattered in liquid tones of Sullustese.

  For mercy.

  Blood gushed down his globular head—exposing a gouged out ear. He stumbled, steel-toed boots frantically scrambling against the terrains stained with the gelatinous substance.

  Officer Molock advanced.

  "Treasonous rebel filth!" he snarled. Surrounded by a squadron of stormtroopers from the 401st, he took swift aim and fired a bolt straight through his head.

The Sullustan crumpled and his head smacked against the grounds with a sickening crack.

  "Push forward! Take no prisoners! Victory for the Empire!" Molock's orders echoed across the battlefield, several BARC speeders darting past, blaster cannons hailing fire upon the backs of traitors whose legs buckled with a cry.

  The Imperial Army's training and discipline gave them an edge over their adversaries. They moved with lethal efficiency, picking off the several stragglers with precise shots while providing armored cover for their comrades.

  But the Sullustan rebels were not easily defeated. With guerrilla tactics and improvised explosives, they struck back at the troopers with adequate accuracy, inflicting casualties even as they fought against the overwhelming might of the Empires heavy artillery.

  Despite of being outnumbered and outgunned, those who remained behind refused to yield. "For the greater good," he often heard the scum preach in the face of death. Particularly in his interrogation chambers.

  Fools.

  Vader wove around his troopers with lethal grace, his towering, hooded figure a dark silhouette against the backdrop of chaos. Deflecting blaster bolts, and set of explosive traps, a barrage of men whose thin faces were caked in grime, cried out, "Long live the Rebellionnnn!"

  They charged his men, Vader's eyes burning with an unholy fire.

   The sounds of warfare faded into the recesses. He stalked toward those fleeing to the transports, seeking purchase in the awaiting hands of the infernal dark. As if that could save them. Vader's presence seemed to command the very elements themselves. With flint in his veins and cold fire in his eyes, he descended upon the reformation.

  The screams of agony pierced the air, suffocating the last spark of hope from their eyes.

  He could taste the bitter tang of their desperation, like fear clinging to the air. The dawning realization washed over their faces, each furrowed brow and trembling hand a testament to the weight of their defiance. Their anti-stance had cost The Cobalt Labor Reformation more than they could have imagined. Their kin, once safe in the shadows, were now likely exposed, the Empire's gaze upon them. What was once a stand for freedom had become the noose tightening around their loved ones.

  The sickening sound of their flesh being seared and cauterized filled the air, a brutal symphony of pain and power. He didn't hesitate, each movement calculated and precise as his blade mercilessly impaled them straight through. His wrath was palpable, he disemboweled with a single stroke, their innards spilling out in a grotesque display of gore. Blood spurted from severed limbs with the snap of bones resounding with an audible crunch beneath the might of his hand. Others he flung into the air with a flick of his wrist, their curdled screams disintegrating while their bodies were torn apart by the volatile dark Force of his powers.

  There was no remorse in his eyes—only cold efficiency. One by one, they fell, their final moments spent in agony as the life drained from them.

  The lands visible through the thick of debris, were left a smoking husk, scarred in the deadly aftermath of war. The bodies lay broken and severed at his feet, crushed beneath the imperial war machine that was he.

  Over the ravaged landscape his presence seemed to cast a foreboding shadow. A twisted smirk played across his lips while Vader stood amidst the carnage, several tissue- skinned ash angels corkscrewing to the grounds to scavenge like featherless vultures.

  Beneath the tinted visor, his eyes radiated with the raw power of the dark side.

   Truly, he was the master of death.

"Officer Molock," Vader started in a low steely voice, his chin raised, "burn the bodies. Let the message be sent clear to their precious Rebellion."

His command carried the weight of authority they didn't dare refute. Instilled with a sense of urgency his troopers executed his orders swiftly and decisively.

No brave soul would ever dare rise up against the Dark Lord of unparalleled power, and live.

  The Rebel Alliance would soon realize victory was far from being won this day.

Ayens chapter is next ...

So was the battle scene up to par?