Chapter 18: Storm of Sabers(3)

"The Spires! The-the Spires are falling! They are falling onto the battle group! Sanctus command, do you read? Sanctus command!" Lieutenant Karver screamed into his Vox headset, as he stared, eyes wide, at the avenue stretching out before him. The front of their entire combat force was stretched out there, Taurox and Chimera troop carriers ferrying Ogrin Shock Troopers and vaunted Traxian special forces and breaching squads, each rolling ahead of a powerful battle tank and many support vehicles. This proud spearhead was backed by the divine treads of an Imperial Baneblade superheavy tank. The thing was a literal fortress, nearly undefeatable in battle. But this was no battle.

Though all the spires were shaking, collapsing, they were collapsing from the front first, falling in a wave towards the back lines. The gleaming towers of metal and glass smashed into the elevated roadway, vehicles exploding under the sudden impacts, rumbling shudders sending scores of men to their knees as more and more of the surrounding architecture continued to buckle. The avenue they were using to traverse the planet-spanning city was shattering beneath their very feet.

A hand grabbed the Lieutenant from behind, shoving him back into the Chimera. After making sure the Lieutenant was in a seat, Panic turned back to face his Commissar and their companion Psyker. The two of them were running back, though only the Commissar ran into the open door. Gak remained outside. Panic took his arm, but Gak pulled away, eyes shining.

"Gak, what are you doing?!" Panic yelled past the clamor.

"Gaksian, get your ass in here you sorry bastard!" the Commissar roared right after.

"I can't," said Gak. "This is the reason the Emperor took the voices away. This is the reason I was here. I could not prevent this from happening... but I can save you! I can save the Imperium!"

The Psyker's eyes were wide, watery, wild, and completely luminous. Panic didn't know what to say, what words to use to get him back inside the Chimera right now. And then he didn't have to. Commissar Terandor nodded stiffly.

"Fine, die well Gak, and do not fail," he said, jogging back to his command seat and climbing into it.

Then the Commissar said something Panic never in his wildest dreams thought he would ever hear. Terandor took the Vox Caster's microphone into his hand and yelled into it, addressing all the vehicles and guardsmen still standing stunned in their vicinity.

"What are you dogs waiting for?! Retreat!"

He then looked back towards Panic, his customary vicious scowl fully on his face.

"Seal it!" he ordered.

Panic did so, almost as a reflex, hitting the red button that began to close the doors. He surprised himself, feeling moisture wet his eyes as he looked at Gak's bloody, smiling face. Was it sorrow that brought the tears to him, or admiration? The medic didn't know, but he burned the image of Gak into his mind, watching with the last moments before steel and ceramite replaced the face of his… his friend.

Psyker though he was, here at the end, Panic knew that they had been friends, not just comrades in arms. But brothers. He felt shame fill him to bursting. Why had he never said it? Why had he never acknowledged it? Had it been his fear of betrayal? Or his pride not allowing him to admit such things to a Psyker? Whichever it was, he swore it would never hold sway on him again, not for so long as he continued to fight and draw breath.

He took a seat and strapped himself in, clasping his hands together around the holy Aquila he wore around his neck, and prayed.

"Emperor guide you home, my friend."

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Gak watched the Chimera as it pulled around, running down two fleeing guardsmen who had been too slow to scatter from its path as it drove full speed back towards the command bunker. They would not make it, none of them would. That was why he was needed, why the Emperor had placed him here. He grinned and spat out some part of his teeth, wincing as he turned back to face the collapsing series of spires. What he saw surprised him.

The Baneblade was still alive! It had evidently gone into full reverse before the first spire had even slammed down, rolling over the Leman Russ battle tanks which had been behind it, as well as literally everything else. It still was, and the Psyker watched as entire tank crews leapt out of their vehicles, throwing themselves aside and only sometimes succeeding in escaping the path of the fleeing behemoth.

It was a spirited attempt at an escape, and Gak could see that the columns of smoke which poured from the exhaust ports of the tank were thicker than was normal, signaling the stress of the vehicle as it hauled itself at nearly twice its standard speed, eleven barrels of devastation firing forward into the collapsing spires as the tank rolled back, using even the recoil of its guns to boost its speed. But it would still not be fast enough!

"But that is why I AM HERE!" Gak shrieked. He had been gathering power all this time, absorbing the warp around him into himself, expecting to destroy his body and mind in the process. But to his shock, his utter amazement, the warp was... smooth, pliant. There were sharp edges, as always, but they were dull in comparison to what he was used to managing. Temptations rose in his mind, thoughts he had rarely had himself, now rising from within as opposed to without. He shoved these whispering temptations aside with his true voice, a voice strengthened by his utter faith in the Emperor, and in the Imperium.

"If I am a God, then let me do this one thing, and then fall forever!" he screamed into the air, power ripping out of him, blowing the purity seals and hexagrammic wards off his armor, and then out of his very flesh in gouts, truly jets of blue psychic fire.

He was drawing in too much, he knew that, but he meant the words he spoke, even as he continued to speak. "For there can only be one true God! The Emperor and none other! If I am master of this power, then let me serve the master of masters with it!"

Arcs of warp energy coursed through him, bright enough that fleeing guardsmen gave him wide berth as they fled the collapse. His arms spread wide as he sucked in the very last amount he could, the very limit of his limit. He then clasped his hands forward and began to pray. With each word, he took the power he had gathered and focused it, compressed it. He felt his eyes starting to smolder, felt the rest of his teeth cracking under the pressure, but he did not halt, the pain becoming part of his power.

"From the blasphemy of the Fallen, Our Emperor, deliver us. From the begetting of daemons, Our Emperor, deliver us. From the curse of the mutant, Our Emperor, deliver us. We beseech, that thou wouldst bring the foe only death, that thou shouldst spare none, that thou shouldst pardon none. We beseech thee, destroy them! *A morte perpetua, Domine, libera nos!*"

At that final utterance, he extended his hands forward, and the power exploded out from him. The spire that would crush the Baneblade was already falling, had already begun to do so as its edge crunched into the topmost turret of the venerated superheavy tank, but it went no further. Moments later, the tank burst from the wall of the building, which was held aloft in the air, gripped by the terrible thrall of Gak's power alone.

And not just that spire. All of the spires that had been falling beyond that point were held frozen, suspended in time and space like detailed features within a massive resin diorama. However, Gak was not truly godlike, his mind only moving so quickly when burdened with such force. And so he was grateful for the staggered pattern in which the towers seemed to be falling, giving him just enough time to catch and stop one set on either side of the road, before moving on to catch the next pair.

The power rolling out of the man was visible only through the distortions which filled the air, as if all he touched with it were swaddled in desiccating heat. Soldiers swarmed around and past him, tanks and other vehicles narrowly avoiding him, able to see him by virtue of the luminous power which wreathed him. Many died, some shoved off the sides of the road as the ranks choked the path of the avenue, but many more were trampled and outright crushed by their comrades or the escaping vehicles, many of which had no qualms about at least attempting to run through the throngs of Guardsmen in their attempts to get out from under the enemy trap.

Most vehicles managed to crash or cram themselves into each other, and were abandoned or crushed as the Baneblade continued to melt itself, burning with an effort far beyond its design as it approached Gak. Closer and closer it came, making no move to veer around him, the massive weapons platform lacking the space to even try with Gak standing so close to the center of the road. Gak took a quaking step to the left, but ceased his attempt at evasion when the buildings began to shake, nearly resuming their fall. The concentration, the focus required to keep all of this power bent to his design, it was all that he could manage without risking everything and everyone that was left.

Besides, even if he were of the caliber of a Space Marine Librarian, even then, he doubted he would have been able to do much better when it came to movement. The power thrumming within and without him was destroying him, ripping his very DNA apart and powderizing his flesh and bone. He knew not whether he was even still intact enough to actually stand, or if he, like the towers falling all around him, was held up only by the eldritch power of his mind.

"Witness my life, oh Emperor…" he said, spraying sand-like shards of teeth from his lips with each utterance. The Baneblade was almost upon him now, and he hoped that it would be enough, that it would succeed in escaping with the time he had bought, after he was naught but paste beneath it. As it approached, it shook the ground so hard it wracked Gak's body with agony, nearly throwing him to the floor.

"Judge me worthy!" he cried out as the shadow of the tank enveloped him, closing his eyes tightly. But then, another force took hold. A potent, though not nearly as potent, power grasped the back of Gak's tattered tunic and tossed him skyward several feet. And then again, and again. It took Gaksian several moments to realize that the source of the force lifting him was bone and muscle, and not anything so esoteric as his own strength.

He squinted open his sunken, blood-filled eyes, barely able to make out the form of a blocky, exaggerated face looking down at him. The man he saw was sporting an enormous chin, a buzz cut, and two wide, black eyes filled with concern. A red bandana tied around his forehead, bearing the golden sign of the Aquila, told Gak he was looking into the face of a friend, and his mind, so near death, floundered to even begin to answer how he was still alive, or who this even was.

"S-Sly Marbo?" the broken Psyker muttered, naming the greatest legend of the guard, surely the man who had saved his life, if temporarily.

"Sly?" said the man above him, his voice deep and full of confusion. "No, strong! Runk Strong! No very sly," he said, even blushing at the mention of the last admission.

An Ogryn, he was looking up at an Ogryn. Reaching out with his mind, Gak used some of his remaining strength to get a sense of what had happened, and what was happening, as he lay within the massive arms of the childlike imperial soldier. As he was carried over to someone else, the wind blowing and tugging against the patches of his falling hair, Gak touched the minds around him and was elucidated.

As it turned out, many soldiers had been quite averse to being run down by the Baneblade as it left a blood wake of man paste in its path, and many had chanced jumping onto it. Most had failed, but among those that succeeded was a group of Ogryns, the massive ab-humans taking it upon themselves to then hang from the front and sides of the tank, scooping up soldiers and officers, and tossing them up into the body of the vehicle. The Baneblade was so large that it took two Ogryns tossing from one to the next to get someone safely out from in front of the tank, and the Ogryns, not naturally being given over to coordination, had not kept the best track record of catching their passes, sending more than a few soldiers screaming back into the treads or careening off the side of the tank.

They had managed to get plenty of practice on the way to him, however, and that had proven sufficient to save him, it seemed. Of course, Ogryns couldn't tie a knot, or untie one for that matter, so the idea to scale the tank and help others to do so as well was obviously not their own. Runk lowered Gak to the rumbling surface of the speeding tank, and the mastermind behind the maneuver was revealed.

"C-Commissar Leerose…" The Psyker managed to breathe.

"Silence psyker." She said, kneeling beside him, though more to keep her balance than to offer any comfort. Still, despite her words, her tone was not unkind. Runk kept him cradled in his arms, trying his genuine best to keep the rattling and shaking to a minimum. Gak could see past Runk's head, the towers falling again, but only just starting to fall, still crumpling.

"You have done your service-No, far above your service today. So save what strength you have." She ordered. Gak attempted a nod, but his neck cramp painfully, and did not respond in any case.

He didn't bother explaining to the commissar that it would not matter, that he was falling to pieces even then. ~After all, defying a commissar is grounds for an immediate execution.~ He thought to himself with an inner chuckle, as his mind drifted away, his very being gradually… dissolving.

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The spires evacuated, the integrity fields shut down, and the supports sliced by lightsabers, there was only one thing left to do. For some of the spires, this was not necessary, their superstructures starting to buckle and fold even as the sabotaging Jedi escaped them, leaping from windows and balconies onto nearby, stable buildings. But for most of the spires, their architecture, elegant but rugged, could and would stand for hours more before succumbing to the damage done to them. And so the knights had divided into two groups, each composed of little more than a thousand Jedi, who stood on either side of the avenue, reaching out with the Force to push on the buildings, hastening their collapse.

As one pair began to fall, the Jedi would move to the next and push, repeating the process again and again. At first, everything seemed to be going according to plan. Altogether, the pushing was easy, and the effectiveness of their trap was obvious even before the first tower fell, the Imperials literally trampling and killing each other in their rabid attempts to escape inevitable death. And then came the disturbance. Quinlan and the others had been very nearly staggered by it, and some of the younger knights actually lost their footing, despite the lack of actual, physical shaking to make them fall. A presence within the Force suddenly sprang into notice, and then swelled to such a magnitude that it left even Vos speechless, eclipsing all other emanations he had ever sensed within the Force.

"S-Such power..." said Jedi Knight Khandra, visibly shivering and stepping back. "Hold fast," said Rahm Kota, stepping forward, as if to counteract her hesitation with his own determination. Still, even Rahm had a hard time masking his awe, as all the falling towers, every single one, began to freeze in mid-air as they fell. Nearly all were stunned, completely overwhelmed by the demonstration of power and mastery. What kind of desperation could lead to such skill? What manner of training or experience lent itself to this kind of exertion?

"Hey, snap out of it! The next one! And the next one! Whoever that is, they can't hold them all up!" Vos ordered. He punched Kota's shoulder, and the master nodded. "Right! Keep going!" he agreed, and so they did, both groups of Jedi resuming their pattern, pushing on each pair of buildings until they began to fall, and then moving to the next, even as the power they were contending with matched them at each step.

"Should we push against it?" asked Jedi Knight Zubain Ankonori. "No, the weight of the towers will be enough. We will conserve our strength while this...whatever it is spends itself holding the spires," said Master Kota. The other Jedi agreed, and when at last the final set of towers were made to fall, the Jedi stood in their thousands atop the adjoining spires, watching on as the route continued.

By now, all the towers were falling again, the power which held them up having finally failed, to the relief of all the Jedi assembled. Still, it had been enough for the most massive of the assembled war machines, some kind of comedically enormous tank, to narrowly escape the crushing fall of the towers and the yawning chasm which swallowed the road beneath it. Many of the vehicles, including the super-heavy tank in question, halted as soon as they felt they were safe, lingering in the shadow of the towers the Jedi now stood atop. Soldiers massed and churned around the rumbling hulks and support vehicles, some still running, some now milling or waiting for orders. Rahm Kota and Quinlan Vos stared down upon them.

So many had died, by far the vast majority of them, and yet so many remained to die still. Vos felt old instincts, callings of the dark side he had faced and barely overcome in the past, echoing within him now. Looking around at his fellow Jedi, all standing sentinel at the lip of the building, thousands of feet above their foes, he could see that they too struggled with the same darkness, for even the contemplation of what they must now do was a shadow on their honor. But as they stood atop that spire, Axum's sun casting their shadows long as the icy wind howled around them and tore at their robes, not a single one voiced or sent any objection.

"The tank first. Anything that fights back after. And then everything else," said Master Kota. The Jedi, all of the Jedi, nodded and activated their sabers.

"For freedom! For Axum and Anaxes! For the Republic!" yelled Vos.

The Jedi roared in response, and as one, they leapt from the spires, falling from the sky in a cascade of sabers, becoming a rain of searing, burning, and slicing death.

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The Senate sat in shocked silence, their faces lit by the soundless holographic display that played itself in obscene size and detail before them all, projected into the very center of the senate. In each eye, human, near human, and utterly alien, reflected the tortures of the people of Axum, the same cruelties that Hondo had shown to the Jedi now revealed in plain sight to the entire senate. As the last of the horror-inducing displays played itself out and faded, a single floating platform carrying two figures drifted out to the center.

"For this reason, have the Jedi deployed. From disdain for the process, this decision was not made. Out of our duty as keepers of the peace, did we act. To hasten you, our intention was not. To save Axum and Anaxes, is where our goal now lies," said one of the two, the diminutive Grand Master of the Jedi Order, Master Yoda.

For a time, no one responded, but eventually, some sense was collected, and a challenge posed.

"W-Well, how can you assert that? You are our generals, not just our peacekeepers! You c-cannot just…" started Senator Sa'am, but even he lacked the strength to continue his contention. No, the voice of relative dissent came not from an expected avenue, not this time. This time it came from Chandrila's representative.

"I accept your reasoning, Master Yoda. I agree that something must be done, and that this deadlock aids none of us. However, I refuse to willingly cede yet more power to the chancellorship! There must be another way!" insisted Mon Mothma.

"And there is!" said the second figure of the center platform.

Padme stood, using her seat to aid her stability, clearly heavily pregnant. In normal times, the revelation of her mysterious pregnancy would have been all anyone could talk about. Now such a detail, when put in contrast against the larger situation, inspires only curiosity from the most vain, disconnected, or mindlessly ambitious. In spite of, or perhaps because of this, she spoke with a more powerful conviction than she had in the previous meetings, many of which she had missed entirely.

"We are not bound by one way of doing things. We need a commander who can lead this war without obstruction, but one whose empowerment does not threaten the systems of our Republic, systems which are already strained as they are now," she said.

"What do you suggest, Senator Amidala?" asked the Supreme Chancellor, his own platform rising from below to hover near her own.

"I suggest we look towards our adversaries in this case. The Confederacy already has a position which enables this for them. I propose we vote on an Amendment to the Security Act, in order to reinstate the position of Supreme Commander!" And with those words, the debates within the senate were rejoined in full.

Palpatine scowled, but then, slowly, allowed his expression to melt. Perhaps, just perhaps, the young Amidala had just found the perfect way to proceed forward. It would be a gamble, to be sure, but if he could leverage this into a compromise, then it would become possible to still salvage his empire. With a nod, Palpatine signaled for Mas Amedda to silence the floor.

"My friends, I think we can all agree that the senator from Naboo raises an interesting idea for us to consider. As I have said from the start, I do not seek this position, or these powers, for myself, but for the good of the Republic. If it would be better served now with a shedding of some of that power, I am far from one who would refuse the act," said the Supreme Chancellor.

Murmurs erupted at that. Both Senator Amidala and Supreme Chancellor Palpatine held vast and varied loyalties within the senate. If the two of them chose to cooperate and collaborate on anything, it would be nearly impossible to stop them. Many all around the room realized with icy shock that they may very well be at the end of the weeks of deadlock that had crippled the Republic. Deadlock that, an hour ago, had seemed more entrenched and certain than ever before.

"However," said Palpatine. "We must work out just one detail. How would such an individual be chosen?" he asked.

Padme smiled. She was a canny one and knew the rhythms and flows of politics, charisma, and dealing better than most. The fact that her morality had remained so pristine was nearly a miracle into itself, but it was also, in Palpatine's mind, a terminal weakness, for it made her predictable.

Padme was in love with Anakin, was pregnant with his children, the Chancellor knew. She proposed this not only to save the Republic but to enable aid to her beloved knight, one who was in the midst of battle even now. That meant she wanted this to be decided now, and it could be, but she would need to offer him a deal. A deal he would not refuse.

"I think a simple, and traditional process would serve us best," she said in response. "You will nominate your choices for the position, and we in the greater senate shall vote to recognize them. Would this satisfy the chancellorship?"

Palpatine hid his smile. There it was, the offer. So reasonable, so balanced. And yet it was exactly what he needed.

"I think that would be more than acceptable. And, in fact, I already have a nominee in mind. One I think most of us will agree would be a more than fitting general to take the position of Supreme Commander," the Supreme Chancellor said.

"But before that, let us call a vote on this amendment. I assume you have it drafted?" asked the Dark Lord of the Republic.

Padme nodded, pressing a button on the console before her, and projecting the text of the amendment before the senate.

"It is right here. We can review it in detail, and then vote right away," she said.

The senate murmured, but Palpatine smiled and nodded.

"Yes. Let us begin so that we may take the vote quickly. Rejoice, my fellows, this is the fruit of our labor, the virtue of our system," he said with raised hands, signaling to his supporters where his weight lay.

Several cheered, many not among Palpatine's personal sycophants, and Palpatine had to control himself not to burst out into laughter.

"I love democracy," he muttered, the microphone of his platform somehow failing to record and broadcast his sardonic musing to his many, many pawns.