Slaves Of The Empire {1}

Twelve | The Brink of Suffering

She would have to find a pair of crystals worthy of her power. She was only making a mess like this, and she took little pleasure in the sloppiness of the kill.

Ahsoka snapped back to full alertness as a familiar roar filled the air. A moment later, a gunship emblazoned with the Noreino crest streaked through the sky toward the ugly grey auction house. Its nose was pointed at the western side of the building, and the costly private boxes there.

Zakhan and Lux's rescue had arrived quicker than expected.

Before she could think up a new course of action, three other Elites hurried forward to meet her, weapons drawn. They'd worked out her thoughts dwelled on the approaching gunship, and sought to stop her from going after it. What little of their washed-out souls was still able to produce an aura felt dark and foreboding.

Ahsoka studied the leader with interest as the trio moved into formation, watching how his body shifted into a ready position with the sort of easy grace she'd only ever seen in very experienced fighters. The average Elite was unrefined and clumsy, relying on brute strength in the Force to win a fight – but not this one.

"At last," she murmured, grinning broadly, "a challenge."

She didn't bother with a more thorough analysis, or reach into the Force for insight on their abilities, or even to wait and let them attack first. She leapt forward with a fearsome cry, and one of the Elites fell dead where she stood.

Ahsoka's blood was boiling at the prospect of another fight against these Imperial oppressors, and she wasn't about to let her newfound power go to waste. There were so many thrilling ways she could use it to achieve her ends.

The two remaining Elites spun to meet her from where they'd retreated to regroup after the loss of their comrade. Their electrostaffs crackled with enough voltage to fell a rancor. She darted between them and out of reach easily, pushing the less skilled Elite away with the Force and turning to confront her true opponent.

Her true opponent...

The Elites were wasting her time. She could already be off making sure the Lord Imperator never hurt another person again. These measly Imperial dogs' sense of duty to protect that terrible excuse for a Human being only made her contempt for him grow.

Anger sharpening her already finely attuned senses, she swung forward, meeting each blow that came her way and returning it twice over. This particular Elite had some skill for defensive fighting, but not nearly enough to do him real good. It was clear he'd never fought anyone of Ahsoka's caliber before.

Ahsoka stepped around a slash that would've been a killing blow to a lesser fighter. She retaliated with one of her own, and this one found its mark. The Elite stumbled back with a growl of pain, cradling a bleeding, burnt hand. Her blade had caught the power pack on his weapon in the same swipe.

His subordinate chose this moment to jump in to provide a distraction – or to claim the glory of killing a Jedi for herself, perhaps – calling on the Force and sending a wave of energy surging toward Ahsoka.

The blow was surprisingly strong for such a weak connection, strong enough that Ahsoka knew she couldn't hope to hold fast against it on her own. She put her hands together and folded the Force around herself in a protective barrier of her own, sharpened at her fingertips to intercept the attack.

She leapt forward again as soon as the danger was past. Her vibroblade slid as easily through the woman's chest plating as her power had cut through the blast. The will of disjointed midichlorians was no match for Ahsoka's strength.

She withdrew the blade a second later and threw it at the remaining Elite. The man raised a metal-plated arm and knocked it away, and escaped with only a glancing blow and another bleeding cut. He charged her before she had the time to summon her weapon back into her hand.