As Padme had returned to Naboo with Obi-Wan, Anakin, Barris, and Ahsoka to discuss the leave from the Republic with the Queen. Korkie had decided to accompany Shmi to oversee the various factories in the outer-rim and wild space. Because of what an important figure she was, she had been given the protection of a Jedi Master, a Jedi Knight, and a whole batallion from the Protection Corps.
Korkie and Shmi surely felt quite safer with Quinlan Voss, Aayla Secura, and the 327th with them. Especially, with the rumors going around of a new Pirate Queen taking control of the planet Rattatak, after going to battle and crushing the Weequay raiders.
"The Shadows network say that it is a Sith that took control of the planet," Quinlan shared in the Control Center of the Acclamator. "However, they call her the Ungolden Sith."
"The Ungolden Sith?" Shmi repeated confused. "What does that mean?"
"It means that she does not have golden eyes," Quinlan answered.
"That makes no sense," Aayla shook her head. "Golden eyes are the sign of the Sith."
"How can they call her a Sith if she does not have gold eyes?" Korkie asked, all of this being quite new to him.
"Well, Asajj Ventress is a Sith... or used to be," Quinlan replied, bringing them to a startled silence. Their shock loud in all the quiet. "After her battle with our Vixen in Kamino, she disappeared. Neither us or the Separatists could find her. She then appeared again in Rattatak and conquered the planet. She was vicious in putting down the crime rates and pirates. But she has made the planet safer and banned slavery."
"Should we get involved?" Bly inquired, looking as lost as everyone else felt.
"She is no longer a Sith or involved with the Separatists. Rattatak is a Neutral Planet, so there is no reason to get involved." Quinlan answered with a shrug. "But the Jedi Council wants to know how her eyes are no longer gold and how her lightsaber is now white."
"Leaving the darkside should not be possible," Aayla frowned.
"Yet she did it," Korkie pointed out.
"Nothing is ever impossible," Shmi stated with confidence. "Anything is possible in life. Just look at what we have achieved! Everyone thought that slavery could not be ended, but we are so close!"
"Lady Shmi is right," Bly agreed, smiling brightly at Aayla. "We all thought we would always be meat droids... but we were given hope and with that belief, things changed."
The good mood in the Control Center got interrupted by the upcoming call from an unknown ship. Carefully, Aayla, the ship's General, accepted the call. As if summoned by the Force, Asajj Ventress appeared on the screen. No gold in sight in her eyes. "Hello. General Secura, right? Knight Skywalker's friend," Ventress comment had everyone tensing. "Darth Maul has his sights on you. He wants Lady Skywalker and Skywalker Corporation's weapons to aid him conquer Mandalore."
"Mandalore?!" Korkie was on his feet, agitated by the mention of his home planet. "What would a Sith wane with a pacifist planet?!"
Ventress looked at the boy with an uninterested expression. "He has killed Pre Vizla and is now in possession of the dark saber."
"The Deal Watch is being lead by a Sith?" Korkie paled, as his legs buckled and he was forced to sit down.
"Osik!" Bly swore.
"Darth Maul was killed during the invasion of Naboo by Obi- Wan," Quinlan crossed his arms over his chest. Ventress looked more interested in him than anyone else in the Control Center. "How is a dead man the Mandalore?"
"Because you Jedis need to make sure we... they stay dead," Ventress drawled drily. "Next time burn his body. Maul is a cockroach and has a frustrating talent of surving. He is out for revenge and as he can't get to neither Knight Skywalker and Senator Skywalker, he goes for the second best thing."
"His son's mother." Shmi sighed. "Going for his mother-in-law is only a plus."
"We need to get you to safety," Aayla turned to Shmi.
"We need to help Mandalore." Korkie protested.
"Enough!" Quinlan silenced them firmly with a glare, before turning to Ventress in the screen. "Why tell us? What is your objective? Do you want to add Mandalore to your Kingdom Pirate Queen?"
"I used to be a slave in Rattatak," Ventress' confession silenced them, Shmi and Bly's expression turning understanding. "I was freed by my Jedi Master... he then died and I was enslaved by the darkside. Siths are but slaves believing themselves slavers." Ventress' words resonated in the Control Center, their deep meaning shaking them to the core. "Knight Skywalker made me realize that... he truly is the Ekkreth..." the soft look came and went before anyone but Quinlan had noticed it, as a mask of indifference slided into place. "I owe him, so I am paying him back."
"Are you willing to battle a Sith?" Quinlan asked.
Ventress smirk was vicious and all teeth. "Do you even have to ask?"
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In the aftermath of the unsettling revelation about Darth Maul's resurgence and his bid for control over Mandalore, Shmi contacted the True Mandalorians, as the Children of the Watch hadd vowed to never return to Mandalore, for aid. They had answered the call, their sense of honor and loyalty to Mandalore commanding them to. They will never allow a dar'jetii to take control of their home planet.
As the combined forces of the True Mandalorians and the 327th battalion gathered on a makeshift command center, a tension-filled silence settled over the assembly. The presence of the fierce warriors, clad in their beskar armor, was a testament to their dedication to Mandalore's cause, even if their history was fraught with complexity.
The tension in the command center was palpable as Korkie Kryze faced the assembled True Mandalorians. Their hostile glares and dismissive smirks conveyed their skepticism, and soon enough, one of the warriors stepped forward—a burly figure with a rugged demeanor.
"Look at 'im, everyone," the warrior sneered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "A Kryze tryin' to play Mandalore. Son of the pacifist Duchess, nephew to a Death Watch traitor. Quite the pedigree, I must say."
A chorus of laughter and mocking nods erupted among the True Mandalorians, their words like sharp blades aimed at Korkie's resolve. Undeterred, Korkie squared his shoulders and met the warrior's gaze, his own expression unyielding.
"Ah, so you think you can waltz in here, little Kryze, and suddenly be a true Mandalore?" Another warrior chimed in, a sneer etched across his face. "Your family's history ain't exactly painted with honor, now is it?"
Korkie's eyes flashed, his frustration palpable, but he held his tongue, choosing to respond with measured words. "You're right, my family has had its share of complications. But let me tell you something—Mandalore is in my blood, just as it's in yours. I've embraced the Creed, and I stand here today to fight for our people."
A third warrior scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "Pacifism and cowardice—that's what your family's known for. And you, you're just another twig from that same weak branch."
Korkie's voice grew firm, his words laced with a determination that echoed throughout the room. "Pacifism isn't weakness, and strength isn't just about wielding weapons. No matter, what you may think of my mother, I also have three great buirs and am part of other clans, not just the Kryze. I am part of the Skywalker, Naberrie, and Kenobi Clans. You all fought under buir Skywalker's command agains the Zygerrians. Those great warriors were the ones who have been training me these last few months."
Shmi Skywalker stepped forward, her gaze stern yet compassionate. "Enough insults. We face a common enemy—a Sith who threatens everything we hold dear. It's time to put aside our differences and stand united."
The room fell silent as Shmi's words resonated, casting a momentary calm over the heated atmosphere. Korkie took the opportunity to speak, his voice carrying a mixture of frustration and conviction.
"I'm not here to play Mandalore or prove myself to anyone," Korkie retorted, his tone firm. "I'm here because I love Mandalore. I'm here to honor its legacy and protect its future. So, if you're willing to fight alongside me, then let's do it. But if not, then stand aside."
A grumbling murmured through the True Mandalorians, their expressions shifting from mockery to contemplation. The room held its breath as the tension reached its peak, the outcome uncertain. And then, slowly, one of the warriors stepped forward—a hint of begrudging respect in his eyes.
"You talk a big game, Kryze," he grumbled. "But actions speak louder. We'll give you a chance."
Korkie nodded, his gaze unwavering. "Fair enough. Let's show them the strength of Mandalore."
As the True Mandalorians and their allies prepared for the impending battle, the weight of insults and skepticism had transformed into a grudging camaraderie. The confrontation had evolved into a conversation fueled by defiance, passion, and the shared recognition that Mandalore's survival required unity—even if it was born from the fiery crucible of adversity.
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The battle for Mandalore erupted with a ferocity that matched the tension that had led up to it. Asajj Ventress and her pirate forces engaged in a high-stakes aerial duel, striving to control the crucial hyperspace routes that ran through the planet. Meanwhile, on the ground, chaos reigned as the True Mandalorians clashed with the Death March warriors. Blaster bolts and vibro-knives slashes painted the air with brilliant streaks of light, and the cacophony of combat echoed across the streets of Sundari.
Amidst the tumult, Quinlan, Aayla, Bly, Korkie, and the 327th troopers fought side by side, their determination unwavering. The True Mandalorians, despite their initial skepticism, fought fiercely to defend their home, their prowess in combat a testament to their strength and unity.
The scene was one of visceral intensity, with combatants locked in a deadly dance. Blasters flashed, lightsabers hummed, and explosions rocked the city. The air was thick with tension and the acrid scent of battle, each moment punctuated by the clashing of weapons and the shouts of warriors.
Amid the fray, Korkie's gaze flickered across the battlefield, his heart pounding as he searched for his mother. And then, his eyes widened in horror as he spotted her- Satine Kryze, held captive by none other than Darth Maul himself. Korkie's steps faltered, his breath catching in his throat.
"Mom!" Korkie's voice echoed across the chaos, his heart pounding in his chest. He broke away from his allies, his determination surging, and sprinted towards the confrontation that held his mother's life in the balance.
Darth Maul's gaze locked onto Korkie, a sinister grin twisting his features as he tightened his grip on Satine's throat. Korkie's feet seemed to move of their own accord, carrying him closer even as fear and fury waged war within him. The battle around them faded into the background, his focus narrowed to the chilling sight before him.
Satine's face contorted in pain, her struggles futile against the Sith's iron grip. Korkie's heart raced as he drew closer, his mind a whirlwind of emotion. Anger, fear, and desperation churned within him, driving him forward.
And then, as Korkie reached the edge of the confrontation, time seemed to slow. His mother's eyes locked onto his, her expression a mixture of concern and reassurance. In that fleeting moment, all the anger and betreyal Korkie felt towards his mother, had been replaced by an overwhwelming worry.
Korkie's resolve hardened as he met Darth Maul's gaze, his voice a defiant shout. "Let her go!"
The Force trembled around them, a tangible energy that mirrored the intensity of the battle. Korkie's hands clenched into fists, determination fueling his every fiber. He refused to let fear dictate his actions.
"I was expecting your Jedi of a father to come here," Darth Maul's voice slithered, carrying an eerie undercurrent of malevolence. "To watch me kill his ex-lover... but the news that both of you perished by my hand should be enough to drive him mad."
Korkie's heart hammered in his chest at the chilling words, his anger and grief bubbling to the surface as Maul's grip on his mother remained unyielding. Satine's eyes locked onto Korkie's, a look of deep love.
Then, with a heartless flick of his wrist, Darth Maul unleashed his malevolent power. Korkie watched in horror as his mother's body convulsed in the grip of the Sith's dark Force, her life force snuffed out before his eyes. A wounded cry tore from his lips, a guttural mix of fury and heartbreak that reverberated through the air.
As Satine's lifeless form was discarded unceremoniously, Korkie's grief transformed into an inferno of rage. The fire of his emotions burned within him, igniting a fierce resolve that he channeled into his actions. With an anguished scream, he faced Darth Maul, his eyes blazing with a mix of fury and pain.
He was grateful for the red beskar armor his grandmother Shmi had gifted him. It nullified the dark manipulation of the Force that Maul attempted to wield against him. Korkie's steps were steady, his grip on his weapon unyielding as he advanced on the Sith.
The battle that ensued was a flurry of lights, grey against black, a clash of opposing forces and emotions. Korkie's strikes were fueled by raw, unrelenting fury—fury for his mother's unjust death, fury for the darkness that Maul represented. Every move he made with his vibro-sword was driven by the need to avenge her, to ensure that her sacrifice would not be in vain.
Darth Maul was a formidable opponent, his skill and power a testament to his mastery of the dark side. But Korkie's resolve burned hotter, fueled by a profound loss that gave him an edge of desperation. His strikes were precise, his movements calculated, as he danced with the Sith in a battle that transcended mere physical combat. His beskar armour served as a shield as well, blocking the attacks of the dark saber.
In a final, decisive moment, Korkie's vibro-sword struck true, severing Maul's connection to the Force and ending the battle that had raged within Sundari. The Sith's head rolled to the ground, his dark presence dissipating into the air.
Korkie stood there, his chest heaving, his mind and heart a tumultuous storm of emotions. The battle was won, but the cost was immeasurable. He cast a final, longing gaze at his mother's lifeless form before turning away, the weight of grief and triumph intertwining within him.
In the wake of the battle, the streets of Sundari were stained with blood, a sing of the sacrifices made in the name of Mandalore's freedom. Korkie Kryze, battered and heartbroken yet unbowed, walked to the center of the battlefield, holding tightly into the dark saber.
"Enough!" His shout rang through the battlefield, stopping everyone in their place. "Darth Maul is dead! Duchess Kryze is dead! I now hold the dark saber! By the right of the Creed, I am now the Mand'alor!" Everyone turned to look at him in stunned disbelief. "As Mand'alor I command you all to stop! There will be no more fighting! The battle has been won!"