Chapter 18: Baptism by Fire

The Corellian system was ablaze.

Zorin stood on the bridge of The Obsidian Spear, staring out at the maelstrom of battle unfolding before him. The Empire's fleet had descended on the planet with brutal precision, engaging the Republic forces in a chaotic, lethal dance of starship warfare. Explosions lit up the void of space as capital ships clashed, their shields flickering under relentless barrages of turbolaser fire. The smaller vessels, starfighters, and bombers, darted between the larger ships like angry hornets, adding to the carnage.

Zorin's blood pulsed with adrenaline as he watched. This was his first real taste of war. His hands itched to ignite his lightsaber and join the fray, to carve his path through the Republic forces. Yet, for now, his place was here, standing behind Darth Malios, observing as the Sith Lord directed the battle with cold efficiency.

Malios stood at the command dais, his sharp eyes scanning the tactical holodisplays with a calculating calm. Officers and crew scrambled to follow his orders, coordinating strikes, repositioning ships, and maintaining the deadly rhythm of the Empire's assault.

"Focus fire on their lead cruiser," Malios ordered, his voice carrying an almost casual authority. "Break their formation. Once they're scattered, we'll cripple their supply lines."

Zorin could feel the power rolling off Malios in waves. His master was more than a strategist—he was a predator, using the battlefield as his hunting ground, every move designed to weaken his prey before the killing blow.

For a moment, Zorin allowed himself to admire the Sith Lord's mastery of warfare. This was what the Sith embodied: control, dominance, the ability to bend the galaxy to their will. But admiration soon gave way to something darker—a hunger. One day, Zorin vowed, he would stand in Malios's place, wielding the power to command fleets, to shape the galaxy. But for now, he had his orders.

"Zorin," Malios's voice broke through his thoughts. The Sith Lord turned slightly, his gaze locking onto Zorin with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine. "Your time to test your mettle has come."

Zorin straightened, every muscle tense with anticipation.

"We've identified a key Republic facility on the surface of Corellia," Malios continued. "A weapons depot, critical to their defensive efforts. You will lead a strike team to destroy it."

Zorin's heart raced. Finally, the opportunity to prove himself in battle. "What resistance should I expect, my lord?"

Malios's lips curled into a thin smile. "Heavy. The depot is well-guarded, and the Republic has reinforcements stationed nearby. But that is of no concern. You will eliminate any obstacles and complete the mission. Show no mercy, no hesitation."

Zorin bowed. "I will not fail."

"You won't," Malios said, his voice low and dangerous. "Because if you do, you won't return."

The warning was clear, but Zorin welcomed it. Failure had never been an option. As the Sith Lord turned back to the tactical display, Zorin left the bridge, his mind already focused on the coming battle.

The shuttle ride to the surface of Corellia was tense. Zorin sat silently, surrounded by Imperial commandos in black armor, their faces hidden behind visored helmets. They were professionals, trained to follow orders without question, but Zorin could sense their unease. They knew who led them, and they knew what it meant to serve under a Sith. Failure would not be tolerated.

The planet below was a war zone. Explosions rocked the landscape, and smoke billowed from the burning wreckage of Republic and Imperial vehicles alike. Corellia's once-thriving cities were now battlegrounds, reduced to rubble in the wake of the Empire's invasion.

As the shuttle descended toward the depot, Zorin stood near the cockpit, watching the battlefield approach. His fingers brushed the hilt of his crimson lightsaber, feeling the power coursing through it. The crystal within had been bled with his rage and ambition, and now it would taste real blood once again.

The shuttle landed with a jarring thud, and the ramp lowered. Zorin ignited his lightsaber, the red blade casting an ominous glow across the durasteel floor. He stepped off the ramp, his boots sinking into the dirt of the battlefield. Around him, the commandos spread out, weapons raised, moving with practiced precision.

Ahead, the Republic depot loomed—an imposing structure of reinforced steel, surrounded by barricades and defensive turrets. Zorin could see Republic soldiers manning the fortifications, ready to repel the Imperial assault.

"Advance," Zorin commanded, his voice calm but filled with authority.

The commandos moved forward, their blaster rifles spitting bolts of deadly red energy at the Republic defenders. Zorin walked at the head of the assault, his lightsaber deflecting incoming blaster fire with ease. He was a storm of motion, his blade cutting through the air with lethal precision, each deflection followed by a sharp, deliberate strike.

As they closed in on the depot's outer defenses, a squad of Republic troopers charged forward, attempting to stem the Imperial tide. Zorin met them head-on. His lightsaber hummed as he sliced through the first soldier's weapon, then plunged the blade into the man's chest. Another trooper fired at him, but Zorin spun, deflecting the shot back at his attacker, sending the man sprawling into the dirt.

With each kill, Zorin felt the dark side surge within him, feeding his strength, sharpening his focus. He was no longer just a warrior—he was an executioner, carving a path through the Republic lines with ruthless efficiency.

The commandos pressed forward, overwhelming the Republic defenses with sheer firepower. Zorin moved through the chaos, cutting down any who dared oppose him. The Republic troopers fell back, retreating toward the depot's interior as the Imperials breached the outer perimeter.

Zorin pressed on, his eyes fixed on the towering doors of the weapons depot. "Blow the doors," he ordered.

The commandos quickly set charges, and moments later, the doors exploded inward with a deafening roar. Smoke and debris filled the air as Zorin led the charge inside. The depot was a labyrinth of crates and machinery, filled with Republic personnel scrambling to mount a last defense.

Zorin's blade flashed as he cut through the nearest soldier, his movements fluid and merciless. Around him, the commandos unleashed a torrent of blaster fire, mowing down the remaining defenders.

But Zorin's senses tingled—something wasn't right. He could feel the presence of a stronger opponent, someone trained, disciplined. His suspicions were confirmed when a figure stepped out from the shadows, igniting a blue lightsaber.

A Jedi.

The Jedi was a young man, his face grim, but determined. His blade held steady as he faced Zorin, the two of them circling each other like predators sizing each other up.

"You've come to destroy what we've built here," the Jedi said, his voice calm but edged with anger. "But I won't let you."

Zorin sneered, his lightsaber held at the ready. "You won't stop me. You're already dead—you just don't know it yet."

The Jedi lunged first, his blue blade striking toward Zorin's midsection. Zorin parried with ease, sidestepping and launching a counterattack. Their sabers clashed in a blur of red and blue, the energy crackling between them.

The Jedi was skilled, but Zorin could sense his fear—his uncertainty. He pressed the attack, driving the Jedi back with a flurry of powerful strikes. The dark side fueled his every movement, guiding his blade with lethal precision.

The Jedi faltered, his defenses weakening under Zorin's relentless assault. With a final, brutal strike, Zorin's blade cut through the Jedi's defenses, slicing across his chest. The young man gasped, his lightsaber falling from his grasp as he collapsed to the floor.

Zorin stood over him, his crimson blade humming ominously. The Jedi's eyes met his, filled with pain and defiance.

Zorin raised his lightsaber and brought it down in a swift, final blow.

The depot fell silent, the only sound the faint hum of Zorin's lightsaber as he deactivated it. Around him, the commandos secured the facility, but Zorin's mind was elsewhere.

This was just the beginning. The war had only begun, and he would carve his legacy into the galaxy with blood and fire.

There would be no mercy. Only power. Only victory.