"Fear leads to anger...

---

Worror

Worror waited as T'ish pulled a lever hidden within the wall, almost smiled at the simplicity of the design. Yet the fact it had went un-noticed by everyone who ever passed this wall made it truly impressive. The door itself was small, it was likely what helped it kept hidden for so long. The long hallway loomed, lacking the decorative aspects that the rest of the temple boasted. It was just a long corridor, though in the faint light he could see that it was more of a calt walk with various junctions and turn offs to take one anywhere in the temple.

The only issue was the space, he wasn't claustrophobic and didn't know if anyone else was. Though he doubted it. The issue was if, or rather when, the Clone Troopers gained access to the walkways it would be hard to dodge fire and hide with no visible cover. Even between levels the flooring itself was more of a mesh, giving you a line of sight between floors and he doubted that it could hold up against fire. No, they would need to be fast. This path was made for speed of guardians throughout the temple. No doubt it's designers had never expected for Jedi to be using it to escape siege. A design flaw no doubt, or Jedi arrogance. He was noticing more and more examples of it lately as the war dragged on, now at it's apparent end... it almost pained him to how things could have been done differently. How events could have been avoided, if they survived this they would have to try things differently. The status quo would not do.

He followed the others in, the booming of the assault on the temple echoed throughout the tunnels, their footsteps did too. He turned, the last one in just after Seris rejoined the group. Something was different and he gave her a quizical look however had no time to investigate further. He wipped up his blade as he sensed the shot coming towards him, acting on instinct rather than training. He then snapped straight into a defensive stance, the clones had seen them. He could have swore, now they would need to run. "T'ish, close the door and lead us down. Everyone else, no time to wait. I advise we run."

---

There is no emotion, there is peace.

Barely any of the Master's first words got through to Lyla. A buzzing noise was beginning to fill her ears and she felt different, strange, like she was about to faint. Her head hurt so much worse than it had at first and everything started to spin. Could her concussion really have been so much worse than she thought? A woman stepped forward, saying something, directed at her or somebody else, but she was touching her head and whatever she was doing, it helped.

Lyla felt so relieved a sigh escaped her. The confusion and pounding headache that threatened to drown her faded away, just like that. She felt stronger, probably strong enough to walk on her own, but she didn't dare let go of Enrik - He had saved her life, he was the only thing even remotely resembling a friend she had left, and, however paranoid that thought might have been, she was scared that she would lose him too. On top of that, it took a lot out of her not to slip back into the pit of sorrow, anger and self-hatred the death of Mara and Eeth had dug and she needed something, someone in the real world to physically hold on to to keep her as focused as she could hope to be.

She whispered a "thank you" to the padawan and tried, genuinely tried to smile but her face merely twitched; she gave up and nodded instead.

As the older Jedi around them took their positions, Master Worror placed his hands on Enrik's and her shoulder, and spoke to them about bravery, loss and hope. He said that he was proud that they stood together. A few hours ago, Lyla would have been overjoyed to hear him say that, to be recognized, to be praised. But now, it felt false; not like a lie but simply meaningless.

There was no serenity - her mind was chaos, boiling with passions.
There was no peace - her emotions were wicked and deceptive.
There was too much knowledge - how she wished to be ignorant.
She knew the ways of the Force but it hadn't saved those she cared about from death.

But she nodded. If he knew how she truly felt, Lyla wouldn't lie. If he didn't, saying something, anything, surely would give it away. So she nodded, tried to be grateful, tried to show her respect for him as usual... it just didn't feel right.

She held on to Enrik and followed the others to a hidden entrance. Up until that point, Lyla felt in control of herself. But when he opened the wall and revealed what was sealed behind it, she started shaking.
"I don't want to go back", she whispered, more to herself than to anybody around her, and shook her head. "The pipes, the slums, the darkness... Not again. Never again."

Her hand at Enrik's shoulder dug into him and her other clutched the lightsaber at her belt so tightly her knuckles turned white. In her time in the Temple, she had never forgotten what life had been like before. For the first months here, in the dormitory, she had slept hidden under her bed in the corner, because that was how she was used to sleeping, because sleeping out in the open would mean somebody could rob you, hurt you or worse. Master Worror was one of the masters who had tried to help her overcome her fear but what really made a difference were the promise that she wouldn't have to go back there, no matter what happened, and her friends who distracted her, made her feel welcome.

It was moot now. For a splitsecond, she thought of running out before the door was shut but, of course, she could not do that. No matter how afraid she was of this, Lyla was completely aware that it was the only chance to stay alive.
It didn't help with the shiver, though.

“I can’t- I- It’s too much” the young boy cried as he dropped to his knees, his tightly clenched fists rapping on his head. The pain overwhelmed him causing tears to stream down his cheeks and trickle onto the cold concrete floor below. His whole body trembled as if every muscle began to freeze and contract. Despite having no actual physical injuries, the boy truly was in a great deal of pain.

“Focus my young Padawan. It is not your pain that you are feeling.” Leneer’s voice was calm and soothing, quiet yet clear. The Togruta took a knee and laid a gentle hand on her apprentices shoulder. Young Rylos’ anguish did not recede though. Leneer looked around the dark corridor that the pair found themselves in. Pitch black walls and hard grey floors were barely illuminated by the odd flickering light – and each time the dull lights did flicker, the mangled corpses of the syndicate thugs came into view. The Jedi did not resort to killing lightly, but these criminals were well-trained and harboured a barbaric mentality; they would not be taken alive. Leneer herself suddenly winced as a distant scream echoed down the halls, and it caused Rylos to squirm even more. This facility was one of Black Sun’s many holding-pens hidden on Coruscant and even the weakest of force users could feel the darkness surrounding it. Deeper within this place Black Sun veterans practised the dark art of torture on those that wronged them or withheld information. It was a place filled with pain and agony, all of which the young Empath could feel.

“Listen to my voice Padawan. Close your eyes and focus on my words. You are standing on the beaches of Kashyyk with water up to your chest. The waves are crashing against you, reaching over your shoulders and toppling over your head. They are blinding you and it feels like you are going to drown. But all you need to do is step back onto the sand and leave the water behind. Leave the emotions behind Rylos, take a step back and find clarity. The water is still there, you can still hear it, smell it and sense it, but you need not swim in it.”

---

Rylos walked slowly along the desolate halls where he once played as a child. The youngling dormitories were eerily silent and were filled with a darkness that did not require a force-user to sense. Many Jedi had died already and many of those that remained were filled with pain and suffering. He did not allow himself to be engulfed by these emotions that he felt, but even so he could not stop the tears from filling up around the edges of his eyes. He held back a choke as he was forced to stop his stride and take a wide step over the bodies of three younglings that blocked his path. He could not help but look down as he did so, and his eyes caught those of a young Zabrak boy. The once orange eyes had already turned pale and seemed so unnaturally devoid of life. ‘I should have got here sooner… I could have protected them…’ he cursed, feeling the guilt of the world fall upon his shoulders.

“Section’s clear! Move onto the next one!” came a sudden order from around a corner.

It was the unmistakable voice of a clone trooper.

Rylos didn’t pause to think as he began to hone in on the intruders, his body jolting forward as if on auto-pilot. His footsteps were light and graceful, hardly making a sound as his soles bounced off the marble floor. He glided around a corner with such fluidity that he managed to avoid catching the eyes of the clones leaving a room… that was until he unleashed his bright yellow saber.

“Jedi!” the closest to him barked, but it was not quick enough. Two of the clones raised their blasters and began firing but Rylos quickly closed the gap, knocking aside their blasts with ease. He had the squad of seven pinned down between two rooms, the doorway acting as funnel and allowing him to take on no more than two clones at a time. He began cleaving through them with silent and focussed determination, his saber ruining the weapons and extremities of those who opposed him before he knocked them aside. By the time he fought through the doorway only one remained. The lone man stood on the far side of the room, fresh dark crimson blood soaking his pearly white armour as the corpses of younglings laid littered by his feet. In his hand a single grenade, enough to blow the two of them to pieces.

“Take one more step Jedi and I’ll blow us both. Put the lightsaber down and get down on the-” The clone’s order stopped abruptly as the grenade flew out of his hand and through the window behind him. “Shit!” he gasped as he fumbled futilely for his pistol before another force attack sent him flying backwards. Rylos flew across the ravaged dorm-room and stood above the trooper. He poised his saber at the cold unemotional helmet, ready to deliver a killing blow.

---

“Master, you tell me that my ability is gift and that I should use it, but tell me to de detached and reject emotions. How can I do both? How can I ever become a true Jedi with this burden?”

“No my young Padawan, you misunderstand. A Jedi, no matter how disciplined or trained, will always feel emotions. They are a part of life and they give us meaning. To bury them and reject them only serves to make them fester and grow stronger; it is misunderstanding that I believe has led to many Jedi succumbing to the dark side. A Jedi should accept their emotions, seek to understand them, but not let them guide them away from Peace.”

---

Rylos could feel the terror that the trooper hid behind the mask, the feeling of hopelessness as his life was held at the tip the saber. The Jedi wanted to kill him, to punish him, to avenge the deaths of the other Jedi whose blood adorned the troopers armour, but he couldn’t. Rylos’ stomach knotted and twisted, and his face screwed up into a pained scowl. “No.” he whispered to himself as he released the button on his weapon, causing the yellow beam to retreat back into the hilt. He knew that killing was against the Jedi code, that in taking a life he was no better than the enemies he fought, but more than that he was emotionally unable to go through with it; to connect with someone so deeply, to empathise with them completely and then wipe them from existence, was simply not something he could do. However it didn’t stop him from force pushing the troopers head back into the wall, knocking him unconscious. Rylos turned and left then, walking past the other troopers who laid scattered by the doorway with injured or missing limbs. They were in pain but they would live.

Once clear of clones, Rylos found a moment to meditate and feel the various connections within the Temple. The clones were everywhere and they all felt the same, each filled with determination and anger. It was the outliers that he was looking for – those that were grieving, that felt scared and betrayed – other Jedi. Such emotions were swirling around near the archives, a small group with very mixed emotions. He was not so adept with feeling connections that he could pinpoint exactly where they were or what they were doing, but he could tell they were trying to escape the masses of clones beginning to surround them. “If they’re trapped in the Archives they’ll have to escape via the hidden supply tunnels.” he thought to himself. He knew the tunnels fairly well, having previously investigated a spree of break-ins. Two undercity criminals had somehow found out about the tunnels and exploited a vulnerability in the ventilation to gain access; although they didn’t have the audacity to go into the Temple proper, they did manage to steal a few of the supplies that were transported through the tunnels. Fortunately Rylos knew that whilst the external ventilation vulnerabilities had been resolved, people could still gain access to the tunnels from shafts within the Temple, and so Rylos headed off towards the nearest entry point careful not to be followed.

With every passing moment the weather worsened, what started as a typical Hothian snowfall turned into blizzard. Visibility was drastically reduced within a very short time span, leaving him and the four other Snowtroopers waiting for the captain to return with the other half of the squad and with the body of a Jedi. He knew that the knight had been a troublesome demon to capture, as the captain cursed and yelled desperate orders to catch up with the target and neutralize it. Comms went silent for over five minutes, the clones outright refused to respond to all calls. They did not reinforce the other half of the squad mainly due to having to deal they had their own troubles: CT-1388 was grievously wounded by the female twi'lek during her attempt to escape, leaving him crippled and broken. CT-1900's leg was disabled by a deflected blaster bolt, but he was functioning at an optimal level, albeit having an obvious limp. They had two wounded on their side, one of them with slim chances of survival, and five men gone AWOL, including the captain. He wouldn't know how risky it would be to search for the fire team, fearing that the knight managed to either escape or decimate them all. With three clones against one of the better Jedi of the Order, the odds would be against them; even with the limping one tried to participate in the fight, chances would still be rather slim, since none of them had the experience and reflexes of the captain.

Just as unrest almost reached the peak, the clone spotted movement through the thick curtains of falling snow. He dropped on one knee, shifted his weight and took aim at the approaching silhouette. The other two active clones dashed behind cover, one took the corner of the LAAT's cockpit while the other dropped on his belly next to one of the fighters the two Jedi used. Tense moments crept past at a painfully slow pace, the only sounds left were the constant roar of the wind, their muscles clenching under the weight of tension and a few moans of pain coming from inside the transport gunship. The silhouette was a strange one, looking far from being a humanoid figure; their first, dreadful thoughts were of a famished Wampa risking its life to fetch something to eat, and in this weather condition, there's no telling how far it would go to get what it wanted. But the figure wasn't as tall as the dreaded, white furred beast, instead, it was a clone carrying another one on his shoulders. As soon as CT-1372 figured out what was actually going on, he dropped his blaster into the snow and dashed at the wounded comrade to help with the body he was carrying, but as soon as he identified the red markings on his helmet, CT-1372 took the downed infantryman by himself on his own shoulders, allowing Dagger to regain his composure.

"Sir! We've been unable to contact you, what in the stars happened back there?"

In response, Dagger shook his head and knocked the side of his helmet with his armored knuckles, suggesting to 1372 that his transmitter was busted. He then leaned in to the trooper so that he could yell over the roaring winds and through the helmet.

"That piece of snot tore us up! I'm- I'm the only one left."

CT-1372 lifted his head a little, as to let the bad news sink in and turned his gaze to the other two infantrymen, which had approached their leader in the meantime. The fourth one, wounded and limping, tried to drag himself closer. The captain then lifted his right hand, his fingers articulating in a wavy pattern.

"Go fetch the bodies, but look for the Jedi first. Don't come back until you have the rest of our men AND the Jedi scum, and make sure he's dead. Go, GO!"

"Roger! We'll fetch the Jedi first, then the bodies!" The three said in unison before they stormed the snowy dunes beyond the veil of frost, the fourth one lagged behind but made due.

---

The captain watched the troopers as they disappeared in the harsh weather; once they were gone, he turned his attention to the gunship and limped towards it, raising his right hand high above his head. He made a quick gesture with his fingers, which drew the pilots out of the two-seat cockpit.

"Sir, did you need help?" Asked one of the two identical humans, the other quickly caught up.

"Yes, I need your help" the captain stated, raising both of his arms, the left one trembled significantly "I've been rolled hard." Indeed, his armor looked burnt and cut, the result of a lightsaber passing through the material.

Before the two pilots could lay their hands on Dagger, the captain wrapped the fingers from both of his hands tightly against the helmets of the pilots; with a loud grunt, he brought his arms together, the two pilots headbutted each other with their helmets. Their unconscious bodies sprawled on the snow, some blood dripping through the crack in both helmets added a grim vibe to the monotony of constant winter. Dagger stepped over the them with nonchalance, his wounded leg regained vitality instantly as he approached the LAAT's cargo door, where he spotted a clone trooper squirming in a corner; it would seem that he did not notice what his captain had just done, as he was rather busy concentrating on his own debilitating wounds. Dagger squatted beside him to inspect the CT closely, instantly recognizing the very specific molten trail a lightsaber cut would leave behind. There was nothing left to be done for him, but maybe to end the suffering with a swift strike, a twist of the neck, a bolt to the head. But no. There was no release for him.

He stepped back up and walked outside, greeted again by the winds that brutalized his armor pads with icicles; the short, white cape hanging from his back fluttered violently to the storm's unending rumble tried to shove his body down in the snow. He fought against nature as he approached the two fighters parked next to each other on a flat portion of terrain; a sizable coat of snow covered the top side of both space ships, as well the landing gears. But there was a small, brown heap of linen lightly fluttering with the wind, the wings of the Cutlass-9 offering some protection from the blizzard. Dagger's pace slowed down significantly, showing some reluctance with every step he drew nearer to the linen wraps; once he had it at the tips of his boots, he turned sideways and knelt beside it, his left hand trembling heavily as it clumsily grabbed a corner of the linen and fold it over. Whatever was beneath the several layers formed a distinguishable humanoid shape. He froze in place for an entire minute, but his left arm trembled still, sending painful throbs up to the cortex through the intricate peripheral nervous system. He tugged at his own helmet with his functioning hand until it came loose, revealing a distraught expression on a face that did not belong to a clone.

---

He couldn't muster the courage to pull the layers of linen off and gaze upon her young face one last time, he could only sit there and gawp through her. With the evidence at his knees, his world slowly deconstructed around him until there was nothing left but for his miserable self, the cold that stopped hurting his exposed face and the unquestionable truth waiting to be unwrapped and absorbed. Left only with his own destructive thoughts, Aleko closed his eyes and frowned, deep wrinkles creasing his pale face in an expression of pure pain; he rarely allowed himself to express any emotion at all, but he knew he would explode if he didn't give in to the overwhelming suffering that fell upon his shoulders.

Confusion. Sadness, pain. Fear, anger. The mix was a volatile one, it quickly caught on fire and burned wildly through him. It hurt him to the point he had to clench his teeth until his gums turned pale, but the ache in his left arm was completely gone; the physical pain could not be compared to the revulsion every cell in his body felt. Salty trails pouring from the lower lids of his eyes instantly froze on his cheeks after he raised his gaze back up; while there was no courage left, he found some strength within the debilitating pain to use as a fuel to stretch his arm and pull the final layers off her face. But there was no face for him to look upon. What used to be soft, blue skin, turned out a repulsive combination of steaming brown and black flakes of leather, with teeth hanging loosely from them. The only objects that were left intact were some of the clothing she wore for the mission and the one foot long metallic rod thrown against her body. She wasn't Tasha. She was gone. Dead.

There is no death, there is the Force.

No. There's nothing left.

He caressed what was left of her skull, trying to remember how it felt when she was still among the living. But nothing came to his mind, no sensation, for he couldn't picture her absence. There was no way Aleko would know the tragedy of losing a child felt like, since he had chosen a path that exercised chastity; from what he had seen during his life as a peace enforcer, he knew what kind of despair a family would go through after losing a child and, while he felt empathy for the family members back then, now he experienced the same kind of emptiness and sense of unfairness. A sort of emptiness that not even the Force seemed to fill.

Where is everyone? He asked himself, still looking at her.

He could feel it now. There was a morbid silence within the Force and it felt as though the silence grew deeper and deeper with every passing second, voices that would hum and whisper and keep the network alive had been cut off. There was, instead, fear. Pain. Confusion.

Master Koon. He couldn't find him.

What have they done?

It was a nightmare come true. Tasha, his Master, the whole Force-using populace, they were all gone. All victims of the treacherous clones, he suspected. Aleko could not find a reason as to why the clones would just outright shoot her instead of trying to apprehend her, or try to approach any other kind of non-violent method of capturing both him and her. Instead, they just raised their weapons and started shooting. Clearly, this was not a decision on their own accord, it was a directive from high above that set such a heinous act in motion; he did not know where to point the finger first, but he did know that he had to find any survivors and help rally them to someplace safe. His best chance was to reach Coruscant as quickly as possible, thinking that any other Off-World Jedis would do the same. The distance between the Outer Rim and the Core Worlds was a great one, so, there was no more time to lose. He had to leave her there. He couldn't understand how other knights or masters did not even flinch at the death of their own apprentices while he was going through the darkest moment of his entire existence, as Aleko had just turned his back at the corpse of his Tasha and walked to his own Cutlass, a saberstaff dangling from his belt clip. Maybe he had grown weak due to the emotions that plagued him during his entire knighthood; that issue had become much less important, as, the entire Order was in grave danger.

Minutes later, one of the fighters lifted off the ground, made a 180^o turn and darted off in the storm, following a plotted course set to escape Hoth and the frigate orbiting the rock, final destination set to Coruscant. The knight did not care about the dangers he will expose himself to, he was ready to die for his order while attempting to rescue it. He couldn't bare loneliness, so should he meet his end, at least he will have someone dear to him waiting for his arrival.

Naat Reath was relieved, that much was for sure. Upon the sight of Charuri Rol she could feel the tension in her body pass upon the realization that it was friend and not foe that was with her in these tunnels— though for how long would that be true? How long would it be until the clone troopers would lay demolition charges and turn the ancient temple of Jedi into mass rubble. It would not be the first time that the order dealt with such tragic setbacks and Naat had to believe it would not be the last either. The Jedi Order would persevere, she was sure of it.

“I could ask you the same question.” Naat stated blankly as she withdrew her lightsaber.

It was a wise station to tactically retreat to after being overwhelmed by former comrades in arms, right? That’s what she figured when she descended into the tunnels with none but her lightsaber at her side, though she hadn’t figured out much more of a plan beyond this one as she felt herself at a loss for proper removal from the situation. Perhaps she figured the clone trooper’s would eventually catch up to her where she would perish in the last moments of the temple? Maybe. But with the sight of new, friendly, and familiar presences she figured that would not be ideal and that they needed to follow the proper course of action in a seemingly impossible situation like this; which would have been to escape to Coruscant’s undercity after exiting the temple and finding a way off-planet. But would it just be this? Would this be the only survivors she would know for the time?

She took a deep breath.

“After a failed ambush by former comrades, I figured this would be the tactical place to retreat before organizing an escape effort.”

She paused for a moment.

“It is good to see other jedi though, the loss of life has been too great as it stands.”

Wasn’t that the truth? She’d been too lost in despair before now that she had not been thinking correctly and letting her emotions take precedence as they overtook her body and mind. Her masters had taught her better than that, they did… but still she couldn’t help to stop the melancholy when the suffering was too great. How was it that she could rush into a battle unafraid and centered yet a siege like this, betrayal or not, could dissemble her so easily? Perhaps it was something to dwell on through meditation later; but for now it was more important to be composed and let the past be buried even if it was all so recent.

T'ish knew he could do little more than put his focus into finding the way out, and this is exactly what he did, weaving through the various tunnels known to relatively few of the Order considering how many they were...how many they had been. Some, such as he, knew of the labyrinthine constructs running beneath and now all around them because of their position within the Order-that-was-no-more, others may have discovered some way into them by accident, and there had even been those unfortunates that had entered through no fault of their own but never left again.

In his mind he formed a blueprint of the tunnel network as he knew it, pondering only for a moment whether they would meet any clones in the 'confined' passages - though large enough for four to walk abreast between the thick walls - and, if so, how many could possibly have found and made use of the tunnel system by now? He thought on this only a moment and no longer because, like the complete shock and swirling emotions of losing his entire life, he tried to distance all thoughts and actions from the past few hours as far away as possible.

Remain focused, stay in the here and now, forget all else.

With a short bark to the others, really unknowing of how many were even following, though he could feel the life force of every one, he swiftly turned another corner...then another...then another...seemingly going around in circles to the uninitiated, a deliberate ploy to put off interlopers and infiltrators; he knew, should they keep going the way they were, that all would eventually reach a small 'panic room' - nothing more than a small stop-off point for Peacekeepers and Temple Guards before they exited the Temple, filled with some supplies, clothing and so forth - and from that point it was only a few more yards before the option of two different escape routes became within reach.

The first, and perhaps the easiest, went directly into the underbelly of Coruscant, connecting directly to the various sewers and tunnels that criss-crossed the bowels of the planet above.

Second, tunnels which would lead up and out to disgorge any Jedi back onto the streets of Coruscant about a mile or so from the walls of the Jedi Temple.

There was a third, which would take the group to a hangar and possibly escape into space, yet he believed that the clones would already have seized such an obvious commodity.

Once they reached the small room there would be schematics showing the routes to each of these, and once there they could decide which route they would take next; not far now!

The hallways echoed as they walked through them, rushing as they did so. The vast expanse of the tunnels was disorientating, it was like a whole other world within the Jedi Temple. In some ways he assumed it was. The booming echoes of explosions overhead occasionally dislodged rubble that would then ping all the way down. it wasn't really clear where it reached the bottom let alone if there was truly a bottom to these tunnels. He assumed there was, as he also noticed there were pathways that ended in doors leading back into parts of the temple. He was mainly glad that T'ish knew his way around these tunnels. They truly were a labyrinth. If T'ishs Padawan had been the one to lead them down here... he wasn't so sure that they would eventually get somewhere even with the aid of the Force. The entire design was meant to disorientate and confuse. In the rare event that intruders managed to make their way down here they would no doubt get lost in the vast expanse. That was likely the whole idea. Entering the security room he looked around.

Clothes - Useless. Mainly Jedi Garbs or for full adult humans. T'ish could likely fit in some but Kel Dor were often seen in robes so that could go either way. The rest of them really had no alternative but to go with what they had. He did however move over to the rack and opened it revealing blasters. He signalled to all the Knights. "Take one, once we leave the temple if we should need to engage in combat it would be far better to use a blaster than a lightsaber. It will draw far less attention." He then looked around the different exits as they were explained to him. He personally felt the undercity was the best option by far. While yes, they would draw attention it would take far more time for such information to be conveyed to the surface for any forces to take action against them. By that point they could be adequetely disguised and travel around searching for a ship with relative ease.

The hangar was by far the most risky, unless it was one of the lower hangars or the rumoured sub-level hangars that themselves lead into the undercity. Above ground heading for the sky was suicide, using the hangars to get out (especially a lesser known one) was brilliance. With even the possibility of temporary transport. Not to mention that any form of Jedi Starfighter was worth a fortune on the open market. He hated the idea of selling one but needs must...

The most risky to him, unless the Hangar was in the open of course, was the tunnel joining the main population. The upper levels of the city were abundant with surveillance technologies not to say anything of patrols and sentient beings. He audibly sighed. "This affects all our futures. What path shall we take?"

---

Naat's face was a comforting sight to say the least. Truth be told even taken Zulo's wrinkled judging mass anything with a sense of familiarity in whatever was happening above them. Naat looked okay as Charuri surveyed her quickly with her eyes making sure her fellow padawan was not injured, maybe a little bit frazzled and having the wide eyed expression of anyone that had just gone through what was happening above but okay. This didn't surprise Charuri all that much as Naat was a warrior through and through in the realm of hitting things first and asking questions later Charuri reckoned that there were few better among the Padawans of the Order. Whom little of us there may be left. the thought crept into her head slowly like some sort of old and ancient Duracrete slug slowly spreading its doubt through her form. Maybe the three of them were the only padawans left in the entire galaxy, maybe they would be the only ones left. Shaking her head of such thoughts, she listened to Naat's tale. It sounded dreadingly familiar to Charuri and she figured any other survivors if any would have similar stories to tell. But they could worry about the horrors they saw later, they had to push forward. The rumble as the bombardment above continued further accenting the point with each explosion.

"Indeed it is Naat, I was worried that Jenner and I were the only ones to make it out. You proabably can't imagine how happy your face has made me amongst all this karking poodoo." It was a nervous tick of her's slipping into Huttese, one could tell how igated the cathar padawan was becoming based on the ratio of basic to Huttese that she was using. She knew little Catharese mostly what her mother had tried to teach her when she had the time between dancing for Zulo and his guests but she could speak for what it mattered practically fluent Huttese having spent the first few years of her life surrounded by it. It was odd how the language of criminals and cutthroats brought a sort of warm and reassuring comfort to her but it did. It reminded her of her old home, of her mother and her friends before Raonk and the Republic peacekeepers broke through the door and forever changed her world. It was the only thing of her friends and family that she still had and desperately clung on to like trying to keep sand inside of a broken hourglass.

"I've gone over thousands of scenarios in my head, racking my brain for some kind of answer for all this. But I've found none and the force has becoming deathly quiet only present in its cries and tremors as more of our friends are cut down. Why would the wakamancha pateessas attack us here? Only a sleemo attacks his foe at his bunky dunko. You saw the markings on their heads. These clones are the 501st the Republic's finest, I'm sure all of us have fought alongside at least some the clones now shooting us down like bantha to a slaughter. What has gotten into their minds? Or have we truly done something terrible?" She asked out loud all though she was more or less searching her own brain for answers that she could not find. As much as she didn't want to admit it though it did make sense in a way. Public opinion of the Jedi had been low as the war drew into its third long year and even the heroics of Master Kenobi and Skywalker wasn't enough stem the public unrest. The Jedi became the symbol of the aging republic old as the institution they were trying to protect and even though the war it was going too slow and the fear was left unchecked for too long. Through all the readings that Feemor had pressed upon her in history what was happening now was a textbook example of a political scheme at its best. They were the scapegoats for something much bigger. But what darker power was pulling the strings? Another rumble made her loop upwards and help remind her of the fact that they had to continue moving and soon.

".... We should proabably move and soon. No telling how long it will take for the clones to find a way down here and even with the tunnels labyrinth like qualities it's only a matter of time before we are forced into a situation that I would prefer we stayed out of. The less death we cause, the better the chances we have of slipping away unnoticed. I can lead us down through the supply tunnels, this will eventually spill out into one of the auxiliary access shafts and from there we can hopefully slip into the undercity unnoticed and wait for some of the heat to die down." She explained to the other two in as calm as a tone as she could manage doing her best to keep her center like Feemor had taught her. It wasn't the best of plans but it was the best they had given the current circumstances. She would of prefered well not having to dive into the hole of utter depravity that was the undercity but with its mass of people and thousands of hiding holes that would take some strangers in no questions asked for the right favor or price it would be safe enough for a while. But once they took the Temple, they could start going through the records and counting the bodies and soon enough they would figure some people are missing... but that was a problem for a later date.

Suddenly a spark in the force as bodies grew closer. The patter of footsteps against metal and soon far down the edge of the tunnel the characteristic glow of a Clone Trooper's headlamp projecting into the darkness. The cone of vision moving out ahead of them still out of reach to reveal the trio's position. Growing deathly silent, Charuri crouched once more trying to get as close to the ground as possible while still maintaining two legged motion. The clones were talking to themselves from what she could gather they were moving out in a standard search pattern. Luckily for the padawans the way deeper in was in the other direction from their would be hunters and Charuri figured as long as they stayed quiet the darkness could provided a well enough shield for them to progress forward. Motioning with her hands to the other two she gestured for them to follow her deeper into the darkness in the opposite direction. Taking one step against the cool metal silent and then the next until she began to vanish into the shadows ahead of them. The hunt was on.

Worror shook his head. He never thought the day would come when it would be so hard to get a word out of an Initiate or a Padawan. Usually so full of life, and so sure of themselves. Occasionally they were too sure of themselves.He missed that, he had no doubt that one day they would once again stand somewhere where their direction in life would once again be clear. Where they could return to being the joyous youths he knew them really to be. It was the greatest pain, that they were having their childhood stolen from them. Family, family could be replaced. It was a sad but true fact of life. That family could always be replaced, whereas once your childhood was gone... it was gone. There was no getting back the innocence, youth or joys of being new in an old Galaxy.

There was the chance that this could be turned around, they were getting the chance to live a normal life! Though he knew that wasn't the case. Whatever the Republic was going to become, would hunt them down. Whoever orchestrated this wanted them dead and would no doubt soon have the records of the Jedi Temple including every Jedi that ever existed. Their life would be in constant motion, moving from one world to the next. Always trying to stay one step ahead of the shadow that followed them. Never truly capable of shaking it, their destiny was sealed. He suppose they would have to make the most of it, live a full life. He wouldn't let them live in fear or anger, no. So long as he lived everyone here would have a bright future. He would see to that personally. While he had no doubt in his mind that they would continue to be guardians of peace and justice in a hostile galaxy he would be their guardian. He would look after them.

"I think-" His translated voice filled the small space when he sensed something. He grabbed Wynn in the Force and without a seconds warning pushed him forward with the Force as part of the roof came down. Four lines dropped down and in the dust four figures could be seen. Bigger than regular Clone Troopers and Worror just let out a gasp. The Republic really meant business, Commandos. The best the Grand Army of the Republic had to offer. Clones with the best training and the best equipment, even with a couple of Knights here he wasn't comfortable with taking them on. Especially with the fact that just as the Commandos took to a knee and raised their weapons he could already sense more clones approaching. He hit the stud on his lightsaber as he darted forward. Not to meet the Commandos but to position himself between them and the other Jedi.

Left leg forward, blade up to the right. That was the first move he made to block a bolt, and it's the last one he made consciously. Every other move after that was guided by the Force and years of training. He knew that some of them would want to fight, but that would be suicide. He himself would be lucky to make it out of here alive. Only one tunnel was available to them now, the Force had chosen their path. They were to head deeper into the bowels of Coruscant. If he had not been in mortal danger he may have enjoyed how poetic the whole ordeal was. However he was in mortal danger so the thought never even crossed his mind. "GO! Get out of here-" He grunted as a bolt whizzed past his right arm, close enough to burn the flesh. "-I'll be right behind you."

---

It seemed all too familiar - the darkness, the creaks and clanks of metal, the sound of liquids passing through the pipes around them, the gentle humming of generators, heat exchangers and compressors, and the distant shriek of trash compactors - Lyla's body was shaking in perfect unison with the sounds, mimicking the waves of air as they crashed against her eardrums, all her senses sharpened by fear and her mind dulled by memories a child shouldn't have. If it wasn't for those around her that pulled her along, she would have been unable to move, too caught up in her own exaggerated perception of this underworld to venture deeper into it.
But thankfully, Enrik was there, he kept her moving with gentle force, gave her the anchor she needed to not lose herself.

When they reached the crossroads and the Jedi discussed where the tunnels lead, the cruelty of the situation was almost funny - Lyla felt compelled to choose the path to the surface, desperately so; she had seen so much of the depths of Coruscant that she would have gladly lived the rest of her days under an open sky, yet choosing this very route would almost assuredly shorten her life expectancy to mere hours. And, for the first time that day, Lyla truly and vividly was afraid for herself, afraid of dying and thus afraid of the surface that had been the object of her hopes and dreams before she finally reached it.

And yet, it wasn't an easy choice. The hangar bore uncertainty far beyond their control; and as if that wasn't enough, she was not too sure how she felt about the prospect of going to space. Gravity and breatheable air were a luxury in the void between the stars, one that was hard to come by and oh-so-easy to lose. For all she knew, the entire Army and Navy of the Republic was after them and since the Separatist attack on Coruscant, the upper atmosphere was buzzing with Venator- and Acclamator-class capital ships and their fighter complements. Was leaving the planet even possible?

The third option was the most brutal because it made the most sense: Lyla wished to avoid the undercity with every fiber of her being because she knew it all too well, and it was the place where she had the best chances to survive because she knew it all too well, with its hiding spots, escape paths, people, sources of nourishm-

From one second to the next, all hell broke loose. The ceiling seemed to explode and crash down, dust filling the room and mere instants later, blue blaster bolts filled the air once more. She heard Master Worror and his command. It didn't take her long to realize that falling rocks had blocked all escapes but the one that led to her past. The Force had a cruel sense of humor indeed.
Lyla took all the bravery she had and started towards the entrance, only to be slowed by Enrik. She turned her head towards him but the air was thick with dust still and she couldn't see what was holding him back.

"Come on!", she urged and pulled him with her, doing the only thing she felt capable of at that moment - Escaping into the depths she was born in.

Standing among the blaster-scared aisles of the Jedi Archives, Enrik couldn't find any words. He remained silent as he had approached Master Worror, half-helping and half-dragging Lyla with him. Looking around the room, Enrik realized that he didn't recognize any of the other Jedi in the room. A large Catuman stood clutching a bandage on his side, and Enrik watched the red stain crawl slowly accross the fabric while a Twi'lek woman tended to Lyla's head.

Despite his best efforts, Enrik was struggling with his emotions. He had detached himself from feeling for so long that the sudden rush easily overwhelmed him. Fear, panic, guilt, anger, so many feelings that he had done his hardest to alienate, and now they threatened to break him. Yet amongst it all, one question screamed out. Why? The clones were meant to protect them. They fought alongside the Jedi, the grand army of the Republic, sworn to vanquish its enemies. No one had anticipated that maybe they were the enemy. Suddenly, Enrik longed for the cold, reassuring metal of a lightsaber in his hand once more.

Enrik didn't tune into the conversation. He was zoned out, battling with a torrent of emotion and thought. Yet eventually, the discussion seemed to die down and Master Worror approached the pair of children. He placed a reassuring hand on each of their shoulders. "You have been strong today, and I know how you feel. Know that we will get past this and we will survive. Once we have escaped we will mourn the lost, I am honored to be in such an order with beings as brave as yourselves. Please keep being brave and do not lose hope." Enrik didn't feel brave. Enrik felt terrified. How could they be so sure that they would survive? The clones had massacred the rest of the Order, what was to stop them from finishing the job?

The decision was to head to a series of hidden tunnels, from what Enrik could make out. A Kel'Dor Jedi, one they called Master T'ish, was to lead the way. The wounded Catuman, who he now knew to be called Wynn, was to stay back and guard him and Lyla. She was still hanging from Enrik's side, dazed yet seemingly more alert than Enrik. She could probably walk, but Enrik would not let go. In this moment, if he took away his reason to push forward, he doubted that he would. So instead, Enrik clung silently to his fellow initiate, following the convoy of Jedi as they headed towards the passage.

The group moved swiftly and silently into the gloom, Master T'ish first and Master Worror bringing up the rear behind the younglings. He stood by the door, waiting for one of the Jedi to return. Enrik could barely see Lyla's face a few inches from his own, and his feet had been swallowed by the cloak of shadow. As they walked, the sound of the fighting slowed but never ceased. The occasional boom would shake the temple and echo through the passage. The Clones could be anywhere; they could be close behind, they could be at the exit already, the could be around the next corner. Enrik heard footsteps, faster than his own, from behind, and instantly he feared the Clones. Yet, from Worror's lack of reaction, it seemed that the one who had left them upon entering the passage had finally caught up. The footsteps stopped, and brief moments passed, before a brilliant shock of blue lit up the passage. The hum of Worror's lightsaber turned to a scream as a blaster bolt deflected off of it and into the passage wall. "T'ish, close the door and lead us down. Everyone else, no time to wait. I advise we run."

The door shut with a woosh, and the group set off at a quicker pace down the passage. Enrik and Lyla hobbled along, trying to keep up with the pace. They turned corner after corner and no matter what, the darkness was all-enveloping. Nothing but darkness. Enrik feared that they would never escape the dark. Yet eventually the passage opened out into a dimly lit room. The light was barely enough to beat the shadows from the corners of the room, yet Enrik's eyes still strained to adjust to the sudden shift in lighting. The room held nothing but clothes; uniforms for Temple Guards and adult Jedi. There was nothing of use to Lyla or Enrik.

Three paths were open to the small band of survivors. Worror asked which way to go, and Enrik wanted to help. He wanted to reach out to the Force and let it guide his hand, just as he would have been instructed every day. Yet in truth, his mind was clouded by a thick and absolute fog of pure fear. His mind strained against the fog but there was no beating it. Not here. Not now. It wasn't as if his choice would have made a difference. Moments later, a large chunk of the roof collapsed, and Worror only just managed to push Wynn out of harm's way before a quartet of rappel lines dropped through the hole. Four clones dropped into the room. They were huge, bigger than any Enrik had ever lay eyes on. The other initiates had told rumors about the Clone Commandos. If any of them had a shred of truth to them, all of them were in serious danger.

Instantly Worror had his lightsaber drawn, deflecting several bolts. The debris and the Commandos had co-operated to block off two of the three pathways. The Clones were taking everything, and now they had stripped the Jedi of their choice. Lyla was the first in the room to react. Enrik had lost his thoughts in the dust, but he had heard Worror bark an order. Enrik was tempted to stay. He could watch these Clones cut down what could well be the last of the Order, before they finished him off. All of the pain, the fear, the suffering, it would all be over. It could all be so easy. No doubt some of the Jedi would try and fight the Commandos. No doubt some of them would perish. But at least Lyla was alert enough to buy Enrik at least a few more minutes. She set off in the direction of the only open tunnel. She stopped briefly to grab Enrik's arm, ordering him on. For a moment, the fog lifted. For a moment, the choice seemed so easy. Enrik chose life. With his arm firmly in Lyla's grip, the pair of Initiates set off as fast as they could, once more pushing on into the darkness.

Should he wait or should he flee? That was the question that Rylos repeatedly found himself asking as he nervously paced up and down a small corridor in the dusty underbelly of the Jedi Temple. There were other Jedi in this labyrinth of tunnels, and some of them felt familiar. But could he afford to wait for them? Would they even come his way? Would they even be friendly? Would they attack him out of fear? Logic was telling him to run, to escape the Temple whilst there was still a chance and look for survivors elsewhere. But his conscious was telling him to stay and fight. It was hard for a Jedi to choose between logic and morals, especially when dark times allowed emotions to twist ones emotions.

BOOM

The sounds of an explosion echoed through the dark passages, rumbling the walls and dislodging the ancient dust and rubble. He stumbled under the shockwave and fell against a wall, his shoulder bracing the impact. He went to regain his posture when a wave of emotions came crashing over him, momentarily stunning him. He felt the hopelessness of a young boy, the desperation of a young girl, the pain of a blaster bolt, and the last moments of terror before more lives were torn away. The other Jedi in the tunnels were under attack.

“I can’t leave them…” he whispered to himself before feeling the heat once again rise in his chest, “I won’t leave them!”

Rylos seemingly burst off the wall, charging along the corridors towards the not-so-distance sounds of battle. He pushed himself to run as fast as he could, the use of the force causing him to move at such a speed that he was almost a blur. Corners disappeared as quickly as they were revealed. The young Jedi looked almost unstoppable in his determination – but that of course was not the case. He found himself close enough to hear the loud clunky footsteps of the large commandos corners away, to hear the humming of lightsabers, and to taste the blood in the air. He was so close, but yet so far…

BOOOM

Another explosion.

A blinding flash of white, a wave of intense heat, and a shower of rubble hit Rylos with enough force to send him flying across the room and into a wall. His back hit the wall first, causing the wall and a few of his ribs to crack. Gravity then dragged him clumsily to the floor. He was winded and in shock. His vision seemed to fade in and out, granting him enough glances to see more commandos climbing through the new hole in a nearby wall.

The last several minutes had passed in a blur for Seris, her senses pounded into a muted fuzz. She knew only the running, one foot in front of another, the alien weight of a lightsaber that wasn’t hers banging against her chest. The Force felt wrong, almost like the smell of burning in the walls of a familiar home. Even the Temple itself, usually something that only sharpened her already acute senses, seemed to be filled with a creeping miasma. Catching up to the group, Seris realized that she could feel only a scant few of the deep souls around her, that nothing but the flat, empty minds of the Clones pressed in from all sides. Darkness, the deep, reeking Darkness her people’s legends spoke of, followed them.

Ahead, the old Ithorian Master led their group, a bright jewel at the head of a constellation of other sparks. Not for the last time, Seris wondered why the Force led her with these Jedi, why her fate seemed so closely bound with theirs. The tunnel walls to either side were ancient and smooth, the floors beneath well-worn by the passage of boots, and the air smelled dusty. Seris let the quiet seep into her skin, tried to let go of the fear pounding at her temples, the anger clawing at the back of her mind. Panic would serve no purpose down here. Slowly, by degrees, Seris felt her heart slow, the sweat start to evaporate off her skin, her fingers unclench from their hard, tight knots at her side.

Even still, those feelings didn’t fade away completely - her mind did not feel empty, or serene. Rather, they no longer pressed on her mind, no longer suffocated her thoughts and actions. She still felt the red-hot pulses of anger, the frustration of feeling so much death with so little she could do to help. But now, those feelings seemed to be foundations ready to build on, to create something new from, rather than to use that power to destroy. Her fingers curled in on themselves, and she felt the Force move with them, still coiled around her hands and arms, almost like a second skin. She pulled in a long, slow breath, blew it out in a steady stream, letting her senses fill the air in the tunnel, the rock outside it, the branches to either side.

Seris jerked to one side as the ceiling caved in with a sound like the sky falling in, narrowly avoiding falling rock and, a moment later, falling bodies. Hulking figures hit the ground with heavy thumps, and even Seris could hear how their heavy armor absorbed the impact with mechanical power. She had already ducked into the remaining tunnel opening when Worror’s lightsaber exploded into life, pulling the Force into an endless fractal of power around him, the harsh sounds of blasters shattering the quiet that had existed only a moment before. She gathered the Force around her again, almost an instinctive action, and looked down the corridor. Another bright splinter in the Force hurtled down the web of hidden passageways toward them - another survivor.

Seris pushed off the floor and started heading toward them, intent on warning the new arrival of the danger ahead. Still, she only got a handful of meters before another explosion slammed through the hall, this one close enough to throw dirt and rubble down both sides of the hallway. Seris raised her arms, protecting her face, and felt her ears ring from the blast. Dust and smoke did nothing to hide the new commandos from her perceptions, though, and Seris found herself moving before the last pieces of debris finished clattering along the corridor floor. To her relief, she realized she could still feel the Force moving around the new arrival - they may have been in the path of the explosion, but apparently they were still alive.

Seris felt the Force pulse around her the same way it had above, and she raised one arm, throwing it ahead of her. With that motion came a surge of power, flowing into her and through her, following the growing tendrils of thought and will she sent toward the commandos. With a thought, the pulse of power became a hammer-blow of raw force, and she saw one of the clone’s knees bend entirely the wrong way. The man fell, clutching his leg, dropping his weapon. Three other troopers stood ready to make their way through the breach, weapons raised. Seris kicked to one side, felt a blaster bolt move by her so closely some of her hair crisped from the heat. Behind her, by Worror, were another four commandos - if all of them were to get their bearings and come together, the few survivors of the Jedi Order would, doubtless, be crushed between them like a nut in a vise.

Thought and motion blended together again, and Seris raised her other arm, this time in a beckoning motion. This time, Seris’ mind guided only a whisper of power through the Force, and she felt her will wrap around something on one of the clone’s belts. With a sharp tug, she felt the device come loose, sailing through the air toward her. Seris raised one hand and felt the heavy metal ball slap into her palm, its surface cool and smooth. In one motion Seris jammed her thumb onto the thermal detonator’s activation stud, then hurled the device down toward the troopers, letting it land in the corridor just behind them, aiming to roll into the corridor they stood in and to one side of the breach. The three troopers looked down in alarm, but Seris had already surged past them.

She came to the slumped form of a young Jedi, and the Force moved oddly through him. With a start, Seris realized the man was laced with machinery, some of it even standing proud of his skin. Still, the Order’s life was a dangerous one - wounds that required artificial support were rare, but they certainly did happen.

“My name is Seris,” she said, kneeling down and trying to get an arm around the man’s shoulders, “I’m with some survivors from the Temple. Can you stand? I don’t think I can carry you out of here, and there’s about to be some even more good reasons for us not to be here.”

T'ish had been on edge ever since entering the warren of tunnels, although it was impossible on the outside for anyone to tell, and the implosion of the ceiling - and a cargo of four heavy-set clones along with it - had simply tipped him over the precarious edge that he had been standing upon. He had seen many of those he knew fall to these...these 'men' and their ilk, and deep inside he could feel a hot surge of anger that was most unbecoming of a Jedi. Without conscious thought he made use of this, spreading it throughout his body, his muscles relaxing but becoming even more attentive to his every thought, each nerve within him seemingly on fire.

"GO! Get out of here-" Grunted the only Master among them, a bolt whizzing past his right arm, close enough to burn the flesh. "-I'll be right behind you."

The Kel'Dor twisted his neck to see Lyla dragging Enrik along with her, both moving quickly toward the only escape route now left to them. Nodding silently to himself, he leisurely dropped his outer robes to the floor in a crumpled heap, revealing his saber and a shorter shoto with which it was paired; it might be suicidal, but he would rather die than leave the old Ithorian to his fate, who would then be left to continue the Jedi teachings? Who would the Padawans and and other survivors look to for guidance if he were to fall? No, if T'ish had to die then he would willingly do so, but he would not see Worror fall this day.

One deep breath...two deep breath...three deep breath...

All around him the world seemed to slow, the blades of his two weapons emerging from their hilts at a fraction of the speed expected of reality, bolts passing by him as he twisted and turned, some deflected back toward their attackers without much accuracy, until he stood beside Worror. Although the other could not see, he had twisted his mouth into his own species version of a smile, and with almost casual indifference to his assailants he knelt and swept his blades along the floor about them until a fully circle was formed around their feet; it was meant as a challenge to his enemies, as well as an actual instrument that would be used if needs be - the corridor, and the room into which the enemy had entered, narrowed considerably the closer it got to the bowels of Corscant, and they would need to get past he and Worror if they wished to capture the rest of his kith and kin.

"Please, Master," he managed to shout above the fizzing of contacts and the projection of blast bolts, "you must survive...I beg you to go with the young ones!"

Letting his sharpened nerves and trained sense of precognition guide him, the Knight sent bolt after bolt back at his foes, yet he could not keep it up forever...and only now, with the explosion of a thermal device further along the corridor, did he realise that Seris was missing from the group. He expected that whoever she had been fighting was at least crippled now, not many could survive the close-range blast of a detonator, but she still had to make her way back to the underground route before the four commandos firing at him realised and turned their fire between the two pairs.

"Master?"

If Worror did not wish to go, then there was no way that he could be forced, but T'ish would remain with him whatever the outcome might be.

Bolts flew past, it was impossible to block them all. He felt the pain resonate through the Force as several of the blasts found their mark, then a nearby presence would fade and truly become one with the Force. Though there was no time to mourn, they would count the dead when they escaped the temple. Then they could mourn the lost, let their wounds heal. For now they must ignore them and press on in order to survive. That was the most important thing right now, their survival.

He let out what could best be considered a laugh at T'ish' comment. "We will both survive this!" With that he took a step back behind the blades of the Kel Dor, he barely knew this Jedi but like with all other Jedi he easily trusted him with his life. He then cast his hand out and pushed his lightsaber out of his hand in the Force. The cylinder of power turned on a dime, like a missile finding its target. Of course he wasn't aiming for anything vital, anyone else in his situation would likely have done so but no matter what they had done Worror wouldn't sacrifice his beliefs even in the face of those who followed evil, to do so would be to let the dark forces win.

Instead the blade sung out diving into the knees of the commandos before the blade was pulled back into his hand. He hit the ignition switch, the blade disappeared into thin air and he patted T'ish on the shoulder as he stood up. "Run." He himself took off at his best speed, that while was impressive for a member of his species (Especially at his age) wasn't all too impressive in the grand scheme of things. Naturally with all their luck a survivor had found his way up the passageway they were heading down! Though on the down side Clones had used it to breach into the tunnels. He brushed past the younglings, he would just have to trust them to T'ish care for the moment. He noticed that the Jedis padawan wasn't here and part of his heart tugged at him.

He knew the pain that would be running through T'ish right now, the bond between Padawan and Master was one of the strongest ones a Jedi would ever experience. For a bond to be broken in such a way was in one word, painful. He raised his voice so that Seris could hear him, after all right now she could see more clearly than any of them. The benefits of being a Mirulaka. "Seris! Maintenance, Supply and Service tunnels litter the temple! Use your sight to find one that passes nearby to this tunnel and use your weapon to cut us a hole."

He jumped into the breach blade first, a shimmering light. As he blocked the first bolt he raised his other hand and focused on the life of all the Clones in the room. He grabbed hold of it, and froze them. He grunted slightly as sweat began to run down his face, he had never attempted to use his abilities in this many individuals at once... and in all likelyhood he wouldn't be able to hold it for long. "T'ish, please collapse the roof of this room. I can't hold them forever."

The path to freedom was so close, he could sense it.

They would survive this.

Perfect serenity and oneness with the Force was turned to fractured emotion in an instant, the instance when the life of another was plucked from the physical and entered the invisible realm of the living force; T'ish and Worror together, capable warriors as they were, could not have hoped to stop every single bolt from the heavy-duty weapons of the Clone Commandos, and each time another Jedi was struck down - Jedi that had fought their ways to this point, but would go no further in their journey, those that had tried with all their might to remain alive... - it seemed to the Kel'Dor that another piece of his own spirit was blackened by righteous anger and grief. Such feelings came to a head when the very life force of his own Padawan was snuffed out, like the separating of a child from its parent, or the genocide of an entire culture, every life was precious and he did not even feel those bolts that singed his inner robes and flesh as his attention was distracted.

Slowly he began to fade in and out of focus, the use of the Force to power his own reflexes, and so much death in such close proximity, causing great strain upon him. It did not seem that they would be getting out of this alive...and then Master Worror seemed to do, as many Jedi Masters could, the incredible; T'ish had never seen an entire group of adversaries frozen in time, their bodies still and the whole world around he and his comrades now locked in a capsule of time produced by the sheer will of the elderly but powerful Ithorian Jedi.

"T'ish, please collapse the roof of this room. I can't hold them forever."

It sounded as if the request, or very polite order, was coming from a lot further away than it actually was, sound and sight varying as he sought to do as he was asked; he knew there would be little time before the strain became too great even for Worror, and, deactivating his sabers, he sought to become more focused on the task at hand. No good could come from brooding upon his Padawan and her demise, at least not at this moment, and so, with a steely force of will, T'ish flexed his three-fingered hands and sucked in a deep breath through his mask.

There is no emotion...there is peace...

He allowed his eyes to close, certainly not the best option in their current predicament, seeing everything in the sort of 'sonar' that came to one using the Force as their source of vision. Everything seemed as it might to a bat or a dolphin, various shades of black and blue outlines, the clones as darker and more empty forms while his Jedi kin appeared as beacons of radiating light in the dark.

Allowing for another deep breath, he raised his arms high above his head and locked his mind onto the materials of the ceiling, letting his own being meld itself into the very atoms of the construct. Deep in the back of his mind he began to will it to break, to crumble, to collapse, unaware of how much of himself he was exerting or just how drained he would feel once this was all over.

With a grunt of effort, his entire body slick with sweat and shaking as one who has just sprinted a thousand miles, not only was there an almighty din as the ceiling collapsed, but - likely due to the flecks of rage he was now feeling, those that had mingled with his lighter efforts - the walls of the room seemed to implode on themselves and do more damage than any explosives. It was as if the whole room had never existed, save as a pile of cracked rubble and twisted metal. What happened to the clones was truly none of his concern, his mind on protecting those that had gone before him, and on helping Worror as best he could.

As he turned away to follow the others into the subterranean tunnels, he allowed his arms to hang limply by his side, bending down to recover his coarse outer robes and struggling even to walk. It was only when he was within the mouth of the tunnel that a hiss of air escaped from his mask, shallow breaths coming from him, and he collapsed completely on the spot.

“Can you stand? I don’t think I can carry you out of here, and there’s about to be some even more good reasons for us not to be here.”

The words did not register straight away.

“huh?” exhaled Rylos before his lungs began to violently eject the dust inside of him. His spluttering would have been painful enough, but with his broken ribs he found himself in agony. The pain was a blessing though, for it gave him some consciousness and made him focus. The young Jedi raised his head and let his bloodshot blue eyes lock onto the milky-white eyes of the Miralukan woman. She was not a trooper, and for that he was thankful. He looked past her towards the fresh cloud of dust that resident near the new entrance. He could feel pain there and knew the troopers from moments before were either dead or injured, from whatever the newest explosion was.

“I can stand.” he eventually replied between gritted teeth as he pulled himself up. As the pain increased even more he began to feel the uncomfortable ‘humming’ sensation from his implants as they began to fill his bloodstream with various compounds; as much as he hated the unnatural modifications, he couldn’t deny their usefulness. “I’m injured, but I can still fight. We may be able to escape from the direction I came.” Between his youth, his use of the force and the implants, he could ignore the broken ribs for a short time. Rylos would have asked where the others were but he could feel their presence nearby, and with the sound of yet another structural collapse, he figured they would soon be joining them.

Is the room collapsed Worror released his hold on the clones, instead pushing at the air itself to prevent dust and debris from coming through the whole, impairing their already tired lungs or any other part of their anatomy. He shook fatigue out of his head the best he could, he was an aging Jedi and while had had experience in his years his body was at the stage where while it could still perform these feats it tired easily from doing so. Though now was no time for such thoughts, the other Jedi here were depending on him. He had to keep them moving, he could hear Seris' lightsaber - Where she had actually acquired the Jedi weapon was a question that would best be left until later. She was no doubt in the process of doing as he instructed, if memory served they should already be near the edge of the temple.

The service tunnel would take them right to the edge of the temple to a workstation, there it would be a simple job of either opening whatever doors were there or cutting their way through. Once in the undercity things would go more smoothly, no doubt the Clones would attempt to search the undercity surrounding the Jedi Temple but that would take time and it would be impossible for them to search absolutely everyone and absolutely everywhere. They would have enough problems dealing with the criminal elements of the undercity, many of the cities inhabitants never saw a member of law enforcement. Today the Jedis inability to tame the underworld of Coruscant would work to their advantage. Had time not been so hard pressed Worror certainly would have found the irony in that, as it was he was just glad that he could see a positive future for the Jedi in his care.

Hearing the distinctive thud of a piece of wall falling down, he turned to see that Seris had managed to do as he asked. Finding the best point to cut from their own access way into a service tunnel. He nodded at her as best as his physiology would allow and she clambered through into the tunnel. He moved to Enrik and Lyla and gave them both a little push in the direction of the hole. He felt the sorriest for the poor younglings, not even Padawans and they had to suffer through such an ordeal. They had lost so many, though in a glimmer of hope Worror had noticed that they had acquired an additional Jedi.

It helped emphasize, a Jedi existence was anything but ordinary or simple. Though there was no time for introductions now, it gave him something to look forward too later. Looking at T'ish Worrors heart sank, he too would be experiencing the pain that came with loosing a Padawan. While he knew that everyone grieved differently it still pained him that he couldn't give the Kel Dor even a moment to spend with his thoughts about everything that was going on. They had to keep moving, they couldn't stop. Not until they had left the Jedi Temple behind them forever and then waved goodbye to Coruscant from aboard a vessel.

For he held no dreams in his heart, while they could rest after venturing out into the city and recuperate. They would be unable to remain, this world held nothing for them anymore. If any other Jedi had survived they would be out amongst the stars, there the Force would bring them together. It always did. "T'ish, should you wish to take your Padawans Lightsaber or say a last farewell I am afraid now is the time. We cannot take the body with us, we must go. I shall be through with the others waiting for you, but please do not linger too long."

He walked over to the hole in the wall, and climbed through into the gathering of the other Jedi. Lowering his hand to his belt he unclipped the lightsaber and held it in his hand, the weight of the weapon felt as heavy as his heart. Though there was a comfortable warmth as he hit the activation stud and with a snap-hiss the blue blade came forth. In a small area around the blade the red emergency lighting was pushed back by the blue, creating a purple hue where the two colours combined.

How symbolic.

He pointed his blade, carefully in the event that someone suddenly collapsed and ended up being skewered by his own lightsaber, down the tunnel.

"Our salvation lies at the end of the tunnel, it is not long. However we must move now." He himself positioned himself beside the two initiates Lyla and Enrik, while there was no time to remain that did not mean there was no time to talk. "So, Younglings-" He gestured to the tunnel that surrounded them. "Have you ever been down this way before?"

The noise behind them was terrifying but nevertheless, Lyla stopped not far into the tunnel - and without her pull, so did Enrik - because she felt it: The death behind her, the presence of the Padawan who healed her head disappearing from existence. She was beyond scared and every instinct told her to keep running but her legs wouldn't do it on their own and that feeling, this distinct sense of loss was like a kick in the head, something she was very familiar with. She let go of Enrik's hand and felt compelled to go back, to help the others or die with them, stumbling back towards the entrance of the room and reaching it just in time to watch Master Worror and the Jedi Knight cut off their pursuers and collapse the ceiling right on top of them, or so she hoped.

And both of them looked exhausted, more so than she'd ever seen a senior member of the order - they had fought and protected the rest of them on their own and, as a result, they could not save everyone. She knew that she could have collapsed that room, she knew that she could have helped them in some way and maybe saved somebody, but in that moment of panic, she had taken comfort in following the Master's command and relying on the others to make things right; at a subconscious level, she hadn't quite understood that in the new reality they faced, she couldn't do that, she couldn't just run away. The Masters, the Knights, the Padawan... maybe some were still alive out there, somewhere among the stars, but there couldn't be too many of them. For all she knew, this handful around her was all that was left. And yet...

And yet Master Worror came over to them, doing his best to mask his exertion from them, speaking calm and comforting as ever and treated them like children... like the children they had been before all this. Maybe he, too, hadn't quite accepted yet that all that was before was shattered. Lyla was sure that he remembered their talks, that he was aware of where she was born, where she lived and how vital that knowledge could be to them now and yet he didn't pressure her, acted as naturally as always, gave her a choice when, really, the only thing to do was to swallow her tears and face her fears, at least for now.

"Not in these service tunnels, no", she spoke before Enrik could find his voice again, "but I've been below the temple before. If..."
It was harder than she thought to say it, to declare to all of them that she could help them survive; the prospect of such responsibility made her almost as nervous as the clones themselves. But she took a deep breath and continued:
"If we can reach sublevel 5 or below, I can lead us wherever you want. I think I remember almost everything below that level in this sector."

There was a vast emptiness where life used to flourish, though the nuance of this emptiness didn't suggest absence of life; energy residue marked the former location of tiny pulses within the intrinsic weave of all living matter, interconnected through a veil of vitality. The Force. The veil was perforated, rendered incomplete; loose strands floated separately from the waves of this force, slowly withering and decomposing into particles. There was Force in those particles too, they vibrated, but at a completely different frequency compared with what constituted life. The real tragedy was that the most vibrant strands were those ripped away and thrown in the amorphous mass, strands that felt so painfully familiar.



Why can't I feel the presence of the dark? The Sith? Where are they? Where is the darkness?



A green pair of irises reflected the nearly-blinding mass of light surrounding the cockpit, as Aleko's eyelids slowly parted. A low, throaty sigh filled the otherwise cramped compartment, his body perfectly still in the pilot's seat he reclined in. He then blinked heavily, trying to take in the light-emitting, tubular formation his Cutlass was travelling through. He could spot waves and ripples within this odd fabric of dilated space-time weave, rather similar in structure to what he had felt through his mediation. Muscles and bones felt painfully still against the cushions, but they were relaxed and ready to be put in function, his left arm didn't hurt so much anymore. He groaned as he stretched his form, his mind climbing back down into the full awareness of his biological existence. With a slight push of the boot, the pilot seat slid back forward and lifted his torso into a sitting position; knuckles crackled as he clenched his fists before he checked the map to obtain an estimation of his location within the galaxy's rims. The computer predicted that he was roughly five minutes away from Coruscant, enough time to regain mental fortitude and prepare for the disaster he feared to discover.

Did they sack it? He was reluctant to learn the answer.

He looked down upon the Clone Snow Trooper breast plate he had to readjust, and pushed it against himself until it locked in place. The white fabric that made the suit felt better on him since he took of his robes just after he engaged in hyperspace, deciding to wear the stolen attire as Jedi armor. There was still some discomfort at his waist, but that was because of the long, metallic rod decorated with several switches along its length barely fitting in the cockpit. He yet refused to abandon it; his gloved hand clasped the staff and thumbed a groove on its elongated hilt.

Why. Why would they?

A warning signal filled his ears, marking the end of his journey through hyperspace. He had to let go of the hilt to comb his hair with his fingers and then wrap them around the flight controls to maneuver his patrol fighter into a sub-orbital trajectory and reach the Temple. As soon as his ship exited hyperspace and decelerated, he could feel anguish flow in his blood just by looking at the Galactic City's rings and patterns of light texturing the planet. But then, there was a sudden spark, a peak of hope somewhere in the back of his head; there was fear and doubt too, but he could feel them all. He only hoped that whoever was down there could sense his presence too.

Hold tight, he thought with growing hope in his heart, I'm coming.

Aleko took a deep breath and aligned his craft to burn retrograde several huhdreds of Delta-V, as his Navicomputer calculated the flight path towards his destination. He did receive a few intercepting signals challenging him to identify himself and state his intentions, but he refused to return the call and instead closed his eyes; it took him a bit of effort to not let the goody-two-shoes-side of his Jedi training ruin the few moments of inconspicuousness he still had. It didn't take long before he hit the atmosphere at a reasonable speed, his craft didn't start burning through the air; still, he preferred to shave off more of his speed through the natural drag and wait some more before he would take control of it.

He opened his eyes at the second signal and plunged down, his eyes quickly darting at the topside of his cockpit to see two Z-95 trailing him; if they weren't aggressive before, their own sudden change of direction was a big enough hint that they were ready to lase him down. Even though Coruscant was dubbed center of the Galaxy and had some of the best security protocols, one would think that neutralizing a vehicle in atmospheric flight would have devastating consequences; wherever the vehicle would crash, there would be a lot of collateral victims.

But how come they didn't gun me outright in orbit? Aleko pondered. Unless the main forces are busy with the Temple, most of the fleet may be fighting elsewhere. And these two. Are they willing to try to sho- this question was answered by the trails of lasers missing the wings of the Cutlass-9 by a few inches. The Jedi could only grit his teeth as he saw himself being narrowly missed, owing his survival to sheer luck; the next gun run would definitely put him down. There was no real chance for him to outmaneuver humans manufactured to dogfight droid tri-fighters.

"Oh, not good." He muttered to himself, his own voice being the only companion left to keep him from suffering of complete loneliness within this precarious situation.

So, he accelerated and leaned his head forward, his whole body tensing up as he felt himself pushed back into the cushion of the seat. His toes curled in his boots as a protest against the acceleration forces pinning his frame down, his senses sharpened by the bath of epinephrine occurring inside the walls of his skull; his muscles only needed to twitch to change his trajectory in a rather erratic pattern as he gradually lowered his altitude until he could find himself cutting through the highest layer of intense traffic. He knew that they, the two pilots, still tailed him as the comms kept beeping wildly with challenges. Aleko simply turned them off and shook his head.

I suppose it would be obvious I won't stop now.

His Cutlass plunged deeper through the clear patches where vehicles didn't fly, loosing altitude until he could identify people on the surface-level rooftops. He pulled the flight controls towards him hard and prepared for the vertical G's to punish his body for the rather reckless tactic; people screamed as the deafening roar of the twin-engine patrol fighter gave them the scare of their life, the underside scraped some taller antennas and a couple of rooftop edges. The two Z-95's followed up quickly, their more aerodynamic shapes allowed them to take sharper turns, not to mention the wider range of the thrust vectoring engines allowing them to recover from the steep descent. They had finally lost their patience.

A loud alert brutalized the Jedi's ear as the combat computer warned him of multiple missile launches. His heart nearly collapsed at the thought of being detonated by a salvo of missiles trailing his trajectory, only several kilometers away from the Temple itself; it wasn't fear that dominated him, but it was a sense of danger he never had to face before, especially being caught in such a vulnerable situation. There was no way for him to outrun the missiles, he wasn't good enough to dodge them either, especially with the two tails ready to lay more firepower upon him as he would try to fool the missiles. He stalled as much as he could, every second he lived was a blessing from the Force, time in which he tried to appreciate his distance from the Temple, as well as how close the fighters and the missiles were compared to him. When a powerful chill ran down his spine, he knew it was time. He reached at a lever somewhere to the right of the seat, pulled it and braced as the canopy launched itself away with a blast. suddenly, he found himself gripping to his consciousness as he was propelled upwards and away from the now empty fighter, the two dazzled Z-95's zipping past his ejected seat. Moments later, he saw a large ball of flame that used to be his Cutlass-9, followed by multiple detonations sending powerful shock waves, one of them was close enough to rumble and tilt his seat's flight path. He tried to correct it by tugging at a rather small controller on the left side, but there was a very limited amount of movement in the gimbal; the Temple was in sight, it was rather close now. Close enough to see thick clouds of smoke covering parts of the awe-inspiring building. Seeing it peppered, blasted, torn and violated, it hit him. The better part of his childhood had been destroyed, the community that raised him murdered like rabid animals and thrown in a ditch. He ground his teeth and buried his otherwise stern eyes in a dangerous frown as he watched LAAT's come and go, then, the fighters banking for a U-turn.

"Abominations. Monsters!"

After a quick glance at his feet, he determined that the fall would break a few of his bones, if it won't end him outright. On the other hand, he was a rather small, but still easy target to hit. Thus, he found that there could be only one way out. He unbuckled the belt and hoisted himself forward, the direction of acceleration changing quickly after he had departed from the only object that remained of his patrol ship. Another important piece of his fond memories as Jedi knight rendered into debris. He had to focus, though, and hard. He was falling with nothing to slow him down, but the Force. He could already hear the screams of the engines nearing, which meant that they were very close since the air blowing past his ear deafened him. The Jedi found it easier to concentrate on his body in this perilous moment, managing to envision the entirety of his frame landing without injury; focusing on his calm spirit within, he pushed it all into his feet and knees until he could feel them quickly heat up. He opened his eyes in the very last second, seeing himself land on his feet with a rumble, sending a shock wave that lifted the layer dust and the knee-length white cape hanging from the back; he quickly tumbled forwards to keep himself in motion, laser bolts threatened to hit him as evidenced by the explosion of his seat intercepted by one of the sharp-shooting pilots. He didn't knew if he would have been seen landing on the roof, but he dashed towards the nearest tall structure and dropped on his knees, sliding in a cranny that concealed his body from anything that flew above. Seconds later, he heard the screams of engines again passing somewhere above, but he dared not to peak out to see where they were headed. He had to give them time to bugger off.

Time long enough to calm his body down after the escalation of events. He reached Coruscant, the Temple was around 5 klicks away from his spot, he only had to find a safe way to access it.

No. I can't go in, I'll only find corpses and clones. he bitterly thought to himself. Those who are alive... they're seeking refuge away from the surface, obviously.

Aleko sighed, and closed his eyes, dropping his forehead against the ground. Service tunnels. They could lead anywhere.

He took a deep breath and tried again to tune into the weave of life, focusing on his mental voice and his spiritual presence to send out a message to ripple through the veil and, maybe, just maybe, be heard and felt.

The Force is still with us. Where are you headed? Show me the path. I will help.