Chapter 3: Mandalore the Ultimate
The Jedi lined up, facing the wall. They let themselves slip into the Force, asking it for assistance, for power, for strength. They felt it flow through their bodies, a current of shared purpose that buzzed in the air between them. They looked up at each other and nodded.
As one, they raised their hands, drew them back, and shoved at the air.
The sound was not an explosion, but a deep, structural groan of defeat. A web of fractures bloomed across the rock face, glowing with trapped energy for a split second before the entire section imploded, collapsing inward into the secondary cavern with an almighty, ear-ringing crash. A thick, choking cloud of rock dust billowed back over them, stinging eyes and coating throats. Through the haze, a narrow slash of Cathar’s bruised daylight cut across the cave floor, illuminating the swirling particles. A way out.
A ragged cheer started among the civilians but was instantly drowned by new, closer sounds from the main entrance—the guttural shouts of amplified voices, the crunch of boots on rubble, and the distinct, high-pitched whine of blaster capacitors charging.
They turned.
Behind them, silhouetted against the hellish glow of the artillery-lit main entrance, were Mandalorian shock troopers. Three at first, then five, their armored forms pushing past the smoking debris of the last barrage. A blue blaster bolt seared past Revan’s head, striking the cave wall and melting rock to glass.
“Go! Now!” Revan’s voice was a whip-crack, stripping away all hesitation. “Alek, with me! Everyone else, move the people! Move!”
Chaosis erupted, but it was a directed chaos. Meetra, Kavar, and Ferus didn’t waste a second. They waded into the mass of frightened civilians, their voices cutting through the panic. “You, take her arm!” “Levitate the stretchers!” “Single file, through the hole, run!” Zayne and Jolee were already at the new opening, guiding the first stumbling survivors through into the relative safety of the secondary canyon, their lightsabers a yellow and blue beacon in the dust.
Revan and Alek turned back to the breach, their blue blades igniting in unison, the twin hums a defiant answer to the blasterfire.
Bolts came in torrents—red streaks of lethal light. Revan and Alek became a wall of spinning energy. Crackling bolts deflected off their blades, shattering against the ceiling, sparking against the floor, or screaming back toward the armored figures. One Mandalorian took his own reflected fire to the chestplate, stumbling back with a curse.
But more were coming. The entrance was widening, a fourth, a fifth trooper adding their fire. The air grew hot and ionized. Alek roared, deflecting two bolts at once, but a third skimmed his shoulder, burning fabric and flesh. He snarled, more in anger than pain.
“Revan! There’s a whole damn legion out there!”
Revan saw it. The math was terrible and absolute. They could deflect for maybe another thirty seconds before being overwhelmed or flanked. The last of the civilians were still shuffling through the narrow new exit; Meetra was physically carrying a child, her face strained with effort.
A plan, cold and brutal, crystallized in Revan’s mind. It was not about finesse. It was about collapse.
“Cover me!” he shouted to Alek.
Without question, Alek stepped forward, his lightsaber weaving a desperate, frantic shield, drawing every bolt toward his massive frame. “Whatever you’re doing, do it fast!”
Revan deactivated his lightsaber, the sudden absence of its hum leaving only the shriek of incoming fire. He raised his hands, palms facing the cave entrance. He reached out, not toward the Mandalorians, but toward the mountain itself. He felt the weight of the stone above the entrance, the vast, precarious balance of fractured cliff face shaken by hours of artillery bombardment. He did not ask the Force. He gripped it.
He felt the strain in his temples, a sharp, metallic taste flooding his mouth. Above the Mandalorian heads, a network of fissures in the ceiling glowed with sudden, sickly light.
With a final, sweeping pull of his arms, he commanded the stone to fall.
It was not a graceful collapse. It was a crude, deafening avalanche of rock and rage. A slab the size of a landspeeder detached first, crushing one trooper instantly. Then the entire lintel of the cave entrance gave way, thousands of tons of Cathar stone crashing down in a continuous, rumbling roar. Dust exploded outward, a solid wave of grit and debris that swallowed the Mandalorian advance whole.
The blasterfire stopped.
Silence, broken only by the settling groan of rock and the faint, muffled shouts from the other side of the new, impassable wall of rubble. No bolts came their way. The entrance was sealed.
Alek stood panting, his blade still raised, staring at the mountain of debris that had buried their enemies. A fierce, savage grin split his face. He deactivated his lightsaber and turned, clapping Revan on the back with a force that would have staggered a lesser man. “That’s more like it! Should’ve done that first!”
Revan staggered only slightly, the backwash of energy depletion making his limbs feel heavy. He didn’t smile. He looked at the tomb he’d just made. “It’ll hold them for an hour. Maybe less if they have thermal detonators. Move.”
They turned and sprinted through the settling dust, toward the slash of daylight. They ducked through the jagged hole they’d created, emerging into a narrow, steep-walled secondary canyon. The air was cleaner here, laced with the scent of cold stone.
The scene before them was one of harried order. The column of refugees stretched ahead, moving as fast as their collective wounds allowed. Meetra and Kavar were at the head, clearing a path through the boulder-strewn floor. Ferus and Zayne shepherded the middle, while Jolee and the two rescued Jedi, Tok and Bel, brought up the rear, watching the rockfall for signs of pursuit.
Meatra glanced back, her eyes finding Revan’s. The relief in them was brief, instantly replaced by renewed urgency. She jerked her head forward. The message was clear: Keep moving.
Alek fell in beside Revan as they jogged to catch up. “Saw their golden boy again, right before the party started,” Alek muttered, his breathing easing back into rhythm. “On the ridge. Just watching. Like we were a show.”
“He wasn’t just watching,” Revan said, his voice low. “He was learning. Testing our responses. This was a probe. The next time won’t be.”
“Good,” Alek said, his knuckles white on his lightsaber hilt. “Next time, I’m saying hello.”
They reached the rear of the column. Jolee gave them a once-over, his eyes lingering on the burn on Alek’s shoulder. “Nice barricade. A little dramatic, but effective. They’re already trying to dig through. Sounds like angry mynocks back there.”
A distant, dull thump echoed through the canyon. Then another. Thermal detonators.
“They’re not wasting time,” Revan said. “Kavar! How far to the extraction?”
Kavar’s voice came from ahead, slightly raised. “Five hundred meters. The canyon kinks left. The ship is just beyond, on the shelf.”
Another detonation, closer now. A small shower of pebbles trickled down the canyon wall beside them. A child in the line whimpered.
“Pick up the pace!” Meetra called, her voice not unkind but firm. “Almost there! See the bend? Just to the bend!”
The group pushed forward, a desperate, limping river of life flowing through the stone vise. Revan and Alek now took position at the very rear, walking backwards, their eyes fixed on the dust cloud beginning to plume from the direction of the sealed cave. Every few seconds, Revan checked his wrist chrono, counting down the minutes until the charges on the landing site would blow, their only real hope of masking their escape.
The bend in the canyon was just ahead. Beyond it, safety. And above them, silent on his ridge, Mandalore the Ultimate watched the fleeing light, his golden armor reflecting the fire of a dying world.
And above them, silent on his ridge, Mandalore the Ultimate watched the fleeing light, his golden armor reflecting the fire of a dying world. He made no gesture, gave no order. He simply stepped off the ledge.
He did not fall. The rocket jets on his back flared, a controlled, roaring descent that carried him down the canyon wall in a smooth, terrifying arc, bypassing the choked cave entrance entirely. He landed without a sound between the fleeing column and the jagged bend that led to salvation.
The group hurried back to the Endar Spire, as fast as possible. They turned the final corner and came back out into the battlefield. The Mandalorians were still aiming at the collapsed cave, trying to blast their way through. The Jedi and the civilians were almost back at the ship when a blur of gold and red dropped from above, landing in a crouch a few meters in front of them.
Mandalore the Ultimate.
He straightened, sunlight glinting off his polished armour. The red cape settled around him. His T-shaped visor was a blank, dark void aimed directly at Revan. The refugees froze, a collective breath held in two hundred throats.
Revan and Alek ignited their blades, the blue plasma casting sharp shadows on the canyon floor. The hum was a challenge.
Mandalore introduced himself. His voice, amplified by his helmet’s vocoder, was calm, measured, and devoid of malice. He spoke like a gentleman, not a barbaric warrior. “You are Revan. I have studied your… unorthodox tactics at Humbarine. You fight with a scholar’s mind and a murderer’s efficiency. A fascinating contradiction.”
He explained that for too long the Mandalorians had been treated like barbarians and not the honorable warriors that they truly are. “Your Republic calls this a massacre. We call it a test. You hide in your temples, debating philosophy while the galaxy fractures. We live our creed.” His helmet tilted slightly, taking in the huddled civilians, the wounded, the desperate hope on their faces. “What does your code say about this? Does it feed them? Does it stop the bombs?”
He claimed that the Jedi had lost their way, becoming too complacent and losing the honour and valour that the Mandalorians respect. “You lecture on peace while your outer worlds burn. You speak of the Force as a shield, but you have forgotten it can be a sword. A true protector does not hide. He stands. He fights. He proves his strength.”
They believe that the Jedi’s time has come, and that the galaxy is in need of new protectors. “We are that proof. We are the fire that forges something stronger. Join it, or be consumed by it.”
Alek didn’t want to hear any more. “We’re not joining your crusade of butchers,” he spat, spittle flying. “You talk about honour? You slag cities from orbit! You hunt the helpless!”
“The strong define the terms, Jedi,” Mandalore replied, his tone still oddly conversational. “Your weakness invites predation. We are not butchers. We are gardeners. Pruning the galaxy of decadence so strength may flourish.”
With a wordless roar that was pure, unleashed frustration, Alek charged. He covered the ground in three long strides and leaped, a powerful, arcing blow meant to cleave the Mandalorian commander’s head from his shoulders.
The Mandalorian commander simply stepped aside. It was a small, economical motion. He grabbed Alek by the back of his robes as he passed, using the larger man’s own momentum. He hurled him into the canyon wall.
The impact was a sickening crunch of body against unyielding stone. Alek slid down, his lightsaber sputtering out, landing in a heap of limp limbs and torn fabric. He did not get up.
Mandalore didn’t even look at him. He kept his visor fixed on Revan. He said that for the Jedi, there would be no escape. Not today. “You have courage. I will grant your dead that. But courage without power is just a particularly poignant form of suicide.”
He drew his Beskar sword from his back, the sunlight glinting off the polished silver blade. “Shall we finish the test?”
A cold stillness descended, broken only by the dry canyon wind and a low moan from Alek’s still form. Revan did not look at his friend. He did not check the trembling refugees. His entire world narrowed to the golden figure and the gleaming sword.
“Get them to the ship,” Revan said, his voice flat and carrying. He didn’t specify who. He didn’t need to.
Meatra’s cyan blade was already lit, her face a mask of conflict. “Revan—”
“Now, Meetra.” It wasn’t a request. It was the same tone that had commanded a star cruiser through a gorge. “That’s an order.”
He saw her jaw tighten. She gave one sharp, agonized nod and turned, shepherding the stunned column into motion around the edges of the impromptu arena. “Move! Don’t look! Just go!”
Revan raised his blade in a steady stance, relaxing his muscles and letting the Force flow through him. The cacophony of fear from the refugees faded into a distant buzz. The ache from collapsing the cave entrance receded. There was only the equilibrium between himself and the weapon in his hands.
The two of them began to circle each other, sizing each other up. Gravel crunched under Mandalore’s heavy boots. Revan’s boots were silent.
It was Mandalore who struck first. He darted forward, lunging at Revan, his beskar blade glinting savagely in the sunlight. Revan managed to dodge out of the way, the blade slicing through the air where he had been standing only a second before. The wind of its passage stirred his hair.
Mandalore struck again, aiming for Revan’s hip. Revan tried to slice Mandalore’s blade in half with his lightsaber, but the sword held, and he was only able to deflect it. A shower of white sparks erupted where plasma met beskar, stinging Revan’s cheek.
So the rumours were true. The Mandalorians had found a metal that could deflect a lightsaber. Impressive.
The two of them continued to duel, blurs of blue and silver filling the air. Mandalore was good, Revan had to admit. Better than some Jedi. His style was a brutal, efficient hybrid—part military fencing, part street brawler, every movement designed to kill. But he didn’t have the Force.
Revan brought his lightsaber up to block another overhead strike, and held the blade there. The locked weapons hummed, spraying sparks like angry insects. Then, he took his right hand off the hilt, and pushed at the air.
The telekinetic blast was point-blank and overwhelming. Mandalore was sent flying into the rocky wall of the canyon. The impact cracked the stone and left a crater in the shape of his armor. He slumped to the ground, his sword clattering from his grip.
Revan walked over to him and pointed his saber at him, the tip hovering a centimeter from the T-visor. “Yield. Your test is over.”
Mandalore, however, wasn’t done yet. Faster than Revan could react, he drew a blaster from his hip and fired at Revan’s leg.
The bolt tore through fabric and flesh. Revan howled in pain, his leg buckling, and he dropped his lightsaber. The blue blade deactivated before it hit the ground.
Mandalore retrieved his sword and brought it over his head to deliver the killing blow.
“Hey! Ugly!”
A rock, hurled with more courage than force, bounced off Mandalore’s helmet. He didn’t flinch, but the split-second shift in his attention was enough.
Zayne Carrick stood there, his yellow lightsaber shaking but lit, his other hand empty. “Pick on someone your own size! Or, you know, someone who’s actually standing!”
It was the worst possible duelist’s stance Revan had ever seen. It was also the bravest.
The distraction was milliseconds. But it was enough for Meetra. She was suddenly there, her cyan blade intercepting the descending beskar sword in a shriek of protesting metals. She didn’t try to hold it. She deflected it sideways, into the ground, where it bit deep.
“The ship’s waiting, Revan!” she grunted, shoving backward against Mandalore’s immense strength. “Now!”
Revan, teeth gritted against the white-hot agony in his thigh, reached out. His lightsaber snapped from the ground into his hand. He didn’t stand. He thrust upward from his knees, aiming not for armor, but for the joints at the hip.
Mandalore twisted, the blade scoring a deep, molten groove along his thigh plate instead of finding flesh. He roared, a sound of pure fury finally cracking through his calm, and swung a backhand that would have taken Meetra’s head off if she hadn’t dropped flat.
From the ground, Revan shoved again with the Force, a ragged, pained push that knocked Mandalore stumbling back several steps.
“Zayne! Help me!” Meetra yelled, grabbing Revan under one arm. Zayne scrambled over, slipping his shoulder under Revan’s other side. Together, they hauled him upright. His wounded leg dragged, leaving a dark smear on the stone.
“Alek—” Revan gasped.
“Jolee’s got him!” Zayne panted, already pulling them toward the canyon bend. “He’s moving! Sort of!”
They hobbled around the corner. The Endar Spire sat on its shelf, ramp down, a beautiful sight. The last of the civilians were scrambling aboard. Kavar was at the ramp, his viridian blade a beacon, waving them forward.
Behind them, from the main canyon, a colossal explosion ripped the air. The timed charges on their original landing site. A plume of dust and smoke billowed upward, swallowing the ridge where Mandalore’s artillery sat.
The golden warrior emerged from around the bend just in time to see the explosion. He stopped. He watched them, a solitary figure amid the settling chaos. He made no move to pursue.
“He’s… letting us go?” Zayne said, incredulous, as they half-carried, half-dragged Revan up the ramp.
“No,” Revan hissed, pain making his vision swim. “He got his data. He’s cataloguing the error.” The ramp began to whine shut behind them. Through the narrowing gap, he locked eyes with the distant, gleaming visor. “He’s preparing the correction.”
The hatch sealed with a final thud, cutting off the view. The engine whine built to a scream. Meetra lowered Revan to the deck as the ship jerked upward. “Medpac! Now!”
Revan lay back, the cold deckplate against his neck. He could hear the cries of the rescued, the frantic movements of the other Jedi, Alek’s groggy cursing from somewhere nearby. The ship trembled, then smoothed out as it punched into the upper atmosphere, leaving the scarlet ruin of Cathar below.
He stared at the sterile ceiling. His leg screamed. His friend was bruised. His people were saved.
And he had never felt a victory taste more like a prelude.