The Birth of Rebellion

Chapter I - The Exile

Haunted by loss, the Sixteenth Inquisitor stalked the ruined Jedi Temple on Koboh. Fear, a potent weapon in their arsenal, thrummed beneath the surface. Every blaster mark on the walls, every fallen body – Rebel and Imperial alike – whispered of the devastation they'd wrought. Only one remained.

"Your emotions betray you," the Inquisitor snarled, the red glow of her lightsaber illuminating the debris-strewn chamber. "Their deaths echo within you, fueling your weakness!"

From the shadows, a flicker of movement. Krieger, a former Jedi Knight and Clone Wars General and now in exile, pressed himself deeper into the darkness. His grip tightened on his lightsaber, the weapon now a cold, foreign weight in his hand.

Krieger squeezed his eyes shut, forcing himself deeper into meditation. The Force swirled around him, a tempest of screams replaced by a tranquil hum. It wasn't death itself that gnawed at him, but the symphony of suffering that preceded it. A whisper, faint yet resolute, echoed through the chaos – "The Force will always be with you."

Krieger snapped his eyes open, a newfound fire burning within. He ignited his emerald lightsaber, the green blade a stark contrast to the devastation around him. His defensive stance, once wavering, was now a fortress. The mental scars hadn't vanished, but they were reduced to mere ripples on the vast ocean of his resolve.

"There you are," the Inquisitor sneered, crimson blades spinning in a deadly dance. Krieger inhaled deeply, the Force a centering anchor. As the Inquisitor launched into a flurry of aggressive blows, their breathing grew ragged with exertion. Krieger, however, remained a statue of composure. A telegraphed thrust found its mark – not on Krieger, but deflected with a measured parry. In a swift counterattack, a blur of green met crimson, and with a sickening snap, the Inquisitor's lightsaber clattered to the ground, followed by the hand that once held it.

Krieger let out a ragged breath, the weight of the encounter leaving him feeling like he'd held the weight of the very temple itself. With a flick of his wrist, he used the Force to pull the Inquisitor's lightsaber towards him. The crimson blade hummed accusingly in his hand. He studied it for a moment, a flicker of empathy crossing his features.

With a deliberate twist of his mechanical hand, Krieger crushed the Inquisitor's lightsaber. The sound of crackling energy echoed through the ruined chamber. He turned and started to walk away, his green blade deactivated.

"Traitor!" the Inquisitor screamed, the raw fury evident even from Krieger's retreating back. But the sound held a tremor of defeat. He knew the battle was over.

Krieger paused at the temple entrance, a chilling sensation creeping up his spine. It was a familiar cold, one that hadn't touched him since Order 66. The betrayal echoed in his mangled body, the respirator hissing a counterpoint to the ragged breaths beneath his mask. He couldn't see the source of the disturbance, but his instincts screamed. He whirled around, searching for the threat.

Through a crumbling crack in the wall, Krieger glimpsed a flicker of movement. A figure clad in imposing black armour, a billowing cape, and a concealing helmet stalked into view. Darth Vader. The mechanical rasp of his breathing was a chilling counterpoint to Krieger's own laboured gasps. The Sith Lord raised a hand, and the Inquisitor, still clutching their severed wrist, was lifted effortlessly. "I warned you," Vader boomed, his voice echoing in the ruined temple. "Failure is not tolerated." With a sickening crack, Vader snapped the Inquisitor's neck, sending the body crashing to the floor.

The sight solidified Krieger's resolve. He spun and bolted through the crumbling tunnel, the echoes of his boots swallowed by the mountain's maw. Reaching the ledge, he gasped. Imperial landing craft swarmed the sky, walkers lumbered across the devastated landscape, and Stormtroopers herded the remaining militia like cattle. A flicker of defiance sparked within him, a desperate urge to intervene. It flickered and died as quickly as it arose.

The unmistakable crackle of blaster fire echoed up the mountainside. Krieger squeezed his eyes shut, a strangled sob escaping his mask. Tears welled up, blurring the scene below. They were all paying the price for his survival. The weight of countless lives crushed him, snuffing out any remaining spark of defiance. War was more than battles, he realised. It was a relentless, soul-crushing weight. He was done.