Location: Orvax II – Outer Rim Mining World
Date: 22 BBY – Three Days into the Siege of Syndicate Nest Nine
Explosions rocked the edges of the spice refinery compound as anti-personnel cannons spun wildly to intercept incoming missiles. The sharp tang of vaporized durasteel mixed with the pungent rot of unrefined glitterstim being incinerated mid-process.
And amidst the chaos— Maul unit the Blood Hounds advanced. A mixed group of the most aggressive and battle focused Paladins and clone troopers. They were led by Maul and Commander Wolffe. The two were led the most discipline tight-knit unit known to the Alliance and Order and one of the most respect for always getting the job done no matter how dangerous without losing anyone.
They moved in perfect formation, dropping from ledges, flanking through alley corridors, and slipping through plumes of smoke with the feral precision of a hunting pack. Each Paladin wore dark crimson-marked armor under the Eternal Alliance insignia, distinguished by their red-tinted visors and aggressive movement patterns.
Some of them were laughing. Others were humming war chants from their cultures. But all were precise. Focused. Lethal. This was tactic they used to strike fear into their opponents or their soon to be prey.
At the center of the carnage stood Cain—his gold-and-black saber humming through the air as he ducked under a vibroblade strike and countered with a swift slice across a mercenary's chestplate. Sparks flew as he spun low, catching another attacker in the leg with a burst of telekinetic pressure.
"Left flank—stabilize and push forward!" he called into his wrist comm. "Syndicate guards are falling back into Tunnel Two."
From his left, Maul came crashing through a shattered wall, saber ignited in a blur of red fury. He impaled a pair of mercenaries with a spinning lunge, then threw a third into a blast door with a flick of his hand.
"They're herding us," Maul growled, eyes flaring. "Trying to bottleneck the Blood Hounds at the refinery choke point."
Cain stepped beside him, parrying a sniper bolt with a casual flick of his wrist.
"We're not the ones being hunted," he said, smirking.
"You ready?"
Maul cracked his neck. "Try to keep up."
They moved as one—two storms woven together by the rhythm of death.
Cain and Maul surged into the heart of the refinery, cutting down mercenaries from both the Skargh Clade and Karnoss Blades, elite hired guns brought in by the Hutt Syndicate. These weren't common scum—these were war-forged veterans, but even they began to break under the relentless style of the two warriors.
Cain used his lightsaber like a scalpel—shatterpoints lighting up in his mind as he disrupted weapons, shattered formations, and redirected blaster bolts into support beams that collapsed escape routes.
Maul… was raw instinct and disciplined fury. His movements were powerful, precise and relentless. He tore through armor like paper, using his double-bladed red saber with flawless arcs of motion.
Their enemies tried to split them—grenades, gas, flame units.
It Didn't work.
Cain and Maul adapted mid-stride—one flowed while the other struck, one disrupted while the other annihilated. Their movements became a language of rhythm and murder.
On the upper scaffold lines above them, John and his squad of Paladins and troopers leapt from platform to platform, clearing rooftops with precision shots and close-quarter blade strikes.
"Tunnel Three's breached," John reported calmly over comms. "Squads Six and Seven pushing to the inner blast doors now."
The Paladins moved like a pack communication through short barks, gestures, and Force-augmented pulses. Below, civilians captured by the Syndicate were being pulled from cages by support units—quick, efficient extractions under the cover of Paladin suppressive fire.
Cain and Maul stood before the final blast doors.
Behind them: a trail of bodies.
Ahead of them: the Syndicate Overlord—a bloated Hutt named Gragga, protected by his final elite squad.
The doors slid open.
Cain and Maul charged together.
Cain's saber shimmered, sweeping low and rising like a phoenix across the room.
Maul's blade spun like a death wheel, bouncing between guards as if alive with rage.
Light saber met vibroaxes. Force slammed enemies into walls. Grenades were Force-pushed back mid-flight.
Cain used the shatterpoint of the Hutt's defensive shield—striking a single control node in the wall, shorting the field with a surge of feedback.
Maul leapt, landed behind Gragga, and brought his saber to the creature's neck.
Cain arrived a second later, saber pressed to the opposite side of the Hutt's bloated skull.
Both stared.
Breathing hard. Sweating. Bloodied. Alive.
"Looks like a draw," Cain panted, chuckling.
"I got to him first," Maul smirked.
A soft voice cut through their banter.
"Maul wins," said Commander Wolffe nearby. The others laughed.
Cain raised his hands, smirking. "I won't argue."
Hours later, as the facility burned and the enslaved civilians were evacuated off-world, Cain stood beside Maul on a landing platform overlooking the ruined valley.
John walked past with a nod, his squad prepping the transports.
Maul leaned on the railing, arms folded.
"We make a good team."
Cain nodded. "You've grown. You fight differently."
"You gave me purpose. That… changes a man."
Cain looked up at the stars. "This was just a raid. But the message we sent today… will echo."
Maul smirk "I agree Cain let these scum of the galaxy see what could happen to them and let this be a message to my master that his time will come".