Star Wars_ Darth Bane 02_ Rule of Two - Drew Karpyshyn [11]
Bane surveyed the scene with contempt as he bore down on them, the Force allowing him to take in every detail in one quick glance. The men on point were oblivious to his approach, their attention drawn by the angry shouts of disagreement coming from the other six bickering over their ill-gotten gains.
Altering his course slightly so his arrival would be hidden by a large supply tent until the last possible instant, Bane gave a final burst of acceleration and descended upon the camp in a storm of ruin. He drew and ignited his lightsaber in one smooth motion. The keening hum of the crimson blade preceded him, betraying his position a few precious seconds before his arrival. The advance warning gave just enough time for the nearest sentry to draw his blaster, but not nearly enough time to save him from the coming slaughter.
Bane materialized from behind the supply tent and fell on his first victim like a dark wind, slicing him diagonally from shoulder to hip. The man wore battle armor made up of composite plates stitched together on an interwoven padded underlay to allow for flexibility. The vest covering his chest was capable of absorbing several high-powered blaster shots from inside thirty meters, but Bane’s blade sliced through the protective layers and carved a fatal five-centimeter gash through the flesh and bone beneath.
As the first victim toppled over, Bane leapt high in the air toward his next foe, instantly closing the ten meters between them and simultaneously evading the hastily fired shot from the second sentry’s blaster pistol. As he came down virtually on top of his enemy, he delivered an overhead, two-handed descending chop—a classic move from Djem So, the fifth and most powerfully aggressive form of lightsaber combat. The heavy strike perfectly bisected the unfortunate man’s helmet and drove deep into the skull beneath.
The gruesome ends of the first two mercenaries gave the others time to recognize what was happening. They drew their weapons and fired a full volley of blaster bolts at Bane as he turned to face them from across the camp. Smoothly transitioning from the attacking style of Form V to the more defensive style of Form III, Bane deflected the incoming bolts with two-handed parries of his lightsaber, flicking them aside with almost casual disdain.
Twirling his weapon in his right hand, Bane paused to relish the hopelessness and terror emanating from the half a dozen surviving mercenaries as they recognized the inevitable fact of their own deaths. Clustered together in the clearing between the tents, they did the only thing that gave any of them a chance of survival—they broke and ran.
They scattered in all directions: one of the women ran off to the left, two men ran off to the right; the other three turned and fled in a direct line away from the deadly interloper. Still twirling his lightsaber, Bane thrust his empty hand out before him, palm extended as he unleashed the Force in a wave of concussive power at the woman fleeing to his left. The wave cut a swath of devastation through the camp. Tents were uprooted from the ground, their material torn and shredded. Wooden supply crates exploded into kindling, the shattered contents spraying out in a shower of splintered shrapnel.
The Force wave slammed into the woman’s back, pulverizing her spine and snapping her neck as it drove her facedown into the dirt and pinned her against the ground. Her corpse twitched once, then went forever still.
Clenching the fingers of his left hand tight against his open palm, Bane wheeled toward the two men on his right and thrust his fist up into the air. A dozen forks of blue lightning arced out from above his head to envelop the screaming soldiers, cooking them alive. Shrieking in agony, they danced and twitched like marionettes on electric strings for several seconds before their smoking husks collapsed on the ground.
In the few seconds it had taken to dispatch the others, the surviving three mercenaries had reached the far side of the