"Do we have that model?"
"No identification signal detected—it's not one of ours."
The sharp roar of a starfighter engine echoed across the sky.
Within the sand-dune encirclement, soldiers of the Imperial Auxiliary Army instinctively looked up. Lieutenant Haywood Spike pressed a finger to his tactical visor, his expression grave as he faced the blazing suns of Tatooine. In the magnified frame-by-frame capture, a dark speck drew nearer, growing larger in his focused pupils.
A small, dart-shaped starfighter, roaring like thunder, streaked into view.
"Then treat it as hostile. Shoot it down."
Though not bloodthirsty, the Imperial Auxiliary troops were far from merciful.
If the situation posed no threat, they might show leniency—perhaps sparing the unarmed slaves and servants in Hutt crime lord Jabba's palace and offering them a warning.
But this was no helpless slave ship. When their mission or interests were at stake, everything yielded to the highest operational priority.
Boom, boom, boom—
At the order, two auxiliary gunships burst from the ground like rockets, afterburners igniting as they shot skyward, climbing almost vertically into the clouds.
Ratatatatata—
From below, the streams of plasma bolts rising from their cannons looked like ribbons of light stretching straight into the heavens.
Turbo laser batteries, heavy cannons, anti-air flak guns, storm missile pods, twin-linked plasma cannons—rows upon rows of weaponry unleashed a blistering barrage. Even with only two modified Thunderhawk gunships for mortal fire support, their combined firepower painted a breathtaking curtain of light.
The density of the barrage, the angular bulk of the crafts, and their thick armor—like flying bricks—all reflected the Sacred Selene Empire's philosophy of warfare.
By contrast, the slender dart-shaped craft descending steadily appeared fragile, almost defenseless. Its small laser cannons remained silent, as if resigned to fate—or perhaps its control systems had failed entirely.
"Master Yoda...?"
Only Luke Skywalker, bound and restrained on the ground, sensed it—the old, calm, profound, and ancient presence of the Force emanating from within that Jedi starfighter.
Through the Force bond, a short, green figure looked upon him kindly, conveying his final resolve.
"No! Master—you can't die for me—!"
Awakening from the chilling vision, Luke shouted in terror, struggling violently. The Force connection not only carried Yoda's words—it allowed Luke to feel the Jedi Master's burning spirit, blazing one last time before fading into death.
In the skies above, the overwhelming collision unfolded. The guided missiles, laser bolts, and plasma shells engulfed the dart-shaped craft in explosions—but not one struck true.
A thick, viscous supernatural energy enveloped the vessel like a flexible barrier. Entering its field, the gunships' deadly fire vanished as if swallowed whole, diverted harmlessly aside.
It wasn't a deflector shield—nor rigid deflection. No, it was something far more precise.
Each incoming attack—whether high-velocity shell or coherent light—was seized by an unseen control, its trajectory subtly altered. The supernatural energy resonated with every strike, sustaining their unstable state, then nudging them just enough to veer past.
A control so absolute that even the slightest miscalculation would have triggered catastrophe. Yet it was executed flawlessly.
Boom-boom-boom!
Lances of energy streaked by, forming a storm of chromatic flames that lit the sky like a living aurora. The starfighter danced between them, narrowly evading the destruction that chased it.
But it was untouchable.
"Such precision of control..."
The explosions illuminated their faces. Realizing that their few dozen men might not be able to match such an opponent, Lieutenant Haywood quickly made his decision. Removing his peaked cap, he donned a full-coverage infiltration-type nano combat suit.
The purple-red Type I dual-bladed energy sword in his hand ignited. Haywood ordered his squad to split into several groups—one to escort the captured Jedi Knight, Luke Skywalker, back to the landing zone, while he stayed behind to cover their retreat.
Boom, boom!
The next instant, the slender and elegant craft—more like a work of art than a weapon of war—broke through layers of sonic barriers, slicing across the desert and kicking up a storm of sand.
"Little Luke is our hope... a visitor from beyond the galaxy. This old one will not hand him over to you."
Pssst—
The sound of the cockpit valve opening echoed. Amidst the swirling sands, a small, elderly, comically elfin alien lifeform descended slowly from the ship, hovering just above the ground.
Tiny and frail, he wore the long robes of a Jedi Knight—similar to the black garments of a clergyman—and held a lightsaber that was rather long compared to his diminutive stature. Its blade glowed a soft, emerald green.
"Master Yoda!"
Not far away, Luke—being carried on the back of a soldier—had tears welling in his eyes. "I'm sorry... I've failed you, Master! I truly am not... mmph—" Before he could finish, another soldier roughly covered his mouth.
"No. You've done very well already."
The small green being, known as Master Yoda, stood there with a faint smile. The cloudy eyes that had seen centuries shimmered with ageless wisdom. His voice trembled slightly as his small green hand gripped the lightsaber.
"A Master... a Jedi Master," Haywood said coldly, interrupting their silent exchange. Clad in pitch-black nano armor, his crimson V-shaped visor gleamed ominously. The reflection of his purple-red Type I dual-bladed energy sword danced across Yoda's wrinkled green face. "Beat the small one, and the old one shows up next."
Zheng!
The dual blades flared, slicing through the wreckage of a nearby skimmer. With a sharp whistle, Haywood kicked the remains forward. Metal shrieked under stress as the debris split apart, plowing through sand like a battering ram toward the small green figure.
No further orders were needed. Boom! Boom! Boom! The heavy-fire squad raised their massive plasma rifles and multi-barreled laser cannons, unleashing a storm of energy.
Yoda did not move. His calm, compassionate gaze rested only on Luke.
His three-fingered hand pressed forward lightly. The boundless Force crushed the boiling sand beneath his feet, isolating and diverting all incoming projectiles like a divine blessing of protection. His lightsaber swung down in a clean, graceful arc.
Swish—
The blade cut through the skimmer wreckage smoother than slicing butter. Facing Luke—who was being carried toward a gunship—Yoda's cloudy eyes flashed with sharp light. With a motion light as air, he sidestepped the swing of an energy blade and, with a gentle push, sent the soldier carrying Luke flying dozens of meters into a dune.
Then, turning toward the heavily armored troopers closing in—each one with jetpacks roaring and weapons larger than Yoda himself—he raised his hand once more.
Crash—
"Kh... khhh—"
Their charge faltered. Beneath their tactical helmets, the soldiers' eyes bulged wide. Though their neck armor remained intact, they felt the crushing suffocation of invisible hands tightening around their throats.
"May the Force be with me," Yoda murmured softly. His hand remained clenched. The bones of the Auxiliary soldiers creaked with an eerie creeeeak.
This had nothing to do with physical strength—or the armor's protection. To crush a foe's throat with the Force was both physical and supernatural—akin to wielding both divine and demonic power.
To a degree, the refined mastery of the Force by Jedi and Sith alike posed a natural counter to many soldiers of the Sacred Selene Empire's forces—those whose bodies were only lightly enhanced by Honkai mutations, making them stronger than normal humans but far from capable of tearing apart a Gundam bare-handed.
After all, the Imperial Palace Guard, Astartes, Custodians, and special auxiliary divisions (such as the Sisters of Battle, Valkyrie Corps, Hunters, Jaegers, Round Table Knights, and others) were few in number compared to the vast ranks of ordinary Imperial and Auxiliary soldiers.
"Hm?"
Yoda's expression shifted with confusion. He suddenly realized that these enemies were unlike any Imperial stormtroopers or elite death troopers he had encountered before.
Their physical resilience and toughness were extraordinary—unnatural, even. Under normal Jedi standards, to refine one's body to such a degree through the Force's enhancement of biological functions, only a Jedi Master could hope to achieve it. And at that level, one should be able to wield supernatural energy effortlessly.
Yet Yoda did not sense in them any refined use of the Force—or of any comparable supernatural energy.
It was as though they had chosen an entirely different path—one focused on the strengthening of the flesh and the honing of willpower, a road opposite to that of the Jedi.
Yoda pondered silently.
Should he escalate further? No—it would not be worth it. His life-force was like an oil lamp burning low, and one more outburst would leave him with nothing. He was keenly aware of his condition; after nine hundred years, his time had come to an end. He needed to preserve what little Force remained—for Luke's escape.
"For Selene!"
Haywood roared his battle cry. Streams of purple-red energy surged through the gaps in his black armor. His heavy steps kicked up clouds of sand as he raised his dual-bladed energy sword high. Vrrmmm—!
Boom!
The collision that followed thundered like a massive bell being struck. The tall and the small figures clashed violently, collapsing the remains of the skimmer and the surrounding Force field. Yoda was forced to release his telekinetic chokehold on the other soldiers.
Crash!
The calm emerald blade met the ominous purple-red energy sword. Between them, invisible Force currents intertwined with erratic Honkai particles, sparking and flaring like strands of lightning.
As the leader of the 16th Recon Unit, Haywood was no ordinary grunt. The oppressive, sinister energy radiating from him—darker even than the Force's Dark Side—sharpened Yoda's dulled senses. Every hair on his body stood on end.
The Dark Side...
No, something similar—but not the same. A different path... beyond the galaxy's Force?
That was Yoda's rough conjecture.
The Force had no consciousness; it embraced all life. There were countless ways to connect with it—points, lines, and paths beyond number. Yoda didn't know the true nature of these outsiders, but he could tell they were not part of the old galaxy or the Republic's dominion.
Yet there was no time left.
The only thing he could do now was to transmit all the intelligence he had gathered in this battle to Luke. That would be his final gift.
"Your heart is filled with ambition and the pleasure of conquest. Dominance, anger, fear, and aggression—such powers will creep upon you, and your destiny shall forever be enslaved by them."
Opening his eyes once more, Yoda's small frame rose into the air, hovering weightlessly. The Force around him thickened like a vast web, pressing down upon everything.
His lightsaber twitched.
Bang! Clang! Boom!
Haywood's body smashed through the remaining half of the skimmer, bouncing across the dunes like a stone skipping water, until he crashed into a distant hill, kicking up a towering wave of sand.
"Kh..." Yoda's breathing grew weaker. Trembling, he raised his hand toward the gunship lifting off hundreds of meters away—and his weary eyes flared bright once more.
Ding, ding, ding—
Sparks erupted. The gunship shuddered, caught in an invisible gravitational grip. The sound of twisting metal and engines straining filled the air—ka-ka-ka!—until finally, boom!
The entire craft was yanked downward by the Force, slammed violently into the dunes.
Pain etched across his face, Yoda fought to remain conscious. Staggering toward the wreck, he raised his lightsaber and cleaved through the armored hatch.
Molten metal dripped from the glowing cut. Amidst a mix of astonishment and awe from those inside, Yoda extended his hand toward Luke once more. "Go."
Panting heavily, desperation in his voice, he used his lightsaber to sever Luke's chains, then lifted him through the Force into the cockpit of the Jedi starfighter. Pressing Luke's shoulder firmly, he began channeling a wave of calm, luminous Force into him.
"Little Luke... go. Everything I know, I have passed on to you."
"But—" Luke looked toward Han Solo and the others not far away.
"There's no time. Tatooine is sealed off. The fighter can carry only one. Little Luke... I know it's a heavy burden, but the destiny of the Jedi—the fate of the Skywalkers—you must face it."
With a soft pat on the hull, Yoda did not board the ship.
He coughed, straightened his frail body, and with his lightsaber flashing, he called upon the Force once more to hold off the approaching assault.
"It's unfortunate that you faced him so hastily... your training is incomplete. You are not yet ready to bear this burden. I truly fear for you. But... you must face it."
Beep, beep.
The cockpit sealed, and the starfighter slowly lifted off.
"Master..." Luke's eyes widened.
"Go!"
With what seemed like the last of his strength, Yoda's face twisted in uncharacteristic fury. He roared hoarsely, "I said go, Luke—GO!!" His eyes locked on Mos Eisley in the distance.
The roar of countless starship engines filled the air—the enemy reinforcements were almost upon them!
"You will not escape—!"
The voice rumbled like thunder. Crimson-gold lightning tore through the skies faster than orbital velocity, the violent shockwave shaking even the formation of incoming gunships.
Whoosh!
Everything happened in a flash. The Jedi starfighter's preprogrammed sequence initiated—sublight drives and hyperspace engines roaring to life, frequency alignment underway.
Luke sat frozen in disbelief, staring at Yoda's back as the small figure, hunched and frail, walked toward the endless fleet—and the oncoming crimson-gold streaks of light.
Vwooom!
A beam of light struck the ground, erupting like a newborn crimson sun over the battlefield. The desert blazed bright, waves of molten sand rising like a storm-tossed sea. Within that inferno, Luke—his senses sharpened by the Force—saw it clearly.
A golden giant.
The sunlight gleamed off his radiant armor, his helmet shaped like an eagle spreading its wings. A crimson plume drifted though no wind blew. Scarlet eyes blazed from within as a colossal shadow loomed forward, and the giant's golden hand reached toward him.
"Ah—!"
It was Yoda's final cry.
Slash—slash—
Luke's mind froze. He could almost feel the searing heat carried by the golden warrior's advance.
Then—darkness. The last thing he saw before losing consciousness was a blur of black and streaks of blue-white particles stretching into infinity.
Hyperspace jump.
...
"So this is a hyperspace engine... impressive startup speed. To think even a small craft could mount one..."
On the calm sands, the golden-armored giant stood with his halberd in hand, gazing thoughtfully at the smoke curling from his palm.
"But that does not excuse your failure."
Another figure approached—also clad in full gold armor, but sleeker, with elegant silver tracery along the curves. The Sister of Silence stood beside him and asked curtly, "The reason?"
"Hah... you noticed, did you? I marked that boy's ship with something. There will be new gains soon enough. But for now... the list of gifts for Her Majesty—any ideas?"
"As long as you know your limits."
The Sister of Silence opened her palm, revealing two lightsabers recovered from the battlefield. "I think the hyperspace engine would make a fine offering. The blaster tech still lacks refinement. Mandalorian steel could be suitable as well—and these two lightsabers..."
"We have the Jedi's. Only the Sith's remains."
"The Sith? There will be one soon enough. But we won't wait. Her Majesty grows impatient with new toys. Let's present the gifts to the Imperial Capital. I hear General Esdeath is already seeking new and more... 'appetizing' fruits for Her Majesty?"
"It's a Chakra Fruit."
"All the same. We are the Palace Guard—the highest military echelon. We cannot allow Esdeath to outshine us."
"A peculiar sense of rivalry..."
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