A clash of Sabers
I never saw the whole duel.
Nobody did.
The battle for the approaches to Talaris was far too chaotic for that. While Darth Véhemen and Darth Ceryndra fought, thousands of soldiers were killing one another around them. Blaster fire streaked overhead. Buildings burned. The wounded cried out from shell holes and shattered trenches. Every man and woman on that battlefield had their own fight to survive.
I was no different.
My squad had spent most of the day trying to break through a line of Ninth Scar defenders entrenched amongst the ruins of an industrial district. We'd already lost half our number by the time word began spreading through the ranks that the Dark Lord himself had entered the fighting. At first, I dismissed it as another rumour. There had been dozens already. Then I saw him.
Only for a moment.
A gap opened in the smoke and rain and there he was, perhaps a hundred metres away. Even from that distance he looked exhausted. His armour was scarred and broken from previous battles, blackened by saber strikes and scorched by blaster fire. Blood stained parts of it. Yet he still marched forward towards the centre of the fighting, and waiting there was Darth Ceryndra.
The duel began almost immediately.
I only caught fragments of it between bursts of fighting. One moment I was exchanging fire with Ninth Scar soldiers. The next I would glance across the battlefield and see crimson blades colliding amidst the chaos. Then something else would demand my attention and the duel would vanish behind smoke and explosions once more.
What I remember most is that it seems the Dark Lord was dominating the fight. At first.
Again and again, whenever I looked towards them, it was Ceryndra who seemed to be yielding ground. She was forced backwards across broken streets and cratered earth as the Dark Lord attacked with relentless aggression. Even at a distance, the violence of his strikes was obvious. Sparks erupted with every impact. Pieces of masonry shattered around them. Once I saw a section of ruined wall collapse entirely after one particularly savage exchange.
Word spread quickly through our lines.
The Dark Lord was winning.
The Ninth Scar were being driven back.
For the first time all day, victory felt possible.
For perhaps ten or fifteen minutes, it seemed as though we were watching the battle turn before our eyes. The Ninth Scar still fought viciously, but there was a growing sense that something had changed. Every time I caught sight of the duel through the smoke and confusion, Darth Ceryndra appeared to be giving ground. She was forced steadily backwards through the ruins while the Dark Lord pressed after her with a ferocity that bordered on madness.
Of course, none of us could truly follow what was happening. We were too busy fighting our own battles. One moment I would be firing at a position across the street, the next dragging a wounded comrade behind cover. Minutes would pass without me seeing either Sith. Then I would glance up and find them somewhere else entirely, still locked together amidst the chaos.
Yet the impression remained the same. Véhemen was advancing. Ceryndra was retreating.
The sight spread through the ranks like a stimulant. Tired soldiers found fresh energy. Officers began shouting for renewed assaults. Men who had spent hours pinned down suddenly seemed eager to leave cover and push forward. We believed we were witnessing the enemy break.
Then everything changed.
A roar erupted from hundreds of throats at once, so loud it briefly drowned out the battle itself. I looked up instinctively and saw the reason. Across the battlefield, framed by burning wreckage and drifting smoke, Darth Véhemen stood behind Ceryndra with his lightsaber driven clean through her body.
For a moment I simply stared.
It was such a decisive blow that my mind immediately accepted the conclusion. She was dead. There was no other possibility. Around me, soldiers were already cheering and raising their weapons in triumph. Some were shouting the Dark Lord's name. Others were simply screaming with relief.
After everything we had endured, it seemed the battle had finally reached its end.
Then the wound disappeared.
At first, I thought I had imagined it. The distance was considerable and visibility poor. But as the cheering faltered and confusion spread through the ranks, it became clear that thousands of others had seen the same thing.
The damage simply healed.
No medical equipment. No intervention. No visible technique that I could understand. One moment a fatal wound existed, the next it did not. Even from where I stood, I could see the hesitation ripple through our forces.
And then I saw Ceryndra laughing as she seized the initiative.
Every glimpse I caught afterwards seemed worse than the last. Her attacks became faster, more aggressive. Véhemen continued to fight, but now it was he who gave ground. I saw her blade carve across his shoulder. Later I saw another strike tear through part of his armour. Each time I looked, he appeared more battered than before.
Yet while the duel turned against him, the battle itself continued to turn against the Ninth Scar.
The Dominion Guard had finally broken through.
Across the battlefield our soldiers surged forward with renewed determination. Positions that had held for hours began collapsing one after another. Ninth Scar warriors fought with fanatical determination, but even they could not hold indefinitely against the weight of the assault.
By then the duel and the battle had become inseparable.
One Sith was winning.
The other army was losing.
I saw the end only briefly.
Ceryndra landed a powerful strike that threw Darth Véhemen from his feet. He hit the ground hard and did not immediately rise. A murmur seemed to pass through the battlefield as soldiers on both sides witnessed the moment.
For a terrible second, Ceryndra advanced, clearly intending to finish him.
But by then her own position was collapsing.
Dominion Guard forces were pouring through the gaps in the line. Ninth Scar formations were retreating all around her. The ground she had spent weeks defending was being torn from her grasp.
Brave men and women rushed Ceryndra, attempting to overwhelm her before she could finish what she had started. Many of them died as they stood over the Dark Lords broken body, their corpses piled up around him.
Moments later the Ninth Scar began pulling back from the battlefield. Their retreat spread rapidly as commanders abandoned positions that could no longer be held. Ceryndra disappeared into the smoke and confusion alongside them, denied the kill she had fought so hard to claim.
The last time I saw Darth Véhemen, medical teams were carrying him away from the front. He looked broken. Barely conscious. Blood covered much of his armour.
By nightfall the siege was broken. The road to Talaris lay open. The Ninth Scar were in retreat northwards, and for the first time since the campaign had begun, it was the forces of Perfidious who stood victorious upon the battlefield.
Not because the Dark Lord had defeated Darth Ceryndra. But because while the two Sith fought for their lives, the soldiers beneath them had fought for the fate of the war, and in the end, it was the Ninth Scar who broke first.
