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The Spirit of Fire exited hyperspace above the city planet. It's entry into realspace was shaky and unstable, but it held. Inside, the pilot began to thank every deity in the galaxy. After engaging a landing cycle (He could land the thing on his own) he started toward one of the many landing pads the city had to offer. Before he set down, he asked for the proper clearance. After all, it was always good to be official.



The response was short and to the point.



He could give a reply, as the message was automated (like most things here) so he resigned himself to finding pad G43. Some might consider landing on Coruscant to be an easy thing, but for any non-diplomatic vessel it was hell. A diplomatic vessel got preferential treatment, namely the good pads. Other ships (unless they were important) got the low-end pads near the equator. However G43 was pretty close to the Jedi temple, which was something he didn't like. But John wasn't about to argue with the port authority. Something he had learned early on was that the port authority has the highest power when directing ships.
The Spirit banked slowly as it descended toward it's designated landing pad. The landing struts (which had retractable wheels, go figure) extended automatically (Well, after he pressed a button in the cockpit) and touched the pad first. After the Spirit had settled onto it's struts, John stood and walked aft. The first thing he would do, was scrounge a few credits for the docking fee. Why it was called a "docking fee" when he was landing was beyond him.

She held her raven robe together with her hands and clung to the air that swung around her. Pale yellow eyes peered over purple lids to see the lights of the people around. She paused, she never really ever seen other people before her last thoughts. She thought of Spix Satri. She thought of the light that beams through her hands. It was her. She stopped near the side and caught her breath, the air seemed thicker than usual. She padded the sides of her pants and moved a lekku out of the way.
Her curved body leaned on something metal behind her until she got a full view of her surroundings. This was close to her destination, but she had yet to find her way in to let others know that she was a jedi. She looked down slightly and rethought what she was going to say to the head here. Maybe soon even, to find someone to help her complete her training. She sighed. She was so close to being a master, but one skill her had yet to conquer-trust. She couldn't hardly trust anyone, not even her old Master. It seemed to her that what he said might of caused more trouble.
She believed in justice, but being that she thought of what she done was for the good, she had yet to know yet. Her training wasn't put to much use-unless Spix decided it was time to hunt for practice. She looked up suddenly and crossed her arms.

Dalaan swooped over the now-demolished terrain of Coruscant, gunning down any Sith ships that were unfortunate to come across her path. She was already concerntrating her power, gathering it up getting ready to do what she did best. She landed the ship in the first clear place she could find and left it there. Her dual lightsaber was drawn and she came out into the warzone that was Coruscant's once beautiful city. She ran into the melee and started taking out as many sith as she could find. Her mind totally focussed on the fight. None that she had faced so far had challenged her as yet, none matched her skill, her graceful savergery and her fighting ability with the force. Every moment she fought, her connection with the Force grew greater. She allowed her presence to become a blanket over the immediate area, practising battle meditation to its full. Somewhere the the east of her the sound of fire grew more rapid, she could sense that it was working and the forces that were protecting Coruscant were renewing the fervour, their desire to protect the planet. Soon a pathway cleared around her, the clones and the sith alike, fearing her. She butchered her way through the ranks. Her lightsaber a blur and the screams and deathcries filled the air almost as thickly as the smell of burnt flesh.

Dalaan looked at the group that ad come to face her. These ones were not going to be slaughtered as easily as the others she had faced. These were acting in a concerted effort. As the dark jedi neared her, she collapsed in a low roll, bowling over her opponents and just missing the fire that was aimed at her head. She snapped up out of the roll quickly and used the Force to crush the clone's blasters so she couldn't be killed by any postshots. She turned back to the dark jedi and held her lightsaber in a nuetural postition, raising an eyebrow at them, her eyes challenging them to fight.

A figured raced from a alley along with a flash of Green Light one Dark Jedi's hand fell to the ground.The lightsaber was caught by his free hand then ignoted the weapon.Without pausing he entered inbto a spiral like attack bring the sabers across with great control using what seemed like Makashi making the wielder look like dancing instead of fighting.

Three were left and they looked at each other. Their hoods covered their faces, but their fear was very known to any force user. "Fire the ion cannon!" The clone trooper shouted from above. The very same ones the had fried their guns were now going to fire a portable ion cannon towards Dalaan. And if that wasn't enough, a rumbling was heard through the streets. Soon and dark tank was also approaching Dalaan. "Fire when ready." The same lead trooper said from above to the thank below. *Ka-boom* the tank sounded as it shot a misslebomb towards Dalaan.

"Fire at the Jedi!" The leader yelled as more troops came into the scene. They had more guns and more cannons with them. Soon they started their barrage of small brightly lit spheres known as blaster shots. They were aiming to hit both the Grey and the newly arrived Jedi, but most of the their shots scattered, hitting everyone, including the last three dark jedi.

However, Republic transports came from the sky and as the tank aimed for the new Jedi that arrived, two missles came from the transport and demolished the tank. Five squads of Republi Commando's came from the air and started their barrage of blaster shots. Now the tables were beginning to turn as the Republic started their counter attack.

Darman walks down the street and he spots several men with blood red hands displayed upon their clothing and armor. His eyes briefly roll up in his head as memories flash through his mind. A smile, a perfect set of lips that fill him with love, then the smile is gone and there is only blood, blood and screaming, then the screaming ends and he sees the bloody hand, and he knows that it was the bloody hand that took away the smile. He grits his teeth hard as he slowly approaches the band of men, death in his eyes. One of them must have felt his gaze for he looked over his shoulder and sneered at the lone man approaching a dozen with an aggressive stance mandalorian armor or not. Darman increases his pace drawing both of his lightsabers as the man bellows a warning to his fellows. The moment the yell leaves his lips Darman's saber pierces his throat before he can even start to draw his blaster, the ambient light burning clean through flesh and bone leaving a scorching hole in it's wake.

As the corpse falls towards the ground Darman's sabers weave a blurring wall of death infront of him the blades whirling so quickly that they appear as one sheet of light. Due to the suprise he drops several of the men in mere moments, twisting underneath one's arm as he slits the man's throat and continues to disembowl another. He spins slicing a blade across a man's eyes as he continues to turn his foot lashes out smashing in another's temple as he continues his dance of death. Yet, all this gave the others time to gather and draw their weapons. Darman stops his breathing shallow and under control as he assess his five remaining opponents.

He grins ferally and his anger is conveyed even through his helmet "tell me where the rest of the Band of the Red Hand is, and perhaps I won't make you suffer, your lives are forfeit, but if you stay silent I will make you beg for death before you are granted it." The men laugh at his bravado, before he closes the distance with inhuman speed, slipping between several blaster bolts that seek his life as he stabs his lightsaber into one man's gut while his other blade slices off a hand at the wrist, sending the blaster held in it spiralling through the air. Screams of pain echo through the back alleys as the men fall like so many domino's to Darman's rage and skill. The one that is missing his hand writhes as the others still their lives slipping away, Darman steps on the man's wrist causing burnt flecks to fall off the edges, as he grinds the stump into the ground, making the man scream in pain. "tell me what I wish to know or I shall make you suffer more, I can draw out your agony for days."

"Please, don't kill me, I have a wife and child." the man pleads.

"And how many people begged for mercy from you? How many have you killed, how many families have you torn apart? And now you will beg for that same mercy, yet you yourself never granted it?" he growls deeply as he grinds the severed wrist deeper into the ground "talk and die quickly, continue to annoy me and I shall kill you slow." Weeping the man tells him that he knows nothing, and Darman lops the man's nose off sending it flying the air and causing him to cry out in more pain. Slowly he begins to disect the man taking pieces that are not critical to his survival until he learns everything he needs to know, though he is not certain it is the truth, once people hit a certain level of pain they will say anything to make it stop, and a normal person would have reached that threshold long before Darman had sent that man to his eternal judgement. The crow caws and lands on the corpses pecking out the eyes and eating them as Darman heads off using The Force to reach out for his brethren, the clones that are dying everywhere "I am coming my brothers." he says to them through the force "I will not allow you to die in vain, we are Mando'ade we are warriors and we will survive." He starts off towards the largest grouping of his clansmen who are forced servants for now of the Republic his anger rising as he prepares for combat. The crows caw sounds like raucous laughter as it finishes it's grisley meal and flies off following the man who seeks vengeance in order to right a wrong, by answering blood with blood.