And so he went, attempting to bypass everyone and head straight for the finish line.

He was on the ground (that is, in the sense that a swamp could be called "ground"). The escape pod had left the skirmish far behind, descending haphazardly into Nal Hutta's atmosphere, clipping its dense, tangled trees on the way down and landing unceremoniously in the filth that covered most of its surface. Holt's first reaction, upon blasting open the hatch, was to cough violently; the planet was noxious, having been carelessly polluted by the Hutts for centuries. Some "glorious jewel" this was. The coughing did no favors to Holt's lungs, which were already wracked with pain as was the rest of his body.

The Captain climbed out of the escape pod and came precariously to his feet, his eyes laboring open and closed as if in a daze. All around him, fumes, odors, some sort of foul pollen. He looked even more horrid than before—red flowed down the side of his face from a gash on his forehead, and his clavicle had been fractured on the seat restraints; one more throbbing pain, one more broken bone. It didn't matter. He distinguished the sound of machinery somewhere before him, and squinted in the direction of what appeared through the haze to be a smokestack; at worst, it was cover. At best, it would have communications or perhaps even a landspeeder (although, in honesty, he doubted his ability to pilot one).

He kept his eyes closed most of the time as he staggered through the mire towards the foundry, finding that it helped with the dizziness and, also, not wanting to think of the possibility of dying in such a forsaken place as this. With his eyes closed, he could imagine he was walking on Anaxes toward his estate, the way he remembered it as a child. This didn't much help the smell, however, or the pain. Moreover, he couldn't think of Anaxes anymore without thinking of Celeste. He grimaced, then, with more torment in his face than he'd shown throughout his nine years in prison, throughout his interrogation, throughout the crash and throughout this impossibly long march; the foundry seemed to be no closer. But still he went on.

Holt would do what he must to have his revenge, or he would die. But he certainly wouldn't die doing anything else.

Captain Gordon Holt
Star Destroyer Magnum

The Shadow of Intent was originally designed for a small crew, but Kaos found he usually traveled alone. He modified the freighter to be more effective with just one or even no pilot present. He even installed a metal cage to accommodate his future guest.

He could hardly contain his excitement. The Shadow of Intent was still a ways off from the location of the escape pod. The first ETR-3 was within ten kilometers and quickly moving within weapon's range. He activated the missile launcher. On the HUD, the ETR-3 bobbed and weaved in and out of the targeting reticule. Once the computer registered a lock on, he pressed attack button.

The cockpit shuddered beneath him. A pillar of orange rocket exhausted arced from the Shadow of Intent. He followed through with a second concussion missile. The projectiles homed in on the hostile transport. He switched back to the forward lasers and ion cannon.

It was his intention to stay on the tail of the transport and wait to see the results of his first attack. The ETR-3's had a nasty bite but weren't known for being swift.

Any successful campaign was built victory upon victory, Holt reminded himself as he compelled himself to breathe in a measured fashion. Yes, it was helpful to think in military terms; this hell in which he found himself was simply the modest beginning of his campaign—the first, tortuous steps in a long series of events that would, eventually, lead him to Anaxes. Not in the mere nostalgic manner in which he had envisioned it moments ago, but rather at the fore of the Magnum, and of history. Each step, now on the durasteel, brought him ultimately closer to that objective. If he died here, so be it; he would die serving his own ends and knowing that those ends are just.

The foundry was a surprisingly small and seemingly autonomous outdoor complex, shrouded in Nal Hutta's characteristic haze and also in its own, foul emissions. Perhaps it wasn't even a foundry after all, but some sort of treatment plant. Holt couldn't be certain of its purpose but, again, it hardly mattered. It was his purpose that concerned him. The smokestack he had seen earlier now towered above him, and he leaned wearily against it as he glanced about. His bleary eyes followed a rusted, durasteel railing as it ascended a short flight of stairs and ended at the entrance to what could be a foreman's office, an observation room or even simply a utility shed.

Holt mustered himself and pressed on toward it, one step at a time. Hopefully it would have some sort of communications equipment inside, or weapons (or food, which he was beginning to need desperately as his pain faded only to be replaced with hunger).

Captain Gordon Holt
Star Destroyer Magnum

If Kaos was going to capture Holt, he wouldn't have time to come around for another pass. How he wanted to strafe the enemy commandos. However, Holt could be in the formation with them. There was only one solution.

Kaos rose from the pilot seat and typed in commands to the control panel with his slender, pale fingers. He initiated the auto-pilot and the "drop off" protocol. The nose dropped and he felt the starship slow its course beneath him. He had to move quickly now.

He moved to the aft section of the Shadow of Intent and opened the cargo bay doors. The poison in the atmosphere burned at his nose and mouth. A marshy landscape rolled below him. Kaos pulled in the Force. As he inhaled, the toxins burned away from his lungs. A fiery sensation crawled across his skin. He rolled his shoulders and tolerated it.

He licked his lips. The excitement tickled him. He thought, They will die. They were all going to die. He began to envision the carnage he would so leave upon the pitiful soldiers. They would be no match for him. They were no match for the Dark Side.

The Shadow of Intent was going to fly over the enemy and the facility. At the appropriate moment, he would leap from the starship and drop into the center of them. Then he would tear them all apart. With his bare hands if he has the chance, but a lightsaber was best suited for the task. Holt would be his.

That man's suffering has yet to begin.

As he prepared to jump, his comlink beeped in desperation. Who could want to contact him so urgently but Obscyurus, likely having trouble with the escorts. When he activated the comlink, he found he was sorely mistaken. A small, ghostly image of a robed individual materialized in his palm. The figure regarded Kaos, its face shrouded within the hood.

"You will give up your hunt. Let the captain go. We'll find him again," she said.

This was sheer madness and a waste of good resources. They had already shown themselves to the enemy. None could be left alive.

Anticipating his reservations, the master lurched closer and barked. "YOU will desist, Kaos. Get out of there now. I have more for you to do."

He was wise enough to know now was not the time to cross his master. Reluctantly, he agreed. There was also Kyrum to consider. "What about the bounty hunter?" Kaos asked.

Silence hung over the channel. She answered with one word. "Expendable."

Kaos nodded and didn't give Kyrum another thought. He closed the bay doors, but managed to catch a small glimpse of the facility as the Shadow of Intent flew overhead.

"Next, Captain Holt. Next time," he growled, his eyes burning a fiery red in the darkness. He contacted Obscyurus and ordered him to also break off the attack and withdraw.

The Shadow of Intent skimmed the surface, moving farther and farther away from the facility. If the Star Vipers pursued him, he wouldn't hesitate to shoot them down. In fact, Kaos was hoping someone wanted to lose their life today. Especially since he was leaving with nothing to show for all his efforts.

If no one would try to stop him, though, Kaos would immediately depart.