Mandalorian Invasion of Coruscant – 500 ABY

Scene 1 – Coruscant, Upper Levels: The Calm Before the Storm Coruscant, still the center of the galaxy even after all these years. The Galactic Alliance Triumvirate held power: an Alliance Head of State, an Imperial Moff, and a Jedi mediator. The Jedi, now operating primarily from Ossus, rarely intervened in Alliance affairs, leaving the Temple on Coruscant a near-empty relic.

Scene 2 – Mandalorian Preparations: Platform Sabotage Lower Levels, Orbital Platforms Natasi Daala’s past alliances with the Mandalorians gave them perfect access. Sleeper agents hid among the lower levels and in the engineering decks of the orbital platforms. Caster Mareel’s comm beeped: the defense fleet was leaving. "Go. Remember only knock out their defenses and comms. Mand'alor wants them to see us coming." Shots rang out. Rodian, human, Twi’lek—none were spared. Explosions echoed across platforms as mercenaries moved swiftly.

Scene 3 – The Mandalorian Armada Arrives Coruscant Orbit The Mandalorian armada micro-jumped into the system. Crew members on orbital platforms stared in shock at sensor readouts and viewports. Fighters and dropships poured from the Mandalorian capital ships. "Launch the Bes'uliik fighters and dropships. First target: the Jedi Temple. Bombard it to the ground." Bes'uliiks streaked through the sky, turbolasers targeting the Temple. Fires and explosions matched the chaos below.

Scene 4 – Viktor’s Assault Bridge of Mandalorian Flagship "Mand'alor! First dropship reports contact with resistance." Viktor Bra'lor donned his ancient, visorless helmet—he wanted his enemies to see his eyes. He launched in his Bes'uliik, engaged engines, and entered Coruscant’s orbit. An Alliance X-Wing opened fire. Viktor’s rear shields failed, but Mandalorian iron absorbed the damage. Another Bes'uliik intervened, taking down the X-Wing. "Form around Mand’alor. No Alliance fighters get close." Viktor strafed the Jedi Temple courtyard, then landed amidst Mandalorian warriors. Sword in hand, he charged into battle.

Scene 5 – Jedi Temple Defense Jedi Temple Courtyard Jedi defenders scrambled to evacuate younglings. One Jedi, blue saber blazing, shielded eight children. Her shield flickered; she fought on, deflecting blaster bolts and using the Force to push attackers back. Wounded, she retreated, deflecting shots, tears in her eyes as she felt the cries of the dying. "I was going to die. I could see it." A blaster butt struck her face. She staggered, fought back with a Force push, then fled. She collapsed in a public sector as panic consumed the crowd. Hands lifted her, slung her over a shoulder, carried her away.

Scene 6 – Cain’s Fight Lower Levels, Coruscant Underbelly Cain Ulrich, Temple caretaker, was in the lower levels when the explosions began. His green lightsaber sparked as he struck at Mandalorian armor—barely scratching it. He hurled Mandalorians back with the Force. "This is Jedi Cain Ulrich, is anyone receiving?" Nothing but static. He leapt to a gantry, then higher—he needed to get topside. Mandalorians fired; Cain deflected the shots. “Gotta get to the Temple—find out what’s going on.”

Scene 7 – Jax’s Sniper’s Dilemma Sniper’s Nest Overlooking the Temple Jax, cousin to Viktor, set up his Verpine sniper rifle. He watched the courtyard: dead bodies, Jedi defenders. He saw the younglings. "Kark... he's sending the droids in first." He fired shots into the permacrete, giving the Jedi precious seconds to escape. "Get those kids out of there..." Viktor’s voice crackled in his earpiece: "Jax!? Why aren't you firing on those Jedi?" Jax cut the link. “This isn’t right.” He packed his rifle and left, knowing Viktor’s wrath would follow.

Scene 8 – Jedi Retreat Temple Perimeter Jedi shepherded younglings into the crowd. The sniper’s shots gave them a chance. Some fell. A Jedi carried a youngling. Another knight—Nimh—was missing. Cain deflected blaster bolts, shouting: "Get the children into the lower levels! It’s easier to hide them down there!" Blaster bolts flew. Cain’s green blade deflected them, but Mandalorians closed in. "MOVE!"

Scene 9 – Jax’s Escape Sniper’s Nest Jax fired one last shot—deflected by Cain’s saber. Jax packed his gear. Viktor’s voice roared: "Jax! Where are you? Why aren't you firing!?" Jax shut off the comm. "I'll deal with you later, cousin... this isn't right."

Scene 10 – Aftermath on Nar Shaddaa Nar Shaddaa, Corellian District Renn, watching the news, saw Mandalorian fighters over Coruscant. He recognized Viktor’s helmet. "Viktor... what are you doing?" Jayden walked in. "Everything okay?" Renn lied. "It’s nothing." Jayden’s next show was in the Core. Renn winced. "Tell me it’s not Coruscant." Jayden nodded. "Actually, it is." Renn sank into the couch. Viktor...

Scene 11 – Jedi Council at Tython Tython, Jedi Temple Ten days after the invasion. The Jedi Council debated how to respond. Their Temple on Coruscant was now more a museum than a sanctuary. Deaths of Jedi on Coruscant rippled through the Force. The Council’s decision: send aid, find survivors, and defend the citizens.

Scene 12 – Jedi Council Chambers, Tython The Council chamber hummed with quiet tension. Master Saelin Voss, the aging Mirialan, leaned forward on his staff. “We’ve confirmed the Mandalorians have entrenched themselves on Coruscant. Communications are sporadic at best. Reports from Alliance intelligence suggest they’ve cut through security forces and bombarded the Temple.” Master Aran Kai, tall and severe, spoke next. “Our priority must be the survivors—both Jedi and civilians. We cannot allow the Mandalorians to consolidate their hold.” A holographic map of Coruscant flickered in the center of the chamber, displaying red clusters where Mandalorian forces were reported. “Master Kai is correct,” Saelin Voss added. “But we must tread carefully. This cannot become a direct confrontation between the Order and Mandalore. That would draw us into a war we’re not prepared to fight.” A younger Jedi, Knight Tahlis, stood at the edge of the chamber, his face grim. “We’ve already lost too many, Master. If we don’t act now, the Mandalorians will tighten their grip. The Temple—our people—” Voss raised a calming hand. “Patience, Tahlis. We will act. But with precision, not fury.” He turned to the group. “I propose we dispatch small strike teams. Not to engage in open warfare, but to extract survivors and disrupt Mandalorian supply lines. Jedi like Cain Ulrich—those still on Coruscant—must be contacted, coordinated.” The Council murmured in agreement. “Prepare the teams,” Voss commanded. “And may the Force be with us all.”

Scene 13 – Coruscant Lower Levels: The Hunted Cain Ulrich crouched behind a shattered durasteel pillar, his lightsaber casting a pale green glow in the darkness. His comlink hissed to life. “Cain... Cain, this is Jedi Tahlis from Tython. We’re organizing an evacuation for any Jedi survivors. Are you able to regroup?” Cain’s breath caught. Finally, a voice. “Tahlis... it’s chaos down here. I’ve got civilians scattered across the lower levels and Mandalorians hunting for stragglers. I’ll do what I can to meet you at the old industrial platform by the spaceport.” He ended the call and looked at the frightened faces around him—families, workers, a Rodian clutching her child. “Stay close,” he said. “We’ll move together.” Blaster fire echoed from above. Cain rose, saber igniting. “Let’s go. Quietly.” He felt the Mandalorians’ presence—like a heavy storm cloud pressing down on him. He whispered a silent promise to those who had fallen: I will get them out.

Scene 14 – Viktor’s Command Center Within the gutted remains of a Coruscant police precinct, Viktor Bra’lor surveyed a large holomap. Red dots blinked—Mandalorian outposts, supply routes, and defense grids. “The Alliance will attempt a counterattack,” his aide said. Viktor nodded slowly. His helmet lay beside him, visorless, the scarred iron catching the light. “Let them,” he growled. “Every time they strike, we remind them of the iron that runs through our veins.” He turned to his comm officer. “I want scouts watching every hangar, every platform. No Jedi leaves Coruscant without us knowing.” The comm officer saluted. “As you command, Mand’alor.” Viktor’s gaze fell on the holomap’s image of the ruined Jedi Temple. Let them feel what the Mandalorians once felt. Let them learn that we are not pawns. We are the Dha Ade Werda—the Shadow Warriors.

Scene 15 – Jax’s Escape Jax moved through the underbelly of Coruscant, his Verpine rifle case slung over his shoulder. He kept to the shadows, avoiding Mandalorian patrols. “Viktor won’t forgive me,” he muttered. “But I couldn’t do it.” He paused at a small durasteel hatch and keyed in a code. The door hissed open, revealing a cramped but well-stocked safe house. Inside, a battered com unit blinked. He powered it on. “Renn… if you can hear me… it’s Jax. I need your help. I’m not going to be part of Viktor’s purge. I… I need to get offworld.” Static answered him. He slumped, exhaustion and guilt settling like a leaden weight. “I just wanted to be a warrior… not a murderer.” He closed his eyes, knowing every second was borrowed time.

Scene 16 – Nar Shaddaa: The Message Renn’s datapad chimed. He glanced at Jayden, asleep on the couch after her show. He keyed in the message, recognizing the comm signature: Jax. “Renn… if you can hear me… it’s Jax.” Renn’s eyes widened. “Jax. Stars, what have you done?” He typed a quick reply: “I hear you. Sit tight. I’ll get you off Coruscant. Hang on.” He deleted the message from the device’s memory, steeling himself. “Viktor’s not going to like this.” He glanced at Jayden, her soft breathing the only sound. “But I’m not leaving Jax behind.” He grabbed his coat and slipped into the night.

Scene 17 – Jedi Strike Team Prepares Tython, Jedi Temple Hangar Tahlis checked the small shuttle’s systems. Three other Jedi were suiting up. “This isn’t a rescue. It’s a lifeline,” he reminded them. “We get in, get our people out, and leave Mandalore with the mess they’ve made.” The youngest among them, Jedi Kyra, clutched her saber hilt nervously. “Master… do you think they’ll let us?” Tahlis paused, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “No, Kyra. They won’t. But we’ll make them.” The team boarded the shuttle, engines igniting. “For the Order,” Tahlis whispered, “and for those who can’t fight back.” The shuttle rose, disappearing into the night sky.

Scene 18 – Viktor and Jax: Blood and Iron Coruscant – Command Post, Nightfall Viktor Bra’lor leaned over the flickering holomap in the dimly lit command post, the red glow highlighting the lines of fatigue beneath his eyes. The helmet—ancient and visorless—rested on the console beside him, a relic that stared with cold accusation at any who dared meet its gaze. He turned as a familiar voice broke the static of his earpiece. “Viktor.” Jax Tull’s voice—steady, but edged with defiance. Viktor’s lips curved into a grim smile. “Jax. I was wondering when you’d crawl out of that sniper’s nest.” He pressed a control, patching Jax’s feed through. A holoprojection flickered to life, and there stood Jax—dust-streaked and weary, but unbowed. The Verpine rifle case was slung across his shoulder, a silent declaration. “Viktor, I—” “—You hesitated, Jax,” Viktor cut him off. “I saw it on the feeds. You had Jedi in your sights and you chose to let them live.” He leaned in, eyes hard. “The Tull’s were always too soft. Gunslingers playing heroes, leading clones, defying Order 66… thinking they knew better than the chain of command. And here you are, proving their blood hasn’t changed.” Jax bristled, the old sting of clan rivalry mixing with the sting of personal guilt. “You know why I didn’t take the shot.” Viktor’s stare turned icy. “Because you’re weak.” Jax’s jaw tightened. “Because I remember who we are. The Tull’s were fringers, yeah. Smugglers and gunslingers. But we fought to protect the galaxy from corruption, from the worst the galaxy could throw at it. My grandfather—he led clones who refused Order 66. He took the mark of traitor so he could save lives. That blood runs in me. And you think I’d throw that away just because you said so?” Viktor’s fingers curled around the hilt of his beskad sword. The iron felt cold against his palm. “We are Mand’alor’s people now,” he growled. “The Bra’lor’s never forgot what the galaxy did to us—used us as soldiers, then discarded us like refuse. And now you stand here defending them—the same Jedi who abandoned us during the Vong War, who let our worlds burn while they hid in their temples.” Jax shook his head, pain and anger mingling in his eyes. “I’m not defending the Jedi. I’m defending us. The Tull’s fought to stop tyranny—no matter who wore the uniform. Even the Jedi, if they turned dark. Even Mandalorians, if they forgot what it meant to fight for something besides bloodlust.” Silence fell like a blaster bolt between them. Viktor’s jaw clenched. “You’re my cousin, Jax. You’re family. That’s the only reason you’re still breathing. But family or not, if you stand in the way of Mandalore’s future, I will cut you down.” Jax met his gaze, unflinching. “Then you better aim true, cousin. Because if you come for me, I’ll make sure you remember why the Tull’s were feared.” Viktor’s eyes narrowed. “Get off my comm.” He slammed the link shut, static crackling in his ear. For a moment, Viktor’s shoulders slumped under the weight of a thousand years of Mandalorian rage and Tull defiance. Then he straightened, donning his helmet once more. “Beskad,” he muttered. “Family or not, I won’t hesitate next time.” He turned back to the holomap, the red dots pulsing like embers of a dying flame.

Scene 19 – Flashback: The Tull Legacy Morillian Sector – Gilead Moon, Years Earlier A warm orange sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the rocky plains of Gilead. The small city—little more than a cluster of domed buildings and wind-worn spires—bustled with quiet purpose. Dusty streets. Lone figures on porches. And at the heart of it all, the Hall of the Gunslingers, its doors open to the setting sun. Inside, young Jax Tull stood in a circle of iron pillars, each one etched with symbols older than the Republic itself: the White, the Waters of the Prim, the Iron Code. An elder Gunslinger, gray hair in braids, spoke in a voice like a gravel path. “The White, child. The light that binds all things. We didn’t call it the Force then. But we felt it. Like a river running through us. The Prim—the source from which all life flows. Remember this, Jax.” He pressed a hand to Jax’s shoulder. “A Gunslinger fights not for glory nor credits, but to uphold the White. To shield the weak. To stand between darkness and light. Remember that.” Jax’s eyes glistened in the fading light. “I’ll remember.” Outside, men in Morellian Enforcer uniforms practiced quick-draw drills, their silver badges glinting in the dying sun. They were the lawmen of the sector, and many Gunslingers took up the badge after their training. Others wandered the stars, enforcing the code wherever they could. The elder’s gaze turned wistful. “Some leave for adventure. Some for duty. But never forget where you came from—Gilead’s breath is the White’s breath. No matter where you roam.” Jax closed his eyes, the scent of old leather and dust filling his lungs. He could still feel the Prim in the wind, in the soil beneath his boots. It called him home, even when home was light-years away.

Scene 20 – Viktor’s Remembrance Coruscant, Command Post – Present Day Viktor Bra’lor, staring at the holomap, let his thoughts drift—unbidden—to the old stories his uncle used to tell around the fire. The Tull’s, the so-called Gunslingers from Gilead. A people who worshipped the White long before they knew it was the same Force the Jedi spoke of. His mother, a Tull by blood, always carried a piece of that heritage—a small silver charm shaped like a drop of water, said to be a piece of the Prim itself. Viktor had held it once as a child, feeling its cool surface. His mother had whispered: “This is where all life comes from, Viktor. The Prim. It flows through us all. Remember that, even when your armor weighs heavy.” He’d dismissed it then as a child’s tale. But now—now, facing a galaxy on fire—he wondered if the Tull’s had understood something the Mandalorians never would. A unity with the Force not through conquest, but through protection. He scowled, pushing the memory aside. The Bra’lor’s had become Mandalorian by choice and by necessity. There was no room for mysticism now—only victory. Still…he wondered.

Scene 21 – Confrontation: Cousins at a Crossroads Undercity, Coruscant Jax Tull leaned against a rusted pillar, the weight of his Verpine rifle on his back and the memory of the Prim heavy in his heart. He heard footsteps. Viktor emerged from the darkness, helmet under one arm, his face shadowed by flickering neon. “You remember Gilead?” Viktor asked, voice low. Jax stiffened, surprised. “Of course I do. The White. The Prim. Everything the Tull’s stand for.” Viktor’s eyes, so like their shared grandmother’s, narrowed. “And yet here you are, refusing to fight. Refusing to embrace what we are now—Mandalorian.” Jax shook his head. “We’re not just Mandalorian, Viktor. We’re Tull’s. And Tull’s remember that the Prim flows through all things—enemy or friend. I won’t become a butcher in the name of honor.” Viktor’s jaw clenched. “Honor is survival, cousin. The galaxy never gave us a fair deal. The Tull’s were forced to be Enforcers when no one else would stand up to the Hutts. We Bra’lor’s—my father—died on some nameless world because the Republic needed cannon fodder. And the Jedi? They watched from their temples.” Jax’s voice broke. “I know. But we can’t answer their betrayal with more slaughter. We can be better than that.” Silence stretched between them—a thousand years of blood and iron, love and rage. Viktor stepped closer, eyes cold. “Then you’d rather betray your own clan than stand with me?” Jax’s hand drifted to the silver charm at his neck—a piece of the Prim, a reminder of Gilead. “No,” he said softly. “I’d rather save it from itself.” Viktor’s face hardened. “Then next time, aim true.” He turned and walked away, leaving Jax with the sound of his boots echoing on cold permacrete.

Scene 22 – Bloodlines and Shadows Coruscant Command Post – Viktor’s Private Quarters Viktor Bra’lor sat alone, the din of battle muffled by thick durasteel walls. A small, battered metal case lay open on the table. Inside: a worn chain bearing a Kaminoan training insignia—the mark of the Cuy’val Dar. He turned the tag over in his calloused hands, eyes drawn to the faint etching on the back: “Bra’lor – Those Who No Longer Exist.” His great-great-great-grandmother’s legacy. A warrior who followed Jango Fett to Kamino to train the Republic’s Grand Army. He remembered the stories told around clan fires: “She taught the clones loyalty, discipline, how to be Mando’ade even in the white corridors of Kamino. She taught them to fight for something greater than themselves.” She had returned from Kamino with scars and silence, but the Bra’lor clan had never forgotten her contribution to Mandalore’s legacy. Yet not all the Bra’lor’s stayed true. Viktor’s lips twisted as he remembered the shameful branch—those who fell to the Death Watch ideology. Power-hungry and bitter, they’d turned against the True Mandalorians after Jaster Mereel’s death, embracing betrayal and terror. His father had warned him: “Blood can be steel, or it can be rust. Watch your kin. Not all who share your name share your honor.” A harsh truth. And now, Jax. Blood of his blood, but carrying the Tull’s ideals—justice, mercy, the Prim. Viktor’s fingers closed around the chain. “You want to save the galaxy,” he muttered, his voice low and cold. “But the galaxy never gave us a chance. It made us weapons. My grandmother taught the clones to fight and die for the Republic. And the Republic discarded them when it was done.” He set the chain down and picked up his helmet—scarred, battered, visorless. “I will finish what my ancestors started, Jax. If the Jedi and the Alliance won’t protect Mandalore, I will. Even if I have to burn Coruscant to ashes.” He pulled the helmet on, feeling its weight settle over his bones. The Bra’lor’s legacy wasn’t mercy—it was iron and fire. And he would carry it to the end.

Scene 23 – A Tull’s Memory Coruscant Undercity – Abandoned Warehouse Jax Tull’s fingers brushed a scorch mark on the permacrete wall. The place had once been a safehouse for Morellian Enforcers—lawmen who’d patrolled the Morillian Sector with the Tull’s for generations. His grandfather’s voice came back to him, carried on memory: “Your great-uncle stood with clones who refused Order 66. He taught them to trust the White, not the dark. When the galaxy turned against them, he gave them sanctuary.” Jax’s mind flickered to Viktor—his cousin, his brother-in-arms once. The Bra’lor’s were born Mandalorian, forged in the iron of the Resol’nare. The Tull’s were forged in the White of the Prim—Gunslingers who didn’t always know they were Force-touched, but always believed in justice. He slung his Verpine rifle across his back and whispered to the shadows: “I can’t kill him. But I won’t let him slaughter the innocent, either.” He thought of the Cuy’val Dar—Viktor’s ancestor, training clones who became slaves. The Tull’s had sheltered those same clones when the Republic betrayed them. “Blood ties mean nothing if we lose ourselves.” His heart hardened. He would stop Viktor—not with hate, but with resolve.

Scene 24 – Collision Course Coruscant – Battle-scarred Courtyard The sky burned with streaks of plasma fire as Mandalorians pressed their attack. Amid the smoke, Viktor’s Bes’uliik fighter landed hard, dust billowing around him. He dismounted, sword drawn. Across the courtyard, Jax emerged from the shadows—Verpine rifle slung low, hand resting on his old Tull’s charm. They locked eyes. “Viktor.” “Jax.” A pause—like a breath between thunder and lightning. “You stand with the Jedi now?” Viktor’s voice dripped with iron. “I stand with the White,” Jax countered, voice steady. “With the Prim that binds us all.” Viktor’s fingers flexed around the hilt of his beskad. “Then you stand against Mandalore.” Jax’s hand drifted to his charm—a memory of Gilead’s ancient teachings. “No. I stand for Mandalore. For what it was meant to be—not what you’ve turned it into.” The wind shifted, carrying the smell of scorched durasteel and burnt ozone. A single breath hung between them. “Then this is how it ends,” Viktor growled. “Or how it begins,” Jax whispered.