Star Wars Rebels Ghost Ship Novels & Stories

"Valerie, activate the Electronic Cloak." ​Biglang naglaho ang dalawang micro-subs sa radar ng mga kalaban. Mabilis silang lumusot sa pagitan ng mga dambuhalang makina ng Ghost Order. Pero paglapit nila sa Core, isang mechanical roar ang yumanig sa tubig. ​Mula sa kailaliman, lumabas ang "Leviathan"—isang dambuhalang underwater drone na hugis-pating, na kasinglaki ng isang cargo ship. Ito ang huling depensa ng Ghost Order.

The black horizon of the Pacific didn’t just rumble; it bled. Through the dense, wet curtains of the harbor fog, the silhouette of *The Leviathan* materialized like a prehistoric leviathan cut from matte-black steel. The naval destroyer sat three miles out, a ghost ship commissioned by the absolute peak of corporate desperation, its heavy forward cannons slowly rotating toward the coordinates of the free port of Blackridge. They weren't here to negotiate an asset recovery. They were here to execute a scorched-earth liquidation.

"We're out. We're actually out." "Look," Jun whispered. Elara wiped her eyes and looked at the long-range Aetheric-Scanner. They weren't alone in the dark. Emerging from the shadow of the moon, and rising from the far side of the planet, were hundreds of other White Ships. They were of different shapes and sizes—some looked like floating cathedrals of glass, others like jagged shards of obsidian—but they all shared the same Architectural-Lineage. "Are those... survivors?" Mina asked, her voice trembling.

Stable and now? My apartment hated me. My best friend was... My fake friend wanted me gone and I was practically homeless. I closed my eyes… and sleep swallowed me whole. ... Echo floated above me on the bed... except it wasn’t the Echo I remembered. Her ghost form flickered like a broken light. Her dress shredded. Her hair dripping and from her eyes… Blood... Thick, dark streaks sliding down her cheeks like tears. “Echo?” I whispered. “What are you doing here?”

“Yeah. Right.” “Status?” Conner asked without looking away from me. Hayden straightened, slipping back into soldier mode. “Flare burned out. Boarders pulled off. We lost… we lost some crates.” He swallowed, glanced at Dom. “Not all.” Dom raked a hand through his hair. “Who the hell hits a moving ship like that? No pattern. No call sign. One minute they’re there, the next...” He shook his head. “Ghosts.” “Got a good look at ‘em?” Conner asked.

She had become the Digital Ghost—a living bridge between the world of data and the world of dirt. She opened her eyes, and they were the color of the moon. "Leo," she whispered, her voice sounding like a thousand chimes. "I can hear the planet. And it’s screaming for its creators." Behind them, a massive shadow fell over the Northern Ridge. A ship—far larger than the Vesta, older than the Ark, and emblazoned with a logo that predated the Thorne Foundation—began to descend from the stars. "The Originators have arrived."

"Give them a target they can't hit!" Jace’s ship, the Ghost Whisper, vanished. Not into smoke, but into a literal fold in reality. Using the Shadow-Silk sails, his vessel became a translucent smudge against the turquoise sea, reappearing a mile to the left and unleashing a volley of obsidian bolts that tore through the leading edge of the swarm. "Thane, bring us about! Hard to port!" I roared. Thane slammed his weight against the helm, the Obsidian Wing groaning as its Eclipse-Glass prow sliced through the air. "Elora, they’re charging the Needle-Beams! If they hit the deck, the heat will melt the masts!"

THE REBEL" ..................................................... The End ......................................................

Yet her eyes remained sharp fixed on the violet pulse traveling up Elara's neck. "It's not Thorne, " Jasmine gasped, coughing up a spray of ash as she leaned against a stone pillar. "Elara, Thorne is not steering that ship. He is the fuel. The capital did not launch the Ghost. The Ghost woke up when your father's signal hit the salt-line. It's an automated return-protocol." "A return-protocol?" Cole shouted over the hum, his hands wrapping around Leo's waist to drag the boy toward the stairs. "A warship doesn't steer itself three hundred miles up a river on a protocol, agent."