bool1989
Stop reacting to old stuff i posted.
- Location
- New Mexico
I'm not sure I'd call the Sith Empire civilized.
Can't wait to see more, please keep posting on SV, My ISP is stupid and won't let me access SB.
Path of Ruin [Star Wars SI]
- Thread starter Rictus
- Start date
I'm not sure I'd call the Sith Empire civilized.
Can't wait to see more, please keep posting on SV, My ISP is stupid and won't let me access SB.
Chapter 17
- Location
- North Carolina
Chapter 17
The chill that ran through me as I walked wasn't wholly from the dark corridors around me. There was no doubt to whom I had just spoken. After all, I was trekking through his tomb.
I wasn't entirely sure what Marka Ragnos had wanted from me. There's a lot in the Empire that could be considered a "rot." Corruption on every level, typical Sith stupidity, conspiracies and power plays…Hell, even the Emperor himself was a corruption.
Whatever it was, Castor Vol was the first step.
However, it wasn't the conversation or the speaker that unnerved me so, but rather the complete loss of control that had ensued during it. While I had spoken to Ragnos, he had puppeted my body like a marionette on strings. I still felt the burn in my muscles from whatever he had put my body through.
It was worse than being back under the collar. At least then I had been the one driving my limbs and my mind had been my own.
To add insult to injury, I had been claimed and branded like cattle. Again.
On the skin above my heart, the horns of Ragnos had been seared into my flesh. The charred patch of skin was now covered with a bacta patch, but I held no hope that it would be going away anytime soon. Still, it helped reduce the searing pain to a mildly annoying itch.
I felt my knuckles crack as my grip tightened on my weapons. I was angry. Oh hell yes I was angry.
Thank God, the Force, or whatever that I was here to kill someone. I desperately needed a punching bag.
However, I had two problems with that. First, I had no idea where Castor was. Second, I had no idea where I was.
Ragnos' tomb was an enormous labyrinthine complex that dwarfed the Great Pyramids of Giza. While most of the above-ground chambers had been explored and mapped, there were tunnels underneath the surface that stretched for miles. Over the years, many had been lost in the winding corridors, either to the monsters that roamed its halls or to Ragnos himself.
Before setting out, I had downloaded all available maps and charts of the tomb onto my datapad from the Academy Archives for study. According to current maps created via sonar pings, the entire complex stretched nearly a kilometer below Korriban's surface. However, it seemed…incomplete and appeared to cut off suddenly, like the scans hadn't been able to reach all the way down.
As I pulled out the device, I pretty much found exactly what I had been expecting.
Static buzzed as the datapad tried to figure out where I was, only to be stymied by something. Either I was too deep underground to receive satellite and comms data or Ragnos was being a massive dick.
Again, Sith. It was probably both.
With a sigh, I shut off the GPS function. Setting my pack down, I fished around for a moment before pulling out a pair of small gray orbs the size of my fist. Picking up my datapad again, I typed in a command. With a hum, the pair of droids activated, deploying antennas from the top of their frames as they floated up to eye level. Their red cycloptic eyes focused on me, waiting for an order.
The two droids were modified MerenData S6-Series Security/Maintenance Droids, altered to work as survey droids. Extremely common and extremely cheap, they were among the most common droids in the galaxy. Effectively floating cameras, their small size enabled them to get into hard to reach places, making them perfect for tomb explorers. I'd acquired them from Renning's men, who had been making very little use of them in their current job.
With a few more taps on my datapad, I set them to begin mapping the tunnels around me. If nothing else, I might be able to get a reward for finding a previously undiscovered part of the tomb. As a precaution, I ordered them to cling close to the ceiling to avoid casual detection. After all, very few people think to look up. If they spotted something of interest, they'd send a ping back to my datapad.
While I waited for their initial scans, I seated myself against a nearby wall and began to meditate. With the overwhelming presence of Ragnos' tomb bearing down on me, I didn't even try to sense out Castor Vol. Instead, I drew on the Force to soothe the lingering ache in my limbs. I also needed to purge the excess anger. Not enough to snuff the fire as I would need that power, but just enough to think clearly.
In truth, I knew little of what to expect, and what had been gained from what I could glean from his picture. From his appearance alone, there was a possibility that he was former military, though whose, I could not say. I couldn't predict the methods he would use. Had he conformed to typical Sith methodology and used only swords and the Force? Or was he more like me and willing to use blasters and grenades? Was he a warrior, assassin, sorcerer, or generalist?
On top of everything, Castor Vol was a third year acolyte. That meant he had longer to learn more advanced lightsaber forms and accumulate a larger breadth of knowledge of the Force. For all I knew, he had claimed some artifacts to use as his own, such as Sith Amulets.
I only had two true advantages. The first was that I was not a typical Sith. My Force powers were more advanced than they should be at my current point of training. My physical build suggested that I would favor melee, meaning I might be able to surprise him with telekinesis or Force Lightning. Alternatively, I could try setting up traps with what explosives I was carrying and ambush him with my blasters.
The second advantage was that there was little chance that he knew what to expect either. He might be expecting a full kill-team instead of a single, less experienced acolyte.
I was going to list my Beast Control as an advantage, but there are only two kinds of beasts in this tomb as far as I knew: k'lor'slugs and Terentateks. Terentateks had the obvious issue of being resistant to the Force and I wasn't brave enough to try. K'lor'slugs, on the other hand, were literally too stupid to directly control, with what little brains they had being stuck on "feed constantly." I might be able to nudge them in a specific direction, but not much beyond that.
There was the possibility of using any traps left over from when the tomb was built. After all, I was in an apparently undiscovered section of the structure. However, like Vol himself, I would need to both find and identify the ancient traps, if they even still worked. There was also the option of simply waiting him out. He was likely expecting an immediate response to his rampage and escape. The longer he went without being attacked, the more paranoid he would become. I had enough field rations to last for a week, but only if I was careful with portions.
However, both options gave my target time to either fortify or flee, neither of which benefited me. No, I had to find him and soon.
A ping drew my attention to my datapad, so I picked up the device. One of the droids, which I dubbed "B," had stumbled across a k'lor'slug nest. Thankfully, it managed to stay out of reach and continued exploring.
Hm. Castor has only been here for a short while, so he definitely had not had enough time to explore the entirety of the tomb. He'd know there were k'lor'slugs wandering around, but perhaps not where the nest was. I could lead him into the chamber, then hide and let the monsters do the work for me.
It was a possibility, but I doubt that he'd be stupid enough to fall for it…
Wait. Fall.
A grin slowly worked its way onto my face. I could try to drop him in from a tunnel above, but sadly that would require explosives I didn't have. After the k'lor'slug nest turned out to be a dead end, I recalled the droid and sent it down a different tunnel, one that sloped upwards. With any luck, B would find the way back out.
In the meantime, I checked on the other droid. Unlike its twin, "A" had been quietly chugging along, rapidly updating the new map displayed on my datapad. With nothing else to do, I opened up the feed and watched it speed through the tunnel. As with most of the walls this far down, the corridor was bare of ornamentation. It was pretty boring, all told. At least until the droid reached a very familiar room.
The tunnel opened up into the massive cavern from my talk with Marka Ragnos. Though the stone dais in the center of the chamber remained, the crystal roses were gone. In their place were hundreds of bodies, stacked on top of each other like cordwood. The majority wore the garb of the ancient dead, likely pillaged from their tombs. Others were clothed in academy robes, while more wore Imperial army armor.
I saw movement atop the dais, so I ordered the droid to zoom in on it. The durasteel bench had been replaced with a simple, crude altar shaped from stone. Fresh blood dripped off its sides from the dying woman laid on its surface, leaking around the knife embedded in her chest. Five more bodies littered the dais, all with identical wounds. Their blood dyed the sides of the dais red as it ran down its surface.
The woman was trying weakly to remove the knife, but the strong hand of her black-cloaked killer kept it firmly in place. Strange words that I vaguely recognized as being from the Sith language echoed in the chamber as the ritualist chanted.
I urged A closer to get a confirmation. Sure enough, it was Castor Vol, though his eyes were now sunken and glowing a fiery yellow-orange. He was a relatively unassuming sight, still dressed in the academy robes, though dark blood stains marred his clothing. The knife in his hand was a simply, unadorned blade being used for its only purpose.
When I had augmented my sword with Sith Alchemy, there had been only a faint feeling of wrongness as I twisted the metal to my whims. Whatever Castor was doing…with each syllable he spoke, it…it felt like the universe wretched.
As the last word left his lips, the woman let out her last breath in a slow moan. As life left her body, a blue mist billowed out from her open mouth onto the dais, seeping into the mouths of the dead surrounding her.
One by one, a red glow entered their blank eyes. From their mouths, more of the fog flowed out into the chamber. As it covered the floor of the cavern, the cadavers began to rise, their bodies contorting at unnatural angles until they were standing straight. Ancient warriors with skeletal limbs joined rotting Imperial soldiers in silent vigil.
Castor Vol himself looked straight at A…at me…and smiled. Though there was rage just beneath the surface, his expression was one of satisfaction without a trace of madness.
"Come if you dare, Hunter. I will wait for a time, but not too long. If you delay, MY hunt will begin."
The chill that ran through me as I walked wasn't wholly from the dark corridors around me. There was no doubt to whom I had just spoken. After all, I was trekking through his tomb.
I wasn't entirely sure what Marka Ragnos had wanted from me. There's a lot in the Empire that could be considered a "rot." Corruption on every level, typical Sith stupidity, conspiracies and power plays…Hell, even the Emperor himself was a corruption.
Whatever it was, Castor Vol was the first step.
However, it wasn't the conversation or the speaker that unnerved me so, but rather the complete loss of control that had ensued during it. While I had spoken to Ragnos, he had puppeted my body like a marionette on strings. I still felt the burn in my muscles from whatever he had put my body through.
It was worse than being back under the collar. At least then I had been the one driving my limbs and my mind had been my own.
To add insult to injury, I had been claimed and branded like cattle. Again.
On the skin above my heart, the horns of Ragnos had been seared into my flesh. The charred patch of skin was now covered with a bacta patch, but I held no hope that it would be going away anytime soon. Still, it helped reduce the searing pain to a mildly annoying itch.
I felt my knuckles crack as my grip tightened on my weapons. I was angry. Oh hell yes I was angry.
Thank God, the Force, or whatever that I was here to kill someone. I desperately needed a punching bag.
However, I had two problems with that. First, I had no idea where Castor was. Second, I had no idea where I was.
Ragnos' tomb was an enormous labyrinthine complex that dwarfed the Great Pyramids of Giza. While most of the above-ground chambers had been explored and mapped, there were tunnels underneath the surface that stretched for miles. Over the years, many had been lost in the winding corridors, either to the monsters that roamed its halls or to Ragnos himself.
Before setting out, I had downloaded all available maps and charts of the tomb onto my datapad from the Academy Archives for study. According to current maps created via sonar pings, the entire complex stretched nearly a kilometer below Korriban's surface. However, it seemed…incomplete and appeared to cut off suddenly, like the scans hadn't been able to reach all the way down.
As I pulled out the device, I pretty much found exactly what I had been expecting.
Static buzzed as the datapad tried to figure out where I was, only to be stymied by something. Either I was too deep underground to receive satellite and comms data or Ragnos was being a massive dick.
Again, Sith. It was probably both.
With a sigh, I shut off the GPS function. Setting my pack down, I fished around for a moment before pulling out a pair of small gray orbs the size of my fist. Picking up my datapad again, I typed in a command. With a hum, the pair of droids activated, deploying antennas from the top of their frames as they floated up to eye level. Their red cycloptic eyes focused on me, waiting for an order.
The two droids were modified MerenData S6-Series Security/Maintenance Droids, altered to work as survey droids. Extremely common and extremely cheap, they were among the most common droids in the galaxy. Effectively floating cameras, their small size enabled them to get into hard to reach places, making them perfect for tomb explorers. I'd acquired them from Renning's men, who had been making very little use of them in their current job.
With a few more taps on my datapad, I set them to begin mapping the tunnels around me. If nothing else, I might be able to get a reward for finding a previously undiscovered part of the tomb. As a precaution, I ordered them to cling close to the ceiling to avoid casual detection. After all, very few people think to look up. If they spotted something of interest, they'd send a ping back to my datapad.
While I waited for their initial scans, I seated myself against a nearby wall and began to meditate. With the overwhelming presence of Ragnos' tomb bearing down on me, I didn't even try to sense out Castor Vol. Instead, I drew on the Force to soothe the lingering ache in my limbs. I also needed to purge the excess anger. Not enough to snuff the fire as I would need that power, but just enough to think clearly.
In truth, I knew little of what to expect, and what had been gained from what I could glean from his picture. From his appearance alone, there was a possibility that he was former military, though whose, I could not say. I couldn't predict the methods he would use. Had he conformed to typical Sith methodology and used only swords and the Force? Or was he more like me and willing to use blasters and grenades? Was he a warrior, assassin, sorcerer, or generalist?
On top of everything, Castor Vol was a third year acolyte. That meant he had longer to learn more advanced lightsaber forms and accumulate a larger breadth of knowledge of the Force. For all I knew, he had claimed some artifacts to use as his own, such as Sith Amulets.
I only had two true advantages. The first was that I was not a typical Sith. My Force powers were more advanced than they should be at my current point of training. My physical build suggested that I would favor melee, meaning I might be able to surprise him with telekinesis or Force Lightning. Alternatively, I could try setting up traps with what explosives I was carrying and ambush him with my blasters.
The second advantage was that there was little chance that he knew what to expect either. He might be expecting a full kill-team instead of a single, less experienced acolyte.
I was going to list my Beast Control as an advantage, but there are only two kinds of beasts in this tomb as far as I knew: k'lor'slugs and Terentateks. Terentateks had the obvious issue of being resistant to the Force and I wasn't brave enough to try. K'lor'slugs, on the other hand, were literally too stupid to directly control, with what little brains they had being stuck on "feed constantly." I might be able to nudge them in a specific direction, but not much beyond that.
There was the possibility of using any traps left over from when the tomb was built. After all, I was in an apparently undiscovered section of the structure. However, like Vol himself, I would need to both find and identify the ancient traps, if they even still worked. There was also the option of simply waiting him out. He was likely expecting an immediate response to his rampage and escape. The longer he went without being attacked, the more paranoid he would become. I had enough field rations to last for a week, but only if I was careful with portions.
However, both options gave my target time to either fortify or flee, neither of which benefited me. No, I had to find him and soon.
A ping drew my attention to my datapad, so I picked up the device. One of the droids, which I dubbed "B," had stumbled across a k'lor'slug nest. Thankfully, it managed to stay out of reach and continued exploring.
Hm. Castor has only been here for a short while, so he definitely had not had enough time to explore the entirety of the tomb. He'd know there were k'lor'slugs wandering around, but perhaps not where the nest was. I could lead him into the chamber, then hide and let the monsters do the work for me.
It was a possibility, but I doubt that he'd be stupid enough to fall for it…
Wait. Fall.
A grin slowly worked its way onto my face. I could try to drop him in from a tunnel above, but sadly that would require explosives I didn't have. After the k'lor'slug nest turned out to be a dead end, I recalled the droid and sent it down a different tunnel, one that sloped upwards. With any luck, B would find the way back out.
In the meantime, I checked on the other droid. Unlike its twin, "A" had been quietly chugging along, rapidly updating the new map displayed on my datapad. With nothing else to do, I opened up the feed and watched it speed through the tunnel. As with most of the walls this far down, the corridor was bare of ornamentation. It was pretty boring, all told. At least until the droid reached a very familiar room.
The tunnel opened up into the massive cavern from my talk with Marka Ragnos. Though the stone dais in the center of the chamber remained, the crystal roses were gone. In their place were hundreds of bodies, stacked on top of each other like cordwood. The majority wore the garb of the ancient dead, likely pillaged from their tombs. Others were clothed in academy robes, while more wore Imperial army armor.
I saw movement atop the dais, so I ordered the droid to zoom in on it. The durasteel bench had been replaced with a simple, crude altar shaped from stone. Fresh blood dripped off its sides from the dying woman laid on its surface, leaking around the knife embedded in her chest. Five more bodies littered the dais, all with identical wounds. Their blood dyed the sides of the dais red as it ran down its surface.
The woman was trying weakly to remove the knife, but the strong hand of her black-cloaked killer kept it firmly in place. Strange words that I vaguely recognized as being from the Sith language echoed in the chamber as the ritualist chanted.
I urged A closer to get a confirmation. Sure enough, it was Castor Vol, though his eyes were now sunken and glowing a fiery yellow-orange. He was a relatively unassuming sight, still dressed in the academy robes, though dark blood stains marred his clothing. The knife in his hand was a simply, unadorned blade being used for its only purpose.
When I had augmented my sword with Sith Alchemy, there had been only a faint feeling of wrongness as I twisted the metal to my whims. Whatever Castor was doing…with each syllable he spoke, it…it felt like the universe wretched.
As the last word left his lips, the woman let out her last breath in a slow moan. As life left her body, a blue mist billowed out from her open mouth onto the dais, seeping into the mouths of the dead surrounding her.
One by one, a red glow entered their blank eyes. From their mouths, more of the fog flowed out into the chamber. As it covered the floor of the cavern, the cadavers began to rise, their bodies contorting at unnatural angles until they were standing straight. Ancient warriors with skeletal limbs joined rotting Imperial soldiers in silent vigil.
Castor Vol himself looked straight at A…at me…and smiled. Though there was rage just beneath the surface, his expression was one of satisfaction without a trace of madness.
"Come if you dare, Hunter. I will wait for a time, but not too long. If you delay, MY hunt will begin."
Chapter 18
- Location
- North Carolina
Chapter 18
"How…interesting," I hummed aloud as I panned A's camera lens around the cavern.
Oh, I knew exactly what he'd created in that cavern. I wasn't surprised at their existence, rather that Castor was capable of making so many at one time. Even among dedicated Sith Sorcerers, it wasn't a commonly used spell these days, if at all.
Invented by Dathka Graush nearly three thousand years ago, the Tsaiwinokka Hoyakut was a spell that combined Alchemy and Magic to reanimate corpses into tireless, nigh-unstoppable killers. It sounded pretty straightforward, but the true insidiousness of the power was that it was self-perpetuating, as the undead could make more of themselves via bite. You only needed to create one and set it loose in a populated area to potentially make a planet-wide epidemic.
On a scale of potential destructiveness, it's on par with the Rakghoul Plague, but inferior to the Technovirus. Despite this, it's rarely been used as an offensive power, but rather as a means to create undying, unsleeping guardians. Rather than die out with Graush like one would expect from a unique power created by a Sith, it was preserved until Sorzus Syn got a chance to record the ritual in her journal, which was then passed down through the generations since the Exiles came to Korriban. The spell was used so often by Sith Lords before Vitiate's time that there are still countless masterless zombies wandering Korriban or defending tombs.
At this point, there are so many of them that they're almost considered part of the wildlife.
Seriously, fuck Korriban. Being a desert hellhole apparently wasn't enough, so they had to throw Walking Dead into a world that was way too close to Mad Max for comfort.
And now, I had to deal with this. The big problems with fighting Korriban Zombies are their bite and the fact that they don't stop until you destroy their heads. Sure, I could just continually smash them with the Force, but they'd keep getting back up. I wouldn't have the time for the kind of precision needed to kill the zombies permanently, but using massive blasts of telekinesis was inefficient.
However, I'd be fighting Castor as well and I still wasn't entire sure how he would fight. Was he a full-blown sorcerer or just a dabbler? Tsaiwinokka Hoyakut was a potential doomsday spell if used in the right place, and not something used lightly. It was entirely possible he only researched this single ritual for use in an emergency…or for a specific purpose.
There was obviously something going on that Iren had not told me about. But then, I suppose I couldn't deal with that until after Castor was taken care of. However, the issue remaining is how to get to my target. Before, it was just twisting tunnels between us. Now, there was a legion of dead in my way.
Retreat wasn't an option. A's camera showed another tunnel on the other side of the chamber. If I tried to hole up, Castor would send his zombies to chase me down, then escape to wherever that tunnel lead.
No. I had to face him here or else risk having to track him down to whatever bolt hole he managed to find later.
I needed an army of my own. And I knew just where to find one. The trick was not getting eaten by them before they got to Castor.
===============================================================
Using the Force to strengthen my lungs, I ran at a dead sprint down the corridor, screeches echoing down the passage behind me. Ahead, the opening leading to the cavern loomed. The rotting form of an Imperial soldier in full armor stood at the doorway, blocking my path.
I whipped one of my pistols out of its holster without stopping and fired three shots, "Out of my way!"
One missed, but the other two hit home, slamming into its chest. Neither was in the right place to take the creature down, but the force behind the projectiles caused it to stumble back enough for me to get by.
"Movemovemove!" I chanted under my breath as I sped past, slipping my weapon back into its holster.
Almost immediately after I passed the doorway, the room lit up as a plume of blue flame shot out from the dais. As chanting began echoing around the chamber, the flame arced towards the ceiling before swinging back down in my direction. Directly in front of me, hundreds of corpse warriors turned, their glowing red eyes swiveling towards me as they hefted their varied weapons.
If I wasn't in such ludicrous danger, I'd be laughing my ass off at what I was doing. But since I was, I channeled the resulting panic and adrenaline into the Force. Raising both hands, I pulled at the Force, forming it into a massive opaque angledbarrier in front of me…and didn't stop running.
Because fuck subtle.
Zombies were flattened against the deceptively hard twelve-by-ten surface before either sliding off or crumbling to pieces. Like a snow plough, my wedge-shaped ram of raw telekinetic force sliced through the army, sending corpses crashing to the ground in my wake. Blasters fired as some of them tried to shoot me in the back, but I was moving too quickly for them to get a good shot. Just because they could use weapons, didn't mean they were any good with them.
The ground shook beneath me as the pillar of flame struck the stone and the flash of light dyed the room blue. Rather than chase me like I expected, it guttered out and died, throwing the cavern back into darkness. Thankfully, I had a glowrod lit up and attached to my belt to light my way.
Suddenly, something dark and powerful slammed into my barrier, causing me to stagger. It wasn't strong enough to completely stop my progress, but it slowed me for a moment as the impact pushed back against me.
One was followed by two, and then three. Cracks started appearing in my barrier as more of the dark projectiles hit home. I knew it wasn't going to hold for much longer.
In that split second, I weighed my options. I wasn't too much farther from the dais and Castor, but I wouldn't have time to put up another barrier strong enough to take hits like those. In that case, durability would have to be traded for speed.
With a grunt, I shoved the barrier forward, bulldozing the zombies directly in its path. That done, I shunted as much power into my muscles as possible and jumped. Just as my feet left the ground, an orb of darkness slammed into the spot I had just left, sending stone chips flying as it gouged a small crater into the floor.
As I flew through the air, any fear that was left in me bled away into excitement. My heart pounded in my chest as a grin started spreading across my face. Black projectiles flew by, joined by blasterfire from dozens of zombies below. The explosions as the former hit the walls…the light of the plasma…they were all dulled by the sound of blood pumping through my veins.
All the while…I was not afraid. I was happy! I was excited! I needed more! More!
Laughter ripped itself from my throat as I descended. Gathering the Force in my hands, I shot a wave of kinetic force towards the mass of corpses below and laughed as bodies and limbs flew in opposite directions.
Any rage from before was thrown away as joy took its place.
Power flowed into me, energizing me like I'd never felt before!
I unleashed another Force Wave before jumping again, avoiding another bolt of darkness. When was the last time I was this happy?
I was enjoying this! I loved it!
Another crowd of zombies went flying before I landed.
How was it wrong to feel this? Fuck the Jedi, there was nothing wrong with joy!
Blood pounding in my ears, I hopped around the cavern like the galaxy's most destructive rabbit. My laughter drowned out Castor's chanting.
I was…
I faltered on the next blast, though it still cleared the area.
I was…
I was losing control.
Like a castle gate, I slammed down on my emotions, sealing the fortress. I built the dam high and strong, severing my connection to whatever was…Ragnos. No, Ragnos' tomb. The Force was strong here, and I'd been drawn in for a moment. The euphoria was a false one. A high brought about by a sudden influx of power.
Only now did I realize that I had reached and passed the dais by a fair margin.
I felt weaker, now that the tomb's power wasn't flowing through me. Considering how much power I was throwing around, I wasn't surprised.
I leaped one last time, arcing over the heads of the last of the crowd of zombies between me and my prey. By now, I felt sweat running down my body from exertion. I poured what I could spare into my muscles again to soothe and strengthen them. As my feet touched stone again, I drew my sword and pistol, raising the latter to point at my target.
Across from me, Castor's volcanic eyes stared at me impassively from his hood, though there was a hint of amusement under it. Like me, sweat was dripping down his exposed skin from his own efforts to kill me.
From the entrance, the screech of k'lor'slugs echoed to our ears.
The rogue acolyte turned his head slightly to look and blinked owlishly. With a tone as dry as Korriban's sands, he commented, "You are completely mad, do you know that?"
"How…interesting," I hummed aloud as I panned A's camera lens around the cavern.
Oh, I knew exactly what he'd created in that cavern. I wasn't surprised at their existence, rather that Castor was capable of making so many at one time. Even among dedicated Sith Sorcerers, it wasn't a commonly used spell these days, if at all.
Invented by Dathka Graush nearly three thousand years ago, the Tsaiwinokka Hoyakut was a spell that combined Alchemy and Magic to reanimate corpses into tireless, nigh-unstoppable killers. It sounded pretty straightforward, but the true insidiousness of the power was that it was self-perpetuating, as the undead could make more of themselves via bite. You only needed to create one and set it loose in a populated area to potentially make a planet-wide epidemic.
On a scale of potential destructiveness, it's on par with the Rakghoul Plague, but inferior to the Technovirus. Despite this, it's rarely been used as an offensive power, but rather as a means to create undying, unsleeping guardians. Rather than die out with Graush like one would expect from a unique power created by a Sith, it was preserved until Sorzus Syn got a chance to record the ritual in her journal, which was then passed down through the generations since the Exiles came to Korriban. The spell was used so often by Sith Lords before Vitiate's time that there are still countless masterless zombies wandering Korriban or defending tombs.
At this point, there are so many of them that they're almost considered part of the wildlife.
Seriously, fuck Korriban. Being a desert hellhole apparently wasn't enough, so they had to throw Walking Dead into a world that was way too close to Mad Max for comfort.
And now, I had to deal with this. The big problems with fighting Korriban Zombies are their bite and the fact that they don't stop until you destroy their heads. Sure, I could just continually smash them with the Force, but they'd keep getting back up. I wouldn't have the time for the kind of precision needed to kill the zombies permanently, but using massive blasts of telekinesis was inefficient.
However, I'd be fighting Castor as well and I still wasn't entire sure how he would fight. Was he a full-blown sorcerer or just a dabbler? Tsaiwinokka Hoyakut was a potential doomsday spell if used in the right place, and not something used lightly. It was entirely possible he only researched this single ritual for use in an emergency…or for a specific purpose.
There was obviously something going on that Iren had not told me about. But then, I suppose I couldn't deal with that until after Castor was taken care of. However, the issue remaining is how to get to my target. Before, it was just twisting tunnels between us. Now, there was a legion of dead in my way.
Retreat wasn't an option. A's camera showed another tunnel on the other side of the chamber. If I tried to hole up, Castor would send his zombies to chase me down, then escape to wherever that tunnel lead.
No. I had to face him here or else risk having to track him down to whatever bolt hole he managed to find later.
I needed an army of my own. And I knew just where to find one. The trick was not getting eaten by them before they got to Castor.
===============================================================
Using the Force to strengthen my lungs, I ran at a dead sprint down the corridor, screeches echoing down the passage behind me. Ahead, the opening leading to the cavern loomed. The rotting form of an Imperial soldier in full armor stood at the doorway, blocking my path.
I whipped one of my pistols out of its holster without stopping and fired three shots, "Out of my way!"
One missed, but the other two hit home, slamming into its chest. Neither was in the right place to take the creature down, but the force behind the projectiles caused it to stumble back enough for me to get by.
"Movemovemove!" I chanted under my breath as I sped past, slipping my weapon back into its holster.
Almost immediately after I passed the doorway, the room lit up as a plume of blue flame shot out from the dais. As chanting began echoing around the chamber, the flame arced towards the ceiling before swinging back down in my direction. Directly in front of me, hundreds of corpse warriors turned, their glowing red eyes swiveling towards me as they hefted their varied weapons.
If I wasn't in such ludicrous danger, I'd be laughing my ass off at what I was doing. But since I was, I channeled the resulting panic and adrenaline into the Force. Raising both hands, I pulled at the Force, forming it into a massive opaque angledbarrier in front of me…and didn't stop running.
Because fuck subtle.
Zombies were flattened against the deceptively hard twelve-by-ten surface before either sliding off or crumbling to pieces. Like a snow plough, my wedge-shaped ram of raw telekinetic force sliced through the army, sending corpses crashing to the ground in my wake. Blasters fired as some of them tried to shoot me in the back, but I was moving too quickly for them to get a good shot. Just because they could use weapons, didn't mean they were any good with them.
The ground shook beneath me as the pillar of flame struck the stone and the flash of light dyed the room blue. Rather than chase me like I expected, it guttered out and died, throwing the cavern back into darkness. Thankfully, I had a glowrod lit up and attached to my belt to light my way.
Suddenly, something dark and powerful slammed into my barrier, causing me to stagger. It wasn't strong enough to completely stop my progress, but it slowed me for a moment as the impact pushed back against me.
One was followed by two, and then three. Cracks started appearing in my barrier as more of the dark projectiles hit home. I knew it wasn't going to hold for much longer.
In that split second, I weighed my options. I wasn't too much farther from the dais and Castor, but I wouldn't have time to put up another barrier strong enough to take hits like those. In that case, durability would have to be traded for speed.
With a grunt, I shoved the barrier forward, bulldozing the zombies directly in its path. That done, I shunted as much power into my muscles as possible and jumped. Just as my feet left the ground, an orb of darkness slammed into the spot I had just left, sending stone chips flying as it gouged a small crater into the floor.
As I flew through the air, any fear that was left in me bled away into excitement. My heart pounded in my chest as a grin started spreading across my face. Black projectiles flew by, joined by blasterfire from dozens of zombies below. The explosions as the former hit the walls…the light of the plasma…they were all dulled by the sound of blood pumping through my veins.
All the while…I was not afraid. I was happy! I was excited! I needed more! More!
Laughter ripped itself from my throat as I descended. Gathering the Force in my hands, I shot a wave of kinetic force towards the mass of corpses below and laughed as bodies and limbs flew in opposite directions.
Any rage from before was thrown away as joy took its place.
Power flowed into me, energizing me like I'd never felt before!
I unleashed another Force Wave before jumping again, avoiding another bolt of darkness. When was the last time I was this happy?
I was enjoying this! I loved it!
Another crowd of zombies went flying before I landed.
How was it wrong to feel this? Fuck the Jedi, there was nothing wrong with joy!
Blood pounding in my ears, I hopped around the cavern like the galaxy's most destructive rabbit. My laughter drowned out Castor's chanting.
I was…
I faltered on the next blast, though it still cleared the area.
I was…
I was losing control.
Like a castle gate, I slammed down on my emotions, sealing the fortress. I built the dam high and strong, severing my connection to whatever was…Ragnos. No, Ragnos' tomb. The Force was strong here, and I'd been drawn in for a moment. The euphoria was a false one. A high brought about by a sudden influx of power.
Only now did I realize that I had reached and passed the dais by a fair margin.
I felt weaker, now that the tomb's power wasn't flowing through me. Considering how much power I was throwing around, I wasn't surprised.
I leaped one last time, arcing over the heads of the last of the crowd of zombies between me and my prey. By now, I felt sweat running down my body from exertion. I poured what I could spare into my muscles again to soothe and strengthen them. As my feet touched stone again, I drew my sword and pistol, raising the latter to point at my target.
Across from me, Castor's volcanic eyes stared at me impassively from his hood, though there was a hint of amusement under it. Like me, sweat was dripping down his exposed skin from his own efforts to kill me.
From the entrance, the screech of k'lor'slugs echoed to our ears.
The rogue acolyte turned his head slightly to look and blinked owlishly. With a tone as dry as Korriban's sands, he commented, "You are completely mad, do you know that?"
Chapter 19
- Location
- North Carolina
Chapter 19
Castor and I were less than a dozen feet apart, the stone altar the only thing standing between us. A short enough distance that either of us could easily cross it in a second. Less with the Force. On either side of the altar, two braziers flicked with blue flames. Likely the focus he used for his initial attack. Around us, the fresh corpses stood motionless, waiting for direction. In the distance, the howls of the dead clashed with the screeches of monsters.
We examined each other for a moment, trying to gauge how the other would react. He didn't know about me, and I knew little about him. He held no weapons, but there was a slight bulge under his robes on his left hip. I had him at blaster-point, with a sword at my side. However, he had Sith Sorcery in his arsenal. Castor appeared to have a leaner build than I did, but most of his actual body shape was hard to determine due to his loose-fitting robes.
His eyes flicked to the side once. I immediately fired two shots at his chest. As soon as I pulled the trigger, he was already moving backwards, zigzagging between the bolts with inhuman speed. Before I could fire at him again, the corpses around us charged forward with wailing cries at some unheard command from their master, jaws stretched wide. With a growl of my own, I thrust my hands to either side, using the Force to shove them off the dais and into the teeming horde below.
As I tried to return my focus to their creator, the woman on the altar rose with a scream that seemed to ring out over the cacophony below. Ripping the ritual knife out of her own chest, she leaped at me, teeth snapping. Out of reflex, I fired, though my shots splashed uselessly against her torso. The zombie's weight slammed into me, forcing both of us to the ground. My blaster clattered out of my grip from the impact, skittering across the floor until it teetered precariously on the edge of the dais.
Bloodied teeth tried to go for my neck, but I jammed my left vambrace in between them. When that failed, her knife stabbed down. Dropping my sword, I grabbed her wrist and tried to push it away. Despite her smaller stature, the knife still descended, though slower.
Of course, that was the moment that my brain decided to remind me that Korriban Zombies were imbued with greater physical strength than what they had while alive. There wasn't too much I could do. With my hands at least.
I closed my eyes in disgust as the woman's head exploded, showering my face with blood, bones, and gray matter. Her body slumped against mine and her arms went limp, inanimate once more. Floating in the air three feet away, my blaster waited, barrel smoking. Shoving the corpse off me, I retrieved my weapons and stood up, only to find Castor chanting again. With each word, the flames of the braziers flared.
"Ah crap," I remarked, knowing what was coming.
I did the only thing I could and bunkered down. The wispy barrier of telekinetic force, weaker than my first, appeared just before another pillar of blue flame slammed into it. Despite appearing insubstantial, the flames had weight behind them. While the fire was held back by my shield, the raw kinetic power behind it sent me flying off the platform.
Using the Force to spin myself around, I took a quick look at my landing zone. By now, the k'lor'slugs had managed to force their way into the chamber, though it was slow. A few massive brutes, likely brood guards, had managed to get close to the dais. Standing at fifteen feet tall, they were tearing into the dead, mincing them with their blender-like mouths. One lay dead, its belly ripped open from the inside by a zombie that hadn't been quite dead. Another was being hacked apart by corpses climbing up its body.
Unfortunately, I was on a direct course for the mouth of the largest monster. Even worse, it noticed.
As hundreds of teeth lunged for me, I used the Force to shove myself just a bit further, enough to clear the upper edge of its mouth. Digging my sword into its thick skin, I arrested my flight and perched myself on its head, though I nearly pulled my arm out of its socket in the attempt. Blocking out its screams of rage, I quickly shot the zombies crawling up its back before diving into the Force, planting a spike of control into its brain.
Well, control was an overstatement. K'lor'slugs thought in terms of "find food," "breed," and "find more food." I simply pointed it at Castor and said "food." I then labeled myself as "not food."
Its screams turned to excitement, or whatever its analogue was. The creature's six spike-tipped legs tore trenches into the stone as it scrambled towards the dais, spearing or crushing the dead in its way. Using my sword to stay in my position atop its head, I leveled my blaster and started firing at Castor.
The rogue acolyte ducked and weaved out of the way of the barrage, his robe a black blur. As the k'lor'slug clambered up onto the dais, it homed in on Castor and lunged, this time directing its teeth at the correct target. A hasty Force Push from the man knocked the beast's fangs off course, though the monster's bulk still managed to hit him and send him tumbling.
While he was distracted, I used the Force to crush the braziers. If they were the foci for that fire spell, I wanted them gone as soon as possible. For all I knew, he could call on them from anywhere in the cavern. The metal screeched and crunched until they finished crumpling in on themselves, snuffing the blue flames out entirely.
With that done, the game of cat and mouse began, though who was who I couldn't quite say. After being knocked off the platform and deprived of his braziers, Castor had darted into the crowd of undead. Though the larger k'lor'slugs had managed to push further into the chamber, the smaller ones had more success in putting the zombies down, though their progress was slow. Nevertheless, the tidal wave of k'lor'slugs was visible even in the cavern's gloom as they swarmed endlessly from their lair.
My mount crashed through the ranks of the undead, gobbling them up into its meatgrinder mouth as it raced towards where it thought Castor was. As a precaution, I did use the Force to make sure that it shredded its food thoroughly before swallowing. I didn't want it abruptly dying like some of the others had.
Most of the zombies were equipped with ancient blades, though there were a few with blasters. The dark cavern was occasionally lit up by bolts of red as they tried to fire at the only source of light, that being me. From my perch on top of the k'lor'slug's head, I had a good bit of cover and most simply flew by, though several struck my mount. While they scorched its hide, the creature's skin was too thick for them to do anything more than superficial damage.
There was a reason Imperial extermination squads had to use heavy weapons against k'lor'slug nests.
I wasn't going to find Castor by sight alone, not if I wanted to get to him before he managed to prepare another surprise. Ducking down, I closed my eyes and shifted to a different kind of sight.
You know how the Jedi say we're all "luminous beings?" Under Force Sight, it wasn't hyperbole. With each breath, a living creature glows a little bit brighter. To my closed eyes, the dead around me were muted lights, powered by the glow of another.
Thu-thump. Thu-thump.
Even with that, Castor remained hidden, concealed by the combined glow of the dead. Trying to pick out a humanoid form from that crowd normally would take a droid's perception. I simply narrowed down the search parameters.
Thu-thump. Thu-thump.
I just looked for the one with a beating heart, following the trail of life-giving air into his lungs. Under those conditions, I found him in seconds.
In the time I had been searching for him, he had circled around back to the dais, likely attempting to regain the high ground. If Obi-Wan Kenobi was anything to go by, I didn't want him to get it back and resume bombardment. Still, even if he did, he had to be running on empty by now. I hoped.
With some prodding, I managed to turn my mount away from its current meal. The corpse currently half-hanging out of its maw did not appreciate that and tried to claw at the monster's mouth, though its skeletal hands did little.
We reached the dais just as Castor leaped onto it. Once again, my monster scrambled up the side. But this time, my opponent was better prepared. Holding out a hand, he barked a phrase in Ancient Sith. Just as my mount lunged at him, the shadows around us moved. My senses screamed at me, prompting me to jump just before it hit, and my eyes saw it happen in slow motion.
Dark tentacles lashed out from every possible angle, wrapping around my mount. Wherever they touched, flesh disintegrated into nothingness. The k'lor'slug screamed, in both agony and confusion. It couldn't comprehend what was happening, only that it hurt. The echo only lasted for a moment as the shadowy limbs tore the monster into pieces.
I let go of my pistol, knowing it would be useless at this point. As it bounced off the dais into the darkness, I used my now-free hand to launch a Force Blast at Castor. Though it did little more than ruffle his robes and make him stumble, it did disrupt his concentration on the spell. With the shadow tentacles fading away, I grasped my sword in a two-handed grip as I descended. Castor hastily drew his own blade, holding it up in a crescent guard to block my downward strike. My weight, strength, and momentum forced him to one knee.
There was a reason battles between Jedi and Sith almost always devolved into a physical contest. Every Force User has passive and active defenses against Force attacks. If you're strong or skilled enough, you can casually shrug off most attacks from weaker opponents or easily throttle them with the Force. Unless you could consistently break through an opponent's passive defenses, you would have to slug it out at some point. To do anything else would just be wasting time.
Problem was, Castor was likely a much more skilled duelist, even with his apparent focus on Sith Sorcery, having three years more experience on me. I also didn't know which style he favored, though with his skill set I could guess either Form III or Form VI. Thankfully, I brought some equalizers.
As we struggled against each other, blades locked, I closed my eyes and used the Force to press the detonator on one of the flash-bang grenades hanging on my bandoleer. Through my senses, I felt his flicker of surprise just as it detonated.
I smiled in satisfaction.
Castor and I were less than a dozen feet apart, the stone altar the only thing standing between us. A short enough distance that either of us could easily cross it in a second. Less with the Force. On either side of the altar, two braziers flicked with blue flames. Likely the focus he used for his initial attack. Around us, the fresh corpses stood motionless, waiting for direction. In the distance, the howls of the dead clashed with the screeches of monsters.
We examined each other for a moment, trying to gauge how the other would react. He didn't know about me, and I knew little about him. He held no weapons, but there was a slight bulge under his robes on his left hip. I had him at blaster-point, with a sword at my side. However, he had Sith Sorcery in his arsenal. Castor appeared to have a leaner build than I did, but most of his actual body shape was hard to determine due to his loose-fitting robes.
His eyes flicked to the side once. I immediately fired two shots at his chest. As soon as I pulled the trigger, he was already moving backwards, zigzagging between the bolts with inhuman speed. Before I could fire at him again, the corpses around us charged forward with wailing cries at some unheard command from their master, jaws stretched wide. With a growl of my own, I thrust my hands to either side, using the Force to shove them off the dais and into the teeming horde below.
As I tried to return my focus to their creator, the woman on the altar rose with a scream that seemed to ring out over the cacophony below. Ripping the ritual knife out of her own chest, she leaped at me, teeth snapping. Out of reflex, I fired, though my shots splashed uselessly against her torso. The zombie's weight slammed into me, forcing both of us to the ground. My blaster clattered out of my grip from the impact, skittering across the floor until it teetered precariously on the edge of the dais.
Bloodied teeth tried to go for my neck, but I jammed my left vambrace in between them. When that failed, her knife stabbed down. Dropping my sword, I grabbed her wrist and tried to push it away. Despite her smaller stature, the knife still descended, though slower.
Of course, that was the moment that my brain decided to remind me that Korriban Zombies were imbued with greater physical strength than what they had while alive. There wasn't too much I could do. With my hands at least.
I closed my eyes in disgust as the woman's head exploded, showering my face with blood, bones, and gray matter. Her body slumped against mine and her arms went limp, inanimate once more. Floating in the air three feet away, my blaster waited, barrel smoking. Shoving the corpse off me, I retrieved my weapons and stood up, only to find Castor chanting again. With each word, the flames of the braziers flared.
"Ah crap," I remarked, knowing what was coming.
I did the only thing I could and bunkered down. The wispy barrier of telekinetic force, weaker than my first, appeared just before another pillar of blue flame slammed into it. Despite appearing insubstantial, the flames had weight behind them. While the fire was held back by my shield, the raw kinetic power behind it sent me flying off the platform.
Using the Force to spin myself around, I took a quick look at my landing zone. By now, the k'lor'slugs had managed to force their way into the chamber, though it was slow. A few massive brutes, likely brood guards, had managed to get close to the dais. Standing at fifteen feet tall, they were tearing into the dead, mincing them with their blender-like mouths. One lay dead, its belly ripped open from the inside by a zombie that hadn't been quite dead. Another was being hacked apart by corpses climbing up its body.
Unfortunately, I was on a direct course for the mouth of the largest monster. Even worse, it noticed.
As hundreds of teeth lunged for me, I used the Force to shove myself just a bit further, enough to clear the upper edge of its mouth. Digging my sword into its thick skin, I arrested my flight and perched myself on its head, though I nearly pulled my arm out of its socket in the attempt. Blocking out its screams of rage, I quickly shot the zombies crawling up its back before diving into the Force, planting a spike of control into its brain.
Well, control was an overstatement. K'lor'slugs thought in terms of "find food," "breed," and "find more food." I simply pointed it at Castor and said "food." I then labeled myself as "not food."
Its screams turned to excitement, or whatever its analogue was. The creature's six spike-tipped legs tore trenches into the stone as it scrambled towards the dais, spearing or crushing the dead in its way. Using my sword to stay in my position atop its head, I leveled my blaster and started firing at Castor.
The rogue acolyte ducked and weaved out of the way of the barrage, his robe a black blur. As the k'lor'slug clambered up onto the dais, it homed in on Castor and lunged, this time directing its teeth at the correct target. A hasty Force Push from the man knocked the beast's fangs off course, though the monster's bulk still managed to hit him and send him tumbling.
While he was distracted, I used the Force to crush the braziers. If they were the foci for that fire spell, I wanted them gone as soon as possible. For all I knew, he could call on them from anywhere in the cavern. The metal screeched and crunched until they finished crumpling in on themselves, snuffing the blue flames out entirely.
With that done, the game of cat and mouse began, though who was who I couldn't quite say. After being knocked off the platform and deprived of his braziers, Castor had darted into the crowd of undead. Though the larger k'lor'slugs had managed to push further into the chamber, the smaller ones had more success in putting the zombies down, though their progress was slow. Nevertheless, the tidal wave of k'lor'slugs was visible even in the cavern's gloom as they swarmed endlessly from their lair.
My mount crashed through the ranks of the undead, gobbling them up into its meatgrinder mouth as it raced towards where it thought Castor was. As a precaution, I did use the Force to make sure that it shredded its food thoroughly before swallowing. I didn't want it abruptly dying like some of the others had.
Most of the zombies were equipped with ancient blades, though there were a few with blasters. The dark cavern was occasionally lit up by bolts of red as they tried to fire at the only source of light, that being me. From my perch on top of the k'lor'slug's head, I had a good bit of cover and most simply flew by, though several struck my mount. While they scorched its hide, the creature's skin was too thick for them to do anything more than superficial damage.
There was a reason Imperial extermination squads had to use heavy weapons against k'lor'slug nests.
I wasn't going to find Castor by sight alone, not if I wanted to get to him before he managed to prepare another surprise. Ducking down, I closed my eyes and shifted to a different kind of sight.
You know how the Jedi say we're all "luminous beings?" Under Force Sight, it wasn't hyperbole. With each breath, a living creature glows a little bit brighter. To my closed eyes, the dead around me were muted lights, powered by the glow of another.
Thu-thump. Thu-thump.
Even with that, Castor remained hidden, concealed by the combined glow of the dead. Trying to pick out a humanoid form from that crowd normally would take a droid's perception. I simply narrowed down the search parameters.
Thu-thump. Thu-thump.
I just looked for the one with a beating heart, following the trail of life-giving air into his lungs. Under those conditions, I found him in seconds.
In the time I had been searching for him, he had circled around back to the dais, likely attempting to regain the high ground. If Obi-Wan Kenobi was anything to go by, I didn't want him to get it back and resume bombardment. Still, even if he did, he had to be running on empty by now. I hoped.
With some prodding, I managed to turn my mount away from its current meal. The corpse currently half-hanging out of its maw did not appreciate that and tried to claw at the monster's mouth, though its skeletal hands did little.
We reached the dais just as Castor leaped onto it. Once again, my monster scrambled up the side. But this time, my opponent was better prepared. Holding out a hand, he barked a phrase in Ancient Sith. Just as my mount lunged at him, the shadows around us moved. My senses screamed at me, prompting me to jump just before it hit, and my eyes saw it happen in slow motion.
Dark tentacles lashed out from every possible angle, wrapping around my mount. Wherever they touched, flesh disintegrated into nothingness. The k'lor'slug screamed, in both agony and confusion. It couldn't comprehend what was happening, only that it hurt. The echo only lasted for a moment as the shadowy limbs tore the monster into pieces.
I let go of my pistol, knowing it would be useless at this point. As it bounced off the dais into the darkness, I used my now-free hand to launch a Force Blast at Castor. Though it did little more than ruffle his robes and make him stumble, it did disrupt his concentration on the spell. With the shadow tentacles fading away, I grasped my sword in a two-handed grip as I descended. Castor hastily drew his own blade, holding it up in a crescent guard to block my downward strike. My weight, strength, and momentum forced him to one knee.
There was a reason battles between Jedi and Sith almost always devolved into a physical contest. Every Force User has passive and active defenses against Force attacks. If you're strong or skilled enough, you can casually shrug off most attacks from weaker opponents or easily throttle them with the Force. Unless you could consistently break through an opponent's passive defenses, you would have to slug it out at some point. To do anything else would just be wasting time.
Problem was, Castor was likely a much more skilled duelist, even with his apparent focus on Sith Sorcery, having three years more experience on me. I also didn't know which style he favored, though with his skill set I could guess either Form III or Form VI. Thankfully, I brought some equalizers.
As we struggled against each other, blades locked, I closed my eyes and used the Force to press the detonator on one of the flash-bang grenades hanging on my bandoleer. Through my senses, I felt his flicker of surprise just as it detonated.
I smiled in satisfaction.
Chapter 20
- Location
- North Carolina
Chapter 20
The concussive impact made me stumble back a few steps as my breastplate heated up uncomfortably. When an object creates a light that bright, it gets hot. Thankfully, standard trooper armor provided some protection against that, but that had limits. I'd have to be careful about letting that spot get hit until I could get the armor checked.
Even with my eyes closed, I still had to blink away spots as I reoriented myself. The light had still been blinding through my eyelids. Though my hearing was undamaged thanks to my helmet, I could still hear a persistent ringing. All in all, it went better than I thought it would. I'd been half-expecting to have lost my helmet by now.
My opponent was much worse off. One hand clutched at his now-blinded eyes while the other maintained its grip on his sword. Even with his arm and hood in the way, I could still see blood dribbling down from his ears. With his ruptured eardrums and disrupted internal fluids, his sense of balance would also be off.
However, the blindness would only last for a few seconds before it started fading. If he was military, he was going to know that fact and act accordingly.
Force Jumping back onto the steps, I used telekinesis to prime, detach, and throw three fragmentation grenades from my bandoleer. Normally, it was a really stupid idea to use grenades against a Force Sensitive since most times they can just throw them back at you. This was the exception to that rule. Between the blindness, deafness, internal fluid disturbance, and a shit ton of pain, he shouldn't be able to concentrate enough to do any fancy tricks. At worst, he'll just bat them away instead of sending them right back at me.
Despite his blindness, it appeared his danger sense was working just fine. Taking his hand away from his eyes, he swept it in front of him. A brief wave of force erupted from him, sending the grenades hurtling out into the darkness, where they detonated harmlessly.
It was an expected result, but I figured I'd try anyways just in case. Never know when you'd get lucky with this stuff.
Sword in hand, I advanced, though cautiously. At most, I had a second or two before Castor's sight started coming back, but he clearly wasn't helpless.
After deflecting the grenades, Castor had settled into a fighting stance. His eyes stared at nothing, waiting for me to move and trigger his danger sense again. His stance was wide, with his right foot slid back and back knee bent. His hands were both gripping his sword, held above his head in a guard position.
While I hadn't practiced enough of the Forms to reliably use more than Shii-Cho, I had taken the time to memorize the opening stances of the others, if only so I could be prepared for it. The one Castor was using now was the alternate opening stance for Form III, Soresu. However, it almost looked like the wide stance was the only thing keeping him standing, as he seemed to teeter from side to side slightly.
With my blade in a two-handed grip, I swung, aiming to slice him from right hip to left shoulder. His own sword descended instantly in a circular block. The moment it caught my weapon, he directed the momentum away, raising both weapons up over his head in an arc. I quickly disengaged before he could complete the maneuver.
While Form III was a great defensive form, it was ideally used against blasters, not blades. Nevertheless, it was still going to be difficult to get by unless he was really inept with it. But I needed to do it somehow and…
And…
And I was being an idiot.
During my joyride on the back of the k'lor'slug, my monster had shattered the stone altar into pieces and gouged out chunks from the dais. Now, I used the Force to throw the chunks at Castor. Hard.
By now, his sight had likely partially returned, but everything should be blurry for him. Despite that, he started deflecting the smaller chunks of rock while dodging the larger ones. However, he still seemed unsteady on his feet.
So I caught the rocks before they finished falling…and threw them back at him from another direction. All he had done was let me get some ammo past him.
The spin Castor did to face the incoming projectiles was ungainly and he suddenly pitched to one side before recovering. As a result, he missed deflecting the first stone, which hit his ribs with a meaty thump, though he stayed on his feet. I heard a crack upon impact, likely a broken bone. Though he managed to deflect the next three, stones number five and six hit him while he tried to deflect number four. The force behind them managed to throw him from his feet.
It was kind of sad. If he had been at his best, he would have easily weathered it, deflecting it indefinitely. With proper usage of Form III, he could likely have outlasted me. Unlike me, he hadn't been physically exerting himself, merely channeling the power from the tomb to power his spells. Meanwhile, I'd been hopping around the room like a explosive jackrabbit.
Instead, here he was, on the ground getting pummeled by rocks. Not boulders. Rocks. Barely the size of a human hand at largest.
I couldn't really blame him. Most Sith wouldn't be expecting their rivals to detonate flashbangs at point blank range or half of the stupid shit I could think of. A lot of them would expect a righteous contest of physical strength or mastery of the Force.
But it still looked pathetic. Where was the rage? Where was the defiance? The madness? Where was the man who had slaughtered four of his classmates and an overseer simultaneously? Were they just that weak that they fell to this?!
I caught my snarl of disgust before it could show on my face. I took a deep breath and let it out, watching the rocks pummel Castor with an impassive expression.
Was I hesitating for any particular reason? I wasn't enjoying the sight. He was effectively helpless…and being pummeled by rocks.
Alright, maybe it was a bit funny. But I didn't feel a smirk or smile on my face, so it wasn't that funny.
If there was no reason…I might as well get it over with.
I positioned myself over his prone body, which was twisting and turning everyway to try to find some protection. The hail of rocks parted to accommodate me. I raised my sword and prepared to swing. Castor stilled and raised his left arm.
Was he trying to beg for his life?
I saw his eyes, glowing red in the dark. No, there was no fear in them.
Darkened steel descended. My senses screamed at me. Suddenly, his hand wasn't empty. I tried to throw myself back, but I was too late. There was a sound as familiar as a heartbeat.
Psshew
Staggering back, I screamed as I was briefly blinded by red and half of my face burned. My sword dropped to the ground, but I didn't hear the clang as I clutched at my face. My skin was ragged, burning, blazing!
As Castor stood, sword and lightsaber in hand with a smirk on his face, I saw a different kind of red. His mouth moved, but I heard no sound come out.
Through the pain, all I knew was that I wanted him broken. I didn't bother to pick up my sword again. I wanted to rip him apart.
Power flooded through me as the dam broke. The waters of Korriban flowed strong. It was overwhelming…intoxicating…powerful. There were feelings I had no name for, all pouring in at once, though rage still managed to claw its way to the top.
I howled and charged, all caution forgotten. Adrenaline, empowered by the Dark Side, pumped through my veins.
The glowing red blade came first. Awkwardly. Not his dominant hand. He thought it would save him.
I grabbed his arm at the wrist before he could finish the swing and squeezed. The crack of bone did nothing to dull my rage, but his scream and the pain he projected fueled me.
My left hand lashed out, lightning crackling around it, burying itself into his gut. It was soon joined by its counterpart. Castor's screams intensified. Once, twice, thrice…I lost count. I felt nothing, even as the skin on my hands charred black before my eyes.
His sword dropped to the ground from nerveless, spasming fingers as electricity arced through his body, quickly forgotten in his pain. But I was far from done.
Pushing him to the ground once more, I planted a boot on his chest before grabbing each of his arms, one in each hand. And then…
I pulled.
Then I heard everything.
First, came the sound of his shoulders dislocating. It was sort of a popping sound. Not quite like a balloon, but close I think.
Next, the ligaments between his bones were ripped from their moorings. It was a bit muffled by the skin and muscles covering them, but it was clear as a bell. At least until Castor started screaming louder. I think he realized what I was doing. He struggled in my grip, but he couldn't escape.
Lastly, muscle and flesh gave way. It tore away, ragged at the edges. The sound…it wasn't like tearing paper. More like…ripping apart a raw steak. A pork chop, maybe.
The screams stopped as Castor stared at me in horror. Blood rapidly pooled on the stone floor beneath him from the ragged stumps, but his eyes were glued to the limbs I now held separate from his body.
Then all at once, it came crashing down. The blood pounding in my ears slowed and my heartbeat returned to normal. My rage cooled…until I realized what I had done.
I tossed the limbs away like they burned. With a speed that had to be Force enhanced, I took out my second pistol and shot Castor between the eyes, freezing his face in that expression of sheer terror.
Turning away, I vomited, spilling stomach acid onto the dais. As soon as I was done, the strength left my legs, dropping me roughly onto the floor. Ignoring the blood and bile, I curled up as tight as I could force myself to quell the shaking.
But no matter how much I tried, the cold wouldn't leave. I thought I was ready for all this. I was so, so wrong.
The glowrod at my waist guttered out, leaving me in total darkness.
The concussive impact made me stumble back a few steps as my breastplate heated up uncomfortably. When an object creates a light that bright, it gets hot. Thankfully, standard trooper armor provided some protection against that, but that had limits. I'd have to be careful about letting that spot get hit until I could get the armor checked.
Even with my eyes closed, I still had to blink away spots as I reoriented myself. The light had still been blinding through my eyelids. Though my hearing was undamaged thanks to my helmet, I could still hear a persistent ringing. All in all, it went better than I thought it would. I'd been half-expecting to have lost my helmet by now.
My opponent was much worse off. One hand clutched at his now-blinded eyes while the other maintained its grip on his sword. Even with his arm and hood in the way, I could still see blood dribbling down from his ears. With his ruptured eardrums and disrupted internal fluids, his sense of balance would also be off.
However, the blindness would only last for a few seconds before it started fading. If he was military, he was going to know that fact and act accordingly.
Force Jumping back onto the steps, I used telekinesis to prime, detach, and throw three fragmentation grenades from my bandoleer. Normally, it was a really stupid idea to use grenades against a Force Sensitive since most times they can just throw them back at you. This was the exception to that rule. Between the blindness, deafness, internal fluid disturbance, and a shit ton of pain, he shouldn't be able to concentrate enough to do any fancy tricks. At worst, he'll just bat them away instead of sending them right back at me.
Despite his blindness, it appeared his danger sense was working just fine. Taking his hand away from his eyes, he swept it in front of him. A brief wave of force erupted from him, sending the grenades hurtling out into the darkness, where they detonated harmlessly.
It was an expected result, but I figured I'd try anyways just in case. Never know when you'd get lucky with this stuff.
Sword in hand, I advanced, though cautiously. At most, I had a second or two before Castor's sight started coming back, but he clearly wasn't helpless.
After deflecting the grenades, Castor had settled into a fighting stance. His eyes stared at nothing, waiting for me to move and trigger his danger sense again. His stance was wide, with his right foot slid back and back knee bent. His hands were both gripping his sword, held above his head in a guard position.
While I hadn't practiced enough of the Forms to reliably use more than Shii-Cho, I had taken the time to memorize the opening stances of the others, if only so I could be prepared for it. The one Castor was using now was the alternate opening stance for Form III, Soresu. However, it almost looked like the wide stance was the only thing keeping him standing, as he seemed to teeter from side to side slightly.
With my blade in a two-handed grip, I swung, aiming to slice him from right hip to left shoulder. His own sword descended instantly in a circular block. The moment it caught my weapon, he directed the momentum away, raising both weapons up over his head in an arc. I quickly disengaged before he could complete the maneuver.
While Form III was a great defensive form, it was ideally used against blasters, not blades. Nevertheless, it was still going to be difficult to get by unless he was really inept with it. But I needed to do it somehow and…
And…
And I was being an idiot.
During my joyride on the back of the k'lor'slug, my monster had shattered the stone altar into pieces and gouged out chunks from the dais. Now, I used the Force to throw the chunks at Castor. Hard.
By now, his sight had likely partially returned, but everything should be blurry for him. Despite that, he started deflecting the smaller chunks of rock while dodging the larger ones. However, he still seemed unsteady on his feet.
So I caught the rocks before they finished falling…and threw them back at him from another direction. All he had done was let me get some ammo past him.
The spin Castor did to face the incoming projectiles was ungainly and he suddenly pitched to one side before recovering. As a result, he missed deflecting the first stone, which hit his ribs with a meaty thump, though he stayed on his feet. I heard a crack upon impact, likely a broken bone. Though he managed to deflect the next three, stones number five and six hit him while he tried to deflect number four. The force behind them managed to throw him from his feet.
It was kind of sad. If he had been at his best, he would have easily weathered it, deflecting it indefinitely. With proper usage of Form III, he could likely have outlasted me. Unlike me, he hadn't been physically exerting himself, merely channeling the power from the tomb to power his spells. Meanwhile, I'd been hopping around the room like a explosive jackrabbit.
Instead, here he was, on the ground getting pummeled by rocks. Not boulders. Rocks. Barely the size of a human hand at largest.
I couldn't really blame him. Most Sith wouldn't be expecting their rivals to detonate flashbangs at point blank range or half of the stupid shit I could think of. A lot of them would expect a righteous contest of physical strength or mastery of the Force.
But it still looked pathetic. Where was the rage? Where was the defiance? The madness? Where was the man who had slaughtered four of his classmates and an overseer simultaneously? Were they just that weak that they fell to this?!
I caught my snarl of disgust before it could show on my face. I took a deep breath and let it out, watching the rocks pummel Castor with an impassive expression.
Was I hesitating for any particular reason? I wasn't enjoying the sight. He was effectively helpless…and being pummeled by rocks.
Alright, maybe it was a bit funny. But I didn't feel a smirk or smile on my face, so it wasn't that funny.
If there was no reason…I might as well get it over with.
I positioned myself over his prone body, which was twisting and turning everyway to try to find some protection. The hail of rocks parted to accommodate me. I raised my sword and prepared to swing. Castor stilled and raised his left arm.
Was he trying to beg for his life?
I saw his eyes, glowing red in the dark. No, there was no fear in them.
Darkened steel descended. My senses screamed at me. Suddenly, his hand wasn't empty. I tried to throw myself back, but I was too late. There was a sound as familiar as a heartbeat.
Psshew
Staggering back, I screamed as I was briefly blinded by red and half of my face burned. My sword dropped to the ground, but I didn't hear the clang as I clutched at my face. My skin was ragged, burning, blazing!
As Castor stood, sword and lightsaber in hand with a smirk on his face, I saw a different kind of red. His mouth moved, but I heard no sound come out.
Through the pain, all I knew was that I wanted him broken. I didn't bother to pick up my sword again. I wanted to rip him apart.
Power flooded through me as the dam broke. The waters of Korriban flowed strong. It was overwhelming…intoxicating…powerful. There were feelings I had no name for, all pouring in at once, though rage still managed to claw its way to the top.
I howled and charged, all caution forgotten. Adrenaline, empowered by the Dark Side, pumped through my veins.
The glowing red blade came first. Awkwardly. Not his dominant hand. He thought it would save him.
I grabbed his arm at the wrist before he could finish the swing and squeezed. The crack of bone did nothing to dull my rage, but his scream and the pain he projected fueled me.
My left hand lashed out, lightning crackling around it, burying itself into his gut. It was soon joined by its counterpart. Castor's screams intensified. Once, twice, thrice…I lost count. I felt nothing, even as the skin on my hands charred black before my eyes.
His sword dropped to the ground from nerveless, spasming fingers as electricity arced through his body, quickly forgotten in his pain. But I was far from done.
Pushing him to the ground once more, I planted a boot on his chest before grabbing each of his arms, one in each hand. And then…
I pulled.
Then I heard everything.
First, came the sound of his shoulders dislocating. It was sort of a popping sound. Not quite like a balloon, but close I think.
Next, the ligaments between his bones were ripped from their moorings. It was a bit muffled by the skin and muscles covering them, but it was clear as a bell. At least until Castor started screaming louder. I think he realized what I was doing. He struggled in my grip, but he couldn't escape.
Lastly, muscle and flesh gave way. It tore away, ragged at the edges. The sound…it wasn't like tearing paper. More like…ripping apart a raw steak. A pork chop, maybe.
The screams stopped as Castor stared at me in horror. Blood rapidly pooled on the stone floor beneath him from the ragged stumps, but his eyes were glued to the limbs I now held separate from his body.
Then all at once, it came crashing down. The blood pounding in my ears slowed and my heartbeat returned to normal. My rage cooled…until I realized what I had done.
I tossed the limbs away like they burned. With a speed that had to be Force enhanced, I took out my second pistol and shot Castor between the eyes, freezing his face in that expression of sheer terror.
Turning away, I vomited, spilling stomach acid onto the dais. As soon as I was done, the strength left my legs, dropping me roughly onto the floor. Ignoring the blood and bile, I curled up as tight as I could force myself to quell the shaking.
But no matter how much I tried, the cold wouldn't leave. I thought I was ready for all this. I was so, so wrong.
The glowrod at my waist guttered out, leaving me in total darkness.
Chapter 21
- Location
- North Carolina
Chapter 21
In the end, it had taken three days to make my way out of the tomb. Most of that time was spent pulling myself back together mentally and physically. The rest was wandering around until I found an exit. I didn't find any obstacles besides leftover zombies and wandering k'lor'slugs, all easily disposed of with telekinesis. Ragnos' doing, most likely.
Treating my injuries was difficult, though it wasn't due to a lack of supplies. During my rage, my hands had been scorched black by my own lightning and barely responded to my mental commands. I had to use telekinesis to apply bacta and bandages. If nothing else, it was practice for fine manipulation.
My face was another matter. With so little feeling in my fingers and no mirror on hand, I had a difficult time probing the extent of the injury. I awkwardly bandaged what I could in the meantime. Between the bacta and the damaged nerves, I couldn't feel much pain, though the heat was another matter. After a day of healing, my fingers finally had enough sensation to tell me the damage.
Half of my right ear was gone. Most of the exterior cartilage had melted from the heat, leaving a nub of melted flesh. Thankfully my hearing wasn't noticeably affected.
As for my cheek, Castor had managed to miss any major bones, like my jaw or cheekbone. Because of how much weight I'd lost over the past year, I had very little fat left on my face. However, I noticed some difficulty with opening and closing my jaw, indicating some damage to the muscles that controlled the action, meaning that the left side of my face had to compensate for it. Thankfully, there wasn't a hole in my cheek as the heat had fused what skin was left together, so I wasn't in danger of food, drink, or spit spilling out.
All the same, I wasn't looking forward to finding a mirror anytime soon. I had a feeling that Jonah Hex would be staring right back at me.
Unfortunately, I came out a different passage than the one I went in from. It took another day to trek back and retrieve my swoop bike. I had to squint the whole way back to camp, as I'd lost my helmet and goggles sometime during my rage.
The private who was on perimeter guard at the camp stared at my face when I tried to ask him where Maklan was. When he didn't answer, I had to shove down my initial rage. I didn't want to start killing people. Not right now.
Though I wanted to speak as little as possible, I asked again. This time, the soldier realized what he was doing, went pale, and stammered out directions before getting on his comm. Maklan quickly found me before I got too far and practically threw me into the medical tent, swearing profusely at the ramshackle job I had done treating my own wounds.
Hence, how I found myself sitting on the edge of a cot as he poked and prodded my face with all manner of instruments. Somehow, I sincerely doubt this was the first lightsaber wound he'd ever treated. As he examined me, I sent a report of my success to Iren in text format.
"Well, the good news is your eye is fine, as is your hearing," He reported after a few scans, "Most of the damage to your face is cosmetic."
I gave him a glare, indicating that I wanted the bad news without speaking. Maklan answered with one of his own at my impatience. Say what you will, but the man apparently had balls of steel. At least in his "office."
"Bad news is that while that lightsaber managed to miss your jaw, it didn't miss the muscles connected to it. As you've no doubt noticed, you're having a bit of difficulty talking, chewing…anything related to actually moving your mouth, really."
"Treatment?" I managed to get out. Talking clearly without moving half your jaw was difficult.
The medic thought about it for a moment before shaking his head, "I could slap some synth-skin on to cover the worst of it, but it won't do anything for your severed muscles. You'd need cybernetics to regain full functionality, but I don't have the supplies here. There's probably some Sith thing that could fix that, but I can't say for sure."
I knew that Sith Alchemy was perfectly capable of healing wounds, but there were a few problems. First, I wasn't versed in that particular aspect of the discipline. I knew more about modifying metal than flesh, which was something I needed to rectify later. Even if I did, most Alchemical rituals required precise pronunciation of the spoken parts. With me slurring like a drunkard, I was going to have trouble with that.
So my options were to either go under the knife or find someone to heal my face. Honestly, cybernetics were looking to be the best option at the moment, since I sure as hell wasn't trusting Renning with it and I didn't know any other Alchemists. I could always look into the rituals later, but I needed to regain my ability to speak clearly first.
"Shybernetics," I managed to slur. At least I wasn't drooling.
Maklan nodded, "Right. I'll hold off on the synth-skin then, at least on your cheek and jaw. They'd just be removing it anyway. I can still fix up your ear, though. After I wrap you back up, I'll let my colleagues at the academy know you'll be heading their direction so they can prep a surgery suite."
My comm chimed as he started work. I wanted to ignore it and save myself from having to speak more, but I knew who was on the other end. Only one person would bother.
"Oversheer," I greeted as best I could when the Sith Pureblood's face appeared.
Iren examined my face for a moment, seeing the damage that had been done to it, "Ah, now I understand why you sent a written report as opposed to using your comm." He grimaced, no doubt dreading having to interpret my slurred speech, "Unfortunately, I do have some questions on the matter that I need answered sooner rather than later."
Maklan paused his work on my ear, "Err…perhaps I should step out for a moment, milords. This sounds above my paygrade."
The Overseer raised a hand to forestall him, "No, you may stay. Actually, it is fortunate you are here..." Iren glanced at the man's rank insignia, "Lieutenant. I was going to speak with the garrison commander, but you may be able answer the question I would have directed to him and save me some time."
"I'm…not sure what I can contribute, milord," Maklan replied hesitantly, "But I will stay if you wish it."
At Iren's nod, the medic got back to work until he was called upon. There was a pinch, followed by a cooling numbness around my ear. After that, all I felt were pinpricks of pressure as he started stitching the patch of synth-skin to my head.
I turned my attention back to the overseer as he began speaking, "In your report, you mentioned that you were unable to interrogate Castor Vol."
Castor's horrified face was screaming at me again. Blood dripped down from my hands. I blinked it away, "Yes."
"Based on your descriptions of the battle, it is understandable, though not the desired result. Were you able to recover anything from his body?"
Wordlessly, I unclipped the lightsaber from my belt and held it up for him to see. Red flashed across my vision and for a moment, the burning returned. With a mental growl, I suppressed it. After the battle and my glowrod failed, I had to use it to light by path out.
"Ah," Iren nodded, "Overseer Miral's lightsaber. When you come back to the Academy, I will see that it is…returned to her. I trust that there was nothing else?"
I wanted to yell at him, scream at him for not warning me. But I wasn't going to get any sympathy from him. Admittedly, I should have expected it when he told me that Castor had wounded an Overseer.
"No," I said instead. I would have shaken my head, but Maklan was still working on my ear.
"Pity," He frowned, "Regardless, perhaps we might still gain more information from your observations." Iren typed something into his datapad and read, "When you discovered his location, he was in the process of creating Tsaiwinokka Hoyakut," He glanced at Maklan before clarifying, "Korriban Zombies."
The soldier paused for a moment before continuing his work.
"Do you have something to add, Lieutenant?" Iren inquired, yellow eyes shifting to him.
"Not much, milord," Maklan replied, "Just had a few bad encounters with 'em while I've been here. They're hard to put down."
"Elaborate," That was an order, rather than a suggestion.
Gulping, Maklan explained, "The second squad of Fifth Platoon got ambushed by three of them about a year ago while out on night patrol. We lost seven men: three to the zombies, four more to the ones that turned. We're trained to shoot for the chest, not the head, and they move fast. It got worse when they got weapons. The only reason we got out of that were a few lucky shots."
"So, three nearly overtook a squad…" Iren muttered, stroking one of his facial tendrils.
"Only by surprise, milord," the medic added, "Had we seen them coming, we likely would have fared better. More if we had had designated sharpshooters in position."
"True," The Overseer agreed, "However, you did not and the Korriban Regiment does not have enough sharpshooters to stem the tide if they had attacked in numbers."
If I had been Castor, I would have had them ambush squads out in the desert, bolstering my numbers with stragglers. With the tombs and centuries worth of dead dotting Korriban, he would have had no shortage of bodies to use. Iren was likely seeing the same picture.
"Acolyte," Iren's voice snapped me out of my thoughts, "What was your target's disposition? Desperate? Frightened?"
"Neither," I replied, "Fushshraded." I growled as I fumbled over the word. Setting my jaw with my hand, I managed to speak more clearly this time, "Frustrated."
"Then whatever plan he had was merely accelerated, rather than disrupted, by our discovery. An inconvenience at best. Gathering those corpses would have taken more time than he had following his escape from the academy."
Discovery? I raised an eyebrow but didn't voice my question.
"You're thinking he was going to overrun the garrison," Maklan observed. By now, he had finished with my ear and had started binding my cheek again, "But why?"
Iren didn't reply immediately. He stared at the soldier for a moment before speaking, "Are you finished treating his wounds?"
Seeing the dismissal for what it was, the medic tied off the last bit of the bandages before nodding to me, "I'll be outside when you're done."
As he turned to leave, the overseer stopped him, "Lieutenant. I trust you know to keep what you have heard to yourself, correct?"
I watched a few emotions run across Maklan's face before it hardened into a scowl and he nodded, "Aye, milord."
Iren watched him leave the tent before turning back to me, "Do you understand the extent of what we are discussing?"
"Invashon," I muttered, though I didn't bother to correct myself this time.
If Castor was going to use the Korriban Zombies to overrun the garrison, what was his reason?
"Precisely," Iren confirmed, "But we both know the undead alone would not be enough. They might be able to kill the normal soldiers, but only the most foolish or inexperienced Sith would fall to them. A Dark Council member would be able to annihilate the whole host single-handed. As you have shown, not even a creative acolyte would have been threatened by them."
"Two-prong," I slurred.
"Indeed," The Pureblood sighed, massaging a chin tendril in thought, "However, we have no way of knowing what the other half would have consisted of. Still, the until now unknown hole in Korriban's defense screen is…worrying."
Wait, the hole? That was something the smuggler captain told Gaarurra and I about.
I shot Iren an inquisitive look.
He smiled in approval, "Yes, it seems that Castor was involved with the looters in Ajunta Pall's tomb. However, he was merely the planetside contact, not the coordinator. The leader's datapad indicated there was someone else, but they remain unknown."
I must have expressed some annoyance on my face, as he continued.
"Why did I not inform you of the connection?" Iren's smiled widened, "You still required a trial. Castor needed to be eliminated and I wished to see how you would fare when dropped in cold. I merely solved two issues with one solution. Had you failed, more would have been sent the next time." The smile shrank down into a frown, "Still, Castor Vol's repertoire of spells is concerning."
I raised an eyebrow.
"While the Tsaiwinokka Hoyakut are described in many of the history texts in the archives, the instructions on how to carry out the ritual to make them are not available to acolytes," He explained, "The same applies to the Dark Tendrils."
"Oh," I replied intelligently.
"I find "oh" to be a vast understatement in the face of this," Iren shot back with the closest I've ever heard to sarcasm coming from him, "Those texts are only found in the holocrons and scrolls contained within the higher levels of the Archives. The parts protected by the Imperial Guardsmen. That means he was aided by someone with access to such places."
Oh. Oh.
"Return to the Academy as soon as you are able. Restore yourself in whatever manner you see fit. But know this, you will be called upon again. Your usefulness in this matter has not yet been spent, but it may be some time until the moment comes. Until then, keep quiet on what you have learned and keep a wary eye on your fellows."
At that, the commlink shut off.
In the end, it had taken three days to make my way out of the tomb. Most of that time was spent pulling myself back together mentally and physically. The rest was wandering around until I found an exit. I didn't find any obstacles besides leftover zombies and wandering k'lor'slugs, all easily disposed of with telekinesis. Ragnos' doing, most likely.
Treating my injuries was difficult, though it wasn't due to a lack of supplies. During my rage, my hands had been scorched black by my own lightning and barely responded to my mental commands. I had to use telekinesis to apply bacta and bandages. If nothing else, it was practice for fine manipulation.
My face was another matter. With so little feeling in my fingers and no mirror on hand, I had a difficult time probing the extent of the injury. I awkwardly bandaged what I could in the meantime. Between the bacta and the damaged nerves, I couldn't feel much pain, though the heat was another matter. After a day of healing, my fingers finally had enough sensation to tell me the damage.
Half of my right ear was gone. Most of the exterior cartilage had melted from the heat, leaving a nub of melted flesh. Thankfully my hearing wasn't noticeably affected.
As for my cheek, Castor had managed to miss any major bones, like my jaw or cheekbone. Because of how much weight I'd lost over the past year, I had very little fat left on my face. However, I noticed some difficulty with opening and closing my jaw, indicating some damage to the muscles that controlled the action, meaning that the left side of my face had to compensate for it. Thankfully, there wasn't a hole in my cheek as the heat had fused what skin was left together, so I wasn't in danger of food, drink, or spit spilling out.
All the same, I wasn't looking forward to finding a mirror anytime soon. I had a feeling that Jonah Hex would be staring right back at me.
Unfortunately, I came out a different passage than the one I went in from. It took another day to trek back and retrieve my swoop bike. I had to squint the whole way back to camp, as I'd lost my helmet and goggles sometime during my rage.
The private who was on perimeter guard at the camp stared at my face when I tried to ask him where Maklan was. When he didn't answer, I had to shove down my initial rage. I didn't want to start killing people. Not right now.
Though I wanted to speak as little as possible, I asked again. This time, the soldier realized what he was doing, went pale, and stammered out directions before getting on his comm. Maklan quickly found me before I got too far and practically threw me into the medical tent, swearing profusely at the ramshackle job I had done treating my own wounds.
Hence, how I found myself sitting on the edge of a cot as he poked and prodded my face with all manner of instruments. Somehow, I sincerely doubt this was the first lightsaber wound he'd ever treated. As he examined me, I sent a report of my success to Iren in text format.
"Well, the good news is your eye is fine, as is your hearing," He reported after a few scans, "Most of the damage to your face is cosmetic."
I gave him a glare, indicating that I wanted the bad news without speaking. Maklan answered with one of his own at my impatience. Say what you will, but the man apparently had balls of steel. At least in his "office."
"Bad news is that while that lightsaber managed to miss your jaw, it didn't miss the muscles connected to it. As you've no doubt noticed, you're having a bit of difficulty talking, chewing…anything related to actually moving your mouth, really."
"Treatment?" I managed to get out. Talking clearly without moving half your jaw was difficult.
The medic thought about it for a moment before shaking his head, "I could slap some synth-skin on to cover the worst of it, but it won't do anything for your severed muscles. You'd need cybernetics to regain full functionality, but I don't have the supplies here. There's probably some Sith thing that could fix that, but I can't say for sure."
I knew that Sith Alchemy was perfectly capable of healing wounds, but there were a few problems. First, I wasn't versed in that particular aspect of the discipline. I knew more about modifying metal than flesh, which was something I needed to rectify later. Even if I did, most Alchemical rituals required precise pronunciation of the spoken parts. With me slurring like a drunkard, I was going to have trouble with that.
So my options were to either go under the knife or find someone to heal my face. Honestly, cybernetics were looking to be the best option at the moment, since I sure as hell wasn't trusting Renning with it and I didn't know any other Alchemists. I could always look into the rituals later, but I needed to regain my ability to speak clearly first.
"Shybernetics," I managed to slur. At least I wasn't drooling.
Maklan nodded, "Right. I'll hold off on the synth-skin then, at least on your cheek and jaw. They'd just be removing it anyway. I can still fix up your ear, though. After I wrap you back up, I'll let my colleagues at the academy know you'll be heading their direction so they can prep a surgery suite."
My comm chimed as he started work. I wanted to ignore it and save myself from having to speak more, but I knew who was on the other end. Only one person would bother.
"Oversheer," I greeted as best I could when the Sith Pureblood's face appeared.
Iren examined my face for a moment, seeing the damage that had been done to it, "Ah, now I understand why you sent a written report as opposed to using your comm." He grimaced, no doubt dreading having to interpret my slurred speech, "Unfortunately, I do have some questions on the matter that I need answered sooner rather than later."
Maklan paused his work on my ear, "Err…perhaps I should step out for a moment, milords. This sounds above my paygrade."
The Overseer raised a hand to forestall him, "No, you may stay. Actually, it is fortunate you are here..." Iren glanced at the man's rank insignia, "Lieutenant. I was going to speak with the garrison commander, but you may be able answer the question I would have directed to him and save me some time."
"I'm…not sure what I can contribute, milord," Maklan replied hesitantly, "But I will stay if you wish it."
At Iren's nod, the medic got back to work until he was called upon. There was a pinch, followed by a cooling numbness around my ear. After that, all I felt were pinpricks of pressure as he started stitching the patch of synth-skin to my head.
I turned my attention back to the overseer as he began speaking, "In your report, you mentioned that you were unable to interrogate Castor Vol."
Castor's horrified face was screaming at me again. Blood dripped down from my hands. I blinked it away, "Yes."
"Based on your descriptions of the battle, it is understandable, though not the desired result. Were you able to recover anything from his body?"
Wordlessly, I unclipped the lightsaber from my belt and held it up for him to see. Red flashed across my vision and for a moment, the burning returned. With a mental growl, I suppressed it. After the battle and my glowrod failed, I had to use it to light by path out.
"Ah," Iren nodded, "Overseer Miral's lightsaber. When you come back to the Academy, I will see that it is…returned to her. I trust that there was nothing else?"
I wanted to yell at him, scream at him for not warning me. But I wasn't going to get any sympathy from him. Admittedly, I should have expected it when he told me that Castor had wounded an Overseer.
"No," I said instead. I would have shaken my head, but Maklan was still working on my ear.
"Pity," He frowned, "Regardless, perhaps we might still gain more information from your observations." Iren typed something into his datapad and read, "When you discovered his location, he was in the process of creating Tsaiwinokka Hoyakut," He glanced at Maklan before clarifying, "Korriban Zombies."
The soldier paused for a moment before continuing his work.
"Do you have something to add, Lieutenant?" Iren inquired, yellow eyes shifting to him.
"Not much, milord," Maklan replied, "Just had a few bad encounters with 'em while I've been here. They're hard to put down."
"Elaborate," That was an order, rather than a suggestion.
Gulping, Maklan explained, "The second squad of Fifth Platoon got ambushed by three of them about a year ago while out on night patrol. We lost seven men: three to the zombies, four more to the ones that turned. We're trained to shoot for the chest, not the head, and they move fast. It got worse when they got weapons. The only reason we got out of that were a few lucky shots."
"So, three nearly overtook a squad…" Iren muttered, stroking one of his facial tendrils.
"Only by surprise, milord," the medic added, "Had we seen them coming, we likely would have fared better. More if we had had designated sharpshooters in position."
"True," The Overseer agreed, "However, you did not and the Korriban Regiment does not have enough sharpshooters to stem the tide if they had attacked in numbers."
If I had been Castor, I would have had them ambush squads out in the desert, bolstering my numbers with stragglers. With the tombs and centuries worth of dead dotting Korriban, he would have had no shortage of bodies to use. Iren was likely seeing the same picture.
"Acolyte," Iren's voice snapped me out of my thoughts, "What was your target's disposition? Desperate? Frightened?"
"Neither," I replied, "Fushshraded." I growled as I fumbled over the word. Setting my jaw with my hand, I managed to speak more clearly this time, "Frustrated."
"Then whatever plan he had was merely accelerated, rather than disrupted, by our discovery. An inconvenience at best. Gathering those corpses would have taken more time than he had following his escape from the academy."
Discovery? I raised an eyebrow but didn't voice my question.
"You're thinking he was going to overrun the garrison," Maklan observed. By now, he had finished with my ear and had started binding my cheek again, "But why?"
Iren didn't reply immediately. He stared at the soldier for a moment before speaking, "Are you finished treating his wounds?"
Seeing the dismissal for what it was, the medic tied off the last bit of the bandages before nodding to me, "I'll be outside when you're done."
As he turned to leave, the overseer stopped him, "Lieutenant. I trust you know to keep what you have heard to yourself, correct?"
I watched a few emotions run across Maklan's face before it hardened into a scowl and he nodded, "Aye, milord."
Iren watched him leave the tent before turning back to me, "Do you understand the extent of what we are discussing?"
"Invashon," I muttered, though I didn't bother to correct myself this time.
If Castor was going to use the Korriban Zombies to overrun the garrison, what was his reason?
"Precisely," Iren confirmed, "But we both know the undead alone would not be enough. They might be able to kill the normal soldiers, but only the most foolish or inexperienced Sith would fall to them. A Dark Council member would be able to annihilate the whole host single-handed. As you have shown, not even a creative acolyte would have been threatened by them."
"Two-prong," I slurred.
"Indeed," The Pureblood sighed, massaging a chin tendril in thought, "However, we have no way of knowing what the other half would have consisted of. Still, the until now unknown hole in Korriban's defense screen is…worrying."
Wait, the hole? That was something the smuggler captain told Gaarurra and I about.
I shot Iren an inquisitive look.
He smiled in approval, "Yes, it seems that Castor was involved with the looters in Ajunta Pall's tomb. However, he was merely the planetside contact, not the coordinator. The leader's datapad indicated there was someone else, but they remain unknown."
I must have expressed some annoyance on my face, as he continued.
"Why did I not inform you of the connection?" Iren's smiled widened, "You still required a trial. Castor needed to be eliminated and I wished to see how you would fare when dropped in cold. I merely solved two issues with one solution. Had you failed, more would have been sent the next time." The smile shrank down into a frown, "Still, Castor Vol's repertoire of spells is concerning."
I raised an eyebrow.
"While the Tsaiwinokka Hoyakut are described in many of the history texts in the archives, the instructions on how to carry out the ritual to make them are not available to acolytes," He explained, "The same applies to the Dark Tendrils."
"Oh," I replied intelligently.
"I find "oh" to be a vast understatement in the face of this," Iren shot back with the closest I've ever heard to sarcasm coming from him, "Those texts are only found in the holocrons and scrolls contained within the higher levels of the Archives. The parts protected by the Imperial Guardsmen. That means he was aided by someone with access to such places."
Oh. Oh.
"Return to the Academy as soon as you are able. Restore yourself in whatever manner you see fit. But know this, you will be called upon again. Your usefulness in this matter has not yet been spent, but it may be some time until the moment comes. Until then, keep quiet on what you have learned and keep a wary eye on your fellows."
At that, the commlink shut off.
- Location
- My happy place
Did these chapters get re-posted or something?
- Location
- North Carolina
I was originally posting both here and on SB, but I kept forgetting to update here. So now I'm trying to catch this thread up.
- Location
- Brazil
The plot thickens. This is far more enjoyable than I expected. You are a great rwiter.
- Location
- Under a Rock
I'm also enjoying this!
Chapter 22
- Location
- North Carolina
Chapter 22
I ran a finger over the right side of my face, tracing the metal and electronics that covered the servos, wires, gears, and pistons that served as the synthetic muscles for the right side of my face. Though synthskin had been layered over the majority of the machinery, the very top layer of the assembly still poked out along my jawline and around my cheek. It formed a geometric web-like pattern made of uniform gray durasteel.
Cybernetics had to be custom designed for each implantation. No two injuries were ever exactly the same, so adjustments had to be made. Arms and legs were easier, as they only had to make minor adjustments. It took a day for the surgeons to plan out the surgery, then another day to design and manufacture the prosthetic. In the meantime, I had searched the Archives for mention of a specific power.
While the surgeons began their preparations, I had practiced with using the Force to numb my sense of pain. Known as Crucitorn, it originated with the Jedi as a method to resist crippling pain…or increase it in others. Using my knife to poke at my arm, I practiced over and over until I stopped feeling anything. At least, when I desired not to feel anything. Just to make sure I could shut it on and off, I stopped concentrating and jabbed my arm again. I had smiled as a spike of pain followed the drops of blood that welled up from the cut.
Completely worth the weird looks I got from the doctors.
Besides being an alternative to anesthesia, it was a possible method of curbing my…berserker tendencies. If pain was what triggered it, Crucitorn would help regulate it, but only if I knew it was coming. It wasn't an ideal solution, but it was at least something.
The doctors didn't ask when I refused to be put under, nor when I refused to have a droid do the installation. Apparently, they were common enough requests, especially with the Czerka corporation logo on the droid's chassis.
Settling myself into a meditative pose, I had watched the doctors carefully as they worked. It was an odd feeling to see them cut strips of dead skin and muscle off me, yet not feel anything more than some pressure. The whirring of the drill was particularly disconcerting as they bolted the metal to my bones. Though the lightsaber had only damaged part of my face, they had to remove most of the muscles related to jaw movement on the right side of my face to make room for the entire assembly. They would have atrophied from disuse later on anyways.
The entire surgery had taken six hours, most of which was spent attaching connection ports to the surviving nerves to enable the machinery to read signals from my brain, as well as give me some manner of feeling there. A layer of armor-weave had been bonded to the thin strip of surviving skin separating the inside of my mouth from the machinery that made up the majority of the right side of my face to prevent the moving parts from irritating it. Tiny processors regulated how much force my new muscles exerted so I didn't accidentally shatter my teeth when I closed my mouth too quickly.
Apparently, it wasn't fancy by any means, but I really didn't care. I preferred function over form anyways…but I thought it still looked pretty badass.
As soon as the surgery was finished, I was booted out of the medical suite to make room for someone else. It was the second busiest place in the academy.
That was four weeks ago. Since then, I've been mostly by myself. Garsh, Gaarurra, and the twins were all sent off-world for their second trials and I didn't know when they would be back. Tentacles has been scarce, as per usual, so he was probably wherever his hidey-hole was. I really needed to track him down one of these days.
The other two, however, I've seen in the meantime. Tails was skulking around in the archives. She looked to be in one of her usual moods, so I left her to her business while I scoured the shelves for alchemical texts.
Yellow Eyes came back from wherever the hell she'd gone a few days after I got back. She had started to put on the usual "I'm better than you" act when she came back to the dorm, but she froze for a moment when she saw my new additions. An expression I still can't name formed on her face before she left the common room without a word. She had left again the next day.
====================================================================================
In the four weeks since my venture into Ragnos' tomb, I've made two ventures back to Renning's camp. The fat bastard was delighted to see me and was more than willing to continue our lessons, especially since I had brought three specimens with me. He acted like he hadn't tortured me with lightning. I wanted to gut him more and more with every word that came tumbling out of his mouth. But I reigned it in. Patience was key and I needed his knowledge.
Renning was positively gleeful that I showed interest in his branch of work.
The first lesson I demanded was in healing. It would be useless in healing my face, as I would need to remove the cybernetics first. Nevertheless, I would not be reliant on more such surgeries again, though I was a long way from being able to perform regeneration.
Tukata were sliced open by my hand, again and again. Beneath that same hand, flesh warped and sealed, leaving no mark that the wounds had ever been there. I was a long way from proper regeneration, but it was a start.
Healing moved to fleshcrafting, morphing creatures into what I desired. With an effort of will and a few spoken words, I shaped minor mutations into the skin of a Tukata, hardening its scales and strengthening its muscles. Fleshcrafting lead to cellular manipulation.
Bit by bit, my knowledge grew. Miniscule in the face of a master, though it was a base to work from. But I only needed Renning to a point. Instruction in reading and designing rituals, the proper safety precautions, the needed tools…I only needed one more thing.
I prepared extensively for this. I studied, both texts and Renning himself. Under Force Sight, I examined his body, looking for a specific spot. Once my lessons with him were finished, I made my move.
======================================================================
The day started like any other as I had brought in one last Tukata and secured it. I had been keeping an eye on this one for some time, knowing that Renning would not be able to resist the beast. It was a true monster, standing taller and broader than even the first one I had brought him nearly a month ago. Its eyes seemed to gleam with an unnatural intelligence.
If I didn't know better, I would swear that it knew what I needed it for. Either my skill at Beast Control had grown considerably…or the creature let me take control. It followed me back to the camp like a docile pet, not struggling against my mental control like the others had. It made all the proper snarls and snaps at the soldiers to sell the act, but it didn't do anything more.
As I predicted, Renning dropped everything when we walked into camp. Really, he was like a child being presented with the next best toy, discarding his old one in an instant. As per usual, I donned the surgical gloves and gown as he put the beast to sleep and levitated it onto his lab table. With such a magnificent specimen before him, he took his time selecting his tools.
While the seconds ticked by, my heart hammered in my chest and I wondered if it was audible. Around us, the Tukata in the cages around us paced, as though they could sense my emotions.
This wasn't an acolyte like Castor. Renning was a full-blown Sith Lord, even if he was a researcher. One wrong move, and I would be dead. Or worse. I couldn't afford to hesitate once it started.
He was at least somewhat cautious. Ever since I met him, he had never turned his back to me, not completely. This stayed true now. As he examined scalpel after scalpel, he kept me in his field of vision. Finally, he picked his tools.
Though his footsteps were muffled by the sand, to me they sounded like thunder. Soon, it was all I could hear. Numbly, I took my place on the opposite side of the dissection table.
For a few minutes, all Renning did was examine the great beast between us. He ran a hand up and down its neck and the crown of its head, searching for signs of a weak spot in the scales. He always examined the brain and spinal cord first. The moment he found it, I knew it was time.
Without taking my eyes off the Sith Lord, I sent a pulse to the beast, breaking the spell of sleep. Renning sensed it and his head started turning towards me. A chill of fear ran through me. But before he could do anything more, one huge red eye snapped open as the Tukata's massive head swept around, its gaping maw slamming shut around both of Renning's arms. Its fangs pierced through his limbs, trapping them. But rather than thrash and tear them off, it stopped.
And waited.
Renning gasped in pain and lightning crackled as he tried to shock the beast, but the electricity danced harmlessly across its skin. It almost seemed amused at his efforts. The Sith Lord's gaze slipped to me.
It was almost too easy.
One moment, Renning was struggling against the Tukata. The next, his eyes bulged, his limbs went limp and he collapsed, held up only by the monster. From the back of his neck, a scalpel stuck out, impaled between his C5 and C6 vertebrae. Placed precisely to leave him quadriplegic, but still leave him capable of breathing.
How careless of him to leave his tools where I could see them. Telekinesis was such a useful trick.
As I circled the table, a look of realization dawned on his face, though it quickly turned to red-faced rage, "Acolyte! What are you-"
"Shhh," I shushed him, putting one finger to my lips. He was so shocked at the gesture that he did so, "I'm experimenting."
He opened his mouth to yell again. I placed a hand on his forehead and pushed into his mind. Humanoid minds weren't so different from animals, no? For someone that works with Tukata so much, perhaps his mind was like that of one? I pressed the concepts of "docility" and "obedience" on his mind with the subtly of a sledgehammer.
Immediately, all emotion left Renning's face. From the corner of his mouth, saliva started to dribble out.
I leaned down and whispered in his ear, "Tell me how to access your notes and files."
Through the drool, he managed to mutter the instructions and passwords back. As he did, a smile slowly spread across my face.
This had not been an unthinking rage, like what I used to kill Castor. This had been a slow, simmering anger that had festered for nearly a month. It was…satisfying to finally release it in this manner. Satisfying in ways that I have no words for. It wasn't like a physical satisfaction, but it affected me that way regardless as a thrill of pleasure went down my spine.
In the end, Ragnos was correct. Sometimes, you don't need an elaborate, labyrinthine plan to deal with your enemy. You merely needed wait for the right moment before crushing them beneath your boot. Utterly destroying their legacy was just a bonus.
As I stood up, Renning's lightsaber detached itself from his belt and floated to my hand. It was a simple thing. A silver cylinder with a heavy black grip and thick emitter shroud. I pressed the activation button and the red blade ignited. Not my favorite color…but I think I could get used to it. I casually stuck the point of the weapon through Renning's head, deactivated it, and placed the weapon into a deep pocket.
With a mental nudge, the Tukata began dragging the drooling idiot out into the desert. What it did there, I could care less. I accessed Renning's datapads and began copying all the documents I could find onto mine.
The soldiers in the camp had gathered around by now, watching the scene in stunned silence. Maklan was in front, watching the Tukata and its likely soon-to-be dinner walk away.
As I approached the soldier, he spoke, a malicious grin on his face, "So, what's the story going to be, milord?"
I glanced behind me, then looked back at him, "Clearly, he improperly secured his latest prize in his haste to examine it. You and your men were guarding the perimeter, too far away to assist. By the time you assembled, it had already managed to overpower him. Your blasters were not strong enough to do any damage to it due to some freak mutation and it escaped into the desert, Renning in tow."
Maklan looked me in the eye for a long moment before nodding. Bringing up his rifle, he switched it to autofire and started spraying the lab area with fire, making sure to leave plenty of carbon scoring around the main dissection table. The others caught on quick and joined in. Thankfully, Renning had been courteous enough to bleed everywhere on his way out.
Satisfied smile on my face, I made my way back to my swoop bike and headed back to the academy, the cheers and laughter of soldiers behind me.
I ran a finger over the right side of my face, tracing the metal and electronics that covered the servos, wires, gears, and pistons that served as the synthetic muscles for the right side of my face. Though synthskin had been layered over the majority of the machinery, the very top layer of the assembly still poked out along my jawline and around my cheek. It formed a geometric web-like pattern made of uniform gray durasteel.
Cybernetics had to be custom designed for each implantation. No two injuries were ever exactly the same, so adjustments had to be made. Arms and legs were easier, as they only had to make minor adjustments. It took a day for the surgeons to plan out the surgery, then another day to design and manufacture the prosthetic. In the meantime, I had searched the Archives for mention of a specific power.
While the surgeons began their preparations, I had practiced with using the Force to numb my sense of pain. Known as Crucitorn, it originated with the Jedi as a method to resist crippling pain…or increase it in others. Using my knife to poke at my arm, I practiced over and over until I stopped feeling anything. At least, when I desired not to feel anything. Just to make sure I could shut it on and off, I stopped concentrating and jabbed my arm again. I had smiled as a spike of pain followed the drops of blood that welled up from the cut.
Completely worth the weird looks I got from the doctors.
Besides being an alternative to anesthesia, it was a possible method of curbing my…berserker tendencies. If pain was what triggered it, Crucitorn would help regulate it, but only if I knew it was coming. It wasn't an ideal solution, but it was at least something.
The doctors didn't ask when I refused to be put under, nor when I refused to have a droid do the installation. Apparently, they were common enough requests, especially with the Czerka corporation logo on the droid's chassis.
Settling myself into a meditative pose, I had watched the doctors carefully as they worked. It was an odd feeling to see them cut strips of dead skin and muscle off me, yet not feel anything more than some pressure. The whirring of the drill was particularly disconcerting as they bolted the metal to my bones. Though the lightsaber had only damaged part of my face, they had to remove most of the muscles related to jaw movement on the right side of my face to make room for the entire assembly. They would have atrophied from disuse later on anyways.
The entire surgery had taken six hours, most of which was spent attaching connection ports to the surviving nerves to enable the machinery to read signals from my brain, as well as give me some manner of feeling there. A layer of armor-weave had been bonded to the thin strip of surviving skin separating the inside of my mouth from the machinery that made up the majority of the right side of my face to prevent the moving parts from irritating it. Tiny processors regulated how much force my new muscles exerted so I didn't accidentally shatter my teeth when I closed my mouth too quickly.
Apparently, it wasn't fancy by any means, but I really didn't care. I preferred function over form anyways…but I thought it still looked pretty badass.
As soon as the surgery was finished, I was booted out of the medical suite to make room for someone else. It was the second busiest place in the academy.
That was four weeks ago. Since then, I've been mostly by myself. Garsh, Gaarurra, and the twins were all sent off-world for their second trials and I didn't know when they would be back. Tentacles has been scarce, as per usual, so he was probably wherever his hidey-hole was. I really needed to track him down one of these days.
The other two, however, I've seen in the meantime. Tails was skulking around in the archives. She looked to be in one of her usual moods, so I left her to her business while I scoured the shelves for alchemical texts.
Yellow Eyes came back from wherever the hell she'd gone a few days after I got back. She had started to put on the usual "I'm better than you" act when she came back to the dorm, but she froze for a moment when she saw my new additions. An expression I still can't name formed on her face before she left the common room without a word. She had left again the next day.
====================================================================================
In the four weeks since my venture into Ragnos' tomb, I've made two ventures back to Renning's camp. The fat bastard was delighted to see me and was more than willing to continue our lessons, especially since I had brought three specimens with me. He acted like he hadn't tortured me with lightning. I wanted to gut him more and more with every word that came tumbling out of his mouth. But I reigned it in. Patience was key and I needed his knowledge.
Renning was positively gleeful that I showed interest in his branch of work.
The first lesson I demanded was in healing. It would be useless in healing my face, as I would need to remove the cybernetics first. Nevertheless, I would not be reliant on more such surgeries again, though I was a long way from being able to perform regeneration.
Tukata were sliced open by my hand, again and again. Beneath that same hand, flesh warped and sealed, leaving no mark that the wounds had ever been there. I was a long way from proper regeneration, but it was a start.
Healing moved to fleshcrafting, morphing creatures into what I desired. With an effort of will and a few spoken words, I shaped minor mutations into the skin of a Tukata, hardening its scales and strengthening its muscles. Fleshcrafting lead to cellular manipulation.
Bit by bit, my knowledge grew. Miniscule in the face of a master, though it was a base to work from. But I only needed Renning to a point. Instruction in reading and designing rituals, the proper safety precautions, the needed tools…I only needed one more thing.
I prepared extensively for this. I studied, both texts and Renning himself. Under Force Sight, I examined his body, looking for a specific spot. Once my lessons with him were finished, I made my move.
======================================================================
The day started like any other as I had brought in one last Tukata and secured it. I had been keeping an eye on this one for some time, knowing that Renning would not be able to resist the beast. It was a true monster, standing taller and broader than even the first one I had brought him nearly a month ago. Its eyes seemed to gleam with an unnatural intelligence.
If I didn't know better, I would swear that it knew what I needed it for. Either my skill at Beast Control had grown considerably…or the creature let me take control. It followed me back to the camp like a docile pet, not struggling against my mental control like the others had. It made all the proper snarls and snaps at the soldiers to sell the act, but it didn't do anything more.
As I predicted, Renning dropped everything when we walked into camp. Really, he was like a child being presented with the next best toy, discarding his old one in an instant. As per usual, I donned the surgical gloves and gown as he put the beast to sleep and levitated it onto his lab table. With such a magnificent specimen before him, he took his time selecting his tools.
While the seconds ticked by, my heart hammered in my chest and I wondered if it was audible. Around us, the Tukata in the cages around us paced, as though they could sense my emotions.
This wasn't an acolyte like Castor. Renning was a full-blown Sith Lord, even if he was a researcher. One wrong move, and I would be dead. Or worse. I couldn't afford to hesitate once it started.
He was at least somewhat cautious. Ever since I met him, he had never turned his back to me, not completely. This stayed true now. As he examined scalpel after scalpel, he kept me in his field of vision. Finally, he picked his tools.
Though his footsteps were muffled by the sand, to me they sounded like thunder. Soon, it was all I could hear. Numbly, I took my place on the opposite side of the dissection table.
For a few minutes, all Renning did was examine the great beast between us. He ran a hand up and down its neck and the crown of its head, searching for signs of a weak spot in the scales. He always examined the brain and spinal cord first. The moment he found it, I knew it was time.
Without taking my eyes off the Sith Lord, I sent a pulse to the beast, breaking the spell of sleep. Renning sensed it and his head started turning towards me. A chill of fear ran through me. But before he could do anything more, one huge red eye snapped open as the Tukata's massive head swept around, its gaping maw slamming shut around both of Renning's arms. Its fangs pierced through his limbs, trapping them. But rather than thrash and tear them off, it stopped.
And waited.
Renning gasped in pain and lightning crackled as he tried to shock the beast, but the electricity danced harmlessly across its skin. It almost seemed amused at his efforts. The Sith Lord's gaze slipped to me.
It was almost too easy.
One moment, Renning was struggling against the Tukata. The next, his eyes bulged, his limbs went limp and he collapsed, held up only by the monster. From the back of his neck, a scalpel stuck out, impaled between his C5 and C6 vertebrae. Placed precisely to leave him quadriplegic, but still leave him capable of breathing.
How careless of him to leave his tools where I could see them. Telekinesis was such a useful trick.
As I circled the table, a look of realization dawned on his face, though it quickly turned to red-faced rage, "Acolyte! What are you-"
"Shhh," I shushed him, putting one finger to my lips. He was so shocked at the gesture that he did so, "I'm experimenting."
He opened his mouth to yell again. I placed a hand on his forehead and pushed into his mind. Humanoid minds weren't so different from animals, no? For someone that works with Tukata so much, perhaps his mind was like that of one? I pressed the concepts of "docility" and "obedience" on his mind with the subtly of a sledgehammer.
Immediately, all emotion left Renning's face. From the corner of his mouth, saliva started to dribble out.
I leaned down and whispered in his ear, "Tell me how to access your notes and files."
Through the drool, he managed to mutter the instructions and passwords back. As he did, a smile slowly spread across my face.
This had not been an unthinking rage, like what I used to kill Castor. This had been a slow, simmering anger that had festered for nearly a month. It was…satisfying to finally release it in this manner. Satisfying in ways that I have no words for. It wasn't like a physical satisfaction, but it affected me that way regardless as a thrill of pleasure went down my spine.
In the end, Ragnos was correct. Sometimes, you don't need an elaborate, labyrinthine plan to deal with your enemy. You merely needed wait for the right moment before crushing them beneath your boot. Utterly destroying their legacy was just a bonus.
As I stood up, Renning's lightsaber detached itself from his belt and floated to my hand. It was a simple thing. A silver cylinder with a heavy black grip and thick emitter shroud. I pressed the activation button and the red blade ignited. Not my favorite color…but I think I could get used to it. I casually stuck the point of the weapon through Renning's head, deactivated it, and placed the weapon into a deep pocket.
With a mental nudge, the Tukata began dragging the drooling idiot out into the desert. What it did there, I could care less. I accessed Renning's datapads and began copying all the documents I could find onto mine.
The soldiers in the camp had gathered around by now, watching the scene in stunned silence. Maklan was in front, watching the Tukata and its likely soon-to-be dinner walk away.
As I approached the soldier, he spoke, a malicious grin on his face, "So, what's the story going to be, milord?"
I glanced behind me, then looked back at him, "Clearly, he improperly secured his latest prize in his haste to examine it. You and your men were guarding the perimeter, too far away to assist. By the time you assembled, it had already managed to overpower him. Your blasters were not strong enough to do any damage to it due to some freak mutation and it escaped into the desert, Renning in tow."
Maklan looked me in the eye for a long moment before nodding. Bringing up his rifle, he switched it to autofire and started spraying the lab area with fire, making sure to leave plenty of carbon scoring around the main dissection table. The others caught on quick and joined in. Thankfully, Renning had been courteous enough to bleed everywhere on his way out.
Satisfied smile on my face, I made my way back to my swoop bike and headed back to the academy, the cheers and laughter of soldiers behind me.
Chapter 23
- Location
- North Carolina
Chapter 23
When an acolyte is killed in the academy under suspicious circumstances, an Inquisitor is called in to investigate. If the murderer managed to conceal the evidence or intimidate any witnesses into silence, they usually wouldn't have any problems getting away with it since the Inquisitors would only be making a token effort. The two exceptions to that were if there was irrefutable evidence of the crime or if either party was the future apprentice of someone with considerable influence. Otherwise, they didn't bother wasting their time with the Sith equivalent to schoolyard rough-housing.
However, it was a Sith Lord that had been the victim this time, not an acolyte, which should have been a totally different ball game. Because of that, the last two months of silence had been nerve-wracking. Sure, the Inquisitors had asked some questions in the first week, but they were mostly asking to confirm the story given by Maklan and his men. An acolyte murdering a Sith Lord was considered so ludicrously unbelievable that I wasn't even being viewed as a suspect. After I gave my version of the same story, they had left me alone.
Nevertheless, I couldn't completely shake the feeling that I was being watched. Every shadow seemed to contain eyes, every question I was asked loaded with second meanings. Every morning I woke up not strapped to a slab with a grinning Inquisitor looming over me, I breathed a sigh of relief.
I had made certain to hide any possible evidence, though that mostly boiled down to Renning's lightsaber and some of his more sensitive documents. Thankfully, I had a relatively secure hiding place. After downloading the documents onto some datachips, I hid both them and the lightsaber on my hidden ship. However, my unease persisted. I had skimmed the documents before locking them away. Renning had mentioned an assistant, that being me, by name. If someone wanted to dive down deeper, they would know who to go to first. I couldn't do anything about that since they were official reports that had already been submitted.
The others had returned from their trials within the first week, if bearing a few more scars. I managed to hide my apprehension from the others, locking down my worries while any of them were around. Because of that, none of them noticed anything out of place aside from my replacement parts. Garsh had given my cybernetics a strange look before going about his business. It was probably just curiosity, but his facial expressions had always been hard to read.
Still, with the others around, I started to feel more comfortable. Of course, I didn't let down my guard. In a place like the Korriban Academy, that was pure suicide. Instead, I started to calm down. I had to suppress my urge to jump at shadows less and less. My dreams stopped featuring yellow eyes and lightning.
If there was one benefit to that period of hyperactivity, it was that it gave me more energy for practice. About half of those two months were spent in the training halls, working on my swordsmanship. It was my main weakness, one that had been pointed out in my fight with Castor. Against mundane opponents or monsters, my wild "style" worked perfectly well. Shii-Cho was suited for fighting multiple opponents in a battlefield setting and I had excelled in such situations. Put me up against a single, more sophisticated duelist that I couldn't directly affect with my Force powers and suddenly I had a problem.
My first fight with an opposing Force User had nearly gone very badly and I had the scars to show it. That I survived had been pure luck. If my danger sense hadn't warned me at just the right moment, the lightsaber would have been right on target and I would have lost more than one cheek. I needed to make sure it didn't happen again.
I needed something more than Shii-Cho, but I also didn't want something predictable. Anyone that had trained in lightsaber combat could recognize the hallmarks of particular styles, particularly with the opening stance.
While I spent most of the first week refining Shii-Cho, I also watched my fight with Castor over and over again, watching for my unconscious actions so I could take them into account when retooling my style. My tendency to go berserk was already known to me, but there was something that wasn't. When I had been injured, I had immediately switched to unarmed combat, disregarding my sword entirely.
It made some sense. If you have ever taken a sword to an unarmed combatant, it's more difficult than it seems on paper. Well, a trained unarmed combatant. They weren't going to be blocking your sword, but rather getting out of the way or targeting your ability to swing the weapon by immobilizing or breaking your wrists or elbows. With a twist and enough strength, a swordsman can suddenly find themselves without a weapon, replaced with distracting pain and a suddenly useless limb. Swordsmen are usually trained to fight other weapon-wielding opponents, not someone that operates on a completely different set of rules. Teräs Käsi practitioners were considered threats to Force Users for good reason.
However, I was a very strength-oriented combatant, lacking the sheer finesse or flexibility to make a pure unarmed style work against a lightsaber-wielding opponent. For that same reason, Form II was an ill-fit as well. The acrobatics of Form IV were also not to my liking.
Form VI had been calling to me since the beginning. The jack-of-all-trades style. Traditionally, it incorporated bits from Forms I, II, and III to counter the innate aggressiveness of Forms IV and V. Ironically named the Diplomat's Style, it was usually seen as the form that was used when you didn't want to dedicate too much time to practicing lightsaber combat. In the hands of a master however, it was ludicrously dangerous. Exar Kun springs to mind.
I'm not sure if what I cobbled together actually counted as Niman. From Shii-Cho, I took its wildness and its wide sweeping strikes. From Soresu, I took its cautious opening stances and defensive movements. From Ataru, I took its philosophy, that the entire body was a weapon. From Djem So, I took the mindset that every defense should be followed by an immediate, brutal counterattack. On top of it all, I threw in liberal amounts of Force usage, as per traditional Niman, and a blaster or three.
I would not let physical combat become my weakness. I knew that I was far from being able to defeat dedicated warriors or Force users in their chosen fields, but the mindset of Niman would give me a broader range of tools to use against them. There was always the risk that I would spread myself too thin, but I would consider true specialization at a later date.
Of course, Gaarurra and Garsh had joined me during this time. The former helped me out with the bits of Djem So I was using, though it had taken a lot of frustration and pantomiming before we finally just got a datapad for him to type on. Through that, I found out that he had been smuggled onto Hsskhor, the Trandoshan homeworld, where he had been instructed to slaughter a village. While he had been eager to kill Trandoshans, he knew doing so might spark a war between his people and them. But when he had arrived, the sight of Wookiee pelts drying in the sun had sent him into a blind rage. He said little else, but his expression said more about what had happened than he did.
Garsh, on the other hand, was about as silent as he usually was whenever he was glued to our shadows. Still, he broke his silence after I used my nickname for the male Zabrak in front of him. It seemed he was trying to cultivate an alliance of his own with Terrak and his sister Ianna. I kept my peace on the matter, but I would be keeping an eye on them from now on. Just because they might become allies of my ally, didn't mean they'd be my allies.
My allies and I were growing stronger and none of my rivals had pulled anything daring when I wasn't looking. Yellow Eyes was spending more and more time out in the desert, though she did pop back in now and again for supplies. Tails was usually with her, though I had spied her talking with Ianna. Concerning, but not something I could act on just yet.
All told, everything had gone well through the months. Of course, that was when things got…interesting.
======================================================================
During my ventures into the training hall, I had grudgingly admitted that my unconscious habit of blocking with my forearms would come back to bite me if I didn't do something about it, especially when lightsabers were part of the equation. Instead of trying to train the habit out of myself, I went looking for a solution that made it viable. Unsurprisingly, I found it in Ajunta Pall's treatise.
During his lifetime, Ajunta Pall had used a steel sword, into which he had poured all his creative effort. By this time, lightsabers had long since been created, meaning he had likely figured out a way to strengthen his comparatively simple weapon to resist them. Fortunately, he had recorded that ritual, rather than hide it away. It wouldn't be quite the same as the Sith Swords that would be developed later, lacking their cortosis-like properties. Those rituals were hidden away from acolytes. This would simply resist the damage in the same way that phrik did, though it would not have the alloy's ability to disperse electricity.
I was going to apply it to my vambraces. If the ritual worked well, I would do the same to my breastplate.
The ritual was a surprisingly simple application of Sith Alchemy and required few material components, though it was tedious and annoying to carry out. Blood was the primary component, mainly to allow easier Force manipulation of the metal by making a "part of myself." I couldn't just stick an IV in my arm and suck out enough for the ritual beforehand. No, I had to sit there during the ritual and jab my hand with a knife multiple times to get it fresh. While chanting without missing a beat.
I'm not sure I want to know what Ajunta Pall was going to try if this one didn't happen to get the desired result.
Overall, it took five hours to finish the ritual for both vambraces. My right hand stung uncomfortably from the dozens of small cuts that marked my palm and fingers. I could have easily healed it with Alchemy, but that would mean starting and stopping every time I had to make a new cut. It would save time and energy if I just waited until the end.
Thankfully, I hadn't needed much space for the ritual, so I was able to do it on the desk in my quarters.
As I was inspecting the finished product, the door behind me swished open as a shadow fell over me. I froze.
I had locked the door behind me while I worked to prevent distractions from the cleaning droid or another acolyte. Only Gaarurra or someone with administrative access should be able to get in and the shadow was too small for my Wookiee accomplice.
The vambrace in my hand shook for a split second before flying out of my grasp, slapping into the palm of a very human hand. I kept very still as they looked over the vambrace.
"Interesting," A voice hummed after a moment, "This almost resembles the early variants of Dark Armor, though it lacks the hallmarks of protective enchantments. A purely Alchemical creation, then. I presume you are using Ajunta Pall's original method? I recall that it was not as efficient as his later work."
As my guest seemed to want to speak, I took a chance and slowly turned around. The first things I saw were the armor-weave robes and the lightsaber on his belt. When my eyes panned up, I saw a very distinctive tattoo on his face. I knew precisely who I was facing.
Darth Thanaton looked...younger than I remembered him being. His hair wasn't salt and pepper gray, but a uniform brown. Though his eyes were still a blazing yellow-orange, there were fewer lines around his eyes and mouth.
Actually, was he a Darth at this point? I wouldn't know until after he introduced himself, if he deigned to.
"Yes, my lord. I have yet to work my way through the rest of his work, but I needed something for the meantime," I stood and bowed. If there's one thing Thanaton hated, it was someone of lower standing being disrespectful to him, "Although in truth, I was more inspired by Warb Null's armor than modern Dark Armor."
"Ah," The Sith Lord smiled, though I couldn't tell if he was being genuine or patronizing, "A student of history, I see." His eyes wandered to the cybernetics on my face, likely easily recognizing the signs of a lightsaber wound, before returning to the object in his hands, "And one that works to learn from his mistakes, as well."
"Thank you for the compliments, my lord," I accepted them as both genuine and as a warning, "If I may, was there something I could assist you with?"
"Yes, there is," He replied, running a finger over the scratches etched into the vambrace from countless hours in the training hall, "I would like to discuss your work with Lord Renning…and how it came to an end."
When an acolyte is killed in the academy under suspicious circumstances, an Inquisitor is called in to investigate. If the murderer managed to conceal the evidence or intimidate any witnesses into silence, they usually wouldn't have any problems getting away with it since the Inquisitors would only be making a token effort. The two exceptions to that were if there was irrefutable evidence of the crime or if either party was the future apprentice of someone with considerable influence. Otherwise, they didn't bother wasting their time with the Sith equivalent to schoolyard rough-housing.
However, it was a Sith Lord that had been the victim this time, not an acolyte, which should have been a totally different ball game. Because of that, the last two months of silence had been nerve-wracking. Sure, the Inquisitors had asked some questions in the first week, but they were mostly asking to confirm the story given by Maklan and his men. An acolyte murdering a Sith Lord was considered so ludicrously unbelievable that I wasn't even being viewed as a suspect. After I gave my version of the same story, they had left me alone.
Nevertheless, I couldn't completely shake the feeling that I was being watched. Every shadow seemed to contain eyes, every question I was asked loaded with second meanings. Every morning I woke up not strapped to a slab with a grinning Inquisitor looming over me, I breathed a sigh of relief.
I had made certain to hide any possible evidence, though that mostly boiled down to Renning's lightsaber and some of his more sensitive documents. Thankfully, I had a relatively secure hiding place. After downloading the documents onto some datachips, I hid both them and the lightsaber on my hidden ship. However, my unease persisted. I had skimmed the documents before locking them away. Renning had mentioned an assistant, that being me, by name. If someone wanted to dive down deeper, they would know who to go to first. I couldn't do anything about that since they were official reports that had already been submitted.
The others had returned from their trials within the first week, if bearing a few more scars. I managed to hide my apprehension from the others, locking down my worries while any of them were around. Because of that, none of them noticed anything out of place aside from my replacement parts. Garsh had given my cybernetics a strange look before going about his business. It was probably just curiosity, but his facial expressions had always been hard to read.
Still, with the others around, I started to feel more comfortable. Of course, I didn't let down my guard. In a place like the Korriban Academy, that was pure suicide. Instead, I started to calm down. I had to suppress my urge to jump at shadows less and less. My dreams stopped featuring yellow eyes and lightning.
If there was one benefit to that period of hyperactivity, it was that it gave me more energy for practice. About half of those two months were spent in the training halls, working on my swordsmanship. It was my main weakness, one that had been pointed out in my fight with Castor. Against mundane opponents or monsters, my wild "style" worked perfectly well. Shii-Cho was suited for fighting multiple opponents in a battlefield setting and I had excelled in such situations. Put me up against a single, more sophisticated duelist that I couldn't directly affect with my Force powers and suddenly I had a problem.
My first fight with an opposing Force User had nearly gone very badly and I had the scars to show it. That I survived had been pure luck. If my danger sense hadn't warned me at just the right moment, the lightsaber would have been right on target and I would have lost more than one cheek. I needed to make sure it didn't happen again.
I needed something more than Shii-Cho, but I also didn't want something predictable. Anyone that had trained in lightsaber combat could recognize the hallmarks of particular styles, particularly with the opening stance.
While I spent most of the first week refining Shii-Cho, I also watched my fight with Castor over and over again, watching for my unconscious actions so I could take them into account when retooling my style. My tendency to go berserk was already known to me, but there was something that wasn't. When I had been injured, I had immediately switched to unarmed combat, disregarding my sword entirely.
It made some sense. If you have ever taken a sword to an unarmed combatant, it's more difficult than it seems on paper. Well, a trained unarmed combatant. They weren't going to be blocking your sword, but rather getting out of the way or targeting your ability to swing the weapon by immobilizing or breaking your wrists or elbows. With a twist and enough strength, a swordsman can suddenly find themselves without a weapon, replaced with distracting pain and a suddenly useless limb. Swordsmen are usually trained to fight other weapon-wielding opponents, not someone that operates on a completely different set of rules. Teräs Käsi practitioners were considered threats to Force Users for good reason.
However, I was a very strength-oriented combatant, lacking the sheer finesse or flexibility to make a pure unarmed style work against a lightsaber-wielding opponent. For that same reason, Form II was an ill-fit as well. The acrobatics of Form IV were also not to my liking.
Form VI had been calling to me since the beginning. The jack-of-all-trades style. Traditionally, it incorporated bits from Forms I, II, and III to counter the innate aggressiveness of Forms IV and V. Ironically named the Diplomat's Style, it was usually seen as the form that was used when you didn't want to dedicate too much time to practicing lightsaber combat. In the hands of a master however, it was ludicrously dangerous. Exar Kun springs to mind.
I'm not sure if what I cobbled together actually counted as Niman. From Shii-Cho, I took its wildness and its wide sweeping strikes. From Soresu, I took its cautious opening stances and defensive movements. From Ataru, I took its philosophy, that the entire body was a weapon. From Djem So, I took the mindset that every defense should be followed by an immediate, brutal counterattack. On top of it all, I threw in liberal amounts of Force usage, as per traditional Niman, and a blaster or three.
I would not let physical combat become my weakness. I knew that I was far from being able to defeat dedicated warriors or Force users in their chosen fields, but the mindset of Niman would give me a broader range of tools to use against them. There was always the risk that I would spread myself too thin, but I would consider true specialization at a later date.
Of course, Gaarurra and Garsh had joined me during this time. The former helped me out with the bits of Djem So I was using, though it had taken a lot of frustration and pantomiming before we finally just got a datapad for him to type on. Through that, I found out that he had been smuggled onto Hsskhor, the Trandoshan homeworld, where he had been instructed to slaughter a village. While he had been eager to kill Trandoshans, he knew doing so might spark a war between his people and them. But when he had arrived, the sight of Wookiee pelts drying in the sun had sent him into a blind rage. He said little else, but his expression said more about what had happened than he did.
Garsh, on the other hand, was about as silent as he usually was whenever he was glued to our shadows. Still, he broke his silence after I used my nickname for the male Zabrak in front of him. It seemed he was trying to cultivate an alliance of his own with Terrak and his sister Ianna. I kept my peace on the matter, but I would be keeping an eye on them from now on. Just because they might become allies of my ally, didn't mean they'd be my allies.
My allies and I were growing stronger and none of my rivals had pulled anything daring when I wasn't looking. Yellow Eyes was spending more and more time out in the desert, though she did pop back in now and again for supplies. Tails was usually with her, though I had spied her talking with Ianna. Concerning, but not something I could act on just yet.
All told, everything had gone well through the months. Of course, that was when things got…interesting.
======================================================================
During my ventures into the training hall, I had grudgingly admitted that my unconscious habit of blocking with my forearms would come back to bite me if I didn't do something about it, especially when lightsabers were part of the equation. Instead of trying to train the habit out of myself, I went looking for a solution that made it viable. Unsurprisingly, I found it in Ajunta Pall's treatise.
During his lifetime, Ajunta Pall had used a steel sword, into which he had poured all his creative effort. By this time, lightsabers had long since been created, meaning he had likely figured out a way to strengthen his comparatively simple weapon to resist them. Fortunately, he had recorded that ritual, rather than hide it away. It wouldn't be quite the same as the Sith Swords that would be developed later, lacking their cortosis-like properties. Those rituals were hidden away from acolytes. This would simply resist the damage in the same way that phrik did, though it would not have the alloy's ability to disperse electricity.
I was going to apply it to my vambraces. If the ritual worked well, I would do the same to my breastplate.
The ritual was a surprisingly simple application of Sith Alchemy and required few material components, though it was tedious and annoying to carry out. Blood was the primary component, mainly to allow easier Force manipulation of the metal by making a "part of myself." I couldn't just stick an IV in my arm and suck out enough for the ritual beforehand. No, I had to sit there during the ritual and jab my hand with a knife multiple times to get it fresh. While chanting without missing a beat.
I'm not sure I want to know what Ajunta Pall was going to try if this one didn't happen to get the desired result.
Overall, it took five hours to finish the ritual for both vambraces. My right hand stung uncomfortably from the dozens of small cuts that marked my palm and fingers. I could have easily healed it with Alchemy, but that would mean starting and stopping every time I had to make a new cut. It would save time and energy if I just waited until the end.
Thankfully, I hadn't needed much space for the ritual, so I was able to do it on the desk in my quarters.
As I was inspecting the finished product, the door behind me swished open as a shadow fell over me. I froze.
I had locked the door behind me while I worked to prevent distractions from the cleaning droid or another acolyte. Only Gaarurra or someone with administrative access should be able to get in and the shadow was too small for my Wookiee accomplice.
The vambrace in my hand shook for a split second before flying out of my grasp, slapping into the palm of a very human hand. I kept very still as they looked over the vambrace.
"Interesting," A voice hummed after a moment, "This almost resembles the early variants of Dark Armor, though it lacks the hallmarks of protective enchantments. A purely Alchemical creation, then. I presume you are using Ajunta Pall's original method? I recall that it was not as efficient as his later work."
As my guest seemed to want to speak, I took a chance and slowly turned around. The first things I saw were the armor-weave robes and the lightsaber on his belt. When my eyes panned up, I saw a very distinctive tattoo on his face. I knew precisely who I was facing.
Darth Thanaton looked...younger than I remembered him being. His hair wasn't salt and pepper gray, but a uniform brown. Though his eyes were still a blazing yellow-orange, there were fewer lines around his eyes and mouth.
Actually, was he a Darth at this point? I wouldn't know until after he introduced himself, if he deigned to.
"Yes, my lord. I have yet to work my way through the rest of his work, but I needed something for the meantime," I stood and bowed. If there's one thing Thanaton hated, it was someone of lower standing being disrespectful to him, "Although in truth, I was more inspired by Warb Null's armor than modern Dark Armor."
"Ah," The Sith Lord smiled, though I couldn't tell if he was being genuine or patronizing, "A student of history, I see." His eyes wandered to the cybernetics on my face, likely easily recognizing the signs of a lightsaber wound, before returning to the object in his hands, "And one that works to learn from his mistakes, as well."
"Thank you for the compliments, my lord," I accepted them as both genuine and as a warning, "If I may, was there something I could assist you with?"
"Yes, there is," He replied, running a finger over the scratches etched into the vambrace from countless hours in the training hall, "I would like to discuss your work with Lord Renning…and how it came to an end."
Chapter 24
- Location
- North Carolina
Chapter 24
I had to remind my heart to keep beating after those words left his mouth. Either he knew for certain that I was behind Renning's death and he wanted something, or he only suspected. No matter which one it turned out to be, I had to be careful with both my wording and my reactions.
"Certainly, my lord," I replied, keeping my face a calm neutral as I shoved down as many of my instinctual reactions as possible. I gestured towards the only other chair in the room, "Would you like a seat? I'm not certain how much time this will take, as there's not much to tell."
As I pulled out the chair for him, he pressed the button to close and relock the door. I was suddenly very conscious of the fact that I was in a small space with a Sith Lord that may or may not be intending to kill me. It was hard to read Thanaton. He could be calm and polite while simultaneously ordering someone's death. Unless you really pissed him off, he would keep that composure and inscrutability.
Sith of a certain power level tend to have instinctual ways of displaying their strength, usually expressed as a sensation that surrounded them. Renning had had a generalized "don't fuck with me" aura that most Sith appeared to have, useful for keeping the less powerful in line. Iren felt like a drawn sword, waiting to strike at whatever he was directed at with little care for who or what the target was.
Thanaton felt like a great cat, crouched and ready to pounce as soon as I said the wrong word. He sat in the non-descript chair like it was a throne, hands clasped lightly in front of him and his elbows on the armrests. There was a subtle pressure pressing down on my shoulders, causing them to droop slightly. I wouldn't have noticed it if I hadn't been looking for it. It was accompanied by the same sensation that you get when you feel watched in an empty hallway.
I made myself as comfortable as possible, a task made difficult by the chills running down my spine.
"According to both Lord Renning's weekly reports and Overseer Iren, you began your tutelage under Lord Renning five weeks before his death," Thanaton's red eyes seemed to bore into my soul as he began speaking again, "Correct?"
"That's right, but tutelage is a bit of an overstatement, my lord," I corrected, "Lord Renning had a bounty on live Tukata for use in his experiments. Instead of credits, I had requested lessons in Sith Alchemy."
"Yes, Lord Renning had said as much. An excellent use of leverage," The Sith Lord nodded in approval, "Did you know that your efforts to get his attention drove off all the other acolytes in the area?"
I blinked. No, I hadn't known that.
"You were not the only acolyte working to earn Lord Renning's favor. However, after you started bringing in exceptional specimens, his standards increased. The others became afraid, both of Lord Renning's punishment for failing to meet said standards…and of you."
"Of me?" I parroted in confusion.
"Intentional or not, you made a statement. Staked a claim," Thanaton elaborated, "You ventured into some of the most dangerous parts of the desert, found the largest and strongest Tukata, and hammered their minds into docility. To them, you had made your intentions known loud and clear and that you would brook no competition in your hunting grounds. After the first, most were wary, some were angry. The most stubborn tried to match you, only to be killed by the beasts they hunted. The wisest simply left after watching you succeed again and again to seek out more fruitful opportunities."
I hadn't realized that I'd affected the "ecosystem" that much. Then again, I hadn't bothered to check. I knew all too well how single-minded I could become when I had a goal in mind. I knew Renning had had an active bounty up and running, but I didn't think anyone else had taken him up on it.
I hadn't spared a thought about any competitors outside of my "class." Well, enemies now, I suppose. I'd deal with them when I found them, but it would just be one more thing to do on top of everything else.
Assuming I survived my interview with Thanaton.
The question right now was figuring out what he was doing. Under a certain light, most of what he had said so far was filled with nothing but praise. Was he trying to gauge my reactions to it and provoke a certain response? Inflate my ego to encourage me to accidentally let something slip? Was he suggesting that there was a possible witness that I didn't have control of?
I leaned back in my seat and brought my left ankle to rest on my right knee, clasping my hands in front of me as I assumed a relaxed posture. I've had my story straight for months. If there were serious holes in it, the Inquisitors would have already found them by now.
I let a friendly smile spread onto my face, "It seems I let myself get too distracted if something like that passed me by. Something to keep an eye on, I suppose."
"Indeed," Thanaton's expression didn't change. Not that I really expected it to, "Now, tell me of the beasts you captured for Lord Renning."
That was an easy request to fulfill and one that wouldn't implicate me in anything, "The Tukata I hunted were usually solitary beasts. The high concentrations of the Dark Side in their bodies can cause mutations, most often expressed through greater physical strength, size, and aggression. The last one usually causes them to become outcasts, as their unbridled rage causes them to lash out at their packmates. Once that happened, I tracked them down. Most were only barely above average for the species, but there were a few exceptions."
The Sith Lord didn't respond verbally, but instead stared at me intently. The silence seemed to echo in the room, only broken up by the sounds of the ventilation system above us.
Finally, he spoke, "In both your testimony and that of Lieutenant Maklan, you both claimed that Lord Renning's lightning did not harm the beast that killed him and that it broke his mental dominion of it, indicating a high level of resistance to the Force. And yet…you were able to easily capture and control the creature. I trust that I need not point out the discrepancy between those two facts?"
This was honestly the biggest hole in my story, but ironically it was also the most easily explained.
"A rational being would certainly suspect foul play when presented with such facts," I nodded in agreement, "But in this case, the other option is equally valid."
Thanaton raised an incredulous eyebrow, "Are you implying that the Tukata tricked you into thinking that it was docile in order to murder Lord Renning?"
While I wasn't sure about the extent of his studies, I believe that Thanaton focused more on Sith Sorcery than Sith Alchemy, so there was a legitimate chance that he simply hadn't researched "lowly" creatures like Tukata in depth beyond how to kill them. So far as I knew, he never demonstrated a particular affinity for beasts.
I shrugged, "While I didn't agree with Lord Renning's assertions that they are the "will of the Force made manifest," there is more to them than meets the eye. Tukata are far more intelligent than people give them credit for. There have been specimens in the past that were capable of coherent, if limited, speech, so it isn't a huge leap to assume that some of the more extraordinary members of the species are capable of abstract thought and rudimentary planning."
Truthfully, I still didn't know why that particular Tukata had just…gone along with it and willingly submitted to my commands. It knew what I had been doing and maybe even why. It went after Renning with no provocation on my part and even stopped mauling him long enough for me to interrogate him. There was no question that it was intelligent, but to what extent I didn't know.
Did it have a pack once? Did Renning kill them during the course of his experimenting and it wanted revenge?
The pressure on my shoulders increased slightly. Every breath became just a tiny bit more difficult. I found that I had a hard time looking away from the Sith Lord across from me. Cold fingers trailed up the back of my skull before digging into my scalp.
Thanaton was either losing patience…or testing me.
But I had learned from my time in Marka Ragnos' tomb. The wall in my mind was no longer a dam, but a series of canal locks layered one after the other. With some effort, an intruder could access my barest surface thoughts. But if they wanted to go deeper, they would have to breach wall after wall after wall, getting locked out of the previous layers in the process. The first layer would hold emotions and knee-jerk reactions. Anyone attempting to read my mind would be able to tell if I was lying or not.
"Tell me, did you kill Lord Renning?" I heard the question spoken to my ears and whispered into my mind.
My heart did not tremor beyond the norm as I told him the truth.
"No."
Well, the truth from a certain point of view.
It's fascinating what the human body can survive, at least for a few seconds. I had been careful when piercing Renning's brain with his own lightsaber. While precision in that situation had been impossible, I had at least burned out most of his frontal lobes while avoiding the medulla oblongata. In other words, his capacity for higher thought had been destroyed while leaving automatic functions, like his heartbeat and breathing, intact, turning him into a vegetable. While the shock of the injury would have been enough to kill him quickly, it was within just enough time for the Tukata to finish him.
I would thank Thanaton for the wording of his question if it wouldn't mean my death. I was responsible for Renning's death…but I did not kill him, if only by a slim margin.
Thanaton blinked. Suddenly, all the pressure lifted at once, causing me to lurch forward in my seat as I regained full control. Though his face remained as passive as it had been since the beginning of the conversation, the corners of the Sith Lord's mouth were curved up slightly, "Interesting. Not a single word that you spoke was a lie."
I didn't have any clever words to shoot back at him as I was trying to overcome a sudden feeling of nausea and disorientation. Must have been an aftereffect of whatever he did to me.
He eased himself out of the chair, his lightsaber clinking lightly against it as he stood, "It seems that Lord Renning's research might have had more merit than I had first assumed. A pity the beast escaped. It would have been most useful in any future endeavors."
I gulped down the last of the nausea before replying, "I could try and track it down again, though I'm not certain it would be as easy as last time."
"That will not be necessary. At least not for the moment," Thanaton assured me, "Nevertheless, this has been…informative." He turned towards the door, unlocking and opening it with a wave of his hand, "I would wish you luck in your trials, but a true Sith needs no luck but that which they make for themselves."
As he started to walk through the doorway, I was struck with a thought. I might as well use the opportunity while it was here.
"My lord?" I spoke up.
Thanaton stopped and half-turned, eyebrow raised once more.
I forced the sudden knot in my throat down before continuing, "You mentioned the Sith Sorcery enchantments for Dark Armor earlier. Would you be willing to recommend a place to start researching them?"
Red eyes stared at me for a moment, then glanced at the vambraces, now on my desk once more. Turning away, he replied, "The second volume of the Histories of Ludo Kressh. The book itself is useless outside of its historical value, but it cites a number of other tomes that may prove more useful."
After that, he stalked out and I was left alone with my thoughts until Gaarurra returned later that evening.
I had to remind my heart to keep beating after those words left his mouth. Either he knew for certain that I was behind Renning's death and he wanted something, or he only suspected. No matter which one it turned out to be, I had to be careful with both my wording and my reactions.
"Certainly, my lord," I replied, keeping my face a calm neutral as I shoved down as many of my instinctual reactions as possible. I gestured towards the only other chair in the room, "Would you like a seat? I'm not certain how much time this will take, as there's not much to tell."
As I pulled out the chair for him, he pressed the button to close and relock the door. I was suddenly very conscious of the fact that I was in a small space with a Sith Lord that may or may not be intending to kill me. It was hard to read Thanaton. He could be calm and polite while simultaneously ordering someone's death. Unless you really pissed him off, he would keep that composure and inscrutability.
Sith of a certain power level tend to have instinctual ways of displaying their strength, usually expressed as a sensation that surrounded them. Renning had had a generalized "don't fuck with me" aura that most Sith appeared to have, useful for keeping the less powerful in line. Iren felt like a drawn sword, waiting to strike at whatever he was directed at with little care for who or what the target was.
Thanaton felt like a great cat, crouched and ready to pounce as soon as I said the wrong word. He sat in the non-descript chair like it was a throne, hands clasped lightly in front of him and his elbows on the armrests. There was a subtle pressure pressing down on my shoulders, causing them to droop slightly. I wouldn't have noticed it if I hadn't been looking for it. It was accompanied by the same sensation that you get when you feel watched in an empty hallway.
I made myself as comfortable as possible, a task made difficult by the chills running down my spine.
"According to both Lord Renning's weekly reports and Overseer Iren, you began your tutelage under Lord Renning five weeks before his death," Thanaton's red eyes seemed to bore into my soul as he began speaking again, "Correct?"
"That's right, but tutelage is a bit of an overstatement, my lord," I corrected, "Lord Renning had a bounty on live Tukata for use in his experiments. Instead of credits, I had requested lessons in Sith Alchemy."
"Yes, Lord Renning had said as much. An excellent use of leverage," The Sith Lord nodded in approval, "Did you know that your efforts to get his attention drove off all the other acolytes in the area?"
I blinked. No, I hadn't known that.
"You were not the only acolyte working to earn Lord Renning's favor. However, after you started bringing in exceptional specimens, his standards increased. The others became afraid, both of Lord Renning's punishment for failing to meet said standards…and of you."
"Of me?" I parroted in confusion.
"Intentional or not, you made a statement. Staked a claim," Thanaton elaborated, "You ventured into some of the most dangerous parts of the desert, found the largest and strongest Tukata, and hammered their minds into docility. To them, you had made your intentions known loud and clear and that you would brook no competition in your hunting grounds. After the first, most were wary, some were angry. The most stubborn tried to match you, only to be killed by the beasts they hunted. The wisest simply left after watching you succeed again and again to seek out more fruitful opportunities."
I hadn't realized that I'd affected the "ecosystem" that much. Then again, I hadn't bothered to check. I knew all too well how single-minded I could become when I had a goal in mind. I knew Renning had had an active bounty up and running, but I didn't think anyone else had taken him up on it.
I hadn't spared a thought about any competitors outside of my "class." Well, enemies now, I suppose. I'd deal with them when I found them, but it would just be one more thing to do on top of everything else.
Assuming I survived my interview with Thanaton.
The question right now was figuring out what he was doing. Under a certain light, most of what he had said so far was filled with nothing but praise. Was he trying to gauge my reactions to it and provoke a certain response? Inflate my ego to encourage me to accidentally let something slip? Was he suggesting that there was a possible witness that I didn't have control of?
I leaned back in my seat and brought my left ankle to rest on my right knee, clasping my hands in front of me as I assumed a relaxed posture. I've had my story straight for months. If there were serious holes in it, the Inquisitors would have already found them by now.
I let a friendly smile spread onto my face, "It seems I let myself get too distracted if something like that passed me by. Something to keep an eye on, I suppose."
"Indeed," Thanaton's expression didn't change. Not that I really expected it to, "Now, tell me of the beasts you captured for Lord Renning."
That was an easy request to fulfill and one that wouldn't implicate me in anything, "The Tukata I hunted were usually solitary beasts. The high concentrations of the Dark Side in their bodies can cause mutations, most often expressed through greater physical strength, size, and aggression. The last one usually causes them to become outcasts, as their unbridled rage causes them to lash out at their packmates. Once that happened, I tracked them down. Most were only barely above average for the species, but there were a few exceptions."
The Sith Lord didn't respond verbally, but instead stared at me intently. The silence seemed to echo in the room, only broken up by the sounds of the ventilation system above us.
Finally, he spoke, "In both your testimony and that of Lieutenant Maklan, you both claimed that Lord Renning's lightning did not harm the beast that killed him and that it broke his mental dominion of it, indicating a high level of resistance to the Force. And yet…you were able to easily capture and control the creature. I trust that I need not point out the discrepancy between those two facts?"
This was honestly the biggest hole in my story, but ironically it was also the most easily explained.
"A rational being would certainly suspect foul play when presented with such facts," I nodded in agreement, "But in this case, the other option is equally valid."
Thanaton raised an incredulous eyebrow, "Are you implying that the Tukata tricked you into thinking that it was docile in order to murder Lord Renning?"
While I wasn't sure about the extent of his studies, I believe that Thanaton focused more on Sith Sorcery than Sith Alchemy, so there was a legitimate chance that he simply hadn't researched "lowly" creatures like Tukata in depth beyond how to kill them. So far as I knew, he never demonstrated a particular affinity for beasts.
I shrugged, "While I didn't agree with Lord Renning's assertions that they are the "will of the Force made manifest," there is more to them than meets the eye. Tukata are far more intelligent than people give them credit for. There have been specimens in the past that were capable of coherent, if limited, speech, so it isn't a huge leap to assume that some of the more extraordinary members of the species are capable of abstract thought and rudimentary planning."
Truthfully, I still didn't know why that particular Tukata had just…gone along with it and willingly submitted to my commands. It knew what I had been doing and maybe even why. It went after Renning with no provocation on my part and even stopped mauling him long enough for me to interrogate him. There was no question that it was intelligent, but to what extent I didn't know.
Did it have a pack once? Did Renning kill them during the course of his experimenting and it wanted revenge?
The pressure on my shoulders increased slightly. Every breath became just a tiny bit more difficult. I found that I had a hard time looking away from the Sith Lord across from me. Cold fingers trailed up the back of my skull before digging into my scalp.
Thanaton was either losing patience…or testing me.
But I had learned from my time in Marka Ragnos' tomb. The wall in my mind was no longer a dam, but a series of canal locks layered one after the other. With some effort, an intruder could access my barest surface thoughts. But if they wanted to go deeper, they would have to breach wall after wall after wall, getting locked out of the previous layers in the process. The first layer would hold emotions and knee-jerk reactions. Anyone attempting to read my mind would be able to tell if I was lying or not.
"Tell me, did you kill Lord Renning?" I heard the question spoken to my ears and whispered into my mind.
My heart did not tremor beyond the norm as I told him the truth.
"No."
Well, the truth from a certain point of view.
It's fascinating what the human body can survive, at least for a few seconds. I had been careful when piercing Renning's brain with his own lightsaber. While precision in that situation had been impossible, I had at least burned out most of his frontal lobes while avoiding the medulla oblongata. In other words, his capacity for higher thought had been destroyed while leaving automatic functions, like his heartbeat and breathing, intact, turning him into a vegetable. While the shock of the injury would have been enough to kill him quickly, it was within just enough time for the Tukata to finish him.
I would thank Thanaton for the wording of his question if it wouldn't mean my death. I was responsible for Renning's death…but I did not kill him, if only by a slim margin.
Thanaton blinked. Suddenly, all the pressure lifted at once, causing me to lurch forward in my seat as I regained full control. Though his face remained as passive as it had been since the beginning of the conversation, the corners of the Sith Lord's mouth were curved up slightly, "Interesting. Not a single word that you spoke was a lie."
I didn't have any clever words to shoot back at him as I was trying to overcome a sudden feeling of nausea and disorientation. Must have been an aftereffect of whatever he did to me.
He eased himself out of the chair, his lightsaber clinking lightly against it as he stood, "It seems that Lord Renning's research might have had more merit than I had first assumed. A pity the beast escaped. It would have been most useful in any future endeavors."
I gulped down the last of the nausea before replying, "I could try and track it down again, though I'm not certain it would be as easy as last time."
"That will not be necessary. At least not for the moment," Thanaton assured me, "Nevertheless, this has been…informative." He turned towards the door, unlocking and opening it with a wave of his hand, "I would wish you luck in your trials, but a true Sith needs no luck but that which they make for themselves."
As he started to walk through the doorway, I was struck with a thought. I might as well use the opportunity while it was here.
"My lord?" I spoke up.
Thanaton stopped and half-turned, eyebrow raised once more.
I forced the sudden knot in my throat down before continuing, "You mentioned the Sith Sorcery enchantments for Dark Armor earlier. Would you be willing to recommend a place to start researching them?"
Red eyes stared at me for a moment, then glanced at the vambraces, now on my desk once more. Turning away, he replied, "The second volume of the Histories of Ludo Kressh. The book itself is useless outside of its historical value, but it cites a number of other tomes that may prove more useful."
After that, he stalked out and I was left alone with my thoughts until Gaarurra returned later that evening.
Interlude: Yellow Eyes, Red Sands
- Location
- North Carolina
Interlude: Yellow Eyes, Red Sands
Yellow eyes scanned the dunes as their owner's speeder darted across the barren landscape.
'Is this where you thought I'd end up, Master?'
Olia Fen shook her head and tried to discard the thought. All these years and she was still looking to him, despite what he had done. Despite what she had done.
Kalista glanced at her from the driver's seat, but she waved the green-skinned Twi'Lek off. She knew that she should be paying more attention to their surroundings, but then she had always had a penchant for drifting into melancholic thought in quiet moments.
In hindsight, perhaps it had been inevitable that she fell. She had always excelled at the Jedi arts, though she had also always had difficulty with being a Jedi. Too quick to anger, too much pride in her skills, too quick to use violence, too passionate…Many potential Masters had overlooked her because of those traits.
It was easy to blame the times she was born into and perhaps that had been the cause. When she had been born, the war had still been raging in full force with no end in sight. She remembered little of her childhood before the Jedi had taken her in, but she was told it had not been pleasant. She was unsure if that was because she had been too young at the time or if she had subconsciously suppressed it, though she swore she could still hear her mother's voice in her dreams, humming a lullaby.
Olia had never understood why Master Xhal had chosen her as his Padawan. The Cathar had practically embodied the opposite of everything she had ever been. Where she had been a wild child, he had been a man of few words. Where she had been carefree, he had been a strict disciplinarian. Where she had been short-tempered, he was patient.
Despite their repeated and heated arguments, she had never felt the urge to leave his side. For all of his talk of avoiding attachment, he had become the stern father she had never had, reacting with fond exasperation to her antics. She had accompanied him from one end of the galaxy to the other, battlefield to battlefield, learning all he had to teach and just enjoying being around him. At his side, she had felt like the Jedi that few thought she could be.
Despite that, all that it took in the end was a shove in the wrong direction to send it all tumbling down.
All she had needed was one bad day.
Master Xhal had been a Jedi Shadow, meaning there were some missions that she could not join him on. He would disappear for months at a time, doing whatever he was assigned. Eventually, he didn't come back.
Xhal had been a private man, even among the tight-knit Jedi community. His funeral had been small and most that attended did so out of courtesy rather than any personal connection, though there had been no body to be burned. Still, Olia had felt some small consolation at the sight of several members of the High Council in attendance.
Grief had kept her confined to their shared quarters in the Temple for several days, where she went through what little he owned as she reminisced. Not everything they had done in the war was fight. Among their collective belongings were several holophotos and videos, showing the pair helping out in refugee camps and field hospitals.
But whatever solace she managed to find had been shattered by what she found next. Had she not flopped onto the bed and looked at the ceiling at just the right angle with just the right lighting, she would not have noticed it. A light tug with the Force was enough to pull the panel away, revealing a cache of carefully organized datachips hidden away in a small compartment built into the wall above Xhal's bed. Curiosity briefly overruled all else as she plugged the first one into her datapad.
Curiosity had been quickly replaced with horror as she read. Contained on the datachips were records of his off-the-books missions, which were usually made and then erased following the completion of the task. However, Xhal had been a meticulous record-keeper, likely unable to stand not having documentation of his tasks. Perhaps it had been a form of atonement in his eyes, to not have his crimes just…disappear.
There were missions that Jedi Shadows were expected to undertake. Capture, or if that failed, assassination of rogue Jedi or particularly dangerous Sith Lords. Ambiguously legal investigations of prominent corporate figures. Recovery or destruction of dangerous artifacts.
And then there were missions that were not expected. There were so many that she refused to look at most of them, but some caught her eye. Mainly, the existence of a number of secret prisons across Republic space, used to house war criminals, political prisoners, Sith, the inconvenient…and their descendants. To her horror, she found that this had been going on for generations and that Master Xhal was just one of the more recent Jedi to be involved.
Belsavis was not a name she had recognized, but it would haunt her dreams for a long time afterwards. Master Xhal's notes of his role in the operation of the facility were more detailed than she had ever wanted to know.
Worst of all, there was no mention anywhere in the records that any of it had been done without the Jedi Council's approval.
Though she was loathe to admit it now, her fragile emotional state at the time had shattered into full-blown panic. Hiding the chips back in their compartment, she stole away in the middle of the night into the hidden tunnels below the Coruscant Temple that she technically wasn't supposed to know about. There hadn't been a plan, just a general need to get away. One thing had lead to another and eventually she wound up on a public transport to Nar Shaddaa with precious little idea of how she got there.
Once she had calmed down slightly, Olia hadn't quite known what to do. In the squalor of the Smuggler's Moon, she did try to make an effort to keep to the Jedi ways, but without her Master around she found it harder and harder to justify it to herself. With what she had discovered, every lesson he had taught her was tinged with hypocrisy. Every lecture on justice dripped with lies. She was plagued with doubts and wondered how many Jedi only paid lip service to the tenets they preached.
They preached their code and expected her to follow it when they did not? The anger had burned in her gut, breaking down her inhibitions bit by bit. She had raged against her former mentor, screaming at his ghost that he had tried to make her like him. To break her will like some beast.
The Smuggler's Moon was a kingdom of vices. The best revenge she could think of was to indulge. Using her powers and looks to charm her way into higher and higher circles, she drank deeply from the well of fear and desperation that was Nar Shaddaa. As she delved farther into pleasures so long denied to her and explored her darker urges, her eyes were soon permanently stained yellow.
Months had passed in a blur. Through the Spice, drink, and gambling, she did feel some guilt for not saying goodbye to her few friends in the Temple and more for abandoning them in the middle of a war. She had wondered why no Jedi Shadow had come for her. Her muddled mind finally came to the conclusion that they had better things to do, which would turn out to be correct. But not in the way she suspected.
It was during one of her few sober moments that she saw a Holonet news story on the Sacking of Coruscant, then nearly a week old. Before she could seek out Deathsticks to block out the new nightmares, she had been made an offer she couldn't refuse.
The detox that had followed had been…unpleasant and was not an experience she wished to repeat. Thankfully, the lesson of the consequences of over-indulgence had been firmly pressed into her mind and she would not soon forget.
"We're here," Kalista remarked, her tone as biting as the sand.
Olia blinked, shaking herself out of her memories. She should not be thinking of days now long gone. She was no longer a Jedi. She no longer served the Republic.
Before them, a looming structure of stone and durasteel jutted out from the canyon wall, its harsh edges eroded by the wind over thousands of years.
As she got out of the speeder, she observed her companion out of the corner of her eye. While she was proud of her own beauty, she would privately admit that the Twi'Lek woman was stunning, with curves and lines in the right places. The intricate patterns on her lekku were particularly entrancing. However, it was marred by the harsh scowl that seemed to be permanently etched onto her face. Unfortunately, it was one of her only advantages. The other woman had only middling power, which rage could only enhance so far, and little combat training. While her illiteracy had been her main way to manipulate the other acolyte, it also locked Kalista out of many paths to power as she could not take advantage of the archives.
The time spent teaching her to read would take away from Olia's own pursuits, but it was one that she couldn't afford not to take. Not with his allies getting stronger.
Him. Iren's pet.
Truthfully, she hadn't thought much of him when they first met, but something about him unnerved her even then. Maybe it was the way he looked at people, like he was taking them apart in his mind, piece by piece. Perhaps it was the fact that his expression rarely changed. The most she had seen was a small smirk.
Or maybe it was the way that he seemed so utterly detached from everything. He was an emotional blank in the Force, save for the simmering anger behind his eyes. Even then, it was so tightly constrained that it was barely there.
It was because of that that she had not attempted her usual method of dispatching rivals, due to being uncertain if he would "rise" to the bait, in both senses of the word. Instead, the game had morphed into a series of power plays, seizing the best pieces before the inevitable final confrontation.
Unfortunately, he had already done that in the form of the Wookiee thanks to Iren. That left her with Ianna, Terrak, and Qiv. Terrak would follow his sister, but Ianna was terrified of both Olia and him, though she was at least on speaking terms. Qiv had practically disappeared the moment Iren had dismissed him from the debriefing following the First Trial. Part of her wondered if the Nautolan was actually dead.
While she was certain that she could easily kill him, the Wookiee, and the Quarren in single combat, she was not nearly so certain about all three simultaneously.
As she unpacked supplies from the speeder, Olia paused as she realized something, "What do you think his name is?"
Kalista rolled her eyes and shrugged, knowing exactly who the ex-Jedi was talking about.
It was odd. She had become interested in this game of theirs, but she hadn't even bothered to learn her rival's name. Then again, she had never quite thought of him having a name. He was just…there. Now that she was thinking about it, she did need a name to differentiate him from every other male at the academy.
Despite them being his most prominent facial feature, calling him Scar was out. Too cliché.
Her mind drifted to an image of the web-like cybernetics that now made up half of her rival's face and she recalled the rumors of his exploits in the desert that had drifted into her ears from disgruntled acolytes who had been ousted from their "territories."
Spider?
"Spider," She rolled the nickname on her tongue, trying it out, "Spiiiderrr."
That would do.
"I don't want to know," Kalista sighed in frustration, "Just…tell me what we're doing here. Out in the sun. In the middle of the desert. Again."
Olia smiled. The Twi'Lek hissed and spat like an ornery cat, but she obeyed when directed. A hold over from her time as a slave. While it left her rather passive and ultimately made for a poor Sith, it made her easier to control.
"There is something in this tomb I would like access to. It is all you need know at the moment," With a frown, she patted her side, where her sword hung. Though she felt incomplete without her lightsaber, if she succeeded here it would be one more step towards getting it back.
Perhaps over Iren's cooling corpse.
Flicking on her glowrod, Olia entered the tomb of Tulak Hord, Kalista on her heels.
Master Xhal had always encouraged her interest in becoming an archaeologist, though she doubted that this was what he would have had in mind.
Yellow eyes scanned the dunes as their owner's speeder darted across the barren landscape.
'Is this where you thought I'd end up, Master?'
Olia Fen shook her head and tried to discard the thought. All these years and she was still looking to him, despite what he had done. Despite what she had done.
Kalista glanced at her from the driver's seat, but she waved the green-skinned Twi'Lek off. She knew that she should be paying more attention to their surroundings, but then she had always had a penchant for drifting into melancholic thought in quiet moments.
In hindsight, perhaps it had been inevitable that she fell. She had always excelled at the Jedi arts, though she had also always had difficulty with being a Jedi. Too quick to anger, too much pride in her skills, too quick to use violence, too passionate…Many potential Masters had overlooked her because of those traits.
It was easy to blame the times she was born into and perhaps that had been the cause. When she had been born, the war had still been raging in full force with no end in sight. She remembered little of her childhood before the Jedi had taken her in, but she was told it had not been pleasant. She was unsure if that was because she had been too young at the time or if she had subconsciously suppressed it, though she swore she could still hear her mother's voice in her dreams, humming a lullaby.
Olia had never understood why Master Xhal had chosen her as his Padawan. The Cathar had practically embodied the opposite of everything she had ever been. Where she had been a wild child, he had been a man of few words. Where she had been carefree, he had been a strict disciplinarian. Where she had been short-tempered, he was patient.
Despite their repeated and heated arguments, she had never felt the urge to leave his side. For all of his talk of avoiding attachment, he had become the stern father she had never had, reacting with fond exasperation to her antics. She had accompanied him from one end of the galaxy to the other, battlefield to battlefield, learning all he had to teach and just enjoying being around him. At his side, she had felt like the Jedi that few thought she could be.
Despite that, all that it took in the end was a shove in the wrong direction to send it all tumbling down.
All she had needed was one bad day.
Master Xhal had been a Jedi Shadow, meaning there were some missions that she could not join him on. He would disappear for months at a time, doing whatever he was assigned. Eventually, he didn't come back.
Xhal had been a private man, even among the tight-knit Jedi community. His funeral had been small and most that attended did so out of courtesy rather than any personal connection, though there had been no body to be burned. Still, Olia had felt some small consolation at the sight of several members of the High Council in attendance.
Grief had kept her confined to their shared quarters in the Temple for several days, where she went through what little he owned as she reminisced. Not everything they had done in the war was fight. Among their collective belongings were several holophotos and videos, showing the pair helping out in refugee camps and field hospitals.
But whatever solace she managed to find had been shattered by what she found next. Had she not flopped onto the bed and looked at the ceiling at just the right angle with just the right lighting, she would not have noticed it. A light tug with the Force was enough to pull the panel away, revealing a cache of carefully organized datachips hidden away in a small compartment built into the wall above Xhal's bed. Curiosity briefly overruled all else as she plugged the first one into her datapad.
Curiosity had been quickly replaced with horror as she read. Contained on the datachips were records of his off-the-books missions, which were usually made and then erased following the completion of the task. However, Xhal had been a meticulous record-keeper, likely unable to stand not having documentation of his tasks. Perhaps it had been a form of atonement in his eyes, to not have his crimes just…disappear.
There were missions that Jedi Shadows were expected to undertake. Capture, or if that failed, assassination of rogue Jedi or particularly dangerous Sith Lords. Ambiguously legal investigations of prominent corporate figures. Recovery or destruction of dangerous artifacts.
And then there were missions that were not expected. There were so many that she refused to look at most of them, but some caught her eye. Mainly, the existence of a number of secret prisons across Republic space, used to house war criminals, political prisoners, Sith, the inconvenient…and their descendants. To her horror, she found that this had been going on for generations and that Master Xhal was just one of the more recent Jedi to be involved.
Belsavis was not a name she had recognized, but it would haunt her dreams for a long time afterwards. Master Xhal's notes of his role in the operation of the facility were more detailed than she had ever wanted to know.
Worst of all, there was no mention anywhere in the records that any of it had been done without the Jedi Council's approval.
Though she was loathe to admit it now, her fragile emotional state at the time had shattered into full-blown panic. Hiding the chips back in their compartment, she stole away in the middle of the night into the hidden tunnels below the Coruscant Temple that she technically wasn't supposed to know about. There hadn't been a plan, just a general need to get away. One thing had lead to another and eventually she wound up on a public transport to Nar Shaddaa with precious little idea of how she got there.
Once she had calmed down slightly, Olia hadn't quite known what to do. In the squalor of the Smuggler's Moon, she did try to make an effort to keep to the Jedi ways, but without her Master around she found it harder and harder to justify it to herself. With what she had discovered, every lesson he had taught her was tinged with hypocrisy. Every lecture on justice dripped with lies. She was plagued with doubts and wondered how many Jedi only paid lip service to the tenets they preached.
They preached their code and expected her to follow it when they did not? The anger had burned in her gut, breaking down her inhibitions bit by bit. She had raged against her former mentor, screaming at his ghost that he had tried to make her like him. To break her will like some beast.
The Smuggler's Moon was a kingdom of vices. The best revenge she could think of was to indulge. Using her powers and looks to charm her way into higher and higher circles, she drank deeply from the well of fear and desperation that was Nar Shaddaa. As she delved farther into pleasures so long denied to her and explored her darker urges, her eyes were soon permanently stained yellow.
Months had passed in a blur. Through the Spice, drink, and gambling, she did feel some guilt for not saying goodbye to her few friends in the Temple and more for abandoning them in the middle of a war. She had wondered why no Jedi Shadow had come for her. Her muddled mind finally came to the conclusion that they had better things to do, which would turn out to be correct. But not in the way she suspected.
It was during one of her few sober moments that she saw a Holonet news story on the Sacking of Coruscant, then nearly a week old. Before she could seek out Deathsticks to block out the new nightmares, she had been made an offer she couldn't refuse.
The detox that had followed had been…unpleasant and was not an experience she wished to repeat. Thankfully, the lesson of the consequences of over-indulgence had been firmly pressed into her mind and she would not soon forget.
"We're here," Kalista remarked, her tone as biting as the sand.
Olia blinked, shaking herself out of her memories. She should not be thinking of days now long gone. She was no longer a Jedi. She no longer served the Republic.
Before them, a looming structure of stone and durasteel jutted out from the canyon wall, its harsh edges eroded by the wind over thousands of years.
As she got out of the speeder, she observed her companion out of the corner of her eye. While she was proud of her own beauty, she would privately admit that the Twi'Lek woman was stunning, with curves and lines in the right places. The intricate patterns on her lekku were particularly entrancing. However, it was marred by the harsh scowl that seemed to be permanently etched onto her face. Unfortunately, it was one of her only advantages. The other woman had only middling power, which rage could only enhance so far, and little combat training. While her illiteracy had been her main way to manipulate the other acolyte, it also locked Kalista out of many paths to power as she could not take advantage of the archives.
The time spent teaching her to read would take away from Olia's own pursuits, but it was one that she couldn't afford not to take. Not with his allies getting stronger.
Him. Iren's pet.
Truthfully, she hadn't thought much of him when they first met, but something about him unnerved her even then. Maybe it was the way he looked at people, like he was taking them apart in his mind, piece by piece. Perhaps it was the fact that his expression rarely changed. The most she had seen was a small smirk.
Or maybe it was the way that he seemed so utterly detached from everything. He was an emotional blank in the Force, save for the simmering anger behind his eyes. Even then, it was so tightly constrained that it was barely there.
It was because of that that she had not attempted her usual method of dispatching rivals, due to being uncertain if he would "rise" to the bait, in both senses of the word. Instead, the game had morphed into a series of power plays, seizing the best pieces before the inevitable final confrontation.
Unfortunately, he had already done that in the form of the Wookiee thanks to Iren. That left her with Ianna, Terrak, and Qiv. Terrak would follow his sister, but Ianna was terrified of both Olia and him, though she was at least on speaking terms. Qiv had practically disappeared the moment Iren had dismissed him from the debriefing following the First Trial. Part of her wondered if the Nautolan was actually dead.
While she was certain that she could easily kill him, the Wookiee, and the Quarren in single combat, she was not nearly so certain about all three simultaneously.
As she unpacked supplies from the speeder, Olia paused as she realized something, "What do you think his name is?"
Kalista rolled her eyes and shrugged, knowing exactly who the ex-Jedi was talking about.
It was odd. She had become interested in this game of theirs, but she hadn't even bothered to learn her rival's name. Then again, she had never quite thought of him having a name. He was just…there. Now that she was thinking about it, she did need a name to differentiate him from every other male at the academy.
Despite them being his most prominent facial feature, calling him Scar was out. Too cliché.
Her mind drifted to an image of the web-like cybernetics that now made up half of her rival's face and she recalled the rumors of his exploits in the desert that had drifted into her ears from disgruntled acolytes who had been ousted from their "territories."
Spider?
"Spider," She rolled the nickname on her tongue, trying it out, "Spiiiderrr."
That would do.
"I don't want to know," Kalista sighed in frustration, "Just…tell me what we're doing here. Out in the sun. In the middle of the desert. Again."
Olia smiled. The Twi'Lek hissed and spat like an ornery cat, but she obeyed when directed. A hold over from her time as a slave. While it left her rather passive and ultimately made for a poor Sith, it made her easier to control.
"There is something in this tomb I would like access to. It is all you need know at the moment," With a frown, she patted her side, where her sword hung. Though she felt incomplete without her lightsaber, if she succeeded here it would be one more step towards getting it back.
Perhaps over Iren's cooling corpse.
Flicking on her glowrod, Olia entered the tomb of Tulak Hord, Kalista on her heels.
Master Xhal had always encouraged her interest in becoming an archaeologist, though she doubted that this was what he would have had in mind.
Chapter 25
- Location
- North Carolina
Chapter 25
0 PTC. Year Zero, Post Treaty of Coruscant.
The Treaty of Coruscant, the Sacking of Coruscant, and the Battle of Alderaan…all of that had taken place a month before I arrived at the academy. I had still been working in the cortosis mines when Darth Malgus stormed the Jedi Temple.
As I stared at the date displayed on my datapad, I was mentally split on how I should be reacting to this.
Part of me was grateful. That meant I had somewhere around twelve years to prepare for the shitstorm that was the Galactic War. Jedi Knights, Sith Lords, and random adepts in the ass-end of nowhere could become galactic figures in about half of that amount of time, with the true prodigies like the Wrath and Kallig only taking a tenth.
The rest of me was terrified. The Cold War era was a time of shadow games and proxy wars. While the Sith Empire and the Republic didn't officially fight each other with armies, the neutral worlds became the battlegrounds. Both sides were spoiling for a fight, but neither side was going to be anywhere close to ready for another decade. If anything, this was even more dangerous than the Galactic War as everyone was hiding their cards.
The wrong move at the wrong time could reignite the war before anyone was ready. Including me.
With a sigh, I shut the datapad off, pausing for a moment to stare at the image reflected back on the blank screen. In my mirrored face, only my eyes and the dull silver gleam of my cybernetics were visible in any detail. Molten orange had replaced hazel, emphasizing the dark circles around my eyes and casting the scars on my forehead and nose in shadows.
Look at me. Not even a year as a Sith and I've changed so much. I can barely correlate who I am now with what I was like a year and a half ago.
My left hand rubbed the exhaustion from my eyes as I set the datapad aside and sat up. I hadn't been sleeping well lately. General restlessness and the occasional stress-induced nightmare made getting a full night's rest more and more difficult as everything piled up. Meditation helped keep my strength up, but it wasn't a true replacement.
A shaggy hand reached down onto the desk and picked up one of the vambraces sitting in front of me. Gaarurra turned it over in his hands as he examined the changes I'd made. Like what had happened to my sword, the metal had darkened, though it was a pitch-black instead of storm-gray. The Wookiee ran a finger along the symbols now etched into the armor, which glowed a pale blue, before shooting me a questioning glance.
"A few improvements," I replied truthfully, "Makes the armor stronger."
Gaarurra huffed.
"It's not a waste of time," I shot back, "If you bothered to wear armor, I might whip some up for you too. For someone training to be a Sith Juggernaut, you seem to be rather against the idea of actually wearing armor."
He rolled his eyes. This was an argument we'd had a few times before. For whatever reason, Wookiees did not like wearing more than a bandoleer. If they needed to armor up, they added pauldrons and maybe vambraces. Maybe it was something to do with how Kashyyyk didn't really have any metal to use, so they never bothered with making any.
And yes, it was awkward for a while after I remembered that my roommate was actually constantly naked. I tried not to think about it too much.
Gaarurra examined the vambrace for a few more moments before handing it back and flopping down on his bed. I think he was more interested in taking a look at the craftsmanship rather than any interest in what it would be used for.
My first venture into Sith Sorcery had gone better than expected. And by that, I mean that nothing unfortunate and/or mind-shattering had happened. I got the materials, went out to an unoccupied cave, did the ritual, and came back.
Using the book Thanaton had recommended, I was able to track down a few interesting tomes that had not been checked out by other acolytes. While most of the material was beyond what I was willing to risk, there had been one on wards and protective enchantments that didn't seem too bad. That said, there was another spell I made sure to copy down for later practice. I'd been surprised to find it in the section of the Archives I had access to, but I wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. At least, not too closely.
Sith Sorcery usually required one of two things: a focus or a sacrifice, though sometimes both are needed. One example that came to mind was when a neophyte sorcerer destroyed his own hand with a blaster to summon a phantom version of the limb to strangle an enemy. Not exactly a useful spell when Force Choke was an option, but an example nonetheless. To be fair, the sorcerer in question had been on a power high at the time and not exactly in his right mind.
Braziers were the most common focus for spells, along with ritual weapons, fetishes, and amulets. The spell I laid on the vambraces technically required both the focus and the sacrifice. However, the sacrifice called for was a source of energy separate from the caster. A lit brazier had fulfilled both roles.
If the charm worked right, it should have improved the properties already present in the armor, rather than adding something extra.
From where I propped it up against the wall, my sword quietly hummed.
Like I said. Should. Apparently, I didn't have a great track record with that word. I still didn't know what I did to the thing and that was before I ever touched Sorcery. It already drinks the blood of my enemies, I wasn't sure I wanted to know what else it could do.
And now, it was humming. I blamed my mistranslations.
Gaarurra looked at it with a raised eyebrow.
The sword was quiet for a moment before letting out a short hum.
Gaarurra looked at me. I shrugged. He woofed a question.
"No, I'm not making you one. We don't need two humming swords. We'd never get any sleep," I shook my head, "Besides, I'm still not sure what I did to this one."
As the Wookiee grumbled, I swore I heard the sword rattle in its sheathe.
I massaged my eyes to fend off a growing headache. A woof from Gaarurra got my attention again. When I looked up at him, he gestured at my eyes.
I forced a smile on my face, "Using the Dark Side a lot makes you ugly. This," I waved in the direction of my eyes, "This should go away soon. I didn't exactly do a major working."
Gaarurra gave me the stink-eye and huffed, likely unconvinced. Still, he left it at that and rolled over. He wasn't one to talk though. I thought I saw a hint of gray at the edges of his fur.
While I wasn't too enthused at getting hit with the ugly stick, I was genuinely proud at what I'd done. Though it wasn't quite a professional job, I had created my first piece of true Dark Armor.
For Sith, armor was almost a form of identity. There were many Sith in the galaxy that could be identified by the marks on their armor alone, to the point where their armor became more recognizable than their own faces. It could range from the heavy durasteel plates favored by warriors to the armorweave robes used by inquisitors and sorcerers. Many made their outfits as ornate as possible to display both their wealth and their power to intimidate their enemies. While full suits of Dark Armor like Warb Null's were rare, many wore at least one major piece of armor augmented by Alchemy, Sorcery, or both.
However, actually making Dark Armor was not a widespread practice. Most current suits of Sith armor were of the mundane variety mass produced in factories. Sith with family history could add on a piece of Dark Armor, usually from an ancestral set of battle armor. Very few Sith made their own armor anymore. While Sorcerers and Alchemists were still prevalent in the Empire, the number of warriors had begun to eclipse them as a result of more "cannon-fodder" Sith managing to survive as time went on, who had different priorities.
So, these battered and pitted vambraces would become part of my identity, the face I showed to the galaxy. Once I'd repeated the enhancements on the breastplate, that too would be added to my image, with its burns and pits. I glanced at my reflection on the datapad again.
It fit pretty well, all things considered.
A snort from Gaarurra made me look over at him. He'd rolled over on his bed, shaggy back facing me as he snored away like a chainsaw.
I glanced at the time and grimaced at how late it was. Might as well hit the sack as well.
After doing some last bits of hygiene care like brushing my teeth, I climbed up into my bed without changing out of my robes. I didn't have anything else to wear and it got damn cold at night on Korriban, even inside the Academy.
Though I tossed and turned for about an hour, I finally managed to get to sleep.
===================================================================
The swish of the door opening and closing woke me up some time in the middle of the night. Everything was dark, so I couldn't see who it was or if they were going out or coming in. Probably Gaarurra getting up for some water or something.
I was about to go back to sleep when a weight pressed down on my bunk.
My eyes snapped open in full just as cold, hard fingers wrapped around my throat, cutting off my air. Above me, two glowing red eyes stared unblinking at me from the gloom. For a moment, all I could do was struggle against its grip, panicking and choking.
Sluggishly, I finally realized I had to do something. I grabbed at the strangely thin wrists of my attacker and pulled, flooding my muscles with the Force to enhance my strength. Metal groaned in my grip, but the hold on my throat held fast with inhuman strength of its own.
When that didn't work, I had to try something else, but I couldn't concentrate enough to use telekinesis. Instead, lightning crackled around my fingers as electricity surged into my attacker, the discharge of energy illuminating their body for a brief moment, revealing blue-gray plating and a skeletal body.
But lightning proved not to be a good idea. While the red eyes above me sparked and dimmed, the grip on my throat was still locked in place. I grit my teeth as my own lightning was conducted back into my body.
Just as I was morbidly wondering if I would be able to tell when my sight went black in a dark room, something grabbed the inert body of my attacker and heaved it off my bunk. Unfortunately, with its deathgrip on my neck, I was pulled along as well. As I landed awkwardly on the floor, the arms cutting off my air flow were ripped away.
Suddenly finding myself with the ability to breathe again, I took great gasps of air to try and alleviate my burning lungs. As I started coughing, the lights flipped on, revealing Gaarurra standing next to the switch. He must have been woken up by the lightning and tried to pull my assailant off me.
At his unspoken question, I nodded to show I was alright, not quite trusting my ability to speak just yet. Seems I owed him one now.
Finally, I got a look at my attacker…and blinked. There, with its arms ripped from its shoulders courtesy of Gaarurra, was the factotum droid that had been tidying up my room for the past five months. Its chassis was scorched from where my lightning had made contact, which had likely fried its internals as well.
Rage flooded me as it hit me.
I'd almost been killed by the fucking factotum droid! After killing Castor and Renning, this was what almost did me in?!
My right hand reached out towards its head for a moment, poised for a Force Crush. But I stopped myself. I breathed in, held it, and then let it out. My knee-jerk reaction wasn't going to help here.
I slowly closed my hand and went back to massaging my throat irritably.
Had the droid finally snapped…or was this someone's attempt to get rid of me? If it was the latter, then who?
I reached out towards the droid again. Metal shrieked and groaned as the joints connecting its head to its body were crushed and torn apart. Its disembodied head then floated up and I stared into its deactivated eyes.
If its memory banks survived the lightning, I was going to find out. If not, I'd find another way.
0 PTC. Year Zero, Post Treaty of Coruscant.
The Treaty of Coruscant, the Sacking of Coruscant, and the Battle of Alderaan…all of that had taken place a month before I arrived at the academy. I had still been working in the cortosis mines when Darth Malgus stormed the Jedi Temple.
As I stared at the date displayed on my datapad, I was mentally split on how I should be reacting to this.
Part of me was grateful. That meant I had somewhere around twelve years to prepare for the shitstorm that was the Galactic War. Jedi Knights, Sith Lords, and random adepts in the ass-end of nowhere could become galactic figures in about half of that amount of time, with the true prodigies like the Wrath and Kallig only taking a tenth.
The rest of me was terrified. The Cold War era was a time of shadow games and proxy wars. While the Sith Empire and the Republic didn't officially fight each other with armies, the neutral worlds became the battlegrounds. Both sides were spoiling for a fight, but neither side was going to be anywhere close to ready for another decade. If anything, this was even more dangerous than the Galactic War as everyone was hiding their cards.
The wrong move at the wrong time could reignite the war before anyone was ready. Including me.
With a sigh, I shut the datapad off, pausing for a moment to stare at the image reflected back on the blank screen. In my mirrored face, only my eyes and the dull silver gleam of my cybernetics were visible in any detail. Molten orange had replaced hazel, emphasizing the dark circles around my eyes and casting the scars on my forehead and nose in shadows.
Look at me. Not even a year as a Sith and I've changed so much. I can barely correlate who I am now with what I was like a year and a half ago.
My left hand rubbed the exhaustion from my eyes as I set the datapad aside and sat up. I hadn't been sleeping well lately. General restlessness and the occasional stress-induced nightmare made getting a full night's rest more and more difficult as everything piled up. Meditation helped keep my strength up, but it wasn't a true replacement.
A shaggy hand reached down onto the desk and picked up one of the vambraces sitting in front of me. Gaarurra turned it over in his hands as he examined the changes I'd made. Like what had happened to my sword, the metal had darkened, though it was a pitch-black instead of storm-gray. The Wookiee ran a finger along the symbols now etched into the armor, which glowed a pale blue, before shooting me a questioning glance.
"A few improvements," I replied truthfully, "Makes the armor stronger."
Gaarurra huffed.
"It's not a waste of time," I shot back, "If you bothered to wear armor, I might whip some up for you too. For someone training to be a Sith Juggernaut, you seem to be rather against the idea of actually wearing armor."
He rolled his eyes. This was an argument we'd had a few times before. For whatever reason, Wookiees did not like wearing more than a bandoleer. If they needed to armor up, they added pauldrons and maybe vambraces. Maybe it was something to do with how Kashyyyk didn't really have any metal to use, so they never bothered with making any.
And yes, it was awkward for a while after I remembered that my roommate was actually constantly naked. I tried not to think about it too much.
Gaarurra examined the vambrace for a few more moments before handing it back and flopping down on his bed. I think he was more interested in taking a look at the craftsmanship rather than any interest in what it would be used for.
My first venture into Sith Sorcery had gone better than expected. And by that, I mean that nothing unfortunate and/or mind-shattering had happened. I got the materials, went out to an unoccupied cave, did the ritual, and came back.
Using the book Thanaton had recommended, I was able to track down a few interesting tomes that had not been checked out by other acolytes. While most of the material was beyond what I was willing to risk, there had been one on wards and protective enchantments that didn't seem too bad. That said, there was another spell I made sure to copy down for later practice. I'd been surprised to find it in the section of the Archives I had access to, but I wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. At least, not too closely.
Sith Sorcery usually required one of two things: a focus or a sacrifice, though sometimes both are needed. One example that came to mind was when a neophyte sorcerer destroyed his own hand with a blaster to summon a phantom version of the limb to strangle an enemy. Not exactly a useful spell when Force Choke was an option, but an example nonetheless. To be fair, the sorcerer in question had been on a power high at the time and not exactly in his right mind.
Braziers were the most common focus for spells, along with ritual weapons, fetishes, and amulets. The spell I laid on the vambraces technically required both the focus and the sacrifice. However, the sacrifice called for was a source of energy separate from the caster. A lit brazier had fulfilled both roles.
If the charm worked right, it should have improved the properties already present in the armor, rather than adding something extra.
From where I propped it up against the wall, my sword quietly hummed.
Like I said. Should. Apparently, I didn't have a great track record with that word. I still didn't know what I did to the thing and that was before I ever touched Sorcery. It already drinks the blood of my enemies, I wasn't sure I wanted to know what else it could do.
And now, it was humming. I blamed my mistranslations.
Gaarurra looked at it with a raised eyebrow.
The sword was quiet for a moment before letting out a short hum.
Gaarurra looked at me. I shrugged. He woofed a question.
"No, I'm not making you one. We don't need two humming swords. We'd never get any sleep," I shook my head, "Besides, I'm still not sure what I did to this one."
As the Wookiee grumbled, I swore I heard the sword rattle in its sheathe.
I massaged my eyes to fend off a growing headache. A woof from Gaarurra got my attention again. When I looked up at him, he gestured at my eyes.
I forced a smile on my face, "Using the Dark Side a lot makes you ugly. This," I waved in the direction of my eyes, "This should go away soon. I didn't exactly do a major working."
Gaarurra gave me the stink-eye and huffed, likely unconvinced. Still, he left it at that and rolled over. He wasn't one to talk though. I thought I saw a hint of gray at the edges of his fur.
While I wasn't too enthused at getting hit with the ugly stick, I was genuinely proud at what I'd done. Though it wasn't quite a professional job, I had created my first piece of true Dark Armor.
For Sith, armor was almost a form of identity. There were many Sith in the galaxy that could be identified by the marks on their armor alone, to the point where their armor became more recognizable than their own faces. It could range from the heavy durasteel plates favored by warriors to the armorweave robes used by inquisitors and sorcerers. Many made their outfits as ornate as possible to display both their wealth and their power to intimidate their enemies. While full suits of Dark Armor like Warb Null's were rare, many wore at least one major piece of armor augmented by Alchemy, Sorcery, or both.
However, actually making Dark Armor was not a widespread practice. Most current suits of Sith armor were of the mundane variety mass produced in factories. Sith with family history could add on a piece of Dark Armor, usually from an ancestral set of battle armor. Very few Sith made their own armor anymore. While Sorcerers and Alchemists were still prevalent in the Empire, the number of warriors had begun to eclipse them as a result of more "cannon-fodder" Sith managing to survive as time went on, who had different priorities.
So, these battered and pitted vambraces would become part of my identity, the face I showed to the galaxy. Once I'd repeated the enhancements on the breastplate, that too would be added to my image, with its burns and pits. I glanced at my reflection on the datapad again.
It fit pretty well, all things considered.
A snort from Gaarurra made me look over at him. He'd rolled over on his bed, shaggy back facing me as he snored away like a chainsaw.
I glanced at the time and grimaced at how late it was. Might as well hit the sack as well.
After doing some last bits of hygiene care like brushing my teeth, I climbed up into my bed without changing out of my robes. I didn't have anything else to wear and it got damn cold at night on Korriban, even inside the Academy.
Though I tossed and turned for about an hour, I finally managed to get to sleep.
===================================================================
The swish of the door opening and closing woke me up some time in the middle of the night. Everything was dark, so I couldn't see who it was or if they were going out or coming in. Probably Gaarurra getting up for some water or something.
I was about to go back to sleep when a weight pressed down on my bunk.
My eyes snapped open in full just as cold, hard fingers wrapped around my throat, cutting off my air. Above me, two glowing red eyes stared unblinking at me from the gloom. For a moment, all I could do was struggle against its grip, panicking and choking.
Sluggishly, I finally realized I had to do something. I grabbed at the strangely thin wrists of my attacker and pulled, flooding my muscles with the Force to enhance my strength. Metal groaned in my grip, but the hold on my throat held fast with inhuman strength of its own.
When that didn't work, I had to try something else, but I couldn't concentrate enough to use telekinesis. Instead, lightning crackled around my fingers as electricity surged into my attacker, the discharge of energy illuminating their body for a brief moment, revealing blue-gray plating and a skeletal body.
But lightning proved not to be a good idea. While the red eyes above me sparked and dimmed, the grip on my throat was still locked in place. I grit my teeth as my own lightning was conducted back into my body.
Just as I was morbidly wondering if I would be able to tell when my sight went black in a dark room, something grabbed the inert body of my attacker and heaved it off my bunk. Unfortunately, with its deathgrip on my neck, I was pulled along as well. As I landed awkwardly on the floor, the arms cutting off my air flow were ripped away.
Suddenly finding myself with the ability to breathe again, I took great gasps of air to try and alleviate my burning lungs. As I started coughing, the lights flipped on, revealing Gaarurra standing next to the switch. He must have been woken up by the lightning and tried to pull my assailant off me.
At his unspoken question, I nodded to show I was alright, not quite trusting my ability to speak just yet. Seems I owed him one now.
Finally, I got a look at my attacker…and blinked. There, with its arms ripped from its shoulders courtesy of Gaarurra, was the factotum droid that had been tidying up my room for the past five months. Its chassis was scorched from where my lightning had made contact, which had likely fried its internals as well.
Rage flooded me as it hit me.
I'd almost been killed by the fucking factotum droid! After killing Castor and Renning, this was what almost did me in?!
My right hand reached out towards its head for a moment, poised for a Force Crush. But I stopped myself. I breathed in, held it, and then let it out. My knee-jerk reaction wasn't going to help here.
I slowly closed my hand and went back to massaging my throat irritably.
Had the droid finally snapped…or was this someone's attempt to get rid of me? If it was the latter, then who?
I reached out towards the droid again. Metal shrieked and groaned as the joints connecting its head to its body were crushed and torn apart. Its disembodied head then floated up and I stared into its deactivated eyes.
If its memory banks survived the lightning, I was going to find out. If not, I'd find another way.
Interlude: Sibling Bond
- Location
- North Carolina
Interlude: Sibling Bond
Step. Step. Step. Pause. Turn.
Step. Step. Step. Pause. Turn.
"Pacing a hole in the floor isn't going to do you any good, sister. The only thing that will change will be that you're tired. And you're making concentrating a bit difficult."
Ianna's eyes shifted from her feet to her brother. The larger Zabrak sat cross-legged on his bunk, his eyes closed and his right hand grasping his knee. On a workboard balanced on his lap, his artificial arm had been detached from its reception port and partially disassembled. A used cleaning rag laid off to the side next to a small tool kit. A miniature asteroid belt of nuts, bolts, panels, and servos orbited the meditating man as each piece was reattached, one at a time.
She watched a bit a wiring snake down into the skeletal limb that had replaced her brother's arm, followed by the tool that secured it back in place. A shiver went down her spine.
The woman let out an explosive sigh and roughly sat down in the nearby chair, "I know. I know. But I can't sit and do nothing. It feels…wrong."
Terrak smirked, "Do you think I do nothing when I sit like this?"
"No," Ianna shook her head as she pulled her knees up to her chest.
When she didn't say anything more, one of her brother's eyes opened and looked at her. For a moment, she lost herself in the yellow iris. Back home, it had never scared her. His eyes had always been that color. But now that she was here…
"There's no point in being silent, Ianna. Neither of us can hide much from the other and it's easier to talk."
That was one downside to the training, she thought. As they grew stronger, so too did the bond between them. Most of the time, it was only impressions and emotions that were passed back and forth. But in moments of duress or perfect clarity, they could trade coherent thoughts and images. Lately, her brother's end had become more ordered. Clearer.
Her's must have looked like a mess.
Ianna decided to evade the particular thought that Terrak had picked up on, in favor of another, "I'm afraid, Terrak."
"Of?"
She snorted, "If I went down the whole list, we'd be here all day," She paused as she tried to organize her thoughts into something intelligible, "This place. The Overseer. The others. Everybody above our heads…And…"
"And Mom?" Terrak finished.
"Yeah. I guess," Ianna shrugged, "Without us around, she has triple the workload."
"Our master was from an old Sith family, so she probably got compensation when we were taken," Her brother tried to assuage her, "She might have bought two more slaves. Mom is one of her favorites, after all."
"Was, Terrak. Was," Ianna corrected, "She wasn't happy that Mom hid us for so long," She glanced up from her knees, "Do you think she hurt Mom after we left?"
"And lose more than she already had?" Terrak pointed out, "She was angry, not stupid. Harming Mom would hurt her more in the long run than she would gain from any measure of temporary satisfaction."
Ianna stared at her brother, not comprehending what he was saying.
He grinned widely, both eyes now open, "If she hurt a horn on Mom's head, she'd have two Sith gunning for her. Along with any weapon and friend that we could get a hold of."
Ianna rolled her eyes, a small smile of her own on her face. However, it quickly disappeared, "That's if we survive the Academy. Or even care when we do."
Terrak blinked, his smile fading, "What do you mean?"
"I've heard people talking. Seen them," She shook her head, closing her eyes as a shiver crawled across her skin, "The older acolytes…the ones that have been here longer…I've heard them talk about their families like they're nothing. Some boasted about severing their attachment to "weaknesses." Others didn't speak a word. I'm not sure which is worse."
The last panel on his cyber-arm clicked into place. With a frown, Terrak positioned it back over the reception port and latched it into place. Taking a breath in, he activated the arm. As it powered on, the Zabrak took a sharp inhale before letting it out slowly. Ianna briefly felt pain flare across their bond, but only for a moment.
It was one thing she hated about that machine.
"So that's what you're really afraid of, isn't it?" Terrak asked as he started repacking his tools, "Not Mom, not the academy, not even the others. You're afraid that being Sith will twist you. Make you forget."
Ianna nodded slowly, bunching up into a tighter ball, "If I stop caring about Mom, how soon will it be until you stop mattering?"
For the first time in a while, her brother's calm exterior cracked, if only slightly, "I want to say it won't, can't, happen. But with what we've seen here in this place, I cannot deny it's a possibility. Back home too. Some of the worst live on Dromund Kaas, too."
Green eyes glared at yellow, "I was hoping that you would reassure me. Not…that. You're terrible at this."
"Maybe, but it needed to be said," He agreed with a shrug. Gesturing with his organic arm, he continued, "Come. Sit with me. Like we used to."
Without hesitation, Ianna unfolded her legs, though she winced at the sudden stiffness as she tried to stand. Hobbling over to the bed, she sat down next to her brother, huddling under his arm. Though she didn't say it aloud, she was glad it wasn't the fake. She hated even looking at it, much less touching it.
The warmth made her relax slightly, but still her nerves were frayed.
"How do you stay so calm?" She asked, "After everything that's happened. The trials, your arm…Why aren't you as scared as I am?"
"What makes you think I'm not?" He turned the question around on her. He laughed as he got an elbow to the ribs, "Alright, alright! I kid."
As she resettled, he continued, "I do a few things. The first is that I simply don't dwell on my fear." He chuckled as his sister turned a disbelieving stare towards him, "We cannot go back and the only way is forward. One step at a time, but we cannot be afraid to take the first step or we will never start. But once that step is taken, the rest get easier. Our obstacles are great, but we can be greater with time. Especially together, like we always have been."
"…And the other thing?"
"Do you know what I do when I sit here? Alone and still?" At the shake of Ianna's head, he smiled, "I listen to the rain."
The incredulous stare returned, "What rain? We're on Korriban."
"Not here. On Dromund Kaas," Terrak replied cryptically. As Ianna prepared another elbowing, he stopped her, "Remember when we were kids. About an hour after lunch, there was always this break in the clouds, just big enough to let some sunlight get through."
"And I used to stare out the side window at it. I was practically entranced by it," Ianna muttered as the image formed in her mind.
"And I did your work for you while you did that," Terrak replied with a cheeky grin. He grunted as her elbow dug especially sharply into his ribcage, "But I listened to the rain too, pattering against the window and roof."
"So "listen to the rain," huh?" Ianna asked dubiously.
"Yep."
They stared at each other for a moment before both fell into helpless laughter against each other.
"You know," Ianna started as she regained control of her voice, glancing at the door, "If someone saw us right now, they'd assume you were the older sibling instead of me."
"Keep telling yourself that. Little Sis-Ouch! Stop that, you're going to break a rib!"
Huddled up against her brother's side, Ianna sobered, "If I start to slip, pull me back, won't you?"
"Yeah," Terrak promised, squeezing her lightly with his organic arm, "Just don't forget to do the same for me."
In the room, where all the Academy's violence and cruelty was gone for a moment and it was just the two of them, Ianna closed her eyes...and listened for the rain.
Step. Step. Step. Pause. Turn.
Step. Step. Step. Pause. Turn.
"Pacing a hole in the floor isn't going to do you any good, sister. The only thing that will change will be that you're tired. And you're making concentrating a bit difficult."
Ianna's eyes shifted from her feet to her brother. The larger Zabrak sat cross-legged on his bunk, his eyes closed and his right hand grasping his knee. On a workboard balanced on his lap, his artificial arm had been detached from its reception port and partially disassembled. A used cleaning rag laid off to the side next to a small tool kit. A miniature asteroid belt of nuts, bolts, panels, and servos orbited the meditating man as each piece was reattached, one at a time.
She watched a bit a wiring snake down into the skeletal limb that had replaced her brother's arm, followed by the tool that secured it back in place. A shiver went down her spine.
The woman let out an explosive sigh and roughly sat down in the nearby chair, "I know. I know. But I can't sit and do nothing. It feels…wrong."
Terrak smirked, "Do you think I do nothing when I sit like this?"
"No," Ianna shook her head as she pulled her knees up to her chest.
When she didn't say anything more, one of her brother's eyes opened and looked at her. For a moment, she lost herself in the yellow iris. Back home, it had never scared her. His eyes had always been that color. But now that she was here…
"There's no point in being silent, Ianna. Neither of us can hide much from the other and it's easier to talk."
That was one downside to the training, she thought. As they grew stronger, so too did the bond between them. Most of the time, it was only impressions and emotions that were passed back and forth. But in moments of duress or perfect clarity, they could trade coherent thoughts and images. Lately, her brother's end had become more ordered. Clearer.
Her's must have looked like a mess.
Ianna decided to evade the particular thought that Terrak had picked up on, in favor of another, "I'm afraid, Terrak."
"Of?"
She snorted, "If I went down the whole list, we'd be here all day," She paused as she tried to organize her thoughts into something intelligible, "This place. The Overseer. The others. Everybody above our heads…And…"
"And Mom?" Terrak finished.
"Yeah. I guess," Ianna shrugged, "Without us around, she has triple the workload."
"Our master was from an old Sith family, so she probably got compensation when we were taken," Her brother tried to assuage her, "She might have bought two more slaves. Mom is one of her favorites, after all."
"Was, Terrak. Was," Ianna corrected, "She wasn't happy that Mom hid us for so long," She glanced up from her knees, "Do you think she hurt Mom after we left?"
"And lose more than she already had?" Terrak pointed out, "She was angry, not stupid. Harming Mom would hurt her more in the long run than she would gain from any measure of temporary satisfaction."
Ianna stared at her brother, not comprehending what he was saying.
He grinned widely, both eyes now open, "If she hurt a horn on Mom's head, she'd have two Sith gunning for her. Along with any weapon and friend that we could get a hold of."
Ianna rolled her eyes, a small smile of her own on her face. However, it quickly disappeared, "That's if we survive the Academy. Or even care when we do."
Terrak blinked, his smile fading, "What do you mean?"
"I've heard people talking. Seen them," She shook her head, closing her eyes as a shiver crawled across her skin, "The older acolytes…the ones that have been here longer…I've heard them talk about their families like they're nothing. Some boasted about severing their attachment to "weaknesses." Others didn't speak a word. I'm not sure which is worse."
The last panel on his cyber-arm clicked into place. With a frown, Terrak positioned it back over the reception port and latched it into place. Taking a breath in, he activated the arm. As it powered on, the Zabrak took a sharp inhale before letting it out slowly. Ianna briefly felt pain flare across their bond, but only for a moment.
It was one thing she hated about that machine.
"So that's what you're really afraid of, isn't it?" Terrak asked as he started repacking his tools, "Not Mom, not the academy, not even the others. You're afraid that being Sith will twist you. Make you forget."
Ianna nodded slowly, bunching up into a tighter ball, "If I stop caring about Mom, how soon will it be until you stop mattering?"
For the first time in a while, her brother's calm exterior cracked, if only slightly, "I want to say it won't, can't, happen. But with what we've seen here in this place, I cannot deny it's a possibility. Back home too. Some of the worst live on Dromund Kaas, too."
Green eyes glared at yellow, "I was hoping that you would reassure me. Not…that. You're terrible at this."
"Maybe, but it needed to be said," He agreed with a shrug. Gesturing with his organic arm, he continued, "Come. Sit with me. Like we used to."
Without hesitation, Ianna unfolded her legs, though she winced at the sudden stiffness as she tried to stand. Hobbling over to the bed, she sat down next to her brother, huddling under his arm. Though she didn't say it aloud, she was glad it wasn't the fake. She hated even looking at it, much less touching it.
The warmth made her relax slightly, but still her nerves were frayed.
"How do you stay so calm?" She asked, "After everything that's happened. The trials, your arm…Why aren't you as scared as I am?"
"What makes you think I'm not?" He turned the question around on her. He laughed as he got an elbow to the ribs, "Alright, alright! I kid."
As she resettled, he continued, "I do a few things. The first is that I simply don't dwell on my fear." He chuckled as his sister turned a disbelieving stare towards him, "We cannot go back and the only way is forward. One step at a time, but we cannot be afraid to take the first step or we will never start. But once that step is taken, the rest get easier. Our obstacles are great, but we can be greater with time. Especially together, like we always have been."
"…And the other thing?"
"Do you know what I do when I sit here? Alone and still?" At the shake of Ianna's head, he smiled, "I listen to the rain."
The incredulous stare returned, "What rain? We're on Korriban."
"Not here. On Dromund Kaas," Terrak replied cryptically. As Ianna prepared another elbowing, he stopped her, "Remember when we were kids. About an hour after lunch, there was always this break in the clouds, just big enough to let some sunlight get through."
"And I used to stare out the side window at it. I was practically entranced by it," Ianna muttered as the image formed in her mind.
"And I did your work for you while you did that," Terrak replied with a cheeky grin. He grunted as her elbow dug especially sharply into his ribcage, "But I listened to the rain too, pattering against the window and roof."
"So "listen to the rain," huh?" Ianna asked dubiously.
"Yep."
They stared at each other for a moment before both fell into helpless laughter against each other.
"You know," Ianna started as she regained control of her voice, glancing at the door, "If someone saw us right now, they'd assume you were the older sibling instead of me."
"Keep telling yourself that. Little Sis-Ouch! Stop that, you're going to break a rib!"
Huddled up against her brother's side, Ianna sobered, "If I start to slip, pull me back, won't you?"
"Yeah," Terrak promised, squeezing her lightly with his organic arm, "Just don't forget to do the same for me."
In the room, where all the Academy's violence and cruelty was gone for a moment and it was just the two of them, Ianna closed her eyes...and listened for the rain.
Chapter 26
- Location
- North Carolina
Chapter 26
The droid's head rattled against the table as I slammed a hand down on the surface in frustration, a growl building in my throat. The Imperial technician who had been examining the memory banks jumped, startled by the sudden violence.
"Whatever the table did, I'm sure it's suitably apologetic, milord," Maklan remarked from the doorway. Next to him, Gaarurra huffed in amusement.
Where my fist had hit, the metal table had dented inward.
I slowly uncurled my hand and let a breath out before apologizing to the tech, "Sorry."
It wasn't his fault, after all. Best to assign blame where it was due. I quickly used Crucitorn as the throbbing pain in my hand soon made itself known. Glancing down at it, I saw that my pinkie finger was sitting awkwardly. I hadn't even heard the crack.
I concentrated for a moment. The skin rippled as the beginnings of a bruise faded away and the bones snapped back into place. I released my hold on Crucitorn and turned my attention back to matters at hand, ignoring the suddenly fascinated look on Maklan's face.
Unfortunately, the droid's memory core was a bust. What parts hadn't been completely fried by lightning didn't contain anything useful other than proof that the thing was the same droid that had been short-sheeting my bed for the past five months.
Examining it with the Force hadn't proven fruitful either. Either the droid had well and truly snapped…or the person that reprogrammed it didn't have contact with it long enough to leave an impression that I could track. Not that I really expected it would. If the perpetrator had a pre-programed spike on hand, all they would have to do was have access to the droid, insert the spike for a moment, and then leave. All the work of a few seconds, at most.
Letting out a sigh that was both irritated and disgusted, I walked out of the room and into the main room of the Second Platoon's barracks. Gaarurra and Maklan parted to let me pass before falling in behind me.
Gaarurra woofed a question. While I couldn't actually understand what he was saying, I could understand the tone and guess from there.
I shook my head, "No, nothing I could use." I rubbed my throat, even though the soreness had faded hours ago, "Even though it failed, it was pretty well done. It's going to be hard to track them down."
Maklan grunted in agreement, "The one that did the reprogramming might not necessarily be the same person as the one that ordered it. Could be the saboteur. Could be whoever's got leverage on the saboteur."
I acknowledged the point with a nod. The fingers of my left hand found their way back to my throat. It was unnerving how close it came to succeeding. If Gaarurra hadn't been in the room or hadn't been woken up by the lightning or was just a few seconds too slow, I probably would have died.
Speaking of, he growled another question.
"No, I don't think it was our yellow-eyed friend," I replied, "She…She would want me to know it was her. This was too indirect for her preferences. Call it intuition."
At this point, intuition was all I had to work with.
Around us, the soldiers of the Second Platoon were scattered around the barracks. Some were playing Pazaak, others cleaning gear. I'd quickly learned that while attending the Korriban academy was considered prestigious for the Sith, getting assigned here was considered a dead end for the military and was more punishment than honor. A soldier could spend half a decade here and never see a promotion, though they would be lucky to last that long.
After the Renning incident, the Second Platoon had been reassigned to the Academy for the time being. While I would hesitate to call Maklan and his men allies, they were a few steps higher up than my fellow acolytes. Associates of a favorable disposition that I could make use of now and again. It was good to have them nearby as they were effective eyes and ears. Like Maklan told me months ago, soldiers talk.
Several of them looked up as I passed, but I didn't stop.
However, that was about all I could rely on them for at the moment. Maklan and his men were average soldiers, not elite troopers. Even the weakest Sith could murder-blender their way through four or five soldiers on Force power alone before being put down by sheer weight of fire, more if they got creative and didn't face them head-on like idiots.
While the soldiers were useful for investigating, I'd have to handle dealing with the threat myself.
Neither Gaarurra nor I spoke as we started making our way back to the dorms.
While the most likely suspects were in my class, I had enemies outside of it as well. My little performance for Renning had driven off a lot of other acolytes from a profitable training ground and I doubted that had made me very popular with them.
Thanaton was another possibility and it would fit his MO. He wouldn't stoop to personally killing an acolyte, but he would arrange for an "accident," much like I did for Renning. That said, it was a slim possibility that he would waste the time on someone that wasn't even an apprentice yet. However, I couldn't discount him.
The former could be dealt with once I found out who they were. The latter…would just take more time and planning.
I stopped for a moment as I turned that thought over in my mind.
This was my life then, eh? Kill and kill and kill until people got it into their heads to leave me the fuck alone?
I smiled. My facial cybernetics whined lightly as gears and pistons moved to accommodate the expression.
That sounded about right. But that approach had consequences for a Sith.
I wasn't interested in power. I didn't mean power in the Force, which I was very much interested in. Rather, the kind of power that Ragnos had rambled about. The kind that came from command, from ruling. The Emperor could keep his damn throne. But despite my wishes, I could see what was happening, this game of politics I was unwillingly playing. It all started with Gaarurra, a single possibly-steadfast ally. I killed the looters, which ended up getting Cormun on my side. I killed Renning and the Second Platoon put their support behind me.
What was next? The entire Korriban Regiment? A dreadnought's crew? The more I killed, the more people rallied to the banner I never knew I had raised.
I started walking again.
That's alright with me. If it helped me survive…I'd take them all.
===============================================================
A few hours later, I was back out in the cave where I performed my rituals. Until this issue with the saboteur was resolved, I didn't dare use the training halls. But I still needed to train.
Lightning crackled around my hands before I let it out in a stream, which I held for several seconds before ceasing. I glanced at my fingers and found no sign of electrical burns. My target, a stack of crates, was in much worse shape with wisps of smoke rising from its surface and rivulets of molten metal dribbling down its sides.
It was coming to me more easily now. Before, it had fought me every step of the way and I had to fight back just as hard to bend it to my will. But now, it practically jumped to do my bidding. Instead of a single bolt, a torrent of electricity now answered my call.
It had happened overnight, quite literally. Something must have been knocked loose when I hit myself with the full brunt of my own lightning while disabling my would-be assassin. Now when I reached for it, it came like a loyal hound.
A roar of pain echoed in the cave, causing me to cringe at the noise.
Speaking of loyal hounds, Gaarurra was having significantly less success than I was. I'd decided to try and teach him how to use Force Lightning as well since he didn't appear to be getting much actual instruction in the way of Force abilities. While he was useful as a brute, he'd be more useful to me if he didn't have to rely solely on his physical strength.
While he had managed to avoid completely electrocuting himself, he was doing a marvelous job of frying his own fingers. On a side note, I don't think I'll be forgetting the sight of a Wookiee with all his hair standing on end anytime soon.
He was certainly getting angrier with each failure though, so I thought it would be a good time to shelve it for now.
"Alright, let's put that on hold for a moment and give your fingers a rest," I stated.
Gaarurra growled and shot his untouched target a foul look before huffing in reluctant agreement. I could have used the traditional method of increasing proficiency with Force Lightning, but there were several downsides that I wanted no part of. Namely that I saw how that worked out for Renning and Gaarurra seemed the type to hold a grudge. Also, I didn't want him getting too strong too quickly. The more time he had to spend on this, the more time I had to improve myself.
As I started working him through the basics of telekinesis, my datapad chimed, indicating that I'd received a message. Curious, I opened it.
The face of an older human woman appeared on the screen, gray hair pulled back into an elegant, low-hanging bun. Though the screen dyed everything blue, the red-orange glow of her eyes was still visible.
"Greetings, Acolyte Aldrex," The woman's voice was barely above a whisper, but still came across clearly, "I am Overseer Ragate. I have heard much of you from several…mutual acquaintances and now that the terrible business with Lord Renning has been concluded, I believe that we have much to discuss."
The droid's head rattled against the table as I slammed a hand down on the surface in frustration, a growl building in my throat. The Imperial technician who had been examining the memory banks jumped, startled by the sudden violence.
"Whatever the table did, I'm sure it's suitably apologetic, milord," Maklan remarked from the doorway. Next to him, Gaarurra huffed in amusement.
Where my fist had hit, the metal table had dented inward.
I slowly uncurled my hand and let a breath out before apologizing to the tech, "Sorry."
It wasn't his fault, after all. Best to assign blame where it was due. I quickly used Crucitorn as the throbbing pain in my hand soon made itself known. Glancing down at it, I saw that my pinkie finger was sitting awkwardly. I hadn't even heard the crack.
I concentrated for a moment. The skin rippled as the beginnings of a bruise faded away and the bones snapped back into place. I released my hold on Crucitorn and turned my attention back to matters at hand, ignoring the suddenly fascinated look on Maklan's face.
Unfortunately, the droid's memory core was a bust. What parts hadn't been completely fried by lightning didn't contain anything useful other than proof that the thing was the same droid that had been short-sheeting my bed for the past five months.
Examining it with the Force hadn't proven fruitful either. Either the droid had well and truly snapped…or the person that reprogrammed it didn't have contact with it long enough to leave an impression that I could track. Not that I really expected it would. If the perpetrator had a pre-programed spike on hand, all they would have to do was have access to the droid, insert the spike for a moment, and then leave. All the work of a few seconds, at most.
Letting out a sigh that was both irritated and disgusted, I walked out of the room and into the main room of the Second Platoon's barracks. Gaarurra and Maklan parted to let me pass before falling in behind me.
Gaarurra woofed a question. While I couldn't actually understand what he was saying, I could understand the tone and guess from there.
I shook my head, "No, nothing I could use." I rubbed my throat, even though the soreness had faded hours ago, "Even though it failed, it was pretty well done. It's going to be hard to track them down."
Maklan grunted in agreement, "The one that did the reprogramming might not necessarily be the same person as the one that ordered it. Could be the saboteur. Could be whoever's got leverage on the saboteur."
I acknowledged the point with a nod. The fingers of my left hand found their way back to my throat. It was unnerving how close it came to succeeding. If Gaarurra hadn't been in the room or hadn't been woken up by the lightning or was just a few seconds too slow, I probably would have died.
Speaking of, he growled another question.
"No, I don't think it was our yellow-eyed friend," I replied, "She…She would want me to know it was her. This was too indirect for her preferences. Call it intuition."
At this point, intuition was all I had to work with.
Around us, the soldiers of the Second Platoon were scattered around the barracks. Some were playing Pazaak, others cleaning gear. I'd quickly learned that while attending the Korriban academy was considered prestigious for the Sith, getting assigned here was considered a dead end for the military and was more punishment than honor. A soldier could spend half a decade here and never see a promotion, though they would be lucky to last that long.
After the Renning incident, the Second Platoon had been reassigned to the Academy for the time being. While I would hesitate to call Maklan and his men allies, they were a few steps higher up than my fellow acolytes. Associates of a favorable disposition that I could make use of now and again. It was good to have them nearby as they were effective eyes and ears. Like Maklan told me months ago, soldiers talk.
Several of them looked up as I passed, but I didn't stop.
However, that was about all I could rely on them for at the moment. Maklan and his men were average soldiers, not elite troopers. Even the weakest Sith could murder-blender their way through four or five soldiers on Force power alone before being put down by sheer weight of fire, more if they got creative and didn't face them head-on like idiots.
While the soldiers were useful for investigating, I'd have to handle dealing with the threat myself.
Neither Gaarurra nor I spoke as we started making our way back to the dorms.
While the most likely suspects were in my class, I had enemies outside of it as well. My little performance for Renning had driven off a lot of other acolytes from a profitable training ground and I doubted that had made me very popular with them.
Thanaton was another possibility and it would fit his MO. He wouldn't stoop to personally killing an acolyte, but he would arrange for an "accident," much like I did for Renning. That said, it was a slim possibility that he would waste the time on someone that wasn't even an apprentice yet. However, I couldn't discount him.
The former could be dealt with once I found out who they were. The latter…would just take more time and planning.
I stopped for a moment as I turned that thought over in my mind.
This was my life then, eh? Kill and kill and kill until people got it into their heads to leave me the fuck alone?
I smiled. My facial cybernetics whined lightly as gears and pistons moved to accommodate the expression.
That sounded about right. But that approach had consequences for a Sith.
I wasn't interested in power. I didn't mean power in the Force, which I was very much interested in. Rather, the kind of power that Ragnos had rambled about. The kind that came from command, from ruling. The Emperor could keep his damn throne. But despite my wishes, I could see what was happening, this game of politics I was unwillingly playing. It all started with Gaarurra, a single possibly-steadfast ally. I killed the looters, which ended up getting Cormun on my side. I killed Renning and the Second Platoon put their support behind me.
What was next? The entire Korriban Regiment? A dreadnought's crew? The more I killed, the more people rallied to the banner I never knew I had raised.
I started walking again.
That's alright with me. If it helped me survive…I'd take them all.
===============================================================
A few hours later, I was back out in the cave where I performed my rituals. Until this issue with the saboteur was resolved, I didn't dare use the training halls. But I still needed to train.
Lightning crackled around my hands before I let it out in a stream, which I held for several seconds before ceasing. I glanced at my fingers and found no sign of electrical burns. My target, a stack of crates, was in much worse shape with wisps of smoke rising from its surface and rivulets of molten metal dribbling down its sides.
It was coming to me more easily now. Before, it had fought me every step of the way and I had to fight back just as hard to bend it to my will. But now, it practically jumped to do my bidding. Instead of a single bolt, a torrent of electricity now answered my call.
It had happened overnight, quite literally. Something must have been knocked loose when I hit myself with the full brunt of my own lightning while disabling my would-be assassin. Now when I reached for it, it came like a loyal hound.
A roar of pain echoed in the cave, causing me to cringe at the noise.
Speaking of loyal hounds, Gaarurra was having significantly less success than I was. I'd decided to try and teach him how to use Force Lightning as well since he didn't appear to be getting much actual instruction in the way of Force abilities. While he was useful as a brute, he'd be more useful to me if he didn't have to rely solely on his physical strength.
While he had managed to avoid completely electrocuting himself, he was doing a marvelous job of frying his own fingers. On a side note, I don't think I'll be forgetting the sight of a Wookiee with all his hair standing on end anytime soon.
He was certainly getting angrier with each failure though, so I thought it would be a good time to shelve it for now.
"Alright, let's put that on hold for a moment and give your fingers a rest," I stated.
Gaarurra growled and shot his untouched target a foul look before huffing in reluctant agreement. I could have used the traditional method of increasing proficiency with Force Lightning, but there were several downsides that I wanted no part of. Namely that I saw how that worked out for Renning and Gaarurra seemed the type to hold a grudge. Also, I didn't want him getting too strong too quickly. The more time he had to spend on this, the more time I had to improve myself.
As I started working him through the basics of telekinesis, my datapad chimed, indicating that I'd received a message. Curious, I opened it.
The face of an older human woman appeared on the screen, gray hair pulled back into an elegant, low-hanging bun. Though the screen dyed everything blue, the red-orange glow of her eyes was still visible.
"Greetings, Acolyte Aldrex," The woman's voice was barely above a whisper, but still came across clearly, "I am Overseer Ragate. I have heard much of you from several…mutual acquaintances and now that the terrible business with Lord Renning has been concluded, I believe that we have much to discuss."
Chapter 27
- Location
- North Carolina
Chapter 27
Usually, walking the halls of the Academy by myself was dangerous at best, suicidal at worst. But today was a day for experimentation and opportunities and I had an hour until Overseer Ragate was expecting me.
Until now, my brief forays into the mental disciplines of the Force have been brutish, wielded with all the subtlety of a hammer to crush every thought but those that I wished. Well, all save for my first attempts at Beast Control. In fact, most of my abilities were blunt applications of the Force. I needed to expand my arsenal, so I decided to start small.
Mid-afternoon, the Academy halls were populated, but not packed. Acolytes were either returning from ventures into the Valley or heading back to their dorms from training or research in the archives for a rest before taking their evening meals. Few, save for the various Lords and Overseers, were at their best, exhausted on some level, whether it be mentally or physically. At that point, they were vulnerable.
With the Sith not being picky about the age of their trainees, I did have to be careful when picking my targets, though that mainly boiled down to avoiding the ones carrying lightsabers and any Imperial Guardsmen that happened to be patrolling. I quickly spotted my first target.
The red eyes of a male Sith Pureblood lingered on me, sizing me up. He was tall and well-built with a training blade strapped to his back, every step measured and sure. His appearance was immaculate, save for a thin scar that stretched from the right side of his mouth to one of his chin tendrils. Likely a dueling scar.
I reached out to his mind, slipping a whisper into his thoughts, backed by just the barest hint of the Force. It was similar to my first beast, where I carefully shaped the cage around its thoughts. Only this time, I bound a leg with an invisible, weightless chain. My power snaked around his natural barriers, searching for a crack in the armor. When I found it, my influence flowed in like a mist, poisoning his thoughts.
He's beneath you. He's not worth the effort.
The red eyes slipped away, their owner's thoughts shifting to other matters.
I didn't let my expression change. I didn't have any guarantee that he wasn't already thinking that on his own. It was possibly a fluke.
But then, that's why you repeat the experiment. To see if the results are consistent.
The next was an Aqualish, her exposed skin covered in rough, jagged scars. She viewed everyone around her as a threat, her hands clenched unseen in the folds of her robes. I quietly moved closer, where it was all but assured that she would notice me. Before her attention turned to me, I whispered into her mind.
There's nobody there.
Her bulbous, black eyes swept over me without stopping. I passed by her without issue.
There are two variations of Force-based stealth. One was to bend the light to your will to render yourself truly invisible, though it was extremely energy intensive. The other was a variation of the Mind Trick. Instead of turning invisible, you simply convinced other people that you weren't there or that your presence was insignificant.
As I recall, Kreia was rather adept at the second one, using it to prevent Jedi Masters from realizing that she was present. She also used it to mess with the Disciple's head, which to be honest was the best use of the power. But she took it to the point of outright memory manipulation, which was well beyond my current abilities.
One by one, I poked and prodded, nudging their thoughts away from my presence. I didn't dare try it on anyone higher ranked than acolyte, but I would get there eventually, though that could be years away. For now, I could do it to a single target at a time. Useful if I only wanted to avoid that person. But with practice and time, I could likely influence entire groups.
As I reached out for my twelfth test subject, the hairs on my neck stood up and a shiver went down my spine, despite Korriban's heat.
I was being watched.
I didn't spin around to try and find them. Instead, I took a deep breath to suppress the sudden surge of panic, then reached out with my senses, searching for someone that was paying a little too much attention.
It wasn't hard to find them, as they made little attempt to hide themselves. Despite that, their presence felt...muddled. They weren't hiding themselves, but they were hiding how much power they had.
I slowly turned to face them. In the hallway behind me, he stood in plain view.
He was human, at least in general shape. Yellow-orange eyes stared at me from a horrific face, which looked like it would split in half if his mouth opened too wide. Claw and teeth marks and burns had transformed the flesh into a mass of scar tissue that only vaguely looked human. The sides of his head were either too scarred for hair to grow or he regularly shaved it. Only a strip of gray hair running along the top of his head was left, pulled to the back into a ponytail that fell past his shoulders.
He stood with his arms crossed over his chest. Like the rest of the Sith, he was dressed all in black, though it was simple and practical in comparison to most of them. His sleeveless tunic exposed muscles that looked powerful enough to snap Gaarurra in half, skin nearly gray with scar tissue.
A gleaming lightsaber hung from his belt, in full view, though he made no move for it.
The space between us was clear of people, who flowed around us, seemingly unaware that they were doing such. Acolytes, soldiers, guardsmen, Lords…They all avoided meeting our eyes or even acknowledging our presences. This was…
He felt like a predator that was staring down a particularly amusing morsel.
He grinned, his scars turning it into a nightmarish expression.
I blinked.
Why was I standing here staring at an empty hallway?
============================================================
With not much else to do, I made my way to Ragate's office, with five minutes to spare. Being late to a meeting with a Lady of the Sith, even if she was only an Overseer, was just not done if you valued your safety.
I pressed the door chime to announce my presence. The door hissed open a moment later, revealing a dark room.
"Crap," I muttered.
Nevertheless, I moved forward, though cautiously. My hand inched towards the sword at my belt.
"Overseer? You wished to see me?" I called.
The only warning I got was the sound of a lightsaber igniting before a bar of red swung towards my chest. Surging forward, I placed my left forearm in its path, hoping my enhancements worked. I was not looking forward to getting a cyberarm. When the plasma blade met the alchemical durasteel of my vambrace, it hissed and sparked. Though it felt uncomfortably warm, it didn't penetrate the metal. I swept my arm over my head, taking the lightsaber with it.
Diving into a roll, I drew my sword from its sheathe in time to intercept the next strike. Like the vambrace, the blade hissed and sputtered, but held.
The glow of the lightsaber dimly illuminated its wielders face. The wrinkled elderly face of Ragate was split by a grin, a mad glint in her red eyes.
She quickly disengaged and extinguished her lightsaber just as the door slammed shut, leaving me in total darkness.
I shut my eyes and brought up my Force Sight. I was moving before the snap-hiss sounded off again, bringing my sword up in a diagonal slash. Her weapon deftly parried it, though I adjusted the grip and redirected the momentum to her other side. Again, she parried before disengaging.
This time, she disappeared even from my Force Sight.
"You have decent reflexes, enough to react to danger sufficiently," Ragate's voice echoed from everywhere, "Let's try another test…"
The crackle of lightning was a familiar sound by now, though far from a comforting one. While my mastery over it had grown recently, I still didn't have a hard counter for an opponent's lightning. I didn't dare move. I had no idea what the layout of the room was, so I risked tripping over something. My telekinetic barrier wasn't a sure defense, but it was the best I had.
Before I could choose, the blade in my hand rattled and surged upwards. Lightning struck it, briefly illuminating the room and blinding me both physically and in my Force Sight. But the shock didn't travel down to my hands and the flash of light left as quickly as it came.
"So dear Renning was correct," Ragate commented, sounding more amused than surprised, "You did manage to accidentally create a true Sith Sword. My oh my."
I blinked rapidly as the lights turned on, dispelling my Force Sight.
"Come child, let me get a good look at you."
Suddenly, Ragate was uncomfortably close, sidestepping the sword that just ate goddamn lightning. Her left hand grabbed a hold of my chin, turning my head one way and the other. The other held her deactivated lightsaber.
"Ah, Korriban has already left its marks on you," She chuckled to herself, pausing to run a thumb along my cybernetics, "As have several Masters. You have broken several chains, yet more remain."
I couldn't really reply, mostly because I was still stunned and trying to figure out what the hell was going on.
Finally, she released my face, though I still didn't dare move.
"But where are my manners?" The Overseer tutted and gestured towards a chair, "Come, sit. Would you like some tea, dear?"
Usually, walking the halls of the Academy by myself was dangerous at best, suicidal at worst. But today was a day for experimentation and opportunities and I had an hour until Overseer Ragate was expecting me.
Until now, my brief forays into the mental disciplines of the Force have been brutish, wielded with all the subtlety of a hammer to crush every thought but those that I wished. Well, all save for my first attempts at Beast Control. In fact, most of my abilities were blunt applications of the Force. I needed to expand my arsenal, so I decided to start small.
Mid-afternoon, the Academy halls were populated, but not packed. Acolytes were either returning from ventures into the Valley or heading back to their dorms from training or research in the archives for a rest before taking their evening meals. Few, save for the various Lords and Overseers, were at their best, exhausted on some level, whether it be mentally or physically. At that point, they were vulnerable.
With the Sith not being picky about the age of their trainees, I did have to be careful when picking my targets, though that mainly boiled down to avoiding the ones carrying lightsabers and any Imperial Guardsmen that happened to be patrolling. I quickly spotted my first target.
The red eyes of a male Sith Pureblood lingered on me, sizing me up. He was tall and well-built with a training blade strapped to his back, every step measured and sure. His appearance was immaculate, save for a thin scar that stretched from the right side of his mouth to one of his chin tendrils. Likely a dueling scar.
I reached out to his mind, slipping a whisper into his thoughts, backed by just the barest hint of the Force. It was similar to my first beast, where I carefully shaped the cage around its thoughts. Only this time, I bound a leg with an invisible, weightless chain. My power snaked around his natural barriers, searching for a crack in the armor. When I found it, my influence flowed in like a mist, poisoning his thoughts.
He's beneath you. He's not worth the effort.
The red eyes slipped away, their owner's thoughts shifting to other matters.
I didn't let my expression change. I didn't have any guarantee that he wasn't already thinking that on his own. It was possibly a fluke.
But then, that's why you repeat the experiment. To see if the results are consistent.
The next was an Aqualish, her exposed skin covered in rough, jagged scars. She viewed everyone around her as a threat, her hands clenched unseen in the folds of her robes. I quietly moved closer, where it was all but assured that she would notice me. Before her attention turned to me, I whispered into her mind.
There's nobody there.
Her bulbous, black eyes swept over me without stopping. I passed by her without issue.
There are two variations of Force-based stealth. One was to bend the light to your will to render yourself truly invisible, though it was extremely energy intensive. The other was a variation of the Mind Trick. Instead of turning invisible, you simply convinced other people that you weren't there or that your presence was insignificant.
As I recall, Kreia was rather adept at the second one, using it to prevent Jedi Masters from realizing that she was present. She also used it to mess with the Disciple's head, which to be honest was the best use of the power. But she took it to the point of outright memory manipulation, which was well beyond my current abilities.
One by one, I poked and prodded, nudging their thoughts away from my presence. I didn't dare try it on anyone higher ranked than acolyte, but I would get there eventually, though that could be years away. For now, I could do it to a single target at a time. Useful if I only wanted to avoid that person. But with practice and time, I could likely influence entire groups.
As I reached out for my twelfth test subject, the hairs on my neck stood up and a shiver went down my spine, despite Korriban's heat.
I was being watched.
I didn't spin around to try and find them. Instead, I took a deep breath to suppress the sudden surge of panic, then reached out with my senses, searching for someone that was paying a little too much attention.
It wasn't hard to find them, as they made little attempt to hide themselves. Despite that, their presence felt...muddled. They weren't hiding themselves, but they were hiding how much power they had.
I slowly turned to face them. In the hallway behind me, he stood in plain view.
He was human, at least in general shape. Yellow-orange eyes stared at me from a horrific face, which looked like it would split in half if his mouth opened too wide. Claw and teeth marks and burns had transformed the flesh into a mass of scar tissue that only vaguely looked human. The sides of his head were either too scarred for hair to grow or he regularly shaved it. Only a strip of gray hair running along the top of his head was left, pulled to the back into a ponytail that fell past his shoulders.
He stood with his arms crossed over his chest. Like the rest of the Sith, he was dressed all in black, though it was simple and practical in comparison to most of them. His sleeveless tunic exposed muscles that looked powerful enough to snap Gaarurra in half, skin nearly gray with scar tissue.
A gleaming lightsaber hung from his belt, in full view, though he made no move for it.
The space between us was clear of people, who flowed around us, seemingly unaware that they were doing such. Acolytes, soldiers, guardsmen, Lords…They all avoided meeting our eyes or even acknowledging our presences. This was…
He felt like a predator that was staring down a particularly amusing morsel.
He grinned, his scars turning it into a nightmarish expression.
I blinked.
Why was I standing here staring at an empty hallway?
============================================================
With not much else to do, I made my way to Ragate's office, with five minutes to spare. Being late to a meeting with a Lady of the Sith, even if she was only an Overseer, was just not done if you valued your safety.
I pressed the door chime to announce my presence. The door hissed open a moment later, revealing a dark room.
"Crap," I muttered.
Nevertheless, I moved forward, though cautiously. My hand inched towards the sword at my belt.
"Overseer? You wished to see me?" I called.
The only warning I got was the sound of a lightsaber igniting before a bar of red swung towards my chest. Surging forward, I placed my left forearm in its path, hoping my enhancements worked. I was not looking forward to getting a cyberarm. When the plasma blade met the alchemical durasteel of my vambrace, it hissed and sparked. Though it felt uncomfortably warm, it didn't penetrate the metal. I swept my arm over my head, taking the lightsaber with it.
Diving into a roll, I drew my sword from its sheathe in time to intercept the next strike. Like the vambrace, the blade hissed and sputtered, but held.
The glow of the lightsaber dimly illuminated its wielders face. The wrinkled elderly face of Ragate was split by a grin, a mad glint in her red eyes.
She quickly disengaged and extinguished her lightsaber just as the door slammed shut, leaving me in total darkness.
I shut my eyes and brought up my Force Sight. I was moving before the snap-hiss sounded off again, bringing my sword up in a diagonal slash. Her weapon deftly parried it, though I adjusted the grip and redirected the momentum to her other side. Again, she parried before disengaging.
This time, she disappeared even from my Force Sight.
"You have decent reflexes, enough to react to danger sufficiently," Ragate's voice echoed from everywhere, "Let's try another test…"
The crackle of lightning was a familiar sound by now, though far from a comforting one. While my mastery over it had grown recently, I still didn't have a hard counter for an opponent's lightning. I didn't dare move. I had no idea what the layout of the room was, so I risked tripping over something. My telekinetic barrier wasn't a sure defense, but it was the best I had.
Before I could choose, the blade in my hand rattled and surged upwards. Lightning struck it, briefly illuminating the room and blinding me both physically and in my Force Sight. But the shock didn't travel down to my hands and the flash of light left as quickly as it came.
"So dear Renning was correct," Ragate commented, sounding more amused than surprised, "You did manage to accidentally create a true Sith Sword. My oh my."
I blinked rapidly as the lights turned on, dispelling my Force Sight.
"Come child, let me get a good look at you."
Suddenly, Ragate was uncomfortably close, sidestepping the sword that just ate goddamn lightning. Her left hand grabbed a hold of my chin, turning my head one way and the other. The other held her deactivated lightsaber.
"Ah, Korriban has already left its marks on you," She chuckled to herself, pausing to run a thumb along my cybernetics, "As have several Masters. You have broken several chains, yet more remain."
I couldn't really reply, mostly because I was still stunned and trying to figure out what the hell was going on.
Finally, she released my face, though I still didn't dare move.
"But where are my manners?" The Overseer tutted and gestured towards a chair, "Come, sit. Would you like some tea, dear?"
Chapter 28
- Location
- North Carolina
Chapter 28
It said a lot about the current state of my life that I only did a mental shrug before sheathing my weapon and sitting down. Of course, I did a cursory scan of the cushion for a poisoned spike first, but that was just a reasonable precaution. I was only half-surprised at the absence of one.
Ragate hadn't actually tried to kill me. Sure, I would have died if any of her hits had landed since she was using a lightsaber, but they had been predictable. Half-hearted. If I hadn't been able to defend myself from any of them and respond in kind, I don't think I would have given me the time of day either.
The lightning, however, had been a fluke, though a welcome one. One that I would be thoroughly investigating at first opportunity. This damn sword had been keeping too many secrets.
It rattled slightly in its sheathe.
Yeah, you heard me.
I stayed quiet as Ragate retrieved a tea pot and a pair of cups, though I kept a wary eye on what went into them. From the smirk on the old woman's face, she was well aware that I was watching, though she said nothing as she went about preparing the tea.
My rule about old Sith still applied, even to an Overseer. Perhaps even more so because she was an Overseer. If she survived long enough to get to old age, she was someone to watch out for. Especially as she dealt with ambitious young Sith that had yet to understand concepts like "impulse control" or "patience" on a near daily basis. It was literally her job to stoke the darker emotions of her charges into the infernos that would power them for the rest of their lives. That she had apparently survived decades in this role…
Only when she set the steaming cup in front of me and stepped out of arms' reach did I allow my gaze to wander slightly, scanning the room. Unlike Iren's spartan office, Ragate was no stranger to opulence and her office looked like it wouldn't have been out of place in an old Victorian mansion. Soft yellow lights illuminated the room, showing a blood-red and gold carpet beneath our feet and several bookcases full of musty tomes. There were a few paintings on the walls depicting people and places I didn't recognize. Now if only the decorations weren't made up of the Sith sculptures scattered around and the perfectly-preserved Shyrack Broodmother dangling from the ceiling...
Wait.
I looked up again and blinked, my brow furrowing slightly. Oh right. Ragate's more than a little…No. No puns. Besides, it was too easy.
The Overseer followed my gaze. Upon realizing what I was looking at, she smiled and gave a wistful sigh, "Ah, dear Sorzus. After the Empire retook Korriban, she was the first broodmother that I tamed. All of my current children were born from her daughters."
Somehow, I doubted that Sorzus Syn would have approved of having a shyrack named after her. But I wasn't going to say that to Ragate. That said, I could see the connection. Ajunta Pall may have been the first to claim the mantle of Lord of the Sith, but Syn was the one who made the Sith into what they were now. So in that, she could be seen as the mother of the Sith. A pity that the Sith lost her journal during the aftermath of the Great Hyperspace War. Among all her feats, such as creating the first Sith War Beasts, she genetically engineered the entire Sith species to be capable of interbreeding with humans. That made her the reason that the species survived in exile under Vitiate, though obviously as half-breeds. By extension, she also enabled Vitiate's existence in the first place, given that his father was a Sith Pureblood.
Suffice it to say, her personal account would be a fascinating read, even though I disagreed with the Code she wrote.
"She's certainly an impressive specimen," I commented idly as I picked up my cup and the dish it was sitting on, though I didn't drink from it immediately, "I can't say I've encountered a broodmother. I managed to stumble across a shyrack cave about three months ago, though none of them were her size."
"You must have found a young colony, then," Ragate nodded sagely, "Their broodmother was not full grown and likely indistinguishable from the rest."
I glanced up at the stuffed and mounted beast. I could probably have used it as a mount.
Hm. Ideas…No! Bad Sith! Save it for when I find a Drexl beast!
The Overseer raised her cup to her lips and took a sip. I did likewise, though I quickly coughed at just how bitter it was.
"The tea grown on Dromund Kaas is not for everyone. Some find it a trifle too potent to be relaxing. With my age, I find it just strong enough for my failing taste buds," Ragate remarked with a small smile on her lips before taking another sip, "I do not drink it often, as I have to have it imported." She reached down behind her desk and retrieved a small tray, "Would you prefer sugar, milk, or honey?"
I wondered if this counted as "evil tea." Either way, I prepared to flush potential toxins from my body.
"Honey, please," I replied, reaching a hand out as she passed the small container to me.
I scooped out what I approximated to be a teaspoon and a half and gently stirred it into my drink.
"My my, have a bit of a sweet-tooth, do we?" She chuckled.
"Just when it comes to tea and caf, milady," I responded, leaning back into my chair after replacing the honey container on the desk.
"Milady! Hah!," Ragate laughed daintily, "Such manners towards an old woman. And they say that the next generation is not respectful towards their elders."
"They do when their lives are potentially on the line," I quipped. I took a sip. Ah, just right, "Being rude has too many downsides. I usually make it a point to be polite whenever possible. It costs me nothing and can gain me everything."
"Ah, clever, cautious child. If your face matched your words, you might just come across as charming," She retorted, gesturing towards my scars and cybernetics, "Still, you have indulged me long enough and I suppose we should get to the reason I called you here."
"I wasn't going to press…"
"Bah, enough!" She waved off the politeness, "As I said in the message, we have several mutual acquaintances. Lord Spindrall and Lord Renning."
The cup in my hand paused on its way to my lips. Troubling. I took a sip.
Glancing up again, "Am I wrong in suspecting that your relationship with Renning was due to your…shared interests?"
"Indeed," Ragate confirmed, "We were close during our days in the academy on Dromund Kaas, long before the establishment of this facility."
My face scrunched up before I could control it. That was not a mental image I needed.
The Overseer chortled in that way that only old women seem to be able to, "Oh no, not like that. We were merely colleagues and, dare I say, friends. I must say, I was quite surprised to hear that he had been murdered so recently after taking on a promising student."
"Accident," I corrected, "One of his beasts managed to get him."
The smile on her face never left, "Oh, of course. Silly me. Still, even if it were not the case, he would have deserved it. Our friendship soured considerably after he murdered my second husband over some research."
I raised an eyebrow. Imagining Renning assassinating anybody…
"My former husband was a cheat, both as an academic and a husband," Ragate continued, "That I was going to kill him anyways didn't matter. A word of advice: thoroughly vet your potential spouse's background before the proposal."
She ended the statement with a nonchalant shrug.
"...I'll take that into consideration," I cleared my throat, "And…Lord Spindrall?"
"My old Master," Ragate explained, "He may have gone a bit mad in his old age, but he still has useful things to say now and then. Particularly when he suggests keeping an eye on a certain acolyte."
Pot calling the kettle black there, but that wasn't what had me worried. What I was wondering was how much Spindrall told her, on top of wondering how much he knew.
Also, how old did that make Spindrall? Ragate wasn't exactly a spring chicken.
"Masters usually pick apprentices based off two categories: raw power or talents that compliment their own," She stated, ticking off her fingers as she spoke, "Like myself, Lord Spindrall had a talent for precognition. He used to administer the Rite of Blood and Bone before passing that duty on to me."
"The Rite of Blood and Bone?" I asked. I knew what it was, but it would keep her talking for a little while longer while I try to figure out why I was here.
"It is a traditional ritual performed by young Sith. In the past, it was required for apprentices to participate before becoming Lords in truth," Ragate sighed, "Now, many dismiss it as superstitious nonsense. Nevertheless, some still attempt it, seeking signs of power or portents of doom in the blood and violence."
"Would I be able to attempt it?" If nothing else, it might provide some clues I wouldn't get on my own. Idly, I wondered if the Rite was actually a ritual of Sith Magic, utilizing the sacrifice of blood and toil to force open a small gateway to the future. Just enough to take a peek.
The old woman stared at me without speaking for a few minutes. When she did, her words were slow and slightly jumbled, "No. No, no. Not yet. I sense…yes. You will, I am certain of that. But not at this time."
I must have frowned, as she continued, "However, I can assure you that it will take place before your third trial."
That could be anywhere between now and three years from now, depending on Iren. Did she just call me here for that?
"In the meantime, there are other matters to take care of," She transitioned, "You are hunting once again, but your prey avoids your webs."
I didn't bother denying it this time, "Yes."
Ragate smiled at the honestly, "Ideally, Overseers are not supposed to favor one of their charges over another, something dear Iren takes quite seriously. However, as you are not one of my charges, I can do what I please. And I am not Iren."
I perked up.
"Your prey hides in cracks and crevices that even you have not yet found," She finished the last of her tea before setting the cup down on the desk, "To find them, look at the academy. Look at it as it is…and what it once was. You will find your answers there."
Suitably cryptic, as expected. But I got the point.
"If you are finished with your tea, there is little else to discuss, I'm afraid."
A glance down at my cup told me that I had, in fact, drained it at some point. I set the cup and dish up on the desk before standing up and bowing respectfully, "Thank you, Overseer. For the advice and the tea, both."
"Do not thank me yet, child," Ragate admonished, "The future may be seen, but it is not set in stone and may yet change. Survive, and then we shall speak again."
It said a lot about the current state of my life that I only did a mental shrug before sheathing my weapon and sitting down. Of course, I did a cursory scan of the cushion for a poisoned spike first, but that was just a reasonable precaution. I was only half-surprised at the absence of one.
Ragate hadn't actually tried to kill me. Sure, I would have died if any of her hits had landed since she was using a lightsaber, but they had been predictable. Half-hearted. If I hadn't been able to defend myself from any of them and respond in kind, I don't think I would have given me the time of day either.
The lightning, however, had been a fluke, though a welcome one. One that I would be thoroughly investigating at first opportunity. This damn sword had been keeping too many secrets.
It rattled slightly in its sheathe.
Yeah, you heard me.
I stayed quiet as Ragate retrieved a tea pot and a pair of cups, though I kept a wary eye on what went into them. From the smirk on the old woman's face, she was well aware that I was watching, though she said nothing as she went about preparing the tea.
My rule about old Sith still applied, even to an Overseer. Perhaps even more so because she was an Overseer. If she survived long enough to get to old age, she was someone to watch out for. Especially as she dealt with ambitious young Sith that had yet to understand concepts like "impulse control" or "patience" on a near daily basis. It was literally her job to stoke the darker emotions of her charges into the infernos that would power them for the rest of their lives. That she had apparently survived decades in this role…
Only when she set the steaming cup in front of me and stepped out of arms' reach did I allow my gaze to wander slightly, scanning the room. Unlike Iren's spartan office, Ragate was no stranger to opulence and her office looked like it wouldn't have been out of place in an old Victorian mansion. Soft yellow lights illuminated the room, showing a blood-red and gold carpet beneath our feet and several bookcases full of musty tomes. There were a few paintings on the walls depicting people and places I didn't recognize. Now if only the decorations weren't made up of the Sith sculptures scattered around and the perfectly-preserved Shyrack Broodmother dangling from the ceiling...
Wait.
I looked up again and blinked, my brow furrowing slightly. Oh right. Ragate's more than a little…No. No puns. Besides, it was too easy.
The Overseer followed my gaze. Upon realizing what I was looking at, she smiled and gave a wistful sigh, "Ah, dear Sorzus. After the Empire retook Korriban, she was the first broodmother that I tamed. All of my current children were born from her daughters."
Somehow, I doubted that Sorzus Syn would have approved of having a shyrack named after her. But I wasn't going to say that to Ragate. That said, I could see the connection. Ajunta Pall may have been the first to claim the mantle of Lord of the Sith, but Syn was the one who made the Sith into what they were now. So in that, she could be seen as the mother of the Sith. A pity that the Sith lost her journal during the aftermath of the Great Hyperspace War. Among all her feats, such as creating the first Sith War Beasts, she genetically engineered the entire Sith species to be capable of interbreeding with humans. That made her the reason that the species survived in exile under Vitiate, though obviously as half-breeds. By extension, she also enabled Vitiate's existence in the first place, given that his father was a Sith Pureblood.
Suffice it to say, her personal account would be a fascinating read, even though I disagreed with the Code she wrote.
"She's certainly an impressive specimen," I commented idly as I picked up my cup and the dish it was sitting on, though I didn't drink from it immediately, "I can't say I've encountered a broodmother. I managed to stumble across a shyrack cave about three months ago, though none of them were her size."
"You must have found a young colony, then," Ragate nodded sagely, "Their broodmother was not full grown and likely indistinguishable from the rest."
I glanced up at the stuffed and mounted beast. I could probably have used it as a mount.
Hm. Ideas…No! Bad Sith! Save it for when I find a Drexl beast!
The Overseer raised her cup to her lips and took a sip. I did likewise, though I quickly coughed at just how bitter it was.
"The tea grown on Dromund Kaas is not for everyone. Some find it a trifle too potent to be relaxing. With my age, I find it just strong enough for my failing taste buds," Ragate remarked with a small smile on her lips before taking another sip, "I do not drink it often, as I have to have it imported." She reached down behind her desk and retrieved a small tray, "Would you prefer sugar, milk, or honey?"
I wondered if this counted as "evil tea." Either way, I prepared to flush potential toxins from my body.
"Honey, please," I replied, reaching a hand out as she passed the small container to me.
I scooped out what I approximated to be a teaspoon and a half and gently stirred it into my drink.
"My my, have a bit of a sweet-tooth, do we?" She chuckled.
"Just when it comes to tea and caf, milady," I responded, leaning back into my chair after replacing the honey container on the desk.
"Milady! Hah!," Ragate laughed daintily, "Such manners towards an old woman. And they say that the next generation is not respectful towards their elders."
"They do when their lives are potentially on the line," I quipped. I took a sip. Ah, just right, "Being rude has too many downsides. I usually make it a point to be polite whenever possible. It costs me nothing and can gain me everything."
"Ah, clever, cautious child. If your face matched your words, you might just come across as charming," She retorted, gesturing towards my scars and cybernetics, "Still, you have indulged me long enough and I suppose we should get to the reason I called you here."
"I wasn't going to press…"
"Bah, enough!" She waved off the politeness, "As I said in the message, we have several mutual acquaintances. Lord Spindrall and Lord Renning."
The cup in my hand paused on its way to my lips. Troubling. I took a sip.
Glancing up again, "Am I wrong in suspecting that your relationship with Renning was due to your…shared interests?"
"Indeed," Ragate confirmed, "We were close during our days in the academy on Dromund Kaas, long before the establishment of this facility."
My face scrunched up before I could control it. That was not a mental image I needed.
The Overseer chortled in that way that only old women seem to be able to, "Oh no, not like that. We were merely colleagues and, dare I say, friends. I must say, I was quite surprised to hear that he had been murdered so recently after taking on a promising student."
"Accident," I corrected, "One of his beasts managed to get him."
The smile on her face never left, "Oh, of course. Silly me. Still, even if it were not the case, he would have deserved it. Our friendship soured considerably after he murdered my second husband over some research."
I raised an eyebrow. Imagining Renning assassinating anybody…
"My former husband was a cheat, both as an academic and a husband," Ragate continued, "That I was going to kill him anyways didn't matter. A word of advice: thoroughly vet your potential spouse's background before the proposal."
She ended the statement with a nonchalant shrug.
"...I'll take that into consideration," I cleared my throat, "And…Lord Spindrall?"
"My old Master," Ragate explained, "He may have gone a bit mad in his old age, but he still has useful things to say now and then. Particularly when he suggests keeping an eye on a certain acolyte."
Pot calling the kettle black there, but that wasn't what had me worried. What I was wondering was how much Spindrall told her, on top of wondering how much he knew.
Also, how old did that make Spindrall? Ragate wasn't exactly a spring chicken.
"Masters usually pick apprentices based off two categories: raw power or talents that compliment their own," She stated, ticking off her fingers as she spoke, "Like myself, Lord Spindrall had a talent for precognition. He used to administer the Rite of Blood and Bone before passing that duty on to me."
"The Rite of Blood and Bone?" I asked. I knew what it was, but it would keep her talking for a little while longer while I try to figure out why I was here.
"It is a traditional ritual performed by young Sith. In the past, it was required for apprentices to participate before becoming Lords in truth," Ragate sighed, "Now, many dismiss it as superstitious nonsense. Nevertheless, some still attempt it, seeking signs of power or portents of doom in the blood and violence."
"Would I be able to attempt it?" If nothing else, it might provide some clues I wouldn't get on my own. Idly, I wondered if the Rite was actually a ritual of Sith Magic, utilizing the sacrifice of blood and toil to force open a small gateway to the future. Just enough to take a peek.
The old woman stared at me without speaking for a few minutes. When she did, her words were slow and slightly jumbled, "No. No, no. Not yet. I sense…yes. You will, I am certain of that. But not at this time."
I must have frowned, as she continued, "However, I can assure you that it will take place before your third trial."
That could be anywhere between now and three years from now, depending on Iren. Did she just call me here for that?
"In the meantime, there are other matters to take care of," She transitioned, "You are hunting once again, but your prey avoids your webs."
I didn't bother denying it this time, "Yes."
Ragate smiled at the honestly, "Ideally, Overseers are not supposed to favor one of their charges over another, something dear Iren takes quite seriously. However, as you are not one of my charges, I can do what I please. And I am not Iren."
I perked up.
"Your prey hides in cracks and crevices that even you have not yet found," She finished the last of her tea before setting the cup down on the desk, "To find them, look at the academy. Look at it as it is…and what it once was. You will find your answers there."
Suitably cryptic, as expected. But I got the point.
"If you are finished with your tea, there is little else to discuss, I'm afraid."
A glance down at my cup told me that I had, in fact, drained it at some point. I set the cup and dish up on the desk before standing up and bowing respectfully, "Thank you, Overseer. For the advice and the tea, both."
"Do not thank me yet, child," Ragate admonished, "The future may be seen, but it is not set in stone and may yet change. Survive, and then we shall speak again."
Chapter 29
- Location
- North Carolina
Chapter 29
The academy archives had quickly proven itself to be my best friend and today was no exception. The archivist on duty, quite used to the presence of impatient acolytes at all hours of the day, only rolled her eyes as I stormed past and practically threw myself at the nearest open terminal.
Taking out my datapad, I plugged in an ear piece and dialed the connection to Maklan's terminal. The gray-haired soldier quickly picked up, though he was rubbing the sleep from his eyes. I glanced at the time. It wasn't late, but he must have been catching a wink before going back on duty.
"Milord?"
"Lieutenant, do you have access to the full blueprints for the academy?" I asked without returning the greeting.
"Just the basic map, I'm afraid," He shook his head, "Same as you've got." The soldier paused, "Does that mean you got a lead?"
"A cryptic, but fairly unsubtle one, yes," I replied, rapidly typing into the terminal, "Are you friends with anyone that does?"
Detailed blueprints of the academy building wouldn't be available to everybody that walked in. For instance, the one I had access to didn't include the locations of armories or private laboratories, among other things.
"Actually, we both are, milord," Maklan remarked, a smirk forming on our face.
I paused, "We are?"
"A certain Captain would be overjoyed to help, especially if he knew it was you asking the favor," The smirk had grown into a full grin, "I trust you recall Cormun? He'll be a bit put out if you don't."
Blinking, I slowly replied, "Yes…but as I recall, Cormun was a Sergeant, not Captain."
"That he was," Maklan nodded, "But when you get personally endorsed by a Sith Lord, you tend to get booted up the ranks real quick."
Spindrall.
"I'd appreciate it if you get in contact with him."
"Will do, milord," He saluted, "Cormun should be awake now anyways, though maybe a bit busy with his new job. Be just a minute."
The connection cut. I stopped my search for a moment and leaned back in the chair. The cursor on the screen in front of my blinked innocently as my thoughts turned elsewhere.
Yet more meddling on Spindrall's part. First Ajunta Pall's treatise. Then Ragate. And now, Cormun. Just what was it that he wanted?
My datapad lit up again before splitting into two screens. Maklan was in one, and Cormun the other. Compared to when I met him in Ajunta Pall's tomb, he was looking much healthier, what with no longer bleeding to death and all.
"Milord," Cormun half-bowed, "Maklan said that you needed access to a map."
"The full blueprint for the current academy," I clarified, "I need to make a comparison. I'm tracking a target and I think they're making use of the older parts of the structure."
My fingers flew across the holographic keyboard, pulling up map after map. The academy here wasn't the first of its kind. Three hundred years ago, Revan and Malak had established their empire's primary academy on this same spot. The archives had the blueprints, mocked up from survey droid data and stolen Republic files.
"That shouldn't be a problem," Cormun replied, now typing away on his own terminal, "There. You should be receiving it now."
"Are you going to get into any trouble for that?" I asked.
"Not unless you're planning to invade a Dark Councilor's personal quarters, milord," He answered.
"Fair enough."
Opening up the new document, I laid the current plans over the ones for Revan's academy. Unfortunately, they were nearly identical. The base structure had survived the Republic reprisal after Malak's defeat relatively intact, so Vitiate's Empire merely restored and expanded upon what was left. There were a few hallways that didn't match but notes on the map indicated that they had collapsed completely and were never dug out.
Additionally, both academies were entirely above-ground, with no sub-levels.
"Nothing, milord?" Maklan asked.
"Not yet," I muttered back.
I scratched at my chin as I thought about the possibilities. Ragate pointed me in this direction, so there had to be something I was missing.
"No sub-levels…" I murmured.
I ignored Maklan and Cormun's questions as I started typing again. The Ancient Sith had a "Space Egypt" motif, with their extremely elaborate funeral processes. Maybe a few other things were similar. As the search results were shown, I smiled.
I was right.
Like the Egyptians, the Ancient Sith, both before and after the Exiles' time, built mortuary temples for their kings and Dark Lords, places to honor and worship them after death. And there had been one built on the same spot the current building occupied, dedicated to Marka Ragnos. It had been mostly destroyed during the genocide at the end of the Great Hyperspace War, but the foundations had survived, along with the lower levels of the temple, which at the time had been used for storage. These records had been preserved when the Sith fled Korriban, digitized, then forgotten by all but interested historians.
As I laid the newer plans over the rough sketches, I knew I had found it. My assassin had found an intact passage, giving them a hiding place few knew about. I just needed to find the entrance.
"Did you find something, milord?" Cormun inquired.
"Yes. Yes, I did. Your help was appreciated," I answered, my smile growing wider, "And now, I'm going hunting. I'll be in touch if there's something else."
I needed to nip this threat in the bud, before it became worse.
Just as I was about to get up, I stopped, "Oh. A bit late, but congratulations on the promotion, Captain."
==========================================================
After retrieving Gaarurra, we headed for the first possible access point. Though the storage room was just one of dozens scattered across the facility, it seemed…familiar.
"Wait," I muttered as a piece clicked into place, "This is where the Nautolan kept giving me the slip."
I thought he'd just been using a Force power to throw me off. But if he'd been ducking into a secret passage and covering up the hole…
Huh. Two birds with one stone, and all that. I'd actually been wondering if the guy was even still alive since I hadn't seen him for a few months.
Once we entered the storage room, it took us a good ten or twenty minutes of shuffling crates around until we found a collection of loose tiles on the floor. Upon removing them, it revealed the red sandstone-like rock that made up most of the ancient structures on Korriban along with a set of stairs leading further down. Thankfully, the passage was wide enough to accommodate both of us.
I flicked on my glow-light and drew my sword. In cramped conditions like these, my blaster was going to do more harm than good. Gaarurra did the same before woofing a question.
"Yeah," I nodded, "He's probably got traps or something down here, so keep an eye out."
He woofed again in what I assumed to be agreement.
We only made it a dozen or so feet into the passage before the first incident occurred. There was no warning. One moment, we were walking. The next, an immense weight hit me, forcing me to the ground. My sword clattered out of my grip.
It wasn't there for long. Gaarurra roared and lifted the thing off me. Rolling over, I quickly sat up to get a look.
The thing turned out to be a droid. A glowing red eye stared at us from a mushroom-shaped head, mounted on top of a cylindrical body. Its arms were spindly, made up of simple joints and straight pieces. Each of its hands ended in three fingers and a thumb, each tipped with a claw.
It was positively ancient. Its gray plating was rusted at the edges and the glass of its "eye" was cracked.
The Wookiee roared again and tore its head off. The central eye dimmed.
I looked up. The droid had likely been clinging to the ceiling in standby mode, waiting for intruders.
Whirring and clicking sounded off from the passage ahead, drawing my attention forward. In the darkness beyond the light of our glowrod, nearly two dozen glowing eyes stood out from the gloom, their silhouettes just barely visible.
My left hand went to my throat before I could stop it. Anger welled inside of me. I knew what I was going to do.
Stepping ahead of Gaarurra, I raised my hands, fingers splayed like claws. At my urging, my power surged, flowing out of my fingertips in a contained storm of lightning. The cracks of electricity lit up the dim hallway. Their metal bodies convulsed uncontrollably as the stream of lightning passed from droid to droid. Tiny sparks arced off their shells, scorching the walls.
Masterminding a plan was satisfying as hell, but sometimes, you just needed to throw lightning at stuff.
After a minute, I cut off the power. The droids' smoking bodies fell to the ground in an almighty crash. After retrieving my sword from the ground, we pressed on, carefully picking our way through the now inert machinery.
Only two more droids barred our passage further in, but they were easily dispatched. I let Gaarurra take care of them that time. Literally the work of a few seconds, that.
Finally, we came to a well-lit room, where a blue-skinned Nautolan was leaning over a workbench, frantically working on something.
His head whipped up as we entered, sending his head tendrils flying everywhere, "Blast! Thought they'd hold you a bit longer…" He glanced back at whatever he was fiddling with, "Ah hell, here goes nothing."
There was a click as he flipped a switch. Lightning surged out of my hand, only to slam uselessly into a green barrier that sudden materialized around him.
Tentacles breathed out a sigh of relief and slumped to the floor, "Whooh! Honestly wasn't sure that was gonna work…"
I eyed the barrier, "Huh. Ray shield. You know that's only going to last a few minutes, right? Then we get back to the part where I barbecue you. Or Gaarurra tears your arms off."
The Wookiee cracked his knuckles, which made Bubble Boy gulp nervously.
"Yeah yeah, I know how screwed I am when this thing goes down," He rolled his eyes, "It's not a permanent solution."
"So out of curiosity, what's the permanent solution?" I asked.
I was tempted to just snap his neck from here. But Ragate's wording from earlier was bothering me. She said I'd find some answers, not my target.
"The permanent solution is that I'm gonna introduce myself and hope I can talk fast enough to convince you to let me live before the portable powerpack for my ray shield generator here runs outta juice," The octopus-man shot back, "Name's Qiv Brellen. I'd shake hands, but…well…"
The academy archives had quickly proven itself to be my best friend and today was no exception. The archivist on duty, quite used to the presence of impatient acolytes at all hours of the day, only rolled her eyes as I stormed past and practically threw myself at the nearest open terminal.
Taking out my datapad, I plugged in an ear piece and dialed the connection to Maklan's terminal. The gray-haired soldier quickly picked up, though he was rubbing the sleep from his eyes. I glanced at the time. It wasn't late, but he must have been catching a wink before going back on duty.
"Milord?"
"Lieutenant, do you have access to the full blueprints for the academy?" I asked without returning the greeting.
"Just the basic map, I'm afraid," He shook his head, "Same as you've got." The soldier paused, "Does that mean you got a lead?"
"A cryptic, but fairly unsubtle one, yes," I replied, rapidly typing into the terminal, "Are you friends with anyone that does?"
Detailed blueprints of the academy building wouldn't be available to everybody that walked in. For instance, the one I had access to didn't include the locations of armories or private laboratories, among other things.
"Actually, we both are, milord," Maklan remarked, a smirk forming on our face.
I paused, "We are?"
"A certain Captain would be overjoyed to help, especially if he knew it was you asking the favor," The smirk had grown into a full grin, "I trust you recall Cormun? He'll be a bit put out if you don't."
Blinking, I slowly replied, "Yes…but as I recall, Cormun was a Sergeant, not Captain."
"That he was," Maklan nodded, "But when you get personally endorsed by a Sith Lord, you tend to get booted up the ranks real quick."
Spindrall.
"I'd appreciate it if you get in contact with him."
"Will do, milord," He saluted, "Cormun should be awake now anyways, though maybe a bit busy with his new job. Be just a minute."
The connection cut. I stopped my search for a moment and leaned back in the chair. The cursor on the screen in front of my blinked innocently as my thoughts turned elsewhere.
Yet more meddling on Spindrall's part. First Ajunta Pall's treatise. Then Ragate. And now, Cormun. Just what was it that he wanted?
My datapad lit up again before splitting into two screens. Maklan was in one, and Cormun the other. Compared to when I met him in Ajunta Pall's tomb, he was looking much healthier, what with no longer bleeding to death and all.
"Milord," Cormun half-bowed, "Maklan said that you needed access to a map."
"The full blueprint for the current academy," I clarified, "I need to make a comparison. I'm tracking a target and I think they're making use of the older parts of the structure."
My fingers flew across the holographic keyboard, pulling up map after map. The academy here wasn't the first of its kind. Three hundred years ago, Revan and Malak had established their empire's primary academy on this same spot. The archives had the blueprints, mocked up from survey droid data and stolen Republic files.
"That shouldn't be a problem," Cormun replied, now typing away on his own terminal, "There. You should be receiving it now."
"Are you going to get into any trouble for that?" I asked.
"Not unless you're planning to invade a Dark Councilor's personal quarters, milord," He answered.
"Fair enough."
Opening up the new document, I laid the current plans over the ones for Revan's academy. Unfortunately, they were nearly identical. The base structure had survived the Republic reprisal after Malak's defeat relatively intact, so Vitiate's Empire merely restored and expanded upon what was left. There were a few hallways that didn't match but notes on the map indicated that they had collapsed completely and were never dug out.
Additionally, both academies were entirely above-ground, with no sub-levels.
"Nothing, milord?" Maklan asked.
"Not yet," I muttered back.
I scratched at my chin as I thought about the possibilities. Ragate pointed me in this direction, so there had to be something I was missing.
"No sub-levels…" I murmured.
I ignored Maklan and Cormun's questions as I started typing again. The Ancient Sith had a "Space Egypt" motif, with their extremely elaborate funeral processes. Maybe a few other things were similar. As the search results were shown, I smiled.
I was right.
Like the Egyptians, the Ancient Sith, both before and after the Exiles' time, built mortuary temples for their kings and Dark Lords, places to honor and worship them after death. And there had been one built on the same spot the current building occupied, dedicated to Marka Ragnos. It had been mostly destroyed during the genocide at the end of the Great Hyperspace War, but the foundations had survived, along with the lower levels of the temple, which at the time had been used for storage. These records had been preserved when the Sith fled Korriban, digitized, then forgotten by all but interested historians.
As I laid the newer plans over the rough sketches, I knew I had found it. My assassin had found an intact passage, giving them a hiding place few knew about. I just needed to find the entrance.
"Did you find something, milord?" Cormun inquired.
"Yes. Yes, I did. Your help was appreciated," I answered, my smile growing wider, "And now, I'm going hunting. I'll be in touch if there's something else."
I needed to nip this threat in the bud, before it became worse.
Just as I was about to get up, I stopped, "Oh. A bit late, but congratulations on the promotion, Captain."
==========================================================
After retrieving Gaarurra, we headed for the first possible access point. Though the storage room was just one of dozens scattered across the facility, it seemed…familiar.
"Wait," I muttered as a piece clicked into place, "This is where the Nautolan kept giving me the slip."
I thought he'd just been using a Force power to throw me off. But if he'd been ducking into a secret passage and covering up the hole…
Huh. Two birds with one stone, and all that. I'd actually been wondering if the guy was even still alive since I hadn't seen him for a few months.
Once we entered the storage room, it took us a good ten or twenty minutes of shuffling crates around until we found a collection of loose tiles on the floor. Upon removing them, it revealed the red sandstone-like rock that made up most of the ancient structures on Korriban along with a set of stairs leading further down. Thankfully, the passage was wide enough to accommodate both of us.
I flicked on my glow-light and drew my sword. In cramped conditions like these, my blaster was going to do more harm than good. Gaarurra did the same before woofing a question.
"Yeah," I nodded, "He's probably got traps or something down here, so keep an eye out."
He woofed again in what I assumed to be agreement.
We only made it a dozen or so feet into the passage before the first incident occurred. There was no warning. One moment, we were walking. The next, an immense weight hit me, forcing me to the ground. My sword clattered out of my grip.
It wasn't there for long. Gaarurra roared and lifted the thing off me. Rolling over, I quickly sat up to get a look.
The thing turned out to be a droid. A glowing red eye stared at us from a mushroom-shaped head, mounted on top of a cylindrical body. Its arms were spindly, made up of simple joints and straight pieces. Each of its hands ended in three fingers and a thumb, each tipped with a claw.
It was positively ancient. Its gray plating was rusted at the edges and the glass of its "eye" was cracked.
The Wookiee roared again and tore its head off. The central eye dimmed.
I looked up. The droid had likely been clinging to the ceiling in standby mode, waiting for intruders.
Whirring and clicking sounded off from the passage ahead, drawing my attention forward. In the darkness beyond the light of our glowrod, nearly two dozen glowing eyes stood out from the gloom, their silhouettes just barely visible.
My left hand went to my throat before I could stop it. Anger welled inside of me. I knew what I was going to do.
Stepping ahead of Gaarurra, I raised my hands, fingers splayed like claws. At my urging, my power surged, flowing out of my fingertips in a contained storm of lightning. The cracks of electricity lit up the dim hallway. Their metal bodies convulsed uncontrollably as the stream of lightning passed from droid to droid. Tiny sparks arced off their shells, scorching the walls.
Masterminding a plan was satisfying as hell, but sometimes, you just needed to throw lightning at stuff.
After a minute, I cut off the power. The droids' smoking bodies fell to the ground in an almighty crash. After retrieving my sword from the ground, we pressed on, carefully picking our way through the now inert machinery.
Only two more droids barred our passage further in, but they were easily dispatched. I let Gaarurra take care of them that time. Literally the work of a few seconds, that.
Finally, we came to a well-lit room, where a blue-skinned Nautolan was leaning over a workbench, frantically working on something.
His head whipped up as we entered, sending his head tendrils flying everywhere, "Blast! Thought they'd hold you a bit longer…" He glanced back at whatever he was fiddling with, "Ah hell, here goes nothing."
There was a click as he flipped a switch. Lightning surged out of my hand, only to slam uselessly into a green barrier that sudden materialized around him.
Tentacles breathed out a sigh of relief and slumped to the floor, "Whooh! Honestly wasn't sure that was gonna work…"
I eyed the barrier, "Huh. Ray shield. You know that's only going to last a few minutes, right? Then we get back to the part where I barbecue you. Or Gaarurra tears your arms off."
The Wookiee cracked his knuckles, which made Bubble Boy gulp nervously.
"Yeah yeah, I know how screwed I am when this thing goes down," He rolled his eyes, "It's not a permanent solution."
"So out of curiosity, what's the permanent solution?" I asked.
I was tempted to just snap his neck from here. But Ragate's wording from earlier was bothering me. She said I'd find some answers, not my target.
"The permanent solution is that I'm gonna introduce myself and hope I can talk fast enough to convince you to let me live before the portable powerpack for my ray shield generator here runs outta juice," The octopus-man shot back, "Name's Qiv Brellen. I'd shake hands, but…well…"
Chapter 30
- Location
- North Carolina
Chapter 30
Tentacles, or Qiv rather, was not the most physically impressive member of his species. Though he was tall, he was also reedy and looked like a strong wind would knock him over. Compared to his thin face, his solid black eyes were huge and bulging. He was dressed in a skin-tight jumpsuit, over top of which he had hung a few tool belts.
His hands twitched nervously and his gaze shifted back and forth between Gaarurra and I, occasionally patting the ray shield generator now mounted on his belt, as though he was terrified it would suddenly disappear. I wondered if he realized I could simply crush it from here? It would take some effort on my part if he had any active Force defenses, but I was reasonably certain I could pull it off.
I decided to tell him this.
"Yeah, I'm aware. I've seen enough footage of you in action to figure that out on my own, hotshot," Qiv grumbled, "This was more to surprise you for a sec."
I shrugged, "Just keeping you informed."
"You gonna let me talk now or did you have something else? 'Cause I still got stuff to say," He asked, now slightly annoyed. I gestured for him to continue, "Good, 'cause I was about to give you a few reasons why killing me is a bad idea."
I raised an eyebrow.
"First, I'm not dumb enough to rely on just one contingency," He started, "I got a droid wired up to a few security cams I swiped. You kill me, it goes to the nearest Inquisitor with video evidence, along with a clip of you killing Lord what's-his-name. And I wouldn't bother going after it. It'll get there before you can figure out which droid it is. I go down, I'm taking you with me."
Alright, I'd admit that that's a pretty good reason. I wasn't happy at getting blackmailed, but given his position, it was an understandable precaution. Hell, I'd probably have done it myself if our roles were reversed.
"You've been having me followed?" I inquired.
"I've been having everybody followed," Qiv shrugged, pulling something off his belt. It was a small orb, cobbled together from scrap parts. A central red "eye" lit up as the device activated, revealing it to be a tiny droid, "It's the other reason you might want to hold off on killing me. I know where everybody's been and what they've been doing. At least while they were here on Korriban."
A glance to my side showed that Gaarurra had a very perturbed expression on his face. I imagine finding out that you were being stalked was a bit disturbing for everybody else. At this point, I've just gotten used to it after dealing with it for most of my life.
I acknowledged the point with a nod, "I'll admit, that's pretty tempting. Now, what do you want?"
"Besides the whole you not murdering the hell out of me thing?" The Nautolan deadpanned, "Just one, little itty bitty thing. In fact, it's the reason why I approached you," He paused and took a deep breath, "I want off this rock."
"You want me to smuggle you off Korriban," I replied, equally deadpan. And how the hell did he expect me to accomplish that feat?
"But I'm not talking about that ship you got stashed in the wastes. According to Iren's files, the hole in the defense screen was closed a while ago," Qiv explained. I was suddenly much more interested, "See, there's a reason I got your attention and not Crazy Eyes'. She's got connections with other acolytes. You've got connections with the soldiers. That means you've also got connections with the soldiers' supply shipments."
Ah, I saw where he was going with this, "Say I call in a favor and get an extra crate loaded onto an outgoing transport. Preferably one with air holes."
"Exactly," Qiv grinned, "Military shipments usually pass through Vaiken Station before heading off. I can slip out there and find a ship to Nar Shaddaa, then disappear so deep the Sith'll never find me," He clapped his hands together, "So here's the deal. You don't kill me and get me onto that ship, and I leave you…pretty much everything I got here. So all the recordings and the droids you guys didn't fry or break on the way in."
"And delete the recording of me killing Renning?" I insisted. I didn't really care that Gaarurra was hearing this since I assumed that he was smart enough to realize that with how often he was seen hanging around me, he would likely be considered an accomplice. With the Empire's attitude towards aliens, I doubted that they would investigate too much before slapping him with that.
"Yeah, that too," He nodded, "In fact, I'll do that right now. As a show of good faith." Taking out his datapad, he typed in a few commands, "Done. The other thing's still in place, though. Call it a bit of insurance."
"Fair enough," I shrugged. Honestly, it was. This was Korriban. Trusting anyone completely was plain stupid, "Although…you couldn't have just asked?"
Qiv's reaction wasn't quite what I had been expecting. His face screwed up in confusion, "I…did."
"You tried to have me killed in my sleep!"
"I did?" He repeated, this time as a question. Clearly, he was now even more confused.
"Your droid tried to strangle me!" I declared, incredulity seeping into my voice.
"It was supposed to just deliver a message since I couldn't go see you without tipping off Olia!" The Nautolan blinked in surprise, his brow furrowed. He started muttering to himself, leaving me to piece things together on my own for the moment.
"It definitely delivered one!" I shot back.
"No no no. All I did was add a few lines of code," He replied, waving his hands to try and calm me down before pausing, "Huh. I guess my tampering tripped something in its programming."
I stared slack-jawed at the man as I quickly realized what had happened. Next to me, Gaarurra started laughing.
"Are you telling me that you accidentally almost assassinated me?!" I'll admit, it was a first for Korriban. It was the first time something had unintentionally tried to kill me.
"Yes?" Qiv seemed to shrink in on himself, a sheepish expression on his face.
I ran a hand down my face and let out an explosive sigh, "…Fuck it. I'll do it. We'll get you off planet and as far away from me as physically possible before you end up succeeding."
"Great! Now…uh…I'm gonna shut off the ray shield to save some battery. Just in case I need it again in a few minutes…"
====================================================================
After that, he walked Gaarurra and I through his operations here. While most of his larger droids had been trashed out in the passage, he still had a huge network of spy droids wandering around. He even managed to have some planted in the Overseers' offices, up in the vents.
"I'm actually impressed that you managed all this in a just couple months," I complimented.
"Hey, just 'cause I bungled one thing doesn't mean I'm completely useless," Qiv shot back.
"I wasn't implying that," I assured him, "Actually, with this set up, you probably could have taken most of us down," Especially if he managed to get a hold of some poison gas. Just sneak some into the dormitory vents at night and suddenly he'd be the only surviving acolyte, "Why did you want to leave?"
"Besides getting away from all the murder and possibilities of horrific death?" He asked with a roll of his eyes. Now that he knew I wasn't going to kill him, he was a lot more relaxed, "'Cause I'm not dumb enough to go after something I know I can't get. Imps don't like aliens and they don't get far or have a long lifespan. Last I checked, I was one, so I want to skedaddle back to someplace I might be able to get a good life."
"That's not the only reason, is it?"
Qiv snorted, "Well, that and I ain't exactly Sith material. You might have noticed I'm a bit of a coward," He shrugged, "Also, I dropped my hydrospanner on my foot four times this morning. Same foot each time. Imagine what I'd do with a lightsaber."
I winced. Yeah, I could imagine, "Lightsabers aren't the Sith's only weapon."
"I know that. But I ain't good at any of 'em, except when it comes to tech."
"Hold on a second," I stopped him, "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"
Because if he was, I wanted that.
"What, using the Force on tech?" He asked, "I've always been able to do it, just got better at it since coming here. Always knew what to fix, even without looking at blueprints," He gestured to one of the wrecked droids just outside, "Hell, the plans for those probably don't even exist anymore. Computers too. It's easy to hack a terminal when it talks to you."
"Mechu Deru," I breathed out.
Jedi and Sith unintentionally used it at its most basic level to construct and maintain their lightsabers, creating blueprints with the Force. But doing anything further with it was incredibly rare. In summation, it was the ability to analyze, control, and construct machinery using the Force. That Qiv was able to do it instinctively and was only getting better at it…
Suffice it to say, it was incredibly dangerous at its highest levels, as Belia Darzu could attest. A sufficiently powerful practitioner could control a dreadnought with just a thought. And that was low-balling it and didn't get into its more…creative aspects.
"I'd like to alter our deal," I held up a hand, stopping him before he could interrupt, "And don't worry, I won't be altering it further." I held up two fingers, "First, I'd like any notes you made on this ability as well as any that you can make in the time between now and the next shipment."
"Sure, I guess. And the other?"
"I'd like to establish a way to get in contact once you're on Nar Shaddaa," I continued, "Your skills are too useful to ignore and once I graduate from the academy, I'd like the option of calling on them. I'll pay you for your time, in credits or resources."
"You want to hire me?" Qiv asked, his hairless eyebrows rising.
"Not full-time. Otherwise, you'll be left alone," I assured him, "Can you say that you won't want the business?"
"I wouldn't say no to an income…" He replied slowly, scratching his chin as he thought it over. His head tendrils twitched a few times before he replied, "Alright. My cousin owns a cantina up on the promenade level, right near this real ugly aurodium statue of Karagga the Hutt. If you end up needing something, talk to him and he'll pass the word somehow. We'll talk price then." He held out a hand, "Deal?"
I grasped the hand and shook it, "Deal."
Qiv chuckled, "Looks like I won't be getting completely out of the Sith life like I wanted."
"Looks like it," I agreed. Taking out my datapad, I keyed up a number, "Cormun, it's me. I need another favor…"
Tentacles, or Qiv rather, was not the most physically impressive member of his species. Though he was tall, he was also reedy and looked like a strong wind would knock him over. Compared to his thin face, his solid black eyes were huge and bulging. He was dressed in a skin-tight jumpsuit, over top of which he had hung a few tool belts.
His hands twitched nervously and his gaze shifted back and forth between Gaarurra and I, occasionally patting the ray shield generator now mounted on his belt, as though he was terrified it would suddenly disappear. I wondered if he realized I could simply crush it from here? It would take some effort on my part if he had any active Force defenses, but I was reasonably certain I could pull it off.
I decided to tell him this.
"Yeah, I'm aware. I've seen enough footage of you in action to figure that out on my own, hotshot," Qiv grumbled, "This was more to surprise you for a sec."
I shrugged, "Just keeping you informed."
"You gonna let me talk now or did you have something else? 'Cause I still got stuff to say," He asked, now slightly annoyed. I gestured for him to continue, "Good, 'cause I was about to give you a few reasons why killing me is a bad idea."
I raised an eyebrow.
"First, I'm not dumb enough to rely on just one contingency," He started, "I got a droid wired up to a few security cams I swiped. You kill me, it goes to the nearest Inquisitor with video evidence, along with a clip of you killing Lord what's-his-name. And I wouldn't bother going after it. It'll get there before you can figure out which droid it is. I go down, I'm taking you with me."
Alright, I'd admit that that's a pretty good reason. I wasn't happy at getting blackmailed, but given his position, it was an understandable precaution. Hell, I'd probably have done it myself if our roles were reversed.
"You've been having me followed?" I inquired.
"I've been having everybody followed," Qiv shrugged, pulling something off his belt. It was a small orb, cobbled together from scrap parts. A central red "eye" lit up as the device activated, revealing it to be a tiny droid, "It's the other reason you might want to hold off on killing me. I know where everybody's been and what they've been doing. At least while they were here on Korriban."
A glance to my side showed that Gaarurra had a very perturbed expression on his face. I imagine finding out that you were being stalked was a bit disturbing for everybody else. At this point, I've just gotten used to it after dealing with it for most of my life.
I acknowledged the point with a nod, "I'll admit, that's pretty tempting. Now, what do you want?"
"Besides the whole you not murdering the hell out of me thing?" The Nautolan deadpanned, "Just one, little itty bitty thing. In fact, it's the reason why I approached you," He paused and took a deep breath, "I want off this rock."
"You want me to smuggle you off Korriban," I replied, equally deadpan. And how the hell did he expect me to accomplish that feat?
"But I'm not talking about that ship you got stashed in the wastes. According to Iren's files, the hole in the defense screen was closed a while ago," Qiv explained. I was suddenly much more interested, "See, there's a reason I got your attention and not Crazy Eyes'. She's got connections with other acolytes. You've got connections with the soldiers. That means you've also got connections with the soldiers' supply shipments."
Ah, I saw where he was going with this, "Say I call in a favor and get an extra crate loaded onto an outgoing transport. Preferably one with air holes."
"Exactly," Qiv grinned, "Military shipments usually pass through Vaiken Station before heading off. I can slip out there and find a ship to Nar Shaddaa, then disappear so deep the Sith'll never find me," He clapped his hands together, "So here's the deal. You don't kill me and get me onto that ship, and I leave you…pretty much everything I got here. So all the recordings and the droids you guys didn't fry or break on the way in."
"And delete the recording of me killing Renning?" I insisted. I didn't really care that Gaarurra was hearing this since I assumed that he was smart enough to realize that with how often he was seen hanging around me, he would likely be considered an accomplice. With the Empire's attitude towards aliens, I doubted that they would investigate too much before slapping him with that.
"Yeah, that too," He nodded, "In fact, I'll do that right now. As a show of good faith." Taking out his datapad, he typed in a few commands, "Done. The other thing's still in place, though. Call it a bit of insurance."
"Fair enough," I shrugged. Honestly, it was. This was Korriban. Trusting anyone completely was plain stupid, "Although…you couldn't have just asked?"
Qiv's reaction wasn't quite what I had been expecting. His face screwed up in confusion, "I…did."
"You tried to have me killed in my sleep!"
"I did?" He repeated, this time as a question. Clearly, he was now even more confused.
"Your droid tried to strangle me!" I declared, incredulity seeping into my voice.
"It was supposed to just deliver a message since I couldn't go see you without tipping off Olia!" The Nautolan blinked in surprise, his brow furrowed. He started muttering to himself, leaving me to piece things together on my own for the moment.
"It definitely delivered one!" I shot back.
"No no no. All I did was add a few lines of code," He replied, waving his hands to try and calm me down before pausing, "Huh. I guess my tampering tripped something in its programming."
I stared slack-jawed at the man as I quickly realized what had happened. Next to me, Gaarurra started laughing.
"Are you telling me that you accidentally almost assassinated me?!" I'll admit, it was a first for Korriban. It was the first time something had unintentionally tried to kill me.
"Yes?" Qiv seemed to shrink in on himself, a sheepish expression on his face.
I ran a hand down my face and let out an explosive sigh, "…Fuck it. I'll do it. We'll get you off planet and as far away from me as physically possible before you end up succeeding."
"Great! Now…uh…I'm gonna shut off the ray shield to save some battery. Just in case I need it again in a few minutes…"
====================================================================
After that, he walked Gaarurra and I through his operations here. While most of his larger droids had been trashed out in the passage, he still had a huge network of spy droids wandering around. He even managed to have some planted in the Overseers' offices, up in the vents.
"I'm actually impressed that you managed all this in a just couple months," I complimented.
"Hey, just 'cause I bungled one thing doesn't mean I'm completely useless," Qiv shot back.
"I wasn't implying that," I assured him, "Actually, with this set up, you probably could have taken most of us down," Especially if he managed to get a hold of some poison gas. Just sneak some into the dormitory vents at night and suddenly he'd be the only surviving acolyte, "Why did you want to leave?"
"Besides getting away from all the murder and possibilities of horrific death?" He asked with a roll of his eyes. Now that he knew I wasn't going to kill him, he was a lot more relaxed, "'Cause I'm not dumb enough to go after something I know I can't get. Imps don't like aliens and they don't get far or have a long lifespan. Last I checked, I was one, so I want to skedaddle back to someplace I might be able to get a good life."
"That's not the only reason, is it?"
Qiv snorted, "Well, that and I ain't exactly Sith material. You might have noticed I'm a bit of a coward," He shrugged, "Also, I dropped my hydrospanner on my foot four times this morning. Same foot each time. Imagine what I'd do with a lightsaber."
I winced. Yeah, I could imagine, "Lightsabers aren't the Sith's only weapon."
"I know that. But I ain't good at any of 'em, except when it comes to tech."
"Hold on a second," I stopped him, "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"
Because if he was, I wanted that.
"What, using the Force on tech?" He asked, "I've always been able to do it, just got better at it since coming here. Always knew what to fix, even without looking at blueprints," He gestured to one of the wrecked droids just outside, "Hell, the plans for those probably don't even exist anymore. Computers too. It's easy to hack a terminal when it talks to you."
"Mechu Deru," I breathed out.
Jedi and Sith unintentionally used it at its most basic level to construct and maintain their lightsabers, creating blueprints with the Force. But doing anything further with it was incredibly rare. In summation, it was the ability to analyze, control, and construct machinery using the Force. That Qiv was able to do it instinctively and was only getting better at it…
Suffice it to say, it was incredibly dangerous at its highest levels, as Belia Darzu could attest. A sufficiently powerful practitioner could control a dreadnought with just a thought. And that was low-balling it and didn't get into its more…creative aspects.
"I'd like to alter our deal," I held up a hand, stopping him before he could interrupt, "And don't worry, I won't be altering it further." I held up two fingers, "First, I'd like any notes you made on this ability as well as any that you can make in the time between now and the next shipment."
"Sure, I guess. And the other?"
"I'd like to establish a way to get in contact once you're on Nar Shaddaa," I continued, "Your skills are too useful to ignore and once I graduate from the academy, I'd like the option of calling on them. I'll pay you for your time, in credits or resources."
"You want to hire me?" Qiv asked, his hairless eyebrows rising.
"Not full-time. Otherwise, you'll be left alone," I assured him, "Can you say that you won't want the business?"
"I wouldn't say no to an income…" He replied slowly, scratching his chin as he thought it over. His head tendrils twitched a few times before he replied, "Alright. My cousin owns a cantina up on the promenade level, right near this real ugly aurodium statue of Karagga the Hutt. If you end up needing something, talk to him and he'll pass the word somehow. We'll talk price then." He held out a hand, "Deal?"
I grasped the hand and shook it, "Deal."
Qiv chuckled, "Looks like I won't be getting completely out of the Sith life like I wanted."
"Looks like it," I agreed. Taking out my datapad, I keyed up a number, "Cormun, it's me. I need another favor…"
Interlude: Looks Can Be Deceiving
- Location
- North Carolina
Interlude: Looks Can Be Deceiving
'Heh, suckers,' Qiv thought to himself as the crate was loaded onto the transport, an unseen grin on his face. However, he sobered quickly, 'Though I gotta wonder who the real sucker was here.'
Aldrex had been as good as his word and his soldier buddies had arranged to smuggle him off planet on the next outgoing supply ship. They were even courteous enough to include airholes, which let a little bit of light in from the cargo hold. He had to admit, he was still somewhat surprised despite what he knew about the man.
Being pleasant to the hired help was one thing. Keeping your word to a rival was another, especially when they had tried to kill you.
Well, "try" was a strong word. He hadn't done anything to change the droid's coding other than to send it to the other acolyte…but he had known that it would have a cascading effect on the droid's behavior core. Any tampering would trigger programming to twist orders given to it.
He'd simply told the droid to deliver a message. And as Aldrex said, it had.
One didn't live on Nal Hutta long without being able to spot power games from a click away and knowing one's place in them. Qiv knew that he'd never really been serious competition for either Aldrex or Olia in a direct fight, just another piece on their dejarik boards to be moved or sacrificed. If he was going to be a pawn, he preferred to be a living one.
'The Weaver casts his web wide. Will you be caught in the strands? Or will you fly free?'
Crazy old bat. A few mumbled words and a locket were all he got after crawling through a monster infested cave to grab a damn skull, nearly pissing his pants every time a shyrack shifted slightly. Then there was the whole thing with the giant frakk-off k'lor'slug and the blood pool. Still, he barely knew anything about the Force, so he'd taken her "prophecy" seriously just in case before quietly swearing to never do something that stupid again. And it wasn't hard to figure out who the "Weaver" was. Olia's little nickname for him was appropriate, after all.
Despite the warning, he made one last hurrah. One last chance at power among the Sith. If the assassin droid had managed to kill Aldrex, he might have stayed and taken his chances against Olia. Since it didn't, he was going to burn sky until he saw lines.
And to be fair, it likely would have worked if the Wookiee hadn't been there to get the droid off him. There was the rub. Aldrex had lucked out with recruiting the fuzzball, but it was also the reason he had chosen the scarred man over his rival.
Olia collected pets. Aldrex cultivated assets.
The former would punish a pet that bit her, no matter how valuable. She was more interested in the mystical than the mundane. Also, the way she strutted around reminded him of a Zeltron after a boob job.
The latter would listen if something tantalizing enough was offered. Like, say, a personal spy network.
That said, it was still an immense risk, given what he did to Renning for "punishing" him for failure. But with careful wording, the scenario was framed as an accident or a momentary slip up without a single lie. But what had been interesting was Aldrex's sudden fascination with his little talent, which had chased away all thoughts on the attempted assassination. It was a welcome distraction and Qiv had been all-too-happy to copy down everything he knew about it to make sure the other acolyte's attention didn't stray back to his midnight visitor.
"Mechu Deru, huh?" Qiv muttered to the darkness. If he ever got the chance, he'd have to look it up and see if there was anything more to it than piecing machines together. There had to be some scraps somewhere that weren't hidden away in a Jedi or Sith temple.
Footsteps approached his crate and the Nautolan sucked in a breath, suppressing his Force Presence as much as he could. While he would readily admit, and had, that his combative talents were…lacking, he was really damn good at hiding. If he hadn't been, either Olia or Aldrex would have found him in the first month. That said, it had somehow gotten easier since Ragate gave him that locket. As he waited, his fingers numbly touched the locket, still hanging around his neck.
Whoever was outside paused for a moment next to his crate, close enough that he could hear the noises coming from a datapad.
"Is there something wrong, milord?" The reedy voice of the dock officer asked.
Ice ran down Qiv's spine. Milord? MILORD?!
'Oh poodoo,' He thought weakly. This was it. This was how he was going to die. Stuck in a box.
"Where is this crate headed? And what are its contents?" The returning voice was deep, with a rasp that sent more chills across his skin.
The unseen dock officer hummed as he sifted through the manifest. Qiv started sweating as the silence carried on, "It appears to be…research material. A beast captured out in the desert. It's being sent to the Sphere of Biotic Science compound on Dromund Kaas for study. It will be making a stop-over on Vaiken Station to be loaded onto another transport."
"Curious," the other slowly muttered.
Qiv's heart stopped as a blazing red eye peered in through one of airholes. Seconds turned into eternity at it stared him in the face.
He knew. He knew. Heknewheknewheknewheknewohstarshewasgonnadi-
"Milord?"
Finally, the Eye turned away. Its owner hummed in thought for a moment, "It's nothing. Carry on, Lieutenant."
As one set of footsteps walked away, Qiv finally dared to move. Wiping a hand down his face, he released the air he had been holding in a quiet shuddering breath. His whole body trembled as everything caught up with him.
After a few moments, the dock officer left as well.
Once he'd started to calm down, Qiv took out his datapad. He'd disabled the GPS tracker implanted in the device and it was going to be a long flight to Vaiken Station. He was going to need to plan carefully if he was going to avoid more incidents like this one.
'Forget just hiding deep, I'm gonna need to dig all the way to Nar Shaddaa's core at this rate,' He reflected bitterly.
'Heh, suckers,' Qiv thought to himself as the crate was loaded onto the transport, an unseen grin on his face. However, he sobered quickly, 'Though I gotta wonder who the real sucker was here.'
Aldrex had been as good as his word and his soldier buddies had arranged to smuggle him off planet on the next outgoing supply ship. They were even courteous enough to include airholes, which let a little bit of light in from the cargo hold. He had to admit, he was still somewhat surprised despite what he knew about the man.
Being pleasant to the hired help was one thing. Keeping your word to a rival was another, especially when they had tried to kill you.
Well, "try" was a strong word. He hadn't done anything to change the droid's coding other than to send it to the other acolyte…but he had known that it would have a cascading effect on the droid's behavior core. Any tampering would trigger programming to twist orders given to it.
He'd simply told the droid to deliver a message. And as Aldrex said, it had.
One didn't live on Nal Hutta long without being able to spot power games from a click away and knowing one's place in them. Qiv knew that he'd never really been serious competition for either Aldrex or Olia in a direct fight, just another piece on their dejarik boards to be moved or sacrificed. If he was going to be a pawn, he preferred to be a living one.
'The Weaver casts his web wide. Will you be caught in the strands? Or will you fly free?'
Crazy old bat. A few mumbled words and a locket were all he got after crawling through a monster infested cave to grab a damn skull, nearly pissing his pants every time a shyrack shifted slightly. Then there was the whole thing with the giant frakk-off k'lor'slug and the blood pool. Still, he barely knew anything about the Force, so he'd taken her "prophecy" seriously just in case before quietly swearing to never do something that stupid again. And it wasn't hard to figure out who the "Weaver" was. Olia's little nickname for him was appropriate, after all.
Despite the warning, he made one last hurrah. One last chance at power among the Sith. If the assassin droid had managed to kill Aldrex, he might have stayed and taken his chances against Olia. Since it didn't, he was going to burn sky until he saw lines.
And to be fair, it likely would have worked if the Wookiee hadn't been there to get the droid off him. There was the rub. Aldrex had lucked out with recruiting the fuzzball, but it was also the reason he had chosen the scarred man over his rival.
Olia collected pets. Aldrex cultivated assets.
The former would punish a pet that bit her, no matter how valuable. She was more interested in the mystical than the mundane. Also, the way she strutted around reminded him of a Zeltron after a boob job.
The latter would listen if something tantalizing enough was offered. Like, say, a personal spy network.
That said, it was still an immense risk, given what he did to Renning for "punishing" him for failure. But with careful wording, the scenario was framed as an accident or a momentary slip up without a single lie. But what had been interesting was Aldrex's sudden fascination with his little talent, which had chased away all thoughts on the attempted assassination. It was a welcome distraction and Qiv had been all-too-happy to copy down everything he knew about it to make sure the other acolyte's attention didn't stray back to his midnight visitor.
"Mechu Deru, huh?" Qiv muttered to the darkness. If he ever got the chance, he'd have to look it up and see if there was anything more to it than piecing machines together. There had to be some scraps somewhere that weren't hidden away in a Jedi or Sith temple.
Footsteps approached his crate and the Nautolan sucked in a breath, suppressing his Force Presence as much as he could. While he would readily admit, and had, that his combative talents were…lacking, he was really damn good at hiding. If he hadn't been, either Olia or Aldrex would have found him in the first month. That said, it had somehow gotten easier since Ragate gave him that locket. As he waited, his fingers numbly touched the locket, still hanging around his neck.
Whoever was outside paused for a moment next to his crate, close enough that he could hear the noises coming from a datapad.
"Is there something wrong, milord?" The reedy voice of the dock officer asked.
Ice ran down Qiv's spine. Milord? MILORD?!
'Oh poodoo,' He thought weakly. This was it. This was how he was going to die. Stuck in a box.
"Where is this crate headed? And what are its contents?" The returning voice was deep, with a rasp that sent more chills across his skin.
The unseen dock officer hummed as he sifted through the manifest. Qiv started sweating as the silence carried on, "It appears to be…research material. A beast captured out in the desert. It's being sent to the Sphere of Biotic Science compound on Dromund Kaas for study. It will be making a stop-over on Vaiken Station to be loaded onto another transport."
"Curious," the other slowly muttered.
Qiv's heart stopped as a blazing red eye peered in through one of airholes. Seconds turned into eternity at it stared him in the face.
He knew. He knew. Heknewheknewheknewheknewohstarshewasgonnadi-
"Milord?"
Finally, the Eye turned away. Its owner hummed in thought for a moment, "It's nothing. Carry on, Lieutenant."
As one set of footsteps walked away, Qiv finally dared to move. Wiping a hand down his face, he released the air he had been holding in a quiet shuddering breath. His whole body trembled as everything caught up with him.
After a few moments, the dock officer left as well.
Once he'd started to calm down, Qiv took out his datapad. He'd disabled the GPS tracker implanted in the device and it was going to be a long flight to Vaiken Station. He was going to need to plan carefully if he was going to avoid more incidents like this one.
'Forget just hiding deep, I'm gonna need to dig all the way to Nar Shaddaa's core at this rate,' He reflected bitterly.
Interlude: Darkness Gathers
- Location
- North Carolina
Interlude: Darkness Gathers
Sharp durasteel cut through tough flesh, driven by Force-enhanced muscle. The massive k'lor'slug screamed once before collapsing to the tomb's floor, its innards spilling out onto the ancient stones to join with those of the seven other beasts beside it.
Olia straightened up as the last monster fell. A strand of black hair had slipped out of her ponytail and had fallen down in front of her face. With an annoyed huff, she blew the errant hair out of her way. She would have used her hands, but the black gauntlets covering them were coated in the gore that had sprayed out of the k'lor'slugs' wounds.
Blood oozed down from a gash on her left arm where one of the beasts had managed to land a grazing hit. Giving it a contemptuous look, she used the pain flaring up from the wound to bolster her strength.
Upon activating the Engine, she had slightly regretted ordering Kalista to guard the door as dozens of k'lor'slugs had poured out from the walls, attracted by the potent Dark Side energy pervading the tomb. But instead of retreating, she had grit her teeth, let out a battle cry, and exploded into a flurry of durasteel and lightning.
This was a trial she would face alone.
And now, all of them lay dead. Her limbs ached, but she merely snarled and adjusted her grip on her sword. The former Jedi could feel that the battle wasn't over yet.
The ground beneath her feet shook, the shrieks of something enormous echoing through the musty halls.
On the far side of the chamber, the wall cracked as something heavy slammed into it. The air seemed to fall still as the sounds stopped. Suddenly, the stone exploded outwards as the k'lor'slug queen smashed through the wall, a pair of towering broodguards at her sides. Her massive bulk was nearly three times the size of her fifteen foot tall guards.
Olia stood her ground as huge chunks of rock rained down around her. Far above her, the queen's spiked maw dripped with saliva, sensing the flesh below.
The chamber descended into silence as none of the combatants moved, each sensing the danger. In the end, it was Olia who attacked first.
Using the Force, she lifted one of the k'lor'slug corpses at her feet and threw it at the queen's head. The creature shrieked as the mound of flesh slammed into its "face." As it staggered back, she was already moving.
The broodguards scrambled forward to bar her path and protect their mother. Pausing only for a moment, Olia deftly leaped over their heads and landed on the back of one of them. Taking her sword in both hands, she drove the point of the blade down into a slight crease where the head met the neck, straight into the creature's largest nerve cluster. As her impromptu mount started to fall into a boneless heap, she jumped onto the other one, quickly repeating the strike and killing it.
Without looking back, Olia jumped straight up, neatly avoiding the queen's sudden lunge. Touching down on the creature's back, she drove her sword into its flesh, not bothering to aim for anything in particular. The monster was far too large to effectively target its nerve clusters.
The k'lor'slug queen let out a deafening shriek that echoed endlessly in the chamber and thrashed about in an attempt to dislodge its unwanted passenger. With one hand, Olia held onto her blade while the other grasped at one of the massive spikes jutting out of the monster's back.
After ensuring that she wasn't immediately going to fall off, the acolyte called upon the Force, gathering it into an electrical charge in her hand. Lightning crackled for only a moment before travelling down the metal blade and into the living flesh it was impaled into. Olia winced as the monster's shrieks of pain rose to new heights, though she couldn't afford to let go and cover her ears.
Instead, she pumped more power into her lightning, drowning out the queen's screams with the roar of thunder. Spiked limbs twitched as the electricity played havoc with the creature's nervous system and flesh blackened as the heat slowly cooked it.
Finally, the queen collapsed, her body still writhing from the electricity dancing inside.
Removing her sword from its skin, Olia grimaced at the blackened and warped durasteel. She would have to see about acquiring a new weapon. The ruined blade clattered to the ground as she tossed it aside before advancing towards the obelisk in the middle of the chamber, which miraculously had been undamaged by the fighting. She came to a stop in front of it and stared at it.
And continued to stare at it.
"…Blast," She cursed, "How in the hells do I use this thing?"
More lightning sprang to mind, but was immediately dismissed. The Red Engine was supposed to be a computer of sorts. She wanted the information inside of it, not to fry the databanks.
'Then again, it is a computer constructed with the Force…' Olia quickly shook the thought from her head, "Come on, Tulak, couldn't you have made this a bit more user friendly?"
Silence answered her. After Ragnos' tomb, she had been half-expecting to see the Lord of Hate's specter greet her. No dice, apparently.
"Figures," She sighed. Glaring at the obelisk, she muttered, "I might as well try something."
The leather of her gauntlet creaked as she opened a hand, drawing in the ambient dark power of the tomb. The rush she felt as so much energy filled her was exhilarating, but she refocused herself by reminding herself of her reason for being here.
With an effort of will, she directed the energy she had collected into the mechanisms above. Suddenly, everything came to life for one brief instant, blinding her with a flash of light. As she instinctively covered her face with her arms, she felt bits of stone pelt her exposed skin.
When her sight returned, the obelisk in front of her was a shattered ruin. From the loose stones now surrounding it as well as the ones that had hit her, it appeared that it had exploded outwards. In the center of the destruction was a single tablet.
Eyebrows furrowed, she cautiously approached and knelt to examine it. Inscribed on the ancient stone were words that were definitely recognizable as Ancient Sith, but there were a large number of unintelligible words. With a grimace, she realized that the writing was probably in a dialect that was no longer used.
She could almost imagine Tulak Hord laughing at her.
'You didn't think it would be that easy to get my teachings, did you?'
She didn't think he'd use those words exactly, but it was close enough for her imagination.
Olia reached out to brush a stone shard off the tablet. When she accidentally touched the tablet itself, the words shifted, though still in that damnably indecipherable dialect.
She blinked in surprise, before grinning. How interesting.
Her joy was short-lived as her commlink chimed. Grimacing, she answered it, knowing full well who would be on the other end.
"Acolyte."
"Overseer," Olia greeted curtly. She didn't let her eyes dip down. She knew he was wearing her confiscated lightsaber just to infuriate her.
But damn if it wasn't working.
"It is time for your Second Trial," Iren stated simply, "Return to the academy as soon as possible for your briefing."
And then the commlink shut off. The ex-Jedi's lip curled, "Finally."
Still, she was frustrated that she wouldn't get time to study the curious tablet properly, but the opportunity would be available later. Stuffing it into her bag, she bandaged her arm and retrieved Kalista before starting the hour-long trek back to the surface. The Twi'Lek shot her a questioning glance, but kept her mouth shut. Olia ignored her.
When they reached the speeder, she paused and looked towards the deeper desert. With the sun beginning to dip down over the horizon, the sea of sand shone gold.
Olia stared out into the wastes. She knew she needed to go out there, but the reason escaped her.
The acolyte shook her head and got in the speeder.
'Later,' she told herself. Just like with the tablet.
Sharp durasteel cut through tough flesh, driven by Force-enhanced muscle. The massive k'lor'slug screamed once before collapsing to the tomb's floor, its innards spilling out onto the ancient stones to join with those of the seven other beasts beside it.
Olia straightened up as the last monster fell. A strand of black hair had slipped out of her ponytail and had fallen down in front of her face. With an annoyed huff, she blew the errant hair out of her way. She would have used her hands, but the black gauntlets covering them were coated in the gore that had sprayed out of the k'lor'slugs' wounds.
Blood oozed down from a gash on her left arm where one of the beasts had managed to land a grazing hit. Giving it a contemptuous look, she used the pain flaring up from the wound to bolster her strength.
Upon activating the Engine, she had slightly regretted ordering Kalista to guard the door as dozens of k'lor'slugs had poured out from the walls, attracted by the potent Dark Side energy pervading the tomb. But instead of retreating, she had grit her teeth, let out a battle cry, and exploded into a flurry of durasteel and lightning.
This was a trial she would face alone.
And now, all of them lay dead. Her limbs ached, but she merely snarled and adjusted her grip on her sword. The former Jedi could feel that the battle wasn't over yet.
The ground beneath her feet shook, the shrieks of something enormous echoing through the musty halls.
On the far side of the chamber, the wall cracked as something heavy slammed into it. The air seemed to fall still as the sounds stopped. Suddenly, the stone exploded outwards as the k'lor'slug queen smashed through the wall, a pair of towering broodguards at her sides. Her massive bulk was nearly three times the size of her fifteen foot tall guards.
Olia stood her ground as huge chunks of rock rained down around her. Far above her, the queen's spiked maw dripped with saliva, sensing the flesh below.
The chamber descended into silence as none of the combatants moved, each sensing the danger. In the end, it was Olia who attacked first.
Using the Force, she lifted one of the k'lor'slug corpses at her feet and threw it at the queen's head. The creature shrieked as the mound of flesh slammed into its "face." As it staggered back, she was already moving.
The broodguards scrambled forward to bar her path and protect their mother. Pausing only for a moment, Olia deftly leaped over their heads and landed on the back of one of them. Taking her sword in both hands, she drove the point of the blade down into a slight crease where the head met the neck, straight into the creature's largest nerve cluster. As her impromptu mount started to fall into a boneless heap, she jumped onto the other one, quickly repeating the strike and killing it.
Without looking back, Olia jumped straight up, neatly avoiding the queen's sudden lunge. Touching down on the creature's back, she drove her sword into its flesh, not bothering to aim for anything in particular. The monster was far too large to effectively target its nerve clusters.
The k'lor'slug queen let out a deafening shriek that echoed endlessly in the chamber and thrashed about in an attempt to dislodge its unwanted passenger. With one hand, Olia held onto her blade while the other grasped at one of the massive spikes jutting out of the monster's back.
After ensuring that she wasn't immediately going to fall off, the acolyte called upon the Force, gathering it into an electrical charge in her hand. Lightning crackled for only a moment before travelling down the metal blade and into the living flesh it was impaled into. Olia winced as the monster's shrieks of pain rose to new heights, though she couldn't afford to let go and cover her ears.
Instead, she pumped more power into her lightning, drowning out the queen's screams with the roar of thunder. Spiked limbs twitched as the electricity played havoc with the creature's nervous system and flesh blackened as the heat slowly cooked it.
Finally, the queen collapsed, her body still writhing from the electricity dancing inside.
Removing her sword from its skin, Olia grimaced at the blackened and warped durasteel. She would have to see about acquiring a new weapon. The ruined blade clattered to the ground as she tossed it aside before advancing towards the obelisk in the middle of the chamber, which miraculously had been undamaged by the fighting. She came to a stop in front of it and stared at it.
And continued to stare at it.
"…Blast," She cursed, "How in the hells do I use this thing?"
More lightning sprang to mind, but was immediately dismissed. The Red Engine was supposed to be a computer of sorts. She wanted the information inside of it, not to fry the databanks.
'Then again, it is a computer constructed with the Force…' Olia quickly shook the thought from her head, "Come on, Tulak, couldn't you have made this a bit more user friendly?"
Silence answered her. After Ragnos' tomb, she had been half-expecting to see the Lord of Hate's specter greet her. No dice, apparently.
"Figures," She sighed. Glaring at the obelisk, she muttered, "I might as well try something."
The leather of her gauntlet creaked as she opened a hand, drawing in the ambient dark power of the tomb. The rush she felt as so much energy filled her was exhilarating, but she refocused herself by reminding herself of her reason for being here.
With an effort of will, she directed the energy she had collected into the mechanisms above. Suddenly, everything came to life for one brief instant, blinding her with a flash of light. As she instinctively covered her face with her arms, she felt bits of stone pelt her exposed skin.
When her sight returned, the obelisk in front of her was a shattered ruin. From the loose stones now surrounding it as well as the ones that had hit her, it appeared that it had exploded outwards. In the center of the destruction was a single tablet.
Eyebrows furrowed, she cautiously approached and knelt to examine it. Inscribed on the ancient stone were words that were definitely recognizable as Ancient Sith, but there were a large number of unintelligible words. With a grimace, she realized that the writing was probably in a dialect that was no longer used.
She could almost imagine Tulak Hord laughing at her.
'You didn't think it would be that easy to get my teachings, did you?'
She didn't think he'd use those words exactly, but it was close enough for her imagination.
Olia reached out to brush a stone shard off the tablet. When she accidentally touched the tablet itself, the words shifted, though still in that damnably indecipherable dialect.
She blinked in surprise, before grinning. How interesting.
Her joy was short-lived as her commlink chimed. Grimacing, she answered it, knowing full well who would be on the other end.
"Acolyte."
"Overseer," Olia greeted curtly. She didn't let her eyes dip down. She knew he was wearing her confiscated lightsaber just to infuriate her.
But damn if it wasn't working.
"It is time for your Second Trial," Iren stated simply, "Return to the academy as soon as possible for your briefing."
And then the commlink shut off. The ex-Jedi's lip curled, "Finally."
Still, she was frustrated that she wouldn't get time to study the curious tablet properly, but the opportunity would be available later. Stuffing it into her bag, she bandaged her arm and retrieved Kalista before starting the hour-long trek back to the surface. The Twi'Lek shot her a questioning glance, but kept her mouth shut. Olia ignored her.
When they reached the speeder, she paused and looked towards the deeper desert. With the sun beginning to dip down over the horizon, the sea of sand shone gold.
Olia stared out into the wastes. She knew she needed to go out there, but the reason escaped her.
The acolyte shook her head and got in the speeder.
'Later,' she told herself. Just like with the tablet.
Interlude: Lost in the Shadowlands
- Location
- North Carolina
Interlude: Lost in the Shadowlands
At his birth, his name had promised him much. For most of his life, it had delivered.
Gaarurra. Brave Warrior. He who would face the horrors of the Shadowlands and would not flinch.
His mother had given his name as a prayer, for he had been born sickly and faced death as a pup. But as time passed, they knew that the wroshyr spirits had answered.
He quickly grew larger and stronger than his brothers, sisters, and friends. Even as a young wook, he had towered over his father and grandfather. His raw strength was undeniable and he learned quickly. Overall, a boon to his village and people.
But while his family had loved him as dearly as any of their other kin, there had always been a sense of wariness. Though nearly a century had passed, the memories of the Wookiees were long. Many remembered Hanharr, the Stalking Shadow, and the fate of his village, the story of which grew more ominous with each telling. That Gaarurra had been born with the same soot-stained pelt had been seen as an omen of what he could become. His fierce temper had done little to assuage worries.
As a pup, he had felt drawn to the lower reaches of the great wroshyr trees, to the primal depths of Kashyyyk. The Shadowlands, his people called it. A cursed place, where massive monsters roamed freely, hunting for the unwary. None but the bravest hunters ventured into its darkness and only the most skilled returned.
Gaarurra had felt guilty the first few times he tried to go there. The taboo of the Shadowlands had been impressed firmly into him, so his first attempts were halted by his own hesitation. Finally, he screwed his courage to the sticking place and he climbed down with a few days' rations and his ryyk blades.
The moment his feet touched down on the forest floor, all the fear was swept away. Yes, the darkness and gloom was uncomfortable, but to him, it simply appeared to be night. There were no cursed wanderers baying for his blood. No horrors came crashing out of the darkness. It just was.
He stayed in the Shadowlands for two nights, concealing himself in the thick undergrowth to hide from predators. On the morning of the third day, he ascended and returned to his village.
He never again felt the Shadowlands call to him.
Gaarurra would descend only twice more. The first was to retrieve Orga root for Life Day with his father and brothers. The other, to steal fibers from the Syren plant with his friends when he came of age.
His hands brushed the belt around his waist. Only his captors' ignorance of the material's significance let him keep hold of it.
On Kashyyyk, a century and a half passed quickly. The raids from Hsskhor were a despised, though expected part of life. Lives ended and their absence mourned. But the Wookiees endured like the wroshyr and moved on.
Until one such raid forced him into a galaxy he was not prepared for. The Trandoshans proved incapable of killing him, however much they desired his pelt for their Scorekeeper. Instead, they had captured and sold him to the Hutts as a gladiator.
Gaarurra remembered vividly his fifty-year tour of the arenas in Hutt Space, trading hands from master to master. The innocents he cut down, the murderers rightly killed. Intellectually, he knew other Wookiees must have shared in his fate, but he did not meet any.
For fifty years, he kept his silence, clad in chains. Alone in his own mind and kept sane only by dreams of the boughs of the wroshyr trees.
Wookiees were social creatures. To be alone was to face madness, as the Stalking Shadow did. On the world of sand, stained with blood, his rage and silence finally broke. For three years, he unleashed his hatred, roaring it at an uncaring crowd as he tore apart the undeserving.
But then he came to another world of sand, this time stained with betrayal. And there, a strange human pup had reached out. While wary of tricks, he took the offer for what it appeared to be, desperate for some kind of connection.
In hindsight, he doubted he would have survived the First Trial without him.
Gaarurra huffed in amusement.
Aldrex looked up from the Coward's terminal, his yellow eyes seeming to glow in the dim lighting. The light from the screen reflected dully off the cybernetics on the right side of his face, "Something up?"
The Wookiee shook his head.
It was almost laughable that they had survived this long without being able to properly speak with one another. Still, the young human was getting better at reading intent and general ideas, so it was better than relying on charades.
As Aldrex's eyes turned back to his work, Gaarurra's attention shifted to the constant hum in the background that his companion had explained was Korriban itself. A shudder went down his spine.
The depths of Kashyyyk were supposed to be a cursed place, but it was nothing compared to this. Though Korriban's sun shone brightly overhead every day, the shadows lurking beneath were all the darker for it.
He was Gaarurra, Brave Warrior. But on this world, the true Shadowlands, he was afraid for both himself and his people. After his actions in his Second Trial, he knew that war would be coming to Kashyyyk, if it had not arrived already.
Worst of all, Hanharr's shadow loomed larger than ever in his mind.
His hands twitched nervously at that thought. He really needed to do something violent to get his mind off it.
"Now that this problem has been dealt with, the training hall should be…" Gaarurra paused, "Not safe, but at least not as prone to assassination attempts."
Aldrex leaned back on his chair as he stopped to puzzle through what the Wookiee had said before replying, "I guess we did lose a day or so of training. If what I'm seeing from these feeds is right, I'm going to need as much as I can get for Yellow…I mean, Olia."
The pup looked like he'd just eaten something sour as he admitted that. Or said the other acolyte's real name. One of the two.
The human levered himself out of the chair, "Come on, Gaarurra. Might as well use the opportunity while we can."
As he passed by the workbench in their new lair, Aldrex snatched up one of the small cobbled-together probe droids that the Coward had left behind and started fiddling with it as he walked, which quickly consumed much of his attention.
Gaarurra reached a shaggy arm up and nudged him to one side to avoid walking into a wall on their way out.
At his birth, his name had promised him much. For most of his life, it had delivered.
Gaarurra. Brave Warrior. He who would face the horrors of the Shadowlands and would not flinch.
His mother had given his name as a prayer, for he had been born sickly and faced death as a pup. But as time passed, they knew that the wroshyr spirits had answered.
He quickly grew larger and stronger than his brothers, sisters, and friends. Even as a young wook, he had towered over his father and grandfather. His raw strength was undeniable and he learned quickly. Overall, a boon to his village and people.
But while his family had loved him as dearly as any of their other kin, there had always been a sense of wariness. Though nearly a century had passed, the memories of the Wookiees were long. Many remembered Hanharr, the Stalking Shadow, and the fate of his village, the story of which grew more ominous with each telling. That Gaarurra had been born with the same soot-stained pelt had been seen as an omen of what he could become. His fierce temper had done little to assuage worries.
As a pup, he had felt drawn to the lower reaches of the great wroshyr trees, to the primal depths of Kashyyyk. The Shadowlands, his people called it. A cursed place, where massive monsters roamed freely, hunting for the unwary. None but the bravest hunters ventured into its darkness and only the most skilled returned.
Gaarurra had felt guilty the first few times he tried to go there. The taboo of the Shadowlands had been impressed firmly into him, so his first attempts were halted by his own hesitation. Finally, he screwed his courage to the sticking place and he climbed down with a few days' rations and his ryyk blades.
The moment his feet touched down on the forest floor, all the fear was swept away. Yes, the darkness and gloom was uncomfortable, but to him, it simply appeared to be night. There were no cursed wanderers baying for his blood. No horrors came crashing out of the darkness. It just was.
He stayed in the Shadowlands for two nights, concealing himself in the thick undergrowth to hide from predators. On the morning of the third day, he ascended and returned to his village.
He never again felt the Shadowlands call to him.
Gaarurra would descend only twice more. The first was to retrieve Orga root for Life Day with his father and brothers. The other, to steal fibers from the Syren plant with his friends when he came of age.
His hands brushed the belt around his waist. Only his captors' ignorance of the material's significance let him keep hold of it.
On Kashyyyk, a century and a half passed quickly. The raids from Hsskhor were a despised, though expected part of life. Lives ended and their absence mourned. But the Wookiees endured like the wroshyr and moved on.
Until one such raid forced him into a galaxy he was not prepared for. The Trandoshans proved incapable of killing him, however much they desired his pelt for their Scorekeeper. Instead, they had captured and sold him to the Hutts as a gladiator.
Gaarurra remembered vividly his fifty-year tour of the arenas in Hutt Space, trading hands from master to master. The innocents he cut down, the murderers rightly killed. Intellectually, he knew other Wookiees must have shared in his fate, but he did not meet any.
For fifty years, he kept his silence, clad in chains. Alone in his own mind and kept sane only by dreams of the boughs of the wroshyr trees.
Wookiees were social creatures. To be alone was to face madness, as the Stalking Shadow did. On the world of sand, stained with blood, his rage and silence finally broke. For three years, he unleashed his hatred, roaring it at an uncaring crowd as he tore apart the undeserving.
But then he came to another world of sand, this time stained with betrayal. And there, a strange human pup had reached out. While wary of tricks, he took the offer for what it appeared to be, desperate for some kind of connection.
In hindsight, he doubted he would have survived the First Trial without him.
Gaarurra huffed in amusement.
Aldrex looked up from the Coward's terminal, his yellow eyes seeming to glow in the dim lighting. The light from the screen reflected dully off the cybernetics on the right side of his face, "Something up?"
The Wookiee shook his head.
It was almost laughable that they had survived this long without being able to properly speak with one another. Still, the young human was getting better at reading intent and general ideas, so it was better than relying on charades.
As Aldrex's eyes turned back to his work, Gaarurra's attention shifted to the constant hum in the background that his companion had explained was Korriban itself. A shudder went down his spine.
The depths of Kashyyyk were supposed to be a cursed place, but it was nothing compared to this. Though Korriban's sun shone brightly overhead every day, the shadows lurking beneath were all the darker for it.
He was Gaarurra, Brave Warrior. But on this world, the true Shadowlands, he was afraid for both himself and his people. After his actions in his Second Trial, he knew that war would be coming to Kashyyyk, if it had not arrived already.
Worst of all, Hanharr's shadow loomed larger than ever in his mind.
His hands twitched nervously at that thought. He really needed to do something violent to get his mind off it.
"Now that this problem has been dealt with, the training hall should be…" Gaarurra paused, "Not safe, but at least not as prone to assassination attempts."
Aldrex leaned back on his chair as he stopped to puzzle through what the Wookiee had said before replying, "I guess we did lose a day or so of training. If what I'm seeing from these feeds is right, I'm going to need as much as I can get for Yellow…I mean, Olia."
The pup looked like he'd just eaten something sour as he admitted that. Or said the other acolyte's real name. One of the two.
The human levered himself out of the chair, "Come on, Gaarurra. Might as well use the opportunity while we can."
As he passed by the workbench in their new lair, Aldrex snatched up one of the small cobbled-together probe droids that the Coward had left behind and started fiddling with it as he walked, which quickly consumed much of his attention.
Gaarurra reached a shaggy arm up and nudged him to one side to avoid walking into a wall on their way out.
Chapter 31
- Location
- North Carolina
Chapter 31
I lost track of how many days I sat and stared at the terminal, pouring over everything Qiv had left behind. In the five months since arriving, the Nautolan had constructed four dozen small probe droids, scattering them throughout the facility. With eyes in nearly every corner of the academy, there was a massive amount of data to parse through.
There were gaps, though. Qiv had avoided the most heavily guarded areas, such as the restricted archives and the upper levels of the academy, sections that would have active security measures against such observation. I still had countless hours of video surveillance of the training halls and the lower archives, so I could see who came and went and what they were doing.
I could probably have sat there for months without making a dent in it all. Instead, I borrowed a text from the archives on modern programming languages, as I sincerely doubted that it would use Python. Using that, I wrote a program to separate the data into more manageable chunks, namely information that I could use now, information that might be useful later, and junk data. The former was what I was going over right now.
On a separate screen, I had pulled up another set of documents. The dossiers Qiv had written up on the other members of the "class" were sparse on technical details, as he had little understanding of things like lightsaber forms or Force powers. On the other hand, they were unnervingly detailed when it came to personal things. Hell, mine had a list of my unconscious tics, like picking at my right pinky nail with my thumb when I sat still too long, and how long my average showers were.
While these little factoids might end up being useful, I was very glad that Qiv was no longer on the same planet as me because holy hell that was creepy.
It hadn't been too hard to arrange. I had just needed access to the transport before I took care of the rest. The best part was, I didn't even have to lie about it.
I listed the package as research material to be sent to the Sphere of Biotic Science, which wouldn't be too out of place since Renning used to send back reports and some samples. For insurance, I had placed a few wards on the box with Sith Magic that would trigger with different conditions.
Obviously, I told Qiv that they were extra security, I just neglected to inform him of the specifics or who it was security for.
The first condition would trigger if the latch on the inside of the crate was used. One minute after the contents of the crate were removed, the crate would destroy itself via disintegration and leave only a pile of ash behind to be swept up by space roombas.
The other condition was a "just in case." If someone tried to open the crate from the outside before Qiv triggered the mechanism or if they moved it onto a new ship, it would completely incinerate the box and its contents. Qiv would never hold out under proper Sith interrogation, which would expose my newly acquired spy network.
Those runes were very obviously painted on the outside. I also included a warning in the shipping manifest in regards to "handling it improperly." If someone opened it regardless, they were literally too dumb to live. If the crate didn't arrive at the destination or the contents destroyed themselves, it would likely get blamed on the last person to handle it. Unfortunately, I didn't have a way to know which outcome would occur until I tried to contact Qiv on Nar Shaddaa later on. I also didn't have any insurance that he'd be able to get off Vaiken Station, but he'd have a better chance there than being stuck in a box.
Just in case, I didn't use my name on the manifest. Instead, I wrote down the sender as Malora, Renning's apprentice in canon. If she was currently in the academy, boy was she screwed.
Eh, she was kind of a pompous jerk anyways.
It was a risk, but it was one with a chance of paying off big. I needed contacts outside of the Empire, particularly ones that would be more inclined to work with me and have very little reason to betray me to other Sith. Even if they were creepy as hell. That was the ideal condition, but I'd easily take having a loose end tied off instead.
But that wasn't what had me worried at the moment. I had taken a glimpse at the videos of the other acolytes, but not for long. No, what had me down here pouring over the data for days on end in Qiv's dark little lair was what the Nautolan had said in a note he'd left on the terminal.
'Iren lied.'
And of course, the little shit hadn't elaborated. Now that he was gone, I couldn't ask him either.
For the past few months, I sat here and watched everything that Qiv had on the Overseer, trying to piece together just what exactly the Sith had supposedly lied about. It wasn't like lying was some new tactic to the Sith. Was this some last middle finger from Qiv? It wasn't like he'd be above that.
But there was too much going on in the background to just dismiss it out of hand. The looters in the tomb of Ajunta Pall? The circumstances regarding Castor's defection? Or did he mean my place in this whole conspiracy hunt?
I'd looked at the second trials that each of us were given, with the exception of Qiv, who never had his.
Gaarurra had been sent to Hsskhor to stir up trouble between the Trandoshans and the Wookiees by slaughtering a village. Both were fringe states, with neither having much political or military power on the galactic stage. But Kashyyyk was a member of the Republic and currently lacking the Trandoshan's technological advantage. Their likely course of action was to get Republic forces involved, which would mean diverting them away from somewhere else. That, in turn, would force the Trandoshan's to call on an ally as well. That could be either the Empire or the Hutt Cartels.
Garsh had assassinated a prominent corporate executive on Commenor, which froze the company stocks as power grabs started up. Clueless as I was about economics, even I knew that was going to cause ripples. So far, corporations like Czerka had officially remained neutral in the wider conflict but supplied arms and supplies to both sides. It might have been a chance to get an Imperial sympathizer or three onto the board of directors to start slowly cutting off supplies from the Republic.
The twins had been split up, though both were sent on infiltration missions.
Terrak had been sent to an enclave of the Followers of Palawa on Sullust, both to steal their teachings and to slip Dark Side teachings where neophytes of the Followers could find them. Additionally, he was encouraged to enflame their caution of the Jedi into full-blown suspicion or paranoia. From the report he gave when he returned, he was surprisingly successful. If I had to fight him, I'd have to watch out for Teräs Käsi or any other secrets he managed to pry from them.
Ianna was sent to Dathomir to do the same as her brother. The inhabitants of the world weren't the infamous Witches of Dathomir yet and wouldn't be for millennia, but rather primitive tribals. While their origins were unknown, they were still a population rife with Force Sensitives, which the Sith could not ignore.
Kalista had been sent to Ord Mantell. Like Gaarurra, her role was to stir up trouble by inflaming the Separatists into full-on revolt. While wide-spread violence didn't break out, she had set the spark that would turn into an inferno down the line.
And now, Olia was being sent to Tatooine to provoke several Republic-aligned warlords into attacking Black Sun interests.
If you didn't look too deeply, each one was random. But look closely…
Three actions to cause chaos and bleed the Republic. Two actions to recruit for the Sith cause. And one to clean house.
Were we actually acolytes? Or was Iren just using us as his personal strike team? Then again, nothing said that we weren't both.
I actually respected the man a bit more since there might be a coherent plan at work. Given what I knew of the man, I didn't doubt it for a second.
The person that said "those who can't do, teach" was an idiot. The Overseers didn't have a lot of hard power, but they had a hell of a lot of soft power. They had first dibs on incoming acolytes at the academy. They decided which careers were elevated and which were trampled underfoot.
The Overseers may not be the ones making the rules in the Empire, but they were the ones that made the ones that did. In short, they made the ones who became Sith. It was their influence, not the Emperor's, that lingered.
Iren was quietly terrifying for just that reason. He wasn't a spiteful little bootlicker like Harkun. He was a kingmaker, like Tremmel. And he was manipulating each of us, using different tones with each of us when speaking in private. But being Sith, I wasn't entire sure which head he was trying to put the crown on, if he was at all.
He looked down his nose at the Twins and Kalista. He was grudgingly respectful of Gaarurra. He was disdainful towards Garsh. He was uncharacteristically curt with Olia.
Me? I was a hound. A pet that knew a few tricks.
But when we were all together, he was distant. Impartial. Fair.
The greatest Sith were the ones that could control their passions, bend them to their will. The greater the hardship, the greater the restraint that was needed. Show what you needed to show and only that.
And now, I needed to figure out precisely what he was lying about. I needed to know which face was real and what words were truth.
My datapad chimed.
"Damn it," I muttered, tearing my eyes away from the screen to check the device.
On the screen was a message from Ragate.
'The time has come.'
I lost track of how many days I sat and stared at the terminal, pouring over everything Qiv had left behind. In the five months since arriving, the Nautolan had constructed four dozen small probe droids, scattering them throughout the facility. With eyes in nearly every corner of the academy, there was a massive amount of data to parse through.
There were gaps, though. Qiv had avoided the most heavily guarded areas, such as the restricted archives and the upper levels of the academy, sections that would have active security measures against such observation. I still had countless hours of video surveillance of the training halls and the lower archives, so I could see who came and went and what they were doing.
I could probably have sat there for months without making a dent in it all. Instead, I borrowed a text from the archives on modern programming languages, as I sincerely doubted that it would use Python. Using that, I wrote a program to separate the data into more manageable chunks, namely information that I could use now, information that might be useful later, and junk data. The former was what I was going over right now.
On a separate screen, I had pulled up another set of documents. The dossiers Qiv had written up on the other members of the "class" were sparse on technical details, as he had little understanding of things like lightsaber forms or Force powers. On the other hand, they were unnervingly detailed when it came to personal things. Hell, mine had a list of my unconscious tics, like picking at my right pinky nail with my thumb when I sat still too long, and how long my average showers were.
While these little factoids might end up being useful, I was very glad that Qiv was no longer on the same planet as me because holy hell that was creepy.
It hadn't been too hard to arrange. I had just needed access to the transport before I took care of the rest. The best part was, I didn't even have to lie about it.
I listed the package as research material to be sent to the Sphere of Biotic Science, which wouldn't be too out of place since Renning used to send back reports and some samples. For insurance, I had placed a few wards on the box with Sith Magic that would trigger with different conditions.
Obviously, I told Qiv that they were extra security, I just neglected to inform him of the specifics or who it was security for.
The first condition would trigger if the latch on the inside of the crate was used. One minute after the contents of the crate were removed, the crate would destroy itself via disintegration and leave only a pile of ash behind to be swept up by space roombas.
The other condition was a "just in case." If someone tried to open the crate from the outside before Qiv triggered the mechanism or if they moved it onto a new ship, it would completely incinerate the box and its contents. Qiv would never hold out under proper Sith interrogation, which would expose my newly acquired spy network.
Those runes were very obviously painted on the outside. I also included a warning in the shipping manifest in regards to "handling it improperly." If someone opened it regardless, they were literally too dumb to live. If the crate didn't arrive at the destination or the contents destroyed themselves, it would likely get blamed on the last person to handle it. Unfortunately, I didn't have a way to know which outcome would occur until I tried to contact Qiv on Nar Shaddaa later on. I also didn't have any insurance that he'd be able to get off Vaiken Station, but he'd have a better chance there than being stuck in a box.
Just in case, I didn't use my name on the manifest. Instead, I wrote down the sender as Malora, Renning's apprentice in canon. If she was currently in the academy, boy was she screwed.
Eh, she was kind of a pompous jerk anyways.
It was a risk, but it was one with a chance of paying off big. I needed contacts outside of the Empire, particularly ones that would be more inclined to work with me and have very little reason to betray me to other Sith. Even if they were creepy as hell. That was the ideal condition, but I'd easily take having a loose end tied off instead.
But that wasn't what had me worried at the moment. I had taken a glimpse at the videos of the other acolytes, but not for long. No, what had me down here pouring over the data for days on end in Qiv's dark little lair was what the Nautolan had said in a note he'd left on the terminal.
'Iren lied.'
And of course, the little shit hadn't elaborated. Now that he was gone, I couldn't ask him either.
For the past few months, I sat here and watched everything that Qiv had on the Overseer, trying to piece together just what exactly the Sith had supposedly lied about. It wasn't like lying was some new tactic to the Sith. Was this some last middle finger from Qiv? It wasn't like he'd be above that.
But there was too much going on in the background to just dismiss it out of hand. The looters in the tomb of Ajunta Pall? The circumstances regarding Castor's defection? Or did he mean my place in this whole conspiracy hunt?
I'd looked at the second trials that each of us were given, with the exception of Qiv, who never had his.
Gaarurra had been sent to Hsskhor to stir up trouble between the Trandoshans and the Wookiees by slaughtering a village. Both were fringe states, with neither having much political or military power on the galactic stage. But Kashyyyk was a member of the Republic and currently lacking the Trandoshan's technological advantage. Their likely course of action was to get Republic forces involved, which would mean diverting them away from somewhere else. That, in turn, would force the Trandoshan's to call on an ally as well. That could be either the Empire or the Hutt Cartels.
Garsh had assassinated a prominent corporate executive on Commenor, which froze the company stocks as power grabs started up. Clueless as I was about economics, even I knew that was going to cause ripples. So far, corporations like Czerka had officially remained neutral in the wider conflict but supplied arms and supplies to both sides. It might have been a chance to get an Imperial sympathizer or three onto the board of directors to start slowly cutting off supplies from the Republic.
The twins had been split up, though both were sent on infiltration missions.
Terrak had been sent to an enclave of the Followers of Palawa on Sullust, both to steal their teachings and to slip Dark Side teachings where neophytes of the Followers could find them. Additionally, he was encouraged to enflame their caution of the Jedi into full-blown suspicion or paranoia. From the report he gave when he returned, he was surprisingly successful. If I had to fight him, I'd have to watch out for Teräs Käsi or any other secrets he managed to pry from them.
Ianna was sent to Dathomir to do the same as her brother. The inhabitants of the world weren't the infamous Witches of Dathomir yet and wouldn't be for millennia, but rather primitive tribals. While their origins were unknown, they were still a population rife with Force Sensitives, which the Sith could not ignore.
Kalista had been sent to Ord Mantell. Like Gaarurra, her role was to stir up trouble by inflaming the Separatists into full-on revolt. While wide-spread violence didn't break out, she had set the spark that would turn into an inferno down the line.
And now, Olia was being sent to Tatooine to provoke several Republic-aligned warlords into attacking Black Sun interests.
If you didn't look too deeply, each one was random. But look closely…
Three actions to cause chaos and bleed the Republic. Two actions to recruit for the Sith cause. And one to clean house.
Were we actually acolytes? Or was Iren just using us as his personal strike team? Then again, nothing said that we weren't both.
I actually respected the man a bit more since there might be a coherent plan at work. Given what I knew of the man, I didn't doubt it for a second.
The person that said "those who can't do, teach" was an idiot. The Overseers didn't have a lot of hard power, but they had a hell of a lot of soft power. They had first dibs on incoming acolytes at the academy. They decided which careers were elevated and which were trampled underfoot.
The Overseers may not be the ones making the rules in the Empire, but they were the ones that made the ones that did. In short, they made the ones who became Sith. It was their influence, not the Emperor's, that lingered.
Iren was quietly terrifying for just that reason. He wasn't a spiteful little bootlicker like Harkun. He was a kingmaker, like Tremmel. And he was manipulating each of us, using different tones with each of us when speaking in private. But being Sith, I wasn't entire sure which head he was trying to put the crown on, if he was at all.
He looked down his nose at the Twins and Kalista. He was grudgingly respectful of Gaarurra. He was disdainful towards Garsh. He was uncharacteristically curt with Olia.
Me? I was a hound. A pet that knew a few tricks.
But when we were all together, he was distant. Impartial. Fair.
The greatest Sith were the ones that could control their passions, bend them to their will. The greater the hardship, the greater the restraint that was needed. Show what you needed to show and only that.
And now, I needed to figure out precisely what he was lying about. I needed to know which face was real and what words were truth.
My datapad chimed.
"Damn it," I muttered, tearing my eyes away from the screen to check the device.
On the screen was a message from Ragate.
'The time has come.'