Grik Sonosan was afraid. “I don't care what you do. Break my bones, burn my flesh. I’ll tell you nothing!”
He was also very good at not showing it. Being here, this whole planet, was the worst thing he could have ever imagined. Luckily for him, SIS tended to train its agents for the worst possible scenarios.
His eyes flickered over to the opening door, an armoured humanoid and twi'lek entering. ‘Possibly the Darth’s apprentice, judging by the deference.’
Grik almost laughed at his own mind. Here he was, days from death and with no chance in hell of ever returning to be debriefed, but his compulsive disorder was still loyally categorising every piece of intel he learned.
“I’m afraid it will be quite a bit worse than that, agent.” The armoured man informed him. Strangely, it didn’t sound like a threat. It sounded, in fact, apologetic. His mind added that information to the unknown sith’s file.
“Yes it will.” Darth Baras promised. Then the masked sith turned around, sparing him no more attention. Oh how he would love to sink his vibroknife through that exposed neck, slicing the jugular and spine in one clean motion.
He knew it was a fantasy, even if he was somehow unbound and had his knife. But fantasies are how the mind protects itself, his teachers had once told him. He had found that to be something of an understatement.
“Commander Pritch confirmed that the slaves have been silenced. Good.” Darth Baras said to his possible apprentice. “I’m still trying to extract the information I crave from this Republic agent. He’s much more resilient than anticipated.”
The armoured man said nothing, his composure relaxed. The twi’lek seemed uncomfortable, though doing a good job of hiding it.
‘Possible recruit. Working for a sith yet wearing no collar could indicate skill in combat. Non-human in Imperial territory means a high chance of abuse, either former or ongoing.’
He shook his head, paying attention to the conversation again. “-involves a renegade sith Lord named Grathan. A particularly bothersome thorn in my side. Meet with my apprentice, Dri’kill Ba’al. He’s my covert operative in Grathan’s compound. Ba’al claims to have made a key discovery.”
And just like that, any hope he had of leaving this place alive vanished. Darth Baras, by all accounts, was a prodigious spymaster. He knew escape was unlikely, but he had hoped to break free during transit. The transit he was sure would occur after the Darth failed to break him, and Imperial Intelligence would have its turn.
Now he knew he was never going to leave this chamber alive, let alone the building. Truthfully, even saying this much in his presence was sloppy. Arrogance had been the sith’s downfall since their conception, but sadly he didn’t think it would help him here.
“Grathan’s presence is useful to me, so I don’t want him killed.” Baras continued. “Find out what Ba’al has discovered and do exactly as he instructs.”
Grik heard the armoured man speak again, his ears filtering out the helmet's distortion with ease. “And should Ba’al, for whatever reason, decide I have outlived my usefulness after the task is completed?”
Darth Baras shrugged, uncaring. “Then the strongest will continue under my tutelage, as is the way of the sith.”
The armoured sith bowed, turning away. The twi’lek joined him, throwing him a sympathetic look. He smiled at her, winking. She really was quite pretty.
“Now then, Republic wretch, where were we? Oh yes, breaking you until you tell me what I wish to know.”
He smiled at the Darth, spitting some blood at him. He briefly wondered if the Darth was pretty behind that mask. ‘I won’t break. My mind is a vault, and you don’t have the key.’
Lightning flashed, so he let himself scream. He laughed when it stopped, because why was he in pain again? Vaults are made of steel, and steel can’t feel anything.
‘That’s right, it can’t. My doors are locked, and you don’t have the key.’
----------------------------------------
Grathans compound was deep in the jungle, a place Morgan was getting far too familiar with. Vette seemed to agree.
“Shall we join the massive amount of soldiers, sith and tanks surrounding the compound? Maybe use them as a distraction, or perhaps even join in a full assault? No! Shall we, instead, paint our armour green and go sneak about until we find the vague as fuck meeting point? Yes!”
Morgan found that unfair. Their armour was camouflaged, not painted green. And it wasn’t his fault Ba’al had been vague about where to meet him.
“Baras doesn’t want Grathan dead.” He reminded her. “So a full assault won’t be happening anytime soon.”
She kicked a rock away, scaring a small lizard hiding under it. “And his opinion is all that matters?”
“For now, yes.” Morgan confirmed. Vette huffed.
They fell into comfortable silence, stalking through the jungle. Vette, trumping his scouting experience by several magnitudes, was leading them in increasingly large half circles. Their meeting point, a large rock with a hollow tree behind it, was apparently somewhere north of the compound. It was rather hard to find.
“Fucking finally.” Vette complained. “I’ll go brood up in a tree, should the meeting not go quite as planned.”
She was already climbing by the time Morgan walked into the small clearing, seeing the rock and tree combo. It was, he had to admit, a large rock. And the tree was indeed very hollow. It had still taken them six hours to find.
Then they had to hurry up and wait, talking intermittently on the coms that Vette had rigged to their helmets. The ones that came with the helmets were, in her words, a ‘disgrace to cyber security’ and apparently ‘baby monitors have better range than this shit’.
He meditated as they waited, practising what he could for fleshcrafting. Teacher had given him exhaustive exercises, one’s that had to be mastered before they could move to the next step. He understood that, but it didn’t make influencing his bone marrow any easier. Still, he’d be ready for their next lesson soon enough.
Finally, after three more hours, he felt a sith enter his perception. One that was moving fast.
Ba’al entered the clearing, short haired and with a deep pair of scars on his face. Morgan faintly sensed that one of his eyes was cybernetic, giving off a strange sensation in the Force.
“You must be the operative Lord Baras sent. I thought he’d choose a stealthy assassin, not some senseless savage.”
Morgan looked at him dryly, his helmet obscuring the expression. “Nice to meet you too.”
“Well, aren’t you the mild mannered supplicant.” Ba’al needled. “But we’ve got business to handle. The complex is roused, some impatient sith welp leading an assault last night. The guard is still on high alert, so sneaking you in won’t be easy. Luckily for us, I’ve got another way. Follow me, and tell your pet that sniper won’t do more than tickle.”
Ba’al turned around, expecting them both to follow. Vette scaled down the tree, her own helmet hiding her scowl.
Their escort made several more snide comments as they walked, mostly some variation about Morgan’s lack of experience. He also complained several times about their slow pace, pointily ignoring Vette’s existence at the same time. Morgan tuned him out, privately whispering to Vette to do the same. And here he had thought that coupling the mute function of his helmet to the coms was overkill.
They came to a tunnel soon after, hidden deep in a cave and protected by a large stone. Morgan raised his eyebrow. “Grathan built an escape tunnel in his impenetrable bunker? Seems sloppy.”
Ba’al grunted, climbing down the steep ladder. “He didn’t. Built it myself. Who knew that studying architecture before becoming sith would come in useful."
A quarter hour of walking the thin, rough tunnel later and Morgan felt many more signatures appear in his perception, signaling they had entered the compound proper. He felt a disturbing amount of Force sensitives, if not very strong ones.
There were so many he almost missed the three waiting for them in a large chamber, the door hidden behind a storage shelf. They didn’t seem surprised when it moved aside, Ba’al climbing out first.
Morgan told Vette to hang back, entering the room. A woman with large buns for hair, a sith pureblood and a man so heavily augmented he could hardly see flesh looked at him, Ba’al joining their side.
“Aren't you, you know, supposed to wait until after I’ve completed my task to ambush me?” Morgan asked curiously.
The human woman scoffed. “Like we need you for that. No, Lord Grathan is on his way out. Lord Baras has promised us amnesty, should we assist him in this task.”
“Did Baras promise you that, or did Ba’al?” Morgan inquired politely. He felt a ripple of uncertainty go through her, but the other three were too well shielded to properly sense emotion.
Ba’al raised his eyebrow, unimpressed. “Though I’m more than capable of facing you alone, a smart man uses every advantage. And I am a smart man.”
Morgan leaned right, the sniper bolt taking half the head from the only human woman when he got clear. “I agree.”
He jumped backwards, sliding into the narrow tunnel. The augmented human followed, speeding past his fellows. Before his training with Lady Trix, he likely wouldn't have been fast enough to even see the man’s movements.
Now, however, he calmly blocked the shallow swipes and probing jabs, the lightsabers leaving deep grooves into the tunnel walls. He gave ground easily, right until Vette threw the electromagnetic grenade.
‘That’s the problem with enhancements, even if you shield them.’ Morgan mused. He stepped into the cyborgs guard, taking advantage of his second or so stutter. Snaking his hands around the man’s neck was childsplay, even if he had to be quick. ‘They tend to be oh so vulnerable to sabotage.’ He twisted hard, the sith’s metal enhanced spine screaming as it rotated.
“That was my only homemade extra strength EMP.” Vette called through the coms. “And the other two don’t seem to be following.”
“Going in, hang back and see if you can’t snipe another one.” Morgan responded.
The room was as he left it, the sith pureblood shaking her head. Ba’al was pacing, snapping his lightsaber to his hand when Morgan entered.
“A senseless savage to the end. Can’t even die when your betters demand it.” Ba’al taunted. “Maybe I’ll have some fun with that pet of yours, after you're dead. She seems like a screamer.”
Morgan guided the flash of rage into his limbs, shooting forward. The scarred apprentice blocked, smirking condescendingly. “So you care for your little slave? Disgusting.”
Several exchanges went the same, the pair slowly spreading around the room. The pureblood seemed to be staying out of it, and he had the nagging feeling he knew her.
He couldn't quite get past the sith’s guard, but neither could Ba’al get past his. Their stalemate ended when Morgan threw a kick, shamelessly copied from Lady Trix.
Ba’al blocked with his arm, his other hand sweeping his lightsaber down for a slash. Surprise shuttered over his face as he was catapulted through the room instead, a sickening snap reverberating off the walls. The durasteel wall wasn't any easier on his back.
“Help me, you useless woman.” Ba’al spat, scrambling up. “You’ll never get the artefact if I die!”
He snapped to the side, narrowly dodging the bolt that would have taken his one working arm. Morgan was there in a flash, pressing his advantage even as he kept a close eye on the pureblood.
Ba’al, now with one working arm and likely a bruised spine, did the best he could. His best lasted for another fifteen seconds.
Morgan held his lightsaber under Ba’al’s chin, the heat forcing his head up. The rest of his body lay broken. “Tell me what you have uncovered about Grathan.”
The scarred man gurgled something, hatred escaping him in waves. Morgan was just too slow in removing his lightsaber, Ba’al pressing his head down into it.
“Well, I’ll give him points for resolve.” The pureblood mused, the smell of burned flesh invading the room. “If not quite intelligence. Even a blind man could deduce that you’re hiding your power.”
Morgan deactivated his lightsaber, assuring Vette that everything was alright but to stay back. “And who might you be?”
The woman bowed theatrically. “Former apprentice and assassin to Lord Grathan, at your service. I was once known by a different name, but you can call me Ladra. I serve the Master.”
Morgan’s mind resurfaced a memory of a camp in the jungle, a trial in caves. Her face finally clicked. “Ah, a Revanite. I suppose this artefact is one of Revan’s memento’s.”
“Not a savage at all.” Ladra praised. “I indeed serve the Order. In particular, I wish to obtain Revan’s mask, rumoured to be in Grathan’s compound.”
He sighed. “And I suppose you made a deal with old Ba’al here to get it.”
“Indeed I did. Sadly, that deal seems to have fallen through somewhat.” She shrugged. “Plans change.”
Vette joined them, her head turning to the woman with half a face. “I just killed a sith.”
“Well done.” Morgan praised, clipping his lightsaber to his belt. “Now then, I suppose it’s time for us to come to an agreement?”
Ladra grinned, her tone playfully mocking. “Why, I do so love making agreements.”
----------------------------------------
Teacher reclined in his chair, twisting the piece of Force knowledge in his hands. It had degraded an unacceptable amount, but he had been diligent. Several backups were available, and merging the original with the copy would reinforce it adequately. He’d have to make a copy of the copy, unfortunately, but it would have to do.
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
He looked around his office, holding that title solely for the large desk in the middle. The rest was positively covered in bookcases, large, looming monstrosities that used to scare him as a child. But he had grown to love his father's library, so when the time had come to design his mansion for the holocron he had copied it wholesale.
Still, not everything was as it should be. Several doors connected his study to the rest of the house, long since lost. His original design had called for a forest to surround his childhood home, large lakes and mountains to give it a natural barrier.
Time limitations had forced him to abandon much of the outside world, but the mansion itself had been completed. But he’d miscalculated, and the decay had started sooner than expected.
He sighed. Now he was stuck in a single room, the only balm being that it was his favourite. At least his apprentice had been a reprieve from the sheer boredom. Preparing Morgan’s lessons had been a pleasant distraction from his crumbling world, but there was little else to do. At least the sleep function still worked. Insanity would have long claimed him otherwise.
Shoving the Force construct back into its place, he reclined further. Now would be a good time for a nap, he decided. Teacher set the alarms, making sure to tune them to Morgan’s touch, and let darkness take him.
Waking, as usual, was an instantaneous affair. One moment he was pleasantly thinking of nothing, the next his mind snapped into perfect focus. It had been more than a little uncomfortable, at first, but he had grown used to it.
He focussed, taking control of the holocrons' various steering and flight mechanics. He stretched, more out of habit than need, and pushed his perception outwards.
He, or rather they, were in a small room. By the way his apprentice and the twi’lek were practically in each other's laps, and being wonderfully uncomfortable about it, it wasn’t by choice. Teacher grinned, not that either of them could see it. Seeing those two together was more interesting than any holomovie. Or maybe he was so bored that anything counted as entertainment.
“And what delightful trouble have you gotten yourself into this time, my apprentice?”
He perceived Morgan’s shrug, the lack of light having little impact on his sight. “Currently? Hiding in a panic room, waiting for the estate defenders to act less like kicked ants. Then it’s off to kill a mother and son, as you do. Oh, I’ve gathered some minor wounds here and there. Nothing that won’t heal.”
Teacher made the cube nod. “Understandable. It is ever so dangerous for sith to be in battle. Best to avoid that, if at all possible.”
“I was trying for a modicum of subtlety.” Morgan responded dryly. “Besides, killing three of Grathan’s apprentices is plenty for today.”
He tilted his head. “Although I can only take credit for about one and a half, really.”
Vette, a name Teacher remembered only because she seemed important to his apprentice, frowned at him. “Two. I only killed one.”
Or maybe she had something interesting going on after all. Killing sith could never be classified as easy, especially for those not attuned to the Force. His apprentice frowned. “I’m counting the EMP as half, seeing as it gave me the opening to kill him.”
Vette hummed, turning her focus back on the datapad in her lap. “You’re the one that snapped his neck. Or tore it off, more like. I swear, one day I’ll find you lifting an actual building, acting all confused when everyone freaks out.”
“Is there an reason I am here?” Teacher interrupted his apprentice, who looked on the verge of retorting.
“Ah, yes. Since we’ll be here for a while, I thought we could continue our lessons. Regeneration would be quite nice, especially if I can use it to heal others.”
Teacher, not for the first time, wondered how far the sith had fallen. Honestly, expressing a desire to heal others, even your own followers, would have you laughed out the room. Or stabbed out, anyway. Compassion like that tended to breed loyalty, and no one wanted a Fleshcrafter Lord with a loyal army.
He saw Vette’s head snap up, quickly looking back down. She pretended it hadn’t happened, but Teacher could almost see the gears in her head turning. He almost laughed.
Seemed it was already too late for that, not that Teacher really cared. His old peers would have, certainly, and he reckoned many from this age would too. He shrugged, conjuring the memory of a drink.
“It certainly could.” He answered. “It’s harder, as are most things performed on others, but quite doable.”
Morgan grinned. “Perfect. How do we start?”
“Well, firstly, we start with actually knowing what regeneration is. And perhaps more importantly, what it isn’t. The benefits are numerous, from regrowing limbs to all but halting cell decay, but that will come later. The following principles apply na-”
Teacher lectured, his pre-planned lessons ensuring a coherent whole. While one part of his taught, another part reflected.
It really was a shame most of the personality transfer had failed. If he was his old self, his whole self, he would have been the perfect apprentice. With a sith like Morgan at his side, he could perhaps even have built himself a body again. Transferring someone into or out of a holocron was perhaps one of the most difficult feats he had ever performed, but with the way Morgan was going through the lessons it would have taken a decade at most.
From there he could properly teach, and both of them together could rebuild his Empire from the ground up. The jedi were weak, the sith disorganised. Oh yes, it would have been a glorious thing.
Teacher felt the spark of ambition fail to take hold, slipping between his fingers. He’d lost so very much, back then. Even his name was gone. So at the end of the day, he just didn’t care. Not about power, or his Empire. Not about revenge or love.
Just knowledge.
----------------------------------------
Vette stretched, climbing out of the panic room they had been holed up in for most of a day now. Morgan’s senses, or whatever he called being able to see through walls, had told them most of the soldiers had returned to the perimeter.
She didn’t like, let alone trust, this Ladra character. Still, she seemed to have kept her word. None had even come close to their hidey hole, so the most they had to suffer through was boredom.
Well, she had been bored. Morgan had seemed very busy learning to regrow limbs and stuff. Vette suppressed a giggle. First she killed an honest to goddess sith, now her boss was learning to make them both practically immortal. Things were looking up for little old Vette, yes they were.
She focused, ensuring her gear was all there. Sniper, check. Blasters, check. Grenades, double check. “All set.”
Morgan nodded, shut the door, and turned to walk down the hallway. They had both studied the schematics provided by Ladra thoroughly, but even so the endless hallways and tunnels of the underground portion of Grathan’s estate were maze-like. Probably on purpose, she realised.
She kept silent as they stalked, Morgan’s lightsaber cutting through what obstacles her encryption algorithms couldn't open. It was after breaking down yet another door that they finally encountered resistance.
The patrol, composed solely of droids, smoothly opened fire. She huffed. People would have hesitated, or at least be as surprised as they were. She rolled two explosives between their legs as she ducked for cover, taking out her blasters.
They weren’t needed, she saw, as Morgan cut through what droids still stood after her grenades had detonated.
Vette shook her head. If this was all the protection Grathan had to offer she would eat her hat. Actually, she would need to buy a hat first.
“You think we could stop to buy a hat on the way back to see Baras?”
Morgan looked at her with a beaming smile, so she stuck her tongue out. Not that she could actually see his expression, or he her tongue, but she had fun imagining. He also didn’t bother to reply, which she took as confirmation.
Getting into the vault holding Revan’s mask, because of course the woman had insisted they get the thing first, was rather easy. The door, one her thieving eye could see was near unbreakable, was no match for a lightsaber. Oh all the things they could steal.
Speaking of stealing, she peeled off as Morgan went to collect the mask. She very much doubted this whole vault was built just for the thing, and she would quite like a look at what else the sith wanted protected so badly.
To her disappointment, it was mostly useless crap. Oh, she had no doubt that all these paintings and statues would be worth a fortune. If she could find a buyer. Which she couldn't, because no one in their right mind bought stolen art. And she didn’t like dealing with those not in their right mind.
Disappointed, but still pinching some small jewellery and ornaments and such, she went to rejoin Morgan. That stuff would be easy enough to fence, although probably best if she waited until they were off Dromond Kaas. It wasn't like they would be searched when they left.
She was almost back to Morgan when she heard the fighting. Cursing, and grabbing her sniper from her back, Vette peeked around the corner.
There, surrounded by a dozen droids and a humongous looking human, was her boss. She wondered why he hadn’t contacted her for help, but then he kicked a droid so hard it nearly embedded itself into the wall.
‘Right, he’s crazy strong now. Still, best help out where I can.’
She aimed, breathed calmly, and the big human had a nice new hole in his chest. Some droids peeled off, a decision she honestly couldn't tell was wise or not. On one hand, turning your back on a sith was just asking to die. On the other, leaving a sniper free reign was so stupid it didn’t even merit consideration.
In this case it was both. Morgan’s lightsaber turned his remaining opponents into scrap, jumping up and rocketing himself off a railing straight at the droids charging her. Meanwhile her sniper was steadily reducing their numbers, even if they had the annoying habit of randomly changing speed and direction.
She walked over when everything was dead, waving her sniper at him in salute. Morgan turned to her. “Far be it for me to ruin it, but you seem to be in a good mood.”
Vette laughed. “Are you kidding me? We’re in a vault, robbing some rich bastard who doesn’t deserve his money, and if anyone disagrees I can count on the scary sith that’s with me to help them change their minds.”
“Right. Basically your dream job.” Morgan replied dryly. “I’ve got the mask. Seems unwise she told us what Ba’al discovered first, but I did give my word.”
“Oh, right.” Vette hummed, her good mood dampening. “Killing a baby sith. And possibly his not so baby mother, who is also sith. Barrel of laughs. Why couldn't she get the mask herself again?”
Morgan shrugged, so she patted her sniper. “Well, at least we’re shooting people that deserve it.”
----------------------------------------
He kept a close eye on the various signatures that represented the sith, but so far none had converged on their location. Vette was bypassing the last security measure, and he could feel their two targets pace in a room not far away. They were alone, as far as he could tell.
Unfortunately that didn’t mean much here, seeing as most of the security in the inner sanctum was automated. Droids were common, but automated turrets, gas chambers and even one honest to god trapdoor all made their break-in slow to a crawl, simultaneously making it damned hard to sense the patrols. The vault hadn’t been near as protected, but then most sith valued money second.
Morgan patted the mask, the outline of which was visible on his small pack. He’d packed rations and other essentials for a week's trip, and he was glad he did. The hideout in the safe room already set them back significantly, and they weren’t even on their way out yet.
“Got it.” Vette huffed. “Stupid thing. Who even uses hydraulic safeguards anymore?”
The door opened, and he got a half-second warning before a wave of blaster fire washed down the hall. He all but rammed Vette behind a pillar, focussing on his sight. Their targets were still in the room he had first felt them in, but a deeper scan revealed a hollowness that shouldn't be there.
“Fuck.” Morgan cursed, switching to internal comms. “They planted decoys. Didn’t want to spook them by scanning them too thoroughly. It appears the mother is gone, but the son feels solid.”
Vette had drawn her blaster, a grenade held loosely in her other hand. “We all have our off days, boss. I count some two dozen battle droids plus a mounted machine gun. That’s gonna be hell to get past, not to mention the sith.”
He cursed again. “Ten to one that’s Grathan's wife, too. She’s too well shielded for me to get a good grasp on her strength, and that’s not a good sign.”
Vette holstered her blaster, taking four grenades in her hands. She threw them well, from what he could see. Unfortunately she’d never fought sith outside of an ambush, and Morgan’s favourite trick against explosives was used against them.
He only realised what the other sith would do a split second before she did it, but it was enough to act. The wave of power told him that blocking them outright was a bad plan, so instead he helped her push.
Their fiery death went flying past them, harmlessly collapsing the hallway some hundred feet behind them.
Vette looked over her shoulder, a choked laugh crackling over the comms. “Correct me if I’m wrong, and I really hope I am, but was that our only path of escape?”
The endless wave of blaster fire stopped, and a voice spoke before Morgan could respond. “I am Cellvanta Grathan. You have entered my home uninvited, sith. Name yourself, before I sic a hundred apprentices on you.”
Morgan exchanged a puzzled look with Vette. “There are only forty three sith in this compound, not counting yourself and your son. They are also needed elsewhere, unless you’d like the Imperial army outside your gate to come say hello.”
There was silence, a rather awkward one. Morgan continued out of sheer puzzlement. “Wouldn't it have been more effective to threaten me with your husband? You know, the sith Lord?”
“Unless your husband can’t, or won’t, answer your call?” Morgan guessed. “That’s rather cold, even for a Lord.”
“Silence!” Cellvanta demanded. “I am still the Lady of this house. You will speak to me with respect, or you won’t be speaking at all.”
“About that. Why, exactly, are we talking?”
Another silence, and Morgan had a feeling this was not going as she expected. Well, jokes on her. This wasn’t going as he expected either.
“You have fought your way into the inner sanctum of a powerful sith Lord’s stronghold. You are a breath away from the master himself. Kill him, and I will let you go.”
Morgan considered that, exchanging a look with Vette. “Alright.”
A sharp pinch of relief reached him, one that Cellvanta apparently hadn’t been able to suppress. He switched to internal comms again. “Stay here and get ready. I’m stabbing her the second I’m close enough.”
He walked out of cover, half expecting to be met with machine gun fire when he did. Instead the droids did nothing, Lady Cellvanta looking at him imperiously.
Morgan took one step, then another. Still nothing. He was halfway when the sheer disbelief grew too large to ignore. She was actually letting him approach. She had them. Blocked and trapped, sandwiched between heavy anti infantry weaponry and a dead end.
He stopped some feet from her, the droids standing motionless. He slowly unclipped his lightsaber, holding it up with a loose grip as a token of surrender. Cellvanta drew back, suspicious, but relaxed when he just held it out in front of him.
Three months he had practised with his knives. Three long months of practising his telekinesis with an angry blademaster trying to kick his teeth in. He usually preferred to use those knives for crowd control, true, but these were proper battle droids. The ones he had fought in the tombs had been a marvel of engineering, to be sure, but older doesn’t always mean better.
So he grabbed his lightsaber with the Force, igniting it and sweeping across the ranks of Lady Cellvanta’s escort. The muted sound of Vette’s sniper disabled another one, and then the sith was left with only two.
Two droids he ignored, recalling his lightsaber and pouncing on her. He idly sheared the machine gun in half as he did, just to be sure.
His enemy had fallen back, drawing her own lightsaber. Plasma hissed as she blocked his first strike, then keened as she narrowly dodged his kick.
Her footwork was immaculate, Morgan admitted. Her bladework was sharp, and her control over the Force excellent. She was his superior in power, experience and knew the terrain better than him. By all metrics, he should have been losing.
His vibroknife nearly took her in the shoulder, and Morgan pressed her moment of imbalance.
He landed a punch on her stomach, his strength knocking out the breath despite her enforcement.
She parried, a well executed, proper reply to his attack on her right hip. His second knife sunk into her other leg with a whine.
“You didn’t graduate from Korriban, did you?” He asked, ignoring his better judgement.
Lady Cellvanta hastily pulled back her arm, nearly losing it when he didn’t take her feint. “I’ve been trained by some of the best blademasters alive!”
“Yes.” Morgan agreed, recalling his knife from her leg. She visibly suppressed a winch. “Your skills are sharp. Your fighting style refined.”
He punished a moment of hesitation when he forced her into a non-standard block, kicking her already injured leg. It broke with a sickening snap. “But Korriban teaches you to adapt.”
She lost her balance, so he took both her arms with a quick swipe. Lady Cellvanta collapsed entirely.
“Wai-”
Morgan took her head with a clean stroke. “And it teaches one to not hesitate, when the time comes.”
“Shit boss, that was ruthless.” Vette piped up, inspecting the slightly molten machine gun. “Not saying you're wrong, since we don’t owe her jack. She shouldn't have stopped firing, seeing as we where pretty well fucked back there. Still, ruthless.”
A door hissed open, ominous footsteps thundering down the large hanger.
“I am Beelzlit Grathan, son of sith Lord Grathan. You have entered my home uninvite-” The speech cut off as Vette shot him, the sniper round taking him in the throat.
“He doesn’t count.” Morgan said quickly. “He’s still an acolyte.”
Vette scowled, a gesture so strong Morgan could feel rather than see it. “He’s an adult. Look, he’s got a beard.”
She walked over, looking closer. “Or maybe just some patches of hair. Fuck, did I just shoot a kid?”
Morgan shrugged. “He’s an acolyte.”
“I am sith.” The corpse gurgled. “Sith is sith!”
Vette drew back, surprised. “How is he not dead?”
She shook her head, drawing her balster. The bolt took him between the eyes.
“Sith is Sith? Really? That’s what you want your last words to be?” Morgan asked, black humour bubbling.
“I know right.” Vette complained. “It’s like they don’t practise their last words or something. Weirdos.”
Alarms started blaring in the distance, both of them exchanging a look.
“I still say it counts.” Vette argued as they walked back to the blocked hallway. “He had a saber thingy and everything.”