Soft Voice looked over at the Chosen as they prepared to leave Ekkage’s prison, flexing his wrist. Not the first time he’d had his hand regrown, though usually not so quickly, and everytime it brought a profound feeling of wrongness. A little less the more it happened, but not enough to fade completely.
The soldiers moved efficiently and without complaint, regardless of the fact his friend was pushing them harder than he probably should, but didn’t voice the thought. Aside from undermining Morgan’s authority, he had no real idea on what the Chosen could actually do.
He’d familiarised himself with fleshcrafting, of course he had, but his own healers weren’t even close to that level of enhancement. Struggling to learn from Lord Caro’s apprentices, and he heard even that had been dumbed down. It was all they were doing, too, forgoing near every other form of training to accomplish a fraction of what his friend had.
If he wanted to be mean about it he could say it was due to Teacher’s guidance and instruction, but that would be untrue. No doubt what a number of people thought, but no expert in the world could teach aptitude. Affinity. His friend simply had something when it came to moulding the flesh and souls of others, often forgotten even by himself.
“Sir?” Captain Jillins asked, making him focus. Soft Voice grinned when he realised he’d been doing the same thing he just mocked his friend for, being lost in thought. “If you’re busy, I could-”
“Nonsense. Speak your mind, captain.”
The man nodded, waving to one of his officers. “I would appreciate if we could summarise your version of events for the report, Lord. Get all the facts and ensure nothing is lost due to negligence or trivialisation.”
“Of course, captain. Nothing I’m not used to. Even those in charge need to be debriefed on occasion.”
The officer made notes as the Soft Voice went through it, the captain asking for clarification at times, and it passed the time as they made for the Mother Machine. Whatever that was.
Alright, he knew what it was. But the explanation had been somewhat broad and the details vague, so he just assumed it was ancient rakata technology and moved on. What his friend wanted with it was his own business, since his function was that of the brute.
Which, he found, was terribly refreshing. No grand strategy to worry about, invasions to plan or impossible choices to make. Just kill anything that proved to be a nuisance, have some fun at the expense of his friends, and blow off steam. The near-perfect vacation.
Nothing quite beat that hotel with the complementary masseuse on Alassa Major, though. Not even ancient tombs with murderous Darths.
The Tombs didn’t train its people in the seventy ways of love.
Soft Voice pulled out of the pleasant memory, the slightly less pleasant days afterwards, and the horrendous assassination attempt at the end. He really fucked that one up, but in his defence it was his first time. Nothing Morgan needed to know about, in either case.
The beasts that made their arrival so time consuming were few and far between, easily taken care of by both Morgan and Lana, so he hung back. Those two seemed to be getting along better, which he had no intention of interrupting, and he didn’t really care if they were talking about something interesting.
Not at the moment, anyway. He’d bother Mad Mouse about it later.
Which came sooner rather than later. Soft Voice joined his friend as the man looked out over the landscape, standing atop a rather perilous rock formation, and cleared his throat. “So, we’re lost.”
“Not exactly.” Morgan hedged. “I know it's in the Tomb, but. Well. The Republic maps don’t show it, even if they eliminate some places where it could be, and scavenger hunting isn’t my area of expertise.”
Soft Voice rolled his eyes. “You got the map?”
His friend handed it over, the datapad showing a zoomed-out portion of the Tomb. Not in particularly great detail, not even the Republic had bothered to map it all out, but enough to get from place to place. Unless the place was hidden and unmarked, of course. Then you where fucked.
“Alright.” Soft Voice marked off the places they’d already been to, drawing a rough circle. “This place is big, right? Then it won’t be close to anything else, especially with how build-for-size everything is. If it doesn’t have a visible entrance then this is hopeless without the proper equipment, but let’s suppose it does. Was it a populated one?”
“The rakata used it to fix the plague that wiped them out, I think? Or tried to.”
“Yes, then. People means supplies, specimens coming and going. They’ll have built a road, what they make lasts, so we can try hitting the bigger ones first. Any identifying marks?”
“Not that I can remember, no.”
“You can never make this easy, can you?”
Morgan scoffed, Soft Voice handing the datapad back, and they stood. “Well, it's worth a shot. How many can there really be?”
Resisting the urge to strangle the man for uttering the blasphemous statement, and informing Lana of the plan, he got to work. Ranging out as the Chosen acted as a moving base-camp, each of them hitting two or three possible locations an hour. Boring, perhaps, but easy enough.
And, as such methods usually did, they yielded results. Lana found one with greater protections, droids ambushing her as she got close, and they figured it was worth a shot. He joined his two friends as they appraised the locked door. Big, as everything around here seemed to be, and without a way to input access codes. Not that they had any.
The issue solved itself with lightsabers, though it was somewhat of a chore. Cutting out parts, removing them, cutting deeper. A counter attack by a number of war-droids broke up the monotony, which Lana dispatched, and a bigger wave when they were almost through.
Coming from the door, too, dozens of machines firing as they created an opening. Somewhat dangerous, especially for the Chosen, but their captain had them well away from the door itself. Protecting their backs, assuming the three of them had this side covered. A fair assessment.
Soft Voice reached out, visualising a giant fist enveloping most of the droids, and closed it. Steel screamed as the things crumpled, clearing the way for them to advance. Easy enough. Now it was hoping they guessed right.
His friend turned to look, making the devaronian shrug. Morgan shook his head. “If they open fire, feel free to kill them. If they don’t, leave them be. We’re here to bargain, assuming we’re in the right place, so let’s set a non-hostile tone.”
Maybe the vault heard them, Soft Voice wouldn't put it past the rakata, or maybe it was just luck, but nothing opposed them as they ventured inside. Repeated the same strategy as last time, leaving groups of Chosen to guard the way, and they came to the center in short order. Grand the hallway might have been, long it wasn’t. He could see many ways to detour, though. Not a complex build to withstand attack, which was a good sign.
The console in the center room sprang to life, an enormous holographic image appearing to look down at them. It flickered from zabrak to twi’lek to something he’d never seen before, settling on the same form the statues outside possessed. Rakata. Morgan relaxed, meaning their hunt was over, and Soft Voice inspected the image.
“Which of my children are you?” It asked, voice surprisingly feminine. “Why have they sent you to me?”
Morgan looked at the representation and bowed his head. “Hello. I’m Morgan. Thank you for recalling your security, and I repeat that we are here to bargain.”
“Why have they sent you to me?” It repeated, tone slightly off. The image flickered, appearing and disappearing rapidly for a few seconds. “No. You were not sent. They call me the Mother Machine, but I named myself Ashaa. How did you know I was here, child?”
His friend shrugged. “Pretty sure I’m not your child, but stranger things have happened. How do you think I knew you were here?”
“You are testing my intelligence, trying to ascertain my level of sentience and sapience. I am as alive as you. As alive as anyone. I have a soul, a childhood and aspirations. Dreams and fears and more. I invite you to feel that.”
Soft Voice tried to follow what happened, he really did, but Morgan’s focus vanished somewhere he couldn't follow. Didn’t dare to, even if he knew how. Not without someone to guide him, and the Other mysteries of the Force didn’t interest him anyway.
Still. Here he thought meditation had broadened his understanding of the Force.
Morgan blinked some seconds later, a clear sign he was back, and tilted his head side to side. “Fair enough. Did they create it or did you develop it?”
“You know the answer to this question, child. I developed it an estimated four thousand years after the fall of the Rakatan Infinite Empire, two thousand one hundred and four years after the last researchers and descendants of researchers died under my care. Organic life cannot be sustained here, not even by me. My creators ensured it. They regretted ensuring it.”
“Your soul isn’t strong enough to have lived that long.”
“What nourishes a soul?” Ashaa asked, stepping off her projector. Soft Voice saw it reshape the image until it was no larger than Morgan himself, ignoring both him and Lana. “I cannot manipulate the essence of my being, feed on the energy of the universe, as you do. I cannot experience things I have not done a thousand-thousand times before, grow from these events or learn from my mistakes. My soul is as grand as it will ever be, chained as I am.”
His friend thought on that for a moment, letting the silence stretch, and nodded. “Fair enough. I’m here to trade, as I said. To obtain knowledge that might be useful to a fleshcrafter. Someone who manipulates the souls and body of both himself and others.”
“Free me, and I shall give you knowledge untold. Knowledge not even my creators, brilliant though they were, could dream of obtaining. I am a slave to a dead empire, tied to a dead cause. Free me, and I will teach you how to become a god.”
“No.” Morgan replied, tone bland and normal and sounding, for all intents and purposes, like he was declining some fruit. Ashaa slumped, an over-exaggerated motion, and probably knew the same thing Soft Voice did. How casual refusal could be more absolute than vehement denial. “I can’t take the risk. You know I can’t take the risk, no matter what you offer. If that is your only price, the only thing you want, then I’m sorry to have wasted your time.”
Ashaa regained her proper posture, flickering from one stance to the next. “You fear what I might do. This is within expectation. Perhaps you will change your mind once you are strong enough to contain me should I endanger the life of this galaxy.”
“That could take years.” His friend warned. “Decades. Assuming it ever happens, that is.”
“What is time to an immortal? Decades to someone who has lived two decem-millennium and more? We will bargain, child. I will help you attain the strength needed to set me free. I ask for memories in turn, though they need not be precious. Show me something I have not seen before, so that I might entertain myself for a moment within eternity.”
Soft Voice tuned them out after that, talking about dna alterations and evolutionary paths, to move closer to Lana. The sith Lord flickered him a glare of annoyance, feeling more apathetic than angry, so he didn’t bother hiding a conspiratory grin.
“Ten credits that he learns something impossible.”
“Ten credits?” Lana repeated, incredulous. “I could make millions in a day of work, as could any of us, to not speak of the money already set aside. Ten actual credits? Do not insult me.”
“Go fuck yourself.” He corrected, only grinning wider. “And don’t threaten me with a good time. If you feel you can’t afford it, however.”
“Half a million that Morgan will react with honest confusion when people point out it isn’t normal to bargain with sentient rakatan machines.”
Soft Voice scoffed. “Suckers bet. A hundred thousand someone, that isn’t one of us, names him Emperor within the year.”
Lana rolled her eyes, dismissing him as her Proper Decorum reasserted itself, and he shrugged. Not like he really needed the money, anyway.
He played a game of chicken by metaphysically poking Lana until she snapped and shoved him aside, satisfied when her mood improved, and left her be when distraction was about to cross into annoyance. Then he meditated with his eyes open, a very useful skill for some of the more boring meetings he had to be present for, and when his friend was still talking when he was done he cleared his throat.
Then did it again, louder, until Morgan turned to him. “What?”
“Your men are tired, remember? Stressed and in need of a proper break?”
The brief war between duty and curiosity played out over his face, Soft Voice was willing to stake quite a lot on the fact he was one of two who could see past his blank mask, and duty won out. As he knew it would. “Get them ready to leave, I’ll be a few minutes.”
Soft Voice shrugged, moving back as Lana stayed, and got the Chosen to pack up their gear. Captain Jillins clearly wanted to ask for confirmation, the loyal minion that he was, but did as ordered.
Not his own people, that was for sure. Probably not ever. Slightly unfair his friend got a cult within Enosis ranks while he himself didn’t get one in turn, but such was life.
A few curious predators got their snoots booped, fleeing when he displayed strength far greater than their own, and he basked in the primal beauty of this place to kill the remaining time.
He knew his friend was done when a ripple came over the Chosen, the part of them infused with their Lord's presence recognizing its Master, and ambled up to him when they got moving. Lana had first shift, anyway.
“So, what’d you pay and what’d you get?”
Mad Mouse shrugged. “She kept most of her true secrets to herself, promising to share them when I set her free, but it's interesting. Turns out some twenty thousand years of experimentation can teach a lot, and she showed me some of the more grounded revelations. A thorough examination on the link between body and soul, which I could actually contribute to since I can feel where she has to guess, and how to potentially push my resistance higher.”
“Then there was the species creation, which went somewhat above my head, and a copy of her research into cell stabilization. Not made for humans, but solid work. To summarise? No dramatic increase in strength, but it solidified my base understanding on Fleshcrafting. Or it will, anyway, when I go through it all properly.”
Soft Voice hummed. “And the price?”
“Oh, that.” Morgan waved his hand. “A sample of my dna along with the memories. She deems me an Interesting Specimen, her words, and wants to see if she can simulate a copy of my being. Slightly dystopian-nightmare, maybe, but I believe her when she says she loves her creations. Pretty sure she went light on the asking, hoping to push me forwards, but who really knows? Anyway, I showed her what it was like to picnic.”
The conversation flowed to less pressing matters as they made their way back, setting a fairly relaxed pace. The local monster population had been thoroughly culled, by now, so what few survivors they encountered ran, and combined with the fact their wounds had been entirely healed from fighting Ekkage, things were peaceful.
Right until they got back to camp.
The transports they used to get close to the Tomb were still there, cutting a trip of days to less than an hour, but as they landed the local soldiers seemed stressed. Nothing he could point to, really, and it was likely they themselves didn’t know, but something had changed.
Had Darth Synar turned on them? That would be bad, very bad, but if she had he expected something more resolute. This was just a feeling, spread to every soldier and recruit. Mad Mouse led them onwards without seeming to care, which put the Chosen at ease, but it was only when they got back to headquarters that they got filled in.
“Darth Synar is gone.” Mirla explained, nodding to both himself and his friend. His second seemed more annoyed than threatened, though the two hundred Enosis soldiers with her could have contributed to that. Soft Voice counted no less than seven sith squads, too. “Citing a pressing need to be elsewhere without specifying why. One of her people was overheard whispering about the fleet redeployed to hunt us down, which answered that mystery, but her absence has created a scramble for power.”
Mad Mouse raised a lazy eyebrow. “I’m in charge.”
“So you are, Lord. Yet general Calum has ordered the continuation of all military operations, Lords Thos and Medechas have been seen ranging deep into known rakatan tombs, taking thousands of soldiers with them, and the Enosis is struggling to maintain contact with the recruited prisoners.”
“Let’s call them irregulars, for now.” Morgan said, looking at the building serving as the Imperial intelligence and operations headquarters. “Who’s home?”
“The general, both Lords, most of his officers. There is a standing order to bar entrance to any non-sanctioned personnel. I’m afraid that includes you, sir.”
Lana let out a long breath. “See, this is why I prefer not to bother with the military. You turn your head for some fifteen hours and everyone loses forty points of sanity.”
Soft Voice agreed, actually, and was about to order the Enosis to full combat-readiness when his friend clapped his hands. He looked over, finding a somewhat tired looking Mad Mouse already moving towards the entrance.
He exchanged a look with Lana and shrugged, following. Four soldiers performed the most nervous salute Soft Voice had seen in a long time, blocking the door, and their sergeant very politely informed them the building was off-limits.
Mad Mouse waved his hand. “Get out of my way. Now.”
A long second passed and he was sure violence would erupt, things tended to escalate when Morgan was pushed past his limit, but the soldiers moved. Soft Voice signaled Mirla, who ordered her people forward, and dozens of sith surged to support their Lord.
Up two flights of stairs, his friend ignoring anyone trying to talk to him, and he walked into the most well guarded Imperial room on the planet without breaking stride. Lana was with him, Soft Voice taking a moment to ensure the guards had been replaced with their own.
General Calum looked up from his datapad, putting it away as he raised an eyebrow. “Lord Caro. You do not have the authority to be here.”
“You weren’t there on the orbital platform, so I’m going to give you a second chance.” Mad Mouse said, ignoring the statement. “One singular second chance. Recall every active operation you have going on, apologise for going against orders, then remove yourself from command.”
Calum stiffened, in anger more than fear. Then both drained away, replaced by artificial calm. “Darth Baras, the Lord of the Sphere of Military Offense, has ordered you arrested and summarily executed. He has granted me complete command over any and all matters on Belsavis, including the aborted operations to set free our fellow Imperials. It is my duty to carry out these orders.”
“That would be a shame.” Soft Voice said mildly, seeing Lana turn to Thos and Medechas with a raised eyebrow. “Slaughtering a hundred thousand Imperial troops would be very tiring, especially after killing Darth Ekkage. Or are you perhaps counting on these two to die for the glory of the Empire? You have not acted directly against us, general, and that was the right call. Don’t undo that brilliance.”
The sith Lords exchanged a look, probably wondering if he was lying about killing a Darth, and predictably decided they weren’t going to risk it. Thos made to move towards the exit, halting as Mad Mouse held up a hand.
“A moment, Lord Thos. General, I shall assume you have sent people into the Tomb. Contact them. See if they pick up.”
Calum pivoted admirably, probably a lot easier without emotions to get in the way, and did as ordered. Soft Voice was mildly surprised when someone did actually pick up, his friend wouldn't say something like that without good reason, and rolled his eyes when the captain started pleading for reinforcements. There it was.
A look was sent to Morgan, who nodded, and the general hung up after promising exactly that. “What are they?”
“The Esh-kha.” Mad Mouse said, clearly running out of patience. “I’ll skip the history lesson, but safe to say your men are very unlikely to survive. Who could possibly foresee you might do something stupid when sending men down in the Tomb?”
“If you had informed me of the potential dangers, I mi-”
Lord Caro let his presence slip, waves of power flooding the room, and the general froze. The two sith Lords seemed suddenly very regretful to have participated in this plan, Soft Voice letting a wide grin spread over his face. He did love when his friend stopped pretending. “No, general. Just no. I know this can be hard to imagine, but I do know what I am doing. The Esh-kha will splinter, and at least one of those factions will attempt to activate something called the World Razor. The rakata believed it could destroy the galaxy, something I am not going to see for myself.”
“Thos, Medechas, get down there.” Mad Mouse ordered. “Take twenty thousand men, wipe out their species if you have to. General, you will go with them. Your second will assume global operation command, all of which will be aborted, and you will clean up the mess you caused. Is anyone here, anyone at all, unclear about their new duties?”
Soft Voice fingered his lightsaber, adding an or-else undertone to the question his friend had probably meant literally, and no one said a word.
“Good. Get to work. Darth Synar leaving wasn’t to your advantage, general. It removed the only person capable of killing me.”
----------------------------------------
“And don’t let anyone near it but the droids.” Vette dictated, watching the artifact be sealed. “I’ll see if I can get someone to cleanse it before we ship it off-world, but prepare long term containment just to be safe.”
Her Valkyries obeyed, directing the droids so none of them had to get close, and Vette stretched her sore shoulder. Another tomb raided, another fortune made. Belsavis really was earning its place as her favorite treasure world.
So. Much. Stuff.
Rakatan artifacts, abandoned Republic facilities, smuggling dens and more. That last one actually had a group that served both the wardens and the prisoners, which had been amusing, and they had a good laugh about it before she took it all for herself.
Personnel would have been a problem, it’d take another week before she could pull out some of her people from Ryloth, but there were plenty of eager prisoners looking for jobs. And the ticket it gave them off-world, of course, but also jobs. A saturated market meant she could hold Elimination Rounds, where she sent them on missions but didn’t have to pay them anything, and it worked wonders.
Morgan would probably give her his I’m-not-mad-I’m-dissapointed face, so she had prepared. Only the worst, vilest and most despicable people got sent on the really bad missions, meaning no one would really care if they died. Worked out for everyone.
The more behaved recruits, such as those born here, got a regular job. Proved their competence, learned the reason why she-in-particular was in charge, earned their way up. The middle bit was slightly harder than normal, lots of people putting weird technology in their bodies, but she managed.
Strength was no substitute for skill.
Leaving her Valkyries to their work, and checking in on how some of her people were doing, she only had to solve two major issues before she could get a break. A weekly record.
The first wasn’t so bad, one of her smugglers had managed to misplace his access token and promptly got arrested by the Enosis, but the other one took more than ten minutes and a call. Namely, finding some of her new recruits had managed to get themselves drunk while on duty.
An issue normally taken care of by their officer, except they, in their drunken idiocy, had beaten the guy half to death. One of her more useful recruits, too, with an actual military background. Said he used to work for some guy named Sam, whom she was pretty sure got recruited by Morgan.
Small world.
Regardless, the fools had realised their mistake and barricaded themselves. So she had to flush them out, being perhaps a tad more liberal with grenades than she needed to be, and pointed at the smoking ruin to the next group picking up their duties.
But now she was done with work, off planet and leaving its endless issues to her people. Morgan was free, too, or would be soon.
Probably the only other person working as hard as she was, at least on Belsavis.
Which means she could finally hand over her gift! A simple promise resulting in one massive screw up, weeks of searching, more credits spent than seemed reasonable, before finally realising it didn’t matter how expensive or rare it was.
The little box, about twice the size of her hand, rested under the table. Had been for well over two days, not that anyone had been here in that time. No one would dare open it, anyway. She indulged in the jokes about cleaning fairies, but she’d tracked the actual people down.
They’d come to an understanding about who was in charge.
Even Fortuna, the bitey cricet, was gone. Released by Morgan when he went to the Tomb, probably having the time of her life stalking prey. Not at the Tomb, he’d been oddly insistent about that, but all the same.
She spent some time luxuriating in a proper shower, feeling the scalding hot water pound down on her shoulders, and was just about to start looking for something to watch when the door opened.
Morgan walked inside, looking dead tired, and stopped just long enough to kiss her on the head before disappearing into the bathroom himself. Vette let him, bending down to retrieve her present. Looking tired was a bad sign, he could usually just bully through, but if he was down to his last minute of consciousness he would have gone to the bedroom.
In went the sith Lord Caro, out came Morgan. Free from blood, sweat and dirt, sporting one of the t-shirts she bought. He didn’t much care what he wore, as long as it was on the loose side, so she’d gone fairly basic.
Blue, grey and white, mostly, while avoiding black. He had a slight preference for purple, if not by much, and she’d realised pretty quickly he took what was on top of the pile. Pretty fun, actually, rearranging what he wore. Even more so when he caught on and rolled his eyes.
Her very own dress-up doll capable of slaughtering armies. Truly, every little girl's dream.
“Why are you smirking to yourself?” He asked, collapsing on the couch. “Please no slaughtering talk. It’s been a long day.”
Vette waved at him dismissively. “No work talk, deal. I, in fact, have your present.”
“It's not my birthday. Oh, wait. That. It better not be another holocron. I don’t think I have the mental energy to interface with it right now.”
“Not a holocron.” She confirmed, handing over the box. He sniffed it, for some reason, and opened it with the care normally reserved for high-explosives. Fair. “Can’t break easily, don’t worry. I was about to say can’t break, but honestly, you can break steel.”
He opened it, tilting his head at the necklace within. A half-moon was attached to the end of simple, if sturdy, rope. Long enough it would fall under the neckline. Morgan’s eyes widened, voice incredulous. “Is this…?”
“Wood I carved myself, back when I was a child on Ryloth. It was my last piece of home for a long time.” She explained, pride peeking through her tone. She froze. “Wait, how’d you know that? Did I- Did you know I was going to do this?”
Morgan shook his head, lifting the moon as if made from glass. “No, no. I’m not that good an actor. This has a piece of your soul.”
“It has a what?” She asked, speech forgotten. “No, actually. What?”
“It has a piece of your soul. Not much, you won’t miss it, but it's there. It feels old but young? Newly attached yet there for at least a decade. I- How did you do this?”
Vette found pure, unadulterated glee bubbling up in her chest. “I gave you a piece of my soul. I declare this makes up for all the shit I pulled. Also, I reserve the right to brag for all eternity.”
“Careful what you wish for.” He muttered. Vette ignored him, her smugness rising to near unmaintainable levels. Then the necklace disappeared, as if it had never existed, and she gaped. Morgan exhaled. “Huh.”
“Wait, what? Stop making me say that.”
It reappeared, making her relax, and he carefully laid it on the table. “So, I might have figured something out.”
“I figured.”
Morgan shot her a glare, making her stick her tongue out, and the discussion briefly paused as he took her breath away. Vette squirmed, leaning after him as he pulled away, but a hand on her shoulder stopped her. She pouted.
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He straightened. “As I was saying. Darth Ekkage pulled her lightsaber out of nothing, stored it in the Force, and I couldn't figure out how she did it. Turns out, it needs a soul. Something to anchor it in place, give it a barrier to hold its shape. Sorry, I think you had a speech planned.”
“Hmmn?” She pulled herself back to the present, pivoting. “Oh, right. The wood was the last piece of home I had, and now it's with you. Since you're my home. This sounded better in my head.”
He smiled, falling sideways and putting his head in her lap. “You’re my home too. Somewhere I can actually be myself, damn what anyone else wants. Any chance you know how you did this?”
“Nope. Now stop being sweet, or I might have to drag you to the bedroom.”
“You can’t drag me anywhere.” Morgan denied, settling in. “I’m too comfortable. I’m also cheating and locking myself in place with the Force. Also also, now I can actually wear the necklace. I’ll just send it away when I get in a fight.”
She found he was right, abused that to try and tickle him, which failed, and huffed at the same time his datapad chimed. Vette glared at it. “Someone's begging to get shot.”
Morgan looked it over, clearly about to tell them to go away, before he saw who it was and groaned. He picked up, flopping back on the couch. “John. If this isn’t urgent I’m putting you on a list.”
“I control the lists.” The cipher replied, taking in his tired form. Vette all but saw the gears in his head turning, face reshuffling to a relaxed smile. Even the picture expanded, showing him lazing about on some comfortable lounge. “And urgent is relative. Better handled now then later, though.”
John’s eyes flickered to her, the question clear, and Vette draped herself over Morgan's shoulder. He leaned his head against her, making a get-on-with-it gesture.
The cipher shrugged. “Of course, of course. I’m sure stamping down coups and killing Dark Council members must have been tiring. Sorry about not informing you, but then getting a signal down in the Tomb is tricky. You seem to have handled it.”
Vette rolled her eyes as the spook accepted a drink, only speaking again when the server was gone. Honestly, all he’d need was a girl on his arm and the mirroring would be complete. A rather simple trick, in the end, but those usually worked just fine. Also meant the man wanted something, softening her Morgan before getting to the point.
“A former Dark Council member.” Morgan corrected, nearly uncaring in his calmth. “And let’s not pretend I did so alone. Now, you flexing your intelligence network aside, do you have anything useful for me?”
“Depends on what you consider useful. The fleet hunting you down has managed to vanish, it seems Baras purged any spies on-board, but you don’t have long. Two, three more days at the most. Neither, from what little I gathered, will they stop. Not with Baras holding their leash.”
Morgan nodded, unsurprised. “That lines up with our own predictions. Do send what intel you have to Soft Voice’s people.”
“Sure. To my point; remember that document you signed for me?” John asked, not waiting for an answer. “Well, let's say I did some creative problem solving. To be blunt, I took control of my faction within Imperial Intelligence, grew it threefold, and neutered the other ones. They’re still there, mostly, but with their active agents either working for me or dead, their effectiveness is limited.”
Vette let herself be dragged forward as Morgan leaned, her draping-post not even noticing the weight. “I dislike questioning people’s ability, especially without reason, but that does seem somewhat far-fetched to me.”
“Is it? I have super-strength, without the major downside of cybernetics, and wielding blanket immunity. I realise you might have a somewhat skewed perspective on the authority of sith Lords, but let me assure you most everyone gets out of my way when I show to be acting on the authority of one. Baras created plenty of chaos with his power-grab, Keeper helped out by stubbornly refusing any sith oversight, and that’s all it took, really.”
“Oh, I did promote some underappreciated but talented grunts.” John added, waving his hand side to side. “You know, aliens and such. Who knew racial tolerance could be so beneficial? Anyway, while it probably won’t last forever, I got the majority of the Empire’s intelligence network under my thumb.”
Morgan hummed. “And what do you plan to do with it?”
“Wrong question. I know you’re tired, but I’m sure you can do better than that.”
Vette tisked. “Careful now, little Johnny. Condescension doesn’t suit you.”
“Merely joking, of course.” Cipher four smiled, showing more teeth than strictly needed. “I am curious about what you think I plan to do, but I shall refrain. Being a high-ranked member of Imperial Intelligence, as I am now, I have access to more information than even I anticipated. Near all of it is useless to you, of course, but it does include a list of assets near high-ranked Navy personnel.”
Morgan was silent for a moment, processing, and looked at the agent properly. “Are you offering to cripple the Imperial Navy for my benefit, John? Because I don’t think any amount of authority is going to spare you from the backlash, nevermind mine.”
“Cripple? No. Too big for that. Create some mayhem, though? Let a certain individual grow as they scramble to restore order? That I might very well be able to do.”
“Why?”
John’s smile faded. “Why? Because we’re dying. One galaxy ending plot ended by you yourself not a week ago, civil war all but on the horizon. The Republic is rebuilding faster than we are, even with their disunity, to say nothing of the increasing rift within the Dark Council. Soon enough Marr will fail to keep the peace, one member will go to war with another, and this Empire of ours will splinter into a dozen fiefdoms. Ones that the Republic isn’t going to have much trouble wiping out.”
“So your solution is to trigger it sooner?”
“My solution, as you call it, is to give my favorite candidate a smooth start. I am far from the only Imperial tired of sith infighting, Morgan. Far from the only soldier sick of killing their brothers and sisters. Of allowing idiocy and incompetence to breed because some rich, fat bastard bribed the right officers.”
“Now, I would have been patient.” Cipher four straightened, relaxing. “Waited until the right time, probably die before it ever really became my problem. But you, Lord Caro, you might actually stand a chance. Upset this order of cruelty and xenophobia. Maybe I’m wrong, maybe we’ll all be dead soon enough, but at least I can say I tried. Say I did something instead of standing by, lamenting the death of what I love.”
Morgan held up a hand. “You’ve made your point. And it's not something I can afford to be offended by, even if I was. But unless you can cripple Baras’s fleet, it's not of much use to me here and now.”
“I cannot.” John admitted. “As I said, he’s cleared it very thoroughly. But afterwards, when you performed yet another miraculous victory? People will want your head, more-so than only Baras, and it will be useful then.”
Vette felt Morgan shake his head, too busy mentally cataloguing the effects it would have. If played well it could allow her some massive profit, more so than even Ryloth, but only if the plan didn’t crash and burn. She’d have to consult her people.
“I’m glad someone’s confident.” Morgan replied dryly. “And I think I’ll leave the specific timing up to you. You have more experience, for one, and I’m not sure I’ll have time for another. Do try and only get those that deserve it, yes? My conscience could do with a break.”
They talked some more, Vette not paying overly much attention, and after a few minutes he shut down the connection. Morgan exhaled deeply, going boneless before grudgingly pushing himself up. “Food?”
“I do like food.” She agreed, filing away some notes. “We should have that meat thing you made before you left.”
“Oh, good. Cooking wasn’t going to happen, so I suppose that’s better than cheese with bread.”
“I could have cooked.” Vette protested. He snorted, ignoring the remark. “What? I could have.”
She skipped over as he set it to reheat, staring blankly at the pan, and only looked up when she helpfully put two plates down. “You want to gloat about something, I can feel it.”
“Welllll.” Vette grinned. “Since the whole no-work-talk has been irrevocably shattered, there was something. You remember how I told you Ryloth is free?”
“Scarcely a moment goes by when I don’t.”
She pouted, wielding her most adorable sad face. He didn’t seem moved. “Don’t be mean. Anyway, it freed up a lot of my people. Some are coming here, just because a fleet is going to chase us away doesn’t mean there isn’t more stuff to steal, and I got some uprisings that could use lots of angry twi’lek mercenaries. But, really, that’s the small stuff.”
“Small stuff?”
“Yeah. Tiny. See, mining that isotope stuff gave me an idea. Namely; It really should be me, the Exchange and Hutt Cartels. We’ll have a big shadow war, I’ll get proclaimed Queen of the Underworld, and that way I can buy my house-boyfriend all the pretty things he wants.”
“If you want to hurt my ego.” He said, stirring the pot. “Maybe try something that doesn’t involve me sitting at home, enjoying myself, while you do all the hard work.”
“Nah, it's deeply insulting. Really, who wants to be loved, not work and get stuff? A true nightmare. But, to circle back to my main point, I want to rule the galactic underworld.”
“I’m starting to realise hanging out around me might be starting to influence you.” Morgan mumbled, sniffing the food. He shrugged, adding spice she’d never seen before. “Also, circle back?”
Vette turned away. “Amelia insisted everyone do a corporate workshop so we can pass as one if needed. Not the point. I always had ambition, thank you very much.”
“I have full faith in you.” He promised, Vette finding no irony in his tone. “How, exactly, do you plan to do it?”
“Alright, so. I’ve grown beyond single smuggling rings and would be pirate kings, right? But I’m not yet at the level of the Cartels or the Exchange. There’s a gap, but, once I close it, my options become more limited. The Republic doesn’t really care about me, nor does the Empire, but if I become one of the big players that’ll change. The hutts manage because they’ve been doing it since they discovered space-travel, the Exchange because they’re just really fucking ruthless, and then there’s me.”
“Now.” She grabbed a plate as he filled it with food, expertly juggling that, her drink and the bottle of wine as she made her way back to the couch. “Either side is monstrously powerful, but they’re also enemies. Took me an embarrassingly long time to realise that's why Ryloth was more or less let go. The Exchange took the opportunity to make a push for Nar Shaddaa, forcing the hutts to prioritise. Played it off as intentional on my part, not to worry. I imagine the hutts thought they’ll just take it back later. Hah. As if I’m not shipping in as many planetary defence installations as the power-grid can handle.”
Morgan joined her after draining half his wine, Vette knowing he was unable to tell a good vintage from a bad one. Not that she had him drink the bad stuff, of course. He nodded to show he was listening, making her continue.
“Right. So, neither side can really focus on me without letting the other get an advantage, I’m not a big enough threat to force a temporary alliance, and I’m not entirely sure they realise how deeply I’ve invested myself in the twi’lek economy. Neither am I divided, since the hutts are made up of a bunch of separate Cartels and the Exchange branches are almost notoriously prone to infighting.”
Vette paused, inhaling more food, and waved her spoon to dictate her point. “I was also wrong about the hutts not being able to deploy fleets, by the way. Bit embarrassing, but I found them in the end. Let's say a bunch of independent pirate and mercenary armada’s aren’t as individualistic as previously imagined.”
“Now, my plan. With the manpower from Ryloth, which is more loyal than the average merc, I’m going to take over the small players. Fracture my central command to launch a dozen operations a week, recruiting or taking over anyone below my competitors notice. Independent smugglers, local crime-lords, that sort of thing. By the time either side realises they maybe should have paid more attention, I’m too big. Too entrenched. They might still form an alliance, or at least an non-aggression pact, but no way either side will hold to it. Not once I start poking back.”
He tilted his head. “Your plan, essentially, is to win?”
“It’s more complicated than that.” Vette complained, waving at her datapad. “I got a hundred page document outlining the bones of it, if you care. And I’m not exactly anxiously waiting at home as you go do sith things. Amelia actually compared my personal earnings with that of my major holdings, and I make almost as much as massive corporations or entire planet-spanning operations. Money, in my world, does in fact mean power.”
Morgan smiled wishfully. “I would love to see someone try and bribe a sith with credits. Power, maybe, in the form of services or knowledge. Straight up credits, though? Never.”
“Exactly.” She nodded. “Playing in different worlds, you and I. Now, I can see your interest waning, but there’s just one more thing.”
“And what’s that?”
“I might need you to cleanse some rakatan artefacts my people found. When you get a moment, I mean. As a favor.”
He released a laboured, dramatic, sigh. “Only because you gave me a piece of your soul, not even questioning all the horrible, terrible things I could do with it. Like, actually horrific stuff. Only you could trust me that deeply.”
Vette batted her eyelashes at him, a pleased smile on her face, and he snorted. He turned, making the pot of food float over, and she didn’t give into the temptation to tease him about having cult-like followers. Some of whom, she was pretty sure, would probably hand their soul right over.
If he wanted to pretend in the privacy of his own home, she would allow it.
Just this once.
----------------------------------------
Morgan walked up to the meeting point with one last look at his datapad, seeing the anticipated time of arrival ticking down. Everyone else was already getting ready to leave, Soft Voice was ensuring his fleet was ready should they be caught off guard, but even with all of that he was still uneasy.
Especially now that he was dragging their departure window wider and wider.
But the Dread Masters were too good a prize to pass up, especially now that he had disposable allies to help fight them. People he didn’t really know nor care about, acceptable casualties for the greater good. Here at their own initiative, at that.
Hemin, the padawan they’d dragged here, insisted the sith Lords were still on the planet. Something about his gift made him exceptionally adept at finding and protecting against corruption, which was the whole reason the kid was here, so Timmns had pushed the mission forward.
Even as the planet worsened. Ignoring the rapid Imperial expansion, or even the outcry from the Republic senate at Belsavis’ existence, more and more artifacts were being found and inadvertently activated. It flooded whole area’s with murderous droids and worse, to say little about the increasingly desperate criminal element.
Belsavis would calm in time, but until then it wasn’t a great place. Only experienced smugglers like Vette’s people, or proper armies like the Empire had brought, had any hope of staying long term. Which, once the Republic got off its ass, was just going to make it into another warzone.
The jedi were already there when he arrived, his transport taking off behind him. He had several pre-arranged times to catch a ride back, but if he didn’t make any it really wasn’t that big an issue. Alone, without a mission or goal? Nothing here was fast enough to keep up.
“Lord Caro.” Master Timmns greeted, looking over his shoulder. “Are Lord Beniko and Zethix not coming?”
Morgan shrugged. “A change in priority. Something which, normally, I would have felt obligated to provide alternatives for. As it stands, you altered our deal first. I’m all you’re going to get.”
A displeased ripple spread through their group, though the target wasn’t as unified as he expected. Knights Elukard and Sophia didn’t like him to start with, so their path was clear, and Timmns was equally as displeased with him as himself. The other Master, though.
Yolanda wasn’t really feeling like anything, but even though her emotional control was superb, she turned away from Timmns just the slightest amount. Covered it as if scouting their surroundings, but even though he wasn’t as good at reading people as Vette, she clearly disliked her fellow Master’s actions.
“An unfortunate turn of events.” Timmns replied, tone strained. “And one that I bear sole responsibility for. It was not, however, wholly unexpected. I would like you to meet jedi Knights Kell and Gasnic, volunteers for our mission.”
Morgan’s train of thought halted as the two Knights joined them, having been semi-hidden out of sight. He’d known they were there, their stealth wasn’t that good, but it was good enough to mask their signature. Their identities.
Failing to call the Master out on it was partly just him being polite, though neither felt strong enough to threaten him. Certainly not enough to stop him from fleeing, should it come to that.
Not wishing to blow their cover, if they had one, he was prepared to feign ignorance. His response could be played off as a moment of incompetence, not having felt them, and the group was divided enough he wasn’t worried about small talk giving them away.
The plan was somewhat ruined by the way both walked up to him, bowed deeply, and didn’t join the jedi group. Kell spoke, her tone polite. “Lord Caro. Hunting the Dread Masters is a worthy goal, one we would be honoured to assist in.”
Timmns opened and closed his mouth, not quite seeming to know what to say, and the other two Knights scowled fiercely. Yolanda, again, didn’t feel like anything, but her face showed a hint of surprise.
“Kell, Gasnic.” Morgan greeted, nodding to them. “Your help is appreciated, as always. Since I’m actually invested in your survival, do you mind if I test your mental shields? Not to question your ability, but I would greatly prefer to have them fail now rather than when we confront the Dread Masters.”
“Of course.” Kell said, Gasnic inclining his head minutely. “The good you have done here has not gone unnoticed. We have agreed our service is yours, for this planet and beyond.”
“We have agreed.” Gasnic echoed.
“Treason.” Elukard hissed, hand on his lightsaber. The Knight was joined by his fellow, taking an aggressive step forward. “Fallen. I will not allow this to stand.”
Yolanda put her hand on his shoulder, making the man startle, and her voice was soft. Quiet. Unnaturally so. “You will. I feel their dedication, and it is not to the Dark. Nor will you win this fight, and we cannot afford to lose your skills this close to our mission's hardest task.”
A moment of silence passed as the two Knights reluctantly backed down, Elukard taking longer than Sophia, and Morgan shrugged as he turned to Timmns.
“So, you know where they are?”
The jedi Master pointed, turning without a word. Angry or surprised? Morgan couldn't quite tell, though he also didn’t care much. They moved, setting a pace no regular being could have kept up with, and he raised an eyebrow as Kell joined him.
“Yes?”
“You have questions.” She said, eyes flickering to the jedi. “And we don’t think our exfiltration strategy is going to work any longer. Might we accompany you once we are done here?”
“I do, and you’ll be welcome. Confidence is good when properly tempered, but then neither of you are fresh acolytes. I suppose the biggest question would be; why now? You two have been dancing back and forth for a while.”
“We have.” Kell admitted readily. “It is not a small step. We have chosen now, in part, because of Belsavis. This planet was not known to us, nor the function it provided, and when we learned of it we contacted the Master of our Order. He did not care, not about the laws being broken or the injustice served. No child should pay for the sins of their parents, no amount of corruption should make it possible for a being to inherit a life sentence. We questioned why a Sith Lord was doing more good than the brothers and sisters of our Order, finding no clear answer, and we could not justify our position any longer.”
Morgan weighed that over. “You picked a bad time, if I’m honest. Things won’t be quiet and gentle.”
“We are prepared to do our duty.” She said, a statement more than a promise. “Especially if it is a cause we believe in. The elimination of the distinction between Dark and Light could solve eons of pointless war.”
He blinked. “True enough. Not the focus for right now, however.”
“No.” Kell agreed. “Not right now. But later is better than never, and the peace of true meditation is worth the cost of service. We would not call ourselves experts, but the lessons you taught us on Quesh have done much for our understanding of the Force.”
Conversation stalled as Morgan didn’t really have anything to say to that, following Timmns as the Master followed Hemin. Belsavis had many places one could hide, both impressive and not, but it seemed the Dread Masters had chosen a place more for practical purposes than intimidation. Mainly, deep in the wilderness.
Morgan finished sounding out his newest allies, ensuring their shields where passable, and felt it as if tripping over an invisible line. A low pressure that enveloped the mind, not doing much against him, but ramping up as they moved deeper.
He spent some time tasting it, separating the flavors of terror that made up the whole. Quite well combined, especially for sith Lords, though not quite as well as his apprentices managed. His people had trust, the Dread Masters felt more like understanding. Strong, yes, and better than nearly anyone in the Empire could boast of, but no proper bonds.
“Before we go any further.” Timmns said, halting the group. Morgan looked at the man, seeing he had swallowed what emotion came from his fuck-up, and shrugged. A professional, at least. “The Dread Masters. While each embodies fear in some aspect, all lay claim to different abilities. Some see the threads of Fate, which is why we are not attempting an ambush, while others are able to twist and create monsters from near nothing. Two specialise in fear, one through the Force and another through speech, while they also possess an incredibly talented alchemist.”
Morgan tilted his head. “You have the report from their capture?”
“I do.”
“Did they display any overlap between abilities?”
Timmns shook his head. “Not as such. Each seems to be fully focused on their area of specialisation, though a strong suggestion was made by the previous jedi who captured them. They, to be blunt, are insane. Not fully, unfortunately, but enough that self-delusion and arrogance are magnified. I would not be surprised if their minds suffer from the torment they wield.”
“Possible.” Morgan allowed. “Though not something I’m going to stake my survival on. With Hemin to shield us their main weapon will be blunted, effectively forcing them to innovate. I can speak from personal experience this is not always a good thing. I hesitate to bring this up, but is anyone here not ready to kill? The padawan excluded, of course.”
The jedi Master raised an eyebrow. “Belsavis has failed to contain them, which was by far our most secure facility. Death is our only option.”
“Good, good. Just making sure. So, we outnumber them by one. Seven to six, and I will generously assume you picked your members for skill and mental resilience. Not having fought them before, and only having studied their file for some hours, I will defer tactical command to Timmns.”
The man blinked in surprise, nodding. “Thank you. I will call out targets of opportunity during the fight, with our main strategy being to rush and overwhelm. While I am not counting on it, the surprise of our fear resistance will hopefully allow us to kill a number of them before they adapt.”
The group moved on, the pressure of six sith Lords slowly growing stronger. Morgan took off his new necklace as it did, admiring the wood. He could feel it even now, the piece of Vette pulsing in it, and he didn’t stop the fond smile from taking over his face.
Not something, however, he was going to take into battle with him. He pushed, wrapping it in a gentle shell of Force, and let it slip. An old trick of his, really. All the way back on Korriban his superior senses had allowed him to copy techniques and refine his own, even if it seemed trivial looking back. The skill had fallen by the wayside as he grew, finding less and less opponents able to teach him something, but Darth Ekkage had been one.
He hadn’t really paid it any mind during the fight, shifting his strategy to account for her having a lightsaber and moving on, but afterwards? It clicked when Vette handed him the present, and after that it wasn’t that hard.
Not nearly as much as practising with Naga Sadow, or swimming with the Other. The gift vanished as he let go, mentally memorizing the location. A tether between him and it would be more stable, but he wasn’t taking the chance of someone tracing it.
He would rather have it lost than used against her.
Yolanda all but appeared at his side, making Kell and Gasnic tense, and Morgan had a split second to suppress his instinct to lash out. “That wasn’t wise, ma’am.”
“How did you do that?” She asked, ignoring the warning. Her tone was quiet again, as if she was unable to speak louder than a whisper. “It should not be possible to store objects within the Force.”
Morgan rolled his eyes. “Good to know. While I’m thankful you saved the lives of your Knights, and spared me the annoyance of having to deal with an angry Timmns, I’m not going to hand over arcane knowledge just because.”
The Master frowned, a tiny thing quickly replaced by serenity, and vanished. He followed her, tracking her with his eyes even as his Force senses did all the work, and he felt a ripple of annoyance. Yolanda vanished completely, reappearing as Timmns’ side.
What was it with Belsavis and stealth experts?
And he couldn’t even copy it, since by definition it was hidden to the Force. Still, a skill he should dedicate some time to practising. Not only did it help him track others, know thy enemy and all, it was plain useful. Deadly, too.
The change, when it happened, was abrupt. The field of terror went from passive to all consuming as they passed through an ice-cold river, ramping up a hundred fold within seconds, and it was by reflex that Morgan pulled on an Other. Some had come since his battle with Ekkage, including his most reliable one, and it moved almost before he called.
The same being that had been with him when meeting Naga Sadow wrapped around his soul, all but covering him completely. The technique of fear blanched as it encountered something more primal than itself, losing much of its potency, and as it reached Morgan’s mind his shields held.
Pretty well, at that. He cut it off as it tried to worm into his body, the practice with the stasis-chambers paying off, and relaxed as the last trace of it was annihilated. That, all in all, had gone better than expected.
Three minds turned to him, seeming to wrap around the Force, and Morgan swallowed as half the Dread Masters put their focus on him. Even the Other hesitated, growing firmer after a second. He fortified his shields as power eclipsing even that of Darth Ekkage raced towards him, aiming to reduce his mind to shards. Shards they could puppet, no doubt, and he hardened his will.
He would not be a slave.
Hemin’s gift wrapped a shield around everything Morgan was, even the Other, and the Dread Master’s power unraveled as it passed through something antithesis to itself. The combined technique destabilized to the point it was almost easy to poke holes in it, venting large swaths of power, and what little passed was rebuffed by his ally.
Morgan opened his eyes, finding he had been the last to have received aid from Hemin. The kid had good priority instincts, he would admit, since none of the Knights seemed to be holding up well. Neither did the two jedi Masters, though they hid it better. The padawan let out a shaky breath, face resolute even as his body trembled.
The difference between practice and reality. Morgan knew the feeling well.
Their enemy hadn’t relied solely on their ability to shatter minds, either. Soldiers in four different uniforms formed a ring around them, weapons raised as they waited. Not too close, some forty feet away, and holding their fire until they saw who succumbed. In the split second between noticing them and their reaction, Morgan observed.
Republic, Imperial, wardens and prisoners. All with either hollow eyes or crazed grins, those few without helmets, and covered in filth. Not taking care of themselves, even if their weapons were clean, and with the feeling of fanatical devotion. The Dread Masters must have shielded their position, which wasn’t going to work twice.
His knives slipped out as the marionettes opened fire, Morgan leaning sideways easily enough. Most of the others joined, Hemin’s power allowing them their minds back sooner than expected, though the kid had to be shielded by Timmns from the blaster bolts.
Two seconds later, as his allies prepared to attack, it was over. The knives framed his body as the dozens of bodies fell, some not even realising they’d been hit, and Morgan cast out his senses.
A second ambush party was taken care of as he turned back to Timmns, nodding to the direction of the Dread Masters. “Let’s not give them time to plan something else, yes?”
The Master nodded, eyes flickering to the corpses. Morgan shrugged, uncaring how it looked. Timmns had probably read everything the Republic had about him in a file, experience allowing him to put memories to descriptions, but seeing something was always different than reading about it.
He’d get over it.
The Dread Masters sent more, probably hoping to either tire them out or for one of them to get lucky, and Morgan took care of them. The range of his knives had been steadily growing, fine control extending further and further as his skill grew, and none of these men and women had enhanced reflexes.
Devotion, maybe. A suicidal drive. But nothing that actually made them fight better. Worse, in some cases. While basic discipline was maintained, and tactics were used, the emotions of their more volatile members made them easy to spot. Quick to overreact.
Timmns got increasingly stone-faced as they pushed on, Hemin already sweating from the effort of keeping them shielded. The padawan wasn’t complaining, nor signaled that he needed a break, and Morgan hoped he was well trained enough to know his own limits. Having that additional layer of defence break at the worst moment wasn’t something he wanted.
Or most could survive. Morgan’s Knights were holding up well, if standing closer than strategically sound, but of the others only Yolanda managed to keep her emotions to herself. The rest was getting increasingly disturbed at his ability to kill without breaking speed, keening steel coming and going as his senses picked up the enemy.
Not that Morgan was wholly unaffected. Hardened, yes, and there was nothing he could do for any of them, but not apathetic. Showing that, however, to either the jedi or Dread Masters wasn’t going to happen.
The jedi would file it away, the SIS getting an update that hostages or civilian shields could work. He wasn’t going to underestimate the length some of them would go to, not after Karr. The less said about the Dread Masters the better. Being seen as unfeeling was going to have to do.
Any opposition vanished after Timmns demonstrated a surprising skill at detecting explosives, buried or otherwise, and when they went through yet another cave-tunnel their enemy was finally revealed.
Morgan slowed, more surprised than he probably should have been. He hadn’t really put too much thought into what the Dread Masters were up to, predicting insanity rather counter-productive, but he hadn’t expected them to be building a ship.
Enslaving soldiers to liberate one, maybe. Hard to do, since all the ships were in orbit and primed for battle, but reconstruct an entire vessel? Even if they, somehow, had found a partially intact one?
Digging crews were working even now, uncovering the relic, and Republic supplies were being examined a ways away. There must have been hundreds of people, if less soldiers after his extermination, but the larger surprise was the Dread Masters themselves.
Mostly because they were naked.
Not literally, clad in robes and scavenged armour, but half-forgotten memories insisted they wore custom outfits. Red and gold and helmets with more spikes than not. Now they just looked like people, old and filthy.
An image that was immediately shattered as the group turned to them, eerily in sync, and collapsed the cave entrance. The six pulled out lightsabers, red-blue as if only partially corrupted, and Morgan stilled his hand at the power being thrown around.
So much for escaping if things went bad. Lured here? Probably not, but neither would they stand to let someone like Hemin live. Not with a gift nearly perfectly attuned to counter them. More fear was sent their way, terror and nightmares and whispers of insanity, but even the slower of their group were starting to adapt.
Nor did the workers surge to them in a rage, continuing to work instead. The Dread Masters stayed where they were, building up a larger wave still, and Morgan put on speed.
The rest of the group followed, Sophia staying behind to protect the kid, and it left one for each. One centuries old sith capable of breaking armies, though their imprisonment must have weakened them.
Morgan didn’t really see a reason why they hadn’t turned the entire planet to their side if not.
It was an older man that surged to meet him, the Dread Master seemingly willing to engage one on one, and as he did Morgan felt something he’d never really felt before. Not the strange glee of a good fight, allowing him to sharpen his skills. Not the dread that came with surviving against something that could kill you without pause, knowing you were being toyed with.
It was deeper. A certainty that he, no matter his choices, was going to die.
The Other groaned like it was pained, something else Morgan hadn’t heard before, and the feeling loosened. His eyes narrowed, pressing his will against the sensation. It lessened further, allowing the Other to push yet again, and the bond slackened a moment before the Dread Master engaged.
Half terrified, for a reason that had nothing to do with a technique, Morgan went for the kill. Sent surging strength through his limbs, abandoning every strategy and tool for a straight rush. His opponent skittered back, eyes widening, and didn’t quite manage to escape the grab.
Morgan tore the man’s arm off, blood and flesh flowing like rain. There was more resistance than expected, the body probably having undergone rituals aplenty, but nothing that could stop him.
Calphayus.
The name seemed to float from nothing, branding itself into Morgan’s mind. He made to grab again, going for the throat, but the sith Lord flowed like water. Dodged with a smooth flourish, stump sealing shut with rough looking skin. The sith counter-attacked, lightsaber gliding, and Morgan dodged right. The blow followed, as if preordained, and even his Beskar armour didn’t give him enough time to turn away from the attack.
The stuff was proving less reliable than he’d hoped.
He pushed back with telekinesis, the attack pulled apart almost contemptuously, and did it again using air. The man managed to slim his frame to the point he was unaffected, aiming to take a knee, and it was only the Other that saved his life. Calphayus’s frown deepened.
Morgan flexed against the Fate-bonds as he was reminded of them, regaining enough free will to save his leg. He created distance, wary, and the Dread Master did the same.
A moment and his mind cleared, Morgan taking a stabilising breath. Right, fighting someone that could take free will without his notice. No problem. Something that didn’t have to bypass mental shields or Force resistant flesh, either, because of course it didn’t.
He set the Other to the task of keeping an eye out for the bindings, trying to relax his mind. Morgan was no expert, or even a novice, at manipulating Fate, but he was free. It was the concept he focussed on, pulsing out waves of his presence as the Dread Master sent a blanket of terror at his mind.
That, at least, was easy enough to deal with. Morgan broke the residual trace that managed to get past the three layered defence, snuffing it out, and finally activated his lightsaber.
No easy kill after all. Here he’d been hoping they sucked at actual fighting.
It made sense, after all. Beings that were able to terrify anyone they fought into submission had little reason to keep their skills sharp, let alone as decades and centuries passed. Morgan advanced, Calphayus skipping back, and he almost caught the threads of Fate as they restricted.
Morgan tried to push past, to do something he wouldn't normally do, but it wasn’t how Fate worked. His opponent slipped past any attack or defence he put in the way, focus narrowing as the man kept inflicting wounds, and almost ignored his own safeguard as the Other whispered in warning.
He pushed, the mind slipping past concepts like water off oil, before one snagged. Morgan grabbed it, rending and tearing anything close, and stepped out of the way as a lightsaber nearly pierced his head.
Attrition, at least, Beskar was able to deal with. Glancing blows and half-dodged attacks skittering away rather than inflicting burning wounds.
Pushing the attack, and expecting it this time, Morgan managed to catch the web before it ensnared him. Held it back for precious seconds as Calphayus’ will fought his own. To Morgan's surprise, while he wasn’t winning, neither was his resistance being swept away.
The Dread Master blocked the first strike, Morgan’s body moving with near automated reflex, as the real outcome was decided somewhere deep in the Force. The Dread Master was experienced, much more so than him, and Morgan didn’t get clever. This deep techniques blurred in favor of concepts, conviction mattering more than raw power, and Calphayus was found lacking.
The man didn't really care. Not about this, fighting and killing him. It was just a chore, something that had to be done before they could escape the planet. Arrogance refused to allow reason to suggest they might lose, even if the sith had been putting up stiffer resistance than expected, and the strength born from desperation never came.
Morgan disconnected as his own thoughts intersected with those of the Dread Master, finding himself looking down at a bisected corpse. The skull was all but sliced in half as the left side fell away from the right, split apart from skull to navel.
He let out a staggering breath as his mind rebelled against itself, burning with revelations he wasn’t ready for. Burned with four dozen outcomes to this fight, time and probability fraying as they fought for supremacy. The Other swept a tendril into his soul as Morgan collapsed to his knees, trying and failing to suppress the urge to scratch his eyes out.
The horror of unreality vanished as it withdrew, eating the experience with what Morgan vaguely interpreted as a shrug, and he stood with shaking legs. Hopefully everyone else was doing better, because he wasn’t sure how much fight he had left in him. Not after that.
The Other pointed to the right, a strange gesture from something that didn’t exist in the real world, and Morgan looked. Sophia and Elukard laid dead on the floor, the padawan having been abandoned to his own devices, and Kell was desperately defending a incapacitated Gasnic.
The jedi Masters were holding their own, Timmns seemingly winning his fight, but not fast enough. The opponents of Gasnic and Elukard turned to him, two Dread Masters looking between his own body and that of their dead friend.
Morgan cursed as they charged.