Skyrak. Bestia.
The names seemed to be engraved in the Force, Morgan pushing himself to face them. Soothing restoration stilled the sheer exhaustion of both the mental and physical fight, the Other around his soul content after eating his near-madness-inducing experience with Calphayus.
Morgan breathed and took the precious moments to enjoy all-purpose healing, something of a workaround to his soul-template problem. It wasn’t as efficient, but neither did it require concentration. And, as was the case now, performed better when he was wounded all over.
Such as when your brain gets turned inside out, body littered with burns and cuts. Another exhale and he felt somewhat prepared, readying his defences as Bestia summoned a wave of power.
What he didn’t expect was for an monstrous insect to appear, followed by a dozen more. His knives shot forward, bouncing off hardened carapace, and Morgan contemplated running. This, no matter how one looked at it, wasn’t going well.
Then he found a weak spot, the top of their spine softer to allow the head to move, and bugs began collapsing by the second. Nor, now that he had a moment to think, had they come from nowhere. Mutated, hyper-accelerated growth being forced on regular critters.
Bestia growled, a strangely deep sound coming from the old woman, and cut to the chase. Summoned enough power to rip his limbs off, Force-resistance be damned. She had the reserves for it, Morgan had no qualms about admitting that, but her greatest weapon betrayed her.
Fear. It was entrenched in every part of her power, every inch of her attack. He didn’t even know if she was capable of going without, and Hemin’s power drained hers. She growled again, louder, and took a step back. Created more creatures, her ally advancing.
Polite of him to wait, though he figured it had more to do with efficiency then fairness. Skyrak leapt forwards, body strangely twisted, and Morgan summoned his full strength. Felt his muscles tear as he did, stressed from fighting Calphayus, but for a few more heartbeats, he had it.
Skyrak attacked with an overhead strike, form bulging as power flooded his body. Morgan allowed no second of doubt as he blocked, prepared to defect should the pressure prove too great.
It didn’t.
The Dread Master continued his attack almost awkwardly as Morgan held, disappointed for reasons he could not name. Ekkage had been stronger, if not by much, and he’d been her equal in that if nothing else. He let the attack deflect to the side, stepping right and slicing forward.
Sith Lord Skyrak reacted with speed and viciousness admirable for any sith, Morgan judging it a disappointment. His lightsaber cut through flesh as the man proved a hair too slow, attack slowing strangely, and Morgan pushed as energy once again flowed through his arm.
The man took the blow, pulling himself closer in an attempt to strangle him. Morgan slapped the hand away, knowing he had perhaps another half-second of his full strength, and grabbed one of his knives as it flew over.
Skyrak collapsed as Morgan rammed it in the man’s brain, Beskar slicing through treated bone like butter. His lightsaber came up a moment later, taking the head. Then he had to sever the technique that bloomed from the soul, though it wasn’t nearly stable enough to resist him.
Bestia dispatched a horde of monsters towards Hemin and turned to face him properly, Morgan nodding as Yolanda sent him a message formed from intent. The kid was fine, meaning he was free to engage.
“That.” He said, stepping over the Dread Master’s corpse. “Was a disappointment. As is that pathetic attempt at reanimation, since it relies on the soul to store a blueprint of life. Snip that away, rather easy to do after the brain dies, and no more mister zombie. Is this really what has the galaxy trembling in its boots?”
Now, that was unfair. He knew it was unfair. They just spent years locked away, had none of their resources or weaponry and knew virtually nothing about their opponents. But still, he wasn’t lying either. Ekkage, individually speaking, had been more dangerous. Much more so.
Then there was the fact Skyrak was, essentially, him. The man had taken a different path, sure, but essentially boasted the same skillset. Durable, strong, able to regenerate. Messed with his soul and had good control over his internal biological processes. And since Morgan had done the same, he knew exactly how to deal with it.
A rusty, out of practice Morgan high on his own arrogance.
Still, it had taken power. Durability he wasn’t given the time to heal, Bestia surging towards him. He stepped backwards, avoiding the lightsaber, and blocked the stream of lightning.
Not a skill he saw often, he would admit, though more so among lower ranked sith. Once you got used to it, got used to predicting where the lightning was going to fork, it became nearly trivial to block.
His lightsaber swept sideways at a rough forty degree angle, catching almost all the strands, and as the plasma absorbed lightning he buffed it with a shield. Bestia let it drop, unsurprised to find the attack fail, and he stepped aside as something resembling a ladybug grew beneath his feet.
It tried to snap at his foot, which crushed the things’ head instead, and Morgan skittered back as the Dread Master tried to ragdoll him. Actually took control over the wind, which blazed with ridiculous levels of power, and tried to suspend him with air.
Hooks lashed out, anchoring him in place, and he weathered the literal storm. Thousands of them, rebuilding as they snapped, and slowly securing him tighter and tighter. The attack dropped after some seconds, making him grin.
Bestia took a step back, wary, and Morgan happily took the time to reattach his brachialis. His right arm relaxed as he flexed his bicep, making him judge it ready for another use of enhanced strength.
But he didn’t. Because, as the woman was starting to realise, buying time was to his advantage. Not a second later and another of the Dread Masters died, he judged it to be Timmns’ enemy, and the jedi Master joined Kell in fighting Tyrans.
The two jedi overwhelmed the Dread Master of Tactics as Morgan blocked Bestia from assisting, earning himself a nasty wound on his shoulder, but the momentum was building. The curse embedded in the attack was more worrying, and not something he’d seen before, but the smile refused to leave his face. Not even the slagged Beskar could bring it down.
Weakened, without resources and their best weapon countered, but the Dread Masters were losing.
A whisper of a plan came as Raptus found himself without an opponent, pivoting to fight Morgan. He grunted but managed to block the attack, unfortunately having to give free reign to Bestia as the spokesman of the Dread Masters engaged him, and Yolanda appeared without warning.
Bestia stumbled and only just about managed to save her head, one of the more foolproof ways to kill, and the quiet jedi Master didn’t take any chances. Tried to split the skull, Raptus opening his mouth to speak.
Morgan didn’t wait, rushing forward, and judged this one just as rusty as Styrak. Their leader or not, it must have been a long while since he fought for his life. Lost his edge, something so hard to define yet incredibly noticeable once gone.
Yolanda joined him, because fighting fair was out of the question now that Bestia was left reeling, and Morgan kept the man’s attention as she vanished. Nearly took a leg, which the Dread Master managed to save, and ensured he had no time to pivot as the jedi Master put her lightsaber through his spine.
A touch and the man’s brain was set to be destroyed, the rituals strengthening the body doing little but slowing it down, and Morgan withdrew his hand as he nodded to Yolanda. They turned to Timmns, Bestia having fled towards the broken ship.
Tyrans joined her, disengaging as the passive slaves stopped being that. Kell and Timmns formed a defensive ring over Gasnic’s prone form as hundreds of weapons turned on them, lightsabers blurring to defend.
Morgan grunted, knives slipping free, and blood flowed as he cleared the area. Dozens tried to engage in melee, many more turning to him once it became clear he was the bigger threat, and none of it mattered.
He was forced to put on speed as Timmns collected Hemin, the kid having cut through a horde of beasts while maintaining their protections, and put a hand on the Masters shoulder as the man made to blow past.
“Enough.” Morgan barked, the jedi slowing to give him a glare. “Four out of six is a good day, Timmns. Hemin is at his breaking point, possessing a will of steel to make it this long, and you always look after your own over killing the enemy.”
The man looked to disagree, face hardening, and Morgan turned away as Yolanda started whispering to her ally. Moved over to Kell instead, who was bent over the unconscious form of Gasnic. A soft glow was enveloping the jedi, though it didn’t seem to have the desired effect.
Her eyes snapped over as he arrived, expression on the verge of panic. “It's not working. I can’t- Why isn’t it working?”
“Cursed.” Morgan answered, kneeling down next to the man. His own shoulder blackened further as he pulled some attention away from it, the technique embedded in the attack growing stronger. “Don’t touch him.”
Kell’s hand flinched away, Morgan putting his own on the jedi’s face. No visible wound, nothing that he could see, so it wasn’t the exact same thing Bestia had done. He pushed pure energy through the man’s core, essentially shocking the soul, and the infection flashed in clear contrast.
He got to work, having no idea where to start and deciding to invade the body himself. It brought Gasnic’s body to the point of death, having to endure two foreign powers at once, but the jedi stabilised slightly as Kell resumed her technique.
It was interesting what she did, and he spent a moment ensuring it wouldn't harm his patient, but ultimately not useful to himself. He was beyond injecting energy and hoping for the best, even if her technique was more refined than most.
Morgan bent his will to rooting out the curse, which was almost exactly what it was, and only really started making progress once he realised it wasn’t straight corruption. Close, acting much the same as how the traces on the stasis-prisons had, but also different. Multiplying more quickly, feeding off the host and consuming the Force to stay alive.
Almost between pure technique and actual organism, but far too brutal for his tastes. Morgan could achieve the same with just biology, even if created and fed by the Force, without having it gnaw at the soul.
It was slow going, at first, until he cornered and withered a fairly large part. Kell’s passive healing surged to fuel the man, waking with a start, and Morgan nodded as his patient stabilised.
“Blink twice if you can hear me.” He ordered, Gasnic blinking once then again. Sluggish but reactive. It would have to do. “Good. Normally I would be more gentle about this, but we’re not exactly in friendly territory. I’m going to spike your adrenaline, fuel rapid regrowth, and it's going to hurt like a bitch. Nod if you understand.”
Gasnic nodded, Kell took his hand, and Morgan surged most of his reserves into cleansing the man. It strained his focus, still recovering from wrestling over Fate, but it worked. Mostly. Hundreds of threads dug and clawed as the increased biological activity made the infestation riot, Morgan digging every last trace of it out and away.
Another few minutes passed until it was done, the jedi straining all the while, and Morgan stood with a weary sigh. Resumed fighting his own infection, and even if it would take some time, he at least knew what he was doing. If the Dread Master came back, though, someone else was going to have to put in the work.
He didn’t even have the energy to realise he just invented a way to counter curses, which he’d never seen before, on the spot.
Timmns arrived with the padawan close behind, moving forward with more speed than was strictly polite. Morgan didn’t feel any aggression off the man, but then his body language wasn’t all that happy either.
Morgan prepared for a strained talk, surprised to find Kell moving to cut the jedi off. So was Timmns, slowing down and flinching at the sheer hostility on her face. She snarled, hands clenched into fists, before abruptly turning aside.
Not, however, leaving. Watching from the sidelines, hand close to her lightsaber. Timmns swallowed, clearly not used to having jedi be displeased with him, and cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. I never meant that we should abandon Knight Gasnic. How is he?”
“He’ll live.” Kell replied, tone cold. “No thanks to you.”
The jedi Master bowed his head in apology. “My desire to hunt down the last of the Dread Masters overtook me, and I shall report my impaired judgement to the High Jedi Council. Thank you, sith. I am sure your reasons are your own, but you saved many lives today.”
Kell snorted, insulted for reasons Timmns clearly didn’t understand, and Morgan stepped forward to take her attention. Nodded to Gasnic, who was climbing to his feet with obvious strain. She moved to help him, anger forgotten.
“Forget penance.” Morgan said, the jedi Master raising an eyebrow. “Two lived. Not nearly as dangerous as six, but none would be better. We’ll hunt them, catch them before they can find a shuttle and disappear off-world. Hemin needs a break, as do we all, but we’ll keep pace. Wear them down. The more we fight them the more we get used to their tricks.”
“And they to ours, but I understand the point. I have also come to suspect how they escaped prison. There was a warden here, high-ranked, that looked more lucid than most. Yolanda theorized he was exposed over months instead of hours, which would suggest a failure in the Dread Masters containment system. If they got him-”
“They got a link to the outside.” Morgan finished, grunting. “And with it the ability to set themselves free. Interesting, if not particularly helpful right here and now. You did good, kid. The Force is about will more than anything else, and you got that in spades. If you want, we c-”
Hemin preened, trying and failing to remain aloof under the praise, and frowned as Morgan cut himself off. A feeling of wrongness was growing, his datapad going off a second later. Something which would only happen for one reason, making him scowl.
“Fuck. Couldn't give me one more day, just one, to wrap this up properly.” He turned, throwing Timmns a look over his shoulder. “Baras caught up. I have to go, now, but you and Yolanda continue the hunt. Gasnic isn’t ready, won’t be for hours, and no offence but I’m not sending Kell with you on her own. Is he ready?”
The last part was directed at said jedi, making her take a moment before nodding. “For travel, not for fighting.”
“Good. Don’t stray far from me, some of my people will shoot first and ask questions later. Back to the Imperial staging post, we won’t have time to wait for a transport, and Gasnic will set the pace.”
He didn’t wait for anyone to agree or disagree, moving towards the blocked exit. Yolanda had begun clearing it the moment fighting ended, a much more productive idea than to chase after the fleeing Dread Masters half-cocked, and he punched it.
Somewhat embarrassingly, it did nothing. Well, it pulverised a number of stones, but their enemy had been thorough. The tunnel was two hundred feet long, if he remembered correctly, and it looked like it had collapsed in its entirety.
Following the Dread Masters wasn’t in the spirit of leaving, even if it implied they had another way out, and he looked up. The buried cave had a hole at the top, like a stadium if four times the size, as stone gave way to ice. Travelling over instead of through would save time.
Morgan dug his fingers into the stone, even his normal strength enough to make it give, and climbed up. Creating handholds for his Knights, who followed without complaint. Not as quickly, but then he had to spend a moment ensuring the stone was stable.
The first part came easy, climbing straight up, but then it started curving. Curving in a way that made his feet drop if he let them, slowly forcing him to crawl upside down. He would have picked up the Knights and flown out, since he had the wall to hook his threads into, but not if he wanted his slowly refilling reserves intact.
Power he was going to need, judging by the way his datapad kept chiming. He settled for using the least amount of power he could, forcefully shaping the stone to create a better grip.
Up and up he went, not bothering to look down, until he finally cleared it. Found nothing but ice and snow for miles around, broken up by the occasional mountain peak or caved-in ceiling.
He set off once his charges joined him, following the feeling of energy. Of emotion and fear, since the largest group of that was the Imperial landing site. On open ground like this he could set a pace ridiculous even for Force users, though somewhat slowed by the still wounded Gasnic.
Nothing for it.
Morgan pulled out his datapad once they got into the rhythm, finding a pace that everyone could keep up with, and frowned. Baras’s fleet had come from the worst angle, meaning someone competent was in charge, and their numbers were worrying.
Gonn, his Republic-allied general friend, had estimated around forty destroyers or greater. The Enosis had gotten reinforcements, a number of their ships still being outfitted joining them, but only numbered nineteen.
Soft Voice had put a lot more money into those than regular Imperial vessels, though. Doubled shield generators and upgraded the engines, the ships having to be retrofitted regardless. Not exactly pretty, taking from pirates and warlords, and with designs ranging from half the galaxy, but in fighting shape.
Weapons had been harder, his friend had complained, but in terms of staying power he would bet Enosis ships against a regular Imperial destroyer eight to ten. Harrower-class dreadnoughts were a bigger problem, though simulation had shown two of their ships could tie it down reasonably well.
Baras’s fleet had come with numbers just over double theirs, with six dreadnoughts and the Javlin. Morgan clicked the name of that last ship, not liking that it was clickable.
A superdreadnought. Gifted to Darth Marr some time ago, equipped with radiation cannons, and apparently requisitioned by Baras as the Lord of the Sphere of Military Offense. That bit wasn’t in the briefing, hastily thrown together that it was, but he didn’t see any other reason Marr would let it go.
Morgan slowed without really meaning to, mind going in circles. That ship alone was nearly insurmountable, the custom Harrower boasting more plating, shielding and weapons without whatever the hell radiation cannons were, but with six more regular ones in support? With over two dozen destroyers of various make, all commanded by an admiral who was smart enough not to rush in?
He killed them. All of them. Baras had finally run out of patience, sending what anyone sane would consider massive overkill. Burned bridges within the Dark Council by leveraging his position against Marr, leaving a vast swath of the Empire unguarded by reassigning the fleet.
All to kill him. No sith Lord he could beat or lure, no Darth he might stand a chance against. A maybe, a gamble, but a chance. It was going to be about economy of scale with weapons the size of buildings, and he wouldn't be surprised if they were going to glass Belsavis afterwards.
Just to be sure.
Morgan slowed to a stop, Kell and Gasnic exchanging a glance. He ignored them. His plan had been to launch himself at a ship, maybe a few in a row, and turn them against their own allies. Set them to ram or distract as he got out. But with that many? It wouldn't matter.
Nothing he could do would matter. Bend steel, flip tanks, terrify a few hundred soldiers. They would just send more, employ weapons even his lightsaber-resistant bones would disintegrate under. Destroy their own ships the moment he boarded.
His wild, mock-worthy plan of unearthing some lost superweapon on the planet had gone nowhere. The plan to flee and retrofit with isotope-5 engines, outrunning their pursuers while building strength, needed weeks more.
None of it would work. All because he wanted to kill the Dread Masters, play the hero. Take care of a problem before it could spread, feeling all proud of his foresight and cleverness.
“Gasnic, Kell. I need a favor.” The pair looked, Morgan finding his voice strange to his own ears. “I don’t want to do this. I’m not ready for it, not healed enough, and nevermind being prepared for the consequences. Look after me?”
Kell bowed her head. “He would have died. I would have lost him. You will be safe for as long as I draw breath.”
“Not that kind of looking after.” Morgan smiled, calling the moon-shaped pendant. Vette’s soul pulses soothingly within, steadying his resolve, and he put it back. Turned his focus inward, to the slightly bored ally curled around his soul. He took a breath, fear being subsumed by the confidence of the desperate. “Show me.”
The Other surged in surprised joy as Morgan let the Force take him, falling deeper and deeper without boundary or safeguard. It swooped after him, proud as a bird finally seeing its friend fly. As a monkey seeing its brother climb, the horse watching the foal run. It pushed him deeper as impatience overcame restraint, tugging him away from something that felt vaguely like a black-hole.
Excitedly showed off something Morgan could make no sense of, the Other tucking it away with a disappointed sigh. Then it wrapped itself around him and pulled deeper still, sadness forgotten, and pulsed with all the things it wanted to show him next. Pulsed as it explained about the Mirror-Gods and Time-Fallen, Morgan’s mind shutting down as his perspective widened.
A surge of purpose kept him focused, thoughts flowing like rock as his mind became more memory than flesh. Felt a thing get sucked away and having no time to realise what, freezing as something impossibly vast looked at him curiously.
HeWhoSwallowedStars made excuses that Morgan couldn't comprehend, bowing towards the Elder with barely constrained excitement. The thing Morgan couldn't quite remember turned away, the Other rolling eyes it didn’t have. It had a name?
Elder lazy. More hunting? Have games, could share.
Morgan’s mind unravelled as it spoke in a way he could understand, HeWhoSwallowedStars blinking slowly as Morgan turned away. Turned back to the direction he came from, finding no path there at all. His purpose grew vague as he found no way to return to- To? Why was he here?
HeWhoSwallowedStars approached with a guilty wince, merging with his scattered focus. Clarity returned, Morgan’s mind shielded from the sheer impossibility of where he was. A thread of curiosity left him to wonder about the strange concept-name, finding it far too cumbersome.
Star. My name is Star.
He inhaled something that wasn’t air, finding the exit where it had always been, and didn’t think twice about what he had to do. What he planned to do, some vague half-memory fading further as Star guided him back to Belsavis.
Morgan smiled as tens of thousands of souls blazed in his vision, stepping onboard one of the metal-birds.
This was going to be enlightening.
----------------------------------------
Grand Admiral Mundas stared into the void of space, the deck of the Javlin bustling with activity. It wasn’t everyday he was called to annihilate an Imperial fleet, let alone with numbers this strong, but he was a loyal man.
An Imperial man.
He would do as ordered, even if it necessitated involving himself in sith politics. Something he had great success avoiding this far into his career, but it was a common joke within the naval academy that the longer one avoided it, the worse it would be. He took very little pleasure in finding the rumours to be true.
Nevertheless, he had his duty. Darth Marr had disavowed the traitors known as the Enosis, or at least done nothing to shield them, so their death was preordained. Nothing could stop that now, not when he caught them on Belsavis.
Mundas nodded as his fleet engaged, his dreadnoughts shielded by destroyers. Not a battle that was going to bring him praise, but avoiding angering the Dark Council would have to do. Nor was Darth Baras a patient man, which made it fortunate he caught them now.
Another delay such as the one of Quesh wasn’t going to be tolerated.
“Turn the Javlin to position nine-five and prepare torpedoes.” He ordered, eyes flickering down to his display. The battle was going well, but the enemy admiral was proving tenacious. “Deploy area-denial in sector one, ten and eighteen.”
If they were going to give him something as ridiculous as a superdreadnought, he was going to use it. The radiation cannons would make anyone think twice about boarding, even if their short range made them effectively useless otherwise, and winning this battle without losing a dreadnought was a must.
Not that Kala Tre was making it easy on him. Not officially an admiral, but he wasn’t going to insult her skill by calling her a mere captain. Twice now she saved her fleet from being split apart, forcing him to commit more and more to the center front, and he almost wanted to shake her hand.
Even if she was an alien.
Talent like that was sorely needed, especially now that she had proven a will of iron. Two ships sacrificed to deny him superior positioning, dragging the battle out more and more. Even managed to cripple four of his destroyers, relying on superior shields to bully through his line.
Brute force with an elegant twist. An inspiration to the dead-eyed men and women going through the academy today, regurgitating old strategies like simple mathematics. Battle was not some stale affair done by the book. It was music, ebbing and flowing like the harmony of the universe.
His opponent understood that. Why was it so hard for his own people to?
At least his son was proving himself better. Already a second-in-command aboard the Delta-class carrier The Provider, excelling in his role. Mundas had been prepared to pull strings and collect favors to ensure his son's career, and had been overjoyed when it proved unnecessary.
His wife was happy, his son was happy, he was stuck fighting against someone who he would rather talk to. Such was the nature of war.
The Needle is out of position.
Mundas flickered his eyes to The Needle, finding the dreadnought exactly where it was supposed to be. He shook his head, refocusing on the battle. “Destroyer one through nine, press right. Ten to thirteen, manoeuvre three.”
Ships moved as he cut off a rather brilliant plot to isolate the Killjoy, saving it from heavy damage and possible destruction. Losing a dreadnought would see his career done for, nevermind the excuses he could bring.
Grid one-fifteen is about to be overwhelmed.
“Deploy carrier one and two to grid one-fifteen.” Mundas barked, eyes roving to see what else he’d missed. He blinked, pressing a hand to his temple. “Delay that order. Tighten formation.”
He turned when no confirmation came, seeing his second reprimanding the communications officer. The woman had a wide grin on her face, unresponsive, and he was about to turn away to let someone else deal with it when she pulled her sidearm.
Klir knocked it out of her hand, a dedicated martial artist, and two guards ran over to restrain the woman. Then one turned on the other, shooting his squad-member point blank in the face, and Mundas shook his head.
Kids and their lack of discipline.
The Suppressor is compromised.
Mundas grew wide-eyed as the dreadnought turned on him, scrambling to order an attack. When no one answered he overrode their consoles, opening fire himself. The traitorous captain and her ship were torn apart as their shields failed, not suspecting an attack from behind.
“How did they get to my captains?” He demanded, furious. Mundas pressed the emergency fleet-wide communicator. “Full fire on the Aurora, this farce has gone on long enough.”
His loyal ships obeyed, turning to overwhelm the single ship. The enemy admiral had just about enough time to disable six destroyers and solidify her formation before the fury of his armada was unleashed on her. Mundas shook his head, disappointed.
Here he thought she had understood.
Mundas turned, finding Klir was bashing their navigators head against the console. “Stop reprimanding Aanjor and get this bridge in order, captain.”
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“Sir yes sir.” Klir responded, pivoting. He drew his sidearm and fired into the melee near the bridge doors, killing four before tucking it away. The sith supposed to be leading their security was clutching his head, the useless waste of oxygen, and mumbling something under his breath. “Sealing the command deck.”
The button was pressed and Klir put the weapon to his temple, enormous bulk-head doors securing their safety as the man pulled the trigger. Mundas turned as the body fell, satisfied.
“Open fire on dreadnoughts Killjoy and Blue-sky, their captains have been compromised.”
His officers confirmed the order and got to work, Mundas doing it himself when no one responded. Every weapon in his impressive arsenal was primed and fired, everything from high-yield torpedoes to turbolasers to automated fighters screaming to destroy the traitors.
It's time to debrief.
“Yes, debrief. I’ll be right there. This battle is just about won, regardless. Thank you, Darth Baras. It has been an honour.”
Mundas hummed as more of the enemy ships fell, loyal men and women turning to assist his preparation for their departure. His three remaining dreadnoughts turned to him, saluting as they carried out their orders.
Grand Admiral Mundas had done his duty. The Enosis was in disarray, no dreadnought had been lost, and he had avoided sith politics once again. His loyal captains opened fire, concentrated volleys ripping through the Javlin’s shields.
Another resounding victory for the Empire.
----------------------------------------
Barr checked his weapon as their breaching pod closed, stilling his hands with some effort. He was a Chosen, a squad-leader at that, and he was going to present a picture of absolute calm.
His six man squad, the sith assigned to them making it seven, fell silent as the countdown ticked closer to zero. Gallow humour and morbid bets giving way to low dread. The sith bowed her head, face solemn, and murmured a prayer.
Not something he would have picked up before his senses were enhanced, though in truth he didn’t really notice the difference. Times like this, though, it could be useful. She was murmuring a petition to Lord Caro, blessing their safe journey.
Barr didn’t put too much stock in it. A powerful sith, no doubt, and a man to whom he owed allegiance, but he left faith to others. Training and preparation, that was his prayer. Teamwork and morale his blessings.
The pressure of launch pressed him against his seat, soaring through space with nothing but an inch of steel to separate him from death. If by some stroke of luck they survived being shot, space would finish them. If by some insanity they got blown up but their breathing masks were intact, they would watch their tanks drain of oxygen before being rescued.
Barr calmed his racing mind, the engine of their craft shockingly silent. Here, separated from battle by vast oceans of space, it didn’t feel like they were losing at all. That it wasn’t hopeless the moment the superdreadnought stopped being cautious.
That too was pushed aside, grand strategy such as that far beyond his station. He was here to breach The Emerald, a modified destroyer isolated from help, and take the bridge. Destroy the reactor, though that was the responsibility of another team. Nine targets, from armories to communication centers, and he only had to accomplish one.
Easy enough.
Their flight through space was both harrowingly long and far too short, his hand snatching out to steady his most junior soldier as they impacted plating. Beckse, a rodian recruited straight into the Chosen from Quesh. On special orders of Lady Jaesa, at that. Former soldier, claiming to have witnessed Lord Caro slaughter half a thousand men in minutes.
Diligent, which in Barr’s mind was more important, and loyal to boot. Part of the drive to increase Chosen numbers, more and more aliens joining the ranks.
Barr didn’t hate aliens. He wasn’t used to them either, having served well over two decades under a human-supremacy commander, and he was annoyed by their special requirements. Hatred, though? No. Not that.
And complaining was against the current directive regardless, so he kept his mouth shut. More and more were joining Chosen ranks, his feelings not mattering as humans slowly became the minority, and he shrugged. He would do his job and adapt, as he had done for decades.
The drill finished cutting through The Emerald’s armour, Barr standing as his squad followed. Lady Immika was at the front, lightsaber in hand, and his people stacked up behind her. Practise and drills showed their worth, the process smooth even on skewed terrain. Their course-correction had fucked something, but at least they got to the target.
The door burst open and Immika ignited her lightsaber, giving his squad mobile cover. Yet there were no enemies waiting to repel them, an eerily empty hallway stretching both ways. Barr looked to where squad four should have already boarded, feeling his gut squeeze.
“Immika, guard right. Pealtic, left. Half and half. Beckse, get me contact with our ship. I need to know what happened.”
“That might betray our location.” She warned, hesitating. “Break radio silence. We-”
“Your objections are noted. Do it.”
Beckse obeyed, spending precious seconds getting nothing but silence. Then their operator responded, giving a sit-rep even more dire than what he’d feared.
Nine breaching pods had launched, one had made it to their target. Eight destroyed, taking twenty nine Chosen and seven sith with them. Barr clenched his hand around the grip of his weapon, pushing down the feeling of hopelessness.
Their operative recommended a withdrawal, but it was his decision. Their pod could reverse, braving space once again, but it would be suicide. Barr grunted, mind quieting now that his path was clear.
The only way out was through. “We continue. Take the bridge, seal it, turn their own weapons against them. Formation three, double-time.”
His squad got moving as Beckse closed the connection, body language hesitant. Barr waved at her, impatient.
“There was a last message.” She said. “Not by Hin, someone else. It said that the truth had been revealed.”
“Identification?”
Beckse shook her head. “No. The connection closed straight afterwards.”
“Ignore it.” He decided, catching the way their sith was thanking her messiah for their safe arrival. Barr felt his jaw clench, choosing to ignore that too. “Probably just caught some random chatter.”
The rodian clearly found that unlikely, because it was, but didn’t question it further. Barr pushed them onwards, past one empty hallway after the other, before Immika signaled for them to stop. She flashed more hand-signs, indicating left.
Enemy contact, about twenty, but in a state of disarray. The sith hesitated, adding the sign for abnormal waves in the Force.
Barr nodded, ordering them forward, and his weapon felt light against his shoulder as he took aim. Then hesitated just like Immika had, no amount of experience preparing him for the sight.
Imperial soldiers turning on eachother, weapons forgotten as fists and knives carved flesh and bone. How a lieutenant was strangling his own men, an engineer beating the specialist with a wrench.
He opened fire, enhanced reflexes and strength improving his aim past the point of natural accuracy. One squeeze and a soldier died, his men joining in a beat later as recoil and conscious thought became less important than instinct and training.
He might not be one for worship, but neither was he going to pretend he was ungrateful. Serve here or serve elsewhere, he was damned pleased to be part of the Chosen.
No one returned fire, no one even paid them any attention, and Barr signaled them to stop once the enemy was nothing but a pile of corpses. Then he froze, mind halting as another figure was revealed behind the brawl.
One that wore casual clothing, a loose fitting purple shirt gently flapping in non-existent wind. A man with mild curiosity on his face, turning away from the dead.
And towards them.
Barr fired, the bolt taking the figure straight through the head. The thing went translucent, skipping forwards a dozen feet for every step it took, and Immika pushed his weapon down.
Presented her lightsaber as a token, head bowed lower than he’d ever seen her do. The thing chuckled without making a sound, Barr finally realising why the man seemed familiar.
The eyes. Everything else was wrong, from the chin to the hair, but the eyes were the same. As if someone had put together a face by memory alone, not too concerned with fine detail. He swallowed, realising he’d just shot his Lord through the face.
Immika grew stiff as the thing put his hand on her head, trembling violently the moment he made contact, and nodded jerkily as the ghost vanished. Disappeared as if blown away, scattering until the particles became too fine for the naked eye to see.
“We need to leave.” Immika whispered, voice raw. “Now.”
Barr found his own voice, iron discipline returning. “Why? What happened? What- Who was that?”
The sith ignored him, moving back towards their breaching pod. Barr put a hand on her shoulder, surprised to find himself being dragged along. That hadn't happened since he was enforced.
“Explain. Immika, will y- Stop.”
She halted reluctantly, looking at him. Her eyes were red, pupils vanishing beneath a tide of burst blood vessels. “That was but a moment of his attention, and he’s turning the whole ship to madness. No one will shoot at our pod, no one will care. But we need to go, or we’ll join them. Bless His name we didn’t take regulars with us.”
He scowled, finding that a very unsatisfying explanation, but nodded. Got his people moving, all but sprinting as they made for their escape. Found two more groups had wandered into their path, tearing themselves apart, and Immika went through without slowing. All but threw herself into the pod, hatch starting to close before the last of his men had entered.
Barr pulled Beckse in at the last moment, scowling as the sith nearly got one of his people stranded. The woman didn’t care, murmuring an endless stream of prayer as she strapped in. Their pod pulled itself out, flipping over and accelerating as fast as it could.
His Chosen were pushed into their seats as their bodies weathered more pressure than any regular soldier could, Barr half expecting them to be dead before ten seconds passed.
But they survived ten. Then fifteen, thirty, a minute. Two minutes, then three. He felt himself relax, mind going back to the apparition with the eyes of his Lord.
What in the Emperor's name was going on?
----------------------------------------
Kala kept her emotions locked tight, nodding to her communications officer. A small red light started blinking, meaning her orders would be transmitted fleet wide, and she watched the constantly updating battle map.
Being put in charge of the entire Enosis fleet wasn’t a surprise, exactly, but the battle had come sooner than expected. Sooner than they were ready for, at that. Talent, she assured herself haughtily, was a double-edged short.
Reports were next to the map, courtesy of some very treasonous intel acquisitions, and detailing the specifications of her enemy. Not to put too fine a point on it, but they where fucked.
And she was expected to make something out of it.
Expecting to be outnumbered was one thing, something the modified and non-standard Enosis fleet was equipped for, but a point came where no amount of strategy could turn disaster into victory. Kala suppressed a smile, eyes flickering back and forth over the map.
Not a rookie admiral, this one. Far from it. His formation was loose, dreadnoughts protecting his flagship, and to the casual observer he would appear timid. She knew better. Knew that he had probably received stern warnings about losing any of those very expensive vessels, and that he went along with it because he wouldn't need them.
She distributed command as their doctrine dictated, captains assigned senior leadership over small groups, and it effectively split her fleet in four. It left micromanagement to them, allowing her to focus on the big picture, and they knew their people best regardless.
Kala would focus on the important things. Ensuring the enemy carriers didn’t let loose their full complement, for one, and where to be bold instead of cautious. The plan, as approved by Lord Zethix, was to stall and flee. Wait for her Lord to return and risk a wild jump into space. Scattered was better than destroyed, after all.
She was glad it wasn’t now. Eager to test herself against the full wrath of the Imperial navy. Prove that her alien, sub-human mind was better than their own. She had not forgotten the hazing and treatment of the academy. Not forgotten how she, despite scoring at the top of her class, was marginalised and ignored.
She would prove it was their loss, not hers, when she was cast aside.
Battle joined as they performed the age old greeting of a fighter exchange, her adversary seeming to agree it was beneath their skill. Kala shook her head as he tried to lure her into committing one of her heavier ships, a retrofitted super-freighter with more shields than its engine could handle. It let overlapping fields recharge between volleys, a clever if expensive application.
A smile formed as Mundas fell for a feint, Kala having to scramble as he saw through her bluff and nearly broke her formation wide open, but managed it by sacrificing the Anika. The Enosis and their names, honestly.
Naming ships was an old tradition, older than some languages, but doing so after the pirates you stole it from? Tasteless.
Kala didn’t flinch as the Anika was destroyed, the nine hundred men and women onboard vanishing with it. Escape pods saved some, if not many, though it seemed luck was on the side of the survivors. She traded a slightly worse position for the ability to shield them, the admiral more or less letting them go.
It appeared he wasn’t after the people, just the ships.
Another ship was sacrificed when Mundas turned her push into a crippling failure, using one of his dreadnoughts to smash into the Bloodhunter, and Kala felt her lips turn into a snarl.
“Tradersbane, Ikma, hard right. Push them towards grid one-four. Moonracer, fall back forty clicks. Feint engine trouble, then unload your fighters when they come to cut you off. With your overloaded cannons you ca- Hold. All captains, hold.”
She swallowed after giving the order, some confused chatter asking for clarification. That fell silent as they noticed what she had, their greatest threat annihilating one of their second greatest threats. The Javlin going mad signaled a stutter of confusion throughout both fleets, tightly controlled formations drifting apart.
Kala found her voice. “Scrap previous orders. Moonracer, Tradersbane, push the enemy out of grid eight. Ikma, use your railgun to disable them once isolated. Whitehound, take your group and push straight down the middle. I want their formation broken so wide they won’t even think about offence.”
There was a pause, people turning to her in silent horror and confusion, and she snapped at them to focus. Discipline reasserted itself, though she had questions of her own. But none of that mattered right this second, and she already had a pretty good idea on who that had been regardless.
Orders were followed as she watched the confusion turn to mortified panic, dreadnoughts turning on their rogue flagship. More reports came in as she danced through the changes, shelving anything non-critical. A boarding squad found hostile crewmen hacking each other to pieces? Probably not going to react quickly if she had the ship fired upon.
One destroyer turning on another, seemingly without reason, and four more breaking formation to get away? It left their carriers wide open, Kala more than happy to cripple them with what long ranged weapons she still had.
Unfortunately, order was restored. Ships stopped going rogue and some semblance of a formation was enacted, making her pull her own ships back. Reformed battle lines, her fleet down by four.
The enemy had lost more. Many more. Her crippling three-to-one going to a manageable two-to-one, even if they still fielded two dreadnoughts. This. This could be dealt with. This she could deal with.
So she did. Their new admiral was good, seasoned, but lacking that spark her previous opponent had. It was a testament to the discipline of the Imperial Navy that they rallied at all, kala knew most would have panicked had their flagship been decimated, but not them.
Having said that, whoever was in charge now played by the book. Played well, but predictable because of it. Aggression saw them pull back, use their still greater numbers to weather the storm, and Kala almost lazily crushed their attempt at a paradigm shift. Honestly, trying to swarm the Sandworm and Eclipse.
Like she would put ships forward incapable of dealing with that. The wave of flies flinched back when the Sandworm revealed twice as many close-ranged turrets as it should, painted to blend in. The benefit of retrofitting your own warships.
Half the swarm was lost before they got out of range, her opponent didn’t try that again, and Kala fell into the rhythm of bleeding them dry. Lost another two ships, the Eclipse included, but such was the price of battle.
Then one destroyer, the Azure Moon, surrendered. Cut off from her allies she had little choice, but it triggered a wave. More and more started pulling back, fleeing with uncalculated hyperspace jumps or joining her sisters by giving up.
She stretched, taking a moment to ensure she hadn’t missed anything, and turned away from the console. Boarding parties were already being prepared to take the vessels, offsetting their material losses, and from all reports the anomaly that had destroyed the Javlin had vanished.
She’d have time to panic about that later. Ask someone that would actually have an answer, not more confusing battlefield reports.
It left her to calm, slowly coming out of her battle high. Feel the guilt of sacrificing hundreds by using the Bloodhunter to buy time. Let her mind second guess every move, spinning endlessly as her staff compiled the list of lost and damaged ships.
Kala dropped into her chair, uncaring about her lack of posture. The anomaly was strangely similar to reports she’d read on the Dread Masters, if lesser in scope. She knew of only one that could reasonably have developed new abilities in a timeframe of hours, her missing Lord having saved the day once again.
Well, she would give herself some credit, but still. The Javlin had enough raw power to invalidate most strategies, the carriers enough fighters to crush her squadrons wholesale. It didn’t fill her with joy, having to be saved, but she would learn from this. Ensure her people practised fighting against superior numbers.
Her second walked up, bending down to whisper in her ear. She grunted, righting herself, and followed the man out. She liked Clara better, both as her officer and as a person, but Klerk was competent enough. Had a good insight into people, complementing her own weaknesses.
He took a moment to close the door to her private quarters, face blank. A creeping sense of dread started developing in her stomach, but Kala pushed past it. “Spit it out, commander.”
“It's about captain Clara, ma’am.” Klerk began, visibly steeling himself. “She took command of the Eclipse nineteen hours ago, filling in for their captain. It appears the man came down with something nasty, his commander not feeling up to the task of commanding. Captain Clara arranged her transfer from The Transport, apparently unsatisfied to babysit Lord Caro’s troops. Apologies, ma’am. I only found out fifteen minutes ago.”
Kala shook her head, uncomprehending, and half staggered to her desk. She felt her face slip into the mask of duty, voice toneless. “Why was I not informed?”
“It appears she thought it would influence your judgement during battle.” Klerk said, clearly agreeing. “Said that she would not stand for preferential treatment over the other captains, not if she was going to lead a ship. I’m terribly sorry, ma’am.”
She blinked, finding herself speaking without meaning to. “She took command over the Eclipse. The Eclipse, which I sent to hold the most dangerous position in battle. The Eclipse, which was destroyed when their last dreadnoughts turned one hundred and four turrets on it. Overwhelmed it's shield in twenty one seconds, a third of the time needed for even the most optimistic evacuation. That Eclipse.”
“I'm afraid so, ma’am.” Klerk responded, putting himself in front of the door when she stood. “The Yamada has surrendered, ma’am. Taking the dreadnought for ourselves was a plan you approved, a decision endorsed by the entirety of the captaincy.”
“Get out of my way, commander.”
Her second swallowed but remained where he was. “Apologies, ma’am. Not until I’m sure you are not going to order the destruction of our most valuable salvage asset. Not until you watch this.”
He held up his datapad, Kala finding her friend staring back at her. A beat of hope was crushed when she saw it was just a recording, Clara’s face frozen on the screen.
She was vaguely aware of Klerk leaving after she took it, the door closing behind him. It was locked with an off-handed button press, Kala collapsing in her chair. Spend a good minute staring at the datapad, a shaking finger finally pressing start.
“Kala. If you’re seeing this, then I’m dead.” Clara smiled almost as brightly as she normally did, eyes flickering to the side. “I’m about to take command of the Eclipse, and this is just in case. If I’m watching this with you, punch me. It was stupid not to tell you, but it's too late now. I’m sure you’ve pulled victory from defeat or we got away without ever meeting the enemy, but then it's always best to expect the worst. You t-”
A touch and the recording was paused, a sob half swallowed as the full weight of her failure crashed down on her. She got her best friend killed. Got her only friend killed, and here Clara was, reassuring her it was alright. Thinking two steps ahead, a dozen times better with people than she would ever be.
She got her best friend killed, and the worst part was that she couldn't see another way. Couldn't look back and find an alternative, for the Eclipse was one of two ships best outfitted to handle heavy fighting. Together with the Sandworm, which she had sent too.
She got her best friend killed, and such was the price of battle. The video resumed and Kala felt a great nothing swallow her grief, the thrill of victory turning to ash.
“You told me that, back when we were in the academy. Even let me copy from your tactical briefs, switching to playing them out with me using mock battles. Remember that? Now we lead ships of war, and I don’t think I ever really thanked you for that. For helping me realise my potential. But enough nostalgia. If I am dead, this is what you’re going to do. How you’re going to process and move on.”
“You are strong, Kala.” Clara said, eyes seeming to bore into her own. “And you will get past this. Firstly, don’t be alone. Get Vette, anyone, and rage. Rage and scream and swear vengeance against the Empire, but make sure you do so privately. You have an image to uphol-”
Kala listened, the exact words blurring together, and felt the nothing recede an inch.
----------------------------------------
Gasnic steadied his breathing as Kell promised to take care of a sith Lord, weakness spreading through his body. Not the fatigue of injury or the stress of pushing oneself too far, but something else. Something deeper.
Lord Caro closed his eyes, face relaxing as stress vanished. Meditation had that effect, especially for those well versed in the art. Preparation for battle? A strong mental foundation was important, and they did just fight the Dread Masters.
Then the man collapsed, as if his muscles all failed at once, and Gasnic watched Kell catch him. She shot him a panicked look, speaking a hundred words in the smallest of a second. He read it all, unable to stop himself.
What happened, why did it happen, what should we do, will he wake up, what if he doesn’t wake up, will people think we killed him, will Master Argrava think we killed him, is he dead, why can’t I feel his soul, does this change our oath, why did he-
Gasnic stopped the torrent of information, leaning down to put a finger on the sith’s neck. A strong pulse, one that beat twice where it should only do so once, but no reflexive reaction at being touched. He pulled up an eyelid, finding pupils unresponsive, and shrugged.
Kell picked the man up, slinging him over her shoulder as she calmed herself. Not outwardly, of course, but he knew her. Knew her far too well. So well that feelings he was not used to, had no idea how to deal with, had started surfacing.
Perhaps the most terrifying moment in his life, having her confront him about it. He only realised later that she had applied her usual strategy of covering uncertainty and weakness with aggression, be that physical or emotional.
He kept pace as she moved, ensuring he didn’t damage his body further. It was strange, owing his life to one who he had spent so long fighting against. The sith order, he admitted, and not the sith in question, but all the same.
Time passed as they sped across the frozen wasteland, high above the caves and canyons of the civilized world. Anyone without very specialised equipment would have frozen already, even his hardened physiology complaining about the cold, and his mind turned to their next move as a distraction.
What, exactly, were they going to say to Lord Caro’s people? Their relationship was not well known, let alone by the rank and file, nor did he believe they could convince them to summon their leaders. Two jedi, carrying the body of their Lord? Who was, as Kell had said, without a soul?
That alone would probably get them detained, if not worse, and would waste time no one had. Gasnic allowed himself a flicker of irritation as yet another spike in the Force tugged at his attention, not wanting to be distracted by the battle in space. Lord Zethix and Lana where powerful, he knew that, so he saw no reason wh-
“Stop.” He said, tone firmer than it usually was. “Put him down.”
Kell did, surprised, and he pulled back the Lord's eyelids. His partner took a step back, murmuring some ancient prayer he had no time to recognize, and he put his hand on the man’s chest. Beskar was in the way, but it didn’t matter. Not to his senses.
No soul, as Kell had said, but he focused deeper. Past resistant flesh and passive defences, that alone making this possible. Something else was there, lurking at the edge, and Gasnic did the Force equivalent of pinching it.
Lord Caro snapped upwards, pushing him away. Gasnic moved with the blow, lessening the impact, and still tumbled a dozen feet. He stood, Kell having moved in front of him, and watched the man climb to his feet.
“Apologies.” Morgan said, tone strangely hollow. “Thank you for the interruption.”
Kell frowned. “Are you alright?”
“Yes.” He replied, stretching. The Force groaned as the man stretched his aura, keeping it much less restrained than usual, and Gasnic grew warier. “Better than I’ve felt for a long time, actually.”
Gasnic let Kell take the lead, as usual, and she asked the questions he was curious about. As usual. “Are you sure? Your eyes- I’m not sure how to describe it.”
“By being honest.” The man said, looking down. Ice gave him his reflection. “Oh. Well, I will admit that doesn’t look good. I feel fine, however.”
Kell opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “Your eyes are black. No iris, or pupils. Just black. Like they’ve been replaced by marbles.”
“Yet they work just fine. Come, we must see how the battle has concluded. My memory of events is hard to parse, but I’m sure I did something.”
The sith Lord took off, Gasnic following as Kell did. He flexed his hand, fingers flowing through hand-signs as smoothly as ever. Compromised?
Maybe. Assume yes. Get allies.
Her reply was quick, they spent long evenings practising for just such an occasion, and he interpreted her sign for allies as getting him to Lady Beniko or Lord Zethix. Either would be, at the very least, able to contain him.
Kell not having to carry a body did speed up their return, the sith Lord looking down at the hundred-plus feet drop as they got back within Imperially controlled territory. The man shrugged, uncaring about the cliff of ice, and stepped over the edge. Gasnic looked down, curious, and was just in time to see him land with little more than a flex of his knees.
Shrugging, and motioning to his partner, they made their own way down. Slower, though his recovery meant he was able to stick himself to the ice instead of needing handholds, and as they did the waiting Morgan turned towards the Imperial base.
With impatience flashing over his face.
Another inconsistency, one that didn’t bode well at all. Gasnic hung back as they got closer to the checkpoint, dozens of nervous Imperials guarding the fortification. One of which stepped forward, saluting, and held out a datapad. To record their entry, according to basic logic, needing nothing but a meaningless scrawl before they could pass.
Morgan snapped the soldier's neck. Gasnic froze as the soul drifted away, the abruptness surprising him almost as much as the act. The rest of the guards decided signing in didn’t matter after all, backing away as their weapons clattered to the floor. Gasnic tightened his shields, for what little good it would do, and joined Kell as she passed into Imperial territory.
When they caught up with the sith he was studying the sky, shrugging. “He wasn't mine. Come, there is no more time for interruptions.”
Compromised. Kell signalled, backing away further. Still following, but it was clear by now something had gone very wrong. Contact allies.
Waiting until they reached the fleet would be a bad idea, Gasnic agreed. Nor was he looking forward to sharing a shuttle with the man. They moved deeper into the Imperial base, Morgan seeming to know his way around, and entered an unassuming building within minutes.
Some twenty odd people were inside, five of them sith. Only two of which wore lightsabers and robes, a detail which Gasnic filed away, and all were too busy saluting to pay him or his partner any attention.
Thankfully, the sith Lord took to meditating after ordering a shuttle. Sitting down in the far corner, unconcerned with the none-too-clean floor or the sneaking glances of his men. Gasnic was about to turn when waves of what he could only describe as terror began drifting from the man’s form, even the other sith in the room taking a cautious step backwards.
Kell was whispering to the robed man not a minute later, outside and away from Lord Caro. Convincing him to send for the other Lords, fleeting glances showing exactly how nervous the man was. One of the younger Chosen staggered outside, for that was all these men and women could be, and actually fainted.
That seemed to settle the robed sith’s hesitation, at least.
The rest toughened it out with grim faces, not a whisper of complaint leaving their lips as the corner of their room grew darker and darker. Shadows knitting closed as the sith Lord seemed to melt away, replaced by the beating heart of fear itself. Gasnic shepherded them outside when it began pulsing.
He thanked the Force for Kell’s persuasiveness when the two sith Lords arrived some twenty minutes later, wondering how strange his life had become as he did. Morgan’s eyes snapped open when they walked inside, the devaronian ignoring him as the woman spared them a curious glance.
This was rapidly growing outside of his level of responsibility, but Kell didn’t leave. Nor seemed to want to, for that matter, and so Gasnic stayed. Watched as the hulking devaronian stared at the corrupted sith for several long seconds.
“You know, Mad Mouse, I seem to recall a pact we made. This was a while ago now, back on Korriban, and after we were given that shitty grain-vodka. You were still chubby back then, and I as handsome as ever. Remember that?”
Lord Caro stood, movement fluid, and tilted his head. “Quarantine protocols. How one could strip command and responsibility from the other if they are suspected to be compromised. I am not compromised. I also recall me saying that it couldn't work, because why would someone play along when they do not wish to?”
“Such is the nature of corruption.” Lord Zethix agreed. “Now, I’m not going to do that. Mostly because I don’t believe you’ve actually been compromised. Can you tell me what happened? Rest assured that the battle is won, and that there are no pressing matters for either of us to attend.”
Morgan shrugged, eyes sliding past the man’s face to look at Lady Beniko. His gaze returned to Zethix, the devaronian taking it without a flinch. “To summarise, I helped some jedi kill four of the Dread Masters, Kell and Gasnic swore themselves to my service, I saved Gasnic’s life. Timmns got greedy, I felt the battle starting a moment before receiving the emergency alert, made my way over here. Realised it was my fault we got caught, asked the Other to show me how to win, now we’re here.”
“And what did you see?” Zethix asked, grabbing a chair. Lana was watching with a blank mask, not saying much, and Gasnic sympathised. “Not with the Dread Masters, though that alone is something I’m going to want to hear about in great detail. I meant with the Other.”
Lord Caro waved his hand. “Me. I saw me. What I could be, will be, always have been. Past and present blending together as my perception of reality got adjusted. My eyes turning black is, I believe, partially the fault of-”
Gasnic grew stiff as sound unlike anything he’d ever heard reached his ears, thoughts stilling as his focus stuck on the idea forcefully injected into his mind. Kell had fallen to her knees, blinking tears of blood, and both of the sith Lords had grown tense.
“Of Star.” Morgan amended, watching their reaction curiously. “Interesting. Anyway, partially the fault of the Star. He tried to adjust my sight when I briefly went catatonic, but having never seen human eyes before, didn’t do a great job. I can fix it when I get some time.”
Lord Zethix smiled a strained smile. “I’m sure Vette will be glad to hear that.”
“Who?”
“No one.” Lana covered smoothly, the devaronian tucking away a frown. “Someone new, picked up from Quesh. Very interested in studying fleshcrafting, since she’s blind. Hearing you can regrow or alter eyesight will be good news to her.”
Morgan flickered his eyes back and forth between them, relaxing after a moment. “Right. Anyway, I’m not corrupted or compromised. Changed, maybe, but then isn’t that what happens when we grow more powerful?”
“That’s true.” Zethix admitted easily, shifting his weight. “Speaking off, there's a technique you told me about. Something about burying an object in the Force, like Ekkage did with her lightsaber. Mind demonstrating it?”
An annoyed grimace passed over Morgan’s features, tone growing clipped. “Now? You realise I’m maybe a little tired, right? You know, turning hundreds of people insane and killing four Dread Masters?”
Neither Gasnic nor Kell corrected the man on the fact he helped to kill four Dread Masters, the devaronian chuckling as he made a calming gesture. “I know, I know. Humor me? Don’t say you wouldn't find it curious, in my place.”
“Fine.” Morgan said, irritated. He reached his hand sideways, Gasnic averting his sight without really meaning to, and he looked back as the silence stretched. Lord Caro was looking at a roughly carved wooden moon, turning it around. “This- What is this? I don’t remember putting anything in there. How did I know I could do it if there wasn’t anything in there?”
The man turned it over and over, frown deepening every time he did. Gasnic felt awkwardness replacing the tension as a tear slid down the man’s cheek, confusing the sith further, and Kell indicated the door.
The tear turned into mumbled confusion before they could leave, door closing as the man’s voice drifted out. Gasnic was more shaken than seemed reasonable by how broken it sounded, Lord Caro’s voice sounding older than it should.
“I don’t know how much longer I can do this, Soft Voice. How much more of this I can take. This isn’t- None of this is something I’ve trained for. Prepared for. If it wasn’t for her soul I’d have forgotten the best thing to ever happen to me. I can still feel it, that absence of memory lurking in the corners of my mind. Why-”
The speech cut off into sobbing, Lana joining them outside a moment later. The devaronian stayed, though Gasnic was almost pathetically thankful he couldn't hear anything anymore. Fighting he could do, risking his life and training until his head pounded. Listening to someone suffer a mental break?
“Is he going to be alright?” Kell asked, Lady Beniko turning to her. “I owe him, but I don’t think I can help with whatever this is.”
Lana snorted. “You can’t. Be thankful Vette has suspiciously good timing, because I don’t think Zethix and I could have stopped him from going on a rampage. Not really. Not with whatever he was juiced up on, and certainly not without killing him. Give it time. That and mental support. Not all strength comes from the Force, nor can someone push themselves past their limit indefinitely. Everyone breaks eventually, I believe the saying goes. I’m starting to realise it's more important to ensure you have people to pick you back up than to try and stop it. He invited you two to stay?”
Gasnic nodded, Kell answering. “He did.”
“More strays. Delightful. Well, better make yourselves useful. There’s plenty of people in the Enosis clamouring to talk with a jedi. They like different perspectives.”
He nodded, not finding that a terrible idea, and took a last look at the building. Whatever Lord Caro went through, the man needed a break.
For all their benefit.