Morgan contemplated his newest discovery, sitting in another shuttle and being taken to the academy of Korriban proper.

‘That Overseer had been far too weak.’ He thought, mentally comparing the male Overseer to the one he was familiar with.

Soldiers stood near the entrance to the cockpit, but in stark contrast to the last time he had been in a shuttle, they stood ramrod straight. Their helmets obscured their faces, but Morgan could feel the fear under their discipline.

He resisted chuckling. ‘They should be. A dozen acolytes in a shuttle, and any one of us could rip them apart.’

Some would be stopped by the presence of the Overseer, clearly felt in the cockpit with who he assumed was the pilot.

But others would not. ‘That Overseer must be hiding his strength. Soft Voice could rip him apart, and so would most of the top ten.’

‘Or maybe he isn’t. Maybe he really is as weak as he feels.’ Over the last year he had gotten rather good at estimating how strong someone was. He had learned hard lessons by under or overestimating his opponents, but the Force told many secrets to those that knew how to listen.

How fluidly their body-enforcement flowed, and how easily they stepped. How they held their shoulder, or looked at those they didn’t consider a threat. It would be impossible to know every secret without a proper fight, but Morgan could get close. Closer than most.

‘That Overseer is either especially weak, or our Overseer was something special.’

The shuttle slowed, and Morgan stood up with the other acolytes.

‘I suppose I’m about to find out.’

----------------------------------------

Overseer Tremel watched as three shuttles landed, and acolytes spilled out by the dozen. He held a report in his hand, and turned his eyes to it as the acolytes were directed to stand in formation by an Overseer.

‘Project Culling. The experimental effort of Darth Natra to find an apprentice worthy of her mentorship.’ It read. ’One hundred Force sensitive slaves were gathered, and Overseer Sasha was appointed as its sole trainer. The aim of the experiment was to ascertain if the increase in competition, and isolation of the outside world, would result in increased performance by the acolytes. This project was discontinued after her death, and all surviving acolytes were transferred to the main academy.’

Tremel’s eyes skipped the next several pages, detailing various incidents early in the training.

‘Due to unforeseen actions by acolyte Zethix, he managed to build a stable alliance between a large number of other acolytes. Darth Natra was consulted as to set the experiment back onto its proper path, but the Darth declined the Overseer’s recommendation. It is unknown what caused the Darth decision. Overseer Sasha continued the project as normal.’ Tremel looked back to the group of acolytes, and saw this acolyte Zethix rather easily. Towering and confident, he was currently talking with another acolyte. An acolyte that was looking directly at him, nodding periodically at what the giant of a devaronian was saying.

Interesting.

He skimmed more pages, until he came upon what he was looking for. ‘Due to an incident involving acolyte Morgan - the exact nature of this incident can be found on page 64 - Overseer Sasha conducted an accelerated pain resistance course. Several additional acolytes, those deemed to be of low importance to the project, were inducted as decoys. This ensured that the subject did not notice any irregular treatment, nor reacted unnaturally to the course.’

Tremel raised an eye, skimming over the rather well detailed breakdown of acolyte Morgan’s psyche. He had put in his request for that acolyte an hour ago, mentally cursing that he hadn't been able to get the highest ranked acolyte. There hadn't even been time to do a thorough reading of the document beforehand, with how quickly things had moved after the Darth’s death. He had to settle for the second ranked, knowing any delay in choice would see others get his prize.

‘And of course Darth Marr finally got his special military sith battalion out of this, and snagged the best acolyte to boot.’ Tremel mentally cursed. ‘What a waste. Still, the second best isn’t too bad. If only that idiot of an Overseer would hurry up his speech. I have other things to do, and standing here waiting isn’t part of it.’

Unfortunately, the Overseer that had been tasked with collecting the acolytes from their facility seemed to only get more enthusiastic as he went on, and Tremel turned his attention back to his datapad.

‘Acolyte Morgan, after gaining the proper resistance to pain, mostly remained unremarkable. He managed to secure a place in the top ten after the three month mark passed, ensuring his continued training by the Overseer. It was only nearly four months after the projects started that the acolyte's true value seemed to manifest itself. Acolyte Morgan steadily rose in skill, seeming to copy any ability his opponents used against him. If an acolyte discovered a new trick, or improvement, acolyte Morgan seemed to learn it soon after. This, coupled by extensive additional training from acolyte Zethix, has resulted in acolyte Morgan rising to the second rank nearing the end of the program.’

Overseer Tremel scowled, wondering if he’d made a mistake. ‘If that boy was only ranked second by hanging off acolyte Zethix’s coattails, he’ll be dead in days.’

He noticed that the long winded Overseer was finally coming to the end of his speech, so he scrolled all the way to the end of the document. He raised an eye at the recently added addendum.

‘Acolyte Zethix, after feeling my distress at hearing about the death of Darth Natra, gathered four followers and attempted to confront and force answers out of me. They succeeded. Think of me what you will, think me a coward, think me weak. It was not a fight I would have won, and the prize they demanded not one I would die for. Underestimate any of the acolytes I’ve trained at your own risk. They will not hesitate, they will not cower. Darth Natra commanded me to train sith without peer. I succeeded.’

Tremel begrudgingly admitted that Overseer Sasha was an accomplished teacher, being his senior by almost a decade. ‘Still, being forced to do anything by mere acolytes is shameful. Being an open supporter of Natra is bad enough, now that she failed to kill her master. This cowardice will see her dead.‘

The acolytes were finally moving, and Tremel looked at them. Factions were clear, and the devaronian had the largest by far.

To his rather extreme interest, the imperial soldiers he had sent to bring his new acolyte to him where not only stopped, but blocked access to acolyte Morgan entirely. Acolytes that by all accounts should have hated or feared their fellows worked together like a pack of hounds, surging forward and stopping the advance of the soldiers.

Tremel’s eyes narrowed after the corporal barked at them to move aside, the soldiers he had chosen familiar enough with fresh acolytes to not be cowed so easily. Instead of moving, the Sith pureblood barked some words of his own, and the acolytes with him tensed.

Acolyte Zethix, Tremel saw, did nothing but look on with interest.

The soldiers refused to stand down, and so did the acolytes. Tension increased, until Tremel himself felt a tingle of nerves. Not for his own safety, for he was far from the conflict, but for the safety of the soldiers.

Not because he cared for them, certainly. But even he would have to answer for it if a veteran squad was wiped out when under his authority. And now he had a problem, for Acolyte Morgan still needed to be summoned. ‘And I’ll be damned if I fetch him myself like some lowly errand boy.’

Before he could come up with a solution, Acolyte Morgan clapped the devaronion on the shoulder, and walked towards the soldiers.

The other acolytes parted for him, and the sith pureblood saluted. Tremel mentally noted down to read the rest of the report later. This was not how he had seen this scenario play out. He had expected acolyte Zethix to intervene, if anyone.

Tremel watched as the soldiers informed his new acolyte where to go. ‘At least he isn’t wasting any time.’ He thought, irritated, as his new acolyte jogged towards him.

“At last you’ve arrived. Good. There is much to do and every moment is crucial.” He told the acolyte the moment he stopped before him. “I am Overseer Tremel. I administer the trials that prove who is and is not worthy to join the sith order.”

The Overseer gave his new acolyte a severe look, noticing his relaxed posture. “The trials are a chance to weed out the weak. Those who face them either survive and become sith, or die.”

Tremel could feel no emotions coming from acolyte Morgan, but his face betrayed a faint sense of amusement. Some of his colleagues relied so heavily on the Force that they neglected the proper study of character. Fools.

“Do you think this is a joke, acolyte Morgan?” He demanded.

Morgan stayed silent for a moment, and the Overseer caught surprise fluttering over his face. “The sith are no joke, Overseer.”

His irritation spiked, and he nearly lashed out. At the last moment, however, he reined himself in. But not before noticing how acolyte Morgan’s body language had shifted. As if to prepare for attack.

‘He shouldn’t have felt anything from me. I really do need to properly read up on my new acolyte.’ He reminded himself again. ‘That is rather advanced precognition.’

“You are here because I deemed it so. I expect you to obey.”

Acolyte Morgan nodded calmly, but stayed silent. Overseer Tremel continued, deciding he had wasted enough time here.

“In the tomb of Ajunta Pall you will find a warblade, a proper weapon for an acolyte. Go there, and do not return without it. When you are done, go to my chambers in the academy. Before I forget, there is an acolyte here by the name of Vemrin. He is your enemy.”

He scowled at the acolyte, who was calmly noting down what he had said on a datapad. “That is all. Go, before I lose my patience.”

Acolyte Morgan gave a shallow bow, and left without complaint or question.

Overseer Tremel watched him go, annoyed and uncertain. ‘There are Sith Lord’s less able to hide their emotions, but he felt as weak in the Dark as a newborn.’

‘So why do my instincts tell me to kill him now, before he kills me?’

----------------------------------------

‘Well, ’ Morgan thought, ‘killing him won’t be as difficult as I thought it would be.’

He was walking down to the entrance of the tomb, taking in the sights. Enormous statues could be seen looming in the distance, and everything seemed too big. Stairs built for those larger than him, seats carved so enormous no man could sit on them. A sense of scale that told him this place was built for giants, not mortals.

And for all that hazy memories told him this place should be crawling, it was deserted. No k'lor'slugs in sight, no medical droids or soldiers. Not even Soft Voice or the other acolytes.

‘Overseer Tremel felt about as strong as the Overseer that came to collect us.’ He contemplated. ‘And that means killing him is on the table. He’s stronger than me, sure. But my shield won’t break under that amount of power, and that means it will come down to the saber.’

He spotted the entrance to the tomb of Ajunta Pall, and steered for it. It was smaller than he thought it would be, and fortified. Steel doors had been installed, with guard stations around it.

Yet no soldiers were there to occupy them, and the doors were unlocked.

Walking into the dark, he hummed an old tune stuck in his head, and admired some of the murals in the tomb. Grand carvings of who he assumed was the Sith Lord that was buried here, with various scenes depicting the Lord’s rise to power.

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He walked further into the tomb, walking hallways too big and noting rows of coffins. ‘Filled with soldiers, maybe? Or servants, meant to serve their Lord even in death?’

Sounds of fighting, of blasters firing and soldiers bellowing, interrupted his gawking. He drew his blade, enforcing his body with the Force as he sped up. He turned a corner and came upon some twenty soldiers under attack. A barricade had been made, and the soldiers were desperately trying to keep k’lor’slugs from getting over it.

Without thinking about it too much, he jumped over the barricade and into the wall of k'lor'slug pincers and teeth. He ignored the cursing and shouting of soldiers, instead focussing on weaving between attacks.

Over the last year, Morgan had participated in a rather large amount of fights.

Sparring with Soft Voice, or others of his faction, had filled many afternoons. Brutal competition, overseen by the Overseer, had happened every morning, with more fighting between factions commonplace.

‘It really is a wonder thirty six of us made it out of there alive.’ He thought, leaning left to dodge a maw filled with many, many teeth.

A year of that, however, had honed his skill with the saber to a degree he still found exhilarating. K’lor’slugs couldn't shield themselves, so Soft Voice would have sent the horde flying like puppets. Maybe other acolytes would have used brute strength, ripping the beasts apart.

He, unlike most acolytes, favoured control. Nudging claws or heads slightly to the side was doable. Picking them up not so much. K'lor'slugs were heavier than people, and stronger than any not enforced with the Dark.

Lucky for Morgan, k’lor’slugs, while highly aggressive and possessing tough hides, did not display any great degree of teamwork.

So he slipped and dodged past a whirlwind of teeth and claw, thrusting his lightning coated saber into soft underbellies or gaping maws. His high precognition, still arguably his best asset, had him slip past any dangerous attacks they could make. Plentiful jumping stopped him from getting surrounded, and from there it was a matter of time.

After cutting down most, and noticing that the soldiers had stopped firing entirely, only two larger specimens were left. They hissed and reared up, attempting intimidation. Their bellies had hardened scales, and they kept their maws closed when not trying to bite his head off.

‘Older, more experienced fighters.’ He noted.

Before either he or the worms could make the next move, small, rounded objects flew overhead. The Force told him the k’lor’slugs would skitter back, dodging most of the damage done by the grenades.

So he gave them a push, a flex of will sending the explosives flying faster than they should have.

Light filled the tomb, with less shock or power than Morgan would have thought. The k'lor'slugs where still blown apart, and with them dead he turned around to face the soldiers.

Helmed faces greeted him, and little but exhaustion and tension could be read from them. Rare was the soldier not injured, but no dead could be seen. He could see soldiers treating wounds, both their own and of others, and a medic looking after the more seriously injured.

“Sir!” A soldier, with sergeant markings on his shoulder, saluted. “Sergeant Cormun, fifth infantry company, Korriba regiment. You have my gratitude, and that of my men, for your assistance.”

The soldiers didn’t feel particularly grateful to Morgan. Mostly just tired, relieved and afraid. The fear, he noted, spiked whenever he looked at them. ‘Afraid of me, then. Fair enough.’

“At ease, sergeant.” He told the man. “You and your men did good work holding the barricade as you did. It kept them from swarming you, and prevented any casualties.”

Sergeant Cormun had taken off his helmet, so Morgan could see the wince that he tried to suppress. “Beg pardon, sir. I was assigned this post with thirty men.” He gestured to the dead beast littered around the barricade, and looked at his men. “K’lor’slugs have a tendency to eat the dead. I’ve lost eleven good soldiers since I’ve been given this post, three of them in this engagement.”

Morgan let the flash of embarrassment come and go. He had known that, with how his friend had drilled everyone on the native beasts of Korriban. ‘No bodies on the ground means no casualties. If only.’

“My apologies, sergeant.” He said, for lack of anything better coming to mind.

After a second of silence, where Morgan turned his mind to the Force to feel for any more beasts nearby, the sergeant awkwardly cleared his throat. “Have you been sent here on a trial, my lord?”

He turned his attention back to the soldier, and nodded. “Indeed. My Overseer has sent me to collect a warblade from this armoury.” He showed the sergeant his datapad, and tilted his head when the sergeant tapped on a wrist device.

“I’ve sent you a copy of the map our patrols have built, before k’lor’slug numbers grew too large.” Cormun pointed out a highlighted spot on Morgan’s updated map, just below the armoury. “The k’lor’slugs have been building breeding nests all over, sir. Me and my men have been tasked with clearing them out.”

The sergeant took a deep breath, and looked at his men. “We won’t succeed.”

Morgan looked at the soldiers, looking past their fearsome armour and trained movements. He looked at the way they bandaged their wounds. How silent they were, with no joy to be seen after surviving certain death.

“You’ve been sent here to die.” Morgan told the sergeant. “Why?”

Cormun spat on the ground, anger overtaking the fear he felt for the sith before him. “Politics. We saved some captain whose daddy bought him his commission. Seemed like a good move. Save the kid, maybe get a nice assignment from his general father.”

Anger bled into the sergeant's tone, controlled but deep. “But instead the captain complained to his daddy about how we embarrassed him. How we took his glory. So the general sent us here. And then, as if being surrounded by sith acolytes wasn't enough, he made sure we were given tomb duty.”

The sergeant looked up, and turned white. “No offence, sir.”

Morgan snorted, wiping his saber with a piece of cloth summoned from a half open crate. “None taken, sergeant. Most acolytes I’ve met are insane, cruel, short-sighted or all three. Luckily, the last tend to die quickly.”

Cormun didn't really know how to reply to that. “Yes, sir.”

Morgan looked at his map, thinking. “How about this, sergeant. I need a warblade, and you need to kill k’lor’slugs. I’m assuming your plan is to use explosives to blow up their nests?” The soldier nodded, and Morgan didn’t comment on the relief he felt pouring out of him at the change of subject. “Well then. It seems our objectives align.”

The sergeant looked at the map, then turned to his men. “How about it, soldiers!” He called.

His men snapped to attention. “Would you rather die here, whittled down one by one until the k’lor’slugs eat us all?” He roared.

“Or would you rather we help the sith, blow their nests back to hell, and get the fuck out of this dammed tomb!”

Boots stamped on the ground, echoing off the walls. Soldiers grabbed weapons, and the medic muttered angrily as the soldier he was treating surged up. “It seems we’re in, sir.”

“Excellent.” Morgan replied. “So, here’s what I’m thinking.”

He took his saber, pointing it deeper into the tomb. “I take the lead, drawing any beasties we find. You shoot them,” The sergeant frowned, “Don’t worry about hitting me, I’ll dodge. If you get overwhelmed, retreat at your own discretion. You know your men, how much they can take.”

“What about you, sir?”

“Worry about your own men, sergeant.” Morgan repeated. ”I’ll be fine. How long until your men are rested?”

Cormun turned a critical eye to them, assessing. “Thirty minutes to treat the wounded, and give the rest of them a breather.”

Morgan took a seat on a crate, closing his eyes. “Very well. Alert me when ready.”

----------------------------------------

They left a trail of bodies behind them, soldier and sith working together to clear the large tunnels one hallway at a time.

Another hidden ambush was sprung, Morgan jumping towards them with a little push of Force. He felt the soldiers take aim behind him, leaning left to dodge a stray bolt.

His precognition made this easier than it should be, with the sergeant’s men able to freely fire into the melee. Dozens of smaller k’lor’slugs died quickly, with only the larger specimens needing more personal attention.

When the short battle was over, he looked disdainfully at his saber. “I really need that warblade. This thing can't cut for shit.”

“Sir?” A soldier, the medic, asked when he came close.

“Never mind, corporal. Never mind.”

Morgan sat still as the medic applied some antiseptic spray and bandaged the cut on his shoulder, watching as the soldiers exchanged dark japes or ate some quick rations. ‘They seem in better spirits, at least.’

Quiet conversation drifted over. “With how aggressive these damn things are, you’d think they rip each other apart.”

“That would be easier, yes. But then what would rip us apart? You need to learn to look at the bigger picture, Norgrum.” Norgrum rolled his eyes, throwing back some water.

‘Rip themselves apart.’ Morgan thought, interested. ‘Sure, I’ll give it a try.’

In the next fight, of which there seemed to be an endless amount, he saved a smaller k’lor’slug to experiment on, waving dismissively at the sergeant when he looked over.

Over the next twenty minutes, in which the soldiers grew increasingly nervous, he finally found what he was looking for. ‘Their brains are simple, so, by process of elimination, this area should be aggression.’

He poked it with the force, and had to step back as the k’lor’slug stopped trying to crawl away, instead trying to throw itself at him with broken legs. He broke its head with his saber, hitting hard enough to make the metal groan.

“Good news, sergeant. I’ve found the area of the brain that deals with aggression. When we next see a big k’lor’slug, I'll try to get it to kill its smaller brethren.”

Sergeant Cormun had his face behind a helmet, but Morgan felt his abject fear anyway. “No need to concern yourself, sergeant. The human brain is too complex to be manipulated like that.”

Morgan turned, talking deeper into the tomb. ‘Well, for now. But experimenting on humans is wrong.’ He scratched his head. ‘Uhhm, on sentients. Experimenting on sentients is wrong. When they have done nothing to me.’

“For now.” He called back, making the sergeant stutter in his step.

----------------------------------------

Sergeant Cormun watched as the horde of k’lor’slugs that guarded the nest tore themselves apart, mesmerised.

The sith, as normal as he had seemed, was watching with an utterly fascinated look on his face. Cormun swallowed. ‘For now. He had said for now. That means he might learn to do that to one of us.’

He shook his head, stamping down on his fear. ‘No time for that. This sith has done nothing but be helpful. And if he decides to kill you, there is nothing you can do about it anyway.’

“The sith is waiting, sir.” Private Caire whispered.

He focussed with a start, seeing she was right. “Place the charges and detonate. Then we advance.” He called. “For now, conserve ammunition. Only fire if they come too close, or only the last remains.”

They continued through the tomb, picking up the pace now that the sith was almost single handedly tearing through every ambush or patrol they came across.

Finally, they came to the last nest, just before the armoury. The horde, larger than any they had seen, fell to infighting and heavy munitions. “Place charges and prepare for detonation.” He ordered his men.

The sith was approaching him, and he took off his helmet. “Sergeant Cormun. From here on I will continue alone. Please secure the entrance to the armoury, and await my return. When I have what I came for, we can leave the tomb together.”

He saluted. “With pleasure, sir.”

The sith left, into an armoury that contained god knows what, and he sighed.

“Is that normal, sir?” Private Norgrum asked.

“Is what normal, private?”

“The sith, sir. Is it normal that they can turn allies against one another? Because I don’t really see why he needs us here if he can do that, sir.”

Cornum sighed deeper, wishing he was back on Balmorra. ‘Never thought I’d miss that blasted hellscape.’

“I think he just figured out how to, private.” When Norgrum looked confused, he clarified. “When he took that smaller k’lor’slug aside a few hours ago. I think he just then figured out how.”

Private Norgrum nodded, as if that made perfect sense. “So is it normal, sir?”

Cornum looked over the charges, and activated the detonator when his men were clear. Explosions rocketed through the hallways, destroying what must have been thousands of eggs.

“I’m no expert on the sith, private. I do not know their training. I do not understand their powers and I certainly don’t want to ask them and find out.”

He looked over at Norgrum. “But no, I don’t think that’s normal.”

Faint fighting could be heard from deeper into the armoury, and his men snapped into formation.

Some tense minutes later, the sith walked back out. A new, or possibly very, very old blade hung over his shoulder, and his old weapon was nowhere to be seen.

“Some droids were guarding the weapon I was after.” The sith answered his unspoken questions. “Now then, I do think it’s high time we get out of this, how did you put it, damned tomb, yes?”

The sith walked away, and the sergeant heard him mutter faintly. “Besides, I need some practise with my new little toy.”

Cormun kept his men back from the fighting that followed, watching as the sith sliced through the remaining k’lor’slugs without much problem. Where before the sith’s blade relied on blunt force, or the lightning it was coated with, now it seemed to slice through hides with ease. ‘It seems he didn’t need us either way.’

Sunlight streamed through his helmet, and he heaved a sigh of relief at being outside again. Even if being outside still meant he was stuck on Korriban.

“This is where we part ways, sergeant.” The sith said. “I need to report to my Overseer, and I imagine you have to report to someone too.”

Cormun nodded, and barked at his men. They saluted. “We owe you, sir. If it wasn’t for you, we’d be stuck down there until the k’lor’slugs killed us all.”

The sith stuck out his hand, and he shook it. “My pleasure, sergeant Cormun. If your superiors send you on another suicide mission, tell them acolyte Morgan will want to have a word.”

The sith looked at the academy, walking away. “It won’t carry much weight now, but I have the nagging suspicion that’s about to change.”

Before he was out of earshot, Cormun heard him mutter again. “Or I’ll be slain in a few days, and he’ll look awfully dumb threatening his superiors with a dead man's name. Ah well.”

Sergeant Cormun shook his head, and led his men away to shower and sleep.

‘Maybe we’ll all be dead in a few days.’ He thought. ‘But if not, it seems I’ve made a connection within the sith.’

‘I wonder if that makes me more or less likely to see retirement.’