The Voyages of Targon Karashi

[TargonKarashi]

Chapter Three

 

Republic Command had grown and moved since the conflict with the Kordak League. Based on the temperate planet Ferrost, the command center had been expanded by Republic reinforcements so that it now could be considered a small city.

 

Cruisers patrolled the skies above, and patrols of troops marched on the surface. From the bustle, The Lone Eagle was hard pressed to find a suitable landing spot.

 

They were finally guided down by one of the docking authorities. When they lowered the ramp and exited, they found a few people already waiting for them.

 

“We’d better not be under arrest,” Rick muttered.

 

No one paid his comment any mind.

 

Targon bowed before the lead individual – one he recognized quite well.

 

“Master Nalos,” Targon greeted. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

 

“I wasn’t exactly planning on being here,” the indigo skinned Twi’lek smiled. “But it couldn’t be helped. Master Salar returned to Tython and told us what transpired. The Council figured it would be best to send another member to oversee the work – at least for a little while.”

 

Targon sighed, “I...was planning on returning to Tython and reporting my mission…”

 

“Yes, we did find it odd that Salar returned before you. And now we find you here. What is the matter, young Targon?”

 

“I received a vision,” Targon replied. “A warning from my master.”

 

“Tieru? What sort of warning?”

 

“Remnants of the Covenant are still at large,” Targon stated. “And they’re more dangerous than we think.”

 

A man that stood next to Shado Nalos spoke. “Yes, we’re aware now of their strength. Apparently, the force that defended Ziost was but a small fraction of the Covenant’s full force.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Targon turned to him. “I don’t believe we have met.”

 

The man was a Jedi, though he didn’t really look it. He definitely wasn’t someone Targon recognized. He was wearing red and gold armor, and he wore a black cape. If it weren’t for his peaceful brown eyes, he might have been easily mistaken for a Sith. Yet there was no dark presence about him.

 

“No we haven’t,” the man nodded. “I only arrived with Master Nalos to aid in dealing with the remnants of the Covenant. I am Master Zar’kun Je’and.”

 

“Pleased to meet you,” Targon bowed. “I’m afraid I’ve never heard of you, though.”

 

“Not many have,” the Jedi Master smiled. “I don’t usually go out of my way to make myself popular. Not like you, Targon.”

 

“What are you saying?”

 

“Just a comment on your popularity among individuals in the galaxy. I meant nothing by it.”

 

“What are you all doing here?” a voice asked. All turned to see Admiral Cordillian walking towards them.

 

Targon bowed to him. “We… There’s new business to attend to.”

 

“How do you mean?” Cordillian asked.

 

“The fight with the Covenant isn’t done yet.”

 

“Oh, I’m quite aware of that,” the admiral nodded sadly. “One of their battle groups has been raiding several worlds in sneaky hit-and-run attacks. They’re gone before we can marshal a fleet to engage them.”

 

“The Kordak League hasn’t been having much more luck that we, I’m afraid,” Master Nalos added. “They found one of the Covenant leaders and attacked but…”

 

“The entire fleet was lost,” Targon finished for him.

 

“How…?” Cordillian was shocked.

 

“I had a vision…there is a greater threat than the Covenant now.”

 

“What exactly do you mean?” Master Je’and asked.

 

Before Targon could reply, Nalos stepped in. “Perhaps it would be best to continue this conversation inside. That way there might be less of a chance of the wrong people listening in.”

 

“You fear spies?” Greyhawk asked.

 

“I fear that dark forces may be listening, yes…and it never hurts to be cautious.”

 

They all followed the Jedi Masters into the central command center.

 

---

 

Lord Marz’s stronghold had once been the fortress for a warlord on Shadda-bi-Boran, but the Sith Lord had driven the petty man from it several years ago. He had used this place as his home long before joining the Covenant.

 

Sorgal shook his head disapprovingly as he entered it. All around were images and decorations that screamed of flaunting wealth and wallowing in self-love. Marz was a king among egocentrics, Sinitar had said, and now he could see why.

 

“It’s certainly big enough for him,” Sorgal muttered. “For his ego, anyway.”

 

“Take care not to say such things where he can hear you,” Sinitar stated as they walked through the entryway and into the grand courtyard. “Unlike the ruins where we hold council, this is Lord Marz’s domain…and he can do as he pleases here.”

 

“You’re not scared of him, are you?” Sorgal asked.

 

“Of course not, but there are dozens of acolytes loyal to his rule here…and the other member of the Conclave are more than eager to find a chance to get rid of those they don’t like. We’re in enemy territory here, Sorgal, and we have more important enemies to deal with than Marz.”

 

“I understand,” Sorgal nodded.

 

Several guards bowed respectfully to them as they passed them. They made their way through the courtyard full of statues and images of the Conclave’s head and ascended the steps that led to the Grand Hall.

 

Most of the Covenant had already arrived. The hall was filled with kneeling acolytes and soldiers. Marz sat upon a throne at the far side of the chamber. Above him were two banners – one bearing the black eyes of the Covenant and the other bearing the red flame that Marz had adopted as his own personal coat of arms.

 

Standing nearby was Lord Krass and his apprentice. Marz’s apprentice, a fair haired young man in red robes nearly as flamboyant as his master’s, knelt before the throne and swore his oath to the Covenant.

 

Interestingly, none of the other members of the Conclave were present. Fyr and Draco were missing. Marz’s anger at their absence was quite apparent.

 

“So they’ve already started?” Sorgal inquired.

 

“Apparently,” Sinitar nodded. “Marz never was one for patience, especially when it involved his honor and reputation. He will simply take out his anger on the missing lords when he sees them next.”

 

“Where are they, do you suppose?”

 

Sinitar shrugged. “Fyr is probably off on a raid. What does he care for Marz and his boy? As for Draco…you saw how he was after the council, didn’t you?”

 

“He was upset for not having his apprentice considered.”

 

“That was the impression he gave,” Sinitar nodded. “But that isn’t why he isn’t present, I believe.”

 

“What then?” Sorgal asked.

 

Sinitar smiled. “Draco may act the fool in council, but he’s not stupid. He knows politics quite well. By not coming, he is testing Marz’s resolve. It is an insult that can only lead to two things…Marz could wage civil war, or he can allow his authority to be undermined.”

 

“Petty,” Sorgal snorted.

 

“Yes, but it doesn’t matter,” Sinitar turned to him. “We have a more important issue to deal with.”

 

“What’s the plan?”

 

Sinitar pointed to a door. “That way leads down to the bowels of this fortress – the power core and vault where Marz keeps the last of the Falcori crystals. Kronos will no doubt make his way there after killing the others. There we shall ambush him.”

 

“So we aren’t going to fight Kronos with the others?”

 

“Why should we? Marz thinks he is so grand, and his apprentice needs a test to prove himself. We shouldn’t interfere with their affairs. This is Marz’s home, after all. The master of the house must see to its defense.”

 

Sorgal nodded, holding back a brief smile. The plan worked, he thought. If Marz and the rest of the Covenant defeated Kronos, then all was well. If they died…well, they probably deserved what they got. But still…

 

“Are we really going to let the entire Covenant be destroyed?” Sorgal asked.

 

“These pretenders are not the Covenant,” Sinitar gestured towards the crowd. “Avaris would be ashamed of them were he still alive. It is up to us to let the chaff be purged, and then we shall forge the Covenant anew, the way it was meant to be.”

 

Sinitar then led Sorgal past the crowd. No one paid them any mind, for Marz had arisen and was anointing Korr as the newest member of the Conclave. All were reciting the oath of the Covenant, then, and the sound was the perfect mask to allow the pair to slip by.

 

They were making their way down the steps to the core, when a great tremor echoed through the Force. Sorgal shuddered for a moment and turned to Sinitar.

 

His former master’s face was stern, his eyes narrowed. He then looked at Sorgal.

 

“The time for preparation has passed,” he stated. “He is here.”

[TargonKarashi]

Chapter Four

 

The shadow glided slowly across the courtyard, taking each step deliberately and patiently. As it passed, the plants and land within a large radius started to shrivel and die.

 

Noticing the approaching shade, the guards at the entrance of the Grand Hall raised their weapons and called for the arrival to stop and identify himself. The cloaked figure gave no reply, but instead kept walking unhindered.

 

The guards commanded him to stop again, and when there was still no answer, they prepared to use their weapons. But before they could bring them to bear, they were lifted up into the air and crushed under some invisible pressure. Their crumpled and disfigured forms landed on the ground as the figure walked uninterestedly past.

 

Without a motion from his hand, the great doors opened and he walked into the large chamber. The doors crashed open loudly, causing the entire crowd to turn and face him.

 

Lord Marz frowned. “So you decided to show up after all,” he folded his arms. “You’re so late, however, you might as well have not shown up at all.”

 

The hooded figure said nothing.

 

“Well, are you going to stand there or bow before the new member of the Conclave?” Marz asked.

 

Still, the visitor remained silent.

 

“My lord,” Krass barked. “Perhaps Lord Kronos has arrived after a night of drinking? Perhaps he cannot find the words to speak before the presence of his betters?”

 

“That may very well be the case,” Marz nodded. “And as such, I am offended by this nonsense, Kronos. Stay and be civil, or leave and trouble my house no more.”

 

Finally, the figure spoke.

 

“Death does not obey the wasted words of the living, nor can He be denied from entering a house. He comes to snuff out the mortal’s flame, and so He has come to you.”

 

“What have we here?” Krass laughed. “Kronos the poet? Kronos the bard? Perhaps you come to amuse us as a court jester!”

 

Kronos’ bony hand reached into his cloak and drew a hideous lightsaber. It was shaped as though it had been made of bone – human bone. The blade ignited – a foul hiss filled the air along with a spectral viridian glow.

 

“You dare draw a weapon in my fortress!” Marz roared with outrage.

 

The black figure said nothing, but simply walked forward.

 

“Kill him! Kill him now!” Marz shouted.

 

All around, the acolytes ignited their sabers and the soldiers drew their guns. The storm broke and the clouds burst. The entire Covenant charged at the intruder.

 

Kronos spun his saber and flew at the crowd that advanced towards him. He caught three blades with his own and quickly counterattacked. The crackling of clashing blades echoed through the hall.

 

The black figure’s speed was incredible, as was his skill. He made quick swipes and ferocious assaults, cutting down scores of the enemy. Yet each strike was also a block against another incoming attack from the remaining acolytes.

 

They were trying to swarm over him, surround him, and overwhelm him. Their red sabers merged into a hellish haze all around. The radius around Kronos was shrinking, as there were so many enemies his saber could not cut them all down fast enough.

 

But the dark man gave no sign of fear or concern. He seemed beyond such things. Instead, he leapt into the air and sent a massive burst through the Force from within him. The wave turned into an explosion of lightning that incinerated everyone around him.

 

When he returned to the ground, the remaining acolytes had lost their courage. Some were starting to flee, but a loud voice screamed at them to turn and fight.

 

It wasn’t Marz, however. The finely dressed old man was nowhere to be seen. Instead it was his apprentice, the long haired boy that had newly been named a member of the Conclave.

 

Standing next to the aspiring dark lord, Krass was growling and baring his teeth as he activated his red saber. He barked out commands to the soldiers and acolytes to follow Korr’s orders and destroy the enemy.

 

Kronos took advantage of the confusion. He raised his bony hands and hurled huge streaks of lightning at the remainder of the crowd. Echoes of screams shook the chamber as the acolytes and soldiers dropped to the ground.

 

As the lightning ceased, a strange glow emanated from the dead bodies. The glow became soft blue lights that reflected the image of each body. These spectral forms converged towards the black form of Kronos and were absorbed into him. As they disappeared into his cloak, his ghostly green eyes burned intensely from the void beneath his hood.

 

“Monster!” Korr screamed. “What sort of abomination are you?!”

 

Kronos replied with a soft and menacing laugh, full of hate and contempt.

 

Darth Krass roared. “After I kill you, I’ll rip your cloak apart with my teeth and devour your bones!”

 

With that, he leapt forward and attacked. The ferocity in his attacks was savage and inhuman. Kronos blocked his attacks with cold and emotionless precision. Hot red flashed and sparked against cold green, and the Grand Hall was alive with fiercely dancing light.

 

Krass tried to make a swipe at Kronos’ face with his claw, but his opponent stepped back easily to avoid it. Then the wolf man charged again, slashing from several directions in quick succession.

 

Holding back his last attack, Kronos pushed Krass back and blocked a second saber – one held by Lord Korr. The young man’s eyes were full of pride and anger. His cheeks were pink, his chin trembling from being clenched so hard.

 

Kronos spun and kicked the young man in the face and ended his movement with a parry against Krass’ strike.

 

The fight continued for a little while longer, both Sith fighting with great intensity, and their opponent matching them with near carelessness.

 

Finally, Korr made a mistake and left himself exposed. With little more than a flash of his green eyes, Kronos made his move and swung his saber high and fast.

 

The young man’s head clattered to the floor – a horrid look of fear plastered on the face.

 

Krass roared and charged once again, ready to bowl his opponent over. The hooded figure made no move to stop him…only raised his hand.

 

And then the Shistavenen flew backwards in the air with such speed that when he smashed into the wall, the whole thing cracked and crumbled.

 

Krass’ broken body lay next to Marz’ feet. The old man looked up with shock at the hole that had revealed him.

 

Kronos stepped towards him slowly.

 

Marz drew his saber. “I don’t know who you are, but this is the last day you befoul this world.”

 

“Your fearful words will not protect you or change your fate,” Kronos’ voice sighed wickedly.

 

“Do you have any idea what power I possess?” Marz asked.

 

“If it is anything like his,” Kronos grabbed Korr’s hair and lifted the head up, “then it is less than nothing.” He threw the head of the apprentice at the master.

 

“What are you?” Marz asked, baring his teeth as ferociously as possible. In truth, it simply made him look more pathetic.

 

“I am Death.” His green eyes glowed and lightly illuminated his spectral face.

 

Marz started screaming before he was even lifted up into the air.

 

---

 

The core of the fortress was once a mine for ancient treasures, but it had long since been abandoned. Now it held only one item – something worth far more than all the jewels dug out of the cold soil.

 

A web of bridges and causeways spanned across this vast pit. Central to it all was a platform with a great pedestal. On top of that was the last of the known Falcori crystals, save for the one in the ruins of Ziost.

 

Kronos’ steps were silent as he moved across the bridge towards the prize. The immense blackness was crushing, and the silence was deafening.

 

He stopped suddenly.

 

“You’ve come far enough,” a voice called out from the darkness.

 

“I was hoping more of the Covenant would be here,” Kronos replied.

 

A shape jumped down in front of him, a sudden flash of gold in the black.

 

“And here I am,” Sinitar said grimly.

 

Another voice called out from behind Kronos. “Your purge of the Covenant ends here, abomination.”

 

Kronos shook his head lightly. “No, mortal, the purge has only begun. The purge of all life.”

 

“You presume much to think that you cannot be killed,” Sorgal hissed.

 

“Immortality is not simply undying,” Kronos stated. “It is surpassing the bonds of the universe.”

 

“Let us see if you have reached that point,” Sinitar countered.

 

He activated his saber. It had a long handle, nearly a meter long. The blade shone a vibrant purple. He spun the blade with his hands elegantly and poised it towards his opponent.

 

Sorgal’s saber sprung to life afterwards, a bloody crimson twirling about between his fingers.

 

Raising a skeletal hand, Kronos called his saber to him and gripped it tightly like a vice. The viridian blade hummed alive, and for a painfully long moment, there was no sound but the three lightsabers.

 

The pair of Sith Lords advanced, leaping together towards the enemy. Kronos caught their blades at once with his own, and then broke apart to block their attacks one after the other.

 

Sinitar’s motions were wide and precise, Sorgal’s were quick and fierce. Together, they kept Kronos continually unable to adapt to their assault.

 

Caught between the two, Kronos leaped up and spun over Sorgal’s head. He was now free, facing both of them at once. Sinitar came from the left, and in a flash, Sorgal came from the right.

 

Kronos parried for a moment, and then he made an offensive against the younger Sith. With each attack, however, he had to remain aware of Sinitar’s counters.

 

With a motion of his hand, Kronos threw Sinitar back. The gold armored Sith rolled along the bridge and nearly fell off, but he held tight and climbed back up.

 

In the meantime, Kronos advanced against Sorgal. The younger Sith Lord was not as strong in defense as he was on offense, and he was continually losing ground against Kronos’ assault.

 

Sorgal tripped and fell onto his back. Kronos was about to make a crushing blow when a violet blade intercepted him. Sinitar smacked his head with the other end of his long handle and shoved him back.

 

Taking advantage of the reprieve, Sorgal stood up again and joined his former master in attacking the enemy again. The blades crashed and parted and crashed again for what seemed like many hours.

 

Now Kronos was losing ground, but he planted his feet and held firm as they continued their onslaught against them. He held the back just long enough to gain a chance to focus on the supports for the bridge.

 

With a single thought, he caused the entire walkway to buckle and tort. He leapt away and landed on another bridge, much closer towards the center. Sinitar followed, and Sorgal was right behind him.

 

Kronos lifted his hand and grabbed the younger Sith with the Force. He then yanked forward and sent the ruddy armored man smashing into the bridge. Sorgal gasped and struggled to get himself up. Before he could do so, Kronos reached up and brought down one of the bridges above them.

 

The platform came down with an enormous clatter and landed atop the boy who had barely enough time to cry out in alarm.

 

A pair of feet landed behind Kronos and he turned about to face the second Sith.

 

Their blades crashed against each other once again. Sinitar’s style was elegant and smooth. His skill of a swordsman was renown among the Empire before he had joined the Covenant.

 

His precision was equal to that of Kronos, and they both seemed at an impasse in their dance of blades.

 

Kronos suddenly started feeling himself losing ground, and he sought out a different location to fight his opponent. He leaped away from this bridge and landed on another, one even closer to the center. Sinitar was quick to pursue.

 

As they drew closer to the crystal, both of them could feel the power emanating from it, and Kronos attempted to call the energy to him.

 

But his reach was rebutted by Sinitar, who sent a wave through the Force that floundered Kronos’ concentration. Shaking it off, Kronos was barely able to gather his focus before Sinitar was on him.

 

This time, the battle favored the offense, and soon Sinitar had nearly disarmed his opponent. Using blade, handle, and fist, Sinitar battered the defenses of the enemy until he was forced to roll backwards to put distance between them.

 

Sinitar was relentless, and instead of allowing Kronos the moment to recompose himself, he sent a torrent of lightning towards him.

 

The streaks of blue energy coiled and exploded around the black cloaked figure. His skeletal features were illuminated, hands and skull beginning to glow faintly.

 

Sinitar roared as he intensified the flow of electricity from his fingers. The Dark Side was fueling him, replenishing his strength to be launched at Kronos anew.

 

Kronos was thrown to the ground, the lightning nearly concealing him as it pulsed into him.

 

And then he stood…

 

…And started walking forward.

 

Shock flashed on Sinitar’s face as he watched his opponent approach him. Kronos’ cloak smoldered and burned, and his bones were smoking and crackling. Yet still he came forward, step by deliberate step.

 

Finally he was standing right up to Sinitar. He activated his lightsaber and thrust it through the Sith Lord’s chest.

 

Sinitar gasped, his eyes widened.

 

“I am beyond mortality,” Kronos stated softly, “because I have already tasted death and overcome it.”

 

In a single fluid motion, he pulled his lightsaber out and kicked his defeated opponent off the bridge.

 

Sinitar fell silently into the abyss.

 

Silence fell upon the great dark again.

 

Kronos reached out and called the crystal to his hand. The glowing blue gem obeyed and arrived into his bony fingers.

 

He clenched his grip until the crystal finally shattered into dust. The energy stored within washed over him, and he gave a hungry and unsatisfied sigh as he consumed it.

 

Then he turned around and made his way out of the dead and empty fortress.

[TargonKarashi]

Chapter Five

 

Admiral Cordillian and Master Nalos were in the midst of the briefing. They were going on about the recent raids by Covenant fleets, the lack of available reinforcements from the Republic, and the strange way that the enemy continued to evade detection.

 

Rick was nodding off in boredom, Gabrielle was pinching him to keep him awake every now and then, Greyhawk listened intently, and Navor nodded occasionally and closed his eyes with a furrowed look on his brow.

 

Targon was trying to listen and understand the reports…but something kept him unfocused. Something seemed wrong.

 

He closed his eyes for a second, and then he saw it…

 

…The face of Death.

 

They glimmering green eyes flashed from beneath the hood. Bony hands reached out towards him, ready to wrap around his throat and throttle him. Targon tried to pull away, but he couldn’t.

 

Then he opened his eyes and saw the ceiling and everyone looking down at him.

 

“Targon, are you alright?” Rick asked, his face was frightened. “You just…blacked out and started screaming like back on the ship.”

 

Targon groaned and started to get up, but a pair of hands held him down.

 

“Easy there,” Master Je’and said softly. “You shouldn’t get up too quickly – you need to regain your strength.”

 

Master Nalos leaned down close to Targon. “Can you tell us what you saw, Targon?”

 

The young Jedi shook his head and sighed. “Some sort of Sith Lord…but not like any that I’ve ever seen…”

 

“Who?”

 

“I don’t know…but somehow it seems I know him. And he knows me.”

 

“That’s impossible,” Rick shook his head harshly. “You don’t know any Sith Lords… Do you?”

 

“I…” Targon paused and frowned. “No…he’s dead…I killed him…”

 

A sudden voice broke over a comlink.

 

“Admiral Cordillian!” the voice nearly shouted. “This is Lt. Bree. There’s a Covenant ship entering the system!”

 

Cordillian frowned, his eyebrows nearly hiding his eyes.

 

“Should we fire on it?” the officer asked.

 

The admiral shook his head. “Is the vessel armed? Are they showing signs of hostility?”

 

There was a pause.

 

“They’re…they’re hailing us, sir.”

 

Confusion flashed on everyone’s face. Cordillian sighed after a long moment of scratching his chin. “Patch them through.”

 

Rick and Master Je’and helped Targon to his feet as all turned to face the appearing hologram.

 

The man was a Sith, they could tell. He wore armor and a black cloak. His hair was messy and tangled, and he looked battered all over.

 

“I am Lord Sorgal of the Dark Covenant,” the man said, scrounging every bit of dignity he could find, yet still he appeared frail and afraid…and rather young.

 

Cordillian straightened. “I am Admiral Cordillian of the Republic fleet stationed in Wild Space. What do you want?”

 

The Sith hesitated and then replied, “Sanctuary.”

 

The admiral tried to maintain his composure, but the shock of the request was too much. A Sith asking for protection? Was this some sort of trick?

 

“Why should we offer anything of the sort to you?” Master Nalos asked.

 

“Is it not the Jedi way to offer aid to those in need of it?” the Sith countered. “I am alone…surely your scanners can detect that?”

 

Cordillian turned to an officer but before the man could reply, Nalos nodded. “He speaks true, Admiral. I can sense only him aboard his vessel.”

 

“A single man piloting a cruiser?” Cordillian scoffed.

 

“Your scanners and Jedi might also detect that my ship is running below minimum,” the Sith frowned. “I pose no threat to you…but I demand sanctuary.”

 

“You are in no position to demand anything!” Cordillian pointed his finger. “You Sith terrorists have caused countless deaths. I would be nothing but commended for shooting your ship out of the sky.”

 

“Admiral,” Targon stepped forward. “Perhaps we could get some information from him? After all, he must give something in return for sanctuary.”

 

“I don’t like it,” Navor frowned. “Sith are treacherous and sneaky.”

 

Master Je’and nodded. “Altogether untrustworthy…but perhaps Master Nalos and I could retrieve valuable Intel from his mind. His thoughts can tell us more than his words.”

 

“I won’t tell you anything unless I get what I ask for!” the Sith folded his arms. “If you’re smart, you’ll accept me and use what I can offer you to perhaps save some of you.”

 

“What are you talking about?” Nalos frowned.

 

Lord Sorgal scowled intensely, his face haggard from dried blood and bruises. “A power beyond reckoning is coming…and it will destroy everything.”

 

---

 

Cordillian, Shado Nalos, and Zar’kun Je’and stood outside the cell, studying the man behind the shield. They had bound the Sith’s hands and feet, placed a neural disruptor on his head, and had two pairs of auto-turrets trained on him.

 

Sorgal sat silently, staring back at them with defiant and glowering eyes.

 

“This wasn’t exactly what I had in mind for sanctuary,” he said finally.

 

“What else could you expect?” Master Je’and snorted. “A clubhouse suite?”

 

“A cot at least,” Sorgal replied. “More than this…stone slab.”

 

“It’s better than what the Empire offers its prisoners,” Cordillian stated.

 

Sorgal nodded. “I wouldn’t know the comforts of the Empire these days.”

 

“Right,” Nalos nodded. “Because the Covenant is its own entity with its own agendas. Spare us the lies, Sith, though it may be your nature. We know Lord Avaris’ goal was to ready this sector of space to be absorbed by the Empire.”

 

Sorgal stifled a laugh. “Whatever plans Lord Avaris had for the galaxy, he took them with him when he collapsed the citadel on himself. None of the Conclave knew everything, though some deceived themselves that they did.”

 

“So, you’re part of the Covenant’s leadership?” Cordillian asked.

 

“In a manner of speaking,” Sorgal smirked. “The Conclave was falling apart ever since the defeat at Ziost. Few of them actually had plans or loyalty towards the Covenant. It was really every man for himself.”

 

“How typical of the Dark Side,” Zar’kun frowned, giving a look of knowing as he said it. “The Sith were never good at working together.”

 

“It doesn’t matter now,” Sorgal shrugged.

 

“You have information we can use, don’t you?” Cordillian asked bluntly. “I would hope so, otherwise you’re no use to us.”

 

Sorgal smiled ironically. “So I guess the Republic isn’t so different from the Empire after all. The only thing that matters is what can benefit you…well, it’s just as well. The chances it could help you survive are low.”

 

“Maybe you should start talking and let us be the judge of that,” Master Nalos frowned. “If you don’t cooperate, we’ll get the information anyway.”

 

“Oh, you’ll pry into my mind and strip it from me?” Sorgal smirked. “How well you follow the Jedi Code, it seems.”

 

“I’ve just about gotten sick of your attitude,” Zar’kun stepped forward. “I’m all for treating prisoners well, as long as their cooperative and civil.”

 

“Civil?” Sorgal stood and came forward. The shield shocked him and he plopped back down. “I’ve seen the face of death and barely escaped! I’ve fallen from my master’s equal to a rat in a Republic cell! Forgive me if I don’t wish to be civil right now, Master Jedi.”

 

Cordillian sighed. “You wanted sanctuary and we have given it to you. What can you, or better yet, what will you share with us?”

 

Sorgal glanced at him and then back to the Jedi. He shook his head and exhaled. He then pointed his finger to the table where all his effects had been placed.

 

“Next to my lightsaber is a datacard. If you will be so kind as to display it, I shall go through the information I have.”

 

The admiral walked over and reached for the card. It was hidden beneath the Sith Lord’s pack that had slid off the hook on the wall and landed on the table. He then inserted the card into the projector.

 

An image of an old man appeared.

 

“That is Lord Marz, the self-proclaimed head of the Conclave. His fortress is on Shadda-bi-Boran.”

 

Master Nalos nodded. “So he is your leader?”

 

“Hardly,” Sorgal shook his head. “He was an arrogant son of a murglak, and a coward at heart. He’s also dead.”

 

“I see,” Cordillian nodded.

 

A series of images came up and Sorgal identified them all.

 

“That’s Lord Krass, and that’s Lord Imperus. They’re both dead too. That man is Lord Sinitar, the truest of the Covenant…he’s also dead.”

 

Zar’kun peered at him. “The truest, you say? I can tell you harbor better feelings for him than the rest.”

 

Sorgal glared at him. “What’s it matter to you, Jedi?” Then he sighed and shrugged. “He was my former master, my teacher, and my friend.”

 

“Friend?” Zar’kun raised his eyebrows. “Sith don’t have friends, don’t you know that?”

 

Sorgal rose again, his face flushed with anger. “You know nothing of the Sith! You know nothing of me!”

 

Zar’kun remained calm. “I know more than you might think, young Sith Lord. But you’re right, I suppose. I do not know you.”

 

The prisoner spat, the shield hissed as the saliva evaporated against it.

 

“It seems a lot of your Conclave is dead,” Nalos pointed out.

 

“Them and all the acolytes,” Sorgal confirmed. “With the death of Lord Sinitar and the others, I am the last of the Covenant.”

 

“Indeed?” Cordillian asked. “Then who is this?” An image of a hulking and ferocious Sith Pureblood appeared.

 

Sorgal sighed. “Perhaps what I say is not altogether true, if you look at it from a certain point of view. That is Lord Fyr, one of the Conclave’s most senior and influential members…at least that’s what he calls himself.”

 

“You don’t seem to hold a high opinion of him,” Zar’kun observed.

 

“I consider ‘Fyr’ to be one of the alternate names for ‘pit rancor’,” Sorgal growled. “I may add you to the list as well.”

 

“I’m flattered,” Zar’kun smiled.

 

“And so, he is still alive?” Nalos asked.

 

“As far as I know,” Sorgal nodded. “Regrettably.”

 

“Who is this now?” asked Cordillian as an image of a man concealed entirely in reptilian styled armor appeared.

 

Sorgal nodded. “That is Lord Draco. He is a new addition to the Conclave, promoted around the same time as me.”

 

“Who is he?” Nalos inquired.

 

“Hell if I know,” Sorgal shrugged. “I’ve never even seen his face…but he’s a clever and sneaky one. None of us could tell if he ever meant what he said, or whether he was insulting someone whenever he spoke.”

 

“Sounds like a great guy,” Zar’kun rolled his eyes. “Such characters Sith are.”

 

Finally, a dark and hooded figure appeared on the projection. All three of the interrogators noticed the flash of genuine fear on Sorgal’s face the moment it appeared. The Sith tried to conceal it after a moment.

 

“Kronos,” Sorgal said softly.

 

“A curious Sith…can’t even tell his features,” Cordillian observed.

 

“He is no Sith,” Sorgal hissed. “His is Death.”

 

“Is he the one that killed the others?” Master Nalos asked.

 

Sorgal nodded.

 

“What about the others?” Zar’kun asked. “Fyr and Draco?”

 

“They aren’t dead yet, as far as I know. Who knows how long it will stay that way?”

 

The interrogators glanced at each other and then back at the prisoner.

 

“So who should we be worried about?” Master Nalos asked. “What is the threat now that the Covenant has been so greatly weakened?”

 

Sorgal looked him straight in the eye. “Any one of them is dangerous and all of them wield the strength and resolve to fight you…” He paused. “But Kronos doesn’t care about Sith and Jedi, Dark and Light, Republic and Empire. To him, it is all Life…and he is Death, come to purge it all.”

Edited November 8, 2012 by TargonKarashi

[TargonKarashi]

Chapter Six

 

The great chamber was quiet; the round table that once sat eight of the Dark Covenant’s highest lords was nearly empty.

 

Only three now sat in their chairs, widely spaced apart from one another. The red crystal floating in the middle of the table shone on all three of them, leaving the chamber with a heated silence, a red hush upon the ruins of the once great citadel.

 

A low growl emanated from Fyr’s throat as he glared at the two other remaining members of the Conclave. The two that had been brought to the position the latest.

 

Draco sighed and laced his fingers together. “It is a sad day for our order,” he said in a melancholy tone. “A serious blow has been dealt to us…what with five members of the Conclave lost…”

 

“The Covenant is not dead!” Fyr bellowed.

 

“No, of course not,” Draco nodded. “We are proof of that.”

 

“There seems to be little hope of finding new members to replenish the Covenant,” Kronos stated softly. “What then shall we do?”

 

“You both suppose that we are beaten?” Fyr bared his teeth. “You think the Republic has defeated us?”

 

Kronos gave a laugh, a chilling chuckle that caused the air itself to shudder. “What else can we suppose, Lord Fyr? Marz and Imperus, Krass and Sinitar…and even young Sorgal and all the acolytes…”

 

“They were weak!” Fyr growled.

 

“Of course,” Draco nodded. “Weak enough to be defeated by an enemy that was stronger and took advantage of their weakness.”

 

“This is no matter for silly jokes,” the Pureblood glared at him.

 

“Nor is this a joke,” Draco raised his hands. “I am pointing out the situation and the consequences. The Republic and the Kordak have exploited the Covenant’s divisions and internal struggles. Without strong leadership, they have picked us apart.”

 

Kronos tapped his fingers together, causing a sharp clicking to echo through the chamber.

 

Fyr snarled. “I will not allow them to remain drunk in their triumph!”

 

“Nor should you,” Draco concurred. “But we must see to it differently than before.”

 

“How so?” Fyr asked, contempt and skepticism overtly expressed.

 

“Before we used our own fleets, we ruled our own territory, and we fought as much with each other as we did with the enemy. That needs to change. We should join our forces and strike at the Republic Command on Ferrost.”

 

“You know the location of their command?” Fyr sniffed.

 

“I do indeed. My actions may not have been as visible as yours, Lord Fyr, but they have been no less effective. I have found the Republic center for this region, their strength, the movements and capabilities of their ships…and more.”

 

“A sneaky and spying little snake, aren’t you?” Fyr bared his teeth again.

 

“I prefer dragon, if you don’t mind,” Draco cocked his head.

 

“You suggest we make a desperate and foolhardy assault on Ferrost?” Kronos asked. “I thought you to be more cunning.”

 

“Desperate?” Draco recoiled. “Not at all. Surely our combined strength and strategy will be enough to overcome the Republic?”

 

“This is stupid!” Fyr rose. “I will not be counseled by a man who is afraid to show his face and has nothing to show for his feats except words.”

 

Draco chuckled. “Afraid, am I? Cowardly, you think I am?” He sighed and shook his head. “There is more to power than brute strength, Lord Fyr. There is power to be found in books and words as well as swords – if first you learn humility.”

 

“You sound like a flaming Jedi!” Fyr roared. “Give me one reason I shouldn’t kill you for suspicion of being a Jedi infiltrator!”

 

“I’ll give you two,” Draco folded his arms. “First, the crystal prevents you from doing anything here. Two, such a rash and foolish action would only allow the Republic to win fully…and they won’t have to do anything. They would simply find out that those stupid Covenant survivors destroyed themselves.”

 

Fyr snarled and spat. “Your words surround you like fog, Draco, and they make you difficult to see. I think you use them as your only source of defense.”

 

“Perhaps,” Draco shrugged.

 

The Pureblood spat again and shook himself. Then he stormed angrily out of the room, his footsteps echoing away.

 

Kronos rose then. “I see this has gotten nowhere, and has simply been a waste of time,” he stated.

 

“Time, and whether or not it is ever wasted, is quite relative,” Draco countered.

 

The hooded man said nothing, but simply walked silently out.

 

Draco was now alone at the table. He put his hands behind his head and sighed. Footsteps drew near.

 

“Master?” a lovely voice called out.

 

Lord Draco stood and faced his apprentice. “Xana, my dear, I have wonderful news…”

 

“What sort of news could that be after I watched the other two storm out?” the young Falleen asked.

 

Draco laughed at that. “The best kind. They don’t know it yet, but they’re going to do exactly what I told them to.”

 

“I don’t understand…”

 

“All you need to do, dear, is wait and see.”

 

“Yes, master,” his apprentice bowed.

 

“And you won’t need to call me master anymore,” Draco walked out of the room, leading her by the arm. “You have surpassed my guidance, Xana, and soon it will be time for you to seek out a different master.”

 

“What?” the girl’s eyes widened.

 

Draco sighed. “You shall understand in time, Xana Kalar. True understanding cannot be found amid the ruins of this crumbling Covenant. I have had a vision…a vision that came after I learned all I could from these bumbling fools.”

 

“What was it?”

 

“I saw three beings,” Draco replied. “Three that would change the course of this galaxy. One was a black ghost, devouring all light. The second was a lonely soul that consumed itself in misery. And the last was a relic of centuries past, a beacon that stood alone against a sea of darkness.”

 

“What do they mean?” Xana asked. “The ghost…”

 

“Kronos,” Draco nodded grimly. “He is no more a friend of the Covenant than I am, but he will destroy all life. My hope is to preserve it.”

 

Xana nodded. “I don’t pretend to understand everything, master,” she began.

 

“Nor do any of us,” Draco interjected.

 

“But…” she continued. “What does all this mean? What is going to happen?”

 

Draco placed his hand upon her shoulder. “I am proud of you, Xana…proud of how you have learned beyond the narrow sights of Jedi and Sith, and you have studied well under my guidance. When you find your new master, you shall understand.”

 

He could still see the confusion on her face. He gave her a pat and continued walking.

 

There was much to be done…and a new storm was growing. But this one was unlike anything seen before.

 

---

 

It had been five days since the prisoner had been placed under strict isolation. The Republic wasn’t going to take any chances with their new ‘friend’. He was not to receive any visitors, the admiral had ordered.

 

But Targon felt five days was long enough. And from gaining the support of Master Nalos, the admiral finally consented for the young Jedi accompany Master Je’and in the next inquiry session with the Sith Lord.

 

He wanted to see this man – one of the Covenant – for himself. The others he had simply fought…he hadn’t actually talked to one.

 

They entrance seemed to be completely unnoticed by the prisoner, who sat with his eyes closed and his brow furrowed.

 

When the door closed behind them, he opened his eyes suddenly and regarded them.

 

“Ah, at last some company,” he smiled. “I was beginning to wonder if the Republic’s famous efficiency had forgotten me.”

 

“We’re never too busy that we forget our special guests,” Master Je’and replied. “Especially when they have such useful information to share.”

 

Sorgal nodded, and then his eyes turned to the new face. “And who is this…boy?”

 

“I am Targon Karashi, Jedi Knight,” the young Jedi answered.

 

“You look pretty fresh for a Jedi,” Sorgal snorted. “Come to see what a Sith Lord looks like?”

 

“I know what a Sith looks like,” Targon frowned. “I fought Avaris and Tauros.”

 

“Oh…” Sorgal nodded. “So you’re the pup that killed them, eh?”

 

“Avaris destroyed himself,” Targon countered. “I didn’t kill him.”

 

The Sith smiled. “I’m glad you aren’t following the classic idea of taking undo credit simply because you were there. I’m impressed.”

 

Targon raised an eyebrow. The man in the cell was much younger than he looked. Targon supposed he was in his mid-thirties, but wrinkles and strains of the face – no doubt effects from the Dark Side – had aged him.

 

“So, Master Je’and,” Sorgal turned to the older Jedi, “what can I do for you today?”

 

“Where are the locations of the Covenant’s bases?” Zar’kun asked.

 

“What good will those do you?” Sorgal asked carelessly. “Most of them are dead, after all. And the ones still alive…I don’t know.”

 

“Well, that’s helpful,” Zar’kun nodded. “Did your master train you to be so insolent with people asking questions?”

 

Sorgal frowned. “He taught me much more than you can imagine, Jedi. He was more powerful than even your vaunted Jedi Council…and far wiser too.”

 

“For all the good it did him,” Master Je’and shrugged. “You admitted yourself that your master is dead. Now, if you really want to be of any help you’ll tell us more about the man that killed him.”

 

The Sith Lord turned his face away. “You know what, Master Jedi? I don’t think I feel like being helpful to you right now.”

 

“What a surprise,” Zar’kun rolled his eyes.

 

“You cared for your master, didn’t you?” Targon asked without realizing he spoke aloud.

 

Sorgal glanced at him. “You’re prying into things you ought not to, boy,” he warned.

 

“He was more than your master,” Targon continued without expecting to. “He was your friend…your father figure.”

 

Anger flashed through Sorgal’s eyes, but not before the briefest glimpse of shock appeared. “Keep at this, boy, and you’ll be in a world of hurt.”

 

“There’s nothing you can do, Sith,” Master Je’and stated. But then the Jedi Master turned to Targon and said, “You’d best not continue on this, Targon. It could provoke him and shut him down.”

 

But Targon couldn’t help it. He went on, “He guided you through the studies of the Force and protected you from dangers before you were ready for them, didn’t he?”

 

“Targon,” Zar’kun said sternly. “Let me handle the questions. I know the Sith better than most Jedi…I know how they think. Let me take care of this…”

 

An alarm sounded and the soft booming of distant explosions could be heard. Voices started shouting outside and Zar’kun opened the door and stopped a passing person.

 

“What’s going on?” he asked.

 

The engineer was trembling and scared. “A Covenant fleet…a big one…it dropped out of hyperspace and started attacking without warning.”

 

“What?” Master Je’and was shocked. “I thought the Covenant didn’t know about our new command center…”

 

The engineer continued on his way and didn’t hear him.

 

Master Je’and turned to Targon. “Come, young Targon, we’ve got work to do. I’m afraid we’ll have to postpone this meeting.”

 

He turned and left. Targon was about to follow when the door suddenly closed and locked on him. The controls weren’t responding when he punched them.

 

Targon turned around and saw the Sith standing close to the shield wall and staring at him.

 

“We need to talk,” he said simply.

 

Targon felt a pang of dread build inside him…staring face to face with a Sith Lord was terrifying. Even if he was behind an energy field.

 

“Who are you?” Sorgal asked. “How do you know so much about me?”

 

“I…” Targon fumbled for words. “I don’t know…”

 

“You somehow knew how I felt about my master, boy. How?”

 

“I don’t know,” Targon repeated helplessly. “I…I guess I just knew how I felt about my master.”

 

The Sith’s gaze grew more concentrated on him. “And what does that matter? You’re a Jedi, I’m a Sith. Our philosophies are opposing, our teachings conflicting. How could your feelings toward your master even remotely come close to mine?” His voice was harsh, but confused as well.

 

Targon straightened, mustering his personal courage. “I think,” he replied, “our philosophies don’t matter as much as who we are as individuals.”

 

It was silent for a long time as the two stared at each other. Then Sorgal nodded slowly. “You’re not like most Jedi, are you?”

 

“You’re not like most Sith,” Targon countered.

 

An explosion sounded much closer this time.

 

Sorgal pointed to the table with his effects. “Let me out, Jedi.”

 

“Excuse me?” Targon raised an eyebrow.

 

“It’s Lord Fyr that’s attacking,” Sorgal said quickly. “I felt his presence. He’s no friend of mine, and he’s much fiercer than any of the others in the Covenant. You’ll need my help to defeat him.”

 

“Admiral Cordillian and the masters would disagree…”

 

Sorgal smiled. “But I think you do.”

[TargonKarashi]

Chapter Seven

 

Ships burned in the upper atmosphere of the planet, storms of lasers streaked across the sky and explosions flashed for brief but intense moments.

 

The attacking ships had hit fast and hard, breaking through the outer defenses swiftly, and getting shuttles dispatched to the ground before the Republic fleet could muster a significant counter.

 

Fighters swarmed up towards the landing craft, hoping to intercept their descent. But before they could get in range, they suddenly started losing power systematically and either crashed into each other or fell back to the surface.

 

Foul laughter filled the air and the minds of the scores of Republic soldiers scrambling at the base to receive the invaders.

 

The first of the shuttles landed and lowered a ramp. Soldiers spilled out, firing their rifles immediately. More shuttles landed and out of them came even more. Defenders and attackers were locked in a massive mire of lasers and explosions. Carnage spread quickly throughout much of the base.

 

A massive figure emerged from one of the shuttles, with eyes and skin blazing red, and teeth as sparkling and fierce as flame. His black armor cast a fearsome shadow over the battlefield as he puffed out his chest and roared a great battle cry.

 

Then he activated his saber. The crimson blade simply added more to the bloody figure. The handle was thick and bore a large hand guard, like a cutlass or rapier.

 

The beast charged forward, blocking or simply shrugging off any bolts that came his way. He smashed through a barrier that three Republic soldiers were using as cover, sending the men flying. Several came at him, trying to take him down, but he cut them apart and flung their bodies all over.

 

Two other Sith warriors covered his flank, a Quarren and a black skinned human. The large Sith barked orders to them often, pointing towards specific targets to be destroyed.

 

“Noras,” he roared at the Quarren. “Take out that air-defense turret!” He pointed to a large gun placement that was busy firing up at the ships in the air.

 

The squid-like alien nodded and obeyed.

 

The Sith shouted after him, “And prove you’re a better fighter than that dead wolf that you called master!”

 

Then he turned to the other Sith and shouted, “Find the enemy command center and kill their leaders!”

 

“Of course, my lord,” the man bowed and left.

 

The large Sith roared and slashed on, cutting his way through dozens of the Republic’s defensive. Enemy soldiers began to flee from before him, and his own men rushed to take the field they abandoned.

 

But then he heard a scream of agony and he turned. The dark skinned man lay dying at the feet of…

 

“So, Braga happened to be with you instead of at the massacre?” Sorgal smiled, his saber alive and humming. “How sad that so many better men were not so fortunate.” Next to him stood a young Jedi.

 

“You are supposed to be dead!” Fyr bellowed.

 

“Glad to disappoint you,” the young Sith Lord grinned.

 

“It would seem whoever killed the others must have not noticed you, insignificant worm as you are,” the Pureblood snarled.

 

“I’ve endured your insults for long enough,” Sorgal frowned, pointing his saber towards the hulking enemy. “Now we finish this.”

 

“You’re as good as dead, even if you hadn’t sided with the Jedi,” Fyr roared as he charged forward. Two of his own soldiers happened to be unlucky enough to be in his path and they were quickly trampled.

 

Sorgal leaped at him, and the Jedi was right beside him. Together, their blades crashed against Fyr’s. The Pureblood pushed hard, and their combined strength was not enough to hold back his monstrous bulk.

 

They were forced to pull back and attack again from different angles. Sorgal came swiftly from the right, and Targon came from the left.

 

Fyr blocked the first and then the second attacks from each of them. One of Sorgal’s attacks went through and his saber brushed against Fyr’s armor. But then the great beast swatted at him with the back of his hand and sent Sorgal flying.

 

He turned his attention then on the young Jedi. The two clashed sabers several times, but the Jedi was continually losing ground. The sheer size of the Pureblood was almost like a giant wall advancing on him.

 

Targon ignored the sweat on his brow just as he tried to ignore the intimidating presence of his foe. Blade crashed against blade, but Targon could feel himself being overwhelmed.

 

Suddenly, a huge swipe from the Sith and his lightsaber was out of his hand. Targon tried to reach for it as it flew away, but lost his balance and landed face first in the dirt.

 

He barely rolled over in time to see the red blade of Fyr coming down on him like a massive fireball. But then, Fyr stopped and yowled.

 

Sorgal’s blade was sticking through his thigh. The young Sith pulled out his saber and made move to aim higher at Fyr’s torso.

 

But Fyr wheeled about and caught Sorgal’s face with his fist.

 

Sorgal dropped to the ground, dazed from the massive blow. He didn’t even have the strength to hold his hands up to his bleeding nose.

 

“Stupid boy,” Fyr laughed. “What are you without your precious master to protect you? A pathetic bug ready to be squashed.” He raised his hand and readied a killing blow.

 

Targon was on him, leaping onto his back and wrapping his arms around the thick neck of the Sith. He seemed so small compared to the red monstrosity.

 

Fyr roared in surprise and tried to shake the Jedi off of him. But the young Jedi held tight and started squeezing as hard as he could.

 

Targon felt it was like trying to suffocate a tree truck.

 

Fyr’s giant hand reached back and grabbed him by the back of his robe and flung him off with a beastly roar.

 

Targon felt himself fly through the air for a sickening moment, and then he landed on something hard. Not the ground, but instead the armored form of Lord Sorgal. He felt the air rush out of his gut and he cried out.

 

Then he could do nothing but watch as Fyr laughed and prepared to kill them both with a single stroke.

 

Out of nowhere, something hit the Sith Lord on the side and caused him to stumble a bit.

 

Looking down, Fyr noticed that it was the body of Noras. He glanced back up to see who had dared to throw the dead man at him.

 

Two Jedi were approaching. One was a purple-skinned Twi’lek in traditional robes and armor of the Order and wielding a double-bladed blue lightsaber. The other was far more unconventional, a man wearing red and gold armor and using twin black blades.

 

They came at him in unison, the sentinel leaping into the air and twirling his black sabers through the air as he came back down. The Twi’lek spun his blade and crashed it against Fyr’s saber, withdrew, and then came at him again.

 

Fyr divided his attention between the two, but he was struggling to deal with four specific blades with his one. Yet he managed to put his bulk to use again and held fast against their onslaught. When he had the chance, he took the offensive and started to drive the Twi’lek back while still keeping tabs on the other.

 

Sith soldiers arrived to support him, opening fire on the human. The man was quick to adapt, and turned his sabers on them. In a black whir, he deflected their shots and cut them down.

 

The Twi’lek was not bothered by the intervention. He simply used the distraction to focus himself and start pushing back against the Sith Lord. Red and blue flashed against one another for a while, both combatants advancing, then defending, and then countering.

 

Fyr made a swipe for the legs, but the Jedi leaped up and flipped over him. He tried to spin around to face him, but a sudden pain jolted through him from Sorgal’s wound.

 

Taking advantage of his enemy’s hesitation, the Jedi came forward, spinning his saber and his body around to land a blow.

 

Fyr barely blocked it in time to keep from being cut in half. But he had been slow enough that their locked blades pressed lightly against his armor, cutting through it. He pushed off and attacked, slamming his blade against the Jedi’s, forcing his way through to smash his defense.

 

But his assault was aggressive, and left himself exposed, as the Jedi noticed. Patiently waiting for the moment he had a chance between Fyr’s attacks, the Twi’lek dove down between the Sith’s legs and stood up quickly behind him.

 

Then he jabbed his saber backwards and heard the hiss as it plunged into the Sith’s backside.

 

In a furious rage, Fyr ignored the pain and tried to spin about to slash at the Jedi’s head. But then he realized too late he was rotating while the blade was still in him.

 

Fyr’s body, nearly cut in half, toppled to the ground in a thunderous clatter.

 

Sighing, Master Nalos deactivated his saber and knelt next to the two young men that had been incapacitated. Carefully, he rolled Targon off of the Sith Lord and set him down face up.

 

Zar’kun was quickly at his side.

 

“What’s he doing out here?” he asked.

 

Targon groaned. “I…”

 

Master Nalos shook his head. “It doesn’t matter right now, Targon. We’ll get you both seen to, but there’s still a battle to wage. We don’t even know how well things are going for Admiral Cordillian in orbit.”

 

“I’ll get them both to a medic,” Zar’kun said. “And I’ll return our guest to his quarters.”

 

He helped Targon to his feet and called a trooper over to him. Together, they lifted up the Sith Lord and carried him off.

 

Shado watched them go and then he heard his comlink beep.

 

“Master Nalos,” he heard Cordillian say. His voice sounded rather upbeat.

 

“I’m here, Admiral,” the Jedi Master answered. “What’s the condition of the battle up there?”

 

“It’s done!” Cordillian said elated. “Without us even sending a message, the Kordak League’s fleet arrived and together we’ve put the Covenant fleet to rout. We’re trying to catch the stragglers before they are able to flee but…”

 

Suddenly there was a long pause.

 

“Admiral?” Master Nalos asked. “Admiral, are you still there?”

 

“I don’t believe this…” Cordillian’s voice had suddenly gotten weaker.

 

“What is it, Admiral?” Master Nalos inquired.

 

“Another fleet has arrived…a big one.”

 

Nalos was about to ask who it was when he felt a sudden ripple through the Force. A terrible wave of the Dark Side as the fleet arrived.

[TargonKarashi]

Chapter Eight

 

There were near three dozen ships entering the system. Most were damaged and crippled Sith warships – they didn’t seem like they would be functioning, yet somehow they worked nonetheless. However, five were massive vessels, shaped like long spears and orbited by a swarm of debris and pieces of junk. It seemed almost as if these ships had exploded and were somehow formed back together, or were in the process of doing so.

 

The ships started firing at once, without any notion of contact made. Republic hails went completely unanswered.

 

Arcon Talhawk folded his arms and stare out the window of the Gyrfalcon’s bridge. Both the Republic and Kordak forces were reforming to face the newcomers.

 

Formation, however, was less important to the approaching fleet. They were headed straight for them, without any notion or care for what positions they took.

 

“This commander doesn’t know how to engage the enemy,” Talhawk grumbled.

 

A hologram of Admiral Cordillian appeared.

 

“Talhawk,” he nodded. “I suggest we maintain a defensive formation to hold against their attack. If we hold together, they shouldn’t be able to break through.”

 

“That is a good strategy,” Talhawk agreed. “But I don’t think it will be necessary. These Covenant don’t know war and how it is properly waged. We defeated them easily before, there’s no reason we shouldn’t be able to smash them now.”

 

“What are you saying?”

 

“If we charge headlong into them,” Talhawk replied, “they will break and flee. Take out the command and they’ll fall apart and be destroyed.”

 

“That may have been the case with the others,” Cordillian countered. “But there’s something different about this fleet.”

 

“Bah,” Talhawk spat. “I will show you, Admiral. Hold a defensive reserve, if you feel so inclined, but I’m going to blunt their spearhead.”

 

He gave the order and his battleship advanced to meet the enemy. Four Blue-Talon class battlecruisers followed in with him.

 

Turbolasers flashed across the void. Two of the enemy ships were overwhelmed by the Gyrfalcon’s guns and shattered.

 

But they didn’t explode.

“Focus our fire on those large…vessels,” he pointed to the unique ships, unsure of what to call them. “They are likely the command ships.”

 

His warships followed his instructions, and a torrent of lasers headed for the nearest of the vessels.

 

Then something odd happened.

 

The debris around the ships started moving and intercepting the incoming attack. Explosions flashed, but at a safe distance away from the targets. And as the debris field was depleted, more pieces of the ship itself broke off from the hull and replenished it.

 

“What sorcery is this?” Talhawk gasped. “They shield themselves with their own parts? How can it hold together?”

 

The Doom Ships kept firing, but they weren’t getting through hit the enemy ships directly.

Then the fleet took their turn at the offensive.

 

Bright, sickly green lights rose from the black vessels and streaked towards them. One of the Doom Ships burst into flames and was going down.

 

“Commander!” one of the bridge officers shouted. “They’re…they’re ripping through our shields!”

 

The whole ship shook suddenly. The jolt forced Talhawk to grab the railing in front of him to steady himself.

 

Talhawk roared, “Fire the nova beam! Fire everything!”

 

From the bow of the Gyrfalcon, a bright blue light grew and then turned into a massive arc of energy that ripped through three more of the lesser warships and even hit the main structure of the nearest command vessel.

 

The enemy fleet seemed unfazed. They didn’t break off and start engaging the ships…they just kept heading straight forward. It was as if they didn’t care about the Kordak ships attacking them, and simply fired as they passed to brush them aside.

 

“Recharge and hit them again!” Talhawk shouted. Off to the starboard, he could see another of his warships go down in flames. He growled in anger. “They don’t even deign to give us a fight! They hold us in contempt!”

 

The bridge shook again, sparks were flying and systems started wailing alarms.

 

“Commander!” a crewman shouted. “They’ve broken through our shields and have torn through seven decks. Hull integrity is failing!”

 

For a moment, Talhawk stood still and was silent. Then he straightened and bellowed, “All hands, this is the Supreme Commander. All hands board the Spectres and prepare to abandon ship.”

 

“Sir?” the crew looked at him in shock.

 

“You all heard me! Head to the Spectres!” He paused for a second. “And I want Titan crews ready for engagement.”

 

“Titans, sir?” an officer asked.

 

“That’s right. It’s time we took a different approach to this battle.”

 

---

 

Spectres were loading up full of men and took off from the hangars. They swarmed out and scattered into various directions, still firing on the enemy fleet. Talhawk did not head towards the ships, but instead led ten of his warriors to a different docking area.

 

Standing still, yet at attention, were several large exo-suits, thickly armored and bristling with weaponry.

 

“You men know the drill,” Talhawk stated.

 

The warriors nodded and climbed into the massive suits. When they were fully enclosed in, they activated their weapons.

 

Like a bunch of fearsome giants, the suits rose and started heading for the docking bay doors, ready for the bay to open and to leap out into the vacuum of space.

 

Talhawk chuckled to himself as he climbed into his own exoskeleton. “The Republic is lucky we never decided to use Titans on them,” he mused. “But it’s fitting that the Covenant tastes the true power of the technology they tried to usurp.”

 

The bay doors opened up, an alarm sounded and the rush of the bay’s atmosphere whooshed out into space.

 

“Attack!” Talhawk shouted into his intercom. A roar from his men was the reply as they leaped out and started flying towards the nearest ships.

 

Just as they exited, the Gyrfalcon burst into small explosions and broke apart. Talhawk grimaced at the sight, but then turned his sights and his rage towards the enemy fleet.

 

The squad of Titans approached one of the battered Covenant warships. Their feet magnetically locked to the hull as they started firing at everything in sight – gun batteries, hangars, communication relays, and even the hull itself.

 

Oddly enough, as they ripped open the ship, they found nothing was being sucked out into space.

 

Talhawk took a look through one of the holes and gasped at the sight. The crew of the ship was walking about, unprotected and unaware of his presence. There was no atmosphere inside the vessel, he noted. But how was the crew able to survive?

 

He reached in with his artificially extended arms and grabbed two of the nearest crewmen. They clawed at his armored hands and writhed in his grip, but they were silent. Talhawk studied them closely…and noticed that their eyes were blank and empty, their skin was gray and translucent, and they certainly weren’t breathing at all.

 

Disgusted, he squeezed them tightly until they nearly crumbled into dust. Then he de-magnetized his feet and floated away from the vessel.

 

“Titans,” he exclaimed, “these ships are crewed by soulless husks! Alter attack plans and target the ship’s systems, not the crew.”

 

Once he was a distance away, he fired concussion missiles into the nearby holes in the ship. The explosions flashed through the ship’s interior, ripping apart much of the hull. His warriors were following suit, and soon this ship was reduced to a mess of debris.

 

“Vash tero dal!” he shouted. “Keep a wary eye for debris, my warriors. Let’s hope the Republic fares better against this damned fleet than us – but fight on nonetheless! We’ll tear apart their ships one by one if we have to!”

 

His warriors assented, and the Titans continued their work on the nearby ships. But Talhawk sighed when he looked around and saw that there was just too many vessels to take out…and sooner or later the enemy would catch on to their attack.

 

He also noticed that the fleet had reached the rest of the allied fleet that had held back. Groaning with despair, he watched as ships started exploding as they failed to stop the enemy onslaught.

 

---

 

The battle was a myriad of explosions against the wide frame of Ferrost, and both appeared insignificant next to the backdrop of countless stars.

 

“It looks like you were right after all, master,” Xana bowed as she approached Lord Draco seated on the bridge.

 

He nodded. “Indeed. Lord Fyr was always prideful and too aggressive for his own good. He couldn’t resist such a tempting chance at striking the Republic Command once he knew where it was. And as for Kronos…I figured he would arrive to take advantage of the situation.”

 

“His fleet is larger than I had thought,” the Falleen stated.

 

Draco sighed. “Yes, it would appear he has been absorbing the forces of the other members of the Conclave. And probably taking the bodies of the men too.”

 

“Are we simply here to observe?” Xana inquired.

 

“Not at all,” Draco stood. “Both sides are now mired in the conflict and are tightly knit together. I think now is the time to intervene.”

 

He turned to one of his bridge officers and nodded.

 

The man bowed and gave the order to deactivate the cloaking device.

 

Seven small warships appeared several kilometers away from the fray. They all bore the colors of the Covenant.

 

“Open fire, commander,” Draco ordered.

 

Swarms of missiles flew from the ships and arced over to the massive space battle. They waited a few moments, as nothing happened at first. Then massive explosions flowered, consuming several ships in their radius.

 

“A single stroke to shatter both forces,” Xana smiled lightly. “Brilliantly played, master.”

 

“Oh, the game’s not over yet, my dear,” Draco shook his head. “This is only the move that will lead the enemy to take the only option available. And then it will be checkmate.”

 

“What move will they make?”

 

Draco’s face wasn’t visible, but his tone proved he was smiling. “Kronos will eventually retreat…and we shall transmit the data of his base to the surviving Republic forces. They will think that they downloaded it themselves from one of the enemy’s unsecure channels and will pursue him.”

 

“And what of us, master?”

 

“We shall be waiting for them. After all, Kronos desired to fight all the members of the Conclave. I shall not begrudge him of accomplishing that goal. Yet, he may be surprised as to who the victor shall be.”

[TargonKarashi]

Chapter Nine

 

Battle raged in the skies above Ferrost for several hours. Bright explosions consumed scores of ships and hundreds of crew. The dark fleet continued its direct assault, ignoring all interference from without.

 

But eventually the battle was obviously lost, and the remaining ships began to come about and retreat. Republic and Kordak forces tried to destroy them as they fled, but they did not give chase. Their ships were spread to thinly to try to run down the enemy. Instead, they fired at the rear as they tried to regroup.

 

Seeing the ships withdraw, the men aboard the Sword of Truth gave out a cheer, and Admiral Cordillian could only fall into his seat and sigh with relief. The moment the enemy began to withdraw, he had noticed, the interlopers had ceased their assault and disappeared. It made him uneasy, but he took a moment to take a deep breath and relax.

 

“What are our losses?” he inquired. He was really rather afraid of what he might hear. The Gyrfalcon had been destroyed, and there was no word from Talhawk. He could also see the small number of ships outside the windows. The battle had been extremely costly.

 

When an officer reported, Cordillian paid little attention to the numbers. Numbers couldn’t account for the brave men and women serving aboard the ships…now lost. He was glad that he was able to save even this many.

 

“Admiral,” a lieutenant stated. “We’re picking up a strange transmission…they’re hyperspace coordinates.”

 

“To where?” Cordillian asked.

 

“I…” the man hesitated. “It’s an obscure system…nothing of importance except…a black hole nearby.”

 

“That’s odd,” Cordillian scratched his chin.

 

“Sir,” the man said suddenly. “We’re receiving a communication from Arcon Talhawk.”

 

The admiral sighed in relief and said, “Well, put him through.”

 

There was a bit of static for a moment, and then a familiar voice broke through. “It seems the Covenant is a bunch of cowards even after they’re dead.”

 

Cordillian smiled, but without humor. “We may have won this battle,” he said, “but we need to stop this threat completely.”

 

“How can we do that when they’re always running off?”

 

“We…” Cordillian hesitated. “We’ve intercepted some coordinates…I think they are the location to the enemy’s base.”

 

“That’s…convenient,” Talhawk said. “Perhaps once I get picked up by fleet and we regroup we should consult together for our next course of action.”

 

“Agreed,” Cordillian smiled. “It’s good you’re still with us, Commander.”

 

“I’ll admit I made an error in judgment,” Talhawk sighed. “But at least I’m alive and willing to accept responsibility. See you on the ground, Admiral.”

 

---

 

The command center seemed sadly empty now. Many of the major commanders had been lost in the battle, and now there was only Cordillian and his staff, Talhawk and his entourage, and the Jedi.

 

“We’ve been strangely fortunate,” Master Nalos stated.

 

“Fortunate?” Cordillian asked. “How so? We were nearly destroyed by two Covenant forces.”

 

“Yes, but they revealed themselves at the same time and were both defeated,” the Twi’lek replied. “Now we’ve broken their strength…and with these coordinates we can finish this matter.”

 

“Can we really trust this coincidental information?” Master Je’and asked. “It could easily be a deception…or nothing at all.”

 

“Perhaps,” Master Nalos nodded. “But can we safely ignore the possibility?”

 

“I don’t like it,” Talhawk stated. “It’s too convenient and suspicious. It’s likely a trap.”

 

“What if it’s not?” Targon asked. “What if this is our best chance to end the Covenant once and for all?”

 

Admiral Cordillian faced him and gave him a sad look. “Young man, you need to be careful with your judgment…especially since you released the prisoner…”

 

“Sorgal aided us,” Targon cut him off. “He didn’t try to betray us.”

 

“Maybe not now, but you can’t trust Sith, or the information you get from them,” Master Je’and stated.

 

“We’re going to need to make a decision,” Master Nalos said. “The longer we wait, the more difficult it may be to deal with the Covenant remainder.”

 

“What happened to famous Jedi patience?” Talhawk asked.

 

“There are times when one must act,” the Twi’lek countered.

 

“True,” Talhawk nodded. “But is now one of those times?”

 

“We must stop this…Kronos…before he can strike again,” Admiral Cordillian stated. “We cannot afford another engagement like this. I think that if we send a strike force to these coordinates, we may be able to ascertain their validity. And if it proves true, we can destroy Kronos at once.”

 

“That’s an awful big gamble,” Master Je’and cautioned. “It will also be very difficult to make a proper jump to a black hole system. Even dangerous.”

 

“Much must be risked in war,” Cordillian stated. “I will go with my ship alone if I must…but we need to know what the significance of this place is.”

 

Master Nalos nodded, and Talhawk folded his arms.

 

“You impress me with your boldness, Admiral,” the Kordak Commander stated. He then sighed and said, “I may have suffered heavy losses, but I swore to see the end of the Covenant. I will consent to send a force to this location and destroy this Sith Lord.”

 

“Well, if it’s the will of everyone else here,” Master Je’and shrugged. “Then I guess I will take my place. But I do so with cautionary protest.”

 

“We must be wary,” Nalos nodded. “But we must also be decisive.”

 

“The we will prepare the strike force,” Cordillian announced.

 

“What of Sorgal?” Targon asked.

 

“We’ll deal with that matter later,” Master Nalos stated. “Kronos is the issue at hand.”

 

---

 

Twelve Republic battlecruisers and seven Doom Ships made the jump to hyperspace, following the coordinates that led to the enigmatic location.

 

Targon sat in the co-pilot’s chair of the Lone Eagle as it was docked in one of the Sword of Truth’s hangars.

 

“I don’t like this,” Rick said from the pilot’s chair next to him. “This seems like a major suicide mission to me.”

 

“It might be,” Targon sighed. “But it has to be done. If we don’t stop Kronos…”

 

“Yes, yes, the scary Death Lord will kill us all anyway,” Rick rolled his eyes. “I’ve got the concept. Still…this seems a little…dangerous.”

 

“Most of life is dangerous,” Targon stated.

 

“Don’t have to tell me that twice,” Rick shook his head. “What I mean to say is…”

 

“Rick,” Targon cut in. “I want you and the others to stay out of this.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“Kronos has killed Sith Lords,” Targon stated. “I don’t want to think of him killing you all too.”

 

“What? You don’t think we’re as capable as a Sith Lord?”

 

Targon raised his eyebrow.

 

Rick sighed. “Look, Targon, like it or not, we’re coming with you. You think I’m going to let my first mate charge in alone against the Grim Reaper?”

 

“I’m asking you to stay where it’s safe.”

 

“And what if you fail?” Rick asked. “What then? Will we be safe then? I don’t think so, and neither do any of the others. We’ve been through everything so far, there’s no reason not to work together in this.”

 

“But…”

 

“No buts, Targon. Who’s captain here anyway?”

 

Targon sighed and smiled with resignation. “You really are a true friend, Rick.”

 

“Yeah, well, that’s only since I’ve been around you.”

 

There was a slight jolt that told them they had exited hyperspace. The degree of the shaking, however, told them that they had arrived rather close to the singularity.

 

“Well…we arrived alive,” Rick observed. “I guess that counts for something.”

 

Targon was staring out the window. Through the shield of the hangar was something…something other than the great void of a black hole.

 

It was a massive citadel, a giant space station orbiting the abyss. It was kilometers wide and full of giant spires, shaped rather close to the ships that had attacked Ferrost. A sickly green haze permeated around the black structures, giving the grim aura of a haunted necropolis.

 

“Someone has a scary taste in real estate,” Rick commented dryly. “I wonder what kind of image he was trying to create.”

 

Admiral Cordillian’s voice came over the speakers. “Lone Eagle, you have a go to board the enemy station. Masters Nalos and Je’and, along with Talhawk are headed over in another shuttle. You should join up with them when you land.”

 

“Copy that, Admiral,” Rick replied. He then turned to Targon as he powered up the ship. “Now we get to see this guy that’s been bothering your sleep recently. Maybe I’ll give him a kick for causing such a nasty weekend.”

 

Targon forced a smile and turned his sight towards the fearsome castle ahead. For some reason he got the feeling they were headed for the gaping maw of a great and terrible monster.

 

As they approached, they noticed the great amount of debris and wreckage filling the region. They were the ruins of ships…from a battle that had occurred not long ago. Apparently, someone else had already found this place and made an attack. It appeared that they were destroyed, but they also seemed to have taken Kronos’ fleet with them.

 

They drew nearer to the station, and as they drew closer, a cold and terrible feeling in Targon’s stomach began to grow exponentially.

 

He drew on the Force and calmed his trembling nerves. Slowly, he breathed in and out, focusing his thoughts.

 

“This is it, Master,” he said to himself. “This is where I follow your guidance and face the Hand of Death. Force willing, I will stop this threat to all life, or I will die in the attempt.”

 

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Rick muttered after overhearing his comment. “Especially for me.”

[TargonKarashi]

Chapter Ten

 

Draco and Xana sat silently in a lone shuttle, drifting amid the field of wreckage. The girl had her arms folded and brooded; her master was still and meditative.

 

“Can you sense any others?” she asked finally.

 

Draco stirred. “The shroud of Kronos’ power is blinding…but I can feel…no one. We are alone. I’m afraid the last of the Covenant’s forces have failed.”

 

“What shall we do then?” Xana asked.

 

“Is that fear I detect in your voice?” Draco turned his head towards her, staring into her with unseen eyes.

 

She hesitated. “Yes.”

 

Draco nodded. “I cannot fault you for your fear, Xana. Kronos’ power is astounding, and terrifying. Nothing natural has such abilities…but then, he has passed beyond our mortal realm. He is something else now.”

 

“What can we do?”

 

“For now…wait. But not for long.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Our friends from the Republic should be arriving soon…ah!” He stood. “They’re here. Good.”

 

“What if they find us?” Xana inquired.

 

“You need not worry about that, my dear.” He sighed. “The time has come for you to seek out your new master.”

 

“What?”

 

“Do not be troubled, Xana. We must all let go of everything eventually. Ever since I found you, lost and alone, you’ve been asking questions. Well, now I cannot answer them for you. Not now.”

 

“Master, I don’t understand.”

 

“No, but you will.” He reached behind his head and undid the golden amulet he wore around his neck. It was forged in the shape of a coiled dragon with a glittering emerald in the center. “Take this, child.”

 

“But this is…”

 

“It is important that this be far away from me now. It is the key.”

 

“What shall I do with it?”

 

“As lovely as it might be around your neck, I must ask that you take it to my sanctum on Arakh. Place it in my shrine, and watch over it.”

 

“Master?”

 

“Patience, my dear Xana. It is there, as you keep your vigil, that you shall find you new master. And we shall see each other again, but not as teacher and student.”

 

“Master, this is all so…”

 

“Confusing? Nearly all the universe is mired in mystery. We have only scratched the surface. Trust me in this, Xana. To stop the first omen in my vision, it requires a sacrifice. And so, this is where we part ways.”

 

“Master? What are you talking about?!”

 

Draco touched her chin. “Such beauty should not be wasted on grief, my dear.” He sighed. “Would that I could have touched you through my skin just once…but that was not for me.”

 

“Master!”

 

He placed a finger on her lips. “The Republic will soon begin their battle with Kronos. I must go now. Until we meet again, Xana.”

 

Draco then left her and went to the rear of the shuttle. He made sure to seal his suit and then he opened up the airlock. He was hurled out into the silent vacuum with not another word, and he soon faded away as he glided towards the ominous citadel.

 

---

 

There was no resistance as the ships approached the station, but once they landed it was a much different story. As soon as the ramps lowered, hordes of soulless corpses swarmed into the hangar and attacked. Some bore blasters, others blades.

 

The Jedi sprung their sabers to life and cut them down, and soon they were aided by the firing of blasters from the crew of the Lone Eagle and Talhawk’s guards.

 

“We don’t have time for this!” Master Je’and shouted. “The longer we are delayed the more time Kronos will have to prepare!”

 

“Cut a path through them,” Talhawk shouted back. “My men will deal with these! They may not know fear or pain, but these husks fight like a moisture farmer militia!”

 

Though it might not have been exactly as he said, it was true that these dead soldiers could not stand toe to toe with the Jedi, nor even with the basic Necillian guards. Soon enough, they were making their way out of the hangar and through the halls.

 

More of Kronos’ drones appeared to stop them, but these too couldn’t stand against them. And in the confined quarters of the hallways, they could not bring their vast numbers to bear.

 

Eventually, they found themselves at a fork with two different paths.

 

“Okay,” Rick sighed. “Who brought the map to get through the scary fortress?”

 

“I have to agree with him,” Navor growled. “Where do we go and what is the plan?”

 

“Calm your minds,” Master Nalos stated. “If you focus your thoughts, you can feel his presence.”

 

“Well, that’s good and all, but what about the rest of us?” Rick asked.

 

Nalos pointed down the left corridor. “Follow us this way.”

 

“Oh, I suppose that works,” the captain shrugged.

 

“How do we plan to stop him and his forces?” Navor asked again as they ran down the hall.

“Admiral Cordillian will position the strike force to target this station’s main stabilizers. Once those are taken out, this castle will plunge into the black hole.”

 

“What about Kronos?” Talhawk asked. “If he could control his fleet’s defense, how do we keep him from defending this station against the fleet?”

 

“That’s what we’re here for,” Master Je’and stated. “We distract the Sith, and the fleet can attack unhindered.”

 

“Hmm…a good plan, I suppose,” Greyhawk shrugged. “Not so good for us here on the station, though.”

 

“All we need to worry about is Kronos,” Master Nalos stated.

 

“What about our skins?” Rick asked.

 

“You volunteered for this, remember?” Gabrielle pointed out.

 

“Oh yeah…I remember.”

 

“Cut the chatter, all of you,” Talhawk growled. “You want to let the whole station know we’re here?”

 

“Your voice is just as loud as ours,” Rick countered.

 

“Rick,” Targon shook his head. “Let it drop.”

 

The hall led to another crossroads. They took the right path this time, and soon found themselves at the bottom of a massive flight of winding stairs. Taking a small breather, they started to ascend the seemingly endless steps. Higher and higher they went, and the light was starting to fade away as they went up.

 

They had to slow down to make sure they didn’t take any missteps. Targon nearly lost his footing once, but Rick and Gabrielle were quick to grab him and pull him back to stability. The rest of the way up did not see as many troubles.

 

After a tiring ascent, they arrived at a great black doorway. Carved into the obsidian threshold was a great skull.

 

Rick panted, “Could this guy get any more dark and gloomy decorations?”

 

“What would you prefer?” Talhawk asked. “Pink and purple pansies?”

 

Catching the insult, Rick frowned as he wiped the sweat from his brow. But he said nothing more after that.

 

Master Nalos led the group, opening up the massive doors. They gave way slowly, and gave such a hideous creak that caused many of the group to wince.

 

They entered into a large chamber. Farther into the chamber, a flight of stairs led up to a great throne looking out into a massive window of the empty void.

 

The chair turned around slowly, and the hooded figure lifted its head to regard them.

 

“Your rampage is at an end, Kronos,” Master Nalos stated boldly. “It’s time you answered for your insidious crimes.”

 

A foul laugh filled the air, chilling their blood as the figure rose.

 

“Spare me the decrepit rhetoric, Jedi, I am beyond your tired words.”

 

“You overestimate your status,” the Twi’lek countered. “You’re just a man, and you can die just like a man.”

 

Kronos laughed again, louder and more terrible this time. “Cling to your ignorance if you wish, Jedi, but it will not change reality.”

 

“You are an abomination to the universe!” Targon broke in. “We do not fear you.”

 

“Oh, but you do, boy,” Kronos hissed. “Your courage proves it. Courage is a trait used by the fearful and the weak. It is a veneer that pathetic mortals try to use to mask their terror. It will avail you nothing.”

 

“You know nothing of me,” Targon stated.

 

Now the laughter was so loud it shook the chamber.

 

“I know who you are, Targon Karashi. But know you who I am?”

 

Kronos’ eyes flashed the bright green, and revealed his skull face. Though the skull itself was terrifying, it seemed as familiar as any skull might be.

 

But then Targon felt the Force enlighten him. The image of the skull changed…to pale and sickly skin, thin hair and lips, and the inverted eyes. Where there was supposed to be white, there was abyssal black, and the pupils were ghostly white.

 

“No,” Targon gasped. “No! That’s not possible!”

 

The image of Khan Arc-Saal was as plain to his eyes as Tython’s sun.

 

“You are dead!” Targon shouted. “I killed you!”

 

Kronos laughed again. “I am beyond death, boy. I am Kronos the Death Lord, immortal and incomprehensible!”

 

Targon felt a burning tear form in his eyes. “You…You killed Tieru!” He reached for his lightsaber and prepared to charge.

 

“Targon, no,” Master Nalos’ voice commanded. “If this is the slayer of Master Tieru, then let the Council’s justice be dealt.”

 

The Twi’lek activated his double-bladed saber and advanced up the steps.

 

Kronos held out a skeletal hand and sent arcs of lightning hurtling towards the Jedi. Nalos simply raised his saber and held back the dark energy. He kept advancing until finally he had reached the top of the stairs.

 

Kronos then drew his saber, and the two of them crossed blades. Ghostly green flashed against brilliant blue, lighting the chamber up with a dance of the two colors.

 

Nalos twirled about, using an aggressive style suited to his exotic weapon. His opponent parried against him and countered. The two took ground and gave ground in the narrow space between the stairs and the throne and window.

 

Down below, the others could only sit and watch. Talhawk’s guards arrived, having fought their way through the countless ghouls. Upon seeing the fight, they raised their weapons to fire, but Talhawk bade them stop. All they would do, he told them, was get in the way.

 

Kronos made a lunge, but Nalos swiped it aside and prepared to make a counter slash along his abdomen. Leaping back, Kronos barely avoided the attack. Then he came at him again, spinning his saber between his bony fingers to attack both from the left and from the right.

 

Master Nalos parried, and then caught Kronos’ blade and held it there.

 

“You may have been a fearsome enemy once,” Nalos stated, “but now it seems your skill is as bare as your bones.”

 

Kronos answered with the deferential grin of his skull, and an angry flash of his eyes. He pulled his saber loose and attacked again. Yet again, Nalos caught it and locked his own blade against it.

 

“What is it then,” Nalos continued, “that causes all to tremble at your supposed power?”

 

Kronos laughed. “I have delved in the secrets of immortality longer than you have been alive, Jedi. I have surpassed the mortal bonds of nature and physics. The Force is capable of all things, and I have become a conduit of its raw power.”

 

“You are a conduit of evil, and it will be your end,” Nalos glared.

 

“Not by you,” Kronos countered as he made a sudden swipe and cut Master Nalos’ saber in two. The halves clattered down the stairs as Kronos lifted the Jedi into the air.

Master Nalos struggled in vain against the hold against him.

 

Before anyone could react, Kronos began to clench his fingers together.

 

“Now experience the full power of Death,” Kronos snarled.

 

Nalos gasped, then roared, and then screamed. His skin was starting to melt away and his cells were ripping apart. There was nothing he could do…there was no defense to be used against such a dark and unknown technique.

 

With a final cry, Master Nalos’ physical form disappeared, and all that was left was a soft glow of his life force.

 

Kronos withdrew his hand and the light flowed into him and disappeared into the dark folds of his cloak.

[TargonKarashi]

Chapter Eleven

 

Blades sprung to life and guns were raised. A storm of blaster bolts zipped through the air as the Jedi charged up the hill.

 

Kronos was ready for them. He remained still as they approached…and then he struck.

 

The first up the steps was Master Navor. He leaped up and twirled his blades as he came down. Kronos stepped to the side and kicked him in the face, knocking him down a few steps.

 

Next came Targon, attacking with perhaps a little too much anger, and definitely too much fear. Kronos caught his blade, pushed him back, and then gave him a hard smack on the cheek with the back of his skeletal hand.

 

As the young Jedi fell, Talhawk arrived. His blade smashed against Kronos’ three times, causing him to take several steps back.

 

Master Je’and was coming in soon after. The two of them were preparing to take Kronos on both sides at once.

 

Instead of allowing that to happen, Kronos lifted his hand – and Talhawk with it – and threw the giant man into the oncoming Jedi. The two of them tumbled down the steps, struggling to keep from landing on the other. They weren’t succeeding.

 

With all the melee attackers taken down for the moment, the shooters had free range to fire at him. He pulled up his saber and deflected the bolts that came near.

 

Then he lifted his hand again and sent an arc of lightning down at them.

 

The group leaped out of the way as best they could, and then they started shooting again.

 

Kronos looked up to the ceiling and willed one of the lesser supports to come crashing down. And it obeyed.

 

Two Kordak men were crushed, and Rick’s legs were caught under the beam. As he cried out, Greyhawk and Gabrielle rushed to his side to help him out.

 

The remaining Kordak soldiers started shooting again. Their blue lasers zoomed up in a staggered pattern that kept Kronos continually moving to block the attacks.

 

He was done with these simpletons and their guns. In the brief moment between laser bursts, he raised his hands toward them and uttered a foul cry.

 

The men rose into the air, screaming as first their armor melted away and then their flesh started to vaporize. They tried to fight against it, but they could do nothing to stop it at the molecular level.

 

Kronos laughed as he listened to their final cries, but he was cut short as a roar came from his side.

 

Turning, he barely caught Navor’s sabers before they had reached his head. He pushed back and blocked the twin blades as they came at him in quick succession.

 

Talhawk was trudging up the stairs again. Kronos could hear the ground tremble beneath his thick, armored form.

 

Kronos leapt over Navor and gave him a hard shove through the Force, sending the cat sprawling towards the Necillian. Talhawk simply shoved the obstacle aside as he kept coming.

 

In response, Kronos ripped out the steps beneath Talhawk’s feet. Losing his footing, Talhawk’s legs buckled and he toppled over, bouncing down the stairs yet again.

 

Master Je’and was advancing now, his sabers ready for anything thrown at him, and his feet taking a stable position.

 

Kronos hissed at these fools’ stubbornness. They seemed to forget that he held the high ground and he knew the battlefield. They, on the other hand, were stumbling blind as all mortals.

 

He sent a wave through the Force at the Jedi, who withstood it easily. But it was truly just a ruse. Right after, he pulled down yet another beam and flung it at the Jedi.

 

Zar’kun cut it in half as it neared, but he turned his sight for a brief moment in doing so.

 

A brief moment was all it took.

 

Master Je’and flew through the air as a bolt of lightning struck his side from Kronos’ fingers. He tumbled through the air and landed at the base of the steps.

 

Kronos turned his sights to the three pitiful people next to Master Je’and – the ones that were blind to the Force.

 

Greyhawk and Gabrielle were struggling to lift the fallen beam enough to allow Rick to free his legs. They seemed totally oblivious to the battle around them, thinking they weren’t of much importance in the fight.

 

Indeed they weren’t, Kronos knew. But he also knew that their deaths would disrupt the focus of the others even more.

 

With a wicked grin, he raised his hands and pointed towards them. His dark fingers reached out towards them through the Force, ready to seize them by the cells and rip them apart. There was nothing they could do.

 

Suddenly, he felt himself rebuffed. It wasn’t too strong, but it was enough to break his concentration.

 

Standing between him and them was Targon, saber held firmly in front of him and eyes staring straight at the Death Lord.

 

“So now you stand in my way yet again,” Kronos nodded. “This is the last time you do so, boy.”

 

“I do not fear you,” Targon stated.

 

Kronos laughed. “Spare me your pathetic and stupid lies, Jedi. I see your heart, and I know what lies within it. Your love for your companions is the point through which I shall break you.”

 

“You will not touch them!”

 

“Won’t I?” Kronos laughed again. “Your master made bold statements against me, and they failed. If you have forgotten, take a look!”

 

He pulled something from his cloak. It was a small portion of a braid of grey hair. There was a feather tied into it.

 

“I take trophies from those that offer real challenges and make me stronger,” Kronos stated. “This is the saber of the only Covenant Sith that stood against me.”

 

He held a long handled saber in the same hand as the braid.

 

“You hold a braid of hair and a lightsaber,” Targon frowned. “Master Tieru is one with the Force and beyond your reach now.”

 

“For now,” Kronos snarled. “But I killed his physical form…soon I shall destroy his soul as well. After I have destroyed you and your friends.”

 

“You will not!”

 

Kronos laughed and sent another wave through the Force. This one was large, and it caused the whole chamber to buckle. The recovering Jedi struggled to hold themselves against it as it passed them.

 

When it came to Targon, he sent his own counter burst through the Force. The two waves crashed into each other and dissipated.

 

Kronos snarled and reached out to the walls. Two of the gruesome gargoyles that brooded over the windows were ripped from their pedestals and careened towards the young Jedi.

 

Targon held out his hands and pushed the stone creatures to the ground. Then he reached out and called the stolen lightsaber and Tieru’s braid to him.

 

They came at once. Targon tied the braid around his wrist and activated both sabers. Green and purpled glowed together, illuminating his skin.

 

Kronos wasn’t about to let him charge up the hill, though. With a feral and horrid shriek, he sent a massive storm of dark energy down at the Jedi. It reached out like the jaws of a terrible beast, ready to devour the young man.

 

Targon stood firm and crossed the blades in front of him. As the tempest reached him, it parted like a river as it hits a stone. A field of light surrounded the Jedi and his companions, holding back the storm.

 

Kronos was surprised at first, but he replaced that shock with further rage. This boy was not going to defy him again. With another banshee howl, he intensified the torrent, unleashing a fury unlike anything that had been known before.

 

The chamber shook, the stone and steel fixtures cracked, and all those who saw this unholy show were tormented with an internal pain like a poison icicle in their chests.

 

Targon’s barrier was weakening, slowly being weathered away by the unceasing hurricane. He clenched his teeth and held back as hard as he could. It was like pushing a great boulder up a hill, fighting the force that willed it to go down.

 

His whole body was trembling, his muscles were burning. Inside, he felt as though his bones would shatter and he would be crushed against the incredible weight.

 

But this wasn’t about him, he knew. This was about protecting Rick and Marc and Gabrielle. This was about protecting all life in the galaxy against the Hand of Death.

 

So he kept pushing, harder and harder with all the strength he could muster. But his coffers were emptying. There was no source for him to draw on in this fury. All around he could hear the deafening howls, like ferocious gales, of Dark Side fury and the terrible wailing of the souls that Kronos had consumed.

 

It was too much.

 

He felt his strength give way. This dark storm had separated him from the Force…he couldn’t hold against it.

 

Someone was standing next to him. He couldn’t look, but he felt strong hands grab his shoulders and support him. The touch was warm and comforting…and then he heard the voice.

 

“You aren’t alone, Targon. You are not the lone flower standing against the fearful wild without the stone’s protection. You are a Jedi, and you are a servant of the Light.”

 

“Master…” Targon cried in his pain. “I can’t…I can’t hold it…I can’t reach out and draw on the Force…”

 

“That’s because you can’t reach out, Targon,” Tieru answered. “It is within you, Targon. Reach within yourself.”

 

Targon closed his eyes and felt a spark ignite into a flame in his spirit. It grew and grew until it filled his whole essence. Finally, he opened his eyes and uttered a loud cry that overpowered the oppressive noise of the storm.

 

He felt a great burst leave him and fill the chamber. He could hear Kronos scream and felt the whole room quake.

 

Then the next thing he remembered, he was on the ground. His strength was exhausted. It was difficult to breathe, but the intense silence relieved him.

 

Up on the steps, a dark shape stirred and then stood.

 

“What have you done?!” Kronos shrieked. “I’ll kill you a thousand times for this, boy!”

 

“That’s not an option for you now,” a voice announced. Footsteps echoed through the chamber. They grew louder until they were right next to Targon.

 

A shape leaned over him and supported him gently.

 

“Well done, young Jedi,” the man said. “Your light has broken his power, and now he is mortal once again.”

 

Targon looked up at the stranger. He was in green armor, and his face was masked. “Who…?”

 

“I am Draco,” the man replied. “And right now I am a friend. You and your companions must go now. The Republic and Kordak force has taken out this station’s stabilizers. Very soon this whole castle will plunge into the abyss.”

 

“But what’s to stop him from correcting it?” Targon asked weakly.

 

“I am,” the stranger replied. “Now, go.”

 

Targon felt himself lifted up and hoisted over the shoulder of a large individual.

 

“Let’s not argue with the man,” Talhawk stated. “Let’s get out of her while we can.”

 

The group was up and left the chamber slowly. They were all still weak from their ordeal, but most could walk and support each other.

 

Draco started up the stairs towards the seething Death Lord.

 

“The last of the Covenant is here now,” Kronos snarled.

 

“Last?” Draco chuckled. “Darth Kronos, you have been fooled like all the rest of the Covenant. I have never been a part of the Covenant anymore than you were.”

 

“Who and what you are makes no difference,” Kronos hissed. “All that matters is that you are mortal. And mortals die!”

 

He raised his hand and hurled bolts of lightning down at the approaching man. Draco’s saber was to his hand at once, and the green blade held back the dark energy. He kept walking, slowly making his way up until he was face to face with Kronos.

 

“As mortal as you now,” Draco nodded.

 

Kronos roared and attacked. Their sabers clashed against each other. Pale green crackled against bright green, ghostly against natural. They continued to part and clash for a long while, neither making progress against the other.

 

The Death Lord lunged, but Draco stepped back and swatted the saber away from him. Then he made a counter move, which was held off by Kronos’ defense.

 

The chamber started trembling as they fought. It grew more intense as it continued until the whole place seemed ready to collapse. Supports broke from the ceiling, and gargoyles fell and shattered.

 

Even the windows themselves were starting to tremble and crack.

 

“What’s happening?” Kronos hissed as he continued his offensive against his opponent.

 

Draco caught his blade and held it there. He leaned forward and answered, “This is the herald of judgment, Kronos. We’re passing through the event horizon. It’s death, Kronos. The point of no return…at least, for you.”

 

“Fool!” Kronos snarled. “I am eternal! It is you that shall die, and all for nothing!”

 

Draco laughed, full of humor. “No, now it is you that doesn’t understand the reality.” He continued laughing. “You bound your essence to your bones, to your robe, and to your citadel itself. All of which are now plunging into the abyss.”

 

Kronos pulled his saber away and slashed again, but Draco caught it again.

 

“On the other hand,” Draco continued, “there are other objects to which one can bind their soul and their will. Mine happened to look a lot prettier than your tattered black garb.”

 

“Treacherous, pathetic snake!” Kronos roared.

 

Draco laughed. “It’s dragon, Kronos. And this dragon shall be reborn, but will there be another life for a ghost?”

 

The collapsing citadel was filled with two voices – Kronos’ shrieking and Draco’s laughter.

[TargonKarashi]

Chapter Twelve

 

The peace on Tython was blissful. Targon didn’t even feel any anxiety or nervousness as he entered the Council’s chamber. Not even when he felt their eyes and minds focused on him did he feel any discomfort. Right now, he was at peace.

 

He knelt respectfully before the masters and bowed his head.

 

“Well, young Targon Karashi,” Master Wixas sighed. “It seems even when we send you on assignment you get into trouble.”

 

Targon nodded, “Yes, Master. It would appear so.”

 

“Getting into trouble, and then getting out of it,” Cyrus added.

 

“So it would seem,” Master Asha nodded.

 

There was a pause. Finally, Master Wixas said, “We’ve already gone over the reports from Master Salar on the conflict with the Kordak League and the Dark Covenant. And Admiral Cordillian has told us about the threat of the Covenant’s survivors. But we feel we should hear something from you, Targon.”

 

“What would you have me say?” Targon asked.

 

“What were the circumstances that led to the terrible loss of so many souls, including Master Nalos?”

 

Targon sighed. “It was the work of a dark man…Darth Kronos.”

 

“A member of the Covenant?”

 

“No, Master,” Targon shook his head. “It was Khan Arc-Saal.”

 

Though he was sure the masters already knew this, he was troubled when he felt the sudden shock that flashed through them.

 

“Khan survived?” Master Rahn asked incredulously.

 

Master Wixas frowned. “It seems his quest for immortality brought him closer than we had thought.”

 

“But was he truly successful?” Master Salar asked.

 

“No, Master,” Targon replied. “Kronos and his fortress were destroyed as they fell into a black hole.”

 

Master Wixas sighed, “Then the galaxy is safe again from a great and unimaginable evil.”

 

“And we have Targon to thank for that,” Master Cyrus nodded smiling.

 

“Not I,” Targon shook his head. “It was the guidance of my master.”

 

“Indeed,” Master Salar concurred. “But it was you that applied his wisdom and guidance. You who stood against the tide of darkness and rebuked it. There is the making of a great Jedi in you, Targon.”

 

“What’s this?” Cyrus grin widened. “Praise from Karus Salar?”

 

“More than you shall receive,” Salar stated dryly. “I have come to see Targon for who he is…and who he has become. It is my opinion that Targon was not as corrupted by his travels with his companions than I had previously supposed.”

 

“You see, Master Rahn?” Cyrus laughed. “This is what happens when you let members of the Council speak for themselves.”

 

The Zabrak Jedi frowned and said nothing.

 

“You are to be commended for you duty and your actions,” Master Asha said to Targon, changing the subject. “You helped in stopping a bloody war with the Kordak League and aided in the destruction of a dangerous Sith cell.”

 

“Quite an accomplishment for a Jedi so young,” Master Rahn admitted.

 

Targon bowed his head again. “Thank you, Masters.”

 

“Now, on to other business,” Master Wixas sighed. “It would appear you are in need of a new assignment.”

 

“So soon?” Cyrus asked. “After dealing with a great many Sith Lords, I think he could use a few days off, don’t you?”

 

“A rest would be a good idea,” Master Asha nodded. “Targon should take time to reflect on the events that have transpired, and how he has grown from them.”

 

“We can’t have him lounging about the temple,” Salar stated. “Otherwise, Cyrus will send him out and he’ll start getting into more trouble. I think we’ve all had more than enough of that.”

 

Wixas held up a hand. “A few days of rest will be good for him.” He then turned to Targon. “We shall summon you again when we have a new assignment for you.”

 

“Yes, Masters,” Targon nodded. He stood and was about to leave, but then he stopped and turned back to the Council.

 

“More to say, have you?” Wixas asked.

 

Targon swallowed, suddenly unsure of what he should say. “Masters…what is to become of Sorgal?”

 

“The Sith prisoner?” Master Rahn raised his eyebrows. “The Order is holding him in a secure cell here in the temple. He shall be held until the Republic courts can try him for his crimes.”

 

“Is incarceration the only option for him?” Targon asked.

 

“Oh?” Master Salar cocked his head. “Is there something you might propose?”

 

“I…” Targon hesitated. “He could…come with me.”

 

If the Council was surprised by his suggestion, they did not show it.

 

“That would be unwise,” Master Wixas sighed. “And imprudent. Sorgal is a Sith, Targon. Lies and deceit are his words, betrayal is his nature.”

 

“I…” Targon fumbled. “I disagree, Master.”

 

“Indeed?” Master Rahn asked. “And why is that, pray tell?”

 

“Sorgal is…like us,” Targon said. “Not like a Jedi, no…but…he is a person, just as I am a person. He lost his master to Kronos just as I did. He cared about his master…and he grieves for him.”

 

“You know this?” Asha asked.

 

“Did he tell you this?” Salar asked. “As you should know, the Sith lie habitually.”

 

“He didn’t tell me, Master,” Targon shook his head. “I sensed it.”

 

Cyrus nodded, but his face was solemn. “It is…possible…” he began, “that certain individuals of the Sith may not follow directly with their upper powers, just as many in the Republic may not be so easily classified by the typical stereotype.”

 

“Surely you are not considering this?” Master Rahn exclaimed. “Such a risk! He could betray the Republic at every turn.”

 

“Not to mention Targon himself,” Salar nodded. “This is not wise.”

 

Master Asha sighed. “Bring the Sith in,” she said simply.

 

A few moments later, a pair of Jedi Knights brought Sorgal into the Council chamber. He was wearing only black robes lined with red. His armor and his lightsaber were not with him.

 

Sorgal’s hair was still messed, and the Dark Side permeated from him still. But his eyes didn’t show malice…they seemed indifferent.

 

“Lord Sorgal of the Dark Covenant,” Asha said. “Do you understand why you have been imprisoned?”

 

“Because I’m a Sith, and the Sith are at war with the Jedi,” Sorgal replied. “What? Didn’t you know that?”

 

“Kindly leash your attitude,” Master Wixas requested. “We do not share your appreciation for japes and sarcasm.”

 

“But it would appear Targon Karashi here has taken a fancy to your attitude,” Cyrus stated. “He has asked for your release.”

 

“My release?” Sorgal was shocked. He turned to look at Targon, confusion plastered on his face. “Why?”

 

“Perhaps he feels you can still do some good out in the galaxy than in a cell,” Cyrus replied. “What do you say?”

 

“You’re asking for my opinion? I’m a prisoner.”

 

“Yes, but also an individual that can make your own choices,” Asha held up a finger. “We have taken into account the aid you gave on Ferrost, and the information that you shared with the Republic. Apart from those, we have not directly seen any other action you have committed, and thus, we cannot judge you by based on the actions of other Sith.”

 

Sorgal nodded thoughtfully at that. “I have no desire to sit in prison for the rest of my life,” he said. “But I also have no desire to start living the Jedi Code and wearing those silly brown robes.”

 

“No one is asking you to,” Cyrus shrugged.

 

Sorgal glanced at Targon again. “What will I do?”

 

“You will go with Targon,” Wixas stated. “He can let you make your own decisions. He is, after all, your mediator in this situation. Were it not for his request, we would not be discussing your release right now.”

 

Sorgal nodded again. “Well…it seems this young Jedi’s career has been quite interesting based on recent events. Certainly not boring…”

 

“And with my luck,” Targon shrugged, “it won’t be any time soon.”

 

The Sith cracked a smile and then sighed. “I guess it’s the best opportunity I’m going to get for a long time. It’s not like the Empire will readily want me back for my part in the Covenant.” He paused. “I accept.”

 

“Very well,” Master Wixas nodded. “Your belongings shall be returned to you, and you are free to go with Targon.”

 

Targon bowed and started out. Sorgal nodded at the Jedi Masters and followed. When they were out in the hall, he stopped.

 

“Why did you do that?” Sorgal asked.

 

Targon faced him. “Do what? Vouch for you?”

 

“Yes. Why?”

 

“Because we are closer alike than our orders would have us believe.”

 

“Sure…but what does that have to do with anything?”

 

Targon sighed. “I think we don’t always have to fight. Maybe the Jedi and the Sith can set aside their differences and stop fighting.”

 

“That’s not likely to happen,” Sorgal scoffed.

 

“No,” Targon nodded. “But maybe we could start.”

 

“I’m not being a Jedi,” Sorgal frowned.

 

“Nor am I asking you to,” Targon replied. “I’m not recruiting you as a follower; I’m reaching out to you as a friend.”

 

“We’ve got a bit of ways to go before we can start calling each other friends,” Sorgal stated.

 

“True, but someone has to initiate the opportunity.”

 

“What if I betray you?” Sorgal asked. “No oath or bond keeps me with you.”

 

Targon sighed. “Well then, I’ll hope that I can change your mind. But if that doesn’t work…Greyhawk will probably kill you.”

 

Conclusion of Episode Seven

[TargonKarashi]

Episode Eight – Way of the Warrior

 

Chapter One

 

The halls of the Ministry of Intelligence were oddly empty today. Only a few cleaning droids were about doing their tasks. But as for officers, staff, and people…nobody.

 

Nobody, that is, except for a young woman dressed entirely in black. She had a soft rounded chin, high cheekbones, and a trim body. She wore a black, skintight bodysuit, black boots, black gloves, a black bandanna, and a pair of black aviators over her eyes. Her soft steps echoed through the abandoned halls.

 

She was frowning at the lack of people. It didn’t seem right…

 

Then she heard a faint voice resounding through the halls. She followed it and eventually found a closed door. Behind it, a fierce voice was shouting. The tone was more than simply angry, it was furious.

 

Holding off a bit, she listened carefully, trying to catch what was being said. She activated the HUD on her glasses to aid in picking out the words.

 

“…an embarrassment to the entire Empire!” was the first thing she specifically noticed. She kept listening. “The Republic’s laughter and skepticism can be heard even when not tuned into the holonet! What have any of you to say for yourselves?”

 

There was a pause, and then a voice spoke up. “My lord, there was nothing we could do to…”

 

The man was cut off with a loud smack that made the woman shudder.

 

“Nothing you could do?” the shouter mocked. “You are the blasted Minister of Intelligence! You have legions of cipher agents positioned throughout the galaxy and you tell me you couldn’t find such a large and active movement!”

 

The woman frowned at hearing that. What was going on?

 

“Eavesdropping is a dangerous pastime,” a voice said behind her.

 

She turned, her hand nearly reaching for the blaster at her hip. But she stopped in time when she saw who it was.

 

The man was wearing a trim Imperial military uniform. A number of medals and insignias decorated his dark grey suit. His hair was slicked back nicely, and his face was clean shaven. He looked in his late thirties or early forties.

 

“What are you doing here?” the woman asked.

 

“I don’t think that’s the proper way to greet an Imperial commander,” the man frowned.

 

She was careful not to roll her eyes as he said that. “Sorry, sir. I just…wasn’t expecting someone from the military to be here at the Ministry of Intelligence.”

 

“I’m not here by choice,” the man said. “I’m here because I have yet to receive the reports I need.”

 

“And what reports are those, sir?”

 

“If you had any idea who I am, madam,” the man frowned, “you would know that I don’t have to answer such a question to you.”

 

“And who are you, sir?”

 

“I am Commander Gerald,” the man stated.

 

“Ah, the head of the Ninth Fleet,” the woman smiled. “It’s been some time since we’ve had a visit from someone so important here.”

 

“You’d best rethink that statement,” Gerald suggested. “Or do you also not recognize the voice behind that door?”

 

She turned around as the door opened and what looked like the entire staff of the Ministry walked out. There were several secretaries, representatives, officers, and even some higher-level agents. After them came the Minister of Intelligence himself. Blood trickled from his lip and his face was solemn and humiliated.

 

“Who would have dared to do that to him?” the woman was shocked.

 

“Who indeed?” Gerald replied.

 

After the Ministry staff had exited, a pair of Sith Inquisitors exited. They were masked from head to toe in red and black robes. She knew at once what they represented…the official guards of the Dark Council. When these men were around, it meant that a Dark Lord was making an official visit to an Imperial administration.

 

And soon he came. He was a black wraith, nearly gliding along the stone floor as he walked. A white mask covered his face, and a furious rage seemed to seethe from his essence.

 

Commander Gerald bowed as the man passed, but the Dark Lord paid no mind to either of them. He glided by, followed by his unnecessary guards, and disappeared down the corridor.

 

The woman failed to conceal her frown as the Sith passed, and it was noticed by the commander.

 

“You’d best take care of your facial expressions,” Gerald advised. “One wrong look and a Sith need no other excuse to cut you down.”

 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she thanked him harshly.

 

“Agent Joan Wernan is far too valuable an asset for the Sith to so lightly cast aside,” a man stated as he walked up to them. He was a middle-aged man, handsome but having let himself grow fat. His uniform was stretched by his size, apparently not having been fitted recently.

 

The woman saluted to the man, and the man nodded to her.

 

“Ah, Director Enro,” Gerald smiled without humor. “You are just the man I came to see.”

 

“Am I, Gerald?” the fat man smiled. “What can I do for such a distinguished military officer?”

 

“I am here because I have yet to receive a report about the dreadnaught that went missing several weeks ago in neutral space in the Dakara system.”

 

“Oh, yes,” Enro nodded. “That unfortunate incident… Well, commander, I don’t know if you noticed, but the Ministry has been dealing with some bigger issues than a single missing warship.”

 

“Yes, I did notice your special visitor,” Gerald frowned. “Lord Viruul did not look very happy with the Ministry.”

 

“Well,” the director smiled. “What else is new?”

 

“Enro,” Gerald was not smiling. “I had a nephew, Sergeant Gol, on that ship. I want the report on what happened, and I am sick of being redirected all over the place in order to even talk to the right people. As director of Intelligence for the Outer Rim, I expect I can get the report from you.”

 

The director sighed. “Very well, commander. I shall have the report delivered to you by this evening. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to debrief Agent Wernan from her last assignment.”

 

Gerald nodded. “It was nice meeting you, Joan Wernan,” he said as he walked off.

 

The woman frowned at him and then turned to the director.

 

“Your mission was a success, I take it?” Enro supposed.

 

Joan nodded. “Indeed, sir. The Czerka representatives were easy to deal with. It didn’t take much to convince them to see things our way.”

 

“Good,” Enro smiled. “That’s very good.” Then he sighed. “I know you were expecting a small leave after this assignment, but I’m afraid that’s going to have to be delayed. The Empire requires your services once again.”

 

“What is it, sir?”

 

The fat man glanced about to be sure no one was within hearing. Then he said in a low voice, “Things are growing dangerous here at the Ministry.”

 

“Aren’t they always?”

 

“Yes, but it’s getting worse, I’m afraid. Lord Viruul was here just now to express his great displeasure at our being unable to know about the recent actions of this Dark Covenant. He showed his real feelings on the Minister himself.”

 

“You mean he…?”

 

“Indeed,” Enro nodded. “Viruul is no friend of the Ministry. He’s got an agenda, and it seems that it doesn’t include the Ministry in its future. Your new assignment is beyond classified…I want you to follow Viruul’s movements and report on his dealings and intentions.”

 

“What? Spy on a Sith? They’re all scheming brutes anyway! Why would…?”

 

Enro held up a chubby finger. “Viruul may be the king of schemers, Joan, but he’s also one of the most dangerous men in the Empire. His actions suggest he’s planning something. I want you to find out what.”

 

“What do I have to go on?” Joan asked.

 

“Not much, I’m afraid. He’s been increasing his visits with Moff Taan, who recently left Dromund Kaas. He’s also been seen speaking to certain Mandalorians and other mercenaries.”

 

“I suppose I’ll look into it,” Joan nodded. “After all, if it’s for the good of the Empire.”

 

“It is,” Enro nodded. “But he won’t agree with that notion. Keep a close but secret eye on him. Should he find out about your observations, I doubt he’ll take kindly to it.”

 

“He shouldn’t have to worry if he isn’t doing anything wrong,” Joan smiled.

 

“There’s a good girl,” Enro smiled. “Report whatever you find to me as soon as possible.”

[TargonKarashi]

Chapter Two

 

“Well, here we are,” Rick sighed as the Lone Eagle exited hyperspace. “Mardas Station, the filthiest pigsty in the galaxy.”

 

“You know from experience?” Targon asked.

 

“Every spacer knows Mardas Station,” Rick shrugged. “It’s the only pit stop in this system. It doesn’t matter if you’re smuggling, pirating, or simply going out for a cruise…this is the place to refuel. Though most would rather take their chances getting lost in space out of gas than stop here.”

 

“Why’s that?”

 

“Most of the galactic scum hangs around here,” Rick replied. “It’s the best place for ruffians to score a quick and easy mugging.”

 

“That’s odd…”

 

“Why’s that?”

 

Targon sighed. “It’s odd that there should be a distress call from such a place…one that the Republic feels should be answered.”

 

Rick frowned. “If you think about it that way…yeah, it is strange. But trust me, most of these folks aren’t real killer material. Maybe someone who is has come for a visit and is causing big trouble.

 

“Trouble for troublemakers,” Sorgal’s voice chuckled from behind. “What a concept.”

 

“Hey!” Rick whirled about angrily. “I thought I told you that the cockpit is off-limits for you!”

 

“Am I really to believe you’ll try to hold me prisoner in my bunk?”

 

“Yeah, I do,” Rick replied. “At least until you show an ounce of trust.”

 

Rick had greatly protested against bringing the Sith Lord on board, but Targon had been adamant. Most of the crew didn’t like it either, but they weren’t nearly as vocal as the captain.

 

And as captain, Rick had only acquiesced to Targon’s request by maintaining the stipulation that the Sith would be kept under constant watch, and he would space Sorgal the moment he sensed any treachery.

 

Targon could do nothing but agree to those terms. And so, the Sith Lord had been kept in one of the bunkrooms for the entirety of the voyage to investigate the Mardos Station.

 

“Look, Rick,” Targon said. “We’re here, now. What good can Sorgal be if we leave him on the ship.”

 

“Oh, he’s not staying on the ship,” Rick stated. “He’s going to be the first one off and the first one through every door. We’re not going to end up in a scrap and watch as he scampers off and leaves us.”

 

Sorgal pointed to his face. “You see this, Mr. Orlan? This is me ignoring your insults.”

 

“Well, that’s something going for you,” Rick sneered.

 

“Guys, we’re going to need to trust each other if we get into trouble,” Targon pleaded.

 

“Trust? What cause have any of us to trust this one?” Rick asked. “He’s a Sith – one of the Covenant that caused such a scrap in Wild Space. Or have you already forgotten?”

 

“I haven’t forgotten, Rick,” Targon felt anger rise in him. “I remember it plenty well.”

 

Rick sighed. “Right, right…” he sounded milder now. “It seems it was I that forgot your…encounter.”

 

“Oh,” Sorgal moaned. “Don’t start getting sentimental until after I’ve left the room, okay?”

 

“My ship, my rules,” Rick stated. “If I want to get sentimental, which you have really yet to see, then you’ll darn well grin and bear it.”

 

Sorgal laughed. “Maybe I could get used to this ship.”

 

“Don’t be getting too comfortable,” Rick warned. “Any trouble and you’re out the airlock.”

 

“Chances are you’ll be coming with me.”

 

“Please!” Targon exclaimed. “Stop it, both of you.” He frowned at them both and then pointed to the console. “Rick, the station is hailing us.”

 

“Oh,” Rick turned to press the comm. “Hello, this is the Lone Eagle coming in for a landing. How are we today?”

 

“Do you have a landing pass?” the voice on the other end asked.

 

“Landing pass?” Targon raised an eyebrow. “I thought anyone could land here.”

 

Rick shook his head. “It’s a stupid little joke is what it is,” he sighed. “Look, Jip, you know who this is!” he shouted into the mic.

 

There was laughter. “Of course I do, Rick. But it’s been a while since you’ve shown up around here…some of us were starting to forget your pretty mug.”

 

“Aw,” Rick smiled. “It’s nice to know you missed me.” Then he shook his head and frowned. “Hey, wait a minute…what’s with the attitude like nothing’s happened? We’re here responding to a distress call.”

 

“Distress call?” the man’s voice sounded confused. “What distress call?”

 

“What do you mean ‘what distress call’?” Rick asked. “The one we just received and we responded to. Don’t tell me someone already solved the problem…or this is all just some big joke…”

 

“I’m not joking with you,” Jip replied. “We didn’t send any signals. Why would we send a distress call and bring more bums here to mess with everything?”

 

“If you didn’t send it,” Rick’s voice inched towards fear. “Then who…?”

 

The Lone Eagle jolted and an alarm started ringing.

 

“We’ve been hit!” Targon stated. “Something just hit us!”

 

The ship shook again and started groaning. It stopped moving and then started going backwards.

 

“Someone’s got a tractor on us,” Rick stated.

 

“Who?” Targon asked.

 

“I’ve finally got you, you son of a murglak,” a familiar voice boomed over the intercom. “Now we can finish our business.”

 

Rick’s eyes widened and Targon gasped. It was a voice they remembered all too well.

 

“Don’t act so surprised,” Algayne’s voice said. “You knew this was coming, Rick. It was only a matter of time. Now, my men will be coming aboard your ship. You will submit and offer no resistance as they take you aboard my yacht. We’ve got an important meeting to get to, and we have lots to discuss.”

 

“Who is this?” Sorgal whispered.

 

Targon turned to him. “Algayne,” he replied. “A Mandalorian commander with a blood feud with Rick…and me too.”

 

“I see,” Sorgal nodded. Then he smiled…a strangely interested and humored smile that did not fit with the current situation.

 

There was a banging on the airlock a few moments later. Rick and Targon stood and exited the cockpit.

 

“Hey, Rick!” Greyhawk called out. “Did you know there’s some Mandalorians at the door? Because…there’s some Mandalorians at the door.”

 

“Apparently they’ve been expecting us,” Rick muttered. “How could I have been so stupid?”

 

“What’s the plan going to be?” Targon asked.

 

“Plan? There’s no plan here. Algayne’s ship is big, armored, and bristling with illegal weapons. There’s nothing we can do that doesn’t result in a painful death.”

 

The whole crew was in the main hold as the Mandalorians entered. Most wore the uniform green armor with the black hand, but there were two with blue and silver.

 

“Oh,” Rick groaned. “Hello again.”

 

“This time there won’t be any Jedi Masters coming to save you,” the Mandalorian woman smirked.

 

“Are you sure about that?” Rick asked defiantly. “You weren’t expecting one to show up last time…”

 

The woman gave him a swift punch to the cheek, nearly dropping him to the floor.

 

“Don’t!” the other Shadowblade ordered. “Algayne wants to give the welcoming present himself.”

 

The woman scowled. “Why should he have all the fun?”

 

“Because he’s the commander,” the man replied. “And he’ll shoot you if you don’t follow his orders.”

 

She nodded and picked Rick up. “Come on,” she snarled. “Algayne’s expecting you.”

 

“Far be it from me to keep him waiting,” Rick mumbled as he massaged his cheek.

 

“Who’s this?” the male Shadowblade asked, pointing a harsh finger at Sorgal. “Who are you supposed to be?”

 

Sorgal’s eyes narrowed and he straightened. “I am Lord Sorgal, and I was dispatched to bring these fugitives to you. You have me to thank for your prize.”

 

“You’re under orders from Moff Taan?”

 

“I am,” Sorgal nodded. “Let us not keep him waiting longer than he has to.”

 

“You son of a…” Rick roared, but then the Mandalorian woman gave him another blow, this time to the gut. He dropped to his knees.

 

“Aren’t you in a bit of a hurry?” Sorgal asked. “Or are you simply defying your commander for your own personal reasons?”

 

The woman snarled at him as she lifted Rick up. The captain of the Lone Eagle glared at Sorgal, and Targon gave a look of despair.

[TargonKarashi]

Chapter Three

 

Following a Sith Lord, while still keeping a substantial distance to avoid detection, was proving to be more difficult than Joan had supposed. Lord Viruul seemed to wander aimlessly all throughout Kaas city. After he left the Ministry, he boarded a speeder with his companions and headed south.

 

She followed him at a safe distance. After a while of going south, he stopped at an office building and sent one of his entourage inside. The Sith went in and the Dark Lord waited for almost fifteen minutes. Then the man returned with another man in a fine suit. He looked rather frightened.

 

Using her HUD, she listened to the conversation.

 

“M-m-my lord…” the man stuttered. “I w-w-wasn’t expecting you today…”

 

“I apologize for my abruptness, Mr. Dak,” Viruul said civilly. “But I’m afraid we’re going to have to move things along faster than we had planned.”

 

“W-w-what do you m-m-mean?”

 

The Sith Lord sighed. “I need the money transferred tonight, instead of next week.”

 

“T-t-tonight, my lord?” the man quivered. “Why?”

 

“That’s my business,” Viruul replied. “We members of the Dark Council cannot share everything we have intended.”

 

“B-b-but I need more time…” the man whimpered. “This wasn’t p-p-part of the deal. Our contract s-s-specifically states…”

 

“I am aware of the contract,” Viruul said sharply. “I’m afraid the deal is going to have to be altered. The money must be transferred tonight, or I shall find someone who can do as I ask.”

 

“My lord, the Imperial military can wait one more week…”

 

“Excuse me?” Viruul’s voice was menacing. “I’ve tried to be civil and support your company, Mr. Dak, and all I’ve ever asked is complete compliance. Now you dare to say to my face that I should wait a week to fund the Empire’s work?”

 

“N-n-no, that’s not what I…”

 

Viruul sighed. “Mr. Dak, it seems your company is not suited to the task I have assigned. I thought by turning to you I could help the Imperial economy, but it seems I’m going to have to change my plans.”

 

The Sith that brought the man out drew his lightsaber and ran the man through. Leaving his crumpled body on the sidewalk, they started up the speeder and moved on.

 

“Sickening,” Joan spat. “Why would a Sith Lord start acting like a common criminal?”

 

She continued to follow the Sith. His speeder wandered the city for some time before finally returning to the Great Citadel. Viruul left his companions and went alone into the large structure.

 

Joan sighed. She couldn’t simply walk into the Citadel without a good reason…and following a Dark Lord was not a good reason. She was going to have to improvise.

 

Finding a secluded and unwatched wall, she pulled a cable gun out from her utility belt and started to ascend the building up to a nearby window. Once there, she climbed through and followed her HUD to locate Lord Viruul again.

 

She found him walking down a long hallway. He was muttering something to himself, something she wasn’t able to discern.

 

Someone approached the Sith Lord, and for some reason, Viruul deigned to stop and grant him an audience. Joan drew closer to hear their conversation.

 

“What do you need to speak to me about that can’t wait until the next Council session, Lord Hades?” Viruul asked.

 

Joan raised her eyebrows in interested surprise. Hades was one of the oldest and most venerable members of the Dark Council.

 

He was an extremely old man, looking as old as the Empire itself. He was bent and leaned heavily on a gnarled wood cane. His red robes were dull and worn, and they looked like they had never been washed.

 

“I hear you’re collecting funds from wealthy businessmen,” Hades stated. “And you’re killing them in the street if they can’t pay.”

 

“Your little birds are quick to report news,” Viruul nodded. “Of course it is no secret.”

 

“Of course,” the aged Sith nodded. “The moffs and generals are going to need lots of readily accessible credits when the day comes.”

 

“Foolish old man,” Viruul scolded. “You aren’t supposed to talk about that aloud, here in the halls.”

 

“Bah,” the old Sith Lord cackled. “It won’t be a secret much longer. We need not worry about anyone overhearing.”

 

“You play a dangerous game,” Viruul stated. “How do you know your enemies don’t have little birds flying about?”

 

“Because my hounds would have caught them,” Hades laughed.

 

“Is there something else you wished to discuss?” Viruul asked.

 

“Yes, as a matter of fact,” the old man’s smile made his wrinkled pale skin even more hideous. “My little birds have also noted your dealings with mercenaries, moffs, Mandalorians…and was there something else that began with M?”

 

Viruul chuckled. “I think you’ve covered that. What does it matter?”

 

“Nothing,” Hades pounded the ground with the tip of his cane. “Except your interest in such a matter falls along the subject of a single young Jedi.”

 

Viruul frowned suddenly. “Your old ears must be hearing things,” he said simply.

 

“I may be old, but I’m not stupid,” Hades said more seriously. “You’re spending a lot of time and resources in trying to catch this certain Jedi.”

 

“What does it matter to you?” Viruul asked.

 

“Not much, truth be told. But I’m curious as to why?”

 

“A disturbance in the Force.”

 

“Isn’t there always?”

 

Viruul sighed. “Something far greater than you can imagine, Hades. I have felt him, this Jedi, for some time now. But only recently…”

 

“There was a great tremor in the Force,” Hades held up a thin and crooked finger. “A great wave of darkness, and then a counter of light.”

 

“That was the Jedi,” Viruul stated.

 

“Indeed? You are certain of this, Lord Viruul?”

 

“Would I be telling you if I wasn’t?” Viruul countered.

 

Hades nodded. “Perhaps you would like some help in this matter? I have some agents you could use…”

 

“My agents are already working as we speak,” Viruul said simply. “You are…generous in your offer, Lord Hades, but it is unnecessary.”

 

Hades smiled. “For now, I suppose. My offer still stands, however, should you change your mind.”

 

“Thank you,” Viruul inclined his head. “It is nice to have allies with me on the Council.”

 

“You certainly don’t have many in the Ministry,” Hades laughed.

 

Viruul laughed with him and then walked off. The old man went on his way.

 

Joan was now alone in the dark hall. She breathed easier now that the Dark Lords were not nearby. Her head was swimming with everything she had just heard. The conspiring of Sith Lords was strange and foreign to her…and this was worse.

 

What did two Dark Lords care for a single Jedi? What funds were Viruul raising for the Imperial military? How much of all this did the people, or even the Ministry know about?

 

She sighed and made her way out, taking care not to be spotted by anyone. She needed to report her findings to Director Enro.

[TargonKarashi]

Chapter Four

 

Five racks had been prepared for the crew of the Lone Eagle aboard Algayne’s vessel, Warrior’s Blood. Chains were fastened to their wrists and ankles, dangling them in the air. The room they were placed in was also sealed by an energy field that could only be accessed from the outside.

 

For a couple hours, they sat and waited. No one spoke, no one had anything to say. They were captured by Mandalorians, and their newest companion had taken the opportunity to put himself in an advantageous position.

 

Finally, Rick sighed. “I told you that Sorgal would be nothing but trouble,” he told Targon.

 

“You didn’t know what he would do any more than I did,” Targon countered.

 

“Guys, it really doesn’t matter now,” Gabrielle hissed before their argument could grow. “We’re stuck here, and that’s what’s important. You could save your breath and energy and help come up with a way out of this mess.”

 

“What escape could we try?” Rick asked. “This is a ship full of Mandalorians. Our ship is clamped on tightly, and even if we made it there, they would simply blast us to dust.”

 

“That’s quitter talk there,” Greyhawk grumbled. “What happened to your rogue spirit?”

 

“Believe it or not,” Rick frowned, “it died a long time ago.”

 

“That I most certainly believe,” Algayne stated as he walked into the room. He was flanked on either side by his Shadowblades. He hadn’t changed at all, of course, he was fully covered in his armor, and so there was no real way to tell.

 

Rick sighed mournfully as the Mandalorian entered. “Nice to see you again, Algayne,” he said. “You look good, considering the shape you were in when we last met.”

 

“You crashed me through a wall,” the Mandalorian growled. “And your Jedi friend here interrupted a battle of honor.”

 

“There is nothing honorable about beating a man senseless,” Targon spat.

 

“Maybe not for a weak-hearted Jedi,” Algayne shrugged. “Your foolish order never could understand us. That’s alright, there’s plenty of time for you to learn.”

 

“So where are we headed?” Rick asked.

 

“A moff of the Empire is very eager to meet you all,” Algayne replied.

 

“Well, we should be flattered and honored,” Gabrielle frowned. “More than we are already, anyway.”

 

“You should learn to hold your tongue until you are spoken to, woman,” Algayne snarled. “Only warriors like Merani can speak among men.”

 

“How typical of a pig-head like you,” Gabrielle spat.

 

“I should teach you some respect,” Algayne stepped towards her. “Have you ever felt what it’s like to be a Mandalorian prisoner? Do you know how many survive the ordeal? I do. I was once one. Rest assured, schutta, it is very painful.”

 

“Ooh, I’m so scared,” she mocked.

 

“Hey, leave her alone!” Rick shouted. “I’m the one you’ve got a problem with, Algayne. Let the others go, they’re nothing to you.”

 

“On the contrary,” Algayne turned to face him. “You’re all worth quite a bit. But before I hand you over to the Empire, I’m going to get some satisfaction out of the misery you’ve caused me.”

 

“What about the misery you’ve caused us?” Rick asked. “When do we get to have our justice?”

 

“Justice is for the weak,” Algayne laughed. “If you want retribution, you have to take it yourself.”

 

Algayne snapped his fingers and the male Shadowblade unfettered Rick and took him down. Before Rick could get comfortable out of his chains, Algayne landed a massive blow to his gut.

 

Rick gasped and bent over. Then Algayne slammed his fist into Rick’s face and then on his back, knocking him to the ground. Rick cried out and tried to curl up on the floor.

 

But then the female started kicking his ribs with her armored boot. After a few well placed kicks, she and her counterpart hoisted him back to his feet and held either side of him as Algayne took several more blows to his gut and face with his fist.

 

Greyhawk raged against the chains, as if he would break free and maul the Mandalorians. Algayne laughed at him as he let Rick drop back to the ground.

 

“Your turn will come soon enough, old man,” the Mandalorian stated. “But it’s Rick’s turn right now, and then the Jedi is next.”

 

“I was wrong,” Gabrielle stated. “You’re not a pig, you’re a cowardly rat!”

 

Algayne got up into her face. “I think I’ve had enough of your talk, woman. It’s long past time a man put you back in your place.”

 

“I’ve dealt with stronger men than you,” Gabrielle said before she hurled a wad of spit at his visor.

 

Algayne stepped back and wiped the saliva off of his helmet. “You’re defiant and feisty,” he said. “Looks like I’m going to have to beat that out of you.”

 

“You can try,” Gabrielle inclined her head.

 

“Leave…her…alone,” Rick croaked as he struggled to get up. “I’m…the one…you want…”

 

“Hook him back up,” Algayne commanded, and his followers did so. “It’s true, Rick, that you’re the worm I want most of all. But I’ve got plenty to spare for your friends. And you get to watch.”

 

“Why don’t you make this an honorable match and let us fight back?” Greyhawk asked harshly. “Are you such a coward that you fear to face us in combat again?”

 

“Your years will not help you here,” Algayne growled. “You’ve had plenty of experiences of war and pain, old man. I assure you that I will make those pale in comparison.”

 

“Why don’t you prove yourself?” the old soldier asked. “The Necillians were a stronger and more honorable race, and they always made sure they let their actions do the talking for them. All I’m hearing from you are words.”

 

Rick spat blood. “Marc…don’t tick him off.”

 

“It’s too late for that,” Algayne stated. “You’ve gone far enough, grandpa. Merani, Stryker, bring him down.”

 

The Shadowblades complied, unhooking Greyhawk from his chains and setting him on his feet. He immediately tried to break free, but they gave him a blow to the back of the head and held him tight.

 

“Are you so eager for your treatment?” Algayne asked lazily as he cracked his knuckles.

 

“This time tomorrow,” Greyhawk spat, “you’ll be a dead man.”

 

“Now who’s just spouting words?” the Mandalorian chuckled as he plunged his fist into the old soldier’s ribcage.

 

Greyhawk said nothing, made no cry and made no sign that he was in pain. Algayne struck again, and again, and again. Still, he retrieved nothing from him.

 

“Looks like I’ll have to try something else,” Algayne sighed as he stepped back. “Merani, take his armor and clothes off.”

 

“Sir?”

 

“You heard me,” Algayne ordered.

 

The woman nodded and obeyed, stripping off Greyhawk’s armor until there was nothing but the simple cloth beneath. “All of it, sir?”

 

“All.”

 

She complied and stripped the cloth from him. Styker held his naked frame firmly, looking on the old but muscled man with contempt.

 

Algayne cracked his knuckles again. “You know, old man, I was set to become the new Mandalore. I was prepared to kill him in a ritual duel of our culture…but that scum, Artus, got to him first in a cowardly fight. I challenged the newly named Mandalore soon after.”

 

“I take it you lost,” Greyhawk smirked.

 

“I did,” Algayne nodded. “We were about to begin, when he suddenly commanded his men to seize me and throw me in a cell. Do you know what Mandalorians do to fellow warriors when they have them prisoner? They break their wills and their fighting spirit.”

 

“So that’s why you’re not as tough as you look?”

 

Algayne smacked his face so hard it echoed and made everyone in the room shudder.

 

“They tried to break me,” Algayne said coolly. “They stripped me of my armor and held me naked as the new Mandalore held a plasma cutter in his hands. You know where he struck me with it? Do you?”

 

Greyhawk said nothing.

 

“He burned my manhood,” Algayne said furiously. “He held that torch between my legs until it turned black and fell off!”

 

“Did he make you eat it?” Greyhawk asked.

 

Algayne kicked him with a heavy boot to the groin. The old soldier winced and bit his lip, but he did not cry out.

 

“You’re strong,” Algayne nodded. “But I wonder how strong you’ll be after I burn every square inch of your skin?” He held up his left gauntlet and fiddled with the controls of the flamethrower.

 

Greyhawk spat at him, a mix of saliva and blood. “You think I fear being burned?” he asked. “I watched women and children burn alive! Innocent children whose fathers just happened to be fighting against the corrupt government that was supported by the Republic. I watched them scream and die as the flames turned their skin to ash! I don’t fear flames on my own body.”

 

“You should,” Algayne snarled. “The pain is beyond description…and beyond anything you could see with your eyes.”

 

“Enough!” a voice shouted.

 

Algayne and his Shadowblades turned to face Sorgal who had entered the room.

 

“I will not have you killing the prisoners,” the Sith stated.

 

“You do not give me orders on my ship,” Algayne hissed.

 

“You’re no longer in charge anymore,” Sorgal slapped him.

 

“How dare you?!” Algayne roared. “Do you presume to…?”

 

Sorgal cut him off. “We have arrived at the rendezvous with Moff Taan. He is in control now, and he doesn’t want the prisoners dead.”

 

Algayne was silent, and then he stood straight. “Very well,” he said simply. “I will contact Taan and we shall board his command ship with the prisoners.”

 

He started walking for the door, and then he veered around.

 

“You better be careful,” he warned Sorgal. “Push me too far and you’ll end up in chains with the rest of them.”

 

“If I push you far enough,” Sorgal sneered. “I could throw you into space.”

 

Algayne growled and left. Stryker followed closely behind him, but Sorgal stopped Merani before she left.

 

“Put his clothes back on,” he ordered.

 

She nodded and complied, saying nothing.

[TargonKarashi]

Chapter Five

 

Algayne’s ship seemed incredibly small compared to the immense Star Destroyer that loomed above. Like a biting fly finding a place to land on the bantha, Warrior’s Blood entered the main hangar and landed.

 

The ramp lowered and Algayne walked out with his warriors. Taan was awaiting him with a complement of Blackguards. The Chiss’ red eyes watched him coolly.

 

“You are late,” Taan said simply.

 

“So sue me,” Algayne shrugged. “What does it matter what time I got here? I’ve got them, after all.”

 

Taan nodded. “Bring the Jedi to the bridge so that I can see him,” he ordered. “Place the others in the brig.”

 

“So when do I get paid?”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“Paid. For. The. Job.” The Mandalorian spoke slowly to spell out what he meant.

 

Taan sighed. “You will get your compensation when we have delivered the Jedi and placed the others in a prison for their crimes against the Empire.”

 

“And what shall I do with the Sith?”

 

“What Sith?” Taan asked.

 

“The one that was dispatched to lead them into the trap,” Algayne replied.

 

Taan frowned. “Bring him to the bridge as well.”

 

With that, the Chiss left the hangar, taking his guards with him.

 

“Shall we do as he says?” Merani asked.

 

Algayne nodded slowly. But then, before they moved, he held up a finger.

 

“I don’t think I’m done with them,” Algayne stated. “They need some more reminders of who they’re dealing with.”

 

“Sir?” Merani stepped towards him. “There’s no need to become mired in sadism. After all, Taan doesn’t want them dead…”

 

Algayne spun about and slapped her, taking her helmet off in the blow. “You don’t tell me what I should or shouldn’t do, woman!”

 

“I am a warrior,” Merani stated fiercely. “Not like that schutta.”

 

Immediately, Algayne cooled and nodded. “You’re right. She is no fighter, so she needs that fighting spirit taken out of her.”

 

“And the soldier?” Stryker inquired.

 

“We’ll deal with him later…he’s had more than his share of attention,” Algayne shook his head. “We don’t want him to start thinking he’s someone special.”

 

Stryker nodded. “So what do you want us to do?”

 

“Do as the moff said and place the soldier and the cat in the brig. But before you put Rick in with them…I want him to endure some more disgracing.”

 

“More?” Merani asked. “Haven’t you regained your honor from him already?”

 

Algayne made a move to slap her again, but then decided against it. “Yes, I have taken my honor back…for the most part. There still requires blood. But I don’t want us on equal terms, Merani. I want him disgraced utterly.”

 

“How will you do that?”

 

Algyane turned to the other Shadowblade. “You shall have to act in my stead, Stryker.”

 

“What would you have me do?”

 

“Take the Twi’lek while you keep Rick chained up. Make sure he can see her clearly and he is completely unable to help her.”

 

“And?”

 

“You know what to do,” Algayne stated. “Ride her until her pretty blue skin turns red and sore. Do anything and everything you please to her, and make certain Rick sees it all.”

 

“As you command, sir,” Stryker saluted, a carnal excitement in his voice.

 

“Sir,” Merani protested, “I don’t think that is necessary!”

 

“No, it isn’t necessary,” Algayne nodded. “But it will be satisfying.”

 

Merani sighed. “What shall I do, sir?”

 

“Place the others in the brig,” Algayne ordered. “And then join me on the bridge.”

 

“Yes sir,” the woman nodded and went back up the ramp.

 

Algayne then turned back to Stryker. “I heard that this girl was once a slave, so she’ll probably enjoy whatever you do to her. Just try to make sure you enjoy it even more.”

 

“Yes sir,” Stryker nodded and went up the ramp as well.

 

The Shadowblades soon returned, with the other warriors. Three men took Greyhawk and Navor as Merani oversaw them. Stryker brought Targon, and Sorgal was following.

 

“You two will be coming with me,” Algayne said to them. “Please don’t try anything, Jedi. I’d hate to have to give the halls a new coat of red paint.”

 

Targon said nothing, just kept his eyes looking straight down. Algayne snapped his fingers and grabbed Targon harshly, directing him out of the hall. Sorgal followed silently.

 

Merani took the others towards the brig as Stryker stalked up the steps.

 

He entered into the prisoner’s hold, and a battered Rick turned to look at him.

 

“So how come we don’t get a cell?” he asked.

 

“Algayne has something else in mid for you,” Stryker replied.

 

“If he wants me dead, he should just pull the trigger himself,” Rick growled.

 

“He doesn’t want you dead…yet,” the Mandalorian shook his head. “He wants you disgraced first.”

 

“Oh, figures,” Rick shrugged.

 

Stryker walked up to them and started unchaining Gabrielle. As he did so, he said, “Algayne has noticed how you look at this schutta, Rick. He knows you fancy her.”

 

“What are you talking about?” Rick gaped. “That’s a load of bantha fodder right there.”

 

“He also knew you’d try to deny it,” Stryker nodded. “It seems he knows you better than you do.”

 

“Yeah?” Gabrielle asked. “And what good does that do you?” Once her arm was free, she aimed her fist for the Mandalorian’s face. He caught her fist in his hand and squeezed tightly.

 

“She might not fancy you, Rick,” Styrker smirked. “But that doesn’t make any difference.”

 

“Just what the frell are you doing?” Rick asked, dark suspicion in his voice.

 

“Taking my turn at this former slave,” Stryker answered. “It’s the only thing her species is good for, isn’t it?”

 

Before anyone could say anything, he threw her to the ground and pounced on top of her. One of his big hands held her arms up above her head and unable to move, while the other groped along her clothes and looked for a way to rip them off.

 

“You bastard!” Rick writhed in his chains. “Stop it or I’ll kill you!”

 

“Let’s see you try,” Stryker smiled as he started nuzzling his face in the woman’s chest. Suddenly, Gabrielle made a swift movement and hissed.

 

Stryker roared and pulled back, grabbing his bleeding ear.

 

“Blue skinned wench!” he snarled. He then slapped her several times, and then turned her over. “Bite the floor you two-bit hussy!”

 

Rick’s chains rattled. “You sick monster!” he screamed. “Leave her alone! STOP IT!”

 

Gabrielle was struggling, squirming about like a fish, but Stryker held her firm. He slapped her face several times, yanked on her lekku, and started trying to get her clothes off again.

 

There was a soft click and jingle of chains, and then a pair of feet landed on the floor. Confused, Stryker looked up to Rick…and saw that he wasn’t chained up anymore.

 

In his teeth, Rick held a pin. He spat it out as he grabbed his blaster pistols.

 

With a roar, Stryker rose to grab his own gun, but a sudden kick to his groin from Gabrielle sent him clattering to the ground.

 

Rick had his blasters in his hands, pointed right at the Mandalorian.

 

“Your master is a dog and you are filth that he leaves on the ground,” Rick hissed. “I’m not the helpless fool you all take me for. And now it’s going to cost you.”

 

He pulled the trigger and landed seven bolts in Stryker’s chest. The man went limp on the floor, but even so, Rick fired at him again, two more, three more…ten more bolts into the dead man.

 

Finally, he dropped to his knees and hoisted Gabrielle up and held her tight.

 

In her cold and stern eyes, Rick could see a tear welling up.

 

“It’s okay,” Rick hugged her. “It’s alright, he’s not going to hurt you anymore. He’s not going to hurt anyone anymore.”

 

“How did you…?” Gabrielle was about to ask, but Rick shook his head.

 

“It doesn’t matter, you’re alright now.”

 

She shook her head as the tear burst from her eye and ran down her cheek. “How? How did you do that when you act so stupid and inept all the time?”

 

Rick smiled and hugged her again. “I learned a long time ago that you can fool the biggest fools by acting the fool yourself.”

 

She sniffed as she laid her head on his shoulder for a moment. And then she sat up. “What are we sitting here for?” she asked sharply. “Let’s get the others!”

[TargonKarashi]

Chapter Six

 

Algayne nearly thrust Targon through the doors into the bridge of the Imperial warship. Crewmen looked up from their stations to glance at him, and on the far side of the bridge, standing in front of the great window, a Chiss with a stark white uniform was staring at him.

 

The harsh red eyes seemed to sparkle against the cold blue skin. It reminded Targon too much of another dangerous person he had already met…though this man was far more stern and trim in comparison.

 

The Chiss smiled. “Ah, so this is the Jedi we’ve been so tirelessly searching for,” he stated. “Welcome aboard my ship, young Jedi. I am Moff Taan.”

 

“Don’t start trying to take credit where it isn’t due,” Algayne growled. “It was I, and my warriors, that caught this one. Not your putrid soldiers or mercenaries.”

 

Taan ignored his statement. “I hope you find your accommodations here…reasonable…Jedi.”

 

“What about my companions? Can they expect such civil behavior from you?” Targon asked harshly.

 

Algayne stifled a snicker.

 

Taan frowned. “You are in no position to be asking or demanding anything from us, young man. You will be treated according to your cooperation. It can, after all, be a long and painful trip to Dromund Kaas.”

 

Targon winced. The Imperial capital? What was he being taken there for?

 

The ship lurched minutely as they shot off into hyperspace. The stars became lines and then a mottled sea of blue.

 

“You and your friends have been difficult to track down,” Taan stated. “You’ve led many on quite a chase, and cost us a great many resources in the pursuit.”

 

“But you weren’t good enough,” Algayne said satisfactorily. He had taken his helmet off, and his scarred and cruel face glared at Targon, even while he pretended a smile.

 

“You really shouldn’t start gloating,” Sorgal said suddenly, having remained silent and inconspicuous the whole time before. “After all, it did take you quite a long time to finally capture them.”

 

“Ah, and who are you supposed to be?” Taan’s eyes narrowed.

 

“Lord Sorgal,” the Sith answered brusquely. “I am the one you have to thank for these prisoners.”

 

Taan nodded, but frowned darkly. “I don’t recall ever seeing you before.”

 

“Sith don’t always make a habit of being familiar, even with Imperial officers.”

 

“That is true, but as Moff, I have direct access to every and all information detailing operations I expressly oversee, such as this one. And I do not know you.”

 

“You can take this up with your superiors,” Sorgal shrugged. “Or you could outright challenge my claim here and now. Neither would I suggest you do.”

 

Taan folded his arms. “You take me for a fool, Sith?”

 

“Maybe.”

 

“I have no superiors,” Taan stated angrily. “I am a Moff.”

 

“All that means is you’re one of the Dark Council’s puppets.”

 

Algayne laughed at that, and Taan nearly lost his composure, an odd sight for a Chiss.

 

“Let’s just see if there’s any record of your assignment to this case,” Taan said, cooling himself. He turned and walked over to a crewman’s console. Pushing the ensign out of the way, he started calling up files.

 

All of a sudden, the door to the bridge burst open, and three Imperial soldiers flew through. Targon dropped to the floor as Algayne tumbled over him and rolled into one of the crew pits after a piece of debris struck the back of his head.

 

The bridge security raised their guns, but blaster bolts sprung from the field of smoke that filled the entry and took them down.

 

Rick, Gabrielle, and Greyhawk barged in, guns blazing. Navor was with them, activating his sabers and blocking incoming shots.

 

“I thought your men had secured the prisoners!” Taan shouted at the Mandalorian commander as he was getting up.

 

“They had,” Algayne spat as he stood and climbed out of the pit. He grabbed a crewman and held him up as a shield as he shot back at the intruders. Three bolts hit the man, and Algayne kept holding him even after he had gone limp.

 

“Maybe if they had focused on holding us rather than groping,” Rick stated, “they might have done a better job!”

 

“I’ll kill you, Rick!” Algayne shouted, unleashing a fury of shots.

 

Rick ducked and dove behind a console, but something else struck Algayne in the side.

 

“Not before I kill you,” Greyhawk roared as the two of them clattered to the ground.

 

They rolled a bit, and then they were on each other like a pair of rival alpha males. Their fists smashed into each other’s chests and faces. Greyhawk was on top and raging at first, but Algayne was larger and stronger, and soon he had taken the advantage.

 

He hurled Greyhawk off of him and stood up. He gave several kicks to the old soldier’s gut, and then pulled out his blaster to put a smoking hole in him…

 

But before he could do so, a blaster bolt singed his armor. Algayne turned and saw Rick readying another shot at him.

 

“Scum!” Algayne roared as he turned his gun on the smuggler. As he pulled the trigger, he felt his legs taken out from beneath him as Greyhawk slammed his whole body into them.

 

The shot got off, but it wasn’t as straight as it would have been. Unable to get out of the way in time, Rick lurched and fell to the ground grabbing his side that had been hit.

 

As he writhed on the ground, Gabrielle stood over him, covering him and shooting at the Mandalorian. She missed, and instead hit one of the major consoles of the bridge.

 

The Star Destroyer came prematurely out of hyperspace. Fortunately, it was not near anything to have an unpleasant collision.

 

Algayne stood and kicked the weakened soldier away easily. Then he prepared to fire his blaster again, right between Greyhawk’s eyes.

 

Suddenly, he was hurled through the air and slammed against the window. Looking up, he saw Sorgal holding out his hand towards him, anger and contempt in his eyes.

 

Algayne roared at him and tried to break free of the invisible bonds that held him. He didn’t notice the slight cracking sound behind him or the tiny lines forming in the glass.

 

Sorgal brought his hands together and created a swirling ball of lightning between his fingers. Then he thrust it out and sent it hurtling towards the Mandalorian. It struck with a deafening explosion as the window shattered and the whole atmosphere started being sucked out into space.

 

Everyone was trying to hold tight, but many of the crew were not able to keep their grip. Several flew out screaming into the silent abyss before the blast shields sealed the breach.

 

It was quiet then…and Algayne was gone.

 

Navor stood. “I think it’s time we took our leave,” he stated.

 

The Cathar bent over and lifted up the old soldier and heaved him over his shoulder. Targon got up and helped Gabrielle lift the wounded Rick. Sorgal remained for a moment after them to pay one more glance at the place where the Mandalorian had been seconds before.

 

Then he smiled satisfactorily and followed the others out of the bridge and through the halls of the ship. The entire ship was in chaos, and they had little resistance or trouble getting back to the hangar.

 

The Lone Eagle was there, but Algayne’s ship was missing.

 

“What’s this?” Navor asked. “Didn’t you take care of Algayne’s men?”

 

“We missed one,” Gabrielle stated. “The woman.”

 

“It doesn’t matter now,” Targon said. “Let’s just get out of here while we can.”

 

“You there,” a voice called out. “Halt!”

 

They turned to see the deck crew pointing at them, and a few soldiers heading for them.

 

Navor growled and flew at them, cutting the soldiers and crew alike with his twirling sabers. When they were dealt with, the hangar was suddenly quiet…as quiet as the bridge.

 

They boarded the ship. Targon took the pilot’s chair and powered up the engines. They were out and almost completely out of range before the Star Destroyer’s guns started firing after them.

 

An alarm started blaring. Targon checked what was wrong and sighed in dismay.

 

“What’s the matter now?” Sorgal asked as he walked into the bridge.

 

“That Mandalorian woman must have given us a parting gift,” Targon groaned, pointing to the fuel display. “Our fuel line’s got a serious leak, there’s not enough to get out of here.”

 

“Then we’ll have to land and make repairs,” Sorgal shrugged. “I wasn’t expecting this to be too easy.”

 

“Yes,” Targon nodded. “But look what the only planet in range of our fuel is…” He pointed to the navicomputer.

 

Sorgal took a look and laughed.

 

“Korriban?”

 

Targon nodded grimly.

 

The Sith laughed again, so hard he had to sit down.

Edited November 16, 2012 by TargonKarashi

[TargonKarashi]

Chapter Seven

 

Director Enro had been pleased with Joan’s report, but he said that there was much more still to be learned about Viruul’s doings. He told her to head back to the Great Citadel and take a look into any files she could find.

 

The nature of the mission didn’t bother her at all. It was a simple reconnaissance task – get in, grab the information, and get out. No one would get killed in a job like this…except her, if she got caught.

 

It was nearing midnight as she reached the secluded spot she had climbed last time. No one was about, and even if there was someone, she would not be easily seen thanks to her completely black attire.

 

Sending up her grappling hook, she climbed up to the nearest window. Once in, she followed her HUD aviators through the dark halls, careful to avoid running into anyone. If she was seen by any of the Sith or officers at this hour, there would be unpleasant questions…and an even worse need for violence.

 

She heard footsteps coming her way. Instinctively, she found a dark place where she could hide and wait for the person to pass.

 

As the person came near, she noticed from her HUD that it was none other than that unpleasant Commander Gerald.

 

She rolled her eyes as he went by, but then she wondered if she might find something of interest by following him. Maybe he knew about the funding Viruul was gathering for the military?

 

Keeping at a good distance, she followed Gerald through the halls. She took great care to refrain from making any sort of noise, from her footsteps to her breath.

 

Gerald took several unexpected turns, and Joan was really starting to wonder where he was going. He started going into areas where few officers were permitted. And he most certainly didn’t have the same access as a Moff.

 

Finally, he stopped at a door and knocked softly. A voice that shocked Joan replied.

 

“Come in, Commander Gerald,” Lord Viruul said.

 

The door opened and the commander stepped through. Joan knew better than to try to get into the room with him. Instead, she found a ventilation duct and climbed in. She followed it until she was certain that she was right above the chamber. To her relief, there was an open vent where she could at least partially see the discussion.

 

Gerald bowed before Viruul, who was seated behind a desk on the far side of the chamber. The room was vast and empty.

 

This was not Viruul’s personal quarters, Joan was sure. If it was, the commander would never have been able to get this far. Another Sith Lord would have stopped him long ago…and her too.

 

Then what was this place? A casual meeting office? Did the Sith have such places? It didn’t seem to make much sense.

 

“Before we begin,” Gerald stated. “Might I inquire as to why you asked to meet here in this…galactic display room?”

 

Viruul chuckled. “The Dark Council runs a large empire that encompasses nearly half the known galaxy, Gerald. Does it not make sense that we take time to observe it at a proper scale?”

 

“If so,” Gerald nodded, “why then isn’t the projector on now?”

 

“Were I speaking with someone I wasn’t interested in, then it would be on,” Viruul answered simply. “You, on the other hand, have several things of value to discuss.”

 

“I thank you for the regard,” Gerald bowed.

 

“You should be grateful,” Viruul smiled. “It is not something I usually bestow…even among the Moffs.”

 

“Then I hope our discussion proves truly valuable,” Gerald stated, intimidated yet honored at the same time.

 

“Now then,” Viruul nodded. “I regret to inform you that the transfer of funds has been…delayed.”

 

“Delayed?” Gerald’s voice suggested annoyance. “How can we bolster our forces without more funding? We can’t obey the Emperor’s will if…”

 

Viruul held up a hand. “Yes, Commander, I am aware. I am with you in frustration. Apparently, many of the business owners in the Empire do not share the proper amount of loyalty and patriotism.”

 

“Then we must make them,” Gerald stated.

 

“That is being taken care of,” the Sith Lord sighed. “It will simply take a little longer than either of us would like.”

 

Gerald nodded. “Now, my lord, I wish to discuss this report with you.”

 

“Ah yes,” Viruul nodded. “You mentioned a report that you’ve finally received, and that you aren’t happy with the contents.”

 

“Yes, my lord,” Gerald nodded. “Might I speak frankly with you?”

 

Joan nearly gasped. Since when did officers talk this way with Sith Lords? Especially members of the Dark Council?

 

Viruul chuckled. “Grand Moff Kilran told me about you, Commander. He told me about your curious views of the Sith, that we are simply superior officers that have an inflated opinion about ourselves.”

 

“I…” Gerald flushed.

 

“Don’t try to deny it,” Viruul shook his head. “I have a copy of your exact words from your log. Nothing is secret from us, Gerald. But don’t worry, I will allow you to speak your mind right now.”

 

“Thank you, my lord,” Gerald nodded. He held up a datatpad. “What sort of tripe is the Empire trying to spout as fact? This report states that the Imperial dreadnaught, Chagrin, captained by Commander Hugo, was lost in a powerful solar storm in the Dakara system.”

 

Viruul laughed.

 

“Is something funny, my lord?”

 

Viruul shook his head. “Indeed, it is funny that the Ministry of Intelligence has gotten worse at the skill of lying as of late. That report is completely fictitious.”

 

“My lord?”

 

“Isn’t that what you expected? The Ministry weaves secrets like a spider weaves webs. The truth, Gerald, is quite different. Yes, the ship was lost with all hands, but not from a solar storm. It was destroyed by a yet unidentified source.”

 

Gerald was quiet.

 

“I know it’s not as much as you would like, considering your lost nephew,” Viruul nodded. “But that’s the information that is available. The Ministry tries to cover things up with lies.”

 

The commander stiffened. “I thank you for the honesty and relative closure,” Gerald bowed.

 

Viruul nodded. “You are dismissed, Commander.”

 

Gerald bowed again and left.

 

When he was gone, Viruul clenched his fists and slammed them on the desk.

 

“Be careful with that,” a cackling voice called out. “That desk has been around longer than I have.”

 

Viruul folded his arms as Lord Hades appeared from the dark.

 

“What do you want?” Viruul asked harshly.

 

“I want to know what’s got you so upset,” the old man replied. “You concealed your agitation quite well in front of the Commander, but now that he is gone…”

 

Viruul growled. “Just before my meeting with the Commander, I got an unpleasant report from Moff Taan.”

 

“Oh?” the old man rubbed his chin. “What did our blue-skinned friend have to say?”

 

“The Mandalorian, Algayne, had captured the Jedi and his companions,” Viruul’s anger was rising in his voice. “But they escaped…and Algayne is dead.”

 

Hades cackled. “Mandalorians are loose cannons and dangerous gambles at best, Viruul. I learned that long ago.”

 

“Don’t patronize me,” Viruul hissed. “I won’t have it!”

 

“I’m not here to mock you,” Hades said. “I’m here to see if you might reconsider my offer.”

 

“I know well enough that you aren’t just being altruistic,” Viruul shook his head. “You want a part of this Jedi too.”

 

“Of course I want something out of it,” Hades laughed. “I wouldn’t be Sith if I didn’t.”

 

Viruul smiled at that. “What sort of agents can you offer?”

 

“See for yourself,” Hades replied as held out a thin finger towards the end of the chamber. The door opened and a pair of men walked through.

 

One man was large and muscular, wearing thick and dark gray armor with a black hood and cape. He also had a re-breather concealing his nose and jaw. His skin was sickly pale, but his eyes burned like bright and intense flames.

 

The other man was taller, but thinner. He wore a red cloak; his armor was black and gold and much lighter weight than the other man’s. He wore a dull gold mask that concealed the top half of his face. His visible lower jaw, however, told that he was a young man.

 

“And who are these?” Viruul asked.

 

“This,” Hades pointed to the large man, “is my apprentice, Darth Hellion. The other is Darth Vinitar.”

 

“Vinitar?!” Viruul was up on his feet in a fury. “Toxeti’s apprentice?!”

 

Hades cackled again. “He was before the heretic’s rebellion. Vinitar was never a part of his former master’s schemes.”

 

“Is that so?” Viruul was skeptical.

 

“Toxeti was a traitor,” Vinitar stated boldly. “I would have killed him myself if you had commanded it, my lord.”

 

“A shame you cannot prove your words,” Viruul folded his arms.

 

“They can prove that they are the finest Sith you could ask for,” Hades stated. “A Juggernaut and a Marauder…against a young Jedi and his motley band.”

 

“That young Jedi and motley band stopped a war, defeated a splinter Sith cell, and killed a deadly Mandalorian commander,” Viruul countered.

 

Hades smiled. “Any one of these two could kill Mandalore himself with ease.”

 

“A bold claim.”

 

“Your agents have all failed so far,” Hades leaned on his cane. “Let me show you what mine can do.”

 

Viruul tapped his chin for a moment and then he nodded. “The wisest man uses whatever he can get his hands on to accomplish his goal.”

 

Hades smiled. “Wise indeed, Lord Viruul. They shall set off at once, and they will have the Jedi brought to you…or dead…very soon.”

 

“I hope so, for their sake,” Viruul nodded. “I will wish you good hunting, Hellion and Vinitar. And I shall wish you, Hades, good night.”

 

Silently, Joan slid through the vent and made her way out of the Citadel. Once out in the open air, she hurried off to report to Enro.

 

Conclusion of Episode Eight

[TargonKarashi]

Episode Nine – Tombs of Korriban

 

Chapter One

 

The Lone Eagle streaked across the desolate barrens of Korriban, birthplace of the Sith Empire, leaving a black trail of leaking fuel in the sky. The ship finally set down in a relatively flat location, one that wasn’t as rocky or treacherous as the surrounding areas.

 

Once set down, Targon sat and closed his eyes. He could feel the dark presence of this world…countless Sith and dark practices were on this planet. It made him feel sick in the stomach.

 

Navor walked into the cockpit. “What are we doing here?” he demanded. “Do you have any idea what this place is?”

 

Targon turned to face him, his face sad and distraught. Sorgal, on the other hand, glared with enough fury to easily make up for Targon’s expression.

 

“No, Master Jedi,” the Sith sneered, “why don’t you tell us where we are?”

 

“Your attitude is not welcome here,” Navor growled.

 

“Neither is yours,” Sorgal countered.

 

Targon stood and pushed past them, leaving the cockpit and finding Greyhawk and Rick lying in the medical bay. Neither of them was looking good.

 

The old soldier was bloody and bruised all over. His armor had been removed, and the evidence of the harsh beating from Algayne was quite apparent.

 

Rick, on the other hand, had only one seeping, stinking gash on his side. Gabrielle sat next to him, padding it with a damp cloth with healing solution in it.

 

“Ow!” Rick winced. “Not so hard!”

 

“Keep still,” Gabrielle scolded him.

 

He sighed. “For one as pretty and delicate, you don’t have a surgeon’s touch.”

 

“No, I don’t,” Gabrielle nodded. “Just ask Stryker’s ear.”

 

“Don’t bring that up,” Rick frowned.

 

Targon cleared his throat. “How are they doing?” he asked Gabrielle.

 

She looked up. “They’re alright…for now. But I think we’re going to want to get them to a hospital as soon as we can to be sure.”

 

“Well…” Targon winced. “That’s going to be a little difficult.”

 

Rick tried to sit up, but his attendant held him down firm. He groaned in pain. “Where are we?”

 

Targon hesitated for a moment. “Korriban,” he sighed.

 

“WHAT?!” Rick roared and then cried out. When he could finally breathe again, he repeated. “What are we doing here?!”

 

“The Mandalorians sabotaged our fuel,” Targon stated. “This was the only planet close enough to land on.”

 

“Are you insane?” Rick asked. “We might as well have just stayed stuck in space. Then a passing ship might have found us.”

 

“Oh, stop it, Rick,” Gabrielle scolded again. “It would have been an Imperial ship that picked us up anyway. You know that.”

 

“But landing on Korriban?” Rick’s eyes were wide. “We’re as good as dead.”

 

Sorgal stood in the entrance of the medical bay. “Our chances are a little better than that, captain.”

 

“What are you doing here?” Rick snapped. “Shouldn’t you be back on the Star Destroyer with your friends?”

 

Sorgal frowned. “I happened to save Greyhawk’s life and yours, thank you.”

 

“How so?”

 

“Your friend, Algayne the Mandalorian, is dead.”

 

Rick recoiled. “What?”

 

“I guess you were in shock and didn’t notice the depressurizing bridge,” Sorgal sighed. “But he’s dead nonetheless.”

 

Rick peered at him, frowning. “Well…that doesn’t mean I trust you any more…”

 

“It doesn’t matter,” the Sith stated. “Like I said, there’s a chance we can get out of this…but it won’t be easy.”

 

“You have a plan?” Gabrielle asked.

 

Sorgal nodded. “No doubt we were spotted in the landing, and that Moff probably thinks we’re light years away. So all we have to deal with are the people here on the planet.”

 

“What? We kill them all?” Rick scoffed. “There are hundreds of Sith…”

 

“Shut up,” Sorgal snapped. “That’s not what I meant at all.”

 

“What did you mean, then?” Targon asked.

 

Sorgal turned to him. “I hope you’re a good actor,” he winked.

 

Targon raised an eyebrow, and then he knew. “No,” he shook his head vehemently. “No, I won’t…”

 

“You don’t have a choice,” Sorgal hissed. “It’s either that, or we can all spend the rest of our days in a cell or rotting in this waste.”

 

“What?” Rick tried to sit up again. “What are you getting at?”

 

Sorgal rolled his eyes and turned to Rick. “When folks from the Sith Academy to investigate our little landing, we’re going to play like everything’s fine.”

 

“But it’s not…”

 

Sorgal ignored him. “I am going to be a Sith recruiter that has brought a promising new acolyte to the academy, but the ship I had hired was damaged and had to make a desperate landing.”

 

“That might be believable,” Rick nodded. “But who’s the acolyte?” He realized the answer even as he asked it.

 

“I see the shock of your wound is slowing your perceptions,” Sorgal observed.

 

Targon frowned. “I am a Jedi, I will not be a Sith.”

 

Sorgal whirled on him. “You want to go about saying you’re a Jedi? Go ahead – you’ll have every person on this planet out to kill you. If you try to say you’re nobody special, they won’t believe you. Most Sith can smell potential, and you, Targon, reek of it.”

 

Rick coughed. “That’s a bigger compliment than I was expecting from a Sith.”

 

Targon raised an eyebrow. “They’ll sniff out that I’m a Jedi just as easily.”

 

“Not if you learn how to be a Sith,” Sorgal stated. “If we want to get out of this, you’re going to have to play the part. The ship will get repaired, and we’ll be out with no one being the wiser.”

 

“Targon,” Gabrielle sighed. “It’s probably our only option. With Rick and Greyhawk hurt, we can’t go or do anything. But maybe if you pretend to be a Sith, we can get the help we need.”

 

“I…” Targon shook his head. “I can’t do it. I can’t place myself in a position where my teachings will be confronted and derailed.”

 

“You can think of it as a learning experience,” Sorgal folded his arms. “You can learn how your opponents think.”

 

“I can get all that from you,” Targon countered.

 

Rick sat up, finally getting past Gabrielle’s hold. “Look bud,” Rick said. “I don’t like this any more than you do…but it might be our only option.”

 

“See?” Sorgal smiled. “Even the captain who distrusts me knows I’m right. You trusted me enough to let me out of prison to fight against the Covenant. Why don’t you trust me now?”

 

“This is…different,” Targon stated.

 

“No, it’s not,” Sorgal snapped. “It’s life and death, Targon. Pretend to be a Sith and get off this world, or cling to the truth and get yourself killed…along with all your friends.”

 

Targon looked to the others, but couldn’t find any strength from them. They all were looking to him. Once again, it was coming down to their lives in his hands.

 

The thought came to him – a Jedi’s life is sacrifice.

 

Perhaps he needed to sacrifice his standing to save the others? But…what about the risk? What if he fell truly to the Dark Side?

 

“They’ll be here soon with a lot of questions,” Sorgal inclined his head. “What’s it going to be Targon?”

 

The young Jedi sighed. “I…I’ll need a red lightsaber…”

 

Sorgal smiled. “Your green one will do for now, acolyte. But we’ll need to change your clothes…”

[TargonKarashi]

Chapter Two

 

The great statues loomed overhead, like great giants glaring down at the group of initiates being taken towards the massive pyramid that was the Sith Academy.

 

Targon tried not to look at them, to be intimidated by them. His efforts were unsuccessful, as the very presence of those stone figures made his body tremble. For some reason, he got the feeling they knew who he was, and they were disapproving of his being here.

 

The group he walked with was led by a troupe of Imperial soldiers, headed by one Lieutenant Dolf Grenn. He was a squat and stout man with bushy sideburns and liked to huff on a rotted cigar.

 

Along with him, there was Sorgal walking next to Lt. Grenn and seven other acolytes that were being taken to the academy. Earlier, when Sorgal and Targon had been found by the soldiers and joined with the group, the Sith Lord had pointed out that there were only three of the initiates that showed any real significance.

 

The first was a Nikto with a hideous scowl glued to his face. The second was a human with blonde hair and a pair of blue eyes that glared contempt at everyone around him. And the third was a Zabrak woman with pale skin, who looked like she hadn’t slept in weeks.

 

Targon did not make contact with any of them; instead, he kept his eyes down at his feet and the dust they kicked up. He looked up as they came to a stop. They had arrived at the front gate of the academy.

 

The doors opened slowly, and four persons emerged from the entrance.

 

Wordlessly, the initiates knelt down before them, and Targon followed without question. He shuddered at the dark aura presented by these four.

 

He also was aware of how ridiculous he looked. Most of the acolytes were in simple black robes, and they seemed to swelter in the sun with them. The Zabrak woman was the only one who looked remotely comfortable – and that was because she was wearing little more than a strap on her chest, a cloth at her loins, and long gloves and boots that reached past the elbows and knees respectively.

 

Targon, on the other hand, stood out from them all. Sorgal had stripped off the Jedi robes and replaced them with a baggy pair of pants and Rick’s red jacket. Then he had painted black tattoo designs on his cheeks and wrapped an absorbent band around his head to keep the sweat from running on the paint.

 

Though Rick was upset at giving away his jacket, he had laughed how it made Targon look. He looked like a thug, a ruffian, a lowlife. But at least he didn’t look like a Jedi, and that was all Sorgal said that mattered.

 

One of the four individuals stepped forward, inspecting the new arrivals. He was a red-skinned Twi’lek male in black armor and a breathing apparatus around his mouth and throat. He wheezed as he spoke.

 

“So you’re the best that the Outer Rim could come up with, hmm?” he shook his head. “I’ve seen worse…but I’ve definitely seen better.”

 

No one said anything.

 

“Ah, so at least you’re not defiant or stupid enough to challenge my assertion,” the Sith Lord nodded. “Then maybe there’s hope for you sorry lot yet. I am Darth Tiburon, one of the most senior trainers of the academy. I am the Master of Insight – you will learn ways of discerning visions and seeking inward power from me, if you are worthy.”

 

His eyes squinted at the sweating acolytes, and he nodded satisfactorily. His eyes showed that he enjoyed watching the new recruits roast in the hot sun.

 

He then gestured towards the other three with him. First he pointed to a Sith Pureblood in a black hood and cloak. “This is Darth Centuro, Master of Rage. You will learn to channel your passions into strength and fury.”

 

The next one he pointed to was a woman, old and thin, with ugly strands of white hair, and sagging skin. “This is Darth Zil, Master of Guile. With her you shall learn how to use words and thoughts to discern lies and to deceive your enemies.”

 

And then he looked to the last one, who was the most hideous of all. He looked like he had once been human, but no longer. He was hunched over, wringing his hands…no, claws…four of them. He had ugly insectoid features, like antennae, mandibles, and two pairs of arms. He wore a black cape over his carapace body…or was it a pair of wings?

 

“And this,” Tiburon wheezed, “is Darth Arawn, Master of Alchemy. From him, you shall learn the arts of delving into the Dark Side to create and understand the true nature and capabilities of the Force.”

 

“Well, introductions are done,” Sorgal nodded impatiently. “Now, would you mind letting us get out of the sun?”

 

Tiburon turned to him. “You have gone through the training yourself, have you not? You should know, then, that the first test is to see if they are strong enough to endure the sun without complaint.”

 

Sorgal smiled. “I think the instructors in my time used different testing techniques.”

 

“You don’t look so old,” Darth Zil said in a raspy voice, like one who had smoked far too many death sticks. “I have been at this academy for twenty-five years…and this has always been the initiation.”

 

“Ah, well,” Sorgal nodded. “I was trained on Dromund Kaas by a Sith Lord who didn’t think very highly of the academy’s instructors.”

 

“Then he was a fool,” Zil hissed.

 

“A fool? No. But he is dead now, so it doesn’t matter what he thought before.”

 

Darth Centuro nodded. “Well said,” he smiled. “Killed your master yourself, did you?”

 

“I think we should be focusing on the acolytes’ futures and not my past,” Sorgal stated.

 

“Yes, yes,” Arawn hissed. “Much to do, we have. Much training…much pain and strength to find.”

 

Tiburon nodded. “Very well,” he stated. “There are eight of you…thus shall you have two to a proctor.”

 

“Proctor?” one of the acolytes blurted.

 

“Of course,” Centuro frowned. “Someone needs to oversee your first day to gain insight about what you’re good for.”

 

Arawn chattered and twitched. “We shall study two of you individually to ascertain your strengths and weaknesses, and see whether you have what it takes to be a Sith.”

 

“Now,” Tiburon wheezed. “Let us show you to where you’ll be spending your days of training.”

 

He turned and walked in, followed by the soldiers, Centuro, and Arawn. Zil hesitated and peered at the group.

 

“Welcome to the Dark Side,” she grinned a toothless smile. “This is your one chance to prove whether or not you have what it takes to become great or to fall into the masses of sheep…”

 

“Oh spare us the tired rhetoric,” Sorgal sighed. “It’s not like we have all day.”

 

Zil frowned at him and then headed inside. The acolytes rose and followed.

 

The interior of the academy was dark, yet furnished. Cold steel mingled with hard stone, and everywhere it pulsed with the emotions of the Dark Side.

 

“Now then,” Tiburon stood atop a small flight of stairs. “Step forward one at a time and I shall determine which proctor you are assigned to.”

 

The arrogant man stepped forward first, nearly pushing the Nikto aside in doing so. “I am Ardo Bane,” he said simply.

 

Tiburon nodded. “You’ve got a lot of self-confidence, Ardo…yet perhaps too haughty?”

 

The man frowned. “I am strong enough to be so.”

 

“Indeed? Well, then, young Ardo Bane, you shall be under Lord Centuro. He will decide whether you are as strong as you claim.”

 

The Nikto then stepped forward. “Siaj Jar,” he stated.

 

“You should watch that scowl of yours,” Tiburon warned. “One wrong look and you might find yourself dead. You shall be with Darth Zil – and you’d best show her the proper respect.”

 

“I show respect to those that earn it,” Siaj stated.

 

Tiburon nodded, and then the Zabrak woman stepped forward.

 

“Folks call me Shadda Verris,” she said.

 

“Folks can call you whatever they like,” Tiburon wheezed. “Here you are known only for your actions here, Shadda.”

 

“Prepare to be amazed, then,” she smiled.

 

“Brash and fiery,” Tiburon sighed. “I think Centuro will like you well enough.”

 

They went through each of the other acolytes, assigning them to different proctors. The two that were under Arawn could hardly conceal their disappointment… and disgust. The Sith Lords paid no mind to them.

 

“Looks like you’re the last,” Tiburon stated, looking directly at Targon. “What name are you known, boy?”

 

Targon took a moment’s hesitation to stop himself from blurting his actual name. If the Empire’s agents knew who to look for, then it wouldn’t do to announce himself in the Sith Academy.

 

Sorgal gave him a subtle look to answer the Sith.

 

“Methos,” Targon said finally. “I am Methos.”

 

Tiburon nodded. “It seems fitting that the late entry that crashed out in the barrens should be the last assigned, and just so happen to be assigned to me.”

 

Targon remembered what Sorgal had suggested he behave – submissive yet confident. “Then I am fortunate to be assigned to the greatest of the masters.”

 

A hushed gasp filled the chamber. Surprise and disappointment filled many of the acolytes, annoyance and humor in the masters…and approval from Sorgal.

 

“Fortunate indeed,” Tiburon nodded. “But are you a respectful lad, or a flatterer?”

 

“Isn’t it your decision to make that decision?” Targon asked.

 

Tiburon gave a weak and wheezing laugh. “You are brave to speak so directly, Methos. Let’s see if you can be as bold when your wits are tested in the trials ahead.”

[TargonKarashi]

Chapter Three

 

Darth Tiburon commanded his assigned acolytes to follow him through the academy. As they did so, they were ambushed on numerous and random occasions by training droids set to kill.

 

With quick reflexes, the other acolyte drew his training saber and took down two as they approached during the first attack. On the next occasion, he destroyed the whole group. But on the last occurrence, he was caught off guard.

 

Targon reacted then, drawing his saber and cutting the droids to pieces before the recovering acolyte drew his weapon.

 

When they were dealt with, Targon deactivated his saber and hooked it to his belt.

Tiburon had never turned to look at them the entire time, but he now stopped and studied them both.

 

“Erag,” he peered at the other acolyte. “You took out the first attacks easily enough before. Why were you surprised the third time?”

 

The acolyte flushed. “I…I let down my guard because they seemed they weren’t a threat after I easily dispatched them the first two times.”

 

Tiburon nodded. “But they were a threat, weren’t they? They successfully ambushed you and caught you with your pants down the third time, didn’t they?”

 

“Yes, my lord,” Erag bowed.

 

“The Sith must never discount an enemy simply because he has beaten him before. For, the enemy may try different attacks and wait until the moment that the Sith is no longer expecting an engagement. At which point, the unprepared will die.”

 

“Yes, my lord,” the acolyte bowed again.

 

Targon hadn’t taken a good look at his fellow student before now. He was a young man, fair-skinned but with a terrible bout of acne, but he didn’t seem that young.

 

“Now you, Methos,” Tiburon turned to him. “I see you have a lightsaber. Where would you have gotten something like that?”

 

Targon thought quickly, taking inspiration from his captain’s ability to make up lies on the spot.

 

“Back on Balmorra where I was recruited, Lord Sorgal killed a Jedi operative sneaking about. He decided to give it to me when I proved myself to him.”

 

“And how did you do that?” Tiburon asked.

 

“I happened to pick his pocket without him realizing it. When he finally did catch me, he said he was impressed and gave me the saber before recruiting me to come to the academy.”

 

Tiburon nodded slowly. “Interesting…so you were a common thief?”

 

“Not exactly…but the trouble on Balmorra could make the most upstanding citizen become a crook.”

 

“I see,” Tiburon nodded and then turned around. “Follow, you have much to learn.”

 

The two acolytes followed Tiburon into a large chamber where several Sith were dueling one another. Red blades crashed against each other, and shouts of pain, exertion, and rage echoed on the cold walls.

 

“This is the dueling chamber,” Tiburon stated. “Centuro oversees this room and all fights that occur within it. If you want to fight, this is where you do it if you’re not yet prepared to kill your opponent. Fight someone out in the field, and you’d better be ready to kill them, or be killed yourself.”

 

“Are we taking a tour?” Targon asked.

 

“Not at all,” Tiburon folded his arms. “I want you two to fight.”

 

“Here?” Erag asked.

 

“Now?” Targon added.

 

“Yes,” Tiburon said harshly. “Prove yourselves against an enemy you’ve witnessed fight. You’ve had the chance to gain an insight into their style, now use it against them in combat.”

 

“How?” Erag asked. “I wield this training blade…he carries a lightsaber.”

 

Tiburon nodded. “Indeed,” he acknowledged. “I don’t want you to fight with either.” He raised his hand and called both their weapons to him. “Prove yourself with your natural strength and ability.”

 

“This wasn’t what I was expecting for the first day,” Targon muttered under his breath.

 

“To be a Sith, you must be prepared for everything, especially the unexpected,” Tiburon stated, having heard his comment. “Now, fight!”

 

Erag’s fist flew for Targon’s face, but it was clumsy and unfocused. Targon ducked his head to one side and stepped back, dropping into a defensive stance.

 

The acolyte attacked, striking swift and light, testing Targon’s defenses. With each strike, he drew back quickly so that there could be no counter to him. Targon saw what he was doing – he had used it with the droids. Quick and sudden attacks with a hasty retreat to lessen any risk.

 

He was also taking into account that he couldn’t let his enemy take him off guard as had happened before. Erag’s shifty eyes made certain he wouldn’t allow any sneak attacks to get through.

 

Targon held off each blow, swatting it away and halting strikes for critical areas. A few glancing hits made their mark, but they weren’t serious or even significant. Just a few shocks of pain in his arms and side.

 

“You won’t get anywhere just defending,” Tiburon stated. “The Republic kept on the defensive during the war and it lost. You must strike back if you are to triumph, Methos.”

 

Targon tried to ignore the comment and focused on the fight, watching for more major attacks that Erag was attempting.

 

He dodged an attack that headed straight for his stomach. Targon twisted to his side and took a shot at Erag’s shoulder. It wasn’t a serious hit, but it was successful and caused the acolyte to wince and hesitate, allowing Targon to get some distance between them.

 

“Is that the best you can do, Methos?” Tiburon asked. “Where’s the gumption? You can’t sit stagnant, or else you shall be trod down.”

 

Erag attacked again, faster and harder this time. But when he channeled into more power in his strikes, he sacrificed his ability to quickly withdraw. Targon took that moment to disable one of the acolyte’s arms.

 

“More,” Tiburon hissed. “You’ve got to exploit the enemy’s weakness and destroy him! You can’t just incapacitate him or he’ll soon fight again.”

 

“Is this a duel to the death?” Targon asked pointedly.

 

“You do as I say,” the Twi’lek’s eyes narrowed. “You grow as a Sith or you die.”

 

Erag landed a blow to Targon’s gut. The pain fired something threw Targon’s body…something he hadn’t let grow for a while.

 

Anger.

 

Targon tried to shut it down, but in his distraction, he allowed another of Erag’s attacks to get through. And then it was enough.

 

Targon lashed out and smashed his elbow into Erag’s arm. He could hear the crack and the acolyte’s cry in pain. Then he slammed his knee into his opponent’s chest and sent him to the ground.

 

“Better, much better,” Tiburon nodded. “It took long enough to get you to tap into your power, Methos. You must work on that or you will fall.”

 

Targon took several breaths and let the anger dissipate from within him. He looked down at the cringing acolyte on the ground and suddenly felt a major pang of regret. He hadn’t meant to hurt him…he hadn’t wanted to hurt him.

 

“He has shown that he is too weak to be a Sith,” Tiburon stated. “Finish him, Methos. Let his blood mark the beginning of your journey to be a Sith.”

 

Targon’s eyes widened and he suddenly felt unsure. He had to play the part of the Sith…but how could he kill an unarmed and defenseless man? It wasn’t the Jedi way…yet…he knew he couldn’t be a Jedi here.

 

He felt a rush of the Dark Side come at him from behind, and he immediately leapt out of the way. In a red blur, the Zabrak woman had sliced Erag in half.

 

“What was that for?” Targon gasped.

 

“It was meant for you,” the girl hissed. “You don’t hesitate when a Sith gives you a command to kill.”

 

“Thank you for your demonstration,” Tiburon growled. “Now please return to your proctor, Shadda.”

 

The Zabrak walked off, giving Targon a grim stare before she returned to Lord Centuro and her fellow acolyte.

 

Targon felt a cold shudder down his spine, and a stupor of thought in his mind. What was he supposed to do? If he pretended to be a Sith…he would end up doing the things that a true Sith would do anyway.

[TargonKarashi]

Chapter Four

 

Sorgal sat in a cantina that had been placed in the small settlement near the academy. It had been called by patrons, jokingly, the Drunk Side. Apparently it was a place for freighter captains and Imperial dignitaries to freshen up and wash away their discomfort from being around so many Sith.

 

If the patrons didn’t like him being there, he didn’t care. He wanted a drink, and he was sick of wandering the dull halls of the academy. Everything was so cold in there…it brought sickening memories to mind. Particularly the one who killed his master.

 

He sighed and took a swig of…whatever it was he was drinking. The bartender claimed it was juma juice, but that was a pile of bantha fodder. This was not juma. But it had the same effect to the mind.

 

A man sat next to him. At first, Sorgal didn’t recognize him…but then he did.

 

“What are you doing here?” Sorgal asked as he took another swig an wiped his mouth.

 

“The acolytes were sent to bed,” Targon stated. “I figured I’d find you and see how the others are doing.”

 

“A stupid move,” Sorgal snorted. “I’m not your friend here, Methos. I’m the man that recruited you for the academy. You want people to start suspecting that there’s more going on?”

 

“In that case,” Targon stood and kicked the stool out from beneath Sorgal. The Sith Lord tumbled to the ground and spilled his drink all over the ground.

 

“What the…?!” Sorgal roared.

 

“The only stupid one here is you,” Targon pointed his finger and said loudly. “You’re here drinking away the money you stole from the captain that brought you here and you haven’t given a thought that you might spill your secrets once you’re drunk.”

 

“Don’t be giving me lectures, pup,” Sorgal stood.

 

Targon sent a punch to his face. The shock of it lost Sorgal’s concentration, but when he felt that it wasn’t as hard as it should have been, he understood and smiled inwardly.

 

He acted that the blow had been worse, and grabbed the counter to keep from falling. Then he got back up and sent his own fist at Targon. The two of them rumbled around the bar for a while until a troupe of soldiers walked in, followed by Lt. Grenn.

 

“Alright, that’s enough you two!” the officer shouted. “We keep places like this so that folks can get away from the Sith’s conflicts. Now, both of you, out!”

 

Sorgal laughed and grabbed Targon by the back of his collar. “It’s alright, Lieutenant. This young upstart here just can’t seem to hold his liquor. I’m going to take him back to the academy now and let the instructor’s disciplinary action straighten him out."

 

With the whole cantina watching, Sorgal dragged the young man out of the bar. When they were far enough away, he turned into an alley and let him go.

 

“You want to tell me what that whole farce was about?” Sorgal asked.

 

“Making an image for myself,” Targon brushed himself off. “I had a little trouble keeping a good first impression with everyone.”

 

“Oh? Why’s that?”

 

“Darth Tiburon had me fight a fellow acolyte. After I beat him, he commanded that I kill him.”

 

“That doesn’t sound too unreasonable…” Sorgal began, and then he realized that he was talking to a Jedi. He sighed. “What did you do?”

 

“I hesitated…” Targon replied. “And then another of the acolytes finished him off.”

 

Sorgal nodded. “You lucked out on that instant, but what are you going to do from now on?”

 

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” Targon sighed. “I knew, however, that the only way to make it look like I wasn’t running for help was to start a bar fight with you.”

 

Sorgal smiled at that. “So you contact me without drawing the wrong kind of attention, and you make yourself look like you want to be tougher than you let on. Pretty good thinking.”

 

“How’re the ship’s repairs going? And how are the others?”

 

“Fine,” Sorgal shrugged. “It’s going to be a few more days.”

 

“A few more days?” Targon gaped. “I can’t handle that long.”

 

“You’re going to have to,” Sorgal frowned. “You’ve got to be a Sith here. Get angry, punch someone in the face if they annoy you, show you’re not a pushover. Be anything but a Jedi.”

 

“I can’t do that,” Targon groaned.

 

Sorgal slapped him hard on the cheek. “There! How does that make you feel? It hurts, doesn’t it?”

 

“Yes,” Targon replied as he rubbed his cheek.

 

“It makes you angry, right? But your Jedi training makes you shun it. Don’t bottle it up. Let it out, let your passion fuel your strength. Sith are strong because they show that they are strong. Jedi hide their power. Hide your true self and put on the mask of your carnal self.”

 

“I can’t…”

 

“Yes you can!” Sorgal hissed. “It’s not that hard! You, yourself, pointed out that we’re not that different as individuals. Well, as individuals, we have passions, lusts, grievances, and hate. Let out your hate, Methos, or you’ll doom us all.”

 

Targon sighed. “I’ll…I’ll try.”

 

“Jedi don’t try,” Sorgal stated. “They do or they don’t. Choose now whether you do or you don’t.”

 

There was a sound just outside the alley. Sorgal motioned for Targon to get down and stay put while he went out to check on what it was.

 

A person was lying face down in the street. Sorgal knelt down next to him and rolled him over. It was one of the initiates – the Nikto.

 

The man was newly dead, but he hadn’t walked here. From what he could tell, Sorgal could swear that he just fell out of the sky and onto the pavement. The blood seemed to be drained out of him, and there was a strange mark branded into his forehead.

 

Sorgal frowned. The mark looked…familiar…somehow. It was a Sith marking, he could tell. But not one he recognized. Lord Sinitar would have known, undoubtedly, but Sorgal didn’t.

He heaved the corpse up and called out to Targon.

 

“Go back to the academy and get some sleep tonight,” Sorgal ordered. “Chances are you’ll have an interesting day tomorrow.”

 

Targon nodded and turned to leave.

 

“And next time you’ve got a beef,” Sorgal called after him, “just send it in writing.”

 

---

 

Sorgal walked through the doors and plopped the cold body on the table in front of the academy’s masters as they were in the middle of their evening discussion.

 

“What is this?” Tiburon asked angrily. “What are you doing here?”

 

“How dare you barge into our meeting?” Centuro growled.

 

Sorgal stepped back and gestured at the corpse. “I thought you might like to take a look at this.”

 

Zil glanced at the body uninterestedly. “It’s one of the new acolytes, one I was proctoring. He’s dead, so what?”

 

Sorgal rolled his eyes. “Care to take a closer look, old woman?”

 

Darth Arawn stood up and studied the corpse. His mandibles clicked together in a clicking sound as he looked at it. “There’s no blood in the body,” the insectoid stated. “He’s drained empty.”

 

“Completely?” Tiburon asked.

 

Arawn nodded. “And look at this…” he pointed one of his claws to the strange mark on the Nikto’s forehead. “Don’t you recognize this?”

 

“It’s the symbol of one of the ancient Sith Lords,” Centuro shrugged. “What of it?”

 

Tiburon rose, his eyes wide. “That is the mark of Krytak Nur,” he rasped.

 

“What?” Centuro laughed. “Have we got a student deciding to try to scare the new recruits?”

 

“No,” Arawn hissed. “This wasn’t done as some sort of prank or cult ritual, Centuro. I can feel the dark silence in this boy’s body. Do you not remember the tales of Krytak Nur?”

 

“Of course I do!” Centuro frowned. “He was a Lord of the Sith that died thousands of years ago. He was a master of illusion and alchemy and other dark arts, many of which have been lost to time.”

 

“Legends tell of Krytak’s spirit thirsting for blood after he died,” Tiburon wheezed. “Countless grave robbers and looters have been lost in his tomb on the far side of the Valley of the Dark Lords. The Dark Council ordered it sealed years ago.”

 

“It would appear this lad opened it up,” Sorgal stated.

 

“How would he know about it?” Arawn asked.

 

The masters turned to look at Zil.

 

The old woman growled. “I told my acolytes about the tomb because they asked the best way to prove themselves the quickest. My response was a mockery of their laziness. I told them that if they wanted to become a Sith without any effort, they would find the answer in the sealed tomb of Krytak Nur.”

 

“You what?!” Tiburon hissed.

 

“I told them the story of his spirit as well,” Zil shrugged. “No one has ever returned when going in, and I figured they had been scared out of the notion.”

 

“Evidently not,” Centuro folded his arms.

 

“If they went into the tomb,” Sorgal asked, “then how did this one suddenly appear near the cantina?”

 

Arawn clicked his mandibles together and wrung his claws. “It would appear that those unfortunate students have released the spirit of Krytak Nur.”

 

“We must seal it at once,” Centuro stated. “If the Dark Council should find out about this debacle…”

 

“No,” Tiburon held up a hand. “Perhaps we can let the other initiates benefit from this?”

 

“You can’t be suggesting what I think you are…” Zil frowned.

 

“Silence!” Tiburon shouted at her. “This is all your fault, Zil…it would seem you’ve gotten senile in your age.”

 

“How dare you…?” she gasped and raised into the air.

 

Tiburon’s fingers clenched together. “But your failure may yet prove a good test for the students.”

 

“Mere acolytes against a millennia old spirit?” Sorgal scoffed.

 

“Indeed,” Tiburon nodded as he let the hag’s body fall to the ground. “Inside Krytak’s tomb is the Sith Lord’s ancient sword. We send the acolytes in, and the one that destroys the weapon, thus vanquishing his spirit, shall be worthy of becoming a true Sith.”

 

“It would be quite an accomplishment,” Centuro nodded.

 

“One that would make the Dark Council very pleased,” Arawn concurred.

 

Sorgal frowned. “And if the acolytes are not successful?”

 

Tiburon nodded. “Then we shall seal the tomb ourselves. If the acolytes die, we shall have lost nothing.”

 

“We’ll send them in the morning,” Centuro stated. “This should prove most interesting.”

 

“Inconvenient is more like it,” Sorgal muttered.

 

“You can leave whenever you wish,” Tiburon said.

 

Sorgal feigned a half-hearted smile. “No, thank you,” he nodded. “I think I’ll see how this little situation concludes. It would be a shame not to see if a mere adept could defeat an ancient evil older than the Emperor himself.”

 

“This one certainly couldn’t,” Centuro poked the corpse on the table. “Kindly take this away now, if you would.”

 

“I’ll take it,” Arawn interposed. “I’ve never had a chance to study such a cadaver…a man whose blood was drunk by an ancient Sith spirit. Perhaps there is much I could learn much about this to use in alchemy and more…”

 

“Just get it out of here before it starts to stink,” the Pureblood growled.

[TargonKarashi]

Chapter Five

 

Targon hadn’t slept well. The cots that they were given were stone slabs with a cloth over it. He figured he must have gotten too comfortable with the bunks of Rick’s ship.

 

And to add it all, the news of the morning had made everything much, much worse. One of the acolytes was dead – killed by a vengeful Sith spirit released in the Valley of the Dark Lords.

 

And now it was the task of the initiates to face this spirit.

 

Inside, Targon’s spirit groaned and despaired. He was a Jedi, surely, but he couldn’t possibly be a match for such a power of the Dark Side. Especially being alone. Perhaps with Master Tieru, or other Jedi, he could challenge this dark entity. But he was on his own.

 

Sorgal couldn’t help him…he wasn’t even there when the Sith Lords announced the task. His friends were away. And he couldn’t get help from the other acolytes. They were training to be Sith, and Sith gave aid to no one.

 

It was every one for oneself.

 

Darth Tiburon stated that the acolytes were to head out on their own. So, the Sith decided to hold a randomized raffle of names to decide who would head out first, and then send the others out after an hour’s interval.

 

Targon didn’t like the idea at all – he really thought it was stupid – but there was nothing to be done or said on the matter. They were, after all, the masters of the academy. Though oddly enough, he noticed that the ugly old woman was not present…

 

The first announced to go was Shadda Verris. After her, three other acolytes, and then Ardo Bane. One after the other was called…and Targon was called last – again.

 

Centuro laughed. “Looks like you’re the back of the pack, Methos,” the Pureblood guffawed. “Maybe the Force is trying to send a message about you.”

 

Targon said nothing, but bowed and watched as the Zabrak woman headed out the doors and into the valley.

 

An hour passed, and then the next acolyte was called to go.

 

Several hours went by painfully slow as Targon waited. He paced around the halls and chambers, meditated next to his cot, and overall worried himself sick about the trial to come.

 

What was he to expect?

 

Finally, his time to head out came.

 

It was late in the day, but the sun was beating down hotly. All around were the dusty barrens, the ominous mouths of opened tombs, and the brooding, silent statues that kept eternal vigils over the valley.

 

Targon tried to ignore all the threatening and intimidating features. He kept his mind focused, and went through several breathing and meditating techniques to calm his trembling body and spirit. Overall, however, it wasn’t doing much good.

 

As the tomb neared in sight, clear on the other end of the valley, he felt his heart sink. The Dark Side’s presence grew stronger the closer he got to the structure. The gaping doors of the tomb seemed like the mouth of the abyss, devouring all light and exuding…evil.

 

Targon breathed in deep and exhaled slowly. His feet brought him closer to the tomb, until finally he stood before the great threshold. To make him feel even more uneasy, he noticed the pale and dried body of one of the acolytes lying face down on the ground.

 

A foul voice whispered over the wind.

 

“Another foolish child prepared to brave his way into my domain?” the voice asked, amused. “Such fear upon his face, a blind mynock could see it plain.”

 

Targon shuddered, but then he took more deep breaths and ignored the mocking voice as he walked into the dark opening.

 

Inside, the air was dank, smelly, and thick. The light from outside seemed not to penetrate into the tomb. The only sources of light were strange torches that were lit on the walls that led down the sloping hall.

 

His footsteps echoed in the stone tunnel. The only other sound was the dripping of water into filthy puddles in the cracks between the floor and walls.

 

Targon passed by the body of another acolyte, this one lying face up. The look of horror in the lifeless face was most disconcerting, and Targon forced himself to look away and push the image out of his mind. He wasn’t very successful at that, either.

 

“Who are you that intrude upon my tomb?” the strange voice whispered. “Why came you rushing towards your fated doom?”

 

Targon ignored the taunting and kept walking. He found yet another body…but this one was different. He had been killed with a lightsaber, Targon could tell.

 

“I see quite clearly in your heart,” the voice spoke again. “Now the secret horrors of your mind let us impart.”

 

Targon heard another pair of footsteps from behind. He turned about suddenly and saw Rick walking towards him.

 

“Rick?” Targon gasped. “What are you doing here?”

 

“The ship’s all fixed,” his friend stated. “Come on, let’s get out of here…this place gives me the creeps.”

 

“How did you know I was here?” Targon asked.

 

“I followed you, duh.”

 

“But…”

 

“Come on, Targon,” Rick urged. “Turn back and let’s get off this rock.”

 

Targon nodded and was about to take a step back up towards the exit…but then he noticed the blood-drained body of one of the acolytes.

 

The way the man was positioned…he had been trying to leave.

 

“I can’t, Rick,” Targon sighed. “I’ve got to get this done.”

 

“What are you talking about?” Rick asked. “You’re not a Sith, you don’t need to stay here. Come on, or I’ll leave without you.”

 

“I cannot turn back,” Targon stated.

 

“Suit yourself,” Rick shrugged, and then he walked off.

 

“Clever, observant boy,” the voice whispered. “Turning back is death assured, but only one potential ploy.”

 

Targon gathered all the boldness in him to talk back to the voice. “Wouldn’t you know it?” he called out into the darkness. “The dead Sith is a poet.”

 

Foul, cruel laughter filled the dark hall. But unlike the whispers, this laugh was loud…so loud it forced Targon to cover his ears.

 

He dropped to his knees and covered his head. He dared not look or stand or do anything while the laughter filled his head. After a long while of the constant noise, Targon felt like screaming.

 

The laughter died away, but another sound filled the hall. Lightsabers.

 

Targon looked up, and he saw Master Tieru…and he was fighting Khan Arc-Saal. Gold flashed against viridian, and then his master was cut down. The image of the fight replayed, with the same conclusion. And then it did it again and again and again.

 

The young Jedi stood. “Stop it!” he shouted to the darkness. “The past is past! My master’s death holds no pain for me now, for he is one with the Force!”

 

“No pain? You lie, child,” the voice mocked. “Your tongue’s guile is weak, for your spirit is mild.”

 

“Shut up!” Targon shouted.

 

“History bears no pain, you say. Then how about the fear of what may yet come today?”

 

Suddenly, Targon heard blaster shots. He looked about and he saw Greyhawk firing at an army of Imperial soldiers charging at him. The old soldier was shouting profanities at the enemy as they advanced. He was taking down several, but they just kept coming.

 

And then a shot got through and struck the old man square in the head.

 

Targon cried out, and then he saw Navor, Rick, and Gabrielle. They were now under attack, trying to hold off against the endless host of Sith. Their faces were grim and focused, but also afraid and…betrayed.

 

“Curse that blasted Sith!” Rick roared. “We should have known better than to bring him along!”

 

“It doesn’t matter!” Gabrielle shouted back at him while shooting her guns. “He took the Lone Eagle when trouble came, but he got himself blown up while trying to ditch us. He’s as dead as we’ll be.”

 

“Not while I draw breath,” Navor growled as he cut down more enemies. His blue sabers flashed and twirled in his hands. But then dozens of blaster bolts overwhelmed his defense and gunned him down.

 

Rick pulled out a thermal detonator and lobbed it at the approaching hordes. The explosion was massive, and it shook him and Gabrielle to the ground. But when the smoke cleared, the enemy was gone.

 

Then a figure appeared, walking up to them from the fading smog. This person was dressed in black robes, and hid his face behind a hood.

 

Rick and Gabrielle stood, and they sighed with relief when they saw who it was.

 

“Where have you been?” Gabrielle asked. “We could have used your help long ago.”

 

“The others are dead,” Rick said sadly. “We need to get out of here while we’re still alive, though.”

 

The figure said nothing, but instead activated a blood red lightsaber.

 

“What are you doing?” Gabrielle asked.

 

The figure advanced towards them.

 

“Stay away!” Rick shouted, raising his pistols. “Don’t make me shoot you!”

 

With a simple flick of the saber, Rick’s hands fell to the ground as he screamed in pain.

 

“Please!” Gabrielle pleaded. “Don’t! I beg you!”

 

Rick looked sorrowfully up at the figure. “I thought you were our friend!”

 

The figure raised the saber and killed them both in a single strike.

 

Targon screamed in despair and rage. He activated his saber and charged at the man who dared to kill his friends so mercilessly.

 

And then the figure turned to him and removed the hood, revealing his face.

 

It was Targon’s face.

 

“NO!” Targon screamed. “NO! I will not succumb to the Dark Side! I am not a Sith! I am a Jedi!”

 

“A cliché vision, I digress,” the voice laughed. “Yet extremely profound, nonetheless.”

 

“Shut up!” Targon cried. “Get out of my head!”

 

“Stupid boy,” a different voice said. “You’re letting him in your head.”

 

Targon gasped and looked ahead. He could see the form of someone standing a little ways up the hall.

 

Taking a few steps closer, he saw that it was Shadda Verris.

 

“What are you doing here?” Targon asked. “You were the first one in.”

 

The Zabrak woman nodded. “I was, and since I’ve been here the longest, I’ve figured things out most. Ardo Bane trudged on ahead past me, and he’s been killing all the others he encountered.”

 

“He killed them all?”

 

Shadda scoffed. Hardly. He’s only killed three, maybe. The others couldn’t stand against Krytak Nur’s power.”

 

“How come you are still here? How come Ardo didn’t kill you?”

 

“I’m too strong for this ghost’s tricks and sorceries,” Shadda stated. “As for Ardo…he’s too unwilling to part with my lively body to try and eliminate me. That’s his mistake, however. I certainly won’t show him the same courtesy.”

 

“Are you going to head on?” Targon asked.

 

“Why should I rush?” Shadda asked. “This guy’s been dead for millennia…what are a few minutes or hours to his defeat?”

 

Targon nodded, understanding. Then he sighed. “Perhaps we might be more sure to succeed if we work together?”

 

“Of course that would come from someone who can’t find it in them to kill,” Shadda spat. “Why would I work with a weakling like you?”

 

“I’ve made it as far as you, haven’t I?”

 

“Not as successfully,” Shadda countered. “I’ve been listening to your screams for a while now.”

 

“How do you keep him out of your mind?”

 

“I think about how nice it would have been to have fought this guy while he was alive. To cut off his head, bathe in his blood, and slaughter his followers.”

 

Targon gasped. “And that keeps him out…?”

 

“No,” Shadda replied. “But it keeps me focused and strong enough to rebuff his illusions.”

 

Targon nodded, but he winced inside. Was he going to be as dark and heartless as this woman to get through this alive?

[TargonKarashi]

Chapter Six

 

The stone hall grew wider the deeper they went into the tomb. The torchlight began to grow weaker, eventually shorting out completely.

 

In response, Shadda activated her red saber, lighting up a small area around them in a hellish glow. Targon responded by activating his own, contrasting the red with the green.

 

“Where did you get that?” Shadda asked. “You aren’t a Jedi, are you?”

 

Targon hesitated, but then shook his head resolutely. “Not at all. Darth Sorgal gave me this after he killed the Jedi that owned it. I happened to steal it from him and he was impressed enough to let me keep it.”

 

“Do you know how to use it?” Shadda asked then.

 

“What kind of question is that?”

 

“Are you prepared to kill with it?” the Zabrak glared at him.

 

“I’ll do what I have to,” Targon replied.

 

“We shall see,” the woman shook her head and quickened her pace, getting ahead of him.

 

After a while of walking in the dark, unsure of where they were supposed to end up, they happened upon a massive door. Strange inscriptions were carved in the stone surface, surrounding the image of a terrible face with fearsome eyes and sharp teeth.

 

“I guess that’s what Krytak’s supposed to look like,” Shadda shrugged.

 

“If Ardo was ahead of us,” Targon frowned, “wouldn’t the door be open?”

 

Shadda sighed. “The fool is probably hiding behind the door and waiting to ambush us. He’s certainly in for a disappointment…with me, anyway.”

 

“I can handle myself just fine, thank you,” Targon said indignantly.

 

“Oh really? Prove me wrong then, boy. Open the door.”

 

Targon frowned and then sighed. He stepped up to the door and pushed it…it didn’t budge an inch.

 

“Seems sealed,” Targon shrugged.

 

“Then unseal it,” the Zabrak hissed.

 

Targon raised his saber and peered at the markings around the door. They were in an ancient Sith dialect…one that Targon certainly couldn’t read.

 

“Any idea what that says?” Shadda asked.

 

“Do you?” Targon countered.

 

Shadda scowled. “No one knows the ancient language of extinct races…at least, those who matter anyway. Those stingy professors locked up in their libraries are of no consequence to anyone.”

 

A foul whisper rose up, echoing in the empty hall.

 

“This is the end of your dismal road,” it said. “Prove your strength and speak your code.”

 

“My code?” Shadda growled. “My code is to kill you and anyone that gets in my way, Krytak!”

 

Targon sighed and shook his head. “He doesn’t mean that,” he said simply. Then, Targon turned and faced the door. He took a step back and took a deep breath. He had to think for a moment for the words.

 

“Peace is a lie,” he said at last, “there is only passion. Through passion I gain strength. Through strength I gain power. Through power I gain victory. Through victory my chains are broken. The Force shall free me.”

 

There was a grim silence after he recited the Sith Code. And then there was a creak and the door slowly opened. Dust and fog emerged from the opening.

 

“That simple, eh?” Shadda rolled her eyes. “You’d think this guy would have made it a little tougher.”

 

“I don’t think he worries too much about people getting in,” Targon said, shuddering. “I think it’s getting out that’s more difficult.”

 

“We’ll see,” the Zabrak nodded as she strode past him and in through the door.

 

Targon followed, and once they were through, the door closed suddenly behind them. But they were not enveloped by complete darkness then. A faint light shone up ahead, down the hall.

 

They walked briskly towards it, their sabers at the ready. A strange noise echoed through the halls…the sound of a person in a struggle.

 

At last, they came to the archway that led down a flight of stairs. Light filled this area…not the light of torches or electricity. Something about the stones in the walls themselves seemed to glow a burnt yellow.

 

Carefully, they went down the steps, and the sound grew louder. They soon recognized the voice that was growling, grunting, and shouting.

 

It was Ardo Bane.

 

But there was another sound…a roar and thunderous footsteps.

 

At the bottom of the stairs was a door which opened up into a massive chamber. Statues lined the walls, and a great altar stood at the end of the room, next to a giant golden sarcophagus.

 

Ardo was there…and so was a giant beast. It was huge and ugly, with no visible eyes and a mouth full of vicious teeth.

 

“By the Force!” Targon gasped. “It’s a terentatek!”

 

“I don’t care what it’s called,” Shadda sneered. “It’ll be dead soon enough.”

 

She charged forward, raising her saber above her head and twirling it with her fingers. With a shriek, she leapt into the air and landed on the creature’s back. She then proceeded to hack at its skin, which was surprisingly resistant to the blade.

 

Ardo’s face was surprised to see her, but he didn’t take long to notice. Since the beast was distracted by Shadda, he decided to head over to the altar and tomb and finish the assignment.

 

With a quick run, he was next to the sarcophagus and opened it up. There, stashed with the crumbling remains of a mummified corpse, was a notched steel sword, coated in red enamel the color of blood.

 

He was about to grab it when he was suddenly lifted into the air and tossed at the wall. The terentatek roared and reached out to grab him again.

 

Shadda was still on the beast’s back, trying to get through its armor, but having no success. She finally leapt off and started attacking the creature’s arms.

 

The monster roared and swatted its claws at her. She jumped out of the way for the first arm, but the second one caught her legs and tossed her at the wall.

 

Now it was Targon’s turn. He ran over to one of the statues and cut it down. Then, he lifted it with the Force and threw it at the beast.

 

The terentatek roared as the stone image struck it, but then it tossed it aside and charged at Targon.

 

The young Jedi bolted, heading for the other side of the chamber with the beast in close pursuit. He came to the wall and called on the Force to give him the speed to run up the wall and flip over the beast’s back.

 

Unable to stop its momentum in time, the monster crashed into the wall. But then it quickly recovered, turning about and lunging at Targon with a massive arm. Targon jumped back and slashed at the claws with his saber. He managed to cut one off.

 

The beast withdrew its hand, roaring in anger and pain. Then it charged again at him.

Targon felt himself freeze in a moment of terror, and he suddenly knew he wasn’t going to get out of the way in time.

 

He felt something shove him aside. As he landed on the stone floor, he looked up and saw Shadda charging at the beast.

 

She leapt up and thrust her red lightsaber through the creature’s mouth. The blade emerged from the back of its skull.

 

Then the Zabrak woman jumped off and landed on the ground. Raising her hand, she hurled the broken statue at the beast and smashed the creature’s head with the stone several times until it crashed lifeless to the floor.

 

Targon stood and sighed with relief. Shadda merely glared at him and turned to the altar.

Ardo Bane was there, and he held the sword in his hand.

 

“I’ve completed the task,” Ardo stated confidently. “I am the one worthy of being a Sith.”

 

“Your petty words are simply droll,” the whispering voice suddenly said. “Now give me your blood and your mortal soul.”

 

The sword glowed suddenly and a shape emerged from the wall, floating above the ground. It was the form of an ancient Sith, dressed in royal regalia, with burning eyes and horrid teeth. His fingers ended in hideous claws nearly a foot and a half long.

 

“You don’t scare me, ghost!” Ardo roared.

 

The specter laughed. “You will fear me before the end, child.”

 

In a flash, the ghost flew at him and lifted him up. Ardo slashed at it with the sword in vain, for the steel went straight through the immaterial form.

 

Then, the Sith spirit thrust his claws into Ardo Bane, and the young man’s screams filled the tomb. His blood erupted from his mouth, eyes, nose, and even the pores on his skin.

 

His screams were mingled with the hungry sigh and cruel laughter of the nightmarish ghost. The blood filled the incorporeal body, and for a moment, it seemed that the Sith was becoming physical again.

 

When the man was empty, the ghost dropped the drained husk to the ground. It landed and crumpled with a hideous noise that echoed in the room.

 

The spirit laughed and glared hungrily at the other two. “I am Krytak Nur, through death made free! Now, your blood and lives belong to me!”

 

“Oh, shut up!” Shadda howled at her. “Your stupid rhymes are getting real old, dead man.”

 

“How can you stop me, child? I am beyond anyone to be denied.”

 

“Now that wasn’t even a rhyme,” the Zabrak smirked. “You’re losing your touch.”

 

The ancient Sith’s spirit flew at her, now, shrieking and howling with claws ready to grasp her pale skin.

 

Suddenly, the ghost was rebuffed. Some sort of invisible wall had been erected between him and Shadda. Howling, Nur’s specter attacked again, and then again, but still he was held off.

 

Shadda’s eyes widened in confusion, and then she noticed her fellow acolyte, with eyes closed and hands raised in a protective stance.

 

“Your skill's weak, boy,” Krytak Nur hissed. “I’ll break through your paltry shield like a child’s toy.”

 

“Your dark spirit will not kill another person,” Targon stated harshly, opening his eyes. “I will not let you.”

 

“Indeed? Protecting those weaker than you is hardly part of the Sith’s creed.”

 

Shadda frowned. “You are no Sith.” It wasn’t a question.

 

Krytak Nur’s ghost flew over to Targon and hovered above him. “I smelled your weak and foolish code the moment you entered my tomb, Jedi. How fitting you’ve come to the Sith’s home to die!”

 

Targon activated his lightsaber. “There is no emotion, there is peace.”

 

“You think your prayers and code will save you here?” the ancient Sith laughed.

 

“There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.”

 

“I can sense your witless fear.”

 

“There is no passion, there is serenity.”

 

“Your blood will be sweet with your ignorant words.”

 

“There is no chaos, there is harmony.”

 

“I killed thousands of Jedi in herds!”

 

“There is no death, there is the Force.”

 

Krytak laughed and lunged with his claws…but then stopped short. His face had the look of shock and confusion. He turned and screamed as Shadda picked up his sword and snapped it over her knee. Then she crushed the steel with a burst of the Dark Side.

 

The ancient Sith shrieked and wailed…and with him, hundreds of ghostly voices joined him. For a sickeningly long moment, the resounding screams filled the chamber and the heads of both of the mortals.

 

Then, slowly, the voices started dying down until Krytak’s ghost was alone. The specter, itself, was fading away into nothing.

 

Finally, silence filled the tomb.

 

Targon looked up and saw the fierce eyes of Shadda glaring at him. Her face was full of rage and the Dark Side.

 

“A Jedi, are you?” she hissed. “Your blood will sanctify my coronation as a Sith.”

 

Before Targon could respond, he heard a rumbling and felt the ground shake. He didn’t have to think long to realize that the tomb was collapsing.

 

In an instant, he rushed out the door, up the stairs, and ran through the hall. Without wondering whether Shadda was behind him, he focused his thoughts on getting out of this pit of darkness and back to the planet’s surface.

 

And then to get off the planet itself.

[TargonKarashi]

Chapter Seven

 

Targon barely made it out of the tomb before the entire structure collapsed into a pile of rubble and dust. He almost sighed with relief…

 

And then he saw the three Sith Lords standing before him.

 

“Well done,” Tiburon wheezed. “You have destroyed the spirit of Krytak Nur, Methos, and you’ve dealt with your fellow competition in the process.”

 

“I must admit,” Centuro rubbed his chin. “I wasn’t expecting the victor to be you.”

 

“Sometimes the strongest do not flaunt their ability,” Arawn clicked. “I think this one has been hiding secrets from us.”

 

Tiburon nodded. “Indeed,” he rasped. “You didn’t tell us you were a Jedi, and that Methos wasn’t your real name.”

 

“What?” Targon gasped.

 

“We found it odd that a recent incident with Moff Taan not too far from this system, and the subsequent escape of certain fugitives, coincides with your strange arrival and entry into the academy.”

 

Targon forced himself not to show any surprise. It would not do to betray himself before he knew the full situation.

 

“It took a few calls and inquiries,” Centuro frowned. “But we soon discovered that a certain ship, called the Lone Eagle, has been the target of much Imperial attention. And it just so happens that the ship you arrived in matches the description of the vessel.”

 

“An odd coincidence,” Targon shrugged.

 

“Jedi never were good liars,” the Pureblood growled.

 

“It was a grave mistake to come here,” Tiburon pulled out his lightsaber. “An even worse one to make a mockery of the Sith Academy.”

 

“Do you have any proof?” Targon asked. “It wouldn’t look good if you killed the best new recruit you’ve got because you had a hunch he was a Jedi.”

 

“After we bring your dead body to your accomplices,” Centuro bared his teeth, “we’ll have all the answers we need.”

 

“So you haven’t arrested the others?” Targon raised an eyebrow. “That was rather stupid and short-sighted of you.”

 

“How so?” Arawn asked. “Three Sith Lords against a Jedi child?”

 

“And one Sith that’s a whole lot smarter than you three,” Sorgal’s voice said from behind.

 

A red flash appeared, and then one of Centuro’s hands fell to the ground. The Pureblood roared in a fury and turned to face the smiling interloper.

 

“It’s time we were leaving,” Sorgal said. “Our ship’s fixed and we have no need for your lectures anymore.”

 

“Fool!” Tiburon shrieked and then attacked. Their blades crashed against each other, and then Centuro joined in, wielding his blade with his good hand.

 

Sorgal held off their attacks long enough for Targon to bring his blade to bear and reinforce him. With the silent statues of the value watching, their blades crackled and flashed against one another.

 

While fighting, Tiburon called on the Force to fling a hail of stones at Sorgal. The Sith tried to withstand it, but was overcome. When a rock struck his head, he collapsed to the ground.

 

Centuro stood over him, ready to cut his head off. But Targon came at him with a swift kick, sending him away.

 

Then, a burst of lightning struck both Sorgal and Targon. Arawn’s four claws were raised, hurling bolts of dark energy at them both. As they writhed in pain from electrocution, the other two Sith Lords closed in on them.

 

Targon tried to resist the pain and push it back, but he couldn’t find the strength. He soon fell to his knees, struggling with the pain.

 

“Fight back!” Sorgal hissed at him.

 

“I can’t…” Targon groaned as he clenched his teeth in pain.

 

“Boy!” Sorgal howled. “You know what you have to do! You know where true strength comes from!”

 

Targon cried out, both in pain and in dismay. He wasn’t willing to let himself tap into the Dark Side. He remembered his teachings. Tieru had told him about how the Dark Side waited for you to give into its urgings. A Jedi must always resist the temptation…

 

But this was too much. The pain…the mocking faces of the Sith…and the anger of Sorgal directed at him. He couldn’t stand it…

 

And so he stopped struggling.

 

With a furious roar, he raised his hands and sent a massive wave through the Force. The ground shook and the air rushed away from him. Shock filled the faces of the Sith Lords as they were lifted into the air and hurled away, landing hundreds of meters away, unconscious on the rocks.

 

Finally, Targon fell back to his knees, trying to catch his breath. All the energy seemed to be sapped from him. Tears burned down his cheeks as he realized what he had done.

 

Sorgal stood, brushing the dust off of him and rubbing his sore, quaking muscles. He flicked his head to get the hair out of his eyes. And he stood silently over the Jedi.

 

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” he folded his arms.

 

Targon took a moment to answer. “I…I’ve betrayed my Jedi teachings…I’ve drawn on the power of the Dark Side.”

 

Sorgal sighed and shook his head. “One time…with mitigating circumstances. You think your Jedi Council will punish you for that?”

 

“It’s not the Council I’ve failed,” Targon sighed sorrowfully. “I failed myself.”

 

His Sith Lord companion lifted him up to his feet and slapped him. “Snap out of it,” he hissed. “The world isn’t as black and white as you think it is. Sometimes, one must walk a dark path to stop the darkness.”

 

“You don’t understand,” Targon shook his head. “You’re a Sith, I’m a Jedi…”

 

Sorgal slapped him again. “We’re people who can feel the Force! The only difference is our guiding philosophies and the moral codes we’ve consigned ourselves to. Look, Targon, there is no light without the dark. There is no truth without lies. In order to survive, you must be ready to kill. To protect, you must harm.”

 

“I…I don’t believe you,” Targon sighed.

 

“It doesn’t matter whether you believe me or not,” Sorgal said. “What matters is that you’ve come out the stronger after this. Now you know where a Sith draws power from, and you can be ready to fight them better in the future.”

 

Targon nodded reluctantly, still unsure, and still upset.

 

“Come on,” Sorgal sighed. “The ship is fixed and everyone’s ready to go. Since these Sith Lords were too stupid to have everyone arrested before confronting you, we have a chance to get out of here unscathed. That opportunity won’t last long, though. So let’s get off this rock while we can.”

 

Targon nodded and followed the Sith out of the valley.

 

---

 

Night had fallen over the Valley of the Dark Lords. It had been hours since the Jedi and his friends had escaped. Lt. Grenn had reported that the ship had left, but he had no reason to stop it.

 

No one had been questioned…no one had been arrested.

 

Tiburon, furious at the failure, had killed the lieutenant right away. He then wasted no time in finding and naming a new officer to replace him.

 

Centuro was taken to an infirmary to get his amputated hand seen to. He was likely going to need a prosthetic…though the Pureblood had raged against the prospect. He would rather have a battle scar than to have a fake, bionic hand.

 

With those two occupied, Arawn had headed back out into the valley to inspect the ruins of the tomb.

 

Krytak’s tomb had long left a grim shadow over the valley, a hated place, even among the most powerful Sith Lords on Korriban.

 

The Dark Council had sealed the tomb, with the vengeful, vampiric ghost inside. And after all these years…one of the academy’s instructors had caused a student to open the tomb and unleash the horror.

 

And to add to the insulting irony, a Jedi had defeated the ancient Sith. A Jedi that had also bested the three masters of the academy.

 

Arawn was unsure of what to think. It was all so…odd. Of course, he had better perspectives on matters such as this than most Sith. He had been human once, but he had delved deep into the secrets of alchemy and manipulation through the Dark Side.

 

Now he was something different. The change had been slow, but it grew in speed and effect. His skin had become a hard carapace, his fingers had become claws, and he had gained new appendages, including on his mouth.

 

Some of the students called him the “Bugger Sith” behind his back, and all seemed repulsed at his form. They didn’t understand…they were blind to the full potential of the Force.

 

If only they knew how he had been enhanced by the changes. Now he could see, smell, and feel much better and clearer than any human. He could regenerate his injuries at incredible speeds and degrees. And he could channel the powers and features of the Dark Side through him at a whim.

 

Voracity, pain, anger, hate, madness, lust…he could enhance, evoke, or even cast out any of those that he wished. And he could project them onto others just as easily.

 

Like he had hinted at the Jedi, the truly powerful often did not flaunt their abilities. Tiburon and Centuro had absolutely no idea what he was capable of.

 

As he paced about the valley, he heard a disturbance and went over to investigate. Something was stirring beneath the rubble of Krytak’s shattered tomb.

 

He cocked his head and watched as a pale hand burst out of the debris, and Shadda Verris pulled herself out of the destroyed structure.

 

Arawn clicked and shuddered. “Well now, this is unexpected…” he stated.

 

The Zabrak stood and looked him in the face. She didn’t seem afraid of his “hideous” shape at all. Her eyes burned with fury and intensity, and she looked much more…refreshed…than she had been when she first arrived.

 

Her eyes were dark still, and her skin still pale, but she seemed stronger and more fit, like she had gotten a good sleep and a full restoration of her energy.

 

“Darth Arawn,” she bowed. “I have destroyed the spirit of Krytak Nur.”

 

The Sith Lord nodded. “Yes, I can see that…you look much stronger than you used to be.”

 

“The Dark Side has strengthened me,” Shadda replied.

 

If Arawn was still capable of facial emotions, he would have grinned. “So Krytak’s fall has allowed others to rise. The Jedi has fled, and gotten stronger than he was before. And now you have returned from certain death, given fully to the Dark Side and ready to become a true Sith.”

 

“I am Sith,” Shadda hissed.

 

“Perhaps in essence, true,” Arawn nodded. “But you could still be stronger.”

 

“How?”

 

“I’m so glad you asked, child,” Arawn clicked his mandibles together. “Perhaps you think me ugly and monstrous, as so many others do…but I wield a power that Darth Tiburon and Darth Centuro cannot even conceive.”

 

“They are pathetic,” Shadda scoffed.

 

“Indeed, they very well may be,” Arawn nodded again. “But you…you are powerful and fierce. You could be invincible, child. With my guidance, of course.”

 

“How can I learn the power you wield, my lord?”

 

“Become my apprentice,” Arawn replied, petting her skin with his claws. “Learn the secrets that can be found in alchemy and the unknown paths of the Dark Side.”

 

She did not shudder or cringe as his incectoid hands rubbed over her pale skin. Instead, she smiled at the peculiar pleasure it evoked. She could feel the pulsing of great power within him.

 

Her smile revealed her teeth, which had become unnaturally white. Her canines had grown incredibly long as well, like a vampire’s.

 

“I will accept your teachings, my lord,” she bowed.

 

Arawn hissed. “Good, good. I shall name you Darth Arachne.”

 

“I am honored, my lord.”

 

“Now then,” Arawn turned about. “Let us get back to the academy. The Dark Council has heard of the mishap that occurred here regarding the Jedi…and they’re sending someone to inspect the situation.”

 

He shuddered at that. There was no doubt in his mind that many heads would roll for this incident. Luckily, it wouldn’t likely be his.

 

Conclusion of Episode Nine

[RulithBarakis]

Ah, Arawn and Arachne! Those have been some of my favorite characters back since they were revealed the first time around, before the wipe. I'm glad to be able to see- er, read about- them again. I'm also glad that you've really worked on getting Voyages going again at full strength.

 

I mean, yeah, it still hasn't caught up to where it was before, but I've enjoyed the anticipation for each chapter even more now that I can appreciate it more, lol

 

Anyways, just thought I'd comment again since I only commented back after the end of Episode One. I'll be trying to do so more often now, as well!