Impossible Odds

[Naweth]

Author’s Note: I love the TOR universe in general and have a huge passion for writing. Having started on these forums with a comedic fanfic involving a certain Jawa I determined that I wanted to write something a bit more serious and impactful. (Have no fear, the Jawa fanfic will most certainly continue!)

 

Please note two things before I begin:

#1: This story will not follow the Bioware plots. At all.

#2: This story will contain massive spoilers across all classes and flashpoints. Read at your own risk!

 

I will be juggling quite a few characters. Therefore I will give slight introductions before we begin.

 

Naweth – Human Sith Warrior (Juggernaut) – The newly appointed Emperor’s Wrath, fresh off the defeat of Darth Baras and in orbit around Dromund Kaas.

 

Ignite – Twi’lek Sith Inquisitor (Sorceror) – The newly appointed Darth Nox, currently in a very boring meeting with the Dark Council.

 

Sneaks – Rattataki Imperial Agent (Sniper) – The Hand of Jadus, unfortunately surrounded by a mountain of paperwork in light of Jadus’s new position on the Dark Council.

 

Fech – Human Bounty Hunter (Mercenary) – The greatest Bounty Hunter in the galaxy. Currently in orbit around Corellia fresh from a certain assassination.

 

The Man Who Needs No Introduction – I really hate how his story ended. Therefore he’s gonna be a major player.

 

Chapter One: Complications

 

WRATH!

Naweth awoke in a haze, his vision clouded by a black fog, and staggered from his bed, covered in sweat. He waved his arms in what appeared to be slow motion in attempts to clear the fog. It failed to produce results. The hulking man whom had recently been deemed The Emperor’s Wrath looked around to see the darkness coalescing into a ball; he approached cautiously.

 

Peace is a lie, there is only passion.

Naweth clutched his head and fell to his knees, noticing for the first time that he was naked, as he attempted to cease the reverberations echoing through his head. He blinked several times as the black fog began to take shape; a shape he’d seen only a few times in his dreams.

 

Through passion, I gain strength.

The Wrath clutched his head once more, sweat emanating from every pore, and attempted to slow his breathing.

 

Through strength, I gain power.

Naweth collapsed to the ground, shaking uncontrollably, seconds before a seizure took over his body.

 

Through power, I gain victory.

A scream tore loose from Naweth’s lips, not of his own doing and from a voice not his own. He grit his teeth against the pain and forced his eyes open as another form began to take shape in the black fog.

 

Through victory, my chains are broken.

Blue. A blue light. A sentient being in white armor.

 

The Force shall free me.

Jedi.

 

AVENGE ME!

The images faded, returning to black and taking Naweth with them into the depths of the unknown.

 

“QUINN!” Vette screamed, having walked into their room to find her husband convulsing on the floor. “PIERCE!”

The sound of several footsteps running from all directions of the ship reverberated through the hallways; seconds later

 

Malavai Quinn appeared by the Twi’lek, looking down at the Wrath with wide eyes. “What happened?” He asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

 

“I-I d-don’t know,” Vette stammered, trying to keep the tears from flowing and failing miserably. “He s-said h-he wasn’t feeling good and w-wanted to sleep. I-I was playing Pazaak with Pierce and Broony and came t-to check on him.”

 

Quinn nodded and knelt, analyzing all he could without disturbing the still twitching Sith. Pierce and Broonmark entered the room just as Quinn determined that the Wrath was still breathing.

 

“What’s going on?” Pierce demanded.

 

(Sith Clan does not look well) Broonmark noted.

 

“I need your help,” Quinn looked at Pierce with an expression that brooked no debate. “We must get him to medbay.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Pierce said solemnly as he got on the other side of the man he’d come to respect and trust. The lieutenant grunted as he attempted to get his shoulder under the hulking man. “Wish he wasn’t bigger than me,” Pierce grunted.

 

“Tell me he’s going to be okay, Quinn,” Vette begged.

 

The Captain looked at the tear-stained face of the Twi’lek and felt his heart throb painfully. Although he’d never seen eye to eye with the annoying girl he’d come to respect her as one of his crewmates. The man he was struggling to hold up played no small part in that disposition. The perceptive eyes of Quinn caught the slight look of panic in the lieutenant’s features and the barely contained bloodlust and rage emanating from the Talz still standing in the doorway.

 

(Sith Clan will be avenged) Broonmark promised.

 

2V-R8 chose that moment to join the crew. “There’s been a complication, Master! Mistress Jaesa has passed out in her quarters!”

 

Quinn and Pierce both swore simultaneously.

 

“Broonmark, get Jaesa to the medbay,” Quinn ordered, his training immediately taking over. “Pierce, we need to get moving.”

 

“Roger that, Captain,” Pierce grunted as he and Quinn took a step forward.

 

“He’ll be okay, Vette,” Quinn promised the Twi’lek. “But we must get him to the medbay so I can see what is ailing him.”

 

“O-okay,” Vette nodded. “I’ll go help Broony.” The Twi’lek vanished in a flash, leaving the two men who’d come to respect one another, albeit begrudgingly, holding the conduit of their mutual truce.

 

“What’s going on, sir?” Pierce questioned softly, the Black Ops Imperial feeling the first strands of terror creeping into his mind; a terror he’d not experienced since boot camp.

 

“It seems to be affecting Force users, whatever it is,” Quinn grunted. “I’m not as strong as you, lieutenant.”

 

“Got it,” Pierce shut up.

 

It took them awhile, but finally the two men managed to get the Sith into the medbay and onto a bed where Quinn, Pierce, and 2V immediately set to work hooking up different medical apparatuses.

 

“Should we put him in the kolto tank?” Vette questioned shakily.

 

“Not until I have ascertained his predicament,” Quinn said in a clinical voice. “Broonmark, please see Vette out and keep her company.”

 

(If Sith Clan dies, I will kill you) The Talz grabbed Vette’s hand with his own fur-covered one and marched her out.

 

Quinn looked down at the pale face of the Wrath, his usual battle-hardened stoic expression replaced by a grimace of pain; his hands had a death grip on his arms as if he’d been attempting to cease the convulsions by sheer force of strength. Sweat covered the man from head to toe and his skin was deathly white. Put frankly, the Wrath looked as if he’d been to hell and back.

 

This man has done more for my career and my disposition as a man than any other, Quinn realized bitterly. I will not let him die. I will not fail him. I will find a way to help you overcome. You believed in me when I was at my lowest low. You forgave me when all others would have killed me. You showed me that even in the darkest of nights there is always a light that burns. You taught me that compassion goes hand in hand with duty. And if you do not come back, know that I will spend every waking moment of my life seeking whatever brought this about and annihilating it. I will not sleep. I will not cease. I will not forgive.

“Vengeance will be ours,” Pierce whispered solemnly, looking at the Captain with a newfound respect.

 

Quinn’s eyes widened as he realized he’d been speaking aloud the entire time. Pierce merely flashed his trademark grin and gave the Captain a salute. “Orders, sir?”

 

Quinn looked over at the second bed where Jaesa was lying. She did not look nearly as bad as the Wrath. “Get her hooked up also, lieutenant,” he said wearily. “Carefully.”

 

“Wouldn’t think of doing it any other way, sir,” Pierce nodded.

 

*****

 

In the heart of Korriban the Dark Council convened, going over the current status of the war; between Darth Marr and Malgus sat Darth Nox, his real name Ignite. The newly appointed Dark Council member listened intently as he attempted to submit a new level of control over the phantoms within his head. He would need their power if he was to make these other Council members acknowledge him as their equal.

 

It happened simultaneously, the same thing that struck the Wrath in his ship, and Ignite clutched his head as he watched several Council members hit the ground. Thankfully the multiple phantoms within his mind partially shielded him from fully succumbing to the attack. Darth Malgus stood unaffected and marched from the chamber, not giving Darth Nox a glance. Ignite watched him go before he felt Darth Marr grab his arm.

 

“Stop him,” Marr grunted seconds before his body gave way and he collapsed.

 

Ignite grit his teeth and pressed a button on his bracer; the attack’s intensity was increasing and the phantoms were using the moment to assault his mind. The doors to the Dark Council chambers burst open. Khem Val walked in, the hulking red Dashade glancing about the room and restraining his desire to feast on the many incapacitated Force users. Beside him strode the intimidating HK-51, a Hunter Killer droid that Ignite had rebuilt with his own hands.

 

The Sith Lord did not notice the holo-image of Darth Jadus flicker and fade to black nor the fact that he, much like Malgus, seemed completely unaffected by whatever was assaulting them.

 

“Khem,” Ignite gasped. “I am losing control.”

 

“You must focus, Master,” Khem rumbled, kneeling next to the Sith and placing his massive hand on his shoulder. The only being Khem Val had ever come to respect more than the mighty Tulak Hord was Darth Ignite.

 

Observation: This place is teeming with unparalleled energy, Master. Suggestion: It would be in your best interest to leave this location.

 

“Get me to the ship,” Ignite felt his consciousness fading as the phantoms vied for control. The Darth began to glow a light purple and Khem’s eyes widened. “If I lose control, s-stop m-me,” Ignite hissed.

 

Directive: Meatbag Andronikus will have the ship prepped for launch. The Master is ill and we must leave this planet with all haste. HK spoke into his comlink.

 

“As much as I’d like to follow that directive,” Andronikus grunted from the other end of the com, “Xalek and Ashara are both down at the moment. Happened simultaneously seconds ago.”

 

Advisory: Have the inferior model assist you, Meatbag. We will arrive at the landing pad shortly. Meatbag Talos Drellik should be prepared to perform whatever medical means are necessary to resuscitate the Master.

 

“Right, I’ll do what I can,” Andronikus began to cut the feed.

 

Warning: Do not let Meatbag Talos Drellik out of the ship. He will not be able to function properly amongst all the ancient ruins.

 

Despite the gravity of the situation, Andronikus chuckled. “Got it.” He cut the feed.

 

Khem stared down at the red Twi’lek who was his Master. The black tattoos that adorned his lekku had a sheen of sweat; this unnerved the Dashade greatly. Ignite never sweated. Khem watched as the purple glow receded back into the fragile body of the Sith, taking his consciousness with it, and gently hefted Ignite over his shoulder.

“We should go,” Khem told the droid.

 

Query: Do you think the Master would appreciate me liquidating these competitive Meatbags?

 

“I would not recommend that course of action,” Khem rumbled.

 

Reluctant Admission: I will allow the Meatbags to continue breathing. For now.

 

*****

 

The Hand of Jadus, Sneaks, formerly known as Cipher Nine, sat behind his desk carefully going over paperwork. He sighed and rubbed a hand across his bald head; the Rattataki hated paperwork. As he was meticulously rearranging a stack of papers he felt the ground shake slightly and paused. His sixth sense warned him to be ready and he moved faster than most would have thought possible.

 

A quick barrel roll had Sneaks at his weapons locker where he ripped it open and immediately began putting on his armor. One minute and fifteen seconds later he was fully armed with in his special issued Despot’s Armor, and his one of a kind Gree Sniper Rifle. He turned in time to see Kaliyo come sprinting in.

 

“Trouble,” she gasped, jamming her thumb behind her. “Big trouble.”

 

“Let’s move,” Sneaks commanded as he took a step forward. He halted when he saw three grenades come flying into the room. He reacted with both reflex and muscle memory, raising his rifle and shooting one grenade out of the air; it erupted into a great gout of fire. His second shot caught the second grenade at the beginning of its descent, shaking the room and driving Kaliyo to her knees as she attempted to shield herself against the blast.

 

The shaking knocked the Hand of Jadus off balance and his third shot missed by a hair’s breadth. The grenade landed inches from Kaliyo’s face. She looked up at Sneaks and gave a sad smile before closing her eyes. Sneaks dove behind his desk and pressed a button on the bottom seconds before the blast engulfed his office in a fireball.

 

*****

 

Currently in orbit around Corellia the Bounty Hunter Fech, now the greatest of all time following his successful assassination of the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic, awoke with a jolt as a piercing shriek emanated throughout the ship.

 

“Kark!” He swore as he leapt out of bed and began rapidly strapping on his Mandalorian battle armor. His wife Mako sat up in surprise, rapidly rubbing her eyes before suddenly clutching her head.

 

“The holo-net is in uproar,” she winced. “Something’s happened.”

 

“Get everyone ready,” Fech demanded, the Hunter finished with his breastplate and grabbed his helmet. Mako spun him around and looked into his grey eyes, admiring his handsome features and wavy black hair. She placed a quick kiss on his lips and helped him with his helmet.

 

“Is it bad?” She whispered.

 

Fech looked at her, his helm hiding his grim expression. “Very,” the sub-electronic voice affirmed.

 

The two arrived on the bridge to find Gault, Torrian, Blizz and Skadge waiting for them.

 

“If the Jawa messed with the alarm system I’m gonna gut him,” Skadge growled.

 

“Blizz no touch! Was sleeping!” Blizz assured.

 

“I’m sure Fech will explain,” Gault yawned. “Which alarm is this one? The one where the Empire gets taken over?”

 

The holoterminal flickered to life and Darth Malgus appeared with his arms folded. “Hunter,” he spoke in a voice of authority. “Have you made your decision?”

 

“As much as your new Empire appeals to my senses, I have to respectfully decline,” Fech shook his head. “You see I still have a contract to finish out with the current Empire.”

 

“A pity then,” Malgus unfolded his arms. “Goodbye, Hunter.”

 

“I should keep my mouth shut more often,” Gault shook his head. “What’s going on?”

 

“That alarm is from the Hand of Jadus,” Fech informed. “We met awhile back during that Foundry incident. If he’s calling for aid then we’re in trouble.”

 

“Guys,” Torian called. “Something is approaching us.”

 

An explosion rocked the ship, throwing all six from their feet. Alarms sounded and smoke filled the ship. Mako coughed and staggered to her feet with Fech’s help. “What was that?!” She shrieked.

 

“Jindo Krey!” Torian roared over the alarms. “He’s locking on to us!”

 

“Damn!” Fech spat. “Blizz! Make sure the hyperdrive is still available! If it’s not, fix it!”

 

“Blizz fix! Have Boss out of here in no time!”

 

“Mako we need a safe location, away from all Imperial and Republic troops where we can recuperate.”

 

“Right,” Mako kept her head under the smoke. “I’ll work on it.”

 

“Skadge! On those guns!” Fech commanded.

 

“I’m gonna kill this guy for interrupting my sleep!” Skadge yelled over his shoulder as he sprinted to the turrets with Fech in tow.

 

Torian remained at the helm, furiously attempting to get the ship under control and keep Jindo from locking on. Another explosion shook the ship and nearly knocked Mako from her chair. Torian grabbed her arm and jerked her back into place before returning to the controls.

 

“Thanks,” Mako breathed.

 

“Don’t mention it,” Torian swallowed hard. Mako noticed the sweat running down the Mandalorian’s face and felt fear begin to clutch her heart. If Torian was sweating things were bad: real bad.

 

*****

 

In the far reaches of the galaxy, at a facility known only by a select few as the Foundry, a dark energy began to take shape. There were less than two dozen Imperials on the station, as Malgus did not want the Empire to know of his new super-weapon. Besides, the Foundry did not need sentient hands to operate; it could produce on its own.

 

An Imperial soldier halted when he noted the energy taking the shape of a man and readied his blaster. The energy receded and a man in tattered robes knelt on the metal grating. The soldier fired and the shot caught the man in the side of the head, turning it.

 

The man didn’t fall to the ground, nor did he acknowledge the attack; he merely flexed and the soldier suddenly grabbed his throat, his neck snapping seconds later.

 

“I told them they could not kill me,” the man whispered. “This is my station.”

 

He walked over to the soldier and grabbed the man’s pack, emptying its contents on the ground before he navigated through the familiar corridors where droids were being made by the thousands. He came to the area where his greatest creation lay in ruin and began collecting the pieces, dropping them reverently into the pack.

 

“For three hundred years you waited faithfully,” he whispered. “I shall rebuild you, old friend, and you shall have your vengeance.” He shouldered the pack. “But first I must gain control of this station.”

 

Two guards appeared and leveled their blasters at the man; both were flung to the side as rag dolls with a mere flick of the man’s wrist. The man shook his long brown hair from his face and walked to the deepest corridors of the facility; stopping only when he came to a locked crate.

 

He entered the code slowly, as if recalling a long-lost memory, and heard the safety mechanism detach. The crate opened and the man leaned over, drawing forth his original possessions. Possessions forged in one of the former marvels of the Infinite Empire: the Star Forge. He removed his tattered robes and donned his new clothing, buckling the unique armor about his form.

 

The man reached forth and removed a battered old Mandalorian mask; one he’d worn for years. One he’d had his greatest victory in, his greatest redemption and his greatest betrayal. He slipped it into place, satisfied when the interior HUD lit up and began to display information three hundred years old.

 

Finally he removed a familiar tool, his lightsaber, and buckled it to his belt next to the series of rings that went down his lower robes. He drew a deep breath, reveling in his newfound freedom. His greatest inhibitor was weakened, but not gone, and now he was free to do what he should’ve done three hundred years ago. What he could have done three hundred years ago.

 

He noted the remaining sentient life forms on his HUD amassing behind him and smiled behind his mask. An explosion of black lightning incinerated them on the spot, purging their presence from his station. He folded his arms behind his back and walked with a purpose to the central controller of the facility. Entering in an override code took a few short seconds before the station was fully under his control once more.

 

His hands ran over the keys, rapidly inputting new commands and directives. The smile behind his mask turned malicious. He was free. He was no longer bound by Light nor Dark sides of the Force. He was the Force.

 

He was Revan.