Darth Traya: A Fragile Alliance

[Aurbere]

Sion's really stepped in it now, hasn't he? Can't wait to see Nihilus introduce him to the ground!

[Beniboybling]

VII

Nihilus thrust out a gloved hand and from his palm sprung a blood red tendril that fluctuated and pulsated, sending off shoots of energy as it snaked towards Sion and struck him in the chest. Sion gasped and his lightsaber slipped from his grip. Then he screamed, screamed in agony as his body was lacerated with crackling crimson energy. Every inch of his body was in pain, and so he channelled the pain into power, calling upon the dark side, and yet as it surged forth to answer his summons he found it slip through his fingers, drained away by the devouring blackness of his opponent. The pain began to fade, and instead his body began to grow cold. The flames of the dark side that had burned inside of him ever since his rebirth on Dorin, began to peter out.

 

He would not let them.

 

He screamed again, not in pain but rage as he opened himself up to the vast oceans of dark energy that drenched the Citadel’s walls. H let the tides of a hundred generations of Sith and sorcery wash over him, let them flow through the cracks in his flesh. The fire within him began to burn again, blustering upward into a raging inferno.

 

Nihilus felt Sion push back, attempt to push him out. And so his contracted his clawed hand pulled it back as if tugging at an invisible handle, pulling Sion towards him like a marionette and pinning him in place, suspended in the air. The red energy still crackled from his fingertips but at this proximity Nihilus became to exude a dark mist that sapped away at Sion’s reignited fires. Nihilus peered into his eyes, expecting to see them slowly fade to gray. But instead they flashed a defiant orange.

“Raaaargh!” The air exploded with a rippling repulse, repelling the crackling red energy and throwing Nihilus to the ground. For a moment he lay still, like an exorcised ghost, stunned by and unslaked. Sion, breathing heavily, retrieved his blade with the Force and reactivated it. Before him the shadow staggered to its feet, a cool silver hilt flicked into his hand and ignited. He moved like lightening, leaping high through the air with an inhuman cacophony of echoing screams, his robes splaying outward like a kite, blade raised high above his head.

 

Sion parried the blow as the demon descended with a two-handed block, but the force of the attack was tremendous and Nihilus blade cut downward to graze his shoulder. The stab of pain only made him stronger as he channelled his fury into an immediate counter-attack, launching himself into a series of brute slashes and chops in a savage display of power. But it was not enough; every stroke was met with a quick parry, every chop with a swift riposte, as the shadow glided back and forth. He moved like a wraith, untouchable. Another echoey cry reverberated through the chamber as Nihilus threw a vicious swing at Sion’s head. He ducked at the last moment, narrowly evaded the attack. But Nihilus’ blade severed one of the tubes on his cape, and the like a metal snake it began to hiss and flail. Sion growled as his sensed his oxygen supply half. The tempest of the battle turned at Sion was quickly forced on the defensive, enduring the full ferocity of Nihilus technique between gasping breaths. His blade move like a hurricane, endless flashes of red illuminating his bone white expression.

 

A glancing cut, a slash, a gash, but Sion shrugged them off, he would not falter. His body panted for air but he no longer needed it, his rage and his pain was enough to fuel every breath his drew. Pushing past the injury he mounted an offense once more, and then the cycle began again. They had reached an impasse, an endless inferno colliding with an unending blackness.

 

The tides turned again, as Sion leapt clear of a bisecting slash and unleashed a blast of Force lightening. Lighting up the dark space between them in brilliant white. Nihilus caught the purplish bolts with an outstretched palm, devouring each and every tendril. His fingers crackled with power then he thrust the energy back at its sender, the lightening exploded in Sion’s chest and washed over his body in iridescent violet as he staggered backward.

 

But his body refused to succumb.

 

Sion smiled with a sickening grimace. “You are strong.” He said between gasping breaths. “Stronger than any I have faced. But here, on this shadowed world, I cannot die.”

 

Nihilus paused, then let his blade slip back into its pommel. Instead extending a hand.

 

“Then join us!” His hollow voice reverberated against the chamber walls. “With our combined strength we can end the Jedi and the Republic. We will be unstoppable.”

 

Sion turned away, cape flapping, his own blade retracting. “Don’t you see? The end of the Jedi, of the Republic, it is already at hand. Darth Revan’s empire is fractured, but I will rebuild it. Already, two dozen Sith warlords have sworn their allegiance to me. I have amassed fleets, armies, warriors. The Republic is weak, and the Jed’s numbers dwindle with every moment. There is nothing that you can offer me.”

 

“We can offer you true power.” Nihilus responded. “Buried deep beneath Malachor’s crust is a relic, an academy, left behind by the old Sith Empire. It is a place where the teachings of the Sith run strong, stronger than here. It is a place of knowledge, and secrets. What you discern, is a fraction of the dark side’s potential. Come to Malachor, study at the feet of my master, and its ancient power will be yours to command.”

 

Sion turned and sneered. “You talk of secrets, of knowledge. And yet for all your power you cannot defeat me. These ‘secrets’, has your master shared them with you?”

Nihilus paused, phased by the unexpected response. “I have learned much, as her apprentice. More than you.”

 

“Yet not all.” Sion replied with an air of knowing.

 

“Your master, she hides her secrets from you. Doesn’t she? For if you had learned all that she had to offer, the student would surpass the master. And she would be dead.”

 

“You do not know her as I do.”

 

“Yet I know of the Sith! She will deceive you, she will use you, and then she will betray you. Already you have become her slave. A mere errand boy.”

 

Nihilus clenched a fist. “She is more powerful than I, it is my duty, as her apprentice, to submit to her will. In time you will do the same.”

 

“Yet you said it yourself, together we are unstoppable, together we can destroy your master and claim the secrets for our own.”

 

Nihilus was stunned, he had come here to convert, yet now he was being converted. “You ask me to betray my master?”

 

“Treachery is the way of the Sith.” Sion proclaimed. “It is the only way to satisfy your hunger for power.”

 

Hunger. The word awakened a sleeping dragon inside him. To hold the Trayus Academy in the palm of his hands, he could feed on it all, and then the Jedi.

 

“There is truth in your words. But we must hurry to Malachor if we are to catch my master unawares.”

 

“It is too late for that.”

 

“Master!”

 

A sudden wave of energy ripped the pair of their feet, hurtling them against the far wall and they collapsed on the raised dais of the throne.

 

Master. No.

 

Sion clambered to his feet, but Nihilus remained bowed on his knees.

 

Before them, silhouetted against the rectangle of light that streamed through the open doors, stood Nihilus’ master – Darth Traya.

 

“Did you truly believe you could deceive me?” She jabbed in a mirthless tone.

 

“And you, ‘Lord Sion’. Soon you will learn that your primitive understanding of the Force is as meaningless as the strength of my hand.”

 

“You.” Sion growled. “You are the witch that your apprentice speaks of.” Drawing his lightsaber he rushed at the figure, Nihilus made no move to join him. Resisting his master was a futile effort, he realised that now.

 

But Sion continued to charge, face twisted with fury. Traya raised a hand and the throne room flashed with purple light as gouts of dark side energy lacerated every inch of Sion’s body and sent him hurtling into a pillar, before collapsing in a steaming, crackling heap on the floor. Traya drew close to stand over his body; he tried to get up, snarling at her. Without hesitation she unleashed another blast of lightning, sending his body into violent convulsions as he screamed in agony. Nihilus had risen and stepped down from the dais to approach the display, stopping a short distance away from his master. His mask flashed brightly as the chamber was lit up by the lightning that crackled and flashed like a storm across Sion’s body. And though it fought to heal the damage the pain could not be dampened, it coursed through every vein, invaded every rupture, it was everywhere at once and unbearable, he could do nothing but scream.

 

Then she stopped. And for a moment Traya simply regarded his shuddering, whimpering form with atrophied eyes. She could sense the power within him, cowering in the recesses of his heart, but it was unrefined. He had learned to channel his pain and his hatred, that much was clear. But not to control it. To wield the Force is to wield a weapon. She had told her apprentice many times. Yet he had willingly allowed himself to become an instrument of his will.

 

She knelt beside him. “Perhaps now you begin to understand. You have a choice, Lord Sion. Abandon all you have accomplished here, and serve as my apprentice. Or die on this floor, weak and defeated.”

 

She knew which he would choose. He had tasted defeat before; each scar that marred his body was a symbol of his failure. He should be dead a dozen times over. A chance to grow stronger, a chance to strike an opponent down before they struck him was irrefuseable.

 

Traya rose to her feet as Sion dragged himself onto his knees. “I... will serve.” He growled through clenched teeth.

 

“Good. Then leave us.”

 

Traya waited as his limped out of the throne room with his head bowed, the doors slid shut behind him. Leaving her alone with Nihilus.

 

“Forgive me, master. I – ”

 

“Kneel.” She commanded.

 

But before he could react something struck at out his mind, and all at once it was ablaze with the searing sting of a hundred tiny brands. He cried out in agony, as Sion had done, but not as deep and as vehement, instead a foul and distant scream as he fell at her feet. The pain immediately subsided as he did so, but his head still throbbed with the potent memory.

 

“I could kill you in a thousand different ways, Lord Nihilus. You wield great power, you can do things that I can never do. This much is true. But do not every assume you are greater than me, no matter what others say or think. You will never be greater than me.”

 

She was right. She was always right. Perhaps, perhaps with the power of Ziost at his fingertips he could have defeated her here. Perhaps with the aid of Lord Sion she would have been destroyed. But to what end? Without her to guide him he would succumb to his depravity, ultimate power over the Force would slip from his grasp, and he would fall into darkness.

 

“I am... forever your servant, master. I will not betray you again.”

VIII

A pair of dark figures knelt before Traya in the centre of the Core. “You summoned us, master?” Nihilus spoke.

 

“It is time.”

 

“Time for what, my lord?” Nihilus rumbled.

 

“To accelerate our plans,” she began as if the answer were obvious “the Jedi are our primary target. They stand in the way of Revan’s vision.”

 

“Revan’s vision?” Sion interrupted, raising his head.

 

“To cast aside the weakness of the Republic and apathy of the Jedi and make the galaxy strong – to put an end to war and restore peace. But first, the Jedi must be eradicated, as long as they exist our plans remain in jeopardy.”

 

Sion spoke again “The Jedi Order is broken, its numbers have dwindled. They do not pose a threat.”

 

“You underestimate them, Lord Sion. Even a single Jedi can tear down an Empire. For now, they cower in their temple on Coruscant. Blinding themselves to the galaxy’s suffering. We possess neither the strength nor the numbers to penetrate the Core, they must be flushed out.”

 

“How?” Nihilus bellowed.

 

“The task is a delicate one, and it shall be mine alone. Lord Sion, you will take a small fleet to Socorro in the Outer Rim. It is a haven for smugglers and nomads. But also home to a Jedi Academy. You will go there, capture the academy, kill all the inhabitants and activate the Jedi distress signal.”

 

“For what purpose.” Sion asked, intrigued.

 

“To serve as a trap of course. The Republic have no presence in the Outer Rim, they will not come to the Academy’s aid. But there are many Jedi scattered across the edges of the galaxy, wasting their abilities on weak and insignificant life forms. It is an outpost for these ‘knights’, they will respond to the signal. And you will capture any that do.”

 

“Capture?”

 

“Yes, to cut down your enemy in battle is to take victory. But to convert your enemy to your own side, to make their power your own, is a far greater triumph. Revan understood this, and in time so will you.”

 

Sion did not seem impressed, but he repressed his opinions. Yet his disdain for Revan was clear. She did not need to probe his mind to discover why; Revan had betrayed him and all his followers. But she did not care; let him dwell on the past while she shaped the future.

 

“Nihilus.”

 

“Yes, master.”

 

“You are to make contact with General Vaklu of the Onderonian Military. The planet is rife with political unrest; Valku wishes to secede from the Republic while his cousin, the Queen and ruler of Onderon, wishes to remain in their fold. You will forge an alliance with Vaklu by offering him military aid, and encourage him to overthrow the Queen.

 

“But our enemies are the Jedi!” Sion interrupted, raising his head. “Why do we waste our resources with petty uprisings and menial targets when we should be taking the fight to the heart of the Republic, to the doorstep of the –”

 

“Be silent!” Traya commanded. And he was. “Your crude perception of the galaxy will be your undoing, Lord Sion.” He bowed his head again, and said nothing.

 

He has learnt. She thought.

 

“Now go, both of you. Do as I command and you will witness the Jedi and the Republic fall within a single stroke, this I promise you.”

 

Sion seethed with anger, but buried it deep beneath shame and fear and skulked away. Nihilus departed with him and Traya watched their backs. She smiled. Let them believe that. Let them believe she sought to reforge the galaxy under Sith rule. But in truth, she sought much more, the Jedi and the Republic were not all that they would see fall.

 

*** *** ***

 

A pair of Jedi knelt on circular stools within one of the Jedi Temple’s shaded meditation chambers. One bore an elfish, brown-skinned face, garbed in blue and short in stature, his brow furrowed in concentration. A human Jedi sat opposite to him, dressed in brown – an ageing male, his hair growing grey and head going bald. Through the blinded windows Coruscant’s vast metropolis glittered like gemstones under a darkened sky.

 

“Do you fear it is of the dark side?” Master Vandar whispered.

 

Vrook’s brow creased to mimic Vandar’s own mottled temples. “I fear it may be. Something is stirring amongst the remnants of Revan’s empire.”

 

“Stirring, hmm? The Sith Empire is rife with fighting and struggle, something is always stirring.”

 

“No, this is different.” Vrook paused. “I fear a new power is rising.”

 

*** *** ***

 

Sokar, the red giant of the Soccoro system, dominated the vast expanse above the planet’s rippling horizon, filling the sky with violent orange. Scorched sand stretched in every direction, taking on a black and brown hue under Sokar’s intense gaze. And a flotilla of streaking black dots began to crawl across the burning sphere, steadily growing larger as they continued their descent.

 

Watching the approach objects was a Jedi Knight. Dressed in tight fitting robes strapped with gauntlets, durasteel tipped boots and a metal pauldron – a reminder of the warriors the Jedi had become.

 

Keepers of the Peace. He thought to himself.

 

He stood atop a high wall that rose between the empty sands and the bustling city behind him, a field of domed buildings the same colour as the dark brown earth, each irradiated by burning starlight. Houses, workshops, marketplaces, docking bays and cantinas all packed together. From above he imagined the walled city looked like a polygon stretched out of proportion, filled with a cluttered array of shapely orange rocks. In its centre rested a domed complex, the Jedi Academy. For it was here, in the dark and unforgiving corners of the galaxy, far from the glittering light of the Core, that the Jedi were needed most.

 

More than they knew.

 

The approaching objects had grown larger, no longer specks in the sky, but drop pods. They were heading straight for the city. The Jedi snatched a comlink from his utility belt.

 

But it was too late. The drop pods were not alone but escorted by a squadron of Sith fighters that with a sudden surge of energy rushed the city and unleashed a hailfire cannon fire upon on its domed caps. Roofs exploded, streets caught alight and the stone beneath the Jedi’s feet erupted in fire and debris, sending him hurtling away, his body crashing into a market stand below. The attackers washed over him, drop pods whistled like falling meteorites, burying themselves into buildings and excavating dusty alleyways. The air became slick with fire and smoke. He began to hear the screams. Clambering to his feet the Jedi searched for his comlink, but all that remained was a blackened scrap of metal lying in the sand. The Jedi cursed under his breath and looked towards the towers of the Jedi Temple as frightened citizens rushed past him in every direction. He allowed himself to be caught up amongst the hordes that carried him towards the academy.

 

But as the temple grew closer, the masses suddenly cleared with screams and cries of panic much louder than before. The crowd parted and he found himself in a large market square, a building lining the square had been cleft in two, a silver drop pod wedged between the smoking wreckage. But his eyes quickly averted to the centre of the square that was rapidly being depopulated. For there, surrounded by bodies, stood a living corpse. He bore the gray pallor of the dead, his decomposing flesh mottled with scars and coated in a web of cracks that seemed to crawl across every inch of his body. It could only be one, only one could have a body so damaged, so corrupted, and stand. And yet, the rumours, the stories, they spoke of a different man. A man who wore a cape as black as night, and hair darker still. A man who at a glance, might pass for any other, until the eyes focused and the extent of his injuries became clear. But this was no man. Here there could be no mistake. He wore no cape, no hair grew from his scalp. He was a monster.

 

The Jedi ignited his lightsaber, a striking blue in the harsh red haze, which had grown even redder under the heat of the flames. At his feet lay the corpses of those he had sworn to protect, and before he stood the monstrosity that had slaughtered them. The Jedi’s hands clenched about the hilt of his blade and in a passionate rage he charged the Sith Lord. Lord Sion drew his own blade and sabers clashed as they became a whirlwind of glowing, kinetic energy, throwing up sprays of scorched black sand. The Jedi became engulfed in a torrent unchecked emotions, they seemed to seethe from his enemy and, mingling with his own, erupted into flames. But his rage unbalanced him, the mantra of his order surfaced from the depths of his subconscious; it was but a whisper in the intensity of the storm. The light had been obscured and the darkness only fuelled his opponent. Then the storm closed in, and all went black.

 

*** *** ***

 

Sion stared down at the Jedi’s fallen body that lay crumpled on the ground, his lightsaber abandoned in the sand beside the bodies of those he had failed to defend.

 

Weak fool.

 

He had felled many Jedi, but this one had been easy. The Jedi had let his anger and his passion unbalance him. And it only fuelled Sion’s own strength. To touch such power and recoil from it, pitiful. Sion turned away, supressing a wince as the movement inflamed the ever present pain that thrummed from every inch of his body. Ever since...

 

He pushed the memory aside and instead surveyed the surrounding destruction. The city was in uproar. The sounds of terror and pain flooded smouldering streets as his legions of soldiers and Sith cut down the innocent without mercy. His master would have advised a more careful approach, the silent kill.

 

He winced again as the memory tried to resurface. He stifled it.

 

Silence would not draw out the Jedi that scurried about this pathetic band of systems they called the Outer Rim, doing good deeds, saving lives, uplifted the weak and tearing down the strong. Let them hear the cries of the innocent, he would ensure they echoed across the galaxy, he would stick them like pigs, let them experienced the pain that he felt. He smiled, the Jedi would come running.

 

The pneumatic whine of approaching repulsorcraft caught his attention as a trio of sleek, headless speeders swept into the clearing, each manned by Sith marauders garbed in black and bearing steel masks. The figure closest to him dismounted and bowed.

 

“Your speeder, my lord.”

 

Sion strode past him. “Very good.” He said, sending jabs of pain ricocheting across his jaw. He mounted the speeder. “You are to remain here and join the others. Butcher as many of the weak fools as you can.”

 

The marauder bowed again. “With pleasure, my lord.”

 

Sion smiled faintly, then stifled a wince. He would remember to stop smiling in the future. He squeezed the handles of his speeder with his cracked hands and the vehicle whirred into motion, taking off into the streets. The remaining mounted marauders trailed behind as they rushed toward the Jedi Temple, throwing up swathes of sand that engulfed the path behind them. The dust sizzled in contact with crackling fires and scorched the eyes of fleeing citizens. Before long they reached the temple complex, a set of square shaped buildings with domed roofs sitting atop a series of tiered platforms. They swerved to a halt. Like ants the cities terrified inhabitants swarmed up zigzagging steps in an effort to reach the entrance and escape the chaos.

 

As if they would be safe in there, a pillar of black smoke poured from one of the temple’s roofs, marking the entry of a burrowing drop pod. Surrounding the structure Jedi and Sith flashed and twirled their lightsabers, and soldiers exchanged fire. Sion dismounted and the marauders followed suit, all three igniting crimson lightsabers in anticipation of blood. Around him more insects scurried from the streets and dashed towards the temple. Sion snarled in disgust at the panic around him as he marched forward. He grabbed hold of woman as she crossed his path and thrust a blade though her back, tossing her aside as he cut down a man rushed to her corpse.

 

Sion allowed his rage to build with every step, allowed the panic and the fear to fuel his anger, his strength, the very sight of the Jedi made his blood boil with hatred and anticipation. But in the maelstrom of his fury he did not here the faint bleeping of a thermal detonator that came to rest at his feet, not until the fire and shrapnel ignited his shattered body and threw it to the ground wreathed in black smoke.

 

With the pain the memory he had tried to repress broke free, and flooded his mind with fire and blood...

IX

Sion knelt on the hard stone of a long, pillared chamber – its dark greyish hues illuminated in crimson lighting. His master stood before him, a shroud, blackness on blackness.

 

He had forgotten what it felt like, to be cold. But he could feel it now; the hollow chill of the academy crawled across his waxen skin and permeated every crack in his flesh. Yet the cold could not temper his burning passions – his pain, his anger, his lust for power. And something else, something new, a palpable hatred for his master. She had taken everything from him, his fleets, his armies, his empire, even his apprentice. All that remained were a few cruisers and the forces that had occupied Ziost. They were the best, yet only made up a fraction of what he had gathered, of what he could have gathered.

 

And they were no longer under his command either. Instead he languished in a forgotten academy, lured by the promise of power, and revenge. The latter he might still have, but the former? The former had long since being eroded away by lies and deceit. No, there was no power to be gained here, instead his code had been challenged, his beliefs subverted and where there had once been only certainty, festered doubt. She asked the impossible, to break ‘free’ from his emotions as if they were shackles, to rejects pain’s harsh embrace. She spoke like a Jedi, and yet, she thrummed with a power that eclipsed his own.

 

How?

 

Because you cling to your emotions, and so true power eludes you.

 

More whispering.

 

“You lack control, focus.” She began. “If you fail to tame your inner discord then it shall be your undoing.”

 

“Peace is a lie. There is only passion.” Sion snarled defiantly in a low tone, struggling to keep his rage in check. The irony was not lost on him.

 

“Do not continue to believe the lies of the Sith Code.” She replied with mocking amusement. “To enslave yourself to the edicts of a mantra written centuries ago is to forge your own chains. There are those who would wield the Force, and those who would be wielded by it. Which are you?”

 

“The Force is my weapon.” Sion declared.

 

“Then prove it.” Her lightsaber flicked into the palm of her hand and its scarlet blade ignited.

 

Sion rose to his feet with an angry swagger, she could feel his hatred bubbling upward, and with a sharp hum he activated his own weapon. Sion didn’t hesitate, rushing at his master with a snarl. The ensuing chop would have cleaved her in two but with a graceful flourish she batted the blade aside and sent him staggering across the chamber. Then without warning his body erupted in pain as Traya jabbed him with a bolt of Force lightning, electrifying every nerve in his body as it struck at an open wound. He collapsed to the ground in shock. It was as if the bolt had slipped right into him, before detonating at his very core.

 

But shock quickly turned to anger and he was on his feet again, rushing his opponent with new found aggression and unleashing a flurry of fierce strikes. But Traya parried each one with ease, and then discharged another bolt of lightning when he left himself exposed. It struck him square in the chest and the current tore through him, funnelling his body with immeasurable pain. He collapsed to the floor again, breathing heavily. A glowing red light filled his vision as she levelled her blade with his face.

 

“Do you still believe pain your ally now? Look how it has betrayed you, as your passions always will. You are like a pane of broken glass. A web of fractures. And when I pour the Force into a crack you shatter. Pain will not heal the cracks, Lord Sion. Only strength of will.”

 

Sion’s breathing continued, his shoulders shrugging heavily with each gasp. Then he stared up at his master and shot her a look of pure hatred, without thinking he thrust out with his arms, unleashing a wave of energy that flung Traya into the air and across the chamber, skidding across the floor on her hands and knees she willed herself to a stop. But Sion has already ignited his lightsaber and charged Traya with a renewed vigour. But as he drew closer Traya simple smiled and rose to her feet, at the last moment releasing another bolt of lightning that struck him in the shoulder, his body recoiled but his legs kept moving and so staggering forward he fell on one knee at her feet.

 

“You have become enslaved to your pain, your passions, Lord Sion – that is your failing.”

 

And without another word she left him.

 

But that was not the end of it. His master’s displeasure grew with every failure as Sion struggled to gain control of his emotions, to repress them. And in truth, he did not want to.

 

“I am disappointed in you, Lord Sion. You have power, and yet you squander it. And now I see that you shall never be free.”

 

She could feel her apprentice seethe with unchecked anger, his emotions in striking conflict with his body which knelt submissively before its master in the heart of the academy.

 

Sion snarled. “I did not come here to be berated. You promised me power, yet instead you offer only weakness, it is you who has disappointed.”

 

Traya’s lips curled into a knowing smile. “Oh, but there you are wrong. You will have your power, Lord Sion. As you wish it.”

 

Sion recognised a threatening tone in her voice and rose to his feet, his hands bunched together in fists. He was taller than his master by at least a head, and now he towered over her fragile form, glaring at her cowled expression with a thick and angry grimace. And then he asked, through grated teeth, a question to which he would not like the answer.

 

“What, do you mean?”

 

Like a vice grip Traya’s hand caught his forearm and held it up before her face. He tried to struggle, to pull away, but she had rooted him to the ground with the Force. He couldn’t move.

 

“If you had not expended so much of your energy fuelling that lifeless corpse of yours, you might have been able to resist me. Yet another of your many weaknesses. But that cannot be changed. Let me show you what can.”

 

As the last syllable slipped from her lips a sudden burst of pain flared across his arm as if Traya’s hand had ignited into flames.

 

It had.

 

Like tiny serpents flickering fire spread from her palm and began eating away at his flesh. It seemed that Traya had not frozen the muscles on his face, for now his mouth opened wide and let out a cry of anguish that seemed to curdle to very air around them. He still couldn’t move, his eye lost focus, blinded by the pain, and muscles on his neck bulged and contacted as if attempting to burst free and escape the encroaching fire. Then Traya let go, as the hungry flames tore across his entire body, lapping at his cheeks, searing his eyes and peeling away at the wounds in his flesh. As he screamed and floundered his cape caught fire and the metal about his neck became superheated, he tore it off. But it made no difference; his whole body was on fire, every inch alight with pain.

 

When the embers finally petered out his entire body had been scorched a bloody red. The skin had been burnt away, his wounds had been cleaved open and he stank a putrid malodour so thick that it left a foul taste on his tongue.

 

“You find power in pain, Lord Sion.” She had whispered in his immolated ear drums, the words barely audible. “Well now you have it.”

 

And so he did. After his master had ‘healed’ his injuries with Sith magic, soothed his damaged skin, hardened the melted surface and bleached the bloodied flesh a pale greenish-grey, restored his damaged sensory organs, repaired his cauterised nerve endings, after that, he could move again, fight again, kill again – and with new strength. For such corrupted healing techniques can only mend so much, his wounds never quite closed, the cracks in his skin never quite healed, every waking moment was one of constant agony, and it fuelled his strength, empowered every tortured fibre of his being.

 

*** *** ***

 

The memory faded, and the sounds of battle resurfaced as Sion’s hearing returned to him. As he staggered to his feet a disembodied lightsaber arced toward him and he leapt aside, the tip of blade scoring his chest before snapping into the webbed orange hand of a smooth skinned Mon Calamarian garbed in moss green. The Jedi began to charge as soon as the weapon returned to his grip. He was flanked by his master, a man garbed in blue with long black hair. Sion’s marauders moved to engage them and Sion moved to follow, but then paused, the clattering sound of approaching soldiers and the sharp click of loaded blaster rifles prepared to fire catching his attention. Sion spun to face them, the local militia.

 

He could have cut them down with his lightsaber in seconds, or perhaps crushed their bones with a gesture of his hand. But instead the words of his master suddenly resonated within his skull.

 

There are those who wield the Force, and there are those who are wielded by it. Which are you?

 

The soldiers open fired, but Sion made no attempt to deflect their attacks, instead he let the blaster bolts burrow into his body, scalding and cauterising his flesh. Pain was everywhere, a miasma of thrumming, burning energy, the furnace of his power. With his mind he reached out and tried to contain it, gather the energy together into a blazing fireball, a weapon. But as the flames of his power withdrew from the cracks in his flesh and gathered in the centre of his being, he began to feel his strength fade, his body weaken. His vision became a blur, his muscles began to fail, as the soldiers fire volley after volley, each bolt impacting on his skin and sending him staggering back. A cold had begun to spread through him, not the cold of the Trayus Academy, or the cold of ice or snow, but the cold embrace of death.

 

With a sudden surge of rage his sphere of fire exploded and the burning hot rivers of passion flooded every corner of his body. His master’s teachings, if followed to their conclusion, would not make him strong, they would make him weak, weak and dead. An uncontrollable anger started to bubble up inside...

 

“LIAR!”

 

Possessed by rage he thrust out his hands and ripped the soldiers from their feet, lifting them up in an invisible grip, crushing their bodies then throwing his arms apart, tossing their crippled corpses in all directions. For a moment he stood amongst the carnage, breathing heavily. The dark side of the Force rippled over him, and he bathed in its phosphorescent inferno. He was alive again. And burning with renewed hatred for his master, yet now, the flames crackled with the sting of betrayal. He saw through his master’s deception, through her games. She feared him; she feared that if he continued to embrace the power of his pain he might grow stronger, stronger than her, that he would become unstoppable, unkillable. And so she had tried to weaken him, loosen his embrace, perhaps even kill him. Perhaps, perhaps she had intended from him to die here, at this very moment.

 

I will not die, and I will no longer listen to her teachings. And in time, I will grow more powerful than my master, and destroy her.

 

Sion’s fist clenched and his spun around to take in the battle erupting before the Jedi Academy. Innumerable pockets of conflict lay scattered about the sands, lightsaber clashing with lightsaber, blaster against blaster. His gaze focused on the path in front of him, and he watched as one of his marauders cut down the Mon Calamarian Padawan, his master and the other marauder lay dead about them. Sion began to approach the temple, unperturbed as the chaos exploded around him, and as he passed the corpses remaining marauder fell into step.

 

“We outnumber them three to one my lord, our superior numbers are overwhelming the Jedi and their militia. Soon this settlement and the Jedi Academy will be under our control.”

 

“Ensure it is done, and quickly.”

 

“Yes, my lord.” The marauder gave a brief bow and then left his side, disappearing into the folds of battle.

Drawing close to the academy’s towering edifice Sion came to a stop. Placing each hand on his knees and entering a crouch he breathed in deeply, his eye closing as he summoned his power to the surface. Then it snapped open, and he broke into a run. First a lumbering gait, and then a sprint, faster and faster until he became a blur. And when he was mere metres away from the academy wall he leapt, propelled some twenty feet into the air by unnatural ability, he landed on the first set of steps then leapt up again before his feet barely touched the ground, up another twenty feet onto the next set and then again, this time landing atop the temple plateau.

 

The academy’s entrance was sealed, and pinned up against it a rapidly thinning last defence exchanging fire with a squad of Sith troopers. Sion approached, thrusting out with the Force and larruping their fragile bodies against the stone doors. The stunned troopers parted as he climbed the steps, stopping before the doors. Again he gathered his power, and slowly and deliberately raised his arms in a cross guard, then flung them apart and with a deep thud the doors flew open and crashed against the inside walls, throwing up a cloud of dust.

 

Entering the temple, Sion found himself in a large circular chamber. They raised floor he stood on encircled a recessed pit, and huddled within it, covering in fear, were almost two hundred settlers. Sion scoured the crowd for weapons, Jedi, he found none. They seemed harmless, yet intermittently a pair of eyes would flick upward to glance at the ceiling, then dart away again. Sion frowned, then with sudden realisation followed their line of sight to stare up above him just as a blue blur descended on him. Sion leapt out of the way as the young Jedi impaled the ground where only seconds ago he had stood. His soldiers open fired but she batted their projectiles away with her blade, then blasted them back with the Force. Already Sion was on top of her and air began to sizzle as their sabers clashed and twirled. She was fast, nimble, but Sion easily parried her blows, twisting his body and his blade to intercept each strike, then he responded with a fierce counterattack.

 

He felt the Jedi buckle against the weight of the blow, following up with swift pommel strike; and she staggered backward leaving her midsection exposed. Sion did not hesitate, slashing a her across the stomach. She let out a short gasp, and then collapsed to the floor.

 

As the Jedi faded away, he felt a surge of fear emanate from the crowd as their last chance of survival was extinguished. He drank it in. Another squad of troopers filed into the chamber, joining the others in encircling the settlers. Their red-clad commander broke off from the group to stand-to-attention before his Lord.

 

“The perimeter is secure, my lord. And this settlement will under total control within the hour.”

 

“Very good, commander.”

 

Beneath his opaque visor the commander glanced at the huddled refugees. “And, what of the survivors my lord, are they all to be executed?”

 

“Yes, commander. Burn them alive.”

 

The subtle tinge of sadistic glee gave the commander a moment of pause. He quickly regained his composure.

 

“Yes, my lord.” He turned to face the waiting soldiers. “You heard him men, torch them all, then flush out the rest.”

 

Sion had been waiting for this; he’d made sure to have his ‘clean-up’ squad on hand and armed for this very occasion. A silent nod. Sion felt the fear of the crowd intensify into terror as the crowd erupted in screams, pleas for mercy, bodies clambering over bodies in a futile attempt to escape.

 

But it was far too late, Sion had been waiting for this, and he had them surrounded. The nozzles of a half a dozen flamethrowers sprung into life, disgorging jet streams of blazing pythons into the pit and igniting the visors of their faceless handlers. They screamed like animals as their bodies were devoured, engulfed in a flood of conflagrating chemicals. Once a crowd of trembling settlers, the recessed pit had become a flaming pyre, ablaze with fire and pain, anguish belching from every ember. He breathed in the familiar smell of burning flesh, that thick stench that had once seethed from his body was now the product of their own suffering. He let it cascade over him, drench him, saturate every corner of his cracked flesh. He could feel the dark side swell inside of him, this, this was true power.

 

END PART I

 

I'll be returning with Part 2 in a couple of weeks time.

 

 

Edited February 12, 2014 by Beniboybling

[Beniboybling]

Added Chapter 7.

[Aurbere]

I'm having trouble trusting Nihilus. I can't imagine why, though.

[Beniboybling]

Added Chapter 8.

[Beniboybling]

Added Chapter 9. Sorry for the delay!

[Aurbere]

"No longer do your whispers crawl within my skull. No longer do I suffer beneath teachings that weaken us."

 

Awesome. Just awesome. I eagerly await Part 2.

[Beniboybling]

Good news folks. I know its been an awful long time but A Fragile Alliance is finally finished! Anyway I'm already begun writing up the next few chapters and will be posting the beginning of Part 2 later this week. So stay tuned!

[Beniboybling]

PART II

 

"But my will was not law... there were disagreements. Ambition. And hunger for power."

 

After discovering the now christened Darth Nihilus on Malachor V, and forcing Darth Sion and his fledging empire into submission, Darth Traya has forged the Sith Triumvirate and waged a shadow war against the Jedi Order. Striking out at Jedi academies across the galaxy it is only a matter of time before they crumble...

 

X

The sound of a vibroblades slicing through synthetics echoed the destruction of another droid, as it fell Vaklu pivoted on his toes to intercept another blow, catching a droid in a blade lock and forcing it backward. Two more droids rushed to attack his exposed rear, but he pivoted about a second time, deflecting both blades simultaneously with a practiced twirl of the blade. Then staggered the nearest with a rapid kick to its chin plate and impaled it in the chest, spewing sparks across the courtyard. The other lunged at him but he dodged the attack with a duck, the soft hum of his opponent’s vibroblade oscillating over his head.

 

The two droids pulled back, to stand by side in identical stances, and then, with but a second to calculate the situation, they came at him again. But this time with programmed precision, perfectly in sync they forced Vaklu on the defensive as he rapidly backpedalled towards a wall, gripping his blade in both hands as he twisted his wrists to intercept each blow, then deftly leaping backward to avoid a bisecting slash. One of the droids rushed forward to close the gap, coming at him with an overhead chop, but Vaklu mimicked his movements and their blades clashed above their heads with a sharp twang, metal grated against metal as their humming weapons quickly slid to strike the polished stones. Vaklu exploited the momentum to thrust his opponent’s blade into an upward arc as it grated across the floor, and with a circular flourish he ripped the weapon the droid’s grip. But then another blade darted into vision, he twisted to block but the impact threw him to the ground. It seemed that the second droid had been waiting for the opportune moment to strike, and now its weapon was buzzing before his throat.

 

“Get that thing out of my face, droid.” Vaklu snarled in clipped Basic, batting the blade aside with his gloved hand. It should have cut right through his flesh but the blade was only a training sword, designed merely to mimic the sound and appearance of a vibroblade.

 

The general rose to his feet, dusting of his uniform as he crossed the courtyard. He was a man of imposing stature, with a slick black beard and neatly combed hair. Dressed in the traditional uniform of an Onderonian military official he wore a gilded tunic and navy blue breeches with tall black boots. A short white cape denoting his authority draped over his shoulders, and he swept it backwards as he approached Colonel Tobin, Vaklu’s personal kath hound.

 

Tobin gave a short bow, falling into step beside him. “Most impressive, General. Your skill with the vibroblade is rapidly improving.”

 

“Don’t be sycophantic, Tobin. Queen Talia has bested a dozen combat droids, I can manage no more than half that figure.”

 

“Apologies, General. But I’m sure the Queen’s abilities are exaggerated.”

 

“They are not.” Vaklu snapped. “I have witnessed them myself. No, see to it that those droids are repaired within the day. I want them ready for another session tomorrow.”

 

“Of course, General.” Tobin bowed again, then departed his presence.

 

Vaklu passed through the courtyard to a small balcony overlooked the vast city of Iziz. Sun bleached buildings extended in every direction, bathed in the harsh glow of the horizon. A brief chill abruptly rippled over Vaklu’s body. But it was so fleeting his barely noticed.

 

A moment later a protocol droid shuffled toward him.

 

“You have an incoming transmission on your private terminal, General.”

 

Vaklu pivoted to face the droid. “A transmission, from whom?”

 

“I do not know, General. The transmission appears to be encrypted.”

 

Vaklu raised a plucked eyebrow. “Encrypted?”

 

“That is correct, General. Our scanners indicate that it has been rerouted through several –”

 

“It was a rhetorical question.” Vaklu interrupted “Return to your duties.”

 

The droid bowed stiffly. “Of course, General.”

 

Vaklu’s personal office was an elegant blend of traditional Onderonian architecture and modern aesthetics. The walls were lavishly adorned with golden mosaics and the cool stone floor was covered with subtle patterning. A red light flashed on his backlit stone table. Drawing up a chair he paused, stroking his beard.

 

“Leave me.” He ordered to the two guards stationed at the entrance, and they departed.

 

Vaklu pressed the button on his keypad and a life-sized hologram flickered into life before his desk. Vaklu’s tried to contain his surprise as he took in the figure before him. He was cloaked in a great black robes that concealed any indication of what lay beneath, and his face was obscured by a bone white mask. Vaklu felt an unnatural chill enter the room, and begin to creep over him.

 

“General Vaklu.” The hologram spoke. His deep hollow tone sent digitized echoes through the comm channel.

 

Shrugging himself from his stupor, Valku stuttered a response. “W – Who are you?” he said, his voice rapidly regaining confidence. “And how did you get hold of this frequency?”

 

The figure did not see to move, or acknowledge his words. Just stared at him with that empty expression. And then he spoke, “I have eyes everywhere, General. Even here, on Onderon. My reach extends across the galaxy. For I am Darth Nihilus, and I represent the Sith.”

 

“A Sith Lord?” Vaklu exclaimed. “But they are all gone, defeated by the Republic and the Jedi at the end of the Civil War. The Sith Empire is nothing more than a fringe of scattered worlds now.”

 

“That has changed, General. A new age is approaching. Soon the Sith Empire will be reunified, reforged under new leadership. And the weakening Republic will fall, as it is destined. We are offering you a place, General Vaklu, a place in the future of the galaxy.”

 

Vaklu’s brow furrowed. “Queen Talia’s lack of foresight led to Onderon aligning with the Republic, placing the very future of our civilisation in jeopardy. I will not make the same mistake.”

 

“But you do not understand, General. Ally with us and we will liberate you from the Republic. The throne must be seized by force, but alone you cannot overcome the Queen’s supporters. The Jedi. You will need our assistance if you wish to be King of Onderon.”

 

King of Onderon. His words reverberated in Vaklu’s skull, promising power, wealth, influence. A persuasive energy tugged at his mind, urging him to ally with the strength of this stranger. But Vaklu resisted, brushing the whisperings aside with his shrewd intellect.

 

“And how do I know you can be trusted? How can I be sure that the Sith will not exploit Onderon as the Republic do now?”

 

A pause. “Your existence, your planet, is essential. But our vision extends beyond the politics of your world. Once in power, you will sever all ties with the Republic, and then we will leave.

 

Vaklu raised his eyebrows. “You want nothing more?”

 

Nihilus watched Vaklu’s holographic image from the bridge of the Ravager. The General’s high backed chair framed by the vast emptiness of space. Clearing his mind of distractions, Nihilus reached out across the galactic plane, to Onderon, and to its primitive jungle moon. The planet thrummed with the power of the dark side, he could almost taste it.

 

“The moon, Dxun. You will allow us to land there.”

 

Vaklu’s expression grew puzzled. “Dxun? But there’s nothing there but beasts and jungle.”

 

A pause.

 

“My interest in the moon is none of your concern, General. Grant us access to the moon and sever all ties with the Republic, and in return we will make you King. These are our terms. Once the contract is complete we will leave Onderon and the moon to you.

 

Vaklu’s expression sobered. “Very well, Lord Nihilus. But first I must discuss this with my allies, then we can begin negotiating the terms of this agree –”

 

His sentence was cut off by an invisible stranglehold, and replaced with an spluttering, choking sound as Vaklu clutched his throat with his hand, gasping for air.

 

Nihilus exhaled in cold anger. “There will be no negotiation, General. You will align with the Sith, or you will be destroyed. ” He released his grip and Vaklu collapsed on his desk. Attempting to mask his fear Vaklu regained his composure.

 

“I see, then I will accept your offer.”

 

“A wise decision, General. You will not regret forging this alliance.”

 

But Vaklu already was.

 

***

 

The blazing eye of Sokor had shut. And with it a cold darkness fell upon Socorro, as if the blackened dunes had extended to envelop the sky, its tiny grains of sand becoming winking specks of starlight. But the city outshone them all; a raging inferno engulfed entire buildings as pillars of smoke billowed upward and crackling embers floated away into the darkness, carrying the screams of the dying, and the echoes of the dead. Sion watched it all from the balcony of the temple; he had ensured that a Jedi distress signal had been sent. The message relayed that the city had come under attack from an unknown assailant, and that immediate assistance was needed. And with communications no longer jammed, the Jedi would come.

 

A soft bleeping tone drew his attention to the comlink now flashing on his gloved arm. He activated it, and lifted it to his face.

 

“What is it commander?” He grumbled.

 

“Our sensors are picking up multiple vessels coming out of hyperspace, my lord.”

 

Sion smiled. So the Jedi are finally here.

 

“Can you identify the vessels?” He barked.

 

“Not yet, my lord.” A pause. “They’re coming out of hyperspace now.”

 

Sion looked up at the night sky as a flotilla of small smudges emerged out of nothingness. But even at such a distance, Sion knew they were not Jedi vessels, they were far too large.

 

His comlink spluttered into life again.

 

“My lord, we’ve identified the vessels as Republic warships. I repeat –”

 

“I’m aware of the situation commander,” Sion interrupted “what are their numbers?”

 

“One Hammerhead and three Forays, my lord. Shall I order the fleet to engage?”

 

“Not yet, commander. Prepare your men for battle, and await my orders.”

 

“Yes, my lord.”

 

Sion stared at the Republic fleet for another moment. His master had ensured him that the Outer Rim was too far from Republic space for them to get involved. But it seems she was wrong. Was it another lie? Another attempt to see him die here? No matter. He was ready. Two Interdictors lay in wait just outside the system; they could be here within minutes. The Republic would be caught off guard, outgunned they would be boarded, routed, and the Jedi he sensed would die by his hand.

 

But first he must contact his master; it would not bode well if he failed to keep up appearances.

 

And so Sion knelt on the ground and closed his mind to distractions. The mass shadows surrounding Malachor V made hyperwave communication almost impossible without the proper technology, but his master favoured telepathic communication anyway.

 

“Master.” He thought, suppressing a growl.

 

His unspoken words sent an invisible ripple through the Force.

 

“Lord Sion.” His master spoke. “Why have you summoned me?”

 

Sion could feel her reading the surface of his mind, sifting through his thoughts and feelings. But this time she would not find the self-doubt that had once festered in his stomach. That doubt had been purged when he had learned the truth, that her teachings were lies, designed to weaken him. He was sure that she embraced her passions as surely as he did, that was what made her strong. And in time he [would] grow stronger.

 

“The Jedi have come, master. But they have brought the Republic with them, a small fleet of warships has amassed in orbit.”

 

A brief silence. He prepared to study her response for any sign of her intentions.

 

“This is... unexpected.” She finally replied. “You must evacuate immediately, Lord Sion. Ensure your escape route cannot be tracked and leave no evidence of a Sith presence on the planet. They must discover no trace of our existence.”

 

“Evacuate!” Sion exclaimed aloud. But Traya felt clearly felt his anger. “But Master, our cruisers can destroy them. I will not flee from the Republic like a coward!”

 

Before he had even finished his mind was violently stabbed by an invisible force. He cried out in pain. “Be silent! It is vital that we remain hidden. The Jedi and the Republic must continue to assume that the Sith are nothing more than scattered territories ruled by squabbling warlords. This is our greatest advantage. You will evacuate immediately.”

 

Sion snarled. “Enough hiding in the shadows! The Jedi must die, and they will not die if we hide from them!”

 

Another mental assault, this time much more painful, like a tiny vibroblade cutting through his skull.

 

“I said, you will evacuate immediately!”

 

Sion grunted in pain, and mingled with the pain was fear. She had power, power to inflict suffering on a scale he had never expected. To teach him how to drain the life of others, she had drained his. He remembered the emptiness it had left, the hunger. In time the whole had filled, but the scars remained. She had taught him to resist poisons, by injecting them into his body, turning his blood into magma. Every day she would teach him a new meaning of pain, until he was broken.

 

“Yes, my master.” Submit, that was all he could do.

XI

The holoterminal flickered into life, projecting an enlarged image of Traya’s hooded face.

 

Nihilus knelt.

 

“Master.” He bellowed.

 

“Is it done, Lord Nihilus?”

 

“Yes, master. The alliance is made. We are to aid with General Vaklu’s coup against Queen Talia, and in return he promises to secede from the Republic...” he omitted mention of Dxun, that was for him to know alone. “But master, why must we do this?”

 

“Remember your teachings, Lord Nihilus.” She replied in that familiar, knowing tone. “The galaxy is a web of fractures, interlocking events. It is a fragile web which leaves it vulnerable to manipulation. A single action, a single tug on a strand, can send ripples through the entire galaxy.”

 

Nihilus took a moment to consider this. “And this alliance, it will create such a ripple?”

 

“Correct.”

 

“But how?”

 

Even beneath the hollow bellow of his voice, she could make out a tinge of curiosity.

 

“The Jedi and the Republic have been weakened.” She began. “But they remain strong enough to oppose us, and without the aid of the Star Forge we cannot afford to fight a full scale war. Instead the Republic must be distracted from the Sith threat, so that we might strike when their backs are turned. Disbanding Lord Sion’s Empire was the first step, the Republic must perceive the Sith as fractured and broken. They must not consider us a significant threat to their stability.”

 

“So Vaklu’s coup? Will that be the distraction?”

 

“Ah,” Traya exclaimed softly “you begin to understand. Onderon is the key, their secession from the Republic will set in motion a chain of events that will in time impact the entire galaxy. For many years Onderon has acted as a major ecological supplier for the restoration project on Telos. The Republic seeks to resurrect the world that Revan ravaged, but it will not succeed. Without Onderon as a member of the Republic the project will begin to decline, and the Republic will seek a new solution, an economically viable solution.” She paused for a moment, allowing Nihilus to absorb the gravity of her plans.

 

“Czerka Corporation will provide that solution, already they have their corporate claws dug into the planet’s delicate surface. Outwardly they provide support for the project, but in truth they merely seek to take control and use the planet as a platform for weapons testing. A crude, short-sighted goal driven by greed, but it will serve our purposes well. As all hope of the Telos project being successful starts to fade, Czerka will no doubt make their intentions plain, and the Republic will have no choice but to accept their offer if they which to avoid their investment ending in disaster. But you see, Czerka has far more insidious and ambitious goals. They still dream of conquest, of influence, of the power that they were promised by Darth Revan. Already they have begun expanding their influence in the Outer Rim, allying themselves with mercenary gangs and crime syndicates. Backed by Czerka the underworld will swell, fringe worlds will being to fall, and the Republic will be forced to deal with an unexpected threat, and they will divert their eyes away from the Sith.

 

“And with their backs turned,” Nihilus interrupted “we will strike.”

 

Traya smiled. “Precisely. So you see, this coup you have arranged is but a move on a dejarik board, and Vaklu is merely a pawn.”

 

Nihilus paused. “But what of the ancient Sith? The ones who continue to pursue you? What of their Empire that waits in the shadows? Are we ready to face them?”

 

Traya’s atrophied eyes seemed to peer off into nothingness. And then she replied in an enlightened drawl. “The ancient Sith Empire bides its time in the dark, they will come, it is inevitable.” Her eyes refocused on him. “But Revan has gone to fight them in his own way, and I sense he will delay their arrival.”

 

“I trust it your wisdom, master.” Though in truth he doubted her words, for how could one man hold back an Empire?

 

“Good. It is time to make our next move.”

 

* * *

 

The holoimage of her apprentice faded. Her orders had been given. Traya knelt in a circular meditation chamber, aboard one of the three Sith cruisers that she had snatched from orbit above Ziost with Sion’s departure. It had been carved from a dark steel, the walls were curved and ribbed with metal struts, like claws. The room dimly lit in an ominous red light. Piercing the festering darkness from a hexagonal window pane stretched a swirling blue wormhole. They were in hyperspace. It was said prolonged observation of that corridor of other dimensional matter could induce madness in a person. Capturing them in what they called a ‘hypratic rapture’, the effects of staring into depths beyond mortal understanding. But for Traya, it was but peaceful, perfect quiet.

 

A disturbance in the Force.

 

Without warning the Sith cruiser was tugged from hyperspace by an unseen force. Blue became black in an instant and the stars grew still. Then the thrum of the engines faded, and there was silence.

 

Traya did not get up, instead she reached out with her mind. Her presence flooding every corner of the ship. She felt confused crewmen rushing to peer out of transparisteel windows. A rhythmic thudding of boot on metal as squads of silver clad troopers dashed up and down corridors. And on the bridge, the captain clad in grey, gazing out into the unfathomable blackness of space, which revealed nothing of the cause of their abrupt halt.

 

Then it appeared. Half a dozen spear headed drop pods emerging from nowhere, rushing towards them on a collision course with the immobilised cruiser and screened by a several fighter squads of an exotic model. Point defence cannons open fired, but the fighters protected them, distracting the cannons from their targets. The pods hit the cruiser with a screech and a thud, and Traya felt each shuddering impact. With a wave of her hand she attempted to contact the bridge through a comm link secreted in the floor.

 

But static was the only response.

 

Something was jamming their internal transmissions, or had disabled them. A moment later the door behind her swung open, and she sensed several presences fade into existence, emerging from Force induced camouflage. She swivelled round on her meditation platform to greet the intruders. Then bit back a hiss as she recognised the unmistakable garb of the Emperor’s assassins.

 

So, the Emperor makes another move.

 

It was sooner than she had expected, and his timing was less than convenient. But she would deal with the threat regardless, and then she would be on her way.

 

Igniting crimson blades the assassins’ entered the dimly lit chamber, she had expected them to attack immediately, but this time they were more cautious. Instead in silence they began to circle her, like hungry firaxa sizing up their prey.

 

And then she vanished. The assassin’s stopped circling, looking around in surprise. A flash of red as Traya reappeared, rushing at an assassin as he spun to intercept her attack. She cackled as their blades clashed, then dissapitated into nothing.

 

Then the laughing was in their heads, tugging at their fear.

 

"Is this all the Emperor can muster?” She mocked inside their skulls.

 

Another flash of red, this time her crimson blade met its mark, impaling an assassin in the stomach. The other whipped about to launch himself at her shadow, but he was gone again.

 

“Fool. I am no adept, assassin. A defenceless seer. I am a Sith Lord!” Empowered by his fear she unleashed a wave of Force energy that thrust him off his feet, larruping him against the conclave walls and knocking his blade from his grasp. Wasting no time Traya cut across the length of the chamber and with a swift swipe she decapitated him.

 

Sheathing her blade Traya stretched out across the ship. This time detecting dozens of foreign presences. Leaving the meditation chamber she found herself in a silent corridors. Empty accept for the slumped corpses of soldiers, crewmen and Sith. Stopping suddenly she flattened herself against a wall, as a squad of crimson Imperial guardsmen marched around the corner. Then she began to sense others, shifting presences that came and went, watching her from behind corners, lurking in the shadows. And yet they made no move to stop her as the progressed towards the bridge.

 

The bridge doors swung open, revealing a walkway dimly lit in a cold blue and flanked by sunken pits with flashing terminals. But they were no longer operated by the original crew, they lay crumpled about on the floor. Instead floating spheroids protruding a mass of spider like appendages hovered above them, red lights flashing as they tapped away at terminals. But Traya’s attention was focused on the command deck, where in place of the captain, who lay dead on the floor, stood a pair of shadowy figures garbed in black robes with red trimmings. They’re backs were turned, one wore a hood drawn over his head, but the other had his hood drawn back. He was bald, and his skin the unmistakable crimson shade of a Sith pureblood. She could feel them resonating with dark power, considerably greater than their assassin counterparts.

 

Finally, a challenge.

 

Traya ignited her weapon defiantly. “You are on my bridge.”

 

As if only just noticing her presence, the pair turned round to face her. The bald one clasped his hands behind his back, glaring at her with hot red eyes. His chin ended with a mass of tendrils and his nose was studded with silver jewellery. But it was the other than draw her attention, his eyes were a dull gold, the same colour as the metal adorning his nose and the rings piercing either side of his swollen bottom lip, two fat tendrils drooping from each cheek. Even for a Sith, his deformed appearance was startling.

 

“The seer arrives.” He warbled in an unsettling, high pitched voice.

 

“Welcome, Lord Traya.” The other continued in a resonant baritone, a stark contrast to his counterpart. His eyes flicked to glance at her blade.

 

“There is no need for your weapon,” he continued calmly “understand that you are grossly outnumbered.” And then, as if on cue, several assassins appeared all around her. She counted fifteen in total, and yet she had no sensed a single one of them, was it possible that these figures before her, these robed purebloods, were someone magnifying their abilities? Whatever the cause, it was clear that this time they had come prepared. And she had played right into their hands, she was surrounded. Traya let her blade slip back into its hilt, she wouldn’t win here, but there are alternatives to fighting.

 

“The caged bird does not flap.” The hooded one purred.

 

Seemingly unperturbed by his companion’s behaviour the other continued. “We appreciate your cooperation, Lord Traya, the Emperor has devoted a great deal of resources into finding you. We are the Emperor’s Hand, extensions of his will and exactors of his designs. I am Servant One, and this” he motioned to his companion “is Servant Two.”

 

“The Emperor seeks the eyes of the seer.” His companion continued.

 

“And we are to bring you back to the Empire.” Servant One finished.

 

Traya laughed mockingly, “You cannot contain me. And I shall never serve your Emperor.”

 

If Servant One was angered by her response, he did not show it. “You underestimate our resolve. You will be taken to a secret space station hidden deep in the Maelstrom Nebulae. It is a prison, our most secure, and you will not escape. Not this time.

 

The Maelstrom Nebula... that lies within the Mid Rim. Has the influence of these ancient Sith truly extended so far?

 

“And the Emperor will have his prize.” Servant Two said almost deliriously.

 

Even under the hood of her robes they could perceive her snarl. “If you are quite finished posturing,” she looked to Servant Two “and babbling, then there is something I would like to know. How is that you were able to force my ship out of hyperspace? I was quite surprised.”

 

“That would be my doing.” The proud tone emanated from behind her, as the bridge doors slid open, she inclined her head to glare at newest intruder from beneath the folds of her robes.

 

Dressed in a taut black and grey uniform bedecked with pauldrons, tassels and code cylinders, he appeared to be some kind of high-ranking naval officer – indeed no official could have gained so much weight anywhere but far from the battlefield.

 

And he is no doubt as pompous as he appears. Traya mused to herself.

 

“And you are?” Traya said, robes fluttering as she spun around to face him.

 

“Grand Moff Vickerus, second to the Minister of War.” He flapped through fat cheeks “I’ve been personally charged by the Emperor to oversee this operation. And as to how we managed to capture your ship, it was a simple matter. Gravity-well-projection.” He pronounced each word slowly, as if speaking to a child. “I believe the civilisations of the wider galaxy have just discovered it. Well, let’s just say our equipment far exceeds your own. But an array of our projectors has the power to tear an entire fleet from hyperspace, and once pinned, there is no escape; this vessel has already been completely surrounded by mass shadows. An attempt at hyperspace would be suicidal.”

 

Traya smiled derisively. “I see. But of course, you already control the bridge. Therefore the chances of you losing your prize to an unfortunate jump become negligible. It would seem you have me cornered. Very well, then I shall return to my chambers, I expect I will be informed when he arrive at this ‘prison’ you expect to contain me in.”

 

She did not wait for a response, instead he turned to leave, brushing past a stunned Moff Vickerus as she marched towards off the bridge.

 

“Wait.” Servant One’s bellowing tone brought her to a stop. “You’re lightsaber, surrender it.”

 

With a snap the blade sprung into her palm, causing every guard on the bridge to flinch. But instead of igniting it she lifted it up, and moments later Servant One pulled it towards him with the Force, and it disappeared within the folds of his robes.

 

And without another word, she left the bridge in silence.

 

Vickerus broke the silence with a growl. “Such insolence.”

 

“The snake can hiss but it cannot bite.” Servant Two muttered.

 

Servant One nodded. “Indeed, but we must show caution. The Emperor will not be pleased if she escapes a second time.”

 

“Then we will watch her.”

 

“I fear it will not be that simple.”

XII

If not for the maimed corpses scattered about her it would seem as if nothing had happened as Traya sat in the same position as before, cross-legged on her meditation platform. Once again the viewport was engulfed in the shifting blue hue of hyperspace, except now the ship was no longer under her command, and the Maelstrom Nebulae was their destination.

 

She had not tried to move the bodies; instead she left them as a reminder to her would be captors, of what she was capable of. She had considered escaping, it was not impossible. For example she might choose to disappear, overload the reactor core and then watch the fireworks from the safety of a transport or escape pod. Or alternatively she could make her way to life support and depressurise the bridge and watch from the view screen as they dropped one by one. Indeed, there would be no shortage of entertainment with these fools.

 

But the Emperor would only send more of his minions to recapture her. Indeed Servant One had been correct in his assessment, she had underestimated their resolve, she had assumed her whereabouts had died with the assassins on Malachor V, and yet somehow they had managed to track her down yet again. All that mattered now was that she find out how and put an end to it, and if that meant playing along with this charade of captor and captive, if it meant being locked away in one of the Emperor’s secret facilities, then so be it.

 

A subtle ripple in the Force alerted her to their imminent departure from hyperspace. Seconds later, the glowing hypermatter before her was violently tugged away as they re-entered their own dimension, but instead of being replaced with the expected emptiness of space, the viewport was filled with a miasma of glittering space dust. It was as if they had found themselves inside a frozen storm cloud, but of astronomical proportions and a hundred different hues, all radiating with an ethereal light.

 

It was the Maelstrom Nebula, not a work of magic or some divine power as it appeared to be, but an interstellar cloud, thrust into being by the violent death throes of a collapsing star. The explosion throwing out matter in all directions in and sweeping up gas and dust in an immense shockwave, forming billowing plumes of glistening cloud. The star was still dying, and it would be centuries before all the energy dissipated. What’s more such a high concentration of elements could, in time, lead to the creation of new stars, new planets, or entire solar systems, perhaps one day capable of supporting life, a cosmic cycle of death and rebirth.

 

But whatever the ancient Sith Empire’s intentions were in building a prison here, Traya doubted it was to observe the beauty of celestial creation. No, no doubt their choice was influenced by the ionising effect such a massive expulsion of energy had on the gaseous material around it, wreaking havoc with sensors and making it impossible for all but the most sophisticated devices to breach and fog, and detect what lay within.

 

Yet Traya wondered how long it had lay hidden here, and how many expeditions had gone into the nebula, never to return. The fact that the ancient Sith Empire had penetrated so deep into the galaxy, that they’re web could extend perhaps even into the Core Worlds, filled her with unease.

 

Her thoughts were distracted as the cruiser lumbered in deeper, for as it did the glittering haze began to peel away, layer by layer, to reveal the Maelstrom’s pulsating core, the supernova itself. It sat in a vast chamber of crimson smoke, with clustered asteroids scattered about the edge, a huge sphere of luminous energy, a blazing furnace of churning elements it radiating with iridescent streaks of light that seemed to sway and oscillate as if in an invisible breeze. The reddish mist had wreathed itself around the equator, partially obscuring its lower half and casting the illusion of an ocean sunset. It was beautiful, but also deadly. For Traya knew that if not for the protection of her metre thick transparisteel window, she would have already been burnt to a crisp.

 

And then she saw it. Nestled amongst the red fog was the Maelstrom Prison, a large, grey space station, lit up in gold by the blazing light of the supernova, but in all other respects identical to the one that she had seen orbiting the Sith homeworld, Dromund Kaas. But Traya suspected its interior quite different as the cruiser began to alter its trajectory towards it.

 

As it did the doors to her meditation chamber swung apart with a pneumatic hiss as Moff Vickerus, flanked by a pair of Imperial guardsmen, entered the room. Traya got to her feet, but she did not turn around.

 

“We’re leaving?”

 

“That is correct, Lord Traya.” His fat lips flapped, the sarcasm was obvious. “And by Servant One’s orders you are to wear these.” Traya pivoted to glare at set of thick manacles held out by one of the Imperial guardsmen, and at the Moff’s proud, plump face. A looked of defiance crossed her face.

 

“So the Hand is giving orders now?” She sneered derisively. “Such airs. Does he truly believe he has captured me?” She glared at the manacles again. “And as for those, I will not be shackled like some animal.”

 

Vickerus snarled, then signalled to the other guard. The response came swiftly and as a rapid blur as the guardsmen drew his electrostaff and in a single movement, swung at her. The move was fast, practiced, precise, but she could have evaded it. However in those brief few seconds she realised her folly, if she were to have any hope of putting an end to this she had to play the game, engage in the charade, where she was captive and they her captors.

 

And so she let the blow fall.

 

It struck on the temple, mercifully un-electrified. But she still gasped with pain as the force caused her to stagger, clutching the side of her head as an agonising throb spread outward.

 

“Enjoy your position of power while you can Moff Vickerus,” she spat with palpable malice “It will not last.”

 

“Enough. Your empty words don’t frighten me, witch. Guardsmen, bind her.”

 

The second guard complied, moving forward to clamp the first set of manacles around her neck. A neural inhibitor. She felt the effects immediately as it began to pulse with an energy that disrupted her conscious mind, scrambling her neural pathways in an attempt to inhibit her connection to the Force. Then he proceeded to grapple her hands and force them into the manacles. She did not resist, and as soon as the binds snapped shut a pair of small spherical ray shields, glowing red, wrapped around each hand with a soft hum.

 

If it gives then peace of mind...

 

A pair of transports awaited them in the hangar, and she recognised them from Dromund Kaas. They were of a triangular design to accommodate for their V-shaped wings, which were now connected vertically above the vessel. A small boarding ramp extended at the side, and as Traya was escorted towards it an electronic squeal caught her attention, as a rusty coloured astromech rattled into the corridor, propelled by the tip of a crimson boot.

 

It was Threecee. The droid followed her everywhere, and for reasons she couldn’t quite fathom, she let it.

 

“Is that the last droid?” One of the guardsmen barked as the droid was shuffled towards a transport.

 

“That’s correct,” the other replied “he led us on quite a chase, blasted piece of scrap metal.” The last word punctuated with another kick, followed by another squeal.

 

Traya couldn’t help but smile at the thought of the Emperor’s finest chasing 3C across the length of the ship, though clearly the guardsmen did not share her sentiment. A small victory.

 

The shuttle ride to the Maelstrom Prison was short and quiet. Even Threecee elected to keep is vocabulator muted. They all sat very still in the dim darkness, watched intently through blackened visors and caged masks. Soon enough the vessel came to a gentle halt and moments later its door swung open and a ramp extended. Before Traya could get to her feet she was gruffly helped to them as one of the guardsmen seized her by the arm and began to tug her off the transport. The hangar they arrived in was large and spacious, made from dark, jagged metal, illuminated in dull red and festooned with Imperial banners.

 

How very patriotic. Traya mused, as she was escorted to a large angular doorway.

 

Moff Vickerus was already there waiting for her, with that proud grin still spreading itself on his fat face. As the approached the doors behind him swung apart on mechanised hinges to reveal a large walkway. Soldiers clad in black and red armour flanked the corridor at every few metres, it seemed they were taking no chances with security. Vickerus began to start forward and they fell into step behind him, his own pair of guardsmen fell into step either side of her, joining the pair of already positioned in front and back, and behind them a pair of Sith assassins followed, as well as Threecee under the watch of a lone soldier, who occasionally give him an encouraging kick.

 

Such seemed the manner droids were treated around here. Traya could not say she blamed them.

 

And so like a well-oiled machine they marched her down the corridor, the synchronised sound of polished boot meeting polished floor occasionally filled the corridor, accented by an occasional squeal from Threecee.

 

“Will you cease punting that droid, private.” Vickerus barked. “It’s quite unnecessary.”

 

“Of course, sir. Apologies, sir.” And the droid finally fell silent.

 

Then the corridor opened up into a semi-circular chamber will a tall ceiling. Two corridors branched on either side, and before them stood a larger door framed by a small balcony structure, and standing upon it looking down at them were Servant One and Two. Moff Vickerus looked up at them, crossing his chubby hands behind his back.

 

“The prisoner has been escorted with no incident, my lords.” He proudly stated.

 

Servant One responded. “Very good, Moff Vickerus. This prisoner is of great importance, and her safe escort will make the Emperor most pleased.”

 

Though Traya could not see it, she was sure his proud grin had grown even wider.

 

“Quite the security detail you have here, hand of the Emperor.” Traya interrupted, amplifying her voice so that she could be heard. “Are you expecting an incident?”

 

“A necessary precaution, that is if you plan to make one.” Servant One retorted.

 

She smiled. “Only if I grow tired of your warm hospitality.”

 

Before Servant One could response with another verbal riposte their sparring match was interrupted by a distressed series of beeps and whirs and Threecee was booted towards the eastern corridor

 

“I am not your guardian, droid.” Traya snapped. “Your safety is not my responsibility.” And as she finished her sentence a series of loud metallic clanks caught her attention, as locks were unlocked and the large doors before them prepared to open. Traya looked back up to smile at Servant One. “Perhaps we can continue this conversation another time.”

 

Servant One frowned, as the doors before them trundled open and Traya and her escort marched through. The doors slid shut behind them, sealing them inside a red lit box like room. Traya looked around perplexed as Vickerus and the other guardsmen moved away from her. And then their intentions became clear as from some secreted indent above them a hovering probe droid dropped down in front of her, lighting her up in an expanding ray of blue light as it scanned her person from head to toe, and as it passed her arms the light stopped and began to flash red.

 

One of the guardsmen moved to search her, but gloved hand stopped him, it was one of the masked assassins, stoically brushing the guardsmen aside he approached Traya and seized her manacled wrists, she offered no resistance. And then he stretched out a palm, and, like a charmer coaxing a snake for its basket the assassin coaxed three lightsabers from her sleeve, each one passing through the ray shield with a soft thrum.

 

“Quite the collection you have their, Lord Traya.” Vickerus stepped in, “I’ll keep hold of those.” He said, taking the weapons from the assassins and attaching each one to his belt.

 

“I’ll be wanting them back.” Traya said with a smile. But Vickerus simply snarled, as a panel to the box slid open and they moved on. The next chamber was much larger than the last, housing what appeared to be a tram way, ferrying prisoners across the station. It took them deep into the facility within an armoured tram, Traya could only imagine how many prisoners it held, and how dangerous they were. Though Traya thought little on that, instead her mind was occupied by the relief that Vickerus had left them at the tram station

 

They exited the tram at a station almost identical to the one they had embarked from, the only difference being the security had doubled, more guardsmen, more soldiers, more Sith and now war droids. They’re design caught her eye, armed with a pair of blasters that when approached they would raise to greet her. But what drew her attention most was their striking resemblance to the Colicoid species, an insectoid race with a chitin exoskeleton and serpentine bodies mounted on the legs of an arachnid. She expected it was not a coincidence, the Colicoids were artisan battle droid designers who regularly sculpted their models in their own image. A ruthlessly calculating species they would trade fearlessly and remorselessly with just about anyone who was willing to pay, even an ancient Sith Empire in hiding. The design was remarkable, light years ahead of the battle droids employed by the wider galaxy. Such advanced technology was the defining trait of the Colicoid Creation Nest, and the basics of this design could well last centuries. For a moment she wondered how many others knew of the Sith in hiding, of the great war looming on the horizon. How many others secretly fuelled their return? If the Sith Empire had been so bold as to extend its influence to the Mid Rim, they could have allies everywhere.

 

But that was not important now, escape was her priority.

 

And as they passed through door after door Traya began to think she should have attempted it sooner, but security had been tighter than she had imagined, opportunity were scarce and vanished just as quickly as they appeared. She would need time, but how could she afford to wait when he plans advance on without her?

 

Then the lift they were travelling in juddered to a halt, silencing her thoughts as the blast doors swung open to reveal a vast, final chamber. A sort of man-made cavern it was bridged by a large walkway with metal arches. The purpose of the cavern eluded her, perhaps an excessive display of the Sith Empire’s fondness for grand and intimidating architecture. But she suspected something more, this prison was far more elaborate than she had imagined, the security was extensive, and the execution of her capture, perfect. She was beginning to suspect the Emperor had be planning this move for some time, and if so then whatever lay other side of this bridge, beyond what she suspected to be the final blast door, may be impossible to escape from.

 

The thought filled her with dread, and an urgency to escape. But her escorts marched on, oblivious to her thoughts and determined to see her imprisoned without incident. Each moment seemed like a thousand, as each step brought her closer to the point of no return.

 

And then they all stopped as a sharp clank resounded directly above them. As if something had land on the archway they were all know transfixed upon. The Imperial guardsmen brandished their electrostaffs and the Sith their sabers. One of the guardsmen grabbed her by the arm and began to tug her back as the others slowly retreated across the bridge towards the cell. They had passed under several archways when the clanking started again, this time in rapid succession as if something was leaping from archway to archway. Then the clanking stop and seconds later a guttural cry of pain took its place as the guardsman in front of her was flung to the ground by an invisible force, blood a darker shade of his armour spouting from his chest. The attacker did not hesitate as another fell to the ground, electrostaff flailing. Another rushed past to swing at empty space, only to be violently flung backward, his body crumpling against an arch.

 

“Get the prisoner out of here!” An assassin snarled, and Traya felt the cold grip on her arm tighten and begin to drag her back again. But she was done playing games.

 

Concentrating hard she quickly overcame the inhibitor and called on the Force, pouring a violent surge of energy into the manacles weak spots, and with a crackling snap the ray shields dissipated as the manacles burst into pieces showering the floor in shards of smoking metal. She could feel the guardsmen’s shock and then fear as the glittering pieces descended before his eyes. But before he could react she splayed a hand, thrusting her captor away captor away with the Force, and then swivelled to face him.

 

“That’s better.” She said with a smile.

 

The guardsman took a step back before hastily activating his comlink.

 

“This is Lieutenant Hidan, Darth Traya has escaped I repeat –” He never did repeat as Traya blasted him with purple lightning, sending his smoking, screaming body into the chasm.

 

Something behind her was screaming also and as she span about she saw one of the Sith launched vertically through the air as an invisible force pinned him against an arch, before his body went limp and was dropped to the floor. At that moment the remaining Sith took notice of her, twirling his weapon he charged. But he never made it, instead a fountain of blood spurted from his back and he collapsed in a dead heap.

 

Traya remained very still, transfixed by the now also stationary flickering presence before her. To maintain such a potent concealment and engage in combat could only be achieved through Sith magic. And her suspicions were proved correct as the illusion faded in a ripple of purplish smoke, sucked into a blood red ruby slung around the neck of a green skinned Abyssin.

 

“Duuklaf.”

See page 5 for further chapters...

Edited November 27, 2014 by Beniboybling

[Beniboybling]

Added Chapter 11.

[Aurbere]

I can't believe I missed this!

[Selenial]

I can't believe I missed this!

 

*Facepalm*

 

Same .

Edited September 5, 2014 by Selenial

[Beniboybling]

Yay! My loyal readers!

[Beniboybling]

Added Chapter 12. Sorry for the wait!

[Aurbere]

Duuklaf? YAY! The old gang's back together!

[Beniboybling]

Part II continues...

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XIII

 

No longer dressed in the ragged attire she had found him in on Korriban, Duuklaf wore a thick black kilt over his muscled calves that left upper body bare but for a plated pauldron carved from obsidian adorning his right shoulder, and greaves strapped to his forearms. In each hand he wielded exotic twin blades now dripping with blood, they were ryyk kerarthorrs, an weapon traditionally wielded by the Wookiees, long and scythe-like the blades curved backward, parallel to Duuklaf’s arms and perfect for close range slashing attacks. They had been a gift, from her to him, imbued with the Force using alchemy they could endure the impact of a lightsaber and cut through durasteel as well as any vibroblade. The perfect weapon for an assassin as she had begun training him to be.

 

On Malachor she had fully awakened his latent Force sensitivity. He was not yet strong enough to alter the environment around him, but his reflexes had been heightened, his strength doubled and his senses amplified to abnormal levels. Honing what little skill he already possessed and endowing him with knew abilities he had become a deadly weapon.

 

But it seemed his release had been premature.

 

“What are you doing here!” She snapped.

 

“Duuklaf come to rescue master.” He snuffled in his native dialect.

 

But before she could enquire as to how he had gained access to her ship blaring claxons caught their attention and the colossal chamber was engulfed in flashing red. With a mechanical whir cylindrical towers crowned with dual laser cannons rose from the floor either side of the walkway, revealing the true purpose of the chasm. The bridge was a death trap.

 

“Run!”

 

Duuklaf needed no encouragement and was already racing down the walkway, away from the cell and towards the exit, a split-second later and the laser batteries exploded into action, unleashing a salvo of stun blasts in their direction with a shrill buzz. It would seem their intentions were still to capture. Instinctively Traya tugged a saberstaff from a dead assassins hand and into her own and ignited it, pinwheeling the blade in elaborate sweeps as she attempted to deflect the glowing blue rings and cover Duuklaf’s escape, showering the air around her with sapphire rain as she retreated down the walkway. Then the air crackled violet as she unleashed a spray of Force lightning at several batteries, but the lightning never struck, instead intercepted as a ray shield materialised between a pair of arches, absorbing the impact. Thinking quickly she dashed forward to strike at an arch, but her lightsaber bounced off without leaving a scratch.

 

The trap was far more elaborate than she expected, energy attacks would prove ineffective, the arches were lightsaber resistant and she had no time for a kinetic assault. The only option she had left was to run.

 

And so she did, but was quickly brought to a halt by a painful groan from behind her. It dared to glance; it was an Imperial guardsman, still alive. An asset. Cursing her bout of lunacy she reached out with the Force, still batting aside blaster bolts to pull the guardsman towards her. He was launched into the air with a cry, sailing over her head, and as he did so Traya sheathed the saberstaff and leapt up, catching his body in her arms in mid-flight.

 

She landed on the walkway in a crouch, as soon as her feet touched the ground she took off, but she was too slow, and through the Force she saw the beam that she’d be unable to avoid. Bracing every nerve in her body she grunted with pain and staggered across the metal tiles as electrical energy threatened to overload her nervous system and thrust her into unconsciousness.

 

But she resisted, letting the Force flow through her in an attempt to regain control over her convulsing body, and as more glowing rings converged on her position.

 

It was enough, enough to raise a hand in the last possible second and raise a barrier, dousing the air around her in a glittering spray. Then she pushed off again, still carrying the guardsman and relying on speed entirely to evade the pursuing rings of energy.

 

Ahead of her Duuklaf was nearing the end of the walkway, his blades now sheathed on his back so that he could fall onto all fours as he attempted to outpace and evade the turrets. Turrets which had deactivated stun and instead targeting him with broiling laser fire, clearly they had no intention of taking him alive. But that was not all in his way, for in front, rapidly shuffling towards him on crab like appendages were the Colicoid war droids, no doubt altered by the wailing sirens.

 

Caught in their targeting reticules the droids fired on the Abyssin, hurling slugs of plasma in his direction. But Duuklaf leapt clear of the projectiles, soaring like a dancer into the air and outstretching a claw to grab hold of the closest droid’s segmented head. Moving with incredible speed drew a blade and swung about to impale its verbobrain through the side. The droid staggered as Duuklaf held fast, driving the blade in deep, then slumped to the floor with a fizzle and a crack. As it did he tore the blade free and swung his body into a deadly pirouette, leaping off the dying automaton, spinning himself towards the other droid and slicing its head clean off. He landed on its crumpling frame for purchase but an instant later was forced to detach as a turret targeted him with laser fire, causing the droid to explode in billowing fire and shrapnel. The second fusillade came hard and fast but Duuklaf was faster, rapidly drawing a second blade in mid-air and curling into a cross guard. His blades absorbed the impact but the force of the blast threw him back, tossing his body against the far durasteel doors and snapping his blades from his grip.

 

The turrets prepared to finish him with another fusillade when a black and red blur propelled by the Force dashed in front, sending the hailfire ricocheting of her ignited saberstaff. The turrets froze in unison as they reassessed the target and set for their weapons for stun.

 

“Duuklaf! Cut through the door!” She barked, dropping the guardsman as the turrets screeched back into action.

 

Scrambling to his feet Duuklaf retrieved his blades and plunged them into the blast door, with a sharp hiss they cut through the metal like Sullustan jam, and then pulled them apart, slowly cutting out a circle in the door.

 

“Today, Duuklaf!” Traya could feel her strength draining as she transformed herself into a pinwheeling hurricane, pushing her body to its limits in an attempt to deflect each ring of sizzling energy.

 

Duuklaf growled in response then with a final exertion completed the circle with a flourish of sparks. And with a sharp kick the metal fell inward with a resounding clang. Duuklaf clambered through the hole and, slinging the guardsmen over her shoulder, Traya quickly followed. Then the barrage was silenced as the prisoner and intruder disappeared from their targeting reticules.

 

But only to find themselves to find themselves in new ones. Staring down the barrels of a dozen rifles held by a dozen Imperial soldiers.

 

“Drop your weapons.”

 

Duuklaf snarled baring his sharpened teeth, but his expression turned to one of surprise as Traya’s saberstaff clattered to the floor and she brandished her palms in the air.

 

“V-very good” the soldier stuttered in surprise “now –”

 

But the soldier was violently interrupted as malevolent forks of red energy sprang from Traya’s upraised fingertips, blasting the soldiers with life draining power. They screamed and convulsed in front of her as she siphoned their life force, and then her powers relented, and their corpses fell to the floor.

 

No longer in any danger of interruption, and with her powers replenished Traya turned to glare at Duuklaf, who visibly recoiled under her atrophied stare.

 

“Now, perhaps you’d care to tell me how exactly you came to be aboard my ship, and how you acquired that amulet from the academy’s sealed vaults.”

 

Duuklaf looked at the amulet, regaining his composure. “Vault sealed, but easy to break.”

 

Traya began to grow impatient. “But I sealed door implies that someone does not which others to enter. Does it not? That someone is me.” Reaching out with the Force Traya wrenched the amulet from his neck.

 

“No! Mine!” Duuklaf cried, snatching the cord and stopping it in mid-air.

 

“Give it to me, Duulkaf.” She commanded as the amulet attempted to wriggle towards her.

 

“Mine!” He muttered as they struggled. “Precious! ... Mine!”

 

The Abyssin was strong, and seemingly possessed by a primal urge to retain possession of the amulet. Yet she still could have tugged it from his grasp with ease at any time, but she wanted him to relinquish it first.

 

“You have fallen under its spell, Duuklaf. Years of exposure to long dead spirits still muttering in their tombs has hardened your mind, but you are not yet strong enough to resist the power of an amulet. Let go Duuklaf, or your mind will be lost forever!” But his eye had begun to burn with the intensity and madness of the dark side and she knew reasoning with him would prove fruitless. Wrenching it from his fingers it snapped into her outstretched hand.

 

Duuklaf growled with primal intent but before he could react Traya thrust out with the Force, pinning him against a wall. Palm upraised Traya approached the struggling creature, then raised her other hand and clutch his head, resting her cold thumb on his temple. Duuklaf flinched as she entered his mind, probing his psyche. She could see the insidious tendrils of the dark side that had been implanted by the amulet. Destroying it would have no effect; they were already rooted in his skull. Delving deeper she found an untainted part of his consciousness, a spark of light. She seized hold of it, and then poured her power into it, making it swell and push back against the darkness. Content that her work was done Traya retreated from his mind, lifting her hands from his head and releasing her grip on his body. Duuklaf slumped to the floor, then staggered disorientated to his feet.

 

“Duuklaf, confused.”

 

“You were under the influence of a Sith Talisman. A powerful dark side artifact you can neither comprehend nor control. Meddle with such powers again and I may not be around to rescue you.”

 

“Duuklaf sorry, master.” He mumbled. “But Duuklaf wanted to leave Malachor. Duuklaf don’t think he can keep out the voices, not any more, not any more…”

 

Traya placed a hand on his shoulder. “Be silent, Duuklaf.” She felt a rising pity for the creature, but quelled it. He was a tool, nothing more. She quickly withdrew the hand.

 

“You must learn to be strong, as I have taught you. Or have you forgotten?”

 

“No, master.”

 

“Then do not show weakness, I have no room for such a trait in an assassin.”

 

“Yes, master.”

 

“Then let us depart, you are here now so you may as well make yourself useful.”

 

But before Duuklaf could mutter another resigned response claxons began to sound once again, and a familiar voice spluttered into life over the blaring sirens.

 

“This is Vickerus to all personnel. Prisoner Zero has escaped I repeat Prisoner Zero has escaped. This facility is now on Level 5 security alert, all personnel report to your stations immediately!

 

“It would seem we’ve overstayed our welcome.”

 

“Master have a plan?”

 

Traya didn’t reply, instead she crouched over the body of the Imperial guardsmen, removing his helmet she fixed her hands on his temple. Duuklaf watched his body twitch and his eyes roll into the back of his head. And finally the slow rise and fall of his chest cease.

 

Then he rose to she rose to her feet, flashing a smile as she strode past the Abyssin.

 

“Yes Duuklaf, I have a plan.”

XIV

Vickerus proud smile had long since faded, leaving a sober frown in its place as he stared at the holoprojection before him.

 

“This is most disturbing news, Vickerus.” Servant One bellowed. “You assured us that this facility would be enough to secure the Emperor’s prize.”

 

He repressed a shudder at the Emperor’s mention, knowing full well the dire consequences of his failure. But he had not failed yet.

 

“Our master will not be pleased.” Servant Two warbled, much to his annoyance.

 

“My Lords, please forgive me. The Abyssin’ interruption took my security by surprise but –”

 

“I have little interest in your excuses.” He interrupted. “Prisoner Zero has not yet escaped, there is still time to redeem yourself.”

 

“And spare his wroth.” Servant Two interjected.

 

“You have been given a second chance, Vickerus. Soon the Emperor will demand a report on our progress, and you will find he is not as forgiving as I.”

 

The holoprojection fizzled away. Leaving him with the nervous stares of his subordinates as the command centre fell into silence.

 

“Back to your stations!” He barked, spittle flying from his fat lips. “If Prisoner Zero is not found and recaptured the Emperor will have all our heads!”

 

As faces recoiled in unison Vickerus strode over to an Ensign tapping away at a terminal.

 

“Ensign, report. Have you located the prisoner?”

 

“N-No sir, just a moment ago she vanished for our internal sensors completely sir.”

 

“Vanished?” Vickerus frowned. “No doubt the witch is using Sith magic to conceal herself.”

 

“Magic, sir?”

 

“Yes, the Force you fool. The same power that creature used to infiltrate this facility. But the witch is in for a surprise. Ensign!”

 

“Yes, sir!”

 

“Order all forces in Sector 5 to remain stationary, then activate the motion detectors. If she moves, we’ll hear it.”

 

“Yes sir, right away sir.”

 

The command tower began to busy itself with his orders, and Vickerus’ proud smile resurfaced.

 

Prisoner Zero may have delayed her detention. But if she thinks that she can escape this facility then she is gravely mistaken. The technology at my disposal is state of the art, its security –

 

“Sir!” The ensign trilled, interrupting his private monologue.

 

“Report, ensign.”

 

“It’s the motion sensors sir, they’ve failed to detect anything.”

 

“What? But that’s not possible! Check again!”

 

“We already have, sir.”

 

As so the smile faded, this time replaced with a scowl. He was at a loss, if she was not inside the station then…

 

“Sir!” Another ensign cried. “We’re detecting two life forms on the station exterior.”

 

“What!”

 

“Their ascending the northern spire, sir. They appear to be wearing pressure suits.”

 

“What!” Disbelief was rapidly giving way to fear as he registered that this was the northern spire.

 

“Open fire, immediately!”

 

“We can’t sir, their moving beneath our shields!”

 

Vickerus could sense a growing tension spreading through the command centre, no doubt incited by his their superior’s flustered behaviour. He must keep his cool.

 

“No matter, they’ll soon discover that any attempt at forced entry will prove futile. This tower is impregnable.”

 

And it was true, the viewports were equipped with emergency shutters, the access hatches were magnetically sealed, protected by sixty-five and a half inches of durasteel than even a lightsaber couldn’t cut through, there was no chance that they could ever possibly –

 

“Sir! The escape pod bay has been compromised!”

 

“Comprimised?”

 

“Yes, sir. Something is tearing a pod from its mooring!”

 

“No! Seal the pod bay, lock it down now ensign!”

 

How? How could she have found a breach in their defences so quickly?

 

A terrible grating cut through the panicked buzz of the command centre and brought a terrifying silence as the escape pod in question was slowly wrenched away. But moments later all eyes watched as the tattered chunk of metal drifted past the viewport.

 

Seconds past, then a violent crash and a cry brought all eyes away from the viewport and to the rear of a command centre as what remained of a blast door flew across the adjacent corridor, wiping out a pair of Imperial guardsmen in the process.

 

“Disable and detain, men!” Vickerus barked, his flabby cheeks washed white. “Disable and detain!”

 

Half a dozen red garbed guardsmen and half a dozen troopers rushed into the corridor as Prisoner Zero wielding a crimson blade and her snarling green-skinned companion emerged into the corridor.

 

“Seal the doors!” And the blast doors slid shut on her grinning face.

 

Then came the screams, cries, snarls, shots fired, the sizzling hum of a lightsaber. Which each sound the terror mounted and surmounted itself. Until at last there was only silence.

 

It was mercifully brief.

 

With a final cry of twisting metal the blast doors slowly curled apart, revealing that wry smile, that crimson blade.

 

“Grand Moff Vickerus.” She said, slowly stepping into the command centre.

 

“Stop her!”

 

A pair of Sith Warriors already poised for action ignited their lightsabers and stalked towards her. But she was unphased.

 

Quickly thrusting out a hand she tugged at her lightsabers clipped to Vickerus’ belt and they sprung towards her, just as assailants swung at her with their blades. Igniting at the last moment two of the three parried their attacks before they reached her hands, suspended in mid-air and stopping the pair in their tracks.

 

Vickerus breathed in sharply and Traya smiled. “I told you I’d be needing these back.”

 

He growled. “Kill her you fools!”

 

She disengaged both blades then all three fell into a flurry of parries and strikes as her opponents launched themselves at her. Like puppets on strings Traya manipulate every movement with her mind, she hewed the first at the legs, and decapitated the other.

 

But no sooner had his headless corpse hit the floor did a set of turrets emerge from the ceiling and open fire, but her levitating weapons parried and redirected each shot until all that remained where smoking husks.

 

“Are you quite finished, Vickerus?” He took a step back. “If so then I have a request.” With an invisible gesture one of her lightsabers levelled itself with Vickerus’ layered chin.

 

“Release astromech 3C-FD from wherever you’ve imprisoned him and deliver him here immediately, alone. Any deviation from this request and I will eject your corpulent frame into the vacuum of space. Am I understood?”

 

Vickerus growled in response. She raised an eyebrow.

 

“Do as she says.” He commanded to the flock of trembling ensigns behind him. “Release the droid and have it brought here.”

 

* * *

 

Threecee had received his fill of puntings, and, though his photoreceptors failed to reach, he was quite confident that this repeated abuse has left a dent in his rear plating. A dent that his master would no doubt have no interest in repairing. Such were Threecee’s thoughts as he was marched or rather punted out of cell to destination unknown.

 

“Move it droid.” His red garbed escort barked, delivering a sharp kick to his battered frame. And at that moment Threecee swore to himself that as soon as his master rescued him that the wielder of that foot would be on the receiving end of his shock arm.

 

As they exited the detention block, three men garbed in grey approached the droid and began to fiddle with his back casing. Threecee roared in protest, disgusted by the idea of a foreign individual probing his innards.

 

The astromech had also registered the object in the technician’s hands, partially obscured he was unable to identify it immediately. But he was already running the incomplete image through his database, a vast depository of information his master had collected for decades ever since she enlarged his memory banks.

 

It would only be a matter of time before he identified the object, and as time elapsed Threecee was escorted out of the detention block.

 

*OBJECT IDENTIFIED AS NON-ORGANIC*

 

A series of passageways followed, Threecee registered claxons blaring not far away, of clattering boots and urgent cries.

 

*OBJECT IS NOT A DATAPAD. OBJECT IS NOT A TRACKING CHIP. OBJECT IS NOT A BLASTER.*

 

His internal computer continued, methodically and meticulously dismissing possibilities one by one.

 

Eventually he found himself in an elevator, and strangely alone, with nothing but on order to proceed straight down the corridor. The elevator reached its destination, and so he did.

 

*9706 POSSIBILITES REMAINING*

 

As he exited the elevator he found himself surrounded by bodies and metal debris. Some battle had occurred here, fairly one-sided by the look of it. He noticed lightsaber cuts on some of the corpses and he weaved his way around them. Before trundling between a pair of bent and broken blast doors, he emerged in what appeared to be a command centre.

 

*5404 POSSIBILITES REMAINING*

 

And there in the centre of the room, stood an overweight humanoid and…

 

Threecee rattled with joy at the sight of his master. Freedom at last! Freedom to exact sweet revenge for every mishandling, and all the abuse he had endured. But for a moment Threecee contained his excitement, rapidly analysing the situation he had found himself in.

 

*1138 POSSIBILITES REMAINING*

 

He quickly reached the conclusion that his master was most likely responsible for the mess of corpses in the corridor, and for the signs of forced entry. And had probably pressured this man into setting him free.

 

*PROCESSING NEW DATA. 1 POSSIBILITY REMAINING. OBJECT IS A BOMB*

XV

Traya smiled. “Very good.”

 

She started towards the droid, Threecee squealed in protest but it was too late. Traya had but extended a hand when the commander centre was engulfed in fire and smoke.

 

The force of the explosion sent violent tremors through the chamber, the floor was torn apart, terminals were shattered and smashed, and charred bodies were flung against the walls. Fire was everywhere, greedily lapping up what remained. And as the smoke cleared but one man remained standing.

 

Vickerus. Enveloped in a personal energy shield Vickerus had escaped the blast unscathed. He had sacrificed his entire team, but the collateral damage was necessary, now that Prisoner Zero had finally been incapacitated.

 

“Wrong, Vickerus.” A voice proclaimed as the last of the smoke cleared, revealing a figure stood in the crater of the explosion. It was Traya, with Threecee and Duuklaf beside her. All completely unscathed.

 

“But, but how?”

 

“I read your mind your fool. I heard every word that was spoken between you are your inquisitors. You were in contact from the moment I breached the tower, weren’t you? I must say, I’m impressed.”

 

“No, they should have shielded my thoughts!” He continued to flat. “How could you possibly…”

 

“Break through their barriers?” She interrupted. “Because you are weak! You are all weak, scuttling about my feet like cockroaches, and no matter how hard I trample you just keep coming back.”

 

At that moment the energy shield around Vickerus petered out, he took several steps back.

 

“Now, to do good on my promise.” She said, taking several steps forward.

 

“No, wait!”

 

“Enough!” Traya cried. “I have had enough!” And with a wave of her hand she sent Vickerus careering across the wreckage of the command centre, colliding with a far terminal. Battered and bruised Vickerus attempted to stand as Traya drew closer. She smiled.

 

“Do you know what happens to a cockroach when exposed to the vacuum of space?”

 

“No, please no.”

 

Traya raised a hand, targeting the viewports, and began to squeeze. As she did a thousand tiny cracks cut across the panes. Then she let out a wild cackle.

 

“The same thing that happens to everything else!” Clenching her fist she reduced transparisteel to glittering dust. The effects were immediate. With a great rush the room exhaled, flinging everything not bolted down into outer space. Vickerus went first, flung from the ground he barely had time to scream, his final moments drowned out by Traya’s laughter.

 

Around her, Duuklaf and Threecee struggled to hang on, Duuklaf digging his blades deep into the floor. Yet with only flimsy traction wheels to keep him rooted to the ground, Threecee was sent spinning into the air. He let out a wild cry, cutting Traya’s entertainment short as she was forced to catch him with the Force. And then the emergency barriers came down, just as Traya was beginning to suspect they’d malfunctioned. And save for a violent clatter as Threecee fell to the floor, they were left in silence.

 

A moment later the silence was interrupted as a nearby holoterminal – that had remarkably remained intact – began to fizzle and splutter. A garbled image spluttered into life and from it emanated an urgent baritone.

 

“Moff Vickerus, this is Servant One. The Emperor demands an update on your progress, what’s going on?” The holoterminal fizzed and the image flickered. “There are reports that the command tower has been breached, respond!”

 

Traya smiled and strode into view. “Grand Moff Vickerus is dead.”

 

Servant One snarled. “Traya.”

 

“You sound surprised. Did you truly believe this prison could keep me?”

 

Servant One’s snarl sobered into a frown. “You have not escaped yet.”

 

Now it was Traya that frowned. “I will.” And with an outstretched palm she put the spluttering holoprojector out of its misery. Surveying the room she noticed the terminal at the far side of the room had also survived the explosion.

 

“Droid, can you access the station’s mainframe from that terminal?”

 

Threecee jittered a response then sped towards the scorched computer, plugging himself into the dataport. Several seconds past.

 

“Deet-reet deet.”

 

“What do you mean you can’t access the mainframe?” Traya snapped.

 

“Deep reet deet deet.”

 

“Firewalls? You’re a utility droid, bypass them!”

 

“Deeeet-deet reeet!”

 

Traya cursed under her breath then swept her gaze about the few remaining bodies that had not been jettisoned into space. A metallic object caught her attention and she stooped, pulling a silver code cylinder from the pocket of an Imperial officer. Threecee let out a squeal as Traya shoved the droid aside, inserting the tip of the cylinder into the dataport. A window appeared on the monitor, before flashing green in affirmation.

 

“Now try.” She commanded, removing the cylinder. Replugging himself into the computer Threecee attempted to access the mainframe again. And as he did a powerful presence flickered into existence at the edges of her awareness, rapidly drawing closer.

 

“Hurry droid!”

 

The droid jittered again, he had accessed the mainframe.

 

“Good, now bring up all the data you can find related to me.”

 

Threecee complied, twisting his mechanical appendage clockwise then anti-clockwise in a seemingly randomised pattern. A flurry of information emerged on the screen, images, profiles, reports and sightings, reams and reams of information. It would appear that over the past two years they had acquired quite a database. And though she yearned to find out just how much of the galaxy at its inhabitants they knew, she did not have the time.

 

“Download it all Threecee, then erase it. They’re here.”

 

With a metal screech the far doors were torn away completely. Traya turned around and her eyes set upon the cool gaze of Servant One, who along with a pair of Imperial guardsmen and a troopers now blocked their escape. The sharp click of levelled rifles was reciprocated with a metallic hiss as Duuklaf drew his blades, and a fizzling hum as Traya ignited her violet lightsaber.

 

A bold move, seer. But a foolish one.” He glanced at her blade. “I see you have acquired a new lightsaber.”

 

“On the contrary, I always keep a spare.”

 

“Of course.” He unclipped an object from his belt. Her lightsaber. “A remarkable weapon.” He said studying the hilt in his hands. It was a duelling saber, curved at the top to provide maximum flexibility for the wielder. Hers was furnished with a black cloth, and framed in sharp contours with cold steel. It exuded a deadly elegance and thrummed faintly with the power of the dark side. She had not crafted the weapon herself, but discovered it within the armoury of the Trayus Academy, still echoing with the screams of those it had slain. It was indeed a remarkable weapon – and she would very much like it back.

 

The Hand seemed engrossed as his crimson digits coiled themselves around the hilt. Then he looked up at Traya.

 

“The Emperor grows tired of your tenacity, Traya. And has decided to take more, direct involvement.”

 

As the words dropped from his tongue an aura of dark energy perceivable only through the Force seemed to wash over him, and his eyes surged a brief but brilliant purple. Then his gaze locked with hers, but his eyes were no longer his own.

 

“This exercise in futility has gone on long enough.”

 

Her skin crawled, Servant One was gone, and instead the ethereal voice of the Emperor resonated in its place.

 

“You will fall to me this day, Darth Traya, and return to Dromund Kaas as my oracle.”

 

Activating his lightsaber the Emperor raised Servant One’s hand to level the weapon at her. In response Traya brought her blade to her face were it lingered for but a moment, and then swung down in a flourish. The results were instant as the Emperor spun through the air, bringing the blade down to smash against her own. With a grunt of exertion she deflected the attack then thrust forward in an attempt to seize the offensive. She could not risk him brining the full extent of his powers to bear. But her blade was batted aside as the Hand, imbued with the Emperor’s energies, reacted with impossible speed, unleashing a flurry of precise jabs and swipes against her. His style was stunning, effortlessly blending her own form with the ferocity of Juyo as the Emperor’s power melded itself with the Hand’s duelling prowess, both abilities honed over many centuries. Seen through the Force he was an opaque sphere of fiery energy, a web of bladework devoid of any fractures she could exploit. And with every strike Traya was driven closer and closer to the rear of the room.

 

Demanding a change in tactics Traya lashed out with a kick, knocking her opponent to the floor as her foot collided with the tendrils of his chin. He snarled with black rage and lashed out with the Force, but Traya blocked the attack with a barrier, the impact sent her sliding back across the floor. The Emperor rose to his feet, and Traya made her move.

 

Gathering up her energies Traya thrust out with the both palms, a gust of invisible energy rushed from her splayed fingertips and struck the Emperor who was thrust backward as he struggled against the torrent. The blast quickly turned into a whirlwind as the Emperor was buffeted from all sides. Then Traya thrust her hands to her sides, expanding the storm to engulf the entire room, lifting debris from the floor and launching at her opponent. The Emperor created a barrier around himself in an effort to deflect the barrage as larger and larger objects rocketed towards him. Around them their audience staggered away, shielding themselves from the winds and the debris as the conflict before them grew more and more intense.

 

Then the air began to crackle with energy as Traya drew upon a cold anger, she thrust out her hands again this time unleashing purple lightning, and it struck against the Emperor’s barrier with a blinding white light. Traya could feel his powers faltering under her assault and poured more energy into her attack, slowly taking steps towards him as her barrage intensified.

 

But this avatar of the Emperor was stronger than she anticipated, and with a sudden surge of energy the barrier around him burst into a destructive wave, sending bolts of lightning and chunks of debris in all directions and knocking Traya to the floor. She got to her feet just in time as the Emperor thrust out a malevolent palm and struck at her with a stream of lightning, she caught it with her own but her muscles trembled with the effort, her energy depleted.

 

But then the bolts abruptly petered out as a green blur collided with her attack and sent him tumbling across the chamber, her lightsaber clattering to the floor.

 

It was Duuklaf, the guardsmen attempted to get a lock on the Abyssin but were interrupted as Traya’s fallen weapon sprung to life, sawing their weapons in half before snapping into her outstretched hand. Then her gaze diverted to witness Duuklaf, now on his feet, block a series of blows from the Emperor who had now drawn his own weapon. But Duuklaf was too slow, and as he leapt back to avoid a wide stroke he did not move fast enough, not fast enough to stop the Emperor’s glittering blade slice a hole across his stomach.

 

And as Duuklaf fell the Emperor clutched him in an invisible grip and flung his body across the room to land at Traya’s feet.

 

Traya fell down beside him. “Fool! You should never have intervened.” She examined the wound quickly, he was fortunate it was shallow. Suspending a hand over his abdomen she flooded his body with the Force, manipulating his natural regenerative abilities she willed his body to heal. Knitting together flesh and bone as to Duuklaf’s wide-eyed amazement charred flesh renewed itself, leaving smooth green skin in its place.

 

The thundering voice of the Emperor brought her back into the room.

 

“You bear the title of Sith, and yet you waste your energies on compassion, you are not worthy to lay claim to such heritage.”

 

Traya rose to her feet to meet his cold gaze. “And you are an old fool who clings to codes and traditions, there is no power in such things.”

 

The Emperor scowled. “You are a bold one. Even in defeat.”

 

“Defeat?” She scoffed. “You underestimate my power.” A sharp whistle cut through the ensuing silence as something rocketed towards them from the vacuum of space. Then with a sharp thud, a metallic screech and shower of sparks the wall behind her burst open as a spear-shaped object pierced the hull. The cone split open and black and silver figures burst from its insides. Several more whistles and thuds shook the tower as more boarding craft studded the station. And within moments the chamber was flooded with Traya’s forces, lightsabers, pikes and rifles levelled at their master’s assailants.

XVI

“My lord,” it was the overseer “we came as soon as we received your summons, I hope we are not too late.”

 

Traya’s forces outnumbered the Emperor’s two to one, and they knew it. With their blaster rifles destroyed the Imperial guardsmen had drawn their electrostaves, determined to protect their Emperor, be it but an avatar, at the cost of their lives.

 

The soldiers around them however did not appear so eager.

 

But it was the Emperor who was the most effected, rage twisting the face of the Hand into an ugly scowl.

 

“On the contrary, Overseer. You are just in time.”

 

The Emperor did not speak a word, instead his body became engulfed in a purple mist, and with that dark scowl still etched across his face, dissolved into nothing. He was gone, and she could feel the fear of those he left behind as they realised their lord and master had deserted them.

 

She held the power now.

 

“Kill them all.” She commanded, and her forces obeyed. The chamber erupted into a violent crescendo, bodies began to fall as both sides open fired, as staves twirled and lightsabers cut. Her forces were winning, and it felt good, good to see justice exacted on any who would dare oppose her. She would exterminate them all, and leave nothing but corpses and rubble. A series of sharp hums drew her attention to the viewport as her fighters engaged the enemy, whipping past the transparisteel to off-load cannon fire on enemy craft and the station’s emplacements.

 

“My lord.” The overseer interjected. “Our forces are in the process of recapturing your cruiser as we speak. I suggest we make our escape immediately before reinforcements arrive.”

 

The tower shuddered beneath them.

 

“That would be wise.” Traya replied. Duuklaf had already staggered to her side and out of the corner of her eye she saw Threecee electrocute an Imperial guard with his shock arm, the guard convulsed, recovered then attempted to strike him with his electrostaff. Traya sighed inwardly, then quickly intervened, unleashing an arc of lighting at the droid’s attacker and launching him across the room. Threecee cocked his saucer shaped head and rattled in frustration.

 

“We are leaving, droid!”

 

Traya turned to do so and with a squeal Threecee skittered across the floor as blaster bolts began to whistle past him. They emerged in the lift chamber that, like the command centre, had been plunged into turmoil. As her forces gathered for a push for the elevator the enemy took notice of her presence and move to intercept them. Traya raised her blade to deflect a blaster bolt but before she could the overseer deflected it with his own. Not willing to be outdone Traya unleashed a gout of lightning, igniting half a dozen soldiers, the rest soon followed.

 

“Secure the elevator!”

 

Traya’s forces pressed forward, picking off the remaining hostiles they pivoted to off-load suppressive fire on the rest as Traya strode into the elevator shaft, Threecee, Duuklaf and half a dozen soldiers and assassins filing in with her and the doors slid shut.

 

The overseer activated his comlink. “Overseer to all forces. Overseer to all forces. Lord Traya has entered the elevator, all forces converge at the foot of the tower immediately.”

 

Moments passed and the elevator shuddered to a halt. A brief silence, and like the curtains to some macabre performance the shaft doors slid open to reveal the blazing clamour of battle. Caught in a swarm of blaster fire glittering silvers and dull blacks collided. Traya’s forces were desperately attempting to hold the area, but their lines had broken down into a messy patchwork, and now survival was the only remaining objective.

 

The overseer gave the nod and reinforcements dove into the fray, hacking, slashing and shooting at whatever foe crossed their path. Just then the blast doors to the northern hallway burst open, unleashing a flood of red and black as a dozen troopers poured through.

 

Traya extended a palm, throwing up a barrier as the soldiers open fired, bolts of plasma cutting down friend and foe alike before peppering her shield with blossoming red ripples. Throwing back her left palm she began to gather her energy, her hand beginning to crackle with violet lightning.

 

But the chance to strike never came, as a spherical object was flung among the feet of her attackers. They didn’t have a chance to react. The object detonated, bursting into a high-pitched squeal as an invisible wave of sonic energy washed over them. The deafening wail burst their eardrums, they dropped their weapons desperately clutching at their helmets. Traya doubted they even heard the organised clatter of steel boots on steel floor as a squad of crimson troopers fell into formation. Four crouched in front, four standing behind. A final gave the order to fire, and the staggered soldiers were reduced to smoking corpses.

 

Sith commandos. As always their timing was perfect.

 

“This way, my lord!” The overseer cried, the commandos have created an opening and on both sides the enemy were begging to gather together in retreat. As they started towards the northern corridor the commando captain gave a series of hand signals to his squad and they fanned out around them, laying down suppressive fire to cover their escape.

 

“We’ll hold them here, my lord.” The captain barked as Traya crossed the threshold.

 

“See that you do, captain.” She turned to the overseer as they continued down the corridor “How much further to the hangar?”

 

“It’s just up ahead, my lord.”

 

“Good, this abominable prison has grown beyond tiresome.”

 

At the far end of the corridor a pair of blast doors slid apart.

 

More company.

 

And this welcome party was far larger than the last, weapons, guardsmen, assassins and warriors had all gathered to stop her as her forces marched towards the hangar.

 

They will not stop me. She twirled her lightsaber, swinging in backward and breaking into a dash as her forces followed suit, brandishing their pikes, their blasters and their sabres. First came the fire, twin crimson rivers crossed each other in a haze before colliding with either side. Traya deflected several bolts then responded with a burst of violet lightning, wiping out at score of soldiers.

 

Then they collided, she a black blur cut down two more soldiers with her lightsaber before it slapped against a fizzling electrostaff. They briefly exchanged blows, he swiped high while she dropped low and twirled around him, then delivered a sharp kick to his chin. He staggered away and as he did a silver blade erupted in his chest, he was flung to the aside. Traya smiled briefly at the Abyssin before diving back into the fray, cutting down foe after fore until nothing remained by smoking corpses.

 

This is too easy. Traya though I know they are ill-prepared but this is a mere waste of resources. What do they hope to achieve? To slow me down? And if so, for what?

 

“My lord, is something wrong?” It was the overseer, already her forces were securing the hallway whole she pondered among the bodies of the dead.

 

“Something is coming, Overseer. Be ready.”

 

A wall lay between them and the hangar bay, a set of stairs and a walkway, a set of stairs led up to what through the transparisteel windows appeared to be a control room. And beneath it a large pair of doors that led to the bay itself. Just then several dozen troopers emerged from the room and onto the walkway.

 

“Overseer, prepare secure the hangar.” Traya ordered. “I’ll take the control room.” The soldiers open fired before the he could respond, studding their position with blaster fire. Several of her men were gunned down as she intercepted the bolts with her blade, while the rest on the overseer’s orders made a break for the doors.

 

Duuklaf remained at her side, batting away blaster bolts with his blades as around them her forces continued to peel away.

 

“Master, Duuklaf go with you!”

 

“No, Duuklaf. I can handle myself.”

 

“But –” Duuklaf was interrupted by Threecee’s wailing as one by one his involuntary human shields darted to the other side.

 

“Go! And take that infernal droid with you.”

 

Duuklaf growled but knew better than to protest. Sheathing a blade he grabbed the droid by a leg and made a break for the other wised, flinging the droid over as he did.

 

Alone Traya had become a blur, but against over a dozen men she was rapidly reaching the limits of her ability. Seizing an opening she broke forward and then leapt high, for a brief moment they stared as she soared towards them like some dark angel. She landed in a crouch with a soft thump on the metal walkway, the soldiers backing away around her. Then she was a blur again. Moving with an unnatural speed she twirled to the left and with three flourishing swipes cut down three troopers. A hand lashed out to the right, blowing away another score of troopers, their bodies raining down on the floor below. As she deflected a blaster bolts, redirecting it to pierce the shooter’s heart, she allowed herself a brief pause to smile as she sensed the surprise of her forces beneath.

 

Then she was moving again, this time through the air as the right flank open fired, missing her and gunning down their own. She landed behind them and cut into their ranks, hacking and slashing and sending more bodies over the side. She counted half a dozen left, and with one mighty surge of lightning she electrocuted them all to death.

 

Sheathing her lightsaber Traya approached the glass and pressed a hand against the window to the control room, and shattered it, glittering fragments of glass showering down below. Careful not to tear her robes on the broken pane stepped into the room and surveyed the control panels. She waved a hand, a lever moved in response and moments later she heard the doors beneath trundled apart. With another wave of her hand she disengaged the lock down and the hangar bay began to open as well.

 

Stepping over to the window overlooking the hangar she watched as her forces poured in, quickly dispatching the few remaining soldiers inside with streaks. She diverted her attention for a moment, raising a hand. A wounded soldier had dragged himself to the window, blaster raised in one hand in an attempt to shoot.

 

Pitiful.

 

She twitched her fingers and with an audible cry the soldier flew forward, smashing through the window and plummeted into the hangar below.

 

The loud thud drew some stares as head’s turned she jumped from the window and landed in the hangar herself.

 

“A transport has not yet arrived?” She said, striding towards the Overseer.

 

“No, my lord. I just confirmed our arrival, they are on route now.”

 

“Very good.”

 

Traya’s men let her pass as she approached the rear of the hangar, staring out into space with her atrophied eyes. In the distance she could see her cruiser, firing on enemy craft around it, and in the foreground fighters on both sides darted back and forth, firing, combusting and scattering debris in all directions.

 

“The seer is persistent.”

 

Traya felt her skin crawl, and with a loud clatter her forces swivelled around to face the speaker.

 

“But she cannot escape the Emperor’s shadow.”

 

Traya turned slowly, stepping to the front to face Servant Two.

 

He was alone. And his shadow seemed to stretch away forever. Obscured by his hood she could not see his face.

 

Traya’s lips curled into a frown. “Your interruptions grow as tiresome and they are irritating.” She said with absolute calm. “I have already defeated your companion. You cannot stop me.”

 

An empty pause.

 

“A cut hand…” Servant Two began, raising his head so that she could see his face, see his eyes flash brilliant purple “can still strike.”

 

She froze, as his glare pierced her very skull. As if wielding a burning brand he carved a path into her subconscious. Setting her mind ablaze with a thousand flaming needles, and behind her attackers assault she could feel the unmistakable power of the Emperor. Without moving a muscle, unable to move a muscle, she struck back. She felt him recoil but his assault did not lessen, instead it burned brighter, the power of the Emperor fuelling the inferno.

 

To the observer they would appear but mute statues, not a single movement nor a sound disrupt the silence. But those alive to the Force would have their ears torn by a howling cyclone of fire and smoke.

 

The flames were suffocating, thoughts were smothered, will consumed by the encroaching fire. Pain overriding all else. And there was no way to extinguish it, only add to the blaze, and see who was incinerated first. The beginnings of unconsciousness tugged at her mind, but she knew all would be lost if she succumbed.

 

She would not give in.

 

* * *

 

Duuklaf could not even tremble, an invisible energy had encased his every muscle. His solitary eye fixated irremovable on the confrontation before him. His master was motionless. Frozen. But he could sense the conflict raging in her head. The Hand’s expression was blank, though he could see an intense fire in his eyes. A tendril twitched, dark blood trickled from his nose and across his crimson skin.

 

Then, like a statue, he toppled over.

 

A second past, the another, and then with an audible gasp his master staggered forward, then back, and collapsed to the floor.

 

Only then did Duuklaf realise his muscles were no longer frozen, rushing to his master’s side.

 

“Master! Master!”

 

He atrophied eyes were still open, but all she could see was darkness.

 

Edited November 21, 2014 by Beniboybling

[Beniboybling]

Sorry for the wait folks, but I decided to rewrite the next couple of chapters, and some pages went missing. The pages have been recovered though, so I'll get the next chapter out tommorow and hopefully be more frequent from then on.

[Aurbere]

Sorry for the wait folks, but I decided to rewrite the next couple of chapters, and some pages went missing. The pages have been recovered though, so I'll get the next chapter out tommorow and hopefully be more frequent from then on.

 

No worries. I'm sure I can speak for the rest of your readers when I say that we are a patient folk.

[Beniboybling]

Added Chapter 14.

[Aurbere]

IT'S A BOMB!!!

 

Well worth the wait.

[Beniboybling]

IT'S A BOMB!!!

 

Well worth the wait.

Time for bomb to go boom!

 

Added Chapter 15.

[Aurbere]

Awesome fight!

 

PS. Was that an X-Men reference I saw?

[Selenial]

Awesome fight!

 

PS. Was that an X-Men reference I saw?

I don't think it was intentional but I saw it too.

[Beniboybling]

I don't think it was intentional but I saw it too.

Oh it was.

 

I have a guilty pleasure for that line, and although I know its notorious I figured Traya could pull it off.

[Aurbere]

Oh it was.

 

I have a guilty pleasure for that line, and although I know its notorious I figured Traya could pull it off.

 

I knew it. I knew it was.

 

I only saw it, though, because watching Days of Future Past last night made me think of it.