Print Page - Dark Renascence

I would like to give a Shout Out first to: For Tyeth for such a FANTASTIC poster! Also, to FT and Lord_S_Gray for some wonderful plot points! They truly are the best of friends :) This chapter is dedicated to them both!
Finally, to everyone who has supported me by reading my stories: an enormous THANK YOU; may the Maker see you safe and may the Force be with you all!
And now...the ongoing story of D'Aylanna, Zearic, Jorya, & Co.
This story takes place shortly after the end of "Queen&Marquesa, Executioner&Cataphract "
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(https://i.ibb.co/n6TJxHw/20210504-113035.jpg)
Prologue-Nightmares, Shattered Dreams, Dark Aspirations, & Darker Pursuits, Part I

Nightmares
With a sudden, jarring immediacy, D’Aylanna’s eyes shot open, her night-blindness momentarily adding to her nightmare-induced panic. Even now, the details of her dream were as clear as a Hapan day at high-noon.

She was (had been) back on Hapes Prime, hanging painfully from the pillory, her shoulders strained almost to the point of her arms dislocating from their sockets, the burning, itching, constant pain from the dozens of cuts courtesy of the chagskin tunic, sweat stinging the ragged lacerations, hunger–but much worse thirst–twisting through her throat, stomach, and head making her want to vomit.

From her radiant throne, the Queen Mother–may Her Radiance illuminate eternal–judged her with unrelenting eyes, cruelty and gratification warring for primacy across her visage. “Death!” Her sonorous, clear pronouncement rang throughout the cavernous throneroom of the Tribunal of Illumination. Just as she remembered…

…But unlike what had occurred, the Queen Mother’s conviction would be made manifest and executed.

And so too would D’Aylanna.

As the Justrixes released her from her bounds she fell heavily, unceremoniously collapsing down on the dais upon which the pillory stood. Strong hands roughly grabbed her, half-dragging, half-carrying her towards another raised dais, this one wider and taller than the last. And atop of the wide black-and-white plinth stood another woman, one whose eyes promised murder…and retribution.

Her niece, T’Atyanna.

Unresponsive, D’Aylanna’s tortured body slumped upon the glistening marble floor of the dais. Even moving her head to look up took Herculean effort. Yet when she did, she saw a look of pure sadistic pleasure bloom upon the younger woman’s face. Hefting a tremorsword, she spoke only loud enough for D’Aylanna to hear: “This is for my Sestras.” But as the last word left her lips, T’Atyanna…changed.

From one blink of her eye to the next, the younger woman was suddenly taller, her brown skin turning orange while her midnight-blue hair twisted upon itself, becoming two blue-and-white montral horns while simultaneously stretching down into three lekku. Finally, her dark eyes lightened first to rich blue but steadily faded further until they shone a piercing yellow…

The yellow irises of a Sith.

Staring down upon D’Aylanna was an executioner’s mask no longer that of T’Atyanna; rather, it was now the unforgettable face, body, and person of her adoptive daughter, Jorya. Or rather, Jorya’s body, one possessed by her enemy most treacherous:

Darth Mendax, Gaetana Ravine.

Raising the tremorsword, it suddenly became a lightsaber, its crimson blade casting a blood-red pallor everywhere, turning Jorya’s face into a daemon’s visage. “With your death, I need only revenge myself upon your pfassk of a husband.” A rictus grin spread across her face, mouth suddenly full of razor-sharp teeth. “Once done, my vengeance shall be complete.” However, for a split-second her entire countenance changed, the gleeful sadism replaced by woeful contrition and an almost resigned sorrow. “I’m so sorry, Mother.” She whispered. Nevertheless, she didn’t hesitate.

With a powerful swing, Gaetana/Jorya brought her lightsaber down in a savage arc…

…Which was precisely when D’Aylanna awoke. Terrible, yes, but that had not been the worst…

Forcibly she collected herself, her iron will clamping down hard upon her emotions.

Slowly, her breathing became more regular, her heart hammering in her ears. For several moments she did not stir, instead she expanded her hearing outwards (the sense more acute to compensate for her night-blindness). Unsurprisingly, the deep breathing of her Shakal came from beside her, giving her some comfort. Smiling, she gently stroked his big barrel chest, the thick hair doing nothing to hide the numerous criss-crossing scars that covered most of his front and back…although one in particular was more pronounced, the redness of the knitted skin indicative of the recent brutal wound that had almost killed him…

…From where Gaetana had stabbed him, her vibroblade just missing his heart. But that didn’t mean that the wound wasn’t serious; it had taken almost a full week submerged in bacta, with internal poly-bacta treatments to strengthen his collapsed lung.

…Thank the Maker for small mercies… She thought, closing her eyes at the horrible memory. ...But for those blessings… D’Aylanna’s eyes squeezed tears from them, thoughts of what could have been burrowing into her heart.

No, it had been a very close-run thing…

Tenderly, she touched the slightly puckered scar, more tears welling in her dark eyes. If they hadn’t been near the ship’s med center, one with a fully-operational bacta tank… Shaking her head, D’Aylanna didn’t allow herself to finish that thought.

Resolutely, she assured herself: they had been, he was alright, they were here, together. It helped. Somewhat.

Smirking, D’Aylanna considered recent events, an uncharacteristic expletive foremost in her mind: both her and her Shakal had been through hell. Point of fact, they’d both required a week of bacta treatments. It was only now, over two months since…since Gaetana had escaped, that D’Aylanna felt anything like herself of old.

If only physically.

Emotionally, she felt worse than a mynock in a volcano.

“...Ereneda...you OK?” Her Shakal’s deep voice sleepily recalled her to the present, his eyes still closed.

...No, Love, I am anything but OK: my husband was almost taken from me, my daughter is lost to me, my relatives would like nothing better than to kill me, and my greatest enemy has promised vengeance against me and mine… She thought between breaths. Instead, she lovingly stroked his broad chest. “I am fine, Dear One.” She quietly lied. “Please, Love, go back to sleep.” She purred.

She sensed movement for a second before she felt one of her husband’s large, meaty hands upon her hip, his touch as reassuring as it was gentle. So incongruous from the unyielding corded muscle that flexed unconsciously under her ministrations. She gave a small smile in the dark.

“A man of proper size” as the Hapan axiom went. That was her Shakal: a big man with an even bigger heart. Reassuringly, he was snoring again after a moment.

She envied him for being able to find sleep as easily as he did.

D’Aylanna focused upon her husband’s breathing, the rhythmic cadence of it finally calming her. Yet still the worst part–the most vexing bit of her nightmare–was the absolute certainty that it was a harbinger from her own Gift, a Force Vision that spoke of Prescience:

If she faced Gaetana, D’Aylanna could fall…but if she did not confront the tralk then her daughter would definitely die.

Or rather, something worse.

Finally, she felt the weight of her eyelids closing, exhaustion inundating her. Even as she drifted off to sleep, D’Aylanna knew she’d already decided, her choice not really a choice at all…

<<<<< >>>>>

Shattered Dreams
As the warm, shining orb of the sun dipped below the horizon, the soft, rolling hills of the grasslands turned a darker green, the leafy trees and bushes swaying in a gentle breeze that caressed the land. Soon the sky turned first red then purple and finally indigo and black, a serene calm settling upon the tranquil town nestled amongst the hills of the valley, the mostly Ferroan populace one of community, their presence one with the land, their small hamlet indicative of the amity offered on Zonama Sekot: a beautiful balance between nature, people, flora, and fauna…a comfortable, genial peace…

…A peace shattered as the sky darkened, the shadowed night soon joined by a darker black still, a glistening vitality that in the light would shout with the deep red belonging to blood that, nevertheless, appeared even blacker still within the night.

A peace utterly annihilated by the Beast.

Peaceful Ferroans, humans, and an assortment of exotic beings–walking during the night, preparing a late supper meal, or asleep within their beds–one and all died horrible, violent deaths, their bodies eviscerated in violent, red clouds of gore, their full-throated screams cut short whenever attacked by the shadow of death made manifest.

Some parents gathered children to them, others sent them into the hills, while others still stood firm between themselves and the Beast intent on protecting those they loved.

It didn’t matter; men, women, children all died, victims of an uncaring, mindless, murderous monster.

Several villagers attempted to fight back, harvesting tools held in shaking hands, deadly weapons to be sure…and ever so much a useless gesture. They died and in doing so died horribly, victims of a force of nature they had as much of a chance of stopping as they would’ve an groundquake. Such barbarity, such depravity had not been known by any in the town, at least not before that night…

But it didn’t stop with the death of the villagers; no, the Beast continued to rampage throughout the town, slaughtering livestock, destroying domiciles, even rending the very earth beneath, huge clumps of stone, dirt, and grass–once wet with dew now wet with blood–dug up in huge divots as if explosions from the very ground itself had detonated. All the standing trees within or near the town had been felled, as if uprooted by a hurricane. In one night, where there had been a bustling, viable, breathing town full of life, by morning nothing remained.

Well…not “nothing;” in truth there remained but two, single solitary beings, both forever changed…and, unknowingly, inextricably linked…

The first, of course, was the Beast…but the second was the sole survivor of the massacre, the only other thing to have endured the habitations (and the nightmares) crashing down upon them…only they lived.

The Beast…and the Child.

<<<<< >>>>>

Opening his eyes, Or’an Damaar took stock of his surroundings, alert even now a split-second after awakening from sleep. Or, more appropriately, the nightmare. Instinctively, he flexed the massive muscles in his neck, his back, his chest, his arms, his legs, and finally his hands, his enormous body immediately and intimately aware of all surrounding environmental stimuli. It had been so his entire life…but especially since…that night.

While his face was indistinguishable from the durasteel/ferrocrete-fused bulkhead that surrounded him, a raging storm roiled just below the surface, a savage violence that he kept under his iron-willed control. It was always so…lest he face that which he’d horridly witnessed that night all those years ago…

…Yet, had it not, he knew that without a doubt he would not be where he was now.

Most people would find the irony farcical; the Tof merely accepted it as a matter of course. Not that he was particularly fatalistic, rather he knew that there was nothing that would change the past.

Nevertheless, it haunted him just the same.

All of this went through his mind as he crawled through cavities that only he and one other knew of, and that person only knew that the system of tunnels existed, not their layout. And though fairly wide, the tunnels felt claustrophobic for him, so large his body had grown. That said, not even the granite strata of the cave-tubes hindered him in the least.

After all, he could move almost as fast through the rock as through the air. Which was a boon considering his required tasks…

…Something that he’d learned (and learned well) during that night. Or as the Ferroans had called it: the Gloaming of the Beast.

Pushing the thoughts away, he instead focused upon the mandate given him, an obligation that only a few had been entrusted with in the centuries following the First Gray Jedi War, the role of Hamask changed as a result. It was a duty that he held as sacrosanct, an inviolate edict that none could dissuade him from fulfilling. And none would.

Ever.

With eyes that saw everything, ears that heard everything, and senses that felt everything he set upon his newest target, one that he had promised the Triarch he’d keep tabs on, even as he recovered.

Zearic Vih’Torr.

<<<<< >>>>>

Prologue-Nightmares, Shattered Dreams, Dark Aspirations, & Darker Pursuits, Part II

Dark Aspirations
With single-minded focus, the Togruta continued to dig into the wall, intent on retrieving the treasure buried within.

At least, that’s what she hoped; to be honest, who knew what she’d find, given her recent luck... Determined, she dug deeper, careful of the treasure’s delicate nature.

After what had seemed an eternity, the dirt and detritus gave way, finally releasing its hold upon an object trapped within the earth. Excitedly clearing the dirt from the small alcove, the Togruta grabbed hopefully at the small object that she’d finally happened upon in the dig. But as soon as her fingers wrapped around the object disappointment welled up from within. ...Dammit… It was another worthless statue, some ancient Massassi iconography. Disgustedly, she furiously threw the fragile piece at the wall, shattering the figurine into a hundred shards.

Another false hope, dashed even sooner than the last.

Slowly inhaling, she willed herself back to calmness, her emotions changing from raging hot to analytical cold in between breaths. Some might have found that odd…but not if one knew of the particular case surrounding Jorya Fah ni’Vih’Torr.

After all, she was literally of three minds, two of them even now subtly battling for supremacy to fully control the body, the third relegated to prisoner and knowledge repository. However, the rage from all three burned brighter than a star going nova resulting in–quite frankly–highly volatile emotional outbursts. ...Control…! She admonished herself, two of the three minds “thinking” simultaneously, an occurrence that had happened more and more frequently during the past few months. It should’ve made the minds take pause…but it didn’t. Instead, the Togruta decided the best course of action was to assess her surroundings and, hopefully, calm down.

Silently, she left the deadend tunnel, subtle sounds of others soon becoming clearer as she exited the shaft she’d been so sure housed the prize that she sought. Entering the larger cave, she looked around the ever-growing cavity. There were a handful of beings–mostly humans but some aliens were found amongst them–each of them one of her “hirelings.”

Unfortunately, they’d had as much luck finding the treasure as she’d had.

Leaving the cave, she walked from one supported tunnel to another, the Togruta suddenly finding herself irritated. She seemed to be more often than not as of late. Grinding her teeth, she cursed her bad luck. How many months had she wasted looking in the wrong system? Two? Three? …Shavit… She silently cursed striding through the mineshafts, the workers that she’d hired too busy to acknowledge her presence. Not that she’d want them to anyway; they were here to find what she needed, not offer up false sentiments and pleasantries.

By the Maker, she still couldn’t believe that she’d made such a monumental error! What kind of nerf-minded dren-licker could mistake a specific system for anoth–

Sucking her teeth, her feet slightly stumbled as her cognizant mind caught up to her current thoughts. She’d been many things in her life, but Gaetana Ravine had not been particularly given to profanities and especially not in any belief in the Maker.

Nor had Kadmaur.

It was further proof that Time was not on her side. There was already too much “bleeding” between Minds going on; worse still: it was now happening by matter of rote…

“Shavi–” Wincing, she deliberately cut off her curse, mindful even now of just how much she needed to find the treasure.

Her very existence depended upon it.

She suddenly became acutely aware that her hands hurt. Curiously, she looked down, only now noticing that somehow her digging gloves had been removed and that her palms bled freely, lacerated from the very fingernails of her hands.

…When the hell had that happened…? She thought, half-realizing that she sounded very much like Fa–like Zearic. Again, she should’ve been afraid…but she wasn’t. Distractedly, her hand hovered over her utility belt, expertly locating one of the many cylinders hanging from it and grabbing it. Pushing a button, she sprayed the palms of both hands, the poly-bacta working immediately. At least that was one concern that she could solve. Closing her eyes, she tried to calm herself…all to no avail. As her teeth ground within her mouth, she could feel her jowl muscles knotting, her cheeks sore. By the Maker, she’d come too far, risked much and fought too hard to be stymied n–!

“Mistr’ss!” One of the humans yelled in Basic, his dirty visage making him look as if he were a pair of floating, disembodied eyes. “They’s sayin’ they’s foun’ sumpin.” He masticated the words as if unused to speaking the language…which was probably true; she’d found that these humans were incredibly ignorant, their clannish dialects more guttural sounds and grunts than actual phonemes for words. Still, at least some of them could transla–

Shaking her head, she made herself focus on the present. “Show me.” She commanded. Without hesitation, they ran/loped through one of the minor tangential shafts. It was so new that it did not have even half of the support struts of the “normal” tunnels.

As she followed deeper into the shaft, her montrals took over, her acute hearing superior to her eyes in such cramped darkness. Soon, the dirty human stopped, stooping low to join another equally dirty being. She couldn’t be certain, but she thought that the alien was a Bimm…

“Mis-Tris…de baba esa t’ing?” He asked in his pidgin Basic while holding out both hands, gesturing to the object he held. Looking down, she held her breath. Gently, she grabbed at the cloth covering surrounding the object. It was nothing short of a miracle that the textile bag had survived this long…

As soon as her hands wrapped around the object, she knew that this was the treasure that she was looking for. Opening the bag, she carefully withdrew the pyramidal object inside, red&golden lines of energy tracing self-made paths along the surface reacting to her fingers. …Naturally… She thought.

Smiling, she nodded. “It is.” She answered, pleasure and relief flooding through her. Finally!

“Mis-Tris…wasa da t’ing?” The Bimm asked, dual looks of avarice radiating from the two dirty beings as they rubbed their filthy hands together, dreams of riches already spent infecting them with euphoria.

“What it is…” She said distractedly, clandestinely dropping one hand to her belt. “...Is a relic.” She couldn’t help but grin. “An ancient Sith relic.” She looked pointedly at the pair, seeing no recognition at all. Perhaps…

No, it was better to be sure.

“Excellent job!” She commended, her own smile widening. At the tone of her voice, the dirty things relaxed, almost giggling with glee. “As promised: you shall now receive your reward.” Her hand was faster than either set of eyes could see.

In one swift stroke it was done.

Both heads made little sound upon the dirt floor as their bodies crumpled down at her feet, her red lightsaber extinguished almost as quickly as she’d ignited it. …Three people can keep a secret… She thought of the old adage, …if two of them are dead…

Now that she held her prize, she luxuriated in her success. The glorious ends more than made up for the tedious means!

As curious as she was, she knew that now was neither the time nor the place. Besides, better to research the artifact in the privacy of her ship rather than here.

Especially since there were more witnesses to deal with.

As she exited the shaft, she made certain to take care of the remaining diggers, each one given their promised reward.

Their eternal reward.

It amazed her that it took as short a time as it did, given that she had another dozen hirelings. Not one of them suspected what was coming when she appeared. Soon enough she was boarding her ship, the final “preparations” for the dig site taken care of.

As the TIE Guardian cut across the moon’s quasi-atmosphere, the Togruta smirked. ...Hmmm…I thought I’d set the timer for five minu–...

Her thoughts were cut off suddenly as a portion of the moon disappeared in a silent fiery cloud of detritus, vapor, and heat, the baradium devices doing their intended job. Glancing out of the transparisteel canopy, Gaetana smiled/Kadmaur smirked/Jorya sobbed. She’d left no witnesses and now there was no evidence that she’d been here; nothing at all to follow up on.

She breathed a sigh of relief. After all those setbacks…now that she’d found what she needed, she felt the weight of purpose upon her. Unconsciously, she stroked her lekku, her cybernetic lekku.

Something that Jorya would do whenever she was deep in thought. It would’ve given her pause and reason for concern…if she’d actually noticed at all.

But Gaetana didn’t. Neither did Kadmaur.

Instead, plans for the next part of her scheme flooded through her head, holos from her other agents already reporting success from Zolan. ...So close… She thought, doing everything she could to contain her elation, lest Kadmaur notice. But, first things first.

Expertly, her fingers danced across the holoboard, coordinates entered for a Zolan terminus.

She would use the time to study her newest prize and to perfect her plan.

With the lengthening of starlines, the TIE Guardian entered the hyperspace tunnel, leaving in its wake the devastated remains of a moon, one whose provenance had held many a remarkable item, all ignored by Gaetana for her true objective:

Darth Vectivus’ holocron.

<<<<< >>>>>

Prologue-Nightmares, Shattered Dreams, Dark Aspirations, & Darker Pursuits, Part III

Darker Pursuits
As the Battledragon slid through local space, its advanced sensor suite scrutinized the surrounding system, especially every life-sustaining planet within range. Sensor technicians perused the collected data, corroborating with each other to establish a baseline, those favorable candidates were run up the chain of command with each successive superior until one or another would eventually reject or eliminate said possibilities based upon their more complete knowledge of precisely what the Hapan Navy was looking for.

At least, that had happened the previous four times that Lieutenant Turna Sildhe had submitted her team’s findings. ...This is a waste of time… She thought, the latest holo-rejection fresh in her memory.

Unlike most of the crew in the battlegroup, she knew precisely what it was that they were looking for.

Those bastard Vhal’Dan.

Yet, all records of their planet’s location had been wrong; there had been nothing but empty space when the Hapan Expeditionary Force had arrived at the coordinates. Hundreds of capital ships swarming with almost a thousand fighters, all for naught. No planet, no moon, no asteroid, nothing.

Nothing.

Furthermore, there had been no sign of their navy, the self-same fleet that had impugned upon the Consortium’s sovereign space, their very presence an effrontery to the Empress.

Lt. Sildhe smirked, unsure of what such developments entailed. It wasn’t as if a planet could up-and-move.

And so: the Queen Mother–may Her Radiance illuminate eternal–had further deployed almost half of the entire Hapan Navy to scour the area of the galaxy around the now-defunct coordinates despite the fact that there had been nothing there to begin with.

Grinding her teeth, Lt. Sildhe pondered on what else she’d heard: along with the actual veracity of the story itself, she was told that the precise location had been determined by none other than the Empress’ own daughter herself, the previous Marque–

She shook her head; no not Marquesa but rather Chume’da. It would take some getting used to the new title…not to mention that the former…er, heir…was now considered persona non grata, the mere mention of her name punishable by ritual glossectomy.

Already there had been those that had regretted that particular mista–

Her comm suddenly pinged. “Lieutenant Sildhe.” She answered. “Report.”

“Ensign Davari, Lieutenant. Long-range sensors have detected a large, non-planetary mass in the system, too far for specific details but initial assessments fall within parameters from Command.”

Sildhe heard more than felt the pause on the other end of her comm. “And?”

“Lieutenant, the mass gradient we were given…are there any more specifics?” Davari’s otherwise professional voice was tinged with something else…possibly anticipation?

Sildhe considered for a moment; much of what Command had determined as “Classified” might well tie their hands here, especially given the Fleet’s ultimate mission to “Search&Destroy.” She made a decision. “Yes: a mass-shadow of 30 million tonnes or more.” The Vhal’Dan invaders had engaged the Throneworld with multiple vessels but their fleet had included some of the largest battleships known to the Consortium; by the Queen Mother, some of those had had mass-shadows of 60 million tonnes!

“I think you’ll want to see this, Lieutenant. Sensors indicate a vessel with a mass-shadow of 40 million tonnes.” Even over the commlink, she could hear the other woman’s eagerness.

Sildhe immediately knew that whatever this was, it was different from before. “Understood; on my way.” Changing frequencies, she pinged the Battledragon’s commanding officer. “Lieutenant Sildhe, Captain. I believe that Sensors has found something of interest: a mass-shadow of 40 million tonnes.”

“Very good, XO.” Came a clipped, assured voice from Sildhe’s comm. “Meet me on the battle-bridge.”

“Aye, Captain.” Sildhe was already heading towards the nearest turbolift, cautious excitement tempered by her professionalism.

Meanwhile she couldn’t help but think that today was a good day for punitive justice. It added a small bounce in her step as she exited the turbolift.

As Sildhe entered the bridge, the comforting sounds of controlled business surrounded her, every single tech, enlisted, and officer focused upon their responsibilities. Approaching the Captain’s chair, she stepped up on the raised dais to stand next to her commanding officer.

“You’re just in time, Turna. Seems that we’ve more than just a single, large mass-shadow; Sensors have detected several fighter craft in the area as well.” The CO’s polished posh Hapan accents spoke of royal relations, if tangential. But like all kin from House Royal, Captain Bhivrys Peve’A Lai’Gror was a strong, beautiful, and dangerous woman, evident even upon first meeting the tall, career-Navy officer.

“What kind of fighters?” Sildhe asked, her curiosity further piqued.

Captain Lai’Gror tilted her head, a glint in her eye while she projected her voice. “TIE Defenders.” The weight of her words washed over everyone on the bridge; the Vhal’Dan invaders had included TIE Defenders in their offensive.

Sildhe inhaled. “Finally.” Her quiet words were tinged with anticipation, an emotion shared amongst the entire crew. Now they would get retribution, for themselves, for the Consortium, for the Queen Mother herself!

The Captain’s voice rang across the bridge. “Comms: order the fleet to present itself at Mark 594, Carom 003. Engines full ahead. As soon as the ship is within range, I want shooting solutions for full-spread broadsides.” She glanced at Sildhe, a wry smirk showing upon her lips. “Looks like we’ll be able to test out the new turbolaser batteries.”

After the woeful showing during the War, Hapan R&D had immediately gone to work to enhance turbolaser power and efficiency. Prior testing had shown dramatic improvements, although firing at stationary asteroids was entirely different from enemy vessels. Still: it felt good to be doing something instead of flailing about empty space.

Within a few minutes, the Battledragons had caught up to the capital ship, several of the TIE Defenders having already docked within their respective mothership. “Bring up visuals on the holomonitors; I want to see the Vhal’Dan realize that it is too late to escape.” Captain Lai’Gror’s words buoyed the spirits of every bridge tech and officer, themselves veterans of the Hapan-Vhal’Dan War. With this action, they knew that the communal feelings of hopelessness and incredulity would disappear like an ice brick on Tatooine.

“Captain, Tactical has a shooting solution.” One of the junior officers reported.

Lai’Gror smiled. “Very well.” She gripped her hands behind her back, her spine ramrod straight. “Fire.”

No sooner had the command left her lips than the Battledragons’ turbolasers lanced out from the combined battlegroup, fifteen ships aligned side-by-side for a potent broadside volley. As the plasma struck the shields, the enemy ship turned to face the battlegroup and brought its own turbolasers to bear. But by the time that the enemy had done so, the Hapan battlegroup was on their fourth salvo, two of which had included an ion cannon barrage.

As the Hapan Fleet finished their tenth salvo, the enemy ship was in dire straits.

“Report.” The Captain’s clipped tones were cautiously optimistic.

As soon as she’d spoken to the techs in Tactical, Sildhe turned to her CO, smiling. “Direct hits, enemy shields fluctuating; more importantly: hull integrity compromised along port superstructure.” Sildhe felt a wave of elation. “The new weapons have proven effective.” Newly reported from Sensors, she continued, “Captain, enemy vessel is an Imperial II-class variant star destroyer.” So: the Vhal’Dan had even other ships amongst their navy. Regardless, they would soon succumb to Consortium might.

“Outstanding, XO.” The Captain gave a tight smile, suddenly holding up a fist. “Fire at wi–”

“Captain! Sensors are detecting an incoming mass shadow on our starboard side. It’s…” The tech’s voice trailed off before resuming, an unmistakable hint of fear and wonder evident as he spoke next. “It’s enormous…close to a trillion-tonnes.”

Everyone on the bridge could feel the Captain’s scowl. “That’s impossible; even an Executor-class star dreadnought has a fraction of that kind of mass-shadow.”

Sildhe knew that to be true; a super star destroyer’s mass-shadow was about 665 million-tonnes. She went over to the Sensor station to verify. After a second, the blood drained from her face.

“Captain…” Sildhe pushed down the worry that she felt, her voice calm and collected. “Mass-shadow confirmed: almost a trillion-tonnes.” She turned her head towards her CO. “Incoming.”

“Status of enemy star destroyer?” Captain Lai’Gror inquired, her mind racing with possibilities concerning the new intruder.

“Substantial damage along port-side, starboard-side shields fluctuating, port engines running hot.” Came the reply. Well, they wouldn’t be going anywhere for the next few minutes.

“Very well. Bring the battleg–” But the Captain was once again interrupted.

“Captain! Sensors have detected an energy surge from the intruder along the central-axis!” The Tactical ensign looked directly at the Captain and then at Sildhe. “I think it’s a weapon…” She couldn’t hide the disbelief from her statement.

“Propulsion! Evasive, full ahead!” Captain Lai’Gror commanded…a half-second before an enormous lancing arc of thick plasma shot from the bow of the intruder, hitting the furthest Battledragon center-mass. Only, the powerful shot did not stop at that ship; it hit every single Hapan capital ship that was aligned next to one another for the broadside volleys that they’d unleashed upon the Imperial II-class star destroyer.

Within seconds, the entire battlegroup was in shambles, every ship suffering incredible damage, 13 of the 15 outright destroyed. Only two Battledragons had not been completely vaporized by the initial shot, and of those two, only one had any survivors upon them.

In this case, Sildhe’s own Battledragon.

Coughing up blood, she tried to rise from the deck that she now found herself collapsed upon, only to find that she was pinned under a heavy piece of stanchion, the thick durasteel girder crushing her body from hips to her chest. Desperately, she tried to blink away the cloudiness within her vision but every further attempt was futile.

A sudden calm overcame her.

Looking around the bridge, she saw first that many had been crushed as the durasteel superstructure collapsed inwards; others had asphyxiated from the sudden loss of oxygen and atmosphere; while still others had been thrown against the bulkhead from the force of impact.

As for Captain Lai’Gror, she was missing over half of her face, her remaining eye looking unconcerned. From her elbows down, she was missing her entire body.

Sildhe knew she should feel dread, horror, or even apprehension, but she was completely calm. Glancing around, she could see out of what remained of the bridge’s transparisteel windows the utter destruction of her battlegroup…but beyond that, she saw a deep, black shadow that ate up the stars as it came swiftly closer.

It took her a few seconds but Sildhe suddenly realized that what she was looking at was actually a ship…one enormous ship. Even now, she could see that it had some running lights, a broad beam, and a deep, dark black wide, angular hull, one that reminded her of naval vessels of old, ships that had sailed oceans of water instead of the vastness of space.

Coughing up more blood, she could see the persistent green light bearing down upon her like a judgemental titan’s gigantic eye. …It…it must be some sort of…of…weapon… She thought as all of the stars were suddenly consumed by the blackness, the intense glowing green of whatever it was soon the only source of light.

Closing her eyes, Sildhe sent a prayer to the Queen Mother, may Her Radiance illuminate etern–

The crashing cacophony of twisted durasteel, meta-ceramics, and duraplast was momentarily deafening in her ears before the eerie silence of the vacuum of space enveloped her, the woman’s final thoughts on her Empress.

Sildhe’s world shattered completely as the huge black ship rammed the remaining Battledragon, its already weakened superstructure torn apart like wet paper against the stygian quadranium hull of the over 35 kilometer-long flagship of the Autonomous Fleet.

An Eclipse III-class star dreadnought.

The Gehenna.

<<<<< >>>>>

Prologue-Nightmares, Shattered Dreams, Dark Aspirations, & Darker Pursuits, Part IV

“Admiral, the enemy fleet has been completely destroyed.” The tactical officer intonated in an almost bored voice. Around the bridge, gunners checked shooting solutions for the larger debris remains of the Battledragons, Tactical and Damage Control officers perused pertinent data–no incoming ordinance or blasterfire, no damage to the dreadnaught or its systems–while ensuring the flagship was at battle-readiness, Sensor techs scoured the area for survivors and finding none.

All-in-all, a decent distraction from the Triumvirate’s primary objective.

“Good.” Admiral Sarna Mercet intoned, idly wondering just what the Hapan ships were doing in this particular sector. Not that it mattered; there were no survivors to tell the tale of their presence. “Comms: relay to Fleet ‘Stand Down.’ Status on the Dúmazi?”

Consulting his panel, the tech reported. “Medial damage to hull and shield modulation, one hundred thirty-two injured, no fatalities. Captain Nesaid is confident that repairs will take no more than 3 hours.”

“Very well.” Sarna’s clipped tone matched the competence of the woman herself: her olive drab uniform was crisp, spotless, and professional, her face a mask of assured control. “Gunners: use this opportunity for cadets and junior officers to present shooting solutions to neutralize larger debris fields. Tactical: likewise for future engagements. Propulsion: proceed to the former local coordinates.” She cocked her head towards a much taller man to her right, his own uniform virtually identical to her own. “Captain Makinen: you have the Con.”

“Aye, Admiral.” He bowed his head briefly at the neck before replacing her upon the bridge’s main thoroughfare, giving smart orders without yelling or barking. Good; that’s one of the reasons why she’d chosen Emyl Makinen to act as her right hand: he knew the value and benefit of temperance.

Before she stepped into the turbolift, her XO’s voice called from behind her. “Admiral, would you like for me to inform you once we reach the designated coordinates?” The lips under his thick yet neatly trimmed mustache made a thin line across his face.

“Yes, Captain. Thank you.” She nodded as the turbolift door slid shut.

She rode in silence for the minute it took the ‘lift to reach her destination: the Triumvirate’s War Room. As the blast door slid open to a darkened room, she was unsurprised to see that it was already occupied. In the middle of the room, a tall, dark haired man kneeled, his black robes doing nothing to hide the lithe armor covering the man. If he took any notice of her presence, he did not move.

“Kintik?” She finally asked, voice low, “I thought that you were with Ghent.” Sarna’s eyebrow arched.

“Something roused me from my Meditations.” He answered instead, his tone distracted. His hands unconsciously flexed and unflexed, the faded skin giving his fingers an almost ethereal quality.

Automatically Sarna felt on edge. She’d come to trust the Darkside Executor’s intuitions. “Visions?”

Nodding his head, he closed his yellow eyes while focusing within. “I see a man and a Tof, flipsides of a coin; as they approach a mountain suddenly moves, yet both are the same. I see a Togruta who wears three faces; she is simultaneously prisoner, victor, and vanquished yet what remains is stronger. Standing above them all is a shining woman in whose hands weighs the balance of possible futures; she must needs decide. All must collide and it is her decision which will help determine who survives and who dies.” His voice suddenly fell silent, the abruptness in sharp contrast to its previous bombast as if all of the weight of its portents had somehow slipped through his fingers.

All thoughts fled from her mind as Sarna tapped an index finger on her lips, both wondering and lost as to the meaning of her Executor’s Prescience. “And no ideas on who they are?” She asked guessing the answer.

“None.” Kintik’s reply was as acerbic as it was abrupt. “I know only that the woman is key.” He fell silent, grasping through the Force at understanding only to find his attempts futile.

He did not notice when Sarna left nor her attestation to find Moff Ghent before she did; Kintik’s mind instead replayed the Vision over and over again. Whomever she was, this woman was of utmost importance, absolutely necessary to the Future…but not necessarily his future.

Tightly wrapped in the Darkside, Kintik burned the image of the woman into his memory, the details of her dark skin and darker eyes searing in his mind.

But it was her midnight-blue hair and full blue lips that gripped his attention, an oddity that even within a galaxy of alien peculiarities he took note of. She was absolutely vital…

…And her choice would either save the galaxy…or condemn it.

"With death....there is always rebirth."

(https://i.ibb.co/x2RXy02/dutchman-poster-test-image-edit.jpg)

Dark Renascence

(https://i.ibb.co/t28LPDz/Vhal-Dan-Hall-of-Balance-Galtea.jpg)
Chapter 1: The Moment Before The Avalanche, part I
*******************************************************
Vhal’Dan Congress
Baransu no Kage: VACANT
Council of Balance:
Arbiter: Listian Demarcus, Human male
1st Speaker: WyFei Klamonte, Zeltron female
2nd Speaker: Pyryx'Tu, Aing-Tii female
3rd Speaker: Qillian Rethaal, Togruta male
4th Speaker: Sona Mnaa Rahn , Mirilian female
5th Speaker: Stel-Lan Octharr, Human male
6th Speaker: Alcyorr Kål Rhadde, Cathar male
7th Speaker: D'Aylanna Vih'Torr, Hapan female
*******************************************************
“...Which brings me to the main point of this Session.” Listian Damarcus’ voice was terse, his gray-blue eyes tightening. “The sensor drones have detected several mass-shadows in the former vicinity of Zonama Sekot’s orbital in the Klasse Ephemora System.” Sitting, his eyes scanned each Speaker.

D’Aylanna sat back in her own chair, unperturbed. That was to be expected: when Bellicose Protocols were enacted, the planet’s internal hyperdrive allowed them to relocate to almost anywhere in the galaxy–in this case, the Seitia Sector in the Outer Rim–while deploying several clandestine sensor probes to keep watch. The Vhal’Dan had all but expected for the Consortium to retaliate.

After all, that’s precisely what the Order’s putative actions were about in rescuing her, precipitating the Hapes-Vhal’Dan War. The small Speaker mentally shook her head. …Dammit… D’Aylanna did not smile at the thought of whatever Hapan attack force the Queen Mother had gathered wasting time at a place where the Vhal’Dan no longer were. If she’d had it her way, no Vhal’Dan would’ve ever endangered themselves in attempting said rescue in the first place…

She gave silent thanks to the Maker that no Vhal’Dan had died. Not that, never that.

No, the small Hapan woman had been prepared to die on the Throneworld, her friends, family, and Order safe…especially her husband and her daughter. Even now she could recall with crystal clarity the Trial-By-Champion between her Shakal¹ and that brute of an executioner that T’Atyanna had chosen…but worse than that had been Jorya. By the Maker, her daug–

“Excuse me, Arbiter,” She said, her mind catching up to her ears, “Did you say ‘a trillion-tonne mass shadow?’”

When Listian turned towards the small Hapan Speaker, his face softened slightly. “That’s correct, Speaker. The drones’ sensors were unable to discern much else, but one of them was able to capture his holovid.” From his Chair, he thumbed one of the buttons on the built-in panel on the right arm, activating the main, central holodisplay.

Simultaneously, the Hall’s illumination darkened, a starfield appearing above the holoprojector in the center of the semicircle of Speakers’ Chairs. At first nothing seemed to happen…then a bright, green plasma blast seemed to erupt from nothingness. A fraction of a second later, every Gray Jedi witnessed as a dozen or so explosions appeared all in a row. As the blast plumes proliferated outward, they started to disappear starting at one side as if swallowed by darkness.

D’Aylanna couldn’t be sure but she thought that the shadow got bigger before a final explosion appeared within the periphery…only to be completely engulfed by darkness. …Damn my eyes… She cursed, irritated by the hereditary Hapan night-blindness. “Arbiter…can you please adjust the contrast and replay?”

“Of course, Speaker.” The gray-haired human said patiently, understanding. After making the necessary adjustments, he thumbed the “Enable” button again. This time the shadow was clearer, although still not enough to show details.

But the last explosion definitely showed D’Aylanna all that she needed to see. “It’s a ship.” She whispered, clearly voicing what everyone else thought given their slight nods. But…she’d never heard of a ship that large, the only vessels that came close were the Executor-class star dreadnoughts from the Empire…

…No, actually that wasn’t right. Using a Recall Technique, she vaguely remembered a report that her Shakal had given in front of Kage Oyuna Chan’dn back when he, Jaim, and G’av had discovered Gaetana’s betrayal.

Before reaching the Fortress Inquisitorious on Byss², they’d come upon an enormous doonium skeleton, its chassis almost 18 kilometers in length, indicative of an absolutely huge ship.

Something fitting given the name of “Project Eclipse.”

But after doing some quick mental math, D’Aylanna knew that such wouldn’t even come close to a mass-shadow of a trillion tonnes. Nor was she the only one to do so.

“With a mass shadow that large? Such would indicate something more akin to the first Death Star, if still a fraction of the mass.” 1st Speaker WyFei Klamonte mused, her magenta skin seeming to pale at the suggestion.

That opened the proverbial floodgate: seven voices began speaking at once as each Speaker chimed in their own opinions, concerns, and possible solutions, a verbal cacophony that grew in volume over the next few minutes.

Subjects varied from Speaker to Speaker: it was a ship, it was a station, it was a superweapon; no it was a prototype, it was an Imperial vessel, it was a shadow non-government organization that had been steering events from behind the scenes. Every subject had its supporters and detractors but one thing was constant: there was absolutely no consensus in full to be achieved.

“Regardless…” Listian bellowed, cutting through the growing argument with a trick of the Force, projecting his voice louder, “... Jurisprudence demands that we investigate.” He looked pointedly at each Speaker before finally settling upon the large, white Cathar. “Triarch, we need personal intel for this; I don’t trust such evaluations solely with holo evidence. We’ll need some ‘boots on the ground.’”

“Understood, Arbiter.” Though he spoke quietly, Alcyorr’s bass voice seemed to shake the very floor of the Hall of Balance. “I have the perfect team in mind for such a task.” He assured. D’Aylanna saw several of the Speakers subtly relax as a result. Nothing overt but–with a lifetime of watching people, studying them–the small Hapan master was particularly good inferring the easement of eyes or smoothing of jowl muscles and the idiosyncrasies belonging to each Speaker. “With your assent, I shall inform them forthwith.”

Standing, the Cathar Speaker seemed to make the Hall grow smaller (as he always did). “Arbiter. Speakers.” He bowed at the neck respectfully before striding from the Hall. D’Aylanna couldn’t help but watch the Triarch with a touch of concern.

She couldn’t be certain…but she thought that she could detect the barest hint of satisfaction in his tone when he mentioned the “perfect team.” With her face an impassive mask, she scrutinized her fellow Speakers to see if any of them had any suspicions.

And was suitably rewarded.

With the lone exception of 2nd Speaker Pyryx'Tu, the other members of Congress looked pensive…but that did not mean that the Aing-tii master wasn’t concerned, only that her particular “tell” had nothing to do with her visage but rather the way her tongues licked the air. That told D’Aylanna all that she needed to know.

At least some of her fellow Speakers already had an idea (or at least the beginnings of one) of what was going on…

…And they did not want to share that particular knowledge. At least not here or now and certainly not with her.

Serenely, D’Aylanna tucked all the information securely away, compartmentalizing it all until she could properly peruse everything.

“These deliberations are concluded and Session is adjourned. Go in Balance.” Listian intoned, dismissing the remaining Speakers. With a friendly smile upon her lips, D’Aylanna excused herself to participate in the usual small talk that the Speakers would normally engage in post-Session. Yes, she had much more pressing concerns and they involved the input of her Shakal. Yet she also wanted to get the lay of the land as it were where her fellow Speakers were concerned…especially with them being so vague and obtuse.

But the thrust of her mind was already with her Zearic.

Besides, they still needed to discuss the…other uncertain antagonist in their lives, the one that had possessed their daughter, Jorya

Darth Mendax, Gaetana Ravine.

<<<<< >>>>>
____________________________________________________________________
1. Shakal: Hapan for “worthy” or “he who is worthy”
2. As seen W-A-A-Y-Y-Y back in “A Tarnished Knight:” https://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=35967.msg586550#msg586550 (https://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=35967.msg586550#msg586550)

Special thanks to For Tyeth for his excellent rendering of Zearic! This chapter is dedicated to him :)
********************************************************************************
(https://i.ibb.co/n1J3gPn/zearic-old-2-edit-one-1.jpg)
Chapter 1: The Moment Before The Avalanche, part II
As D’Aylanna entered the Pancratium, the roar of the gathered crowd was raised in a pitched volume, a large gathering of Vhal’Dan Jedi, instructors, and the Concordat Company’s Hit Squad members encircled the main practice ring. Unfortunately, as short as she was, she could not see who was currently wrestling, at least not from her current vantage.

Scanning the crowd, she immediately saw Alcyorr towering above almost every single person, his stripped white fur pulled back in several braids hanging from his head. Even out of his Cataphract armor, the Triarch was absolutely massive, the enormous Cather easily weighing over 400kg. By the Maker, he even made her Shakal look small…well, smaller; at over 200kg, he was still one of the largest humans she’d ever seen.

D’Aylanna couldn’t help but grin. Even when she first met her Shakal, he had been a man of proper size (per Hapan reckoning) but he’d gotten even larger since, thanks in no small part to her culinary skills. While such was not standard learning within House Royal, D’Aylanna had always been a gifted chef. Growing up on the Throneworld, who could’ve guessed that she’d find satisfaction from something so…pedestrian.

Another cheer went up, recalling her from her ruminations. Determinedly, she made her way through the crowd to the Triarch. Despite barely being 1.5 meters tall and 45kg, the sea of people parted for her, a trick of presence that she’d learned as Marquesa. Nodding graciously to each person that she passed, D’Aylanna soon found herself besides the 6th Speaker. “Triarch.” She said in greeting, having to shout to be heard.

“Speaker.” Even the clamor of the crowd couldn’t drown out the Cather’s deep bass vibrato. Alcyorr had a shrewd bent to his face as he leaned down closer to D’Aylanna’s height. “Glad you could make it; the final match only just started.” Almost bending himself in half to do so, the Triarch then motioned to her to stand in front of him, giving D’Aylanna an unfettered view of the ring.

Within were six beings: 2 humans, a Togruta, a Mirilian, what must be a half-Houk hybrid, and, finally, her Shakal. Three of them–a human, the Mirilian, and the half-Houk–were Hit Squad members whereas the remaining three were Cataphracts. Unsurprisingly all of the Cataphracts were large beings but the half-Houk was larger still, absolutely dwarfing his two teammates (especially the Mirilian).

Pushing back thoughts of intended discussion, D’Aylanna cheered as loud as the rest of the crowd as each person in the ring paired up with an opponent: the Hit Squad human against the Cataphract Togruta, the Mirilian opposite the Cataphract human, and her Shakal against the half-Houk.

“Hah! Mia-Ja Styll’s already spankin’ yer Tertius!” One of the helmeted Hit Squad members laughed, “An’ Yant’s goin’ to eat yer Secundus, Triarch!” pointing at her Zearic. “An’ Tret Merren’ll have his way wit’ yer Primus!” She said, gesturing toward the Togruta.

Before Alcyorr could respond, D’Aylanna placed a delicate hand upon the Hit Squad member’s armored cuirass. She had her own part to play, her own secrets to keep. “A hundred credits that the Secundus bests Yant.” Her face was a blank mask but she had a glint in her dark eyes. “Another hundred says he wins the entire match.”

The helmeted Hit Squad member stopped, face unreadable under her own mask. Cocking her head to the side, she seemed amused, if still respectful (after all, every member of the Concordat Company knew of D’Aylanna’s reputation). “You're that eager to hand over your money, Speaker?”

“Make it 1,000; I’ve been rather busy the last few weeks with a personal errand.” Of course, everyone on Sekot knew precisely just where she’d been the “last few weeks³.”

Chuckling loudly and appreciatively, the Hit Squad woman shouted excitedly. “Agreed, Speaker!” She held out a gloved hand. “Given?”

D’Aylanna immediately took the larger woman’s hand in a fierce grip with her own. “Taken.” She answered, her eyes turning to her Shakal and giving him her entire attention. The two opponents squared off against one another, sizing the other up for a moment before each one exploded in motion.

Just as Zearic had done, D’Aylanna scrutinized his opponent: Yant was just as wide as her Shakal and taller besides, easily topping 2 meters and a bit. Both were thick of limbs, broad of chest, and heavy of shoulder (although her Shakal had a slightly wider waist compared to the half-Houk’s muscled abdominals). And where her Zearic had a thick brown beard, Yant’s violet face was clean shaven. She knew that she was correct in guessing his pedigree: the Hit Squad member must’ve been the offspring of a human and a Houk. …A rare genetic recessive trait, that purple face… She mused.

D’Aylanna watched and cheered as each of them shot into range to gain advantage, large arms and hands gripping hard to gain purchase over the other with the hope of establishing dominance, thick legs planting themselves above the mat as if to take root deep underneath the ground. The cheering seemed to double as the expected rout never happened, Zearic able to hold his own against the half-Houk.

Back and forth the two men grappled and sparred, each hoping for a takedown. Soon it seemed that everyone’s focus was upon the two largest beings in the ring, the cheering almost deafening. Yant’s face had slowly changed: first from imperiously certain to merely determined to laser-focused and finally to frustrated, all-encompassing purpose. D’Aylanna could as good as see his thoughts written across his face: he would crush this human who dared to defy him, an uncommon opponent in a contest that should’ve been over long ago. A growing irritant to the half-Houk…but a celebration to the shouting onlookers.

Inwardly, D’Aylanna smiled, her dark eyes serene and knowing. Her Shakal had told her the consequences of his Renewal, of his empowered strength in the Force as well as his body. He’d always been strong, but now he had moved towards peak human performance, raw power joining with practiced skill…not all of which was on display. Unsurprisingly, the Pancratium was almost deafening.

Her own secrets to keep…and her own ways to protect those she loved.

Suddenly Yant struck out with a lightning-fast jab, stunning her Shakal. Seeing an opening, the Hit Squad member put his shorter opponent into an armbar, slowly overpowering Zearic before sweeping his legs out from under him. Almost immediately Yant was atop, pinning the wide human. The shouting seemed to double instantly.

With gritted teeth, Zearic tried to gain advantage but all to no avail; between his alleged superior strength and his weight advantage, the half-Houk had too much leverage on his side. Grinning, Yant bellowed his imminent victory. Reluctantly, her Shakal slowly gave the sign of the Missio.

Every Hit Squad member erupted in celebration as the final match finished, the score 2 Wins/1 Loss favoring the Concordat Company. With good-natured-if-grudging acquiescence, the Cataphracts handed over chits of various denominations to the winners. Theatrically and with incredible elegance, D’Aylanna produced a 1,000 credit chit and handed over gracefully to the larger Hit Squad woman. “Good match. My Zearic almost had Yant.” She offered, a grin hidden from her face by the impassive mask that she’d schooled herself to adopt during times such as these.

“Indeed, Speaker, indeed!” The large woman took a half-step towards D’Aylanna, almost conspiratorially, “...But yer know what they say 'bout ‘almost!’” D’Aylanna could all but hear the wink in the woman’s tone. Good.

“Of course.” The Hapan Speaker allowed, her aura one of perfect self-possession. “Next time.” She gave a slight bow from the neck and went to turn towards her Shakal.

For a fleeting moment, their eyes found one another, sharing a look of love, contentment, and secrets. And, unnoticed by anyone else, he gave her a quick wink. With a barely perceptible nod of her head, she acknowledged the gesture, one seen by her Shakal. A slow grin spread on his face before he turned back to the crowd that surrounded him.

“A match well fought, wouldn’t you agree Speaker?” Alcyorr’s deep voice came from behind her. “I could’ve sworn that Vih’Torr had him before the last there.” As D’Aylanna glanced up into his icy-blue eyes, they seemed to glow preternaturally, his face introspective and intense…but only for a moment. When next he spoke, his voice was one of genial acceptance and quiet joviality. “Oh well; as you said: there’s always ‘next time,’ Speaker.”

D’Aylanna thought she noticed that the Cathar had a ghost of a smile upon his face but merely nodded. “Yes, I suspect that you’ll push my Shakal over the next week in his training.” Her blue lips turned up at the corner. “As a reminder.”

Alcyorr gave an appreciative chuckle, one that could nevertheless be heard through the constant din of voices. “Good thinking. Speaker.” He nodded before striding away, gathering his Cataphracts within one of the restricted areas of the Den. D’Aylanna had expected as much; she would await her Shakal in one of the much more comfortable conference rooms.

As she glided towards her destination, she always had a nod, a friendly wave, or a soft smile for those she passed, but inwardly her thoughts were her own.

She was all but certain that Alcyorr knew more than he was letting on concerning her Zearic. Oh, she doubted that the Triarch knew everything and certainly that he had more suspicions, but she would be doing him a grave disservice to think him a fool.

Instead, she would hope to convince the Triarch of an unvarnished truth: that her Shakal was a constant and loyal Cataphract and member of the Vhal’Dan. Of course, there was more to it than that but it was not his concern…hence “a” truth and not “the entire” truth.

Yet, she also suspected that Alcyorr would be accepting of that distinction; after all, he himself in his capacity as Triarch was entrusted with many secrets, both of the Order as well as personal.

Sometimes life required necessary fiction. Like her little wager.

She would always protect those she cared about, cost be damned. To be sure, the 1,000 credits were nothing, at least to her. In fact, within the bedroom that she shared with her Shakal, she had a necklace of rainbow gems worth more than an entire star system.

And that was but one piece of jewelry that she owned, courtesy of her former station of Marquesa.

No, D’Aylanna need not worry about credits, especially when spent for the protection and privacy of those she cared for.

And loved.

For that, she would pay whatever price required. Inadvertently, she ground her back teeth, perturbed that the Order had gone to war for her. Yes, she was forever grateful, thankful, and happy to be free and alive…but she would’ve never wished for any member of the Order–especially not her Shakal or her daughter!--to endanger themselves on her behalf.

…And now, the two people that she loved most in the galaxy were in danger.

D’Aylanna had nothing specific to go on, only her intuition; even her Force Prescience had been unusually nebulous and circumspect. But what she was certain of was that if she did not act, her family would pay a heavy price, one that would rend asunder that which she held so dear.

Sighing to herself, she continued her serene pace. One way or another, she would protect everyone around her, be they friend, family…all Vhal’Dan.

Even at the cost of her own life.

<<<<< >>>>>
____________________________________________________________________
3. As seen back in “Queen&Marquesa, Executioner&Cataphract:” https://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=48094.msg799195#msg799195 (https://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=48094.msg799195#msg799195)

Chapter 1: The Moment Before The Avalanche, part III
Unseen by all, Or’an Damaar watched as his target glided through the crowd, careful not to follow too closely.

He had no doubt that he could best anyone within the crowds, even the 7th Speaker, but the Hamask knew that such a contest would be amongst the most dangerous of his life.

…A fact that elicited no small amount of excitement within the Tof. To be able to challenge himself, really take measure of his abilities against a worthy and adept opponent…

Forcing himself to calm down, he went through the mental checks that kept his worse impulses at bay. Slowly his breathing steadied, regulating his body’s sympathetic/aggression response to stimuli. …Control…control…better… Relief–an ice bath cooling the raging furnace within his chest–flooded through his nervous system.

As it always did, he was instantly reminded of the Gloaming.

The all-encompassing fear, sharp, tearing panic that would seize him in an instant, reasserting itself tenfold. Like a vicious circle, the positive-feedback system fueling his aggression threatened to overwhelm his mental impedimen–

…STOP…!

With a durasteel grip, he mentally clamped down upon the emotional cascade that threatened to flood forth and, with a practiced deftness that impressed even him, willed himself into a state of tranquility and composure.

By the second breath, his circulatory system had returned to its pre-adrenal state, his heart beating normally while the epinephrine coursing through his veins began to dissipate. Outwardly, the Tof had not changed: he remained unseen and unnoticed, but if anyone had actually seen him, Or’an looked no more remarkable than any other sentient at rest.

...If any Hamask could ever said to "be at rest."

Visually, he reacquired his target as the 7th Speaker continued onwards towards one of the Den’s many conference rooms.

Zearic Vih’Torr’s Kill Order had been rescinded; rather, it was someone close to him that Or’an had judged and now pronounced “Damnatio:”

Koawan Jorya Fah ni’Vih’Torr.

He had reviewed all of the existing holofootage, scoured the Order's Archives--Official and otherwise--and learned everything possible that there was to know about Jorya...even that she was possessed by the Sith Lord Gaetana Ravine. And looking through eyes that saw the Cold Equation, he knew of only one verdict that could possibly be pronounced upon Gaetana.

Death.

That Jorya was an innocent--a foolish young woman to be sure, but innocent nevertheless--was not even a consideration. Her body was but vessel to the Order's most dangerous enemy in this day and age. Had he but been invested as Hamask all those years ago... But such conjecture was folly, and entirely pointless.

What was not was that she need be found.

And he believed that the 7th Speaker would lead him directly to her. She would be sentenced. She would be found anathema.

And, finally, would be executed.

<<<<< >>>>>

(https://i.ibb.co/nQPbB5Y/D-Aylanna-34.jpg)

D’Aylanna had not been waiting long before she was joined by her husband, although she instantly noticed that her Zearic seemed troubled.

Entering the room, her Shakal’s face immediately lit up as his eyes fell upon her. “Ereneda⁴...” His deep voice caressed her ears. D’Aylanna’s face broke out in an unfeigned smile. With him, she could truly be herself even–no, especially!--after all their years together. …So unlike Hapes… She couldn’t help but muse. But such thoughts were quiet and insignificant, quickly pushed aside as she was enveloped in his embrace, his thick arms incongruously gentle.

“Shakal...” She smiled fully, allowing herself a moment to just be. For an instant, everything in the galaxy around them was forgotten, the only thing of import was the man wrapping her in arms thicker than her legs in an intimate hug. As tender as he was, she could feel the hard muscle just under his skin, his embrace both comforting and protective. ...Just as you are for him… She thought, amused.

“I need to tell yo–”

“I need to tell yo–”

They both spoke simultaneously, stopping short with a familiar smile for each other.

“Please, Ereneda, after you.” He gestured with his large, meaty hands.

D’Aylanna sobered quickly. “Bellicose sensor drones detected a rather disturbing unidentifiable object…” She trailed off after seeing the look on his face. “Alcyorr told you.” It was not a question.

Nodding, he ran his hand through his short hair. “He did. Ereneda, he assigned Triad Isk to reconnoiter the area.”

Of course; D’Aylanna should’ve known that the Triarch would send his best Recon Team. And while her Zearic was always essential as the Triad’s Secundus & demolitions expert, she knew that the other members of Isk would be especially important for this mission: Primus Olyna Ve’Reen and Tertius Sio Hardwick both possessed an M.O.S⁵ in espionage.

“When do you leave?” She asked, burying the familiar worry under the sincere convictions that her husband was the best at what he did. It helped. Somewhat.

Her Shakal’s smile was bittersweet. “Tonight, Ereneda.” He looked wistful.

…Of course… She thought, remembering the age-old axiom: “When people make plans, the Maker laughs.” Unashamedly, she wrapped her husband in a fierce hug, or at least as far as her arms would allow her.

But no matter how large her Shakal had become, she always bequeathed the Maker for his good health and safe return. “Do not do anything foolish, Shakal.” She chided, only half-jokingly.

His big hand tenderly stroked her brown cheek and blue lips. “You know me, Ereneda.” He tried to inject his tone with levity.

“Hence my admonition, Shakal.” She stared deeply into his eyes, her own dark gaze matching the solemness of her demeanor. By the Maker, her Zearic was wonderful… “Please…” She began, her melodious voice pausing as she tried to keep her composure. As always, she was successful.

And, as always, her Shakal saw through her mask to the truth.

“Don’t cry, Dear One.” His own eyes shining, voice full of emotion. “I promise to be careful, Love.” For as big as he was, D’Aylanna began to console him, her small, delicate hand gently rubbing his chest.

“I know, Shakal, I know…” Her voice was quiet but hard as quadranium. She inhaled, decision made. “There is something else, Shakal.” She made certain that her Zearic felt the gravity of the situation before continuing. “It’s regarding Jo…Gaetana.”

His face looked blank but D’Aylanna noticed his jowl muscles ripple and the slight tightening of his eyes. Outwardly, he did nothing but cross his arms across his broad chest. He said nothing, intent upon listening to her.

“We must needs find her and quickly.” She closed her eyes. “Before she does something…something horrible.” Nightmares both vivid and half-remembered assaulted her mind. …the Maker send that the worst were just that: nightmares… She prayed, still not convincing herself. “And soon…”

“Visions?” He asked sincerely.

“Yes. No.” D’Aylanna balled her small hands into fists, frustration replacing the impassive mask she normally wore. “I’m…I’m not certain.” Those were the most frightening words that she’d uttered in a long time, the content of such even more terrible. After all, her mastery with her Force Visions had taken years, practice, and no small amount of pain but she'd become incredibly adept at interpreting and benefitting from them. To have a Vision that was so...unclear, her ability to deduce dubious at best... “I only know that if I do not do something I will…she will…it will be terrible beyond description.”

In the almost 30 years that Zearic had been with her, her Shakal had come to trust her and her Force Prescience completely.

This was no exception. Furthermore, he could be surprisingly intuitive during the most inconvenient of times.

“You’re going after her.” He knew. D’Aylanna felt his strange hazel eyes burrowing into her. There was nothing accusatory nor cross in his manner, he knew his wife too well.

Indeed, he loved her all the more for her bravery, her convictions, her earnestness. He smiled knowingly. “And I thought you were supposed to be the cautious one, Ereneda.”

Playfully, she pretended to be offended. “Of course I am.” Suddenly she had her lightsaber hilt in one hand, the ignited purple blade casting a pale visage across her face. “Doubly so.” A blaster appeared in her other hand…along with a kukri made of Songsteel, a gift given to her during her time amongst the Mak’Tor…as were the three other vibroblades secreted about her person.

Her Shakal smiled deeply. “A more dangerous woman I’ve never met, Ereneda.” She knew he was not joking; indeed, he was incredibly proud. Waiting for her to secure the multiple weapons about her person, her Zearic drew her into his warm, comforting embrace. Kissing the top of her head, she heard him whisper, “Go get our daughter back.”

Automatically, she nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She did not want for her Shakal to hear the pain in her voice, for him to detect the fear she felt. Not fear for herself, mind… No, she was not afraid of death. Instead, she was afraid for her daughter.

But most of all, afraid because she was certain that when she found Jorya, she would do what she knew her Shakal could not.

He could easily put his ego aside to throw a wrestling match, just as he could throw away 1,000 credits to keep his family safe. But when it came to his daughter Jorya...therein lay the problem.

D’Aylanna knew that she would have to kill her, lest Gaetana fully possess her.

“I promise that I will save her.” She whispered, meaning every word. She would save her Shakal his pain. And she would save Jorya.

Even if it meant doing what D’Aylanna knew only she could do.
_____________________________________________________________________
4. Ereneda: Hapan for “she who has no equal.”
5. M.O.S.: Military Operating Speciality

Special thanks to For Tyeth for his incredible rendering of Jorya! This chapter is dedicated to him :)
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(https://i.ibb.co/N755rQj/jorya-holocron-edited.jpg)
Chapter 2: Questions&Answers, part I
Walking down the cleared, moderately lit tunnel, the Togruta absent-mindedly admired the earthworks of the cave shaft as well as the differing rock strata evident in the different colored layers and ensconced geodes sparkling slightly in the distance.

Something that Jorya herself had learned about and learned to love from Father. It should’ve been cause for concern between the two Shards…but they didn’t even so much as consider it.

A fact that Jorya herself took note of, storing the information away for a time when she could do something with it. She was still captive to the Shards of Gaetana&Kadmaur but she’d come to suspect something as well:

They were also prisoners to her will, if after a fashion. ...Interesting phanerite… The thought percolated through all three of their minds, unfeigned appreciation evident to all of them, some gravel crunching underfoot from her armored boots. Neither Shard made any mention of nor thought anything amiss…but Jorya noticed.

She said nothing; however, what she did instead was remain silent and bide her time, scrutinizing all without (hopefully!) calling attention to herself. Besides, Gaetana spoke enough for them all.

Apropos of such, Gaetana continued “talking” to Kadmaur, the ex-Inquisitor unofficially the “spokesperson” when they needed to use Jorya’s body. And, at least so far, this arrangement had worked perfectly. That she was the most prominent personality between the two Shards certainly lent credence to this development.

And yet…the idiosyncrasies were entirely Jorya’s.

Expertly, the Togruta pinched at the wall, some of the gravel flaking off between the fingers of her left hand, her right occupied by the synth-cloth bag she held. Pausing for a brief moment, she scrutinized the igneous dust before moving on. But not before Jorya noticed a split-second difference in the Shards’ control: during that interim–minute as it was–she felt a weakening of sorts. As with before, Jorya tucked it deep away in the recesses of her mind, compartmentalized and protected.

As the long shaft continued further in the distance, the Togruta’s dark, split skirts made a quiet, swishing noise that did nothing to dispel the fact that these caves had not seen sentients for hundreds, if not thousands, of years…

…No longer.

Soon the tunnel opened into a gigantic cave, the rock mixing with artificial ferrocrete, durasteel, and plasteel constructs taking the form of several separate rooms, almost all of them accessible from the large circular atrium within the middle of the cavern.

Perfect for Gaetana’s plans.

The caves had been excavated in stages, the main reason for their careless and even hazardous organization: one room was dedicated to experiments right next to a kitchen of sorts which itself was adjacent to a mechanic’s station. However, there was one room that was entirely new, their current occupants testament to their construction.

“My family is wealthy and would happily pay any ransom you name–”

“I have credits, millions of them; they’re yours if you just let me go–”

Both occupants–two Clawdites–called out from behind their cells’ forcefields, voices overlapping as they vied for the Togruta’s attention, their tones turning shrill as Gaetana/Kadmaur continued to ignore them as she passed by “the Pens.”

After all, she thought of them no more than the components that they were for her decided purposes.

As such, the Togruta went among the adjoining laboratory’s databanks consulting several holovids. As she worked, she began to hum a tune, a Hapan lullaby. Everything looked nominal, incredible as it seemed. There was now just one last thing to contend with.

…Now we’re ready… The Togruta thought.

Leaving the laboratory area, she went into and through one of the enclosed rooms, its thick blast door slamming shut behind her, bringing with it blessed silence. In seconds, the room’s illumination gave the room a comfortable ambiance where located in the center was a circular durasteel table with a small antigrav generator in the middle. There, levitating in the air was a tetradecagon, the gold&red lines of the multi-sided prism following their own paths, all the while seeming to glow from within… The prize that had taken her the longest to secure.

Darth Vectivus’ holocron.

As they slowly approached the table, Gaetana/Kadmaur smiled while Jorya held her breath. After months of searching–and yet more preparing–the final phase of her plan could now begin. With a deft touch, the Togruta’s slender fingers traced a line along the holocron, simultaneously using the Force to activate the device.

Suddenly it began to glow an ethereal blue, a miniature holographic robed figure appearing above the floating holocron. “Behold the teachings of Darth Vectivus, Lord of the Sith. Greetings, Inquirer. In what way may I assist?” The Gatekeeper asked, his voice serene even as it cast an eerie pall upon the Togruta’s face emphasizing both her beautiful features as well as her unnatural Sith eyes.

She blinked.

Whatever Gaetana had expected, it wasn’t…this: staring at her from within the dark recessed hood of his robes, the projection looked nothing like a powerful Dark Lord of the Sith. Instead, what was visible of the blunt face looked like it belonged more to an old accountant, one with a patient and kindly visage.

Clearing her throat, she clasped her hands in front of her, the synth-cloth bag innocuous as it brushed up against the front of her skirts. “I need all information concerning the power of Essence Transfer.” She gritted her teeth as her stomach tied itself in knots. …This better work…

“Of course, Inquirer.” The Gatekeeper’s response was almost instantaneous. The holoimage seemed to be consulting something out of its field of vision yet its voice was concise and confident. “The greatest practitioner of this power was the Great Sith Emperor Vitiate, also known as Valkorian, also known as Darth Tenebr–”

“Stop.” Gaetana cut in, shaking her head. ...Dammit… “I need to know more about how to perform the ritual...” Pivoting, she tried another tactic. “Gatekeeper, tell me about…Karness Muur.”

The Gatekeeper’s eyes seemed to shine as he once again spoke without pause. “Karness Muur, former Jedi Master and one of the leaders of the Dark Jedi during the Hundred-Year Darkness…”

While listening, Gaetana absorbed all of the information that the holocron could provide, supplementing her own considerable-though-incomplete knowledge, much of it gained during her time amongst the Vhal’Dan. She’d had to be particularly surreptitious then; after all, why would a Gray Master research lore concerning Sith Alchemy and such Dark Side powers as Transference. No, for her to pursue such extracurriculars, she’d been forced to wait until her time as a proclaimed Darth.

...When that bastard tricked me… She fumed.

Those years had been complete hell for her: after almost dying thanks to that fat fool Zearic, she’d become obsessed with restoring her vitality. To say that it was a painful lesson was an understatement. Using the time spent between building up her own power base as Darth Mendax, Gaetana had consumed all pertinent information that she could get her hands on for her own Renewal.

But after an exhaustive pursuit of such knowledge, she’d hit an obstacle. ...By the Maker I was furious… Gaetana thought, proclaiming a Maker that she had no belief in whatsoever. But Jorya did. Again, Jorya silently tucked it away, “listening” to Gaetana’s ruminations.

She soon learned of the rise of two Dark Singers, twin Dathomiri sisters. After approaching them, she’d slowly seduced them towards her own agenda. And it was there on Dathomir that Gaetana made a serendipitous discovery.

Unceremoniously stuffed among the Sister’s historic tomes she’d come across a centuries-old manuscript, an actual pen-and-paper written account concerning the Sith Lord Darth Lucovis and their apprentice, Darth Vectivus. It was incomplete and full of contradictory information (well, contradicting the accepted Galactic Histories), but it made mention that he’d somehow become “a goddess,” his own body giving way to something far superior, a kind of…of apotheosis¹.

It was precisely what she’d been looking for: not only for Life Eternal but also for Power Absolute.

It was then, of course, that another obstacle had kept her from enacting her plans.

There were no details; yes, there had been descriptions and expositions concerning success…but as far as the actual rituals? Nothing. In her rage she’d immolated almost a dozen of her thralls, only later on castigating herself for such wastefulness. She’d come close–so, so close!--to the answers she so desperately wanted, needed…

…Only to be defeated by D’Aylanna². ...Kriffing hel–

Suddenly, Gaetana interrupted her own musings, speaking to the holocron. “Gatekeeper, two questions: for that last part, if the source is larger–in this case, much larger–would a single specimen suffice for the Alchemical reagent?”

Again the holoimage seemed to smile, ink stained hands clasping together. “A qualified yes. What is your source?”

When Gaetana told him, Jorya “frowned,” feelings of consternation mixing with her ever-present disgust, anger, and frustration. ...What the hell is that…? She wondered as Gaetana used her voice to speak. “Would that work?” Gaetana’s tone had an undercurrent of pleading to it.

The Gatekeeper’s smile deepened, the kindly bent to his face never once faltering. “Oh yes. That should do quite nicely. Secondly?”

Grasping the synth-cloth bag in tight fingers, the Togruta’s shoulders relaxed. “So long as I use the talisman, I’ll need not worry about interference?” She asked, her yellow eyes almost glowing.

It seemed to Jorya that the Gatekeeper spent many long seconds considering the question, her own inquisitiveness getting the better of her. She wanted to know the answer almost as much as Gaetana (and Kadmaur) did. In reality, the holoimage’s response took only a fraction of that.

“No.” His kindly words hauntingly hung in the air. “Your victim will be completely helpless.”

As Gaetana and Kadmaur grinned deeply, Jorya felt her terror spike. “Then now, Gatekeeper…” Gaetana announced, “...we are ready to begin.”

<<<<< >>>>>
_____________________________________________________________
1. As seen in LSG’s excellent Fate of the Aether, CH.61 “Only What You Take With You, “Terror” https://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=39140.msg706743#msg706743 (https://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=39140.msg706743#msg706743)
2. As seen way back in Shadow Etude, CH.14, part II “Contrapasso”
https://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=36277.msg600543#msg600543 (https://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=36277.msg600543#msg600543)

Special thanks to For Tyeth for his amazing rendering of D'Aylanna&Zearic! This chapter is dedicated to him :)
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(https://i.ibb.co/jvz7QXk/swtor-finish-2-1.jpg)
Chapter 2: Questions&Answers, part II
As the two of them made their way through the large hangar of the Cataphract Spaceport, D’Aylanna and Zearic made slow progress towards the small gathering of armored sentients underneath one of the Order’s TIE Guardians. But, for now at least, they only had eyes for one another.

Walking beside her husband, her arm resting lightly upon his heavy armored vambrace, D’Aylanna wished that she could stretch their next few minutes together towards eternity, the wistful smile upon her blue lips trying not to turn bittersweet. To anyone else who looked upon her, she would’ve been successful.

But not her Shakal.

“Ereneda, don’t fret.” He said quietly, looking down at her. “It’s just a scouting mission.” He smiled back at her, worry for her written all over his face. He may be able to dissemble to others but not to her.

“Of course not, Shakal. Nothing to be concerned about at all.” She placed her small hand upon his broad armored chest, a wry look upon her face. “Which is why you’ve donned your Cataphract armor.” Her dark eyes glinted with even darker humor.

Giving an appreciative chuckle, Zearic first kissed the top of her head before kissing her waiting lips, softly at first but soon deeper and full of passion. It took a moment before they both regained their breath. “I promise, Ereneda, I’ll be safe. Besides, I’ll have both Oleyna and Sio looking after me.” He grinned, looking over her head and gesturing to the other two heavily armored Cataphracts already boarding their TIE Guardian.

“You’d better.” She stared up at him in mock solemnity. “I don’t want for you to do something rash…such as starting a war.”

This time her Shakal launched into a full-throated laugh, his head shaking from side-to-side. “No chance of that happening, Ereneda. You know me: I only do something foolish once. Which just means that I’ll have to do something else foo–”

When her Shakal suddenly stopped short, falling silent, D’Aylanna stared up at her husband concerned. “What is it, Shakal? What’s wrong?” Something instinctive made her turn her head to search where his eyes glared intently.

But besides the usual commotion around the spaceport hangar, D’Aylanna saw nothing, certainly nothing amiss. She turned her attention back to her beloved. “Shakal?”

For a second, he did not speak. But when he blinked, he looked down to meet her eyes. “Sorry, Ereneda.” His quiet voice became pensive. “I could’ve sworn that I saw…that is…” As his voice trailed off, his brow furrowed and his large, gloved hands wrapped into fists. For a long moment, he did not move. Then, as if a spell had been broken, he shook his head, eyes darting around before once again resting upon her. “I…I thought…sorry, Love.”

Reaching up, D’Aylanna tenderly stroked his broad, bearded face. “Don’t be. I love you, too.” Gently, she pulled his head down towards hers, tenderly kissing his eyelids and then his lips. “The Maker keep you safe, Shakal.” As she disengaged her hands from his face, she gave him a warm, comforting smile, one that she herself did not feel. …Maker, please protect him so that I may see him once again in this life… She prayed.

She watched as her Shakal finally boarded the TIE Guardian, the advanced ship taking off after a final few minutes of prep; all the while D’Aylanna stood staring where her husband had disappeared from her sight, even now keeping a serene aura about her.

After all, she had not wanted her Shakal to needlessly worry more than he needed to. That was why she had not donned her own armor, at least not yet.

She stared at the dissipating contrail that the TIE Guardian had left in the azure sky, clouds threatening to obfuscate the bright sunlight. Her worries were her own…and protecting her family was foremost in her mind. Absently, she rubbed her arms with her hands, dually anxious and anticipatory at what she knew she must do.

Turning on her heel, she made a beeline back to the apartments that she shared with her Shakal, having completely forgotten the momentary incident prior to her husband’s departure.

But then, why would she have done so? As far as everyone was concerned, there was nothing worth noting. Certainly no one else in the hangar had noticed anything, not even what Zearic had thought he’d noticed.

As D’Aylanna left, the various technicians, mechanics, and the Gray Jedi went about their business, unaware that anything had occurred.

Except for one.

<<<<< >>>>>

From high among the stanchions in the hangar, Or’an saw the Hapan Speaker watch on as her Cataphract husband departed, herself shortly to follow.

The Tof had to admit that he was impressed: Zearic had almost detected him. ...Interesting… No one before had ever come close to piercing his Veil of Buried Presence. Yet Zearic had noticed, looking at him for a split second.

Most impressive.

Or’an had followed them both here to the hangar, having already made up his mind to shadow the Hapan Master, his acute senses all but pushing him towards that decision. As usual. After all, he was Hamask.

Besides, with the TIE Guardian already occupied by an entire Triad, there would be hardly any room to spare for the three Cataphracts themselves, nevermind the nearly 3-meter tall Tof.

Besides, he already had chosen his own transportation.

Watching D’Aylanna as he followed her to her apartments, he made certain that she was inside before heading off towards another hangar. He had not needed to consult departure itineraries but had done so regardless; he already knew where she would be headed soon enough.

Unseen and undetected, Or’an made his way quickly from the Residential District to the Speaker’s Spaceport, soon finding himself staring at his own destination: a dangerous looking dark Mandalorian Infiltrator.

Fenris’ Dirge.

As he’d done on countless occasions, he knew that he could penetrate the vessel’s defenses as well as remain hidden while he pursued his objective.

Without making a sound, he settled in among the hangar’s stanchions, waiting patiently for the 7th Speaker to arrive.

He would easily follow after her inside, completely unaware of his presence. She would take him to his target.

And, there, enact Damnatio.

<<<<< >>>>>

Having divested herself of her outer tunics and boots, D’Aylanna glided deeper in the sprawling apartments that she shared with her Shakal, walking through a darkened doorway that sealed itself behind her. As the calming, low lights of the room slowly illuminated the space, she gracefully sank to the floor, adopting a cross legged posture on the soft synth-cloth floor.

Settling down in her Meditation Vestibule, D’Aylanna willed herself to focus and wrap herself within an all-encompassing calm, her breathing slowing considerably as she opened herself to the Force.

Even using the entirety of the Vhal’Dan Order’s Intelligence Services, she’d heard absolutely nothing concerning her daughter. That had not surprised her, considering that such hopes were a longshot at best. But it did mean one thing:

She would attempt to find her via the Force.

She consciously stopped herself from sighing. D’Aylanna knew that what she was attempting was problematic in the best of circumstances, especially with so many emotions involved. She must be careful lest it touch upon the Dark Side.

Nevertheless, she also knew that if she had any chance of stopping Gaetana, then she would need to do what she intended. ...Please, Maker, grant me strength, wisdom, and forgiveness… She offered up a silent litany, hopeful yet cautious. Thoughts of her family swam in her mind, their time together, experiences both wonderful and loving bolstering her resolve. She wiped away a conspicuous tear from her brown cheek.

Closing her eyes, she began.

Slowly and adeptly, she called upon her comfort in the Force before committing herself mind and soul. Traversing the ocean that was the Force, D’Aylanna first anchored herself using that which she believed in absolutely: the love of her family. That accomplished, she strode forth carefully, wading into the tempest that was the Future.

Almost immediately she felt her metaphysical self inundated on all sides, the countless alternating versions of the Future slamming against her, a churning vortex that only worsened as one fought it.

D’Aylanna remained calm, expertly working with the Force instead of fighting against it.

Soon enough the metaphysical storm abated replaced by half-formed images of Things Possible: she saw a tall, dark hooded figure, their red lightsaber stabbing through complete darkness…only to extinguish it and hold out a gloved hand in accord; she saw her Shakal somewhere dark and foreboding, surrounded by large, black stone plinths of some kind, all aligned yet flowing ever closer to him in oppressive waves; she saw Jorya as she was when last she’d seen her: face contorted in hatred and vengeance, yellow Sith eyes glaring at her as she lay upon the dark ground, looking up at D’Aylanna’s purple lightsaber blade, the Hapan Speaker’s face a blank executioner’s mask.

That and more, much, much more threatened to overwhelm her…but she held on, stalwart and steadfast.

Images of death–always death!--collapsed upon her like a singularity: some of her husband’s, some of her daughter’s, some of herself, but there were more, so many more that she did not recognize… Were they daemons? Angels? Monsters? Both…and neither.

...Focus… She admonished herself…only to find herself seized as her Force Premonition took hold, finding that she was no longer in control.

Feelings–vivid, gross, and certain–washed through her as she began to recite words absent any agency from D’Aylanna herself for now she was merely a vessel dictating that which appeared upon her tongue:

At the end of the Hundred-Year Darkness
Where the Black Rains wash all away and
The Leviathans lie in wait to
Steal Life, and imprison it for the Time
Of Rebirth, the Three-Who-Are-One
Will become Two: One black, One Gray,
One whose life is Diminished; One whose death is Ameliorated
It is She who Yields; It is She who Controls;
It is She who Lives; It is She who Dies

Faculties once again her own, D’Aylanna inhaled sharply as her eyes shot open, both feeling the assured conviction of knowledge and the utter despair of ignorance. She felt as if she ran over hundreds of kilometers…after being a living conduit for lightning, one striking her for hours.

As before she willed herself to find the peace of tranquility and quietude, an endeavor that took Herculean effort. Yet, slowly but inexorably, she found her center, D’Aylanna’s finely controlled resolve steely and absolute once again.

...More questions… She lamented. ...And too many answers… That was the problem whenever scrying with the Force: as her adoptive Father and former Master Kazic Ovarug had warned her “The Future is always in motion.”

Still, it was more than she’d had before…and, indeed, might be precisely what she needed. But in order to know for certain, she was convinced more than ever that she also needed help.

Smiling wistfully, D’Aylanna suddenly felt a comforting moment of relief. As she said: she now had some answers…

…And she knew exactly who might best help her in finding the right one.

Special thanks to LSG for his awesome renderings of the Ars Ingens! This chapter is dedicated to him :)
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(https://i.ibb.co/VwbhLRm/Darth-Obliquus-1.png)
Interlude-The Ars Ingens, part I

Belsavis, 3635BBY
Watching from his hilltop vantage above the battlefield, the thin, tall man scrutinized the fighting below, a sea of red lightsabers beginning to overwhelm the diminishing blue, green, yellow, and purple blades even as he looked on. Simultaneously, the Imperial blasterfire had inundated the Republican forces, sending what few survivors remained into an all-out rout. Such news, good as it was, would’ve elicited something in another Sith Lord–a celebration, a victorious shout, even a smile–but none of that was in evidence here.

Not for Darth Obliquus.

Movement from the corner of his eye focused his keen senses towards the battlefield’s eastern flank, his Imperial army suddenly engaged in several brutal volleys courtesy of some Jedi Marauders. He cocked an eyebrow, concern never once touching his mind. Interesting, it looked as if the Jedi had used their Republican army units as bait. That he could appreciate.

Admittedly he was surprised that the Jedi had utilized such tactics; in his experience, they tended to be more…sentimental than that. It was indicative of the utter savagery of the fighting that the two sides were engaged in that day.

But then, they were on Belsavis. Officially it was a Republic Historical Planet, site of the ancient Rakata; the truth, of course, was much more interesting.

The flow of fighting shifted as the Jedi fought furiously; now it was the Sith that were hard pressed. He began to wonder if his forces would break, the proverbial Jedi hammer crushing through his line. Absently, he noticed that the falling snow clinging to his maroon armor was mixed with the dark red droplets of blood. Or perhaps it was the blood that turned his armor darker? The ground below had certainly turned from a dirty white to a brackish-red... Ah, yes, it appeared that the first line of Sith warriors had broken against the Jedi offensive…

Dispassionately, he waited to see what happened next.

At first it seemed as if the Jedi had turned a rout into victory, the Republic troppers re-energized. But then reinforcements arrived, two Imperial battalions slamming against the Republic forces on either side, halting the Jedis' progress in an instant. Obliquus watched as the three Sith/Imperial contingents ground the enveloped Jedi down, the savage violence widespread. But there were two spots in particular that he made note of…

On one side, surrounded by a growing heap of eviscerated bodies, the largest human that Obliquus had ever seen killed the enemy by twos and threes, his enormous 2 meter-long crimson lightsaber appearing of normal size when compared to the man’s massive arms and body. Shouting wordlessly, the ruggedly handsome face was contorted in equal parts rage and cruel pleasure…apropos sentiments given the man himself, Obliquus ruminated.

(https://i.ibb.co/mbcQKm3/Darth-Surdus-1.jpg)

Of course, Darth Surdus was made for the war that he fought, his almost 2.4 meter height was matched by the wide shoulders and broad chest underneath the hulking armor he wore now covered with blood, viscera, and dirt. Swinging his lightsaber in one hand and projecting Force Pushes with the other, Surdus cut a literal and figurative swath through the Jedi with each powerful move. No one could stand against the man, certainly not the Jedi and Republican soldiers unlucky enough to face him.

Yet, he was not the worst…

Obliquus directed his gaze across from Surdus’ position towards the other scene of unparalleled violence. There, haunting stark shadows glowed from between bodies, bodies that swiftly caught fire or were thrown violently through the air as arcs of deadly violet lightning filled the battlefield, the thick plasma bolts arcing from a central location: a tall, slender woman with blonde hair and a cruel bent to her severe face. Unlike Surdus, her lips were closed, not even so much as a whisper escaped her mouth.

Against the Jedi, Darth Saggita was terrifying to behold.

(https://i.ibb.co/YQQsL6S/Darth-Saggita-4.jpg)

Dozens of Republic soldiers and Jedi died as they were consumed by the horrible lightning, their deaths agonizing, loud, and terrible. The dead and dying littered the ground, the smell of burnt flesh and vaporized plasteel polluting the air as a sickly-sweet smell permeated the area. Those that had not succumbed to the deadly lightning screamed and moaned as back-breaking pain coursed through nerve connections that felt as if they were afire. It was more than they could stand; those still alive, those still able to move, to think, to act abandoned their allies, abandoned their senses, their only thought was one of sheer primal survival.

Any cohesion that the army had collapsed under the horrors that they suddenly faced, too many having died too terribly. Many were cut down from behind, some from Surdus’ red blade, more from Saggita’s lightning, but not all…

…And those that had somehow survived the charnel-house that was the battleground ran away from the dual horrors of Darths Surdus and Saggita…and straight to their deaths.

(https://i.ibb.co/tYy9tGf/Darth-Invidia-1.jpg)

Scything through the battered remains of Jedi and Republic soldiers, a dark orange pike-blade arced around a tiny woman, one whose deadly martial skill was equaled only by her rabid sadism. In form-fitting organic purple power armor, the small, dark Lord of the Sith left no prisoners, killing even the mortally wounded. Laughing as she used her cortosis/durasteel haft to bludgeon those too injured to escape, she took her time with each victim, the last thing each person saw was the sinister grin upon her otherwise almost cherubic, olive-skinned face.

Obliquus witnessed all with detached scrutiny, the success of their mutual venture never in doubt, at least not to him. Ignoring the growing smoke bathing the battlefield, he ascended from his hilltop perch and headed towards his three comrades. Walking through groups of Imperials and smaller gatherings of Sith Lords, Apprentices, and Acolytes, they one and all either bowed respectfully or gave him a smart salute.

They knew of his reputation, one more than earned throughout the Empire. No, the galaxy.

Even during the years that the Empire floundered, finally bending knee to the Eternal Empire, Obliquus had never once wavered in his devotion to his Emperor. He was one of the first Sith Lords to be selected into the Emperor’s newest group: the Ars Ingens. Fanatically loyal to the Emperor, the Ars Ingens would act as his Will, ensuring that his influence would spread throughout the galaxy. Such was Obliquus' life. He’d risen quickly, testament to his deadly achievements, so much that he was rewarded with the singular commendation: the ability to speak directly to the Emperor himself absent his Voice. It was as close to a glorious feeling as Obliquus had ever felt.

It was a change from the daily monotony, the numbing morass of nothingness as he finally experienced a satisfaction that had been denied him his entire life; he would now feel. His Emperor had saved him.

But then he was killed, his Emperor…assassinated at the hands of the newly-formed Galactic Alliance’s Commander. It was then that Obliquus felt the true stirrings of passion, of emotions.

Of pure hatred.

Hatred was a valuable tool…but absent direction, it was so much a useless waste of energy. No, he knew what needed to be done; after all, was not his Emperor immortal? It did not matter to Obliquus whose face–Tenebrae, Vitiate, Valkorion, whomever--the Emperor wore. The problem that now occupied him was finding him…

…Apropos sentiments… He mused again.

As he approached his compatriot Darths, the Sith and Imperials surrounding them made a conspicuous clearance around the four of them creating a vacant circle approximately six meters around. One and all, they looked sideways at the four Sith Lords from the corners of their eyes, their fear palpable. Good; the Ars Ingens should be feared.

“Lord Obliquus.” Darth Surdus nodded respectfully, his broad, handsome face not in the least bit diminished by the blood and dirt upon his face. “If the opposition we faced here is any indication, I’m thinking that your calculations may have hit their mark.” The man’s wide face and brutish disposition was at complete odds with his articulate, posh voice, his dark eyes gleaming with shrewd intelligence.

Darth Surdus was many things, but a mindless brute he was not.

“My lord, I was hoping that you could now further elaborate upon your plans.” Darth Saggita’s not-quite-grin complimented her already vulpine features, enhancing her beauty. She took a moment to give several of her Sith Lords a sensual smile that promised things yet to come. It was just one of the ways in which she kept her underlings from challenging her, playing one against the others.

Obliquus couldn’t help himself from being impressed: subtle yet effective.

“Yes, Lord Obliquus.” Came an almost haughty, surprisingly deep voice from behind him. “Do tell as to why we’re here, to say nothing of our battalions.” Obliquus pivoted his head to face the newcomer.

Darth Invidia.

Her dark features were utterly enticing…well, to those who felt emotions. As the small woman walked towards them, she exaggerated the sway in her hips, a fact that Sith and Imperial alike took notice of, several now with a kind of hunger in their eyes, subservient to her intent. Fools, yes complete fools to think that Invidia would ever be so…transparent.

Or genial.

The small Sith Lord ambled up to Surdus, looking almost ridiculous compared to the absolutely massive man. But–as with all of his three Darths–Obliquus knew looks to be deceiving. Dispensing with the remainder of his contemplations, he gathered the members of the Ars Ingens to him with an inclination of his chin. Dutifully, the three of them drew close.

“I believe that I’ve finally found a link to our Emperor.” His voice was calm and deliberate as if he weren’t making a declaration most monumental.

They were good: none of the three showed the shock they invariably felt upon their faces. Within the Force, that was something else entirely…although Obliquus doubted that most Sith would’ve discerned anything amiss.

However, he was not “most” Sith.

“Within the Tomb, my lord?” Surdus deduced, arching an eyebrow, crossing his enormous arms in front of his deep chest. He was quick, Obliquus had to admit. The fact that the planet was secretly used by the Republic as a prison planet was not at all common knowledge.

“Of course my dear Surdus.” Saggita purred, laying a hand upon his thick armored vambrace, a look of appreciation now radiating from her. And looking from the corner of her eye, she could see that several of the surrounding Sith looked conspicuously elsewhere, anywhere but at her. But they had been.
Clever, that would keep the slowest of Sith Acolytes away.

Of course, if they thought that Saggita needed Surdus for any kind of “protection” then they deserved the horrible deaths that she would visit upon them…

Wiping her hands together as if to clean them, the small woman scoffed. “If the prison was our target then why did we engage in this ground action with the Jedi and Pubs?” Invidia seethed, although she mitigated her tone enough so as not to be blatantly disrespectful.

She was no fool; she knew better than anyone the scope of his power.

Patiently, Obliquus waited until he knew that he had their rapt attention. “For our purposes, we need the prison emptied, or as good as.” He said by way of explanation…which the other three noticed had not precisely answered their questions. Nor would he. At least not yet. “Gather your forces.” His announcement was met with stoic calm and determination.

As he knew they would; he’d personally chosen them for the Ars Ingens would only comprise of the best. Even as they maneuvered as all Sith did, his Darths would never do anything to compromise the Ars Ingens, their allegiance absolute.

After all, they’d seen the consequences of those that had failed Obliquus.

He donned the simple yet effective cortosis helmet that he insisted all members of the Ars Ingens wear. Such a simple gesture for such a prodigious declaration… He decided it fitting, especially after so many failures. But that changed, this day, in this place, now. Suddenly, he felt a sliver of emotion, noting the rarity in an eidetic memory for future perusal. ...Apropos sentiments… He considered, reflecting on the past. But only for a second, especially given his pronouncement, eliciting within him something akin to...could it be...excitement? Whatever it was, he could tell that his Darths felt it. So then, let the flame become an inferno...

“Today marks the day of our Emperor’s rebirth.”

Special thanks to LSG for his contributions to this story! With minimal editing, most of this is his writing :) This chapter is dedicated to him!
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(https://i.ibb.co/pRDCsqz/Eclipse-III-class-star-dreadnought-Gehenna-6.jpg)
Chapter 3: Myths, Legends, and Lies, part I
“And that is as precise as you can discern?” Admiral Sarna Mercet observed the very wide search area on the tac-map, a mix of blue and green lines. The blue was a holo projection of date Imperial Naval Star Charts charted by the Imperial Astronaviagtional Authority back dated for best confidence positions 3000 years, the green a simulation of just one of the locations deciphered from the Sith Wayfinder.

The small office adjacent to the Gehenna’s Archaeo-labs was completely dark apart from those beams of crisp light, yet Mercet could feel the sneer on her Senior Professor's face.

“The Wayfinder was designed to be used with charts of the Sith Empire of the era, they used a completely different fundamental positioning Zero point we can only approximate, and the Wayfinder itself was designed to be unlocked by one possessing an Illuminatrix and detailed knowledge of Pre-Hyperspace War Sith Ciphers. It is a feat of genius that I was able to garner this much,” Evelyce Deus was typically arrogant, clipped and fast in her words, Mercet allowed it as to date the comparatively younger woman had never erred in her conclusions of anything brought to her, and provided many fascinating insights and suggestions for Mercet’s own collection of antiques.

It still represented several dozen systems that would need to be searched, and in a far flung region within the Unknown regions near Chiss Space, very far from the Old Sith Empire that had created the wayfinder…but then where better to hide something.

“Understood,” Mercet replied evenly gliding her hand over the light switch to bring the room back into view. Typically only used for staff meeting Professor Deus seemed to occupy three quarters, a good 15 cm taller than the 162 cm tall Mercet, Deus with crimson hair and sharp alabaster features had a commanding presence, as if worlds ought to revolve around her by right of birth, inevitable when she hailed from a Corporate Sector Plutocracy family whose surname "Deus" meant "God" in many ancient Basic Variants.

Why Deus, and indeed her twin brother Captain Evecen Deus of the 31st "Marauder" Special Forces Commando Squadron aboard the Gehenna had ended up in the Imperial Academy, then transferred to the Xeno-Archaeological Branches was something Mercet had never quite figured out. The only whisper of credence was the Deus family had fallen from the heights of Corsec Plutocratic Society and into the Empire when business fortunes soured, the children with enormous chips on their shoulder forced to seek position by merit rather than money.

“Have you translated any more of the surrounding text with certainty?” unobservable with the naked eye, scans had shown etchings along the pyramidal sides contained High Sithar’I script in a curious dialect specific to one of the outer Cantons of the old Empire.

“The refrain, repeated on each edge is now confirmed to read 'With the Awakened One to Rise, Master of the Universe, His New Domain to Forge.' Awakened one is an uncommon, but not unknown euphemism for the Emperor Vitiate, or Valkorion, the rest seem to refer to the name of specific, ‘Phalanxes’ and their attributes…” Deus twisted her hand round swiftly bringing up an image of the way finder projected from a tiny emitted on her silver and white analytical multi-gauntlet.

Phalanx of the Unbroken Gaze, Subaltern of the Leviathans, 10,000 Eyes Watch ceaselessly for the Awakening, Blind the Enemies of the Glorious One with your Spears of Illumination, by the Second Turning of the Empty Caverns Broken Side Manifest Renew Renew was the Basic translation beneath the bladed Sith text.

“As is obvious, until we obtain more samples of this dialect we are left with imprecise gibberish in sections.”

Mercet's eyes scanned the holodata and the corroborated astronavigational galactic positions represented by the red points scattered around the galaxy.

“We certainly cannot send probes to that many systems, that distant,” Mercet added, her pose contemplative index finger poised on her lips.

“There may be digital star maps and data from that era in other archives,” Deus suggested, “Many of course are inaccessible due to the war, however the Navigators guild house on Empress Teta remains under Moff Brill.”

Once more Deus proved a useful source of information, but Mercet had no desire to deal with the increasingly twisted Brill, more subtle agents would have to suffice.

“Prepare briefings on what our agents will need to look for,” Mercet ordered, “Three hours.”

Turning on her heel, the admiral left the department, her thoughts focusing on a few of the translated words: "Phalanx," "Leviathans," "Awakening," "Second Turnings," and "Renewal." Idly she wondered what Kintik would deduce from the translations, knowing that the Dark Side Executor was surprisingly well-read and even knowledgable of ancient esoteric texts.

Her comms pinged, recalling her from her ruminations. "Mercet." She said in a clipped, polished tone.

"General Sed Vondhem, ISB¹. Excuse me admiral, but you ordered my adjutant to contact you should anything arise."

"Of course, general. Proceed." Mercet felt the kick of adrenaline as she listened, her legs quickening as she increased her stride. It seemed that for the second time their efforts had borne fruit. Nevertheless, she tempered her excitement, knowing that such times were also usually accompanied with unexpected consequences...

   <<<<< >>>>>

Triad Isk
Primus: Maenowan Olyna Ve'Reen/command, Shifalan female
Secundus: Silver Knight Zearic Vih'Torr/demolitions, human hybrid male
Tertius: Koawan Sio Harwic/slicer, human male
*****************************************************
Everything was a shade of crimson on the nameless world in a system known only as "VR-161" somewhere South-East of Csilla and South-West of Bastion.

Crouched behind a bulbous fungal outgrowth the size of a small freighter Zearic surveyed the only object of interest on this otherwise bleak planet: the eroded tip of some ancient vessel jutting from a sand filled basin kilometers wide.

The Advanced Sensory suite within his Cataphract Armour magnified the rounded edges of the metal skeleton of the ship, dulled by countless centuries of erosion, the occasional sand-lizard poking out to snag minute insects with pink tongues. The magenta hued star beamed on the Tidal locked day side, distant enough--if only just--to make the temperature tolerable without using the suits inbuilt thermoregulation module that would cause a power spike.

“Still nothing?” Sio asked hunkered in the shade of the fungal reef, the younger human considered but not cautious, a good counter to their Primus Olyn Ve'Reen who had a bold streak, and Zearic as Secundus made a good middle ground between them.

As was fitting for a Triad.

“Same lizard I think.” They had been there nearly 3 days of a five day mission to "Observe and report." Zearic felt a probe droid might’ve been a better option, but Alcyorr himself wanted "boots on the ground," the Cathar Triarch always believing nothing could substitute for a sentient in the field.

The Unknown Regions were an astonishing place, replete with wonders like the Vhal’Dan homeworld of Zonama Sekot, a living world that could travel in hyperspace, advanced mysterious civilizations like the Chiss and Killiks...but also dangerous plagues upon civilization. The reason, Zearic thought, the Unknown Regions remained unknown was because so few who ventured too deep in never returned, those that did came back with horrifyingly fantastical stories that deterred even those more curious from venturing in.   But more dangerous--if history was any guide--was what could come out of those Labyrinthine star lanes.

The Ferroans of Sekot told hushed tales of nightmarish creatures that possessed the soul, raging giants, vile chthonian entities, plagues of mindless hordes and beings devoted to Dark gods. Much was mythology but the Vhal’Dan took the core of it--that there were real dangers out there--very seriously.

And that was before the Hapan-Vhal'Dan War.

Every system and sector around Sekot had carefully placed probes, silent and observational, activating only in response to unusual stimuli...just like the type that had led them here.

Introspective, Zearic allowed himself to reflect upon their meeting at the Den.

The briefing room was collegial as Triad Isk had joined the Triarch along with Triads Dorn and Nern for the briefing from Vhal’Dan intelligence and Navy.

“Three weeks ago a vessel with mass estimated at almost a trillion kilograms appeared in System VR-122 Klasse Ephemora Sector, it was there for three days them left. It arrived in System VR-128 the next day, again there for a few days then left,” Deputy Head of intelligence Moloth Bandaar, a tall Myke with a gaunt face and ever moving dark purple eyes beneath greying brown hair activated the tables central holograph showing the course of this large vessel.

“It appears to be surveying every system in a region, our passive probes are not equipped to perform scan necessary to discern its size or type, but it is much greater than the mass of an Imperial Super Star Destroyer”

Given what they'd seen on the holovid that was a concern.

“It is currently at VR-149, our predictive models have determined its three next most likely locations as VR-152, VR 153 and VR-161, where you will be deployed in turn,” he gestured to the Cataphracts, all in their normal robes, the room hardly fitting that many tall and broad beings in let alone with their expansive thick armour on.

“This could be something, or it might be nothing; a mining colony-vessel seeking rich finds, an exploratory vessel from the Unknown Regions, possibly even a Chiss Dreadnaught, they occasionally send scouts this far. Regardless there is a method here, and while we do not wish to intrude on 'neighbours’ privacy, a vessel larger than a super star destroyer searching for something is itself worth investigating.”

Alcyorr had then nodded his assent, content to allow the Intelligence office to direct the next moves, though why the Cataphracts and not a more nimble, and certainly more stealthy, scouting force had, on reflection, made Zearic realize there were details that were not being shared to the Triads.

Regardless he trusted in the Triarch that had there been anything of import they would’ve been informed.

With a sigh he crouched back behind the fungal reef with Sio as nothing continued to happen on the red coloured sands.

“So,” the Koawan asked, “Sabacc or Pazakk?”

<<<<< >>>>>
_______________________________________________________________________________________
1. ISB: Imperial Security Bureau-an internal security and intelligence agency of the Galactic Empire.

Special thanks to FT for his awesome rendering of Zearic! This chapter is dedicated to him :)
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(https://i.ibb.co/z6wqsBD/Zearic-armor-8.png)
Chapter 3: Myths, Legends, and Lies, part II
A gnarled brown wooden mansion was an odd jewel to the eight sided tower, built in the image of a Navigators compass in the heart of Cinnagar. The capital of Empress Teta, or Koros as it was known when the Mansion of wood was newly build for the Navigators Guild, was reeling under the increasingly despotic rule of Moff Foga Brill, after the failure of Operation Shadow Hand it was said the already "spiritualist" pessimist had fallen deeper into twisted Dark Side belief.

His so-called Constitutional Protectorate of Prakith barely held sway here, the Moff, rumour had it, had become increasingly paranoid and isolationist.

Lieutenant Asten Raduuk of the Imperial Security Bureau operating within the Autonomous Fleet Triumvirate paid attention to such rumours, listened closely as they walked the cobbled paths of the narrow streets of the capital in formation after landing at an outer bay in a single Lambda craft.

Insertion had been a simple enough affair, access codes and officer permissions that had been suspended between Remnant--my how he hated that word--factions were removed during Operation Shadow Hand and many had not been reinstated allowing imperial officer their rank based privilege to move unencumbered amongst, what to him, was still the Empire.

Yes the Emperor may be gone, but the Empire remained, the Bureau remained, even in "exile" from its headquarters and lacking central co-ordination. It needed only agreement of the fractious Moffs to reunite, and Raduuk firmly believed, that the Triumvirate along whom he operated (remaining of course an agent of the ISB) offered an excellent example of how the Empire should be organized.

“This is the place,” his escort noted, Captain Evecen Deus of the Marauders had been tasked by Admiral Mercet personally to provide security, the tall officer had sharp patrician features that contrasted Raduuk’s own more rounded visage directly, and quite pale skin compared to Raduuk’s honey brown.

Deus looked around noting among this area of the city there was little activity at all and less security, tourism was gone entirely, and the populace at large were unwilling to step outside and risk the ire of the roving "Red Police" of the Church of the Dark Side.

It was a strange infiltration, as in truth they were not disguised at all, Deus and his Marauders in typical Storm Trooper rather than Death Trooper gear of course, but Raduuk and his three adjuncts wore their normal uniforms, Imperial garb seemed to provide no cause for suspicion here.

“It is,” Raduuk confirmed.

Deus, green eyes narrowed scanning the empty streets, cluttered on every side by the faded grandeur of un-maintained facades of old woods and steel, now merely frontages for towers behind them, while the rest of the city sank; in every sense of the word, the ground seeming to groan under the weight of "newer" buildings, long cracks on anti-Imperial graffiti crawled retaining walls, it seemed, only the Old Guild Mansion had been raised up to the stars whose knowledge it held.

“We will secure the area, do what you need to, check in 2 arns.” Raduuk nodded and the troopers dispersed around the Guilds entrance, the Statue to Lost Navigators once so prominent now a toy beside the vast tower that boasted many docking bays, landing platforms, and computer server databases to store navigational data from any willing to donate it, once a haven for travelers and explorers.

In faded gilded words over the cavernous street level mouth was the Guilds Motto: “Upon Unknown Paths we Find Our Place.”

...Ironic... Raduuk thought as he strode in, the words somewhat haunting to him. Regardless of his unease, he had a job to do. He would get General Vondhem the intel he required, for the ISB.

For the Empire.

<<<<< >>>>>

They were professional, fast, and coming a damn sight too close for comfort, putting an end to both their Sabacc game as well as their waiting.

Something that Zearic was suddenly regretful for complaining about.

Six hours earlier they had detected their arrival in system, 30 minutes later the first fly-by of TIE Interceptors with scanning equipment. A second fly-by 45 minutes later told Triad Isk, who had by then retreated to the calcified fungal cavern some 6 klicks from the only non-natural landmark, that these were not sloppy overconfident Imperials, but a cautiously aggressive force.

A final fly-by was followed by the landing party, the Vhal’Dan’s four insect size drones half buried in the red sands observing how Escorted Zeta landers first dropped off Storm Troopers with heavy environmental survival backpacks and Orange shoulder pauldrons on the rises around the ancient crashed star ship. The shock troops securing and sweeping the immediate area for just over an hour before vessels were brought near the crashed vessel itself, the Interceptors continuing regular flyovers.

“This is a long way out for the Empire…” Olyna noted.

“With the number of factions they’ve divided into nothing would surprise me,” Zearic replied squinting on the grainy image from the Insect Drone closest to the ship, their TIE Guardian featured only one view screen linked to the drones transmissions, limiting his ability to observe them.

Sio had signaled Command but they were yet to receive a reply, so for now they merely watched and waited.

So far in additional to securing fixed positions with mounted weapons at six points on the ridges surrounding the crashed ship, the Imperials had also set up Energy-fences around it at a 20 meter radius, the troops assisting lowering out 4 AccuTronic B-1 worker droids, attaching what had to be excavation tools to their multifunction elbow sockets.

A final Zeta now landed, Zearic zooming in to the maximum of the tiny drones ability, with the highly pixelated view he could only just make out the mark of armour of the new arrivals.

“Death Troopers…this is a serious search party…” A small group of half a dozen in less armoured humanoids in enviro-suits followed them, in addition to the standard Imperial "cog wheel" insignia on the left arms was another similar round one with a three-pointed star variant on the right Zearic didn’t recognize.

“Unique insignia, not Pentastar…but can’t say I’m up to date on all the factions,” he stood to allow the others to get a look, the small comms and workshop room which would be cramped with even one Cataphract was positively claustrophobic with three.

“I don’t recognize it either…” Sio noted, the studious younger man usually keeping well informed of the events of the Civil war.

“Odd considering the vast resources they possess,” Olyna added now leaning in after Sio, “They appear scientists and tech staff…” She watched as they positioned their droids following scans with hand held devices likely some kind of Ground Penetrating Radar. “…they are looking for something specific, operating at a steady pace.” She observed.

“The question is…” Zearic murmured arms just able to cross his armoured chest, “…does it pose a threat to us?”

The Vhal’Dan had no interest in engaging against any of the Empire's factions, whatever the previous antipathy as a result of the Inquisition's desolation of their colony on Kewda, the practical and political reality meant there was no point pursuing a vendetta or antagonizing them.

Especially with the Hapes Consortium already gunning for the Order.

So long as whatever the this Imperial faction desired here was of no threat to the Vhal’Dan, there was no reason to become involved.

Sio swung round as an alert buzzed on his hip, reading the short burst text from the Cataphracts QEN²: it utilized pairs of particles that are linked on a quantum level; any effect on one particle is mirrored instantaneously by the other, regardless of the distance between the two, allowing almost undetectable instantaneous communication. The disadvantage was of course being so closely paired it could normally only connect two users at any given time. To counteract this all Triad QEN comms were linked to a central hub located on a small planetoid on LV-8219 where the Entangled pairs of all the QEN comms resided.

A simple Virtual interface nicknamed "QEN-y" could then transmit the message received on one pair to another recipient or indeed the whole network, the QEN Comms devices entrusted typically to the Tertius of each triad, though senior members had their own, the manufacturing of linked particle pairs a delicate and difficult process limiting their number to only a few dozen.

“Command says continue observation, check in every 2 hours.”

There was hardly anything else they could do, the TIE Interceptors sweeps were coming now every 20 minutes, and there was likely at least two larger vessels in orbit in addition to the one they initially detected.

“Let us hope these Imperials leave as swiftly as they arrived,” Olyna noted.

Zearic nodded but wasn't about to count on it. Looking from the corner of his eye, he noticed that both Olyna and Sio felt the same. Silently, he said a prayer to the Maker...

...And checked all of his weapons.

As his fingers absently stroked the hilts of his Oblivion Daggers, he hoped that D'Aylanna was having better luck than he was.
_______________________________________________________________________________________
2. QEN: Quantum Entanglement Network

(https://i.ibb.co/1R5g688/Nar-Shaddaa-canon.png)
Chapter 4: Bread Crumbs, part I
Exiting the hyperspace tunnel, Fenris’ Dirge re-entered Real Space above a bloated, green gas-giant, the noxious atmosphere shining like a toxic, sickly jewel amidst its orbital making the black of the surrounding space that much darker…but for one conspicuous exception: an urbanized, heavily industrialized moon the size of many planets. It was this ecumenopolis that the stealthy vessel sped towards, soon joining the crowded space lanes into the upper atmosphere.

Nar Shaddaa.

Making its descent through the polluted atmosphere, the Mandalorian Infiltrator smoothly cut through the skylanes, its sleek, dangerous hull diffracting the constant light coming from the oppressive, unbroken cityscape below. It was not the first time that D’Aylanna had been to Nar Shadda–indeed she was very familiar with her current environs–but every other time she’d been there she’d had her Shakal with her. …Never enough time… She thought wistfully. Determined, she prepared to land.

With D’Aylanna as the lone occupant at the controls, the graceful lines of the vessel were equaled by her piloting, easily transitioning from skylane to landing berth, electro-landing clamps securing the craft as the lift sank into the docking bay.

By rote she donned her armor, the lithe plating reinforced by a strong nano-weave, ideal against blasters as well as blades. As stealthy as it was, her armor was neatly hidden beneath her dark, gray robes, perfect for blending into the crowded thoroughfares of Nar Shadda’s streets.

Taking a page from her Shakal, she first buckled on a holstered blaster at her hip, quickly followed by several vibroblades in her armored boots and vambraces. She then attached a total of 6 variable grenades about her armor, inconspicuous to the casual observer. With a mini-holdout blaster secreted in the underside of each vambrace, D’Aylanna finally clipped her lightsaber to her belt.

Now she was ready.

Making her way into the Infiltrator’s cargo bay, she thumbed a button on her vambrace, opening the ramp. Before it had even fully extended to the deck, D’Aylanna had hopped off, heading directly to the large, red Nikto already on-deck to collect “fees.” He was almost the size of her Shakal. Almost. Standing her full height, the top of her hooded head barely reached his rotund chest, the size disparity almost comical.

Her tone, however, was anything but.

“You will look after my ship as if it were your boss’s.” With a dangerous glint in her dark eyes, she used the Force, pressing against the Nikto’s mental barriers and effortlessly batting them aside. “I’ve already paid all ‘tributes,’ including the ‘loitering fee.’” Involuntarily, she touched her lightsaber hilt with her left hand, her right easily resting on the butt of her blaster.

Not that she needed either of them.

“I’se lookin’ af’tr yer sh’p. You’se alr’dy paid.” He intoned almost sluggishly in his thickly accented Basic as his heavy shoulders slumped, his black eyes glazing slightly as the Force Suggestion took firm root in his mind.

“Your master will be pleased.” D’Aylanna said offhandedly as she scanned the entire complex, eyes scrutinizing the multilevel balconies of the landing docks. They were alone. “What’s your name and which Hutt do you work for?” She asked slightly more interested, looking directly at the Nikto as she walked.

“M’master’ll be ple’s’d. I’ms Mek Hapta. Da Hon’r’ble Kajidic Gllagiosh the Agile.” He walked a meter behind her right side, assuming a protective stance.

As if D’Aylanna needed that either.

“‘Gllagiosh the Agile?’ Now that would be something to see.” She had a ghost of a smile upon her lips. “Thank you, Mek.” She lightly touched the Nikto’s beefy forearm, fortifying the last of her Force Suppression as it locked firmly into place within Mek’s mind. “I shall return shortly.”

“Y’s m’str’ss.” He dipped his chin, touching his thick neck. “You’se g’nna r’turn soon.”

Satisfied, she deftly slipped a 500 credit chit in his massive palm before pulling her hood tighter around her head, leaving through the nearest blast door and through the semi-circular hallway and, finally, the main thoroughfare before disappearing amongst the crowd as she waded into the Nar Shaddaa throng of beings.

Yet even unknown to her, there was one who knew precisely where she was…if not exactly where she was headed. Yet.

But he could always find her. Always.

<<<<< >>>>>

Completely unseen, the gigantic Hamask made his way from his hiding place within the hold of Fenris’ Dirge and through the closing ramp to silently shadow one of the landing struts while the 7th Speaker easily worked her Jedi Mind Trick on the local “constabulary:” a large Red Nikto, dangerous to be sure and intimidating enough to ensure that all tribute is collected…

But nothing compared to a Hamask.

Or’an was over twice his size, not that the Nikto would ever see him. Besides, he was not the Tof’s target.

No, the Nikto was safe, at least from Or’an. As was D’Aylanna…unless she got in his way. It was Jorya Vih’Torr whom he’d declared “Damnatio.” While she’d completely disappeared, the Hamask felt that the best way to find his target was through the 7th Speaker.

And his instincts had always served him well.

Wrapping himself in his unique form of Buried Presence, he breathed deeply, his incredible olfactory senses able to separate every single disparate scent, locking onto the 7th Speaker. She could go anywhere on Nar Shaddaa and he would be able to find her.

Jumping easily over the landing bay’s bulkheads and over the balconies, the Hamask kept a vigilant eye over the throng of sentients, flows of people like currents ebbing to and fro throughout the overcrowded streets, buildings, and vehicles. And there half a kilometer away, the 7th Speaker glided through the mass of persons that seemed to part before her.

It was quite the trick, Or’an admitted to himself. She wasn’t using the Force or any weapon, yet people moved for her. He smiled knowingly.

At 1.5 meters, D’Aylanna was less than half his height but the force of presence that the Hapan master demonstrated…

Again, he wondered how she’d fare against him in a contest of martial skill… Surely, she would last longer than any other opponent he’d faced.

Of course, he was certain of victory; not as a byproduct of ego but rather out of immutable historical provenance: in all of his experience, he’d never come across anyone or anything that presented him with what he’d consider a challenge. He was Hamask; that was all that there was to it.

He was Hamask. And his judgment was absolute.

<<<<< >>>>>

Special thanks to LSG; with minimal edits, most of this is his writing :) This chapter is dedicated to him!
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(https://i.ibb.co/GVZqvPm/Kintik-1.jpg)
Chapter 4: Bread Crumbs, part II
Heavy black boots with Ditanium Tread sunk slightly into the crimson sands of the scarlet world.

Darkside Executor Kintik looked up at the erosion rounded skeleton of the ancient vessel that protruded as if a monument to Civilizations folly from the red sands as the strange sun cast a pink dusk over the planet

He had already been en route to the small slice of the Unknown Regions, taking the Irkalla ISD to support him, when he received a transmission that narrowed the search area from 124 Systems to first only 32 and then 4 following an ISB lieutenant's successful efforts in the archives of the Cinnagar Navigators guild.

Making best speed, the Irkalla was able to link up again with the Gehenna in the Unknown Regions, somewhat near Chiss Space. Kintik had to admit that he felt a certain thrill, especially when Mercet had told him of the translation. Unfortunately, it also served to mitigate his excitement; anything having to do with the Admiral's favorites always elicited such.

...Speaking of... He had rolled his eyes as he noted beneath Lieutenant Raduuk's Electronic Verification report the tag of the escorting Captain Deus, matching Professor Deus on the initial report that had marked this sector of the Unknown Regions as a search zone for whatever the Sith Wayfinder pointed to. Mercet favoured her so-called "God twins" too much in his opinion; one should not become over reliant on any one underlying, no matter how competent they were.

Lord Sidious had taught him that by example. Vader was the blunt face of Fear, the Inquisitorious the enforcers, but the Darkside Elite and Emperor's Hands were the true agents of the Emperor and it was they--or at least they who remained loyal to Sidious' Vision--that would carry his legacy and Empire forward.

Escorted by Death Troopers the head of the excavation approached.

“My Lord we breached the ceiling of a cavern 600 meters down the port side of the vessel, as per your advance instructions the area was cleared, shored and not further explored pending your arrival.”

Kintik surveyed around him, the B1 Droids at rest, their excavator arms caked in the moist red sands, Techs using air-jets to blast off fungal roots they had had through, large piles of dirt from the four excavation locations used to build defensive mounds in which Stormtroopers were hunched over their tripod mounted cannons, the screech of Interceptors on patrol overhead.

The system, indeed the entire sector, was devoid of any known sentient life, trade routes or civilizations, regardless he would not spare any resources to attain the "power multiplier" the Sith texts had alluded to and the Wayfinders inscriptions indicated were comprised of a number of "Phalanxes."

“Continue your excavations I will enter. Alone.” He commanded, thoughts of the Ancient Sith translation foremost in his mind.

Striding forward he rounded the vast broken vessel so wrecked and corroded its composition was all that could be discerned, nothing of how or why it had crashed, pausing only briefly to glance up at one of the ridges surrounding the impact crater in which the ship was located as a small tingle ran down the small of his back as if he were being watched.

He scrutinized the lip of the ridge for a moment, noting only an odd bloom of the fungi that seemed the only non-motile life form of this world…perhaps it was somehow semi-sentient observing them; he had heard of stranger things than that.

Regardless thus far it seemed inert even as they had dug through a root system, likely taking the comings and goings of motile beings in its stride.

He paid it no more heed reaching the port excavation where a repulsor platform served as a make shaft lift down the 50 by 50 meter shaft into the dark.

<<<<< >>>>>

On the ridge behind the fungi reef Zearic breathed slightly easier. Two hours earlier something had trembled across the Force when the excavation teams made a break through, something their tiny drones could not investigate. Cloaked by their Integrated Stealth field generators--at substantial cost to their armours' batteries it had to be noted--and with the subtle use of a of Olyna’s misdirection mind "nudges" the Cataphracts followed the dark cloaked warrior inside.

[Recognize Anything?] Olyn asked over the Triad text based short range communication, the words scrolling along with other integrated sensory data past Zearic's eye.

They had waited seven minutes after the lone figure had entered to approach, another fifteen before they reached the lift, again a few Force diversions to sneak in just before the new Interceptor fly over, and more importantly, their Cloak fields drained their suits power below 60 per cent.

They needed 40 per cent just to reach their ship again.

It was a calculated risk, to try and follow now...they did not know when or even if the Imperials would leave, and certainly if they did leave, whatever they had come for would be gone with them leaving the Vhal’Dan to scry out what it might’ve been with incomplete information. The thought process among the Group Mind of the Triad was carefully weighted between the three members and only narrowly fell to moving in.

The Imperial presence was only 60 troops and 15 workers by their count, spread out and avoidable for the moment, waiting any longer risked more Imperials arriving and locking down the site beyond any hope of infiltration.

[Nothing.] Sio replied by blink clicking one of the suggested responses to save too much time blinking on the eye tracking keyboard.

Zearic looked along the walls: they were in large square sections framed by a fairly simple chevron border, so far no text or images that their hazy green low light enhanced lenses could detect.

[Nothing.] Zearic followed with, taking the middle position as they moved ahead, the corridor was thus far straight and quite narrow for the Cataphracts, they had no sign of the robed figure but they followed the minimal heat traces of his footsteps, sensors translating heat into blue patches slowly dissipating on the sand-covered floor.

They turned one corner to a four way intersection, an empty plinth in the centre covered in fossilized fungi, perhaps a fountain that it had tried to take root in in ages past. The plinth was a of a similar angular design to the chevron wall block borders, the floor less covered in sand was the same as the walls, prefabricated mass-produced square panels used to line this underground facility.

Down the left path they saw a flickering light. Firm and focused they moved forward.

<<<<< >>>>>

His micro Searcher droids were still mapping the facility--fortress almost--while Kintik was led by the Darkside itself.

It was subtle, a whisper of what had been, as if in deep slumber, but he could hear it’s breath ebb and flow down the passages, inhaling and exhaling to a slow silent rhythm.

He could almost see the door heaving with the breath as he reached it; it was far from the only one, there were dozens of small chambers sealed that his Searchers had mapped and passed by. It seemed the soils here were too loamy to support large weights, and the fungi too invasive, indeed he had come across many cracks where hyphae had once tried to break in then retreated from the nutrient absent air.

The door way was as simple as the rest of the architecture and, except for the inscription, it mirrored that along one etched groove in the Wayfinder perfectly, according to Professor Deus' translation reading: Phalanx of the Unbroken Gaze. Despite his own careful study of the inscrutable language he had to give credit to the Professor for discerning as much as she had given the utterly novel dialect in which it was written; divesting itself entirely of the usual 8 diagonal vowel markers between consonants of the"‘common" version of the language he knew, in favour of some 12 diacritical’s below each letter.

His open hands paused, ready to push the door apart but he checked his eagerness, carefully seeking any hint of a trap trigger or other device to keep out intruders. Instead, he drew heavily upon the Force.

There were hints in his senses, but too far back in time for his Psychometry to be effective. Stepping back down the corridor at what he felt was a safe enough distance to react if there was a trap, and activating his saber in case he needed to deflect a projectile, he gripped the doors in his mind and pushed.

Noiselessly, the doors opened, the darkness of the cavern engulfing him as he stepped forward.

<<<<< >>>>>

Special thanks to FT for his awesome rendering of D'Aylanna :) This chapter is dedicated to him!
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(https://i.ibb.co/grDGsFJ/d-aylanna-armor-1-vers-1.jpg)
Chapter 4: Bread Crumbs, part III
As the turbolift doors opened, the metal screamed as it jerked in fits and starts, not fully opening on the left side. Darting quickly out of the ‘lift before the stubborn doors slammed shut, D’Aylanna continued her determined gait as the relatively narrow walkway opened up to an incredibly wide street/city square, the diffused orange light filtering throughout the air. But there was an ersatz quality to the illumination, the light seeming to promote more shadows rather than generating anything close to warmth.

In other words: a normal day on Nar Shaddaa.

Consequently, it was also her best option to find answers, answers that she desperately needed. Apropos of such, with each step she kept her wits about her and her Force Senses alert while her mind kept replaying the Vision that she’d seen during her Meditations before leaving Sekot, the words burned into her mind as if they’d always belonged there:

At the end of the Hundred-Year Darkness
Where the Black Rains wash all away and
The Leviathans lie in wait to
Steal Life, and imprison it for the Time
Of Rebirth, the Three-Who-Are-One
Will become Two: One black, One Gray,
One whose life is Diminished; One whose death is Ameliorated
It is She who Yields; It is She who Controls;
It is She who Lives; It is She who Dies

D’Aylanna’s Force Prescience had always served her well but–even during the best of times–could be maddeningly disobliging. Worse, the Vhal’Dan Archives had proven woefully insufficient to the task with vague references, ambiguous possibilities, and contradictory results.

“...Damn…” She’d muttered a rare curse.

Not that she had expected otherwise; when Vader had attacked the Vhal’Dan Homeworld of Kewda and with the Empire laying waste to large swathes of the urban areas, most of the Order’s Archives had suffered as a result. In fact, much of the recorded Galactic Histories had been lost, Preservationists only recently restoring many of the lost Chronicles. But not all, especially with the Empire’s COMPNOR¹ doing everything that it could to rewrite everything pre-Imperial.

As she said: she knew that she needed help.

Moving swiftly, D’Aylanna soon entered the Red Lamp District, functionally similar to the half-kilometer she’d just walked through although the myriad of lights affixed atop the multiple overlapping cables were, of course, red.

Taking several turns with the practiced step of one familiar with the area, deftly negotiating through the throng of sentients crowding the current level she was on, she soon found herself slipping between two dark, dilapidated complexes and into an alley, her armored boots splashing in the fetid, puddling water. Heading into the alley, it seemed that everyone else deliberately avoided the area where a subaural drone vibrated just below the hearing threshold.

Although her senses were alert, she was confident that she need not worry. After what seemed like an eternity of walking–her night-blindness contributing to the impression of a lost sense of time, the Force her guide in navigating the twisting turns of the alleyway–she stopped suddenly. In front of her slumped over an errant bulkhead stanchion was a vagrant. Dressed in black, he was almost indistinguishable from his surroundings…and that was before taking her night-blindness into consideration.

However, not only had she sensed him as she approached in the alleyway but–having been here many times before–she knew what to expect. “I’m here to see Nadia and Anton.” She said just above a whisper, although the alleyway echoed eerily nevertheless.

Without a sound and with a slight nod of his head, the vagrant moved aside exposing a doorway behind him. It was not as if his body had obfuscated the door; one moment it wasn't there and the next it was. Before she disappeared in the building, the vagrant gave her a respectful nod which she returned in kind.

For D’Aylanna, the darkness of the alley was identical to the black of the tunnel leading through to the innards of the complex; however, she suddenly felt the familiar comfort of the place settle about her, a serenity remembered and appreciated.

Such was the nature of Nadia & Anton’s: the building was a vergence in the Force--albeit minor--a sanctuary to all Force-sensitives regardless of their alignment.

As she stepped into the main chamber, the cozy surroundings were lightly illuminated, enough to be comfortable but not enough to dispel most of her night-blindness. Again, she wasn’t worried.

Around the large room many sentients went about their business: from small groups speaking amongst themselves to couples engaged in private talk to loners that, likely as not, had a drink in their hand and an impassive face.

It was towards the latter that D’Aylanna walked, a small smile spreading upon her blue lips as she approached. Standing, a tall, svelte man stepped around his table, the dangerous look in his eyes softening. With a tight smile, he wrapped his long arms around her in an amicable hug.

“Ralen, good to see you, Druzhba².” She said softly, her face slightly muffled as the intense man crushed her to his muscular chest. Briefly, his face relaxed (if durasteel could be said to relax). Holding the embrace for a moment, D’Aylanna noticed that her friend was hard as ever, his jet-black hair now peppered with a few gray strands, his piercing blue eyes raptorlike and constantly wary, the almost-healed scar on the left side of his face now joined by two, smaller scars, one fairly recent. With all of this, she was once again reminded of one immutable fact concerning him:

Ralen Yorul was one of the most dangerous men that she knew.

He released her from their embrace and gestured towards the table he’d been seated at. “Please.” His voice was low; not soft–his voice was just as hard as the rest of him–rather as if he were unused to speaking aloud. Not that she was surprised; Ralen was the very definition of a loner. She noticed that his eyes lingered on her armored vambrace but said nothing.

Sliding onto the comfortable seat behind the table, D’Aylanna was quickly joined by the wiry man, his back towards the wall while his eyes continued their endless searching, a blaster always within easy reach of his practiced hands. Qualities that she more than appreciated.

“Apologies for my caution, but I couldn’t discuss anything over comms. Zearic sends his regards.” She began, her face adopting a serene mask. “...But forgive my haste; my time is short.” She casually scanned the room, almost certain that no one in Nadia&Anton’s would ever try to eavesdrop.

Almost.

Ralen gave a brief nod, his eyes unblinking. “You needn’t worry.” He said, likewise unnecessarily. Ever since they’d met³, they'd done one another favors for years, always helping when called upon and never once complaining. On no fewer than two occasions had they saved the other’s lives; indeed, Ralen had saved both her and her Shakal the very first time they’d met.

She knew him, more importantly, trusted Ralen.

To D’Aylanna, this was no different…and yet the entire galaxy had changed. “I need to locate my daughter.” She said, sudden unshed tears glistening, “I also need information regarding ‘Leviathans.’ Cross-reference ‘Hundred-Year Darkness’ and ‘Black Rains.’” She felt a single tear roll down her brown cheek. “I…I’m sorry that…that I don’t have more....”

Closing her eyes, she once again witnessed the horror playing before her as the vibroblade exploded through her Shakal’s chest while the hate radiating from yellow Sith eyes stared at her helpless form from the face of her daughter. It had been bad enough that D’Aylanna had nearly lost her husband…but then she had lost Jorya that night. “Please…” She pleaded, a lump in her throat. Breathing deeply, she regained her composure…but not before Ralen had seen the woman absent her mask of control.

That was how much she trusted him.

Saying nothing, Ralen gave her one of his rare yet reassuring smiles, just a slight curvature of his lips. He controlled his emotions well, as well as any woman from House Royal. He was also one of the galaxy’s best information brokers. Period.

She knew that she’d made the best decision in coming to him for help.

Knowing that it wasn’t much to go on, D’Aylanna was confident that Ralen’s slicing skills were second-to-none. She knew from experience that he could extrapolate disparate data threads, finding significant correlation intertwining around and connecting them where none had been before.

Not to mention that he’d been involved in Imperial Intelligence, one of the Empire’s most fearful and dangerous departments. No, D’Aylanna knew that there was no one better to help her with her problems.

From seemingly nowhere, he made a datapad appear, grabbing a cord from the side and inserting the end into the side of his head, his hidden cybernetics otherwise indistinguishable from his organics. Each time that he typed, his eyes kept scanning several drop-down menus courtesy of ocular implants. In no time, he had several dozen apps, documents, and coding lists working simultaneously, connecting him not only to Holonet but also several large private databases.

Still, it took him almost two hours; telling considering that it typically took Ralen a few minutes. Regardless, it was time well-spent.

“Nothing with Jorya or anything remarkable containing Togrutas, not for your purposes at least…” He said distractedly, “Some archaic references for both ‘black rains’ and ‘leviathans,’ neither jointly compiled but tangentially from Celebratus, New Republic Central, and Library Galactica. Something vague about ‘soul-stealing Sith’ and ‘god-seekers;’ but those seem apocryphal…” With a rush of flurried typing, he consulted several menus, eliminating many forthwith before carefully regarding those remaining. Then with a small nod he finished his coding, enabling the program that he hoped would present an answer. For several tense minutes they both waited, until…

“Corbos.” Ralen’s voice retained its quiet tone yet he had a hint of a smile upon his face.

D’Aylanna blinked. “I’ve never heard of it.” Again, expected. “Where is this Corbos?”

Ralen removed a datacylinder, a tight half-grin showing no teeth. “Coordinates, biosphere, everything you need is here.”

She smiled widely, relief spreading across her face. For the first time in several months, D’Aylanna felt hopeful. “I am forever in your debt, Druzhba.” She made the datacylinder disappear among the many pouches on her wide belt, briefly exposing her armored torso.

“Trouble?” He finally asked, Ralen’s raptor-like gaze made his blue eyes that much more intense.

D’Aylanna knew that there was no one–other than her Shakal--who’d be better covering her back…but this was something that only she could do. “I’ll be fine.” Her sincere smile was disarming. “I promise.” She touched his forearm in thanks, grateful for Ralen’s latest assistance.

Besides, she did not wish to upset him with what she knew she had to do. Such thoughts invariably reminded D’Aylanna of her Zearic as they always did. At least her Shakal was appropriately occupied with orders from the Triarch… “I cannot thank you enough, my friend.”

For several seconds his stare was unrelenting…but suddenly softened. “For you and Zearic: anything.” He made a gesture with his closed fist, an Alderaanian gesticulation which roughly equated to “family” or “togetherness.” She was warmed by the sentiment.

“Likewise, Druzhba.” She stood, allowing the comfort of the Force to commingle with her newfound relief…yet it still wasn’t enough to completely dispel her misgivings. Still, whether by blessings of the Maker, the Will of the Force, or simple luck, D’Aylanna was confident that she would be able to confront Gaetana. She would face her foe and she would pay.

She prayed to the Maker, her trepidation leaching into her. …Oh Jorya…forgive me Dear One… She would do what she must. Gaetana must never again escape...and it was incumbent upon D'Aylanna that she find her.

And, for once and for all, she would kill her.
____________________________________________________________
1. COMPNOR: Comission for the Preservation of the New Order, the agency responsible for the promotion of the Empire’s New Order ideals
2. Druzhba: Hapan for “family not of blood.”
3. As seen back in “Interlude-Samaritan, part1&2:” https://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=36209.msg611267#msg611267 (https://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=36209.msg611267#msg611267)

(https://i.ibb.co/nmJMcgB/Galtea-Underworks.jpg)
Interlude-The Ars Ingens, part II
(https://i.ibb.co/hYrngbf/Darth-Obliquus-1.png) (https://ibb.co/hYrngbf)(https://i.ibb.co/rFwnhgV/Darth-Surdus-1.jpg) (https://ibb.co/rFwnhgV)(https://i.ibb.co/sRRYVh4/Darth-Saggita-4.jpg) (https://ibb.co/sRRYVh4)(https://i.ibb.co/gtsxp21/Darth-Invidia-1.jpg) (https://ibb.co/gtsxp21)

Belsavis, 3636BBY
Ducking beneath a savage cut from an old vibroglaive, Darth Obliquus stabbed upwards into the screaming human’s chest with his blood-orange saberstaff. Using his momentum he kicked out, the armored heel of his boot slamming into a nearby Nikto’s solar plexus, causing the reptilian creature to drop both of its fashioned shanks. Pivoting his wrist, his saberstaff cut through both the human’s and the Nikto’s necks, heads falling at his feet, leaving a single opponent who had hung behind his companions.

With the deaths of his fellow prisoners, the lone dirty human fled from the grisly scene, leaving the Sith Lord by himself. Again. Although their forces had drawn out many of the prison’s populace, the Ars Ingens had encountered many such groups that had remained within The Tomb. He seemed to have gotten arterial spray over his right vambrace and cuirass…

Breathing normally, Obliquus took advantage of the relative calm around him to scrutinize his comrades. Not that he was worried; he knew that there was nothing in The Tomb that his army couldn’t handle.

That wasn’t to say that there weren’t dangers–by the Emperor the prison was amongst the worst places in the galaxy, even for Sith–but Obliquus was confident that he and his compatriots together could handle whatever they came across.

…Although there were still that stor–

A loud, crashing explosion drew his attention to the right as Darth Surdus bodily threw a large, brown Trandoshan through one of the constructed walls, the enormous man calling his massive red lightsaber to his waiting left hand while he gestured with his right, pulling the fallen Trandoshan back towards him using the Force…right into the path of his saber cut, bisecting the alien. As both severed sides collided against the bulkheads, they burst open in a bloody display of gore. “Try growing that back!” Surdus snarled before noticing that he wasn’t alone.

Smiling, he nodded to Obliquus and joined him.

“How much deeper?” He asked, the man’s deep bass voice reverberating through the cavernous prison room while muted sounds of carnage and destruction echoed dully from the other rooms.

Before Obliquus could answer, four more prisoners burst from the adjacent tunnel, all of them wearing identical looks of panic. Obliquus was almost amused; he knew what–or rather “who”--had elicited such looks. He needn’t wait long…

His patience was almost immediately rewarded: a screaming purple blur sped through the congregated prisoners, a sudden flash of orange left several afterimages as the prisoners seemed to be held suspended fast in the air.

Which they very much were.

Theatrically holding forth a closed fist, Darth Invidia swaggered towards the prisoners before slowly releasing her fist. Like some kind of macabre dam breaking, the eviscerated bodies of the prisoners burst apart, dismembered limbs, heads, and organs falling to the floor amongst a small lake of blood and offal. Pity; he’d just polished his armored boots…

Careless of the blood spray that dotted her face, the small Sith Lord joined the two men, a sadistic grin upon her cherubic face. “Obliquus, you said that we’d face heavy resistance; you never once mentioned how much fun we’d have.” Casually, she rested her saber-pike upon her shoulder while her head pivoted upon her neck, darting eyes constantly scanning for dangers. “Such treats deserve…equal compensation, shall we say?” Her deep, throaty laugh promised carnal desires that most would consider lascivious.

Obliquus, however, felt not even a hint of stirrings despite the woman’s sensual demeanor. He was, of course, used to her; indeed, he was familiar with all three Darths under his charge. As they, him. “Serving our Emperor is my reward.” He intoned absent emotion. Yet if the small woman took any offense, the deepening smile upon her haughty face showed nothing of the sort.

“Of course.” Her dark eyes flashed with both humor and menace. “But on that note: just where is this so-called Serv–”

A series of thunderous booms momentarily deafened them as another group of thuggish prisoners were bodily thrown across the cluttered deck, their bodies contorting in agonizing and wracking spasms as thick purple lightning arced from the adjacent cavern and through each of their bodies, causing them to collapse to the floor. While some had died, the majority were still alive.

To their apparent short-lived terror.

Striding up to the still-writhing prisoners, Darth Saggita took her time to stab each one living in the head with her lightsaber, the dark crimson blade casting a bloody sepulchral pall upon her pale face, mirroring the blood of her victims. To any onlooker, they might think that she was about some menial chore for all the emotion that she showed. That is until she espied her fellow Darths; she adopted an appreciative bent to her mask, a look that did not touch her eyes.

Done with her grisly task, she strode over to the other 3 Sith masters, her ignited lightsaber conspicuous in her hand. Good; Obliquus considered such vigilance necessary, especially given where they were. He arched an eyebrow: he seemed to have an entrail stuck between the armor plating of his knee-join…

As she approached, she gave Obliquus a small bow, bending her head slightly at the neck. “Lord, I’ve news: having sent my subordinates deeper within The Tomb, they inform me that they’ve encountered an obstacle.” Sagitta’s playful monotone reflected the mask affixed to the woman’s face, her back ramrod straight as her eyes scanned the surrounding passageways, trash and broken furniture scattered throughout.

Before Obliquus could speak, Surdus barked a laugh. “Don’t be so coy, Saggita. You’ve already got my attention.” The huge man’s lopsided smile was at odds with the dangerous look in his eyes. For her part, Saggita stared without expression although her eyes flashed as she quietly sighed.

Obliquus again arched an eyebrow, ignoring the interchange. “An ‘obstacle?’” Apparently what he was told must have held at least some truth. “Lead the way.” Although his voice was ambivalent, the other three Darths recognized the gravity of the situation, falling in beside the tall, thin Sith Lord. If that story was true, this could get interesting…

All four took off at a brisk pace, each commanding their underlings to hold their positions and secure points of egress, lest the remaining prison population of The Tomb overwhelm them, even in their diminished state.

…Which was the precise reason why Obliquus had commanded each Darth of the Ars Ingens to bring their respective army. After all, a Sith force 40,000 strong could deal with virtually anything.

Making their way through dilapidated industrial passageways both immense and confined, they penetrated deeper into the old Rakatan complex, mindful of traps both contemporary and ancient. As they passed, Obliquus noticed shadowed eyes peering out from the darkened unlocked cells, grubby and bent bodies hidden beneath ratty, torn rags. One and all they ignored the four Sith Lords, especially any that met their eyes, those that did shambling deeper into the darkness. Shortly, they were met by some of Saggita’s Sith soldiers.

Bowing deeply, they took up positions surrounding the Darths as they escorted them from the main thoroughfare and into a large, heavily barred tunnel. Even though every single cell was open, Obliquus could tell that the cells could be sealed with a blast door over two meters thick. This must be where it is… He pondered, unignited saberstaff wrapped in a tight grip. After several turns, they joined the rest of the platoon, each Sith soldier, acolyte, apprentice, or Lord heavily armored. Two of the black armored figures turned from the enormous, jagged black hole in the wall and swiftly walked towards the four Darths. Bowing low with their right hands over their hearts, the larger of them first spoke to Saggita.

“Lord Saggita, one of the recon acolytes came across this hole after Sensing the being Lord Obliquus instructed us to watch for. That was almost 15 minutes ago and we’ve gotten only a single transmission.” Dutifully, he keyed the holocomm in the palm of his hand, projecting the transparent blue ersatz figure of the recon acolyte.

Or rather the visage of a panicked face distorted in pain and terror, his cortosis-weave helmet somehow torn almost in half. “...elp! I…nder…ttack! …ome …onerst…ous…be…st! H…LP!” He spat before the holocall was cut off.

Obliquus could feel the undercurrent of dread through the Force coming from Saggita’s underlings.

But not not Darths of the Ars Ingens.

He almost felt pride. “Lord Saggita: pull your Sith back. Invidia, Sagitta, Surdus: with me.” To punctuate his order, he ignited his saberstaff, the dark orange light joining Invidia’s orange saberpike while both mixed with the darker red of Sagitta’s and Surdus’ lightsabers, doing little to dispel the shadows within the darkened cavern past the hole in the bulkhead.

Having each donned their cortosis helm, the four Darths ventured forth into the depths of the hollowed-out grotto adjacent to the super-max cells of The Tomb. They marched in diamond formation, each one covering two of their compatriots. Something very close to excitement tickled Obliquus’ throat. Perhaps it was fear? Regardless, these were raw, new emotions for him to savor.

He needed to tell his Darths what he knew…which in all honesty was next to nothing.

“There is a story that I heard about The Tomb, nothing corroborated.” He spoke quietly but swiftly while projecting his Force Senses outward. “Something escaped from the Maximum High-Security Cellblock, something that suppresses the Force.” Thankfully he’d gotten that last before his victim had died. “Do not hesitate. Do not rely only on the Force to stop this thing. Do not stay your hand.” His head swiveled from side-to-side, eyes scrutinizing everything from the rock strata along the walls to the prefabricated structures that looked so alien as to defy any kind of logical assumptions. “Kill this thing. Here. Now.”

He felt all three Darths nod in determination, each wrapped within the Force, each with an iron grip on their lightsabers as well as upon their emotions, mitigating even their expectations.

They needn’t have waited long.

As if teleporting in front of them, an enormous, obfuscated creature roared at them, attacking brutally, each Darth counter attacking with their weapons.

To little avail.

Obliquus saw as each plasma blade connected with the thing’s dark skin…only to stop short of penetrating. Even as each blade pulled back, the only evidence that it had been injured was a slight burning of the area.

But that was all.

“Saggita!” Obliquus yelled to be heard over the thing’s echoing roar. Acting immediately, the tall, pale woman raised a hand, brutal, violet lightning erupting forth, almost every arc connecting with the thing. However, just as with lightsaber strikes, the creature seemed resistant to Sith Lightning. The screams that resulted sounded more irritated than in pain, but now Saggita had its attention.

Good.

“Invidia!” The small woman sped towards the thing, her saberpike stabbing over and over again, one thrust hitting a red eye, temporarily blinding it. As she continued her offensive, Obliquus yelled again. “Surdus!” The enormous man ran up to the creature, each savage swing a powerful blow that threw the thing off-balance. But, again, it seemed virtually immune to lightsaber strikes.

As intended. He knew that they could not kill it–not with lightsabers nor with the Force–but perhaps they could trap it.

Obliquus quickly looked around, taking notice of the cavern’s sparse fabricated Rakatan structures. There, towards the center of the ceiling was a large gantry-looking construct. He just hoped that it would be enou–

Interlude-The Ars Ingens, part II(cont.)
(https://i.ibb.co/hYrngbf/Darth-Obliquus-1.png) (https://ibb.co/hYrngbf)(https://i.ibb.co/rFwnhgV/Darth-Surdus-1.jpg) (https://ibb.co/rFwnhgV)(https://i.ibb.co/sRRYVh4/Darth-Saggita-4.jpg) (https://ibb.co/sRRYVh4)(https://i.ibb.co/gtsxp21/Darth-Invidia-1.jpg) (https://ibb.co/gtsxp21)

Suddenly he found himself looking up from his back, his vision blurry and ringing in his ears. With an unsteady eye, he happened to locate two of his other Darths, Invidia and Saggita: they too had succumbed to what Obliquus thought was an explosion. As his mind attempted to make sense of it all, he heard another roar, this one coming from Surdus. For a split second, he turned his full attention to the gigantic man.

He’d lost his enormous lightsaber; instead, as he charged he barreled full-on into the creature. Raining down blow after armored blow, Surdus had momentarily stunned the thing, his pugilistic offensive seeming to have taken it unexpectedly. Obliquus took advantage of the reprieve.

Now he remembered: the creature had ducked behind a rock outcropping…only to suddenly lift the entire thing and send several tonnes of regolith speeding through the air as an impromptu missile. Thank the Emperor it hadn’t been something harder like andosite or granite…

Like him, both Invidia and Saggita were already recovering. Ignoring the pain and ringing, he yelled at them. “Help me!” He gestured above to the gantry. “PULL!”

Without acknowledging, they both joined his efforts, using the Force to Pull at the construct. From the corner of his eye, he saw that whatever advantage Surdus’ blitzkrieg had given him was no more: the creature and he were now grappling each other, their wrists pinned by the other’s hand. Faces centimeters from one another, they both roared in each other’s face…but Obliquus knew it was a futile gesture…

The creature was slowly overpowering Surdus, even with his power armor.

In a rare display of emotion, Obliquus shouted again. “By the Emperor, PULL!!” Gritting his teeth, he saw the same determination in the faces of Invidia and Saggita. Sweat and blood threatened to blind them, the exertion through the Force only exacerbating their injuries, some grievous.

Time seemed to slow: millimeter by millimeter, the stanchion connecting the gantry to the cavern ceiling began to weaken, bend, and finally fail, the entire structure falling as tonnes of durasteel were Pulled down.

Simultaneously, Obliquus thrust his hand forth as a focal point, sending a potent, focused Force Push directly at Surdus. The telekinetic force hit him square, breaking their lock and propelling him away from the creature and directly at the far cavern wall. Sweating profusely, Obliquus attempted to mitigate the large man’s inertia, balancing both Push and Pull so as not to inadvertently liquify his organs. He was mostly successful. Mostly.

Surdus' armored body hit the rock hard enough to send up a cloud of dirt and pebbles, that self-same armor protecting him from the worst of the impact, although he still bit his tongue.

In a booming display of destruction, the durasteel gantry crashed down to the cavern floor, squarely upon the creature. The resulting roar was deafening, so much so that Obliquus couldn’t be certain that it had come from the collapse, the creature, or a combination of the two.

Blinded from a mix of sweat, blood, and the dirt cloud kicked up by the gantry’s impact, Obliquus waved his hand to dispel the dust, coughing. Pain, sharp and sudden, erupted from his side. He wondered how many ribs he’d broken…and it was possible that one of his lungs had collapsed…

“My lord…” Darth Saggita’s voice sounded as if it were underwater. An armored hand emerged from his blurred vision, quickly followed by another, both slender. Good, Invidia and Saggita had survived as well. Together they helped him to his feet.

“Slowly, Obliquus. It looks as if you’ve had the worst of it.” Darth Invidia’s tone was less haughty than it usually was, her dark eyes almost looking concerned from underneath her helmet. “I’ll administer a kolto subdural.” She muttered, already prepping the injection. The results were immediate; he felt markedly better, if not exactly fine.

“Surdus…” He croaked, coughing again, spitting blood. At least the kolto would take care of any internal injuries. It would just take some time.

“Here, lord.” The enormous man staggered into view, his armor scored and dented but intact and working. Blood flowed freely from a large laceration to his head, running from crown to below his brow but he looked otherwise no worse for the wear. “What, by the Emperor’s ghost, was that?” He said as he injected his own kolto subdural.

Three sets of eyes turned towards Obliquus. “From what I was told, some Republic experiment gone wrong.” Tentatively, he breathed deeply, feeling only burning from his side. He idly wondered how long he would’ve been able to breathe absent one lung…

“Come on, Obliquus, don’t keep us in suspense.” Invidia’s mood had returned to normal, its scathing overtone conspicuous. Yet, she had not stopped with her Force Healing, her armored fingers lightly touching his cuirass. Ironic that the sadistic woman was so talented with Force Healing.

“A hybrid, of sorts.” He inhaled again, the pain but a twinge. “Feeorin, Dashade, and something else… Grew beyond their expectations and their control so they dropped it in the deepest part of The Tomb and forgot about it.” His voice trailed off as the memory of the scientist that Obliquus had interrogated solidified in his mind. He’d been most helpful…

…At least after he’d been completely broken.

“Well that explains somethings like its durability and Force resistance.” Surdus barked an ironic laugh. He’d found his lightsaber and held it ignited in his hand. Standing in front of the gantry wreckage, it dwarfed even him. Staring where the creature had vanished beneath the durasteel, his quiet voice seemed to reverberate through the chamber. “Can that thing be killed?”

Yes, that was the question, Obliquus asked himself just that. “I don’t know…” He spoke with uncharacteristic uncertainty. Perhaps with more study…

“My lord…” Saggita’s voice echoed from deeper in the cavern. He had not realized that she was no longer next to him. Curiosity and something akin to anticipation percolated from his stomach. Could this be what he seeked…?

He strode over to Saggita, both Invidia and Surus flanking him. As they approached the tall woman, Obliquus saw that she was bent over something. No, not “something” but rather “someone.” Even though it was difficult to discern details in the dark and with his blurry vision, Obliquus could see that they’d found their objective. Excellent.

"I've tried talking to her but so far no response." Saggita remarked, eyes pitiless. Obliquus wasn't surprised. He tried a different tactic instead.

“Ttsykk dqqa mii xu’wttoq’l al’qwvi’baljj¹” His guttural intonation of the Old Tongue was perfect, from inflection to morphology, although it sounded slightly off to his own ears. The kolto hadn’t had time to heal his hearing yet.

(https://i.ibb.co/dm79KBy/Servant-Six-3.jpg)

From beneath where Saggita was kneeling was a humanoid, its red skin and daemonic features typical of the species: a Sith Pureblood. Before, she'd been completely unresponsive and all but incurious to them. But as soon as she heard him speaking Sith... Slowly, her eyes opened, looking from Saggita to Surdus to Invidia and, finally, to Obliquus, lucid and aware. “So…the Emperor’s Leviathans have finally come for me…” She wheezed, face contorting in pain. Obliquus looked from the woman’s face, focusing on her body for the first time.

Or rather what remained.

She was missing her entire right arm to the shoulder, her entire right leg to the hip, and most of her left leg from above where her knee should’ve been. Looking back at her face, Obliquus saw that she was also missing pieces of her right ear, cheek, and cheek tendril, exposing jagged teeth and gums.

“Another week and I would no longer be able to greet you properly.” She laughed sardonically, gesturing with her unadulterated left arm. Coughing, her sunken, pale red chest was racked with spasms.

“What happened?” Invidia sounded more curious than anything else, directing Healing with one hand and administering a kolto subdural with the other.

Before the Sith Pureblood could answer, a booming voice provided it. “The creature was eating her.” Surdus deduced, the large man casually stroking his bearded chin.

Smiling a rictus grin, the Sith Pureblood gave a curt nod. “He’d already plundered the entire floor’s food storage…and I was one of the lucky victims he’d abducted only recently… It broke my back in several places, incapacitating me… He then began with my feet…and my fingers…always while I was conscious…I saw it finish off several others as it…consumed us at random…” Again, she gestured with her left arm, pointing to one of the near corners of the cavern.

Obliquus could see a collection of bones littering the area, picked entirely clean of flesh, skeletons large and small were thrown together in a loose heap. Human bones, Togruta, Twi’lek, Cathar, Trandoshan scales…it appeared that the creature had even consumed a Herglic adult and child…

Mentally shaking his head, Obliquus focused on the matter at hand. “We need your help. The Ars Ingens seeks the Emperor but have been unable to find him. I believe that you can assist us in that task…” Obliquus’ stare seemed to pin the Sith Pureblood fast. “...Servant Six.”

Laying her head down upon the ground, the Sith Pureblood seemed to relax. “It’s been so long…” The pain appeared to drain from her pale red face. “I…I haven’t been able to hear our Emperor for several years now…but I can still feel him.” She admitted.

Obliquus was not surprised. It was said that all the Servants could do just that; in fact, that was the precise reason that he and his Darths had repatriated this Servant Six. She would lead the Ars Ingens in the search for their Emperor.

“Yes you will perform your duty, Servant Six.” Obliquus pronounced, a feeling close to excitement beginning to take root. “And as the Emperor’s Leviathans, we of the Ars Ingens will inaugurate a new Sith Empire for our Emperor…” Absently, he rubbed his hands upon his armor, as if to wash away the dirt from this accursed place.

Now that they’d found Servant Six, he wanted to be away from The Tomb, indeed from Belsavis altogether. And the sooner, the better. His hearing was improving; he thought he could hear the grinding of Servant Six’s exposed teeth. It was almost interesting. Finally, they could begin in earnest.

“Our search starts now.”
__________________________________________________________________
1. "Ttsykk dqqa mii xu’wttoq’l al’qwvi’baljj": Sith for “Next time in the Emperor’s Glory.”

(https://i.ibb.co/8DPXZdt/Young-Jorya-2.png)
Chapter 5: A Brief Time In History, part I
Surrounded by the blue quantum tunnel, Fenris’ Dirge slid through its transit in hyperspace, the black quandranium armor reflecting the blueshift across its hull.

Much like its occupant reflecting upon her past.

Sitting cross legged on the deck in nothing but a bodysheath, D’Aylanna listened to the quiet thrum reverberating through the ship as she used her downtime to Meditate but, invariably, her thoughts returned time and again to Jorya.

Her daughter.

Inhaling, her fingers and bare toes flexed in the muted light within her cabin. ...I must do what is required… She repeated like a mantra.

…And yet, memories of her daughter, adored and beloved, crept into her thoughts, threatening to overwhelm her. ...Stop this… Mentally she castigated herself. Making herself breathe, D’Aylanna sought to embrace the serenity of the Force. Stretching her neck, rolling her shoulders, and flexing her toes, she slowly exhaled in the hopes of centering herself and restoring her calm.

But tranquility was ephemeral, like sand slipping through her fingers. Taught muscles refused to relax, her mind racing while every recent memory of Gaetana’s possession of Jorya¹ replayed over and over again. She frowned and with uncharacteristic frustration cursed.

By the Maker, it was so difficult to reconcile her emotions with her obligations… She could feel the anger from within, hot flames of injustice burning the restorative cooling she desperately sou–

Her breath caught in her throat, the rage that promised to supplement the interminable sadness doused with the realization of her epiphany.

Suddenly, it became so clear…

Relaxing, her shoulders slumped, her heart slowed, and her chaotic thoughts calmed. She’d been mistaken to think that avoidance was the answer. No, what she must needs do–what was absolutely required--was to accept.

She would burn each memory of her daughter into her mind, keep it, cherish it, and love every single second spent with her. She would honor her accomplishments, take pride in her actions, and be grateful for her sacrifice.

Closing her eyes, she thought back, back to one of the first experiences with Jorya in which she’d felt incredibly proud of the young Togruta.

Oyuna Chan’dn had been Kage then and had charged Zearic to mentor Jorya as his newly acquired teidowan. She was not even a teen at that time. And yet the strength of character she’d demonstrated…

Wistfully she smiled. Jorya had always had a strong personality, something her Shakal would often attribute to D’Aylanna accompanied with a wink and a smile. But it was testament to her daughter that the young Togruta possessed an innate sense of honor even at such a young age.

D’Aylanna remembered her comm pinging, surprised by who was on the other end.

“Forgive me, Maenowan D’Aylanna, I was looking for Silver Knight Zearic Vih’Torr but he’s not answering his comm.” Master Gray Sheval Marras’ voice held a preoccupied tone, unsurprising given that his Psychometry was almost always active.

“I’m afraid that my husband is currently off-planet. Perhaps I can help you?” She offered, only slightly concerned what the call could mean.

“Ah. In that case, if you don’t mind, maenowan I’m afraid that your presence is needed here at the Strykka Annix Dormitory. It involves your husband’s teidowan.”

Her curiosity piqued, D’Aylanna informed the Gray Master that she would be there post-haste. Taking one of Zona’Uhladv’s many hyperloop cars, she arrived at the Order’s extensive teidowan barracks, the sinuous organic architecture of the buildings easily distorting the difference between the natural and the artificial. It was a testament to the living nature of the planet and the Vhal’Dan Order’s conscious efforts to marry form, function, and harmony.

From the hyperloop car, D’Aylanna made her way into the largest building, taking turn after turn effortlessly (unsurprising given her eidetic memory) where she soon found herself in the Dean’s Office. “Ah, Maenowan D’Aylanna, thank you for your promptness.” Master Sheval Marras’ distracted tone was usually off-putting to many; for the diminutive Hapan maenowan she merely took it in stride.

“Of course. Now, what is this all about?” She arched a thin eyebrow, dark eyes already having taken in the scene: her husband’s teidowan was sitting on one side, back ramrod straight while the young Togruta stared defiantly at the three boys sitting opposite her. Next to Jorya was a small, skinny initiate that was close to the Togruta’s age, certainly no older than 12.

No, D’Aylanna told herself, that wasn’t precisely correct: those “boys” were at least 15 and she was certain that one of them was only a month or two from 18… Regardless, one and all of the three looked as if they’d been in a speeder crash, bruised, bloody noses, and black eyes all conspicuous.

Interesting.

“Maenowan, I’m afraid that Teidowan Fah was involved in an altercation between her fellow teidowans.” His tone had an undercurrent of sorrow although D’Aylanna was certain that it was little more than an affectation.

Master Marras was an adequate if not outstanding bureaucrat…but not what D’Aylanna would consider a competent counselor

“Was she now?” D’Aylanna said while her intense stare bored holes into the three teenagers. Stepping away from Master Marras, she stood directly in front of one of the three battered teidowans, the oldest. “What happened?” The directness of her question surprised the human teidowan, the youngest as it was.

“Erm…that is, Maenowan…we were just messing around with our friend–”

“That’s a lie. They were beating on h–” Jorya didn’t shout but her voice nevertheless cut through.

Without a word, D’Aylanna held up a hand to silence her, eyes never leaving the three teenagers. She’d seen them flinch at the accusation. She continued to stare at the teidowan; unsurprisingly he averted his gaze downwards, unable to meet her steely eyes. When next he spoke, his voice was just above a whisper.

“I…I’m sorry, Maenowan. I…I…it wasn’t my idea!” He said the last as a squeal, almost as if he couldn’t get the truth out fast enough.

The oldest teidowan tried to shout at the youngest while declaring his innocence…until D’Aylanna pointed her finger at him. Immediately he fell silent.

“You needn’t say anything; I already know what happened.” Without looking at the initiate she pointed at him. “You three teidowans were hazing this young initiate. Teidowan Fah then intervened. After her considerate appeal, you three thought better of your questionable actions and decided to work off your aggressions against the nearest wall. Then you all suddenly fell down around Teidowan Fah’s feet.” She stared at each bruised teidowan in kind, her voice never once raising in volume.

She then turned to Master Marras. “There was no altercation; this was all just a misunderstanding.” Without looking away, she spoke over her shoulder at the three teenages. “Is that not correct, teidowans?” From the corner of her eye, she saw Jorya’s face frown…before a thin smile slowly spread.

The three teidowans looked from each other and back before looking between D’Aylanna, Master Marras, and the floor, identical masks of chagrin emerging on their faces. “Yes, Maenowan Vih’Torr.” They glumly said in unison.

“You see, Master Marras. Nothing amiss here.” D’Aylanna’s unwavering gaze bored into the taller Kiffar Master.

Blinking a few times, he seemed almost at a loss for words. “I…” He actually seemed to be completely focused on the task at hand. Incredible. “I… Yes. Yes, I see. Sorry to have bothered you, Maenowan.” He gave Jorya a final blinking look, almost in askance before his perpetual distracted mien returned. “You teidowans are dismissed.”

D’Aylanna waited patiently as first Master Marras disappeared from the room quickly followed by the three battered teenagers. She noticed that Jorya had taken the time to speak to the young initiate, his face radiating gratitude. “Jorya, please come with me.” She said patiently after allowing the two of them a moment to speak. Dutifully, she followed D’Aylanna, quickly falling into step beside her, the two almost of a height despite Jorya’s youth.

They walked in silence for a time, D’Aylanna leading them towards the dormitory gardens, the vibrant blue-green palm fronds beautifully contrasting with the grayish-beige of the rock strata while the pleasant, subtle aroma of cherry-apples permeated the air.

“Master, you know that it was me that beat them up…but why did you let them go unpunished?” Jorya asked as they came to a small-yet-wide, wooden bridge.

“So you think that they went unpunished, teidowan?” D’Aylanna did not quite smile. Instead she looked across the calm pool of the shallow lake, the cirrus clouds reflected in the azure waters. “You and I both know that those cuts, scuffs, and bruises did not come from a wall, regardless of what they agreed to.” She stopped in the middle of the bridge, looking deep into Jorya’s blue eyes. “I already know what happened but I would like to hear what you have to say.”

If Jorya was surprised, she hid it well…almost as well as any woman of House Royal. Her estimation of the Togruta went up.

“They were picking on him, Master, bullying him…because he was smaller, weaker, and alone. I…I couldn’t just do nothing.” Jorya’s teeth gritted, her slender hands balling into fists. “It…it made me angry. The three of them against one…and they’re older–bigger too!--and to act as mean as they did…” When she stared into D’Aylanna’s eyes, Jorya gave as good as she got. “It wasn’t right. I know Master Zearic would agree with me.” She exhaled, as if releasing all the pent-up rage that she felt. “It just wasn’t…it’s not right.”

D’Aylanna remembered being impressed although she’d kept her face completely impassive. “Yes, Jorya: you are correct. Their intimidation of the initiate was completely wrong.” Jorya smiled suddenly, a brief look of triumph spreading across her face. But only briefly. “However, you are also at fault. Not because you stood up against them; it is only just to do so in the face of such tyranny. No, you are culpable of re-acting, doing so out of anger.” She paused, scrutinizing Jorya’s face for understanding.

What she saw did not only surprise her, it impressed her further still.

Jorya’s mouth thinned, not out of anger but rather realization. “I…yes, Master. I understand. I…I should not have reacted; I should’ve found a…a more peaceable solution.” Her head lowered, her lips trembling for the first time since D’Aylanna had seen her that day. “I…I am sorry, Master. I…I dishonored Master Zearic.” She looked up, staring straight into D’Aylanna’s eyes. “I have dishonored you.” However, she did not cry.

D’Aylanna remembered that was the first time she’d felt such pride in Jorya, not only as a teidowan but also as her & her husband’s ward, not to mention exemplary of the incredible young woman that she would become.

D’Aylanna gave one of her special, rare smiles, the kind that she reserved only for her Shakal and her Father Kazic. Reaching out, she gently touched Jorya’s shoulder. “No, Dear One. Your courage honors our Family.” She held both of the Togruta’s orange hands in her dark ones. “As far as your mistake, that is how we learn, Dear One. I have made several myself.” D’Aylanna suddenly laughed, a sonorous, comforting sound. “By the Maker, your own master has experienced his own lifetime of mistakes! But your instincts, your character…they are unimpeachable.” She held Jorya at arms length, a serene look upon her face. “Remember Jorya: there are no perfect people, only perfect intentions.”

It was the first time that Jorya had hugged her, a tight, sincere embrace that immediately evinced D’Aylanna of Family.

Where once before it had been only her Shakal and Father Kazic–the only people that she considered Family–in her time within the Vhal’Dan…

…She now felt the natural conclusion of her husband’s apprentice. No, she was more than that, much more.

D’Aylanna had found herself including Jorya in that small, small circle of beings that she loved completely as a family. Her Family.

   <<<<< >>>>>

{{{With the most minor of edits, this is LSG's writing :) This chapter is dedicated to him!}}}
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(https://i.ibb.co/2sdqqkm/EB8-D4-DC7-257-F-4238-B332-DD0-A33-F01541.jpg)

They felt the blip of energy ahead, and after it a gust of pent up Dark Force Energies, like the rancid breath of a drunkard from Mamzer Station washing over their faces.

Zearic winced at the hideous sensation unfortunately amplified to his senses by the Triad union that sharpened everything.

...Emperor’s Black bones...! he nearly gagged.

If this was what the Imperials were looking for, they were more than welcome to keep it, if they could stomach it…Maker only knew he didn’t want it to come anywhere near him…but his Primus was already moving ahead, Olyna biting back the bile, feeling this was the reason the Cataphracts specifically had been sent.

They were the Sword and Shield, vanquishers of Shadow Warriors, Sith and Votarii, more than any of the Vhal’Dan they could withstand whatever infection this Imperial offshoot sought.

Covering each other, beskar breakers and gauntlet cannons ready they swept forward toward the light that exuded a foul oil of death and decay, blanketing their Force senses, and hopefully those of the being they were tracking.

[Stealth!] Sio quickly sent across, each of the Catpahracts rapidly reactivating their Stealth Field Generators and hugging the walls crouching. Mere seconds later two micro drone searchers sped past.

Their scan of the facility done they were returning to Kintik, gliding through the dim unlit ranks of rectangular block to their masters belt once more weighty with Data.

His saber ignited, Kintik touched it to the coals in a large brazier. A crimson light spread as crackling flames along lines of coals around the wall illuminating the room, revealing the callous cruel gaze of Valkorion looking down upon them all, resplendent in his Imperial Regalia, robes that hung in perfect folds suspended forever in stone of a distant world brought here to forever watch over his Phalanx until the day they were needed.

Rank upon rank upon rank, this was not a tomb but a barracks Kintik realized as he looked behind him over the hundreds of rectangular upright slabs, his quick eyes counting, from the central path to Valkorion’s statue, 50 by 70 on each side. 3,500 soldiers frozen in time.

Not all had survived, he realized now able to walk along the “front” row. The Carbonite had flaked and cracked on some, leaving hideously unintentionally mummified bodies half falling out of their slumber into death, explaining the more pungent Force energies, but as he walked along the full length he found on the row of 70 it was only 8. He estimated roughly 10-20 percent had perished in total from the ravages of time, still astonishing given this couldn’t be less than 3500 years old.

The rooms his searchers had mapped were all somewhat smaller than this, most likely 50 by 50 troops, a total of just over 10,000

“Phalanx of the Unbroken Gaze, 10,000 Eyes Watch ceaselessly…” He whispered to himself.   The description had been accurate on that…now the rest he recalled dealt with “Awakening.”

There were no control panels on the slabs, the technology in that era likely only froze and thawed beings on an industrial scale, unless there was some mechanism he was unaware of within the facility, it would require very careful searching and analysis, and even then he could not simply awaken a Sith Army of millennia past and expect them to obey him…

No, there must be a mechanism of control, something they were yet to find… Returning to the statue he noted some large urns, text etched beneath the statue in the same dialect; good even if he couldn’t translate it himself it would more than triple the textual fragments they had, Mercet’s pet would surely be able to derive a translation efficacy over 80 percent with that.

But the vastness of the undertaking…the Irkalla would not be enough, the Gehenna itself was needed to bring the materiel and manpower necessary to carefully excavate this site.

Ah but other thoughts ran through his mind: had Lord Sidious known the extent of this? Admittedly 10,000 men was a drop in the Imperial Ocean, but if this was only the first of numerous other caches the Wayfinder pointed to… How many more troops were there to be awakened, what skills did they have, was it possible they were all Force Sensitive warriors!

The blankness of his face contrasted immeasurably with his rapidly spinning mind, one imagining his Lord Sidious’ foresight and knowledge, one that contemplated the practicalities and possibilities…

…Till the slightest puff of red sand from the floor in the crimson light caught his attention.

   <<<<< >>>>>
_________________________________________________________________
1. As seen back in “Queen&Marquesa, Executioner&Cataphract CH.16 ‘Death, A Necessary End, Will Come When It Will Come, part III:” https://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=48094.msg801130#msg801130 (https://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=48094.msg801130#msg801130)

(https://i.ibb.co/HPJYvFx/Jorya-20.png)
Chapter 5: A Brief Time In History, part II
D’Aylanna was suddenly surprised when she felt a wet drop fall upon her soft, dark sole, her delicate toes twitching from the contact. She hadn’t realized that she was crying.

True, there was not a preponderance of tears nor was she sobbing, but she felt the awful pangs of regret, sadness, and misery deep in the pit of her stomach. By the Maker, D’Aylanna suddenly wondered how it was that her eyes had produced only a few drops of tears instead of the deluge that roiled within her. It seemed to her that with each single drop she felt an ocean’s worth of sorrow.

But…it must needs be done.

This–THIS--was how she would honor and remember her daughter AND still be able to do what was required.

...Another memory, another example… She thought to herself, something else to galvanize her resolve.

That was easy; she knew precisely when she’d felt that epiphany of pride and love for her daughter.

It was just before her Trial of the Dragon Cave when Jorya was on the cusp of graduating as a teidowan and ascending to the rank of Gray Knight.

They had just celebrated Jorya’s fifteenth Life Day and during those years she had progressed by leaps and bounds, always within the top of her class, indeed as one of the most remarkable teidowans that the Vhal’Dan had produced. There were whispers that she had within her the makings of another Stryka Annix or even Sulen Rue Lai and that Jorya would be the strongest Gray Jedi in generations!

…If not for D’Aylanna already having done so before her.

Nevertheless, the fact that the newly-raised Master Gray D’Aylanna Vih’Torr was one of Jorya’s mentors and instructors was often cited as one of the reasons for her tremendous growth.

But as far as D’Aylanna was concerned, she and her Shakal had something much, much more important to implement.

She remembered waiting in their shared apartments with her Zearic, the both of them casually relaxing in their solarium, drinking in the comfortable sunlight shining through the filtered ceiling-to-floor windows. Sitting on one of the aircouches in the solarium on her knees behind her Shakal, her dark bare feet tucked under her, D’Aylanna messaged her husband’s broad shoulders.

“...By the Maker that’s good…” Her Zearic whispered, his hot chocolate forgotten on the organic kaf-table. Smiling knowingly, D’Aylanna said nothing as she worked her small fingers at one of the many persistent knotted muscles in his back.

“So…” She began innocently, “...How did your training with Master Praney fair?” Praney Torsin was Nexu Master of the Water Warriors and had been assessing possible candidates for entry. The first trial? The candidate in question had to fight him without being eliminated in the first minute.

Her Shakal grunted. “I didn’t even last 45 seconds.” Turning his head, he peaked over his shoulder. “But you already knew that, didn’t you Ereneda?” He chuckled, producing a smile from her.

“You’re getting better.” She reassured, meaning it. “I’m sure in no ti–” She cut off suddenly as her superior hearing caught the sound of the front portal of their apartments quietly opening.

“I’m home!” Jorya’s voice carried into the solarium. “Mother, Father? Where are you guys?” D’Aylanna heard the Togruta’s boots hit the floor as she removed them, getting comfortable within her home, a tradition that they’d learned from Father Kazic.

“In the solarium, Jorya.” Her Shakal called back, sitting up on the aircouch to face Jorya when she entered the expansive-yet-comfortable room. Delicately, D’Aylanna readjusted to sit beside her husband, her fingers gently grasping the thin neck of the crystal flute filled with an indigenous Hapan vintage, one of the few comforts from her former home that she allowed herself.

In no time, Jorya entered the solarium, her own soft orange feet making no sound as she sat across from them in a comfortable chair that she’d made her own over the years. During that time, she’d gone from slightly shorter than D’Aylanna to almost her Shakal’s height, her lekku almost a full 20 centimeters longer.

Draping her outer tunic on the back, she gracefully sank into the chair, sitting cross legged. “By the Maker that’s good…” She whispered as her hands kneaded at her sore feet.

D’Aylanna and Zearic shared a secret look, one that Jorya noticed.

Head cocked, her eyes narrowed. “...OK, what’s going on?” Her fingers expertly continued as the pain in her feet slowly melted away.

Her Shakal answered. “Dear One, I’ve been speaking to your Mother.” Slowly he exhaled. “She and I needed to talk to you about something.” He stared at her with his strange and beautiful hazel eyes.

Jorya’s hands paused. “...Sounds serious.”

“It is.” D’Aylanna insisted, her dark eyes piercing as she absently stroked her fingers along her husband’s forearm. She knew that Jorya had never heard such a tone within her voice.

For once Jorya sounded uncertain, a pensive look spreading across her face. “...What is it?”

Her Shakal did his own part, a half-frown furrowing his brow. “As I said, we’ve been talking…” He sighed theatrically, Jorya hanging onto his every word as his voice lowered half an octave. “...Jorya, there’s no way around this.” A hint of worry began to radiate from the Togruta, as she sat properly in the chair with her feet flat on the floor. Her Shakal shook his head. “We’ve been speaking and…” Again he paused for effect, “...And we would like to formally adopt you, Jorya.” As he spoke her name, he finally smiled, adding a wink for good measure. It was at this time that D’Aylanna’s own serene mask dropped entirely, her full blue lips spreading in a beautiful smile of her own.

For her part–as Jorya was hanging on every word–she blinked twice before barking a laugh. “You…I…” Grabbing at her tunics behind her, Jorya flung them at her Shakal. “You really had me worried, you gorg-face!” But D’Aylanna noticed that the Togruta’s blue eyes were watery. No surprise there; D’Aylanna tried to blink back her own unshed tears.

Then Jorya jumped up from her chair and into her Shakal’s thick arms. Wrapping them around Jorya’s slender back, he turned his head to smile at D’Aylanna, tears unashamedly rolling down his cheeks and wetting his beard. It was all that D’Aylanna could do not to cry harder with joy.

Instead, she leaned forward, holding them both in her arms (or at least as far as they could go). She had spoken with her Shakal the day before, knowing what he would say even before speaking to him.

After all, Jorya was already their daughter.

“Mothe…Mom…Dad…I love you both so much!” She laughed as tears covered her own cheeks. Her Zearic just hugged her that much closer, joining in with their daughter’s laughter. “I would love to be part of your family!”

Her Shakal warmly smiled. “Dear One, you already are.” He said kindly, quietly.

And as his eyes looked over, his gaze found hers. They didn’t need to say anything; D’Aylanna already knew.

They’d been truly blessed in this life to find their Father Kazic and, eventually, each other. And now their family had grown again.

D’Aylanna smiled as tears slowly fell from her own eyes, love and contentment surrounding, inundating, and uniting them.

A daughter. Her daughter. A joy that she’d never hoped to experience; a joy that she’d always silently prayed for…

A prayer that had been finally answered.

<<<<< >>>>>

Special thanks to LSG; with but a small amount of edits, this is his writing :) This chapter is dedicated to him!
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(https://i.ibb.co/ccL4DQd/Zearic-Armor-Lightsaber-7.jpg)
Chapter 5: A Brief Time In History, part III
...Shavit… Zearic groaned knowing they were busted.

The Secundus had never seen or heard of a place like this, hundreds of beings in Carbonite like some sick Bounty Hunter’s twisted collection, but they were all uniformed in archaic armour, staring ahead with unflinching focus.

Kintik pretended not to notice the intrusion, continuing to inspect a lone Carbonite block at the head of the ranks, most likely the leader, carved along the top edge in the Sith’ari Variant was what he roughly translated as “First Blade” or “Prime Sword” of the 10,000.

A plan formed in the Triad Meld: Olyna and Sio would remain hidden and take as many recordings and artifacts as they could, Zearic would deal with the Imperial once he decided to stop pretending. Their one advantage was that while the Imperial knew someone was there, he didn’t yet know who, and most importantly how many.

Zearic swept quickly and quietly between the slabs using them as cover to close in, his daggers and Balmung tingling to unleash. IF a fight were to break out his best strategy would be to hit like a mag-train with the full force of his physical strength and daggers in as short a time as possible to make sure this Darksider didn’t have time to use any powers.

The Executor was unsure whether this intruder was some kind of defence mechanism he had awoken or a spy, certainly any member of the military would announce themselves to him. He could not discount either, and the deep dark decay of this place, whilst it yielded intense potential Force power to draw on, was also overwhelmingly strong, dulling his senses as it crowded out all other subtle sensation he might detect.

“I know you are there…” Kintik finally spoke his saber at his side still blazing red as the eldritch fire that cast crimson shadows between the slabs, the rest of the Triad working to record all they could as swiftly as possible, Sio eyeing the urns at the far end hoping Zearic could draw the Darksider away long enough from him to swoop and grab some of the contents.

“Reveal yourself!” The Executor finally shouted as if impatient.

With a rapid spin Kintik unleashed a gale force blast that sent the accumulated dust of centuries blasting off the still features and floor between the slabs, his quick eyes seeing where the dust recalculated in the air unnaturally just as Zearic had been rolling cover to cover.

...Shavit…! The stealth field was still active but now he was a very obvious invisible blob moving through a dust storm, one that Kintik immediately sought to grab with the Force.

Zearic pushed against the invisible hand with his own powers, cracking the durasteel grip effectively enough that Kintik cautiously approached, the first strike having only been testing the resolve and strength of his opponent.

Power draining, Zearic deactivated the stealth generator and resorted to more conventional means moving between the numerous slabs to avoid being seen, his fully armoured size barely able to hide behind a single slab, but never for long as Kintik stalked between the rows sniffing him out.

The Secundus had only to buy time, Olyna had already obtained detailed scans of twelve slabs and a small sample from some of the mummified remains, Sio was capturing text etched along the lower walls and moving to the vast Statue and urns beneath as Zearic drew the Darksider away.

Kintik moved swiftly with his guard high and ready, his quarry darting between rows trying to avoid him. He was beginning to get tired of this game of–

The Executor cut off his next step realizing why. ...He is drawing me away from the statue…

He spun round to see a bulky armoured form gingerly lifting the lid of one of the large urn.

Battle erupted across the mausoleum like barracks: Kintik hurled his saber at Sio’s back with the Dark Side speeding it beyond sound, Zearic rammed slabs on either side over creating a domino effect as he burst down onto Kintik.

Snapping round the saber scraped and sparked against Sio’s heavy armour, nano-polymer filling the gouge, Kintik’s saber setting adequate for most light armour types yet insufficient to penetrate Cataphract plate.

The Executor flipped back as his spine turned to ice, avoiding the heavy fist of Zearic, the Secundus wishing to avoid playing his full hand of weaponry for the moment, the servo and Force powered fist instead smashing yet another slab over adding to the cascade of falling frozen warriors, the dull thud of their impacts echoing through the chamber.

No sooner had Sio staggered back up from the kinetic shock than Kintik’s saber was back in his hand and swinging at Zearic. It was obvious to the Executor now these were interlopers, their heavy aesthetic matched nothing in the vault and a guardian would not be causing indiscriminate damage.

Zearic bounced back on his heels waiting for an opening that never came, running down the seconds to let Sio and Olyna secure the exit and grab what they could. Kintik was well aware it was a distraction, but he could not risk taking his focus off the immediate hulking brute before him.

Realizing he would slip up before the Darksider did Zaeric shouldered into a blow allowing his thick pauldron to take the hit as he swept up Balmung, the dark blue blade humming to life as she grunted off the blow and swung up.

Kintik immediately retreated back, wanting to be nowhere near the enormous beskar breaker, the blade width at least twice that of his own saber and half a length longer, fitting for his opponent but enormous to him.

Zearic drove at the Executor with strong but simple katas as Olyna and Sio fell back.

“You’ve nowhere to run, surrender and I may show mercy!” Kintik snapped as he felt the full impact of Zearic strength ripple through his skeleton as he blocked a heavy blow from the Secundus. Zearic offered no reply but that of his blade hammering forward, Olyna flashing a lamp on her helm to show they had the exit secured.

Unfortunately, Zearic was on the wrong side of Kintik to get there.

Both were tentative in their blows, Kintik well aware there was at least one more Heavy Infantry nearby, but also quickly realizing they were trying to retreat, Zearic likewise wanting to escape but cautious about what diplomatic ramifications drawing blood might have, a wariness and caution built over his many trials causing him to pull his punches.

There was simply too much they did not know, and too much at risk if an irreversible step was taken.

Kintik for his part wanted one of these warriors alive if possible, but knew, with the light equipment he had–perfect for exploring tight ruins–it was unlikely he could breach their thick plate. But other resources were available to him.

The Dark Side was old and thick here, easy to draw on for the Executor who began to take a strong lead as the surprise of the beskar breaker waned.

Crimson and blue clashed as they fought between ancient stone eyes, Balmung taking chunks of carbonite when it missed, Kintik only scratching the Cataphract armour's surface quickly repaired by nanites.

“Put him down Zearic!” Olyna demanded, it would be hard enough getting back through the Imperial camp if they hadn’t been alerted, let alone if they had!

No more time to lose Zearic let the chain upon the Curse of Balmung slip a few feet, the noxious blood that had long since stained it harmonizing with his own to intensify his blows and speed. With a rapid stab, a mid-body swing, then overhand slash he forced Kintik on the defensive, the Executor grunting and feeling his muscles ache from taking the blows, fully realizing the pain even just blocking a Cataphract’s blow could cause.

But the Dark Side buoyed him up and knit otherwise torn muscle, switching to a single hand grip he took another breaker blow as he gripped the inert slabs nearby.

Auto-stabilizer micro-shocks in the Cataphract armour just kept Zearic upright as three huge slabs of Carbonite slammed into his back, Kintik seeing an opening and driving his blade into the join just under the left arm, cold heat searing through the micro-weave polymers and into the skin.

“AAAARGH” Primal fury drew Zearic’s hand to the Tenebris as he bashed aside a fourth Carbonite block with Balmung, Kintik pulling his saber and darting back to avoid the beskar breaker and summon a fifth Slab, didn’t see the lightless blade before Zearic burst forward with a reverse grip slash.

The Oblivion weapon sliced clean and quick through the Executor’s helm, the ultradense material considering the cortosis alloy no more impediment than a nerf butter, the keen edge slicing deep into Kintik’s cheek as he turned, the cut extending from the top right of his lip, under his eye, over his ear, ending halfway up his scalp. Simultaneously, Zearic pressed a small button on the palm of his gauntlet, but nothing seemed to happen.

That was when the fifth slab slammed Zearic aside just in time to prevent him adding pressure to the Tenebris cut, Kintik felt the warm heat of his sliced flesh part and blood flooding out, wrapping the Darkside in himself he grasped two slabs and took a full defensive stance.

Before Olyna was forced to intervene, regaining some composure Zearic lined his target and threw Balmung straight at the untouched urn behind Kintik.

“NO!” the Executor feeling the danger to the precious artifacts dropped the slabs and grabbed at the beskar breaker with the Force, the Curse of Balmung and Zearic’s own strength keeping it hovering in mid-air as Kintik reached out one hand to “hold” it.

Zearic rushed the Executor with the Tenebris and his weight, feeling the slab's impact had done more damage than he had realized as his enhanced body felt stiff and slow compared to its enduring peak. Kintik reacted swiftly, as the Tenebris sought his reaching arm, Kintik quickly dropped to his knees and thrust this saber upward, however clumsy and reactive it had the intended effect of slicing up through Zearics right thigh in the gap between the armour plates, the Dark Side guiding the Executors blow.

He grunted as he pushed the Tenebris into the Darksider’s bicep, dragging it out and along as he ran leaving another thin but painful wound in the Executor.

Pushing himself Zearic reached Olyna, Sio already ahead when he turned Balmungs momentum in an instant with a draining but effective micro teleport – all at once the saber was facing the opposite direction, and the newtons imparted by both Kintik and Zearic via the force working in the same direction sending it flying at incredible speed back to the Secundus ironically assisted by Kintik.

Catching the blade Zearic spun behind the doors Olyna was already pushing closed, the bleeding Executor gnashing his teeth as he pushed himself up in time to see the doors clang shut.

Olyna pressed both her hands forward infusing the door as best she could with kinetite energies to resist the Force blast that hit mere seconds later with a rumble.

“That should hold it!” She said, already moving with her Secundus.

Kintik growled and threw another wave of energy at the door, once more it resisted, but he could feel the “brightness" of the Force that held it dimming by another third.

Summoning up the dark side once more he pushed out another wave.

The door buckled and a large crack formed along the gap as he strode forward, slowed by stilling his bleeding wounds with the Force.

Zearic was doing little better with cauterized wounds in his shoulder and leg, Sio was already at the repulsor platform.

The Tertius helping him on board, they activated their stealth field generators, noting they had barely 20 percent charge left.

“We’ll need to run…hard…” Olyna noted as the platform rose, already taking out a grenade to affix to the repulsor once they got to the top.

“Twelve seconds,” She muttered, never once breaking stride.

Kintik saw the light of the shaft ahead–the repulsor platform unsurprisingly gone–when he spun under the opening to see the top of it high above him.

Then jumped back as it exploded.

<<<<< >>>>>

(https://i.ibb.co/qrLSfHH/Jorya-54.jpg)
Chapter 5: A Brief Time In History, part IV
D’Aylanna’s bittersweet smile mirrored the chaos of her emotions. Oh, she’d cooly kept an impassive mask securely upon her face–an innate survival technique that had been firmly entrenched since early childhood within the Hapan Court–but her emotions were anything but.

Death is lighter than a feather; Duty heavier than a planet

Even though the context of the Hapan axiom was meant for something far, far different, the fact remained that it was a truism for D’Aylanna in the here-and-now.

Just as Jorya too had done her duty when Kage Oyuna Chan’dn had tasked the Togruta to infiltrate and gather intel on the Sons of Kessel with Kenneniah Mack of the Mak’Tor².

As a newly promoted, full-fledged koawan, Jorya was given full autonomy commensurate with her rank. Yes, she was young (again, not so young as D’Aylanna had been but young nevertheless), but she’d proven herself during the Dark Singer Conflict³ against Jennira and her brood-thrall Melinchae.

Once again proving herself with (and amongst) the Sons.

D’Aylanna smiled wistfully, remembering the marked change within her daughter: from when she and Kenneniah had left they’d been almost exuberant in their eagerness.

Ah, the naivete of youth…

However, when Jorya had returned–with more surprising news that Kenneniah was engaged–she was no longer, to use her Skakal’s euphemism, so green.

Closing her eyes, D’Aylanna well remembered that day on Zonama Sekot listening to Jorya’s After Action Report from her chair as 7th Speaker of the Hall of Balance. From how the Sons were organized to their (then) seeming inexhaustible supply of materiel to their enigmatic enforcer Black Armor to the man himself, Scrubber.

The Sons had turned out to be many things…but they were not the terrorists that the Gray Convocation had assumed. Indeed, thanks in no small part to Jorya’s intel, they now knew that the Sons of Kessel were an anti-slavery group, one that had arisen as an autonomous power within Hutt Space. And while they were trained, the Sons were much more. Jorya had more than seen it; she’d lived it.

She had not spoken of them as something separate but instead with a sense of belonging.

Apropos of such, she’d seen action surrounded by the people that Jorya had come to respect and care for…and how she’d lost comrades. Yes, she’d seen death before, but this time it had been “closer” and “more real” (her words).

But that hadn’t been the worst…

It had only been later on that night within their apartments that Jorya had sought her out. Her Skakal had been busy helping Master Karmack so it was just the two of them.

“...Mom?” Jorya’s tentative voice was at complete odds with the confidence that she’d displayed in front of the Council of Balance earlier that day. D’Aylanna herself had been meditating on the floor of the Atrium, legs crossed as a honey-lavender incense stick burned slowly. Even in the setting sun, D’Aylanna’s brown bare shoulder seemed to glow with an innate warmth. “Mom?”

Without opening her eyes, she gestured for her daughter to enter. “Please, Dear One.” Lightly tapping her hand on the floor, she smiled. “Here: sit next to me.” Admittedly it had been awhile since she had Meditated with her.

Slipping her boots off, Jorya quietly sat opposite D’Aylanna, virtually mirroring her. Wrapped in the Force and in such close proximity, D’Aylanna could sense the unrest within her daughter.

“Breathe. Balance. Release that which ails you, my daughter.” D’Aylanna’s low voice was hypnotic, trying to assuage the unspoken trepidation affecting the Togruta’s aura. Through slitted eyes she saw the much taller young woman’s face try to relax. It worked. Somewhat.

Minute things–fingers tightly clasping then releasing, micro-figeting, her slightly ragged breathing–became apparent. Not that Jorya didn’t try…but whatever was bothering her would not be solved by Meditation.

Feeling that there was a better way, D’Aylanna opened her eyes fully, giving her daughter a small smile of comfort. “Dear One…” She offered, gently touching Jorya’s folded leg, “Please.” She said simply.

Jorya smiled wistfully before her lips began quivering, unshed tears in her eyes. “...Mom…it…I couldn’t…it was…it was…terrifying.” She said the last in a whisper, her head sinking so low that she was almost folded in half. Steadying herself with both of her hands on the ground on either side of her, she did not sob…but D’Aylanna could hear the soft, wet sounds of tears falling upon the floor.

“Please, Dear One…” She reached out, gently touching her daughter’s montrals. At D’Aylanna’s touch, Jorya seemed to calm down, taking comfort in her mother’s tenderness.

Slowly she inhaled, the breath seeming cathartic as she found her voice once again. “It…it was Black Armor. I…we...were in trouble, real danger…I didn’t know what…what to do…then…then…he appeared.” Jorya raised her head, her blue eyes staring deeply into D’Aylanna’s. “There…there was so…so much blood…” She shivered as she mentally relived the moment⁴, horror that she’d buried abruptly erupting forth. “I…I…” Her voice trailed off, quiet and suddenly small.

Drawing herself up upon her knees, D’Aylanna wrapped her daughter within her arms, the taller Togruta timidly seeking comfort in the warm embrace as if she were a small child. Softly, D’Aylanna began to sing a lullaby–a Hapan lullaby that she’d learned long ago when she herself was young–as she tenderly stroked her cheek.

“I have you, Dear One.” She assured her. “I am here. Father is always here for you. We’ll never abandon you…never stop loving you.” She glanced down at Jorya’s face, the healing weight of her words giving solace. Gently, D’Aylanna rocked back and forth, the hypnotic motion helping to bring serenity to her daughter. “I love you.” She whispered, her dark, slender hand delicately stroking Jorya’s face.

Jorya was one of the bravest people that D’Aylanna knew. And even now all these years later, she knew that the young woman was frightened by that incident…but she’d learned to accept the fear, to continue on despite the fear.

It made D’Aylanna love Jorya all the more.

Which helped her in the here-and-now: D’Aylanna knew that what she did she did because she loved Jorya. And she always would.

Finally D’Aylanna felt her apprehension evaporate away. As she knew she must, she would do that which was required. She would defeat Gaetana. And free her daughter.

She deserved nothing less. She loved her…

And always would.

<<<<< >>>>>

(https://i.ibb.co/N22DRfQ/06e46d3e-654e-5d1f-be3b-f632acec1f4f.webp)
Surrounded by darkness and the almost womb-like sounds deep within the ship of the hyperspace transit, Or’an was dealing with his own memories.

But unlike D’Aylanna’s peace, his elicited absolute terror.

He was back, back on Zonama Sekot, back with the Ferroans, back in the village. He had never experienced such beauty, such tranquility, such happiness, such life.

The Ferroans had accepted him, taken him in as one of their sacred own. It was the first time since crashlanding there that he’d felt a sense of belonging…

…A home.

But then came that night, the Gloaming of the Beast.

Even as horrible the memory he felt, his visage did not change, the carefully controlled mask that he perpetually wore firmly affixed.

And would remain so.

For even after the Gloaming, he’d been twice lucky: he’d some upon the Cataphract Triarch, Alcyorr. That and he’d been given a new purpose in life, one that only the Triarch could offer, that of the Hamask.

It was then that Or’an felt the dread and fury abate. Purpose. Duty. Existence.

He was Hamask. And, as always, his judgment was absolute.
_________________________________________________________________
2. As seen way back in “The Gray&the Unchained: The Cost of Freedom, CH.1 Missions:” https://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=37226.msg606264#msg606264 (https://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=37226.msg606264#msg606264)
3. As seen way back in “Shadow Etude, CH.14 Contrapasso, partI&II:” https://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=36277.msg600542#msg600542 (https://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=36277.msg600542#msg600542)
4. As seen way back in “The Gray&the Unchained: The Cost of Freedom, CH.6 Finagle's Law, part III:” https://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=36277.msg600542#msg600542 (https://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=36277.msg600542#msg600542)

(https://i.ibb.co/18L4QM2/Jorya-18.png)
Chapter 6: Captive Pursuits, part I
Sitting within the subdued confines of the large quarry, Gaetana took notice of the various rock strata, appreciative of the varied layers that made the stone of the room look as if it were painted. Unconsciously, she twirled a computer stylus in her hand, the long, slender cylinder dancing between her fingers as her attention switched from the geology of the room back to the holomonitor. As she did this, she idly stroked her cybernetic lekku with her other hand while focusing on the three sentients that looked both confused and frantic.

Unknown to (or even usually interested in) Gaetana, these were all idiosyncrasies that Jorya would adopt when deep in thought. It would have concerned her acutely…again, had she been conscious of such.

But she was not.

That wasn’t to say that it went unnoticed–it had been–just not by either Shard within Jorya’s captive body.

Instead, Gaetana kicked her boots up on the computer station while she curiously watched the three sentients on the holomonitor as they tried to get their bearings: all three had awoken in a small, metal room that had but one exit. Of course, she couldn’t make it look too easy so she’d activated a simple forcefield as if to keep them confined.

She watched as they searched first their room–which had a single bench bolt-welded to the deck–and then their unremarkable utility coveralls which they all wore. ...Yes… She thought mockingly. ...Your captor is foolish enough to leave tools to aid in your escape, you frellik… Gaetana laughed as she cursed…

…Something that the real Gaetana would never have done. But Jorya did, something that she’d picked up from her Father. The iron in the sandstone really gave it a particular ruddy beauty…

In the holo-image, one of the humans triumphantly held up a small hydrospanner they found in their pocket, soon beginning the work of dismantling the wall panel next to the door. Yet even with that, a bored Gaetana noticed that it took an additional 12 minutes for them to disengage the forcefield. It was a good thing that she’d chosen them as participants for her Alchemy; clearly they were not particularly qualified technicians.

...Father always said that anything can be solved with time and pressure…just like with geology… She thought idly, the stylus never slowing as she manipulated it with delicate orange fingers.

From the two dozen miners, techs, and soldiers that she’d hired to restore these caves, Gaetana still had about 17 left. More than enough for her intentions.

She watched half-interested as they cautiously made their way from the non-descript, metal-lined room, through the tunnel, and into another small rock cavern. She smiled as they paused, their trepidation evident even over the holo-image: confronting them were three tight rock tunnels cut from the substrata of the deep mines, each one only visible a few meters in before being completely enveloped in darkness.

The stylus continued to dance through and across her fingers effortlessly while she intently watched as the three miners decided what to do. At first they seemed at a loss as to how to continue, each one pointing towards a vague direction before growing ever more irritated before the large Togruta gained control. Whatever he said, the two humans seemed to agree, each moving around the other. She chuckled when she saw that each one had chosen a separate tunnel. ...Wrong choice, you pfassks…

Reclining in the chair, she tilted her head back and laughed, a melodious and serene sound completely at odds with her devious smile and the dangerous look in her eyes. Gleefully she watched as the holo-image split in three to follow each sentient as they penetrated further into each tunnel. They should’ve paid more attention to those stress fractures in the floor, especially since the andesite was native to this layer…

Pressing a button, Gaetana watched as the holofeed switched from pitch-black to thermal imaging, the heat signatures of each miner now clearly delineated from their surroundings. Tentatively, each one made their way further down the darkened tunnels, the walls becoming ever tighter. Perfect.

...Now…! She told herself as she slapped a red button. In the holo-image, she saw the three miners falling into the floor, each suddenly trapped in a durasteel tube they’d dropped into. Terrified, they tried–in vain–to gain purchase with their fingers or batter at the walls with closed fists; anything to escape…

...Too late… She smiled grimly, yellow Sith eyes staring unblinking. The three miners all went motionless in reaction to something that Gaetana could not hear or see. But she knew precisely what it entailed and meant. Evilly, her grin widened. Almost as one, they began to flounder within the tubes as far as the cylinders would allow. She saw the three miners struggling, as if they were being tortured.

Which in a very real way they were. All three of them began to spasm, each successive convulsion worse than the last, fingers splayed in all directions in unnatural gesticulations and ways that they were never meant to. One of the humans looked as if their spine was about to bend into itself.

As violent as their initial struggles were, all three quickly succumbed, all movement ceasing in mere seconds. Pushing another button, Gaetana saw that the hermetically sealed tubes were unlocked from their place, an automatic conveyor belt taking each into a central chamber deep underground where they were placed horizontally on a shelf that already had several tubes atop, one that disappeared into the hazed distance of the imperfect holo-image.

Each tube had several connections that linked them to the archaic computer bank lining the shelf, the manufacture and design of which had not been seen in over three millennia. Idly, she wondered what would happen if the “contents” of the older tubes regained consciousness…would they still be sane? Aware? Would they even be sentient at all?

It mattered for nothing, at least not to her.

Smiling, Gaetana nodded to herself, confident that she now had enough to power her Sith Alchemies. Of course, she hadn’t attained the rank of High Inquisitor with “enough…” Besides, the problem was always the inevitable loss of biofuel across the Force-body barrier.

Sighing, she punched another button, changing to yet another holoimage. Like the previous, it showed three bedraggled, dirty, and confused sentients in nothing but prison utilities. Better to be sure…

As she watched as the sentients bungled through the hopeless maze, the stylus dancing across her fingers never once wavered, the intricate and deft dexterity of her orange fingers soon making the stylus all but a blur in her hand.

But as unconcerned thoughts of the surrounding geology continued to sneak into her musings, Gaetana smiled, seeing her plans this close to fruition. She felt a confidence that had long been denied her.

And–unbeknownst to her–she was not the only one.

<<<<< >>>>>

(https://i.ibb.co/sHL4Qxj/Jorya-15.jpg)

Jorya schooled her emotions, “showing” no outward signs of how she felt. But there was absolutely no denying it now.

She’d witnessed just how many of her mannerisms Gaetana seemed to copy, all the while ignorant of that fact.

Within Jorya’s absconded body, Gaetana’s and Kadmaur’s Mind Shards had firm control, Gaetana having emerged the clear “winner” between the two as to which held primacy. But, as she’d noted, Jorya now knew beyond any doubt that there was a…a “bleeding” of sorts between her own personality and that of the Shards.

And that was not all…

“And you’re certain that this will work for the both of us?” Kadmaur’s Shard inquired, so unlike the man himself. Unsurprising that; after all, this was merely a shadow of the real Kadmaur. But given Gaetana’s more direct possession, her Shard was the one now in control.

“Of course.” She answered devoid of doubt. “You yourself saw the two Clawdites.” Kadmaur quieted but Jorya could tell that he was by no means completely satisfied. Or for that matter, trusting of Gaetana. Such dissension required effort from both Shards.

…Effort that weakened them.

So it was that a few days prior, when both Shards had been “arguing” about something about Sith Alchemies, Jorya had slowly, tentatively, and gently “reached” for control.

And for two seconds, her body had been hers again. Jorya had remained “motionless” lest she call attention to her efforts but–and this was most important–the Shards had not noticed.

At all.

Jorya now knew that she would be able to wrest control from the Shards. The problem was that she could not–at least not at present–maintain said control for long. But it was becoming more and more apparent to her that the longer the three of them remained together, the more things would “bleed over” into the others.

So while Gaetana and Kadmaur played puppetmaster, Jorya slowly but inexorably drew upon the reservoir of power that she’d first learned to focus upon from Father, then Mother and Grandfather Kazic, and finally Master Gray Chillum.

And when the time was right, she would do what was necessary…

<<<<< >>>>>

Special thanks to LSG: much of this is his writing! This chapter is dedicated to him :)
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(https://i.ibb.co/Rv34wGT/Zearic-Armor-6.jpg)
Chapter 6: Captive Pursuits, part II
As the Cataphracts raced under their stealth fields over the sands the grenades timer ran out, blasting fragments of the lift down to where Kintik had been standing, Stormtroopers and techs immediately rushing to the scene and scanning the area.

“THERE!” Footsteps appeared in the red sands without anyone to make them, a personal cloak no doubt.

“Set to Stun!” The captain called as the nearest squads opened up on the path of the invisible assailants.

Death Troopers at the main landing area rushing to join the battle.

Triad Isk duck and wove through the blue bolts, the odd glancing hit taken, the Cataphract armour able to take it, but not without a numb static radiating over their skin as they tried to get up the rise to the escarpment.

The Troopers' positions were too spread out to overlap fire quickly; they had been placed to keep people out of the excavation zone not in. Air support was already being called in as the Death Troopers rounded the monolithic crashed vessel that served as the marker for the Vault, their E11-D’s aimed high and fired with precision.

Four shots struck Sio in the back, finally overriding his armor, Zearic skidding over to help him up despite his own wounds. Resignedly clenching his teeth Zearic let the full potential of his tainted blood help him bear his comrade and himself, a lightheaded feeling as a strength not of his own choosing or achievement helped him survive once more. Yet it allowed him to avoid the incoming fire, a fact he was most grateful for, at least in the moment.

Cresting the top of the hill they had a brief reprieve, but could not stop.

“Beckon call active, the TIE Guardian is moving in!” Olyna called, the distance was immaterial for their ship, but it would take a few minutes for the navicomp to chart a course, precious minutes in which they would be overwhelmed by incoming TIE Interceptors.

...Speaking of... Zearic thought as the all-too-familiar screech roared from behind them.

Interceptors flew over slamming bolts into the ground near them, their stealth fields finally dying from overuse and too many stun shots.

Overburdened, wounded, and his armor now running on reserve power, Zearic looked up...just in time to see the Interceptors come round for another pass, Triad Isk's only course of action to keep running.

Diving to the ground Zearic barely held onto Sio, the weight of his comrade driving him down to one knee as red sand turned to glass while the Interceptors boxed them in with another run--they were not trying to kill them, just slow them enough for the Death Troopers to catch up (and they were moving in fast)--fresh and ready they crested the hill and started firing immediately while a huge plume of sand appeared in the distance.

...Get up...! Zearic commanded his body as several more blaster shots connected with his armor. Alarmed, he knew that he was in trouble: with each successive hit, Zearic could feel the sting of the blaster shots more and more, a fact indicative that his armor was close to failure. And, unless he could get it recharged, he would soon be all too exposed.

Regardless, he quickly hoisted Sio on his shoulders repositioning him, the very thought of leaving one of his Triad never once entering his mind and started running straight at the Death Troopers.

Roaring defiantly, his baritone shout echoed throughout the valley.

Zearic had to hand it to the black-armored Imperials: they did not so much as flinch as he barreled straight at them. Weighing over 300kg in his Cataphract Armor--not to mention carrying Sio on his shoulders for an additional 200kg--the wide man looked the unstoppable force that he projected. But, as he said, the Death Troopers were made of sterner stuff.

Almost as one, they spent an extra two seconds to acquire target lock on the huge armored bearded man as he ran directly as them, their E-11D’s primed to snipe him dea--

"Zearic! GET DOWN!" Olyna's shout cut straight through Zearic's consternation and pain, his Primus' yell supplemented in the Force as well. Immediately he hit the deck, red sand obscuring his helmeted vision as a sand storm roared to life above him...

...Not a sand storm, he realized, but rather the Cataphracts TIE Guardian coming in dangerously low.

Snapping round Zearic and Sio fired from their arm mounted cannons at the Death Troopers to force them to hit the ground as Olyna guided the transport on her HUD¹.

The Interceptors were facing the wrong direction, needing to turn before coming in for another pass.

Dust concealing them, the TIE Guardian had finally arrived, Sio half-shambling, half-falling in first, Zearic second, the inheritance of gods giving him strength to lift Olyna up without the Force.

Without pausing, she rushed to the cockpit as the Interceptors turned, their cannons now set to quad link, but the dust making it hard to get a clear shot before their sensors could compensate. Even before she was fully seated, she activated the Guardian's defenses.

Heaving blasts slammed into the TIE Guardian from above, but the shields held as Olyna grabbed the controls, hammering the accelerator and activating auto-tracking for missiles.

“We’ll round the planet in atmosphere, split the ring system and do a near-Langrangian jump from the other side of the planet,” There was no way they would risk breaching atmosphere this close to the excavation site with Imperial ships up there...even so an upper atmosphere jump would be virtually suicidal in light of the planet's mass shadow.

They would have to get at least as far as the small planet's Lagrange Point before initiating a hyperspace jump.

Vaulting into the chair Zearic took the gunner seat, terminals switching on as he took control of the quad cannons, seeking the Interceptors as they flew over the Death Troopers who cursed ineffectually.

Locked into his armor’s recharge port, Sio administered his armor’s autodoc protocols. “Cataphracts! We are leavi–!” He shouted while almost breathing a sigh of relief.

That’s when the ship buckled as if it had crashed.

<<<<< >>>>>

(https://i.ibb.co/GVZqvPm/Kintik-1.jpg)

Kintik raged in frustration as he stood staring up waiting for a new repulsor lift or cable to be sent down to get him to the surface, the sting of his cuts starting to bite. He would not allow these interlopers to escape! He was not some impotent member of the Inquisitorious; he was Dark Side Elite! Gathering the Force around him, Kintik used the fury within.

There, peering from the depths of the Vault and into the sky he reached out with both hands to grab the ship, slowing it to moving barely a meter a second, the Dark Side of the Vault flowing through him like a tide of dark oil sharpened by the pain of his wounds that he let feed his anger, focused into the single Will of stopping the escape.

The Dark Side pulsed as if obliging him, filling Kintik with immense power. Opening his eyes, they almost glowed gold as he concentrated on his enemy.

He would get his answers...either by questioning them or examining their corpses.

<<<<< >>>>>

Even though the inertial dampeners struggled to compensate for the sudden change they were completely successful. Sio, already dizzy from the blaster shots, smashed his forehead on the bulkhead knocking him unconscious. Both Zearic and Olyna winced as they felt it through the BattleMeld. Things had just gone from bad to worse, their TIE Guardian held fast in the Darksider’s grip.

Zearic fired at the approaching TIEs best he could, but it seemed pointless…something that Olyna could also sense through their BattleMeld. And as Primus, it was her responsibility–hers and hers alone!--to keep her Triad safe.

No matter the cost.

“Zearic, get ready to take over….” Olyna said drawing the Light through her body, a soft glow emanating from within her armour. Soon, she felt as if she were shining as fierce as the noontime sun!

Her teeth chattered and fur stood on end, her muscles tensing until….

A flare of Lightside energy burst through and around the TIE Guardian, breaking Kintik's hold, the Dark Side energies rebounding as if a rubber band had suddenly been severed.

The ship half-controlled flung itself forward as Olyna slumped unconscious in the huge chair, the Interceptors missing their mark then overshooting as the ships stuttered then burst ahead. And upon her face was a tired, small smile.

However, she was completely insensate.

...Oh shavit... Zearic thought as he flew from his gunner's chair to swiftly-yet-gently remove the now unconscious Olyna from the pilot's seat. With a quick inhale, he took her place knowing that he was not the pilot that his other Triad members were.

He was confident that Olyna's flight plan was still the best course of action. Taking the Guardian off auto-pilot, he keyed in the destination and, with a silent prayer to the Maker, counted down the seconds that it would take to reach the necessary distance to escape the planet's mass shadow.

And the Interceptors had regrouped, six of them now in close pursuit.

<<<<< >>>>>

Kintik growled as he watched the vessel escape yet not all was lost. One of the troopers had thrown down an abseiling line to him. Empowered by an ocean of Dark Side energies, he made short work of the climb.

Once at the top, he took off his helm and glanced at the cut on his face in the dim reflection upon the black polished kortosis alloy, noting how easily it had been sliced through...quite the dagger his attacker seemed to own. Hopefully micro fragments could be found to determine what type of weapon it was.

But that was for later.

Running, his black boots kicked up the red sand until he was in proximity to his own personal vessel. Again, using the Dark Side flowing through him, he made a tremendous jump, using the Force to land squarely within the pod of the ship, having just cleared the now-closing hatch. With practiced calm, he powered up the ship from its "Loiter" status (a short cut that he was now vindicated by today's circumstances) and enabled the thrusters.

Like the predator it was, the TIE Bat shot forth, the sleek vessel fast, powerful, and agile, the Autonomous Fleet's most deadly and top-of-the-line ship-to-ship fighter.

A fact that the interlopers were about to learn first-hand.

He had to admit that he was concerned: while there was much Kintik did not know, what seemed clear was that these attackers were as ignorant of the nature of the vaults as he was...were they searching for them too? Perhaps, perhaps not.

All Kintik knew for certain now was that Lord Sidious' guidance was vindicated, and time was short.

At least, insofar as his prey was concerned.
______________________________________________________________________
1. HUD: Heads Up Display

Meh I've been having trouble posting lately. Hopefully this will be corrected soon :P
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(https://i.ibb.co/KWQXNz8/Mnemosyne-Harrower-class-Star-Destroyer-1.jpg)
Interlude-The Ars Ingens, part III
(https://i.ibb.co/hYrngbf/Darth-Obliquus-1.png) (https://ibb.co/hYrngbf)(https://i.ibb.co/rFwnhgV/Darth-Surdus-1.jpg) (https://ibb.co/rFwnhgV)(https://i.ibb.co/sRRYVh4/Darth-Saggita-4.jpg) (https://ibb.co/sRRYVh4)(https://i.ibb.co/gtsxp21/Darth-Invidia-1.jpg) (https://ibb.co/gtsxp21)

Battle-bridge of the ”Mnemosyne,” Harrower-class Battle Cruiser, 3626BBY, Aftermath of “The Battle of Arda”
Surveying the wreckage of the Imperial flotilla that had attacked the Ars Ingens’ fleet, Darth Obliquus perused the destruction that his forces had wrought. The Sith fleet had been utterly destroyed to a ship.

But there was no satisfaction to be gained; not here and not now.

This was but the latest setback in a decade of disappointments with the Leviathans no closer to finding their Emperor. He thought of neither pretender Darth Acina nor Darth Vowrawn, the false claimants that had each assumed the mantle of Emperor in the wake of the Second Galactic War. No, for Obliquus there was–and would forever be–only one true Emperor.

The majestic Sith Emperor Vitiate.

Obliquus’ blue cheek almost twitched. Yes, yes, his Emperor had worn many faces and names, the most famous (besides Vitiate) being Valkorion and Tenebrae. Regardless, whatever skin he wore, the Ars Ingens were forever his most loyal of liegemen and -women, always fighting against those who would stand against their Emperor.

Even other Sith.

Unfortunately, that meant that the Ars Ingens had been fighting a war on multiple fronts, from the False Emperors and their Sith to the ever-present thorn of the Republic. Obliquus was not complaining but he was pragmatic: his forces were being worn down in the inevitable war of attrition that the long search of his Emperor had all but guaranteed. And while he and his Darths possessed a mighty army still, it was markedly diminished.

After Servant Six had been rescued, the numbers of the Ars Ingens had swelled to well over 130,000 strong, including 6,000 Sith Acolytes, Swords, Lords, and Darths. The days of yesteryear had seen the Leviathans ever victorious regardless of whichever enemy they faced. In some cases, the Ars Ingens gained even more converts, Sith (and the rare occasional Jedi) that recognized the immutable Truth that was the Emperor.

Power.

Movement from the corner of his eye brought his attention to the present. Obliquus noticed that one of the Terminus-class destroyers was trying to flee the battlefield, almost a fifth of the ship’s hull having already been vaporized. Whomever was on that vessel must be incredibly brave to attempt such maneuvers in such shape. He was almost impressed.

“Tactical…” Obliquus’ voice was as emotionless as his face. “Target that ship. Notify when you have a shooting solution.” It seemed that the commander of the destroyer was intent on relying on the copious debris strewn about the AO¹ to give them cover, despite negotiating through deadly debris fields or in danger of their vessel exploding. Clever.

“My lord, we have multiple shooting solutions.” The lieutenant crisply announced, her technicians dutifully awaiting Obliquus’ command. This time Obliquus did feel a flicker of pride: still after these ten years his people were consummate professionals.

“Fire at will.”

Even before the last syllable had left his lips, multiple green turbolaser fire lanced out through space, the first shot quickly overwhelming the overworked shields while each subsequent shot hit true, producing an expanding spherical fireball. As the Terminus-class destroyer’s doonium hull vaporized it vented atmosphere and occupant alike until–after multiple turbolaser barrages–the ship disappeared amidst an expanding white explosion as its reactor went critical.

Obliquus’ face remained impassive: he was certain that the derelict would take an additional salvo before being destroyed. He suddenly felt introspective; a rarity for him. The Terminus must have been in worse shape than he’d initially surmised. It made the commander’s decision to attempt escape that much more brave. Or foolish. He couldn’t decide. No matter; only results were important.

Which brought the reality of his situation crashing back around him.

“Captain Obeth…” He addressed the CO² of the Mnemosyne without looking at him. “You have the Con.” Not hearing the captain’s polished response, Obliquus turned on his heel to step off the battle-bridge and into the turbolift. Surrounded by silence as well as the turmoil of his own thoughts, Obliquus was mildly annoyed to find himself such. A good leader should not be victim to such distractions.

But that seemed to be more and more the problem lately: instead of results, the Leviathans were bogged down by distractions.

Even his top three Darths…

Now, yes, it was true that they had executed their offices and duty to Obliquus’ satisfaction–not to mention their efforts today–but…

As the turbolift’s doors opened, he stepped into a large room, one specifically belonging exclusively to the Ars Ingens. Within, dozens of Sith Acolytes and Swords, Lords and Darths were in various states of arousal, celebrating their victory over the Pretender’s forces.

And it was his top three Darths that seemed to lead in the celebration.

Invidia, Sagitta, and Surdus: all three were entangled together, their open tryst not the point…

…No, Obliquus found nothing wrong in the fact that–over the last decade–they’d formed a close-knit relationship. The Sith were empowered by strong emotions and if their passions for each other helped the Ars Ingens all the better. Rather what galled him, right here and now, was that they should have been with him to the very last second until victory was beyond a foregone conclusion.

Instead, he found them down here, more naked than clothed, leading in this bacchanalia…

Striding up to the three of them, he knew that they had seen him, taking notice of his presence (if not his anger; Obliquus’ face was almost a constant blank canvas that had fooled many an enemy). Yet, to a person, they all had almost identical smiles of exhilaration. “My Lord…” Invidia’s surprisingly deep voice was incongruous with her youthful, cherubic olive face. “You know that you are always welcome amongst us.” She made a gesture with her finger, inviting him closer while her other hand stroked first Saggita’s lips and then Surdus’ muscled jowls, the humongous human male balancing both women on his lap.

Nothing stirred within Obliquus, even less so any biological response. At least in consideration of their enticement.

However, the irritation that he’d felt earlier suddenly erupted into full-blown anger.

“Stop this immediately.” He hadn’t raised his voice but his tone cut through the room, everyone within turning their attention to Darth Obliquus.

Each and every one of them felt fear, to a greater or lesser extent.

Some part of his mind noticed that his three Darths were amongst those that controlled theirs best. Again, pride in his people. But the current situation swept the muted emotion aside.

“I will forget the faces of everyone that leaves. Now.” He raised his voice to include the room but his gaze never once left the Darths in front of him. “Not you three.” He commanded.

Invidia’s face looked intense as Saggita’s assumed a bored expression. However, Surdus stood, his face an unexpected mix of annoyance and defiance…and something else. Was it…expectation? Whatever it was, it only served to enrage Obliquus further.

Towering over Obliquus, wearing nothing but some loose pants that did nothing to cover the lower half of the huge man’s body, he stepped to the slender man, the faded scar on the side of his face only enhancing his dark mood…and the ghost of a knowing smile. Saying nothing, the enormous man glared down at Obliquus from yellow Sith eyes below a dark, furrowed brow.

Unperturbed, Obliquus glanced up at his Darth, conscious of the murderous precedent ubiquitous throughout the Sith Empire. After all, it was the modus operandi of all Sith to challenge one another for supremacy, forever vying for dominance.

It was yet another distraction that the Ars Ingens should be above of and far removed, a hindrance that prevented them from serving their Emperor to the best of their abilities. His fingers slowly closed to make a tight fist.

However, Obliquus could not allow so direct a threat to his authority remain unpunished.

Glancing up from an impassive face, Obliquus’ allowed his cheek to twitch, the blue skin telegraphing his displeasure. It was the only warning Surdus would get.

The enormous man stepped closer, an intimidating and deadly bent upon his furious face; he must have either not seen Obliquus’ physical admonition or otherwise ignored it. Hands the size of a Hutts balled in anger, dark yellow Sith eyes flashing. And that almost-smile…

Pity; Obliquus like Surdus the best of his Darths.

Without hesitation, the slender Sith Lord moved, the back of his seemingly unthreatening hand moving faster than a Kodachi viper, striking Surdus in his exposed groin, doubling the man over, the glistening muscles of his back emphasized by the sweat. Simultaneously, Obliquus used the Force to Shield the stunned Darth, effectively cutting him off, if for only a few seconds.

But during those seconds, Obliquus finally felt the quandranium grip that he usually held upon his own rage give way, drawing deeply from his emotions to power his attack. With Surdus’ head parallel to the deck, Obliquus grabbed the huge man’s long hair, shoving his face down while bringing his armored knee up, the resulting impact destroying Surdus’ nose and shattering both orbital bones as well as the man’s face.

To his credit, the gigantic human remained on his feet, pain–and something else–radiating from his bloodshot eyes. Growling something unintelligible, he rushed the much smaller man.

Another mistake.

With folded armored knuckles, Obliquus’ arm shot out, his strike hitting Surdus in the throat. Had the slender man not pulled his punch at the last moment, Surdus’ windpipe would’ve been irreparably crushed. However, Obliquus was not finished.

While the huge man tried in vain to pull oxygen through his battered throat, Obliquus brought down his armored elbow, connecting with Surdus’ head. Unceremoniously, he crumpled down upon the deck, an ever-growing pool of blood widening around him. Through the haze of his anger, Obliquus noticed the incredible musculature of the Darth, a specimen of unparalleled perfection.

Yet Obliquus was not finished, his conscious mind lost deep within the fury and hate consuming him. His first kick shattered Surdus’ ribs, the next ruptured a lung, the third breaking his femur, the striated definition of the man’s quadriceps marred by the jutting, broken bone. And still Obliquus continued to rain blow after blow down upon the huge man, his unremitting rage doubling every second, the red in his vision matching Surdus’ blood.

He would not kill the man; he would utterly destroy him, destroy those around him, destroy them AL–

Suddenly, Obliquus felt a gentle touch upon his cheek and then his other, the cool, soft skin of calming tactile comfort deliberately slicing through the rage-induced tunnel vision turning his entire world blood-red. For several seconds, Obliquus–or rather the mindless thing that he’d become as a result of giving into his fury–breathed heavily, his entire body frozen as if in carbonite until his conscious mind caught up.

Both Darths Invidia and Saggita were on either side of him, their outstretched hands gently touching his face, their prior salaciousness all but forgotten. They had identical looks of concern and patience mixed with strained effort marring their faces. And, oddly enough, something else that Obliquus could not for the life of him identify. “Please, my Lord…” One of them said–he wasn’t certain which–while the other pleaded, “My Lord, it’s not worth it…”

It didn’t really matter what the words spoken were but rather the collective tones of the two womens’ voices that served to dispel the hate-filled rage storm that possessed Obliquus. Standing to either side, both women seemed as if in a trance, dual voices winding up, down, and around the four of them. As it always was.

As the tranquility of emotional detachment settled once again around Obliquus, his control finally reasserted itself. “Please my Lord…” and “He’s learned his lesson…” Echoed hollowly around him, forgotten trigger phrases a soothing balm against the ocean of fury that Obliquus normally kept at bay, a storm that contained his rampant desire.

While the soothing voices of the women continued to calm the Sith Lord, Invidia knelt at his feet, her hands cupping Surdus’ head. Without pausing her litany, she drew upon the Force to direct Healing flows into the enormous man’s broken body. As it always was.

A sliver of Obliquus’ conscious mind amusedly considered the irony that a rabid sadist like Invidia should have such a Talent with Healing.

In moments, the most grievous of injuries were on the mend, flesh, bone, and sinew reknitting, bruises fading. But not all.

Nor was it “Healing” in the classic sense of the word; no, after all this was the Dark Side that was being practiced. Instead, Invidia drew upon the three other Darths–Obliquus, Sagitta, and Invidia herself–to “feed” it to Surdus. Again…as it always was.

Theirs was a unique relationship: Invidia, Saggita, Surdus…and Obliquus. Yes, the other three were officially a throuple, but it nevertheless included Obliquus as well…if in a much more macabre sense.

Apropos sentiments given the Sith Lord’s emotional proclivities.

Now tranquil, Obliquus’ anger once again (and finally) gave way to passion, a lust that Saggita now sought to slake. Removing his armor’s codpiece, he ripped the tall woman’s diaphanous robes from her body. But it was Saggita that then took charge: pushing the tall, slender Darth to the deck, she towered above him, judgemental gaze pinning him to the floor. Hungrilly, she grabbed him while crouching down on her knees, both shuddering as deferred cravings were attended to. In moments, they were embracing one another, moving in unison as they felt the fatigue of Invidia’s Force Drain beginning to affect them.

Fighting against the weariness, they forced themselves to redouble their efforts. Saggita grabbed a handful of Obliquus' hair in a vice-like grip as she beared down, the slender man’s sunken eyes staring ravenously at her. Again, a sliver of his conscious mind noticed that Invidia had finally stopped with her Force ministrations and she too was currently “occupied” with Surdus, the two of them wrapped around each other.

Or rather, as much as the diminutive, childlike woman could with the enormous man. Perhaps a more accurate description would be that he had enveloped the woman in his arms as she seemed to hang in midair from him. But then, Obliquus could no longer think; in fact, for several minutes, nothing anywhere mattered…

Except he and Saggita.

In a moment of immodesty, the four Darths succumbed to their ardor and collapsed upon the other, each spent from the dual activities of the Force Drain as well as their coupling.

As it always was.

For several minutes no one moved, their languid apathy indicative of their satiated desires.

Not to mention the Healing.

“...Not so bad as last time, my Lord…” Surdus’ lazy voice joked, causing the other Darths to chuckle.

Obliquus allowed himself to feel the gratitude of the situation. “Thank you.” He said to the others, meaning it. And they knew it.

No one understood them; no one could. They were Ars Ingens.

That was all that anyone else needed to know.

<<<<< >>>>>
______________________________________________________________________
1. AO: Area of Operations
2. CO: Commanding Officer

(https://i.ibb.co/KWQXNz8/Mnemosyne-Harrower-class-Star-Destroyer-1.jpg)
Interlude-The Ars Ingens, part III (cont.)

Imperial Officer’s Conference Room of the ”Mnemosyne,” Harrower-class Battle Cruiser, 3626BBY, Aftermath of “The Battle of Arda”
“Our losses were minimal this time, my Lord.” Captain Obeth announced, not bothering to consult with the Padd that his adjutant tried to hand him. The Captain was well informed about his ship and their personnel. “Only 137 casualties, including 52 dead.”

Obliquus’ lips thinned.

True, those were minimal losses, but as he’d thought before his army could not afford them. At least should they fulfill their duty to his Emperor by giving him the strongest force in the galaxy as possible. Something must be done.

But what…?

“Thank you, Captain.” He walked to the far wall of the conference room, the transparisteel window overlooking the Mnemosyne’s dagger-like superstructure. Staring at the clustered starfields amidst the ocean of blackness, Obliquus kept his concerns to himself. “That will be all.”

Bowing first to the tall man and then the other three Darths, Captain Obeth departed, the turbolift doors loud in the silence after the large, bearded man left.

“What’s on your mind, my Lord?” Surdus’ quiet voice boomed within the room. He’d recovered nicely, the savage cut that Obliquus had inflicted on his face almost completely faded.

Just like all of the others.

Saggita suddenly chuckled. “Surdus my dear, isn’t it obvious? Our Lord is worried about our army’s numbers.” Even though she was seated, she seemed to luxuriate in place. Fitting: even though she was fully clothed from neck to toe in black leather, the skintight outfit emphasized her buxom nature, the stiletto heels on her boots literal daggers.

Obliquus sensed movement rather than hearing or seeing any. “My Lord…” Invidia’s deep voice was breathy in his ear, quite the trick given she was over 35 centimeters shorter than him. “Allow me to help you and your trepidations…” Before the last word had left her lips, he felt a burning sting behind his head.

Obliquus felt the cut upon his neck as Invidia flayed a small, roughly square centimeter of skin from beneath his ear with her vibrostiletto. But it did the trick; it helped to give him proper focus…but it also gave Invidia the excitement that she constantly sought. Without pausing, she slipped the vibrostiletto into her mouth, swallowing the flayed skin as well as the attendant blood. Smiling deeply, she placed a small hand on the tall Darth’s vambrace before sauntering towards the other two seated Sith Lords.

“Saggita is correct.” He suppressed a sigh. “These pointless conflicts between the Ars Ingens and both the Republic and the Pretender’s Empire serves no point and only further weakens us.” He turned from the transparisteel window. “And we are no closer to finding our Emperor.” Now that he had given it voice, the reality of the matter galled him utterly.

After all, his Emperor may be immortal but he and his Leviathans were not.

During the last ten years, Obliquus had given all of his energies to finding him. Oh, he’d been close on several occasions–especially after he’d revealed himself in his guise of Valkorion–but before he and the Ars Ingens could offer their collective fealty, Obliquus had learned that he’d been killed by none other than the Hero of Tython.

Years wasted.

And now more come and gone.

Obliquus knew that he would have to divide his attention now between the search and how best to preserve the Ars Ingens’ numbers.

But…how?

Standing in front of his three most trusted Darths, he was about to make a pronouncement when the turbolift door slid open, vomiting forth a room-filling banshee’s keening.

“ARRGGGHHHH!” Another scream exploded forth as the turbolift’s occupant half-rushed, half-fell into the conference room.

Before anyone else had moved, Surdus was there, the enormous man catching the slender, red-skinned woman who had produced the shrieking wail. She looked the size of a child in his bulky arms, even garbed in her voluminous robes (and she was not a small woman). As Surdus’ meaty, heavy hands gently smoothed the woman’s hair from her barbed brow, Servant Six’s breathing seemed to calm, although her sharp teeth ground together as she tightly clenched her jaw.

“What is the meaning of this?” Obliquus inquired coldly. He wasn’t antagonistic towards the Pureblood Sith woman…but neither was he friendly. “Servant Six?”

At the mention of her name, she peaked through a lidded eye, her orange irises burning with an intensity that Obliquus himself was utterly convinced of: the supremacy of their Emperor.

“The…the…he…he’s…” She coughed, half-sobbing as her throat tightened. “...He’s…DEAD!” She finally shouted as she regained her voice.

Something in her voice sent stalactites of ice shearing down his spine. “Who?” Obliquus asked, already guessing the answer.

Now Servant Six did open her eyes fully, staring deep into Obliquus’ own. “Our…our Emperor!” For a moment none of the four Darths present could speak.

“Vitiate is dead?” Obliquus heard himself ask, convinced of the truth. But how? What Obliquus knew–what only a scant few in the galaxy knew–was that the only way that death could claim his Emperor was if his body, his original body, was destroyed. And he’d taken great pains to hide its location.

Yet he also knew that the Servants had an unbreakable metaphysical connection to their Emperor that even the most ardent of Sith Sorcerers failed to fully grasp. Again: he held no doubts whatsoever that Servant Six’s attestation was nothing but the unvarnished truth.

Which left Obliquus and the Leviathans just exactly where he no longer knew…

He felt as if the entirety of the galaxy was collapsing upon him, creating a singularity from which nothing could escape. Numbly he felt three sets of hands upon him, two sets smaller followed by an enormous pair. Sounds absent their attendant words surrounded him, their meaning absolutely worthless. How is it that after all this time the Ars Ingens had failed?

That he had failed?!

...NO…! His self-admonishment from the depths of his being surprised even him. ...Do NOT capitulate…!

Mentally shaking his head, his vision regained clarity, his Darths responding immediately upon seeing his face change, his eyes focusing. “Wait…” He spoke to all but directed his voice towards the Sith Pureblood. “Our Emperor was nothing if not resourceful: he would’ve had a…a contingency.” He saw Servant Six’s own gaze rise, the panic withdraw. “Surely you must’ve heard something that would help our Emperor should such a possibility arise.” To everyone else’s ears, Obliquus’ voice was calm yet determined; to himself he sounded as if he was pleading for an agreement.

For long seconds, the Sith Pureblood seemed not to have heard, her face a mask of terror. But then…

“...Yes…” She said slowly, her eyes narrowing in thought. “Yes. A ‘contingency’ as you say.” She smiled, the kolta-infused regrown tissue of her cheek slightly discolored compared to the rest of her face. But her smile faded as swiftly as it had appeared. “But I must warn you: it will not be easy.”

Obliquus' mouth drew down in a slight smirk as his other three Darths scoffed. Surdus barked a deep laugh. And when Obliquus spoke, his voice sounded as tired as he felt. “Ttsykk dqqa mii xu’wttoq’l al’qwvi’baljj.³” He sighed before speaking at his usual volume. “It never is.”
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3. Ttsykk dqqa mii xu’wttoq’l al’qwvi’baljj: Sith for “Next time in the Emperor’s glory.”

Sorry for the belated post but Real Life has been getting in the way of writing (again!)
Special thanks to LSG for the Corbos bio :) This chapter is dedicated to him!
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(https://i.ibb.co/C7mXdGv/Corbos-1.png)
Chapter 7: Uncertainty Is The Only Certainty, part I
Bordering the boundary between the Mid- and Outer-Rim in the Galactic Northeast lay an unremarkable system within an unremarkable sector several parsecs off the Perlemian Trade Route.

Unremarkable now…but it had not always been so.

Millennia ago, the system in question had seen the rise of an enormous army of Dark Jedi intent on galactic conquest, the precursor to the Hundred-Years Darkness which eventually and directly led to the founding of what would become the Sith Order.

A fact long influencing Gaetana in her quest for power. While it was something deeply personal to her, she also knew it to be a universal galactic truth. After all, she’d learned very early in her childhood that the only capital that mattered in this life was power.

It was the Truth that every Sith since the Hundred-Years Darkness knew to be absolutely incontrovertible.

During the war, both Light and Dark Side Jedi championed their respective forces that numbered in the billions as the Jedi scoured countless planets for sentients with Force sensitivities. Those that were not were assigned to the military, swelling each army to numbers not seen since the First Great Schism thousands of years hence.

The galactic community became a resource mined again and again for what could be described as cosmic fodder as each side threw wave after wave of sentients against each other in colossal battles that saw entire swathes of civilized space de-populated, each person a weapon to be used against the enemy.

But Gaetana had learned that that had not been all.

During the Hundred-Year Darkness, a Sith Sorcerer of profound wisdom and inimitable power possessing incredible talent named Sorzus Syn produced some of the most horrifying abominations seen in the history of the galaxy, these horrid monstrosities the newest munitions of warfare. Here were real monsters in every sense of the word, inspiring true terror.

Gaetana knew all about monsters; after all she’d learned one of her very first lessons directly from her own monster.

As the Hundred-Year Darkness progressed, Sith Spawn joined their Dark Jedi allies against their Republic enemies, the distinction between the monsters–humanoid and Sith Spawn–were largely academic. They sought the deaths of all that opposed them, the more gruesome the better. The humanoid races persisted, yet…

It was only by the grace of the Force that these Sith Spawn had gone mercifully extinct during the interim.

But not the rakghoul.

Gaetana shivered, almost muttering a prayer to a Maker that she no longer believed in. No, if there were any gods, they were those Sith that had the power to defy death.

One way or another.

Karness Muur, a contemporary of Syn, had the dubious honor of creating the plague that ultimately became the rakghoul. And while it was certainly a success, it was not what he’d intended to accomplish. However, it was instrumental in the realization of his final objective: immortality.

The rakghoul plague had been based upon ancient Sith Alchemies, the same majicks that allowed one to possess a host. After all, it was the rakghoul plague that would overcome its victim’s persona, consuming what was to feed what would be.

That had been his first step. However, it was the next phase that yielded truly incredible results. Gaetana smirked; the Force must possess some sense of irony given that so many galaxy-changing events would so often originate in the most obscure of places.

Like an unremarkable planet in an unremarkable system in an unremarkable sector…a planet that used to be called Corbos.

And it was during his time on Corbos that Muur perfected his craft, finally solving the secret of possession. While the rakghoul plague would reduce its victim to a mindless, bestial terror, Muur’s Alchemy resulted in true control over the subject without the loss of self.

That had been his next step.

With the conflict of the Hundred-Year Darkness raging across the entire galaxy, subjects were plentiful. Whether as slaves, prisoners of war, or simply a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, Muur’s victims were legion.

A legion that was needed as his experiments were countless, each one more horrid than the last, the results of which were even more monstrosities added to Syn’s own creations.

But oh the glorious ends more than made up for the tedious means!

Necessary for his endgame, Muur had Syn fabricate one of the Dark Side’s greatest inventions, a seemingly quaint bauble fashioned by the Dark Jedi in the form of a talisman. Gaetana’s smirk widened to a grin. Such power from such a seemingly innocuous trifle…

And yet, also necessary for her plans, plans that, when taken in conjunction with the Holocron of Darth Vectivus, would see herself whole once again. Indeed, even stronger than before!

She let out a throaty laugh, the sound a higher register than her original voice. A fact that no longer registered to either Gaetana’s nor Kadmaur’s Shard. But Jorya took notice.

She should; it was the first time that she’d heard her own voice absent the heady contralto of Gaetana’s influence. …Now…? She quickly thought, potential action poised on a knife’s edge…but only for a split second. ...No…not yet…it’s not the time… Jorya knew that when she finally decided to wrest control of her body back from the Shards, she would be incredibly vulnerable afterwards, giving her only a bare few seconds at the most. Best to make certain…

Meanwhile, Gaetana’s attention was diverted within, a necessity as she had to “speak” to Kadmaur.

“I want to know that I’ll be able to participate and complete the ritual on my own, independent of…this.” Kadmaur’s tone dripped condescension, but whether it was for Jorya or herself Gaetana couldn’t decide. Not that she cared either way; her time with the insufferable Shard was almost at an end.

“I will be me, you shall be you, and our ‘benefactor’ will finally know the definition of true pain as I do to her what her mother and father did to me.” Gaetana answered in earnest. After all, this was one of those times where there was no reason at all to make an enemy when having a powerful ally could be advantag–

A subdued klaxon began to sound off, the confined surveillance room taking on an abyssal hue as warning lights turned everything a blood-red pallor. Gaetana pulled at her full control of Jorya’s body, curiosity piqued. Who would possibly be coming way the hell out here?

Deftly, she brought up several different visuals, each holoview showing potential windows of orbital entry. Nothing. She wondered why the sensor drones further from Corbos hadn’t detecte–

A ship suddenly came into view, a sleek, dangerous looking infiltrator whose black fuselage seemed to scatter the light about instead of reflecting it properly. Her eyes widened in true surprise, recognition from Jorya’s memory repository contorting her face from shock to rage to uncertainty.

It was Mother’s ship, Fenris’ Dirge.

How…how the hell had Mo…had D’Aylanna tracked her here? Gaetana pursed her lips as genuine amazement replaced anger. She truly was a remarkable opponent, she told herself. It was not so much the response that would’ve been foreign to Gaetana prior to possessing the young Togruta but rather the accompanying respect.

Of course, for Kadmaur it was perfectly germane to his personality. Or rather, his Shard.

Gaetana smiled. Where she’d thought she’d been cheated from her revenge against the Hapan master it seemed that the Force had delivered to Gaetana her enemy upon a platter.

Perfect.

She knew what she wanted from the experience, she knew what she’d lamented from being denied the chance to have D’Aylanna’s bare throat under her hands, her fingers wrapping themselves ever tighter to slowly choke the life from the diminutive woman.

To see the fear in her dark eyes. To feel the terror in her face. To witness her life leaving her body…especially after what the Hapan master had done to her.

To consummate the vengeance that burned within her soul.

“The Ritual isn’t anywhere near re–” Kadmaur reminded, a gnat in Gaetana’s ear.

She crushed the irritant underfoot. “I KNOW!” Her lips writhed from a gritted snarl to a determined grin. By the Emperor’s soul, she would not waste this opportunity! Muting Kadmaur’s disagreements, Gaetana jumped up, plans inundating her. She would show D’Aylanna, show her who was the strongest! She sped towards the lift that was the only connection between the winding caves and the adjacent space-berths, the Togruta’s long legs sped her towards the cave labyrinths that she knew better than her own–or rather, her original–face. Yes, this time she would stand triumphant over D’Aylanna.

This time it would be Gaetana who would school that Hapan tralk and make her acknowledge her supremacy…

<<<<< >>>>>

Special thanks to FT for the visual assist with D'Aylanna! This chapter is dedicated to him :)
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(https://i.ibb.co/pfdgHkJ/Fenris-Dirge-2.jpg)
Chapter 7: Uncertainty Is The Only Certainty, part II

As the swirling, blue hyperspace tunnel collapsed into starlines, finally settling into a myriad points of light, D’Aylanna expertly piloted the Hapan-made Mandalorian infiltrator into Real Space, the star field eerily obfuscated by the local gas-clouds.

But there, centered in the canopy was her destination, the seemingly-ordinary planet that had haunted her dreams and her late Visions.

Corbos.

The diminutive woman shivered involuntarily, the words that she’d spoken–now memorized–burned into her memory.

At the end of the Hundred-Year Darkness
Where the Black Rains wash all away and
The Leviathans lie in wait to
Steal Life, and imprison it for the Time
Of Rebirth, the Three-Who-Are-One
Will become Two: One black, One Gray,
One whose life is Diminished; One whose death is Ameliorated
It is She who Yields; It is She who Controls;
It is She who Lives; It is She who Dies

What did it all mean? She had tried–by the Maker had she tried!--to make sense of her Force Precognition…but knew that the precise meaning of her Vision would remain elusive until the exact second of their passing.

”Remember that the Future is always uncertain, always in motion,” Her father Kazic had taught her. ”One should never rely solely on Visions for answers, especially when they lead to only more questions.”

D’Aylanna tightly smiled. ...Would that I could, Father… She thought ruefully. But answers? No, she had none, none at all.

She felt her face fall. No, that wasn’t precisely true.

She had one answer…

Unconsciously gritting her teeth, she focused on the here-and-now, thoughts of what she needed to do about Gaetana pushed away to the periphery of her mind.

Without pause, she plotted an in-bound course in the navcomputer, taking over manual when Fenris’ Dirge slipped below the stratosphere. Simultaneously, she used the infiltrator’s advanced sensor suite to scour the small planet’s surface, looking for abnormalities.

Unsurprisingly, she picked up doze–no, hundreds of small mining outposts, some not even large enough to earn the descriptor “outpost.” D’Aylanna sighed heavily.

She trusted Ralen implicitly, knew that his guesses were more reliable than other people's facts. If he thought that her destination was Corbos, D’Aylanna was confident that she was in the right place.

But as the minutes turned into an hour, then two, she could feel the weight of disappointment and doubt begin to creep in upon her. Perhaps she’d put too much stock in her Force Precognition. She just had to fin–

Suddenly one of the sensors pinged, zooming in on one of the countless mountain ranges. Manipulating the holoimage with slender, deft fingers, she stared hard at the digitized image that the computer fought to extrapolate. ...There… D’Aylanna’s lips had a hard set to them as she piloted Fenris’ Dirge into the narrow canyons leading to a split between two mountain ranges, following the gorge into a particularly slender separation…

…Which suddenly opened into a wide if concealed void virtually hidden from orbit. Had she not specifically been looking for it D’Aylanna doubted that she would’ve ever found the cave. She let out a breath that she hadn’t realized she’d held. Without her Vision…

She gave her head a mental shake. Moot point; she was here. And if what Ralen had told her was true–and as she said she trusted him implicitly–then she was about to enter one of the most sought after places in the galaxy, one whose import was only surpassed by its danger…

The Laboratory of Karness Muur.

D’Aylanna piloted the infiltrator slowly in, revealing past the reddish stone canyon walls a sizable hanger that already held another ship, the dark, sleek dagger-shaped wings trimmed with blue…

Gaetana’s absconded TIE Guardian.

Both relief and anxiety flooded her mind. She was in the right place.

But why had Gaetana come here? D’Aylanna had consulted multiple Archives and there was little enough that was written concerning Corbos, even less so the Laboratory…but what she had learned was that the Dark Jedi Karness Muur was responsible for many atrocities during the Hundred-Year Darkness.

How that in any way related to Gaetana she had no idea…

Exhaling, D’Aylanna’s face lost all expression. It did not matter; regardless of Gaetana’s intent, this would be her tomb. And good riddance, the traitorous former Vhal’Dan master had more lives than a Zyggerian feline. ...She’s run out of lives…

At least that’s what she told herself.

A small, seemingly insignificant voice in the back of her head that sounded unsurprisingly similar to Kazic kept nagging her: “...what about Jorya…?”

Not for the first time, she chose to ignore it, knowing what must be done.

...Maker, please let my Shakal understand… She prayed.

Kazic had taught her that Family was of utmost importance, a fact that D’Aylanna agreed with wholeheartedly. Which was why it must needs be her.

She absolutely loved Jorya as the daughter that she was and knew that the young woman would do anything to rid the Vhal’Dan of the threat that Gaetana represented.

She would save the Vhal’Dan–her daughter(!)--by finally killing Darth Mendax.

D’Aylanna donned her stealth armor, the lithe suit perfect for infiltration but still giving excellent protection (if not anywhere near that of, say, a suit of Cataphract armor). Enumerating a fractal lock based on her own chaincode, she set the ship to “Loiter” status and grabbed her heavy cloak.

Exiting the ramp, she was certain that Gaetana would already know of her presence. Mindful of traps, D’Aylanna extended her Force Senses outward, easily mitigating her Hapan night-blindness within the lowly-lit caverns.

Walking carefully, she penetrated further into the caves, the rocky passages supported by ancient fabricated stanchions and durasteel supports, dust covering every exposed surface.

D’Aylanna took no comfort in that fact; Gaetana was clever enough to present the surrounding environs as undisturbed. Mindful of such, she was constantly vigilant to minute changes, her hackles up.

Today would be Gaetana’s last, she promised herself.

Taking a step forward, D’Aylanna disappeared into the darkness of the labyrinth, unignited lightsaber gripped tightly in her armored hand, controlled anxiety mitigated by her sense of duty for the Order.

And, beneath that, her infinite sadness for her daughter.

(https://i.ibb.co/BfmrS1V/FE05-EE87-198-F-4-A5-E-98-B9-3-CF3215-C2-B22.jpg)

<<<<< >>>>>

Special thanks to FT(again!) for the visual assist; this art is ENTIRELY his! This chapter is dedicated to him :)
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(https://i.ibb.co/6sQvSYq/TIE-Guardian-v-TIE-Interceptor-2.jpg)
Chapter 7: Uncertainty Is The Only Certainty, part III

“Shavit!” Zearic cursed under his breath, gritting his teeth as he fought against the controls while trying to dodge the incoming fire from the 6 TIE Interceptors. Even as the inertial dampers struggled to compensate, the big man eased the stick with his left while keying into the navcomputer the final coordinates of the hyperspace transit.

Zearic cooly yet swiftly did the fourth-dimensional trigonometric calculations all the while avoiding the ever-increasing enemy fire, although the canopy would flash as the shields absorbed another blaster hit. He did his best to remain calm but a small, nagging worry grew louder: he was an adept gunner, not pilot. True, he was qualified on the TIE Guardian but it was not his forte.

That, and he was doing what was typically a two-person job between the pilot (usually his Primus Olyna) and the navigator (usually his Tertius Sio).

Responding smoothly to his piloting, the TIE Guardian was truly a marvel: a space-superiority fighter, it possessed all the strengths of the TIE Defender but with added survivability, firepower, and utility courtesy of Vhal’Dan R&D specifically for the Order’s Cataphracts. In the hands of a skilled–or especially expert–pilot, it was virtually unstoppable.

Zearic was neither an adept nor an expert pilot, his flying skills basic at best.

In fact, it was testament to the Guardian’s quality that he wasn’t in worse shape, having taken multiple blaster hits, both shields and armor holding.

But six TIE Interceptors presented a real danger, even to the Guardian.

And unlike him, those pilots were highly proficient.

That’s why Zearic had kept to Olyna’s flight plan: pushing the Guardian, he’d opened the distance between him and the Imperial forces by several kilometers, the much faster Guardian outpacing the pursuing TIEs without problem. In no time, he was slicing through the atmosphere as he did a polar-orbital exit, feelings buoyed that he’d escaped…

…Only to start at the warning klaxon, the IFF transponder recognizing 4, no fiv…6 bandits on intercept. Imperial TIE Interceptors. A quick look at one of the Guardian’s displays also showed an incoming Imperial II-class star destroyer behind the hostiles, much too far for a tractor beam but a looming threat nevertheless.

...Frell this… He thought grimly.

Zearic pushed the Guardian hard, the ship racing ahead of the Interceptors and the distant star destroyer, his eyes simultaneously searching while his ears anticipated the digitized ping that would mean that he was finally out of the planetary gravity well.

The fourth planet of VR-161–it had no other stellar designation–had thick, dual rings of rocky bodies ranging from dust-sized to over a dozen large shepard moonlets (relative to their parent planet). It was the outer ring that was the effective Langrangian boundary that marked “safety” for Zearic. Only a few more hundred kilometers and he would clear the planetary shadow allowing him to jump to hyperspace.

With green plasma lancing past the sleek daggerlike wings atop his canopy, Zearic mentally counted down the seconds as he entered the final-yet-critical stellar equations to jump to lightspeed, the inertial dampers doing everything they could all the while the Guardian evaded most of the incoming fire.

...If Olyna were on the stick, these pfassks would’ve never gotten a shot on the shields… Zearic knew. ...C’mon dammit…

Then he was suddenly past the outer ring, the canopy showing nothing but the open blackness of space and stars. Not even waiting for the tell-tale ping, he pulled the triple-lever of the hyperdrive motivator.

“Eat shavit!” He barked, sweat from his forehead beading upon his brow as the hyperdrive cycled up to nominal. In the space between seconds, Zearic anticipated the starlines that preceded the swirling blue hyperspace tunnel and escape…

But nothing happened.

Zearic blinked. ...What the hell…? He wondered, stupefied. The Guardian lurched as several Interceptor shots connected, the shields fluctuating. Mind racing, Zearic took action: banking hard, he turned the craft into the incoming Interceptors and, priming the Guardian’s potent cannons, led the leading TIE a bit before squeezing off a barrage of deadly red plasma.

Caught unaware by their suddenly attacking prey, the lead TIEs ran straight into the Guardian’s line-of-fire.

During the height of the Empire, Imperial doctrine had focused more on numerical superiority and maneuverability rather than survivability. However, under the triple leadership of the Autonomous Fleet, those principles had changed: as such, all TIEs within the Fleet had been upgraded with at least rudimentary shields.

Too bad they faced the Vhal’Dan TIE Guardian.

The Interceptor’s middling shield strength combined with the surprise attack meant that they were now at a supreme disadvantage.

The Guardian’s overpowered cannonfire slammed into the two lead TIE Interceptors, their shields fluctuating wildly before collapsing entirely. The last of the Guardian’s laser barrage tore through the TIEs, causing their reactors to go critical, propagating a pair of spherical explosions.

Zearic’s face split into a tight grin. This he could do; after all, he was Triad Isk’s resident gunner. Scratch one and two.

The remaining four TIEs scattered, giving Zearic a few precious seconds. Quickly consulting the Guardian’s sensors, he saw that he was still far within a gravity well. He knew that the planetary rings were the Lagrangian Point, so the mass shadow had to be artificial. The Interceptors had regrouped, attacking now from multiple angles. Knowing that the Guardian’s shields would be up to the task, Zearic took the time to line up on the nearest TIE with his cannons. With a five second burst, the Interceptor disappeared into a glowing ball of heat and vapor. Scratch three.

It gave him some breathing room but it was a temporary reprieve at best.

The star destroyer was much too far away for a tractor beam and he didn’t see signs of any Interdictors in the area…

Stabbing a button on the left side panel, he flew in an unpredictable pattern until the 4 innocuous drones had deployed. Banking hard to pull attention away from what he hoped would be an ignored payload, Zearic squeezed off some more cannon rounds, not really trying to hit anything but rather as a distraction.

It appeared to work: the remaining TIEs seemed determined in their pursuit to the exclusion of anything else. Unfortunately, it was immediately evident that they were also superior pilots.

Attacking from three different vectors, the Interceptors were now individual targets, supplementing one another without the disadvantage of grouping together. Furthermore, their laserfire proved true, further depleting the Guardian’s shields.

Zearic knew he was in trouble: shields were already at 63%...which for the Guardian meant it had taken a lot of punishment already. “Maker, please…” He whispered under his breath.

Whether by answer or luck, the Guardian’s panel pinged, telemetry data streaming atop the holoviewer. ...What the hell…? He thought, giving half of his attention to his piloting while shooting his cannons. Scoring a lucky hit, he clipped one of the Interceptor’s wings and sent it careening away in an uncontrolled spin. Scratch four.

Zearic knew he had scant few seconds to interpret the data.

The drones had sped away in four different directions to establish a 4-dimensional triangulation perimeter. Once reached, their advanced sensor suites collected and correlated the necessary stellar telemetry, simultaneously locking onto the strongest local singularity representing the gravity shadow stopping him from jumping to hyperspace as well as the outer boundary of said gravity shadow.

“Shavit…” He cursed, stomach tightening. The mass shadow was enormous; there would be no running, at least not as it was. That meant an artificial cause. Furthermore, the drones had pinpointed the center of the gravity well: it was coming from one of the largest shepherd moonlets in the Outer Ring.

Which meant that he first had to get past the star destroyer.

Zearic noticed that he had not seen nor heard anything from the remaining two Interceptors. Glancing at his sensors, he saw that they’d pulled back.

…Which meant that there would be more trouble incoming.

The Guardian was an incredible fighter, par excellence…but, he was admittedly and at best a middling pilot. He knew that the Imperials would scramble more TIEs, maybe a squadron or two that would completely overwhelm him.

He had to reach that moonlet before that happened.

For his plan to work, he would also need a bit of luck. Pressing several buttons, one of the holodisplays lit up, the “Enable” and “Disengage” functions highlighted. Thumbing the first of the two, he knew that he’d have to time it perfectly, otherwise…

Shaking the dark thoughts from his mind, the big man breathed deeply, ready to release his worries, doubts, and trepidation to find his center.

Exhaling, Zearic felt the tension in his back lessen before he pressed the stick hard forward, switching shields to double-front, hoping that his luck–or the Maker–would be with him that day.

That’s when the sensors pinged a new enemy craft, one that the Vhal’Dan knew nothing about…

<<<<< >>>>>

Special thanks to FT(again x2!) for the visual assist; this art is ENTIRELY his (as well as the invention of the TIE Bat)! This chapter is dedicated to him :)
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(https://i.ibb.co/kmf25dK/TIE-Bat-v-TIE-Guardian-3.jpg)
Chapter 7: Uncertainty Is The Only Certainty, part IV

Even before the ramp had fully opened, Kintik jumped from the shuttle onto the star destroyer’s deck. “Give me an immediate sitrep¹!” He barked, the Dark Side energies from the tomb still surrounding him. It was as if the Dark Side recognized an adherent, lending Kintik its strength even this far from the planet.

Good, he would need every advantage, if his last experience was anything to go by.

When the Jedi had severed the Dark Side Telekinesis clamping down upon their ship, Kintik was inundated by the resultant backwash. Had he not been a Dark Force Adept, it would have killed him, his flesh and soul ripped from his body.

But he was his Master’s Military Executor, the Will&Wrath of the Emperor.

“Ready my ship!” He commanded, divesting himself of the duster he’d worn down on the planet, the dirt-covered cloak heavy with the reddish dirt of the Tomb. Checking his armor, belt, and combat webbing, Kintik strode into the opening aperture of a deadly and sleek black ship, similar to the TIE Interceptors but much, much more lethal.

Much like its pilot.

Sitting down, the seat slid around and forwards under the canopy, the twin-ion engines already primed. Comfortably grasping the stick, Kintik brought the ship to full power, cannons, shields, and thrusters blinking “Optimal.” With his other hand, he drew back on a horizontal handle, the ship shooting forth from its berth and into the star-dotted blackness of space.

Another innovation from the Autonomous Fleet was a splinter group from Grand Admiral Thrawn’s TIE Defender Program that had begun work on a variant space-superiority fighter, one that was even more advanced than the Defender-Elite.

The TIE Bat.

Overpowered weapons–multiple laser- and ion-cannons, missiles–primary- and secondary shield generators, with faster engines and maneuverability, the TIE Bat was the absolute pinnacle of Sienar’s TIE-line. Coupled with the fact that Kintik was an expert pilot, the TIE Bat was effectively a death-sentence for any opponent.

As Kintik lined up in the same plain as the enemy craft, he glanced down at his ship’s sophisticated sensor suite. Parsing the data, his yellow eyes drank in the pertinent details, giving him a very good diagnosis of his enemy’s capabilities. His eyes wrinkled as his mouth twisted in a smirk.

Theirs would be a true contest, if the enemy craft was even half as good as the sensors indicated.

“Executor, please stand by: a squadron of TIE Interceptors and TIE Defenders are green for ‘slingshot’ scramb–” Kintik heard the deck officer in his ear, adrenaline and the Dark Side coursing through him.

“Belay that!” He barked, settling into “the zone” where his full attention was on him, his craft, his surroundings, and his enemy. “Stand down all TIEs; I will deal with this interloper myself.” His tone was steady, not at all one belonging to someone who was entering into deadly combat.

“Good copy, Executor. All TIEs standing down. Remaining Interceptors are returning home.” The deck officer informed.

As if Kintik had had any doubt that he’d be obeyed.

Putting out of his mind anything he considered superfluous–like the deck officer–Kintik was now entirely focused on the fight between him and the enemy bogey.

The two fighters aligned along the same vector, each speeding towards the other in a deadly game of “Chicken.”

Perfect; he wouldn’t want it any other way.

As the targeting reticule on the HUD² locked onto the incoming bogey, Kintik’s eyes remained unblinking, fingers easily squeezing the trigger. Green plasma burst forth from the TIE Bat’s quad cannons, zeroing on the bogey which should make it bank away. A split second later, Kintik banked hard to avoid any incoming fire, re-vectoring the Bat so he should emerge just behind the bogey… Kintik blinked.

The bogey was not there.

With one eye on his sensors, he scanned his canopy for a visual. Before any alarm sounded, he felt the Bat lurch, his shields able to absorb the incoming fire, his understanding almost immediate. Interesting. The bogey would’ve had to tank the shots from the Bat’s quad cannons to have been able to line up on him like that.

Kintik couldn’t help but smile: looks like the bogey was as strong as indicated.

While this was going through his head, the Dark Side Executor was putting the Bat through its paces, banking hard port, starboard, and pitch, the inertial dampers a half-second behind his piloting.

He would not underestimate his opponent again.

Cautiously, he pushed the Bat into a perpendicular vector, banking easily away from incoming red plasma. Whomever they were, they were an excellent shot.

But their piloting? Kintik grinned; he knew the worth of his own skill. Apropos of such, he pushed the stick hard, banking the Bat through maneuvers that seemed impossible, able to line up several shots zeroing the bogey.

Part of his mind identified the bogey as a TIE Defender variant, larger, more maneuverable, yet more heavily armed&armored than the “standard.”

Much like his own TIE Bat.

However, the variant possessed the Defender’s tri-wing array as well as a longer and thicker cockpit. Oh, it was still recognizable as a TIE pod, but had a large, jutting rectangular superstructure sticking from the back and thicker struts attached to the wings. Speaking of, the wings were longer and sleeker by about 3-4 meters as well. He couldn’t help but wonder what the extra length was for…

Another volley of red plasma splashed across his canopy, his shields holding. Once again, Kintik was surprised at how powerful the cannonfire was: the Bat’s shields were at 76%.

But if his opponent had scored several hits on the Bat, Kintik had zero’d the variant over a dozen times, causing the shields to begin to attenuate. It was as if the pilot had only the most basic of flight experience…

Kintik’s situational awareness was such that he knew that they were close to the , the star destroyer only now looming in the upper corner of the Bat’s canopy. As he was vectoring for another flanking shot, Kintik was suddenly surprised as the Defender variant sped away under the and past back towards the planetary rings. There was nothing fancy, just raw speed.

And surprised he was: the Defender variant was fast, almost as fast as his own TIE Bat.

Almost.

Pressing the stick as far forward as it would go, Kintik found himself gritting his teeth as meter-by-meter his Bat crept ever closer to the Defender variant. Yet still his enemy was just beyond his cannon’s nominal range; his fire instead lancing past the ship as it drew closer to the outermost ring.

Within seconds, both fighters plunged deep within the ring’s thicket, dust-sized matter vaporized by the shields while somewhat larger rock-and-ice fragments slid off the armor.

The real danger came from the ship-sized, ore-riddled boulders and, of course, the moonlets that were up to several tens of kilometers in diameter. And everything in-between.

The Defender variant banked hard, keeping close to a large, craggy asteroid, using it for cover. As his opponent disappeared behind the rock, Kintik did the unexpected: firing a concussion missile, he vectored hard opposite the enemy ship’s trajectory thinking to cut them off while suddenly appearing in front of them.

Two things happened simultaneously: the missile connected and detonated, pulverizing the asteroid and exposing the Defender variant to the TIE Bat’s targeting system. Grinning wickedly, Kintik squeezed the trigger, shooting green plasma from his ship's cannons and knowing that he had the Defender variant zeroed.

The first volley was absorbed by the shields…but not the second. Kintik saw the shields attenuate, flash, and then collapse. Now he had them. Squeezing the trigger a second time, the Bat’s advanced weapon-system spat lancing fire directly at the Defender variant.

Unsure how much armor the ship had, Kintik fired several volleys to be sure. Before the Defender could escape, the first grouping of shots clipped one of the wing arrays, causing it to vent smoke and vapor, obfuscating Kintik’s line-of-site. No matter; the next volley connected along with the next.

The sudden bright flash of blinding light suffused the Bat’s cockpit before the transparisteel canopy polarized to compensate, surprising even Kintik. As did the violently expanding fireball that threatened to immolate everything in the immediate area.

Kintik knew from the explosion that nothing could have survived that. Well, he amended, very little…

Expertly piloting the Bat away, Kintik performed a sensor sweep in real-time 4th dimensional space. There were several smaller pieces of debris, exposed exotic metals and vapors, as well as molecular biomatter.

But that was all that was left of the Defender variant according to scans.
___________________________________________________________________
1. sitrep: situation report
2. HUD: Heads Up Display

Special thanks to For Tyeth for the awesome visual assist with D'Aylanna! This chapter is dedicated to him :)
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(https://i.ibb.co/khhKNjy/CEAE171-B-2-AF5-4-CCB-9-B29-CA46891-DE29-D.jpg)
Chapter 8: Whispers To A Scream, part I
“Shavit…”D’Aylanna quietly cursed, using one of her husband's favored expletives as darkness enveloped her, the nearest lamp sputtering out again. Yes, her armor possessed its own illumination torches but she was reticent to so readily give away her position. That was why she held her unignited lightsaber hilt in her hand.

She knew that Gaetana would be within somewhere and that she more than likely had several traps at the ready but she wasn’t going to make it any easier for the tralk.

A small smile spread upon her face. ...If my Shakal could hear me now… She thought sardonically in Hapan...He’d be apoplectic at my current argot… D’Aylanna’s Basic had always been idiosyncratic–after all, it had been amongst the last of the 11 languages she spoke fluently–and her command of the galaxy’s lingua franca had given Zearic, Kazic, and Jorya many an opportunity to jokingly rib her about it.

Her fond smile suddenly soured into a smirk. It was not lost upon her that her thoughts continued to stray towards better times, given her current situation. After all, she’d come to kill her most dangerous and hated enemy.

...As well as your daughter… The voice in the back of her head that sounded remarkably like her father Kazic reminded her. Slowly exhaling, she morosely agreed.

As 7th Speaker of the Vhal’Dan, D’Aylanna was well versed in the arts of Double Speak, half-truths, and disassembling…but she refused to lie to herself. And as much as it may hurt her, she would never foist this responsibility upon her Shakal. She would honor her daughter as she destroyed a most ignoble and minacious adversary.

Especially after what Gaetana had done to her family.

Even though he’d recovered, and surprisingly well considering the wounds, her Shakal still had the ragged scars courtesy of Gaetana stabbing him through his back and chest. Thank the Maker that they’d been so close to a full bacta tank.

It also reminded her to never become complacent…apropos sentiments given her current situation. And the reason she was now here.

As D’Aylanna penetrated deeper into the winding rocky caverns, she noticed how sporadic the metal fabrications were: one bend of the shaft was entirely made of igneous stone whereas a straightaway would be completely lined with plas- and durasteel bulkheads and decks. Clearly the substrate had been hollowed out with plans in mind.

Regardless, the electric torches were sporadic enough that she was effectively nightblind most of the time. To compensate, she extended her Force Senses outward as far as she dared, aware of the smallest of minutiae.

The air down here was still stale as if the scrubbers hadn’t been turned on in sometime, every surface was covered in a thick blanket of dust, and the automatic sensors that controlled everything from the lights to ambient room temperature seemed to be partially malfunctioning.

Not for the last time was she thankful for her armor and its regulatory systems.

Throughout it all she was surrounded by a constant humming, probably subvocal and beyond the notice of most sentients. But not Hapans; their other senses more than made up for their nightblindness.

Yet beneath the constant droning hum, there was a sporadic clunking lurch that she found impossible to locate, even with the Force enhancing her senses.

To say that it was unnerving was a vast understatement.

As her senses drank in all of her surrounding environment, D’Aylanna used the downtime to peruse the databundle that Ralen had given to her and–at least as far as she was concerned–memorize.

According to his research, this was one of the last known laboratories suspected to date back to the Hundred-Year Darkness, even before the ordination of the Sith Order proper. Several stories–those usually relegated as fanciful anecdotes or apocryphal speculations–whispered of ancient Dark Side myths. But she knew that many myths held at least a kernel of truth…

Furthermore, if those stories were to be believed, it most likely belonged to one of the most renowned Dark Jedi (and later Sith) to ever have existed.

Karness Muur.

Thorough records on Muur simply did not exist, a fact that she was sure that the former Emperor had a hand in. After all, wouldn’t he want to keep information about the Sith Order hidden? Maker knew that Palpatine had done everything in his power to obfuscate his own history, especially that of his Sith lineage.

Still, that was not to say that the records did not exist, merely that they were incredibly difficult to find and access. Hence, Ralen and his unique talents. Thanks to her dear friend, he’d provided her with quite the dossier, information that she doubted a handful of people could claim to know.

Everything that she’d memorized, that she’d learned certainly pointed to Muur. And then there was the fact that Gaetana had somehow possessed Jorya’s body…

…Something that Muur had spent decades attempting to perfect in his pursuit of immortality, the necessary reagents to grant life-everlasting.

Just what that may be was lost to D’Aylanna in the foggy mists of tim–

Swiftly inhaling, she felt the skin on her neck break out in gooseflesh, her ears registering something.

She suddenly turned, the amethyst blade of her lightsaber springing to life as she held it midguard, her senses flooding the area. D’Aylanna did not so much as breathe, adrenaline pumping throughout her body as the hammering of her heart sounded loud in her ears. She could’ve sworn she’d heard/sensed something behind her…

Seconds like hours crept by as everything came into exacting clarity, her entire being hyperaware.

Nothing; no sounds, no shadows, no scents, no subtle changes in the air. She was all alone, a small, armored figure poised on the razor’s edge of violence.

Still: the weight of unseen eyes was palpable for D’Aylanna.

Grasping her lightsaber tightly in her hand she turned and entered a long, durasteel hallway, the entirety of which was covered with exposed machinery, pistons, pipes, and ancient holoreadouts that were only half-operable. Glancing up towards the ceiling, D’Aylanna could see nothing; even with the amethyst glow of her lightsaber the illumination here was shadowed at best so she had to fully rely upon her superior hearing (and, of course, her expanded Force Senses).

Feeling the uncomfortable itch in the middle of her back from those unseen eyes, D’Aylanna steadily made her way forward, armored boots making muted sounds upon the deck.

That feeling of being watched refused to give up the ghost, the uncomfortable itch becoming increasingly irritating. That, combined with the oppressive darkness, made her more than a little uneasy. ...Damn my eyes… She cursed feeling that had she possessed, say, Jorya’s eyesight she might bett–

She was halfway through the long hallway when she heard the clanking, cacophonous sounds of machinery coming to life. ...So here are the expected traps that tralk Gaetana thinks to best me with… She thought contemptuously. And here she’d been expecting something more dire.

Unsurprisingly, she noticed that blastdoors on either side had started lowering, threatening to lock her in. With her lightsaber in hand she felt confident that she could just cut through the durasteel.

Before she could take a step, a loud bang reverberated from above. Glancing upwards, she could just see that the smooth, dark brown-almost-black ceiling was dropping towards her.

D’Aylanna smirked. Now this was more like Gaetana, devious and ignoble. She would have to time the cuts succinctly to thwart the trap. This would be difficult but not impossible.

As the dark ceiling came into range, she angled her lightsaber to cut a hole from the smooth surfa–

D’Aylanna’s dark eyes immediately widened in disbelief: the instant her lightsaber touched the ceiling, the purple blade deactivated, the emitter fizzling impotently.

And still the ceiling dropped.

   <<<<< >>>>>

(https://i.ibb.co/8PbydB4/Jorya-31.jpg)

Rushing into the control room, Gaetana didn’t bother with any of the lights, instead activating all holorecording feeds within the corridors. Slowly hampered by the degradation of age, the images finally materialized above the miniholoprojectors in the control room’s central table. Multiple images soon rotated slowly above the table, each showing a different room of the laboratory.

Although the holoprojections were grainy and constantly digitized into blurred lines, their overall quality was adequate enough to easily discern everything within the framing of each projection. As Gaetana and Kadmaur scanned each room, they “spoke” amongst themselves, the subject of which did not interest Jorya in the least.

Not at the moment.

With both Shards’ attention focused entirely upon the holoprojections, Jorya once again carefully, slowly “reached” out to test her theory.

Unbeknownst to either Shard, Jorya’s index finger began to tap her thumb once, twice, three times. Good.

“Withdrawing” back, Jorya waited to see if her actions had gone noticed. Several seconds ticked by, neither Gaetana nor Kadmaur pausing in their “conversation” or attention. Nothing.

Nothing at all.

Relief flooded Jorya, buoyed by the little win. When it came time, the right time, Jorya would do what she must to ensure that the Shards–that Gaetana(!)--would not win.

Surreptitiously Jorya brought her full focus to bear on everything that the Shards were now discussing. And none too soon; they’d found Mother.

“...I’m telling you, now is the time!” Gaetana exclaimed. “I’m stronger than I was, more knowledgeable, better!” She emphasized the last knowingly. “Besides: I owe that tralk…” Vengeance bled from her aura.

Jorya sensed it as Kadmaur radiated disagreement. “Why take the chance? Gaetana: kill her!” If Kadmaur had possessed hands, he would have balled them into fists. “Use the Trap and be done with her.”

But Gaetana wasn’t in the least persuaded. “NO! You do not understand; you weren’t there!” If Gaetana had possessed a mouth, she would have screamed. “SHE DESERVES TO SUFFER!”

Jorya focused on the holoimages, specifically the long manufactured hallway that she was in. Panic threatened to overwhelm her. The Trap! ...Oh Mother… Jorya thought, simultaneously happy and worried to see her.

In the holoimage, Mother suddenly turned igniting her lightsaber and looked straight ahead at the holorecorder. Had…had she detected the camera?

Suddenly and before she could act, Jorya “felt” Kadmaur “move.” Taking initiative of the “lull” in Gaetana’s attention, Kadmaur momentarily seized complete control of Jorya’s body. In one swift motion, he smashed a delicate orange fist on the “Enable” button. A second later, the laboratory’s machinery whined to life.

“NO!!” Both Jorya and Gaetana screamed, if for completely different reasons: Jorya in love and concern, Gaetana in hate and lament.

Regardless, they both knew that it was far too late to stop what was about to happen.

   <<<<< >>>>>

(https://i.ibb.co/3F3d7cd/1.jpg)

Or’an stared at the TIE Guardian, the knowledge that his prey was near giving him mitigated satisfaction. Following the Speaker had been the right call.

But then, his instincts were almost always correct.

Within his chest, his heart began pumping adrenaline in response to his heightened emotional state, the muscles of his arms, chest, back, shoulders, and legs already beginning to vibrate. All senses were suddenly supercharged: hearing, sight, smell, taste, touch.

He could hear the minute sounds of grinding coming from below him; he could see imperfections in the durasteel bulkheads; he could smell the decay of ancient dead animals; he could taste the mineral vapor in the air; he could feel the adamantium-like hardness of his fingers balled into fists.

Deliberately, he made himself relax, lest he lose control. As he had time and time before, Or’an sought the tranquility of his Hamask training, a now conscious control over his Tof physiology allowing him to regain his center and achieve Balance. Within seconds, he was once again himself and in complete command of the situation.

But within the time that it had taken him to attain Equalibrium, D’Aylanna had ventured far. Unworried, Or’an hurried along, confident that she was not lost to him, merely further within the labrithine caves than he’d prefer. Still: he would not sacrifice stealth for speed.

Nor would he need to: he was able to pinpoint her location easily. Good.

Wrapped in the advanced form of Buried Presence, the Vhal’Dan Hamask soon caught up with the diminutive Speaker. Even now, “muted” as his senses were he could sense her hesitancy. Furthermore, he knew of her race’s nightblindness as well they’re superior hearing.

Or’an almost smiled. He was well over 600 kg yet the Tof didn’t make a sound. Not even a Lannik would hear him while Veiled in his unique form of Buried Presenc–

He froze. D’Aylanna had suddenly turned and ignited her lightsaber, the purple blade now pointed directly at him. ...Interesting… He considered. Patiently he waited, mind racing with questions; could she have pierced his Veil, did she think that she would win in a contest of crossed blades, was her reputed strength in the Force great enough to defeat him? Now this could be truly fascinating.

Or’an’s gaze was locked onto the Speaker’s dark eyes, both the Speaker and the Hamask searching for something.

All too soon the Hapan Gray master lowered her purple blade, her eyes scanning over, around, and through where Or’an stood frozen. Nevertheless, for D’Aylanna to even sense an iota from him was a remarkable feat.

As the diminutive Speaker proceeded within, the rocky cave walls soon gave way to a manufactured durasteel-lined hallway. Clearly cautious, she kept her ignited saber at the ready.

Easily keeping pace with her, Or’an allowed a bit of distance between them, lest she surprise him again.

That’s how he found himself at one side of the hallway when he heard and felt the machinery within the long corridor spring to life.

Behind him, a blast door began to lower. In the time between seconds, he decided to stay in the hallway so that the blastdoor would not separate him from the Speaker. Besides, he had his lightsaber on his person though he was loath to use it and give away his presence and position. No, he would wai–

That’s when the obscured ceiling above him began to drop, somewhat slowly at first but picking up speed quickly.

That’s when he noticed D’Aylanna from the corner of his eye, or rather, what happened to her…

The purple blade of her lightsaber sputtered out, disappearing.

And even as far as he was from her, Or’an saw the look of disbelief and panic arise on D’Aylanna’s face, her eyes staring at the now-useless saber hilt.

And still the ceiling dropped.

   <<<<< >>>>>

Special thanks to FT for his brilliant (and completely original!) visuals of the TIE Bat vs. TIE Guardian! This chapter is dedicated to him :)
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(https://i.ibb.co/3sqnvw4/TIE-Bat-v-TIE-Guardian-1.jpg)
Chapter 8: Whispers To A Scream, part II
As the debris field continued to abate, Kintik couldn’t help but replay the last minute in his head, the Dark Side giving him perfect recall.

The Defender variant banked hard, keeping close to a large, craggy asteroid, using it for cover. As his opponent disappeared behind the rock, Kintik did the unexpected: firing a concussion missile, he vectored hard opposite the enemy ship’s trajectory thinking to cut them off while suddenly appearing in front of them.

Two things happened simultaneously: the missile connected and detonated, pulverizing the asteroid and exposing the Defender variant to the TIE Bat’s targeting system. Grinning wickedly, Kintik squeezed the trigger, shooting green plasma from his ship's cannons and knowing that he had the Defender variant zeroed.

The first volley was absorbed by the shields…but not the second. Kintik saw the shields attenuate, flash, and then collapse. Now he had them. Squeezing the trigger a second time, the Bat’s advanced weapon-system spat lancing fire directly at the Defender variant.

Unsure how much armor the ship had, Kintik fired several volleys to be sure. Before the Defender could escape, the first grouping of shots clipped one of the wing arrays, causing it to vent smoke and vapor, obfuscating Kintik’s line-of-site. No matter; the next volley connected along with the next.

The sudden bright flash of blinding light suffused the Bat’s cockpit before the transparisteel canopy polarized to compensate, surprising even Kintik. As did the violently expanding fireball that threatened to immolate everything in the immediate area.

But something didn’t feel right to Kintik and he’d never been one to leave up to chance what would amount to a mere few moments to thoroughly scrutinize the situation.

Directing the TIE Bat’s advanced sensor suite, he examined the debris field. As the Aurabesh script appeared on the screen, he felt his confidence rise: the various debris pieces were undoubtably consistent with doonium, durasteel, plasteel, and various other exotic substances.

But that wasn’t the most important evidence.

From the propagation of the debris field and the vaporization of the ship, these facts could only be achieved from a reactor going critical and resulting in a coaxium explosion.

And then there was the atomized biomatter.

But for Kintik, even that wasn’t enough.

Piloting the Bat forward, he searched around the large moonlet that the ship had exploded near. It was a vast planetary body…compared to his TIE Bat and even the Irkalla ISD. However, the shepard moonlet within the planetary rings had x,y,&z axial dimensions of 3km x 1.5km x 1.9km.

Orbiting the moonlet, he sped across the rocky surface, particularly scanning the many caves and depressions along the regolithic exterior.

Yet even as he did this, he fully opened himself to the Dark Side, the powerful energies of the Tomb effective even at this range. Closing his yellow eyes, Kintik expanded his Senses across the area, searching for the most minute of proof that his enemy was still alive.

Nothing.

Nothing at all.

Slowly exhaling, the Dark Side Executor was finally satisfied. “Kintik to Con: mission successful. I’m returning home.” He spoke without emotion despite a small grin spreading across his handsome face.

Now he could focus his attention upon the Tomb’s contents.

Idly, he thought that he should also congratulate General Vondhem and the ISB¹ for their intel as well as their foresight in setting up an Interdictor Base nearby.

Perhaps he would congratulate in person two of Vondhem’s subordinates…what were their names again?

Kintik gave a small nod, not requiring a Memory Technique this time. Yes, a Lieutenant Asten Raduuk and a Captain Evecen Deus.

Feeling content, Kintik deftly piloted the Bat back towards the star destroyer (itself now returning to orbit).

Today the Autonomous Fleet would reap the rewards of its successes.

<<<<< >>>>>
____________________________________________
1. ISB: Imperial Security Bureau

Special thanks to FT once again for his visual assist with D'Aylanna! This chapter is dedicate to him :)
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(https://i.ibb.co/DfdnWm7K/E1-AA1-E87-7318-4283-BD76-DD17-CF16-E564.jpg)
Chapter 8: Whispers To A Scream, part III
...Cortosis lined… D’Aylanna thought unnecessarily, her lightsaber sputtering uselessly in her hands. With the passage and loss of every second, she felt more panicked. ...Stop this…do something…!. Trusting her instincts, she acted. Clipping her hilt to her belt, she fully opened herself to the Force, her Senses flooding the area.

Powered by the Force, D’Aylanna became a blur as she covered the distance from the middle of the hallway towards its end in mere seconds, the remaining opening beneath the blast door and the deck becoming frightfully smaller.

That’s when she felt a shudder through the Force, her Senses alerted to the most miniscule of minutiae. ...the floor…!

Once again, she acted by instinct.

Crouching down into a ball and powered by the Force, D’Aylanna exploded forward kicking her legs against the floor a split second before it opened up, exposing darkened wide tubes extending downwards without any visible bottom. Without losing a newton of force or momentum, she shot forward parallel to the floor with the ceiling still quickly descending.

Seconds stretched as her body soared over the vast now floorless hallway, D’Aylanna hoping that she would cover the distance to the doorway. In the space between those seconds, she could’ve sworn that she heard a roaring yell but could neither locate nor identify it.

Making herself as small as possible D’Aylanna flew through the ever-closing gap between the deck and the blastdoor, the heel of her armored boot catching the descending door, tripping her up.

Tucking her head, she balled herself up as the blastdoor slammed shut with a note of finality (or had it been two sounds? She couldn’t readily tell).

Unceremoniously, she rolled across the deck of the dimly lit room that she’d escaped into, finally able to halt much of her forward momentum before crashing hard into the far wall. Even though her armor mitigated the worst of the damage she felt sudden pain erupt in her left shoulder as her arm dislocated.

Gritting her teeth, she muffled a scream before it left her lips. For several seconds, she did not stir instead laying on her back while she tried to regulate her ragged breathing.

...Get…up… She commanded, willing herself to go on. She knew what she must do.

Mentally fortifying herself, D’Aylanna slowly got to her feet and, looking around, dragged herself over towards a jutting support beam that ran along the bulkhead. Ignoring the ancient readouts and monitors along side her on the wall, she slowed her beating heart while inhaling. Toggling the “Seal” function of her armor, the plating of her left arm disconnected itself from her cuirass. Now she was ready.

Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply before exploding into motion, deliberately ramming her left arm into the bulkheads of the wall, her upper arm absorbing almost all of the force. With a sickening wet sound, she felt her dislocated arm pop back into the socket, fresh, sharp pain lancing through her.

Eyes threatening to roll back into her head, D’Aylanna concentrated on remaining conscious. Breathe. Balance. She allowed herself to lean up against the wall.

With the exception of the sigh of relief as she exhaled, D’Aylanna barely made a sound.

Sinking to her knees, she fought the waves of nausea and residual pain, giving over to her body as she controlled her breathing. No she would not capitulate; her family needed her. ...Get. Up. Now… She admonished. Steeling herself, D’Aylanna rose up from the deck, tenderly holding her left arm while the last of the burning pain dissipated.

Toggling the “Seal” function, her armor once again connected at the joins. Gingerly, she rotated her arm, checking range of motion. All-in-all, not bad, not bad at all.

Replaying the last few minutes in her mind, D’Aylanna couldn’t believe that she hadn’t even considered that any of the hallways would be lined with cortosis. It was the kind of oversight that could get one killed.

A “teidowan’s mistake” her Zearic would say.

She unclipped her lightsaber from her belt, unnecessarily hefting it before pressing the activation button. After a slight false start, the amethyst blade sprang into existence, the low, comfortable hum of the saber reassuring D’Aylanna. Thank the Maker.

She would not underestimate Gaetana again.

Still, she now had at least one advantage: that tralk would wonder what had happened to her since her trap had not been successful.

Remembering the Buried Presence technique that her Shakal had taught her, D’Aylanna wrapped herself in the Force Veil. According to him, it would obfuscate her even from Force-users. Good.

She would not give her enemy an opportunity again.

With conviction of purpose and a silent prayer to the Maker, D’Aylanna reoriented herself before stalking deeper into the laboratory caves and making no sound whatsoever.

Gaetana would pay for everything and especially for hurting her family.

<<<<< >>>>>

(https://i.ibb.co/k61sfkr/Ashara-Zavros-2.jpg)

As soon as Kadmar had activated the laboratory’s Traps, Gaetana exploded forward, shunting Kadmaur aside and reasserting control over Jorya’s body but, as both Jorya and Gaetana knew, the damage had been done.

“WHAT DID YOU DO?!” Gaetana screamed at Kadmaur. “She was MINE to destroy! Not a quick, easy death but long, infernal suffering!”

Jorya merely “stared” in horror as the mechanisms for the Trap went through their routines, memories of the prisoners and their horrible experiences foremost in her mind. ...Mother…! She forlornly pleaded.

“I only did what you should’ve done from the start, what you yourself were denied on the Vhal’Dan ship.” Kadmaur reminded, his tone pedantic. If he’d have had arms, he would’ve crossed them. “Now we can focus entirely on the Ritual.” Both Jorya and Gaetana could hear the smile in his voice.

“WE NEED HER FOR THE RITUAL!” Gaetana castigated while D’Aylanna’s lightsaber faltered, the purple blade extinguishing. The aura around Kadmar subtly changed, his poise a thing of the past.

“Which is why you need to bring me into your confidence!” He retorted. There was an undercurrent of worry to his anger.

But Jorya wasn’t so certain.

Like she’d said: the Shards were trapped with her too…and she’d become very familiar with them. She hadn’t known Kadmaur in life but Jorya knew that the man himself would’ve been much more discerning and likely never once fooled. But his Shard–much as the name suggested–was only a fraction of who he really was. Kadmaur’s Shard did not possess the millennia of life experiences and wisdom of the original.

Whereas Gaetana had Transferred her Essence directly. But that wasn’t all.

The truth of the matter was that she’d known Gaetana almost all of her life, first as her teidowan and student but later as her enemy; by the Maker, the Ferroan tralk had tortured her all those years ago! Jorya had gotten to know her well…

…Well enough to know that she was now lying.

“What can we do?” Kadmaur’s Shard sounded even more unsettled.

If Gaetana had possessed eyes here, she would’ve stared daggers at him. “Nothing. We have to wait until the machinery runs through its program.” If she had possessed teeth, she would have ground them in frustration. “If she survives we might be able to retrieve her before the Le–”

“LOOK!” Kadmaur interrupted.

Both Gaetana and Jorya involuntarily directed their entire attention toward the holorecording. their previous despair incrementally dissipating.

They saw that, even before the floor opened up from beneath the diminutive Gray master, she’d tucker herself into a ball and, exploding forward, flew over the now-open floor. If Jorya has possessed shoulders here, they would’ve been thoroughly taunt with tension as she saw Mother sail through the blast doors before it had clamped down sealing the hallway.

“…she made it…” Gaetana whispered, disbelieving. Idly, her fingers gripped one lekku, a gesture immediately recognizable to Jorya. She would often do so when she was worried: grab ahold of her cybernetic lekku. A “gift” from her time with Gaetana². “Thank the Maker.” She intoned by rote.

“‘Thank the Maker’ indeed.” Kadmaur muttered.

Jorya wanted to laugh, triumphantly, happily, and relieved…but she did not. Instead, she once again noticed Gaetana’s slip concerning the Maker. Jorya knew that Gaetana’s proclamation concerning the Maker wasn’t the Sith’s but rather her own. Taken with everything else, Jorya felt confident her plan would work.

For her, she had all of the proof that she required.

She considered both Shards but focused upon Gaetana. The former Inquisitor would be in for a big surprise.

“We’ll meet her right before the main laboratory.” Gaetana smiled evily, her vicious glee infecting Kadmaur. “There we will crush her.” Certainty radiated from her.

...Please Mother, be safe… She prayed as both Shards came to consensus. Jorya would do all that she could to protect both Mother and Father, no matter the consequences to herself. ...Hurry…

<<<<< >>>>>

(https://i.ibb.co/HL30JLxq/C739-BB71-F4-AF-4996-BD1-F-D4298-B27-D13-F.jpg)

Considering, the Tof wondered what D’Aylanna would do now that the cortosis had deactivated her lightsaber for the crucial seconds left to her before the Trap imprisoned her.

And, quite possibly, him.

Or’an squinted his eyes in mild frustration: he did not wish to reveal himself but he did not want to lose his best lead in confronting Gaetana and exacting Damnatio upon her. He supposed he could try to break through the ceiling so long as the durasteel was no thicker than 1.5 mete–

Swifter than even Or’an could react, he saw D’Aylanna suddenly crouch down into a ball and propel herself parallel to the floor. She possessed a grace and speed that even the Tof admired. It was incredible for him to witn–

That’s when the floor opened up beneath him.

For one of the rare times in his life, Or’an was taken by complete surprise.

As he fell he roared in quick anger and irritation, the Tof physiological response already flooding his system with epinephrine. Before his body had fallen more than 2 meters, his massive armored arms shot outwards, his fists first scratching then distorting the ancient durasteel walls bringing him to a halt.

Above him he heard the blastdoors on either side slam shut while the ceiling continued downwards. Looking as close as he could, he deduced that the ceiling was much thicker than 1.5 meters.

Knowing that it would box him in on three sides–if not crush him outright–Or’an brought his arm close together across his armored chest. He was now effectively a gigantic organic missile.

Falling into the darkness, the massive Tof soon found himself in an incredibly cramped space, a presser field below him having arrested all downward velocity. Unsurprisingly, a durasteel panel suddenly locked into place over his head.

He was, quite simply, surrounded on all sides.

It only served to add to his growing agitation…only this time, he did little to contain it.

With a gutteral sound, Or’an gritted his teeth and let himself mostly off of the short leash that he usually kept on his emotions.

The specialized nano-polymer of his Hamask armor began to expand to compensate for his increasing mass, large, corded muscles rippling underneath the unique nano-bodysuit that acted as an interface for his armor.

Body flooded with hormones, Or’an felt his emotions shift as well, the Tof Hyperrage response threatening to overwhelm him. But Or’an was stronger than that, his control finally tuned. He was no mindless brute, no clumsy blunt tool.

He was Hamask.

His fists shot out, pummeling the circular walls of his confines, the durasteel holding fast…but only for the first few strikes. There was no question which was more durable: the wall or his own flesh and blood. There wasn’t even a drop of blood upon his knuckles even after repeated strikes.

In short order, the durasteel blew outward, giving the Tof purchase upon which to grip each side. Then, much as one opens a banana peel, Or’an easily ripped the durasteel walls asunder. As soon as he’d created an opening large enough (which was almost the entire curvature of half of the drum) he jumped out.

When he hit the floor, he did not even so much as bounce as an incredibly dark and dirty floor met his armored boots 3 meters below the drum. His senses acutely hyperaware, he deduced that he was within a vast cavern, one that was probably centuries if not millennia old.

While his eyes adjusted to the near-total darkness, his other hyperaware senses began instinctually relaying information to his brain.

A part of his mind remained cognizant of his surroundings, the Tof Hyperrage not yet possessing him completely. As such, he saw that he’d burst out from what had been a tall, thick, durasteel drumlike tube, one amongst countless others in a line that disappeared into the darkness.

Which drew him up to a complete stop: scanning around him he could not see past a few meters. His Hyperrage should’ve allowed him to see to the horizon, even in total darkness. With his heart pounding in his ears–not to mention the barely controlled fury–he made the conscious effort to focus entirely upon his hearing.

His ears could pick up the chittering of insects, the passage of worms, and an organic, wet sound that seemed omnipresent…

Inhaling, his Hyperrage-augmented olfactory senses now detected the scent of not only old decay but also the musty, dirty, damp smell of some fauna that he could not identify…

That should be impossible: Or’an Damaar had memorized the biology and zoology of every single galactic animal as part of his Hamask training.

This…this scent was unlike anything that he’d ever studied much less encountered. He must know more.

His Hyperrage gave him uncontested tactile- and situational-awareness but he spread out his Force Senses as well to maximize his intuition.

As soon as he did, he could hear movement, smell organics, taste the change in the air all around, below, and above him. With his Hyperrage, he knew that whatever was surrounding him, it was enormous.

And then he heard a hissing shriek that had not been heard in the galaxy in millennia.

______________________________________________________________________________________
2. As seen w-a-a-y-y-y back in “A Tarnished Knight” https://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=35967.msg584698#msg584698 (https://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=35967.msg584698#msg584698)

(https://i.ibb.co/vzfJxSQ/Corbos-2.jpg)
Interlude-The Ars Ingens, part IV
(https://i.ibb.co/hYrngbf/Darth-Obliquus-1.png) (https://ibb.co/hYrngbf)(https://i.ibb.co/rFwnhgV/Darth-Surdus-1.jpg) (https://ibb.co/rFwnhgV)(https://i.ibb.co/sRRYVh4/Darth-Saggita-4.jpg) (https://ibb.co/sRRYVh4)(https://i.ibb.co/gtsxp21/Darth-Invidia-1.jpg) (https://ibb.co/gtsxp21)

Morsus Planum, valley on planet Corbos 3622BBY, Aftermath of Phaseera “Senate Day Massacre”
Standing atop the plateau overlooking the valley, Darth Obliquus stared from underneath his helmet across the stark, blasted lands, the cratered desert obfuscated by thick, gloomy cumulus clouds bloated with precipitation, huge drops of dark rain hungrily eaten up by the dry, sandy plains. Upon the desert valleys small, twisted, noxious plants dotted the landscape where tough, spindly mutated animals eked out an existence absent consideration for the future, for any future. The tall Darth wondered if such portended anything prophetic.

“What a shavit-hole.” Darth Surdus observed from behind him, the enormous man not wrong. So much for prophecy. From the corner of Obliquus’ eye it appeared as if the Sith Lord had eclipsed the local star just as much as the Black Rainstorms did.

“Prior to the Hundred-Year Darkness this entire continent was a tropical paradise.” Obliquus' tone was distracted, his own mind preoccupied with 4th Dimensional trigonometric calculations. “A verdant utopia…Corbos was a galactic jewel.” Yes, he was correct: the triangulations pinpointed the exact coordinates, decussating…there.

His eyes settled upon the lone pyramidal mountain in the distance beyond the roiling Black Rain Thunderstorms, an atmospheric funnel now settling upon the mountain’s peak. Obliquus thought it gave one the impression that the cinder cone mountain was erupting. Regardless, both its past and present provenance were of utmost importance.

For now, it was destination of the Ars Ingens.

“Well I wouldn’t give you a Coruscanti whore’s assets for it now.” Surdus scoffed, his own cortosis helmet slick with precipitation. Again, Obliquus couldn’t blame him; no one would have.

Except that he was entirely wrong.

A pleasant, lilting laugh came from opposite the two male Darths, the tall blonde woman’s smile welcoming and amiable. And like the facade of said location, a trick. “My dear Surdus, what makes you think that any whore–Coruscanti or otherwise–would take you on as clientele?” Darth Saggita’s eyes sparkled with wry, dark humor doing nothing to soften the severity on her otherwise beautiful face.

Surdus roared with laughter, the many scars on his handsome face lessened by the gesture, his massive shoulders rising and sinking with mirth. Obliquus almost smiled. Almost.

“I don’t care a whit for tralk’s trinkets. I want all what was promised.” Darth Invidia’s humorless, haughty tone did nothing to darken her still-cherubic countenance, olive skin in stark contrast to her own dark indigo armored helmet. “Let’s hope that this actually is the place…” The small woman stepped in front of Saggita, her saber-pike balanced on her shoulders. “...And not another ‘clue to be followed, pointing to our destination.’” She repeated Obliquus’ own words back to him as a challenge, lowering her voice an octave in competent imitation of his own.

For his own part, Obliquus gave it as much consideration as he did the others’ whimsy. Which was to say none at all. Nevertheless, he could understand Invidia’s frustration.

After almost four years of searching, Servant Six’s pursuits had finally yielded for the Ars Ingens an actionable lead, somewhat restoring Obliquus’ faith in her.

This clue had pointed to something amidst the miserable jungles of Phaseera, a planet located just before the terminus of the Randon Trade Run, precisely on the Sith-Republic boundary. Worse still was that their objective was literally in the middle of a war zone.

Unfortunately, both Sith and Republic had laid claim to the planet, a continuous conflict that had raged since before the signing of the Treaty of Coruscant. Thirty years of constant fighting that had gone nowhere and yielded nothing. Obliquus doubted that, even if any of the original belligerents were still alive, that they would know why a no-where, backwater planet like Phaseera was strategically important.

Certainly none of the soldiers that his Leviathans had interrogated seemed to know; to wit: no two could agree upon any one thing.

Obliquus had been pensive at the time but later became sardonic: the only thing that the two sides seemed to agree upon during his time there was that his Ars Ingens was now their enemy.

Still, he had felt that the rewards far outweighed the means; after all: if the Imps and Pubs were too busy fighting each other while simultaneously distrustful of his Leviathans, he should have been able to operate with at least partial impunity. And, as he’d reminded himself, Obliquus doubted that any of the original belligerents were still alive, less so those with situational knowledge of the strategic import around Phaseera.

Or rather what had orbited around Phaseera…

It had been 21 years since the de-orbit and crash-landing of the Phaseera Orbital Bioresearch Facility, an Imperial archival laboratory specializing in Sith Alchemies. According to Servant Six, Obliquus and his Leviathans required the information held solely within the databanks…and the Ars Ingens seemed to be the only ones left alive looking for it.

However, the crash-site was located in the middle of one of the largest cydera jungles in the galaxy…a jungle that was now an active theater of war between the two sides.

Obliquus’ jowls flexed as he ground his teeth while he felt an uncharacteristic surge of anger shoot up his spine for both the Imperials as well as the Republicans. Even now the memory vexed him.

When he’d first made planetfall, what he’d hoped for was an easy find and a swift departure from this Emperor-forsaken, dismal backwater planet. And so with all of the authority granted him by his Emperor, he’d approached the Imperial contingent to bring them up to speed on their new reality and that as Imperial citizens it was their sworn duty to assist the Ars Ingens in enacting the will of their Emperor’s Leviathans.

Unfortunately, Obliquus had been quickly disabused of that notion. Instead, he found his Ars Ingens caught in a desperate fight for their very survival, their enemy now both Jedi and Sith armies.

Combat on Phaseera had been some of the most savage that Obliquus had ever experienced and he’d forcibly reminded himself that he had fought on behalf of his Emperor during the Battle of Corellia.

Corellia had seen millions of casualties on both sides, entire Districts depopulated, the Meridian Complex utterly destroyed, widespread collapse of the Shipyards, the fighting more brutal than any other conflict he’d personally seen.

Until now.

In the span of 142 minutes he’d lost several thousand of his soldier-devotees, hundreds of Sith Acolytes, dozens of Lords and, worst by far, 3 full-fledged Darths. By the Emperor, he’d almost been killed himself!

And would’ve died if not for the bravery of Darths Invidia, Saggita, Surdus, and, especially, Servant Six.

During one of his probing missions, Obliquus had found himself surrounded while he’d been reconnoitering a secret path through the jungle to the crash-site, his Sith bodyguard vastly outnumbered and soon all killed to a being. Apparently someone on the other side wasn’t a complete fool and had prepared for just that eventuality.

He didn’t even bother to find out if they’d been Jedi or Sith.

Emotionless, he’d fought on, even when his enemies had disarmed him from his weapon, bleeding him from dozens of lacerations and several blaster burns, his opponents legion as they’d enclosed around him. Yes they'd paid the price for the temerity of attacking him--he personally killing dozens of them--but in the end it came down to a question of numbers.

His only regret had been that he would never see his Emperor again in this life.

But as he was stabbed the last time, his final effort being to withdraw the vibroblade that had impaled him through-and-through in his side, the entire first rank in front of him suddenly buckled, collapsing in chaos as they were savaged from behind, dual red-orange plasma blades scything through the surrounding enemies.

It had been Servant Six wielding his own saberstaff as Darths Surdus, Saggita, and Invidia completed a full flanking envelopment, closing the lid upon the proverbial Kill-Box.

Soon all of his opponents were either likewise beating a hasty retreat through the jungle, cowering for their lives amongst the thick wilderness, or being butchered where they stood. But Obliquus had other ideas for them; instead the vast majority of the attacking enemy were to be captured, thousands of prisoners that the Darth already had plans for.

That and it had taught him a valuable lesson.

On Phaseera, “Sith” and “Jedi” loyalties meant nothing to either the Imperials or the Republicans. They had aligned themselves against his Ars Ingens and, therefore, his Emperor. They would all die.

His solution had been ineloquent, bloody, and devastatingly effective.

Obliquus had learned that some 7 years prior, the two sides had come to an accord: during the festivities of the Republic’s Senate Day, the Jedi and Sith had agreed upon an armistice and a cessation of hostilities to instead engage in celebration.

A break in the fighting that he and his Leviathans would take advantage of.

Using his adherents versed in Sith Alchemies, Obliquus had them active throughout the night, hundreds of the sorcerers working themselves beyond exhaustion, many collapsing insensate where they’d performed their Majicks.

But not before they’d provided Obliquus with what he’d required.

And what the Sith Sorcerers “merely” required were the necessary reagents—in this case, raw living material&subjects–and the power of the Dark Side to further enact Obliquus’ will.

To that end, the Sorcerers used each and every cydera tree within the area of effect for subjects, the thousands of captured prisoners for materiel. Or, more specifically, their life energies as fuel. Once the Sorcerers had done their grueling work, Obliquus used the collective Dark Side power of his Ars Ingens to initiate the trigger.

They then need only wait.

Typically the Senate Day holiday usually lasted three entire galactic standard days, with some regional traditions lasting even up to a month or more.

Typically.

However, by dusk of the first day, the entire cydera wilderness lay eerily and deathly silent, all camp lights extinguished, all camp movement still. It wasn’t until morning that Obliquus and his Leviathans were finally able to get their first “Eyes-On” intel.

Not one Republican or Imperial had been left alive within the jungle; in fact, the landscape had also been completely transformed from dense, flourishing forest to barren, desolate, and a denuded lifeless badlands. All according to Obliquus’ plans.

He had used the might of his Ars Ingens to manipulate the Dark Side using Sith Alchemy most potent to transform each and every leaf into a rabid, flesh eating monstrosity.

Directing their newly-birthed Sithspawn given macabre life, the Sorcerers of his Ars Ingens had let loose those Abominations with but a single purpose.

As his Leviathans made their way to the now highly-visible crash-site, every member of his Ars Ingens looked upon the gory charnel-house that the joint Senate Day Jedi-Sith encampments had become, the entire area ravaged beyond identification. What was verdantly alive and green before was now gruesomely wasted and covered in a thick coating of blood utterly and completely devoid of life.

A grotesquery forever after known as the “Senate Day Massacre.”

They had already traversed well within the confines of the camp when someone finally recognized that the “broken, grubby, stunted red bushes” littering the ground were what remained of the people. Every being–regardless of species–had been…consumed.

And to make matters worse, when the cydera leaf-golems had run out of humanoids, they turned upon themselves. That had been the source of the “misidentification” of the “broken, grubby, stunted red bushes:” they weren’t only the remains of the two armies, but also now what made up the jungle floor, the shredded remnants of the leaflike Sithspawn joining the gory remains of eviscerated humanoid bodies. All of this resulted in the area’s homogenous-like cadaver-red nightmare of a death grounds.

Those of his Ars Ingens that vomited all over the ground need not worry about the mess; the former encampment was far beyond that.

Completely unaffected, Obliquus had led his Leviathans through the remainder of the encampment and through the narrow, entangled passageway to finally reach their objective: amongst the ruins of the Phaseera Orbital Bioresearch Facility, was the prize that so many of his Ars Ingens had died for, their sacrifice an honor to the Emperor they served.

The last known surviving records containing the Annals of Karness Muur.

Muur had been a man of True Faith and Vision, a rare, intuitive genius surpassing the confines of his colleagues while changing the entire galaxy in the wake of his achievements.

And like all misunderstood geniuses, he was often mistaken for mad.

But Obliquus knew different. Karness Muur had succeeded where others failed, Immortality never so close then at the hands of the man himself. It would be by Muur’s conceptions and discoveries that would allow his Emperor to live again.

Obliquus had scoured the databases, his mind drinking in the knowledge of the Ancients. There was something to be said about possessing such Power; quite another to create said Power…and Muur’s journals went beyond anything that Obliquus had ever heard, read, or even seen. Truly this man was worthy of the epitaph “Darth” and “Dark Lord of the Sith…”

…And yet, it was still incomplete.

He’d come to the final page, unresolved outrage strangling him. With all of his success, with all of his experiments, with all that Muur had discovered…there were still more questions.

Obliquus’ furious frustrations had been terrible to behold, the entirety of his Ars Ingens all fearful of their lord and master’s rage.

Of course, it had been his Darths–Surdus, Saggita, and Invidia–that had cooled his wrath, blunted his irritation, and balmed his injured ego. Surdus still had the facial scars from that particular outburst as well as two new cybernetic fingers as a result. Soon afterwards Obliquus was once again the very example of control.

That, and thanks to Servant Six, she had discovered that which Obliquus (raging in impotent fury) had somehow missed: a vital clue to their next destination.

Another backwater planet, a world now blasted, cratered, spartan, and forgotten…one that Obliquus now castigated himself for not recognizing the import of said planet sooner…

Corbos.

<<<<< >>>>>

(https://i.ibb.co/s9kVHs4j/467-F21-ED-0-B48-42-B5-8-C0-B-AD851-A24-BCF8.jpg)
Interlude-The Ars Ingens, part IV (cont.)
(https://i.ibb.co/hYrngbf/Darth-Obliquus-1.png) (https://ibb.co/hYrngbf)(https://i.ibb.co/rFwnhgV/Darth-Surdus-1.jpg) (https://ibb.co/rFwnhgV)(https://i.ibb.co/sRRYVh4/Darth-Saggita-4.jpg) (https://ibb.co/sRRYVh4)(https://i.ibb.co/gtsxp21/Darth-Invidia-1.jpg) (https://ibb.co/gtsxp21)

Laboratory of Karness Muur, cave system on planet Corbos 3622BBY, Aftermath of Phaseera “Senate Day Massacre”
Mindful of the fact that the Laboratory’s defense- and computer-systems seemed to be in good working order, Obliquus decided to err on the side of caution, especially in retrospect of his experiences on Phaseera. To that end, he asked for volunteers up to a maximum of fifty.

He’d lost too many as of late… No by his Emperor’s soul, too many by far!

In the last nine years, his Ars Ingens had first grown to almost 200,000 soldiers, acolytes, lords, and Darths only to lose thousands to the fighting, to attrition, to searching, even too many to accidents. Yes, Phaseera had been one of the worst but it hardly been unique.

As it stood now, the Emperor’s Leviathans numbered less than 114,000.

That was the reason that Corbos had become doubly important: to not only find a proper vessel for his Emperor but also as an alternative to constant warfare and death for his Ars Ingens, or so Servant Six claimed. She'd been annoyingly secretive about that.

He only need find what was necessary first…

As the Dragonfly-class Imperial dropship landed securely upon the still-working automated deck of the Laboratory hanger bay, Obliquus had to admit that those 50 volunteers here with him constituted some of the best of his Leviathans: from the pilots that had smoothly flown through the narrow canyons in order to access the primary hanger bay, to his usual three Darths of Invidia, Saggita, and Surdus, to Servant Six... They had all made him proud.

Odd that: he didn’t think that he would feel such a…a prosaic emotion.

His nine years commanding his Ars Ingens had changed him, changed him for the better.

Within the Laboratory, they had penetrated deeper, wary of the automated locks, security challenges, and possible traps. Apropos of such, they were all touching the Dark Side, creating a unique synergy between them all. Could this have been the so-called “BattleMeld” that some rare Jedi Masters were able to initiate?

He would have to look into it more with his Darths and Servant Six when there was more time.

Passageway after passageway Obliquus noticed that much of the rock strata had been buttressed with ancient durasteel fabrications, the stanchions and tech readouts looking much as they must have during Karness Muur’s time. A truly incredible feat considering the passage of over 3,000 years...

In short order, they’d arrived at a three-way junction, every way identical to the other, all intel gleaned from Phareesa no help whatsoever here. Damn.

“Split into equal groups: Darths Invidia and Surdus take the Left passageway; Darth Parva and Servant Six proceed through the Right; Darth Saggita and myself shall search the Central corridor.” He commanded, splitting the remaining 45 into three groups of 15 to accompany his appointed lieutenants.

That done, they went their separate ways, on the lookout for traps whilst paying particular attention to their surroundings within the Laboratory. Even considering the modern technology available to them during this time of unbridled inventions, the specs of the Laboratory seemed even more sophisticated still. Obliquus couldn’t help but wonder what had been lost during those long spans of warfare and strife, from the Hundred-Year Darkness to the Great Hyperspace War, the Mandalorian Wars to the most recent of the Great Galacic War?

And to say nothing of the the Great Schisms before, between, and afterwards!

What if, instead of the constant internecine galactic-wide fighting, the entirety of the Galaxy was united under the banner of his Emperor? He couldn’t be certain of course but Obliquus felt confident that the Sith Empire would possess inventions rivaling that of the Rakatan’s Infinite Empire during its heyday or–perhaps, just perhaps–even the legendary Kwa themselves!

So much wasted potential…

Instead, the Jedi, the Sith, the Gray Orders, Witches&Cultists…Forceusers one and all split into disparate factions, each and everyone vying for supremacy. That Obliquus could at least understood; indeed, as a Sith he agreed wholesale in survival of the fittest…yet too many of his Sith Order undermined their own Emperor and his ambitions of a glorious, unifying Empire.

Obliquus’ disgust arose anew, his impatience and hatred for his fellow Sith–excluding his own Ars Ingens--almost a rabid thing of crazed impotence and violence. Again, that was why the Galaxy needed his Emperor.

Obliquus’ thoughts continued to stray back to the one Sith (other than his Emperor) that he considered as visionary: Karness Muur.

Obliquus’ lips thinned pensively. Would that he could have met the man in person, his unrivaled genius a font of Alchemical erudition. He had questions, questions that he desperately needed answers to. He felt within him the unbridled beginnings of a ragestorm. ...not now… He tried clamping down upon the emotions threatening to overwhelm him, the unfortunate timing an inconvenience that he couldn’t be bothe–

Suddenly his holocomm pinged, the sound ringing desperate in his ears. Grabbing the disk, he thumbed the activation switch producing a small, ersatz holoprojection of a tall woman. “Report.” He commanded.

“My lord!” Servant Six’s voice sounded loud in his ears, his resulting trepidations making his neck itch, her voice a cold draught of water quenching the fires within him. Slowing his breathing, he seized control of his emotions, his entire attention now directed at the Sith Pureblood. “We need you here, now!” Real panic pierced the silence surrounding Obliquus’s group. Even now two unimportant details thrust themselves into the forefront of his cognizance: the first was that he was mildly annoyed by her insolent tone, the second that he was reminded of the encounter within the Tomb at Belsavis all those years ago.

Something immediately clicked, Obliquus’ earlier rage and later malaise completely forgotten. Instead memories of the monster that he and his Darths fought flooded his mind.

“We are coming. Now.” He told her succinctly, closing down the holocomm. “With me.” He commanded unnecessarily as his entire group broke into a run. First backtracking to the junction, he turned into the Right corridor. Unsurprisingly he found himself shortly joined by Surdus, Invidia, and their Sith, literally doubling their numbers. Good.

Everyone was alert, their own Force Senses spread out before them as they raced through the half-rock, half-fabricated tunnels, the soldiers, acolytes, and Sith Lords taking the lead ahead of the four Darths. No one spoke.

Which meant that they all heard the monstrous, ear-piercing, nightmare-inducing roaring coming from the darkness in front of them. All of the 45 volunteers sped ahead of them, intent upon creating a wall between their Lords, Ladies, & Masters, disappearing into the hazy darkness of the adjacent cavern.

However, Surdus stopped short, the enormous human an effective barricade against which Invidia, Saggita, and Obliquus were unable to move.

It probably saved their lives. Well, most of them. The majority of their Sith retinue, unfortunately, were not so lucky.

“By the Emperor…” He muttered amidst the terrible sounds coming from the darkened cavern beyond. Noticing the doppler effect all around him, Obliquus knew that the cave grotto through the entrance way must be enormous, yet the furthest that he could effectively see was perhaps 5 or 6 meters…

…Which was enough to see a walking horror given life towering above their heads.

(https://i.ibb.co/2c3N9DW/Leviathan-bg.jpg)

Time slowed, giving Obliquus unprecedented awareness: the 45 Sith volunteers had fallen to the ground in various states of distress, the sight of the monstrosity enough to give even the most stalwart pause, although their symptoms were much, much worse. Unfortunately, even the 5 volunteers that had not been trapped in the cavern were frozen where they stood in front of the four Darths.

But even Invidia, Saggita, and Surdus were not immune from the fear response generated from the nightmarish fiend, they themselves tried to fight against terror they felt constricted by. But Obliquus knew that there must be more than the obvious to induce such fear, such incapacity in his Ars Ingens.

His eyes suddenly spied Servant Six, the tall Pureblood had sunk down to her knees while her spine offered no support to her body whatsoever. It seemed to Obliquus that she was held upright by nothing but invisible wires, the laxity in her body reminding him of a sodden rag doll. Yet, she was not alone.

The Pureblood Sith woman was surrounded by motionless bodies littered about her, their bodies shriveled, desiccated husks. As for Servant Six, her own mouth was agape in some silent scream that produced no sound while rivulets of drool hung from lips pulled taunt apart as if she were trying to pull the skin off of her head. Yet, there was no movement from Servant Six, not her mouth, her hands, her head, her legs…

Indeed, there was no evidence of any life whatsoever.

Obliquus looked closer at one of the bodies laying on the hard rock grotto floor, the nearest to the monster as it turned out. It was Darth Parva. Squinting his eyes, he could see now that the man’s skin had taken on a sunken, grayish pallor, the white sclera of his eyes visible as they’d rolled up almost completely into his head, claw-like fingers stabbing the air impotently around him, his spine contorted in an impossible bowing arch.

But in the darkness of the cave it was virtually impossible to make out anything more; opening his Senses through the Force Obliq–

With a sudden deafening roar–the hot, fetid breath of the thing smelling of burnt flesh and offal–the horror looked directly at him, the dark, bulbous head of the thing pulsating with some kind of black fluid and flanked by several biomechanical appendages that ended in sharp, dangerous talons. Obliquus felt an involuntary wave of icy fear that trembled up his spine as it took a step away from Servant Six and towards him.

Immediately he felt as if he’d been hit by concentrated Force Lightning but worse, his body and mind unable to act to even the simplest of stimuli. He could not think, he could not move, he could not defend himself, he could not even breathe. And there, in the back of his mind and deep within his throat, he could feel the very essence of his Self being slowly…pulled from him. As the thing took another step towards him, he knew that he had the terror’s complete attention.

What was happening to him? Where was his much-vaunted strength, his unshakable fortitude? How could anyone fight against this? What had they stumbled upon? Why was he here? Who were these people beside him? He soon couldn’t even remember something as simple as his name--

“--y Lord!” Surdus’ face appeared from seeming nowhere, thick fingers as strong as durasteel bars wrapped around Obliquus’--yes that was his name, Obliquus--armored helmet, the giant man’s dark eyes searching as his gaze stared deeply into his master’s face. “Can you hear me, Lord?”

...Of course I can Surdus…--yes that was this man’s name, Surdus–he thought to answer, instead hearing himself mutter almost unintelligibly “...’es…’hy…’ou…’oldin’...my…’ead?”

(https://i.ibb.co/P44Wgsz/Darth-Saggita-2.jpg)

“He’s coming out of it.” Saggita’s voice came from somewhere behind Surdus. “Invidia’s doing all that she can to keep that thing’s attention but she needs help and now.” Obliquus saw Surdus nod, the big man’s hard face showing the concern that he felt. “But first I can try…” Saggita answered the question that Obliquus had not heard.

As the tall, lithe Darth laid her hands upon him, Obliquus suddenly felt the refreshing conflagration of renewal burning like a flashfire through him. He coughed deeply after inhaling so swiftly and unexpectedly, unceremoniously spitting to the side, the spittle filled with blood. The lethargy, the cobwebs in his mind, the mire that had made thinking difficult was finally gone although he could feel some pressure encroaching in from along the perimeter of his mind.

He was himself again.

Grabbing both Saggita’s and Surdus’ vambraces, Obliquus gave them both a small nod. He could see the dark circles underneath their eyes, the consequences indicative of fresh-if-minor Force Drain. They’d literally given him some of their Life.

“Thank you.” He said quietly, earnestly.

Saggita nodded without a smile, igniting her lightsaber before joining Invidia. Obliquus noticed another acolyte collapse into a fetal position as he succumbed to…whatever it was that the thing–the leviathan he corrected himself–had done. His eyes lingered on Surdus and, in an uncharacteristic display of affection, he tenderly placed his armored palm softly upon the giant man’s exposed cheek.

It was as quick as it was affectionate…which was unfortunately all that they had time for.

Igniting his own saberstaff, Obliquus raced forward to join Invidia and Saggita, Surdus close behind him. Once again, they performed excellently as individuals and even better as a collective. Wrapped deep in a BattleMeld, they could both attack and defend while supplementing their comrades.

Obliquus soon saw three glaring problems.

The first was that their lightsabers were almost individually ineffective, the terror’s hide almost entirely resistant to their weapons. Perhaps… He “spoke” through the BattleMeld, commanding that each one of them strike against the same spot. It worked…somewhat.

Roaring in frustration and pain, the monster pulled back momentarily, stepping into one of the lit electric torches. As the thing ducked its enormous head, he saw some odd glowing, pulsing patches on its back. Now that Obliquus could see details, he understood just why they were having such trouble.

As if to confirm his suspicions, he saw the area that had received multiple saber strikes had stopped smoking, the skin even now beginning to knit together. Still…

Within the BattleMeld, he “told” his Darths to pull back while simultaneously distracting with Force Apparitions and other non-direct attacks. That was the second problem: he now knew what they faced and that this thing would only aggressively lock onto any Forceuser currently using the Force.

It also meant that he was almost certain that there was no way that they would all live to see the day out.

After collecting the data from Phareesa and the crashed Orbital Facility, he’d scoured the databanks for everything recorded concerning Karness Muur. Yes, he’d come close to unlocking the secrets of Immortality and, arguably, he was even partially successful. But that was not the only achievement that the Sith genius had accomplished. He’d also manipulated Sith Alchemies and the Dark Side itself to produce the truly remarkable…

Life.

More specifically, the genetically engineered nightmares now known as Sithspawn.

During the Hundred-Year Darkness, the Dark Jedi (and later Sith) had concocted truly incredible and terrible organic constructs, living artificial monstrosities that caused as many deaths as the Sith that spawned them. Up until recently, Obliquus had only ever heard of one such living Sithspawn, a horror that made even the most hardened criminals cringe in fear…

Rakghoul.

But on Belsavis and later Phareesa, Obliquus learned that some other Sithspawn were worse, some surviving throughout the millennia and that the monster that they now specifically faced was amongst the worst ever to be given unholy life.

Karness Muur had called them “leviathans.”

Obliquus almost smiled at the irony: his Ars Ingens--his Leviathans--would either kill or be killed by Muur’s own leviathan. It was as delicious as it was disconcerting. Which brought him to the 3rd thing.

“Destroy all of the bodies surrounding that thing now!” He yelled, uncertain if sending the command via the Battlemeld would empower the leviathan or perhaps be interrupted. Nevertheless... “Get Servant Six out of here! I’ll keep its attention!” He tapped into his Force reserves, fortifying his body to push it past the threshold of normal humans and hoping–praying to his Emperor(!)–that he could belay his death that much longer.

He must give his Leviathans, give Servant Six the time necessary to escape from here, whatever it took. They could then take up his crusade to find a suitable host for his Emperor.

From the corner of his eyes, Obliquus saw Invidia, Saggita, and Surdus eviscerating the still-breathing-if catatonic Sith. They had been brave and would be honored appropriate–

Obliquus suddenly found himself airborne, somewhat uncertain as to why.

Acting entirely by instinct, he tucked his head down and, using the Force, tried to erect a shield around him. It was this and his cortosis helmet that saved him from death as he crashed into the ground, somehow his saberstaff still ignited in his grip. Even as he worked out what had happened, the beast was upon him, the thing’s jagged, sharp teeth clamping down on his thighs as it tried to gain purchase upon the heavily armored cuisses protecting his legs.

Fighting off panic, he knew that he had to keep the leviathan’s attention from his people.

Screaming wordlessly, he thrust his saberstaff at the thing’s mouth, doing very little actual damage but nevertheless aggravating it. Everytime he stabbed at the horror, the leviathan’s skin began to smoke and hiss, its already dark skin growing darker.

One of the leviathan’s reptilian appendages suddenly knocked his saberstaff aside, the red blades casting the thing in an abyssal light before the blades extinguished. Again, Obliquus screamed in defiance, his control completely shattered. White hot fury raged through him like a star going nova. Using both of his hands as a focal point, Obliquus released thick, corded arcs of Sith Lightning, the blue-violet plasma striking the leviathan precisely where he’d stabbed the thing.

With equal parts amazement, shock, and satisfaction, Obliquus saw that his potent Lightning had broken through the leviathan’s tough hide, skewering the beast’s face. Grinning wickedly, he doubled his efforts, pouring everything into the Lightning.

Including his own Life energies.

Triumphantly, he roared at the leviathan, the blue-violet Force Storm his raging wrath made manifest. He was his Emperor’s Champion; no, he was an avatar of the Sith, living receptacle of fur–

(https://i.ibb.co/Bj5wgSB/rachel-williams-jesper-swtor.jpg)
Interlude-The Ars Ingens, part IV (cont.)
(https://i.ibb.co/hYrngbf/Darth-Obliquus-1.png) (https://ibb.co/hYrngbf)(https://i.ibb.co/rFwnhgV/Darth-Surdus-1.jpg) (https://ibb.co/rFwnhgV)(https://i.ibb.co/sRRYVh4/Darth-Saggita-4.jpg) (https://ibb.co/sRRYVh4)(https://i.ibb.co/gtsxp21/Darth-Invidia-1.jpg) (https://ibb.co/gtsxp21)

Laboratory of Karness Muur, cave system on planet Corbos 3622BBY, Aftermath of Phaseera “Senate Day Massacre”

Obliquus once again felt the dizzying effects of vertigo as he flew through the air, his mind uncertain if he was still within the caves or the manufactured rooms. It was as trivial as the color of his armor but he also knew it for what it was: a psychic assault coordinated to disorient him. And it worked. Was he still on Corbos? Or was he with his Emperor on his flagship, lightsaber in hand defending him from the Jedi who had the impudence to sully his Emperor's presence? Or was he still on Coruscant, padawan to one of the most powerful Masters of the Orde--

The suddenness and violence with which he stopped discombobulated him, quickly followed by a planet’s worth of pain. As he attempted to look around, his head was only partially successful, doing so in fits and starts. Incredibly, he felt no fear…

Pain? By the Emperor, his entire existence was pain, but fear? Obliquus knew that he would never, ever feel fear again in what most likely was what remained of his incredibly short life.

“ARRGGGHHHH!!!” A scream erupted in his ears, Obliquus surprised to realize that it was his own. Turning his head towards this brand new, even sharper pain he calmly took appraisal of his new reality.

What he saw made him want to vomit as well as double his beliefs in his Emperor.

Both of his legs were bent at odd angles, the armor shattered–nevermind his limbs!--while he could see the large, broken stalactite (or was it a stalagmite?) jutting through his ruined cuirass. With utter nonchalance, he traced the lines of the organic tendrils wrung around the stalactite’s porous surface, slowly realizing that what he was seeing were his own intestines.

But that wasn’t all.

Looking further over, he followed the destroyed plating of his armor from his chest to his shoulder and then down his arm…except that he no longer had an arm or shoulder. Instead, where the armor (and his body) should be was now the pulsating gigantic mass that was the leviathan’s jaw.

It seemed that he was to be the terror’s next nightly repast.

With almost silent guffaws, Obliquus thought the scene the height of humor.

The leviathan must’ve heard him as the thing’s dead, reddish-black eye burrowed its gaze into the Darth. Perhaps it was because nothing in its long life had ever caused it such pain, or perhaps it was because one of its meals was laughing at it, or perhaps it was simply because one of its victims had never lived this long.

He honestly couldn’t care less.

He’d given his Ars Ingens, his people, his family time. They had escaped. They would live. And they would resurrect his Emperor.

Obliquus closed his eyes, pain and contentment inundating him. He just hoped that his end came quickly so as not to dishonor himsel–

“NO!

(https://i.ibb.co/gMBGz5d/4784-EC3-E-C0-F6-4-D67-A878-9-BC270-D45-DCA.jpg)

A savage roar cut through Obliquus' hazy cloud of pain, shunting his consciousness to the forefront. Faster than his eyes could track (not to mention that they couldn’t focus properly now), a huge, dark gray blur of a shadow exploded in his field of view.

Two things happened simultaneously: firstly, Obliquus found the pressure (but sadly not the pain) released from his side as the leviathan fell back. But the other…

He wondered if he’d done more damage to his head but Obliquus could’ve sworn that the shadowed blur was Surdus, the enormous human attacking the leviathan with his giant, two-handed lightsaber in the exact place where Obliquus’ lightsaber and later Lightning had lanced it through its mouth before.

A split-second afterwards, he saw both Saggita and Invidia attack, the smaller, olive-skinned Darth plunging her saber-pike deep into the leviathan’s face while Saggita shot Sith Lightning from both of her hands mirroring his own attack from before. Much like Surdus, both women screamed in defiance and cruelty, their blades and Lightning hitting true.

But louder than all of them was the booming, howling roar of the leviathan.

Rearing on legs thicker than Obliquus was tall, the horror tried to pull its head away from the ground. Illuminated by the red and reddish-orange plasma blades, the leviathan looked every centimeter of the monster that it was. Of course this was even more evident from Obliquus’ sitting position impaled upon the stalactite.

As he rotated his eyes upwards–to do more such as move his head would’ve been next to impossible given the pain inundating him–Obliquus saw Surdus make a flying leap onto the terror’s head, propelled by a Force Jump. Just as the giant man was about to land, he thrust his enormous two-handed lightsaber downward like a lance, plasma blade finally breaking past the tough hide to the softer tissues beneath. Both of his hands still holding his lightsaber, Surdus used the weapon as a focus and directed all his own Lightning past the deep red blade and into the cauterized hole.

Letting loose a deafening screech, the leviathan’s attention was wholly upon Surdus. A mistake most grave, Obliquus knew.

When the leviathan had taken to its hindlegs, it had also exposed its underbelly. Like the rest of its hide, the skin was incredibly thick and resilient…but both Invidia and Saggita were Darths of singular intent.

Covered by Surdus’ assault, the two women struck at the same spot time after time, weakening the tough hide until one of Invidia’s saber-pike slashes made a wide and lasting laceration. A split second later, both female Darths focused powerful blasts of entwined Force Storm lightning into the leviathan’s injury, producing yet another pained howl.

And still their attacks continued undiminished.

Between the three Darths, they moved, operated, and planned within their BattleMeld, pouring attack after attack at the monstrosity until, finally, the Sithspawn staggered, paused, and toppled over collapsing almost around Obliquus as if it were still trying to claim the grievously injured Darth as its victim.

Sputtering a choking, high pitched shrieking death knell, the leviathan’s body lay very still, a foul-smelling, viscous liquid pouring from the jagged lacerations in its head and belly. Yet even as the last of the gurgling, dying gasps of the monstrosity had sounded, Obliquus saw his Leviathans, his Ars Ingens surround him.

They all had identical looks of concern upon their faces beneath their cortosis helms, even Invidia whose countenance was rarely anything other than “sadistically petulant.” Interesting. Unconsciously, Obliquus spat more blood from his mouth.

“My Lord…” Surdus' voice was quietly rattled, unshed tears in his eyes. This was a man who hadn’t so much as flinched against attacking the Sithspawn but now suddenly seemed tentative to even touch Obliquus. “I…” His voice seemed to finally fail him.

“My dearest Obliquus…” Saggita’s regular sarcasm was nowhere in evidence. By the Emperor even Invidia looked as if she was holding back tears!

“...I…I…must be…dying…” Obliquus jested. It was a terrible joke, probably from the fact that it was one of his first.

“My dearest Obliquus…” Saggita began again. “We were able to save Servant Six as well as Darth Parva and two acolytes.” She said the last in just above a whisper, the smeared leviathan blood on her cheek resembling some kind of macabre warpaint.

“...Good…good…” He coughed, the pain ripping through his innards. Or were they “outards” now that his intestines were no longer within him? He silently laughed at his own joke.

“You did it, my Lord,” Invidia’s haughty tone was incredibly muted. “Thank you.”

Obliquus’ eyes widened as far as they’d go; he’d never heard Invidia sincerely apologize. Ever. “...the…Emperor…must…be…coming…for…me…” He finished in a whisper, the pain beginning to overtake his cognizant mind.

“Sleep, my Lord.” Invidia’s soft voice felt like a stroke on his cheek.

“Worry not dearest Obliquus.” Saggita’s reassuring tone felt reassuring.

At first Surdus spoke not a word. But then… “...no…” He whispered.

Everyone turned to the huge man, staring incredulously at him, even Obliquus. What…what did he mean “no?”

“No.” Gritting his teeth, Surdus' eyes were clamped shut. “No! NO! NO!” He started screaming as if reciting a litany. “NO! NO!” The giant man stood his full height, an aura of power radiating from him. Obliquus could see that both Invidia and Saggita looked both concerned as well as baffled.

“NO!!” As Surdus roared, his voice echoing throughout the cavernous grotto, he grabbed Obliquus' helmeted head. And before anyone could react, Surdus enveloped them all in the Dark Side, including the body of the leviathan. There, using Force Drain, he pulled all that he dared from those around him.

Surdus seemed to glow like some kind of dark star, at least in Obliquus’ eyes. He knew what it meant: that the giant man was overflowing with Dark Side energies. But he wasn’t finished.

Grabbing Obliquus' helmet, Surdus wrenched it from his head indifferent of the pain that it caused Obliquus. Once done, the huge man gently laid his hands upon his Lord’s face and directed every iota of the Dark Side Majicks through Surdus and into Obliquus.

Including the giant human’s own Life Essence.

The results, to say the least, were astounding.

Obliquus sat motionless as he stared first at the stump of his shoulder and watched his arm begin to regrow. Simultaneously, he felt a rushed, jerking motion from his chest that spiked his pain…but only momentarily. Looking down, he saw that Surdus had removed the stalactite, breaking it off and pulling it the remainder of the way through him. Such pain almost made him lose consciousness. Almost.

A split second later, the pain was merely a thing of the past, and the shredded viscera of his belly and chest began to reknit itself back inside his body.

Obliquus must’ve been either subconsciously aware of his surroundings or was, by virtue of the Healing, hyperaware of the minutiae as he could’ve sworn that the glowing, pulsating points of light on the leviathan’s back had gone first dim and then completely dark. He wasn’t certain why–or even if–that was pertinent but he registered it nonetheless.

But that was not all.

His own shattered legs began to straighten themselves, bone, muscle, and sinew reknitting itself, once again fresh and whole. By the Emperor, even Obliquus’ eyesight had finally improved!

And like a switch, Obliquus jumped up…just as Surdus collapsed.

Surprised, he caught the giant man in his arms, arms now robust, whole, and radiating power when Obliquus received another shock: Surdus’ once powerful and bulky body was now a shell of its former self, his once handsome face haggard, sunken, and sepulchral. And while he wasn’t dead–not yet–Surdus would be in a short amount of time.

Aware (or hyperaware as was), Obliquus stood and scanned all that he saw. He was whole; no, not just “whole.” He felt better than he ever had before: stronger, faster, more resilient. By the Emperor, he was stronger in the Force than he'd ever been before! ...How…?

But as he continued to look about the cavern (at least as far as he could see), he saw that Darths Saggita and Invidia were unconscious, each woman looked more sickly and wan from the first time they'd contributed to the Force Drain. Concerned, he Delved both women; they were weak and drained but otherwise unmolested. Good. Whatever Surdus had done it seemed that he’d been careful not to draw too much from them…

Turning his head–no pain at all–Servant Six was also still on the ground, her normally vibrant red skin subdued with a gray pallor to it. But slowly her eyes fluttered open.

“...my…my Lord…?” She whispered.

Ignoring the unspoken question, Obliquus went to her, immediately Delving the Sith Pureblood. Like Invidia and Saggita, she was drained but otherwise no worse for the wear. Again, good.

“Lady, tell me: you said that you would tell me more about this place as soon as we were established here. However, I need to know now if there is something here, something that you know that can help my Ars Ing--” Obliquus shook his head, emotions welling up. “That can help Surdus. Now.” The tall Darth indicated the withered husk that had been Surdus. “He’ll die and soon unless you can help me.” Then Obliquus said something that he’d never remembered doing before: “Please.”

Servant Six’s yellow eyes lost their focus but only for a few seconds. She then slowly began to nod her head. “I…yes, my Lord…I do believe that I can help you with that…” She seemed to gain in strength with every second. “In fact, I think that I can help all of the Ars Ingens here…”

Obliquus slowly nodded at first, a rare emotion that he’d not felt since…well, since losing his Emperor growing from within. If Servant Six was right, then he could dare… He nodded once, helping her up. “Thank you.” Servant Six smiled, something intrinsically pleasant from such a simple gesture…

…But one that had given him that which he was convinced that he’d lost:

Hope.

Special thanks to For Tyeth for the awesome visuals! This chapter is dedicated to him :)
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(https://i.ibb.co/JvHQYbM/Jorya-vs-D-Aylanna-1.jpg)
Chapter 9: Who, If I Cried Out, Would Hear Me Amongst the Angels?, part I
As D’Aylanna proceeded deeper into the Laboratory, she came across more traps, although these were obviously afterthoughts compared to the one she just barely escaped: one was a simple crossfire trap with several blasters (easily reflected&destroyed with her lightsaber), a few having attenuated from age; another was a gas-trap (easily foiled by her armor’s sealed helmet); and yet another was a cage-trap (again, dealt with by her lightsaber).

But she wasn’t so lucky with the last trap.

Traversing yet another innocuous tunnel, D’Aylanna’s Force Prescience prompted her to react: as four barrels emerged from underneath durasteel panels, she rolled forward intent on dodging the expected blasterfire, relying on her armor to protect her from shrapnel or ricochet.

In one fluid movement, she shot forth upon the deck making herself as small as possible before regaining her feet, her ignited lightsaber held at the ready. Thankfully, her helmet had remained sealed from the previous gas attack.

Instead of plasma bolts, the ejectors had shot four concentrated ominous clouds of some kind of viscous substance, quickly expanding throughout the hallway. Consulting her armor’s sensors, she checked for biotoxins, acids, and other airborne agents.

Nothing.

But she remained unconvinced that such an attack would somehow be benign. And she was absolutely right.

Soon her HUDs¹ began to flash red. Quickly her dark eyes scanned certain possibilities from dropdown menus as more data was analyzed. Her eyes widened as the diagnosis scrolled along her face shield’s chyron: her armor was compromised. But how?

Swiftly she acted, slapping certain hardpoints on her armor causing them to disengage. Within seconds she had doffed every armor piece as she stood staring at the now-smoking suit. Breathing carefully, she consulted her eye’s internal HUD for confirmation of her armor’s status.

It was a customized attack consisting of nanobot ECM² biogel rendered aerosol. In other words: a precise strike specifically against Vhal’Dan nano-weave armor. ...Damn you, Gaetana… D’Aylanna cursed, more angry at herself for not considering that the former Gray Master would’ve set countermeasures in place to explicitly deal with anyone from the Order.

Oh, the armor itself would autorepair from the attack with enough Dover Catalyst³…but it would take time, especially to fend off an attack of this magnitude and specificity. Stoically, D’Aylanna turned on her heel, leaving the now-useless armor in the tunnel, feeling slightly naked in her form-fitting, dark, svelte undersheath.

Undaunted, she gripped her lightsaber tighter, conscious of the lack of her reassuring defenses. But what was it that the former Inquisitor was trying to accomplish?

Yet another example of Gaetana’s maddeningly inconsistent behavior: first she tried to kill her, then there were the other traps that were clearly intended to capture, while others still seemed to specifically target any advantage D’Aylanna had.

What was the tralk up to?

Not waiting for an answer–besides: D’Aylanna was convinced that there wasn’t a satisfactory one to be had here anyhow–the diminutive Speaker cautiously continued further within the caves, one room, one tunnel, one cavern looking much like the next…

…Until she stepped foot through a galactic standard manufactured doorway, the kind found in bases and capital ships throughout. Looking around, D’Aylanna knew that she was now in the Laboratory proper, displays and holoreadouts projected along the computer banks filling the walls of the enormous chamber. Conspicuously, she noticed one holographic image blinking as if paused. Sighing and with her ignited saber in hand, she went over to the table, briefly examining the controls before being convinced that she could operate them.

Clearly someone had updated the hardware as very little of the console remained from its original manufacture some 3,500 years ago and, unless she missed her guess, by someone very familiar with Vhal’Dan computing protocols. Smirking, D’Aylanna knew that it must have been left for her. The question remained: did she activate it or no?

Never one to conform, she took a third option: ignore it and find Gaetana.

As if thinking of the tralk manifested Gaetana, she felt a familiar presence to her left flank, her purple lightsaber humming loudly as she quickly assumed a guarded defensive sword kata. Once again, D’Aylanna keenly felt the loss of her armor, the biomechanical undersheath making her feel exposed. ...Focus…! She admonished herself, dark eyes searching, clear, and ready.

Standing on the opposite side of the large room stood a young, tall Togrutan woman, a saberstaff held casually in her fist. She wore utilitarian tunics and hakama, her bare orange arms all the more brighter compared to her clothes. And within the recognizable face belonging to her adopted daughter stared instead the fierce yellow eyes belonging to a Sith.

Gaetana Ravine, Darth Mendax.

Smiling widely, her teeth glowed a preternatural red reflecting the blades of her saberstaff. “Hello Mother.” She welcomed, her voice taunting, face radiating assuredness and an almost casual sadism. ...Of course… D’Aylanna thought.

“You will not escape, Gaetana. Not this time.” She promised. But if the other woman felt any trepidation, nothing of it showed upon her face.

“Oh Mother…who said anything about ‘escape?’” She lightly laughed, giving her saberstaff an easy flourish. She suddenly stopped, gesturing towards her neck with her empty hand in mock surprise. “Or…haven’t you yet guessed why we’re here?” Grinning evilly, she laughed.

But D’Aylanna was not fooled an iota: this tralk may very well wear her daughter’s face and speak with her voice but that would not stop her from doing what needed be done. She knew that she was saving Jorya, that she was saving the Vhal’Dan, that she was avenging her Shakal. She was fully committed now.

“Power, Gaetana. It’s what you’ve always coveted.” The small Hapan woman allowed herself to smile at the unfeigned shock spreading across the Togrutan’s face. “You maybe many things, Mendax, but you’ve never been as clever as you believe.” D’Aylanna adopted an imperious bent to her face, a magistrate weighing the accused, and having found them wanting. “Not by half.” With a flourish of her lightsaber, D’Aylanna’s face changed, her countenance more like one of the Hapan Noh Death Masks. For this, she was the Marquesa of the Hapes Cluster; she was 7th Speaker of the Vhal’Dan Order; she was simultaneously both…and they stood in judgement of the traitor, Gaetana Ravine. “I’ve always been your better, Mendax.” She pronounced, her voice merciless. “Now come and accept Oblivion.”

“I am far more powerful than you are, quim.” Gaetana spat, seething. “Deep” within, Kadmaur tried “talking” to Gaetana but was summarily rebuffed. And “deeper” still Jorya waited, watching for the opening that she desperately desired. “And I’ve brought you here to prove it. And this time your fat, pfassk of a husband isn’t here to help you.”

Both D’Aylanna and Jorya took notice of two conspicuous changes to Gaetana: the first was just how much the normally stoic woman was unhinged, curses and expletives falling from her mouth; the second was her decidedly subjective memory considering her last confrontation with D’Aylanna on Geonosis⁴.

Within, Jorya began to wonder just how much of Gaetana had “survived” the Essence Transfer, especially given the imperfect Possession of her body. But it did reinforce her earlier determination. ...the right time… She promised.

All of that within the split second between Gaetana’s taunting and her sudden and rabid attack of D’Aylanna. Jorya was at least 30cm taller than D’Aylanna and Gaetana had been even taller still. But the height disparity wasn’t the only inconsistency between the two women: D’Aylanna could feel it radiating from her opponent.

Gaetana was stronger than her in the Force; that in itself was remarkable.

Amongst the Vhal’Dan, D’Aylanna had always been one of the strongest Forceusers in the Order, notably moreso than Gaetana had been.

That was no longer so.

D’Aylanna suddenly found herself on the defensive, her careful swordwork parrying the incoming offensive as Gaetana pressed the much smaller woman hard.

“Yes!” Gaetana hissed, her saberstaff twirling, parrying, crashing into D’Aylanna’s purple blade. “I know that you can feel it too!” Pushing D’Aylanna off her blade, she projected a potent Force Push against the Hapan Speaker, sending her flying through the air.

D’Aylanna tucked into a ball, somersaulting and landing gracefully on her feet several meters away. Thoroughly convinced, she knew beyond a doubt that somehow Gaetana had grown in the Force. By what mechanism she could only guess and at this point what did it really matter?

Time and again Gaetana utilized her strength in the Force to harass D’Aylanna, from horrid manifestations to attempted manipulations as the former Inquisitor tried a variety of Force attacks, all of them thwarted by the stoic, diminutive Speaker. Crazed, Gaetana shrieked with impotence as everything she tried was foiled, and with seemingly little-to-no effort as D’Aylanna remained completely stoic in the face of her opponent’s fury and agitation. Deliberately, she allowed herself a small smile hoping to fluster the former Inquisitor. She didn’t have to wait long as it turned out.

Screaming, Gaetana was upon her in an instant, her saberstaff working furiously against her defenses. Once again, D’Aylanna could feel the increased strength in the Force…but as only measured in raw power.

D’Aylanna’s normally stoic face produced a wide grin, giving even Gaetana and Kadmaur pause.

There were other things, other considerations, that were superior to power.

Suddenly D’Aylanna switched Forms, transitioning from her Soresu to the hybrid Form VI that she’d developed herself after thoroughly studying Master Gray (and later Kage) Stryka Annix’s sword kata holocron. And yes, she had taught Jorya a bit…but not anywhere close to everything.

Quicker than thought, Gaetana found herself giving ground, D’Aylanna’s purple saber seemingly everywhere at once. She was even faster than the last time that Gaetana had fought her!

How?

But there was no answer forthcoming; instead, D’Aylanna’s saberwork was unrelenting: it was the Hapan Speaker that directed the flow and tempo of the battle. Gaetana knew of the shorter woman’s mastery with a lightsaber–by the Maker she’d had violent nightmares solely about that fact!--but what she now faced…

D’Aylanna had surpassed even Gaetana’s highest expectations of what a Blademaster could be.

If she had bothered to ask–not that Gaetana ever would’ve thought of doing so–the former Inquisitor would’ve laughed at the irony behind D’Aylanna’s current skill: after her attack and subsequent abduction by her cousin T’Atyanna⁵ and the possession of Jorya immediately following those events, D’Aylanna had worked overtime to improve. For herself, for her Shakal, for the Vhal’Dan…

For her daughter.

And D’Aylanna never did anything in half-measures. As Gaetana could at the moment entirely attest to: the diminutive woman had her completely outclassed.

Rage, impotent and consuming, threatened to overwhelm Gaetana, a fact coldly noticed by Jorya. ...now…? She wondered. If she’d possessed lips, she would’ve bitten them in uncertainty. Instead, she waited, watching as both Gaetana and Kadmaur began to radiate increasing panic.

For Gaetana, Power was the only real capital that mattered, a fact that her childhood had more than proven to her. Indeed, her very life’s pursuit had been predicated upon that lesson. Unfortunately for her, she’d forgotten that there were always multiple paths towards said power.

“Argh!” Gaetana exclaimed as D’Aylanna’s blade seared the orange skin of her shoulder, more an irritant than an actual wound. But it did what D’Aylanna intended: Gaetana completely let loose her fury and, as a consequence, her control.

Gathering the Dark Side, Gaetana screamed in both frustration and hate as a powerful storm of Force Lightning erupted from her left hand while her right twirled her saberstaff.

Without even the briefest of hesitancy, D’Aylanna caught the entirety of the Lightning in her left hand protected by tutaminis, her right elegantly riposting her lightsaber against Gaetana’s saberstaff. Twisting her wrist, the Hapan Master tangled Gaetana’s saberstaff against her, involuntarily exposing the taller woman’s right arm.

Gaetana heard herself scream, a shrill, shocked screeching sound full of pain and disbelief as D’Aylanna’s purple blade made a tight orbit chopping down upon her hand, cutting through the top of her hand as well as the saberstaff hilt, sending the now-useless weapon flying…along with three of Jorya’s fingers. Simultaneously, D’Aylanna redirected the collected Lightning back at Gaetana, squarely hitting her body, resulting in another yelp of pained indignation.

But D’Aylanna wasn’t finished.

Before the Force Lightning had dissipated, D’Aylanna moved. With a running jump, she flew through the air, quickly spinning as she did so, perfectly targeting Gaetana’s head. With bone-crunching violence, D’Aylanna’s reinforced heel connected with Gaetana’s face, fracturing her jaw and orbital and knocking the Togruta down to the deck, hard.

Dazed, confused, and nauseous, Gaetana tried to clear the cobwebs from her head as pain, disbelief, and self-disgust coursed through her. The solid weight of a boot clamping down upon her left hand helped her, giving her immediate clarity. And understanding.

...No! I canNOT die! Not again! Not this way! I…I must live…! Gaetana worryingly thought, a scream reverberating in her mind. Frantically, she strove to act, to think of a way, to do something!

Time slowed. Looming large above the Togruta, D’Aylanna stared down at her. Not at her daughter, no; she glared into the yellow Sith eyes of a Sith, of Mendax. Within the Hapan woman’s delicate hand her lightsaber hummed, its deadly blade a reminder to Gaetana that only those with the most power survived.

The former Inquisitor felt a slick, repulsive desperation. She didn’t want to die but what else could she do? She half-heard Kadmaur telling her to do something, to take the tralk with them, some kind of immolating Kinetite, they might–might!--survive it… No, no. D’Aylanna wouldn’t possibly kill her own daughter… Surely not…

All doubt fled from Gaetana when she looked deep into D’Aylanna’s dark eyes. They were utterly pitiless, belonging to both predator and executioner.

Terrified beyond anything she’d ever felt before, Gaetana didn’t hesitate at all: she would create the Kinetite and detonate it immediat–

Gaetana swiftly inhaled, her jaw slack as her eyes went as wide as possible.

She no longer had any control over Jorya’s body.

D’Aylanna’s lightsaber sliced downwards, the Executioner’s cut intent upon ending Gaetana’s threat to her Shakal once and for all.

And Gaetana could do nothing.

<<<<< >>>>>

Jorya could now “see” the cracks in Gaetana’s control, a hair-thread-thin gap that was as wide as a chasm. Both Gaetana and Kadmaur were too busy to notice, especially as the duel between them and Mother continued to worsen. Still, Jorya wasn’t certain if she could maintain control, much less for how long.

But she could feel both of the Shards’ incredulity: together, they were more powerful than the diminutive Hapan woman. How is it that she could be that much better than they?

...because you pfassks… Jorya smiled at the thought. ...Mother is the best… She felt bittersweet at the thought: yes, she would never see Father or Mother again but neither would the Shards survive…

Jorya felt an immense welling of pride and satisfaction even as pain encroached upon her as Mother’s blade cut through her hand, the Lightning that Gaetana had cast was reflected back hitting her bodily. Not even the devastating kick that Mother delivered could dampen Jorya’s gratification at the Shards’ defeat.

“Do something!” Kadmaur exclaimed. It was the first time that Jorya had heard any kind of panic from the Shard. “This tralk is going to kill us!”

“Be silent!” Gaetana yelled, choking fear pulsating from the Shard.

“Kinetite! If we detonate it here, now, we might survive it..” Kadmaur went from shouting to a muttering whisper.

Jorya could only smile. True, it cost her a busted jaw and cheek but it woul–

“DO IT!” Gaetana screamed. If she’d possessed teeth here, they would’ve ground against one another in a clenched command. There was a subtle shift as Gaetana began to hand off control to Kadmaur.

...no…! Jorya thought, her love and concern for Mother immediately prompting her to action.

Within the needle-thin chasm between both Gaetana and Kadmaur, Jorya thrust her Will forward. Shunting both utterly surprised Shards aside, Jorya took full control of herself in an instant.

Suddenly, the wispy beginnings of the Kinetite orb that both Gaetana and Kadmaur had begun to initiate evaporated in light of Jorya’s control.

They would not harm Mother!

Jorya smiled wickedly, an unexpected calm settling over her. What is it that Father had once told her? Something about when he had the former Inquisitor–oh yes…

“Gaetana…” She made certain that she had that frellik’s attention. “...Open your arms wide, you tralk!” Jorya barked at the former Inquisitor as she saw Mother’s lightsaber descend upon them.

<<<<< >>>>>
__________________________________________________________________
1. HUD: Heads Up Display
2. ECM: Electronic Counter-Measures
3. As seen in LSG’s outstanding Remnant Of the Aether CH.48, Part VII “Oblivion Gray-Ultima Ratio-
https://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=44181.msg796455#msg796455 (https://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=44181.msg796455#msg796455)
4. As seen w-a-a-y-y-y back in Shadow Etude CH.14, “Contrapasso, part II”-
https://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=36277.msg600543#msg600543 (https://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=36277.msg600543#msg600543)
5. As seen back in Queen&Marquesa, Executioner&Cataphract CH.3, “Sins Of A Forgotten Past, part II”-
https://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=48094.msg798416#msg798416 (https://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=48094.msg798416#msg798416)

(https://i.ibb.co/hJMNrzhK/D3-CD098-F-6-B5-D-4-E2-D-A0-E6-4908408-FE9-F2.jpg)
Chapter 9: Who, If I Cried Out, Would Hear Me Amongst the Angels?, part II
As the hissing sounded from in front of him, Or’an’s Hyperrage continued to pump natural stimulants throughout his system, causing his already enormous muscles to grow.

With eyes that could see in complete darkness, the Tof could make out several pulsating squares of light, the translucent quality of the illumination reminding him of a mythical creature that he’d once read about: a fire-fly.

The musky smell of earth, ancient flora, and desiccated limbs filled his nose along with something much, much more potent…

His ears caught the low, guttural growling of the gigantic animal in front of him, the thing’s movements punctuated by its enormous limbs as muscle and sinew stretched from the disuse of hibernation, not that it seemed to affect the thing’s activity.

As it rose on thick, solid legs, Or’an saw as its mouth grew from a line into a gaping, wide maw filled with jagged teeth, tongues, and other things too hideous to guess at. With an inrush of air, the thing then exhaled, roaring as it did so.

Or’an could smell the overwhelming putrifaction on the thing’s hot breath, the ground still reverberating from the massive roar.

The Hamask was moved not one millimeter.

Igniting his huge, two-handed Beskar Breaker, a massive two-and-a-half meter blade of orange plasma sprang forth. Simultaneously, Or’an’s own answering roar echoed throughout the gigantic chamber, his voice powered by his Hyperrage.

The thing seemed to pause, perhaps in response to the fact that nothing it had ever come across before had answered its roaring challenge with one of their own.

As the orange blade cast shadows across the thing, Or’an could now see that it had skin like brown granite, multiple dark eyes, and appendages around the gaping hole in its head that was a mouth. Whenever it dipped its head, he could also make out the glowing patches on its broad back, pulsing as if with a life of its own.

Again Or’an screamed at the thing, a deep, bass roar that filled the air, massive arms spread wide while holding his zweihander in one huge hand.

The tiny compartmentalized part of his cognitive mind realized that the thing must be some kind of Sithspawn, the spare rumors rooted back to the Hundred-Year Darkness likewise giving Or’an a possible identifier for the monster…

A leviathan.

Or’an couldn’t help but grin. Even if half of the admittedly few stories pertaining to the leviathans were true, then the Tof was in for a glorious fight, one worthy of his mettle. It would be marvelous: he and the leviathan locked into singular combat, the pure brutality of nature the only “rules” to be followed.

Again, he bellowed a mighty roar from his chest, this one supplemented by the Force, a clarion call announcing a contest of unvarnished strength of purpose between the two combatan–

Suddenly, his voice cracked, Or’an’s eyes widening as his ears registered movement and sounds.

Except that these did not come from the leviathan in front of him.

With deadly realization, the Hamask heard as another, then another, four, no…a full half-dozen different sources sounded around him. Wrapped in his Hyperrage, he knew that he was now surrounded by no less than six leviathans, and quite possibly more…

As one, the leviathans screamed at Or’an, the six of them closing around him.

Heart pumping, muscles bulging, Or’an’s Hyperrage went into overdrive, the Tof physiological response to imminent danger powering his movements. He ran towards the nearest leviathan.

And, as one, the leviathans attacked.

(https://i.ibb.co/q5HTVK2/00d17b92437c464b83f5aafdf91cd9f0.jpg)

<<<<< >>>>>

As D’Aylanna went on the offensive, she drew upon her now well-practiced Form VI. The katas that she’d learned–no, mastered--from Stryka Annix were incredible: adaptive, innovative, and fluid, she was able to take control of the lightsaber battle in seconds.

A part of her smiled almost wistfully: Father Kazic would have been immensely proud.

He’d spoken of his own Master, always with a note of reverence and respect, especially about how Stryka Annix had been such a dynamic and competent Kage for the Vhal’Dan almost a millennia ago. Certainly he’d always told D’Aylanna that he had wished that he could’ve been at least half the Gray Jedi that Stryka had been. But that had not been all.

In the Annals of the Vhal’Dan Order, there were certain names that had been carried down through the Order’s history, the names of the Vhal’Dan Blademasters immortalized for posterity: Cir-Lan Macias, Dorne Vetruvius, Saani K’aval, Zronn Kål Tarjo, Anson D’Aklon, Auryn Kerosin’e to name but a few…but to Kazic, the greatest swordsperson of them all had been Stryka Annix.

Garbed in only her black biomechanical undersheath, D’Aylanna was virtually untouchable, her purple blade deflecting both incoming crimson blades, pushing–punishing--Gaetana to her limits…and beyond.

(https://i.ibb.co/QvYN7yc4/A57-CA629-0-A7-E-4-BDF-AF00-233-E74-E50-B82.jpg)

D’Aylanna had been amongst Kazic’s final cohort of apprentices but he knew that she would become the greatest of his pupils, always certain that she was destined to ascend to the office of Arbiter if not that of Kage. And it was with a Father’s love and pride that he gifted her one of Stryka Annix’s holocrons, specifically the records of her sword mastery and the variant Niman Form VI that she herself had invented.

As Stryka’s successor, D’Aylanna had proven Kazic’s choice and faith in her the absolute correct decision.

D’Aylanna had used the experiences of her abduction by the Hapes Consortium as well as Gaetana’s betrayal to motivate her to truly better herself, to be worthy of Kazic’s belief in her as well as the inheritor of Stryka’s martial knowledge.

If T’Atyanna had faced her now instead of before, D’Aylanna knew that she would not have been captured. Easily she intercepted a quick pair of successive strikes from her opponent’s saberstaff, her lightsaber an impenetrable shield protecting her.

As Gaetana did everything she possibly could, pulling all knowledge and skills from her repertoire (and some that weren’t, courtesy of Kadmaur), D’Aylanna continued to adapt, never once allowing her opponent the opportunity to regain control. She parried, riposting quickly and following up with a quick kick to her opponent’s midsection, connecting squarely and slowing the taller woman down.

She had made promises: she would protect her Shakal, she would destroy Gaetana, she would save her daughter. Her blade parried high, allowing her to shoot a dazing left-handed jab to her opponent’s face.

Repeating it as her personal mantra, D’Aylanna pushed Gaetana further and further back, always and inevitably towards the proverbial precipice. She would not allow the tralk to escape, she would not allow her to continue her reign of terror, she would not allow her to live. Ducking underneath the twin-orbits of her opponent’s red blades, D’Aylanna pivoted on her heel, delivering a devastating closed-fist backhand.

Gaetana blinked furiously in an attempt to clear the fog from her vision, blood dripping from her nose as well as the corner of her mouth.

The moment that D’Aylanna had orchestrated and waited for finally happened: Gaetana’s focus shattered, her control suddenly superceded by raw emotion. Snarling, the former Inquisitor projected a potent storm of Force Lightning. D’Aylanna had anticipated such, preparing herself for the electrical onslaught.

And at the correct moment, she “caught” the projected Lightning, saving it as both distraction as well as reprisal.

Just as D’Aylanna suspected, Gaetana’s emotions supplanted her mind as she twisted her lightsaber ‘round and again, pinning the former Inquisitor’s saberstaff by her hip. While caught, D’Aylanna swiftly chopped down, slicing not only through the saberstaff but also through three fingers.

Pain, sharp and immediate, sent shockwaves up Gaetana’s arm…which was about all the time that she had to focus on before her own redirected Lightning slammed back into her, sending her bodily into the air. Only D’Aylanna wasn’t finished: powered by the Force, she flew through the air, reinforced heel connecting violently with her opponent’s face.

D’Aylanna heard the satisfactory crunch as bones broke, Gaetana falling to the deck like a broken ragdoll. Landing easily on her feet, she sauntered over to her fallen opponent.

Stepping on her outreached hand, D’Aylanna stared down at her defeated foe, eyes pitiless. What she saw only served to reinforce her convictions: those yellow Sith eyes darted to-and-fro, absolute panic and dread oozing from them.

Raising her lightsaber, D’Aylanna knew that she was the Order’s Justice, her Shakal’s avenging angel, her daughter’s vengeance made manifest, merciless and undeterred.

Gaetana would die.

On the downward cut, D’Aylanna’s eyes never once broke the shared gaze between her and her opponent.

(https://i.ibb.co/7n9nFgC/images-36.jpg)

…Which was why she saw the Togruta’s eyes turn from yellow to blue.

From one blink to the next, she saw them change, the look upon the Togruta’s face transforming from frightened and spiteful to committed and expectant. Two centimeters from the Togruta’s face, her purple blade stopped cold, not even wavering a millimeter as she gazed longingly into those eyes of purest sapphire.

These were not the eyes of a Sith; these were the eyes of her daughter, Jorya.

D’Aylanna knew what she could and could not do…and she could not kill her daughter. Not like this, not ever.

“Do it, Mother.” Jorya’s hard voice commanded, tone pitiless. “Do it. Please.” Despite the words, her tone was neither pleading nor frightened.

D’Aylanna’s dark eyes began to water, love, pride, and exhaustion slamming into her like a mag-train. Gaetana was her target, was her’s to vanquish…but not Jorya.

Stepping back, D’Aylanna silently cried. “I love you, Dear One.” She whispered. “I…I can’t.” Back straightening, she spoke louder. “I won’t.” The word hung in the air with a note of finality.

Jorya’s face softened, her own blue eyes glassy with unshed tears. “They were going to...I couldn't let them hurt you...I love you, Mom.” She lay down on the ground, eyes closing.

Feeling the weight of the planet upon her shoulders, D’Aylanna’s arms hung at her side. She would think of…of something she promised. Inadvertently, she realized that she was humming a tune, one that she used to sing whenever Jorya was having nightmares all those years ago.

They were the notes of a Hapan lullaby. “I will help you, Dear One.” She said, voice tired yet hopeful. “Don’t worry…”

“I know.” Jorya whispered. Then she opened her eyes.

D’Aylanna noticed two things simultaneously: 1) that the yellow Sith eyes had returned, only this time they were rimmed with red, and 2) that in Jorya’s outstretched hand stuck out the short barrel of a holdout blaster.

Before she could react, D’Aylanna saw the blue plasma ring of a Stun shot fill her vision, knocking her insensate. And right before she lost consciousness, she saw the Togruta rise on unsteady legs, favoring her wounded hand, staring down at her as a wicked grin spread across her face.

“Now you’re mine…”

I am incredibly sorry for the belated posts but I've been having A LOT of trouble with "Error 503" & "Error 524" codes making it virtually impossible for me to even look at the Forums, much less interact. Hopefully this changes... And for those of you still here: THANK YOU!
**********************************************************************************************
(https://i.ibb.co/v4CP8tn3/5358-A998-E330-4-DA5-8728-3870-F4-A23-F9-F.jpg)
Chapter 10: Misdirections and Other Accidents of Fate, part I
Halting with a start, Imperial Executor Kintik felt as if he’d emerged from a brackish lake, the water obfuscating everything even a scant centimeter from the surface. What had he been doing? Why was he here, now? Where in the name of the Emperor was he? And beneath it all like a muted Siren’s Call was something that his cognizant mind kept spinning around, unable to fully grasp it as if attempting to hold a greased eel…

...He’s still out there...

Something kept nagging at him, tickling his consciousness like an unseen presence behind him, barely brushing a few errant hairs on the back of his neck. Almost unconsciously he brushed his left hand across the back of his head.

He focused on his surroundings, his eyes finally registering precisely where he was. He had his right hand on the extended rung of the integrated ladder leading into his TIE Bat. Blinking his yellow Sith eyes, Kintik fought to clear the haze around his memory.

It was a task much, much more onerous than expected. Why?

He felt another almost touch on the back of his neck, this one different, familiar, and almost pleasant, one he knew from constant use. Of course: the Dark Side was rich, thick, and pervasive, easily reaching this far from the planet below.

Wrapping himself in it, Kintik found the veil on his memory parting more if not completely…

...He’s still out there…

…Yes…yes, he’d been trying to search out the two Imperial operatives that had provided the detailed and successful intel surrounding the Dark Side Tomb planetside.

Suddenly, he could recall with growing clarity his brief meeting with one of them, an ISB agent.

Giving a smart salute, Lieutenant Asten Raduuk stiffened ramrod straight at attention. “Thank you, Executor.” He said, meaning it. Kintik could feel gratitude radiating off of the junior officer. “I’m honored that my actions had any influence at all on the successes against the interlopers.” His hand and fingers had not wavered so much as a millimeter from the rim of his cap.

Raduuk was like all ISB agents in his professionalism and attention to detail; however, he separated himself from his colleagues in that he was incredibly personable and somehow likeable.

“Not ‘influence,’ Lieutenant; ‘instrumental’ I’d say.” Kintik’s praise was as sincere as it was rare. But, as he’d told Raduuk, he’d earned it. “I just wanted to tell you in person.” Kintik returned the shorter man’s salute, the Darkside Executor’s own just as crisp. Before he was about to turn on his heel, he inquired, “Excuse me, Lieutenant, do you know where I can find Captain Evecen Deus? The man seems to be remarkably difficult to find…”

…And that was where Kintik’s memory once again became hazy and uncertain.

Try as he might, the Dark Side Executor could not recollect anything specific.

...He’s still out there…

Feeling his anger well from within, he seized upon the ocean of the Dark Side that now encompassed him, the incredible power not only surrounding him but indeed inundating him all ‘round, through, and deep within his being.

By the Emperor! Kintik had never before felt such an abundance of power; it was intoxicating!

With but a thought, he contemptuously batted at the fog surrounding his memories, the haze melting under the onslaught of his Dark Side-empowered will.

”Captain Evecen Deus,” He hailed the man, still clad in his black-laquered Death Trooper armor, the man looking all the more dangerous for it. “I wanted to commend you for your actions.”

Blinking, Kintik paused.

It wasn’t as if his recollection was obscured or murky; no, he suddenly found himself astonished to find that there was absolutely NO memory whatsoever.

...He’s still out there…

Only instead of a nagging in the background, Kintik felt the realization thrust into the forefront of his mind, an epiphany that he could not believe that he’d actually convinced himself as an impossibility.

Kintik felt the rage of his anger now erupting out of control. He knew precisely what this was…

He was being manipulated by the Force.

Wordlessly growling, he leaped up into his TIE Bat, fingers flying across the controls. Of course, it all made so much sense…

His opponent–the one who had “died”--had manipulated him into thinking that he’d been victorious and that there no longer existed any danger to him, his ship, and the entire Autonomous Fleet.

Not waiting for flight clearance, Kintik’s TIE Bat shot out into the void of space from the star destroyer’s main bay, with only one thought on his mind.

He would not be fooled a second time.

Drawing deeply from the Dark Side, Kintik pulled it closer to himself than if it were a second skin. He was still out there…and Kintik would be ready.

<<<<< >>>>>

(https://i.ibb.co/kVZSNmF2/46-C46-CB0-5-BAD-4629-BE2-C-49-FBD452-CB64.jpg)

“...Shavit…” Zearic, wiping blood-soaked sweat from his forehead, quietly cursed under his breath as another attempt failed. Sometimes the problem with specialities was the inherent limits applicable to the situation. In this case, trying to connect his armor directly to the TIE Guardian instead of to the former (and germane) Cataphract’s armor-regeneration unit. He’d known it to be a long shot but he’d been desperate.

Besides, the armor-regeneration unit had served him well, if for an entirely different purpose.

There was absolutely no way that he could’ve competed against that TIE variant, much less against whomever was flying the damned thing. Not only was he the inferior pilot but also his TIE Guardian had taken a severe beating, and that was even before engaging with that deadly ship.

His options had been limited and he knew that the only way that this opponent would be satisfied was with nothing less than his and his Guardian’s destruction.

The problem–well, not the problem but rather a problem–was that he believed that his opponent would only be convinced by a proper anti-matter/matter explosion, courtesy of his reactor going critical…

…Or if he could simulate such.

And so: he’d jettisoned the ship’s armor-regeneration unit, the very powerplant that empowered his and his Triad’s Cataphract armor. Thankfully, it too ran on anti-matter/matter reactions, necessary to empower Cataphract armor and the Dover Catalyst required for auto-repair, the armor’s ablative capabilities, its resilience, and many other functions.

The good news: the unit’s destruction had fooled his opponent. The bad news: Zearic couldn’t recharge his armor, and he was now down to 9% on his battery. Oh, it would function as armor…but any of the advanced sensor- and tactical-suites?

No, he needed more power.

While he pressed a patch of poly-bacta against the large head contusion that continually bled in his face, he grabbed one of the MRE¹ packs from the many stowed amongst the consumables in the TIE Guardian’s foodstore. Ripping it open with his teeth, he downed the freeze-dried sika apples, somewhat assuaging his hunger. ...Thank the Maker… He thought, glad to have the consumables and, once again, for more than one reason.

Besides the obvious, the food made an excellent alternative to his actual body when fooling a bio-matter scan.

Ripping open another pack–this one freeze-dried meat–he gave into a bit of gallows humor: at least he wouldn’t have to eat any of his Triad for sustenance. They’d always joked that if they were stranded, Zearic would be the one to draw the “short straw” when it came time to “do what needed to be done.” Zearic smirked; of course, Sio would argue that he’d be too “tough” to eat, nevermind the cannab–

Inhaling swiftly, the thought gave him a spark of inspiration. ...Might just work… He considered. Gulping down the last of the meat, he turned from the back panel and, with a half-step over to the side, kneeled down beside his comatose compatriots.

The tenderness with which he treated the two unconscious Cataphracts seemed incongruous with his wide frame and size, but they were his Triad, a bond that superseded the merely ordinary. They’d lived together, trained together, fought together…

If need be, they would die for each other…and they’d do that together too.

Gently rotating Olyna’s arm to the side, he took one of the connectors from his own armor and searched for a port in his Primus’ vambrace. Locating the dock, he connected his armor to hers and, bringing up one of the applications, typed in several commands of coding before he clicked on the “Enable” function while giving a prayer.

And waited.

At first nothing happened. Trying to remember and follow the good example of his wife’s grace while not cursing the Maker, Zearic unconsciously held his breath with almost superstitious apprehension. But then, he saw his armor’s power reservoir begin to creep upwards. Making first a sign of gratitude to the Maker, he whispered, “Thank you, Olyna.” While gently placing a tender hand upon the Shifalan’s wide forehead.

No, he needn’t worry about eating Olyna or Sio…but he could use their armor; in this case, instead of cannibalizing his Triad, he would jack into their own unused armor to give his own that much more power.

By the time he’d finished with Olyna’s armor and moved onto to their Triad’s Tertius, Zearic’s armor was at 41%. True, not the best of circumstances but certainly an improvement on the 9% he’d had. He would have to be judicious with what power was left to him. “Thank you, Sio.” He whispered, giving the unconscious man’s arm a brotherly squeeze.

Consequently, the poly-bacta had done its job, staunching the blood from the laceration atop his head. Taking stock, Zearic rearmed his armor’s weapon-systems as best he could. He’d have to be careful on what he could use given the limited power available. Well, this was hardly the first time he’d have to focus on stealth…

He barked a silent laugh; once again he found himself grateful for his time and training with Nimmin Cha². Remembering the hard-fought month of the tireless training on M’Tzigon, he couldn’t help but wax nostalgic. That had been a turning point for so many things in his life…

Unconsciously, his fingers stroked the dual Blackstone daggers that he now always kept about his person, either in the specially made cross-carry holster at the small of his back or orbiting around his shoulders, the spinning black blades like midnight sentinels. Yes, he’d learned much…

But not enough.

Not only had his friend Karmack–the Master Singer drunk with righteous power and conviction–shown him what true power was but, worst of all, was his absolute inherent need to OBEY when around the Pure On–

Zearic shook his head, teeth gritting in frustration. ...Black Armors… He castigated himself, ...NOT “Pure Ones”... But his admonishment felt as hollow as his will when around them. Why?

Sighing heavily, the old questions arose… Why was he blessed with his renewal–his increased strength in body and Force–while simultaneously cursed by it?

He’d been a slave all of his childhood, from the roving gangs of rabid, delinquent packs of children that littered the darkened alleys of Kavila on Dalos IV, preying on unsuspecting tourists, uncareful citizens, and the foolish alike to his pree-teens when he’d tried (and failed) multiple times to escape the teenage tyrants that tormented him, using him whenever they needed an “example” to keep the rest in line…

Thank the Maker for Kazic.

It was his adoptive father who’d saved him³, given him an “out” when he’d been certain that he would be dead within a few years. He couldn’t help but smile at that: Kazic had done so much for him both directly and indirectly. After all, that’s how he’d met D’Aylanna: she had been Kazic’s first teidowan.

Truly a blessing…which inevitably made him think of his curse.

The smile that he’d had soured, not only because of his unanswered questions but also by the answers that Cha had forced him to admit: that he knew Karm to be the better Jedi, the better Knight, the better man…

He’d convinced himself that he was helping Karm but he couldn’t help but think that he should’ve tried something else.

The question was: but what?

He didn’t think he’d ever find an adequate answer to that. Yes, as he was, Karm had to be stopped…but Zearic knew that in doing so he was as much a slave to Cha’s desires almost as much as his complete subservience to the P–Black Armors.

All of this went through his head while he prepared: weapons systems nominal, blasters primed, various explosives&detonators within reach, multiple vibroblades secreted within his armor, Oblivion Daggers hungry (at least that’s how he thought of them: like vast maelstroms eagerly destroying everything in their wake), beskar breaker ready.

Consulting his Guardian’s computer, he transferred the data to his armor’s sensor suite, the triangulated target uploaded.

The source of the gravity shadow preventing him from jumping to hyperspace.

Zearic would find it, destroy it, and get the frell out of here.

“...Now I just need a deck of Sabacc cards to pass the time…” He muttered under his breath. It was time.

With one last gentle gesture, he said his “goodbyes” to his comatose Triad and–carefully–left the relative safety of his Guardian.

He would succeed for his Triad…or die trying.

(https://i.ibb.co/Jvmpt8t/Zearic-Cataphract-Armor-Beskar-Breaker2.jpg) (https://ibb.co/ZBGgXvX)

<<<<< >>>>>

(https://i.ibb.co/Y770ZQ3Z/3062-BDFE-B12-F-4-A97-B2-D3-F4-FD86526046.jpg)
Chapter 10: Misdirections and Other Accidents of Fate, part II
“Corporal Weehms, status report.” His lieutenant’s nasally voice sounded in his helmet, the pitch even higher than usual, or at least that’s what it sounded like given the tinny, ersatz quality of the transmission. It was something that all Stormtroopers were used to, especially on this assignment (something to do with the gravity well projectors or so he’d overheard some of the eggheads at HQ), at least officially.

Unofficially? Stynn knew that his squad had drawn the proverbial “short straw” for this billet as a result of his lieutenant’s failure.

After all, “guarding” the Interdiction Generators was seen as low priority and often used as a punishment duty. Kriffing worthless alien-loving, shavetail junior officer…

“Weehms reporting, sir.” His tone wasn’t quite insolent but it bordered on “bored” to say the least. “Status: normal. All clear, sir. Will report back at Zero-Dark thirty, standard. Out.” He barely stifled a yawn as he chinned his helmet’s transmission to the Squad Band. “Klif, did you hear about what happened on the surface?”

One of the other Stormtroopers made a crude gesture, even his helmet seeming to smile. “Oh yeah: real clusterfrell operation…” He propped the butt of his blaster-rifle on the floor, using the handle as a footrest. “...Or at least that’s what the Sergeant Major was telling us, Stynn.”

Corporal Stynn Weehms carefully ambled over, still unused to the marginally lower gravity. “I heard that the Executor was attacked by some tomb guardian, even destroying half of the crypt.” At least the billet gave them an excuse to move slowly; he’d already given his entire squad a good laugh at his expense when he’d misjudged the gravity and almost crashed into the bulkhead. Trying to save face, he joked that the Interdiction Generators wouldn’t allow them to move any faster in the future.

One of the other Stormtroopers of the Fireteam audibly cleared her throat–Private Rwixa Vils, the newbie of the Squad–and lowered her voice as she spoke conspiratorily, “Actually, it wasn’t any kind of guardian; it was a pair of huge, armored assassins.” The proclamation had the desired effect.

“Wha?!” Boomed Private First Class Dohhn, the big man’s voice surprisingly high-pitched.

“That’s bantha dren…!” Klif mocked.

“Waitaminnit…how d’you know?!” Stynn’s eyes narrowed.

Rwixa took it all in stride. She may be the Squad newbie but she was familiar enough with each of her fellow Stormtroopers by now to be considered “on the level” with them. “It’s true; I was just there on the surface with the other half of the Squad.” That quieted the Fireteam immediately, their collective curiosity piqued. “I even saw them myself.”

“Saw what, exactly?” Klif asked, incredulous. Private First Class Dohhn nodded in agreement but Stynn wasn’t so certain. He knew that there were things out there that defied explanation. Take any number of aliens. Regardless, all members of the Fireteam stepped closer, their blasters all-but-forgotten in their hands.

Rwixa leaned in. “Like I said: they were big, really big, in burnished dark gray armor, faces hidden beneath shadowed faceplates.” Her words wrapped themselves around each member of the Fireteam, mostly impressed by what she’d seen there. After all: not many Stormtroopers had ever been around an ancient Sith tomb, much less witnessed…whatever it was that Private Vils had seen. Or claimed to. “One of them even picked up the other one–armor and all!--and ran with them on their shoulder, all the while returning suppressive fire.” Stynn could almost hear the awe in her voice.

And Stynn also knew that the galaxy held some deep, dark secrets. Especially where aliens were concerned.

“So you saw two large metal humanoids wearing what you think was armor come out fighting from the Tombs while the Imperial Executor tried to do whatever he does to them…” Stynn looked from Klif to Private First Class Dohhn and back to Rwixa, tone less incredulous now but challenging. “And you think that it wasn’t some kind of Guardian?”

Even though her face couldn’t be seen beneath her helmet, every member of the Fireteam could imagine the growing smile on Rwixa’s lips. “Well Corporal Weehms, I don’t think any ‘Ancient Sith Guardians’ would be concerned with normal blasters–shooting or being shot at–and I’m pretty sure that they don’t fly in augmented TIE Defenders either.” She theatrically ticked off a finger for each point.

Stynn couldn’t help himself as he gave a low chuckle, unsurprised that both Klif and Private First Class Dohhn were laughing as well.

But apparently Vils wasn’t done.

“The most amazing thing that I saw was that the one armored behemoth that was carrying the other one then threw the one he was carrying up and into the TIE Defender. On the run. Before jumping in himself.”

Stynn glanced at Klif and saw that he had turned his helmet towards him as well.

“He threw them? Armor and all?” Klif looked over to Private First Class Dohhn. “Dohhny…d’you think that you could throw Rwixa fully armored into a moving TIE, much less me or Stynn?”

The big man shook his head. “Naw.” His Outer Rim drawl drew out the word as he rested his large DLT-19 heavy blaster rifle on his shoulder. “‘Specially if ah’m carrin’ dis.”

Stynn knew that his Fireteam’s heavy weapons operator was one of the strongest people in the galaxy. Granted, there were aliens that were stronger than baseline humans but most had telltale physiological differences. Just look at those nappy Wookies. ...skrogging, dirty, murderous aliens… It was all the non-human dren that had motivated Stynn to join the Empire. They were all the same; it didn’t matter which frelling species had done in his brother’s family.

Aliens were a scourge to be eradicated.

While the other members of Stynn’s Fireteam continued with their small talk, he ran through the checklist on their duty roster. “Klif…” Stynn’s distracted tone broke through their reverie, “…I need you to run a diagnostic on one of the electronic perimeter walls; it’s flickering ‘red’ occasionally and I’m getting nothing with auto-repair.” Damned cheap alien replacement parts, always failing.

“Copy, Stynn.” Klif hefted his E-11 blaster, his body language matching the casual tone of his voice. Clearly he didn’t think that his weapon would be of much use to him, except maybe as a paper-weight.

...Paper… Stynn thought, disgusted. ...Only in these Emperor-forsaken, backwater, armpit, no-name, dren-planet, no-wheres in the galaxy… But as Klif ambled his way out of the room, Stynn called after him, “Don’t get lost. I’d hate to send Rwixa after you to bail you out.”

“Yeah and watch out for armored behemoths!” Rwixa’s laugh followed Klif as he disappeared through the door and into the rocky maze, but not before giving them all an obscene gesture in response. “Promises, promises…” She chuckled huskily. But Stynn wasn’t done with her.

“Can you give me some more details? A better description?”

Rwixa’s helmet ducked a little while she recalled as best she could the entire incident. “For as large as they were, they were fast. Let’s see…they could take a lot of punishment; we must’ve had over a dozen blasters zeroed on them–from some Deathtroopers too–and they still didn’t go down.”

Stynn was shaking his head. “Not that. You said ‘humanoid.’ Did you mean ‘alien?’ Or something else?” He unconsciously balled his left hand into a tight fist.

Rwixa paused. “I mean…sure, they might’ve been aliens…but with such bulky armor I couldn’t be certain.”

Stynn smirked, not that anyone could see it beneath his helmet. “Kriffing hell; the higher ups don’t tell us nothing…” He said grinding his teeth together. He’d been too young at the time but he’d heard stories about Lord Vader: he’d been a large, armored monstrosity that no one had been safe around. Whatever else the Empire had done, Stynn was at least glad that there was no longer a Lord Vader to contend with.

“Sorry, Rwixa, what was that?” He asked distractedly, thoughts of armored terrors still fresh in his mind. “Just have a lot in my head.”

Rwixa was standing, her black gloved fingers tentatively touching his plasteel pauldron. “Stynn, I can’t raise Klif on the Squad frequency.” She tapped the side of her helmet, hoping that a bit of percussive maintenance would do the trick but without any luck.

Stynn fumed. Yet more shoddy alien parts he wagered. “Klif are you OK?” He asked but was met with complete silence. “Klif, come back, over. Klif respond, over.” He could feel his irritation rising. “Corporal Brijher, sound off.” He commanded.

Nothing.

“Probably just frelled comms.” Stynn muttered.

Rwixa snorted. “And here I thought this billet would be different.” She stood and stepped towards the open doorway leading to the cave tunnel. “I’ll go see if Klif got los-”

Stynn was looking directly at Rwixa when he saw her entire body stiffen…only to then collapse unceremoniously on the floor. Reacting, he jumped from the spot he’d been standing at just a second before…only to hit something hard and immovable to the side. Dazed, he sank to his knees.

...What the kriffing hell…? He thought, desperately trying to clear the fog from his head. He felt concussed. Blinking through the pain, he slowly raised his helmeted vision.

(https://i.ibb.co/PvjPBStq/1-D084-EEF-9-D52-4-F87-87-E4-FB757-BE513-F6.jpg)

There, in front of him, a huge armored thing was grappling with Private First Class Dohnn.

No, that wasn’t quite right; Stynn could see that while the big man had a grip on the thing’s thick vambrace, he was slowly but surely being overpowered. But…how? Like he said, the heavy weapons operator was the strongest human he knew. And right now, that dark gray armored thing was easily pushing the Stormtrooper’s arms down, the big man soon sinking to his knees. He didn’t need to see his face to know that he was in pain.

Careful not to shake his head for fear of exasperating the promised migraine, Stynn adopted a kneeling position from which he could target the armored behemoth. The problem was trying to line up a clear shot with all of the cobwebs.

Suddenly, Stynn saw Private First Class Dohnn go rigid, his entire body freezing before–in a macabre repeat of what happened to Rwixa–the big man crumpled to the deck. Then Stynn finally got an unadulterated view of the thing in front of him.

It was enormous: over 2 meters tall and wide besides, massive dark gray plating covered the thing in armor, the dark faceshield an impenetrable fog of silver so dark that it reflected back any light. A small part of Stynn’s mind registered the multiple weapons systems integrated in the armor: some kind of repeater port on the underside of its left vambrace, a retractable minimissile harness on its shoulders, what he assumed were the hilts of vibroblades seamlessly incorporated in the vambraces & sabatons, and…

The pain must be affecting him, because he could swear that a dark mist of some kind circled the metal monster’s shoulders, a black cloud that seemed to eat the light around it.

He felt like his head was underwater while his limbs were hindered by thick cobwebs. He began to move his blaster from his midsection to sight down the scope, the aperture still by his neck.

The armored behemoth turned its head.

Stynn could feel the thing looking at him. As he continued to raise the blaster up to chin level, he could see that hanging from the thing’s waist was a long, metal cylinder over half a meter long. What the frell?

Just as Stynn was about to line up his blaster, he felt a staggering strike to his helmeted head. There was no warning, nothing to react to: one moment the armored behemoth was several meters in front of him, the nex–

The deck filled his vision as Stynn hit the floor hard, bouncing a little, biting his tongue while breaking several teeth. ...I didn’t even see the punch… That small part of his cognitive mind protested.

For all the good it did him.

“ARRGGGHHHH!!” Stynn screamed as something heavy crushed down upon his hand holding his blaster, breaking his wrist, fingers, and both bones in his forearm. He felt like vomiting…the pain... Focus! He had to, had to stop himself from…from going into shock…

Stynn felt a single, cool pinpoint stab into his spine, his body going completely stiff before it went numb. And he understood: this is what had happened to his Fireteam.

Right before he lost consciousness, Stynn cursed the alien that had done this to them, never once realizing that the armored behemoth had not used any of the impressive and deadly arsenal available but rather had chosen a sedative to neutralize the Stormtroopers patrolling the Interdiction Generators.

But that was not the end of it, not for Stynn.

Afterwards, Stormtrooper Corporal Stynn Weehms would be transferred out of the Battalion. He would be reassessed, reassigned, and granted early retirement.

But he would never, ever sleep soundly again.

<<<<< >>>>>

(https://i.ibb.co/kgztkD14/D8-F62-E15-8-EED-4-DB7-9-ADC-2547-CEEC1-CE8.jpg)
Chapter 10: Misdirections and Other Accidents of Fate, part III

Zearic checked the bindings on all four Stormtroopers, satisfied that they wouldn’t be going anywhere soon.

And that was after they woke up from a 22 hour nap.

He adjusted his armor’s internal frequency to intercept any incoming Imperial hails. As D’Aylanna was wont to say: ”Pyor lyas duryas,” which, when translated from Hapan roughly meant “Just in case.” That taken care of, he consulted his vambrace’s holomap projection showing the source of the interdiction field approximately 1.4 kilometers away.

Wrapping himself in the advanced form of Buried Presence that he’d learned from Nimmin Cha, he used that in conjunction with his armor’s stealth mode. But he had to do so sparingly; his battery was already down to 36%

Still: if he could infiltrate, sabotage, and exfil without any more incidents, it would be worth it.

Locking onto the source, he moved the map to his HUD³ while silently running through durasteel-reinforced rock tunnels. Sometimes the claustrophobic passageways would suddenly open up into vast caverns, prefabricated durasteel constructs two or three stories tall would line the walls, the occasional 2- and 4-man team of Stormtroopers ambling nonchalantly along as the large Cataphract clandestinely made his way through with the guards none the wiser.

As his armor’s electronic rangefinder ticked down the meters–now less than 60–Zearic found himself in another cavern, this one the largest yet. Of course; the Interdiction Generators would require ample space.

Thankfully even here the guards were unconcerned, patrolling merely by rote. After all: even if an intruder had found this place, they would’ve quickly been caught.

…Unless said intruder was a Force-sensitive Cataphract.

Not for the last time did he say a silent prayer of thanks to the Maker, grateful that the Force was with him.

Zearic didn’t need his armor’s rangefinder to locate the Interdiction Generator; it was a gigantic collection of pipes, circuits, and nodes leading to one, huge quadranium sphere housing the artificial singularity responsible for the gravity well keeping anyone within the solar system from jumping to hyperspace.

The problem, Zearic knew, with setting up an artificial Interdiction Generator like this one was that it did not have the multiple redundancies found in capital ships, making his job that much easier.

Timing out the period of rotation between Fireteams, Zearic waited as the 4 Stormtroopers slowly made their rounds heading away from him. Good. He had exactly 144 seconds before the next Fireteam arrived. Setting a countdown on his HUD, he started the timer.

142 seconds.

Reaching down, Zearic magnetically unlocked the improvised hypermatter detonator that he’d cobbled together within his TIE Guardian using a small amount of the ship’s coaxium fuel to make the bomb especially potent.

As practiced eyes scanned the housing, Zearic determined the most vulnerable point of the Interdiction Generator as well as what placement would be the most destructive.

119 seconds.

Working deliberately, he forced himself to be thorough and precise. ...Slow is steady, steady is fast… he repeated to himself as he secured the device to one of the junctions between the inner energy conduits and the generator itself.

43 seconds.

Satisfied, Zearic was about to prime the device when he spied a cascade flowback regulator. ...Damn… It had been hidden behind a collection of minitubes, all wrapped on top of it. Not the best of news but it could’ve been worse.

31 seconds.

As he cut through the metal tubing, he saw that the regulator had not one, but two redundant killswitches. ...Slow is steady, steady is fast… He forced himself to focus, using his armor’s fine motor appendages to slice and then neutralize the switch. One down.

19 seconds.

Hyperaware of the time, Zearic still made himself work at a deliberate pace. Each cut in time, each signal mitigated, each connection secured cost precious seconds…but he had his wife’s belief in him as well as his Triad’s safety in his hands helping with his resolve. With calm purpose, he terminated the last switch, pushing everything back in place so as to ensure nothing looked amiss.

2 seconds left, 1…

Just as he wrapped himself in Buried Presence while simultaneously engaging his armor’s stealth, the expected Fireteam emerged from the far tunnel, the four Stormtroopers speaking casually amongst each other. They seemed to look around with quick scanning glances instead of any kind of discerning stare, much to the big man’s relief. Zearic stared as each helmeted gaze looked directly where he’d hidden the improvised detonator, their black visor inspecting the area…only to continue onward, unconcerned.

And then they were past.

Zearic felt himself breathe a sigh that he’d been holding. Good. Now to get the frell out of here.

Waiting for a count of 20, he began the 1.4 kilometer return trip, careful not to run into any roving guards. As with before, either the grace of the Maker or the luck of the Force was with him, making his return completely absent of incident.

And none too soon; as he consulted his HUD, he saw that his battery was low but a respectable 14%, plenty to get him to the Guardian and off this Maker-forsaken roc–

Perhaps as a visceral response lent from his pedigree or as a result of his training with Cha, Zearic felt the hairs on his neck warn him of danger. Inhaling quickly, the big Cataphract ducked completely by instinct, throwing himself into a barrel-roll before regaining his footing, Balmung, his beskar breaker igniting in both of his hands, the 2-meter sapphire-blue blade glowing a preternatural white surrounding a razor-thin core of black. It was a reminder of the weapon’s past, a dual legacy that mirrored its owner: an amalgam between the Vhal’Dan and Ari’s People made manifest.

Zearic knew that he would need every iota of his strength, especially with what he now faced.

There, standing between him and his TIE Guardian, loomed the tall, ruthless Imperial Darksider that he’d escaped on the planet, his crimson-bladed lightsaber casting a bloody pall throughout the cavern. ...But…how…? He thought, poleaxed.

As if he could read Zearic’s thoughts, the tall, slender Darksider smiled an evil grin. “I am one with the Dark Side. Your paltry tricks are nothing compared to me.” He didn’t need any convincing: Zearic could see that the Dark Side surrounded, embraced, permeated the tall man in front of him, his previous yellow Sith eyes now a blood-orange, black veins branching across each side of his face.

Zearic knew from Kazic that those were telltale signs of advanced Dark Side corruption.

And if his previous experience with this Darksider was anything to go off of, Zearic knew that he was in trouble.

“Only after you tell me everything, only after I kill your friends, only after you beg me will I finally kill you.” The man’s voice seemed to echo through the tunnels, each forceful word hitting Zearic like a hammerstroke. He also knew that these were indicative of the Darksider’s use of Dun Möch . For it to hit him this hard, feel it this bad…

Zearic knew that, without a doubt, he was in the gravest of danger.

(https://i.ibb.co/yFNdPgXn/FCC36486-C961-4622-BEDD-C7-EFE1-A3-A24-F.jpg)
___________________________________________________________________
1. MRE: Meal Ready to Eat
2. As seen in LSG’s&Karmack’s wonderful What You Leave Behind CH.34 “Training With A Daemon”-https://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=38818.msg797357#msg797357 (https://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=38818.msg797357#msg797357)
3. HUD: Heads Up Display

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General Chat => Fan Fiction and Art => Topic started by: TheDutchman on June 14, 2024, 01:07:49 AM