Worldwreckers

Cardan – III Space Platform Onyx 2
Tarthos Orbit
Orian System


Macron's Dark side-hardened yellow eyes gazed out on slowly moving mass of stars. Far Below, Kar Albarek glittered like a tiny jewel on the surface of the planet. "Beautiful," the Sith remarked as he gazed unblinkingly. "And she will never be hurt again the way she was before." Behind him, a skeletal appearing YVH-1 droid with evil green eyes loomed ominously. On it's shell were ancient Sith sigils, indicating that the dark art of Mech-deru had been used on the droid. “That I promise as Consul.”

Locke nodded in agreement thoughtfully. "The new station does give us considerable power. It is more than twice as large- and tough- as the previous XQ3. It carries twice as many fighters and several shuttles easily." He watched one of the bay windows as several XJ-3 X-wings escorted the VSDI Covenant into a docking clutch. The old Victory Class star Destroyer was about to undergo repairs and refitting at the hands of the many Verpine engineers now aboard the space station.

"Indeed," giggled the madman. "Your advice on star fighter issues was most appreciated. And it can service all our fleet ships if needed except for the Final Way and Harbinger. Especially with... them." The Consul pointed at the Verpine engineers scuttling about the hangar bay on their various tasks. B-2 Super Battle droids and several Dlarit Special operations group clones also moved about, dragging pieces of equipment, supplies, and proton torpedoes. “Also, your personal use XJ-3 is almost re-fueled.”

Locke studied the hangar bay as the droids worked, and equipment was unloaded. “That still does not quell the disturbing reports I have heard. There are vague reports of potential environmental terrorists at work in our System. Not people who just want to take our goods.” Several large snarling black wolf-like features with glowing red eyes and horns paced about the bay, keeping things in order handily. The Krath Priest could almost be seen calculating the possibilities in his mind. “Sith Hounds, Macron?”

“That’s right,” snickered the Warlord. “None other. The Dark Council kindly sold them to us after the incident on New Tython. It just took some time for them to mature. They are very useful allies.”

“I’m sure of that,” quipped Locke dryly. “I know of your penchant for such things. Still they are quite a bit better than droids.” His fine pressed suit belied the fact that it was made from armorweave, and the svelte boots were blaster-proof. Even his tie contained a razor-wire garrote for “field” work. His murky green eyes peered at the observation window, even as his hand caressed a thick brown Tarthosian Steelwood cane.

“You have no idea,” tittered the lunatic softly by way of reply. “Marka Ragnos himself thought they were superior, as did many Sith Lords before and after. But I have to admit, the Yuuzhan Vong hunter droids with the enhancements have their advantages.” Macron touched a glow-screen that lit up with a planet’s outline and a moon that circled it. “Uncharacteristically, my sources indicate some activity in that regard on Gamuslag.”

“What would they have to gain there? That moon is a toxic hell-hole,” wondered Locke poignantly. “Unless they are researching it as a weapon. Or an example of what to work towards.”

“Unfortunately, those were my thoughts as well.” Macron returned his gaze downwards as the last of the supplies were unloaded and Verpines began to stream towards the umbilicus that connected the Covenant. “We must gather the best and most loyal of those who call this Clan home and deal with this decisively.”

Sepros
Hidden Training Ground of D-SOG

"You are the tip of the spear. The best that Naga Sadow will ever have." Raistlin Sadow stood over the Commandos assigned to D-SOG. His time as Commander of the Guard made him the best choice for Macron to have assigned to the commandos. "You are going to be put through hell, and sent back through the other side. You are only going to have each other so get used to this."

Before he could dismiss the commando squads to their barracks for the day, the Force exploded with three Force Presences at the entrance of the training ground. The Son of Sadow turned, wondering who the presences belonged to. He grinned to himself as he noticed the trio walking towards him. On the left side a man in full Mandalorian armor and a former battleteam leader inside of Naga Sadow. On the right, the former prefect of Inos and wearing his own armor that was created by the Grand Master himself. In the middle, walked another Son of Sadow, and the current Fist of the Brotherhood. Raistlin walked towards the trio with his grin still on his face.

"I was wondering who Macron was talking about when he said 'we have special trainers coming to help.' You guys seem to be the kings of SpecOps."

Fremoc lit a cigar, causing his cybernetic eye to refocus as the smoke rose up in front of him. "Something like that."

"Stop being so damn modest," grumbled Kano.

"It ain't his style to gloat, you should know that by now being his brother," replied Araxis.

"Can it both of you. Raist. Let's begin."

Cardan – III Space Platform Onyx 2
Tarthos Orbit
Orian System

It was a normal day in the Orian system. Freighter ships and cargo transport dotted the screen of the ensign on duty. He spent the whole day authorizing ship captains to land and to debark. It was the same task the ensign performed day in and day out. He took a quick glance at his watch noticing it was almost quitting time. Suddenly his display beeped as an unknown ship entered the system. The ensign took a closer look at his screen to examine the ship. The scanner display finally recognizes the ship as a transport shuttle, but the transponder was not identifying the name of the ship.

“Commander, we have an unidentified shuttle coming our way,” the ensign exclaimed. “Should I alert for interception?”

The commander approached the scanner station. He knew everyone was still on edge after several reports of unauthorized activities were discovered in Orian space.

“Negative, ensign,” he replied as he pressed the comm channel. “Unidentified shuttle, this is Space Platform Onyx. Please identify yourself and your business here.”

A few seconds passed before the screen flicked on. A very attractive female Zeltron appeared on the screen. “Space Platform Onyx, this is Revanite shuttle Revenant. I am requesting permission to land. I have some passengers that are guests of Macron Goura Sadow.”

The commander stiffened after hearing Macron’s name. “If what you say is true, please transmit your authorization code.”

“Transmitting code,” she replied.

Looking at the code, the commander quickly ordered landing authorization. He turned towards the communications officer. “Notify Lord Macron that his guests have arrived.

Space Platform Onyx 2
Landing Bay Alpha

The shuttle landed in its assigned location. The doors on the shuttle hissed open as two cloaked figures appeared on the landing. They slowly made their way down the shuttle gangplank. A service droid approached the two figures.

“Master Ming, Master Maruuch, it is so good to see you again,” the droid said as it greeted the two former Revanites.

“No time for pleasantries,” Tsingtao replied. “Take us to Lord Macron at once!”

Gamuslag, Sepros
Cenota Facility
Security Barracks

SSGT Jalen Kridditch yawned as his footfalls echoed off of the stark-white tiled walls of the barracks' refreshers, silently lamenting that he'd decided to re-up on his enlistment for the benefits and steady pay. After all, he'd drawn the short-straw and had gotten the graveyard shift; his post, the Intake Locker, where all of the penal colony's new arrivals would leave their personal effects in anticipation of a long, involuntary and painful stay.

Truth be told, Kridditch was not looking forward to tonight's shift. He'd 'luckily' drawn the lot four weeks in a row; although it provided the most pay, it was also, by far, the most boring. Overall, the intake stream had dwindled to almost nil; the corporation seldom interrogated its enemies anymore. It was one of the most feared fates: Slow Death by Excessive Administration.

It didn't help matters that the seasoned SSGT was built for the field; Kridditch had seen, and caused, his share of battlefield mayhem, and had loved every blood-soaked minute of it. However, just as in the 'shift-lottery', he'd fallen victim to bad luck; it just so happened that it was the SSGT's turn for a desk-gig.

Kridditch would've long resigned himself to a nap-filled shift had it not been for the recent memory of the facility's newest arrival. It had been weeks since the 'incident' on New Tython, and scant days after its last actions when the Consul himself had arrived and escorted their guest to his cell. Jalen remembered this man in particular, because as he himself had been on the security detail on duty that night, he'd noted how the prisoner, though fitted with binders at the forearms, strode alongside the Consul as if he was the Alchemist's equal.

And moved as if he could escape and walk right out anytime he wanted.

Lord Goura himself, his voice solemn, gave the order as he'd departed: 'Under no circumstance is this man to be released.'

It was as simple and straight-forward as a directive could be. No room for error in that one. Still, Cenota had taken on a certain cautionary pall ever since.

Chills danced on millipede-legs down the SSGT's spine as he rounded the corner down the barracks' aisle where his locker was located. Attempting to shake the feeling off as nerves, he instead focused attention on the stranger who was dressing at a locker suspiciously located where his own was.

"Hey, didn't know I had someone shadowing me tonight," called the SSGT in a tone that was half cheerful, half worried. Kridditch had known full well that he was alone on the shift. It was customary for only one man be given the access key to the Intake Locker, for security's sake. What bothered him more was that he could see as he drew closer that the stranger was, in fact, dressing out of his own locker. The one that contained his security vest and uniform. His favorite longcoat.

His sidearm.

Jalen slowed his approach and watched incredulously as the man shrugged his shirt over his scarred back and shoulders, and conspicuously cleared his throat. "Jig's up, man. Just take it easy, and we can handle this without getting the rest of the guards involved."

In response, the man paused slightly, seeming to turn his head to regard the SSGT over his shoulder. Though the area where the scarred one was dressing was streaked in shadow, especially where his head was, the motion was unmistakable to Kridditch.

It stank of dismissal.

It was also enough to get the SSGT's blood boiling; so much so, he growled as he noted the man turning as he shrugged on his - his - coat. "Nice outfit, you Hutt-karker; it's a shame it's gonna have your blood all over it!" Jalen made to rush the man, his teeth bared.

"Thanks. It came with the holster."

It wasn't so much the veiled threat that stopped SSGT Jalen Kridditch in his tracks, not three meters away from the man who had impudently dressed in his uniform. It wasn't even the voice, the familiarly even and silken baritone adding a menacing dimension to Jalen's sudden recognition; paired with the scars that he himself had helped to inflict on the prisoner, the sound caressed him in a velveteen promise of suffering.

Though most men would've broken right then, it wouldn't be enough for the SSGT. It would be Kridditch's eyes finding the aforementioned holster strapped to the stranger's right thigh and devoid of its customary cargo, his self-same service blaster. The same blaster that announced its betrayal by barking in rapid succession and burying three of its bolts in his gut, his chest and, as he crumpled in agony, the top of his skull.

His eyes wide and unseeing, Jalen didn't protest as his body jerked violently from the man's removing the Locker's access card from his belt.

Cardan – III Space Platform Onyx 2
Tarthos Orbit
Landing Bay Delta

“Are you nuts?” D-SOG crewman Franko asked his partner, “I’m not waking him up, you do it.”

“Screw that let him sleep it off. I’ve heard the stories,” replied Corporal Reisman.

The two crewmen paced nervously in front of the Lambda-class shuttle that possessed a passed out Sith Warlord In the cockpit.

“Well we have to do something,” Franko pleaded, “We have our orders. What time did the shuttle arrive anyway?”

The Corporal checked his flight log, “According to this it arrived under auto pilot at 0230. Those jackholes from last shift left it for us.”

“Ok, this is what we are going to do. I’m going to stay here while you go over to the shuttle and knock on the hatch. Then we run away.”

“That’s just ridiculous,” the Corporal answered, “I’m in.”

As the overweight Corporal slowly waddled towards the shuttle he began to sweat even more than was normal for him. Arriving at the hatch he looked up at his fellow crewmen, “On the count of three. One….Two….”

“If someone dares rap their fat knuckles on my ship I’m gonna shove my saber up their ass and then turn it on,” a voice bellowed from inside the craft.

“Run,” Franko whispered as the two members of the D-SOG took off across the landing bay.

“I hate people,” the Sith Warlord muttered as he tried to wipe the crust of a mixture of vomit and drool from the corners of his mouth. Scratching his head he gazed into the rearview mirror. “You’d think I’d get used to how ugly I am after all of this time. I must have had one hell of a night.”

As the Sith slowly got to his feet he didn’t know which was worse; the sound of the creaking of every bone in his body or the fact his pants wanted to stick to the seat of the chair. With a little effort he managed to stand up straight and break free from the pilot’s chair grasp.

“Time to start another day you mean old drunk bastard.”

Tarthos Orian System
Tiberius, was in his quarters looking out of the window the dark clouds above told him that there was going to be a thunder storm brewing, as he sat listening to the local guards radio system he could hear that there was a problem, and that he had to spring into action.

Else-where within the Naga Sadow system there was trouble, the water supply was being poisoned, by some group who wanted to destroy the Naga Sadow environment, and topple the Leadership by means of foul play.

The Sith Warrior looked out of his window once more and wondered, what if anything he could do to help and stop this outrage, as he sat and watched the thunder storm from his window he had a puzzled look about him, and this told Tiberius that he was thinking deeply about what was happening, within his new found home.

The Warrior quickly put on hid Dark robes and ventured outside in the rain heavy rain this helped him think more of what he could do, and help the Clan destroy this enemy if it was within, or out of the Clan he would try and get to the bottom of this as soon as he could.

Tiberius walked for some miles thinking as he did this was, Tiberius all over a man of little words but a deep thinker, and analyser and then he would jump like a White Tiger and go in for the kill, cool calm and calculated.

He got back to his quarters and there was a message left for him, on the holo-gram, he was hailed by his Leader Jeric he pushed the button to listen to what his Leader had to say.

“Tiberius, I would like you to meet up, with the Clan and try to get to grips with this problem, get back to me as soon as you can, Jeric out”.

Cardan – III Space Platform Onyx 2
Tarthos Orbit
Orian System

"It seems we have visitors from Revan, " Locke said, looking out the view port at the docking bay below. "I wonder what they could want."

Macron's eyes narrowed for a moment. He stared straight ahead, but Locke felt a vague twinge in the Force. "Tsingtao…"

"Hmm?" Locke asked, slightly confused.

For a moment, Macron was silent and still as a statue, then he was animated again. "It's Tsingtao, he used to be one of us. It seems he has returned."

"Ah, " Locke replied sourly. He was suspicious, but decided to stay silent, since he wasn't sure of how the politics of the older Clan members worked. This Tsingtao could be a close ally of Macron's. "Are you going to greet them?"

"Ah yes, " the madman replied, "will you be joining me?"

"I would like to, but I think I'll stay here and run a couple of tests on the station's systems. It is new, but it may need to be broken in." That was only a half-truth; while it was true, Locke really did not want his distrust of the newcomer to be discovered. He didn't know of Tsingtao's capabilities.

"Very well, " Macron replied.

After he left, Locke began to run a diagnostic on the station's tractor beam arrays; making sure they were in working order. After all, a malfunctioning tractor beam could hurl a ship against the station like a massive bludgeon. He kept his eyes up, watching through the view port, hoping to learn something of Tsingtao from the vantage point.

Suddenly the console in front of him began blinking, indicating there was an incoming message of high importance. Locke pressed a button, allowing a channel to open to the room. "What is it?" he asked quickly.

"Lord Sonjie?" The voice on the other end quivered.

Locke rolled his eyes. "Just Locke, what is it soldier?"

"Um, ok, yes. We have had an…altercation at Gamuslag. We've lost contact with the prison itself." There was silence except for the distinct sound of heavy breathing.

Locke's breath caught. He knew that Gamuslag was reserved for only the worst offenders or the most dangerous; if there was a riot, that could mean disaster. He schooled his breathing, regulating it, using his well-practiced techniques to remain calm. "Alright, do you know anything else?"

"No Sir, we're grouped in the Command unit, but we've lost contact with the prison. We don't know what's going on down there." The replies were a little more relaxed now that the soldier on the other end had realized Locke wasn't angry, at least not openly.

"Very well, " Locke replied, "hold put, I'm on my way. Do not try to descend into the facility yourself."

After a quick acknowledgement, the call was ended. Locke watched Macron walk into the hangar. Well, he was going to miss that meeting with Tsingtao, but his duty was more important. He shut down the diagnostic and descended the station to his private quarters, changing into a flight suit, and then headed to his X-Wing, in a starfighter hangar elsewhere on the station.

After departing, Locke signaled the station command briefly, notifying them of his mission. He told them to contact available Dark Jedi, if there were any who could come to Gamuslag to help Locke investigate the trouble there. If there was a riot, he might need help, but he couldn't waste any more time. His message ended, Locke jumped to hyperspace.

Gamuslag

Locke arrived over the Force-forsaken moon of Gamuslag and quickly identified himself. He contacted the command unit, speaking with the same soldier as before, and found that the situation had not changed. Then he descended into the harsh atmosphere and noted with satisfied relief that Command still had control over the hangar controls. As a rock face moved aside, Locke descended inside the small hangar and landed his craft.

He waited for the doors to close again and the atmosphere to normalize before popping his canopy. He jumped out, and looked around warily, keeping his blaster out in one hand and his comlink up in the other. "I'm inside, "he said into it, "beginning my investigation."

Amicus Club
Antei

The sommelier refilled Trevarus’s glass, the sorcerer holding up a hand to signal when to stop. “Thank you, Andrew,” said the sorcerer, lowering his hand again. Andrew nodded, placing the bottle of Alderaanian Noir back on the table before he excused himself, leaving Trevarus and his apprentice in peace. “A good year,” the sorcerer said, cradling the glass under his nose. “The last season before the Death Star was destroyed, in fact.”

Trevarus took a small sip and looked back up at Xanos, who was sitting opposite him at the private table on Amicus’s second floor. The grey-green surface of his apprentice’s skin appeared to pulsate, as if some sort of fire gnat had laid eggs underneath the Falleen’s epidermis and its larvae were now wriggling to try and break free just beneath the surface. Even for the Dark Jedi Master, the Oracle couldn’t deny it was not a sight he particularly wanted to watch over his braised plavonian starfish. In fact, had Trevarus not owned the club, it was unlikely anyone else would have particularly wanted Xanos in the building.

“We need to try somewhere else,” Trevarus said, taking a large swig from his glass.

Xanos did not answer right away. Instead, a leather tome floated across from the next table over, its presumably tan leather jacket now covered with deep brown patinas like liver spots. The Dark Prophet reached out and, with a light ripple of Force energy, turned the delicate tome to the correct page. “Vodal Kressh,” replied the Falleen finally, his gravelly voice devoid of any semblance of warmth or empathy. “I suspect there is more in the Great Sadow Library.”

Trevarus looked at the book and studied the handwritten text, which appeared to have been written in blood. Although Vodal was not as widely recognised as Ludo, the Sith alchemist was not unknown to the Oracle, whose knowledge of the arcane was second only to some of the most eminent of the Grand Masters, such as Jedgar Paladin. Trevarus studied the ancient sigils in front of him, rolling several possibilities over in his head. They had tried the Shadow Academy and found its archives wanting; the Star Chamber may have had what they sought, but their hallowed halls were off limits even to both of them; without heading to Coruscant and breaking into the Jedi Temple, that left the Great Sadow Library.

In this case, however, the Sadow Library was perhaps exactly the reference they needed anyway.

“There is always a danger what we want was damaged in the Ekind uprising,” cautioned Trevarus, referring to the native uprising on Tarthos two years earlier. “Alabrek suffered a lot of damage.”

A dark light flashed deep in the back of Xanos’s usually vacant eyes. “Then we will look elsewhere.” Anyone else would have missed it, but with the benefit of the Force bond the pair shared, Trevarus noticed the infinitesimal strain in his apprentice’s voice. The blood vessels underneath Xanos’s skin twitched again, and a line of blood ran down from the scar in the middle of the Falleen’s tattooed forehead. “You know of what I speak, Master,” added Xanos, fully aware of how Trevarus was looking inside the other Elder’s mind—he always did, after all, for the pair’s minds were forever linked, interwoven as if they were virtually one and the same being.

“Indeed,” the Oracle smirked, putting down his recently refilled glass, which he had already emptied again. “It will be interesting how your old apprentice reacts,” Trevarus continued, chuckling slightly. “The new Consul has barely had time to get things unpacked, and already we’re calling in favours.”

Unlike his Master, Xanos gave no sign of amusement. The Sith Lord’s former student had vowed revenge for what the pair had done six years ago; it was unlikely their actions during the recent conflict on New Tython would have changed Macron Sadow’s ill feelings toward the two apostates. If anything, they would be taking a great risk, for the madman would be able to turn their predicament to his advantage. Xanos’s skin rippled again. “My old apprentice is unlikely to help us out of the kindness of whatever machine now counts for his heart.”

The Oracle’s smile faded. “He will help us, my apprentice, because he has no other choice.”

As Trevarus reached forward to shut the large tome, one of the club’s stewards appeared at the top of the nearby stairs. The Dark Jedi Master nodded and the female steward approached. “Master Caerick, there is a lady downstairs who wishes to see you.”

Undisclosed Location
Lugar Mau, Tarthos

The Force swirled around the lone figure within the domed chamber, his own power choking the room about him as the continent's "spiritual" nature battled against him. Yet none of this mattered to him, his heavy parka drawn about him as his mind was adrift in the ever moving current of the Force. Were it not for his Hibernation trance and the small Heat Stick in the room with him, the biting cold would've penetrated deep to the bone despite his heavy clothing. Again, though, he did not notice as his mind reached out, exploring the nearby reaches of Tarthos and its home system.

Thin tendrils of the Force called out to him, directing him to his family, while other less visible ones directed him to the Sons, Daughters and Disciples of Sadow. Those he had grew closer to during his tenure as Aedile, Proconsul and Consul of Sadow. But so much had changed; what had once been an honour to serve had become a platform upon which he could be weighed and measured. Now he felt very much an outsider, which in truth he was, who had chosen the tranquil solitude of harsh Tarthosian wilderness over his duties to his Clan. A Clan ripe with the Dark Side, with a vision of an Empire of a long dead Sith Lord and an allegiance to a Council who killed...

No, he couldn't think that way; that was a path he had long since left, a teaching he no longer shared. Peace; it was a feeling he could feel only within the hearts of a few on Tarthos, a feeling he felt he only shared with the void that filled the space between the chaotic worlds his Clan held sovereignty over. Even the assorted lights and stars that darted between these worlds could not comprehend true inner peace, contentment with themselves. It was what troubled him now: the darkness that bit at his heels, which wanted once more to consume him. Only in these moments of solitude, so few and far between, could he truly be himself; a beacon of light within the dark, instead of being shrouded by a canvas of heavy darkness that he had once obeyed.

Chaos leapt through his mind, pain and suffering from something within the system; a disturbance which required more focus placed on the source to determine its origins. Cenota, Gamuslag...a breakout? That would be, unusual, for a location holding the Clan's most dangerous enemies. But something felt familiar, perhaps due to Cenota's use as his brother’s office for nearly a year. He would have to investigate further for the Clan's safety.

As he started pulling himself back, beginning to wake from his trance. He could feel the worried movement of another, aboard the new station. A replacement to the now decommissioned and destroyed station he had spent many years restoring at the Fist's side; but with that aside, it seemed as though the Clan's new Proconsul had been alerted to the same issue. But going without a Guardsman? Tisk, tisk, tisk; the young man had picked up a few bad habits from his elders.

The cold came back to him, a nagging chill despite the heat stick; small particles of ice built up in his beard and the fur of his parka around his face and wrists. Rising slowly, a small creak in his joints from several days of inaction, the man moved out the entrance way of the chamber and out into the cold. The light of Orian Minor cast down upon the igloo from high in the sky, the nagging cold exaggerated by the howling winds of the spiritual continent. Rolling his shoulders and his neck, the Miraluka reached out with the Force and grabbed something beneath the snow away from his small hideaway. With a sudden lifting motion, the tarp beneath the snow rose away and revealed the slumbering HLAF which had brought him here.

Thankfully, with proper foresight, the former Consul had prepared the vessel for the biting cold of the Tarthosian continents outside of the cities. It took only a few moments to remove the socks from the intakes and to start up the small fighter so that he could seek out the problems at Cenota.

Cenota Aerospace, Gamuslag

The flight had been rather uneventful, the Special Operations Group rarely questioning the movements of their fighter assets between their planets, especially with so many Disciples "borrowing" these assets. The tower at Cenota was a well-oiled machine however, immediately requesting his clearance as he approached. It took little persuading for them to direct him to the appropriate hanger to meet up with the Dlarit Vice-President. While it was a different hanger, it would connect him to the young Bakuran's to continue their investigation.

Bringing the fighter in gently, he followed his docking procedures swiftly and efficiently before opening his canopy and leaping out. Stopping only long enough to toss his heavy parka back inside the vessel, the man moved quickly to towards the main hallways. His mind reached out to touch Locke's just enough so that he could begin to speak with him as his voice began to ring out in the young Priest's mind, "A violent breakout and the first thing you do is come to investigate alone? I think we've been far too much of an influence on you."

Cardan – III Space Platform Onyx 2
Tarthos Orbit
Orian System


Macron turned at the sound of footsteps entering the room. "Ah Tsingtao welcome aboard..." he said before frowning at the different Battlelord stood before him. "Malisane," he said with a polite but curious expression, "what are you doing here?"
The equite gave a slight incline of his head. "Where else would I be? I gather there is a potential security problem?"
The Consul nodded. "There is indeed. I am surprised to see you here though," he said with a shrug, "I gather following your sealing of the Bastion you had left the system."
"I did, and now I am back." Malisane replied, "you do not seem overly enthusiastic."
"I am curious where you went," the Consul asked.
"I have been following up enquiries," the other man replied simply.
"Into?" Macron asked raising an eyebrow.
"Nothing of interest," Malisane replied, "just enquiries."
The Consul frowned. "Secrets Malisane? Is there need?"
Malisane shrugged, "I always keep the Summit and the Heir informed of matters you need to be aware of."
"Presumably you take the decision yourself as to what we need to be aware of?"
"Of course," Malisane replied.

Macron sighed. "You could try being more helpful my old, friend." He stressed the last word slightly.
"I am here now to help you," Malisane replied, "do you doubt my intentions? I don't believe I have ever done anything intentionally to compromise the Clan."
Macron thought back to certain events over the last decade. "I would not like to argue that point as your defence council should the need arise," he said with a simple smile, "however I am prepared for now to take that at face value."
"Good then I await your instructions my Consul," Malisane replied, and seeing Tsingtao approach he gave a polite nod to the new Quaestor and left them.

Cardan – III Space Platform Onyx 2
Tarthos Orbit
Orian Space

Tsingtao and Joseem walked into the Consul’s office. Tsingtao saw two familiar faces as he approached the Clan leader. One of them turned towards him, nodded a greeting and left the room. Tsingtao returned the nod, “Malisane.”

Macron giggled as he exclaimed,” Tsingtao! Joseem! Welcome home, you two.” Both Tsingtao and Joseem gave a slight bow. Macron giggle some more. “What brings you two back to the Clan?” He knew the answer of course, but wanted to hear what they two Sith would say.

“Gamuslag.” Tsingtao replied to the Warlord. Joseem nodded as well, “What he said.”

The smile on the Warlord slipped. “I didn’t know you two were brought up to speed on the situation.”

“Someone is snooping around the Cenota Facility in placing they should not be,” Tsingtao replied. “Let’s just say I had some extra sensors installed and was alerted to some unwanted presence.”

“I see.” Macron replied. He knew that Tsingtao had been Prefect of Gamuslag for a long time, before he left for House Revan. Tsingtao oversaw the creation of the Special Forces as well as other secret projects for the Clan. There were rumors that Tsingtao even conducted secret experiments, but none were ever found. Joseem on the other hand, was never a Prefect of Gamuslag but did based the Jade Serpents there. “And you would like to investigate the area?”

“With your permission of course, my Lord Goura. Joseem and I would like to make sure the facility is……secure.” Tsingtao asked again with a slight bow.

Joseem stepped up, “There is another matter we would like to discuss with you as well, Lord Goura.”

Laughing manically, Macron placed a hand on Joseem’s shoulder. “Let me guess. House Revan has disbanded and you want to return to Clan Naga Sadow?”

“We both do,” replied Tsingtao. “But we would like to go to Gamuslag first.”

Giggling again, Macron finally said, “Fine, fine, fine. Go to Gamuslag and report what you find. You’ll have to tell me your secrets of Gamuslag when you return.” Macron giggled. “Also you might want to bring additional members of the Clan, but that is your call.”

Joseem and Tsingtao bowed as they left the room.

Gamuslag Orbit

The shuttle dropped out of lightspeed and was approaching its destination of Gamuslag. Before leaving the space platform, Tsingtao did manage to recruit a few Dark Jedi. Some were members he recognized from his previous stay in the clan, others were new faces Tsingtao would have to make it a point to know.

As the shuttle made its way to the landing pad, Tsingtao turned towards his fellow Dark Jedi, "To my understanding there are members of the Clan here already. Seek them out and assist their investigation."

War Room
Cardan – III Space Platform Onyx 2
Tarthos Orbit
Orian Space

Two modified YVH-1 droids clanked into view behind Macron as the holoscreen lit up.
Malisane stood quietly beside him, contemplating God-knows-what in his conniving Sith brain. “Get me a channel to the Fleet,” commanded the Consul grimly as a Sith Hound menacingly licked it’s chops on the chair next to him. Word had come recently both of intruders on Gamuslag, and of an attempt to poison the water tanks at San Korinar. Tsingtao's group had gone to investigate Gamuslag, but there were other matters to attend to.

Two somewhat scared-looking Verpine acknowledged his request and began to operate the connections. Macron trusted the Verpine and droids more than he trusted his own, with a few exceptions. In many ways, they were similar. And to Sith Hounds, they were delicious- which was likely to keep them performing very efficiently, indeed.

{Connection open, sir,} buzzed one of the Verpine in Basic. {Transmit at will.}

“Admiral Simonetti,” chuckled the madman as the now-grizzled man’s face hove into view. “Good to see you again.”

“Lord Consul,” replied the gruff Admiral. The two had some history. Although Macron had choked his predecessor to death for insubordination years ago on the Covenant, the madman had also personally revenged the death of his mate. Simonetti knew the madman had heart and was a brilliant strategist, but was also bat-pudu insane and volatile. “What are your orders?”

“Bring the entire Fleet in-system for… maintenance,” smiled the yellow-eyed Sith. “Our Cardan 3 is operational and can now service most of the vessels.” He gestured at the Verpine. “Our friends here have kindly offered their assistance.”

Simonetti understood immediately. The channels could be hacked, and it was obvious to him as a veteran that the Consul had something else in mind entirely. More than likely people were going to die soon. Death hung about the Dark Jedi like a miasma. “Yes, m’lord. After New Tython, we could use some repairs.”

“Very good Admiral. I’ll expect you shortly. Macron Out.” The Sith turned back to the holoscreen. The Warlord grasped a weapon in his hand firmly. A show of strength would be needed. The Sword of Shar Dakhan had nearly taken his life once before when it was used to slay the Darksider Curwen Sunei. The alchemist had a strange bond with it now, and it felt good to have it in his grasp again. Something was coming… Macron could almost feel it on the wind, if there was any on this station. “Get me central command. I want the entire system on alert, grade Two. Malisane, if you will accompany me to meet Simonetti.”

Northern Coast
Kar Alabrek, Tarthos

It had been a few hours since the sun had set on the coast. The nightlife of Kar Alabrek was in full swing. The coastal strip was packed with residents and off-duty service members enjoying the entertainment and shopping that wouldn’t have been possible if the Corporation never stepped in. Sergeant Zeka and two of his battle buddies exited a bar and began walking thru the outlets.

“Hey Serge, lets hit up one of the club pick up some ladies.” One of the soldiers said.

“You two can go, I gotta pick up a few things for my fiancee.”

“How cute.” The other said.

Sergeant Zeka gave a quick right hand across the back of the solider’s head. “Get out of here before I change my mind.” The two turn and began jogging back to the entertainment district. “Just remember we have mandatory briefings in the morning, 0800 report.” Zeka shouted to the two as the disappeared into the crowds.

30 minutes went by when out of no where Zeka heard the sound of an explosion. The Security Forces Sergeant came running out of the store he was in to see the fireball still rising into the sky from the entertainment district. Crowds of people began to shout and scream as the ran the opposite direction.

“Motherf**ker!” Zeka shouted as he sprinted off towards ground zero.

Security Forces HQ
Southern Plains, Kar Alabrek

The grounds of the Headquarters shook and the distant sound of an explosion was heard only seconds later. The OIC on duty came running into the HQ's command center.

"Tell me that was not what I think it was!" First Lieutenant Miller asked the staff.

One of the Sergeants look at his screen. "Sir we are getting reports of a massive explosion in the coastal strip."

Sepros
Hidden Training Ground of D-SOG

"...Roxas..." mumbled Fremoc as he stood over a wounded commando before turning to his former apprentice. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to help train them in the Mandalorian ways," stated the Mandalorian. Anger started to seep from Kano's presence at that statement. Kano was tired of hearing about Roxas' Mandalorian ways, and how they were supposedly better than his own.

"Your ways got your clan and family killed. Something I tried to get rid from you." He looked to Kano and Araxis who were already gathering Force energy at their palms. They knew what Fremoc was doing, goading Roxas to attack him. They didn't need to know why he was goading Roxas, but knew to protect Fremoc. He pointed to the wounded commando that had been kicked out of the program in the short while they had been there. "Leave this place Roxas, before you wind up even more of a failure."

"Don't speak about my clan like that," he pulled his lightsaber from his belt lighting the blade, his rage coming up from deep inside him. "I am not a failure!" The Commander of the Grandmaster's Royal Guard turned back to the commandos he had begun training. The Mandalorian raced towards his former master screaming, "Face me!"

Before the Knight could react, he was hit by four Force Blasts from the Pepoi guarding their master. Roxas' hands and knees broke immediately under the immense pressure the Force had created. His lightsaber dropped to the ground as he sunk to his knees as several more blasts ripped through his shoulders and rib cage. Kano stood before the fallen Knight, his palm on the helmet of Roxas' armor, the dark energy and his rage pouring into the palm for the killing blow.

"Enough." Fremoc appeared next to his brother putting his hand on his brother's shoulder. Kano removed his own hand from Roxas' helmet as the Dark Jedi Knight fell to the side. "Go train the commandos, I have to bring him to Macron."

"Understood."

Fremoc grabbed Roxas by the collar of his armor and began to drag Roxas to the shuttle at the far end of the training ground. Macron had called for Roxas to be brought to him, and with Roxas in his current condition, whatever Macron had planned for the Knight would happen with no issue. "Remember this Roxas. Even though you are a Mandalorian, you are now a Dark Jedi and a member of Clan Naga Sadow. Your home is within the Brotherhood, and being a Dark Jedi comes first before being a Mandalorian. Something that Kano understood during his days as a Guardian. Understand it well, apprentice."

The internal bleeding and pain inside Roxas caused the young man to fade into unconsciousness as they boarded the shuttle.

Amicus Club
Antei
Sildrin Sadow, also known as Xia Long, walked up and down, growing impatient; she was dressed in a black tight slightly translucent lace gown, her with small crystals adorned hair pinned up. Although she enjoyed the luxury of the club, the constantly dampened Force within this building made her nervous. For a few moments she listened to the lovely music emitted by a fountain nearby.
She had to smile faintly. The fountain was a new toy for the rich who did not know what else to spend their credits on. A toy invented by Sildrin for the Amicus Club. Delicate ornaments of beautiful creatures of the sea and myths adorned the fountain. It was a technological masterpiece - animating mechanical fishes and creatures.
A member of the staff approached a couple standing at the fountain, encircled by friends. The steward opened a small wooden delicate chest, showing the couple the content. Several big pearls were in the chest - each worth a fortune which could easily feed a family for years. The blonde woman, dressed in a beautiful gown, looked at her partner who gently nodded at her. She let out a small giggle, taking out four of the pearls. The steward nodded, bowed lightly and retreated with the chest.
The woman stepped closer to the fountain, and people stretched to watch her. She tossed in the first pearl, waiting then for a few seconds. Her friends made sounds of: "awww... " - "ohhhhh", when nothing happened. As she tossed in the third pearl, a mechanical fish jumped out of the water, snatching for the pearl and catching it with his mouth. The woman let out a small cry of surprise, then she started to clap with her hands, acompanied by "aaaahh"s of her friends.

Invisible to the eye several holographic emitters started to work- they added holograms of fishes gliding through the air around the fountain, alga waving in imaginary water streams and ocasionally topless mermaids would swim by, blowing kisses - all in all immerging the whole room into a scenery of an underwater world. On the front side of the fountain the hologram evolved into a masterpiece: a group of creatures of all kind started to play on a huge harp, flutes, violins and other instruments. Singing mermaids acompanied the cantata. All activity within the room ebbed while people watched and listened to the fountain.
Finally the show stopped. The woman, still in posession of one last pearl stepped closer. With a little cry she tossed in the pearl, hoping for another fish to show up and catch it. But nothing happened. Her partner gave her a soothing kiss to remove the small pout from her lips and they returned to their table.

The Krath woman gave a small sigh from her, wondering how long she had waited now. Finally someone approached her. She turned around, facing Eosara, one of Trevarus Caerick's cohort.
"Mistress Long, I am sorry, but Trev is currently not receiving any visitors now. He is busy with different matters."
Anger flashed up in her eyes; she knew that the Sith Lord Xanos was with Trevarus - of course, as he was the foremost of apprentices.
"Shall I relay something to him?", Eosara inquired, but Sildrin had already turned on her heels, leaving. Eosara checked her up, enjoying the sight she gave in that lace gown - even if it was just the backside. He then shrugged and turned back to his business.

On the Streets
Antei
As Sildrin left the building, a shadowy lean figure that had leant against the outside wall followed her - stealthy and quiet.
"Kanrik... we will leave.", she said quietly. The person catched up with her, dressed in black leather; along with a long dark purple coat with a hood. He pulled back the hood, revealing a quite handsome face, that not even the deep scar on his right cheek could ruin. Fringy black hair was falling over dark brown eyes, eyes that watched her for a moment. Then he spoke, his voice low, sounding a bit hoarse, grumpy: "No success with your Master, Mistress Long?".
Sildrin shook her head, and she murmered: "I don't even know if he is actually my Master or not...."
Kanrik arched an eyebrow: "I have no idea about all this Jedi stuff", he added. "You mean he isn't your Master and this... Shan Long dude is?"
"No,.. "Sildrin began, rubbing a temple with a fingertip, "I mean, yes.. no. Actually..." , she took a deep breath: "It's a bit complicated."
Kanrik shook his head: "Things are never easy with you Jedis". A sigh escaped her lips: "So true, Kanrik. No. Both are actually my Master. And both are sharing the same body, so to say. Some force induced shizophrenic thing. To make it short - Shan Long is my patriarch, the bloodlust and rage splitted from Trevarus. Trevarus is ... rather distant, indulging into his powers of a great sorcerer. And currently Shan Long was laid dormant by the Grandmaster...."
Kanrik grinned, "I think all dark Jedi are a bit... " , he quickly putted on a lunatic expression on his face, squinting. Sildrin turned around, hissing as she faced him. Kanrik raised his hands: "Nevertheless, I believe you should change your clothes.", he said to quickly distract her.
She stopped, her anger replaced by bafflement: "What.. do you mean?"
He nodded to some people who stared at her with mouths opened. "I believe your quite translucent gown is not suited for these streets", he continued, removing his cloak. "Oh", she exclaimed, taking his clock, pulling it over her gown.
They continued to walk. "We will leave. And go to Orian. The Consul of my clan has requested for help. I guess I can suspend my non-existant training by my master to go and aid my clan.", she sneered, her anger yet not having laid to rest.
Kanrik spread his arms, letting them drop again: "I will probably regret this, but I will go with you, Lady."
"Hoping to be able to save me again, Kanrik?", she arched an eyebrow. There were not many men outside the Dark Jedi Brotherhood that impressed her, but Kanrik was of a different kind. He was slightly force sensitive, but yet resilient to force manipulations. Latter a fact that fascinated her - as much as Eosara with his force resilience.
Kanrik flashed a broad grin at her: "Maybe, we will see. I will prepare the ship for our departure to Orian."
Sildrin nodded, rubbing a temple. The desperate screams within her head not wanting to seize to an halt. Screams of her patriarch, seeking for freedom, lingered within her head from the very moment she had had a brief mental contact with the chained spirit of Shan Long. And she hoped to find a way to quench the screams.
Quietly she whispered to herself: "To Orian...."

The bleak darkness and silence of deep space can get to people sometimes. Some call it hyper madness, while others refer to it as dark sleep. For Robert Sadow the travel in hyperspace is a soothing experience that he seldom gets. It’s a time for him to meditate or decipher the great questions of the universe.

“So that’s what happens when I turn the head lights on at lightspeed,” he thought as he flipped a switch on the control panel in front of him.

The “borrowed” X-wing began to enter real space and the Sith panicked for a second until he realized it was the autopilot and not him touching the wrong switch again. Bob missed his Lambda shuttle, but had to leave it at the Onyx 2 for repairs. Apparently the “check engine” light did mean something bad after all.

Peering, and squinting, through the viewport Bob could see the largest moon of Sepros (no, not Roxas with his pants down, I mean Gamuslag) in front of him. The Sith sighed in relief as he had programmed the navcomputer correctly….this time.

The X-wing glided through the acidic haze towards its destination. Bob carefully maneuvered around a couple of lava geysers and approached the landing pad of the mysterious Cenota Facility.

Upon getting clearance, the Sith landed at his designated area as instructed. The Sith Warlord climbed out of the cockpit and lit his cigar. Blowing out a puff of smoke adding to the already sulfur stench in the air, Bob headed inside what some had called “Mad Mac’s Playhouse.”

Disclosed Location
Tarthos Planet
Loading Dock
Tiberius looked at the Transports that were around him, a large array of new and some old space-craft and seeing that most of the Transports were in-fact taken for the looking of the problem factors, on the Naga Sadow Planet, the job was simple to look for anyone who looked out of place and seeing what they were doing and if possible if they ran away, shoot to kill, and of course warn first.
The Sith Warrior saw to the side of the Loading Dock there were a few Star Fighters which were not allocated, and quick saw his chance and ran toward one of the fighters standing there ready for take-off.
As the Warrior looked he could see a Sadowan running toward the Fighter he was going for, and ran to quickly ran towards the other fighter, as he did so yet another Sadowan wanted to get into the one that the Sith wanted, Tiberius looked hard and began to run faster towards the fighter he wanted to get on, he saw that the Sadowan was about 100 yards shorter than him so he would get to the fighter first.
As the Sith reached the Fighter he quick ran up the side of the body of the fighter and just jumped in, leaving the other sadowan, just standing there looking at him, in a puzzled look Tiberius smiled as he did and looked at the Sadown, and said “Sorry important mission, can’t explain”.
And started the fighter’s engines and left the Sadowan standing there looking still in puzzlement at the Warrioir, Tiberius just gave the man a wave and closed the cockpit of the fighter and started the engines, the man quickly ran off to avoid being blasted or even worse, being killed by the turbo blast from the engines of the fighter.
En-route
Naga Sadow Main Planet
As the Fighter took off, Tiberius felt the g-force hitting hard against him, and he just let the g-force take its roll, and relaxed into it.
It was how-ever a long time before he had flew a fighter, but he was confident that he could carry on and get the job done, it was like you always remember to ride your first turbo-bike you never forget it.

Aboard the CR90 corvette Sanguinus
Exiting hyperspace, Orian system

In the space of an eye blink, the blue streaks of hyperspace compressed back into tiny white specks of ordinary light and the black emptiness of realspace filled the viewports once more. As Chris Zara pulled back on the hyperdrive, she simultaneously pushed the sublight engines to maximum, then rotated the Corellian corvette toward the vast space station that hung in orbit above frosty Tarthos.

Behind her, Eosara Goratis glanced back over his shoulder at Trevarus, who seemed disinterested in their arrival. “Nice new toy they got,” the mercenary said with a whistle. “Beats that old tin can, for sure.” Trevarus briefly looked out the viewport, then turned back to the crewman with whom he was presently engaged in conversation. Eosara shrugged and looked down at Chris. “Well, I like it.”

An automated voice came over the bridge’s speaker system. “Station Onyx to unidentified corvette. You have entered restricted space. Transfer your clearance codes or you will be deemed hostile.”

Chris sighed and tapped in the Sanguinus’s access code. “They’re taking security seriously, I see.”

“Figures.” The giant standing behind her grunted. “When are Sadow ever not having problems?”

Trevarus moved up behind her to look out at the landing platform that was rapidly growing in the viewport. The huge maw that constituted the visitors’ hangar bay swelled, eclipsing what was left of the planet behind it, as the corvette passed through the hole in the energy shield and headed in for landing. The hiss of the ship’s repulsors filled the bridge as Chris steadied the Sanguinus and set her down.

--

Having chosen not to land in the hangar restricted for visiting dignitaries or other VIPs, there was no official welcoming party to greet Xanos and his Master, only a navy-suited customs official from the security force, her red hair clashing with her uniform. The woman looked them up and down, her eyes narrowing at the cigars in Trevarus’s breast pocket, though the woman didn’t say anything.

“Will you be staying long?” the customs officer asked Trevarus. Her eyes briefly glanced across at the Falleen but quickly darted back again, as if she didn’t want to be caught staring at him. Xanos gave no indication that he had noticed, holding his gaze forward, impassive.

“No,” replied his Master, offering the woman a warm smile.

The customs officer nodded, keying their approval on her portable datapad. She allowed herself another brief glance at the Falleen, the woman visibly wincing slightly, then she nodded at them again, turned, and headed off across the hangar back to whatever office she spent her days in.

Xanos remained motionless. “You cling to this illusory existence too much, my Master.”

Trevarus breathed a laugh. “It was not I who feared the grave,” the sorcerer replied. “In any case, you know the truth. To break the Force, one must first understand the Force.” Trevarus paused as the woman hurried back out of the office, stomping her feet as she went. “Observe.”

The redhead snapped her head back around at a man now standing in the office doorway. “Like you’re any better!” She swept her arm through the air at the man in an act of aggression. “I know what you did with that Bothan whore last week!”

The man’s angry expression deepened. “I’m not the one who flirts with every good looking visitor!”

“Kark you!” the customs woman snapped, marching off. “When you feel like apologising, I’ll be in Tarthos Bound.” The redhead snorted and disappeared into a nearby turbolift.

“Women.”

The man shook his head and muttered a curse as he disappeared back into the office.

“And these people are the Force,” said Xanos, replying to his Master’s earlier comment. The Falleen shifted slightly, a gesture Trevarus would recognise as a shrug, though anyone else would probably have missed it entirely. “Their mundane lives just reaffirm why this all must be brought to an end.”

Trevarus nodded. “Indeed, my apprentice, indeed.”

The platform beneath the pair vibrated as another ship came into land, its repulsors filling their ears with a deep throbbing. A familiar presence swept through the Force; a presence which Xanos had felt back at the Amicus Club on Antei, several hours earlier before they had left for Orian.

The surface of Xanos’s face rippled. “Sildrin,” he said disinterestedly, neither sounding pleased nor annoyed, but merely stating a fact. So she was why they had landed in the public visitors’ bay.

His Master nodded again. “Yes. Persistent, isn’t she?”

Cardan – III Space Platform Onyx 2
Tarthos Bound
Tarthos Orbit
Orian System

It had been quite some time since Kalei got to relax and enjoy some time to herself. She'd freed herself from the one thing that had been holding her back; Bal. She'd been revolving everything around him and making him happy that she now knew she wanted to take time to herself and not be around to please anyone.

The priestess was now focusing on helping out the Clan and her House, but at that exact moment, she was more interested in finding a unique drink to drown herself in. It had been a long time since she'd sat down and had enough to drink to make her forget about everything else. The new bar, Tarthos Bound, was just that place. All she'd asked for from the bartender that was present was the strongest drink she could be given, legally of course. The brilliant green drink had a tangy fruit flavor, but had so much alcohol that just one glass was causing Kalei to start to lose her balance in her chair.

After her second glass, the bartender stepped up to her, “You asked for the strongest drink, but you're only getting the two glasses. Get out of here before you cause any problems.” Kalei glared at the bartender, but didn't feel like arguing. She didn't feel much of anything at that point as she stumbled out of the bar. The others around who did know her would probably wonder what had overcome her, as she never was one to drink until she looked like this.

- Verda Cruise Line
- Kel Rasha
- Aeotheran

“If you don’t get on the next shuttle to Tarthos, Mirado, I’m going to… to… grrr,” a woman’s voice nagged over the commlink. “I’m going to take weed killer to your garden!” she finished, her voice a register between seething and yelling. It was his sister-in-law Naomi, of course, no other person really spoke to him like that. There were far more ominous threats after all.

“What’s the big damn deal?” Mirado grumbled over the wireless receiver sitting against his jawbone and nestled into his ear. “I’ll be there tomorrow. I don’t have clearance to just take a shuttle whenever I please anymore.”

Really though, all things considered, the conversation was better than his own surroundings. He’d built the city he was driving through, had memorized the road layout the construction droids were programmed to fabricate, and still took the Verda cruise line at 2130 hours. It didn’t matter how fast his speeder was (ridiculously, thank you for asking), when the traffic was moving as slowly as it was, and every lane was filled, he wasn’t going anywhere.

“You really, really need to get here Mirado.” Naomi said again, the tone in her voice both urgent and distressed. When she’d first called him, about six speeder lengths ago, he’d asked if everyone was well, given her voice and language, and he was inclined to believe her when she’d said that yes, everyone was fine. She just refused to say why she was calling, and it was purely irritating. He offhandedly wondered if this was how she spoke to his brother when nobody was looking.

“And I really, really will.” Mirado grumbled again as he goosed the throttle on his speeder, bumping him ahead about a meter and a half. There was an intersection not far away, which was promising. “So leave my garden alone, half the plants are poisonous, the rest are carnivorous.“

“Another thing,” Naomi said, starting onto what could only be another rant about how she didn’t like Arcturus going outdoors because of the aforementioned garden. It was then that a fuel station a few blocks away erupted in a gout of blue plasma, bright enough to overwhelm the Miraluka’s Force sight.

Immediately, life was snuffed in the conflagration even as their bodies were flung hither and yon. “Son of a… I gotta go.” Mirado said, fumbling for his comm handset.

“Don’t you pull that gotta go drek on me Mirado, you’re a terrible liar and you…” Mirado’s sister-in-law yelled into his ear as Mirado clicked the ‘end’ button. Killing the engine with a flicker of the Force, Mirado tossed open the driver’s side scissor door of his speeder and joined the rest of the crowd of traffic in seeing what the hell was going on. Unlike them, however, the Miraluka dashed towards the burned out fuel station, hopping onto the hoods of speeders and running and leaping across them.

On his way, he thumbed his commlink and flicked the control knob in a series of motions he’d learned by rote. “Senior Commander L’eonheart request emergency services and action team, 65th and Verda, Kel Rasha. No Fox Uniforms on scene.”

At least, there were none that he could sense. His lightsaber, hiding casually in his forearm spring holster, was comforting in its own way, but if there was a Force user involved, either they were powerful enough to hide their presence, or they were so weak that Mirado didn’t need his war trophy to dispatch them. Either way really.

Upon arriving, the Obelisk Assassin drew his senses in and focused them, bringing his surroundings into a sharp level of focus. Not two years ago, such a level of depth and clarity had been beyond him, but now, this effort was almost as crisp as natural sight while his standard level of vision was what it had been back on Tarthos during the uprising.

There were, of course, survivors, though many didn’t look like they would make it long enough for the trauma teams to arrive. Mirado ignored them, they’d return to the Force, or they wouldn’t. It was the why that intrigued him.

The air was still hot of course, though with his lightsaber concealed where it was, Mirado dare not remove his suit coat lest an even bigger scene occur. Instead of focusing on his comfort though, the Miraluka took a healthy sniff of the air. Many explosives left tell-tale scents, and the sour tang in the air, with copper and salt on the back end, told of processed Nergon-14.

“Military grade explosives for the primary,” he thought aloud “But a fuel station was the target? That’s stanged up.”

Overhead, he could hear the airspeeders coming in for an approach, and stepped out of the way. It was then that his comm chirped again, the sudden pinging in his ear aggravating him even more. “What?!” he snarled. It really just hadn’t been his day.

“There’s a reason I used the commlink.” Methyas said, ”I can sense your anger from here. “

“Yeah, stang you too, you overcalm Huttlover.” Mirado grumbled.

“You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“No, I kiss your mom with this mouth.” Mirado grunted. “What do you want?”

“You might want to get to Gamuslag, something’s up.” Methyas replied.

“No drek,” Mirado replied. “Just watched a fuel station go up.

“Happening all over town,” a DSOG non-comm said as he approached. “Cascade of charges. Every refueling station in city limits sir.” The man said before making gestures towards the group of DSOG.

“Damnit,” Mirado said dejectedly. “I was having such a good day too.”

Gamuslag, Sepros
Cenota Facility

Locke felt more than heard Methyas’s message in his head, but was only able to send a vague feeling of light-hearted frustration in return. He reached out, sensing for the other Dark Jedi’s presence nearby, and made his way generally toward it, across surface hallways of the base. He found it odd that they were largely deserted; something must have really made the base crew scared to all retreat into the command tower. Of course, it also might have been standard procedure for prison breaks, to prevent prisoners from taking hostages.

When Locke found Methyas a few moments later, he was standing alone in a hallway with a comlink in his hand. “Who was that?” Locke asked.

“Tried to call Mirado for backup, it seems fuel stations in Kel Rasha were just destroyed.”

“Terrorists?” Locke asked.

Methyas shrugged. “It just happened, we don’t know yet.”

“I know Mirado, if anyone can handle that…hold on.” Locke’s own comlink beeped. “This is Locke, go ahead.”

“Locke, Command here, we have more vessels inbound. They’re transmitting Foxtrot Uniform clearance codes.” Foxtrot Uniform was the Dlarit Special Operation Group’s code word for Dark Jedi.

Thanks, keep me updated, “ Locke replied, turning his comlink off. “Looks like we have reinforcements anyway, though I don’t sense anyone I know particularly well. Let’s poke around a bit before they get here.”

“Agreed, “ Methyas said.

Together they descended deeper into the facility, noting that many security checkpoints or defenses were merely disabled, rather than outright destroyed. “It’s almost as if they knew this facility, “ Methyas pointed out.

Locke shivered. “Who would know it, aside from one of us?”

“Good question, let’s keep exploring before we reach any hasty conclusions.”

They went another level down, and suddenly the lights were blinking, or totally out in some places. “Well, this level wasn’t left untouched, “ Locke noted, trying to sound light-hearted. A strange howl-like groan seemed to answer him, coming from far away in the facility. “That…didn’t sound nice. This is a prison, right?” Locke asked.

“Yes, “ Methyas nodded, “but there’s been rumors it was used for…other things.”

“Other things?” Locke asked.

“I was never fully informed, but you know, Macron things.”

“Oh, that sort of thing, “ Locke replied quietly. Most veteran Clan members were at least vaguely familiar with the hobbies of the Clan’s current Consul. The groan came again. “I’m really not liking the sound of that, “ Locke added.

Jedi Conclave
Unkown planet

The Mother of Memories was sitting in her meditation room, eyes closed and folded hands. At peace; mindwalking. The dimly lit room casted soft shadows on her ageless face. She was old, very old, only a few wrinkles around her large almond brown eyes betrayed her ageless appearance. She was very tall, slender, her skin was of a soft brown color; dressed in a long wide green robe. Her hair was white, partially braided and pinned up. For many years she had been the Mother of Memories - guidance of the small conclave, guardian of knowledge and memories. Not many bore that title and currently she only knew of two; one of them was herself. Yet the tapestry of the force had revealed to her the possible ascension of a candidate to claim that title.

She pushed her worries aside, worries about the balance in the universe. The Mother of Memories continued her search in the shadowy plane that was hidden to the real world and only the Force was able to push aside the seperating veil. Shadows passed her; most were dim and fringy - headblind to the Force, a few were brighter - more defined in their silhouette - force sensitive beings. All at once one of the shadows got aware of her.
She gasped, slipping out of the meditation, whispering: "Aria?... Water please...", she let her slender fingers run across her forehead to cool it.
Her handmaiden kneeling at her feet, immediately rose and reached for a goblet with water. "Are you alright, Mother of Memories?", Aria asked concerned, her brown round eyes filled with worry. "Yes", was the reply, "... but something touched me like the fluttering of a moth..."
Aria continued: "Mother of Memories, your student is already waiting... he...", she was interrupted as suddenly a boy ran in, bright blonde hair, a jovial smile on his face: "Sanka! Sankaaa!", then he stopped, putting on a more serious expression: "oh.. sorry, I mean.. Mother of Memories."
Sanka, Mother of Memories, softly laughed: "Come here, Eshil. We have to continue your training, don't we?". The boy layed his small hands on her legs, smiling up at her: "Yes, we have to!"



Public Visitors’ Bay, Cardan – III Space Platform Onyx 2
Tarthos Bound, Tarthos Orbit, Orian System

Kanrik gave the console a gentle pat; he smiled, and his reflexion in the window of the cockpit replied his smile. This new ship had somehow become his baby. At first she had been a bit petulant, however she was now gentle and compliant as a little Spukama; but even Spukamas had claws. And should anyone anger them, this ship would show its claw's sharpness.
He bent closer to the com: "Sildr..."
"I am already here", she spoke; already having been a fairly long time in the cockpit.
He winced, "You are as a ghost at time...", he sighed and turned around, facing an unnatural pale Sildrin Sadow. "Hey, you don't look well. Maybe you should try it with sleep instead of those meditations. Doubtless you again have mediated the whole way till h...."
She shook slowly her head, interrupting him with this gesture. Her blind gaze fixed the bay's platform.
"How long do you actually stand here?.. ", he continued, ignoring her odd behavior.

His question remained unanswered as she shrugged off the world, dipping into the fabrics of the Force. She saw the thread, a silvery one that coalesced with another bright glowing one. She attempted to follow this intermingled thread, but she could not see far. There were too many possibilities, too many branches.
Shortly before their arrival, she had already sensed his presence - Master Sadow. That moment had put her into a bad mood.

"Lower the ramp. We have a small... reception committee.", whereupon her voice turned icy with the last words' enunciation. "By the Blade itself,... isn't that your Master? And that greenhorn?... Who is that?" She cleared her throat, "Show my master a bit more respect. Unless you wish to scrape your bowels off the floor." Kanrik turned pale: "No,.. certainly not."

Leaving the ship, Sildrin attempted to suppress her sourish facial expression and her anger. "My, my! Master Sadow. I was not informed that our conversation was supposed to take place at this location. You'd almost think, my master is attempting to hide from me."

"Lady Sadow", Trevarus Caerick bowed slightly: "but I have no reason to hide from such a pretty lady as you."

"Enough with those blandishments, Master Sadow." she grimaced. "I already see that you, once again, have set your usual priorities." With the last word her head turned into Xanos Sadow's direction, her blind gaze yet fixed beyond him. "Why should you mess about with me, a Pontifex, if you have a Dark Prophet at hand. Although one would wonder what a Dark Jedi Master and a Dark Prophet could still aim for,... if not for the domination of the Dark Jedi Brotherhood or rather the universe itself."

"You still have a lot to learn, Lady Sadow." Trev replied with a smug smile on his lips, but yet she felt a tension rise within him. Could she have struck a nerve? Trevarus's apprentice Xanos watched with the same amount of interest as if listening to a dissertation about the mating habits of stone lice from Corellia. But suddenly his body stirred for a little, an uncontrollable muscle twitching, skin that stretched unnaturally and his hand cramped, giving it a gout ravaged look. Trev turned around, as if having sensed his apprentice's discomfort. He let his gaze linger for a few moments on the Falleen: "We should quicken our pace, my apprentice." Xanos nodded, his face remained expressionless and distant as usual. Yet,.. as this cold and unemotional Dark Prophet had only stirred slightly from discomfort or maybe even pain,.. what would it have done to a mundane being?

Sildrin arched a brow, the cold ignorance of her master towards her almost infuriated her. "Your apprentice doesn't look too well. Maybe a bath in the pool on Runculo may do him well.", her voice turned cold, cutting the air between them like a knife. Trevarus slowly turned to her, a small smile played around the corners of his mouth, but her words had stoked a spark of malignity within his eyes. "On which side will you stand, Lady Sadow, when the universe exhales its last breath; when the shroud of death slowly envelopes it and sends it and its munane inhabitants into the lethe?"

The female Krath shifted uneasily, unsure of what he spoke of. She expanded her force sight, and concentrated on the thread. The silvery knitted thread shimmered in the tapestry of the force. And for a moment she was able to follow it. She closed her eyes - yes, high above her she sensed the thread's destination: "I will be on the side of the Guards.", slowly her blind eyes opened. "But if you will be there or the Master Dragon,... remains to be seen."

Trevarus grinned broadly: "The Dragon will not awaken again." He brushed a sweep of dust off his heavy coat, "I enjoy this... my ... life too much for that.", he reached for one of his cigars in his breast pocket. Sildrin scowled: "If you will forgive my saying so, Master Sadow, but you are an arrogant a**hole. Anyhow I will not make the same mistake as his excellency Fremoc or Master Xanos and challenge you to a duel. I enjoy this... my... life too much for that." A small laughter escaped Trevarus's lips: "You are a quick learner, Lady Dragon. And now... we should leave the bay. I am eager to see the wine lists of the local establishments... and also the consul."

Transit from Hidden Training Ground of DSOG

It had been an hour and still, Fremoc’s words echoed in the Knight’s head as he lay on the deck of the shuttle at the Fist’s feet. He could feel that the shuttle was in motion. The pain caused him to slip in and out of consciousness. The young Obelisk couldn’t breathe. Fremoc heard the air seals of his apprentice’s helmet release with a loud hiss. He looked to his apprentice on the floor and saw blood seep out from underneath the helmet and begin to drip to the floor. He bent over and removed the helmet from the Mandalorian’s head. As he lifted the helmet a small amount of blood poured from it. Roxas began gasping for air.

“Probably should have taken this off sooner, huh?” The Exarch inquired the Knight as he set the helmet on the floor.

The only reply that Roxas could give was coughs of blood.

“You have internal bleeding. That’s out of my healing capabilities. Hopefully Macron can help you.” The master gruffly informed his apprentice.

A slight whisper was heard from Roxas before he passed back into unconsciousness “failure”

It seemed that the word stuck with him. How could he be a failure? After all the Mandalorian had done for the Clan…HE was a failure… If this is truly the case then things would change. He realized that even though he lost one Clan in his youth, he had now gained another, Clan Naga Sadow and would devote himself to it. Those that see him as a failure would soon see that they are wrong. Fremoc leaned over and clipped the helmet to his apprentice’s belt.

Within the next hour the shuttle had come out of hyperspace just a few hundred yards away from the new space platform known as the Onyx 2.

The pilot’s comm chirped, so he opened the channel “Please transmit your landing codes.”

The pilot did as asked, which was nothing more than routine. After a few moments the comm chirped again, the pilot followed routine once more opening the channel “You are cleared to land.”

The pilot brought the ship in and slowly turned it so that the rear hatch would face the direction that the passengers would walk. The ship’s landing gear stretched out and then gently touched the landing pad. Steam shot out of the shuttle as the hatch lowered to the ground. Fremoc grabbed Roxas by the collar once more and dragged him off the ship, the Mandalorian’s helmet scraping on the deck as they go.

Cardan III-class space station Onyx 2
Tarthos Bound cantina

Trevarus pulled up a stool and signalled to the barman for another Ithorian Mist. For just a whiskey, Mists were exclusively rare these days, due to the Ithorians still being homeless after the Yuuzhan Vong rendered their planet inhospitable during the war. The sorcerer inspected the amber liquid in his glass. “I have to hand it to Eosara,” Trevarus conceded, “he knows where to find a good drink.” The Dark Jedi Master downed the refilled glass in one.

Sildrin, sitting on the stool to Trevarus’s left, took a small sip from her bubbling Idlewil liquor. The woman didn’t reply straight away, the reflection of her own amethyst-coloured drink sparkling on the white surface of her atrophied eyes as she set her glass back down on the bar. “This is Sadow,” the blind woman replied finally, “you’re surprised at their attention to the entertainment?”

It was well known that Clan Naga Sadow knew how to partake in the finer things in life. It was in their Sith blood. Right back to the days of Elcho Kressh, who died from a ruptured stomach on the eve of his invasion of the Republic, brought on by premature victory celebrations the night before.

A grey spider-roach scuttled past Sildrin’s hand and she quickly swatted it onto the floor. The sorcerer sitting next to her looked down, his eyes narrowing into a scowl. Trevarus slammed his empty glass back down on the bar, attracting the attention of several nearby patrons. “Filthy.”

The bug carried on scuttling back and forward underneath Sildrin’s feet. “It seems there are some things," Sildrin turned her head to Trevarus, appearing to eye him up and down despite her blindness, a sour expression on her face, "which even classy establishments can’t fix."

Trevarus snorted but did not reply; his attention was now on a familiar woman sitting at the other end of the bar. It was the redheaded customs offer from the hangar bay. She seemed perhaps the only person who hadn’t reacted to the sorcerer’s outburst, and was instead locked in “conversation” with an unseemly-looking man wearing a dark jacket covered in smudges of engine oil and grease.

“And here I thought they were keeping the riffraff in the bar next door...” muttered Trevarus.

Another spider-roach crawled down the man’s coat, neither of the drunken employees noticing.

Sildrin sighed, curling a strand of her hair around one of her fingers. “Not everywhere can be... exclusive.” She said the last word sarcastically, still bitter at having been kept waiting back at the Amicus Club. The tension between the two hadn’t been left in the hangar bay.

No longer interested in finishing her drink, Sildrin rose from her chair and moved over to Xanos, who was standing in front of a nearby viewport looking out at the stars, his gaze somewhere far beyond the myriads of celestial bodies. The Falleen made no move to acknowledge her. Sildrin frowned and stepped behind him. “All these suns of systems... filled with countless lives. They are like you – filled with the lives of so many, but yet... you are empty.”

Xanos continued to show no sign of reaction, though Sildrin hadn’t expected him to. She reached out, taking a black strand of the Falleen’s hair tail, letting it slowly run through her fingers. “You are a hollow shell like the sucked out victim of a spider. Beneath all those emotions and voices of others you can't find yourself anymore.”

She let the hair drop from her hand, her voice showing a hint of disdain. “Even the small bug that scuttles across the floor at our feet...” She held out her hand, her palm facing up, using the force to gently lift up the bug, letting it float above her palm. The small creature wiggled helplessly with its legs, its senses confused by its current position. “Even this small bug has more life than you have... probably than you will ever have again.”

She let the small insect drop back to the floor, which immediately continued to scutter across it. She turned around, leaving the emotionless Xanos. After a while the Falleen turned slowly his head, an almost mechanical-like movement, and looked down at the spider-roach close to his feet. He lifted his boot and crushed it with a simple motion beneath it, then turned back to the viewport again.

Sildrin shook her head.

“There you are!”

The sudden outburst behind her caused Sildrin to quickly look back across the bar. The man from back at the dock was standing in the middle of the room, his eyes fixed on the customs officer still sitting at the bar. “I knew you’d be at it again!” Irate, the man jabbed a finger at the filthy mercenary sitting next to the navy-suited customs official. “Have you even got eyes? Look at him!”

The merc jumped up from his barstool. “How dare—!”

Xanos still didn’t move, and likewise Trevarus appeared to be paying no attention to the ensuing argument either. Sildrin shook her head again as the two men shouted at each other, while the rest of the people in the bar tried to carry on their drinks, a few of them getting up to leave entirely.

Then the female customs officer coughed, dropping her glass onto the floor, where it smashed.

“Phyona!” both men shouted.

“I... I feel faint...” Phyona mumbled before her head fell forward and crashed onto the bar.

Forgetting all about their altercation, the two men sprinted to her side, lifting her face up to see if she was okay. “She’s burning up,” the merc said. “We need to get her to the medical bay.”

The other man began to argue, then shook his head and the pair carried Phyona out of the bar. By now, the drink from the customs officer’s broken glass had made its way under the barstools and was now under Trevarus’s feet. The sorcerer leant down and ran a finger through the liquid, then sampled the substance on his tongue. “Zemex,” the Dark Jedi Master said.

“Poison?” replied Sildrin, doubly glad that she hadn’t finished her drink.

Over by the viewport, Xanos finally turned, his eyes drifting to the remains of the spider-roach that had been crushed under his boot. Indifferent to people seeing him, the Dark Prophet summoned the insect into his hand – not that anyone in the bar was paying the Falleen any notice anyway. His skin rippled slightly again, the blood vessels underneath pulsing. Xanos inspected the creature’s remains.

Sildrin and Trevarus joined the Falleen at the side of the room.

“A nanobot,” said the Falleen, though, unsurprisingly, he did not elaborate. Not that he needed to.

A thin smile crossed Trevarus’s face. “Fate, it seems, has granted us an opportunity.”

“An opportunity?” Sildrin replied, slightly irritated. “Not all of us have a direct line into your thoughts, Trev.” She was getting tired of being kept out of the loop. “What do you mean? An opportunity for what?”

The sorcerer did not reply, and the Falleen probably hadn’t even heard her voice at all. “Come,” Trevarus said, already making his way toward Tarthos Bound’s exit. “We must find the Consul.”

“I guess I’ll just follow then... as usual,” Sildrin sighed.

Cardon III class space station - Onyx 2

Sildrin followed Xanos and Trevarus, still puzzling what they were about. She gave away a quiet sigh. If only Shan Long...., but she dismissed that thought. Now she had to live with that arrogant bastard as her master, For now., she thought, But maybe there is a way....
They approached the medical centre on their way to the consul. Many people, groaning, screaming, crying or having already collapsed to the ground not able to give any sound anymore, were waiting. An Ithorian, cringing approached Xanos, grabbing for his crimson robe. "Sir, please, help me.....the....pain....arrggh!"
"The poison must have been spread quite far already.", Sildrin said, showing as Trev no hint of sympathy. Trevarus nodded. Xanos' head turned to the Ithorian who still continued his pleads. Then the Falleen spoke: "I will relief you from the pain." And he reached out his hand, slightly turned it. The alien slumped dead to the ground after a sickening sound of crushing bones from the area of his long neck. Xanos moved on, leaving the body behind. Sildrin and Trevarus followed him on the way to the consul. "I think that wasn't very diplomatic of your apprentice", Sildrin said. Trevarus shrugged. She added,"He was an Ithorian." "So?", was Trevarus' reply, his voice flat and uninterested in that fact.
Sildrin gently added: "I am sure the ithorian ambassador here will not be happy about this." She brushed her robe, "Who knows, maybe he will order an embargo of Ithorian Mists ... to the Club Amicus..." Trevarus grimaced. Xanos' lips gave away the slightest of ever twitch at those words.

As they approached the consul's room, Trevarus strode further to the right side, as if making room for someone. Sildrin looked confused, her force senses not telling her any obstacles. Suddenly Trevarus cleared his throat: "Lady Sadow ...your robe." Sildrin paid attention to her robe and the floor. "Ewww", she exclaimed. The floor and the seam of her robe were stained with blood. The trail of blood belonged to a groaning Roxas who was dragged by his Excellency Fremoc. "It.. hurts...the... pain", Roxas groaned. Xanos stepped forward: "I will relie...". Sildrin's eyes opened wide, she reached out a hand, but how was she to stop a Dark Prophet. But at that moment Trevarus laid a hand on Xanos' arm. "No. Not this one, my apprentice."

Sildrin knelt next to Roxas, "What happened to him?", she asked. Fremoc replied simply: "Me. Mac has to heal him." The Krath woman concentrated, her hands hovering across Roxas' body. The Dark Jedi Knight screamed from pain, as bones, internal bleeings were ever so slowly healed. Obviously Sildrin took her time in healing him, taking delight from his pain. Then she stopped the healing process, though Roxas was still suffering from many further unhealed bleedings, but nothing he would die off in the next minutes. "I guess the Consul will be mad if I heal him completely." Roxas stared at her: "Wha...?" Sildrin continued: "My my, I am not taking away the chance for Mac to hear you scream , while he uses some of his droids and alchemic drugs to heal you....without any sedative, of course." Roxas gave away a panicking look as the woman stood up.

Security Forces HQ
Southern Plains, Kar Alabrek

“Sir Dlarit Police’s area dispatch center is being over run with calls, they a requesting to divert calls to us.”

Lieutenant Miller looked at the Sergeant and gave a nod. Then started looking thru the news reports coming in. Hundreds dead, hundreds more missing, threats of a second attack.

“Sergeant, dispatch Search and Rescue Team 1 and 2 to the northern coast have them secure the area and evacuate the civilians just in case of a second attack.”

“Roger Sir.” The control room sergeant turn to a different counsel and activated the PA system. “Control to SRT1 and SRT2 Signal 2 priority, Northern Coast. SRT1 and SRT2 Signal 2 priority, Northern Coast. SRT1 and SRT2 Signal 2 priority, Northern Coast.”

Another control officer came running over to Lieutenant Miller. “Sir, we are getting reports from other planets. Fuel Stations on Aeotheran were just destroyed and all contact from our prison on Gamuslag has been lost.”

“Any word on local response or orders from higher?” Miller asked the control officer.

“A few D-SOG Commanders have shown up on Gamuslag, no word on our Dlarit Police response in Kel Rasha. Admiral Simonetti is still waiting on orders from the Chairman, but the entire fleet has return in-system.”

“Roger.”

Northern Coast
Kar Alabrek, Tarthos

The smoke got thicker and thicker as Sergeant Zeka got closer to the site of the explosion. There were a few stragglers still trying to get out, Zeka could hear the faint screams of injured people. As he got closer the sight of bodies and fire filled his line of sight. Zeka heard yelling coming about a hundred meters from his current location, it sounded like one of his soldiers. He sprinted forward and rounded the corner.

“Security Forces, If there is anyone alive in this building make yourself known!” Lance Corporal Lingard yelled into a partially collapsed building.

“Lingard, are you alright.”

“Serge, am I glad to see you. Razart didn’t make it, we were both about to enter the building that blew. He took a lot of shrapnel and bled out.”

“Damn, are you ok?” Zeka asked

“I’m fine took some shrapnel but its just superficial. I’ve been searching these building for any survivors. I found a few, helped them get out and to safety.”

“Good, did you see an emergency comlink station any where? We need call HQ and let them know whats going on.”

“Roger I think I saw one right over....”

The sound of another explosion rocked the ground.

Security Forces HQ
Southern Plains, Kar Alabrek

The entire command center was silent as the sound of the second explosion faded. Then just with the first a wave of phone calls and news reports started flooding into the room. Orders and command were being shouted from station to station, the OIC was yelling for status updates from each sector the entire control room went chaotic.

“That a roger, a second explosion. Residential district.” One of the Corporal said over the comlink to a police Sub-station.

“Dlarit Police are calling it a terrorist attack.” Another control officer said to one of the Sergeants.

“Sir we are getting a call transferred to us, its from an emergancy comlink station in the coastal strip. They want to speak to you.” A private said to Lieutenant Miller.

“Patch it thru.” He said then turn to his comlink as it started to beep. “This is Lieutenant Miller.”

“Sir, this is Sergeant Zeka, I am assigned to the VSD-II Orian Legacy on leave currently. Me and my team were in the district when both explosions went off. I have one casualty, one wounded. We have search most of the buildings at ground zero for the first explosion.”

“Good job Sergeant. We have Search and Rescue Teams on the way to your location and the second site. All DSF person on leave are being recalled, when the SRT arrive ask for transport back to your duty station.”

“Roger Sir.”

The comlink cut off and Lieutenant Miller turn to read the full SITREP that came in from Dlarit Police. They are reporting that right before the first explosion that got a call of a suspicious person. He was fully cloaked and had a package he enter into one of the casinos, used the restroom and left without the package. This was at 16:32 the explosion happen at 16:40 before any units arrive on scene. The second explosion happen inside one of the residential towers, the entire tower collapsed damaging a few other residential buildings in the area. Dlarit Police reviewed the security cameras, at 16:59 a cloaked figure carrying a metal container walked into the lobby. At 17:10 the same figure was seen walking out with no container. Five minutes later the camera goes out. Initial suspicious is terrorist, possible a group of rouge jedi or radicals trying to disrupt the Corporation.

It was now an hour since the initial attack, Lieutenant Miller was wondering why Tarthos’s Executive Director hadn’t shown up to the Command Center yet. It was possible he was un-aware of the attacks.

“Guess I should inform him of the situation.” He said as he got up and turn towards the holo-conference room.

Temple of Ragnos
Mucenic, Tarthos

Minutes after the second attack....

“Director Cyrin, we have a confirmed second attack on one of the residential towers.” Jeric’s senior administrative assistant said as he looked thru all the reports and new update coming in.

“Get me a secured link to the Chairman.” Jeric said quickly.

His assistant went over to one of the counsels in the Executive Director’s Office. After pushing a few keys he picked up the comlink and walked it over to the desk. “Link is secured.”

“You may leave, return in five minutes.”

The assistant gave a crisp bow then turn to leave the office.

“Lord Consul, I have some troubling news.”

“Go ahead Quaestor Cyrin.”

“Tarthos has experience two back to back attacks. Initial reports are saying they are link and could possible be terrorist attacks against the Corporation.”

“Intresting, there was an attack on Aeotheran just under an hour ago, plus we lost contact with our prison on Gamuslag. I have a funny feeling these are all connected. Do you need assistance?”

“If any of my top commanders are off planet I would like for them to return immediately.”

“Understood, I’ll see that the word gets out. Keep me updated.”

“Yes my lord. Jeric out.”

A new report flash across Jeric screen, the DSF Search and Rescue Teams have arrive on scene at both location. They have analyzed the situation and determined that hundreds are still trapped within the collapsed building. The body count is already at 345 people. This sh*t is outrageous, what would cause anyone to attack civilians like this?! He thought to himself as he continued to read thru the reports flowing in.

Jeric’s senior administrative assistant knocked on the office door. “Come in.”

“Director, I have Lieutenant Miller holding on the com. He says he is the Officer-in-Charge over at the DSF Command Center”

“Go ahead and put him thru.”

The Crossroads
Yellow Sector, Markosian City

Bal stepped onto the platform, taking in the sights of the area around him as he arrived at Tarthos. Taking a deep breath, fond memories came back to him from his time as Aedile of his beloved house some time ago but his fondness for the area lingered on. Having not been back to Tarthos in some time, he quickly reacquainted himself with the familiar sights. It wasn't long after the attacks on Tarthos had started that more of the dark jedi be recalled to the planet in order to assist in searching for the person or people whom were responsible for the recent terrorist activity. Knowing little else, he had simply rushed to the planet as quick as he could knowing that he would be able to get more details upon his arrival.

I wonder where the new arrivals were supposed to assemble as I haven't really heard any further details. Frankly I'm not entirely sure that a proper plan of retaliation has been created as of yet since it was such a surprise...of course terrorist attacks generally are. I'm sure that something will be organized as soon as all of the information gets compiled. Knee-jerk reactions aren't characteristic of the Clan and he knew it full well during his time as Aedile of Marka Ragnos.

As he walked along, he found a small bar that had the latest news streaming as it came in. Ducking inside quickly and quietly, he took a seat and ordered himself a drink before starting to watch.

The call for a rendezvous point will be put out shortly I'm sure, just a matter of when and where.

War Room
Cardan III-class space station Onyx 2
Tarthos Orbit, Orian System

Inside the war room, the Consul stood studying the large holographic map that filled the center of the room, reading the reports of the latest attacks across the star system. First, the attacks to the prison complex on Gamuslag. Now explosions in the mining settlements on Aeotheran and Tarthos. Macron’s anger was like a red storm writhing in the Force, whipping around and crackling erratically.

As the entrance door slid open, the Consul spun to face the five Dark Jedi standing in the doorway. His yellow eyes instantly narrowed at the sight of his former Sith Master, but quickly shifted to the Mandalorian currently being supported by the Grand Master’s Fist. Roxas sniffled slightly in pain, the sound reminding Macron of the noise his many test subjects made when he carried out a live vivisection for research purposes... or amusement.

“There better be a good explanation...” began Macron slowly, his eyes automatically drifting to the two apostates in the doorway, “now is really not the right time. Or did you miss the attacks?” The Consul’s eyes flashed as the dark side swelled within him and he let out one of his reflexive giggles.

“Roxas needs healing,” Fremoc said, offering no explanation for his former apprentice’s condition. Roxas moaned again as the Fist hefted the Mandalorian forward, dumping him unceremoniously to the cold steel floor in front of Macron. Fremoc cocked his head back toward Sildrin. “While there were other options available, I felt... your school of restoration would be more educational.”

The Consul looked down at the Mandalorian, who shifted back and forth uncomfortably. Macron teetered another giggle, momentarily casting aside his more pressing concerns for the Corporation. This was more his speciality. The Consul turned to the YVH standing in the shadows at the side of the room. “Quick. Pick him up,” Macron instructed the Vong-shaped droid, “put him on the table.” He pointed at the desk where he currently had a map of Gamuslag’s Cenota Facility unfolded.

The massive silvery droid paced over and picked the Mandalorian up, the entire room appearing to vibrate at each step the YVH took as it carried Roxas across the room. Once at the desk, the YVH dropped the injured man onto the hard surface, paying no heed to the Mandalorian’s condition. Macron giggled again at the sound of another yelp from the injured Dark Jedi Knight.

The other four Dark Jedi watched as Macron got to work, withdrawing several vials of various illegal serums that he always had stashed in hidden compartments built into his bodysuit’s legs. Roxas inhaled sharply as a long syringe popped out of the Consul’s metal gauntlet. “Now... this won’t hurt a...” Macron paused, then briefly snickered. “Wait, what am I kidding? Yes. It’ll hurt a lot!” The Consul giggled as another compartment on his wrist pinged open, revealing a tiny drill that switched on—its high pitched shrill drowning out Roxas’s cries as Macron attended to the man’s wounds.

--

While the Consul dealt with Roxas’s injuries, the other four Dark Jedi moved to the other side of the war room and sat down at a small table, where they could watch Macron carry out his work. The drilling restarted, accompanied both by deranged giggles and equally horrified screams.

A fiendish smile crossed Sildrin’s scarlet lips. “It seems every time we four meet, someone ends up in the recovery room,” the flame-haired Krath said, matter-of-factly, reflecting on the injuries Fremoc had sustained when the four met on Runculo two years earlier. “I do hope this doesn’t mean it will be my turn next time.” Her flippant remark elicited a chuckle from the others.

Trevarus turned to face Fremoc. “It seems you learnt something from me after all, my apprentice.”

The First briefly turned his head to his old master, then turned back to Roxas to continue watching as Macron carried out his work. “Pain is a lesson, yes,” replied Fremoc evenly, “but not one I needed you to teach me.” Despite his sound of indifference, there was a slight barb in the man’s voice.

One eyebrow raised, Sildrin’s face moved between the two men. “Why does this sound so familiar?” She shook her head softly. “You have a habit of alienating people, don’t you, Master Trevarus?”

The Dark Jedi Master laughed, although there was a distinct uneasiness to it. “If anything,” began the elder man of the two, “I’m more curious by how the Grand Master was able to break the... bond between the two of us.” The sorcerer gestured at his own forehead, then across at the Fist’s.

“There are things the Star Chamber know that you—”

“—yes, yes,” interrupted Trevarus, cutting the Fist off. “We are fortunate, then, that the Jedi of New Tython were unable to do the same for Ghost Angel.” The sorcerer turned his head, looking over at Xanos for support, but the Falleen’s eyes were closed—probably off in another dream somewhere.

Sildrin did her best not to smirk. Shan Long, she knew, would not have felt as threatened as the weakened man sitting in front of her. If only she could get into the library and find...

Roxas’s scream interrupted all four of their thoughts, and even Xanos opened his eyes and raised his head to look over at Macron, who was now holding what resembled a chunk of raw flesh in his hand.

“All done,” the Consul said, giggling again. Macron cocked his head. “What’s wrong with him?” The alchemist raised his blood-smeared hand and pointed at the Falleen. Sildrin turned her own head to see Xanos’s face writhing, as if there was literally something locked inside trying to claw its way out.

There had been no concern in Macron’s voice. If anything, he sounded pleased.

Trevarus smiled. “There will be time for that later, my brother,” said the sorcerer. Macron’s face twisted at the suggestion that Trevarus was any ‘brother’ of his, fellow Son of Sadow or not. “For now, Lord Consul, my apprentice and I are here to help you deal with your little terrorist problem.”

Roxas whimpered behind Macron as the Mandalorian—somewhat painfully—sat himself up on the edge of the durasteel table.

Macron snorted. “The catch?”

“No catch,” promised Trevarus, though Sildrin knew as well as Macron that it was a lie, “we merely need to borrow one of the Orbs of Power.”

War Room
Cardan III-class space station Onyx 2
Tarthos Orbit, Orian System



“No catch,” promised Trevarus, though Sildrin knew as well as Macron that it was a lie, “we merely need to borrow one of the Orbs of Power.”

The Verpine engineers had already fled at this point.

Macron smiled. “Liar. No catch, indeed.” He gestured at the viewport. The RSD Final Way and the ISD II Harbinger stood directly off the station, within point blank range of the War Room high on the top pole. Two flights of XJ and XJ-3 xwings tore by the screen in perfect formation at the signal sent them mere minutes ago. The next scene was the Sanguinus completely surrounded in the docking bay by DSOG commandoes, super battle droids, and Sith Hounds. Twin slots opened up from the sides of the War Room with a hiss, and two more YVH-1 Mechu Deru droids stepped out, along with 5 Sith Hounds. Macron giggled as he picked up the Sith Sword of Shar Dakhan himself from the now-open case in the control console as the Ring of Wrath glinted on his sword-hand finger. “I could kill you both right now, albeit at great damage to the Clan’s assets. Again.” He looked at Xanos pointedly. “Master, you don’t look so well, to put it mildly. I imagine it is Vodal Kressh you seek, eh?”

Xanos continued to see his own visions, eyes closed at the phantasms produced by the Dark Side on his foetid brain. In some strange way he almost seemed to… feed from the rising tension in the room.
"Yesss...." whispered the Falleen as he became lost again.

Roxas sat with a white knuckled grip on the edge of the bloody table, his flesh rippling from time to time from the Sith mutagens pumped into his body to aid in the healing process. It was very effective- but also very painful. It was a test of will for the Obelisk. Pain brought you closer to the Darkness, and the Darkness made you powerful. It was a simple equation.

Trevarus looked at the mad Sith with slight annoyance. He had known of the droids and Tuk’ata hiding in side chambers, and of the Sword and Ring’s presence the whole time. Of course he also knew that Macron would surmise as much. It was true, he could indeed kill Macron right there. It would be messy, take some time, and potentially cause trouble. Which did not serve his personal goals at the moment. Still, the Sith had an admirable gusto. “Vexatus. You can stop with that now.” The tension in the room seemed to drop some few notches. “Macron, don’t be foolish.” The Force seemed to rise around the Master subtly. "It would be a waste."

“I’m sure we can work something out,” commented Fremoc forcefully. “There is no need for this.” The Fist peered around him, gauging the near-palpable tension in the room. It was well known that the Dark Side was a cruel mistress, and often goaded her followers into acts of violence even against their own. Even so, no lightsabers had been lit in anger yet. The problem was that most of the entire group didn’t need lightsabers to raise some Hell.

Sildrin shifted uncomfortably back from the Master and Dark Prophet. Macron stood his ground, yellow eyes full of hate- and something else. He smiled, exposing sharp tritanium clad Nashtah dental implants. A chuckle escaped his lips as he absent-mindedly scratched at a tattoo on his twisted face. “Had to be sure you weren’t here to kill me,” snorted the lunatic. “I was making preparations.”

“I can see that,” replied Caerick dryly. “Do you agree?” The man was all business for once, oddly enough. His was an important task. Xanos did not look well, and he knew it deep inside. But appearances must be kept.

“Lord Consul,” said Sildrin with a very slight bow. “We should chat sometime. I see you have new methods. Perhaps we can exchange recipes?” The Krath interjected herself between the two groups.

“You help me clear out this problem we have, with verified results, and I will give you the chance to examine the Orb at your leisure on Sepros. However, it will not leave the Palace.” Macron smiled, appearing remarkably like a human Acklay. This was how the game was played, this was what both the men before him had taught him long ago. They expected such things, and to bow meekly to their wishes made you appear weak- and bargaining from a submissive viewpoint. And such was the Way of the Sith. “Deal?”

“Yes. You will release our ship now.” Master Trevarus looked even more annoyed as he turned to the turbolift with Vexatus slinking along behind him, eyes still closed, and a stone-faced Sildrin. She had not appreciated the blood splattered about making it’s way onto her garb. “We will attend to matters elsewhere, and meet you on Sepros when we are done, Warlord.”

The turbolift hissed shut behind them as they left. Macron looked at Fremoc. “Did I do okay? Hehe.” The Sith for all his intelligence had decidedly juvenile moments. He released a held breath. “Whew. That was a bit scary.”

“Exactly as planned. Roxas, get up and kit up. We’re going out,” Fremoc stated bluntly. Macron grabbed the Sword, and the three headed for the Hangar Bay. As they walked Macron’s comlink opened.

“Locke here. Mac, do you have any old experiments laying around down here under Cenota?” The link was not clear, the signal had to be boosted through the heavy Gamuslag atmosphere and replayed to Tarthos orbit.

“I might? Yeah…. There was that Voxyn-Taosin hybrid I made, little guy back then…” The Sith cackled madly. "He was a cute little bastard."

“Are you serious?” Colorful cursewords from Locke's companion followed, heard faintly in the background.

“No,” replied Macron. “That was a joke. But there may be some odd and ends laying about, you know, the ‘ole Kibbles and Bits. Hehe. Best be on your guard. And that old adage about fire being a monster's weakness? Yeah, don't count on that so much. Use lightsabers, it's a safer bet.”

The Obelisk stood up, parts of his skin still rippling from the mutagens. He opened his eyes and an evil crimson glow emanated from corneas. His face and body still covered in blood. He looked at the Consul standing before him. Macron giggled and then said “Better?”

“How long does the pain last?” Roxas asked. He was in pain, but his voice barely showed it. He was strong willed, but this was far beyond anything he had ever experienced. The actual "surgery" was far worse than this, but the pain form that still lingered.

“It’ll be awhile before it subsides…” The Mad alchemist replied “…but you can walk. Don’t do anything stupid and you’ll be fine.”

One of the verpine “nurses” had a bowl of water and a towel. Roxas used it to clean his face, neck and the inside of his helmet before putting it back on. He quickly removed his helmet and almost yelled “What the frak did you do?! I’m glowing!”

Macron laughed before retorting “Your eyes are red now and they have a bit of a glow. You also have a weaker connection to the Force.”

The Mandalorian was silent in thought for a moment and then replied “Sounds intimidating, I like it. Will I be able to use the Force?”

“Yes, but it will be more difficult. Your ability in the Force will return with time and training.” The Alchemist stated with an unconcerned tone.

Roxas put his helmet on, the glow once again becoming apparent to him. It would definitely take some getting used to. He checked his Kyataran blaster, making sure it was loaded and ready. He then checked his light saber. It was dented badly, but should still functional at least for awhile. The T shaped visor of his helmet was able to hide the glow from his eyes, but if a person were to put their hands of the visor as if looking through a window then they would see the scarlet glow.

Roxas walked to Fremoc saying “Ready when you are.”

“What about the dents in your armor?” Fremoc asked more expecting Roxas to start removing plates and fixing them to “keep up” his appearance.

“What about them? I can fix them later and besides that you said ‘hurry’.” The failed apprentice replied gruffly. The pain was immense, but Roxas could take it. He had to, in order to prove that he wasn’t a failure.

“He makes a good point. Time is of the essence…” The Consul stated as he scratched his head “…Perhaps we should handle this as a team.”

Fremoc replied “That would make it easier to find these ‘Terrorists’. Our skills would also make ending any potentially violent situation into a simple task.”

(ooc-posted on behalf of Ashura as he gets his forum access fixed.)

Spaceport
Markosian City
Tarthos

A sadistic smile spread across the cloaked man’s face as he stepped off the transport, it was good to be back home, a home the man had missed for over a year but only now he felt ready to return. The incident with his former apprentice and his doppelganger was fresh in his mind as he walked to security station to be processed for planetary arrivals. The Sith had hoped to return to Tarthos and his clan much sooner than this, but his travels were not warrant to his desires until his connection to the dark side was back to what it had been.

“Ah. Markosian City.” The Sith Warlord known as Ashura Sadow smiled to himself and then turned to the security office who wanted his travel documents. Ashura had changed a lot since the year he had be captured. This thoughts went back to Ashia Keibatsu and her son. If it had not been for them Isradia would still be imprisoned and having his Force energies stripped from him. His clan had believed him dead at the time due to the masterful deception of the people who orchestrated it.

“Papers sir.” The officer asked.

Ashura handed over the fake travel documents he had been using for a while, while his clan and a few high ranking officers in the Dlairt Corporation knew of his rescue from Ashia, their were still some people who believed him dead. It was still useful to be dead. Once Ashura had talked to whoever was Consul, then he would look into his “resurrection” and only then. Although he had a sneaky feeling the Masters of the Clan Naga Sadow would detect his Force signature eventually.

The security officer looked at the Sith and then scanned the forged travel pass. Ashura was fairly confident that the man wouldn’t recognize him as the deceased Marshall Commander who gave him hell many years ago. Ashura’s black hair was much longer as it had been and his face was covered with a beard which was useful to hide his face.

“I’m sorry sir but this travel pass is invalid.” The officer said calm although looking alarmed.

Blast. Nerf karking blasted security officers. Part of him was proud that security was as tight as ever and they knew the difference between a forged travel pass and a real one. Part of Ashura wanted to kill the man for causing him grief. It then clicked. Security must be tight as something had happened.

Ashura then watched as the security officer pulled out his blaster and pointed it at him.

“Code 9. We have a code 9 at Markosian City Spaceport Arrivals. Man with forged travel pass arriving on planet. Possible connection to the terrorist attacks.” The man said into the communication unit as more security officers arrive to secure to scene. It occurred to Ashura as he was pushed against the wall that he should have hid his lightsabers instead of just leaving them in his luggage. Blast it.

“Well, this is going to be fun.” The Sith Warlord commented dryly as was hauled off with his hands cuffed behind his back. It was not how he planned to return to his clan but it did seem the fasted way of getting attention drawn to himself.

“Take me to your leader.” The Sith muttered to himself with a small smile. If anything it was going to be fun and it did seam he arrived back in a time his skills would be needed.

Patience was something Ashura had come to endure during his time away, here he was sitting in the back of a armoured transport being shipped to the nearest interrogation centre. The dark side user had learned to listen to the Force, the dark side had been his guide for the long year he had been wandering space. He remembered Trevarus Caerick once explaining to him years ago about the Tapestry and Webs, at the time Ashura never found it useful as he was more about Sith superiority, but during his year of wandering to rekindle his connection and lost powers. It had been what he needed. What he craved for.

Ashura sat there with his eyes closed for the rest of the journey. His refusal to speak along with the threat of another attack, along with the reason he was on the planet had merit him to be taken to Fort Keibatsu. The Son of Sadow smiled at this as he was the fort. It make him smile with dark joy, a smile which sent shivers down the security officers in the back of the transport with him.

War Room
Cardan III-class space station Onyx 2
Tarthos Orbit, Orian System

“You’re just letting them go!” a furious voice echoed in the Consul’s ears from behind. Macron turned to see the Battlelord staring at him, his usually passive features radiating anger.
“For now,” Macron replied.
Malisane gestured angrily out of the viewport at the corvette as it wove it’s way through the assembled fleet. “You will never have a better chance. So long as they’re on board their ship they’re vunerable. The madness could end now with one command.”
Macron strode forward. “You will not question my decisions,” the Consul told him.
“Someone has to,” Malisane snapped back. “You know what is at stake here.”
“Possibly more than you do,” Macron replied firmly, “for all things there is a time.”

“What time?” Malisane demanded, “when they’re further entrenched? When they make demands you can’t face with turbolasers at your back? When they calmly ask for something you’re unable to give? Or when they’re not asking you anymore but just taking what they want?”
Macron move closer to the furious Battlelord. “Be careful Malisane, I might decide I do not have a use for you,” he said coldly, “Do not think my patience is unending. When you arrived here you offered me your assistance. I am beginning to think that is not worth the inconvienience of your attitude.”
Malisane gave him a disgusted look, then turned and stalked off.
“Try not to do anything stupid,” Macron said calmly to the other Sith’s back just before the doors shut behind him.

Malisane threw the belt containing his saber and blaster onto the bed of his simple quarters. He stabbed a finger at the button on the wall dispensor. “Raktajino, two sugars.” He picked the cup up angrily and sat down on the bed, taking a sip. His worst fears were being confirmed. Macron of all people, they’d been friends once, the other Sith had practically been a mentor in the early days. Still older loyalties won out didn’t they? He lay back on the bed, propping himself up slightly so as not to spill his drink. He needed an ally, frak if his suspicions were true he needed a dozen allies. But who? Who indeed could he trust? All the alliances he had made over the years had faded away. There was nothing else for it. When the time came he would have to act alone. He drained his drink and got to his feet, retrieving his weapon belt. He walked over the simple terminal in the corner of the room and tapped in his access code. “Give me the most recent medical file on Consul Macron Goura Sadow.”

Security Corridor
Cenota Facility, Gamuslag

The Force rippled around the pair of Sadowans as they held their ground within the fractured corridor; the shimmering of Locke's holocommunicator fading swiftly as he switched it off, his discussion with the Consul not revealing any further information than they had already known. The Consul's words should have frightened the pair, should have had them on edge; but Methyas was far more preoccupied with what the Force had told him. These walls, the sheer damage and carnage dealt to this secure floor hadn't been caused by a Sithspawned experiment; the walls oozed of the Force itself. It wasn't a something that they now pursued, but a someone.

While both were on guard for what Macron had told them, Methyas spoke swiftly to give his comrade a fighting chance, "The Force speaks much of this damage, Locke. I doubt whatever Macron left lying around caused this, someone like us did."

He could almost feel the Proconsul's body tense, only for a moment, before he regained his composure. Locke didn't need to ask Methyas how he had known that, his eyes glancing at his Jedi companion only for a moment as the Miraluka seemed to be lost amongst his thoughts, the Prelate had always had a bizarre connection to the current that surrounds and bound them. Taking a step forward, the Priest's hand levitated near the hilt upon his waist, his eyes scanning his surroundings trying to take in as much information as possible as another groan arose from deeper within the level. His breathing was slow and steady, but a small cough escaped him as the facility's supplied air was mostly recycled or artificial here.

Without a moment's notice, Methyas started forward into the facility, the metallic plating clanking under his boots as he moved deliberately to an unknown destination. Not wanting to miss out or be separated, Locke swiftly moved to follow his comrade. As they moved the groaning grew louder for a moment before it began to quiet down again, almost like they were moving away from the source. As the confusion set in, Locke began to reach out with the Force, trying to determine what had caught Methyas' attention when suddenly the Miraluka slipped into the remnants of what appeared to be a holding cell and slipped into a crouch next to some sort of cot. In the faint glow of the emergency lighting, it was difficult to make out what the Prelate was touching, but the Force allowed the young Priest a better view of the lithe figure upon the cot.

Whoever they were, they appeared to be around the same age as both the Sadowans before them, but something was out of place; Macron wouldn't possibly experiment on their own kind...would he? Methyas had been silent, one hand upon the bed frame to steady himself as another lay rested upon the young man's forehead. Without warning, the figure tensed and gasped for air, striking out at the Miraluka who was suddenly no longer there, the Force allowing him to dart to the corner of the room. Both figures now stood ready, crouched low as they stared each other down, the young man speaking first, "Who are you...why have you come?"

Locke responded, the young man's head snapping about faster than one could have expected at the sound, "I am Locke Sonjie, Vice-president of the Dlarit Corporation. Wh..."
"Dlarit..." The young man hissed, "...those bast..."
"Enough, Atra." Methyas spoke up firmly, the young man seemingly stopping in the middle of his movements, the air between the Miraluka and humans saturated as Methyas let his powers flow freely, utilizing the Obelisk's lesser known ability to drain the young man's will to fight.

"Y..y..yes, of course." Atra stumbled as he shook his head, feeling almost as though a cloud had filled his mind as he sat upon his cot again, "How did you know my name?"
There was a defensive quality about him, but the striking gold flakes in his eyes caught Locke's attention before Methyas spoke, "There is a unifying force that binds us all, simply pluck a few strings and this tapestry...this stream, will provide all you need to know." He paused, only for a moment to glance at Locke, "I could feel your thoughts, your fear. Do not worry, we aren't here to harm you. In fact, we may be able to help you."

"Why would the Corporation who experimented on me..."
"Because there is more to us than you know."
"And why should I trust you?"
"I've already healed your wounds and restored your strength, if I wished to harm you, I would have."

A pregnant pause passed between them, Locke feeling like the odd man out as he coughed again from the recycled air. Finally one of them spoke again, Methyas extending his hand outwards towards Atra again, "I can tell you have questions about the gifts you possess, your desire to learn more and to harness them. I can teach you this, the ways of the Force. But only if you'll let me."
More moments passed, the air tense between the pair as Atra's answer to the question merely lingered, "Agreed, for now."

Another cough arose from Locke, causing Methyas' attention to focus on his Proconsul, "It seems the facilities scrubbers must not be operating properly, maybe our quarry has damaged them somehow..."
As the Prelate trailed off, another howling groan rose up, this one louder than any the pair had previously heard. A weak smile rising up on Methyas' face as he spoke up again, "Or Macron's creatures have. I guess our discussion must have attracted some unwanted attention."

Security Corridor
Cenota Facility, Gamuslag

Sometimes things happen for a reason, other times things happen that leave you so messed up you find yourself asking who was driving the cruiser that ran you over. This was one of the latter times. Atra couldn't remember much of what had happened to him, the pain in his head nearly impossible to think through. He had initially been caught off guard by the presence of the Sadowans in his cell. Somehow, he had been calmed yet at the same time had the sense he had somehow been violated.

His grey eyes flicked between the pair before him, the gold flakes around the iris seemed to drink in the light reflecting off his eyes. He wasn't pleased by the current arrangement, but it would have to do. Letting out a long sigh Atra rose to his feet, ensuring not to make any sudden movements lest he set off Locke, who seemed to be the jumpier of the two. "You mentioned a quarry, what is it you are seeking here?"

Atra had barely managed to speak before pain blindsided him, causing his head to physically snap to the side in reaction. Falling back onto the cot he held his head in pain as Methyas calmly observed, Locke's eyes jumping to Methyas questioningly. As Atra felt the physical connection to the floor below his senses were suddenly yanked away. All at once he was connected to everything about him, despite his eyelids being closed. "Ugh... Y-you... May want to duck..."

The howling groan they had heard reached a climax as the wall behind Methyas and Locke caved in with a crash, both turning in unison to see what the creature was.

Chairman's Quarters
New Sadow Palace
Serpos

“Mama!”

Sakura Dlarit turned her head from where she was sitting on the sofa reading a datapad to face the ‘little prince’, her son Remy as he ran in swinging what looked to be a tiny red lightsaber, the 5 year old boy looked ecstatic with his new toy and Sakura couldn’t help but smile.

“Look what papa got me!”

The young Remulus Sadow said as he pretended to fight an imaginary ‘evil’ Jedi. The toy itself was harmless, it projected a stable holographic blade powered by rechargeable power cell. If anything he look adorable pretending to be the Dark Lord of the Sith.

The boy’s mother powered off the datapad to pick up her son and hold him close to her. For family was important to Sakura, as both herself and Astronicus had both been orphans. He may have been raised by another family but his true heritage had been hidden from him for many years until he discovered it. Sakura was not much different, raised in an orphanage from a baby she never knew her heritage which was why she loved being a mother beside the many doubts. These doubts had been blown away when she first her and Tron’s son for the first time.

It was interesting to look back on her life since arriving in the Sepros system. She had been a Captain in the Dlarit Navy when she first became Astronicus, he had discovered her little secret and their was this sexual tension between the two of them, it made for an interesting fit. While Sakura still held the rank of Captain in the Navy, her new assignment was to Araic Simonetti to serve as his special attaché to the Navy. What was also a shock to many people was the change in her last name, from Haruno to Dlarit, despite no announcement of any engagement or wedding between Sakura and Astronicus. The rumours started to spread that the couple had eloped although neither of them commented or speculated on this. What was apparent that Sakura was far safer as the assumed wife than merely Tron’s lover and mother to his child.

“Mama. Can I see papa?” Remy asked which brought her back to the present.

“Of course you can, mama also has to work for a little while, so if papa is too busy you listen to security personal and don’t leave the protected areas.” Sakura calmly instructed as his safety was high priority. “Remember, if papa lets you stay to got to your play corner and play with your colouring book. No loud noises. Best behavior. If papa lets you play Chairman then listen to everything he tells you.” She then parted the blonde strands of his hair to kiss Remy’s forehead.

“I will mama.” Remulus said softly.

Sakura then put her son and got up from where she was sitting, she called for one of the many bodyguards to escort her little prince to his father’s office, were her beloved would no doubt be happy to see his boy. Checking her schedule Sakura see she had plenty of time to make it over to personal landing pad to meet the new liaison officer from the Antei. The last had crossed Macron not so long ago which caused for his unfortunate boating accident, which was more surprising as the man didn’t even known a boat, Sakura couldn’t help but chuckle at that.

Incoming transport from Dark Council’s Navy
Sepros system

The young lieutenant steeled her emotions as her transport finally dropped out of hyperspace, her heart clenched as she saw what had once been her home, why was she doing this to herself. It had seemed a good idea at the time, even she could read through the lines of the last liaison officer “accident”. It had Macron written all over it. The young woman was determined to be looked upon favorably by her superiors that volunteering herself for this assignment would prove she could survive as an officer. Right now she had far to many doubts about it. So all the lieutenant would do was bury her emotions like she had once been taught. To be as steel and uncompromising.

//Transport Omega. You’re authorisation code has been accepted. Please make your way to landing coordinates.//

“Received control.” The lieutenant replied and nodded to the pilot.

The decent into the atmosphere of the planet Sepros was quick and before long the young woman could make out the Sadow Palace, of course only she knew it’s true name and the Sith that ruled this system.

“This is it. No turning back now girl.” She muttered to herself as the palace loomed below and the forest seemed to stretch out forever around it. The transport hovered in midair for a moment before lowering down onto the landing platform. “Nicely done sergeant, don’t bother to hang around, head back to the fleet.”

“Yes sir.” The man replied as she got up from her seat and walked to the lowering ramp.

Landing Platform
New Sadow Palace
Sepros

Captain Sakura Dlarit had watched the transport land and was waiting patiently for this new liaison officer to depart. It would be probably be some uptight karking captain or major whom damned respect and authority. Sakura couldn’t be more wrong, and wrong on such a level of disbelief that caused her to gape silently. She watched as the young Togruta descended the ramp dressed in the black uniform of the Iron Throne Armed Forces, specifically a naval uniform, she could even make out the lieutenant rank. It would have been crazy to send someone so young and ill experienced to handle this assignment but who this person was to the clan itself, Sakura knew many people were going to be in for a shock.

She watched as the young woman, who could only be at least ten years older than her own son, give the pilot a quick two finger salute and turned to face Sakura. The transport took off as the lieutenant walked up to her, saluted, and said.

“Liaison Officer Aleho Ruoxf, reporting as ordered, sir.”

Sakura returned the salute but could help but notice the steel in her voice. She could detect all those emotions buried beneath a cold exterior. It pained her to see this girl to be so closed off with her emotions when she could remember what she was like before the incident.

“Captain Sakura Dlarit. I’m here to take you to meet Fleet Admiral Araic Simonetti and General Macron Goura, who is President.”

She was able to detect a flash of confusing and interest from Sakura’s new last name, as well as fear and wonder at Macron’s name and title, which was confirmed as Aleho asked about it.

“I take it President title has replaced the Governor General title for the current Consul of Naga Sadow, sir?”

Captain Dlarit nodded and asked the new liaison officer to follow her. “We will have to take a shuttle to the new Onyx platform in orbit above Tarthos.”

“Would this be the new Cardan III-class space station that the clan earned for their actions over New Tython, sir?” Aleho asked with a neutral and professional voice. It seemed to Sakura that even from a far the young girl still held onto her attachments. This place had once been her home, and many of the high ranking members of the clan knew and liked Aleho. It was easy for her to detect the anguish for the young woman.

“You would be correct, lieutenant. Any reason you knew that?” Sakura asked just to indulge her own curiosity as they walked through the hanger level of the palace to the shuttle.

“I was serving as an ensign aboard one the Dark Council fleet ships when the Mandalorian reinforcements arrived. They took us by surprise and the captain was killed upon their first attack. I was one of the few officers that made it to the bridge, the first officer told me to take the weapons stations, and when launched a counter attack. Afterwards I was commended for not braking under the pressure of combat as some older ensigns wet themselves with fear.” Aleho then shrugged. “He didn’t know I was make of stronger stuff. I was promoted after that when the news of the poor unfortunate accident occurred with the last liaison officer.”

Sakura smiled as she noted the sarcasm at the end of the sentence as they arrived to the shuttle. “Take a seat lieutenant, I just need to have a quick word with the pilot.” Sakura then leaned over to the man and whispered in his ear. “Contact Simonetti and Goura, tell them the new liaison officer from the Dark Council Navy is here. Tell them her name and to expect our arrival.”

The D-SOG pilot nodded and relayed the message. Sakura moved back to where Aleho was sitting and sat down in the opposite seat, strapping herself in as she did so, wondering just how with was all going to be played out.

Hangar Bay
Cardan III class Space Platform “Onyx 2”
Tarthos Orbit
Orian System

“Indeed. Ruoxf comes. And Ashura has returned.” Macron nodded at the Verpine that handed him a datapad. He had spent some time among them long ago. Unpleasant time… it certainly was nice to be on the other end of things. However killing them was unfortunately expensive. “Good. Next time, bring the news sooner. Or I will personally dip you in boiling chocolate and eat you alive as you scream in agony. Very slowly.” The Warlord grinned an evil, too-many-toothed grin as the bug man scuttled away.
"Cockroaches." The Sith spat on the floor.

Nearby Roxas and Fremoc were checking their mounds of gear. Obelisks were known to be fascinated with equipment used primarily to kill people. These two were no exception to the rule. A literal crate full of powerpacks and grenades rode on repulsor power into the bay of the waiting Assassin–class Corvette. A YVH-1 droid with strange sigils all over it stood impassively by the loading ramp. Roxas was sorting out his armor.

“Are you taking the droid?” asked Fremoc quietly. “Quite the piece of hardware, don’t you agree?”

“I am,” agreed the Sith. “It’s backup. There’s another one in the ship.”

“Malisane sees you as a threat to the Sadow line, you know.” The Fist let the words hang in the air. Direct, to the point, and efficient as he packed a blaster into his 'overnight' bag. “He might try to kill you.”

“I would expect no less from a Sith,” remarked Macron as the shuttle landed on the other side of the bay. “Let him try.” His hand patted the Sword of Shar Dakhan hanging on his hip. The ring on his right hand flashed crimson as he regarded the YVH droid coolly. “It would be an interesting challenge. I hope he does. It might be fun, hehe.”

Araic Simonetti returned from the turbo lift with a sheaf of papers in his hands. “The refit is going well. The Verpine should be done in a few days with the Covenant.”

“Excellent news, Admiral. And the system sweep?” The mad alchemist watched two approaching female figures.

“No news yet. However, the Sanguinus remains escorted per your orders.” Araic was rather informal with the group, considering. However they had fought against the Vong together- and no amount of formality could repair that damage. Men who had seen that much blood and dead friends and family shared an unspoken bond of suffering.

“Don’t hesitate to blast them into ionized space dust if they even so much as peep the wrong way.” Macron gritted his teeth. It galled him to the core to cooperate with the Apostates. Truly the Dark Side had great power. Both of them should have been dead. The lunatic knew for a fact that Xanos Had Been Dead. Still, Astronicus himself had given secret orders not to harm them. And God forbid, to help them find that which they sought.

The President of the Dlarit Corporation bowed. “Captain Sakura, Officer Aleho….” His yellow eyes flashed at the Togruta. “I hear, and see you still live Aleho. And that your former Master has returned to the Clan.” The silence was uncomfortable. Macron’s words hung on the still air by jagged fish hooks. “Shall I kill you now? Hehe. Pardon me, a little joke. I have a lack of time,” he said with a gesture towards the waiting Fremoc and Roxas. “You are both assigned to Admiral Simonetti’s task force. I want the culprits behind these terrorist acts found and killed as quickly as possible.”

“You will be on Aeotheran, President?” Captain Sakura spoke freely. She knew the alchemist valued strength of presentation.

“Yes. We are going to go address the radionuclide issue. Vice President Sonjie is in charge if I become incapacitated.” Macron walked coolly towards the waiting umbilicus to the M/CRV Exile. He joined Fremoc and whispered quietly to him as Roxas closed the hatch. Death was watching.

M/CRV Exile
Orian Space

Macron sat back in his quarters on the corvette, reading a datapad of a report from Locke on the recent activity at Centoa. Fremoc sat opposite. Roxas was on the bridge and the two councillors had been calmly discussing events. The door beeped. Macron looked up. “Enter.”
The door slid open and a D:SOG marine sergeant entered. “Malisane Sadow to see you Commander.”
Macron glanced and Fremoc then shrugged. “Show him in.” The marine stepped aside and Malisane entered. Neither of them had seen him since they departed and they were surprised by his presence. Malisane wore his usual relaxed dark grey outfit and was carrying a bottle of dark liquid. He waited patiently until the marine left and the door closed then nodded. “Greetings brothers.”
Macron studied him. “Have a seat Malisane.”
The Battlelord nodded. He wandered over and placed the bottle on the table, picking up three glasses from a shelf on the wall then sat. “I feel it is time to clear the air Macron,” Malisane said with a glance at Fremoc, “I spoke out of turn. I apologise.”
The Consul forced a smile. “I understand. These are tense times.”
Malisane reached forward for the bottle. “I feel this would help. Korriban brandy. A very old and excellent vintage from the cellars of Usharak Keep. I believe it is several thousand years old, whether it belonged to the previous owners or my father collected it somewhere on his travels I have no idea.” He removed the seal on the bottle and poured the thick liquid.

Fremoc studied the glasses suspiciously then glanced at Macron who waited for the sensor on his armour to subtly scan the liquid for any toxins, microbiotic organisms or devices. A slight green flash on the wrist device indicated that it was pure. Malisane studied both of them with a slight smile as he took a sip from his own glass. Macron smiled back and sipped his own, and Fremoc took his lead. “It is excellent,” Macron replied, “I must investigate the keep’s stores myself next time I am on Kangaras.”
Fremoc drained his glass. “So where have you been recently Malisane, if you are prepared to answer now.”
Malisane sat back. “Refuge mostly,” the Battelord replied, “I have agents investigating the Organisation.”
“And?” Macron asked curiously.
“Nothing,” the Battlelord replied, “they seem to have gone to ground. I assume there have been no further incidents here?” He glanced at Fremoc, “has the Dark Council turned up anything?
The Fist shook his head. “Ashia continued her investigations, as did the House leaders and found nothing. I think as an experiment we became too expensive to be worthwhile.”
“Perhaps.” Malisane agreed as he poured more brandy.
“We have more urgent threats to deal with anyway,” Macron added.”
“We will succeed,” Malisane replied with a smile, “we always have.”

They chatted for another hour about events finishing the bottle, before Malisane bowed and left. The Consul watched him go. “He is devious,” he said darkly.
Fremoc glanced at the door. “How so?”
“He knows we suspect him. That was a test.”
“The brandy?” Fremoc said with a hint of concern as he looked at his sticky and empty glass.
“The brandy was pure. He would not try and poison a Sith alchemist, and he’s not stupid enough to openly assassinate a full time member of the Dark Council, he’d bring the Royal Guard and the Chamber of Justice down on himself in a matter of hours. But he was studying our reactions, when I scanned the brandy and when you hesitated. He knows.”
Fremoc sighed. “What will you do?”
“Watch and wait. He will make an attempt when he believes I am vunerable, and he will fail. Then I will punish or kill him.”
The Fist considered this. “Do not be over confident my friend. I have seen him in action and read his file. He is inventive and his tactics are unconventional, we’re talking about the man who killed a rogue elder with a thermal detonator concealed in the live disembodied head of a yuzhaan vong. He is unlikely to just walk up to you with his saber drawn. He will want to do it quietly in a way that would not embarrass the Sadows or cause unessesary disruption to the Clan. And on Aeotheran he has many resources.”
“I am not without my own resources either Fremoc,” Macron said stiffly, “I know him better than anyone else does. I am prepared.”
“I truly hope so,” the Fist replied.

M/CRV Exile
Bridge
Orian Space

Roxas stood in the bridge watching the show that hyperspace made of the stars as they passed them. He grabbed the wolf’s fang from his belt to inspect it. The weapon had served him well, defended and killed for him. The hilt was scratched, scuffed, and dented. His thumb slid over the igniter switch and the blade howled to life, but began flickering and died out. He pushed the switch again and the was given the same result. He disassembled the weapon and saw that the power crystal was shattered and that the emitter matrix was cracked.

The Obelisk looked to the deck officer, “I need a workbench and some spare parts.”

The man replied “Yes Sir. I don’t know much about light saber parts, but we do have one of the kits that the Herald supplies.”

“That will be fine, trooper.” Roxas sighed as he was lead to the workbench.

Within a couple minutes the trooper brought him the light saber kit. Roxas opened it and poured the parts onto the table, while the trooper watched. He looked at the directions for a moment before tossing them aside and beginning construction. He stopped and began looking through the kit for a crystal.

“Is something wrong Sir?” the trooper asked worried that he had done something wrong.

“I need a new power crystal mine is …” he stopped mid sentence and grabbed the directions again. There was a crystal taped to the paper. The Mandalorian almost face desk when he saw it. He quickly went back to constructing the weapon. After a few minutes the weapon was complete.

Roxas stood, new light saber in hand, and turned around. He pressed the ignition switch and the light saber roared like a giant cutting torch and then settle into a fiery hum. The hilt wasn’t curved like the wolf’s fang, but was straight with blue accents and had better grip. The blade was wide and colored like snow. It didn’t feel like his first saber, but it fit comfortably in his hand. He disignited the weapon and clipped it to his belt before turning to the trooper.

“Take this to the back room of the Crossroads and put it in the drawer of my workbench. After your shift today. Don’t play with it or you’ll hurt yourself.” He said while handing the broken wolf’s fang to the deck officer.

The officer clipped it to his belt and saluted saying “Yes Sir.”

Roxas pulled the new saber from his belt and kept it in hand, inspecting it and trying to get his hand used to the feel of it for the rest of the trip to Aeotheran.

Gamuslag, Sepros
Cenota Facility

His reflexes kicking in, Locke turned at the crash and had his lightsaber ignited before he was fully facing where the wall had been. A massive, twisted creature filled the small space the door and wall had previously occupied, blocking out most of the light except for that provided by the one flickering glow lamp hovering near the cell's ceiling. As the creature roared again, Locke noted lots of hair, and bulging, pulsating muscles. He didn't have time for much else before the thing lunged forward toward the three men. Methyas put himself between Atra and the beast while Locke flicked his lightsaber in an instinctive defensive arc, taking off one of the thing's arms. Methyas followed with a quick slice across it's stomach, and the beast fell back with a crash.

"Alright, " Locke said, breathing deeply, "I am going to kill Macron for this. What do you think of it Methyas?" He glanced toward Atra; who seemed alright for the moment. Locke was more interested in the creature, though.

"I could feel mixed emotions: rage, but anguish as well, " Methyas answered, "it's unfortunate we had to kill it."

Methyas's words reminded Locke that the Obelisk was a Miraluka, and thus probably couldn't make out fine details, even if there were enough light. Now that the beast had fallen back, there was a bit more illumination. Locke could tell more about it now. "It looks like this used to be a wookiee."

"I'm a bit angry to see it like this, " Methyas said."

Locke found himself in agreement; while they both knew that they had to kill it, it was an unfortunate circumstance. Having fought the Yuuzhan Vong's slave soldiers during the 'War, Locke found it depressingly easy to push that remorse aside. "We did what we had to."

"Indeed, but if only I had known about this project when I was Consul, " Methyas continued, "I could have done something about it."

Locke found himself a bit surprised at that. "And gone against a Son of Sadow?"

"Hmm, this isn't a good place to talk about this, " Methyas said, giving Locke a slight nudge in the Force to remind him of Atra's presence.

"I agree, " Locke answered, "but I do want to talk about it. Later. For now-hold on, Command wants to talk." Locke raised his comlink to his lips and looked around the hall. It was quieter now, but the lights still flickered. "This is Locke, go ahead."

"We have several more of your allies arriving soon, presumably to support you, " came the voice on the other end.

"You didn't find out what their purpose is?" Locke cut in.

"No sir, with all due respect, you know how that…type of person is."

"Hah, true, I won't hold that against you. What else? You don't sound very confident."

"Yes sir, we can't read life signs in the deeper levels because of the material their structure was built with, but we have been seeing increased signs in the corridors on the upper floors and heard strange noises through our recording devices."

"Wonderful, " Locke answered.

"That's where we are, " Methyas reminded him, brandishing his cerulean lightsaber around the room..

"Yeah, " Locke said, "this is going to get ugly. Thanks command, inform our friends that the area is hostile and they should proceed cautiously. Locke out."

"Sith? Cautiously?" Methyas asked rhetorically.

"Yeah, I know, but they're our people so we have to give them the benefit of the doubt. On to more pressing matters; if more like this guy are all over the upper levels, that isn't good. The prison is pretty secure, but they could overwhelm Command, and if word of their existence gets off this planet…"

"The Dark Council might be furious."

"Right, not to mention the damage to Dlarit's image, " Locke answered. He heard an angry sound from behind him a moment later. "Speaking of, what about him?"

Outside the Sanguinus
Alabrek Citadel Landing Platform
City of Kar Alabrek, Tarthos, Orian System

The Falleen gazed up at the silver and obsidian bastion that was Alabrek Citadel, a glistening merger of ancient stones and futuristic alloys. The blood vessels under his face rippled, the midi-chlorians inside his blackened veins screaming for escape. The corners of Xanos’s lips curled into a tight sneer.

“If you truly seek salvation, you will obey,” the Dark Prophet quietly hissed to himself, and the pulsations stopped.

His Master glanced at him as the ramp to the Sanguinus lowered to the surface of the landing platform. Hundreds of shuttles streamed by in the distance, a never-ending procession of transports and air taxis as the citizens of Kar Alabrek went about their daily lives, oblivious to the embryo of a new Sith Empire that silently was gestating in the heart of their city inside the towering dark citadel.

A squad of black-armoured troopers waited at the bottom of the corvette’s ramp, rifles primed and red photoreceptors glowing in the dim light of the landing platform. One of the four soldiers lowered his weapon and stepped forward; the others kept their guns lined on the three Dark Jedi visitors.

Trevarus arched an eyebrow as the lone trooper approached. “Not taking any chances, I see.”

Behind him, Sildrin laughed. “You both did try to kill them once.”

“True,” replied the sorcerer airily, “true.” The Dark Jedi Master smiled sarcastically. “I suppose this is how Dlarit greets people these days after they have saved their city from being overrun by savages.”

The woman exhaled sharply. “It seems that way, yes,” she said dryly. “Not that I was there myself.”

The Ekind uprising two years ago still weighed heavily on both Trevarus and Sildrin’s minds. While the woman had not been there herself, she knew that was when the Grand Master had separated her Master’s true consciousness from his body. What remained of Trevarus might still have been strong, but he was only a shadow of his former self, not the full might of the Dragon, Shan Long.

While the trooper in front appeared unphased by the pair’s remarks, the weapon of one of the men behind him twitched slightly. “The President has instructed us to escort you to Director Cyrin,” said the main trooper, his—or perhaps her, it was impossible to tell—voice being distorted by his helmet into a synthetic crackle that made him sound closer to a droid than a living, breathing sentient.

“This way,” added the trooper, gesturing with the barrel of his rifle for the three Dark Jedi to follow.

Trevarus rolled his eyes. “An escort won’t be necessary.”

“The President’s orders were explicit.” The trooper in charge raised his own rifle again. “There are to be no detours. You are to be taken directly to Director Cyrin.”

The Dark Jedi Master narrowed his eyes into a cold stare, but before he could reply, Sildrin stepped forward and held up a hand to gently nudge Trevarus back. The pale skinned woman smiled at the trooper in charge. “That really won’t be necessary,” Sildrin said, pressing upon the man’s mind with the Force, “Master Trevarus knows the way.” When the trooper didn’t react, she pressed a little harder on his mind, willing him to step aside and leave them to go about their business... alone.

Still unphased by Sildrin’s manipulations, the trooper turned his rifle on her instead. “Don’t test me, sorceress,” he growled, “my men are authorised to exercise whatever force necessary to carry out the President’s orders. As one of Caerick’s associates, that order applies to you as well.”

Suddenly, fire crackled around Sildrin’s fingertips, her face twisting into a snarl at the man’s capacity to resist her persuasion, but—

Trevarus raised his silver-gauntleted arm in front of her. “Now, now, Lady Dragon.” The shadow of a smirk flickered over the Dark Jedi Master’s face. “We’re all... friends, no?”

While it was impossible to see the soldier’s expression underneath his helmet, Sildrin was sure that even without the Force the man could sense the sarcasm of Trevarus’s response as well as she could. The woman sighed and the sorcerous sparks around her wrist stopped. “Let’s just go,” she muttered wearily. “But no more tricks, Trooper.”

Without warning, the flood lights around the landing platform flickered and went out.

“You play Macron’s games too much, my Master.”

The trooper lifted his helmet to the ashen-faced Falleen still at the top of the boarding ramp, who had until then remained silent. The veins under the surface of the alien’s skin convulsed, causing the tattoo of an eye on his forehead to bulge as if it were a living being of its own.

A white tongue of energy lashed out from the Dark Prophet toward the troopers. Midway, the lightning forked, splitting into four strands and sliced into each trooper, each crackling white hot band of electricity snaking around and burning through armour—and tearing each trooper apart.

The net of dark lightning faded and the lights returned to normal.

Sildrin stared at the four scorched and still smouldering corpses. “I never knew lightning could...”

While Xanos himself did not reply, Trevarus turned around to Sildrin. “The will to dominate the tapestry is absolute, Lady Dragon,” explained the sorcerer. He looked back down at the bodies of the troopers. “Even so, I had best head to the Director, if only to... keep up appearances.”

“I shall head to the Great Library,” Xanos said, stepping down the boarding ramp. “I leave the politics to you, Trevarus.”

“And me?” asked Sildrin.

“You already know the answer to that,” replied Trevarus, again answering the question instead.

The blind woman reflexively narrowed her eyebrows and sighed. She hated when the two Elders spoke for one another; it was increasingly more and more impossible to know which one of them was actually speaking to her... if only Shan Long was...

“Fine,” Sildrin retorted to Trevarus, a little more tartly than she perhaps intended.

“Do what it is you must, Lady Dragon,” added Trevarus with a touch of amusement. “I will see what the Consul and Director Cyrin want us to do about these local terrorists. You go enjoy yourself in the library... I know you shall.” The sorcerer gave her a knowing smirk.

Sildrin again narrowed her brow, but didn’t argue further. She shook her head and headed off behind Xanos toward the waiting turbolift, which would take them down into Alabrek Citadel, and to the Great Sadow Library.

Ruined Sub-floor, Cenota Facilty
Gamuslag, Orbit of Sepros

Even as the pair spoke, Methyas' senses were squarely focused upon the creature the pair had just slain. Even in the moments after its death, the Force still spoke volumes as the creature slowly became one with the current that bound them all. Pain, anger, sorrow, regret; so many different emotions washed off the creature's form and ebbed against the slight wake of the Prelate's own fountainous signature. How much had remained hidden from them, from their own Summit. How much did the Sons truly care for those under their care, those who would call themselves Disciples of the great lord Astronicus? As much as the creature's own emotions washed out around them, slowly fading into the ether, as too did Methyas' own emotions range greatly behind his own barriers.

"Speaking of, what about him?" Locke's flat response catching the Prelate's attention.

Quickly disengaging his saber and returning it to his belt, Methyas touched upon the young man with the Force once more, just barely getting an idea of the man's current state before he spoke again, "As much as he distrusts the Corporation, I'm certain he'd find at least a bit of comfort in the company of two men who have come to his aid. Despite them being the former President and present Vice-President."

It took only a moment, the words had been played swiftly to test the young man's ire; the tension between the men immediately becoming thick enough to cut with a knife as the younger man's anger flared up just as swiftly. Even as Locke began to slip into a defensive position, Atra's anger seemed to subside, his eyes shifting towards the unusually serene and stoic Jedi who had just spoken. The young man's voice rising up with a slight growl, "You spoke of Sith, Sons and a Dark Council...who exactly are you?"

Another smile crossed Methyas' face as he cast what could amount to a sideways glance at his companion, who likewise glanced his way, before the Jedi responded, "We are members of the Dlarit Special Operations Group; though I suspect you may already know more of these answers than you think."

A small sigh escaped Locke as he spoke, "You're becoming more cryptic with your years, Methyas."

"No more cryptic than the elder Krath amongst us."

"At least you're more enjoyable company than some of them..."

"You still haven't answered my questions!" Atra burst in, his patience running thin between the two Equites banter.

A small chuckle escaped the Prelate again as his sightless eyes once again fell upon the young man, "So full of questions, so full of initiative. You remind me of another young man I once knew, and there is a power within you...How about an agreement, you learn how to harness the power that resides within you under my guidence and I will give you the answers you seek."

It took only a moment, though one could imagine it took quite a few more for Atra, before the young man responded, "Alright, I'll agree to that."

As quickly as Atra extended his hand, Methyas took it in a firm shake before he spoke, "Lets get moving, the facility's security staff aren't equipped or trained for this kind of outbreak...though I doubt they were ever trained for an outbreak in the first place."

This time a chuckle came from Locke before Methyas began to reach out with the Force again, his body as still as possible with his breathing steady. A small grumble escaped him as his head began to shake, "This region is too saturated, I can get larger masses...possibly more of these creatures?" He paused glancing towards Atra again before speaking more directly to Locke, "There are too many sources, without opening myself up more and risking suffocating Atra, I won't be able to give you more precise information at this range."

M/CRV Exile
Orian Space
Aeotheran Orbit
Hangar bay

“Lord Consul, we are in a landing pattern. Aeotheran Control has cleared us.” The trooper tapped at the console. “Landing in 5 minutes. Cenota crew indicates they are exploring the deeper levels. Your agents there indicate they are intact and penetrating the holdout beneath the facility.”

“Indeed.” Macron nodded at Fremoc. “Let’s ready ourselves.” The Fist and the alchemist checked their lightsabers. Macron wore his characteristic armor, and Fremoc had donned a high quality version of the Royal Guard body armor.

Fremoc spoke next as Roxas and Malisane entered the bay. “Do we have confirmation of the radioactive decay products? Is it a match from the data I gave you?” The Fist looked pensive. A search and destroy mission of this small nature was not exactly his cup of tea these days.

“We do, Councilor. Cesium and Strontium isotopes have been confirmed at the site, as well as Krypton gas. It’s a clear indication of a runaway reactor. Aerial recon has not been able to locate the site, so I imagine it’s underground.” The Sith Warlord grimaced. “It’s bad. My armor can hold out against the rads for an hour or two, depending on the levels. I’ll handle that part myself. I need you warriors to help me get there, and punish the offenders.”

“You’re not going in there by yourself,” replied Malisane as he donned a combat radiation suit. “I’m going with you.” The silence in the bay was deafening.

Macron looked at Fremoc and shared a knowing glance. “So be it then.” The madman touched a stud on his gauntlet, and a YVH mechu-deru droid clanked forth from the hold. “The droid will be unaffected by the rads and should be able to drag us out if needed.”

Fremoc smiled. “Roxas and I will eliminate the defenders. The data you gave me matches that of the isotopes the Royal Guard caught trying to enter the Antei system. These pigs are trying to smuggle illegal radioactives into Antei Space. We’re going to kill every last one of them. Personally.”

“We have to,” commented Roxas. “Dlarit will get a black eye over this if we don’t.” The Mandalorian checked his own extensive collection of weaponry and settled his helm. His voice changed from the vocoder. “It’s time these scum met a Mandalorian in combat.”

“Well put,” chuckled Macron. “In the meantime, the blockade of the system will continue. Our entire fleet is on high alert, and patrols have been tripled. Nothing gets in or out that’s not copacetic. Ashura and Aleho will oversee that operation.”

“Any word from Tarthos?” queried Malisane as the Corvette came to a solid landing. The hatch opened and all four warriors rushed forth.

“None,” replied Macron thoughtfully. “Although I hear the Apostates have landed. I hope they are taking care of business over there.” The rough hills seemed too quiet, and the grass was crunchy underfoot. “It’s obvious.” Macron peered at the scenery as readouts scrolled across the heads up display in his helm. “This way to the party, my friends.”

Atra's confusion was apparant as he listened to the two men before him speak, but he wasn't about to let that show. Free of Methyas' influence Atra was once again in charge of controlling his own anger. Taking a deep breath and clearing his mind he took a few steps forward before glancing about, his eyes flashing eerily. "It's clear... The immediate area at least."

Methyas' sightless eyes flicked back to his new apprentice, a slight smile spreading on his lips. "And how would you know that?"

"We all have our secrets." Atra's answer was quick and piercing, putting an end to further questions.

Methyas chuckled slightly, knowing he could gleam the knowledge but allowed Atra this small freedom. Atra covered his face quickly as he joined Locke in coughing before glaring at his new master. "You laugh a lot, I don't like that... And your eyes creep me out."

A large grin spread upon Methyas' face and a stifled chuckle came from Locke. "You don't have much of a filter, do you?" Methyas said with a joking lilt to his voice.

"Not for you two, no." Atra stated flatly, crossing his arms.

"We're wasting time. If he says the area is clear and you trust that, let's go." Locke spoke commandingly to Methyas, clearly unhappy about the addition of an unknown variable such as Atra. By the look on Atra's face when he glanced at Locke the feeling was mutual. Methyas glanced at the two, judging through the Force that a fight wasn't about to break out before turning away. As Methyas stepped out of the cell neither of the others moved for a brief moment. Neither wished to put their back to the other. Finally, begrudgingly, the two fell into step with Methyas and moved deeper into the facility.

As they moved the sounds of combat would sporatically fall upon their ears, Atra clearly flinching each time. It was obvious he had been in that cell for quite some time, and his trust was something that would take quite some time to earn; though in this case it was more apt to be repaired, seeing as what the corporation had done to him. What exactly had been done to the young man, for now Methyas was content to leave those questions alone but Locke couldn't help thinking back towards the abomination they had just faced. If similar acts had been performed on this young man he could become a threat waiting to pounce.

Atra glanced towards Locke, mostly out of a sense of caution but he couldn't shake the idea that his life hung on a precipice. Reaching up he ran a hand nervously through his brown hair as he followed people he knew nothing about, other than who they worked for. There were so many questions, so few answers, and now was definately not the time to get them.

((My apologies for length, I'm still trying to get a handle of this style of RP and how your character's act))

Ruined Sub-floor, Cenota Facilty
Gamuslag, Orbit of Sepros

With Atra close behind, Locke and Methyas hurried through the halls. Whenever they encountered one of the beasts they wasted no time in cutting it down and continuing on. There was no time for remorse; these creatures had to be stopped before knowledge of their existence could get out. After awhile they came to a large cafeteria, littered with crumpled durasteel tables and benches scattered haphazardly across it. Locke stopped at the entrance and ducked back, Methyas quickly doing the same.

Locke glanced back, making a mental note of Atra’s position behind him. He refused to entertain the chance that he might get taken by surprise. “There’s a lot of them in there; maybe six or so.”

“Great, “ Methyas answered. “We’ll have to be real-” He paused, touching two fingers to his forehead.

“What is it?” Locke asked in a hurried, hushed tone.

“Something in there...”

Then they heard it, the sound of metal hitting flesh and the pained grunting and howling that went along with it. Peering around the corner, Methyas and Locke watched as a lone figure danced in the middle of the group, what looked like batons in each hand flashing at the mutants and back again. In moments, they were all dead.

“Is that...” Methyas trailed off.

“Looks familiar, I’ve seen him somewhere before. Here he comes,” Locke whispered, noting that they stood blocking the only entrance to the room aside from the one that led deeper into the facility.

As the figure came into the dim, blinking lights on their side of the cafeteria, Locke noted his flowing long hair and lean build, and immediately suspected he was a swordsman. His skin was darker than most and there was something about his eyes, but Locke couldn’t quite place it in these eyes. He held one of the batons in each hand.

“Tsainetomo,” Methyas said.

Then Locke realized it. This was the man who had addressed the multitude of Dark Jedi on Sepros prior to the Battle of New Tython. Locke could not suppress a brief moment of awe as he faced down the man who had led Naga Sadow to being named a Clan again by the Dark Council. “Are you the cause of this?” Locke asked. Out of his peripheral vision, he could see Methyas nod slightly; indicating that the suspicions they had most likely led to the man standing before them. How had he ended up here after the action at New Tython?

Tsainetomo turned his gaze on Locke. “You should show more respect. That’s the problem with you younglings, you’ve forgotten the old ways.”

“Sai, “ Methyas began, “What’s going on here? Let’s talk about this....”

“There is nothing to discuss. Things will change. Stand aside, or I will move you aside.”

“We can’t let you go, “ Methyas broke in. “If you’re the cause of this, you know that we can’t.”

Tsainetomo grinned, slightly. “You don’t have any idea what you are dealing with. I give you one more chance - move aside.”

“By order of the Clan Summit-” Locke began.

“Ha, “ Tsainetomo laughed, “you’re on the Summit now? Your kind have ruined this Clan. You have not heeded my warning.” A double snap-hiss echoed through the cafeteria as Tsainetomo ignited his twin orange lightsabers. Almost as one, Locke and Methyas ignited their own.

“Stay back, Atra, “ Methyas said plainly, his eyes trained on Tsainetomo. Locke felt, rather than heard words from Methyas immediately after that. Move to his left, I’ll take his right, it’s our only hope. Don’t worry about him escaping, he’s committed to a fight now. The thought was followed by a strange feeling like ice water washing over Locke, his senses sharpening. Battle-meld, Methyas added silentily.

Locke stepped to the left, a mere trickle of anxiety showing as he subconsciously spun his lightsaber once in hand. He had fought difficult enemies before, but never one such as this. He had no idea what to expect. He really hated unknowns. On Tsainetomo’s other flank, Methyas had his own weapon raised and ready defensively. Locke followed suit, his lightsaber up in front of him.

A split-second after that, Tsainetomo was in motion. He moved first toward Locke, his two blades spinning toward Locke faster than he could track. He deflected one, sidestepped the other, and jumped back as a third seared the space he had just occupied. Tsainetomo was about to advance again when Locke felt Methyas’s Force presence expand and focus and constrict around Tsainetomo’s own presence, forcing Tsainetomo to divide his attention between the two. Tsainetomo stopped for a moment and grinned. “Nice trick,” he said, “...but it won’t work.” Tsainetomo shifted his focus to drive Methyas back, putting him on the defensive. Locke took the chance to launch his own attack, using his lightsaber, but every time he struck he found he was quickly driven back again.

Methyas side-stepped so that they could come at Tsainetomo from different angles, but it was still all they could do to contain his ferocious assaults. Then, suddenly, Methyas leaped back, narrowly avoiding one of Tsainetomo’s attacks, and in mid-air, raised his palm and unleashed a blast of raw Force energy from it. Rather than block, Tsainetomo rolled to the side in one fluid motion, the Force energy slamming into a table behind him with a loud clang.

Locke barely had the opportunity to see Methyas land behind some rubble before Tsainetomo was attacking him again. Locke now understood that they could not hope to keep up with Tsainetomo. The battle had quickly shifted from a containment measure to a fight just to stay alive. As Tsainetomo attacked, Locke used the Force to feel the area around him. He used it to pick up anything he could from trash cans to discarded food trays and throw them a this opponent, but Tsainetomo cut through it all. Then he stepped past Locke’s attacks, beyond the point where Locke could keep up. One of Tsainetomo’s blades sliced across Locke’s stomach. He reeled in pain, but before he could thank the Force that he was alive, the hilt of Tsainetomo’s other weapon slammed across Locke’s jaw. He fell back, head turning with the force of the blow, and collapsed on his back, wincing as he landed at an odd angle on one of the benches.

Locke got to one knee, clutching his stomach with his hand. Fortunately, it wasn’t a deep wound, or he would likely be passed out or dead by now. He could feel blood trickling down his chin. He looked across the room. Beyond Tsainetomo, Methyas was on his feet, bruised where he had landed. “Dammit, “ Locke muttered.

Tsainetomo had stopped the attack. He looked from Locke to Methyas and back again. “Perhaps one day you will learn. Your young Summit is blind, but you will see, or you will be wiped away.” He shut down both his weapons, and strode out, giving Atra a cold stare as he passed by.

Methyas made it to the center of the room before Locke stood, feeling pain shoot through his body. He gritted his teeth; sure some of them were broken. His body hurt like hell, despite his attempts to heal himself. “Stay back Atra, “ he said, not putting it past him to take advantage of the situation. Locke stared Methyas in the eye. “How many of the mutants do you think are left?” he asked quickly.

Cafeteria, Ruined Sub-floor, Cenota Facilty
Gamuslag, Orbit of Sepros

As Methyas reached out into the ebb and flow of the Force around himself once more, he placed his fingers gently around Locke's wound and allowed the Force to flow through him. As he focused on aiding his companion, he reached outwards to try and feel the area about them; his mind once again preoccupied by a nagging feeling originating from his new apprentice.

That same nagging feeling had cost him his concentration during their fight with Sai, though it had lead the pair directly to the young man. It was an odd nagging, the irritating feeling he could only liken to biting chill or heavy sun in the sky; a constant drain upon his resources as he worked. He wholeheartedly knew what the source of the irritant was, he could easily see it in the flow of the Force as it seemingly swallowed up the flowing energies around it. A stark contrast to his own fountainous flow, he had been subconsciously allowing his telltale trait to flow simply to counter the ravenous conduit that now followed him.

If Methyas hadn't known better, known the truth behind his unique trait, he would have thought that his new apprentice had been in the same predicament as himself and Mirado. A strong bond between siblings suddenly ripped asunder by a violent severing of the Force from one of the pair. The action had unknowingly created a vacuum; drawing the connection of nearly an entire family into a singular being. It was why the brothers L'eonheart were such polar opposites, yet Mirado himself hadn't become a Force hungry conduit like this young man. No, something else had occurred here...and the apprentice would learn to control the thirst of his conduit as Methyas had his fountain.

His thoughts came back to the present, Locke moving the Prelate's hand from his healed stomach as he spoke again, "Methyas? How many do you think there are left?"

"Few, if any...I can't feel their presence any more. That and I believe Sai will mop them up for us on his way out." Methyas responded flatly, his mind still analyzing and calculating about how they had been deceived. About how little the Sons of Sadow truly shared with their Clan. About how Macron had sent them to Cenota to maintain a prison break, knowing that he had imprisoned one of his own there.

"Wait, his way out? We need to stop him!" Locke responded as he hastily scrambled to his feet; his honour to stop the source of the prison break demanding him to act.

Before he could move too far, a hand latched around his wrist with a voice speaking along with it, "Its too late for us to stop him now and what could we do without turning out own troops against a Son?"

The tone behind the Miraluka's voice was firm and steady, belying that he knew more than he said. Casting a glance between Atra at the doorway and Methyas, Locke's muscles relax as his shoulder's slouched, his voice rising quickly as he looked at the former consul, "What would you suggest we do then?"

A sly smile crossed his face as his sightless gaze moved to Atra and then back at Locke, "We pursue the truth of course, otherwise we'll be in quite poor form laying the blame of this mess on a Son. Sai will likely leave this facility with those who followed us, we'll regroup on Aeotheran with Mirado and see what we can get from there. I'm certain that we'll be able to use the systems on Marakith to recover some of what we seek."

As Methyas finished speaking he rose to his feet, slightly dusting off the lower reaches of his robes before closing the distance between himself and his apprentice, Locke following swiftly behind him lost in his own thoughts as he cautiously eyed the young man before them. Without a word spoken, Methyas motioned for Atra to follow, a motion that was met without hesitation as a slight fear of the Son of Sadow lurking in the darkness before them may be waiting for him.

The small group moved swiftly, but quietly, as each was lost in their own thoughts as they retraced their steps. As they took the turbo-lift to the next floor, Methyas' mind couldn't help but focus on what Sai had said about how they were the ones who were failing this great Clan, his implications about how it was the younger summit their ideals of change that had weakened the Clan and allowed Arcona to conquer New Tython. And that was precisely the problem, the young and old seemed to have a failure to communicate; a failure to understand that blinding accepting the old ways were no better than blindly marching onwards towards the future. It had been a reason why he had worked with Sai following the Independence Games to try and meld both old and new, why the Alabrek Citadel maintained its former glory but was now a modern marvel.

A large sigh escaped him as he absently shook his head, change would come indeed, but they were far from what was needed. Turning his attention the the passageway before him, Methyas could clearly see that Sai had left this level alone; if he had even passed through here already. Again, this area seemed like a laboratory, an area where those below may have been brought up for cruel experiments. The thoughts were somewhat confirmed as he could feel Atra's emotions run rampant for a small moment, his pace picking up towards the turbo-lift at the end of the corridor as his heart seemed to race ever so slightly.

The young man maintained his cool though, were it not for Methyas' proximity and connection to the Force it would have been left unnoticed. Accepting his new apprentice's concern, Methyas picked up his own pace but said nothing; Atra would speak to him of the past when he felt ready and no sooner. They reached the turbo-lift and waited as it rose towards the hangers, Locke reporting in to the facility security to alert them to the presence of potential threats deeper inside the facility and for additional assistance. Methyas had turned his attention towards their transport back to Aeotheran; neither had brought a vessel capable of carrying a second individual.

The door opened to a welcome surprise, albeit and unexpected one, a transport full of DSOG troops disembarking to sweep the facility had taken residence in the largest of the hanger space before the lift. Without missing a beat, Methyas took a few strides forward, speaking with authority in his voice as it had only be used during the Ekind Uprising, "Trooper, we need to commandeer this vessel for immediate transport to Aeotheran and the Marakith."

The trooper turned to face the Miraluka, his height more than a head taller than the Jedi, yet the instant his eyes set upon the former President he seemed to be at a loss of words. His stature suddenly stiffened and he immediately grew even more tense at the sight of the Vice-President, a simple sound was all that could escape him, "uh......"

Methyas smirked as he looked to Locke and then back to the trooper, "Come now, at ease man. We simply need transportation for three and our starfighters will not accommodate."

The air around them seemed to suddenly lighten, a calm rushing through the assembled figures before the man spoke up, "Y..yes sir, right away sir. Just let the pilot know where to drop you off, and we'll signal her when we need exfil."

Methyas nodded as he patted the young trooper on the shoulder before passing him to enter the hold, as he began to take a seat he nodded towards Locke to signal the young man it was his turn to speak and take command.

Main Hangar, Cenota Facilty
Gamuslag, Orbit of Sepros

“I’m going to make sure the troops have everything they need here. I’ll follow you guys up in my X-Wing, “ Locke said.

Methyas gave him a concerned look. “Though I was able to heal your injury, it may be awhile before it doesn’t hurt, and about your back...”

Locke shot him a look. “What, are you a doctor now?”

“You had a pretty hard fall, wouldn’t want to appear injured in front of your people.”

“I’ll be fine, “ Locke said firmly. His stomach did hurt, but he could walk straight. His back felt odd, as well. He’d have time to have it checked out later. “Take it easy, I’ll see you on Marakith.” He nodded to Methyas, taking little notice of Atra. Methyas would know what to do with the guy, and Locke had more pressing issues.

Quickly stepping out of the transport before Methyas could object further, Locke surveyed the hangar. The Dlarit Special Operations Group was doing what it did best: covering up it’s master’s handiwork. It seemed that Tsainetomo had left with the other Dark Jedi who had come, but he couldn’t worry about them at the moment. He could see squads leaving the hangar to move deeper into the facility, as well as an area surrounded by large storage chests with an E-Web set up next to it that was the temporary headquarters for this operation. He strolled over to it, finding the commanding officer.

“Major, “ Locke said, addressing the senior officer present.

The man turned and saluted firmly. He had experience with Dark Jedi, but knew to show respect.

Locke returned his salute. “At ease, “ he said. He was still getting used to being on this side of that exchange. “Do you have everything you need to complete this operation?”

With the brisk, concise speech of a soldier, the Major outlined the situation. “We have plenty of our best men and the latest supplies provided to us. I’ll make sure this place is cleaned out. What do you want us to do with the bodies?”

Locke thought for a moment. They could be useful, but no, he had to make sure there was no evidence. “Burn them.” Dammit Macron, I hate cleaning up after you! “Then destroy the research. This facility is, for the moment, compromised, and we can’t afford it falling into the wrong hands.” If Macron didn’t have backups somewhere, he would be angry at that, but Locke wasn’t about to risk exposure of anything that happened here. He didn’t even want to consider if Tsainetomo had taken anything with him.

“Yes sir!” The Major replied. They exchanged pleasantries again and Locke left. He had to pass through a few corridors to reach his X-wing, but he found with some satisfaction that the Dlarit forces had quickly secured these passages first.

He found this hangar was also occupied. Mechanics were working around his craft. Their shoulders bore the special operations insignia. When one noticed Locke, he turned, approached, and saluted.

Locke returned the salute. “Is everything in order?”

“Yes sir, “ the mechanic answered, “we tested for bugs or other sabotage, but it’s clean. They said you would probably want to take your X-Wing out.”

“Thank you, “ Locke said. “I’ll be departing now.” He decided against saying ‘good luck’ or ‘may the Force be with you.’ Either one could have probably given the wrong impression. A Dark Jedi wouldn’t believe in luck, nor would they have the same perception of the Force. It was perfectly normal of them to be cold and distant, though Locke hated that. He strove to have a good relationship with those serving under him. Loyal troops made the best troops.

Locke climbed up the ladder next to his craft and settled into the familiar cockpit, wincing as pain shot up his spine. Forcing it out of his mind, he closed the canopy, checked the droid’s diagnostics - preferring not to talk to it at this time - and gently turned the craft toward the already half-way open hangar roof. When it was fully open, he gently floated up and out on his repulsorlifts. Through the thick haze of volcanic gases it was difficult to see anything ahead, but his scanners and the Force indicated Methyas and Atra had taken the transport far above and ahead of Locke.

As soon as he cleared the hangar, he switched to engines and pulled the throttle back, accelerating to maximum speed at the same time. The X-Wing shot up through the atmosphere. He didn’t often get to enjoy the rush of speed that a starfighter could provide, but when he did he found it to be an amazing feeling, despite his wounds.

He caught up with the transport almost immediately and quickly slowed down, setting his speed to match the other craft so he could follow at a safe distance and scan for trouble. As they ascended into space and entered hyperspace, he began to think. There was a lot to think about. There was Macron’s creation that had nearly gotten in the open, the battle with Tsainetomo in which the Son of Sadow had nearly killed him, and the strange things Methyas had said. He ‘could have done something about this’? There had been...something different in the Force then. It was just a twinge; perhaps what Force-aided intuition felt like, or maybe it hadn’t even really been there. Methyas didn’t seem to be all that he seemed. He wasn’t much like a Dark Jedi at all, which Locke didn’t mind, since his own beliefs were far from the average Dark Jedi’s, but it still felt odd. That was another thing that could lead to conflict down the line.

Then there was Atra. He was another variable; one that wasn’t on Locke’s side. It frustrated Locke that he was essentially an unknown, but he would find out more in time. He sighed, and settled back. He had so much to think about, and the Orian system was only so big from the perspective of hyperspace.



Dlarit Naval Perimeter
Aeotheran Orbit

As his X-Wing exited hyperspace, Locke found he was immediately bombarded with hailing calls. He didn’t remember security being this tight. “This is Vice President Locke Sonjie, “ he said, using his Dlarit Corporation cover title.

Ahead of him, the transport was no doubt receiving the same call. “Methyas Pepoi L'eonheart, Marshal Commander, “Methyas said, indicating his rank within the Dlarit Special Operations Group, which the Dlarit Navy would know was important, but not understand the true significance of.

Ahead of him, Locke watched the Victory II-Class Star Destroyer Orian Legacy orbit the blue-green jewel of Aeotheran. “Feels good to be home, “ Locke mumbled to himself. Aeotheran was the seat of House Shar Dakhan, the House Locke had been member and Aedile of less than a year prior. Four X-Wings settled in a square formation around the two craft, providing an escort. Locke found it odd that security was so tight. Had Tsainetomo arrived here first and said something about Locke and Methyas? He held his breath as the group of ships passed over the Orian Legacy’s bow and descended toward the atmosphere and the Marakith Skyhook directly over the city of Seng Karash.

When they reached the first cloud layer, the X-Wings banked away, giving a slight tilt of their wings as a sign of respect. Locke breathed a sigh of relief. He was beginning to feel that Tsainetomo most likely had not come here, but he wouldn’t be sure until he was able to confer with the Dlarit Navy commander on station, and he wasn’t going to that over military channels Tsainetomo could monitor.

Instead, he flipped his communications over to the transport’s. “Methyas, you there?”

“Yeah Locke, “ came back Methyas’s voice, almost immediately. “Go ahead.”

“First thing, take Atra to the medical center and get him checked out. I want to make sure he isn’t going to...cause any trouble. If there’s any risk of him going mutant, we need to know. Then meet me in the command center. We need to find out what’s going on with security and make sure Tsainetomo isn’t here.”

“Got it, “ was all Methyas said. Locke shut off his communications and glided gently toward the skyhook.

Dlarit Naval Perimeter
Aeotheran Orbit

Atra sat silently in the transport, aware of Methyas' movements but more focused on the fact that he was actually free. They had passed the lab on the way out and that had almost been his undoing. He was sure he would have lost it but somehow Methyas' presence had allowed him to push through. Atra didn't know why, but in the presence of the Miraluka he felt a constant flow of what could only be described as refreshment. It was as if something was being drawn into his very core, rejuvinating his body, and flowing out once more. It was a pleasent change to the usual drain he felt within the prison.

Methyas quickly flicked off the communicator after confirming Locke's message. His glance turned towards Atra. While he had shared Locke's concern initially, he felt that Atra wasn't a threat. At least not to them. Even so, the constant drain on the Force this young man presented had the potential to become disconcerting for the others, much like his own fountain effect. As Methyas opened his mouth to speak Atra began to laugh. It wasn't a normal laugh, but more a nervous, almost depressed chuckle. "Life has a sick sense of humour..." Atra's words were met with a confused look from Methyas. "...And it just loves to practice it on me."

"How do you figure that?" Methyas spoke carefully, not wishing to pry as this may be his new apprentice's way of opening up to him and he didn't wish to jeopordize it.

"To start, I traded one prison cell for another." As he spoke Atra gestured in the direction of the shrinking facility. "And now here I am, apprenticed to the ex-President of the very company that held me."

Atra's words were curious to Methyas. He had suspected there to be a reason Atra was held in the prison block but he didn't have the information or the history to delve into it. "How did that come about, if you don't mind my asking." Methyas spoke politically and carefully, unsure of the route this conversation would take.

"Back on Corellia I..." Atra paused, choosing his next words carefully, "a CorSec official died. I was given a choice by someone I thought worked for them. 'You can spend the rest of your days in a cell, or you can opt in for a specialized program' is what he said. I was foolish enough to allow myself to believe it was some sort of training program." Glancing quickly to the other passengers of the transport Atra let out another cold chuckle. "Foolish indeed."

"How long have you been here, Atra?"

"Couldn't tell you... What's the current year?"

"Thirty-five ABY."

Atra laughed once more, this time forced and Methyas could see the threat of tears in the young man's eyes. "Five years..." Atra spoke softly, letting it sink in more for himself than Methyas. "I've been there for five years."

Methyas' brow furowed in concern, studying Atra's features carefully. "I can promise you that in my time as President, I was entirely unaware of your situation."

A deep sigh answered Methyas as Atra shut his eyes tight and composed himself. "I gathered as much, that's why I'm here." Clenching his fists tightly Atra opened his eyes and fixed his strange iris' upon Methyas' blind eyes. "I have no connections, no family to contact. I am your apprentice now and I expect you to honour that agreement."

Wincing sharply Atra brought a hand up to his forhead, shaking slightly as he fought off the spikes of pain that now pounded into his head. "Does that happen often?" Methyas inquired to Atra, noting that such an attack had occured already.

"Yeah, I'm used to it though." Atra spoke through clenched teeth as Methyas searched the young man with the Force. Shaking his head slightly the Sadowan turned away and gazed out the viewport as the transport moved ever closer to the skyhook. He suspected what was wrong with Atra but couldn't confirm without knowing what had been done to him. "He doesn't like me much does he?" Atra's question caught him off guard, Methyas' head snapping around quickly.

"He is wary, that is all. You are an unknown, and the aggression eminating from you in his presence doesn't give him cause to think otherwise."

Atra's only response was a small grunt as he slipped from conciousness to sleep. Methyas turned back, pondering all he had gathered within the Cenota Facility and what the future held.

Final Approach, "Western" Hanger 12-A
DSOG Secure Wing, Marakith Skyhook
Geo-synchronous Orbit, Aeotheran

The transport glided in quietly, its landing gear settling softly upon the cool decking as the hold's doors slid open without a hand, Methyas standing swiftly and starting towards the waiting assembled troopers as Atra started from his nap, glancing about sleepily before rising to his feet and closing distance with the Miraluka. The cool metallic plating across the hold bore different painted directions and markings to orient those who had recently come aboard the station, though rarely had someone as young as Atra been brought through these corridors since the days of House Ludo Kressh. The troopers held their ground, weapons relaxed but at the ready even while Methyas calmly approached them, stopping before the leading trooper as he spoke, "Afternoon Captain; Marshall Commander Pepoi L'eonheart. We need to utilize the medical facilities aboard the station for newly appointed Commander Ventus and to rendezvous with Vice-President Sonjie once that task has been completed."

The trooper was hard at work on his datapad as Methyas spoke, his fingers moving swiftly as nearly all information he began to pull up on the man before him repeatedly returned different variations of "Classified" to him. Spotting information pertaining to has career, listing his positions as Prefect, Senior Commander and corporate President before stepping down for mysterious reasons; the man decided to move on to his companion. Once again, his fingers moved swiftly with a different message greeting him at every turn..."Personnel not on file". Confusion seemed to overtake the trooper for a split second before he spoke up cautiously, "Begging your pardon, sir. But your companion doesn't appear to be in personnel files, shall I contact the CPO?"

The Miraluka spoke up swiftly, restraining a smile as he spoke, "I vouch for him, we will establish his personnel file within the medical facilities with the blessing of CPO Pepoi; Mr. Sonjie is expecting us as swiftly as possible."

The trooper shifted uncomfortably for a moment, unsure of how to procced with the words of both a ranking officer and a waiting member of the Board more than capable of making his life a living hell. Letting out a sigh, the man stepped aside slightly as his voice rose swiftly, "I understand, sir. I assume this new arrival has been sent by higher powers?"

As Methyas motioned for Atra to follow him, he started through the group of soldiers who now began to shoulder their weapons, his response carrying an almost unusually happy tone, "Something like that..."

The pair moved slowly through the halls of the older Skyhook, Methyas feeling Atra's emotions beginning to fray at the edges as the walls about them began to shift from the flat grey-ish tones of a military installation to the more traditional bleached white of a sterile medical facilty. Slowing his pace to match that of his apprentice, Methyas spoke quietly, "The people here won't harm you, I've actually been sewn back up in these very facilities and met my wife here. Her staff will take good care of you and I won't leave your side."

Atra seemed to start at the sound of his master's voice before relaxing for a few moments. The peace the young man experienced only lasted a few moments before the pair rounded the corner into the main infirmary. In an instant the waiting medical staff and various impliments became tools of murderous intent, threatening to cause bodily harm and make him writhe as they they sought cruel pleasure out of his cries of pain. He could feel his heart beginning to pound to the beat of some rythmic club music. As quickly as the young man turned to escape, Methyas had his hand upon his shoulder. Time seemed to slow for a moment for Atra, a soothing feeling running through him as a little voice inside told him not to run, that everything was alright.

And then he felt a small pinch, a needle in his arm injecting what he could only suspect was a sedative; it didn't take long for the world to start fading to black after that and the last thing to cross Atra's mind was "Son of a...he did it to me again..."

As Methyas aided the staff in getting Atra upon the gurney, he began to detail the information to complete Atra's dossier to a waiting nurse. The following moments took longer than expected, but Methyas maintained an illusion of a calm beach with crashing waves while draining Atra's will to flee as the doctors worked. The young man had obviously seen a lot, his fear of the medical facilities was something they would need to work on, but the massive scar across his chest could definitely be a cause of his fears.

As the doctor's began to clean up, satisfied that the young man was not a risk to them, Methyas began to dissolve the weave he had crafted about the young man; letting his illusions fade and the siphon of will to taper off. Sadly, the sedatives hadn't worked as well as expected upon the young man as he began to stir upon the gurney, nearly leaping off the table as he surveyed his surroundings. Quickly determining that there were no doctors in the chamber with him, Atra eyed Methyas for a moment as he began to move towards the exit to the infirmary. The young man speaking quickly with a slight edge to his voice, "How often do you think you'll be doing that to me?"

"Only until you learn how to control that fear or harness it. Besides, what's done is done and everyone will recognize you as a member of the Special Operations Group; we'll need to speak to my Cousin-in-law, Teu, to get your dossier updated however."

A frustrated sigh escaped Atra as he turned away from his Master, trying to keep his eyes away from the medical equipment as he absently stepped further into the hallway; Methyas following him in stride as the young man seemed to subdue his anger and frustration, however slightly it may be. Finally Atra spoke again, "Alright, we'll get to your companion and see where we're headed next. Try and quit it with the whole mystic sage stuff you're pulling though, its getting on my nerves."

Methyas smirked slightly as he nodded, walking past his apprentice as the young man began to follow him down the corridors and towards Locke's waiting location within one of the conference rooms only a few meters away.

Command Center, Marakith Skyhook
Geo-synchronous Orbit Over Seng Karash
Aeotheran

Locke stood in the center of the command center, flanked by rows of data terminals. Most of them were manned by Dlarit personnel, working tirelessly to bring all available data together. In front of Locke, a long view port showed space and the planet curving away into darkness beneath the station. Above that was an array of monitors, one very big one dominating the center. Locke surveyed those monitors, clenching his fists at his side. He was vaguely aware of Methyas and Atra approaching him.

“They’re everywhere, “ Locke grumbled. “At the same time as the riot on Gamuslag they struck Kel Rasha and Kar Alabrek both!”

“Who?” Methyas asked.

“We don’t know yet, “ Locke said, trying to keep the anger out of his voice. This system was his responsibility. These civilians dying were citizens of his domain. “Terrorists, probably. The Dlarit Police are at a loss. They can’t find anything. We can’t even link all three events together!”

“Hmm,” Methyas said.

“What is it?” Locke asked.

Methyas looked out the view port. “I think Mirado is still on planet, he should be able to help us.”

“That’s good, “ Locke said, “but we need a plan. How are we going to find them if our regulars haven’t?”

“Hmm, “ Methyas said again. Locke would have been tired of the sound by now, but it usually meant Methyas was about to say something useful. “They struck at Kel Rasha, right?”

“Yes, they haven’t attacked anywhere else yet.”

“Maybe they think Seng Karash is too secure.”

“Maybe, “ Locke said, “or maybe they’re planning to strike there next.” Locke would not rule out the possibility, as much as he hated it. “The president has closed the spaceports.”

“That would cripple our economy, “ Methyas said. “They probably want something like that.”

“Damn, “ Locke responded, “you’re right. Who are these people?” He asked to no one in particular, gesturing at the view port. “They set up on our worlds, completely undetected, and hit us across the entire Orian System at once! What if we opened the spaceports to limited traffic and patrolled them personally? Could you detect something?”

“I might be able to, “ Methyas answered, “but we can’t cover them both at the same time. We’ll need more help.”

“We could use our Dlarit units, but they haven’t been all that effective, somehow they’re missing these...terrorists.” Locke spoke the last word with disgust. “We need more Foxtrot Uniforms, “ he said, using the military term for Force sensitives. “Reports indicate a classified force already on the surface, though. Macron is here.”

There was a pause before Methyas answered. Locke could almost feel Atra tense up next to him. “It’s not likely that he knows the extent of what happened at Gamuslag.”

“Indeed, “ Locke said, “Tsainetomo more than likely would not contact Macron, since Macron put him on Gamuslag to begin with.”

“Will we have a conflict with him?” Methyas said levelly, but the implication was obvious.

Locke looked at the screens above the view port, reading data scrolling across. “They’re investigating one of the sites already hit, a power facility outside the city. They’ve tripled security in the system, but I’m not convinced that will stop these terrorists completely. Let’s open limited traffic to Kel Rasha, and go there ourselves. If these people struck the entire system at once, I would not be surprised if they tried again. Try to dress like civilians, we don’t know if they would recognize us or not. Contact Mirado too, and have him join us.”

“Yes, his particular skills should be very useful in this situation, “ Methyas said.

“Right then, let’s go get outfitted-”

Methyas cleared his throat quietly. Locke looked to him and waited. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Locke looked back at the monitors, out the view port, then around. “I don’t think I am. What is it?”

“Someone has to tell the people of the Orian System what’s happening. Since the Dlarit Corporation effectively rules the system, they’re the government here, and the people will be expecting an announcement. Since the President is occupied - and a bit...terrifying in appearance - you need to make an announcement.”

Locke sighed.

“It’s your job, “ Methyas said, reinforcing his point.

“You’re right, of course. Ok, you guys go get outfitted and get down there, then I’ll join you after this...speech. Don’t even try to tell me I shouldn’t put myself in the field. I’m a soldier, not a bureaucrat! Also, try to capture rather than kill, we need answers!” He finished a little louder than he wanted to and quickly calmed himself, marching out of the room a moment later, leaving Methyas and Atra behind.

Locke was halfway to the briefing room when he realized he was still dressed in his flight suit. Giving a speech meant he’d have to wear the suit again. Wearing the suit meant being uncomfortable and immobile. He grumbled, and headed off for his old quarters.

Command Center, Marakith Skyhook
Geo-synchronous Orbit Over Seng Karash
Aeotheran

Atra had kept quiet for the exchange between Methyas and Locke. A feat even more impressive considering the physical reaction to the mention of Macron. The name echoed in Atra's mind as his body tensed. It was a name he had heard several times, mostly from the head scientist as he discussed his reports. The scientists seemed to be genuinely wary of reporting any failures to the president of the Corporation. His right hand drifted towards his eyes subconciously as his thoughts fell upon the last experiment he had suffered.

Locke had already departed the room by the time Atra snapped to his senses, Methyas eyeing him curiously from nearby. His new apprentice seemed to be a puzzle, one he appreciated the chance to unravel. The medical reports had shown no abnormalities, but they were designed for standard checks, not alchemy. As soon as he was sure Atra was fully aware of his surroundings once more Methyas spoke commandingly. "We need to go get outfitted, Locke will be joining us when he is done."

Atra glanced quickly to Methyas and nodded his agreement. "I suppose." Atra pondered for a minute before a grin spread across his face. "Woulda been nice to see him squirm though."

"I'm sure you'll get the chance, let's get moving." Methyas chuckled along with his apprentice, knowing full well the extent of Locke's current grumblings.

"Not soon enough though." Atra muttered as he followed.

Passing through a set of doors Atra sighed as he ran his hand through his shaggy hair. "I suppose there's no time to use a refresher?" Methyas didn't bother answering as he gathered the necessary attire to blend in as civilians. "Yeah, right, what was I thinking..."

Atra fell in line beside Methyas, picking out simple trader clothes. His hands had wavered for a moment as they passed over some clearly Corellian attire, something Methyas mentally noted. Opting for something more planet neutral Atra began swapping out his simple attire for the new clothes. Blowing some stray hair out of his face he turned to his master once more. "Can I at least cut this off?"

Methyas turned once more to Atra, sensing more to the request than what was said. The young man gave off an air of confidence that was clearly false, but underneath that Methyas could gleam the deeper meaning. Atra's hair, at it's current length, was a reminder to the past five years of his life. A life of unknown experimentation and confinement. "By all means, do as you wish." Methyas said softly, motioning to the nearby refresher.

"Thanks."

Methyas choose simple robes for his garb, something most likely worn by a scholar. The simplicity of the robes brought a smile to his face as Atra approached with considerably shorter hair, the beginnings of facial hair remained but had been shaped into a style he seemed to desire. "You think Locke is almost done?"

Chuckling softly Methyas reached out with his senses, feeling a very uncomfortable Proconsul. "Not quite yet, no."

"Damn." Atra shifted uncomfortably in his civilian clothes but they were better than what he had worn previously. Five years was a lot of baggage to carry around and it would take a while to work through it. Hopefully all he was learning and observing would help get his mind off of the past and into what was to become of him. Wincing slightly Atra could feel the beginnings of a headache coming on. He breathed slowly, trying to let the pain pass through him as quickly as possible. He had never had the headaches before, but ever since the last experiment they had come again and again. According to the scientists the project had been a failure. While that wasn't entirely true he was sure the headaches had something to do with that classification. Regardless, he hadn't seen much from his overseers since they reported to Macron. In fact, he hadn't seen them at all since then.

Briefing Room, Marakith Skyhook
Geo-synchronous Orbit Over Seng Karash
Aeotheran

After getting changed, Locke accessed the holo-transceiver in his own quarters and contacted the captain in charge of the Special Operations portion of the Skyhook. “Captain, I need you to scrounge the system, find out where our available Foxtrot Uniforms are. If you can find any more of my fellow Dark Jedi who are not occupied, I want you to send them here and alert me as soon as you are able. I will provide further orders from there.” The captain merely nodded, and after an exchange of salutes, Locke turned the transceiver off and left his quarters.

Locke entered the small briefing room, wearing his dress suit and the cane that had become a part of the outfit as much as the shoes or the dress jacket. It had been awhile since he had worn the garment, and it still felt just as tight as ever. It’s just a uniform like any other. Locke decided he would make this quick. It would just be something to put everyone’s minds at ease and confirm that the Dlarit Corporation was, in fact, doing something.

At the same time, however, Locke was tense. This could be a chance to inspire trust in the Corporation. Locke felt that right now the citizens of the Orian System didn’t trust their government very much, and he aimed to change that if he could. If he could place his words right, he had a chance to win them over. If not...well, their opinion couldn’t get much lower, but he didn’t want to deal with a rebellion in addition to this terrorist problem.

This briefing room had been designed with such speeches in mind. The back wall as adorned with the Dlarit Corporation emblem - the emblem of Clan Naga Sadow turned blue. In front of that was a podium, and in front of that was a holorecorder and multiple microphones. There was a tech droid present as well, it’s main purpose to make sure everything ran properly. Locke would have rather had a human or even one of those verpine; they could respond to any immediate errors much faster.

Locke stepped up to the podium. He breathed in a long sigh, more for his inner balance than anything else, and motioned to the droid to begin transmitting. Let’s get this over with. “Citizens of the Orian System, “ Locke began, “many of you are already aware of the despicable attacks on cities on both Aeotheran and Tarthos. Rest assured, the Dlarit Corporation is doing everything in it’s power to bring these terrorists to justice. Your safety is of our utmost concern. Do not be alarmed if you see more of the Dlarit Police than usual. They are, in fact, there to ensure your safety. For those of you in space, please be patient with our inspections. We know that your ships are safe, but these terrorists could be posing as any of you.”

Locke paused, thinking. He had to find a way to wrap this up. It had been so short already. “Rest assured that I, Locke Sonjie, Vice President of the Dlarit Corporation, am personally overseeing our operations to secure the Orian System and ensure the continued well-being of it’s inhabitants. We will bring these terrorists to justice, and we will do it quickly.” He needed a way to finish up now, some sort of farewell statement. He couldn’t use something the Galactic Alliance would use, not here. “Take care, “ Locke said, staring straight at the camera.

The droid, evidently, did not realize to stop recording, so Locke made a horizontal sliding motion with his hand lower than the holorecorder could see, and a light on it changed colors a moment later, indicating the recording had ended. Droids, Locke thought. A human would have understood Locke’s words!

Locke stepped off the podium and began walking toward the door. He had to change into something discreet, then meet up with the others. “Umm, Sir?” came a voice from behind him.

Locke turned, impatient. “Yes?”

The modified protocol droid - equipped to repair equipment such as this - stared at him with those eerie, unblinking photoreceptors. “With all due respect, wasn’t that a little...short for a speech?”

“I said all that was needed, “ Locke answered, rolling his eyes.

“Of course, Sir, “ the droid said, “but most speeches are much longer than that! What will the people think?”

Locke thought for a moment. He wasn’t about to let a droid one-up him. Then the thoughts came to him quickly: “I said what was needed. They don’t want an embellishment, they want facts, and that’s what I gave them. Now, go power down for awhile or something.” Locke had barely managed to keep his voice even when he finished. He turned away without waiting for a reply and marched out of the room.

Locke went to his quarters and opened his closet, pushing his clothes back and forth before realizing he really didn’t have much aside from suits, military outfits, and his Krath garb. He’d have to page someone to bring him something. While he was waiting, Locke carefully set the suit aside and looked out the viewport of his quarters, at the curvature of Aeotheran below. He thought about the words from his speech. Did I make a mistake in mentioning my name? he wondered. He had taken a gamble; if the terrorist acts continued, he would be held accountable, but if they could bring someone to justice, he would have more support. He would need support to prevent another rebellion in the future.

His thoughts were disturbed when the quarters’ doorbell rang with a loud, whirring buzz. “Come in, “ Locke said, loudly. He turned to find a protocol droid entering the room, dragging a cart on which many different articles of clothing were hanging. Oh great, another droid. “Thank you, just leave them, and I’ll figure it out.”

“But sir, wouldn’t you like a recommendation...?”

“No, I am quite sure I can figure it out.” Locke answered, gritting his teeth. He didn’t need a droid to tell him what to wear.

“As you say sir, “ the droid answered, “I’ve noticed many citizens of Kel Rasha wearing a dull brown outfit, these days.” With that, the droid left the room, perhaps a little more quickly than it had entered.

Locke looked across the cart, choosing a fancy blue outfit. He quickly put it on, contemplating what to take with him. Any sort of bag would make it difficult to move through the crowds, so that made it difficult to take much. The tight tunic left no space for his lightsaber or blaster, and he definitely would not be able to use the former in public. He found it difficult to part with the weapon. Finally, Locke took a gaudy, loose overcoat off the rack. It was more for show than anything, and a plan began to hatch in his mind. He stuffed his lightsaber into a pocket barely big enough for it on the inside of the coat and then grabbed a few more items before leaving the room to catch up with the others.

Locke found Methyas and Atra already at the civilian shuttle they would take down to the surface. He followed them inside and sat down across from them, spreading a duffel bag out on the floor and unzipping it’s largest pocket as the shuttle launched, heading for Kel Rasha’s spaceport.

“What’s this?” Methyas asked.

Locke pulled out a metallic apparatus designed to go over one’s eyes. “This is to hide your eyes, or lack thereof, “ he explained, “it doesn’t actually do anything, but I heard it’s a popular style some nobles like to wear.”

“Nobles?” Methyas asked.

“Yes, “ Locke said levelly, trying not to laugh. “We, “ he held up two gaudy overcoats, one for each of the others, a grin slowly spreading over his face, “are Tapani nobles.”

“You have to be kidding, “ Methyas said.

“Nope, better learn to look like the center of the universe. Here, wear this.” He tossed one overcoat to Methyas, and one to Atra. “That should hide your valuables, and give us a plausible reason for being here. We want to see the city of Kel Rasha, and the technological wonders constructed there.”

“Aren’t there more interesting planets, though?” Atra asked.

“Yes, “ Locke said, “which I considered, but we are cheap Tapani nobles.”

“Great, “ Methyas said, tossing the coat over himself.

Atra did the same, and the shuttle landed a few moments later. “Remember, you’re a stuck up Tapani Noble, and you totally didn’t think about how humid this planet would be and refuse to let it affect you, “ Locke said. He put a strange eye-cover on his own face and put the boarding ramp down. “Hopefully we can link up with Mirado as well. Let’s go.”

Locke was the first one down the ramp, walking slowly with his head held up. I hope this works. Stealth had never been his strong point. “Fan out, “ Locke said, “keep your comlink available and try to stay in sight of each other.”

Aeotheron
200 meters from powerplant
Macron lead the dark Jedi through a field that wasn’t a few meters from a beach. From what Roxas could see; the group was heading for a power plant. The rangefinder on Roxas’ helmet lowered to scan the area ahead and in the distance for potential enemies. In the distance the Mandalorian saw a slight flash, as if something shiny was moved in the sunlight.

“Wait…” Roxas said to the group “Did anyone else see something flash in the distance?”

Macron turned to face the dark Jedi behind him replying “No, have you been seeing anything else strange since my little surgery?” and finishing with a slight giggle.

“No, this was like a small flash, like a…rifle scope.”

The group crouched down in unison and looked toward the horizon for anything that would seem like a rifle scope.

“See anything through the range finder?” Fremoc asked casually.

Roxas still looking to where he saw the flash retorted “No, I don’t see anything, but I know I saw it.”

“You’re seeing things…” Fremoc stated “Your body is different now including your eyes, so it makes since if you see stuff differently.”

“Well he shouldn’t be seeing things that aren’t there, I’m good at what I do Fremoc.” Macron chuckled while assuring that his work was a success.

Roxas slightly smiled under his T shaped visor “I appreciate the help Macron and not only is the pain going away, but I haven’t had any trouble with my eyes.”

“Well keep scanning just in case then.” Fremoc replied sternly.

Failure…the word still echoed in his mind and angered him

The group stood and kept on toward the power plant. Eventually the grass turned into sand and the dark Jedi were walking on just beach. They passed good looking girls in swimsuits and other skimpy garments.

Suddenly a strong Force knocked Roxas over followed closely by the sound of a blaster shot. The other Sadowans turned in amazement to see that Roxas was fine, but the visor of his helmet was shattered and dented around the edges. He sat up and glass fell from where the visor once was to reveal that he was unharmed.

“The frak was that?” Macron asked, his vocoder vibrating the sound.

The women screamed and then a large group of men came running from the plant followed by a barrage of blaster bolts. Roxas jumped to his feet as the others ignited their light sabers to block blaster bolts. He noticed a woman ,between them and the plant, cowering in fear as blaster bolts narrowly missed her. Roxas rushed past Macron and the others to her side. He quickly pulled his crimson cape from his back and wrapped her in it as well as sliding his damaged helmet over her blonde hair.

“The frak are you going?” Fremoc hollered as Roxas carried the woman away.

“These will help protect you from the blaster shots as I get you out of here.” Roxas said gently, so as not to scare her any further “Where is your transport?”

The woman pointed and Roxas turned in that direction. Blaster bolts screaming past them as he ran with her in his arms. She looked up at him and a blaster bolt hit him in the shoulder, it scared her when he slightly flinched from the heat of the blast singeing on his armor.

“That’s my speeder” she said while pointing. Her voice was soft and beautiful.

He set her down by the speeder and opened the door for her before removing the helmet and tossing it on the seat. Her hair was golden like sunlight and her eyes were a shining blue like a sapphire. Her skin was gently kissed by the sun.

“Thank you for saving me.” She said with a voice that is gentle like a feather.

He was so breathless that he couldn’t reply “It was my pleasure, but you should go somewhere safe so that you don’t get hurt.”

The same sweet voice replied “Will I see you again? Oh! And what about your things?”

“Come to the Crossroads in Markosian City on Tarthos. I run the bar. You can bring me them there.”

She smiled and replied happily “Ok, I’ll see you soon then.”

She kissed him for saving her and got into her speeder. The vehicle’s motors whined as it lifted and took off. With the woman out of danger Roxas hurried back to his comrades, who were still pinned down by the blaster shots. He tried to use the Force to make his body move faster, but it was a struggle. He had to focus… failure…the word passed through his mind and he let the anger take him. The Force flowed through his entire body while letting his anger flow freely around him. His red eyes glowed brighter than they had been. He drew two knives from his belt and rushed past his friends and straight for the enemies. His movements were like a blur as he used all of his knowledge of Jakelian to slash and gouge his foes. He may have only been using knives, but he was turning foes into pez dispensers and bloody chunks. In an instant the men that had rushed the Dark Jedi were dead and all that remained was the sniper on the building. Macron smiled under his helmet because it made him happy to see one of his “experiments” shedding blood for Clan Naga Sadow.

“Took you long enough.” Fremoc quipped at his former apprentice.

“You’re welcome, but we still have the sniper to deal with and I’m pretty well spent.” The failed apprentice retorted.

“I’m surprised you were able to use the Force so soon” The Alchemist stated

Roxas pulled a black bandana from his pocket. He pulled his hair out of his eyes before tying the bandana on his forehead to keep his hair off his face and then replied “It wasn’t easy. In the end, I had to focus on pure rage.”
Malisane tuned his mind to the flow of the Force. Listening to it’s subtleties to find the sniper’s exact location and once he had it he drew his blaster from his belt and fired a single shot.

“Nice shot.” Fremoc said while looking through binoculars.

“Did you get her number?” Malisane asked teasingly.

Roxas shook his head “No, I got better.”

"Don't run from a fight again." Fremoc said sternly "I don't care the reason."

Roxas rubbed his forehead with frustration, but didn't reply.

Macron giggled “Well gentlemen, let’s introduce ourselves to the men inside.”

Great Sadow Library
Underneath Alabrek Citadel
Tarthos

The Dark Prophet ran a finger along the finely etched carvings on the gigantic stone doorway. Sildrin stood back in silence and watched as the Elder worked his power on the incantations that had been ancient back when the Sith Empire was still young. As the Falleen spoke, it sounded as if a multitude of different voices spoke with him in hushed whispers; the spectres of the past lending him strength.

“Chwûa kintik,” said Xanos. His voice echoed, the sorcerers of the past speaking in unison.

As if in answer to the Sith Lord, the entrance to the Great Sadow Library began to open. The cold whistle of air that shot out sounded to Sildrin like a dying child. As the colossal doorway swung open to grant them entrance, the halls behind them rumbled, the stone roaring like a Krayt dragon.

“Few but the Sadow Elders have graced these halls,” said the Falleen, not looking back at her. “Consider yourself privileged, Lady Dragon. You may not get to do so again.” It was the first time Xanos had addressed her directly in several days; usually Master Trevarus was the one who spoke.

“I understand, Master Xanos.” She called on the Force to make her voice heard over the grinding as the mammoth doors parted. “It was a pity I was not here during the Ekind—”

Sildrin’s breath caught in her throat as the library at long last revealed itself to her...

While she may have lost her eyesight long ago, the knowledge within crashed into her like a flood. Before her lay books, hand written parchment and scrolls, all raised high in their hundreds, together with antique datacrons, tapestries and state of the art holo-recordings. In the Force, an almost green haze seemed to hang over the towering shelves, as if the spirits of the authors lived on in their work.

It took all of her strength to hold back the multitude of voices clamouring for her attention—

She wanted to rush in right there, to find the tome that would provide the answer to her Master’s affliction. For two years now, she had scoured every single archive she had had access to—as well as several she hadn’t—but even the Shadow Academy and Kalekka Tower had left her wanting...

Before she could take another step into the library, the Dark Prophet suddenly went still. His hand darted into the air to signal her to stop moving.

“We are not alone,” said Xanos quietly, his voice cold even by his standards.

Sildrin blinked, not that she had eyes. Her senses extended into the vast library, peering past the splendour on the surface, and looking deeper into the endless aisles and hidden anterooms. The Force was... unsettled. Kneeling, she picked up a book that had been discarded inside the entrance.

“Should this—?”

“No,” replied the Elder, cutting her off.

Xanos seemed to flinch again, and she could feel the sudden, albeit still brief, surge of anger in him.

“No it should not,” he repeated.

“Western” Hangar 12-A
DSOG Secure Wing, Marakith Skyhook
Geo-synchronous Orbit, Aeotheran

Tsainetomo lingered on the periphery of the busy space, hidden in shadow. He leaned back casually against one of the bulkheads, his eyes lidded with concentration. The Primarch had committed a small portion of his brainpower to making himself ‘small’ within the Dark Side, but for the most part, his mind was attempting to wrap itself around the events of the past few weeks, moments, and minutes.

As usual, the customary ‘ticking of machinery’ was the soundtrack to his thoughts, as the cogs in a complex machine falling into place while the Korun-Keibatsu analyzed and filed facts and figures, to either be dealt with in the now or to be filed for future reference. Usually an effortless exercise, Sai’s browed furrowed in frustration this time, as a new sound added itself to the mark-time accompaniment.

It was the gentle plip-plip of falling water.

More accurately, the sound was as a single droplet softly landing on a faux-tiled deck over and over and over, miniscule globules imperceptibly adding to a puddle just outside of one’s awareness.

Sai fought to still the intrusion as he reminisced with no small measure of regret and pain on his actions that had put him on the path that, for now, had its terminus on the skyhook. His public admonition from his cousin the Grand Master…the resignation of the Consularship…his very vocal and violent disagreements with the Overlord, Father of them All.

His incarceration in Gamuslag and his subsequent self-imposed early parole. The killing of SSGT Kridditch. The nigh-evisceration of Locke. Sai took responsibility for his part in the last events, but there was no mistaking that Macron and Astronicus had their hands in this comic tragedy as well, for theirs was the will that had moved his own to act.

“There will be an accounting,” Sai promised to no one in particular, in-between the grinding of his teeth at the ‘plip-plip’ that continued to reverberate within his head and interrupted the smooth, rhythmic churning of the machine within.

Sai clenched his jaw and breathed deeply as he shifted his awareness from the machinery in his head to the intrusion. Clearly, he’d heard it before, and his subconscious acknowledgement of the sound meant that it was important.

The question was: how?

Men and droid alike continued to shuffle past Sai’s position as he wrestled with the conundrum. plip…plip…plip. Where had he’d heard…?

Recognition was as sudden as the breaking of the day. The dripping had been from an unseen pipe whose integrity had been breached; only a small puddle underneath the cracked pipe betrayed the leak’s location within the bowels of Gamuslag, where the Clan had stored its Spaarti cloning tanks. He’d gone to the ravaged and abandoned space when he’d first secured his…gains…from the weapons locker shortly after he’d dispatched the inept watchman. It was where he’d regained a good portion of his strength, and where he’d reflected on the hubris of the Clan; their attempts at cloning was the ultimate abomination against nature.

Instead of conscripting believers to their cause, the Sadowans simply made them. Thirty-four, in fact. Perfect, in every way.

The more that Tsainetomo pondered on this, the more the dripping sound in his skull synchronized itself with the more familiar, mechanical churning. His face couldn’t fend off the grim smile of resolve that threatened to drape itself across his bronzed visage.

Sai’s path was a little clearer now. Of course, he and Macron would need to have a conversation, and the Overlord and Grand Master would surely be called to an accounting as well, but he wasn’t strong enough to confront any of those three. Not by a sight; not yet.

But the issue brought up by the reminiscence of the cloning facility? Only slightly less difficult, but no less vexing. An ever-increasing thorn in his side, the DAC clone known only as ‘Orenth’ was one of Sai’s tactical mistakes. Not in the clone’s creation, but in its education. In his attempt to give himself an effective adjutant, Tsainetomo had unwittingly gave birth to one of the Clan’s most deadly enemies.

Orenth was gifted in armed and unarmed combat, well-versed in Sadowan tactics and security, and knew how to kill a Force-User and had no qualms about harming normal beings as well. The survivors of the Dystopia incident were all too familiar with Orenth’s regard, or lack thereof, for them.

He had to be put down.

With his resolution, Sai’s inner-soundtrack had smoothed itself out…but did not quiet itself. There was another factor.

Absently fingering the stock of the Tarenti TAW-6A autopistol now calling its home in the holster at Tsainetomo’s thigh, the Son of Sadow thought on the last three people he’d willingly encountered.

Methyas. His consular replacement. Conflicted within, as evidenced by the Miraluka’s inability to strike him down, even when helped by the eager, yet unaware, Locke.

And then, there was Atra. As he passed him on his way to the hanger after beating the other two, Tsainetomo noted that, like the mutants he’d cut down on his way to the DSOG transport moments before Locke, Atra and Methyas arrived, the young man stank of Macron’s ministrations. Sai’s hand reflexively stole to his eyes, themselves a gift from the Alchemist a lifetime ago.

As his hand dropped back to the slugthrower at his side, he’d noted more details of their encounter. Locke, for a Summit-member, seemed genuinely surprised to see Sai there, unfamiliarity with the Primarch notwithstanding. As did Methyas. There were going to be questions asked of Macron and the Overlord, to be sure.

And, as Sai had long since shouted his own throat raw with his own unanswered questions over the years, he was all too happy to have others take up the call. Let Methyas, Locke, and whoever else wanted to pester the Sons and Daughters; let his Brothers and Sisters field the demands for answers. The subsequent distraction and inevitable division would serve Tsainetomo well in the weeks to come; satisfaction sat well fed upon his brow.

In the meanwhile, Tsainetomo would need to converse with Atra. “The young man may yet prove to be of some use,” the Keibatsu’s inner-voice intoned. Shedding his cover, Tsainetomo strode forth with confidence, command making his footfalls solid. Straightening his vest and feeling the familiar heft of his batons within SSGT Kridditch’s – correction, his overcoat – Sai approached the pilot of the DSOG craft that had unknowingly transported him along with Methyas and Atra to the skyhook.

“Pilot. A word, if you please,” Sai called, the easy smile belaying the undercurrent of sinister determination within the Son of Sadow.

Spaceport, ~35 kilometers north of Kel Rasha
Aeotheran

Atra glanced around quietly, a chill running up his spine for a moment. It felt as if he was the subject of a microscope and he didn’t like it in the slightest. A long exhale of breath accompanied the realization that it was merely paranoia as Atra made his way down the ramp. The overcoat he now wore was uncomfortable and cumbersome. His movements were short and methodical in response. A keen observer could tell that Atra wasn’t one accustomed to the cloth of nobility. He made a mental note to be wary of this as he turned to Locke and Methyas. Making eye contact with his new found master he could read the hidden message of reassurance as Locke gave his orders. Methyas was an odd one, that was for sure, and Atra found himself wondering what one such as he was doing amongst the Dlarit Corporation.

“Atra.” Locke suddenly spoke up, his eyes fixed upon the young man.

Raising an eyebrow in response Atra tried not to let any sarcasm into his tone. “Yes?”

“You will take point. Even with these disguises the two of us are well known Dlarit officials and could have our cover blown.”

Nodding in acknowledgement Atra turned and drifted into the crowd. Locke glanced at Methyas, still unsure if Atra could be trusted. Methyas just smiled slightly before turning and slipping into the crowd himself. Locke sighed briefly before toggling a quick tone on his comm. The two responding tones assured him that their communication system was working.

Methyas walked carefully through the spaceport, his connection to the Force reaching out like tentacles as he scanned the area. Locke and Atra had to be a tad more conventional, relying on their eyes to scan the crowd. The whole group was tense, and rightfully so. Atra gave a quick glance over his shoulder, spotting Locke and Methyas in the crowd. The fact that he was free of his confines was still new and hadn’t quite sunk in. Just how free was he though? Sure, he may not be able to the walls of his cell but that didn’t mean it wasn’t there. He had slipped from the bondage of Macron’s experiments and now acted the dutiful lad to Methyas. It would be stupid for them not to act suspicious, but Methyas had placed trust in Atra, trust that may or may not be deserved. Flexing his fist slightly Atra’s left hand pressed against his temple, hoping to ease some of the coming pain of his headaches. Distracted, Atra found himself colliding with a rather solid feeling passerby.

“Sorry.” Atra muttered quickly as he refocused his attention on wear he was going. He could almost hear Locke scoffing at his carelessness from across the spaceport. It took a few seconds, probably longer than it should have, for realization to dawn on Atra. Turning slowly he focused his gaze on the man he had collided with. While the man wore humble robes, maybe those of a scholar, there was nothing to belie the solid feeling he had felt when they met. The feeling had been familiar, almost metallic. His eyes opened slightly as he realized that the man must be concealing armor of some kind.

Through the force Methyas could hear the silent self insults of Atra as he felt the man rushing through the crowd. Reaching for his communicator the Miraluka subtly established a connection. “Something wrong, Atra?” He spoke softly, keeping up his casual appearance. Locke’s attention perked up as he awaited the response, curious as to what was going on.

Atra’s response came quickly, sounding metallic and cold via the communicator’s simple speaker system. “Dunno, I’ll let you know in a minute.”

“We’re supposed to be working together.” Locke chimed in, frustrated at the young man’s stubborn response.

“And you’ll know when I do.” Atra’s response was quick and the finality of a comm clicking off signaled the end of the conversation.

Gritting his teeth in frustration Locke scanned the spaceport, trying to locate Atra so he could get a sense of what was going on. The ex-prisoner was untrained, not to mention unaccustomed to the ways of the Brotherhood. The coordination and professionalism needed for an operation such as this couldn’t afford stupid mistakes. Squinting through the crowd he couldn’t quite spot Atra, despite the man’s height. A quick movement to the left revealed Methyas moving methodically through the crowd. Knowing the man had senses beyond his own Locke turned quickly and followed, hoping the Miraluka was moving towards Atra.

Kel Rasha Interstellar Spaceport, ~35 Kilometers North of Kel Rasha
Aeotheran

The spaceport was crowded and the temperate locale wasn't helping with the Miralula's comfortability under the Tapani overcoat, yet the sweltering conditions were one of the furthest thing from the Jedi's mind as he focused on his apprentice. The young man had become almost transfixed on his target as he moved as swiftly as he could manage through the crowded spaceport, his mild uneasiness related to the man he had encountered seeped through the newfound bond between Master and Apprentice. While Atra moved to keep up with his prey, Methyas moved along the edges of the crowd in an attempt to intercept them; the frustrated Proconsul a few meters back trying to close the distance with Methyas.

As the distance closed between Methyas and Atra, the Miraluka sudden stopped turning to look at Locke as he made a small yet curt motion to let the Krath know he wanted him to stop at his side; the Prelate's own mid touching upon his apprentice's as his thoughts slipped in just barely, "Keep after him, Atra; we're causing a bit of a fuss trying to follow you, we'll use one of the service corridors to head you off."

Methyas knew not to expect a response, but he knew that his young padawan would have begun to be accustomed to his Master's presence in his mind. As the pair waited, Locke glanced about for Atra and his eyes spotted the young Corellian seconds before Methyas' hand shot out before him, his voice following it just loud enough for the Proconsul to hear him, "We have too many eyes on us and we'll cause too much alarm if we keep up this pursuit."

Methyas could feel Locke's ire suddenly turn to him before he continued, "We'll take the service corridors and head them off, it'll give us a chance to try and collect ourselves before we take him down."

A nod was the response, partially lost on the Miraluka, as he responded, "Fine, but I want an explanation on what's going on."

Methyas moved fluidly, spinning on his heel and starting back towards the nearest doorway for the service corridor. It was a leap of faith on Locke's part, putting his faith in the word and trust and his companion; the same faith that Methyas now placed in his padawan and the guidance of the Force. The door opened swiftly and the pair of Jedi started down it just as quickly as their legs would carry them, Methyas' voice rising up as soon as the door shut behind them, "He's uneasy, there's something about the scholar he's following that's out of place. I've only gotten whisps of his thoughts, but there's something metalic."

Locke's eyes widened for a moment before he spoke up, "Have you heard from Mirado yet? Are there any other Sadowans in the area?"

Methyas simply shook his head as he started down another branch of the corridor, trying to head off his apprentice, "I think Mirado's preoccupied, I'd have to try speaking to him directly if I wanted his attention. I can faintly feel other signatures, but they're too far away to be in the spaceport."

Locke paused for less than a second trying to think of how Methyas would speak directly with his brother before he remembered their bond, his mind shifting towards the bad news Methyas had delivered instead, "Alright, then we'll have to move quickly. Are we too much further now?"

Kel Rasha Interstellar Spaceport, ~35 Kilometers North of Kel Rasha
Aeotheran

“It isn’t too much further, “ Methyas said as the two Dark Jedi ran down the service corridor. A few maintenance crews stopped what they were doing to look at the two strangely-dressed individuals barreling down the corridor, but the Jedi didn’t give them a chance to say anything. Locke followed Methyas, trusting the Miraluka’s Force sensitivity to track his apprentice. As they came to an intersection, Methyas stopped and held up his hand.

“What is it?” Locke asked impatiently. He didn’t like relying on someone else’s abilities so much when he couldn’t see anything himself; though he was beginning to get used to Methyas’s abilities.

“If Atra’s course is correct, the man he is pursuing will pass through here, “ Methyas said.

“Are you sure?” Locke asked. “Why here?” He didn’t think they had come near far enough to head off their target.

“Yes, this is the logical course for someone trying to evade us.“ Methyas answered patiently.

“Good.” Locke said, pressing himself against the wall in the intersection, motioning Methyas to do the same. They waited for a few painstaking minutes before hearing footsteps. A balding, middle-aged man came running by them, and as he passed by, Methyas thrust out an arm, palm outward. The man stopped suddenly, as if held by an invisible force.

“What the-” he began, cut off as Atra appeared and hit him with both fists outstretched in the lower back. The man collapsed to the ground as Methyas lowered his arm. Atra pinned him in place, covering his mouth to keep him from crying out.

“We have to find a secluded place, “ Locke said. He nodded toward Methyas, not saying his name. “Find us an empty warehouse.”

Methyas was silent for a moment. Then he turned to his side and pointed. Locke nodded to Atra, and the three headed down the corridor, all using the Force to speed up as they dragged the man to the warehouse’s entrance.

As they ducked inside, the musty scent of stagnant dust met Locke’s nostrils. This place had clearly not been occupied for a long while. Even so, bright, sporadic lights lit it, no doubt hooked up to the spaceport’s power grid. The whole space was perhaps the size of a smashball field, with a low ceiling and columns in a grid formation supporting it. There were a few crates, but aside from that nothing else was present.

“Perfect, “ Locke said. He nodded to Atra and pointed to a pillar in the middle of the chamber as Methyas locked the door behind them. Atra let go of the man, roughly pushing him against one of the columns. He looked quickly between the three of them. “Who the hell are you?” He said.

Atra gave him a quick punch to the stomach, knocking the wind out of him and causing the man to sag against the pillar. Locke reached down, tearing the man’s shirt open in the front, whistling at the mess of explosives he found there. Trusting the Force and his limited experience with explosives during the ‘War, Locke guessed that it wasn’t armed. “Where were you going with that?” he asked.

The man spit on the ground in front of him. “What makes you think I’m going to tell you?”

Locke thought for a moment. He had never been an interrogator before. “Because I asked, “ he said, “and you have nowhere to go. No one will hear you here.”

The man just laughed. “Is that a threat? You won’t touch me. Do you think I don’t know who you are? That’s some disguise.”

Feeling his anger build, Locke quickly crushed it. How did this man know about them? Was he bluffing? Methyas was the one to counter the man’s taunt. “If you know who we are, surely you know what we are capable of, ” he said, letting no hint of emotion enter his voice.

“Sure, “ the man laughed, “ but you won’t resort to torture. I know your reputation for...kindness.” He almost spat the last word.

“Why are you fighting us then?” Locke asked.

The man laughed. “Why not? Dlarit’s as corrupt as ever. It’s time for a change around here, and it’s been far too long. And two goody-two-shoes don’t make up for a legion of cocky bastards, that’s for sure. There’s any number of reasons. You’ll find one day that you’ll have more enemies then you bastards can put down.”

“Tell us what your goal is, and who you are working for, and we might let you live, “ Locke said evenly.

Just as before, the man laughed, tauntingly. “Whatever man.”

His anger seething, but still controlled, Locke looked at Methyas, then Atra, then made a decision and leaned close to the man, staring at him. “If you don’t tell us what you’re doing here, I will kill you, here and now.” Locke felt something in the Force from Methyas; he thought it might have been disappointment. Locke ignored it, lives were at stake here, the lives of his people.

The man stared back into Locke’s eyes, and then spit in his face. “Kriff’ you, he said.” Locke stood up, turning away, his anger almost at it’s boiling point. He quickly cleaned his face with part of the robe he wore.

Methyas must have sensed that Locke was on edge, because he spoke up next. “If you know who we are, I suppose we could just turn you over to our boss.” Methyas had the willpower of a stone, Locke thought. He could feel the man’s presence change from cocky to fearful. He spun around. Why didn’t I think of that?

“Fine, “ the man said, clearly trying to conceal fear. “I’m part of a team. We’re supposed to blow up the spaceport. Specifically hangar block C. I-I’m just doing it for the money. Please, I’m serious. Don’t turn me over to t-that madman!”

Locke looked to Methyas. “Block C, that’s the government’s executive block. Where are the others?” Locke demanded.

Before the man could respond, Methyas looked toward the door they had come in, a frown on his face. Locke tensed; he knew if Methyas was ‘looking’ in a direction, something was probably going on.

Suddenly the door they had locked behind them exploded inward, blaster fire streaking through the smoke before it could clear. Almost as one the three Dark Jedi took up positions behind pillars. “We have to get out of here, “ Locke said, “find those explosives and stop this operation.”

Kel Rasha Interstellar Spaceport, ~35 Kilometers North of Kel Rasha
Aeotheran

The look on Atra's face as he glared across the chaos to Locke dripped with sarcasm as he listened to the Proconsul's words. "Really?" He called out over the blaster fire, glancing between bursts to get a better idea of what was going on. "You don't say."

Locke scoffed angrily as Methyas began to grow tired of mediating between the two, calming them through the Force. "Let's keep our attention on the current problem, shall we?" The Miraluka's voice was weary, and the two arguing men caught on quickly. Nodding in acknowledgement Locke and Atra set aside their feelings and turned to the task at hand. Atra had no weapons to speak of, a bit of a problem given the current situation. Locke had his saber, hidden away, and Methyas was never without help. His ally was the Force after all. Centering himself the Miraluka reached out to the minds of his companions, his meaning conveyed to their thoughts. I will create a distraction so Atra can get in close. I trust you can handle yourself, Locke.

Wasting little time Locke reached for his saber, the blade hissing to life with a vengeful glow. The responding gasps showed their attackers weren't expecting such an opponent. The hesitation was enough time for Locke to close the gap. Blaster fire errupted once more but the humming blur of Locke's blade formed a shield before him, deflecting the deadly energy. Atra sprang from his cover nearby, his master slamming a fistful of Force into the ground before their attackers. The shockwave caused the ground to buckle and debris scattered into the air. It was all the distraction Atra needed. Dropping low the Corellian sprang upon his attackers, wrapping his arms around the nearest leg he could find. The man screamed in surprise as he crashed to the ground, Atra's fists the only answer to be found.

As Atra turned flesh to pulp Methyas stepped from cover, using the Force to subdue the remaining assailants. He did his best to pin or knockout instead of outright killing. It would have been more efficient to just remove the threat entirely, but then he would be betraying something deep inside himself. Locke moved in similar fashion, though his motives were different. His blade hummed a melodic rhythym as he seperated hand from wrist, foot from leg, and arm from shoulder. His strikes weren't meant to be fatal, the lightsaber having the fortunate quality of cauterizing the wounds it inflicts.

Whilst the two trained Jedi made short work of their targets Atra was turning to his second foe as pain seared through his skull. "Damnit" He seethed as the pain stunned him temporarily. The remaining terrorist seized the opportunity as he made a mad dash down the hallway. Cursing himself mentally and verbally Atra did his best to move but was frozen on his knees. Clutching his skull, his eyes held tightly shut, Atra thrust out his hand as if to reach out and grab the fleeing man. Though he hadn't physically touched anything he somehow knew the man was in his grasp. Pulling back sharply, as if tugging on a rope, he opened his eyes to see the man fall flat on his face, as if someone had tripped him. Rising to his feet Atra gritted his teeth. As he approached the man he tried to stand, Atra's hand pushing down in response, the invisible pressure pushing him back down each time. The man finally hopped to his feet, against all odds, turning to face Atra.

"Stay down!" Atra roared as he grabbed the man by the face, pushing him back down into the ground. The resulting crunch and explosion of gore shocked even Atra. His hand was suddenly covered in thick fluid. Closing his eyes tightly Atra let go slowly and stepped back, trying not to focus on the splatter mark exploding from behind the man's head. Turning slowly he felt the pain return, this time dulled. Confusion accompanied it as he turned to look at Methyas and Locke. The three stood in silence a moment, the only sound coming from those terrorists still alive as they mumbled in pain. Locke and Methyas exchanged a quick glance before Locke once more took command of the situation.

"I highly doubt that was their main force, we need to get to that hangar."

Abandoned Warehouse, Kel Rasha Interstellar Spaceport, ~35 Kilometers North of Kel Rasha
Aeotheran

As Locke started to move towards the exit, Methyas clicked on his communicator as his voice rose up swiftly, obviously the channel had been queued up quickly and deliberately, "Lieutenant, we need a security team at the following co-ordinates as soon as possible for containment and clean-up. Mostly live captures, we'll need them processed."

A small pause caused a moment of uncomfortable silence before the Miraluka's voice continued, firmness behind the words coming forth, "Unusual as it may be, these are your orders Lieutenant. Also see if you can co-ordinate with local Security units to redirect traffic away from Hanger Block C, we have a suspected threat which myself and Vice-President Sonjie and an additional Commander will be investigating; we will want as few civilians as possible without making a fuss or causing a scene."

Another pause caused Locke to glance at Methyas swiftly before the Miraluka signaled for the pair to start towards their destination without him, "Yes, confirmed; three DSOG Foxtrot Uniforms. All local units are to ignore formal chain of command, supersede Marshal Commanders and report directly to the Vice-President himself. Confirmed, all local military units will be reporting to the Board of Directors."

The conversation ended quickly from there, the former Consul focusing on keeping their attackers subdued while maintaining a focus on the location of his padawan and Proconsul; he hadn't intended to supersede Locke's authority by requesting a team to clean up this mess but he had wanted to ensure they would be dealt with appropriately, without being killed on sight...as unlikely as that would be once they were in the care of the Special Operations Group and within reach of other Sadowans.

The Jedi's distracted mind came to focus as a small detachment of DSOG troopers came storming down the hall, entering the warehouse swiftly to cuff and secure the terrorists as swiftly as they could as the Lieutenant stepped up to Methyas, swinging his hand up into a crisp salute as the Miraluka responded to it, the officer's voice rising through his vocabulator as he spoke, "I think we'll have it from here, Marshal Commander. Police and other Security units have already begun their evacuation of Hanger Block C, the Spaceport authority has also begun to redirect flights to different gates."

"Thank you, Lieutenant. Ensure these men are brought from here as quietly as possible, we'll want to see if we can divine any information from these guys about their employer."

The Lieutenant simply nodded sharply as Methyas left the room, working his ways through the corridors and towards the signatures of both his padawan and Locke; the pair had to be closing on the Hanger Block now and he didn't want to leave the two in a spot where they could possibly be in a world of trouble. His movements were swift and deliberate, his feet moving as swiftly as they could across the concrete floor with a muffled thud beneath the Tapani robes he wore as a disguise. With a potential hazard as large as this, he couldn't risk alarming the civilians within the spaceport but he needed to reach the hanger block as quickly as possible.

Turning swiftly, he found himself faced with a large crowd, the passengers from one of the displaced transports; a small sigh escaped the Miraluka as he inwardly cursed himself over his lack of foresight into such an issue. Focusing instead on his assets, he reached out towards his padawan, feeling the slight tug at his thoughts as Atra's mind recoiled from the sudden presence of another; the pair had already rounded the last few corners and carved their path through the crowds towards the hangers. This one piece of information alone was enough to cause the Prelate to tense: if their adversaries had responded so harshly to them capturing a single one of their men, how would they respond if their objective were to be placed at risk?

The young Jedi swallowed his concern, it was an issue but he couldn't let the worry consume him. Another thought crossed his mind instead, a sly smile crossing his face as he began to reach out once more. This time he was focused locally, his gaze scanning the area about him before the Force itself leapt to his call, snapping forth like a great whip. The crowd suddenly started to attention, a few shrieks and screams filling the hall around him as people started crying out about hearing an explosion down the hall. Some people didn't believe them, claiming to have heard nothing; but the sudden possibility that there could have been something wrong had them on the edge. Another snap, the Prelate's mastery of the Mind Trick had been a welcome gift from his Master before the war.

Self control was washed away as the "sound" of another explosion could be heard slightly closer this time, the crowd's mind was easy enough to manipulate once the seed of doubt had been placed; something Methyas was a little disappointed in himself for, but for the greater good. Chaos erupted through the hall, people suddenly panicking that the terrorists had come for them here. The reasoning behind the Miraluka's sly smile had come to light as a single thought passed through his head, "Chaos, yet harmony."

While this was a slightly perverted sense of the particular tenant of the code, it did in fact seem particularly fitting here as he began to move through the mess of people; amongst the Chaos these people seemed to somewhat work together, creating pathways between each other for Methyas to walk along towards his goal. It took longer than he had anticipated, but shorter than it would have been for him to have tried to push his way through the waiting crowd. He rubbed at a few tender areas along his body as he had a few unfortunate encounters with several elbows or shoulders from the public he had just crazed, his mind torn between the people and his allies further ahead as he did so.

Another deep breath centered the Jedi as he stood at a corner nearby corner, he knew what the right thing to do was. Focusing once more, the Force came to his call; people trying to calm each other as they cried out about an announcement over the loudspeaker. As the mess started to calm, the message appeared to be clearer to them about security staff reporting the explosion outside of the facility upon the tarmac and the facility itself going into lock-down. A calm soothing feeling began to emanate across the crowd, just enough for them all to simmer down and relax enough that the Prelate was happy with the results. He felt drained, the focus required to both calm the people and maintain an elaborate trick was more than he had been accustomed to in a long time, especially with the number of people present.

Starting at a walk down the hall, Methyas kept his breathing steady as he could feel his energy reserves returning to him; he just hoped that he would have enough of a reserve when he met up with Locke and Atra.

Kel Rasha Interstellar Spaceport, ~35 Kilometers North of Kel Rasha
Aeotheran

As the two Dark Jedi sprinted toward Hangar Block C, Locke quickly removed his eye wear so the Dlarit Special Operations Group personnel would be able to identify him. When they emerged into public again, a few civilians gave him startled glances of recognition. They quickly met up with a group of Dlarit personnel, who provided Locke with a blaster and gave Atra a wary look. “He’s with me, “ Locke said, “give him a weapon.”

Pushing to the front of the group, Locke noted that the operatives had managed to keep the public back, leaving the Hangar Block empty. “Good work, “ he said, commending the speed and efficiency of the Special Operations forces. “Bomb squads?”

“Already on scene Sir, “ one of the soldiers standing near him said.

“Good, “ Locke replied. He would have liked to be in there himself, making sure it was safe for his people, but reluctantly realized it wasn’t his place. “Now we just need to-”

Suddenly, he heard the loud thunder-crack of a long range slugthrower firing. He ducked instinctively, just as the soldiers and Atra did as well. In contrast, the crowd panicked, running in all directions, breaking the line of soldiers in their primal fear and frantically running into the Hangar Block.

“Sir, “ one of the soldiers said, “you’ve been wounded!”

Locke felt it then, somewhere in his chest. He slipped his hand up under his robe and felt blood. One of the soldiers quickly pulled the robe off him and tried to ease Locke down, but he shrugged him off, holding his palm over the wound. “Clear the hangar! “ he shouted, looking frantically over the crowd at the second level of the spaceport’s main concourse, searching for the source of the shot. “Secure the concourse.”

In the confusion, blaster bolts began to lance out at them, dropping two of the soldiers. The rest returned fire, but had a difficult time finding the source of their enemy. Locke finally let the soldiers around him lower him to the ground as the wound caught up with him, his breathing becoming labored. He struggled to stay conscious, more for his men then for anything - and, he realized, because he didn’t trust Atra to lead them yet. It was proving more difficult by the moment. There was only one way he could get back into this fight quickly. Normal medical techniques wouldn’t do it.

“Methyas, “ he whispered, before darkness closed in around his vision.

Kel Rasha Interstellar Spaceport, ~35 Kilometers North of Kel Rasha
Aeotheran

Gripping his blaster tightly Atra pressed his back against the cover, staring across at Locke's limp form. His muttered curses were repetitive and to the point. He may be a commander but that was merely in title. He didn't know any of these soldiers, he didn't know the protocals, and he most definately didn't know anything about proper squad procedure. Blaster fire streaked past as darkness closed in on Locke, mild panic setting in for Atra. "Where are you, Methyhas?" He spoke through gritted teeth as his mind worked.

Another soldier fell to the ground dead, a glowing hole in the front of his helmet. The world quieted as the young man examined what was going on around him. They were pinned down by a force that obviously had less training, but more tenacity. If they could coordinate their fire they could win. The problem was finding the targets. The familiar pain within his skull gave Atra a dull reminder.

"You there!" Atra shouted at the nearest soldier, making sure he had his attention. "I need your team to cover me while I pinpoint our targets."

The soldier seemed to contemplate the order for a moment, unsure of what to make of the newcomer. Maybe it was the look in Atra's eyes, or some moment of clarity for the man, but after what seemed like forever he gave Atra the nod as he broke from cover. Blaster fire flashed through the concourse in both directions, deflecting attention from Atra for a few precious moments. Kneeling down Atra focused his gaze on the main concourse, pressing his hand to his forhead as the gold starburst around his iris flashed. "Two... no... Three targets, upper level, left side." The soldiers reacted on instanct, a gift of their training. Their fire focused in on the targets, cutting some of the incoming threat a bit in response.

They had to return to cover quickly, Atra panting slightly as he held his eyes shut tight. The Dlarit personnel around him didn't question what he had done, nor his current state, but were very much thankful for the help. Taking a deep breath the newfound apprentice leaned out from cover, firing shots blindly. They needed to pinpoint the location of the remaining fighters and he didn't have the strength for a repeat performance. Their best bet was to draw fire and triangulate the position from there.

"Eyes up, I'm gonna make myself look pretty, you make sure I don't fry." Atra's commands were becoming more fluid, the personnel more apt to react efficiently. Rolling from cover Atra made a break for the nearest railing. Blaster fire followed his footsteps as he hopped over the rail and into a lower level. Sliding across the ground he planted his back firmly into cover once more as he watched the soldiers take aim and fire with deadly efficiency, a small smile of pride on his face.

Hanger Block C, Kel Rasha Interstellar Spaceport, ~35 Kilometers North of Kel Rasha
Aeotheran

Blaster fire. Things had definitely taken that turn for the worse Methyas had anticipated, again he chastised himself for not considering this angle sooner; a cornered Nexu always fights harder. Moving at a brisk pace, the Miraluka was happy that the distance from their hall to this Block took as long as it did; his reserves had built up enough that he would be an asset again so long as he didn't need to call too deeply upon them. As he rounded the corner, the sounds and sights of combat struck him like a wall. It was then he realized why things had gone so poorly. There were too many DSOG troopers, they were far more efficient than he'd have liked and had created a visible divide within the concourse area between the cornered terrorists and the troopers themselves.

A small curse escaped the Prelate's lips as he instinctively called upon the Force, feeding himself information of the surrounding area; the dead, the injured, those fighting and those causing chaos. His sight was a boon in this battlefield, allowing him to perceive things that beings born with natural sight could not. The Force was not just his ally by choice, but by necessity; his thoughts mentally flagging targets of interest as quickly as he could as he prepared to rattle off a series of commands. Taking a single step forward, his combat mentality crashed down around him as another cry from the Force slapped him across the face.

The injured; there were Troopers who would survive this endeavour without need for immediate care and others who weren't going to survive even with care, but none of the enlisted were the cause of his change in mentality. It was his Proconsul. The Miraluka could feel the Priest's pain and concern emanating through the Force, but it was more than that...a potentially fatal wound to the chest if he didn't have assistance now. Moments passed in mere seconds as the Jedi's mind processed his options. If he didn't act to save Locke the Clan would lose a valuable asset but if he delayed...there was no telling the damage these terrorists would cause the Corporation, how many innocent lives would be lost. He doubted that this decision would be easy for anyone, even the most grizzled ancients of the Clan. The Clan could always rebuild what was destroyed, as they had before, and the civilians could be replaced through make-work projects. But on the other hand, the life of a Dark Jedi could be replaced by another, the Force working in mysterious ways.

There was more to this though...the mantra, the code itself spoke of how life itself was precious and important in all facets. Taking in a deep breath, Methyas made his decision with only a minute or two having passed. His mind snapped swiftly to his apprentice, his mental list and "visual" cues for the location of targets leaping into the young Corellian's mind from his Master as Methyas turned his own attention to Locke. The troops that spotted him looked confused for only a moment before the Prelate grasped the back of the Tapani headgear, tearing it off and tossing it aside as his sightless gaze remained transfixed on the prone figure of the Krath. A soldier shouted out for orders, understanding that the Marshal Commander's decisions held greater weight than that of the Commander in the Concourse itself. Methyas simply pointed in the general direction of Atra and barked out his response, "Listen to Commander Ventus! I'll deal with the Vice-President."

Reaching outward, Methyas grasped the young Priest with his tendrils of the Force; guiding him slowly mere milimetres above the floor with his mind until he was safely behind some form of cover. As soon as his strides had drawn him behind the large marble column beside Locke, Methyas slipped swiftly into a knelt position and began to focus upon the young man. Finding the wound was no trouble but healing it would take all of his focus, and most likely drain his reserves until he could have a few moments to restore them. Another deep breath settled the Jedi as he quietly folded his hands within his lap, his mind transfixed upon the Priest's wound as he could feel the tendrils of the Force flowing through and from him to answer his call. He was certain the sudden weight of his Force presence upon Locke was an added discomfort, but he needed to allow himself to be given over to the Force. Within his own sight, the brilliant light which now passed between them was a far-cry from the darkness that hung like a cheap shroud over the Jedi, but it was no matter; it could easily be written away as an effect from the healing.

A soothing cool touch, that's what the Force felt like upon the Proconsul's skin as his body seemingly regenerated what was injured, thin wisps of the Force dancing around and through the wound itself acting as an ethereal seamstress for organics. As the wound repaired itself, the pain itself would dissipate too, though the embrace of the Force would have dulled most of it; Methyas wasn't even certain if Locke was conscious or not. A few more moments of silence passed and the sweat was now beading visible across the Miraluka's brow as his reserves dipped into the danger zone; the strain of utilizing such a powerful talent moments after recovering from already nearly tapping out his reserves were trying on him. Seconds felt like minutes, minutes felt like hours, but the task was finally completed with Methyas breathing deeply, steadily. How long had it been that he had remained focused? It couldn't have been too long considering the firefight drove on around them, but the sounds of combat had drifted further away and become more fierce...hopefully Atra was still fairing well leading the troops.

Time had seemed to have lost its place for the Miraluka as he felt a dull tug at his senses from Atra, his young padawan still assuredly alive and kicking, as was Locke before him. The Priest's breathing was still steady, but was he conscious? Would he be able to help the young Sadowan against the terrorists? Methyas guessed there was only one way to find out, his voice rising up with a joking tone just enough to be heard by Locke if he were awake, "Were did you learn to fight? I'm pretty sure standing out in the open wasn't standard procedure during the Vong war?"

Hanger Block C, Kel Rasha Interstellar Spaceport, ~35 Kilometers North of Kel Rasha
Aeotheran


What were you thinking? Locke asked himself. He had thought the battle won. Overconfidence is death, his inner voice said, even with the Force you are still only mortal. Methyas’s words echoed Locke’s thoughts as he came to. “I don’t have a good response for that, “ he muttered. “Thanks, “ he said a bit more loudly. He tried to sit up, but his head spun.

“You might need rest, “ Methyas said.

Locke peered up at him, feeling more than seeing. “You don’t seem to be doing so great yourself. When are you going to teach me to do that?”

“When you’re ready.”

“What a Jedi-like response, Methyas. I’m always ready.” Locke forced himself to sit up, the world spinning. He covered his mouth to prevent himself from sicking up, while looking around. “We’re not doing too good.”

“You got ambushed, remember?”

“Yeah, “ Locke said. “Uh...Atra, how’s he doing?”

Methyas was silent for a moment. He smiled. “He’s leading your forces.”

“Really?” Locke said incredulously. “How’s he doing?” At the moment, considering how sick he felt, Locke was content to let someone else lead the Dlarit personnel.

“It’s too hard to tell from this distance, “ Methyas said, “but the fighting has moved.”

“Ah, “ Locke thought aloud, “they’re retreating because they’ve hit their target and everyone’s on high alert now. They consider this a victory. Well, I’m still alive.” He held his head back and laughed. “You hear that?” he said to no one in particular, his voice rising. “I’m still alive!” he finished with a shout, the few troopers around looking at him with a start, slight grins briefly slipping across their faces.

Locke stopped as the world swirled around. It was all he could do to focus on his next words. “Trooper, “ he said, gesturing from the nearest soldier to Methyas. “Give this man first aid.”

“There’s really no cure for-” Methyas began.

“Do you have something for stubborn overexertion? No? Give him a cold pack or something, it’s sweltering out here!” Locke looked to Methyas, lowering his voice, “you can’t keep doing everything.”

“I don’t do everything,” Methyas said.

“Stop being humble, “ Locke said. “I can feel it, you’re at the limit. You’d be an easy target right now if they weren’t retreating.”

“You would be dead...” Methyas began.

“That’s true, “ Locke said. “That’s true. The fact remains, I rely on you too much. I was a self-sufficient soldier once, but since coming to the Brotherhood I’ve been too busy leading to think of my own abilities. I need to learn.”

“Didn’t Teu teach you?” Methyas asked.

“Yes...she taught me how to open myself to the Force, and how to fight...but I obviously I didn’t learn self-preservation. I want to heal like you do. Back then I was only focused on the damage I could do; I never thought of what I could create.” He sighed, lowering his voice to a whisper. “I can’t protect others if I’m dead.”

“I already have an apprentice, Locke, “ Methyas pointed out.

“I know, “ Locke said, “and he needs your guidance a lot. I need help, though. I’ve been trying to be independent, but all I’ve done is nearly gotten myself killed.”

“and made Dlarit personnel like their leader, “ Methyas added.

“Perhaps, “ Locke said, brushing away the complement. He had never been quite sure how to receive complements. “Maybe I’ll get in touch with Teu again, or someone else, but not right now. I know you’re going to say it.”

“We need to focus on the matter at hand.”

“Yes, “ Locke agreed. “It pains me to think that Atra is out there alone.” Locke got up to one knee, coughing as the world spun. He was improving, but not fast enough. Methyas began to stand up. “No, you’re not going, you’ve done enough. Rest. Help me decide where to go next, we have to stay ahead of these terrorists.” Methyas paused, as if to say something, before nodding.

Locke signaled to another Dlarit soldier. “What’s the situation?”

“The unit with Commander Ventus has pushed the enemy back to a corner, but they’re proving more difficult to eradicate than previously expected. The hangar block is clear and our teams have disabled the explosives.”

“Excellent, “ Locke said. “Keep a small detachment here and send reinforcements to assist Commander Ventus. I don’t want any more unnecessary causalities today. When they finish, tell him I said to return here.” The soldier saluted and gave the necessary orders, while Locke sat back down and breathed deeply. Somewhere in the back of his mind, buried under all of his other thoughts, an old friend was beginning to surface: his latent drive for knowledge. He would learn, and there would not be another situation like today.

Concourse, Kel Rasha Interstellar Spaceport, ~35 Kilometers North of Kel Rasha
Aeotheran

"Get to cover!"

Atra's shoulder was on fire. He paid the wound no mind as he moved forward with his squad. Five years in seclusion may have dulled his senses and knowledge but old instincts never die. His father had spent years on training him in hand to hand combat and battle philosophy. It had been subtle, as far as Atra knew they were humble farmers, but as the battle had raged around him old lessons gained new meaning. The squad hadn't taken long to warm up to him, reacting with mechanical speed as he fell into his new roll.

"Commander, we have them pinned down."

He nodded in recognition as he checked his blaster. He wasn't the best shot, rarely ever having held one before, but with the specialists around him he hadn't needed it. His power cell was drained, odd, he hadn't remembered that happening. "Check your power cells."

"No need." Came the response, an almost insulted tone to the soldier's voice. "We still have some shots left in us."

As he acknowledged the soldier with an apologetic look Atra thought back to Locke's limp form. He wasn't overly fond of the man, not yet at least, but he had grown not to dislike him outright. For all he knew the Proconsul was already dead, and these men had killed him. "There will be no quarter... Kill them."

A smile spread across the collective faces of the squad as he heard their power packs whir to life. Turning towards their soon to be victims a last rush came upon them. The terrorists were panicked, no where left to run. As far as they were concerned, they had taken their target; now they had nothing left to live for. Blaster fire rang out once more as the remnants charged. There were fewer shots left than Atra had expected, but many of the onslaughting forces were gunned down as they ran. Collapsing upon the squad what appeared to be the leader made a desperate lunge for Atra.

A smirk crossed the young man's face as he stepped to the side. The man had expected Atra to stand and fight, he had thrown all his momentum into the lunge and now found his path filled with empty air. Putting out an arm Atra caught the terrorist, spinning around with the momentum. As his weight shifted Atra brought a palm strike into the back of the man's skull, releasing him to fall straight forward. Crashing to the ground with a groan the man shifted once more, hopping to his feet quickly. Atra was ready, bringing his fist across the man's jaw as he rose. The resounding crunch was sickening, blood glistening on his knuckles. Atra was not a small man, standing at 6'4" he had a fair bit of muscle behind him; muscle that was brought to bear on the man before him. Kneeling down Atra grabbed the man by the collar, raising his right fist slowly into the air.

"Commander Ventus!"

Atra's head snapped to the side, seeing the man running towards him.

"Vice-President Locke requests your presence back in the Hangar Block."

"Does he now?" Atra raised an eyebrow as he rose to his feet, glancing down at the man. "Looks like you're not dead, at least not yet anyway. Bring him with us."

The squad moved quickly, already forming a bond with their newfound commander. The terrorist leader was restrained in but a moment and they were already on their way to Hangar Block C. Atra smirked as he spotted Locke and Methyas, both looking like they'd seen better days as he winced silently about the blaster wound to his shoulder. "Hey there Locke, not dead I see. Brilliant strategy back there. Getting shot by a slug is a sure fire way of finding our targets." Atra's sarcasm was thick, but it belied the concern he had felt over the man's possible death.

Turning slowly Locke grimaced, having hoped that somehow in all the chaos Atra had found himself a mental filter. Methyas merely smiled, not willing to comment on the matter. "You, on the other hand." Methyas turned as Atra addressed him. "You look like you need a nap, old man."

Inside the Great Sadow Library
Underneath Alabrek Citadel, Tarthos

The surface of Xanos’s hand rippled as the discarded book on the floor shot up into his waiting palm. In his mind, he heard the fading animus of whoever had mishandled the ancient tome, but the sound quickly passed. The Prophet looked down at the words scratched in the leather binding’s wrinkled spine. Chwûq Kyantuska. For all his indifference to most things, it aggrieved him to see such wanton disregard for a relic of such antiquity. “Blackest Thoughts,” said the Falleen, reciting the translation in Basic.

Sildrin stepped next to Xanos and lowered her blind eyes to the book. “Who did this?”

Not answering, Xanos shut his eyes and reached out into the unending shelves and corridors of the sprawling library for anything that was amiss. Even having turned his back on Sadow many years ago, it did not change the blood he still shared with those handful who were welcome within these hallowed halls. The midi-chlorians in his green veins writhed again, the Force itself fighting back against his inner eye, as if something, or someone, was attempting to block him.

The Falleen opened his eyes again. Beside him, he saw a bead of sweat slide down Sildrin’s forehead. “If they are still here,” said Xanos, finally answering her question, “they are shielding their thoughts.”

It would not have been a difficult task to achieve. Inside the Great Library, the Force forever warped and twisted, bent by the dark energies that pressed upon the mind of all who dared wander its halls. Back before it had closed its doors to all but the Clan’s Elders, many a weak minded journeyman had been driven mad, bombarded by the ancient knowledge locked in Naga Sadow’s treasured archives.

Sildrin furrowed her brow, clearly trying to think about something whilst simultaneously blocking out the call of the towering shelves of books and datacrons. “Do you think the attacks outside were—?”

“A distraction?” Xanos finished for her. “Exactly, Lady Dragon.”

Though the Falleen kept his voice neutral, his ire rippled through his veins again. A distraction their presence here was indeed. But it was the price for his former apprentice’s assistance; Macron knew his old master wanted to examine the Orbs of Power on Sepros, and the Consul was not going to roll over and hand them to the two Apostates without first getting something in return. Even though the Grand Master himself may have pardoned them, the Sons of Sadow had yet to absolve Darth Vexatus the Betrayer for his crimes.

Master.

Trevarus’s reply was instant. Sildrin must have heard it too. “He’s bringing Jeric,” she said, though she obviously knew that Xanos was already aware of his Master’s actions. They would find these infiltrators and deal with them – then Macron could no longer justify his stalling. “Should we wait, or...?” Her hand slowly edged toward the lightsaber hanging on her belt.

Xanos held up a hand for her to stop. “No weapons,” he said, shaking his head. They didn’t want to damage the archives. “And no, we’re not waiting.” The Dark Prophet began down the corridor into the library. The sooner they found the intruders, the sooner they could get to Sepros.

The sooner he could find an answer to his body’s degradation.

Concourse, Hanger Block C
Kel Rasha Interstellar Spaceport, ~35 Kilometers North of Kel Rasha
Aeotheran

It was obvious to the Miraluka that things had not gone anywhere near as well as they could have, however Atra's chipper attitude was definitely keeping the soldiers in a great mood. Methyas simply smiled as his padawan joked with him before he responded, "I believe we all need at least a bit of a rest and I'm certain our good friends here will be able to deal with cleaning this mess up."

While a few of the younger troops seemed to tense as Methyas finished speaking, the older troopers simply smiled and chuckled at the words of the former Consul. As threatening as the Jedi could be with all his power, he was truly as threatening as a slumbering Bantha; one of the few leaders of the Corporation who wouldn't send these men to their death without a damn good reason. The trio that stood there now were an unexpected bunch: two were a known factor now standing with a wildcard. But none of that mattered as Locke's mind was distracted by where his wound had once been which left Master and Padawan. As much as Atra was far more unexpected and certain to be more aggressive than his Master, he wasn't sure of the operational standards of the Corporation or the Clan. The Miraluka had to have been contemplating everything that was going on around him as Locke's attention returned to the small group, Methyas' eyeless gaze seeming to set upon the young Priest.

A moment of silence passed between the pair, perhaps an unspoken discussion between Jedi, yet finally Locke spoke, "Troopers, the men detained earlier; where were they taken?"

One of the commanders responded swiftly, his gaze never breaking from the Vice-president, "Marakith, sir. We were told that an expert interrogator would be taking it over from there."

A small sigh escaped Methyas, not lost on the Priest or his padawan before the young Bakuran spoke, "Ready a transport for us, we'll need to be up there as soon as possible."

“Western” Hangar 12-A
DSOG Secure Wing, Marakith Skyhook
Geo-synchronous Orbit, Aeotheran

It took longer than expected, but the shuttle finally touched down upon the deck of the hanger without a delay. As the shuttle came to a complete stop, the ramp descended just as swiftly, the figures moving from the transport quickly as they were still discussing things between each other. Or at least Methyas and Locke seemed to be.

"...I doubt it will be much of a gain for us, but perhaps someone through the SOG will have information you?" Methyas finished swiftly before a trooper approached, snapping a crisp salute to the three men.

"Gentlemen, our interrogator has located the location of a terrorist cell; I believe he's forwarded the information to your office, Mr. Sonjie."

"Thank you, trooper." Locke responded swiftly before Methyas had to interject, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"I don't believe we have many interrogators within our employ, soldier. May I ask his name?"

"I'm sorry, sir. All I know is the Commander's first name. He's called Sev'aeris...I think?"

If anyone had been paying attention, they would've felt the pulse and Methyas' tension for a split second before it vanished, the Miraluka speaking plainly in response, his voice still holding the same kindness it had before, "Thank you soldier, you're dismissed."

Locke's gaze shifted to the Miraluka for a split second before he spoke in turn, "Will we meet back here? Or will you signal me once you've acquired our transport?"

"It'll be hanger nearby, but I'll give you a signal. Get a look at our intel, we'll need to figure out where we're going...I'll make sure we've got a suitable transport."

With nothing more than a nod, Locke moved off to the deeper corridors of the Skyhook before Atra's eyes narrowed slightly, his attention turning to his Master, "You'll make sure we've got a suitable transport? What about me?"

A sly smile crossed the Miraluka's face as his apprentice picked up on the statement, "Good that you picked up on that statement, I want you to go to the armoury aboard the Skyhook, within this wing, and to collect a weapon you're comfortable with and any armour you may want." He paused, just for a moment to ensure his padawan had taken in all of his statement before he continued, "I also want you to request an armoury saber from one of our representatives, I believe you've more than proven your skills within the Brotherhood in this limited time and I'm certain the Headmaster and Master at Arms will agree once they've taken a look at the promotion request I've forwarded them."

Atra paused if only for a second, trying to figure out what Methyas was saying before the Miraluka continued, "The Dlarit Corporation is only a part of a much larger organization of Jedi, all serving a throne hidden out here amongst us. Within this organization, I am elevating you to the rank of Hunter with all the rights and privileges that come with it; including the use of a lightsaber. I'll be sure to help teach you these details while we're waiting on Locke or while we're in transit, let me know when you've completed your task."

A smile crossed Atra's face before he ran off to locate the Armour aboard the Skyhook, and Methyas focused his attention on locating their transport.

Easily more than a half-hour passed before Atra returned to Methyas, the Jedi sitting upon the base of a ramp for a VT-49 Decimator, one of the smaller assault transports within the Clan's assets but one of the larger options for them. Flanked about him were three SOG troopers, each wearing a set of armour that would protect them from potential hazards despite not giving them very much mobility. Before Atra could even speak, the sound of Methyas' voice crossed the hanger, "So, are you prepared for a crash course with that saber, my padawan?"

Time moved swiftly for Master and Student as they trained, another half-hour passing before Locke met up with them; while he seemed ready for what lay ahead, he still seemed to be distracted as he called out to them, "The seventh moon of Inos, there's a base beneath the surface. I have a feeling this transport won't be able to land without them seeing us Methyas."

Quickly wiping a small bead of sweat from his brow, the Prelate spoke confidently, "Who said we need to land?"

“Western” Hangar 12-A
DSOG Secure Wing, Marakith Skyhook
Geo-synchronous Orbit, Aeotheran

Locke paused, thinking for a moment. “Is the wise Jedi who always chides me for not being cautious suggesting we jump out of a spaceship onto a rock with no sustainable atmosphere?”

“It was only twice, and yes, “ Methyas said.

“Sounds good, “ Locke said, cracking a rare grin. “I don’t get many opportunities to do something fun without being chided for it these days.”

Methyas just looked at him, but Locke had some idea of what he was thinking. He had, after all, only reminded Locke to be careful twice, and only in times he had legitimately done something foolish. He nodded toward the Special Operations Group soldiers. “Let’s get on board, “ he said. They saluted briskly, before climbing the ramp.

“Go ahead, “ Methyas said to Atra, motioning up the steps. Atra took the cue, heading into the ship. Methyas was quiet until he was gone. “Is something wrong?” He asked.

“No, nothing, “ Locke said. He wondered just how much Methyas could tell through the Force. “I’ll tell you later.”

Methyas nodded and headed into the ship, Locke following. He found one of the SOG men in the pilot’s chair. “If you’ll excuse me, soldier...”

The man looked up, a bit surprised, before getting up and saluting. “By all means, Sir.”

“Thank you, “ Locke said casually, dropping into the pilot’s seat. “Never flown a Decimator before, “ he mumbled, holding his hands over the controls, trusting the Force to help him fly the craft.

Methyas sat down behind him, as the soldier had already taken the co-pilot’s chair. “You can’t fly the ship and jump out of it at the same time.”

“Of course not, that’s what my friend here is for, “ Locke said, closing his eyes momentarily. He could never remember names. “Rand, you’ll take over once we enter hyperspace.”

“As you wish Sir, “ the soldier said. Locke could sense something from him, giving him a sinking feeling that he had gotten the name wrong. Maybe it was Perrin...

He pushed the thought out of his mind, focusing on the task at hand. “Hold on, “ he said, just as Atra took the seat beside Methyas and strapped himself in.

“What’s he doing?” Locke heard Atra whisper, no doubt speaking to Methyas. Locke allowed himself a slight smile as he turned the throttle up beyond safe speeds, rocketing out of the hangar. He slipped the ship from side to side as it climbed out of Aeotheran’s upper atmosphere and got into hyperspace range.

“Man, that felt good!” Locke exclaimed. He turned around, finding Atra gripping his arm rests tightly and Methyas looking a little pale. They probably think I’m crazy.

“Standby for hyperspace. 3....2...1...mark!” Locke called as he smoothly transitioned the ship to hyperspace. He immediately got up to get ready, knowing it would be a very short trip.

“Let’s suit up guys, “ he said, heading for the cargo compartment, fishing three zero-g suits out of lockers. As they suited up, Locke began discussing the mission. “Now, how do you think we should go about this? We could blast our way in their front door...”

“Or we could look for alternative entrances and catch them by surprise, “ Methyas said.

“Hmm, “ Locke thought aloud. “What do you think Atra?”

Great Sadow Library
Alabrek Citadel, Tarthos

Blue lights flickered along the towering shelves as Xanos led Sildrin through the never-ending aisles of electronic datacrons that stood alongside more antiquated written storage devices called books. Although the intruders had taken steps to cover their steps, the sand one cast over one’s footprints still left telltale traces of a person’s passage to the trained eye. Inside the Force, Xanos gazed upon the tangled threads of the tapestry, simultaneously unweaving them as they moved through the library.

“It’s so... dark,” Sildrin said slowly, her hands by her sides following the Elder’s earlier instruction not to use weapons inside the Great Library. To the Krath woman’s blind eyes, the incorporeal fog that permeated the shelves took on shape and colour of its own, casting the entire library in green haze.

The tattoo on Xanos’s forehead bulged as the ice in his veins surged through him again. “Spirit ichor,” answered the Falleen, gesturing at the unnatural mist that filled the library. The souls of many Sith and Ombi had built Alabrek Castle many thousands of years ago, and they lived on in the Great Library’s halls, their endless whispers the only “company” for the Elders who came here to study the ancient tomes.

Turning down the next corridor, Xanos held up a hand. “We grow near.”

At the end of the corridor, the bookshelves finally gave way and opened into a circular seating area. A pile of books had been assembled in the middle. Their backs to them, two robed figures stood next to the pile, flanked by a pair in what looked like the black armour of the Special Operations Group.

The taller of the two robed figures turned around first. A woman. Bald. Despite wearing similar robes to her own, Sildrin did not recognise her. While the unknown woman seemed young, her face had been covered in cybernetic tubes and metal implants and she appeared far older than her years.

The unknown woman’s blue eyes glinted with dark fire.

“So you found us after all.” The woman snorted. “I’d hoped the pawns outside would keep you distracted until we finished here.” She glanced at the figure beside her. “Subject Thirty-Two.”

The second of the two robed figures turned around—

—and Sildrin’s blind eyes instantly went wide. “Malisane?”

The Son of Sadow stared back at her, his face a sharp contrast to the unknown woman beside him. The Sith Battlelord’s many scars and burns no longer marked his face, seeming to have miraculously healed since Sildrin last saw him. Malisane did not reply to her, but instead cocked his head toward the unknown woman, as if asking her permission to speak.

Alongside Sildrin, Xanos remained silent, apparently unmoved by the Sith Battlelord’s betrayal. Of course, he wouldn’t be, would he? Confusion flooded Sildrin’s mind and she shook her head. What was going on? Were there no Sadows who could be trusted anymore?

A chill ran up her spine when the Falleen’s thoughts filled her own.

Look beyond what you see, Lady Dragon.

In front of her, the bald woman’s lips curled into a cruel smile. “It was so good of Thirty-Two to unlock the way. Without Sadow blood, the Great Library’s doors would have remained closed to us.” She smirked before glancing back over her shoulder at the two SOG troopers who were in the process of sorting through more books to add to the assembled pile. “Like the Jedi Order before it,” the woman’s raspy voice seethed with venom as she continued, “the Dark Brotherhood has ruined too many lives.”

The woman gave one of the troopers behind her a curt nod. “But no more.”

Before Sildrin could react, the Dlarit trooper pulled out his blaster and fired—

The next second, the trooper was suspended in midair. His suit’s vocoder issued a robotic sounding scream as his armour crunched, being crushed inward by Xanos, who had his hand raised toward the Special Operations trooper. Blood seeped from the trooper’s armour when the Elder released him.

But it was already too late. Sildrin’s turned back to the pile of books—which were now on fire!

“No more will be poisoned by your teachings!”

VT-49 Decimator Transport, Hyperspace
En Route to the Seventh Moon of Inos

Atra pondered quietly as the two more experienced men looked upon him. "Announcing our entry seems a sure fire way to get ourselves overrun and killed." Nodding towards Methyas Atra continued. "I'd have to go with him on this one. An alternative entrance would be our best means. We don't really know what we're going to find anyway."

The group all murmered in agreement as an indicator on the pilot's console signalled their impending arrival. It didn't take long for the three to suit up. Atra wasn't exactly comfortable yet with his new attire. Pieced together from the armour available on the ship and left overs from his other garb he had formed his own identity. Atra flexed the fingers of his right hand as he adjusted the grey wraps that worked there way from his palms to his elbow. A black bracer lay atop the wrap, adding some protection to his forearms. His arms were exposed as he wore a zip-up, collared, grey shirt posessing no sleeves. A black tabbard with grey lining fell upon his shoulders, accompanied by a basic utility belt where his new training saber hung at his side. Black cargo pants and boots completed his new look as Atra's grey eyes focused on Locke. "I suppose we'll decide as we jump."

Locke nodded his agreement as the three finished suiting up. The pilot called a warning form the cabin just before the ship decelerated from the hyperspace jump. Grabbing hold of the bulkhead the Jedi swayed ever so slightly in response. Locke motioned for everyone to get in position as the transport's entrance opened, belying the haste required for them to approach unseen. Methyas was the first to jump, followed quickly by Locke. Atra was a bit less hasty, glancing over the edge before taking a deep breath. Finally he made the leap of faith and joined the others in their fall to the moon's surface.

With a crackle the communicator in their suits came to life, Locke's voice transmitting amongst them. "Nice of you to join us, Atra."

"At least I didn't get shot." Came the smug response from Atra's link up.

Methyas grinned behind his helmet as he added to the conversation. "I distinctly recall your shoulder having a rather bothersome looking blast scar."

"You stay out of this one." Came the quick reply as Locke's laughter accompanied Atra's pained response.

The mood sobered quickly as they took their bearings. The pilot had relayed the location of what was most likely the underground base. From here they could see a man-made slope and what looked to be an entrance. Scattered craters surrounded the hidden base and Methyas' blind eyes scanned the area before a slight tug of the Force caught his attention. A small jet of atmosphere vented out from one of the craters, a small burst before dissappearing into space. "There." The Miraluka gestured towards the vent as he spoke, signalling for the others to follow. It was tough for them to maneuver without giving away their position, but the three did their best.

Lunar Surface, Seventh Moon of Inos
Orian System

The gravity out on the lunar surface was a small issue for the group, the trio of Jedi had been followed by their trio of troopers, the remaining crew of the Decimator taking the small transport outside of any traditional sensor ranges. While it had been a while since the Miraluka had access to the full resources of the Clan, he still had favours and other channels through which to obtain what he needed. Moving towards the edge of the crater which had just vented atmosphere, the rest of the party finally got a chance to look for the source of the venting; only to be met with a non-descript crater no different from the rest of the lunar surface. Yet their eyes could easily deceive them, something all Force users learned incredibly swiftly and Methyas had no such impediment as he was gifted, or cursed, in only being able to see through the flow of the living Force around him. To the Jedi, he could see through the illusions of the lunar landscape and the facades therein; if he wished to delve deeper into the Force, he could see deeper beneath the planetoid's surface and deeper into the facility within. At this moment however, there was no need for him to waste his energy; his could see where they needed to go, the Force dancing through the corridors and the piping near the surface. He paused, just long enough for Locke to understand what he was doing, as he analysed the doorway, hoping to divine if the hatchway he had found was a pressurized airlock or simply a maintenance hatch; and if they would set off an alarm opening it.

Another moment passed before a blast of pressurized air escaped the vent nearby, the Miraluka's sightless gaze falling upon the vent as a small smile crossed his face, "Wait for another blast from the vent and then we'll enter the...airlock."

Curt nods passed between each of them as Methyas began to reach out to seek a hatch release; the troopers silently surveying the surroundings of the crater as the chill from the vacuum of space began to nip at each of them. Moments passed, enough to cause Atra to stir slightly in impatience before the Force spoke to the Miraluka; his mind tripping the hatch release as the vent began to the fire, the atmosphere venting from both the airlock and the actual vent hopefully being simultaneous enough to not trigger any internal sensors...at least he hoped. The small group moved swiftly, entering the airlock and securing the hatch behind them, Locke swiftly finding the controls and pressurizing the chamber so they could remove their suits. The airlock worked surprisingly quickly, Locke's cursory glancing over the controls and chamber bringing up no results, "Any of you able to figure out if we tripped an alarm?"

Two of the troopers simply shook their heads as another spoke, "I don't believe so, sir. It's an older system though and it appears to have been modified...I can't guarantee that we didn't."

The trio of Jedi simply glanced at each other for a small moment, before Locke opened the hatch into the facility, his voice rising up just loud enough for the assembled group to hear him, "Troopers, secure exits as we get deeper in; we want a swift escape if things go bad. If we find a hanger, I want that secured above all else, it'll be easier to bring the Decimator to us than getting out to it."

As they began their trek into the facility, the group noted the initial maintenence corridors before reaching the main body of the facility; the start white walls immediately causing Locke and Atra to grumble from the shift between from darkness to light; the young Corellian grumbling under his breath, "Why are they always white?"

The group stopped for a moment in a chamber which looked like a small research lab as Methyas spoke up, "What's our plan? They're obviously dug in more than we expected. Are we cutting the head off the snake or purging the facility?"

Atra looked about to as he added in, "They look pretty well funded...I mean, some of this looks really expensive..."

The troopers had taken up defensive positions near the doorways, out of sight as they waited to hear the response for Locke; the Proconsul taking in the sights of the facility as well, his eyes acknowledging that all the figures amongst him were waiting for his orders.

Facility, Seventh Moon of Inos
Orian System

Locke really wanted to clear the base out. He didn’t like a potential threat sitting here in the Clan’s own system, continuing to be active. He said as much to the others. “If we only eliminate the leadership, they could be replaced.”

“We don’t know if they have any other bases, “ Methyas noted.

Locke pondered this for a moment. “That’s true, but they have to have support from somewhere else. I refuse to believe this is the home base.”

Methyas nodded. “That seems likely.”

Atra pointed to a pile of metal on a table. “What is this kind of stuff doing in a research lab? That looks a lot like a droid arm.”

Locke and Methyas looked to where he was pointing, noting a thin droid arm next to the pile of metal. “It looks well-built, “ Methyas said.

Locke grunted. “I wouldn’t know, not much of a droid person myself.” Suddenly, as if by will of the Force, two points converged in his head. Droid...research lab...

He had been briefed on something called ‘The Organization” prior to this mission. An organization that employed augmented beings as super soldiers, they had challenged the Clan for control of the Orian System before. He expressed his concern to the others. Atra looked confused.

“I remember them, “ Methyas said. “Your analysts saw fit to brief you on them after the events at Kel Rasha?”

Locke nodded. “Yeah, this is starting to fall into line with that.”

“This could just be a droid repair lab, “ Methyas said.

Lokce gestured at two cylinders that were filled with clear, blue-hued liquid and sized for large humanoids. “Those don’t look like they’re for droids.”

Atra picked up the droid arm, examining it. “This seems to be much higher quality than any droid arm I’ve ever seen, “ he added.

Methyas shrugged. “So much for optimism.”

“Indeed, “ Locke said. “Let’s assume we’re dealing with a more significant threat than before.” He nodded toward the one trooper who was still with them, who radioed the other two and informed them to keep up their guard.

“What’s our next move?” Methyas said.

“Let’s find that hangar, quietly. I want our escape route carefully planned out before we attempt anything else. Atra, can you take point?” Locke asked, not sure of the other man’s abilities.

Facility, Seventh Moon of Inos
Orian System

Atra cocked his head to the side in confusion, unsure as to why Locke had become so insistent on him proving his worth. Was it some sort of test, or was the Priest beginning to trust him more? Either way, Atra just wanted to get out of the labs. “I suppose,” he responded with a nod before turning to get his bearings. They had come through an airlock that was obviously meant for the lab tech to test their equipment. Based on the location in regards to the entrance they had seen it was logical to assume they were located near the central core of the facility. Typically hangars are located on the outskirts, somewhere easily defensible in need of an escape and out of the way.

Locke and Methyas looked on as Atra contemplated their next move. Methyas was tempted to feel out their route in the Force but he agreed with Locke’s decision to have Atra take point. The Miraluka grinned slightly just before Atra’s head cocked up with a glimmer of recognition in his eyes. “We should go this way,” the Corellian stated calmly as he gestured to a side corridor, “It leads in the direction of a crater I saw on the way in, and those power conduits look important.”

Locke nodded quickly, “Agreed.” The Proconsul signaled for the troopers to follow Atra’s lead as the Jedi moved cautiously into the corridor. There were so many unknowns in this facility. The only thing known was that they were not surrounded by friendly faces, and the enemy force was a relative unknown. Their equipment and number of foot soldiers could be anything, though it was certain that their small force was outnumbered. Atra slipped stealthily through the corridors, one hand placed against the wall to guide him as he glanced around. His senses were open and his movements reflected an animal wary of predators.

“Hold up.”

The group stopped in their tracks, turning to face Methyas as he held his hand up in the ‘hold’ sign. Atra was confused at first while Locke knew the ex-consul’s abilities well enough to trust him. Cocking his head to the side, as if listening for something, the Miraluka signaled for the group to move down a side corridor. In silence they complied, making it to cover just as an enemy group rounded the corner. Atra squinted from cover in an attempt to see what they were up against. He didn’t know who they were, but he could tell from the weight of their foot steps and their silhouettes against the darkness of their cover that they were well armed. “This is gonna be a problem,” the young Jedi muttered as he glanced towards Locke and his master.

Maintanence Corridor, Unknown Subterranean Facility
Seventh Moon of Inos, Orian System

As Atra voiced his opinion of the situation, Methyas was focused internally; remembering his previous encounters with agents of the Organization and his own track record. He had been reckless then and eager to prove himself to the Clan, the ambition had nearly cost him his life on several occasions. Aboard Refuge he had nearly been blown up by a thermal detonator, against the Voice of Justice he had been rescued by his armour and the talents of his loving wife; but out here...

His thoughts took pause, if only for a moment. That same pride and ambition no longer existed however; these emotions typical of Disciple had been washed away during his "captivity" with Michael Halcyon. Now the young Jedi knew his limits and was intently aware of the consequences if his true nature were discovered. Yet he had no fear, at least not in the conventional sense, any "fear" he had was his to control. This had been a point of tension between himself and his Master, as the young Miraluka had discovered the original tenants of the Jedi in his past and believed it wise to follow them; paramount amongst them "Emotion, yet peace". A phrase which in and of itself had caused many headaches; Methyas believed the tenant meant "Though I am emotional, I am at peace."

His thoughts returned to the moment at hand, thin tendrils of the Force reaching out from the Prelate to touch upon one of the figures in the hall. A slight frown crossed his face as his brow furrowed, these agents weren't at all similar to those from his past; these men seemed...normal. He reminded himself that the terrorists at Aeotheran had been normal people, though it didn't ease his thoughts at all. If the Organization was using non-augmented agents the Disciples would have difficult differentiating friend from foe. A shiver ran up the Miraluka's spine as his attention turned away from the figures walking through the corridors to a wider scope of things; they had seen the augments in the facility, which meant there had to be some augmented soldiers somewhere within.

Locke's voice rose up next to him, "We still don't have a solid escape route secured, how armed did those men seem?"
Methyas understood the reason for Locke to turn his attention towards their only route of survival, but the number of unknowns within this facility meant that if they were to alert the entire facility to their presence...well, the Clan would lose some of its own top assets.

"Heavy footfalls and bulky silhouettes, I'd say they're more properly armed than our friends on the surface were." Atra responded flatly, out of the oven and into the fire for the young Corellian who had apparently gone from being a test subject to a soldier on a potential suicide mission in a matter of hours.

Before Locke could respond, Methyas spoke up almost serenely, his thoughts elsewhere, "We also encountered the issue that if anyone discovers us and alerts the rest of the facility, the entire moon will come crashing down upon us."

The Bakuran and Corellian simply turned to look at the Miraluka before Atra spoke up, his words spoken directly, "Please tell me you mean figuratively."

Methyas simply nodded before he continued, "There are an unknown number of variables here and as Locke said, we need to ensure the facility is destroyed."

Locke eyed the former Consul for a moment, his face visibly showing his distaste for where this conversation was going, "What are you thinking?"

"Split up; you take Atra and the troopers with you to ensure we secure a hanger for our Decimator. Meanwhile, I'll infiltrate their security office and ensure that the alarms are disabled if you manage to be detected. Having control of this office will also mean I can find a way to destroy the facility."

"Alone? You'll go alone?"

"Yes, I'm less likely to be spotted if I'm alone and have done black operations for the Clan directing the Night Raptors."

"So you're a kooky wizard and a stealth expert now?" Atra chimed in with Locke's gaze darting towards him for a second.

Methyas responded to his padawan without even turning to face him, "Yes, my apprentice...I've got quite a few tricks up my sleeve that you may not be aware of."

Locke sat there in contemplation for a moment as Atra turned to face him, he knew of the former Consul's role as leader of the Night Raptors and his subsequent direction for Marka Ragnos during its tenure as a Battleteam. But on the other hand, there was his mission for the Voice of the Brotherhood. All details surrounding the Miraluka's disappearance and rescue by the Pepoi family had been redacted by order of the Dark Council; the question of course was "why?"

Regardless, Methyas was right...again...they couldn't risk alarming the facility and they did have to eliminate the potential threat within their borders. The former Consul did also have the most knowledge, to his knowledge, of stealth operations and would be the most resourceful on his own. Locke sighed in resignation, if only because he knew his options were limited.

"Alright, go for it. Just keep in contact with us and try to regroup as soon as possible." The tone of the young man's voice was a bizarre mix of resignation and the firm command of someone giving orders.

Methyas nodded in return, looking to his padawan as he spoke up, his small frame rising to full height as he started towards the edge of the corridor they had darted into, "If either of you need help..." He paused, as if thinking how to continue, "...I'm sure half the facility will know."

Locke started to shake his head as Methyas continued, "Locke, I know you can contact me should you need too and Atra, we share a special bond as Master and Apprentice; I'm sure I'll know you're in trouble the instant you find it."

Without another word the Prelate vanished around the corner and down the main corridors, sticking to the shadows and keeping his attention focused on the surrounding area; his sight and senses to be his guide to the security hub he had found during their discussion.

Sildrin was filled by horror as she saw the burning books, each one a precious rarity full of knowledge that would soon be lost. "No...", she whispered. "No... not the books!". She felt a movement in the flow of the Force and she was tossed aside by invisible hands. She had to save the books, but first she had to get rid of that bald woman.

The unkownwoman began to laugh throatily, the fire of the books reflecting in her eyes, making them look ablaze. The smoke of the burning books densified and thick columns of smoke began to shroud the scenery. The silhouette of the bald woman was quick to disappear in the smoke. Eyes began to tear up and sight was veiled.

To Sildrin's advantage, she closed her blind eyes, which had already started to fill with tears from the biting smoke. Sildrin clearly sensed the bald woman with the Force. The Krath sorceress turned her head in Xanos' direction and sent a questioning thought. A fine nearly imperceptive movement around the corner of the Falleen's mouth showed his agreement. He would take care of the fire and the one who appeared to be Malisane.

The smoke began to mix with the spirit ichor. The ghostly whispers of the long dead elders became louder, more chaotic, as if their souls came aware of the new situation. Sildrin ran down the corridors. Some object was tossed at her - remains of a bookshelf - and in a fragment of a moment she used the Force to let it burst into small splinters, sending these projectiles back at the bald woman. "Who are you?" Sildrin called out into the smoke that began to spread in the library. The Blind Dragon sensed the hesitation of the other woman - a careful weighing.

"Soolin."

The answer was tossed at Sildrin and with the sound came the splintery projectiles back at her.

The Falleen turned to the spreading fire. It was a destroying force that obliterated every life and every pain that came along with every destruction. A purifying power. But this destruction was without any will behind it and furthermore the cycle was not broken by it. It would nurture new life and begin the cycle of pain and suffering from anew. He had to call a halt to it. The tattoo on his forehead bulged and twitched. His face remained motionless, despite his rising interest in the fire. Over years, centuries those slumbering books had been soaked with residue of the Force - from their authors, readers, surroundings. The sleeping books had awakened. The spark of fire kindled the paper and turned thoughts into a swelling vortex. Xanos raised a hand, with a light gesture he pulled that which Soolin called "Subject Thirty-Two" to him. "Your life makes no sense," the Falleen said with a detached voice. He turned his hand and with a sickening snap Malisane's head twisted in an unnatural way, the white of his eyes showing as they rolled back. "No life makes sense. Only ending the suffering does," the Falleen added and let the body slump to the ground.

Sildrin ran down a corridor, following Soolin - and ran promptly into a bookshelf. "Ow!", she rubbed her cheek, feeling blood trickling from it. It was rather an expression of surprise than pain. The unnatural fire fuelled by the Force began to mess with her senses. The maelstrom would spread, nourished by the books of the library. To the right side was movement - Sildrin turned her head in that direction and hoped it was no illusion.

The whispers within the vortex turned into high pitched screams, crying for release, or out of anger. The spirits sensed that the vortex was a chance to escape their unlife and they deliberately fuelled it. An amalgamation of the Force, fire and ancient spirits was about to come to life. Vague memories rose within Xanos, memories of Vexatus. He pushed those memories aside.

Sildrin was bent over Soolin, both women wrestling with each other. Ash started to cover them, intermingling with blood and sweat. Normally the Force was their toy, but the maelstrom rendered that usage void. "The Dark Jedi Brotherhood has to be destroyed! All of you!", Soolin hissed.

But Sildrin didn't answer, a nudge of the Force, something nagging in the back of her head, made her briefly pay attention to some burning books nearby. I found it... "The Bloody Book".... Soolin continued to doomsay, but finally she realised that her opponent was paying more attention to the books than her. Her words stalled. Sildrin raised a hand - then there was only searing pain on the left side of Soolin's face and her left eye. Soolin roared from pain, bucking beneath Sildrin. For a moment Sildrin was able to stay on top, blood and sweat ran down her chafed cheek, dropping into Soolin's bleeding eye - or rather what was left of her eye. Finally Sildrin was tossed against a wall by Soolin. Blood glistened on Sildrin's fingernails, Soolin's blood.

Soolin scrambled to her feet, gathering her defences. She squinted with her good eye, but she was surprised to see Sildrin taking care of some burning books, not paying attention to her. She hissed: "We will destroy the Dark Jedi Brotherhood. The books were merely a small... distraction. A start. Soon you all will fall." Slowly Sildrin turned her head towards Soolin, stashing away one of the saved books in a hidden pocket within her robe, a book bound in red leather, covered with dark spots.

"You best make your way out of the library now. The guards will arrive every minute," Sildrin said calmly.

Soolin stared at her in disbelieve, sucking on her teeth, wondering if it was a trap, but she sensed the approaching presence of the guards. Why...? She seems to take care more of the books than...., the bald woman started to snicker: "Join us. Lay the Dark Jedi Brotherhood to ashes."

Sildrin's blind eyes stared at her for some moments, her red hair floated in a long trail behind her, moved by the winds of the burning fire; looking as fire itself: "I have what I want. For the rest... I do not care."

Soolin stared at the Krath woman, puzzled, wondering. Shouts were getting closer and she cursed about not having enough time. Only time enough for a retreat.

"Over here! We have one! No! This is one is dead! Here.. this one... here is one.. alive!" one of the guards shouted. "Mistress Sildrin Sadow. Are you alright?" one of the approaching guards asked.

Sildrin turned to the guard, she was alone now. "Yes, I am. I could need some help here with the fires though," she said.

"Yes Mistress. Is there anything else you need?" the guard continued.

A faint smile appeared on her face: "No." I got what I want.

Facility, Seventh Moon of Inos
Orian System

Locke nodded to Atra after Methyas had disappeared around a corner. “We should move out too, “ he said, still slightly wary of Atra. They kept to what seemed to be outer corridors, numerous times avoiding guards, their own soldiers hot on their heels, silently watching for any sign of trouble.

“Would it kill them to label hallways?” Locke whispered.

Atra grinned. “That would be too easy.”

“Hmm, “ Locke closed his eyes, expanding his Force presence as he had seen Methyas do so many times before. He felt through the base, looking for large concentrations of life. There was one, deeper inside, and another, closer to the surface. He had a hunch that was the hangar. “This way, “ he said, hurrying down the hall.

Atra was close behind, “why this way?”

“I sensed it.”

“Oh, “ Atra said, a hint of mocking in his voice.

“Trust me, “ Locke said.

“Sure, “ Atra answered. “Like you trust me, “ he added with a mumble.

Locke halted abruptly, looking around. One corridor led up a ramp, while another seemed to widen before ending in a blast door. “We’re getting there, “ Locke said, not specifying whether he meant the hangar or their trust. “Be patient. I think that ramp leads to a control room.” He motioned with his hands and Atra and the troopers followed him up.

At the top, the door slid open, apparently not locked at all. Inside was a man who looked like an officer. Atra stepped forward and quickly snapped his neck, covering his mouth so he couldn’t cry out. As he gently lowered the corpse to the floor, Locke moved in, while two of the troopers had their blasters raised, the third wielding a heavy repeater strapped over his shoulders. The control room, dominated in the center by a vertical map of the Inos system, was rather small.

Locke stepped across and looked out the view port. “Ah, looks like a hangar alright, there’s a couple of shuttles, some R-41 starchasers, the usual. Let’s see...” He looked over the controls, closing his eyes and letting the Force guide his hands, before finally settling on a lever. He pulled it down, and heard the soft hum of energy levels fluctuating. Then a panel lit up, indicating the Force field had been deactivated. “Alright, there’s still atmosphere in the hangar, but now our ship can enter. Trooper, call them in.”

No sooner were the words out of his mouth then the door to the control room slid open, revealing two men, garbed in standard soldier’s uniforms, carrying no weapons. “Found you, “ one said. With inhuman reflexes, he closed the gap to Locke, grabbing the Dark Jedi by the neck with one hand and lifting him off the ground. As Locke choked and flailed at him, he could see the others fighting.

Atra attacked the other man, or whatever he was, his melee strikes quickly repelled before he was knocked against a wall. In response the troopers opened fire, their smaller blaster rifles barely penetrating. Their opponent smiled, flashed between them, and snapped one trooper’s arm, before delivering a precision hit to his neck. Distantly, Locke felt the trooper’s life fade out in the Force. Angry, he lowered one arm, redirecting his rage into a direct strike of Force energy, blasting the enemy soldier choking him at point-blank.

The blast took him in the chest, causing him to briefly stagger back, but did not appear to break ribs as it should have. Locke staggered, gasping. He watched as, on the other side of the room, the trooper with the heavy repeater opened fire at almost point-blank, delivering shot after shot into the other soldier’s chest. He should have been ripped to shreds, but instead slowly approached. The trooper gave a battle cry, yelling with wordless rage as he stood his ground. Finally the enemy soldier faltered, stopping and falling to the side, a smoking crater in his chest.

Locke had no time to see if that had killed him. The soldier he was fighting snarled in anger and hit Locke across the chest with his arm, the power of the blow somehow sending Locke flying into the view port, shattering it as he flew through. With the wind knocked out of him, Locke struggled to grasp his lightsaber, finding it wasn’t at his belt. In the space of the second he was in the air, he drank deeply of the Force, sharpening his senses, seeing his lightsaber flying above him in a cloud of shattered glass. Mindful of the impending impact with the floor, Locke used the Force to pull his lightsaber firmly into one hand, turning his attention fully to the ground as he impacted it, rolling and coming up to his feet, the amber blade already ignited.

The soldier - or whatever it was - jumped down after him, landing far too softly for someone so strong. As Locke focused on not being caught unaware, he hoped Atra was faring alright and had time to signal to Methyas. Locke couldn’t risk dividing attention to reach out to the other Jedi.

Suddenly, the loud pinging of an alarm claxon filled the hangar. That damn ship better get here soon! Locke thought, as he aimed an attack at the enemy soldier and noted with dissatisfaction that he leaped and somersaulted out of the way. Locke advance, quickly closing the distance. Each time, the man jumped back, keeping just out of reach, finally finding an opening to flourish a knife from somewhere, tossing it like a tiny missile at Locke.

Surprised by the sudden counterattack, Locke tried to dodge, but the knife still lodged itself deep in his upper right arm. He hissed in pain, spinning around, dodging behind a large crate as another knife zipped by his ear. The man appeared around the corner a moment later, a grin on his otherwise normal, human face. Locke jabbed quickly with his lightsaber, hoping for a strike, but the man was out of range just as quickly again. What is this guy? Locke wondered.

He tried to attack again, but the man moved with unbelievable agility, sidestepping Locke’s lightsaber and making his own jab at the Dark Jedi’s wrist. Locke was only able to keep the bones from shattering by twisting his wrist with the force of the blow, losing his lightsaber in the process. While it went spiraling off into the darkness, the soldier kicked Locke’s stomach, sending him sprawling in the middle of the hangar.

“I’m a genetically-altered super soldier, much stronger than you could ever be with your mystical Force, Jedi.” The man said, as if to answer Locke’s question. He raised another knife, holding it against Locke’s neck as the Dark Jedi struggled to call the Force through the searing pain of his arm. “Science has made me stronger, faster, and more agile than you could ever be.”

Dimly, Locke heard the sound of engines and saw a shadow behind the soldier. He mustered the last of his strength to send one, clear message to the crew on board. Fire!

He heard the roar of a turbolaser blast, and suddenly there was no knife at his throat or man over top of him. Locke stood, shaking, cradling his right arm and breathing deeply. At the back of the hangar, the charred remains of the soldier did not move. “And that, “ Locke whispered, “is a turbolaser.” He dropped to his knees, unable to keep his head from spinning, wondering about Atra and the others. Locke gritted his teeth, pulled the knife from his arm, and collapsed forward on his face.

Hangar, Facility, Seventh Moon of Inos
Orian System

Blaster fire rang in Atra’s ears as he gathered his senses. The world was a blur of sensations as the room spun and his brain fought to make sense of it all. “Son of a...” Atra’s teeth ground together hard as he worked his way to his feet. His shoulder burned where he had taken a blaster shot no more than a few hours before. Rubbing it with irritation on his face Atra couldn’t help but smile as the strange soldier fell to the ground, a gaping hole in his chest. At least that’s over with, he thought to himself calmly before turning around to help Locke.

“Sir!”

The sudden voice caught Atra’s attention, his neck snapping around to gain vision. Impossibly, the fallen soldier was rising to his feet with methodical intent. Atra’s eyes were wide and confused, thinking for just a moment that he would have been better off staying in his cell. The Dlarit soldiers opened fire once more, giving the Corellian enough time to survey his opponent. Thankfully, the wound in the strange soldier’s chest was slowing his movements. That was something Atra could take advantage of.

Dashing forward Atra felt the pain in his skull fade once more, focusing on grasping that faint thread he had started to notice since coming in contact with Methyas. For some reason, so long as he grasped that invisible rope he felt empowered; his movements were fluid and graceful and he was no longer in pain. It took two steps to close the gap on his target, Atra’s movements focused as moved into close range. Unfortunately for him, the soldier seemed to be more interested in him than the Dlarit forces. The super soldier turned to face the attack, grasping Atra’s left arm as soon as he was in range. A colourful curse rang out half a second before a loud snap filled the control room. Rage and pain shot out from Atra’s lips as he released a cry. His attacker laughed in response, slow and uncaring, as Atra’s arm hang limp at his side with blood dripping down it in a spiral.

His emotions unleashed Atra charged forward, a final desperate attempt. Collapsing his body into a hard tackle the Corellian threw everything he had into his foe. The two massive forms stumbled momentarily before crashing into the durasteel wall. Atra fell to the ground, utterly spent as he tried to get his bearings. In the daze of his pain he could make out a form standing above him. Squinting hard he tried to see if his foe was standing, awaiting the end. The world came back into focus, agonizingly slow, before revealing the still form of his attacker, several pipes sticking out from various vital points on the man’s body. A happy sigh left the man’s lips before he let himself fall into sleep.

Dlarit Transport, En Route to Marakith Skyhook
Geo-synchronous Orbit, Aeotheran

“Good, you’re awake.”

Atra’s vision was foggy once more, this time from fatigue as opposed to pain. “What—“

“You are safe; we are heading back to the Skyhook,” the voice was soft and familiar, pausing a moment before continuing, “Locke is safe as well, though both of you have seen better days.”

Atra groaned as he rose to a seated position, the aching pain in his skull returned once more. “Well, that sucked,” he stated flatly as he glanced towards his master. Methyas smiled softly, not wanting to reveal the severity of his concern. The situation was looking far more dire than Atra could possibly know, and the Miraluka was not happy about it.

“Be careful with that arm, we’ll be back shortly.”

Atra nodded in response as Methyas made his way back to Locke. Methyas had chosen not to heal Atra’s arm, knowing that he couldn’t risk the expenditure of Force without knowing if there were more of those engineered soldiers waiting for them. The Organization was moving quickly, and had been busy since their last encounter.

By the time the transport came to rest in the Skyhook’s main hangar both Locke and Atra were back on their feet, though neither were happy. Exchanging a look of shared pain and frustration the Dark Jedi stood ready at the ramp of the transport, a bond forged in pain that hadn’t existed before. Methyas smiled to himself once more, watching as they made their way down into the hangar. His smile disappeared quickly as he sensed something off.

Locke stopped in his tracks at the end of the ramp, a look of confusion there for the briefest of moments before recognition appeared. Atra’s face remained confused, having no prior history with the Brotherhood to speak of. A flash of crimson was what had caught their eyes as they entered the hangar. A petite frame clad in black and red robes, arms crossed tightly beneath an ample bosom whilst a boot tapped upon the durasteel floor impatiently. Atra was the first to break the silence, whispering towards Locke.

“She... Doesn’t look happy.”

Main Hangar, Marakith Skyhook
Geo-synchronous Orbit, Aeotheran

Dlarit engineers ran around the hangar, preparing for the coming shuttle. They had been notified of the high profile nature of its contents, the Vice-President was en route and in stable condition. Medical staff stood off to the side, wary of the black form that stood impatiently at the center of the room. The Black Guard stood alone, the black armour glinting dangerously as her blank visor stared out into space; a slight red patch on her cloak the only colour amidst the shadows.

An eternity passed before the shuttle came into view and entered the hangar, a heavy sigh escaping her lips as the shuttle set down. Kalia stood steady, her agitation showing through the subtle queues hidden in her stance. The ramp extended from the ship slowly, revealing two forms and only one that she recognized. She waited but a moment for recognition to dawn upon the Proconsul before tearing into him. Her suit’s voice comm clicked into existence, masking her voice as the Black Guard’s identity was hidden from even their charge.

“Are you kidding me!?” Kalia’s voice, while undistinguishable, was filled with obvious rage. “Not only do you somehow manage to elude me, but then you go off and almost get yourself killed! Twice!”

“Three times, actually.”

Locke shot Atra a fiery glare as the newly appointed Hunter quickly shut his mouth and shifted uncomfortably. Turning his attention back to his Protector Locke’s features steeled, a look of authority coming over him. “Guard, I am your Proconsul and will not have my decisions questioned.”

Kalia’s fists shifted to her hips, a clearly feminine stance as the imagined face behind the helm glared daggers at her charge. “You could be the Master of the Guard for all I care! My life over yours. That was my vow.” Her stance shifted as she talked, adopting a more relaxed, concerned stance. “I was worried my lord. How can I protect you if you keep dodging me?”

Locke was clearly displeased with the situation but understood his guard’s feelings on the matter. He had led from the front once again, and it had nearly cost him dearly. Noting the emotion in the air, and having one too many unknowns for his liking, Atra turned to slink away in hopes of reaching the safety of his master. Unfortunately the movement drew the predator’s gaze towards him.

“Identify yourself,” the cold, robotic voice stated flatly from the Black Guard.

Turning slowly, a slight grimace on his face, Atra bowed his head in greetings. “Atra Ventus, denizen of the lovely little prison your corporation has down there.”

Almost immediately the Black Guard placed herself between Locke and Atra, the Corellian feeling the tendrils of power he had started to familiarize with emanating from the woman. Just as suddenly, a calming sensation fell over the trio. A quiet sigh caused them all to turn back towards the ship and gaze upon Methyas.

“We have all been through a great ordeal; let’s not rush into another quite so soon.” Moving quietly forward the ex-Consul looked the picture of serenity as he approached Locke. “You have a report to file do you not?” The Miraluka’s question was spoken more as a reminder than an inquiry, his sightless gaze passing over the Black Guard with a knowing quality.

"Western" Hanger 12-A
DSOG Secure Wing, Marakith Skyhook
Geo-synchronous Orbit, Aeotheran

Even though he obviously meant no harm, Methyas could feel the Black Guardsman's apprehension at his presence so near to him. The sheer fact that his inhuman sight and connection to the Force could divine her true identity compromised her position as a member of the Guard. While never a member of the order, Methyas knew his cousin's work well and had foiled many a Guardsmen's attempt to keep their identity hidden. This wasn't to say that he ever disclosed that information to them, as far as they were concerned he was oblivious.

Kalia tensed, if only for a moment, as she recalled meeting Methyas when Araxis had brought them to the Orian system; even then the Miraluka's presence had felt different than the others. As she stood here now, buried beneath the garb of the Order, her only concern was that the man didn't recognize her. It was a well placed concern as Methyas had indeed recognized her, but as before remained quiet; his attention drawn elsewhere as the trio simply stared at him.

The Miraluka's attention was instead focused on the figures moving through the hall at the end of the Hanger; Fremoc, Macron, Malisane and Roxas all moving towards the inner workings of the Skyhook and various offices. At least he assumed as much, his mind unable to connect with theirs at this range without a majority of them detecting it. The Jedi's brow furrowed, barely noticeable to most, as his mind focused on something else troubling him.

Organization Facility, Seventh Moon of Inos
Orian System
Several Moments Ago

The Miraluka moved quietly through the facility's halls and corridors, his robes fluttering about him lightly as he stopped outside the door to the Security hub. Not a moment was wasted as he felt past the doors, the faint glow of a figure within touching his own tendrils of the Force briefly before the Miraluka felt satisfied that only the one agent was present within the room. Opening the door silently, the Miraluka swept into the chamber and behind the nearby counter as the agent turned to face the sound of the door.

Reaching for a weapon at his side, the agent moved quickly to analyze the source of the sound; something Methyas took advantage of swiftly by tricking the man into believing the sound was further down the hall. As the agent swiftly moved down the hall to track the source of the sound, Methyas moved to the console the man was once at. A small device quickly appeared in his hand from a pouch at his waist and was swiftly connected to the console; a series of chimes reporting that the device had connected as the Jedi waited.

The device chirped a few more times before Methyas spoke up, no more than a whisper, "I'm aware of the details, I need you to overwrite the alarms..." A pause as the Jedi grit his teeth and sighed, "...and prepare an emergency atmospheric venting of the facility in approximately thirty minutes; we'll need to be clear of the site. Ensure there is no remote access if possible and engage the facility's automated defenses if possible."

A single chirp was the response before another series of chirps followed, the Miraluka shaking his head as he responded, "I know, I know...but I need to keep from arousing suspicion."

A few more chirps followed, "No I can't justify this to myself, it's not you sentencing these beings to death...its myself."

Sympathetic whines and quiet chirps seemed to finish the conversation as Methyas spoke, "Thank you my friend, I just hope I can stop hiding some day."

The sound of the door slamming shut behind him caused Methyas to place his device upon the table next to the console as the agent spoke up, "We have a Jedi Slicer, eh? Complete with probe and all, I am amazed...I thought you guys had troops to do these menial tasks."

"Hurry your circuits, Zero...we've got company..." Methyas hissed to the little device before he turned his attention to the Organization agent, a rather large man with bulging muscles, "Not all of us are as manipulative and inherently evil as you believe."

"Oh yeah? Well your friends in the Hanger are about to be screwed..." The Agent trailed off as his fist slammed into a console upon the wall near him, alarms sounding swiftly throughout the facility as Methyas breathlessly cursed his divided attention.

"Change of plans." Methyas barked as he started deliberately towards the Organisation's man, the agent swiftly pulling a knife from his waist and brandishing it towards the Miraluka. The Knife missed its target as it slipped through the air, Methyas smirking as thin tendrils of the Force danced about him as his thoughts calculated every aspect of the man's motions. Swiftly the tendrils touched upon the Knife in the agent's hand, wrapping about the weapon and wrenching it free from the man's grip before tossing it into the wall behind the Miraluka.

"You think you're tough? Disarming me?!"

"I think you're a fool to keep fighting an enemy you know you've lost against."

"Lost? I'm just getting started."

The man suddenly moved inhumanly fast, the Force alerting the Miraluka to each movement the man made mere seconds before they happened. A small grimace passing across the former Consul's face as he knew he had to press the attack to break out of his backpedaling. A sudden victorious series of chirps gave Methyas his opening as the agent turned to face the device, the tendrils of the Prelate's Force energies wrapping about the man in a sinister snare.

A sudden scream arose from the man, mostly from fright with a slight edge of pain as Methyas turned from him and recovered his computer probe, the small droid-intelligence having aided him since he commissioned it as Consul. Slipping it back into its pouch at his waist, the Miraluka was about to leave the chamber when he felt the pang of distress through the Force; Atra and Locke's adversaries having them in a tough spot.

He would've left the room immediately had his own adversary not taken the Miraluka's lull in focus to break free from his snare and to stab him with a syringe in the shoulder. A cry of pain erupted from the Jedi, anger following it for only a second before he controlled it, the Force wrapping about the man and tossing him across the room. As his body collided with the wall, the agent slid to the floor before rising to his feet swiftly, a thought crossing Methyas' mind, "But of course...these guys are superhuman..."

The Force screamed out as the man leapt out to strike the Jedi, a second later the tell-tale snap-hiss of a saber igniting filled the chamber mere seconds before the familiar vacuum filled its place. The agent falling to the ground in a heap as his head tumbled across the floor ahead of him. A sigh escaped Methyas as he whispered to no-one in particular, the Force obeying his command to yank the syringe from his shoulder, "I'm sorry; but you left me no choice."

A twinge of pain shot through the Miraluka's shoulder as the syringe dropped to the floor, his hand reaching for his shoulder as he grimaced from the sudden onset sharpness of it. Taking a deep breath, Methyas focused the Force upon the wound, a smaller one than what should have caused such a pain; but he ignored it for now as he needed to regroup with Atra and Locke.

"Western" Hanger 12-A
DSOG Secure Wing, Marakith Skyhook
Geo-synchronous Orbit, Aeotheran
Present

He had found the Troopers helping them aboard the shuttle, and now they all stood here in the hanger of Marakith; each of them and a Black Guard staring at him as though he had said something absurd. Finally Locke spoke up again, "Are you alright, Methyas?"

"Hmm? Yes, just thinking is all...where shall we debrief?" Methyas responded quickly, the dull pain in his shoulder returning to him.

"I figured we could go to the former Aedile or Quaestor quarters aboard the Skyhook, speak freely there."

Methyas didn't need much more of a direction, motioning for Locke to take the lead as he focused within the Priest's mind, letting his thoughts flow in quickly, "I saw Macron and his team wandering through the halls a few moments ago, perhaps we should speak with him about Atra, Sai and the events at Cenota?"

Around an hour and a half ago
Power plant outside Kel Rasha
Aeotheron

The four Sadowans ran across what remained of the beach. As they reached the building the Dark Jedi got in a single file line, each with their hand on the shoulder of the man in front of him. Fremoc kicked in the door and the men fallowed him in. They looked around expecting the place to be full of people ready to fight, but the area was empty.

“Something’s wrong here…” Fremoc stated plainly “…It can’t be this easy.”

Roxas’s crimson eyes shifted back and forth as he looked for anything out of place. He yawned as he stepped into the center of the room.

“It’s too quiet in here…” he started to taunt with an increasingly dark tone “Come out come out where ever you are. Hide and seek is about to end.”

The scanners of the Alchemists armor beeped as they searched the area for life. His vocoder vibrated as he spoke “They are upstairs.”

“Element of surprise or gung-ho?” Roxas asked, leaving the decision to the three Sons of Sadow.

Malisane queried “What equipment does your armor have, that still works Roxas?”

Roxas looked down at his equipment and began listing “Flamethrower, grapple hooks, flashlight, gauntlet blaster, and a few surprised in my belt.”

Fremoc turned to Roxas asking “What surprises?”

Roxas smiled as he replied “Garrote wire, knife, blaster, ammunition, random survival gear, and best of all lots of explosives.”

Macron giggled as he replied “Well we shouldn’t use most of that because we need the power plant intact.”

“Why would they be after the plant anyway? Cutting the power to the city wouldn’t be a big deal” Roxas inquired.

Macron’s vocoder vibrated with his reply “They are going to use the reactor to pollute the atmosphere and harm the entire planet. We have to make sure that we don’t damage the plant while we get rid of the terrorists.”

“We should stick together, so that we can handle this quickly and get to the other parts of the System being attacked.” Malisane stated while adjusting his robes for more comfort. As he finished with his garments he continued “We could lead them into a narrow hallway or room and have Roxas toast them. Most of the walls are metal thankfully, so he won’t be able to burn down the plant.” The look of confidence in his eyes, almost made the other Sons of Sadow agree, but Fremoc interjected.

“I call him a failure for a reason.”

Roxas checked the flamethrower on his gauntlet and then walked on ahead without replying.
…Failure…We’ll see…

“Where do you think you’re going?” Fremoc called to Roxas.

Without turning he replied in a determined tone “To kill these bastards for Sadow and if I fail then so be it. I’ll do my duty for the Clan.”

Fremoc didn’t reply; he was happy, but didn’t show it. He could see that Roxas had learned, but what he couldn’t see was that Naga Sadow would never take the place of the Mandalorian’s former Clan, but instead would become his new Clan. The others hurried to catch up. Macron giggled to himself as the group made it upstairs and held up his hand to signal for the group to stop.

“Malisane, I love your plan, but what do you suggest if the flames get out of hand?” The Alchemist asked, not to question his alley’s intelligence, but to be completely sure of his plan.

Malisane gave a slight smile as he replied “Well with three sons of Sadow I’m sure we can use our famous Never Sober telekinesis to hold the flames at bay, but one person will be holding the flames alone on the side that Roxas is shooting toward unless they can lock the terrorists in front of Roxas with that large door.”

“Sounds good to me, but make sure to hold your breath because it wont smell like roses.” Roxas said as he adjusted the flamethrower, so that there won’t be an overwhelming amount of flames.

Fremoc spoke up “I’ll lead them to us and cloak myself as we reach the door, so that they will run past me. Besides, it‘ll be easier for Sith to use telekinesis.”

Fremoc went ahead of the group. His boots clacking on the floor as he walked toward the control room of the power plant. “Hello morons.” Fremoc said to catch the attention of the terrorists as he walked into the control room.

“Get him!” one of them shouted.

Fremoc laughed “Come get some!” as he quickly headed back toward the other Sadowans. He reached the door and focused on not being seen. The fabric of the Force wrapped around the Fist and bent the ambient light around him to hide him from sight. The terrorists ran past him and straight into the hall way that Roxas had waiting in. Fremoc slammed the door and Roxas let an evil grin cross his lips as he spoke “Welcome to the barbeque.”

Roxas lifted his left arm and touched his gauntlet with his right hand. The flamethrower sparked to life and the flames shot out to engulf the small space almost instantly. The hot air sounded like a whirlwind as the flames spread. Macron and Malisane reached out with their minds. The strength of their wills held the flames at bay, so that the building wouldn’t suffer damage. Within moments the terrorists were nothing more than bones and ash. The flames vanished as quickly as they appeared and Roxas wiped some sweat from his brow. The door at the end of the hall had melted, but it was swiftly opened with a well placed Force blast. The Alchemist patted Roxas on the shoulder as he walked past and headed for the control room. The others followed and were granted with the sight of seeing Macron tap on a keypad for a few moments and all was done.

“Well, now what?” Roxas asked sounding exhausted. He was well past spent thanks to the alchemy and his now weaker connection to the Force.

“We’ll go to the skyhook and check in with the rest of the system.” Macron replied “I’m curious as to how things are fairing elsewhere.”

"Western" Hanger 12-A
DSOG Secure Wing, Marakith Skyhook
Geo-synchronous Orbit, Aeotheran

Roxas yawned as they stood in hall. He reached out and grabbed a trooper’s arm as he walked past.

“Where is a cot? I need some rest.”

The trooper replied “Go to the end of the corridor and take a right. In the middle of that corridor take a left and the barracks will be at the end of the hall.”

“Awesome.” Roxas replied quickly as he started on the path. He waved to the Sons of Sadow and said “I’ll be back once I get some sleep. I can barely stand up.”

“We’ll wake you if we need anything.” Macron replied.

“I’m here to serve.” Roxas jested as he headed for the barracks.

Malisane turned to the two other sons "Something has t be off here, tht was much easier than expected."

Fremoc nodded "I agree. Their forces weren't strong enough to hold the position even from DSOG troopers."

Macron agreed " I think that something else is going on here, something ellusive. It was far to easy to take care of the small number of enemies that were in the plant."

Former Quaestor’s Office, Marakith Skyhook
Geosynchronous orbit over Aeotheran

Locke leaned back in the ornate chair behind the old Ludo Kressh Quaestor’s massive desk and flexed his arm. “Methyas, between you and the medical droids we have on staff, it’s as good as new.” He looked toward the view port, his voice lowering to a whisper. “Thanks.”

Arrayed around the desk were Methyas, Atra, and Locke’s Black Guard. He still wasn’t sure what to do with her. He couldn’t just dismiss her; it was, after all, her job to protect him. At the same time, he didn’t want to put her at risk; Locke knew that the missions he undertook were dangerous, and he also knew that his Guardsman was a journeyman.

Locke recalled Methyas’s earlier message through the Force. He turned to Atra. “Atra, would you and my Black Guard please wait outside for a few moments?”

“Sure, “ Atra said, rising from his own seat, just as the Guardsman fidgeted.

Locke gave her a stern look, putting his elbows on the desk and his hands together under his chin, trying his best to put authority behind his movements. “Only a few moments, “ he repeated. That put it to rest. Locke thought he could sense her relax a bit.

When they had left, Locke spoke first. “About Cenota and Macron...I agree, we should talk to them. We can’t let this go on.” He paused; Methyas merely nodded. “If those mutants had gotten out, the Clan would be in shambles. Furthermore, many good troops have died for nothing fighting them and Tsainetomo. We can’t have this. And then there’s Atra...” Locke thought he felt just a twinge of anger from Methyas, but it could have been his imagination. Why can’t I have your calm and patience? Locke wondered to himself.

“Indeed, “ Methyas said. “But what can we do?”

Locke leaned back again, breathing deeply. “We might have to take action.”

“Fight him, you mean?”

“Yeah, “ Locke nodded, “I don’t want to, but...” Locke made a sound of anguish before raising his voice. “He experimented on good people like Atra! He almost cost us Clanship with his experiments! I can’t stand by and let that continue without doing something!” He sighed again, attempting to calm himself.

“If your conviction is strong, then you must follow it, “ Methyas said.

Locke nodded. “Will you support me?”

“Indeed, this is as much my fight as yours. Atra will too.”

“What are our chances?”

“Not good, “ Methyas said, “unless...” Locke briefly felt a prickling in the Force from the Obelisk. “Ah, “ Methyas continued, “Mirado is on the station.”

Locke thought about this for a moment. “Mirado would certainly be helpful, will he help us?” He realized that it was no longer a question of if, he assumed there would be a confrontation now. Locke suppressed a shudder. He’s one of the most powerful members of the Clan. By the Force, what am I thinking?

“Yes, “ Methyas said. “He is my brother, and has no great love for Macron’s ways himself. Being apprenticed to the madman gave him a unique perspective.”

“Alright, “ Locke said, “call Atra back in.”

Locke felt another sensation in the Force. A moment later Atra and Locke’s Guardsman returned. Locke looked Atra dead in the eyes as he explained the situation to him. He could feel the other Jedi’s heart beat faster. Then Locke turned to his Black Guard. “This will be a difficult fight. I cannot ensure your survival. I think you must sit this one out.”

“You can’t-this is my job...” she began.

Methyas raised one arm, silently. Somehow, it got her to stop. He’ll have to teach me that trick someday. “If you enter this fight with us, you might needlessly die. Instead you should guard the exit. We must not be disturbed by anyone during our actions here.”

“But...” the Guardsman continued.

“No buts, “ Methyas said firmly. “We don’t want an up and coming journeyman to die unnecessarily.” She finally nodded.

“Then it’s settled, “ Locke said. He stood and swung his arm up and down again. “I’m fine, how are you Atra?”

“My arms are usable, “ Atra said. Locke could tell he wasn’t in top shape, but he would have to do. Grimly, Locke realized he was considering Atra more as an extra body to draw attention than anything. Am I no better than Macron?

“Let’s go.”

Locke led them out into the halls of the station, Methyas to one side, Atra to the other, Locke’s Black Guard a pace behind. They were completely silent. Mirado met up with them at an intersection. They continued walking without slowing a pace. Locke only broke the silence once. “Did Methyas bring you up to speed?” He asked, referring to the Miraluka’s ability to communicate thoughts in the Force.

“Yes, “ Mirado replied.

When they came to the spacious guest quarters Macron occupied, they were met by Fremoc and Malisane in the entry chamber. Methyas spoke a few hushed words to his cousin, who nodded, gesturing to Malisane. The two left the room, ignoring the others.

“What did you say?” Locke whispered.

“I merely informed my cousin of our intent. He won’t interfere, but he may tell someone who will.”

“Then we must be quick, “ Locke said. After no one moved for a moment, Locke was reminded that he was supposed to take charge. He swallowed, and stepped forward, opening the doors. Atra, Methyas, and Mirado stepped through behind him, his Black Guard standing in the entryway, turning to face the doors out of the quarters.

Inside, Locke surveyed the spacious living room. In front of a panoramic view of the space outside were a complex asymmetric array of chairs, couches, tables, and other pieces of furniture. In places, the floor was a different height than in others, indicating separate areas: the Consul’s guest quarters were meant to entertain large and diverse groups. In the center stood Macron, his back to the four Jedi, looking up at a massive floating hologram of Aeotheran in the middle of the room. As he turned to meet the group, Locke noticed another form stir from a couch nearby: Roxas Buurenaar. They hadn’t accounted for him. Suddenly, a warm feeling settled over Locke. From previous experience, he knew it to be Methyas’s battle meld.

“Why, Locke, what a surprise!” Macron said. He seemed almost drunk, but Locke knew it to be his madness.

“I don’t think it will be pleasant, my Consul, “ Locke whispered. “We must discuss...events.”

“Hmm, “ Macron said, “which events? The events on the jungle world below, or the events on Tarthos?” He ended his statement with a quiet giggle, as if knowing what he left out.

“Cenota, “ Locke said.

“Ah, “ Macron said. “You want to know about the prisoner, and...” he trailed off, appearing to notice Atra for the first time. “Well, you turned out well, “ he giggled. Atra almost lunged forward; Locke assumed Methyas was soothing him through the Force.

“Him as well, “ Locke said, “ and the mutants. Good people died because of your experiments. You worked on one of our own!”

“Hah! “ Macron began, his voice changing pitch, “ he wasn’t one of our own until you found him and you trained him” he said, jabbing a finger first at Locke and then in Methyas’s direction.

“Regardless, what you were doing was inappropriate, “ Methyas answered flatly.

“We are Dark Jedi, are we not?” Macron giggled. “Is it not our way to pursue power at any cost?”

“These are our people!” Locke all-but growled. “They serve us loyally. We shouldn’t just do whatever we want with them!”

Macron, silent, stepped toward Locke. “I don’t think you understand what it means to be a Dark Jedi, boy.”

“I understand plenty well, “ Locke answered, gritting his teeth.

“Well, “ Macron giggled, “what’s done is done, and it won’t be stopped because a few upstarts disagree with it.”

I”m afraid it isn’t that simple, “ Locke continued, forcing his voice to be steady. “We can’t allow the Clan to continue under this doctrine.”

“Ah, “ Macron cackled, “so it comes to this, eh? Treason? I didn’t take you for the fool, Locke Sonjie.”

Locke bristled. He’s trying to weaken you, he told himself. “What we do is for the good of the Clan.”

“The good of the Clan!” Macron mimicked, giggling. “Let me show you how a true Dark Jedi operates.” Suddenly one of his lightsabers was in his hand, but not ignited yet.

Roxas had stood, and come around to stand beside the two groups. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“These fools are committing high treason, assist me in their subduction.”

Roxas looked from Macron to the other group, his eyes briefly centering on Mirado.

“Make a choice, boy, “ Macron said, seemingly without care for which it would be.

Locke could sense the conflict in Roxas, before he hesitantly stepped to Macron’s side. “I serve the Clan, “ he said.

“Good, “ Macron said curtly. “Now...” He ignited his crimson blade.

All at once, hues of blue, yellow, silver and violet gave the room an odd cast as everyone else ignited their own weapons. In the brief moment of silence that followed, Locke felt a thought from Methyas: Atra, myself, hold him off, Locke, Mirado, subdue Roxas.

Then everything happened at once. Macron snarled and moved forward, his lightsaber already angled to attack, seemingly aiming to strike Locke down immediately. Locke leaped back as Methyas and Atra, almost as one, stepped between them, deflecting Macron’s strikes. Locke could feel the Force at work in Methyas, but he had no time to guess at what he was doing.

Locke turned to Roxas, who held his lightsaber up defensively. Mirado moved around to his side, flanking him. It was a slow movement at first, but then Mirado leaped forward, his violet lightsaber flashing in quick arcs. As Locke struck from the other side, he noted Mirado’s movements in puzzlement: he didn’t appear to be trying to strike with his lightsaber. Realization suddenly dawned on Locke: Mirado must have been looking for a way to end the fight without injuring Roxas too much.

Resolving not to hurt Roxas himself, Locke put up a quick series of weak strikes, seeking to keep the Mandalorian busy while Mirado developed his plan. Hurry, Locke sent.

Marakith Skyhook
Geosynchronous orbit over Aeotheran

The tension of the room was thick. Light sabers hummed in the hands of their masters between slashes and strikes. Locke’s yellow blade was stopped by the Mandalorian’s white blade in mid attack. The deceptiveness of shii-cho worked well, as Locke could have never guessed that Roxas would be able to stop an attack by striking into it’s path. The two blades shunted for an instant and the light fell to the Obelisk’s face.

Surprise instantaneously engulfed the Priest’s mind. What once were brown eyes in the Mandalorian’s head were now red and glowing. He realized that Atra wasn’t the only one to have alchemy done to them and it infuriated him.

“Roxas, what the frak happened to you?!” The Proconsul exclaimed in disbelief.

Roxas gave a grin with his reply “Macron gifted me with some enhancements.”

Atra’s eyes shifted over quickly at the words. How could anyone view this as a gift? he thought.

“So he’s corrupted you?” The Krath retorted.

“What he did was to save my life.” The Fists’s failed apprentice replied.

Mirado came quickly to the Mandalorian’s back. His violet saber came arcing in to give a passing wound, but it was easily halted by an amazingly random looking swing. It was known that Shii-cho was the Mandalorian’s chosen form, but it was never clear how adept he was in the form; although, it seemed that it would soon be learned. Locke stepped up the speed of his attacks, doing what he could to divide the Obelisk’s attention away from Mirado. If he could make Roxas fight as if it was one on one then he could be stopped without too much harm.

Lightsabers continued to swing and clash with violent flashes of light. Each time yellow and violet were stopped by white. Mirado and Locke were astounded with the knowledge that Roxas had of Shii-Cho. Instead of blocking incomming attacks he would strike into the attack and knock it back even at what seemed like near impossible angles. To the untrained eye it was as if the Mandalorian's movements were sparatic and random.

Roxas tightened his grip on his saber and swung his right arm, arcing the blade toward Locke’s yellow blade. The weapon nearly flew from the Krath’s hand and as he stumbled the Mandalorian swung his left arm to punch, but Mirado was there to swipe the attack away with dance like artistry. Locke quickly regained himself and influenced the Force to slow the Mandalorian’s mind and body. The effects weren’t drastic, but were enough to cloud Roxas’s mind. Locke quickly stepped toward Roxas and arced his blade at the Obelisks’s saber. The weapon was launched from the Mandalorian’s hand, but was quickly replaced by a knife.

Roxas almost instantly bent his knees and turned his body to take the basic stance of Jakelian in preparation for the next attack.

"Stop playing around Mandalorian!" Macron shouted his hands with his hands full of the other two dark jedi. "Don't fail me like you did your master!"

Anger flowed through Roxas and Macron could feel it. The Sith got his desired effect. Roxas slashed and Locke moved his yellow saber to defend. The balde of the knife melted off as it touched the lightsaber, some of it falling to the floor in a molten puddle. Roxas backflipped to grab his lightsaber from the floor once again. It's white blade roared to life. Luckily it did at the perfect time to block a slash from Mirado.

Marakith Skyhook
Geosynchronous orbit over Aeotheran

Atra was on the verge of mental collapse, his rage fighting to take over. Five years he had spent in Hell. Five years locked away, suffering torture and worse. Few knew what had been done to him, outside of the man he now confronted. Atra didn’t know for sure that Macron’s orders were responsible for his suffering, but he knew for sure it was this man’s research that had fed into it. At the back of his mind was a familiar touch, his master’s battlemeld coming into being as the confrontation took shape. Atra’s cyan saber blade spun dangerously, foreshadowing the coming attack. As Macron stepped in line, his red saber humming with deadly intent, the light of Atra’s saber cut out. The briefest sign of confusion appeared in the Consul’s eyes before he sensed the coming blast. Atra had disengaged his saber in favour of utilizing the Force, a concussion of power blasting towards his target.

Macron giggled in his insanity, glee sparkling in his gaze as his barrier caused Atra’s blast to wash over him. Closing the gap with frightening speed his red blade shifted into position. Methyas almost as quickly, a whirlwind of Force interrupting the pair as Macron’s feet left the ground for a fleeting moment. Atra spun back, releasing a quick punch of Force at Macron whilst he was distracted. The combination of lack of footing and Atra’s attacked knocked Macron back, though this seemed to only feed his apparent glee. “This guy’s insane,” Atra muttered, recognizing the crazed look in the man’s eyes.

“Keep your guard up.”

Atra nodded, attempting to step back into position before finding himself frozen. “The hell?” In the blink of an eye the world he knew was gone, visions and memories flashing throughout the haze that now clouded his mind. The coalescing sound of Atra’s scream and Macron’s laugh were enough to give Methyas pause, the master turning his attentions to his apprentice. Unable to act Methyas spun back, a red glow passing through the space he had just occupied.

Chaos, the only word that best described the conflict now raging upon the Skyhook was just that. Methyas worked to keep at range from Macron, the two powerful Jedi falling into a deadly game of catch as tables and chairs flew through the air. Atra recovered his sanity slowly, the haze dropping to reveal the battle once more. He could hear and see Locke and Mirado engaged with Roxas, barely dodging a stray chair in the process. His eyes locking once more upon Macron Atra’s rage took over. Charging forward he let the Force fill him, feeling its tendrils reaching into his core as he siphoned the very Living Force around him. Macron turned as Atra launched into what appeared to be a dance, a series of sweeping arms and quick strikes. Each move was accompanied by a series of Strikes within the Force, causing Macron to both shift physically and deflect the offending moves with the Force. A giggle followed by sharp pain followed the display, Atra’s form crumpled against Macron as the Consul looked on.

“Impressive, considering your experiment was a failure.” The Consul’s eyes flashed dangerously as a burst of energy jettisoned from his hand, the shock sending Atra flying back as blood erupted from his chest.

“Atra!” Methyas shouted, unable to truly see his apprentice but fully aware of the pain engulfing the Corellian.

“Damnit,” Atra wheezed out through clenched teeth, the metallic tang of blood sweeping over his tongue as it trickled down his chin. The world faded to black as the numbing pain consumed him.

It was a riot of motion, color, and energy. These things weren’t particularly conducive to a good mood in most people, but for Mirado, it was especially true.
Of course, very little was for him. Really, in retrospect, nothing put him into a good mood.

“Help Methyas.” Mirado said to Locke, rolling under the Proconsul’s attack to put himself into better position to attack Roxas. “He needs it more than I do.”

Locke said nothing, but disengaged quickly, allowing the two Obelisk to do what they did best. It began as elegant as it could, considering the nature of the
two combatants. Something about a lightsaber almost dictated that a proper duel begin much like a game of Dejarik.

“Really?” he muttered out of nowhere as he snapped and twisted his saber in defense against Roxas’ rather skilled Shii-Cho. Many discounted the Mandalorian,
but he studied what he needed to, to do his job, and paid attention when he did it. Mastering Form One was, for many, little more than a study of practical
techniques to apply to something else. For Roxas, it was a solution to many of life’s little problems.

“Shocked?” Roxas snapped back, bringing a heavy slice downwards, his grip firm on the hilt of his lightsaber. “I told you, if we fought, it would get messy.”

“No,” Mirado muttered, sidestepping the strike and twirling the tip of his ultramarine blade into Roxas’ white one. “I meant using K’thri on an Echani fighter.”

“What?” Roxas barked, baffled at what seemed like complete nonsense. Like a good Mandalorian, he’d perfected Jakelian, and knew Mirado to prefer Teras
Kasi over the Iridonian art. It wasn’t until he noticed Atra in a heap that he realized he’d underestimated the perception of his opponent.

Of course, it wasn’t his perception Mirado was relying on, it was his intellect. He’d drawn the Mandalorian’s attention away from his own fight, giving the
slightest moment of opening in an otherwise effective defense via offense. In that moment, Mirado opened up his right hand into a textbook Krayt’s Maw
ridgehand, and drove it into Roxas’ ribs.

The impact struck Roxas’ armor, the impact distributing itself over the plates of metal. Still, the concentration of energy was more than sufficient to transfer
into the Mandalorian’s body. It tingled a bit, but caused little pain, and no noticeable damage.

“Your time in the high rises soften you?” Roxas sneered, before lashing out with a boot to the Miraluka’s chest. It struck square, and caused Mirado to roll
backwards from the heavy impact, made all the more so from a strength borne of the Force. To be fair, it hurt, and not just a little, more like Mirado felt as
though his sternum was a good sneeze away from breaking into countless pieces. It also put him on his back, meaning he had almost no time to bring his
lightsaber to bear in an attempt to stop the strike that Roxas followed up with.

Leaning with all his weight, Roxas pushed Mirado’s ultramarine blade back towards the Miraluka’s face. In the background of his awareness, Mirado could hear
Macron’s insane laughter, moments before Methyas took the brunt of some telekinetic assault. Powerful in the Force as the (very slightly) older Miraluka
was, Macron simply had more time and experience under his belt, and the damage rippled through the chain the brothers shared.

Forced to shake the feeling or die, Mirado grimaced, and stuck his boot into Roxas’ chest, flipping him backwards in repayment. As he spun to his feet, the
assassin flicked a hand, using another telekinetic application to strike the Mandalorian on the middle inside thigh, again, an inconsequential blow.

“What is with you?” Roxas asked, his voice almost concerned. “Surely you haven’t grown that weak.” He pulled himself to his feet, shook his leg out, and
stepped back in, cutting in linear, and measured strikes. Each contact with Mirado’s lightsaber saw Roxas push his hips into the attack to impart his full mass
into the strike. It was a tactic of physical attrition, wearing your opponent down while doing little to exert yourself, and it was working.

“Been a busy week, I had to pencil you in last minute,” Mirado quipped as he rolled his lightsaber around a solid block in a failed attempt to riposte. One more
blow to the Mandalorian though, he only needed one more for checkmate.

“Methyas,” Mirado called out to his brother across their chain. “Hit him here. Not too hard.” He added, and focused his Sight a scant two centimeters
below Roxas’ heart. In his mind’s eye, he could see the web of nerves, the flow of energy in his opponent’s body, and the dissonance he’d already put into motion.

Across the room, Methyas, in all his righteous ginger glory, heard his brother’s quiet call. He’d learned not to question Mirado on matters like this, any more than
Mirado would question the tactical approach Methyas applied to his own life. With Locke tangled in Macron’s crushing grip, he could spare but a moment, but did
so, flicking his hand almost identical to his brother’s, forcing a small impact to concentrate itself on the targeted area.

Across the room, Roxas had Mirado pinned against the wall, close enough that the Miraluka could smell Roxas’ breakfast on his breath. It wasn’t fear that pulsed
through the assassin’s body though, it was remorse. Remorse that he couldn’t see every little detail on Roxas’ face the moment that Methyas’ telekinetic pop
manifested itself.

Instantly, everything seemed to just stop working for the Mandalorian. His arms felt as though filled with lead, and his legs went wobbly. He could only gape as
Mirado caught his falling right arm before jabbing two extended fingers into his brachial artery. At that moment, it got worse. Everything went tingly and numb,
leaving the Mandalorian paralyzed and helpless.

“He made you stronger,” Mirado said in a lecturing tone. “He made you tougher, and he made you faster. Pity he didn’t make you smarter Roxas.” The Miraluka
finished by whipping a shoulder rolling elbow shot into the Mandalorian’s temple. In the last moments before consciousness fled him, Roxas knew he was smart
enough to realize one thing. He’d been shown mercy, again.

As his opponent crumbled into a heap on the floor, Mirado turned to face his Master, joining his brother, and, well, maybe Locke was his friend. He’d have to ask
Methyas about that later. Provided they didn’t die for their troubles first.

Beneath Alabrek Citadel
The Great Sadow Library

Without a sound, Malisane’s head twisted around and the Son of Sadow crumpled silently to the stone floor, his angry bloodshot eyes still staring straight up at the burning shelves all around them. Xanos had struck so suddenly Malisane hadn’t even had the chance the cry out for aid – not that the woman, Soolin, was likely to have helped. The Falleen stared down at the broken creature beneath him, the fire fast fading from Malisane’s eyes, dulling blue as the last flickers of his life extinguished.

The bald woman had by now fled, vaulting onto the heavens atop of one of the towering shelves before disappearing into the flashing maelstrom of ancient energy that swirled through the winding corridors. Even with his preternatural faculties, Xanos had lost sight of the woman’s presence on the great tapestry, much like when an ysalamir or Yuuzhan Vong disappeared into their own emptiness.

“Over here! We have one! No! This one is dead! Here...”

In the back of his mind, Xanos heard the Citadel’s security teams arrive, but he blocked out the groans of the dead and the dying, directing his focus to the crackling storm clouds that engulfed the library still. His skin writhed and blood blistered as voices from across history cried out for release.

“No.”

He had walked that path many years ago and would not walk it again. He was here for answers and was not about to be denied by the phantoms and stormtroopers who had violated the library’s great halls.

Xanos shut his eyes and held out his arms, reaching deep into the forgotten font of power that had built up within the walls of the fortress of Alabrek for tens of millennia. Faces young and old flashed before his mind’s eye; Trevarus and Grand Masters; Ekind; Ombi; even Lord Orian himself; stretching right back to the cannibal Rakata of ancient times. A violet-skinned Ombi screamed as one of those hammer-headed warlords of the past plunged a knife into her flesh and carved off a morsel with his fork. Anger; hatred; suffering— that moment, all of the painful hallmarks of life which were painted across Alabrek’s dark history now swirled through the library; a destructive force without measure.

“No,” Xanos repeated.

All life was sorrow. He would not help them. It was time they accepted the hand fate had dealt. The Falleen’s eyes opened again to the armour melting off the Dlarit marine in front of him; beside stood Sildrin, one shoulder up against the second marine who was helping support her. Their eyes were on the Dark Prophet, on the inferno around them all, on the corpse of Malisane Sadow on the ground.

“I am Dominion. If you truly seek salvation, you will obey.”

Xanos reached down and grabbed hold of the body that wore the face of Malisane Sadow and then wrenched it into the circling torrents of green and red and violet energy. The flames across the library rushed to consume the corpse and Malisane disappeared in a writhing mass of rainbows, hundreds of multicoloured snakes of energy knotting around him as the inferno collapsed in upon itself in one spot, twisting and entangling into a snare that snarled through the tapestry of reality.

Xanos reached up in the air and with a slice of his hands severed the threads, cutting through the ties that still bound the lingering echoes of the past to the present. The writhing chaos flashed gold.

And the room fell silent.

The trooper in front of Xanos finally managed to unhook his chest plate and chucked it onto the floor right as Malisane’s smoking body came crashing back down, his clothes and face as unrecognisable as the trooper’s warped and melted armour. Sildrin lowered her blind eyes to the corpse as more footsteps echoed in the distance and new voices called out for survivors.

“Subject Thirty-Two,” said Sildrin to herself, recalling what Soolin had called Malisane. “Who was he?”

Her question was answered with the arrival of another response team of troopers who spilled out into the area, forming a circle around the two Dark Jedi and the injured troopers already with them.

“Master Caerick said we’d find you both here.” The voice belonged to a middle-aged male human in red and black armour. The man shifted on his feet when his piercing silver gaze switched from Sildrin to Xanos. “What happened here?” Before either replied, the man’s eyes fell to the body smouldering between them and his hand dropped to the lightsaber hanging on his belt. “Is that Malisane?!”

Sildrin was about to answer, but she stopped when Xanos turned to her and shook his head.

“Ah, Jeric,” said a familiar voice in amusement. Trevarus appeared behind the Ragnos Quaestor. “I see you’ve found my wayward students.” The Oracle sniffed; he looked down at the smoking body on the floor and pursed his lips in distaste. “Clones?” Trevarus snorted in disgust. “How trite.”

Consul's Quarters, DSOG Secure Wing
Marakith Skyhook, Geo-synchronous over Seng Karash
Aeotheran

A rainbow of colours erupted as Sabers met, the two "traitors" both leaning their weight against the Alchemist's strike as he giggled maniacally at the pair's futile attempt to hold him back. Methyas grit his teeth as he felt his defenses faltering, Locke seeming to respond similarily to the former Consul as the pair leapt back away from Macron, the Consul simply pulling his own saber close within his own body as he turned to face the potential usurpers. Another giggle escaped the elder Sadow, a patronizing tone behind it as he simply shook his head; no matter what the pair of Jedi had thought, he was still far more powerful than they could contend with. As the trio stood there, Methyas swiftly deactivated his saber, waiting defensively with saber in hand as his opponent plotted his next move.

It didn't take long for the Warlord to respond, the Force blossoming around the pair as the Sith summoned it to his will before unleashing a telekinetic burst at the pair. The assault tore across the room, pounding into Locke and casting him back a few feet as the burst of air seemed to simply casting about the Jedi as though he were a stone amongst a storm. Methyas took the brief opening swiftly as Locke started to rise to his feet, the palpable weight of the Force consuming the chamber once more as the Jedi allowed the living current to flow through him before a telekinetic pulse slammed towards the back of Macron's knees in rapid succession.

The Alchemist's brow furrowed for a moment as he felt the Force come to his aid, the first blow striking home and causing his knee to buck forward before he summoned a barrier to stop the following strikes. Methyas took a few breaths as he stopped the assault, feeling Locke at his side again and casting a knowing glance at his companion as Methyas simply took a step between the Consul and Proconsul. Again the pressure of the Force consumed the room, though this time it felt like a veritable maelstrom of chaos as Jedi versus Sith summoned forth their power. A faithful ally and a tool to be bent, the pair unleashed their assault, the Miraluka's blast screaming from his palm seconds before the Alchemist's leapt forth to meet it.

Methyas had known how this small duel would end before he had even considered it, the move had simply been an attempt to empty the Warlord's reserves; though the move itself was far more of a gamble than he'd hoped to through himself into. Macron had reached the pinnacle of the Equite ranks, his power unmatched by any in this room whereas Methyas had only climbed roughly half-way up this mountain of knowledge and skill. It was for this reason alone that despite the Miraluka's daunting connection to the Force itself, that he was doomed to fail. Moments passed as Consul and former Consul remained locked in a deadly game of chicken, their powers pressing forth against each others as Methyas' blast slowly receded back towards him, the only saving grace for the Miraluka being his large reserves.

In a moment's notice, the Miraluka's beam vanished before the room erupted with the sound of the Consul's blast crashing into...nothing? The Miralula simple stood there, the space before his hands smouldering as the floor right before him appeared scarred and seared from the heat of the assault. "A barrier, it must have barely held..." Locke thought in passing before a voice responded over the meld, a low grumble from the Jedi, "No, I tried to dissipate the blast...I didn't entirely succeed."

The Jedi simply fell to his knees as Mirado seemed to shake his hands absent-mindedly, the chain between Brothers meaning the pair could feel each other's pain if their walls were down, as they were with the elder L'eonheart's meld. Locke caught the motion out of the corner of his eye, as he was certain Macron had as well, before Mirado moved to slip into a flanking position. Amongst the chaos, Methyas simply centered himself; he had succeeded in avoiding a large portion of the blast at the expense of his own reserves; he would be able to recover swiftly enough but his focus needed to remain on keeping the others united through the meld.

The Consul's fiendish cackling seemed to fill the chamber as he looked upon the pair before him, "Oh yes, this is just wonderful! I can't believe you thought you could challenge me if this is the best you could muster..."

Locke's grip tensed around his saber hilt as the Consul seemed to mock them, Methyas still maintaining his calm as he breathed deeply; his reserves filling swiftly as he waited for the next move, his finger waiting calmly upon the weapon's activator. The Consul simply giggled again as he spoke, "A failed Consul who is more focused on protecting his allies than taking a chance to kill his opponent, a Proconsul who blindly follows him!" The Warlord cackled again as he spoke, "If you can't even think for yourself, why would you dare think you could usurp me?"

The grip upon the Proconsul's weapon tightened again before he started towards the Warlord with intent, the kneeling Jedi beside him simply letting out a sigh as he knew that no words could stop Locke from giving into some of anger and frustration with Macron. Swiftly Mirado moved to take up a better position, matching Locke's movements before Macron cocked his arm back and flung his saber at Methyas. The weapon moved with the aid of the Force as it leapt across the distance between them with the precision of a marksman; the familiar snap-hiss of a saber being engaged followed by a swift vacuum of the blade disengaging filled the air for only a moment as Methyas activated his saber to deflect the Consul's weapon.

In second's Macron had summoned his second blade to his hand, the blade leaping to life before the Force consumed the room again quickly and the Alchemist's hand pointed towards the Prelate slowly rising to his feet. The action was swift, Methyas immediately gasping for air as his field of vision shrank in a matter of seconds, the panic gripping him causing the Prelate to break his focus on his battle meld as self-preservation kicked in. Stumbling backwards, Methyas focused on maintaining his calm as he attempted to get away from combat as Locke and Mirado closed upon Macron, the former Consul calling out to his allies, "Keep on him. Distract him!"

As the Methyas stumbled out of the way of combat, he could feel the pain in his shoulder again from the attack on Inos; the pain seeming to be worse than it had been initially.

Consul's Quarters, DSOG Secure Wing
Marakith Skyhook, Geo-synchronous over Seng Karash
Aeotheran


“I’m impressed,” chuckled Macron as Methyas stumbled. “You shook that off eventually. Well done,” giggled the madman as he raised his tangerine-colored weapon higher in a right handed grip. “Even had to bust out the good blade,” the lunatic tittered as he spun the blade in a quick twist. “Either with me- or against me.” The Sith's sharp metal clad Nashtah teeth implants flashed as he grinned shark-like at Methyas.

Locke wasted no time. With the madman’s hubris evident, now was the time to strike while he was preoccupied with Methyas. Skilled with the Force as the Consul was, it was still foolish to take on several Dark Jedi simultaneously. Locke’s arm flashed, entering Macron’s range with a tight spin-flip of his own citrine bladed lightsaber. He reversed his grip on the blade deftly, twisting upward with his wrist as he struck with a rising flourish. Locke was quick, and even more so with the Force. His target was the madman’s left hand.

The gauntlet-clad hand snapped outward at the last possible moment, the palm slapping at Locke’s topaz-hued blade with nervous speed. The blade intercepted the hand, and Locke expected it to be severed. It was not. Sparks lit from the surface as the glancing blow was deflected from the armored gauntlet on the Warlord’s left hand. Unfortunately for Macron, the deflection was not perfect. In his gloating and blood lust he had focused too much on Methyas. The yellow blade skipped off his side, slicing into his flesh with the stink of burning chemicals within the synthetic human’s pallid skin. Macron screamed in anger.

Mirado attacked from the other side, a flanking position. The left-handed Miraluka Templar was strong, fast, and tough. And he had fought the madman many times in his own training as his former student. He knew most of his tricks- at least the ones Macron showed openly. He tried to engage the Warlord’s orange blade with Soresu deflections to draw him out. One! Two! The strikes came, and were deflected with tight turns of the wrist by the snarling Alchemist. It was looking like the two-pronged attack was going to get the job done.

Then, Macron SCREAMED. A blast of ear-splitting sonic energy followed by a wave of gut-wrenching fear washed over the group of battling Darksiders. The Force Scream still echoed in the chamber as Locke and Mirado hit the ground like puppets with their strings cut. This was a new trick, one Mirado had yet to encounter. The Horror was thick like rancid butter in the air, ebbing and flowing around them all. Mastery of fear was one of the first things taught to many Darksiders, and especially Sith. With time, many of them learned to evoke and harness that emotion and share it with their foes.

Macron’s left gauntlet-clad fist flexed, slowly lifted before him in a palm outward position as Macron slowed his breathing. The pain in his side was very real, although it has been pushed far back into his consciousness by the Dark Side. He was tiring from the exertion of fighting the three of them. One could only tap the Force so often before you eventually became tired. It was time to get serious. Even the toughest bantha could be overwhelmed by enough sand ticks, as the old saying went. Mercy had never been his forte although love for his Clan mates was. But in light of recent events and their own treachery they had become enemies in the Sith’s mind. It was time to end as many of these fools as he could before he fell.

Around him, the Dark Jedi warriors struggled to regain their footing and composure. Mirado was still stunned as Locke and Methyas shook off the effects of the crowd-controlling onslaught.

“At least one and perhaps all of you are going home in body bags tonight gentlemen. Which shall it be first?” Macron turned to regard the helpless Mirado with his yellow eyes. His death would be easiest. The outstretched hand turned into a balled fist as the Consul clenched it tight. “Hehe. Mirado… you first.” Mirado began to gasp and writhe on the ground as the Alchemist cackled. “Think I’m a weak old man with nothing to teach you, do you, Apprentice? Or should I call you Traitor?” Dun Moch dripped from his lips like snakes. Mirado reached for his throat. The pressure was awful, and the cartilage began to buckle. “Gack! Gurkkk…” The chamber began to darken as Mirado blacked out and slumped to the floor.

“Let him go,” challenged Locke as Methyas stood closely by him. “He’s helpless.”

“Exactly,” hissed Macron. “One down. Two to go.”

Beneath Alabrek Citadel
The Great Sadow Library

Embers still crackled from the damaged books overhead. Right now, however, all attention was on the thrumming carmine blades that shone from both ends of Jeric Cyrin’s lightsaber. The scorched corpse of Malisane Sadow lay, still smoking, on the ancient stones between the mixed assembly of Dark Jedi and Dlarit troops. The Quaestor’s eyes shifted from red-haired woman in front of him to the Falleen next to her, then back at the Dark Jedi Master who had come with him to the library.

Cautiously, Jeric took a step forward and nudged Malisane’s shoulder with his boot. More smoke wafted up from the blackened and now almost unrecognisable features of the Son of Sadow.

“What do you mean clone,” challenged Jeric, nudging the body with his foot again.

Heedless of the two lightsaber blades, Trevarus stepped in front of the Quaestor and knelt down to inspect the body. Looking past the burns and other damage, the face was certainly identifiable to one familiar with the Sith Battlelord. Moreover, however, the halls of the Great Library were sealed to all but the elders of Clan Naga Sadow; only the blood of a Sadow was strong enough to unlock the ancient wards. The body beneath Trevarus was indeed that of Malisane Sadow.

And yet it wasn’t.

The Oracle already knew this; his apprentice had known the truth the moment he had examined the discarded book back inside the entrance to the library. And what Xanos knew, Trevarus also knew. But the ways of the sorcerers had been forgotten by these modern day Disciples of Sadow, and the word of two Apostates was worth little to the Clan’s present Consul. Macron would demand proof.

So proof Trevarus would give him.

The Oracle put his hand on the face of the body beneath him and shut his eyes. Reaching into the Force, Trevarus sifted through the seams of the tapestry, following the threads of the clone’s life back to their source—or as far as his Sight would allow. Curious... the clone’s history was clouded; the threads frayed where something, or someone, had quite expertly sought to cover their tracks. But the detail of the clone’s origin did not interest Trevarus; what mattered was what there wasn’t—

Ah, there it is, thought the Oracle, or rather, there it isn’t.

Trevarus smiled and opened his eyes as the thread came to an end: two decades later than the real Malisane de Ath had been born. A clone had no history; no life. It was an illusion. Its false existence a lie conjured by science and technology; if regular life was itself already meaningless, a clone’s was beyond any purpose at all. If only the Sons of Sadow had not turned their backs on their namesake’s teachings, such deceptions would be beyond them. Inside, Trevarus shook his head, disappointed.

A lightsaber held no power against the dark side.

The Oracle stood up and turned back round to Jeric, whose red lightsabers still shone in the dim light of the seemingly endless archives. “Reach out, young Quaestor,” said Trevarus, sounding rather like a teacher—but of course, a teacher he then was. “Reach out and search back through the folds of this one’s history for the story of the man you know as Malisane de Ath and tell me what you see.”

Jeric frowned, his eyes briefly flicking to the other two Dark Jedi again, checking to make sure that Sildrin and Xanos were not planning anything. Trevarus grinned in amusement; it was humorous to see the supposed ‘crimes’ of the two Apostates were still remembered in the halls of Sadow—but then, Macron had never let the past rest, even when Lord Ashen had already extended his hand in clemency. After a moment, Jeric looked back at Trevarus, then he closed his eyes and concentrated.

“I... can’t see anything,” said the Quaestor uncertainly, his features tightening as he focused.

In front of Trevarus, Xanos’s skin shifted, the blood vessels under the surface repeatedly dilating and constricting in an unnatural ripple of peristalsis as the Falleen watched Jeric struggle in silence. The Oracle looked back at Jeric. “You must unlock your inner eye,” pressed Trevarus, well aware that he was explaining what Jeric already knew, but then that was precisely the point. “See what is unseen.”

“But,” began Jeric, “there’s nothing there.” The man paused. “Malisane’s life is empty.”

“Exactly!” replied Trevarus triumphantly.

The Quaestor opened his eyes again looked at each of the others in turn before finally deactivating his lightsaber and hooking it back onto his belt. “What happened to his past?”

“As I said,” answered the Oracle. “Clones have no pasts.”

Somewhere

The candles flickered illuminating the black stone room and the dark furniture. Malisane took a look round in confusion then sighed in annoyance. “So I’m back here again? Agrist where are you?”
“I am sorry to disappoint you but he is not here I am afraid,” a female voice announced from the shadows.
Malisane scowled as the blonde young woman approached him with a wry smile on her face. “You.”
“Indeed,” Severina replied.
“Why?”
She shrugged. “Do you mean why are you here or why myself?”
“Both.”
"The second one is easy enough,” she told him, “Severina is someone deceased you had a strong emotional connection to, and something of a fascinating figure in your history. You first encountered the Bastion immediately following her death.”
“And why am I here?”
“You need assistance. Your situation is dire. You and your Clan are beset with hostile forces from without and within, powerful traitors returned, your fellow Sadows fighting against each other, and you are in the middle desperate to resolve it all but overwhelmed and helpless. Your reluctance to strike at the one you call Macron is evidence of that. You lack direction.”
“How does the Bastion know that? I encased it in a mountain of fused rock to contain it.”
“Do you think that would contain the Bastion?” she asked in amusement, “your efforts stop people investigating it but that is all. In any case it is linked to your memories. You know, so it knows.”

He sat back on a bench. “Why me now, I thought I’d finished with it?”
She studied him. “You are still suggestible, it formed a link with you before and that gives it a conduit. Now it offers assistance.”
“To do what?”
“Whatever you need. You have seen what it is capable of hosted by a force user. It can use your abilities in ways you can not understand. Look at yourself in the mirror. Would your restoration have been within the abilities of the most powerful Sith? The Bastion can perceive the force and the universe in ways you can not comprehend, affect matter at a sub atomic level with no difficulty. You are aware of this or else I could not tell you now.” She looked at him seriously. “If you let the Bastion use you it can achieve what you can not imagine, destroy your foes with little or no effort, heal the grievously wounded or even the deceased. It could cleanse your Clan and your Brotherhood and perhaps beyond.”
“To what end?” Malisane demanded as his mind considered the offer, “Bob warned me about it and I did not listen before. I would not be a slave, I would not have my Clan become slaves to it. I will not let it destroy all to satisfy it’s curiosity.”
She sighed. “You must think what you reject,” she replied, “it would use you yes, but it would leave you with more than you have now.”
“I will not take that risk,” he replied, “it is not mine to take. I will leave now.”

She shrugged. “Perhaps you will change your mind, as things worsen. Or perhaps others will listen where you will not.”
“Leave my Clan alone Severina, or whatever you are,” he told her, “and next time why don’t you send my father to torment me instead.”
She shook her head, “That is not possible,” she replied, “you can only perceive those you know to be deceased here.”
He scowled, “My father is deceased,” he snapped back, “I killed him myself.”
For a few seconds she studied him, a look of genuine confusion washing over her features. Then her eyes glittered and she laughed. She was still laughing when the scene faded away.

Anger washed his features, renewing his attack, Locke's saber crashed like tides of hate against the dark soul of the alchemist. Their weapons sang their dirge, a howling discordant symphony that had stanzas of pain, of loss, of fear and of hate. Anger, resolute, proud and ferocious batted the man's orange blade back over and over again.

It was an eternity. Locke's muscles screamed at him. Methyas staggered, his arms growing heavier with each defense. They had burned their reserves, went back to the well of emotion so many times that it was starting to run dry. It had gone on for too long. It was an eternity.

It was three minutes.

The world seemed to unravel before their eyes, the colors bleeding together like rain across a painter's canvas. Locke drew back, eyes wide as he watched the pattern shift. Methyas sneered, evading Macron's wild riposte as he somersaulted backwards with a sort of tired grace. He swore he could hear voices, whispering as the lights flickered.

"Nothing's going to be all right." The voice came from everywhere and nowhere, the shadows elongating beneath them, reaching with adumbrative fingers for each other, a violent and tearful embrace in this nightmare. Locke drew himself back, holding his saber out at an angle, as though it would guard against the madness that crept between his eyelids and his fragile mind. "I'll take the most pain."

Methyas dropped to his knees, his heart bellowing from his lips, hands forsaking his weapon and tearing at his face. Locke felt his lip curl back, felt the cool air on his gums, felt the chill on his teeth. There was someone there, something deep and powerful that he couldn't even see. "What..."

This must be what going mad felt like.

Macron crossed his blades in front of him, using the saffron glow as a ward against the world, eyes darting behind the burning crackle. "I see you." He laughed, the sound forced. Locke twitched. The sound was odd, unusually for him. It was recognizable, just not from him. Macron snarled, a half laugh that was corrupted by the gnashing of modified teeth and vocabulator. "I see you!"

The madman stepped backwards, swinging his head rather than his eyes. He spun his weapons quickly at the swirling shadows. "I see you!"

Locke placed it. He felt it too.

Fear.

Not the fear of failure, not the fear of death. As the world disintegrated, death wasn't something to be feared anymore. These were mundane, manageable. This was deeper than that. This was something that spoke to the ancient parts of his brain, the unevolved parts that recalled simpler times as though they were yesterday. His sanity spread even thinner than it was before, and he could hear stranger noises, drowning out the whispering that he could barely make out.

There it was, the figure, cloaked in shade and mist. It looked at him. He could feel it even if he couldn't make out the features. Locke fell backwards, scrambling backwards until his back found the durasteel comfort of the wall.

"The way inside..." The voice came from the figure this time, the sound triggering something deep within him. "...is a dead end."

It turned, and Locke recognized the sound, shutting his mouth to silence it. It was a moment before the echoes faded from his ears.

"I see you!" Macron kept screaming, his eyes wide and darting as he kept his blades between himself and the dark form. "I SEE YOU!"

It raised a hand, shadowy fingers stretching wide before light and sound erupted from it, washing everything in brilliant white and uncomfortable bass.

"I'll take the worst part." The voice shifted subtly, murmuring behind the throb in his ears. "Promise to stand by me."

Locke opened his eyes, then shielded them again, the brightness stinging him, an instant headache complimenting the burn of his aching muscles.

He heard a clearer voice respond, the almost calm response reminding him of a father. "We can always give in to the halls of mystery."

He forced his eyes to adjust, blinking away the pain. He could feel tears burn down his cheeks. Macron was bowed, his powered fist driven to the floor next to his knee in obeisance, head down, saber hilts silent on the floor. He drew his sight up, and the man was hard to see, but the form was unmistakable.

The Lion of Tarthos.

He watched the madman, hands loose and at his sides, wild hair obscuring the cold shark eyes of the Grand Master. "Let me show you the world with my eyes."

Locke's mind twitched. This was all so very much, so insane, so intense. The walls were no longer the kaleidoscope of blood and shadow they were but moments before, the lights seemed to work, the world was back to where it needed to be, and yet something just didn't sit right. There was something very wrong. He pushed it aside, managing to climb his way to a knee, forcing a show of respect beyond all pain.

Macron nodded.

Justice flooded his mind. There had to be a reckoning, there had to be recompense. The clan. Locke felt the words run between his teeth before he could stop them. "Naga Sadow."

It was Macron who responded. "My day has gone, has yours begun?"

Muz looked at the Krath Priest, and he nodded slowly. The madness had taken Macron too far, to the brink of annihilation, and he had watched, had been there to try and stop him. It was he who was there at the end of things. It was he who stood against the wild Force, it was he who was prepared to die, who was strong enough to die for this. It was the only way.

Locke looked up at the Grand Master, staring into the sable pools that were once eyes and maybe still were, he had no way of knowing. He looked into him, a warmth pooling into the back of his head and spreading from there, down his spine, his fingers twitching with the energy.

Muz nodded once.

And then both Macron and he were gone.

Undisclosed Location
Top Secret Research Center
Antei

“Were the experiments I assigned you a success? Report, Sith!” The Dark Lord’s strident words echoed in Macron’s mind as they slipped across the highly encoded comlink. The missive to use horrid alchemy on his compatriots had been sent to him years ago. First at the behest of Lord Sarin, and later a continuance at the hands of the Lion of Tarthos had the work continued in secret. The Brotherhood was very interested in producing powerful warriors. Indeed, as had been evidenced of late with Tuk’ata and other abominations the Brotherhood-wide alchemy plan had begun to bear evil fruit. Even Massassi grown from genetic seeds had been produced by the stepped-up program laid out by the Grandmaster.

“Yes, my Lord. Roxas and Atra are stable. Their enhancements have done exactly as you requested milord. They live, are relatively sane, and appear to suffer few… unforeseen side effects.” Macron smiled evilly. “As you will, my Lord.”

“And Tsainetomo? What of his situation?” The holo-image of Lord Ashen frowned briefly before returning to an impassive black-eyed stare. Around him the holoprojector seemed to have trouble resolving the image as the Force brewed within the Krath Grandmaster. “What of that early work? Do not let your care for him cloud the experiment.”

“I have had little contact with him of late. His situation is far less… predictable. The Orbalisk venom cocktail that he was given was an early version and was unstable and untested. True, it was given in the heat of battle to save his life, and yet…” Macron appeared nonplussed. “I cannot give any statistically proven data at this time. My Lord.”

“I see. This is a very important set of work, Alchemist. The very survival of the Brotherhood depends on it. I have foreseen things to come. You will journey incognito to the Orian System and report back to me as to the condition of the subjects at hand.” The holo-image of Darth Ashen faded out with finality.

“By Kark,” snarled the mad alchemist as he ground his metal teeth. “I have been usurped. A Sadow, usurped by drooling dogs….” The madman howled within the confines of the sterile Anteian lab. “By the Gods, there will be a Reckoning. I swear it! Even if I have to deal with the Devil himself.” His fingers tapped a code that was old, known only to him into the coded holotransmitter. “And I will. I know just the Devil at hand. Nasty bastard, too. Hehehe. I paid that Devil already. with my soul, and my innocence. None of either is left.”

Some seconds later, the triple secure channel opened. “Yes.” With that one simple word, the very air seemed to darken in the lab room. The vigor was sucked out of the air like a milkshake through a straw.

“My… Master. You have been given access to the lore you seek, although you well know by now I am no longer Consul.” Macron grimaced with a twist of his tattooed face. “I would entreat you.”

“Speak, my only Sith Apprentice. I do know. I have what I… what we seek.” The words were cold, and almost hidden with a voice effect that made them seem as many. Most would interpret this as sonic tampering, but Macron knew this was the voice of the many souls the fallen Prophet had consumed. “You tried to kill me in vain once but you failed. I would expect no less from a true Sith student. I let you live. I will have no mercy this time. So we are crystal clear.”

“Yes Master. I have been forcibly deposed. My years of work for the Sadow line is unrewarded. Astronicus has allowed this to pass with no word. Even now, the scum that deposed me are utilizing the work I have done to enrich their own filthy political positions. I bought and detailed our new Ground Forces and Strike Force…. I Made our Navy after we fought the awful Vong with Shin’Ichi…. I made it ALL! By God, the Army and Navy that Clan Naga Sadow has right now is MINE!” The scream of anger was swallowed within the limited comset. “BASTARDS!”

“It is true, my Apprentice,” whispered the words from the blackness. “Meet us on the dark, cold Inos moon. You will well know which one. You already know which. And prepare for a homecoming.”

Medical Bay
Marakith
Seng Karash

“So you’re awake,” a voice commented.
Malisane opened his eyes cautiously, glancing around at the white clinical walls. He moved his arms and found they were clamped to a metal bed. “What have you done to me?” he demanded angrily.
“Absolutley nothing,” Fremoc replied calmly, “you fainted.”
“Fainted?”
The Fist made an indifferent gesture, “Fainted, passed out, fell asleep, whatever. We walked out into the corridor and you hit the floor.”
“Why am I restrained?”
“You were speaking incoherently and convulsing at one point, it seemed safer.” He walked over to a wall and pressed a button, and the restraints retracted.
Malisane got to his feet slowly. “What has been happening?”
“There has been a change of leadership. The former Pro Consul has assumed leadership of the Clan.”
“A coup?” Malisane asked raising his eyebrows.
“It was more of a nessesary intervention,” Fremoc replied.
“You lead me out of the room first.”
The Fist nodded. “It was not known whose side you would take, you were judged to be an unpredictable liability in the encounter.”
Malisane smiled, “More likely than not I would have helped them.”
“We were not sure. And I could not be directly involved either, the Council does not involve itself in Clan internal affairs unless it has to.”
Malisane considered this. “And where is Macron now?”
“The Dark Lord removed him from the scene. He has been released.”
“He may be more dangerous now, a deposed Consul has no restraints on him.”
“We are not underestimating him.”
“Good.”

Malisane walked over to the window and looked out over the city. “”So what happens now?”
Fremoc shrugged. “You know the procedure, the new Consul will be confirmed and rebuild the Summit around himself. We will support him where nessesary.”
The Battlelord nodded. “I see.”
“What about yourself?” the Fist asked.
“Myself?” Malisane asked turning.
“I am curious about your intentions. Obviously recent events have raised questions about the remaining Sadows within the Clan.”
“I have not decided,” Malisane replied, “as always I will see how events progress.”
“Perhaps you should take some time to reflect? You do seem to have been under pressure.” Fremoc suggested, “Kangaras perhaps, or your estate on Lor Zatean?”
“Remove myself?” Malisane asked raising an eyebrow.
“For recouperation, you could come back to Antei. No doubt we would find something useful for you to do. Training or engineering works,” Fremoc grinned evily, “or administration or laundry?”
Malisane gave him a hard look, “I should have hit you harder the first time.”
“Perhaps you should have. You’d find it harder now.”
“I will not absent myself,” Malisane replied, “I took an oath to serve Clan Naga Sadow, not individuals. I will do what needs to be done.”
Fremoc studied him. “So long as you consider the implications of your actions.”
“I always do.”

Consul's Quarters, DSOG Secure Wing
Marakith Skyhook, Geo-synchronous over Seng Karash
Aeotheran

Locke held a hand to his head as the room seemed to lurch back into its proper form, light returning as if nothing had happened. He spun around; there was no sign of Macron anywhere. The events of the last few moments suddenly flooded Locke’s mind as a series of sensations. Slowly, he began to comprehend.

Is it over?

The Priest looked across the room. Methyas was slowly getting to his feet, hands reaching for a nearby desk to steady himself. The course of the battle was laid out across the room: Mirado lay nearby, Atra and Roxas further away.

“Methyas, “ Locke whispered. He understood now. “Guardsman!” Locke shouted. He started for the door, stumbling after only a few steps. “Guardsman!” Locke shouted again. The Sorcerer dropped into one of the ornate chairs that were spaced around the room as his Black Guard entered. The battle had taken a higher toll on him than he had thought.

From her silence, Locke could tell she was confused as she looked over the bodies lying around the room. Locke spoke before she could berate him for nearly dying. “Get medical teams up here immediately! They survive, but require attention!”

She stood still for a moment longer. Locke stared at her, as if he could see beyond that visor. Tired as he was, the Priest could only focus on her visor. After a moment, his Black Guard turned and approached a terminal on one wall of the room. As she spoke quietly into it, Methyas lowered himself into a seat next to Locke.

“It’s over, “ Locke said, “ and yet there’s so much more to do.”

“Indeed, “ Methyas nodded. He seemed shaken.

Locke knew he had pushed the Paladin much further than ever before with this battle. “Are you alright?” It seemed such a superficial question. The battle had been a trying event for all of them.

“I’ll be fine, “ Methyas said, the usual level of calm never leaving his voice.

He must have ice in his veins, Locke thought. What do I do now? he wondered.

“Whatever you want, “ Methyas said. Locke hadn’t realized he had whispered the words aloud. “You’re Consul now.”

Locke had known. He had understood the Lion’s appearance and the meaning of that brief moment. He knew what had transpired, but hearing it from someone else drove it home. “I am, “ but what will I do?

The ensuing silence was broken by the arrival of medical personnel. Methyas waved them away and gestured to the others. Locke’s Black Guard stood by the door in a ready stance, as if intending to attack anyone else who might enter the room. “Appoint a Proconsul, “ Methyas said quietly.

Thank you once again, Methyas, Locke thought. “Right.” His forehead wrinkled for a moment as Locke thought about it. “It should be someone who wasn’t here, “Locke began hesitantly. “To bridge the gap between us and anyone we inevitably made an enemy of.”

“Agreed, “ Methyas nodded.

Locke sighed with relief; glad that Methyas understood. The Krath closed his eyes for a moment, letting the Force guide his thoughts. “Teu, “ he said, opening them.

“Your former master?”

“We work well together, but her marriage to Fremoc and thus her connection to the Sons should help soothe any thoughts that she might be a part of our...faction, so to speak.”

Methyas smiled. “You’re learning.”

“Slowly, “ Locke answered.

Methyas stood. “I need to check on Atra. I’ll have someone call Teu for you.”

“Thank you, “ Locke said. Out of the corner of one eye, he noticed Mirado beginning to stir. Leaning back against the soft chair, the Krath closed his eyes and breathed deeply as a rapidly-increasing list of factors began to cycle through his head. He exhaled, struggling to order them all.

Marakith Skyhook Hanger Bay
Aethoran

Teu stood on the bottom of the ramp, her sapphire blue eyes blazed slightly. She had been returning to Naga Sadow space when she was hailed to the Skyhook. She did not like when her plans were interrupted. She was unsure of what had occurred but the unease in the Force clued her in a bit.

Turning to the Captain who met her in the hanger, she snapped at the man. “Where too?”

“Consuls quarters.” The man replied, careful to keep his hands away from his weapon. The woman before him was extremely perturbed about something.

“I’m on my way. Make sure my ship is ready to go on my return.” Teu strode quickly forward, her voice carrying over her shoulder effectively dismissing the captain.


Consul Quarters

Teu stepped through the room and she let out a quick breath of shock, a recent fight took place. Her eyes then took in each of those in the room, her former students, her cousins and her enemy. Behind her, she heard footsteps and smirked as she recognized who it was. She nodded once at the Blackguard.

She turned to take in her former students. “Is someone going to fill me in on what happened?”

Both Locke and Methyas looked at each other, having trained under the Exarch for many months both were still driven by protocol on occasion when their former Master was in the room. Then Locke stepped forward, his head high.

“There was a bit of a problem. We took care of it.” Locke spoke evenly, his eyes watching Teu closely.

Teu closed her eyes and sent a wave of the Force towards the man. Her face scowled for a moment before becoming expressionless. “I see. I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that your now Consul of Naga Sadow?”

“Yes Master” Locke smirked slightly.

“And who’s Proconsul?” Teu quirked an air at the title that occasionally fell from her students mouths.

“You are.” Locke looked deep into the eyes of the woman. “I need someone who wasn’t involved in this event. You will be a great asset.”

“That means we need a new Rollmaster.” Teu eyes sought out the solitary being standing guard by the door way. “In that case, Guardsmen come here.”

The unnamed person moved towards the newly appointed Proconsul, their steps hesitant. The Guard knew who Teu was though very few else knew. “Walk with me for a moment. “

Teu turned on her heel and moved out of the room, the armored person quickly behind her. She stopped in the middle of the hall; she turned to look into the helmet. “Very few are afforded the opportunity you just witnessed. “ Teu reached onto her belt, her fingers curled around a small nondescript trinket. She held it out towards the woman who took it. “Time for a change of scenery I think. Don’t you agree?”

The armored hand took the trinket, puzzlement clear in their rigid actions. She tried to think back through the several weeks of training she received. A piece of paper stuck out of the trinket, wrapped tightly around. Pulling it off, the guardsman read the elegantly written words. “You are now Captain.”

Teu waited for a moment her eyes watching. “Do you understand what this means?”

The head nodded again.

“Good. You are no longer needed here then.” Teu watched at the unanimous person walked down the hallway before turning and returning towards the Consul chamber.

Upon her entrance, her eyes bore into those of her former students. “A new Rollmaster has been selected. Kalia Phoenyx has taken my place.”

Private Landing Platform Alpha One
Sadow Palace
Sepros

The D:SOG Lieutenant looked up curiously at the dark robed figure who stroke calmly across the bay and up the ramp. "Halt!" he ordered, though slightly cautiously, after a few years in the Special Operations Group you learnt to be careful with anyone in a black robe. Around him the marines held their rifles at ready.
The robed figure studied each in turn, then drew back his hood revealing youngish dark haired features. "Good evening Lieutenant."
The officer saluted, recognising the Battlelord. "How can I help you Commander. With all due respect Sir this is a restricted area, even to you."
Malisane nodded, glancing past the marines and their officer to the ship parked on the hangar. The Nachzerer was impressive, far more so than his own Deathshead, if possibly less practical.

"What is the status here?" Malisane asked.
The Lieutenant glanced behind him. "Orders has been received from the new Consul, the former Consul's vessel is to be impounded until a security team can arrive to gain access."
Malisane nodded. "And here I am."
"Sir?" the officer said with a frown.
"I have come here directly from Marakith, immedialtey following the ascendancy of the new Summit. I am familiar with this vessel and the Summit is aware of the complexity of the former Consul's security system."
The officer looked unsure. "I have received no such notification Sir."
"You have now Lieutenant. Of course you do not need to take my word for it. The new Consul is of course busy, choosing a new Summit, assessing the nature of threats to the Clan, formulating strategy, but if you want to speak to him regarding this matter I am sure he will not be too displeased." Malisane gave the officer an encouraging look.
"No sir. Are you sure you can gain access?"
"Of course."

Malisane wasn't sure. True he had long been allies with the Alchemist, and Macron had allowed him to become familiar with the vessel, but that was a long time ago and relations had cooled somewhat, and if Macron had updated the security what he was about to do would range from making him look like an idiot in front of the marines to killing him outright.
He paused running his hand over the hatch, then allowed the security system to scan his palm and retinas. There was a pause then the hatch slid open, and he breathed a subtle sigh of relief. "There you go lieutenant, that is why the Consul sent myself."
"Very good sir, what do you intend to do now?"
Malisane glanced inside, "I am to take this vessel to the shipyard at Markosian city, where it will be disasembled."
The officer nodded. "I can arrange a fighter escort if you require one sir?"
"No that will not be nessesary. Just contact flight control and tell them I need priority launch clearance." Malisane entered the vessel and the hatch slid shut behind him. After a few minutes the Nachzerer lifted off the landing platform, and headed up into the atmosphere.

The Nachzerer
Orian Space

Malisane sat back in the pilots chair and sipped a coffee. Macron's ship wasn't half as impressive on the inside as it looked from the outside, the specifications were impressive on paper, but it wasn't built for comfort. He glanced at the display. They ought to be out of scanner range by now. Even if they were busy with the transfer of power it wouldn't take the new Summit long to figure out what he'd done. That was a future problem though. "Computer," he ordered, "power down all systems except life support and communications, and open a wide band receiver." Now he would wait to see who got in touch.

Consul's Quarters, DSOG Secure Wing
Marakith Skyhook, Geo-synchronous over Seng Karash
Aeotheran

The world came back in pieces, each sense awakening in sequence. The first thing he felt was pain. It radiated from his core and filled each limb with a fire lash that yearned to tear him apart from the inside. His fingers were numb, due to the transference of energy cascading through his system. The source of the fire came just above his heart, a location his hand prodded gingerly before snapping back in pain. With a subtle groan Atra’s muscles tightened as he raised his torso upright. The darkness over his vision lifted and he squinted to avoid sensory overload.

“Son of a—“

The Corellian groaned once more as his eyes drifted to the source of his discomfort, a burnt hand imprint on his left chest with snaking burn lines arcing out from it. If it had been intended, he would have thought it to be an interesting marking. Unfortunately it hadn’t been so.

An unrecognized voice broke through his isolated concentration, his eyes snapping in the direction of the unknown entity. Standing before Locke was a women whose stature screamed out the ire she felt for having her plans interrupted. “Who the hell are you?”

The nearly grunted comment from Atra was met with the light chuckle of Methyas, a sound he was beginning to resent. His Master moved swiftly with his usual calm grace, helping Atra to his feet whilst checking on his wounds. Locke remained seated, his fatigue showing on his pale features and written plainly on his face. Still, the unfiltered manner in which Atra approached most conversations brought a smile to the new Consul’s face. A fact proven more amusing considering the frustration the Corellian had caused him over the course of the day.

Sapphire eyes set upon Atra with a burning intensity, as if they were ablaze. Atra winced in response, feeling the heat of the glare. “A question I would be better suited posing,” Teu’s response cut through the tension that had filled the space between the two with all the grace of a stampeding Bantha.

Locke sighed heavily, hanging his head forward into the waiting palms of his hands. A deep intake of breath brought with it renewed vigor as Locke spoke up, his gaze set upon Atra first. “This is Teu Pepoi, my former master and newly appointed Proconsul of Naga Sadow.”

Atra nodded a greeting to Teu, his legs weakening momentarily as he caught his balance. Teu returned the greeting with a slow nod, caution written throughout it. “I take it you’re the new Macron,” Atra stated in his usual not-so-subtle manner, his eyes flicking to Locke as the new Consul nodded in acknowledgement.

Locke turned his attention back to Teu, continuing with the introductions. “Teu, this is Atra Ventus, ex-resident of Macron’s experimentations and Quaestor of Shar Dakhan.”

“Come again?”

The response was simultaneous, Atra and Teu speaking in unison though for different reasons. Atra spoke from confusion, obviously having little in the way of pre-existing knowledge of the world he now lived in. Teu, on the other hand, spoke from shock more than confusion.

“Are you sure?” Teu spoke quietly, the confusion seeping into her tone.

“What’s a Quaestor?” Atra muttered to no one in particular.

“What experience could he possibly have?”

“For that matter, what’s Shar Dakhan,” Atra continued quietly, a smirk spreading over Methyas’ features.

Locke held up his hand quickly, signaling for silence as he rubbed his temple with the other. “Atra has bled alongside me today, more times than I can count. He is one of the few I would trust at my back,” Locke’s words were slow and carefully chosen, his will almost palpable, “More importantly, he has no ulterior motives or existing alliances for us to worry about.”

Teu eyed Locke for a moment, pondering her former apprentice’s thought process. Turning slowly she once again faced Atra, studying him more carefully this time. “Methyas, I trust you will get him up to speed on what he needs to know?”

“Of course,” the Miraluka responded quickly, nodding as well.

“I guess we’ll see then, if this proves folly.”

Atra’s eyes narrowed as he once again poked at his newly found scar. “You’re not giving me much reason to like you, lady.”

“I didn’t intend to.”

There was a moment of silence between the two as near palpable daggers shot between them. Locke sighed heavily, recalling the confrontational relationship that had existed between himself and Atra when they first met. He knew that it would dissipate in time, but after what they went through it merely left him exhausted. “Methyas, Atra requires medical aide. I’d hate to see that infected.” The Consul pointed towards Macron’s mark upon Atra, the Corellian turning ghostly pale at the thought of where that meant they were heading. The Miraluka merely nodded in greeting, thankful for a way to get Atra out of the room before the rash man got himself into deeper water with his unfiltered mouth. Motioning Atra forward the two left quickly, waves of power flowing off of Methyas in an obvious attempt to calm the newly appointed Quaestor. A single statement signaled their departure as Atra left the room.

“You knock me out again and I swear I’m going to kill you.”

Alabrek Citadel
Landing Pad Sigma Three
Inside the corvette Sanguinus

But for the twitches of his muscles, no warmth or chagrin registered on the face of the Falleen as the Dark Prophet looked out of the bridge’s viewport at the sprawling towers and skyscrapers that stretched out towards the crimson sunset that spread across the distant Sea of Urias. Twice rebuilt, the city of Kar Alabrek stood as a monument to the power and resources of the Dlarit Corporation.

The same Corporation whose resources its young leaders had used to oust Xanos’s old apprentice; the old apprentice who had once led the Disciples of Sadow in open rebellion against his Master’s plans, and ensured that the legacy of their ‘crimes’ had not gone forgotten; the old apprentice who had just now made contact with the Dark Prophet, petitioning his once fellow Son of Sadow for aid.

No, no emotion may have registered on the Falleen’s face, but inside he felt both victory and defeat.

Xanos placed the small handheld communicator back onto its stand before heading back outside and returning to his Master and Sildrin, who were both standing with Jeric Cyrin on the edge of the landing pad, taking in the same red sunset that the Falleen had himself from inside the Sanguinus.

“...it makes no sense Soolin would betray us,” Jeric was saying. Earlier, before Xanos had been called into the Sanguinus by Eosara, the Quaestor had explained how the intruder they had fought in the Great Library had once studied to be a disciple in this very Citadel. Indeed, the Falleen had recalled the name; she was one of the many Force-sensitives who had been brought into the Clan under his reign as Consul. “I will have to inform... the Consul and his Summit,” continued Jeric, neglecting to use either Macron or his usurper’s names. The Quaestor hesitated a moment, then gave the others a brisk bow and bid them farewell before heading to the turbolift on the wall opposite the corvette.

Unnoticed, a small smile had crossed both Trevarus and Sildrin’s lips as Jeric walked away. “Loyalty is rarely simple, Quaestor,” the Oracle whispered to himself, as he took another draw on his cigarra, a puff of terracotta mist rising from its tip. “Isn’t that right, my old apprentice?”

Stepping off the bottom of the landing ramp, Xanos looked out at the horizon. “Christine says the Sanguinus is nearly ready for departure.” There was no need to inform Trevarus; he and his Master were of one mind, forever joined in thought; but Sildrin existed outside the circle of those the Oracle had Marked as his own, meaning she would need telling. A hover-taxi buzzed by underneath the platform as the Falleen’s face twitched again. “My apprentice wishes to meet with us on the moon of Inos.”

That news brought a creased furrow of interest from Sildrin’s blind eyes and Trevarus looked away from the distant sea to the red-haired woman beside him. “Macron has been deposed.”

Sildrin’s atrophied white eyes widened a little in surprise. “Another terrorist strike?”

The Oracle shook his head. “No.” The smile had now vanished from Trevarus’s face. “The Clan has rebelled against its elders.”

While Xanos may have rarely displayed his emotions, the pressure which had been building since their fight back in the Great Library bubbled to the surface, causing his veins to bulge and constrict again. Macron had been his gateway to the Sadow Archives on Sepros; that was why they had come to Tarthos to carry out this errand for the, now former, Consul. There was no guarantee the Clan’s new leadership would be as forthcoming in giving access to two of its most infamous traitors.

After all, Macron himself had seen to that; his old apprentice had never let the past rest in peace.

“Sonjie and the others may not trust us, my Master,” said Xanos, the apathy in his voice failing to hide the crease that wrinkled across the open third eye that was tattooed across his forehead.

Sildrin’s eyes moved from the Oracle, to the Falleen, then back again. “Can you trust Macron?” asked Sildrin finally. “I was there on Runculo. I remember his rage at what we did, Trevarus.” Her white eyes lingered again on Xanos for a moment. “And I heard what he did on New Tython when you fought alongside them. Together with Sai, Macron is the reason the Clan distrusts those who bear your Mark.”

Trevarus considered the point for a moment.

Then the Oracle began to laugh.

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend, is he not?” Trevarus lowered his cigarra and put his hand on Sildrin’s shoulder to look into her empty eyes. “With all his allies, Macron instead comes to us for aid. It seems he finally understands.” The Oracle stepped away again, a grin rising to his lips. “Why we are right.”

Xanos’s eye twitched as he looked at Sildrin. “Those who follow the river’s flow will forever be slaves to its path,” said the Falleen, “the only answer is to render the waters barren.” Sildrin turned to the Dark Prophet, her unspoken question written on her face. “Macron has chosen. Fire will be his Way.”

Trevarus studied his apprentice, watching as the surface of the Falleen’s face continued to writhe against his control. His Master smiled. “Macron may yet grant what you seek, my apprentice.” The Oracle looked back at Sildrin again. “Come. We make for Inos.”

As Trevarus started toward the nearby boarding ramp, a slow handclap began behind the corvette.

“Soundin’ ever like the little godling, Caerick.” The baritone voice was followed by a derisive, yet nonetheless amused, snort. To the left, from behind one of the Sanguinus’s landing feet, stepped a worn, haggard face that had not been seen by neither the sorcerers nor sorceress in many a year.

“Tsainetomo,” said Trevarus plainly. Beside the Oracle, Sildrin’s hand slowly moved toward the lightsaber hilt hanging on her belt, and a coil of electricity arced down Xanos’s arm into his hand; but Trevarus held up his armoured hand, the orange plume from his cigarra a sign for the others to back down.

“Been a long time, sorcerer,” said Sai. The former Consul looked very much the worse for wear; his characteristic afro had grown long and unkempt, and his already bronzed face was now tarnished with dark smears of soil and earth. The Son of Sadow’s twin lightsabers were held tight in his hands.

Trevarus studied Sai closely. Xanos had not sensed the Obelisk’s presence, which meant his Master had not either. Only a specially trained assassin could pass beneath the two seers’ joint notice; of the precious few warriors in the Brotherhood who had achieved such proficiency in the Force, Sai was just such a man; once Krath, now Obelisk. “I imagine you’re here to finish what you and Macron started six years ago, yes?” said Trevarus sardonically. “Sadly, we’re in a bit of a hurry, but if you hop on the Sanguinus, we can kill two birds with one stone if you so wish.”

“Arrogance always was your calling card, wasn’t it Trev?” snorted Sai, not igniting his lightsabers, but not lowering them either. The Korun-Keibatsu glanced at Sildrin and gave the woman a quick smile, then his eyes settled on the Falleen beside her. “And Vexatus, I heard you’d returned. How’s that being dead thing working out for ya?” Sai narrowed his eyes a little as Xanos’s face twitched again. “Doin’ wonders for the skin, I see.” Xanos kept his eyes on the Obelisk but did not move. “You still could work on improvin’ your people skills though.”

“You must know you have no chance of victory here, Na’Ashar,” said Trevarus, using the name Sai had gone by until he had learned of his Keibatsu lineage. “Step aside.”

“Truth be told, I didn’t expect to run into you three here either,” Sai replied, and slightly lowered his weapons, though only slightly. “Funny that, ain’t it? As Consul, I tried to track down all who you’d stamped your Mark on like they were your private property. And now here we all are, randomly running into each other by sheer coincidence?” The Obelisk grunted a laugh.

“Or perhaps I saw you would be here,” sneered Trevarus, another grin crossing his lips, “and so parked the Sanguinus on this platform, specifically so that we would all run into each other.”

“Perhaps,” replied Sai, “or perhaps not. Whatever the truth, why are you here?”

“One could ask the same of your guerrilla war against Clan Naga Sadow,” said Trevarus, his grin widening with clear amusement. “Like most of your Order, you too are so stuck in your ways. Not like Ferran. The true Obelisk were not the army of petty marauders that you’ve descended into.”

Sai’s smile mirrored the Oracle’s and the former Consul laughed. “Not at all like the Sith Marauder that follows you like a lapdog.” The Obelisk gestured toward Xanos with one of his unlit lightsabers, though Xanos remained perfectly still, unmoved by the man’s attempts to goad him into a fight. Sai raised an eyebrow, surprised. “Well, colour me surprised. I hoped for at least some response.” Sai shook his head before turning to look at Sildrin instead. “And Sil, I never took you for Trev’s kitten.”

Sildrin’s hand tightened around her lightsaber, but she did not rise to the bait. “I am here for my own reasons,” the red-haired woman said, her blind eyes giving nothing away. “That is enough.”

Sai looked at her for a moment, then shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He turned back toward Trevarus. “I heard what you said about Macron.” The Obelisk’s eyes drifted to the side. “That was why I left. The Clan is fraying at the seams. Old loyalties are crumbling; new alliances being formed.” Sai looked back up at the three Sons of Sadow standing in front of him. “I don’t agree with what you did on Rakata Prime, and I don’t know why the Grand Masters still defend you; but none of that matters: you want something from Clan Naga Sadow, and Macron wants something from you.”

While Xanos and Sildrin remained silent, Trevarus arched a curious eyebrow. “Is that so?” The grin returned to the Oracle’s lips and he took another draw on his cigarra, the violet gemstone in his silver gauntlet glinting, then he blew the orange smoke towards Sai. “And what is it you want, Tsainetomo Na’Ashar Keibatsu?”

The man in front of Trevarus stiffened a little at his full name. A long moment passed while none of the four spoke, the landing platform beneath the Sanguinus physically charged as the tension pulled tight in the Force. Finally, the former Consul lowered his lightsabers. “Do not take me for another one of your pawns, Trevarus,” said Sai, “however, while I may not agree with you or whatever Grand Plan it is that you pursue, it would, at least for now, appear that we are both seeking the same thing.”

“And what is that?” asked Trevarus, his eyebrow arching again.

Sai paused, hesitating for a second. In the Force, conflict surrounded him, the threads of the tapestry twisting and dancing, much like the blood cells swirling through Xanos’s veins. The Korun-Keibatsu lowered his head a moment, then lifted it again to look at the three opposite him. “You of all people can see how the Dlarit Corporation has grown gravid on waste and excess.” Sai paused, allowing his words time to sink in. “Worse, it has become sovereign in its own right, ruled not by you or me, or even by the Overlord and his Sons. Even the Dark Council has little real control on it outside Antei. Dlarit has become a weapon, ungoverned by any but its own rulers—none of whom stand amongst us here today.”

As Trevarus waited for Sai to finish, the Oracle tilted his head forward, signalling for the other man to continue. “And...?” pressed Trevarus, grinning in amused satisfaction.

Sai looked back at Trevarus, his eyes hard, both with his resolve and his refusal to be played by the Dark Jedi Master for a fool. “And you already know what must be done, Trevarus,” said the Obelisk finally, his jaw square, refusing to be bowed by the Oracle’s word games into an admission that the two Apostates had perhaps been right all those years ago about the need for the Clan to be pruned.

Trevarus raised his eyebrows for a moment and then shrugged. “Then it seems that will have to be enough,” replied the Oracle, making a sigh of feigned disappointment.

While the pair looked at each other without speaking, Xanos turned his face toward his Master.

Are we certain?

We are.

It was Sai who finally broke the silence. “It seems, then, I will be accompanying you to Inos. I’m sure Macron has much to tell about what truly went down on that skyhook.”

The Oracle grinned. “Then welcome aboard, young Obelisk,” said Trevarus. The Dark Jedi Master chuckled as he gestured up the ramp into the corvette. “I always have room for another student.”

Consul's Quarters, DSOG Secure Wing
Marakith Skyhook, Geo-synchronous over Seng Karash
Aeotheran

“Knock me out again and I swear I’m going to kill you.” he said as his alchemic eyes opened to give off their permanent red glow. He spoke in anger, but wouldn’t kill who he was speaking too. He viewed Mirado as a close friend and almost a brother. His body was sore from the hand-to-hand techniques of the Miraluka, but the soreness would wear off with movement. His head was pounding and he knew that wouldn’t wear off without pain medication. Roxas lifted his armored body from the floor to see that Macron was gone and that Locke and Teu were watching to see what he would do. The Mandalorian moved slowly, watching them himself to see if they would rush him. He looked to his side quickly to see that Mirado was being checked out by medical staff.

Teu quirked her eyebrow towards the Mandalorian, a quick flash of anger swelled through the Exarch but she quickly extingished it. The quarrels with the Templar would be settled at a later date.

He looked to a medic saying “When he wakes up tell him that if he uses Teras Kasi on me again, I will burn his garden beyond the point of ashes.”

Locke replied jestingly, but his voice showed his lack of energy “That seems kind of harsh.”

“I feel like I have a hangover from Hell…” the experiment thought for a moment before continuing “I don’t know what to think of your treason, or what I should do about it. So, when you need me and you will need me, send Mirado to get me. For now I have a woman waiting for me. I‘ll be going now.”

Roxas headed for the door.

Locke chimed quickly “You shouldn’t keep a lady waiting.”

“Right” the failed apprentice quipped as he left the room, his left arm up as if waving to say see you later.

His boots thumped and his armor clanked as he walked down the hall. A DSOG trooper came running down the hallway shouting “Sir!….Sir!”

Roxas stopped and turned to face him.

“Sir!…” The man stopped and quickly saluted “I have inform you that you have been promoted to Senior Commander.”

“Who promoted me?”

The man looked at his data pad quickly and then replied “Lord Macron, Sir. He was waiting to tell you, but since he’s gone I thought it be best to go ahead and tell you.”

Roxas thought for a moment to remember the military ranks that are equal to his new promotion.

“Call me Colonel. And thanks for the information.” The Templar replied before continuing down the hall.

He quickly found the hangar and ordered a pilot to take him to Markosian City.

An hour later
Tarthos Atmosphere

“Where would you like me to drop you off Colonel?” The young pilot inquired. The woman was fresh from the academy, but already remembering foxtrot uniform faces.

“The Crossroads would be wonderful.”

The woman thought before speaking again “The bar? What for?”

“I own it.” He said proudly.

The woman showed a puzzled look on her face and then replied “I’m not sure I can land there.”

Roxas laughed “Just get close and open the hatch. I’ll hop out.”

She did as ordered. The ships engines roared as the ship hovered over the building. The ship rotated and banked until it was over the street. It slowly lowered as the hatch began to open. Roxas jumped out when the ship was around twenty feet over the street. His armor clanked loudly as he landed. The hatch closed and the engines roared propelling the ship out of sight. Roxas quickly ran inside and headed for the back room to get ready for his date.

An hour later
The Crossroads

Roxas was almost finished getting ready. All that was left to do was put on his boots. He was dressed in his everyday garb since taking on the job of tending The Crossroads. A large thunderclap rang out. Roxas leaned to look at the window as he pulled on his boot and rain began heavily pelting the window. He pulled his last boot on just before there was a knock at the apartment door. He opened the door and the woman he saved was standing there drenched. She had his crimson cape draped over her shoulders to try and keep the rain off. She had a sad look on her face.

“Hey, so maybe we should eat in.” He said jokingly.

“Guess so…” She said sadly “…and I worked so hard to look nice.”

She came in and Roxas grabbed a bucket for her to ring her clothes into. He sat down and watched her as she tossed his cape and broken helmet onto a chair and began to ring out her skirt. The rain had made her makeup run and her hair was stuck to her face and neck.

“You know I haven’t asked your name yet.” She said while ringing out her coat.

“It’s Roxas Buurenaar. What’s yours?”

“My name is Pacifica Angelus, but everyone calls me Paz for short…” she said before sneezing “…Dang it, I’m soaked to the bone.”

He laughed as he handed her a towel.

“You laughing at me?” She said with a slightly hurt tone.

“Yeah, you did all that work and didn’t need it.”

“What do you mean? I look like a wreck.” She said slightly turning her head out of curiosity.

“You look beautiful to me.” he said smiling.

She blushed and then took the towel to her hair to dry it.

“You can find some dry clothes in the closet, I’ll get us something to eat.” The Mandalorian said before leaving to give her some privacy, so she could change.

Orian System
Outer Belt
Approaching Inos Orbit


The aging Theta class shuttle rocked hard and creaked as it encountered the planet’s gravity well and magnetic field. Macron hovered over the controls, carefully checking and re-checking the dimming readouts. It was a little known secret- but Macron was one of the most prestigious people in the Brotherhood, at least on a personal level. It had been child’s play to buy this hunk of junk on Antei and jump out of the system with a few bribes in the right places. It had however eaten up most of his remaining free credits. He was now largely destitute.

Most of his wealth was tied up in gear. Lab equipment… secret gear caches… expensive lightsaber mods… and most of all, his priceless, precious ship. “I know They are watching the Miner’s Brother. I must summon the Nachzerer. Gorram karking fork-hole piece of culled-together unholy gundark pudu,” cursed the madman as he typed the remote code in again on a triple-encoded signal of old code ghosted off of one of the outer system satellites. “Come to your Master! Land at this location!”

He was not worried in the least about anyone listening. Only two people had the skill, and the gift of knowing where to look for such a thing. And neither Tsainetomo nor Sildrin had bothered to speak to him in ages. The small but potent enhanced dirty baradium-cobalt fission bomb installed covertly as “security” of sorts had not been detonated. The results would have been immediately obvious in the system comm. traffic and radiation counts - and so no unauthorized entry had occurred. The Orian System was full of radionuclides and such things were commonly tracked. Especially on Sepros.

This time, a chirp resounded from the gauntlet com he had plugged into he ancient Theta class shuttle’s communication console. “Excellent. En route already. The AI that the Verpine installed must have gotten my earlier signal and departed.” Verpine engineers loyal to Clan Naga Sadow had been through the ship, over and over. They had corrected many of the oversights and inefficiencies that Macron had created in the design in his ignorance of the finer points of naval architecture. They said many things about it. Although they admired the beetle-like shape, the interior was “ugly, inefficient, and cramped.” They had however admired the firepower, reactor, and the shielding. They had also fine-tuned the hyper drive and made the ship as fast as any grade 1 military vessel.

Macron thought to himself quietly as the Theta class hulk began a landing approach to Inos 42. Things were changing. Tsainetomo… he still felt bad about his incarceration. It was done against Macron’s will. Against his spirit. His one friend, his one true ally… he had to incarcerate him at the Overlord’s will. Even the battle they had shared had been more of a meeting of minds and a chance to gain experience and grow for both of them. The mad Alchemist had deliberately led him into the secure Cenota Facility by an obscure route, not the one inmates on intake were normally shuffled through. In his own way, he had shown Tsainetomo the way out- and where his gear would lie. “I did my best for you my brother. The best that I could at the time with so many prying eyes upon me.” Macron’s eyes watered a bit before he snarled and spat on the bulkhead floor. “Bah. Weakness unbecoming of a true Sith. Begone!”

The shuttle bucked again, and began it’s descent into the atmosphere of Inos 42. Smoke drifted from the consoles as Macron piloted the hoary vessel. “You will land me safely, old woman. Then you can rest.” A wrenching sound of buckling metal resounded from the ship as it hit the frosty ground hard. The interior shuddered, the lights went out, and smoke began to fill the bridge. “As much as can be expected from a shady deal on Antei-Pirate-Bay.” The interior was lit with the light from his orange lightsaber as he began to carve the plasteel out of the cockpit bubble. “Sleep well, piece of crap. You’ll serve as a convenient landing beacon. Hard to miss your burning cadaver old girl. I am grateful for your last service.”

The plasteel module fell with a smoking thud as the cold wind from the Dead Moon hit the lunatic directly in the face. Macron inhaled deeply, relishing the taste of burning metal from the ship and rime ice on the wind. “Bracing. Most unlike a stinking jungle.” He touched his helm and lowered the faceplate. His armor pinged as the internal heating unit kicked on and breathable gases began to circulate. “Soon my Master and Trevarus will be here. And perhaps… others.” The Mark on the Tertius’ forehead tingled. “I feel it.”

The wind howled around him as he trudged to the yawning mouth-hole that served as an entry to the Tombs of Orian. His boots crunched ice and ground bits of loose rock underfoot as the lonely landscape welcomed him with freezing winds. It would be a perfect meeting place. The magnetic field and wild auroras of Inos combined with the palpable aura of the Dark Side in the Tombs obscured this place almost completely from prying eyes and minds. It was well known to students of the Force that in the old days of the Empire, Master Yoda had done something similar by hiding near the Cave of Dagobah.

“My old Sith Master taught me that,” murmured Macron as he stepped inside the yawning stalactite-laden mouth of one of the frosty entrances to the Tombs. "Hide within the Dark Side and the forces of nature." The icy skeleton of some hapless Apprentice lay nearby in older robes that appeared to be of the Brotherhood. Macron chuckled as he prodded it with his armored boot. “Corpsesicle, hehehe. Guess he didn’t pass the grade.” The Tomb had been used for training some years ago after the Curwen Sunei incident. As most old and insidious things go, it had been largely forgotten since. “Many things have been forgotten,” giggled the madman. “Many things. And soon they will be remembered.”

Sanguinus
Inos 42 Orbit

Tsainetomo stood in the vast refresher stall, letting the spray of near-scalding hot water cascade over his tired form. Rivulets formed down his back and meandered in odd directions as the liquid ran through his hair and over the criss-cross pattern of welts and scars on his back, received as a ‘welcome gift’ by the guards at the Cenota Facility. The Korun-Keibatsu’s eyes were closed as he came to peace with the last few days...and hours.

Before Sai’s trip to the refresher, Trevarus had tried to coax the coordinates for Macron’s requested meeting place from him. Though intimately familiar with Inos, the fact remained that Xanos’ mind was splintered for the time being, and Sai was the only one onboard who knew exactly where to go, and how to avoid the pitfalls thereabout.

Xanos was doubtful as to the Korun’s usefulness. When the Sanguinus first left Kar Alabrek, Sai did reveal some clue as to their final destination.

“Mononoke wants us to meet him, where again?” Sai posed, feigning ignorance.

“Inos,” Trevarus replied, “where the weak go to die, and the blind worship the inferiors who fell before them.”

“Then I know where we need to go. It’s a tomb...” the Primarch began before he was interrupted by the Falleen.

“Impossible. Lord Orian had no need of a tomb, because Lord Orian did not believe in death.” Xanos’ voice was as one from many, the legion within him ever vying for control.

Sai rolled his eyes as Caerick spoke. “My apprentice, though abrupt, is correct. His own apprentice would be wiser than to lure us to a non-existent place.” The gleam on Trev’s impossibly white teeth was blinding. “Won’t you be a good man and tell us what Macron truly meant?”

“Not without a shower first...and a good steak.” Sai demanded, his own face reflecting Trevarus’ cheshire grin. “Besides,” he continued, “I never said it was Orian’s Tomb; just a tomb.”

“Of course, Na’Ashar,” Caerick had replied, his insistence on using Sai’s nigh-forgotten honorific bordering on the irritating. The Primarch, however, was prepared to forgive the Dark Jedi Master his idiosyncrasies upon stepping through the hatch that Trev had escorted him to.

The refresher was spacious enough to rival most Captains’ quarters onboard similar corvettes, and it was clear Trev spared no expense in appointing it with imported stone for the flat surfaces, smooth and polished enough to rival the mirrors - wall length and ceiling height - that adorned the space. All the fixtures seemed to be made of electrum - not plated in, but made of the rare alloy. The towels were already laid out, clearly made of the finest of cloth.

Sai wanted to explore more, but the reek of his own filth thick in his nostrils prompted his hurried entrance into the shower. It was the first he’d had in months, and he was determined to enjoy it.

He stood in the spray for a full hour without moving, allowing his massive growth of hair to get fully immersed, all the better to properly groom it. The longer he’d spent getting clean, the more open his mind became, it seemed. Soon, Sai finished his shower and, draped in a towel about his waist, he stepped over to the refresher’s sink while wringing out his hair and tying it so that it was pulled back, the damp queue draped over his shoulder. As he looked at his reflection, it seemed to ask him, ’Are you sure?’; he’d had no answer for the self-imposed question until he espied a fresh change of clothing behind him on a plush settee, and shaving materials, again made of electrum, laid out just so on the counter in front of him.

’Oh, I’m sure,’ came the answer as he began to lather some expensive smelling soap in the golden cup, using a brush that seemed to be made of baby-rancor bristle.

The Dark Side, it seemed, had cookies, indeed.

His shave completed, Sai draped his muscled, refreshed body with the clothes that one of Trev’s serving droids had left, and began to make his way towards where he was told they’d all meet after he was done making himself ‘presentable’.

Caerick’s exact wording.

Smiling inwardly at Trevarus’ ever-present arrogance, he was passing a dimly lit space, ruminating on how tasty that steak he’d requested would be, when his senses were tickled by a subtle nudge in the Ether.

Sai’s head turned, mostly from reflex. He was still, after all, in the company of not one, but two Apostates, and treachery was their stock in trade.

’How different are you from them, o’ Killer of Countrymen?’ Sai’s thought was his own, yet it rang with the mocking lilt of Caerick’s voice. Shaking it from his mind, the Keibatsu stepped into the space.

As his tripartite eyes adjusted to the gloom, whatever opulence had greeted him in the refresher was made to look like a hovel in comparison to the wonder he beheld now. Sai cast his eyes about, and saw a vast room filled with furniture that was clearly very old, and very expensive. Though the space had its own overhead lumens, it was dotted all over with electrum candelabras. Unseen, incense and essential oils burned and buffeted his nose with smells, exotic and foreign.

Dominating the center of the space was a large pool of fragranced water, and upon closer inspection Sai saw that the stones that made up the basin were made of black marble. The effect was a bit unsettling, as the water took on the cast of liquid coal...or the deep of the Grandmaster’s eyes.

No sooner had the thought of Muz crossed his mind that his otherworldly senses picked up on something...serpentine within the depths of the waters, massive and scaled. Bending to a knee at the pool’s edge, he leaned forward, straining to peer beyond the blackness.

The tip of his hair’s queue disturbed the placid surface of the water, small ripples radiating outward from where it had entered. The spell broken, Sai made to rise, when Sildrin’s head broke the surface, her face aimed in his direction.

The Krath Sorceress’ face was draped in the darkened carmine of her hair; wet and matted to the sides of her head, it was almost as if she’d worn a cowl of blood. The water trickled over her nose and full lips, the droplets glimmering as fire agates in the candlelight. Her almond-shaped eyes, severely set within her delicate face, were milky as they burned in his direction. The smallest crinkle of annoyance had taken up residence upon her brow, and the pale globes of her shoulders and bosom were barely visible below the surface.

“Oh, my.” Though he could be succinct as any Korun was wont to be, it was not biology or culture that now stilled Sai’s tongue.

Well, not ‘biology’ in the traditional sense.

With Sil agonizingly exposed as such, the Korun-Keibatsu felt the Force burn with a visceral insistence he’d heretofore not felt. And still, the serpentine imagery danced at the edges of his peripheral, infinite and all-encompassing.

Whether the sorceress had felt something similar would be a question for another time as the soprano of Sildrin’s voice tinkled dangerously, echoing about the otherwise quiet pool chamber.

“Is there something I can help you with, Keibatsu?”

The Nachzerer
Orian Space

Malisane sat back in the pilots chair, studying the bottle in his hand. A search of Macron’s supply cupboard had turned up a bottle of Ewok Liqour, one of the limited edition anniversary bottles no less . He took a swig and shivered with pleasure as it rolled down his throat then momentarily gritted his teeth as it burned deep inside him. This was the real stuff alright.

He sighed. He’d been inside Macron’s pokey ship for about ten hours now, and so far nothing. Perhaps he’d been rash, whatever the crazy Alchemist had planned he could be away weeks. Perhaps not. He had a lot to think about. He didn’t understand Clan Naga Sadow anymore. So much had happened. The apostates were back, Macron had been ousted, members who’d been Apprentices only a few short years ago now ran the Clan, and the Overlord seemed to have been more and more absent of late. What was his place now?

He thought back to the old days, and old triumphs. Fighting the True Brotherhood on Kangaras and Mustafar, the Jagred on Antei, the Clonemasters wherever they’d been, jedi on Kashyyyk, Yuzhaan Vong, the Peace Brigade, genetic creatures on Lor Zatean, the Underworld, the Organisation, Deliverance and Dastari and their rebel groups, and who knows what else? It all merged into one. They’d beaten them all, and yet what had they realty achieved?

So many people had gone now, Sapphire Squadron, his old battle team, the close trio of Revenant, Sin and Acara. Raidoner and Lucius and their crazy adventures, Derev and his maniacal scheming for power, Xayun and Siyavash and Agrist and more. Gone now, some departed and some dead, and he couldn’t even remember who was where now. Macron was still around, and Tsainetomo, but they weren’t the same men anymore he’d known years ago, whether it was ambition or bitterness or madness he didn’t know?

What had happened to him? He’d joined as a rising star of the Clan, Envoy, Aedile, Quaestor, Knight Commander, and then it had stalled, and despite a few caretaker roles he’d become stagnant, and his understanding of the force had stopped increasing. He’d been distracted himself with trivialities, like Dystopia. It had been fun and interesting, filling the gap in his life, taking the treasures he’d stolen from Usharak Keep and investing it with three shady investors in a growing business empire he didn’t need, where the only achievement was it’s own growth and status. He’d partied and danced and drank with the citizens of Seng Karash and made the society pages just to waste time and ignore the truth. He’d even taken ewoks from Endor and modified them for the hell of it with Macron. Sith-spawned ewoks? It was ludicrous. How far gone had he been when that idea had occurred?

He took another swig of the bottle, it was half empty now. How had that happened, he hadn’t even felt the burn?

The Clan had changed. When he’d joined they’d had a small military, the palace on Sepros, the cathedral on Tarthos , and Seng Karash had been a much smaller place just created to give the miners who supplied the Clan with somewhere to live. Now it was a blossoming metropolis, and Kar Alabrek had grown up, and Markosian City, and Lor Zatean, and now Kel Rasha, and a respectable fleet protected the colossal exports of materials and finance that left the system every day and every day people came to Orian looking to start new lives.
And now the Clan leaders called themselves directors? And had business meetings? The way things were going perhaps being Dark Jedi wouldn’t matter to the executives in ten years, Clan Naga Sadow would disappear under the weight of the Dlarit Corporation, and maybe the force would just be a party trick to impress investors and entertain at conferences? He laughed bitterly, he could well believe it.

The sad thing is it had been partly his fault, him and the rest. The new generation weren’t to blame, they’d just followed the example his had set. And it had made them vulnerable, so vulnerable. Not only in loosing the force and sight of the final way, but as a target. Hadn’t the attacks increased? The Dlarit Corporation was a big attractive target now, shiny and valuable, and it exposed them to all these threats where a quiet hidden existence wouldn’t. It was a chain around the neck of the Clan, one they had worn so long. And now they reached the stage where the attacks came from within, who knew when the next Dastari or Deliverance or rogue Admiral would surface with a grievance or ambition?

He took another swig, noticing the bottle was nearly empty now. Macron would have some more around here somewhere. It was helping him.

Severak had been right. He’d told Malisane at K240 and Umbala that he was wasting his time, that his Clan and even the Brotherhood was wasting his time. The old Sith had told him they were going nowhere and full of the dream the Bastion and his new Sadow status had given him he’d laughed and turned his back on his father and later killed him. Yes he’d killed him, whatever the Bastion was trying to tell him, he remembered Severak standing over him, no that wasn’t right, he remembered himself standing over Severak and driving in the saber. There was no way his father could have deceived him, was there? Of course not. But the old man was right. That hurt the most, he was right.

Malisane drained the bottle. He needed another. He needed to do something more. Put himself back on track. Put Clan Naga Sadow back on track. Fix things, that was the way. He needed help. He’d worked alone so long and achieved so little. Who though? Who would feel the same way? Who could he trust who wasn’t dead or gone? He’d find them. But first he’d find a drink. Good old Mac had more in that cupboard and wouldn’t begrudge him another sip. He got to his feet and his head swam and his legs gave out under him.

The cold hard metal floor felt oddly reassuring. Just rest here a moment, then he’d be up and get himself some, whatever he’d been after? He had to keep focused, he was waiting for, he couldn’t quite remember what but it was very important. Slowly his eyes closed. Half an hour later the console lit up and the engines powered into life, but he didn’t even notice.

Onboard the Sanguinus
Trevarus Caerick's corvette
Pool room

“Is there something I can help you with, Keibatsu?”

Her complete white eyes stared at him. “Keibatsu” - a word spoken with disdain. Keibatsu, a word that he at first couldn’t associate. Is that really me?, he wondered. What does it mean to be a Keibatsu. He lightly frowned:
“Have the Keibatsu ever done you wrong?” Have we? Have I?

She gave away a small huff as answer and let herself float to the brink of the pool. She lightly tilted her head and closed her atrophied eyes; with the fingers of both her hands she combed a few strands of her long hair. “I can’t imagine, why a Keibatsu should join the goals of Trevarus Caerick and his First Apprentice.” He sensed her doubts in his reasons. “At least not to betray you.”

She lifted a hand and pointed at a carafe filled with essential oil. The carafe floated over towards the pool, but before it could reach it, Sai snatched it. She turned her head into his direction, the hostile expression on her face was clearly showing: “That remains to be seen.” The Korun-Keibatsu knealed down and poured some of the essence onto her skin as she pinned up her hair so it wouldn’t get oily. Sai smiled lightly: “Yes. That remains to be seen. But what motives are yours to join Trevarus? Is it.. the luxury that surrounds him?” Her eyes stared up at him: “You are impertinent.”
“Excuse my behavior”, Sai lowered his eyes. “Perhaps I was locked up for too long.”


She sighed softly as the essential oil spreaded a doing good warmth. “It is ok. I follow Trev, because he is my Master.” She swam to the left side of the pool and stepped out of it. Sai didn’t know where to leave his eyes, because she was nude. She dried herself with a towel made of finest linen, not caring about his presence. “Well... this is not right.”, she continued. He tried to look away, but found himself gazing at her again. Her flesh was the cool lustre of pearl, her hair a red silken mantle, incredibly fine; but yet fine darker veins beneath the skin of her right face half betrayed the usage of the dark side of the force. Her eyes stared at him - from unimaginable heights... or unimaginable depths,.. he could not tell. “Actually - Shan Long is my Master. My Patriarch. Unfortunately he was banished from this world by your Patriarch - Muz Ashen. And instead of him, there is now Trevarus Caerick.”

Ahhh,.. that is why. He started to understand. “My deeds will speak for my intentions. But I believe we should hurry. Trevarus awaits us for dinner.” She gave away an annoyed expression: “Oh yeah. he will show off what exquisite food had been prepared by him for us.” Sai had to grin and added: “And what fine porcelain we have to dine from.”
Sildrin turned her face to him, and she started to reply his grin.


Later on in the dinner room of the Sanguinus
“Ahhh,” Trevarus lifted a red piece of bloody meat on his silver fork. “How delicious. Don’t you think? I let a special hunter team track down one of the famous and rare Kank’adan beats. Their meat is unbelievable delicate.”
He let the piece of meat vanish in his mouth. “Delicious. Three of the hunting party died as they captured the beast.” Sai stiffled a cough; he had just bolted again a too big piece of the Kank’adan steak down his throat. He nodded, and made a meager attempt to reply, but he decided to simply shutup. It didn’t matter to him; it was a good piece of steak, it was a huge piece of steak that he had to fight down. Just as he wanted it to be.
Trevarus sipped the wine from a fine goblet and whispered: “A rich wine. Sweet and viscous. A century-wine.”

Sildrin mopishly stabbed the meat with her fork. Trevarus’s arrogance grinded against her as a piece of sandpaper. “Lady Dragon. A bit more respect for the cuisine of my head chef.”, Trevarus grinned. She pushed the plate away from her. “Do you never tire of luxurious things?” she grumbled. Trevarus chuckled. “No Lady Dragon. Not even at the end of all things. Not even beyond the culmination of the Via Finitas."
Xanos moved restless on his seat. he turned to Sildrin and asked cryptically: “Have you claimed your Way along the Via Septa ….” he interrupted himself. Hadn’t he asked this already? Had it been yesterday? Would it be tomorrow? Xanos’s face twitched. Sildrin frowned: “You had asked me that already.”

Trevarus grinned mischieviously: “And you still have no answer on that, Lady Dragon?”.

The previous glass of wine next to Sildrin’s plate shattered, spilling its content over the table. Burgundy flashed up in her eyes; she had jumped up to her feet. A moment of uneasy silence passed; Sildrin lowered her eyes: “Excuse me. I will retire into my room and meditate.” Without any further words she left the room.

“Excuse my apprentice”, Trevarus said to Sai. A smug smile appeared on his face: “She yet has to learn a lot.” Sai swallowed hard, the huge chunk of meat uncomfortably moved down his gullet.

Medical Ward, DSOG Secure Wing
Marakith Skyhook, Geo-synchronous over Seng Karash
Aeotheran

The pair had moved from the Consul's Quarters to the Medical Ward with a rather fluid discussion over the duties of a Quaestor within the Clan, Methyas focusing upon Atra's new title of "Executive Director" as well, his mind focused on the past as much as the present while they spoke. While Atra may not have had fond thoughts towards the Corporation, he was now one of the most instrumental figures within the Corporation and the Clan. As they spoke, Methyas suggested a potential DSOG or Civilian liaison for dealing with the Corporation's day-to-day operations as he continued his training. Atra didn't seem to respond as they entered the Medical Ward, Methyas' attention shifting towards maintaining a calm and serene atmosphere as the doctors approached them; his own thoughts drifting off as Atra grudgingly permitted the medical staff to aid him.

Much had happened since the Ekind Uprising on Tarthos, the Corporation and Clan itself changing greatly in response with much of it being designs of his own or aiding Tsainetomo. The alliance with Taldryan and TEAD Technologies, the focus on the Commercial assets of the Clan over the military...there had been a reorganization amongst not only their military assets, but the civilian as well. It hadn't been simply for the sake of change, simply to redistribute power; but to allow the Corporation to succeed, to adapt to the changes of the Galaxy and to avoid conflict with the Galactic Alliance...as much good as that had done. The Board of Directors, the Special Operations Group; they still held all the power within Orian space, they were still the ones who held all the cards, it was simply a way to divide their Civilian assets from their Military.

Yet even as they had made this change, even as he had issued the orders with Sai at his side; his pride was met with a feeling of unease. The feeling of tension, his uneasiness simply continued to grow as Sai disappeared, as he fell into the hands of Michael Halcyon. Even under new tutelage, the Jedi Master had warned him to remain aware of his feelings, of the warnings through the Force. Things had simply gotten more tense, more knotted as time had passed when he was Consul; even having Bob as his Proconsul had been less than successful for the young Jedi. Now, things would be worse...he had participated in allowing another to successful overthrow a Son of Sadow, the interference of the Grand Master notwithstanding, the tension had simply blossomed around him. Even the Grand Master's appointment of the young Proconsul over the two former Consul's within the chamber had given Methyas cause of alarm over his own safety, his own secrets being potentially compromised. A sigh escaped the Miraluka as he reached a hand up to grip at his shoulder, trying to massage his own tension out as he realized that Locke may have just brought things to a boiling point.

It had been right to bring forth a change, a much needed one, but now the entire Summit was bright-eyed and "green"; worst of all none of them bore an allegiance to the Sons outside of the Chairman, Astronicus. In the eyes of the Sons, the Summit bore an allegiance to the Pepoi family above all else now. Methyas let out another quiet sigh as he centred his mind, reaching outward through the Force and sifting past the wisp-like strands that tied each of those within the room together. Out past the tight thread that bound himself and his apprentice, past those of the Summit within the Consul's quarters; pushing himself as far as his limits would allow to the greater picture of the Orian system. So many tangled threads, so many knots and frayed strands, if one could simply pluck or tease at this strands...

But then, there were those who could. He had read the history of those with the Mark, he had heard of the power that Fremoc had once held himself. Methyas smirked slightly as he started to pull himself back, his sight returning to the immediate area as he felt a tug at his own strands; a powerful gold almost chain-like thread and the tightly wound one signifying his apprentice tugging at his mind. He had been so focused on the impending turmoil that he hadn't felt the approach of his Brother, his Padawan having completed his medical aid. Quaestor and former Quaestor of Shar Dakhan now awaited his attention, the muscular pair of Obelisk simply casting sideways glances at each other as they felt the power eminating from the older L'eonheart receded once more.

"Distracted, Brother?" The familiar baritone rose up from the Assassin as he crossed his arms across his chest.

"Keeping a weathered eye on the horizon." Came the reply, the calm and grace within his voice continuing as he spoke, "What did you need?"

Atra smiled for a moment before Mirado continued, "Your apprentice, he's more...confrontational, than you are. I figured I could mentor him a little, if you don't mind."

Methyas simply nodded in response, the words unspoken between the brothers as they communicated across their chain; few words needed for Atra to leave with the young Miraluka leaving Methyas to focus on his own needs. With a simple gesture from the Assassin, the pair left the Paladin to his own devices; the Miraluka withdrawing his little data probe again as the pair went out of sight, his attention focused on finding a room he could work in silence; he had much work to do, much to uncover if he wished to fix any of the damage he had caused.

The Emerald Room
Onboard the corvette Sanguinus

The Emerald Room was every bit the echo of its namesake back in Kalekka Tower, its walls dressed in rich tomuon tapestries from the finest blind weavers of Askaj. To some sentient species’ eyes, the green was slightly insipid, but then, the subtle discomfort was perhaps the point. The Keibatsu had retired to his quarters soon after Sildrin, leaving Trevarus and his apprentice to finish their drink alone—and a drink in the singular it was, as the Falleen was one of the few who did not take to his Master’s opulence. As Xanos’s lips parted to speak, the muscle under his left eye twitched on its own accord again. “Can we trust him?” asked the Falleen, his voice its usual empty, bereft tone.

The identity of “him” went without saying.

There was no need for words at all, in fact. As Master and apprentice, Xanos and Trevarus shared each other’s thoughts as if they were of the same mind; but all minds are made up of their conscious and subconscious, and even the sanest man enters discourse with his own thoughts at times—those who do not have merely succeeded in deceiving their own selves.

“He doubts himself,” replied Trevarus at last, before he took another sip of his wine.

During the meal, the Oracle had spoken at length about the star Til, which had gone supernova over a century ago; Tililix wine was impossibly rare, so naturally Trevarus had obtained a reserve from somewhere—it always was good to remind yourself of the natural entropy of the universe. Trevarus had called for a toast to the dead; may he savour their ardour still.

Xanos and his Master truly were their own yin and yang.

Where the Oracle may have existed at the centre of things, with all threads on the Sanguinus converging about him, Xanos was his Master’s opposite, cut off from the crew and visitors, as if his page on the cosmic tapestry had simply been torn straight out.

“He struggles... with his own resolve,” said the Falleen, his voice this time catching as the unnatural ticks in Xanos’s body fluttered through his veins again. “He knows we are right—”

“—yet still does not wish to accept it,” Trevarus finished, completing his apprentice’s sentence for him. Xanos knew his body’s persistent shakes disturbed his Master. “But he will do so in time.”

The Falleen nodded, his left eye twitching again.

Xanos agreed. The Korun-Keibatsu had now begun down the path to true answers; like Macron and Sildrin, it was simply a case of finding his Way along the Via Septa.

The Oracle put his glass back on the marble tabletop. “There is time for that, my apprentice,” said Trevarus, cockily grinning across the table at him. “You had to die twice before embracing Dominion, as I seem to recall.” The Oracle was not wrong; the ghosts of both Korriban and Lehon littered Xanos’s history.

That brought a rare smile from the Falleen’s lips, although it may just have been another involuntary twitch. “As did you, my Master,” replied Xanos, the twitch widening.

Trevarus raised his glass again and cocked another grin. “To those who have Ascended.”

The Falleen did not return the toast but simply sat in silence as his Master finished his glass.

Orian System
Inos Orbit
Inos Moon 42

This was no jungle. Ironically, it was cold in Hell. Many alien religions and even some human ones had described the Hells as a place of bitter, hungry cold. It was a place where you could never truly be warm. Or your thirst be assuaged without cold- because licking an icicle or eating snow as close as you would ever come to clean water or wine. They would tempt you with fear and illusion.

At least the god-damn crawling bugs did not live here.

Macron turned about and stared deliberately into the ice-filtered blue light that came from the mouth of the Tombs. From inside, the dripping icicles and broken rock seemed to suggest a yawning mouth from the inside view. And this time, one he was already swallowed by. “Kark-tastic,” chuckled the madman underneath his helm. His armored foot prodded the nearby corpsesicle of a fallen Naga Sadow acolyte.

“What choo got here,” chuckled the madman as he pawed the frozen corpse for equipment. “I see medpacks, cold-stims, a fusion lamp…. Very nice.” Macron smiled to himself. Only the Dead that could defend themselves were worth his regard. The weak were just a resource. Still, Dead with the power of the Dark Side had walked these twisting tunnels before at the behest of Curwen Sunei. Dead that brandished proto-lightsabers… and were difficult to kill.

“Damn you, Sunei!” Macron screamed the curse aloud to the echoing walls of frosty rock. Even the dusts of ages here were frozen like crystalline cake by the ancient cold. . The snow and ice had an almost nullifying effect on sounds here. This place was old- old even before Urias Orian had come. Imprints of evil abounded in these antediluvian rocks.

As the scream echoed a ghostly blue form came to solidity before Macron Sadow. It was, to every respect, the exact replica of Curwen Sunei. Whether the Dark Adept’s soul continued to exist or this was a trick of the Tombs was hard to discern. It spoke.

“Macrooonnn… you will fail!” The shade writhed and clenched ghostly claws. “You are doomed! Your Clan…. Hideous throwbacks…. Doomed!” The specter did it’s level best to be threatening. It even gestured appropriately.

“Fork you, old man,” snarled Macron as he chuckled. “You are Dead. I am Not. Did you not notice? You LOST. You, Curwen, are weak. You are not Sith. Much weaker than my Master… who returned from beyond the veil.” Macron opened his face plate with a puff of gas and spat phlegm that froze before it hit the ground with a tinkle. “I spit on you. Too old to change, and too young to learn. You lost. I remain. And now, you cannot hurt me. You cannot tempt me. My will is iron like the Sith of old. Go away, old man.”

The dusts swirled as the Dark Side phantasm faded out. Macron’s gauntlet comlink chirped as the Nachzerer landed on autopilot nearby. “Very good,” giggled the mad alchemist as he strode towards the door to the Tombs.

Endor’s Pride
Union of Free Worlds Space
Twelve months before the present date.

Jedi Knight Karina Sarlos frowned as the door buzzer repeatedly sounded. She sighed, letting herself come out of her trance and slowly opened her eyes. “Yes?”
The door slid open revealing the nervous face of Padawan Lamarl. “I am sorry to bother you Karina but Master Gavorn has requested your presence in the main crew area.”
She smiled at him. “Very well, I will be there in a few minutes.”
He nodded. “Thank you.”
She got to her feet, dusting off the front of her robes. She like many of the New Jedi Order were both respectful and apprehensive of the powerful master. He had risen relatively quickly within the order, surpassing many of the long serving members in understanding of the force and standing in the order, but was also known for a strict and unbending nature to the world around him, with a simplistic black and white view that harkened back to the old ways rather than the new. There was no doubting his ability or his knowledge, just his attitude.
She clipped her saber onto her belt and with a quick glance to make sure her quarters were in order she left the room.

The tall Master with his short grey hair and hard shaven features turned and gave her a functionary nod of his head. “Thank you for joining us Knight Sarlos. Have a seat.”
She sat down and he joined her at the table, waving Padawan Lamarl to do the same. “As you will be aware we are approaching our destination. I am permitted now to explain the purpose of our mission here in the Union of Free Worlds.” He clicked on a button on the table and a hologramatic display appeared over their heads. “As you will know the Union of Free worlds was formed following the outbreak of peace with the Yuzhaan Vong, following an approach to the world’s respective governments by this man, Viceroy Kareves. Little was officially known of him, though he is suspected to be a former officer of the Imperial Remnant due to his command of a number of former Imperial vessels that appear to have left, or deserted, the Remnant in the closing period of the war. It has fifteen member worlds and as a body has made overtures with the Galactic Alliance with a view to joining but this has hit red tape due to the Union refusing to return assets to the Remnant.”
He paused. “That is historical. Our information suggests Viceroy Kareves was assassinated by unknown forces and the governance was passed to a democratic Senate.”
“But there has been no further progress with their application?” Karina asked.
He frowned at her, perhaps bothered by the interruption. “Indeed not. The stumbling block remains regarding the Remnant vessels, and concerns have grown in the Galactic Alliance Senate that the Union is unstable.”
“Unstable?” She had heard a little about that but nothing official.
“What few intelligence reports that have emerged from the Union suggest that it may have been the victim of a bloodless military coup. Support amongst their navy and security forces appears to be growing for a particular senior officer, though we do not know who, and reports suggest this may have happened behind the scenes, replacing the democratic Senate with a puppet one. There are hints of deaths of official candidates, election fraud, blackmail, we can only imagine to what extents this may have gone.” Gavorn paused, a flash of anger touching his features. “This brings us to the purpose of our mission. Several months ago Master Shareth was sent to the Union of Free Worlds to negotiate with them. She did not return, and has not made contact. We received a simple response to our enquiry that they were not aware of her arrival. In addition at the time of the assassination of Viceroy Kareves, Master Tevain and his padawan also disappeared.”
Karina nodded sadly. Master Shareth was her master. She had been a kind, patient and rewarding mentor, and Karina deeply felt her disappearance. Karina had been injured in an accident prior to Master Shareth’s departure and had been unable to accompany her, much to her regret.
“Master Skywalker has ordered us to the Union of Free Worlds personally following diplomatic attempts to discern the whereabouts of our lost colleagues, and the current state of the Union and it’s potential threat to the alliance if it has fallen under a military coup. We are not here on a diplomatic mission we are to infiltrate the Union by whatever means possible. We will act under the constraints of the Jedi Code where possible but we will not be deterred.”
Karina was unsure what the Master meant by “where possible” but nodded. “I understand.”

Suddenly an alarm went off in the cabin. Master Gavorn’s brow furrowed. “Lamarl find out what is happening,” he ordered. A second later the vessels captain emerged from the cockpit. He bowed hurriedly. “Master Gavorn, we are under attack.”
Gavorn’s face flickered angrily. “By what?”
“We have been brought out of hyperspace by a gravity field,” the captain replied, “an Imperial interdictor to be precise.”
“Show me,” the Master ordered. The screen in the cabin came on revealing an imperial interdictor off their starboard bow, surrounded by TIE fighters. From their port side a Victory Class Star Destroyer moved in on them.
“We are receiving a communication,” the captain reported as he listened to his headset,” we are ordered to power down our engines.”
Master Gavorn studied the display, Karina stood beside him. She could see it was helpless. The Master nodded. “Very well,”
The captain nodded, relaying the command. A few seconds later the ship rocked slightly as they were caught in a tractor beam, and they began to be pulled towards the star destroyer.

Holding Area
Victory Class SD Tempest
Union of Free Worlds Space

“This is intolerable,” Master Gavorn told the impassive lieutenant who stood by the door, flanked by two nightblue armoured marines, “I insist to speak to the commander of this vessel immediately.”
The officer turned to him. “You will be dealt with in time Master Jedi,” he replied calmly.
Gavorn gave him a hard glare but said no more. The officer stared back at the wall again, seemingly unimpressed. Then his hand went to his communicator. “I understand sir.” He offered no further explanation but the door slid open and two more blue armoured marines entered and stood either side of the room. A second later another officer entered. He was wearing a night blue uniform that was largely unadorned. He appeared to be in his early forties with dark hair. Karina felt a sudden change in the room, from the lieutenant, and from the marines, fear, respect, and something else. From the new officer she felt nothing though, which was odd.
Master Gavrorn faced up to him. “I assume you are in charge here?”
The new officer studied him. “You assume correctly Master Gavrorn,” he replied passively, “I am Commissioner Rakvese of the Union Security force.”
“Then would you care to explain why we have been detained in this manner?” Gavrorn’s eyes bore into the commissioner’s.
“I would yes. You have entered our territory without any sort of prior invitation, in an unmarked vessel bearing no security identification and failed to broadcast your presence. You will understand if this makes us curious regarding your intentions.”
“We are here on the business of the Jedi Order,” Gavrorn told the officer.
“Well that does come as some relief,” Rakvese replied with a slight smile, “the last thing anyone would want would be rogue Jedi.”
“So you will release us and allow us to go about our business,” the Jedi Master said and Karina felt the presence of the force pushing against the officers mind.
Rakvese met the Master’s gaze. “In time Master Jedi,” he replied seemingly unaffected, “we have much to discuss. You are not here as prisoners but I sense you come with questions and perhaps a grievance. Such matters should be discussed calmly and rationally.”
“If you are willing to discuss them honestly,” Master Gavrorn replied, seeming slightly non plussed.
Commissioner Rakvese smiled slightly. “I promise you Master Jedi I shall tell you nothing but the truth.”

Karina laid back in a simple sleeping quarters. They were as the commissioner had promised apparently not prisoners, though there was a high presence of the nightblue armoured marines in the corridors. She had not seen either the commissioner or Master Gavrorn for several hours, having been dismissed by the master. She was concerned and puzzled by this turn of events.
The door slid open and Karina looked up, then her eyes widened in surprise at the petite dark haired woman who entered and studied her. “It is good to see you again my Padawan. It has been too long.”
The Knight’s mind was racing. “Master Shareth.” This wasn’t right. It was definatley her mentor, the same diminutive but wise and influential woman she had learned from.
“I trust you have been treated well,” Shareth said walking round to her bed.
Karina continued to gape at her. “How are you here?” she asked quietly, “are you a prisoner?”
The older woman’s calm features seemed faintly amused, “Rest assured I am here of my own free will,” she replied.
“But why?”
“I was informed of your presence on this vessel and caught a shuttle,” Shareth replied, “I was eager to renew our acquaintance. ”
“I mean in the Union, you left Yavin two months ago. We heard nothing from you.”
“I will not be returning to Yavin,” the Master replied, “I have no business there anymore. Neither I am sure will you once you become aware.”
“Aware of what?” the Knight asked, confused.
“Aware of who you are, of the opportunities you face Karina and of your potential under the right guidance.”
“I do not understand. What have you become?”
“I have not become anything Karina,” Shareth replied, “except I have become aware. I have joined something. A Vision, Future, a Brotherhood.”
“A Brotherhood?” Karina echoed.
Master Shareth’s eyes glittered. “A True Brotherhood.”

Orian System
Inos Orbit
Inos Moon 42

The Sanguinus sat idly a short stretch away from the entrance to Curwen Sunei’s tomb, her engines rumbling softly as Eosara maintained the corvette’s vital systems and a lonely vigil while Trevarus and his cabal made their way towards the cave. The ship was being covered in a gossamer film of snow as a sudden squall set upon the area, but the Force-users were non-plussed.

Walking just behind the Dark Jedi Master, Xanos, Sildrin and Sai silently trudged over the permafrost; though Caerick’s considerable power kept the elements at bay, encased in a Force-Bubble as they were, the quartet still had to make the walk.

When they’d reached the cave’s opening, Trevarus relinquished his hold on the Dark Side, and a dusting of snow covered their boots as the winds were once again allowed to caress the Force-users. Caerick stepped aside, and with a flourish directed Sai to take the lead, having learned of Macron’s expected rendezvous destination.

Sai stepped to the front of the assemblage, shouldering a small satchel. Curiously, he did not have his lightsabers with him, only his autopistol. Trevarus saw another opportunity to goad the Korun.

“What, no lightsabers? How ever will you defend yourself?” Caerick’s tone smacked of mockery; perhaps the Dark Jedi Master was still annoyed at Tsainetomo’s refusal to tell him the coordinates of the tomb until they’d broke atmosphere.

Sai, if he’d noted Trevarus’ tone, made no initial indication of the same. Looking past him, Sai cast his senses into the dark, replied distractedly. “Oh, I sent those back to the Herald. Eosara was good enough to ship a parcel for me before we’d left Kar Alabrek. Besides, that’s what I have you here for.” Suddenly, Sai looked Caerick up and down. “What about you? You sure you don’t need a rest? I’m surprised you didn’t order one of us to carry you on our backs.” A self-satisfied grin stole its way onto Sai’s face and just into Trevarus’ vision as Sai stepped past him into the dark.

“We still have to walk back, young Obelisk,” reminded Trevarus, the petulance in his voice more than a little evident.

Sil’s blind eyes peered into nothingness as the Force whispered to her . “I can sense no danger.”

Xanos’ stony addition was just the same, though a little more sure. “There is no threat ahead, my Master.”

Sai stopped short, feeling the same. Before they’d made planetfall, he’d regaled them all with tales of the Undead roaming the path to the large antechamber at the tomb’s center. After all, he still bore the scar from one of their proto-lightsabers he’d taken to his side back during his first visit here. But, Sildrin and Xanos were right.

“Something’s changed,” Sai admitted, his own eyes straining to pierce the dark while Trevarus looked at him expectantly. “What?” the Korun-Keibatsu shrugged, returning the stare. “You act as if I didn’t get here at the same time you did. I don’t know, maybe Sunei’s thrall over this place has finally left now that the Adept’s been slain.” He remembered all too well what happened between the Alchemist and the Adept, culminating in the former spearing the latter with the Sword of Sadow. “Look, we can either keep moving forward, or we can sit here wishing for danger that probably won’t come. It’s up to you; I’ve plenty of time.”

Sai’s defiance would serve them well, thought Trevarus as he tamped down the urge to lace the Obelisk with a dose of Force Lightning. Sighing heavily, he acquiesced. “Young Na’Ashar is right. No danger means no more delays. Onward!”

He took the lead himself, roughly shouldering past Tsainetomo as his strides lengthened with confidence. Sai chuckled to himself as he followed, Sil and Xanos in tow.

-=[]=-

A short time later, the quartet reached the tomb’s vast antechamber, bathed in crimson light as it was, the massive adgean vein that ran through its rear wall still largely untapped. The dead acolytes outside, one of which who’d graciously given Macron his survival gear when the Alchemist arrived here earlier, attested to the harsh conditions that came with mining.

Macron stood in the center of the chamber, his arms folded as the quartet entered. The sight of Trevarus and Xanos at his side elicited a chortle from the Madman’s throat, but it was choked back at the sight of Sildrin...and Tsainetomo.

“Welcome, all, to my humble abode!” Macron’s voice was laced with fevered madness, but his eyes never left Tsainetomo’s, those tripartite orbs of his very making. As for the aforementioned Keibatsu, he said nothing, offering only the slightest of nods as he walked over to Curwen Sunei’s old workbench under the adgean vein, taking out the small electronic and metal components within his satchel with care, deliberately placing them in sequence in front of him.

Macron continued, his eyes still locked on Tsainetomo. “I trust you had no problem finding the place? It’s easy to get turned around in this neighborhood.”

“None at all, my Apprentice,” Xanos reply was as gravel, his distant mind missing Macron’s attempts at humor. Sildrin, who’d wandered a short distance away, cast her head this way and that, as if her atrophied eyes were granting her visions within the tomb the others could not see, and could not possibly begin to comprehend.

A loud handclap, and all heads whirled towards Caerick, who’d made the sound. The Dark Jedi Master began to rub and wring his hands in anticipation, and his voice rang out.

“Well, Alchemist? What is so pressing that the Apprentice would dare presume to command the Master” - at this, Caerick nodded towards Xanos - “to meet in such a place?” The gleam of his teeth as he spoke flashed in every eye as the Weave coalesced in anticipation of Macron’s explanation.

Consul's Quarters, DSOG Secure Wing
Marakith Skyhook, Geo-synchronous over Seng Karash
Aeotheran

Footsteps echoed across the durasteel corridors in answer to the hush that had fallen after the coup. Officers were working hard at looking busy whilst soldiers ran from point to point hoping they wouldn't be dragged into the matter. The occasional flash of black and red crossed their peripheral as they worked hard to keep their gaze forward. She had been here before, in fact she had been quite involved, though it was only the new Proconsul that knew her identity.

The doors to the Consul's quarters slid open with a sharp hiss, a curtain of gold sweeping through the opening as the woman entered. Locke looked up from the desk, a heavy set to his features as the fatigue in his eyes shone bright. Teu smiled slightly, nodding in acknowledgement. Kalia Phoenyx stood in the opening, her ice cold eyes fixed upon the newly appointed Consul. The light seemed to disappear, absorbed by the gold of her blonde hair and devoured by the black of her attire. Crimson lips shimmered in the light, as if newly spilt blood, whilst her lightly tanned skin seemed to embrace its touch. She wore a simple black dress, a slit running up the side revealing her thigh high boots, flesh flashing in the opening. A black corset was drawn tight about her waist, red taking over in the front of the corset. Opera gloves adorned her arms, a single strand of fabric tied to her middle fingers. Locke raised an eyebrow momentarily before looking to Teu, her nod reassuring him.

"Kalia Phoenyx, reporting for Rollmaster as summoned."

Unfiltered by the Black Guard mask she had worn only a short time ago her words were silk, flowing easily and smoothly as if to caress the skin. Locke nodded in appreciation of her quick appearance.

"Thank you for coming on such short notice, as you can no doubt tell this was rather sudden."

Kalia merely nodded, having trained long enough with Araxis to know when to hold her tongue.

"I hereby appoint you Rollmaster," Locke continued, weariness dripping into his words, "with all the duties and privileges that go with it. Teu will handle your training as she has held the position for quite some time now."

"Gladly," Teu added quietly, not wanting to steal the momentum from the new Consul.

"Now that you are here, is there anything you wish to ask before you are dismissed?"

Locke looked on quietly, awaiting the woman's answer. She seemed to ponder it a while, as if weighing the words carefully before speaking.

"I heard you have an affinity for near death situations," Kalia spoke slowly, a smirk gracing her features, "do try to stay alive, I like you."

With that final statement Kalia removed herself from the Consul's office, leaving Locke to ponder her words as his thoughts drifted to the Sons and just how difficult a task she had unknowingly asked.

Inos 42
Inside the former lair of the late Curwen Sunei

A cold chill rustled up from the forgotten catacombs far below as Xanos and his Master waited for the deposed Consul’s explanation for calling them there. Macron remained in the middle of the room rocking back and forth, tittering in a laugh as bitter and amoral as his old Sith Master as he watched Tsainetomo tinker with the things he had unpacked on the workbench to one side. For all his insanity, the alchemist’s lightsaber remained tightly in his armoured fist; Macron was no fool to trust the two Apostates, even if it had been his call which had summoned them hence to this place.

The large Adegan vein in the ceiling overhead glistened as the howl of stale air finally rescinded, and Macron pulled his eyes away from the Korun-Keibatsu to address the group of outcasts assembled in front of him. Sildrin may not have been declared apostate by the Overlord, but the Daughter of Sadow was today as much a stranger as the two sorcerers she journeyed with as a votary.

“Revenge,” growled the alchemist finally, answering Trevarus’s question. The air around Macron oscillated as he spoke, frozen droplets flashing if they drifted too near. “For what they did to me.”

For the moment, Xanos remained silent, and Trevarus’s grin faded as he studied the madman’s face.

Sildrin shook her head slowly and sighed. “What did you expect from Sith?” said the blind woman, the snow on her coils of red hair falling off her shoulders. “That they kindly ask you to leave?”

“I expected them to obey me, not rebel against me!” Xanos’s old apprentice clenched his armoured fists and a crunch inadvertently sounded from the crystal shaft above them, a crack splitting down the length of the purple vein that was suspended directly overhead. Macron’s bloodshot eyes turned toward his former master. “I want them to suffer,” hissed the alchemist. “I want them to know fear.”

The Falleen’s unblinking eyes stared back at the alchemist, offering no sign of what may have been going through the Dark Prophet’s mind. “You asked for our help—,” the Dark Prophet’s mercurial eyes bore into Macron’s as another involuntary ripple ran through the muscles beneath the Falleen’s skin, “—we ask you to fulfil the promise you made as Consul.”

“The Sadow Archives,” qualified Trevarus.

This time, Macron paused, his reply not forthcoming right away, and instead the alchemist’s gaze drifted back to look at what Sai was doing at the side of the room. Sai remained silent and carried on tinkering with his equipment on the workbench, doing his best to stay out of the building tension.

His eyes still on Sai’s back, Macron shook his head. “You know I can’t do that now,” the alchemist said before he turned back to face the two apostates again. “But together, together we can break down the doors to the Archives and make the traitors know the true fire of the Final Way!”

Trevarus’s delight gleamed back at Macron as another ice droplet flashed in the air between them. “By them, I presume you refer to Clan Naga Sadow’s new Summit,” replied the Oracle, purposefully enunciating his words as he continued smiling at the alchemist. “That is to say: your replacements.”

The charged air around Macron crackled again and a large block of compacted ice broke free from the ceiling, vaporising when it struck the protective bubble enveloping Trevarus and the others. The sorcerer smiled back at Macron. “Be mindful of your feelings, my Tertia,” chuckled the Oracle.

Xanos’s eye wanted to blink, but the Falleen’s cold blood had finally chilled on the icy graveworld, granting him a moment’s respite from his body’s involuntary ticks. “You war with your inferiors,” the Dark Prophet said, though his meaning may have been lost in his empty tone.

Macron’s head snapped away from Trevarus toward his old Sith Master. “They were cowards! None of them dared to challenge me on their own. They used the Dlarit Corporation to carry out their coup!” Another jagged icicle plummeted from the ceiling, shattering next to the workbench beside Sai. The deposed Consul’s face turned to study his predecessor’s. “And what of you, Sai? Have the houses of Keibatsu and Sadow not thrown you to the akk dogs too?”

For several moments, the Korun carried on what he was doing on the workbench before answering. “I’m here for the same reasons as you, Mac,” said Sai before he turned around to face his fellow Son of Sadow. The firm resolve on the Obelisk’s face contrasted with the rage pulsing across Macron’s. The Obelisk nodded his head over at Trevarus. “There’s no vision anymore. It’s all politics.”

“So why didn’t you help me when I needed it?!” Macron shouted, balling his fist as he took a step toward Sai, recalling his encounter with the rogue Son of Sadow two years earlier, when Sai had been living rough in the slums of Seng Karash, trying to hunt down the rogue clonetrooper Orenth.

“I did what you couldn’t, Mac.” Sai raised a hand for the other to wait for him to finish. “There were problems with the Dlarit Corporation, Mac. You knew it; I knew it—,” the Obelisk nodded at Xanos and Trevarus, “—they sure as kriff knew it. As governor, you couldn’t go underground. But I could.”

Trevarus raised his gauntleted hand for the others to quiet. “What is in the past is in the past,” said the Oracle, the gemstone in the Amulet of Orian shimmering softly. “What matters is what you do now.” His grin gone, the Dark Jedi Master looked directly at Macron again. “We will help you. But be warned, alchemist: if you do not complete your end of the bargain, there will be consequences.”

Another bulge ran across Xanos’s forehead almost in slow-motion though the Elder remained silent.

Macron still did not lower his lightsaber hilt. “And what about her?” said the alchemist, ignoring the unspoken threat and instead nodding at the woman beside Xanos. “Can I count on your help or not, Sildrin?”

The blind woman’s atrophied white eyes continued staring straight ahead, neither at Macron, nor not at him. For all the alchemist knew, Sildrin’s mind may have been somewhere entirely different. After what felt like an uncomfortably long wait, although in fact it was no more than a few seconds, she simply replied: “I will continue the task I came here to fulfil.” A faint violet flicker flashed behind Sildrin’s eyes before vanishing. When Macron did not reply, Sildrin added: “That should be enough.”

A thin smile spread across Trevarus’s lips. “Then do we have an agreement?”

Macron looked at each of the three in front of him in turn, before looking back over at Sai again. For a long moment, neither of the pair spoke. Finally, Sai lowered his head, signalling his agreement.

“Done,” said Macron, his earlier giggles replaced by a sombre acceptance.

Jedi Conclave
Unknown Planet

The Mother of Memories had sunken deep into the meditation. Her meditation room was lightly dimmed; only a weak glow behind Dame Sanka was the only light source.

Old she was. And wise. An eternal Light of her Jedi Conclave; The First Light of the Jedi Conclave. New generations came and passed - and yet she was still there. Her task was to keep the memories, to pass on the light to her pupils, and to preserve the Eternal Path as a Guardian of the Eternal Path.

Within the void behind the veil of the force she was a beacon of light. She had left the lights of her own conclave far behind by long. Now she floated in a never ending void - alone. Until …
A turmoil outside her round clay hut pulled her from her meditation. At first it was a faint murmur, until eventually the increasing sound was not to be ignored anymore. She sighed. Again her spirit had briefly touched something unsettling “out there” - like a couple of days ago.

Her abigail rushed inside. “Mother of Memories! He is back! Vatan is back again!” Sanka, Mother of Memories stood. She was taller than all in the Jedi Conclave. Her brown almond eyes widened. “What is with Tarvin? Is he also back?” Aria looked up at Sanka; she shook her head. “No. He wasn’t present. Maybe he will arrive still.”
Sanka nodded: “Well, all right. We have to find out.” She followed Aria outside. Outside a crowd of people surrounded a single man; they deluged him with questions without giving him time to answer them. He looked tired and ruffled. As the people saw the Mother of Memories approaching, they silenced and cleared the way for her in respect.

Vatan looked briefly into her eyes and lowered his head in shame.
“Welcome back, Vatan. You look tired. Come. At first we should think of your comfort.... “Aria had already rushed to them and started to lead him to one of the clay huts. “Vatan...?”, Sanka started.
“Yes?”
“Will Tarvin also come back?”, she quietly asked.
Vatan didn’t dare to look into her eyes: “No”, he barely managed to speak.
Sanka closed her eyes for a moment. Sadly she nodded.
“We will meet at the gathering hall.”


Gathering Hall
Jedi Conclave

Vatan stood in the middle of the room; dozens of eyes fixed on him. He nervously rubbed his wrists, felt the old scars on them. In front of him on the other side of the room the Mother of Memories sat on a low pedestal.
“Tarvin and I were there! In the heart of Clan Naga Sadow.”, Vatan started. A murmur rose from the crowd of people inside the hall.
“The cities are ruled with an iron hand. Any kind of protest or riot is brutally quelled! Even if it ends in blood!” He clenched a fist. Some of the attending people covered their mouths with hands, their eyes widened from horror.

“Tarvin and I also had seen the library! Books written with blood and soaked by the Dark Side of the Force! Dangerous books! The Organisation sent us there, to destroy the books.”, he continued.
The Mother of Memories’s frowns made Vatan swallow hard; he knew about her disapproval when he and Tarvin joined the Organisation. And he knew that she would never approve such deeds.

“It had to be done! It had to be tried! Those.. books.. are evil!”, he felt as if he had to justify himself. Some of the people agreed to him - such knowledge had to be destroyed; others shook their heads - such knowledge had to be preserved, but had to be stowed away safely.
Then Vatan lowered his shoulders, he stared at the tips of his shoes and he nearly gagged on the words: “But then there were Dark Jedi. A red haired woman.. and a Falleen. They hindered us. And the Falleen.. he...he... killed Tarvin.” He closed his eyes, plagued by the memories of his friend being killed. He took a deep breath and looked up at Sanka: “The Falleen had extinguished the fires. He had a tattoo on his forehead. I have never felt such a dark aurora before...”, Vatan silenced as he saw Sanka’s reaction.

“A tattoo? On the forehead? Was it... an eye?”, she asked, her hands clenching. Vatan looked puzzled at Sanke: “Yes.” The Mother of Memories leaned forward: “And the red-haired woman... did she have white eyes?”
Vatan nodded. The Mother of Memories leaned back, looking tired. Aria clapped lightly into her hands: “Please. The Gathering is over. The Mother of Memories is tired.” The crowd of people broke up, lost in small discussions. Only the small boy Eshil stayed. He walked to his mentor and gently stroked her hand. “Is everything alright, Sanka?”
“Yes”, the Mother of Memories sighed. “The Path of Eternity has to be preserved. And yet I see more and more joining the Final Way.”
Eshil frowned: “Path of Eternity? .. The Final Way..?” He had no idea what this was all about.
The Mother of Memories rested a hand on Eshil’s head. “Don’t worry, Eshil.”
“Aria? Send a message to the other Guardians of the Path of Eternity. Tell them the Shadows around the Final Way are growing.”

The Nachzerer
Inos 42

The floor was cold. Malisane opened his eyes slowly against the lights of the cabin. His body felt stiff and achy, the result of his less
than palatable sleeping arrangement. Cautiously he pushed himself to his feet, then slumped down into the pilots chair, picking up a half
empty bottle of water and sipping it. He leaned forward and pressed a couple of buttons then studied the display. Inos? What was he doing on
Inos? Clearly it was something to do with the Alchemist. Was he hiding out here or something else? Perhaps a rendevue. From the disposed
Consul’s likely state of mind it could be anything. Sadly enough crazy as the Alchemist might be he was Malisane’s best hope for an ally. The
thought was galling.

He sat back thoughtfully. “Computer. Display scanner logs of any inbound traffic to or near this location recorded during or since landing,”
He waited, studying the display. The report came back with one entry. Corvette class. “Computer, check physical and identity records on that vessel, compare findings with owners personal and Dlarit database.” He paused a few more seconds while it compiled the information, then he frowned as the display appeared in front of him. Well no doubt what the Alchemist was up to there then. He was slightly surprised, though he supposed he ought not to be. Macron had the Mark, and a long association with the apostates. Still there was a difference between suspecting and having proof. He thought for a few seconds then tapped away at the keyboard. “Computer send the following signal to the indicated co-ordinates in sixty minutes, unless this order is countermanded by myself.”

He got to his feet, feeling better. One of the benefits of Ewok Liquor was it had little after effects the next morning, a benefit they claimed was due to the ten types of plants and berries harvested on Kangaras itself. It had been a major factor in the brands success, even if people chose to disbelieve it’s origins. He picked up his heavy black robe. Wrapping it around himself, he made sure the seals on his suit were tight against the biting weather. With a glance around the cabin he pressed the hatch release, frowning as a pile of snow immediately slid in through the door. He shoved it out again with his foot as best he could then headed out into the snow, the hatch sliding shut behind him.

He closed his eyes, searching with the force for signs of familiar life. He opened them again in satisfaction. With a last glance at the Nachzerer he headed off following the force trail

Tarthos
Markosian City
Yellow Sector
The Crossroads

Roxas and Pacifica had finished eating and were relaxing while learning about each other. The two had hit if off extremely well. Suddenly the door flew open and a group of men ran into the bar.

“Give us all your money and no one gets hurt!” One man shouted as another drew a blaster on Roxas and Pacifica.

“Boss look at her. I bet she could give us a good time.”

Pacifica quickly passed a frightened look to Roxas, but he was already planning out how he was going to stomp everyone of them into the floor boards. One of the men, a twi’lek, came close to Roxas and began looking at Pacifica.

“Mmm, I bet she could. We’ll have to make sure to take her with us.”

The man didn’t pay any attention to Roxas, which was a huge mistake. The Mandalorian grabbed the man’s lekku and yanked them downward with force almost yanking them off. The man shouted and the other thugs turned with the blasters raised to fire. The Alchemic Experiment jerked the man to one side and let go causing the twi’lek to fly into one of the thugs knocking both men unconscious. Roxas grabbed another man before they knew what was going on and quickly snapped his neck. The remaining thugs opened fire, but Roxas moved quickly. His alchemic body moved faster than a normal human’s and made for a hard target to hit.

Roxas stopped when there was one guy left, the one that suggested that Pacifica be “fun for them”.

The failed apprentice gave an evil grin and began to speak “I love rapists because no matter what you do to them, you never feel bad.”

Pacifica spoke up “Do you have to kill them?” She didn’t like people to die because she is an advocate for peace.

Roxas points behind him “Those two are still alive and he’s probably hurt someone else the way he intended to hurt you. I see it as justice.”

She thought for a moment “Hmm…well he it likely that he has done it to someone else…Make this the last one.”

“You mean the last person that I’ve ever killed or the last for today?”

“I would like it to be the last one ever, but I know what you do. Let’s make it the last one that you have to kill until you don’t have a choice, but to kill again.”

“I see what you mean. Kill only when there is no other recourse.”

“Right!” she said happily “Maybe I’ll change you yet.”

Roxas turned back to the rapist and spoke evilly “You know what that makes you partner?”

Fear shot through every inch of the man and he started to flee, but the alchemy experiment stopped him with a single punch. The man’s near unconscious body hit the floor with a thud. The Obelisk grabbed the rapist’s ankle and dragged him outside for the gory part. After ward he went and grabbed the other two and dragged them outside and saw that chaos was running rampant. He tied them up and went back into the bar.

“What’s going on?” Pacifica asked after noticing the confused look on her saviors face.

“It’s chaos outside, so I’m gonna figure out what’s going on. I want you to stay here. I’ll lock the doors when I do, pull these down and lock them to the floor.”

Roxas pulled a handle above the door and a metal gate came down.

“Oooo, are you gonna put on your armor?” She asked excitedly.

He laughed before replying “No, it’s dirty. I’ll wear something lighter.”

Roxas tied his black bandana around his head to hold his hair out of his eyes and dressed in the clothes of an Obelisk Assassin. Roxas turned to walk back toward the bar and saw Pacifica looking at him.

“Get a good show?” He asked jokingly.

“You have no idea…” she said teasingly “Don’t be gone too long.”

She kissed him before continuing “Be careful.”

Roxas left The Crossroads and his angel of peace, but not before checking the locks.
The Mandalorian didn’t know where to start, so he followed the screams and blaster fire.

Green Sector

The freshly paved streets now looked decrepit and scorched. Blood stains and blaster burns littered the buildings. Memories of leading the small militia through these same streets during the Ekind invasion filled the Mandalorian’s mind. The militia was less than ragtag and Roxas was the only seasoned soldier among them and he was having a hell of a time getting them to follow his orders, but miraculously he was successful in getting the remaining citizens out of the sector just moments before te orbital bombardment that was ordered by Fremoc in order to kill Shan Long. The bombardment failed and yet Fremoc has the audacity to call his apprentice a failure, where as Roxas became a hero to the people of Markosian; although, he didn’t understand what a hero was since there is no equivalent in the Mandalorian language.

The Experiment pushed the thoughts aside, so he could focus. He heard foot steps ahead of him, so he walked faster to find a small detachment of DSOG preparing to go deeper into the sector.

Two hours later

Jeric is sitting at his desk when his comm begins to chirp. He clicks it and then speaks in his normal baritone.

“Report Commander. How is the Situation in Markosian?”

A small blue figure erupts from the comm on the desk. The man salutes and then reports the events up to now.

“Executive Cyrin, things have been running smoothly Sir. The Yellow Sector was restored to order in a matter of minutes and the Green Sector is almost finished.”

Jeric leaned forward impressed with what he had heard.

“Are you telling me that you have nearly gotten the city under control already?”

“Yes Sir. Things have been moving smoothly thanks to Colonel Buurenaar from Shar Dakhan.”

Jeric thought for a moment before inquiring “Colonel Buurenaar? Did you ask for reinforcements?”

The trooper got a worried look on his face and replied quickly “No Sir. He just showed up, I suppose because he was nearby.”

Suddenly the hologram of the trooper went blank as it appeared as if a boot had kicked him out of the way. All Jeric could hear was a man hollering “I told you we don’t need reinforcements! I’m gonna whip you into shape before the day is through!”

Roxas stepped into the hologram and the trooper began speaking again “No Colonel, I’m not asking for reinforcements. I was reporting to Executive Director Cyrin.”

Roxas turned and said “Well Director Cyrin, the troops you sent are too green to get anything done, but don’t worry I’ll get their butts in gear in no time and the city will be restored to order within the next few hours.”

Jeric slightly grinned as he replied “You are in the domain of Marka Ragnos, we can handle it.”

“We are all part of Clan Naga Sadow. If we don‘t work together then we grow weak.” the Mandalorian replied.

Jeric leaned back in his chair. He had heard that Roxas failed his training under the Fist, but if someone like Roxas failed and was still capable of such acts, then what could Fremoc truly do?

“Well keep up the good work Colonel.” The Queastor retorted before turning off the comm, pleased that his orders were being carried out quickly.

Inos 42
Inside the former lair of the late Curwen Sunei

The crystals inside the walls quietly chimed as a minor tremor rocked through the forgotten cavern, most likely from the frozen moon brushing past one of the gas giant’s many others. Having reached an agreement that something needed to be done to rein in the Dlarit Corporation’s decadence, the five Sons of Sadow—or rather Apostates in some of their cases—had each set their mind on exactly what their next course of action should be.

But of course, each one of the five had their own opinion of what would be the best way forward.

In the case of the deposed Consul himself, Macron was presently in conversation with Sai, who had now finished unpacking and assembling a portable console on the workbench that had once been used by the late sorcerer Curwen Sunei to conduct a live vivisection on one of the Clan’s apprentices. Small spots of Aleho Ruxof’s blood still shimmered faintly on the walls alongside the Adegan crystals.

The alchemist glanced sideways at his predecessor and chuckled. “Tut, tut,” said Macron, wagging a finger in mock disapproval. “You never told me you could access the central server from outside.”

Sai laughed and stopped typing for a moment to quickly glance back at the two Apostates, who were both standing on the other side of the cavern, their eyes closed, supposedly staring into the tapestry of the Force to divine the group’s path forward—or maybe they were choosing which wine would go best with whatever extinct animal they were planning to have for dinner. The Obelisk rolled his eyes a little and looked back at Macron. “Shhh,” said Sai, keeping his voice quiet, “they might think it, but those two don’t hold all the secrets.”

“This from the man who just took a ride on Trev’s ship,” snickered a female voice behind him.

Sai’s back straightened, his hand automatically dropping to the handle of the slugthrower hanging on his waist as he turned around, to find Sildrin standing right behind him. Breathing out, he relaxed again. “Sil, don’t sneak up on me like that,” said the Obelisk, though it took another second or two for his fingers to let go of his pistol.

Sildrin smiled, but her expression remained unsettling combined with her white, atrophied eyes. “Just making an observation,” said the woman, lowering her face to the portable terminal Sai had assembled before squeezing her small frame between the two men. “Can I take a look?” the Krath asked, though she had already run her finger over the touch screen and started browsing through its files. “I did once run the information systems on Antei you know,” added the former Seneschal.

While Sildrin and the two Sons of Sadow rooted through the dirty little secrets long buried on the Corporation’s mainframe, on the other side of the room Xanos and his Master exited their trance. A black vein in the Falleen’s forehead throbbed as the pair silently watched the others search. Every now and then, Macron or Sai would briefly glance over their shoulder at the two Apostates.

When the alchemist looked across at the two sorcerers again, Trevarus grinned back at him. Caught spying on them, Macron’s pressed his lips together and he turned back to the data console again. The Oracle smirked and tilted his head at his old apprentice. “She is doing well,” whispered Trevarus.

The Falleen held his gaze on the three across the room. “Did she get the book?”

His Master nodded, turning back to look at Sildrin again. “As well as the waters.”

It was Sai’s turn to keep an eye on the Apostates this time; the two Sons of Sadow may have turned to the two Elders for aid, but it was clear neither of the men trusted them. Sai nodded at them, but instead of turning back to the computer screen, the Obelisk frowned, looking past them toward the cavern entrance.

With Sai looking in their direction, the two Apostates continued their discussion telepathically.

Will she help us? Xanos asked his Master.

Trevarus smiled, earning a curious reaction from Sai. She has no choice, replied the Oracle. The Obelisk across the room narrowed his eyes, then shrugged and looked back toward the entrance—

At the same moment, a small stone rolled between Xanos’s legs.

Sai pulled out his slugthrower as the two Apostates spun toward the source of the stone. Inside the cavern entrance, a figure was leaning against one of the tall stalagmite teeth guarding the cave.

“I must have missed the invite to this party,” said the figure, whistling in surprise at what he saw. The voice was male, but his face was hidden beneath a heavy cowl, and Force senses were clouded on Inos. “Don’t do anything stupid, or I’ll blow the Nachzerer and bring this whole place down.”

The figure drew back his cowl and studied the five assembled around the room.

“Well, well, well, Atronicus’s pet Tuk’ata,” said Trevarus, his expression souring as he studied the man who had intruded on the hidden gathering. “You have no place here, de Ath.” The gemstone in the sorcerer’s gauntlet flashed angry violet.

Sai held up a hand, signalling Trevarus not to do anything yet. “This isn’t a conclave, Malisane,” said the Obelisk, taking a step toward the man standing in the entrance. “Leave while you still can.”

Macron shoved past Sai. “Or are you here to drag us back to face ‘justice’ on Sepros?” snapped the alchemist, his anger returning at the usurpers who now sat in his seat in the Overlord’s court. “Did they steal my ship now too?” Macron tore his lightsaber off his belt but paused before igniting it.

Malisane sighed, shaking his head. “I come with a purpose,” retorted the Sith, pulling out a small device from a pocket inside his own robes. “Do you want to listen or do you now just want to kill everyone like those two?” Malisane jabbed the device in his hand toward the two Apostates.

“You mean we can’t do both?” asked Sildrin, snickering again with a cold smile. “How disappointing.”

Two of the stalactites behind Malisane fell from the ceiling.

“Let the man speak,” said Xanos before any of the others could react; the Falleen’s voice was as cold as the ice of the frozen cavern’s walls. “We will decide whether or not he will live afterwards.”

Malisane glanced over his shoulder to find the two stalactites now blocking his exit. “Very well,” said the Sith, shrugging as he looked back at the five Sadows—or former Sadows—arrayed in front of him. He tossed the device in his hand on the ground. “What have you heard of Scenario Hammerblow?”

A green light blinked on on the side of the device and a hologram projected into the chamber.

Inos 42
Inside the former lair of the late Curwen Sunei

“Well?” Malisane asked after the presentation had ceased.
“Interesting,” Sildrin said thoughtfully, “I had not expected that from you Malisane.”
“Indeed,” Xanos said studying the Battlelord curiously, “you believe this will achieve your objective?”
“It will start us on the road,” Malisane replied.
“You are confident of success?” Macron asked, he at least seemed enthusiastic, though possibly not for the same reasons Malisane was.
“With assistance,” Malisane replied, “I know the target better than anyone, I designed it, with guidance of course,” he added glancing at the Prophet.
Xanos nodded. “Created from a vision others refused to listen to, it has served it’s purpose. Perhaps had similar preparation been taken across the Brotherhood matters would have been easier.” He paused. “In any case I see no reason not to proceed. It will no doubt further our own designs, if only as a distraction.”
“I agree,” Sildrin replied, “and given the reasons behind it’s creation there does seem to be a delicious irony to your scheme.”
Sai sat back thoughtfully, “I can see why you propose this Malisane, though I do not necessarily agree that this is the way. It seems extreme. I will however support it in principle, and I will offer any assistance short of direct involvement.”
“I’m in,” Macron replied his eyes gleaming, “I think the present situation calls for decisive action, and a lesson to the new Summit of who we and what we are, and what we can achieve. You can count on my assistance.”
Malisane nodded. It was more than he had hoped for. “Then we will proceed. I am aware you have other intentions, but I think a combined effort will benefit us all.”

Malisane stood in the doorway, cloak huddled around himself as he looked out into the snow. He turned his head at soft footsteps behind him. The blind dragon was stood calmly, studying him with more than conventional sight. “Sildrin.”
“It has been some time Malisane,” she replied, “you are not the same person you were.”
“Are any of us?” Malisane asked simply.
“I sense something in you,” she told him, “you have less changed than been changed.”
“I am unsure of your meaning,” the Battlelord replied.
“No you are not,” the Krath replied, “I am not unaware of Clan legends. Be careful of who and what you trust.”
“I could say the same to you,” Malisane replied.
She chuckled. “I am careful, I am aware of the nature of who I am involved with. Can you say the same?”
He considered this, “I resist, and I do not trust,” he replied, “I choose the harder route deliberately, I would rather control my own destiny.”
“Good,” she replied. “Perhaps it is good it chose someone with your lack of ambition, sorry I mean with your determination” she mused, “others will come though. You are aware we encountered an old protégée of yours on Tarthos, and someone you would have found extremely familiar.”
He nodded. “Yes I heard,” he replied, “they must have sampled my DNA on Essien.”
“Now many people would wonder why you, after all they have not shown a lack of resources, and have infiltrated the Clan and Dlarit. You are not the obvious target, not particularly trusted, no ambitions towards leadership they can exploit, but perhaps you were seen as the key to something else they want. It is not hard to imagine what.”
He nodded. “It had occurred to me. It is unfortunate you managed to loose her. We might have had answers rather than speculation.”
She shrugged. “I sense that one will turn up again. These people have a habit of doing so.”

She continued to study him. “I am also curious why you have joined us,” she added.
“I feel we have common aims.”
“Do you really?” she said with a smile, “I doubt could even begin to understand our aims.”
“In the long term probably not no I would not even begin to guess. In the short term though we could be of use to each other.”
“Perhaps. Just try not to get in our way.”
He glanced back out into the snow. "That depends on what your aims are."

Sildrin glided back into the cavern, her brief but meaningful palaver with Malisane over for the time being. She moved as mist, her comparatively slight form filling the space between Caerick and the Falleen.

Macron, having ended a hushed conversation with Sai, nodded once to the Primarch, clapping an armored hand on the Korun’s shoulder. A moment of shared gravity as the men locked eyes, then the Alchemist walked towards the cavern opening towards Malisane, but not before stealing a glance towards Xanos. The whine of his suit’s servos was barely audible over the wind, the zephyr seeming to have suddenly increased as if heralding something momentous.

Tsainetomo watched the exchange, his confidence in Macron restored after his secret admission. This was more than mere coincidence, the former Consul deduced; he’d never been so aware of standing at a virtual crossroads in his destiny, and the congregation of arguably some of the Clan’s most powerful and influential beings in one place spelled nothing but certainty pertaining to Sai’s path.

There was nothing for it but to commit fully, he knew. And, to give the Devil his due.

“Caerick,” Sai called, his baritone echoing from the walls of the cavern. “It’s time you and I had words.” He walked over to the worn workbench, his knuckle rapping absently upon the wood.

If the Dark Jedi Master was surprised, his cheshire grin didn’t show it. “Hmm?” Smooth and drawn out, the sound was as velvet, Temptation coaxing Virtue and Abandon itself from the stalwart.

Sai looked towards the cavern floor, the only sign he’d give of his hesitation. “I understand that my next few words will no doubt put me in a situation I’d never before thought I’d find myself in: your debt.”

The gravitas was palpable. The very man who’d be as a stone wall against the so called corruption Trevarus Caerick and his ilk represented would willingly lay himself bare.

The Keibatsu continued, his voice heavy with emotion. “Simply, I won’t be able to do what needs to be done without your help.” Tripartite locked with Ice. Unblinkingly, the Primarch continued. “As I am now, I cannot face the Overlord or his Named without conflict. I must be done with them if I am to succeed!” He swallowed hard, as if the sound of the words born of his own voice in his ears gave true meaning of the seriousness of the situation. “I must be whole. I must be free.”

Trevarus could scarce believe his fortune. ’On a silver platter...soon, brother...’ The Oracle suppressed the slightest of grins, speaking softly. “You’ve been simple, Blood of the Lion. Now: be plain. What. Do. You. Want?”

Caerick was every ounce Mephistopheles to Tsainetomo’s Faust. The Dark Side, already bubbling within the eldritch cauldron that was Sunei’s former home, began to roil in anticipation.

“I want - I need - to be free of Astronicus Aurelius. I need to be as you,” the Keibatsu intoned, nodding almost imperceptibly at Xanos; the Falleen looked on impassively, a monument to the inevitability of the Final Way. Trevarus looked expectantly at Tsainetomo.

"Say it. Say it." Caerick would not be denied. Not when he was so close.

“Apostate.”

A single utterance had accomplished what lightsaber, Force Storm and even orbital bombardment had failed to do. The humbling of the Oracle of the Brotherhood at the promise of destiny, fulfilled was noted only by the the cold stone of the cavern walls and the vein of crystal that called it home. He lowered his eyes, satisfaction settling over him as familiar as a warm blanket.

“Let us begin.”

Inos 42
Inside the former lair of the late Curwen Sunei

Trevarus unclipped the black satchel he always carried and placed it on the nearby broken table. The sorcerer did not speak as he carefully took out several items and placed them beside the bag.

“Excommunication is seldom pleasurable, Son of Sadow,” said Trevarus, arranging his belongings the way a surgeon might his scalpels.

“I’ve made my decision,” Sai responded, without any hesitation.

Trevarus grinned, his back still to Sai as he uncorked a small bottle. The sorcerer tapped a handful of something out of the bottle and held his hand out to Xanos for his apprentice to take. “Good, good,” chuckled Trevarus, rummaging in the satchel again before taking out a small porcelain jar shaped like a frog, “terrible the things that can happen to those unwilling to see the separation through to completion.”

While Trevarus continued his own preparations, his Falleen apprentice knelt down in the snow and traced a circle around Sai with whatever his Master had given him. Trevarus himself placed the frog-shaped jar back on the table and turned to Sildrin. “Lady Dragon, your hand please, if I may...”

Between the metal fingers covering his own right hand, Trevarus had clasped a small silver knife, curved and serrated like a harpy's claw.

The blind woman may not have had eyes, but her sight through the Force was pure; however, the Daughter of Sadow did not hesitate and stepped forward to her Master, unphased.

Sildrin pulled back the black cuff of her robe from her wrist.

Her face was as unreadable as the emotionless Falleen.

Fast as lightning, the serrated knife slashed the woman's wrist and Trevarus quickly held up a small crystal vial in his free hand to collect her blood. Sildrin did not as much as wince; for a split second, there seemed a tiny flash in the cold depths of her atrophied eyes. Trevarus smiled. “We do this for you, brother,” whispered the sorcerer, quietly enough such that Sai could not overhear.

Trevarus nodded and ran a finger along the cut on Sildrin's wrist, which sealed itself again. “Thank you, my apprentice,” said the sorcerer, briefly placing the knife back on the table to hand Sildrin a tissue with which to dry her wound.

Without saying a word, the woman wiped her wrist then pulled her robe back down.

To Sai’s left, Xanos finished the circle around the Primarch. Like Sildrin’s, the Falleen’s wrist was also now wet, the alien’s fetid green blood completing the seven arcane runes he had drawn in the snow. Sai recognised some sigils, one the spidery crest of Naga Sadow, the others meanings escaped him...

“Not using your own blood then, Trevarus?” said Sai with a touch of irony in his voice.

Picking up the knife again, Trevarus turned around from the workbench to finally look at Sai. “Now, now,” the sorcerer laughed, “I wouldn’t be so vain to think you trusted me that much, Na’Ashar.”

Trevarus moved into position in front of Sai as his two apprentices did the same.

Sai now stood in the centre of the protective circle, ringed by the three sorcerers, who each made up one of the three corners of a triangle surrounding the Obelisk. Trevarus raised his free hand, and with a clap of displaced air the crystal vial containing Sildrin’s blood appeared between his fingers.

The sorcerer looked directly into Sai’s tripartite eyes.

“The Blood of the Son, is the Blood of the Father,” Trevarus said. “If emancipation is to be your wish, you must first surrender what was offered.” He held out the serrated knife with his silver gauntlet.

After the briefest of pauses, Sai held out his hand and tentatively accepted the blade.

“Only you can make the choice, Son of Sadow,” Trevarus continued. “The stigmata of freedom are yours to bear if it is your Will to embrace the Chaos of Choice. This is your last chance to turn back...”

Sai looked down at the blade now in his hands and rolled it over. This was his decision and his alone.

“Choose Chaos or continue your eternal bondage to another.”

The sorcerer’s lips curled into a smirk as his grin widened.

Sai shut his eyes and steadied his breath: he had chosen. The Obelisk wrapped his fingers around the profane blade... and clenched as hard as he could. Moving as quickly as before, Trevarus’s left arm darted forward to collect Sai’s blood in the same crystal vial he had just used to collect Sildrin’s.

The two liquids mixed into a black cocktail, the combined concoction fizzing and popping. The smell was horrific, like the mould and decay from all the bodies buried in the tombs below had just whooshed up into the crowded chamber. Trevarus held the vial up in front of his face to inspect it.

“This liquid represents either your salvation or damnation, Tsainetomo Na’Ashar.”

The vial tinged when Trevarus tapped it with his gauntlet. “Are you ready, my apprentices?”

The sorcerer looked at Xanos and Sildrin, who both nodded in turn.

“I stand at the Watchtower of the West,” said the Falleen.

“And I at the Watchtower of the East,” Sildrin said.

“Then we shall begin,” Trevarus said, turning back to face Sai again. “In aphist?mi.”

What little light there was in the cavern flickered and it went dark, as a bell chimed as if the sorcerer had struck the very tapestry of the universe with a hammer. The sound echoed through the crystal vein in the ceiling. When Trevarus continued, his words were foreign, but his meaning plain to all:

“I call upon the ancient prophets to help me release this man from his chains!”

The gemstone in the Amulet of Orian on Trevarus’s wrist shimmered, casting the cave in violet.

“In the waters of Blood
Was Will first conceived,
Will of the Father
Will of the Mother
And Will of His Son.

By his Father’s Blood
Was this One first born,
And by his Mother’s Blood
This One calls for freedom.

Let his Way be Chosen
To end his Damnation!”

The tattoo on Trevarus’s forehead glowed with the same light as his Amulet and he held the crystal vial out for Sai to take. “Tsainetomo Na’Ashar, embrace Death and drink the Essence of your Life.”

When Sai took the vial, the sorcerer spread his arms wide and looked to the crystal vein above.

“MAY THE FIRE OF THE VOID PURGE YOUR ANIMA AND YOUR PNEUMA BREATHE DE NOVO!”

Sai lifted the vial to his lips... and drank.

It was like drinking a draught straight from the heart of Mustafar itself.

His veins were rivers of fire, burning Sai from the inside out. His nerves, a circuit board of electric agony, and his muscles seized and cramped. His guts were molten glass. The Obelisk crumpled in a heap to the cold stone of the cavern floor as his limbs betrayed him, his teeth threatening to shatter within his tightly clenched jaw.

And Sai’s torment was just beginning.

Thrashing about on the floor, his senses went into overdrive. His fingers were hooked as they tore at his shirt and skin alike, as if they wanted to tear the offending liquid from his body themselves. The Primarch’s eyes shut tight against the world; not that he would’ve been able to see anything, as the arcane energies within the cave swirled about him, rushing in and out of his body without abandon, blinding him to the mundane world. The potion was born of ancient magic, but the effects were just as potent as they were when the spell was first concocted. His cells, once bolstered with the Blood of Sadow, were viciously stripped clean and replaced with that of the Dragon in an agonizing eternity of remaking.

Scalding waves of pain washed over Tsainetomo, and he cried out until his throat was raw. His eyes flew open, and he saw not the confines of the tomb on Inos, but innumerable Force Wraiths, screaming at him within his fevered mind in ancient and unknowable languages as they clawed at him with eldritch talons, leaving searing score-marks within his very soul.

Sai’s heart knew what the shades represented; they were the spirits of Sadowans that had come before him, lamenting a base betrayal. They, too, flew in and out of Sai’s body as they attempted to reach beyond the ether to stop Caerick’s majiks from taking hold.

But the Keibatsu was resolute. He would see the ritual through to the end, if only to spite Trevarus; his emotion actually aided the forces that the Oracle had summoned. Sai's face was a rictus of pain and defiance, but he managed to roll enough to face the Dark Jedi Master, whose smile hadn’t left his own. Unintelligible words spilled from between impossibly white teeth, and Sai convulsed again, the fire in his veins replaced by ice. Sai shut his eyes tight again, flecks of spittle dotting the stone floor as he screamed...

...and beheld a great Dragon, awash in violet flame and righteous fury, swirling about as it did battle with a Lion the shade of black pearl. The Sadowan wraiths continued to dot the scene, but they faded as the ritual began to reach culmination. Caerick and Xanos’ arms raised towards the cavern ceiling, and Sildrin’s own voice joined the Elders’ in chanting. The Force filled the space, making it pregnant with the Dark Side and infinite possibility.

Sai’s inner-eyes were locked on the struggle between the Dragon and the Lion. With every syllable the sorcerers uttered, it seemed to the Korun that the Dragon grew larger, the violet of its fire even brighter with every passing moment until, with gaping, sharp-toothed jaw, it devoured the ebony feline. A sound like a thousand cathedral doors slamming shut all at once reverberated within both the cavern and Sai’s head.

The Korun-Keibatsu’s throat loosed another, spine-chilling scream, the sound seeming to come from both within and without him. He began to cough and sputter uncontrollably, and tears rolled from his eyes as surely as the sweat poured off of his knotted brow. His eyes flew open once again, wide yet unseeing, and his chest began to hitch as he struggled for breath.

If the sorcerers thought that Sai was in danger, they gave no hint, instead increasing their chanting. Their heads lolled back collectively, and Sai suddenly froze, the air leaving his lungs and mouth in a continual rush. Simultaneously, the air fled from the cave itself, the ritual having taken a firm foothold in the physical plane.

Sai lie motionless on the cold stone floor, his dull eyes wide and sightless. Xanos, Trevarus and Sildrin held their breath in anxious anticipation, afraid the slightest movement or sound would break the spell.

But speak, one of them did.

“He is gone, and he can choose to return. Whether he does or not...” Caerick’s voice, steady, sure and strong, caressed his apprentices’ ears as it trailed off. They were at the halfway point.

All that was left was the waiting.

-=[]=-

On a plane far removed from the icy confines of Inos, Tsainetomo’s spirit floated in an ocean of Dark. He felt as if he were made of light, as he had no fatigue, no pain, no worries or cares. His mind was at ease.

The shapeless expanse that surrounded him began to encroach further upon him, lessening his light, swallowing his being whole. And he welcomed it. A lifetime of strife, of conflict, a distant memory.

He was at peace.

Until he sensed a pinprick of awareness, calling to him, far and away; a light not unlike his own. He focused his own awareness upon it, and began to feel the shapeless Black start to recoil, but only just so. It had tasted his essence, and would be hard-pressed to relinquish its prize. Sai began to panic, a terrifying feeling of drowning overcoming him. He could not escape, could not reach the Light.

Not alone.

Swirling within the Mass, between he and the Light was the Dragon. It reared before him even as the tendrils of Dark continued to snatch at his spirit, a thousand and one scaled coils undulating hypnotically as it writhed within its own Power. Its maw opened, threatening to consume him as it did the Lion in an earlier vision, but instead, a mighty gout of violet flame washed over him.

The fire did not burn; not in the traditional sense, but the Mass shrank from it just the same. As it did so, Sai felt as if a veil was being lifted from his eyes, showing him how things were, and how things should be.

A blast, and the world was gray, showing the shades of Sadow flitting about, and they, too shrank from the Flame.

Another blast, and more was revealed. The Dark seemed to cry out in Tsainetomo’s mind, even as it showed the Lion once more; then it, too, was blasted away, engulfed in purple flame.

And Sai was alone. In the blight, but no longer of it.

The Dragon swirled once more, and began to shrink from Sai’s spirit. He knew that he must make a choice. The Black was inviting, ripe with the promise of well-earned rest. But, even as his hand reached towards the Dragon, he knew it was not his time for rest. There was much to be done. He’d been shown the way to do it. His realization turned the mass into a great storm, lightning flashing and thunder rolling incessantly, both surrounding and defining him.

His awareness touched the Dragon’s, and a not altogether unfamiliar voice filled him.

’As you have Chosen, so have you been Claimed.’

There was a deafening roar, then Sai felt a sense of being pulled...

-=[]=-

…and he awoke, once again on the floor of Sunei’s Tomb. An unrelenting blast of wind hammered its way beyond the blissfully unaware Malisane and Macron, violently filling the cave even as Sai inhaled longer than what could’ve been possible for a human being. Trevarus’ robes whipped about him as he watched Tsainetomo stake his claim to the realm of the Living once more, pulled back from the brink by the strength of his will and the providence of the Serpent.

Sai’s inhalation ceased, mercifully, and the Dark Side’s presence returned to what passed for ‘normal’ levels within the tomb.

It was over.

The Primarch’s chest began to rise and fall with regularity, and his senses slowly returned to him. His eyes beheld Sildrin’s delicate face above his; his queue of hair had been arranged so that his head could rest in her lap as he recovered, and she caressed his face, wiping the sweat away. Her lips were moving, but he couldn’t hear anything she said but for the pounding of his own heartbeat within his head. Bringing himself under further control, the pounding ceased, but not enough for him to hear all of what the sorceress said. Just the last few words.

“...have been claimed.” He almost missed the flash of violet that streaked through her eyes for the briefest of moments.

Almost.

He glanced about furtively, seeing the satisfaction writ large upon Caerick’s face, and the impassivity still upon Xanos’. Sildrin relaxed, and Sai sat up, the look of incredulity on his face evident to the sorcerers. He flexed a sun-bronzed fist, feeling a newfound power flowing through him as Sildrin moved away.

More importantly, he felt no trace of Astronicus Aurelius Sadow within him, a presence that had defined him for more years than he could count. Even Macron and Malisane, his Brothers in Sadow, had fled from his acute awareness; before, their Force-signatures were as ever-present splinters in his mind, but now...

As if sensing Sai’s thoughts, Trevarus spoke. “It is finished. As you have died, so have you been reborn.

“You have thrown off your chains, Na'Ashar; rejected the controls that have hampered you. Truly, you are a Child of the Revolution.”

Tsainetomo stood, wisps of steam rising from his bare skin, his body still hot from the energies that had coursed through it. His baritone was raspy, the only hint of his earlier experience. Still, it was strong as it echoed prophetically within the tomb.

“A storm is coming.”

Inos 42
Inside the former lair of the late Curwen Sunei

The Apostates turned to the exit of the cave, following the sorceress that had taken lead.
The disregarded crystal vial on the floor gave a quiet crackling sound as it shattered into dozens of small shards. A few drops of blood were the last reminders of the unholy ceremony that just had taken place. The blood moved across the floor, sliding past the Apostates and towards Xia Long as she walked outside. The mundane snow storm outside nearly engulfed her lithe form.

She turned around to Trevarus, Xanos and Tsainetomo. The amorphous blood drew a circle around her. Small lights danced within her atrophied eyes. Her mental voice rose within Xanos and Trevarus's mind:
We have given him the Seed of Sin and started to change the Meaning of his Existence.
"Let us go.", she said with a smile on her face.