Knights of the Old Republic III: The Death of Hope

Prologue

Darth Traya

Their sabres whirled and clashed in the shrouded darkness of the Trayus Core. Only the eerie green and red light cast from below the treacherous platform of the Core lit the faces of the two warriors. One was old, her face horribly wrinkled, her terrifying white eyes without pupils or irises. Her left hand was gone; it'd been sliced off weeks ago, in a different duel, in a different place. Her white hair was braided at her side, and a black hood connected to a dark robe was thrown over her head, darkening her wrinkles with shadow. She wielded a red lightsaber, its blade hissing and crackling as it parried attacks and swung through the air.

The other combatant was tall and muscular. He had dark blonde hair that was messed, and piercing blue eyes, although his rage had caused them to turn slightly yellow. He had an attractive square jaw, and a small nose, although his face was slightly grey from the dark side. He also wore black robes, billowing as he whirled at incredible speeds, wielding a red lightsaber in his right hand, and a smaller, blue sabre in the other. His face was contorted in rage as he battled. In the Force, he was a conflicted sole, torn between desire to survive and to live a normal life at last, and the will to do the right thing. His sabres whirled at incredible speed, an impenetrable shield of Shien as he pressed his aggressive attack, battering down on the defence of the old woman, who seemed as agile as a twenty year old.

The man's attack became faster, even more vicious. In one easy flick, he locked blades with his adversary and leered at her; he was so lost in the rush of combat, of winning, of power, of the dark side.

The old woman fell back, blocking a particularly aggressive swing at her neck. The man simply kicked out, knocking the woman back, and, in one easy flick, he sliced the sabre from the woman's only hand. The woman dropped to her knees, holding the sizzling stump that had once been her lightsaber. The man leered, and then extended a hand, still clutching his sabre. The old woman was lifted into the air by her throat, gagging and choking as an invisible Force-grip squeezed her airways shut. Her hand dropped her lightsaber's remnant and clutched at her neck, as her feet kicked feebly.

The man reached into the Force, drawing on his rage, and then sent a sudden surge of the Force into his adversary. A barrage of twisting sapphire Force lightning shot from his hands, catching the old woman in the chest and electrocuting her. Her body shook violently in the air for the few seconds that the barrage lasted. The man then released his Force grip on her, and let her fall back onto her knees with a thump.

"Any last words, Kreia?" growled the man, his face awash with rage.

"I am not Kreia. I am Darth Traya!" The woman choked out the words.

"So be it. As I said, I've come to kill you. Prepare to die!"

Suddenly, three lightsabers shot from the folds of Kreia's robes, floating in the air through Kreia's Force-grip. They ignited, and their amethyst blades shone brilliantly against the sapphire and ruby glow of the man's lightsabers.

"ENOUGH!" bellowed the man, sending a shockwave through the Force. The lightsabers, little more than crushed circles of metal after the onslaught, fell to the ground, clattering against the stone floor.

Kreia bowed her head, accepting her defeat.

The man, the Jedi Exile stepped forward, grinning. The tall, fang like supports of the Trayus Core cast a dark shadow as the former Jedi stepped forward, preparing to sever his last tie to the Jedi, to become a Sith, to fall irretrievably into the fiery abyss of the dark side. He stepped forward, crossing his blades at Kreia's throat.

"Look at me," he commanded softly, his voice quivering with excitement. "I want to see your face, to look into your blind eyes as you die!"

"No!" It was a voice from behind him, a familiar voice. The Exile straightened up, his back tensing.

"Visas?" he asked slowly.

"Yes," The voice said from behind him. A woman, glowing brightly blue, stepped forward. A cowl hung over her eyes.

"I thought you were dead," The Exile said evenly.

"I am. I killed myself to save you, and to allow you to save yourself, your friends, Telos, and the galaxy. I didn't realise how truly lost in the dark side you truly were… I was blinded by my servant's love to you. I would not have let you fall so far if I knew," Visas's voice was filled with sadness.

The Exile, without knowing why, let his feelings pour out of him like a flood. "I didn't know, either. It all started on Telos. I knew, that when I chose to work with Czerka instead of the Ithorians, that I was making the wrong choice, morally anyway. But I had to get off that planet; I hate the thought of being imprisoned, after roaming the galaxies since the Battle of Malachor V, I would sooner die than become locked in one place; a cell, or even a single planet. That was why I chose to work with General Vaklu on Onderon, as well. He seemed to be the quickest way off the planet. But, you weren't there; it was only Atton and the Handmaiden who were there. They tried to persuade me not to, but I personally beheaded Queen Talia; I wanted to end everything once and for all. Then, when Master Kavar arrived, he tried to kill me. I outmatched him, and sliced both his arms off, and then his right leg. I could've stopped then; I'd hurt him enough, But I couldn't. I was consumed by my anger and rage, and it made me a much more competent warrior; not to mention the fact that the power my hate gifted me was addictive. I was caught up in blood fever, and I stabbed the Jedi Master. I laughed as he lay for two minutes, convulsing in pain as he died. Vaklu's guards laughed with me, and I imagine it was a horrible death; in pain, and being jeered at. And he was the only Jedi Master from the Council that survived that I actually liked, so you can imagine what I did to the other three. Anyway, I took one of his blue lightsabers. When we left, and headed for Korriban; well, you were there. You saw how I slaughtered hundreds of the Sith Assassins, robbed the tombs, and even tortured that one who surrendered, just for the fun of it."

The Exile continued "When we went to Onderon, I went to the crystal cave. I massacred the hundreds of helpless hatchling animals in their eggs. I took a red, a purple, a yellow, a cyan, a green, and a silver lightsaber crystal back with me. I then stumbled upon a cave full of mercenaries, and they had Jedi Master Vrook Lamar in the cage! The mercenaries attacked me, and I defeated them, alone. I released Vrook, and considered allowing him to live; I couldn't match him in combat, blade to blade, at least not yet. He snapped at me, and I almost pulled my lightsaber. It was his petty anger at being released by the one he'd exiled that was the prime reason why I joined the mercenaries trying to take over Khoonda, instead of helping the militia to defend it. I pretended to ally myself with the Khoonda fools when the attack began, and betrayed them during the battle, to join the mercenaries. Bao-Dur and Kreia tried to convince me not to, but I didn't care. I helped the Onderon Militia overthrow the Khoonda Government, but avoided duelling with Master Vrook; I fell just short of being able to match his powerful Juyo blade-work."

He spoke again. "Well, you were there on Nar Shadaa. How I betrayed being after being, refused to help them in their plight, cut down the refugees begging for money, or dropped them in the Hutt Sector, where they would be eaten alive by Gamorrean guards. The blood fever on that planet, with so much life, so much hate, so much fear, and so much raw rage that I reached powers… Such vistas of power that you have no idea. You saw me face off against twenty Gamorrean guards when I went to kill that Weequay in that gas club! I slaughtered them all. Then, in that ring, when I was so blinded by my lust for power that I was captured, but, after I escaped with the help of Atton and Bao-Dur, I learned to control that lust, that desperate need for power. Unlimited power. Because now, after coming to meet Jedi Master Zez-Kay Ell, I had unlimited power. But the foolish Jedi showed remorse, and said he was going to the Dantooine Enclave, to meet with Vrook and Kavar; I hadn't told him the latter was dead. So, I tracked him into the Enclave. This pitiful excuse for a Sith!" The Exile gestured at Kreia. "Came with me, but waited behind as I marched into the Enclave. Master Kay and Vrook were already waiting for me, blades ready. Ell, with his double-bladed purple lightsaber, charged first. They'd planned the attack when they saw that Kavar hadn't arrived; they knew he was dead. Vrook through his sabre at me, and Ell tried to duck so that he would be safe as the blade killed me. I didn't allow Ell to duck; I seized him in the Force, and the blade reduced him to tatters. I leapt out of the way of the blade, and landed in front of Vrook. I stabbed him twice, and hit him with a twenty second barrage of Force-lightning. I then went to Telos, and executed Atris for her scheming with Kreia."

The Exile grinned and his grip tightened on his sabre as he continued "Then, that bitch Kreia came running up to me, babbling schutta about wanting to destroy the Force, and then she knocked me out. Atton told me that she'd stolen a shuttle and gone to Malachor V; the planet I DESTROYED with the Mass-Shadow Generator. When we arrived, I saw what was left of the planet; a shell, radioactive and surrounded by broken ships, by beaten bodies. Upon landing, I learned that the Mass-Shadow Generator still had a charge. So, I programmed Bao-Dur's remote to track my bio-signal; if I die, the droid will activate the Generator, and every single one of us on this planet will follow me into death!" The Exile's grin widened. "But, I won't die. I'll claim the mantle of a Sith Lord after I've killed Kreia, and–"

Visas cut him off. "And you'll abandon your friends? A Sith cannot have the luxuries of comrades. I saw how attached you've become to them. To the bounty-hunter Mira in particular. If you become Sith, not only will the galaxy be thrown into turmoil with the death of the last Jedi, but you'll be left without your friends."

"Silence!"

But the words took their toll on the Exile. His face was contorted with indecision as he stood above Kreia, lightsabers humming and buzzing, almost as if they were anticipating the chance to sever Kreia's head from her shoulders.

"No," breathed the Exile, and he let his blades shrink back into the handles of his lightsaber. "I won't do it."

The Exile threw both his lightsabers away, and their clattering sound faded as they plummeted off the Core Platform and into the centre of Malachor. "I'll never be a Jedi. But I'll never be a Sith either."

Kreia's looked up from her bowed position. "Fool! You weak fool! The dark side was your path to destruction of the Force!"

Kreia shrieked, and a Force-blast shot from Kreia. The Exile was grabbed in the Force and thrown back against one of the Core's fang-like supports.

Clunk. The Exile groaned as his head impacted against the cold steel of the support. He slid to the ground, white light blossoming in front of his eyes. He could feel Kreia, her presence full of anger and hate as she advanced, her feet clicking gently on the stone as she prepared to kill her greatest apprentice.

"Mira! Mira!" groaned the Exile. Crimson blood slowly tricked from a cut on his head, and into his eyes.

"Mira can't save you now. We'll all die! You, and your friends, are dead!"

The incredible shock of feeling the Force-lightning numbed the pain for the first few seconds. The Exile's only reaction was to raise an eyebrow as Kreia sent wave after wave of twisting blue energy into his chest. But then the pain bubbled through, and the Exile howled. He felt the horrible, white-hot pain as the lightning burned into him. He squeezed his eyes shut to fight the pain, to use the Force, but found that he couldn't.

He was alone. Alone in the dark.

The lightning barrage ceased after five agonising minutes. Steam rose in wisps out of The Exile's mouth and skin. Kreia's lips parted in a Rancor's smile. The lightning that had flown from her hand had been incredibly powerful, but the Exile was still holding on with everything he had.

Mira! Mira! The Exile called upon his padawan. Kreia had to be stopped. If she survived, she would find a way to destroy the Force. She already could, by extracting a being's midichlorians from his or her body with a Force-power of her own.

The Ebon Hawk had freed itself from the deadly choke-hold between the mountains. The battered white and orange freighter ignited its primary sub-light engines at the command of Mira, and shot up out of the obsidian canyon it'd been contained in. The circular ship half-rolled and plunged down, skimming the surface of Malachor as it evaded outcroppings of rock and wreckage. Atton, Mira, and Bao-Dur sat in tense silence in the cockpit, working the controls frantically as they shot towards their friend.

Kreia advanced, pulling out yet another lightsaber, this time a small silver one. Her expression was one of stone as she raised it above her head, ready to strike.

The Exile extended a hand, and a lightsaber leapt from the pocket of his own robes, hitting his hand with a comfortable smack. He ignited it, and leapt gingerly to his feet, smiling as the blue blade illuminated his surroundings.

The two charged wordlessly, one warrior embracing the light, the other the dark. Their sabres clashed again and again, fizzing and sparking as they sizzled through the air.

Kreia's blade just missed the Exile's thigh, burning a strip down his trouser leg that smoked gently. The Exile retaliated by sweeping his blade in an upward curl. Kreia dodged just in time, and the blade only carved a strip of raw flesh down her chest instead of disintegrating her heart.

Their sabres clashed and locked, fizzling in a cross just in front of each combatant's throat. Kreia pushed with all her might, and the Exile was pushed back, his back bending as his blade neared his throat.

The Exile gnashed his teeth and bent his knees, pushing up with all his might. The sabre lock was broken, and Kreia stumbled backwards, off balance. The Exile kicked out, and his combat boot struck Kreia's hand, sending her lightsaber tumbling out of her hand.

Kreia fell back, until she reached the very edge of the Core. Behind her, there was a deathly tumble into the core of Malachor, and in front of her there was a metre-long bar of pure energy.

"Ah. Now you are stuck," taunted Kreia. "You can choose the right decision, the good decision, and let me live, but you know I'll be back to destroy the Force. Or you can fall to the Dark Side once more, and kill me, at the consequence of becoming a monstrous, hate-filled being. The choice is yours," Kreia smiled sweetly, and spat at the Exile's feet.

"Neither!" growled the Exile. He extended his free hand and gestured at Kreia. Her lightsaber flew from the floor it lay on and landed back in her hand. She ignited its silver blade, and pointed it diagonally downwards towards the Exile, utilising a Makashi ready-stance. "I'll kill you in honourable combat!"

"In there!" snapped Mira, pointing to a large, gaping opening in the ground. Her face was pale with fear, her hair messy. Her hands clutched the control console with white knuckles.

"Really?" Atton giggled nervously, mopping his sweaty brow and twiddling a piece of his brown hair with his free hand. "That big, maw-like hole that looks like certain death?"

Bao-Dur, who'd found a good friend in Atton, smiled. His Zabrak-horns glinted in the light of the spacious cockpit. "Yeah. Reminds me of a space-slug in an asteroid."

A tall orange droid that leaned in the doorway, fiddling with a blaster rifle, spoke in a cheery voice. "Statement: I can't wait to vaporise that old meat-bag. I've spent the past day charging my blaster just to take a pot-shot at that old woman. Statement: She really did annoy me, and suggested my rust patches were a result of my master not caring for me. Gleeful Statement: I look forward to hearing her screams of pain," The droid, HK-47, let loose a barrage of static that sounded ominously like a malicious cackle.

Atton turned and gaped at the psychotic assassin droid, confidently diving into the deep, dark hole without even needing to look through the cockpit viewports.

The Exile advanced, every blow from him becoming like an accusation, a scream, a betrayal. In a calm, Jedi way, the Exile wanted to kill Kreia, but he would only kill her in honourable combat.

The Exile ducked under a blow, spun, and stabbed outwards. Kreia screamed horrifically and tumbled backwards, clutching the charred hole where her heart should've been.

The Exile watched sadly as Darth Traya, once a great Jedi, only to become a manipulative, betraying, calculating Sith, toppled over the edge of the Trayus Core, falling down into the radioactive green sludge that resided in the very core of Malachor V.

A brilliant explosion, a black vortex of dark side energy, thundered up from below as Darth Traya died.

The Exile looked up, seeing a distant speck race down towards him, from the top of the chimney-like pit that ran through Malachor. He could hear the distant whine of repulsorlifts as the Ebon Hawk came into full view, hovering to a stop just at the edge of the core. The landing ramp of the semi-circular ship lowered, to reveal the Zabrak, Bao-Dur, standing along with Mira, hands extended to grab the Exile.

The Exile nodded and activated his comlink as he walked towards his ship. "Remote," said the Exile. "Activate the Mass-Shadow Generator. It's the end of Malachor V. Goodbye, my little friend," The droid beeped an affirmative over the comlink.

The ground below the Exile shook horribly as the Mass-Shadow generator activated. The Mass-Shadow Generator worked by sending out radioactive pulses to rip a planet apart. Anyone still on the plane with a Mass-Shadow Generator five minutes after it activated would be vaporised, as millions of Mandalorians, Jedi, and Republic soldiers had been during the Battle of Malachor V.

The Trayus Core was already falling apart; the platform was already cracking, and one of the fang-supports had collapsed by the time the Exile was safely into the Hawk.

Bao-Dur grabbed the Exile and wrenched him inside the ship, grinning. The Exile smiled and shook his mechanical hand vigorously, and turned to Mira.

"Your… Your face!" she said. The Exile frowned and looked at his reflection in a metal support for the landing ramp. The greyish tinge to his skin, and the yellow eyes had disappeared.

In short, he'd returned to the light side.

"I know…" he breathed, and took Mira in his arms.

Atton's voice blared intrusively on the comm. "Sorry to interrupt a tender moment and all that, but we need to seal this ramp and go!" he shouted.

"Sorry, Atton," The Exile smiled, and stepped into the ship. The ramp rose with a whirr.

The Exile realised that Mira was trembling. He drew her closer and whispered. "What's wrong?"

"It's just… No one even knows your name, and I was still so afraid of losing you!" she said, sobbing dryly.

The Exile's face was one of a puzzled man. "It's okay, it's okay," he said reassuringly, at a loss for what to do.

A minute later, the whole crew of the Hawk, with the exception of its two dead members, stood in the main hold, listening as the Exile briefed them on what had happened. They were shocked to hear that Visas had returned.

After the Exile finished talking, Atton, like a schoolboy asking a question, spoke. "Where did Visas go?" he asked, wide-eyed.

The Exile could only shrug. "I don't know. That's not the problem. I massacred men, and women. Very few of them were innocent, but I still killed without discrimination on my journey. I don't intend to make the same mistake twice on my next one," The Exile stood up, his eyes smouldering. "I'm going to the Unknown Regions. Darth Revan went there after his redemption, to find a greater threat to the galaxy than the ones we've faced. I'm going to find him, and help him."

The Exile didn't even have to ask if the crew were coming with him. He could feel their desire to follow him in the Force. So he didn't interfere with their decisions.

"What's your name?" Bao-Dur asked as The Exile started to walk towards his bunk in the port dormitory. The Exile froze, his back going rigid.

"Fi. Fi Skirata," he said after a pause.

"Skirata?" The Handmaiden, wearing her flowing white Jedi robes, spoke. She ran a hand through her white-blonde hair. "That's a Mandalorian name!"

The Exile nodded, swallowing. "And I hated it. Mandalorian fathers are, ninety nine percent of the time, strong, loving, and proud. Mine wasn't. Mine surrendered me to the Jedi Order. It's my fiery Mandalorian heritage that makes it so difficult for me to avoid the dark side," he swallowed again. "And my Mandalorian heritage is why I joined the war. To kill my father."

"Did you?" asked Mandalore, speaking with a distorted voice because of his Mandalorian helmet and armour. He seemed remarkably respectful of the Exile's choice, despite being the leader of the Mandalorians.

The Exile hung his head. "Yes. He was among the dead on Malachor."

"Then good," Mandalore's reaction surprised everyone. "He was an embarrassment to the true Mandalorian people."

The Exile smiled, a little relieved, and walked towards the port dormitory. He collapsed into the thin bunk, and was asleep in seconds.