Author's Note: Welcome to the Malachor Resurgence, folks. This story picks up during the endgame of Knights of the Old Republic 2, from the Battle of Telos onwards. This story is slightly AU in certain respects, but follows the canon in the broad strokes. This fic is a sequel to The Malachor Travesty, which chronicles the Battle of Malachor V, but you don't need to have read that fic to understand this one.
Anywho, with that said...here we go.
Star Wars: The Malachor Resurgence
It has been five years since the Jedi Civil War ended, at great cost to the Jedi Order and the Galactic Republic. Revan, former Dark Lord of the Sith and the newly reborn champion of the Jedi, has disappeared. The Republic, battered and broken by endless warfare, stands on the brink of collapse. Despite seemingly defeating the Sith Empire, the Jedi Order has come under attack once more as dozens of Jedi Knights have fallen to mysterious dark forces. Worse of all was the Cataclysm on Katarr, where in their arrogance, the Jedi gathered their full strength to lure their enemy into the open.
The trap failed. The Jedi all perished in a single, awful moment of destruction at the hands of the Sith, taking the Miraluka of Katarr with them, and the Jedi Order was finally, truly sundered. The Jedi Temple on Coruscant lies empty, unresponsive to the messages of the Galactic Senate. The High Council has vanished. Some whisper that the Jedi's flame has been extinguished forever, that the time of their extinction has come.
Then hope returned in the most unlikely of forms. Meetra Surik, the so-called Jedi Exile and childhood friend of Revan and Malak, has returned to the Republic. Despite being banished from the Jedi Order for her horrific war crimes on Malachor V, she has chosen to fight for the Jedi and the Republic once more, fighting the Sith directly on world after world. After the cruel murder of the last Jedi Masters on Dantooine, betrayed by her teacher Kreia, Meetra now stands alone as the last of the Jedi Knights. The people whisper that one Jedi cannot possibly stand against the resurgent Sith. They whisper that Meetra Surik is outnumbered and outmatched, that the Sith can annihilate entire planets. They whisper that not even Revan could defeat such evil.
They whisper that there is no hope.
In the secret Jedi Academy on Telos, a former Jedi Master stood before her old friend in the grand central chamber. A curious quirk of the architecture, with a wide walkway curving up to Atris' secret domain across a vast artificial chasm, ensured that she stood above Meetra, her back to the door of her private enclave while Meetra stood with her back to the center. The differences between the two women couldn't be more stark.
Atris looked every inch the classic Jedi Master. She wore long, white robes with an ornate, highly polished lightsaber clasped neatly to her belt. Her naturally white hair was perfectly arranged in a bun, and Atris' features were undeniably beautiful. Her lips were full, her eyes an icy blue, her posture erect and noble. With the passing of Kavar, Zez Kai-Ell and Vrook on Dantooine, she was the last Jedi Master in all the galaxy, and she looked it.
By contrast, Meetra looked unimpressive. Her armour was unusual: a light breastplate, the silvery metal faded to a dull sheen, with simple blastproof leather pants, covered only in an armoured half-skirt that protected Meetra's posterior. Her lightsaber was much longer than Atris', the metal a dull grey. Her brown hair was arranged in a loose ponytail, her hands calloused, legs unconsciously set one in front of the other in a fighting stance. She looked every bit the Jedi Exile, a criminal convicted of unspeakable atrocity, a rogue.
Of course, looks can be deceiving. The truth of the matter was in the eyes of the two women: one pair, the frozen blue of hatred, the other pair, warm brown with sorrow. The two women were the same age, had grown up together as younglings, had even been friends at one point, but now it was if they didn't recognise each other.
"Did you find what you sought on Dantooine?" Atris said acidly, eyes narrowed. "Did the Masters give you your answers before their death at your hands?"
It took effort for Meetra not to tear up there and then. After watching Kavar die right in front of her, she'd been fighting the urge to break down on a regular basis.
"I didn't kill them," she said firmly, her voice breaking ever so slightly regardless.
"Didn't you?" Atris said cruelly. "You sought us all out, did you not? You brought them all together on Dantooine, made them a target for the Sith Lord that you travel with. How is their blood not on your hands?"
It was a valid question. Meetra actually looked down at her hands, as if expecting to see blood there. "I didn't…"
"But you did," Atris interrupted, her face contorted in anger. "You brought this scourge upon us, Exile. You are a traitor to all that the Jedi hold dear, a traitor to the Force! I trusted you, believed in you, and you brought an end to us all! Even now, the Sith are on their way. The same monster that destroyed Katarr is coming, and when he arrives, there will be nothing left of this world except ash and corpses. There will be nothing left of the Jedi Order after I die, all because of you."
The words stung, and rightly so. Meetra could hardly deny them. Kreia had manipulated her as easily as a dejarik piece, coaching her, encouraging her to round up the last of the Jedi Masters. It was humiliating, and the last stroke was indeed coming. Meetra didn't need Atris to tell her that Darth Nihilus was on his way. She had sensed as much in the Force already.
Looking back over her shoulder, Meetra saw the bodies of the handmaidens, splayed around the Council Chamber that was suspended in the middle of everything. She didn't quite know what had happened here before her arrival. The self-styled "Last Handmaiden", the nameless young woman who had become Meetra's friend and student, had taken Kreia here after the debacle on Dantooine. There was no clue as to what had transpired. The Handmaidens were all dead, struck down by a lightsaber, all save the Handmaiden who had trained under Meetra in the ways of the Force. She had merely been unconscious, and Meetra had ordered Atton and Mical to carry her back to the Ebon Hawk for treatment.
"What happened here?" she muttered.
"Isn't it obvious, Exile?" Atris sneered. "Your apprentice came, full of righteous anger and indignation, with the Sith woman as a prisoner. Her mind was corrupted, first by you and then by her. She fell to the Dark Side and killed them all before I stopped her."
For the first time since Dantooine, Meetra managed to rise from her defeated self-pity, frowning as she looked back at the bodies. That didn't make sense. The brash young woman she had befriended, the young woman who took to her Jedi training with such zeal, with her odd sense of humour…always insisting on training in underwear, teasing the men on the Hawk into a tizzy…that didn't sound like her.
More importantly, Meetra could feel the truth in the Force, and that wasn't it.
"What about Kreia?" she asked, glancing back at Atris.
Atris' sneer faded a little. "The Sith came, and she delivered her message. And she departed."
That also sounded wrong, and Meetra's frown deepened. "But why didn't you imprison her?" Not that Atris could, given that Kreia had murdered three Jedi Masters without batting an eyelash, but still…
"Because she will lead me to the rest of the Sith, and then I shall destroy them all," Atris said, angry pride evident in her tone. "That is my destiny as the last of the Jedi. For now, however, I will correct the mistake that I made when you first came to this place. You will die here, now, and never again hurt anyone else with your lies."
Realisation struck. In a flash, it was as if Meetra saw Atris in a new light, as if everything had changed. The pride, the way she seemed so angry…so vengeful.
"That isn't the Jedi way," Meetra whispered. This time, the tears came unbidden at what she was seeing.
"And what would you know of being a Jedi, Exile?" Atris sneered. In a flash, too quick to see, she had drawn her lightsaber and put her right foot forward, the saber hilt held out, pointed directly at Meetra. Atris grinned fiercely as she ignited the cerulean blade, enthused by the snap-hiss , the Force invisibly building around her in a terrible torrent of energies, the raw strength of a Jedi Master unleashed.
"You are of the Dark Side, and I am the last Jedi Master in all the galaxy," Atris declared angrily, her empty hand curled into a claw. "And I will end you!"
Meetra didn't reply, tears running freely down her cheeks. Her hands were simply at her side, not even ready to draw her blade, and she looked so utterly, entirely beaten, but Atris didn't care. Like lightning she flashed forward, slashing straight at Meetra's head.
The blade missed. With only an easy drop of her head Meetra avoided the lethal strike, the cerulean blazing scarcely a centimetre above her brown hair.
Frustrated at how casually Meetra had dodged her attack, Atris visibly shook, her Jedi composure long forgotten. "I will end you!" she screamed again, lost to that feral rage.
With a shaky breath, Meetra closed her eyes. "I'm sorry," she finally whispered.
Enraged, Atris struck again at Meetra's chest, but this time her lightsbaer was blocked by a blade of a much deeper blue than Atris'. Meetra threw off Atris' blade with ease, her own double-bladed lightsaber seeming to burn brighter than the faint cerulean, and she expertly spun her lightsaber in a defensive pattern, fresh determination on her face.
Atris attacked and attacked and attacked, but it was useless. For all her claims and her appearance, Atris was no warrior. Her lightsaber moved so fast that it was less a blade and a more a wave of lethal cerulean, crashing upon Meetra's dark blue with impossible alacrity. Atris was a consummate swordswoman: she held her lightsaber in one hand, one foot forward, stabbing and slashing, probing for a weakness in Meetra's defence, but Meetra was slow by comparison, her movements seemingly simple. While Atris was almost dancing, her footwork elegant and light, Meetra was solid, her feet planted, never moving an inch.
To an uneducated observer, Atris was winning, but in reality, she was no match for Meetra. Atris was a librarian first and foremost, her swordplay and skills refined in practice duels where there were no losers. Meetra, on the other hand, had learned how to fight from Master Kavar, himself one of the finest warriors in the Order. She had refined her abilities on the battlefields against the Mandalorians, and in recent months, against the Sith and countless others.
Against that experience, Atris was merely the librarian that she had always been, as impotent as a child.
Inbetween strikes, Meetra took a firm step forward, driving Atris back. She didn't strike at Atris, but she didn't need to. The walkway was narrow, and there was only one way for Atris to go as Meetra advanced. She took another step, and another, and as the door behind Atris opened automatically, she saw fear flash over Atris's face.
For Meetra, the tears were still flowing even as she swung her lightsaber in defensive patterns. It was painfully easy to deflect Atris' attacks, to maneuver her body, barely even needing to draw on the Force. Meetra knew it needed to be done. Atris needed to be beaten, disabled and imprisoned if she was ever going to be helped come back from the grip of the Dark Side. That knowledge, for all its certainty, didn't help as she battered aside Atris' increasingly desperate attacks. After everything that had happened, it would've been all too easy to just be a hair slower on a parry and allow Atris her wish.
Only the memory of the others kept her fighting. Atton, Bao-dur, Mical, Brianna, Visas…their faces flashed in Meetra's thoughts. She recited their names mentally like a mantra, shoring up her flagging will to keep fighting. As she forced Atris back into her private meditation chamber, Meetra barely even noticed the Sith holocrons that lined the walls or the malicious red glow that they cast over the room. She was barely even fighting.
Atris noticed. With an elegant backwards somersault she stopped with her back against the back wall, lowering her lightsaber carelessly. "Why are you not fighting?!" Atris shouted in disbelief, sweat running freely over her body. Her hair was dishevelled, her eyes bloodshot, and her robes were so damp with sweat that they clung to her body. Meetra could even see the curve of Atris' breasts, her nipples unmistakable through the soaked fabric in a way that would've shamed Atris at one time.
By contrast, Meetra wasn't even breathing heavily. Unlike Atris, she was long used to the rigors of combat. "I just don't want to kill you," she said wearily, keeping her lightsaber at guard.
"Why?" Atris demanded angrily.
In response, Meetra sighed. The tears had stopped at some point, but they still stung against her cheeks. "Because," she said quietly, "I might be the worst Jedi ever, but even if you've fallen to the Dark Side…even if all the others are dead…" her voice tightened, "I'm still going to act like a Jedi."
Atris snarled in response. "You are no Jedi, Exile."
She glanced at one of the pyramidal holocrons on the right, took a breath, then renewed the assault with renewed vigour, but it was as useless as ever. Just like before, Meetra only blocked, never fighting back, waiting for the chance where she could disable Atris without hurting her. Now, at least, Atris varied her attacks. With an smooth movement she stepped back, spinning on the ball of her foot like a dancer, then thrust her empty palm at Meetra. The telekinetic assault faded to nothing against Meetra's blue blades, and she took the chance to step forward again grimly.
Desperate, Atris changed tactics. She tried a wild overhead slash, normally suicide against one who bore a double-bladed lightsaber, but her gamble paid off. Meetra rose her sabers horizontally to catch the taller woman's attack.
Screamingly gleefully in victory, Atris rushed forward in a blur, so close that she could see right into Meetra's eyes. Channelling her hatred and her anger, remembering all those times that she had been so envious of Meetra and Revan, she thrust her empty palm forward and unleashed a crackling burst of Force lightning at Meetra's body.
The lightning never struck its target. Instead Meetra's hand blocked it, absorbing the lethal energy with impossible ease even as their lightsabers remained locked over their heads, one of Meetra's blades deactivated. Atris' eyes widened in mute surprise as Meetra then did something impossible: she pushed her own palm against the current of the lightning. Atris pushed back with all her considerable power, adding waves of telekinetic Force power to the lightning, but it barely managed to balance against Meetra's resolute strength.
Time stretched in that moment. Meetra met Atris' frightened eyes with deep sorrow, their faces as close together as could be, and Meetra's face was so horribly stricken.
"I'm sorry," she whispered again amidst it all.
And then Meetra pushed harder, intertwining her fingers with Atris'. There was an almighty bang as all the lethal energies dissipated, lightning crackling around the room and through Atris' body. Meetra caught the former Jedi Master instinctively, their lightsabers thrown away by the impact, and held her tenderly as she lowered Atris to the floor.
In the Force, Meetra sensed Atris' presence and knew that her counterattack hadn't been lethal. It was an ancient, long-forgotten technique for use against Dark-siders who used lightning, a way for the Jedi to disable their opponents without killing them. In that moment, for all of Kreia's evil and her lies, Meetra felt intensely grateful for Kreia having taught her that technique.
Atris was still conscious, and her eyes scanned in front of her frantically, her body spasming horribly. Meetra held her throughout it all, waiting for it to dissipate, before finally Atris breathed easily.
"I live," Atris whispered in disbelief.
Meetra smiled, stroking the long white hair out of Atris' eyes. "Yeah. You tried really hard for the other thing, though."
Still, Atris seemed out of it. "The Sith woman told me of Darth Traya," she whispered softly, her eyes tearing up. "She told me of the Betrayer who had once been a Jedi, who was lost to the Dark Side. She said that a new Darth Traya had risen, that she would be here when the Sith returned to Telos. She said one last Jedi remained…but why didn't you kill me? If you're a Sith then you should've…I wanted…"
It still stung that Atris didn't truly understand, and Meetra closed her eyes briefly, wiping the tears out of her own eyes. Opening them, she smiled warmly down at Atris, urging herself to be brave.
"Kreia wasn't talking of me, you idiot," she laughed despite herself, still holding Atris in her arms even as they both cried. "She was talking about you. She wanted you to become the new Darth Traya."
Atris' breathing caught. "I'm not a Jedi any longer, am I?" she whispered shamefully.
"No, Atris, I'm sorry," Meetra said, still stroking Atris' brow fondly. "But you're no Sith, either. The Dark Side hasn't taken you yet." She smiled again. "Kreia wanted to turn you, but you aren't there yet. You can be a Jedi again. One day. All you have to do is let the Force guide you."
Atris herself smiled at the irony there. "I loved you," she said softly. "I think…I think I want to be a Jedi again. I don't want the Dark Side. Never again."
In the Force it was as if Atris was balanced on a fulcrum, and Meetra held her breath, sensing that the critical moment was near. She waited patiently as Atris closed her eyes, hoping against hope. Then, there it was. A choice echoed through the Force, a decision that radiated from Atris with resigned certainty, and finally, the darkness began to recede.
Meetra knew, from long experience, that the scars of Atris' brush with the Dark Side would not heal quickly. It would, in all likelihood, take the rest of Atris' life to move on from that addictive, righteous rage, much as it was still proving so difficult for Atton. Even so, the first step had been taken.
Atris opened her eyes, suddenly more much peaceful and beautiful that she had been in a long time. Glancing around, she whispered, "The Holocrons…"
Meetra followed her gaze, considering. She could feel them in the Force, the poisonous whispering of the pyramidal holocrons. It was a miracle that Atris had found peace in the midst of them, in retrospect. There were so many, all filled with secrets of the Dark Side and the Sith, quite possibly holding the keys to finally stopping them.
But then again, studying them hadn't done much good for Atris.
Instead, Meetra looked down at her pompous childhood friend, smiling. She raised a hand, and Atris' eyes followed it in apparent confusion.
"The holocrons," Meetra said quietly, "won't hurt anyone, ever again."
With that, she reached deep into the bottomless well that was the Force. She gathered more and more power, allowing it to build inside her to far greater depths than she had ever managed before losing her connection to the Force on Malachor V. There were times when she wondered if even Revan had ever wielded such awful, unlimited power.
Then, with Atris looking on, she closed her hand into a fist. At that motion there was a horrible screaming of tortured metal and crackling of dark energies as, with the full, unrestrained might of the Force, she crushed every single holocron in the room at once. She kept crushing them for a few seconds, making sure to destroy them all, holding Atris firm in the midst of the destruction.
For her part, the former Jedi Master smiled. "Thank you," she said gratefully, her pompous Coruscanti accent more evident than ever. "You…you are a better Jedi than I ever was."
Meetra sighed. She called their lightsabers back to her hand, clasping both of them onto her belt. Then, reaching into the Force to bolster her strength, she picked Atris up in her arms. While teaching her about the lightning-deflection technique, Kreia had warned that the victim would suffer extraordinary pain, as well as near total paralysis for a few hours. Atris could barely move her head, never mind the rest of her body.
As she walked back down the walkway to the Council Chamber, she saw the others standing there, all looking exceptionally relieved to see her. Atton, Bao-Dur, Visas, Mira and Mical all rushed forward to help, but Meetra declined with a shake of her head.
"So…what happened?" Atton asked, with his usual jaunty grin.
Mira snorted, giving the pilot a sharp smack on the back of the head. "Stop being an idiot. You know what happened. We all felt it in the Force, remember?"
Rubbing the back of his head, Atton scowled right back at her. "Yeah, so I like a little concrete information. Is that so bad? Not all of us trust our instincts as much as you do, Miss I-am-so-badass-I-only-wear-a-bikini."
Meetra glanced down at Atris apologetically as Atton and Mira bickered, but if anything, Atris seemed amused in her exhaustion. Looking back up at her ecletic group of companions, Meetra smiled. "Atris will be fine, really."
Mical folded his arms, plainly concerned. "But we sensed her attack you. The Dark Side aura round her…"
"..is gone," said the quiet voice of Visas. She spoke so rarely that the others immediately quietened down; when the blind miraluka spoke with such authority, they had long ago learned to trust her. "My Master nears, and it shall take time to rise into orbit to confront him. We should do, soon."
Bao-Dur frowned at her before shrugging. "If you are sure, Visas," he said with his usual, reassuringly calm voice, "then I trust you. If the General says we go, then I am ready."
Never one to be left out, Mira grinned, slapping Bao-Dur on his metallic forearm, even as the Remote tweedled away. "That's the spirit, muscles," she teased. "You're a real Jedi, now, huh?"
Despite herself Meetra smiled at them all. "Okay, Visas is right. The Sith will be here any minute, and it's probably going to be…" she paused, her smile fading at what she felt within the Force: a grim, foreboding sensation, promising battle and bloodshed on a scale she hadn't felt since the Mandalorian Wars. "It's going to be hard. Get to the Hawk and prepare for battle. I'll be with you in a minute."
Chatting and bickering merrily, they all swiftly left the Council Chamber, with Meetra heading somewhere else.
"Your Padawans are truly quite…eccentric," Atris muttered with teasing amusement, still comfortable in Meetra's arms as they walked.
"They aren't really my Padawans," Meetra said in response, her breathing strained; carrying Atris was proving more taxing than fighting her had been. Meetra was very fit, yes, but she was still a small woman. "They're…my friends. I'm just a guide, really. They're finding their own way."
Atris chuckled lightly as they reached her quarters, set apart from the rest of the Academy. "Indeed. It is not traditional, but perhaps…perhaps that is a good thing."
Meetra opened the door with a whisper of the Force, moving inside. She noted sourly that Atris' quarters were very well appointed for a Jedi. She had an entire living room, a small library and a bathroom as big as an entire wing of crew quarters on the Hawk. Her bedroom was equally palatial, with an entire adjoining room set aside as a closet and a bed that looked blissfully luxurious.
Gently Meetra set Atris down on the bed, her arms burning as she did so; the Force helped, but it couldn't entirely remove the strain. "After the battle, I'll come back. And we'll talk."
As she turned, however, Atris called out, "Wait. There is something more."
Curious, and slightly irritated that Atris chose now to mention that when time was so tight, Meetra nevertheless turned back to her friend.
"The Sith woman," Atris said urgently. "She said…that once the fighting was done, she would be waiting at the place where it all began. There, it would all end."
Meetra froze. "You mean…?"
Now, Atris looked sad. "Yes. Malachor V. In my self-absorption, I thought it was I who meant to journey there. Now, the truth is clear. That is your destiny. She said also that if nobody came…she would slay herself, at the heart of Malachor, and let the Sith run amok, unchecked."
Still stunned by the mention of that blasted name, Meetra could nevertheless understand the subtext. Her bond with Kreia remained. Even now she could sense Kreia across the stars; right now her old Master was pensive and frustrated. If Kreia chose to kill herself, then in all likelihood given the strength of their Force Bond, Meetra would die too. It was Kreia's insurance that her old student would come.
Banishing away her worries, Meetra gulped, nodding. Looking to Atris once more, she reached out again to stroke Atris' brow. "I understand, Atris. Thank you. If we survive what's coming, then…then we'll deal with what comes next."
After a moment's consideration, she unclipped Atris' lightsaber and placed it on her bedside table before leaving.
Up in the skies of Telos, she sensed that war had come to the beleaguered world.