Imperial Mining Outpost, Mustafar
The sky was dark and full of clouds of ash, lit intermittently from within by flashes of dirty white lightning. The thunder was a distant, feeble rumble as opposed to the crashing explosion of sound that the Lord Draco preferred.
He sat cross-legged on the observation post, floating a few centimeters above the ground, eyes closed and hands folded palm-up on his lap. The cortosis blades that sprouted from the fingers of his gloves twitched sporadically, but otherwise he was completely still, barely even breathing.
Scattered around him was the bloody carnage of a recent battlefield. Imperial stormtroopers and gray-suited officers alike lay strewn in smoldering pieces around the landing pad, evidence of a recent fight of which he was the only survivor.
Peace is a lie, he thought, a slight smile tugging at his ravaged lips. There is only passion.
An explosion of white-hot magma erupted from the sea of bubbling molten magma that surrounded the mining facility. It spouted into the dark sky for a single glorifying moment, then crashed back into the boiling ocean from which it had sprung. Some of the magma droplets splattered against the scarlet blade of the lightsaber that hung activated in mid-air before him. They evaporated with a sizzle and a hiss of steam.
Through passion, he continued, a frown crossing his helmeted face, I gain strength.
As he meditated, lightning began to crackle along the lengths of the razor blades on his fingers, purple-white flashes of light that sizzled and popped and threw sparks down on the ground beneath him.
Through strength, I gain power.
His lightsaber began to tremble and a rumble filled the air, stronger than the thunder and the explosions of unstable magma combined. His face pulled down into a full scowl now, and his hands balled into clenched fists. Lightning now crackled loudly up and down his arms, lighting on his black suit for but a moment, then dancing away again.
Through power, he thought, feeling hatred race through his heart like a flood of hot water, I gain victory.
Suddenly, the rasping mechanical sound of a life-support suit's respirator sounded over the chaotic rumbling of Mustafar, and Draco's yellow-tinged eyes snapped open. With a shout of fury, he leaped forward, grabbed his lightsaber, and spun, bringing it about in a reversed Shien combat position. Barely thinking, he raised his saber defensively.
The red lightsaber of Darth Vader clashed against his, throwing sparks onto the durasteel beneath their feet, and Draco snarled like an animal into Vader's contoured face mask.
"I have come," he growled, "to fulfill my destiny."
Vader said nothing; he just wrenched his own lightsaber away and slashed down at Draco, every movement an expression of sheer power and might. Draco backpedaled and batted the Sith Lord's lightsaber aside, slashing forward and stabbing with all the strength he could muster. Vader slammed the blows aside with little effort and stepped forward, his cape billowing out behind him in the hot Mustafari wind. The echoing wheeze of his respirator reflected the dirty rasp of Draco's own breathing as he stepped back and unleashed a barrage of purple lightning at the Sith Lord. The lightning caught Vader in the chest, dancing over his multi-colored chest plate and popping the status lights there. Vader staggered back and fell to his knees. His lightsaber skittered away across the landing pad, deactivating with a hiss.
Draco stepped forward, staring at Vader with pure hatred through the thin T-slit visor of his helmet. He raised his own scarlet saber over his head, readying himself for a killing stroke.
Through victory, he thought, my chains are broken.
"You are an insult to the Sith," he whispered, his voice quivering with rage. The Dark Side flowed through him, making lightning pour from his fingertips and wrap around the blade of his saber in dancing arcs of light. "A pale reflection of the glory we once had. And therefore, you must be destroyed."
He was about to plunge the saber down through his hated enemy's helmet, but the sound of an approaching ship's engines caught his attention. He hesitated, then looked up into the ashy sky. In an instant, the image of a kneeling, subdued Vader vanished from his view, evaporating into black ash and drifting away on the muggy breeze.
Draco instantly deactivated his saber and hooked it against one of the belts wrapped around his hips, adding it to the six other trophy sabers stored there. He glanced once more at the spot that the Sith dog had occupied, then strode away, his black belt-skirt blown about by the hot wind.
An unfamiliar freighter roared overhead, rotating slowly in mid-air before lowering itself onto the landing pad below. As Draco studied the ship, he saw that the name Kar'ta Tor was painted onto one bulkhead. The ship groaned as its weight settled onto thick landing legs, then was still save for random eruptions of coolant steam.
With a creaking whine, the exit ramp slid down and hit the durasteel pad beneath with a clunk. After only moments, three dark figures cautiously strode out, red lightsabers lit in hand as they surveyed the mining outpost with equally unreadable expressions.
Draco stepped up to them and bowed his head. "My friends," he said, gesturing to them with a razor-bladed hand. "I welcome you to our new home."
The tallest among them, wearing a ribbed combat jacket that left his muscular arms bare, surveyed the area with a hooded head and nodded. "Yes, Lord Draco, this will do nicely. A proud addition to the Sith Empire."
He clenched a fist - outfitted with bladed fingers like Draco's - and his gaze lingered on the remains that were scattered around the landing pad.
"The Imperial presence?" he asked.
"Eradicated," Draco replied with a smug smile that he knew none of them could see.
Another of them, a wiry Sith Knight with full-body armor and arms that melted into fearsome mechanical prosthetics at the elbow, stared at Draco through an identical T-slit helmet and rasped, "Are you sure? We cannot afford to be discovered. Not now."
Draco's hand rested almost casually on the hilt of his saber and he quietly said, "Do you doubt my powers?"
Another fully-armored figure, this one a tall female, stepped in front of the Knight and said, "My apprentice meant nothing by it, Darth Draco. Calm yourself; he meant no harm."
Draco narrowed his eyes, but removed his hand from his saber. "Lady Tillipi. Tell me of your mission. What of our guest?"
"Captured and restrained with little effort. She struggled, but was eventually subdued. Our mission gave pride to the Stalker name." Tillipi gestured to someone still within the ship and spat orders in a language Draco had neither the time nor patience to learn. At her orders, two more armor-clad Stalkers brought their 'guest' down the ramp, bound by anchored stun cuffs to a slab of durasteel.
It was a humanoid girl, no older than fourteen or fifteen. Draco sneered behind his helmet and thought, The perfect age for conversion. Good...
The girl struggled against her bonds, shouting, "Get your disgusting hands off me you shabla dar'jettise! Let me go!"
Draco stepped forward and made a fist with his hand. The Dark Side surged through him and the air rumbled as the girl gasped and gulped, struggling to draw in breath.
"Cease your struggle," Draco murmured, leaning in close to the girl and running a single mounted blade down her cheek. The razor-sharp blade cut the skin lightly and a thin tendril of blood began snaking down the side of the girl's face. "You will understand all soon enough."
The girl coughed, then spat at Draco's faceplate. The Sith Lord recoiled and wiped spittle from his helmet. He considered striking her, asserting his authority. But doing so would only show her that her display of defiance had rattled him. It had not.
So he simply stepped away and let out a warbling chuckle. "You have spirit, young one," he said. "That is to be commended."
He gestured to the mining facility around them and said, "Welcome, youngling, to Mustafar, officially known as Imperial Mining Outpost Thirty-Two-B. It will be your home for the next months."
"K... kriff you," the girl spat.
One of the Stalkers did now show as much restraint as Draco had. The man backhanded her across the face, hard enough to jerk her head to the side, and she cried out and fell silent. Draco quickly motioned to the Stalker and said, "Enough. Pain only gives her strength. Do not provide her with a weapon to use against us."
He paused, then added, "That comes later."
The girl panted for a few moments, then looked up at him again with a defiant stare. "You... you're Sith, aren't you?"
Draco grinned again and placed a palm against his armored chest proudly. "Indeed we are, my young friend. I am the Dark Lord Draco. And you..."
He stepped closer and spread his palm, placing the blades of his fingers only millimeters from the girl's face. The air shimmered between her sweaty forehead and the black material of his glove like a heat wave. Draco closed his eyes, basking in the rush of images and information that suddenly flooded his mind.
After only a moment, he opened his eyes again and met the girl's defiant gaze. "You," he said slowly, "are Kestra Hett, born to Faberian royalty, adopted by Mandalorians."
The girl's eyes widened slightly but she was unable to tear her gaze from Draco's contoured faceplate. He let his eyes roll back in his head as he saw image after image flash through his mind's eye.
"You are considered an adult by your adopted culture, even at your young age," he continued. "a freedom that you very much enjoy. Your family, the Faberian Handmaidens, were killed when you were still young and you now harbor a burning hatred for the beings who destroyed them. You pursue him with the determination of one who believes they have no more to lose."
The girl instantly fell still, staring at him with horror. He opened his eyes and shook his head slightly.
"Interesting," he murmured, pulling his hand back, "that one so young could harbor so much hatred. It has corrupted you, twisted you. I am sure, had you been in control of your emotion, my Stalkers would have faced a much greater challenge bringing you to me."
Tillipi chuckled maliciously and said, "The Mandalorians should rethink their position on sending younglings into the field before they are ready."
Draco silenced her with a single glance, then turned his dark scrutiny back to Kestra. The girl's gaze was tinged with fear as he slowly brushed the blades of his hands across her face again.
"W-what do you want with me?" she whispered.
He leaned closer to her and replied, "It may interest you know that I too seek to destroy those who have wronged me. Just as the Mandalorians oppose Imperial rule, so to do the Sith."
"T-the Sith are gone," Kestra hissed.
"You are wrong. The Sith have survived through the millenia," he said proudly, "and we, the Stalkers, are the guardians of my people's ancient traditions. Sentinels of the Order, guardians of the dark."
"No," the girl said, shaking her head and cringing away from Draco's cold touch. "No, the Sith are dead. Only Darth Vader is left-"
Now it was Draco who slapped her and snarled, "If you ever speak that name again, I will gut you where you hang, mercenary filth!"
She slumped against her restraints, breathing hard as blood dripped down her face. Draco took a deep breath, calming himself and pushing his rage deep down. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet and controlled.
"I sense that you carry the bloodline of one of the Old Sith," he said. He leaned close again and whispered, "The Force is indeed strong with you, young one. My order will benefit greatly from your powers. And so you will join us... or you will die."
The girl began struggling again and cried, "No! Leave me alone!"
Draco spun on his heel and strode back toward the mining facility, gesturing for the others to follow him and calling, "Bring her! We have much to do!"