Viscera woke smoothly. She stretched some and then sat up, flexing her toned arms and torso but stopping short. Something was different. She stood up and removed her bandages, examining her blue skin which was tinted slightly purple where the blaster wounds had been. She dressed quickly afterward, returned her arcsaber to the belt, and strapped it around her waist. One look around confirmed she was ready. She pulled her hair into a ponytail on her way out then turned to head to the bridge.
Viscera noticed things she hadn't before as she walked through the ship's halls. The Force was all around her, making things more detailed and vibrant. The difference in her senses was small but noticeable and she wondered briefly how severe the changes would be if she ever achieved the mastery her owner had. She walked through automated doors which slid open to greet her approach. Darth Tyraal stood on the elevation at the end of the bridge's catwalk as he always did. Viscera watched the dark shape and walked forward to kneel.
"Tell me, Viscera…'' Darth Tyraal spoke low and cold. ''… what do you crave?''
''Power, dominance, and freedom.''
"How will you fulfill your desires?'' The query was an icy drone like the wind of Hoth.
"I will control the Force.'' Viscera was surer this time. She would practice with the Force and soon it would be her tool.
"Indeed.'' If her master was pleased, it did not, and never had, shown in his tone. ''Continue to develop your power on this next task.'' A hologram screen appeared before him and showed the surface of a planet.
''Yes, Master.'' Her blue skin shone in the hologram's light and she looked up to read the details.
''You will travel to the smuggler's camp here, on Ord Mantell.'' The display zoomed and an indicator blinked around the area her master specified. ''You will find a shipment of crystals there. You will bring them to me.''
"As you wish." The screen dissolved into rays of light which faded afterward. Viscera returned her eyes to the floor.
"Begone.''
Viscera stood and turned around. First metal and now crystals? Her thoughts worked and she exited the bridge, leaving her master behind to stare out of the windows as if he overlooked a city. The doors closed behind her and she continued down a hallway. Is he building something?
Viscera reached for the control panel that operated the lift in front of her. She hesitated to touch the control and a smirk tugged at her lips. A tilt of her hand caused the Force to tremor and the door to the lift slid open. She boarded and selected the level of the ship that the hangar was on. Her pace quickened and she turned a corner then strode into wide, open hangar where the light was brighter and the floor was both glossy and scraped where ships had a less than perfect landing or take off.
The three large and blocky frigates from Hrasskis rested in the center of the hangar with a busy crowd of worker droids that unloaded the cargo. She glanced briefly to see all sorts of machinery and materials being carried off before turning back to her own ship, a stark black fighter which stood off to the side on delicate landing gear. Viscera jogged over to it and jumped onto its left wing before lowering into the cockpit.
From inside she heard a muffled whoosh from the jets and she spun the vehicle around to face the mouth of the hangar and then fly forward, out of the Iscillus, into space, and toward Ord Mantell. The atmosphere burned around her and her fighter shook while it descended. The surface of this planet was dull brown and, as she drew closer, she could see various tan, green and greyish structures. As practice she extended her new senses out to the ground below. The Force obeyed her but she only gathered a faint ripple which seemed to be a warning of some kind. As the air roared outside of her angular vehicle, she thought shortly on what the sense meant, if anything.
A bolt struck her cockpit. Viscera flinched at the burst of sparks then steered to avoid another shot streaking toward her, now convinced that she had experienced a minor glimpse of the future. She stored that note for later, as she had just entered combat. The surface of Ord Mantell became a whirlpool of matte color as she spun and dove simultaneously before straightening out for a hasty landing. Livid, Viscera didn't bother with the landing struts, instead opting to open the hatch and let her ship crash to the earth, her fighter sliding along the sandy ground toward the smuggler's camp.
She stood while the craft bumped and jolted over rocky terrain, then leaped out of the cockpit. The fighter slowed to a stop and clouds of dirt plumed behind Viscera as she drew her sword and ran toward her enemy. Short, makeshift buildings stood on either side of her with tarps over the roofs and crates strewn about. The apprentice's focus, however, was the Weequay thug before her with a raised longrifle, from which a wisp of heat rose. She cleaved the skinny muzzle in two then spun to throw out her off-hand.
"Hey!" a filtered voice called out.
The Force sprung from her open hand and sent the dark-skinned smuggler sprawling about the ground. Viscera ignored the voice in the distance and angled to stab the downed form.
"That's enough." That same garbled, droid-like voice was accompanied by two shrill winding noises. Viscera stopped short, her blade buzzing and crackling with energy just inches from the shooter's neck, and looked up to see an assortment of unsavory characters scattered about the camp. Of the gang, a masked man, who she assumed to be the speaker, walked forward and aimed at her with a pair of blasters. She glared at him as if her sight would dissolve his face covering.
''Who are you?" Viscera eyed the armored individual. She noted the jade skin of his hands. Mirialan.
''You first, babe.'' The mercenary turned the question on her, faceless and armed extensively.
''I am a servant of my master. That is all you will know.'' Her brow tightened and she nearly snarled in place of speaking.
''Give me a reason not to put two holes in your head.'' His hands closed around his pistols and his trigger fingers twitched.
Viscera's face tore with anger. To Darth Tyraal, she would plea for her life. To this random spacer, she would do no such thing. She flipped the blade in her hand and ducked. The masked gunslinger fired. Viscera felt heat pass over her head while she struck with the arcsaber. The stranger blocked with the bracer on his forearm and a bolt flew from his other weapon. Viscera twisted to dodge, laser burns grazing her shoulder as she swung her fist furiously. A crack sounded from the man's chin and strength evacuated his legs. Viscera stepped forward as her foe stumbled. His blaster fired. Her saber swung.
The Chiss slave cried and placed a hand on the burning wound in her side. Red splattered the ground around the stranger who now held his shoulder, which was gashed deeply and gushing blood. Viscera staggered backward and felt a numbing ripple spread from her blaster wound. It slithered throughout her and suddenly all the feeling poured away from her body. She swore before dropping her weapon and falling completely limp, stunned. Her eyes stared blankly at the sky as she lay on the ground. She tried to grasp the Force and failed. Darkness flooded her.
Viscera woke on a gritty floor. She looked around to see metallic crates and lockers were stacked up around her. A group of alien thugs sat on said cargo and had a conversation in Huttese. The Chiss apprentice's vision gradually focused and the stun effect finally faded. Where's my sword? Gone. Once her awareness returned, she lurched forward only to be stopped by restraints around her wrists which jolted at the motion. Chains clattered loudly and the bunch of Mid Rim pirates turned their attention to her.
"She's awake," one of the scoundrels announced.
"Release me!" Viscera bore her teeth and screamed at her captors. They were unfazed. One shifted, one smirked, and one stepped outside of the cramped room.
"I will carve you to pieces.'' She delivered an icy threat while she struggled on the floor and glared up at the scum around her. Later, the masked gunslinger from earlier ducked under the tarp and into the room. He stood in the middle of the storage area and folded his arms, blood oozing from the bandages around his shoulder.
"Squillo wanted to kill you,'' the Mirialan spacer began. ''The rest of us just wanna have some fun.''
Viscera frowned. ''You are all dead men.''
"I'm sure your master wouldn't mind." The faceless stranger sounded carefree but seemed to be serious. "How much are you worth?"
"My master has no use for credits,'' Viscera informed.
The masked man shook his head then kneeled down in front of Viscera. ''Everyone has a price, babe," he whispered from roughly a foot away, so close Viscera could see bits of machinery embedded within the silvery durasteel that covered her captor's face.
"I will cut your heart out." Another ruthless claim Viscera yearned to act on.
"You talk so sexy." The masked hunter continued to tease her with his robotic voice.
A blast shook the ground outside. The scummy spacers stood and ran out of the cargo room to investigate. The masked man in front of Viscera looked over his shoulder through the small door. Blasters screeched and the dull drone of a vehicle could be heard.
"Jarrik!" a voice cried and the mercenary kneeling close to her quickly stood and rushed out of the room. Viscera heard shouts and explosions outside and quickly used this moment alone to try pulling on her cuffs again. The chain drew taught and the heavy locker to which she was bound slid an inch across the grungy floor. A body fell outside of the doorway while she twisted to tried and undo the shackles. The firefight seemed to escalate, rising into a storm of screaming and blasterfire. The stranger returned. Viscera glared with frustration and curiosity while he quickly slipped in and kneeled down beside her again. She noticed he had a key in one hand and her arcsaber in the other.
"We need some help," he spoke in a rush, and a second later Viscera felt the shackles separate. Jarrik ran right back out of the room while Viscera sprung to her feet and picked up her sword. She clicked the trigger on her way out and her weapon came to life with voltage and vibration. Viscera glanced around to see the already disheveled camp now littered with bodies and patches of fire. She saw Jarrik with his pistols out and spun to see what he was aiming at: a Republic dropship.
The sniper and rifleman commandos ducked behind the transport for cover while the grenadier fired his launcher at Viscera. She dove to avoid the blast and then charged the grenadier; Jarrik's bolts streaking past her and suppressing the rest of the squad. She pushed the launcher away then swung at the commando. Her blade met his neck and pressed the soldier against his squad's ship. She pulled her sword through and an arc of red sprayed onto the Republic vessel. Jarrik threw a detonator. A fiery explosion rocked everything around Viscera.
She fell and through a haze of falling debris she saw another heavily armored trooper reaching for his shotgun. Just when the commando recovered his weapon, Viscera reached with the Force to rip it away. The air burned. She jumped and lashed out, her arcsaber cutting across the clone's chest. The sky flashed. He fell over and Viscera descended on him, stabbing once, twice, and a third time. Thrusters fired beside her and the dropship rose. White plastoid fragments shot from the shotgun commando's armor as Viscera pressed her vibrating sword deeper into her enemy. Blood sprayed from the impaled soldier and the Sith apprentice hardly noticed that two of the commandos were retreating. Viscera looked up to see the gunship tilting for the sky then she pulled her sword out of the body. The mercenary lowered his blasters and walked over to her.
"Who are you?" Jarrik's forceful question cracked with static.
"I'm looking for a shipment of crystals," Viscera countered with her own demand, her heart and mind racing.
"You're a Sith, aren't you?" Jarrik asked after scanning the tattooed Chiss woman before him.
"Give me the crystals or die," the Sith apprentice screamed, adrenaline making her actions extreme.
"Did you not see the commandos?" The bounty hunter's shout was garbled by the speakers in his mask. "The Republic is trying to kill you! A destroyer jumped here just after you showed up."
Destroyer? Viscera went silent and the rage died down as she grasped the Force to find out what he was talking about. A vision struck her. Two warships strafed each other in space, one grey and black, one nearly white with burgundy stripes on the hull. Between them, fighters fought and bolts streaked across the blackness. The light intensified until the scene was obscured by white, at which point Viscera had to blink away the brightness. She returned to the present, sheathed her arcsaber, and turned to leave. Jarrik grabbed her arm.
"Where are you going?" Jarrik asked with interference altering his voice.
"My master-" Viscera began with concern in her voice, in her eyes.
"If your master is who I think he is, he can take care of himself," the spacer assured her.
"I will not wait here while my master battles the Republic." The apprentice snatched her arm away, ferocity in her voice.
He shrugged. "If you want the crystals."
She blinked and then scowled. "I will sever your limbs."
"You'll never find them without me." The mercenary swaggered, obviously not moved by Viscera's threat.
There was a prolonged period of silence between them. Of course he would say that. They stood close among the bodies and flames, within a foot of each other. A few surviving thugs scurried about the camp, busy with the aftermath of being attacked by the Republic. Just kill him and find them yourself. Viscera's ruby eyes searched the sinister mask of her rival urgently, her mind churning for solutions to her current situation.
Eventually Jarrik holstered his pistols and walked away. What if it's true? Viscera stood there and watched the bounty hunter leave for his transport, identified by decals as 'Mauve-4'. Smoke blurred his form as he ascended the boarding ramp. Viscera huffed and ran after Jarrik, stepping onto his mid-size ship just as the ramp began to rise. She stepped on and quickly walked to the mercenary who was busy removing his gear. Faint light raked across the ship's spacious interior from a single source in the corner.
"Made a decision?" Jarrik asked, apparently unafraid of the possibility of Viscera deciding to kill him. He unclipped his belt and placed it on the desk in front of him, which was covered in ammo, grenades, and gadgets. He undid his bracers next and Viscera watched with arms crossed. Once removed, Viscera saw the green skin of his hands continued up to his thick forearms.
"You wish to lay with me?" Viscera whispered a statement more than a question.
"Nothing gets past you, doll," Two shrill whines sounded from Jarrik's blasters as he placed them on the table.
Viscera walked through the Mauve-4's shadowed interior towards Jarrik. "I usually kill people to get what I want," she said while she reached up and grabbed the mercenary's mask. She whispered, "Consider yourself extremely fortunate."
Jarrik turned to face Viscera, forced by her hand. She tore the durasteel mask away to reveal Jarrik's striking face. A sense of freedom warmed inside Viscera as she scanned the Mirialan bounty hunter, a grievous scar cutting down his cheek. His eyes met hers, gold and garnet clashing fiercely while they stared into each other. Jarrik grabbed Viscera by her slender waist while Viscera pulled Jarrik's head into a kiss, driven by raw passion. Tyraal was fighting the Republic but in this moment she did not care. Her rage melted and all she felt was carnal hunger and the bristle of the mercenary's cropped hair beneath her fingers. Her lips parted and her tongue entered Jarrik's mouth while his hands pawed over her greedily.
They fought and groped until Viscera felt herself being pulled away. Saliva dripped from her tongue and she had a second to gasp before Jarrik picked her up dropped her onto his desk full of gear. Jarrik's weapons scattered away from Viscera's hand, which she flung to steady herself while being roughly caressed by her new rival. Her breath quickened as they kissed wetly and she tore from his firm lips to pant weakly and warmly on his neck. Their cheeks touched and only inches separated her body from his. She felt a hand on her chest. She felt a hand on her thigh. Viscera moaned.