The Exile was here. He had let her live on Korriban, but she had followed him here, to the start, to Malachor V. Nihilus was dead, killed by his Shadow Hand. Visas Marr herself had succumbed mere minutes later. He'd felt the Exile's pain—sorrow for the death of a woman who'd once been her enemy—rippling across space.
Her pain tasted coppery like blood. He felt it across his closed eyes and tingling in his fingertips.
Oh yes, the Exile was here, looking for Kreia. He could feel her moving through Trayus Academy's ancient hallways, but didn't approach her. The Force was drawing them all here—pulling them toward Malachor V's heart like the Mass Shadow Generator pulled dead ships in with its gravity well. And yet, he sensed that it was not yet time to meet her.
If he closed his eyes even now he could see her, cradling the empty husk of Visas Marr, covered in the Miraluka's blood. Screaming out her sorrow through the Force.
Then, someone else entered the academy. Two someones. Sion sent tendrils of his perception out towards them. They weren't even bothering to hide themselves in the Force.
Apprentices. He would have laughed if it didn't hurt so much. They were making this so easy for him.
The Jedi washout, and the assassin.
Her pain was delicious, and he would taste it again before he killed her.
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Atton reeled away from his blow, and Disciple used the moment to shout at him.
"Don't do this! Don't you understand? This is a distraction! The Exile needs us and instead we're here!"
Atton only spat blood and charged him, roaring. "Then hurry up and die!" He attacked with shocking strength and command of the Force.
Disciple was fighting defensively, but he was quickly coming to the conclusion that wearing Atton down was not going to be possible. There was something feeding him that wasn't going to run out. Something flowing into him. He could feel it all around them.
Then Atton punched him in the temple, and the time for thinking was over. He struck out with his left palm and the Force and connected solidly with Atton's solar plexus. Atton nearly fell, but recovered, coughing raggedly.
Now Disciple was on the offensive. He needed to end this fight, and quickly. His ears rang and his vision wavered. He could only fight so long with a concussion. And at least an hour had passed since the Exile had left the ship, and he knew only too well how much could happen in an hour.
Disciple slashed at Atton's legs, but his opponent leapt high into the air and struck downwards. He leaned away from the blow, but Atton's lightsaber passed close enough that he could actually smell the material of his garments being singed.
"What's the matter, Sunshine, can't—"
Disciple saw the moment and acted. He didn't give him the chance to complete the insult, but kicked his legs out from under him. Time seemed to dilate around them. He saw Atton fall in slow-motion. Against any other opponent, this would have been the time for a killing blow. But Atton wasn't his enemy. It was the one that was pulling his strings.
Disciple reached out with the Force, and struck the lightsaber from his hand before he hit the ground.
The two men regarded each other in silence for a moment, panting. Disciple had his lightsaber poised at Atton's throat.
"You won't kill me," Atton said hoarsely.
"No, I won't. But I'll gladly stuff you into the Hawk's smuggling compartment until this is all over if necessary."
Something was changing. He wasn't sure if his half-hearted attempt at humor had shaken something loose inside Atton, but while the frantic energy surrounding him was still present, he was beginning to feel more like himself.
"She'll hate me now. She'll hate me and she'll be right. If she lives. Oh Force, what are we doing here? We have to help her!"
Disciple de-activated his lightsaber, but didn't put it back on his belt.
"Atton, please go back to the 'Hawk. You're not well! I promise, I won't speak of this to her, just please…"
Atton snorted, wiping blood off his mouth with his sleeve. Long moments passed. When he spoke again his voice was very quiet.
"You're right you know. It was always you she needed. The good student. The dutiful 'Padawan'. A murderer—a Jedi killer-- has no place in your new Order. This is the end for me. I've seen it. I'm sorry. You go back to the ship. She'll need a decent pilot to get her out of here when the Mass Shadow Generator blows, and I won't…it won't be me." He pulled something off of his belt.
Mical blanched. "Atton--"
Then the flash mine exploded.
