""I will not allow the secrets of the Sith to fall into the hands of those who submit themselves as servants to the Light… but if it is necessary for me to die to preserve them, allow me to bring you all with me!"
As he announced this, he unleashed the full power at his disposal, not against his enemies, but the Academy itself.
It collapsed into a mere heap of rubble, burying the Hero of Tython and Darth Nox with the secrets of the Sith.""
Fate of the Empire
Chapter 4: Resurrection
Dromund Kaas. The Empire's centre, where they had rested-in hiding- for over a thousand years, whilst they grew stronger, and the Republic, along with their mighty Jedi defenders, stagnated- resting in their unquestioned cradle of power, believing their people safe; protected, as the inhabitants of Kaas City did now.
The Imperial City was a sanctuary of bigotry, hypocrisy and overwhelming arrogance, its population consisting of a variety of mere merchants and vendors, to Sith of extremely high stature and 'formidable' members of Government and Politicians. If you had the honour of taking up a residence in this location, the consensus was that you were either very fortunate, or extremely unlucky.
A planet with a threatening nature both before and after the Empire's occupation, Dromund Kaas was the site where, millennia before, millions had laboured themselves with a mission to construct a monument to the power of their Emperor, the power the Sith Empire had once held, and the power they would wield once again- this was the Imperial Citadel. Towering high above all, the Citadel was a symbol of the Empire's returned prominence and power.
Three separate areas in total, the Citadel was composed of the Mandalorian Enclave, the Sith Sanctum, and the Imperial Intelligence Headquarters. These were an outward showing of the Empire's uniformity, meant to promote faith in a system that had ruined the lives of billions around the galaxy, whilst simultaneously striking fear into the very souls of both their opponents and their own population. In actuality, although few were willing to admit it, it was common knowledge among even the slightly-knowledgeable that tensions had rose to frightening heights between the 3 separate groups.
The interference of pretentious Sith into the sly business of the Imperial spy network was one that had seen many operations failed, the Empire itself facing numerous blows that had turned the tide of an almost won war. As such, it was only natural that many Sith Lords had met their end at the hands of Imperial Agents, and vice-versa.
Despite this, these disputes, however infuriating and frustrating they were to the Empire, had never weakened them to an extent that they had left them vulnerable to their enemies; themselves, certainly, yet the Empire had always been in a powerful enough position at the time of these petty, galaxy-wide squabbles that they had managed to survive any of the Republic's strikes with awe-inspiring resilience.
Yet it would take only the slightest knowledge of a single one of these disagreements to initiate a strategy that would leave the Empire vulnerable- a hole in a planet's defences, an overlooked flaw in co-ordination, a fleet's position becoming too visible.
Each of these had been exploited by the Republic at one time or another, yet like the greatest combatants and armies in history, the Empire refused to fall. They had always been capable of taking all their enemies had to offer, through sheer force of uncompromising will if necessary.
However, out of all of those past experiences, the Empire and Republic had both been fighting –primarily- without external interference. Neither were willing to consider the fact that they both shared the same infection; the same weakness, in their own people.
Each side has individuals with loyalties outside of their open allegiance, be it for one reason or another. All it would take would be one figurehead with a great enough strategic mind and inspirational persona to unite enough of these people under a single banner to allow for either, or both, of the Galactic factions to be crippled. All it would take, would be a single weakness being implemented in the defences of a planet for a single hour, for the outcome of the war become unavoidable.
And this would come to pass, with Republic ships dropping out of Hyperspace and raining fire upon the sabotaged Dromund Kaas.
Cruisers of both Hammerhead and Valor class, Thranta and Defender types of Corvettes, Starfighters and Support ships; hundreds of vessels came crashing into Imperial space, the Superdreadnought Star of Coruscant leading the invasion that would, inevitably, see the Empire's defeat assured.
But it was not just the air that was seeing conflict; whilst Kaas City was being obliterated, the Citadel was being butchered, just as the Jedi Temple had years before.
Commander Jensyn's Lightsabers flew from his hands, slicing the body of a Sith Apprentice in half. A ferocious smile was carved upon his face, as corpse after corpse was left behind in his wake. His weapons emitted a blindingly bright blue, at odds with the bloody messes they were leaving behind.
He continued on his just rampage, until he felt a signature that emitted power like none other in the vicinity. Jensyn would have met his demise, had he not leapt out of the way of a lightning-quick strike from a figure in dark robes and light-weight armour.
Regaining his balance, Jensyn saw the yellow eyes of a dark side practitioner staring out of the Emperor's Wrath's demonic mask. A shiver unlike many he had experienced before crawled up his spine.
"The Emperor's Wrath… let's hope that-" Before Jensyn could finish speaking, his opponent had leapt towards him.
It became abundantly clear to the Jedi Commander as to who was the better fighter. Every time he would lunge, the Wrath would step out of the way; every time he swung, the Wrath would parry to a degree that left Jensyn stumbling; every time he co-ordinated his attacks with the environment around them, hiding his intent until it would be too late for the Wrath to possibly defend himself, the Sith Warrior seemingly predicted every single move- he anticipated every single manoeuver that Jensyn had, for all intents and purposes dancing out of the way until, finally, he fought back.
With the first true strike the Wrath initiated, he carved a line down Jensyn's face.
"AH!" Jensyn screamed, falling to his knees, barely rolling out of the way of the Sith's would-be finishing stroke.
"Hahaha," The Wrath chuckled, spinning his blade. "Another scar to match- you should be happy, Jensyn, it helps cover to that disgustingly heroic face of yours!" It was not the words he spoke that infuriated the Jedi, but the joking, teasing tone through which he said them.
He was enjoying himself. He was toying with him!
Again Jensyn lunged, fury in his heart, yet once more the Wrath outwitted him, avoiding the blow. Jensyn roared, his hands spread out, and he called forth his power.
The Wrath should have been blown backwards, but the Dark Sider raised his free hand, and the Force push continued on its way, the only effect it had on its target being causing his robes to billow behind him.
An arrogant yell echoed out through the increasingly apocalyptic environment, and another Jedi invader charged at the Emperor's Wrath. Jensyn froze, his body raising into the air as he felt something happening in his throat- his obliviousness to the specifics, however, was not important, as his body was sent hurtling towards his ally.
The other Jedi –a Togruta with a golden blade- widened their eyes in shock and hurriedly, clumsily, lowered their weapon. Both of them were sent crashing to the floor as their bodies collided, and the Wrath released his hold over Jensyn.
The Jedi didn't hesitate; once he had control over his body again, he re-ignited his Lightsabers and hurled them at the Emperor's pawn. The Wrath's hand gestured, and Jensyn could feel his control of the weapons wrestled from his grasp. Guided by the demonic figure's outstretched fingers, his will overwhelming, the Lightsabers tore through body after body, slicing both Soldiers and Jedi alike in half, cutting through armour and flesh with equal ease.
A flurry of blaster bolts flew towards the apparently distracted Dark Lord, yet the Wrath's crimson blade spun in a dizzying pattern, and the blaster bolts returned to their source. The Soldiers' bodies fell to the floor.
Abandoning subtlety and calmness for recklessness and raw emotion, Jensyn charged at the murderer, knowing that it was a doomed approach, yet his power was not enough to offer any alternatives. For a moment he thought that he would –somehow- reach the Wrath, despite the latter's incredible power… and then he felt it. Burning pains in his heart, his nerves screaming in potent agony.
He glanced down, and saw both of his Lightsabers sticking out of his chest.
He dropped to his knees.
"It doesn't matter Sith… you can't win, there are too many of us… and even you cannot stop… what is to come…" Jensyn's corpse fell to the floor.
The Emperor's Wrath did not stop, did not offer any sign of respect towards the fallen. Instead, the Lightsabers lying on the floor leapt into the air, one shooting into the Wrath's hands, the offer attaching itself onto the interior of his robes.
Both blades ignited, and the Empire's Wrath re-joined the battle. The first thing he did was separate the Togruta Jedi's head from the rest of the body.
Revan's masked face was contorted in concentration. Power was oozing out of him in waves, his mind debating, for a fraction of a second, whether or not it was possible to unleash such expressions of potency without suffering physically altering changes.
In the end, he mused, the effects of the ritual on him were of no consequence. Even if he did succeed in slaying Vitiate, (an achievement he did not doubt himself capable of) the chances of him surviving his conflict with the Dark Lord were extremely limited. Should he remain alive, he would be in too weak a predicament to generate any resistance against the invading Republic or surviving Imperials.
In the event that the former found him, he would be taken into custody, only to be executed upon the knowledge that he had resurrected Vitiate –temporarily as it may be- was unveiled, regardless of whether or not he revealed that it had been he who had manufactured Dromund Kaas' fatal vulnerability, and thus been responsible for ending the Empire.
Should it be the latter who found him, he would be killed on sight.
The thought made Revan more than a little infuriated, indignant even, yet he was not worrying over his fate after the battle. As much as he had changed over the long, long years of his life, his mind warping to fit the predicament the Galaxy was, he retained enough of his original self, his true self, to know that his was a story that should have long since culminated.
Idly, Revan wondered what kind of state the Galaxy would be in if his tale had ceased those centuries before; maybe it would be safer, maybe it would be in even graver danger, or maybe it would have fallen- victimised by a faction that had somehow been foiled in the timeline.
Regardless, those thoughts were pointless. Dwelling on impossible scenarios and what may have been were irrelevant when compared to reality, and he could not afford to feel nostalgic when he was about to face the monster that had robbed him from his will… and his family.
His family. Bastila. Vaner.
Vitiate had stolen from him the chance to watch his son grow; had robbed him of a life spent with Bastila.
Like so many times previously, a surge of anger rose within him like a dreaded best, a monster which the very existence of gave Revan a power he had never experienced before it's conception.
The knowledge of when this beast was conceived was unknown to Revan, yet he estimated that the origin began when he died, his mind gaining a renewed focus, fuelled by vengeance, his power directed solely towards obliterating the one that had robbed him of the life he should have had.
Once more, Revan was forced back to reality, yet it was not he who did so. It was a change in the Force, a ripple in the still wind, a swirling, blazing invisible power that hung everywhere and nowhere at the same time.
Revan knew what this was.
Instantaneously, his Lightsabers stood ignited in his hands, one red and one purple, twirling their dazzling colours in the silent temple- a location which, even on a nexus such as Dromund Kaas' stature, radiated the Dark Side like an oozing wound.
Thoughts once more invaded his mind, images of his previous defeat at the Emperor's hands, as well as brief memories of him moving his blades so many times before.
The same motions. The same memories. But never the same man, no matter how much he might long to be so.
And at once Revan knew that it had not been his responsibility for experiencing recollections of his past, but the machinations of a being who's telepathic prowess was unrivalled throughout history. A savage grunt escaped him, leaving his mask in a mechanical, unnatural tone.
The stone, antiquated table upon which rested nothing but dust was rapidly breaking into millions of pieces; the walls themselves, ritualistic symbols adorning them in prehistoric patterns, seemed to be shaking, incapable of sustaining the presence of such awesome power.
The skin underneath Revan's mask began to feel damp, his uncut hair beginning to stick to his scalp under the scorching heat which he had grown so accustomed to; sweat, Revan recognised. It was inevitable, he had previously conceded, that when the confrontation was about to finally commence, that nervousness would infect him, attempting to poison his judgment and weakening any resolve he had gained in the centuries gone by.
Such fallacies were common to anyone, yet Revan would not, could not, allow his doubts to control him. He had never done so before, and he never would in the future- not when facing Vitiate, or whatever came after.
Cursing the increasingly uncomfortable clothing, Revan's hands tightened around his Lightsabers. Once, the soothing metal would have calmed him, yet his armoured gloves would not allow for such pleasantries, even with the crystals reaching out, yearning to grant him either condemnation or verification.
Revan did not know how the duel would begin; he only knew how it would end- how it must end.
Dimly, as if from a great distance, he heard mutterings and increasingly rapid breathing from behind him; Revanites, loyal to the core, tasked with guarding the entrance so as to deny outside interference. Of course they would have felt it, Revan realised; they were Force sensitive- it was inevitable for anyone even remotely attuned to the Force to feel the changes that Vitiate's return would bring.
Still, with them being so close and so unprepared… Revan did not want to consider what the future held for them. Yet their fates were, like his, irrelevant. That being, their bravery was commendable, be it born out of misplaced arrogance, blind faith, or refusal to accept defeat.
A voice that echoed with the stolen souls of more than Revan could ever recognise.
"You wanted my return… your arrogance knows no boundaries, Revan… You have allowed the scores of death to nourish me, and in doing so, I am awakened… And I bring with me… DEATH!"
An impossible purple light began in the centre of the expansive chamber, a whirlwind forming at the epicentre… and spreading, expanding like a virus. The violet light seemed to harden, to focus into a single beam that, in an act of supreme power, fired out into the sky with the Force of a God.
The roof was mere water in comparison- it could do nothing to halt the amount of pure darkness that was being channelled through it.
Revan's knees weakened, his muscles instantaneously tiring and his mind yearning for rest. He attempted to fight whatever was causing this, but it seemed as though his power and skill in the Force had been drained away utterly.
He fell, and his knees caused pain to be transmitted through his nerves as they crashed onto the stone beneath him, the extent multiplied by the omnipresent darkness infecting the Galaxy. His weapons were out of his hands, his palms on the floor as his heart pounded within his chest. Revan could feel his eyelids dropping, could feel blood spilling out of his mouth and trapping behind his mask, already sticking to his flesh.
He let out quickening gasps as he tried to stand, the beam continuing on its course- he could feel something, something happening in the Force, something around him; it seemed as though someone was whispering to him, but he could not hear over his own pained body.
It seemed as though he was being ripped out of life itself.
And then it was over.
Revan collapsed backwards, his body screaming in displeasure and every muscle in him crying out.
He reached up, and ripped the mask from his face in an almost desperate fashion. The Mandalorian mask was hurled to the floor, and Revan pulled of his gloves like a man possessed.
As soon as he felt the air sting his scarred hands, he pressed them against his face. For the first time in what seemed like a very long time, he felt his own skin- his own identity.
His heart rate slowed, his body coming back under his control. Revan took his hands away from his face, seeing splatters of blood on them as they were drawn away. He threw his head back, and felt his hood fall backwards. Combing his hands through his hair, he finally felt his pulse return to normal.
Instead of moving, he just stayed there, collapsed on the floor. He stayed there for a length of time that he could not count, just resting as he felt his power steadily return. The war veteran groaned as he moved his neck; he felt his bones crack, as if he had not moved them for years.
Carefully, he helped himself to his feet, constantly making sure to keep his balance- it felt as if it was being precariously held on a knife point, where a single gust of wind could topple it. Like his neck, Revan was aware of each of his bones cracking, aware of every individual muscle as it worked, pumped and transmitted their antiquated dissent at having to continue their duty three hundred years after their creation. At least, that was the way that Revan's suspiciously groggy mind translated the seemingly explanation-less state of his body.
As soon as he ascended to his feet, Revan glanced around the temple- the walls remained as they had before; in fact the only noticeable difference was that an extra layer of dust was covering the floor than before. Tilting his head, (and wincing at hearing a loud 'crack') Revan saw his mask staring at him. Even though it had only lay on the floor for a matter of minutes at maximum, dust had already settled upon it.
Bending down, Revan lifted the mask into the air, staring at it as if he was measuring it, as if he was seeing something no one else could possibly see. His face lacked expression, yet it was as if he had not laid eyes upon it for years. Absent-mindedly brushing of the dust, Revan glanced towards the ceiling; he was not surprised by the large hole in the roof, yet what shocked him was the sky; it was red as human blood.
The continuous lightning of Dromund Kaas was still looming within and shooting from the crimson clouds with a ferocious anger, yet it was as if it was muted; there was no roar of thunder to accompany the strike of lightning, the only sound in the air being Revan's own even breathing.
Revan spun around, his mask slipping into a concealed pocket in his robes, and his free hand cutting through the choking air; his Lightsabers came flying into it.
Noticing the warmth of one blade and the unwavering coldness of the other, Revan hooked the weapons upon his belt and marched forward at a brisk pace, only stopping at where the Revanites had been not ten minutes before.
Where should have been bodies, actual people, were nothing but piles of clothes upon the floor, the amount of dust greater in this location than any other in the Temple.
And Revan knew why.
Instead of walking, Revan sprinted into a run, not even noticing as the walls started passing in a blur, as was the extent of his enhanced speed.
Reaching out with the Force and tearing open the Temple door with a mastery and control that had avoided him in the previous hours, Revan's mind was a waterfall of cascading thoughts, each individually imperative to the overall process, awe-inspiring in their complexity and impossible to focus on individually. Plans considered themselves and compared themselves, theories regarded and discarded at a speed superior to even the most advanced alien cultures.
As soon as he sped through the door, Revan's soul almost shattered.
The planet radiated death- despair. He could feel the cries of millions as they had felt their deaths approach through the Force, he could feel the emptiness of the planet and the amount of Dark power that had infected it now like only one other in the Galaxy's history.
He was alone on this world now. Everyone was dead.
And it was all his fault.
