Chapter 4: Rise of a Darth
Rathios returned to Dromund Kaas with unexpected ease. The Imperials welcomed him with frankly refreshing respect for what he was, and who he was. He ordered the ship stripped for design knowledge, and told them to disseminate it through the Empire, if useful. The parts would go to the military. Once they'd been processed, they proceeded on to Kaas City. Someone had obviously seen his return coming, but as he strode into his family home, he finally had an inkling as to who. It was not his father.
He found his dear old dad in their family home, completely unaware that his first son had survived the long century, and returned. As Rathios surveyed the scene in the family house's kitchen, he was sure that it was his father. He looked a little older, slightly past his prime after a hundred years, but still the same man. He had a much younger wife of course, Red Sith, and several children. From the number of children, Rathios knew then, that he had taken several wives.
"Al-" His father's sentence was cut off as Rathios raised a clawed hand, and the older Sith choked, struggling to break it. The look of sheer surprise, and then anger on the struggling Sith Lord's face was almost worth waiting a century to see. Almost.
He had almost spoken the Sith's old name, but now, that naïve boy was dead. Darth Rathios was all that remained. The voices of the old Sith spirits he had devoured rose now from deep within him. They often provided small insights to history or certain things he did not understand, and had been with him the longest, since the first day he'd spent in that hell. They were more like whispers, easily ignored, but useful.
He had long since figured out how to absorb someone's living Force without having their personality hang around too strongly, but these he tolerated. They fed his rage now, urging him to kill, to override his new indifference, but no, he thought, not like this. If he was going to exact a century's worth of revenge, he would savor every second. He could only kill his father once, after all.
"I am Rathios now…" He spoke in a charismatic baritone, a far cry from the low hiss he had been stuck with on Malachor, and indeed it matched his form. He was tall, though not overly so, and he had a fair amount of muscle, but was not bursting with it. He was thinner than his father, but then, he was thinner than most.
More than once, Nar Shaddaa thugs had tried to attack him because of his thinner, almost unthreatening form…and they had fallen. As his father would. No more would he be underestimated.
"Right…" his father's voice whispered hoarsely, "Rathios…. Of course."
Rathios let his choke hold fade, but kept the iron ring of Force around his father's neck as he walked past him, further into their apartment. The young Sith walked down the main hall, and pushed open the doors to the large, centermost training area. He dragged his father along with him, making the mighty Sith slide along the floor like a K'lor'slug.
"We duel." He snarled, jumping into the air, and landing in a three-point stance on the sparring floor. Standing, a dark red and black saber crackled to life in his hand, sparking with energy. "Draw your sword…I challenge you for the right of the Darth title. There can be only one. He who wins this duel will win your power…your influence…" Rathios' eyes darted to the attractive forms of his younger wives, who had followed the two in. "Your wives…"
His father gasped, now free of the hold, and took off his dark, flowing garments, letting them drop to the floor. "Fine…" He sighed, but from the look in his eye, both he and Rathios knew what was about to happen. There was to be a new Sith Lord in this ancient house. A century old vengeance finally satisfied. It was, in essence, the kind of combat that Sith lived for…and often what they died for as well.
Rathios decided to toy with his father as his red blade met the combination of black and red that his own Lightsaber now had. It was a running color scheme with him, and he rather liked it. Sinya meanwhile, cheered from the balcony above the sparring area, cackling with mad glee. The other women eyed her with distaste, drawing their offspring closer to them, before having their eyes drawn back to the battle by the combatant's latest lock.
Rathios knew exactly how strong his father was. Nothing was secret anymore. He was learning things from his father's surface thoughts that he had long wondered about, but to his father, his 'dead' son was an unreadable void, barely detectable in the Force. He finally locked eyes with the one being he still had the desire to hate as their sabers hissed together. This produced a grin from his father.
"Your fear betrays you, son…" Bravado, and lies, as per usual. Rathios had projected no fear, nor did he feel any. He was furious, and his cold anger began to grow every time their blades locked together in a sparking hiss of plasma. His father struck fast and hard, but the patient would-be Darth managed to meet each strike until they locked once again, causing the plasma blades to hiss and screech as they pushed against each other.
Still using one hand, and slightly curious, he let the stronger form of his father push his blade towards him. His skin sizzled as the edge of his new blade seared his cheek, but the long-numbed sorcerer was used to that. His father saw it as a sign of impending victory though, and he radiated the kind of confidence that comes from having power, and knowing how to crush an enemy with it. "You never could utilize your emotions. You're a failure as a Sith."
That, he decided, was his moment. His anger surged forth for the first time since Ilum, surprising the Darth with its cold, devouring, but focused potency. He raised a clawed hand, and sent his hated father against the nearest wall, pinning him to it. The lights dimmed in the face of the Darth's power, and all went shades of red and black as Rathios glared at the man who had ruined his life, but led him to power. Inadvertently of course…but power all the same.
"So…you did…learn…after all…" The older Sith spoke strained words, and the young Darth let his Lightsaber float in the air, he lifted his father's via the Force as well, and re-ignited it. The Force surged as he drew not just from Ilum, but Dromund Kaas as well, for the Dark Side was quite strong on this planet. Perhaps the same way Malachor had been, once upon a time.
Red-black lightning sparked over his body. His eyes radiated wavy traces of red-tinged power, and darkness emanated off his entire form. The shadows seemed to swirl and grow around his feet as they manifested in reality at his whim. His free hand then shot lightning into his father's large body, and he relished the screams of pain and genuine terror he drew from a fully realized Sith Lord.
He heard the shocked gasps from the women and children, even Sinya, on the balcony. Truly, his power was frightening, even to Sith. The man he'd considered his target for over a hundred years writhed in said agony for over a minute as, one by one, the guided electricity shut down his organs. His skeleton became visible several times, such was the power of the charge running through him.
Finally, the barrage of red and black lightning ended, and the form of the older Sith fell to a crumpled, smoking heap on the floor. Being fried to the very cell-structure of one's nerves caused, as Rathios had found out with disgust, a temporary but total loss of control over one's bowels. The man who'd once controlled his destiny now lay on hands and knees in a puddle of his own filth, with various other foul smells emanating from his soon-to-be corpse.
Summoning both sabers to his hands, Rathios stood triumphant over his father. "Raise your head, scum. I will be the last thing you see."
Raising his head, the older Red Sith crawled into a kneeling position, and a smile slowly crept across his face, despite the humiliation. "I raised you…well. You are…what you were always…meant to be." There was a soft hiss as the two blades severed his neck, and he fell to the floor with a soft thump, lifeless.
With no pretenses now, Rathios floated effortlessly up to the balcony, and eyed his new toys. He no longer had to hide his power, and he relished it. He was a Darth. The leader of his house. And now, he needed heirs. There were three women in all, each beautiful, dark red, and definitely Kaasian. Ziost Sith had an entirely different bearing.
They would do for pleasure, but for breeding, he needed a proper woman. "Hello there…" he gave a genuine smile that came off as depraved. Only one of them did not flinch. His eyes darted to her. She understood. Maybe there was something to salvage here. Then, his eyes slid southward, to their offspring. His siblings. His creepy smile vanished, replaced by a genuine look of softness he had not expressed in over a century. The children stared at him with large, red eyes.
"Do not fear brothers…sister. I will not harm you. On my honor as a Darth, your well-being is something I am invested in, and as long as you do not betray me, there is no reason for us to quarrel." A sigh flowed from their mothers. "You cannot however, be recognized officially as part of this family. You will be classified as servants, you will go into the galaxy, and do my bidding. When you're of age. Your real training will begin tomorrow." His eyes darted to the oldest boy. "You however, will be heading to the Ziost Academy." His mother clutched his shoulders tight. "You have the potential to be Sith. Prove yourself worthy, and I will make you my apprentice. I will show you techniques only our family can learn. Fail…and you will die."
Rathios stared the boy's mother down as he stood again. She had a right to be afraid. The boy was sensitive true, and there was potential, but it was buried. Like Rathios' had been. Instead of being subjected to Malachor however, he would go to the Sith Academy, which was every bit as harsh, but nowhere near as empowering.
Sinya whispered something into his ear, questioning how they were going to be killed, and even suggesting several methods of torture before they perished in a similar 'spectacle' to his father. "Oh no, no my dear Sinya. We do not kill Sith. Not without good reason, anyways. Our blood is rare enough as is. These women will pleasure our guests, and servants who perform well. Very few men ever get to lie with a true Sith. They will do well as entertainment."
The one on the right scoffed. "My family will never allow yo-"
"Your family," he interrupted, "Will obey me as well. You will become an entertainer of the highest class, a reminder of the superiority of Ziost, and a stain on their name for associating and breeding with a Lord who was weak."
The other two said nothing, resigning themselves to their fate. Such was the way of politics in the Empire, but Rathios had understood the game long ago. He would be challenged, of course, but he welcomed their challenges. They would be to the death, and he would absorb them as he had done so many others, save his father. Skilled as he was, he did not want to chance hearing that man's voice echoing in his head too. His death had been natural, if humiliating.
With that out of the way, the new Darth strode from the hall, and found the household guard. As one, they affirmed their loyalty to him, provided they continued to be paid. He assured they would be, as his family had housed theirs for at least seven generations, a fact he saw they were glad he was aware of. Once he'd sufficiently earned as much of their trust as he was likely to gain on day one, he had them take care of his father's corpse, while he ascended to his new quarters, and examined his new holdings that would, with time, become his base of power.
Something strange happens when the balance of power shifts suddenly in an established society. People get nervous, jumpy, irritated, a low buzz fills the very air itself. This was what happened to Kaas City when one of the highest ranking Sith Lords residing there was murdered in cold blood, and replaced by his son.
Now usually, such things are common with Sith, but only when the elder is very old and the successor is very young. First, Rathios rid himself of any evidence of his old life while he ordered Sinya to scout out the local political scene. Old holovids of his early years, family portraits of himself as a baby, his father, and long dead mother. All of it went into what he aptly named the 'burning pile', and he tossed each of these ties to a dead Sith away without so much as a glance.
He found the old droid he'd once sparred against, and become rather attached to, abandoned in the storage area within their hangar, and his rage bubbled at seeing his old friend in such a state. Still, thoroughness had always helped him in the past, and he removed the seemingly totaled droid's memory of his true name. Oddly enough, his brain was intact, but…off. He made a note to fix him later, and left him on the charging station in the storage compartment of his father's Phantom class starship. It would make re-activating and repairing him easier.
He burned the rest of his history away, and quietly directed Imperial Intelligence to remove any physical record of Alerevan Mehl'an. Within a few hours, his past was sufficiently eradicated. Most if not all those who knew him when he was younger had died in the long century he'd been away, and he had never been renowned enough to garner attention. But such is expected in an Empire full of Sith.
Next, he had acquired, by no small amount of his father's credits, a mantle of Beskar, Mandalorian Iron, to wear as a pair of shoulder plates in the style of the highest ranked Sith on Ziost, or rather, the style they wore centuries ago. He had learned much of Mandalorians from the century spent devouring them on Malachor. Their language, their smithing practices, and their culture.
He appreciated their simple warrior ways, even if compared to his own kind they were rather…primitive. He could not fault them for that however, as his race had also once worshiped war. It was this knowledge of custom and language, and only this, that enabled him to even hire a Mandalorian smith, let alone a good one. In those days, they were not on the friendliest of terms with Imperials, especially Force users, but credits have a way of mending all sorts of bridges, and he now had no shortage of those. It was nice being nobility again.
Next, he had a pair of similarly forged gauntlets made, worthy of a Darth. They would serve to protect his hands and arms, as they extended to the elbow, and were similarly black and red. Losing a hand or arm would severely weaken the kind of power he could control, and while he assumed regrowing one was an option, he didn't want to try until he was a bit wiser, and more caught up on the basics of anatomy. Malachor had not possessed anything like that, even though it would've helped with healing techniques.
Once his armor was finished, all he needed was a new Lightsaber casing. His was all but falling apart after the intense battle it had been through, and he had known it wouldn't hold up long. He went to the Forge in the very hall he had slain his father in, the same Forge that had created his family's Lightsabers since the Sith started using them again. But he would not use a synthetic crystal this time, for they were often flawed and unstable. Not to mention, weak.
He had tried empowering one the way he had the crystal from the cave on Ilum, but it had shattered as he poured the Force into it. His future apprentices would need real crystals as well. He and Sinya crafted new cases, once more utilizing a Mandalorian to provide them with the legendary Beskar that was all but impervious to lightsaber strikes. His own finished hilt was curved once again, but structured in such a way that it amplified and focused the plasma to a sharp point, rather than a conical one, that nearly every other saber had. His blade had a sharp menace to it, and he knew it would serve him well.
Once his attire and name were taken care of, Sinya returned to him with the information on those he would need to subjugate, to keep his new status. The Lords of Kaas, the local council of Dark Lords who ruled the city, and who were, short of the Dark Council itself, seen as the strongest Sith in the Empire, were down a member. This was discovered when city reporters found the dead body of one such prominent Sith Lord hanging from the front of his own home by shackles, nude, covered in excrement, and with his head severed from his body, which was found hanging just above it with a separate chain.
'The Force shall set us free' had been burned into the building by a Lightsaber, just above his severed head. The council had met not long after, to discuss these troubling events and assuage their citizens. Publicly. It was the perfect stage for Rathios, and he considered the idea of a real, living audience an exciting one. He found getting in to be easier than he thought. As it turned out, common people in the Empire were just as malleable as those on Nar Shadaa. Even more so when they learned he was Sith. Many did not even need to be influenced, so great was their terror, mixed with respect, and the desire to not die gruesomely. It was nice having sheep that understood what awaited them if they disobeyed him.
He also noticed that their devotion to the Emperor was similar in nature to the thoughts he planted in their minds. He began to wonder if the same had been done to him, but forgot it soon after. He had more important things to worry about than faint traces of mind control.
He had hidden himself, both from sight and the Force temporarily, as he'd marched up to his father's empty seat on the council, which had been conveniently in the middle. Thus, in the middle of the Lord's assuaging of fear, a rather sinister figure appeared before all of them, seemingly out of nowhere.
Silence reigned, as he stood, and looked into the closest hovering camera. "I am Darth Rathios. I am the one who murdered your former council member. As his firstborn son, his titles and possessions are now mine to claim. Thus, as my first act on this council, I am striking his name from the record. Let any who speak it be met with swift and severe punishment." He was, of course, met with the arrogant squabbles of protest that one would expect from old, fat Sith in power. Sith who were sure of themselves.
He realized then that a demonstration was in order. They loudly doubted his claim to being a Darth, and as was tradition, they would challenge his power. He welcomed it. Few things made his blood boil anymore, but such an ancient rite of their shared culture, for they were all Red Sith like he was, filled him with a feeling he could not accurately describe.
"I am a Darth in the truest sense of the word…test my worthiness, if you think you've the stomach for it…" his words cut through their bickering. Without even raising a hand, each of the council members began to float into the air by their necks, only choking slightly. The sight was disturbing to say the least, but it made the message clear. He looked back at the camera, and smirked. "Let those who dispute my title challenge me for it, as real Sith are meant to. Otherwise…you will all obey me."
He let the council members drop, and grinned at the cameras, lifting his new hood just enough so they could catch the unsettling stare of his eyes. He heard the snap-hiss of a lightsaber behind him, and turned with the appropriate amount of menacing slowness. One of the city council members was challenging him, taking a stance. He drew his new curved saber with a Force pull, and it ignited with a smooth hum that made his spine tingle. He loved this new blade. The curved handle felt perfect in his grip. Never again would he use a saberstaff. Having one hand free to use the Force was necessary now.
He bowed, as was traditional in a duel for power, and did not receive one in return. That, more than anything, ignited his cold fury, though the only sign of it was his narrowed eyes. The councilor leapt at him, but a clawed hand went up, stopping him in mid-air. The older Sith was forced back to the floor.
"Now now, we bow when we duel, in my culture. Clearly Ziost has been lax in your education for the last century…I will turn this new capital into a proper home for the Sith. And I start, by ridding it of the vermin." The councilor was forced into a bowing position, and then released. He was spitting with incoherent fury once he'd been Force-handled, like a child, and then released.
He leapt again, shouting furiously, but Rathios moved as well, raising his blade just high enough to require little more than a flick of his wrist for what he had in mind. In one motion, he beheaded the council member without so much as singing his new clothes, and smirked. He turned to the other members, who had since drawn their own Lightsabers. The cameras kept rolling the whole time, whether by way of Rathios' mind tricks or for the continued high drama of the Sith, no one knew.
The hand raised again, and dark red lightning shot from it, curling around their blades with intelligent guidance, and hitting each with accuracy that truly frightened them. But it was not enough to burn them to ash, nor even to increase their own power by taking it in, as he did with the fading life of the lord he had just bisected. It forced them to their knees, and with that, Rathios knew he had established his dominance.
One by one, their sabers deactivated, and they knelt to their new Lord. Rathios turned back to the camera then, and raised a crackling fist. "For the Emperor." The broadcast went blank then, and left the city mostly in silence. The vast majority of people needed a few moments to process what they'd seen. It was like something out of the old Sith legends, for that was how Rathios had planned it. He knew the rumors would begin to float now, about who he was, how he'd become so powerful. He'd let them grow more and more fantastical, and had Sinya plant more than enough to keep any rivals far from anything resembling the truth. He knew the tales would draw the truly arrogant Lords to him first, and they in turn, would make him stronger.
His ascension to self-proclaimed Darth status, followed immediately by a live demonstration of his power on what turned out to be the eve of the Imperial new year, erupted like wildfire over the Imperial HoloNet. From Ziost to Dromund Kaas, and every hidden corner in between, the news centered around this brazen and brutal rise to power. As he expected, those with an ego and a desire to grab a Darth title for themselves on the Sith Empire's capital world flocked to his home, for in those days Darths were few in number, and rarely not on the Dark Council.
Anyone who claimed the title was, by Sith law, required to defend it. Anyone who slayed the one claiming it in 'honorable' combat would in turn gain it for themselves. More than once a Dark Council member had had to show up to kill the new 'Darth' at the end of a string of murders, and claim the title for himself, effectively removing it from circulation, and stopping the bloodshed. Not many were willing to contend with the Council, but Rathios did not fear them. That is why when a member of the Council announced himself at the entrance to his abode, Rathios welcomed him in.
When he saw who stood at his door, he sighed inwardly in relief. Darth Vowrawn, a Pureblood who had both survived being on the Dark Council for decades, and always appreciated the games Sith played with succession, would surely understand the situation. Rathios paid him every courtesy, as they took a seat in the lounge, with Sinya acting as the loyal and quiet bartender. Her excitement was infectious, and distracting, but Rathios kept his attention on Vowrawn. He wasn't the most powerful member of the Council, but it did not pay to underestimate a Sith who had held the title longer than most.
"So…" the other Pureblood's tone lingered into a brief, but awkward silence as he looked Rathios over, "You are the new 'Darth' of Dromund Kaas, are you?" Rathios only nodded as the tension in the room escalated quickly under the Dark Council member's harsh tone. "Such titles are only ever given to those on the Dark Council, young…Rathios. By taking such a title, you all but state your intent to become a member." The younger Sith began to respond, but was cut off. "Becoming a member of the Dark Council is not as simple as murdering another councilor… though if you could manage that, you would admittedly impress quite a few of us. The privilege is earned by contributing to our Empire as a whole, not given because one is good at killing. More than a few have tried to ascend through murder. Only to find the rest of us all too willing to end them once they arrived in our chambers."
"My Lord…" Rathios began in the same charismatic tone he always used these days, "My intent is not to climb onto the Council. Not yet, anyways. You knew my father, and you knew his rank. I merely claimed it for my own, and under my guidance, Kaas City will flourish. The Emperor's plans to invade the Republic will no longer be put off by useless bickering. I will force this city of ours to comply, by my own hand, and the Council's leave."
The tension leaked from the room as the older Sith relaxed visibly. "Is that so? Interesting. I admit I find it hard to know if you speak truthfully…your emotions are almost a void…very well. We shall see how well you do. The job is yours, until you die, or I find someone better. Hand me your sword, and kneel." Sinya started, but calmed down with a glare from her master as Rathios' blade flew into the hands of the Dark Councilor.
Vowrawn ignited it, and inhaled sharply. "Marvelous…the Holovids truly do not do these colors justice." He coughed clearing his throat as Rathios knelt, and lowered his head. He could be easily beheaded here, and no amount of Force meditation would save him from that. Vowrawn was a fellow Sith however, and a Pureblood. Rathios had offered to manage the endless bureaucracy of the capital, and thus keep it from being piled onto the Council's lap. He hoped that would be enough to spare his existence, as he had no doubt his father hadn't done actual work for at least a century.
He'd seen all the records. He hadn't been lying when he'd spoken. Sinya had remarked at the sheer disorganized state of the city's affairs, and after Rathios muttered that he would deal with them in time, he'd felt an emanation of what could only have been approval from an all too familiar, and unnervingly powerful, mind. It seemed Vitiate had agreed with his plan as well, though apparently the Emperor was too busy for a chat. Seeing the amount of paperwork a single planet produced for but one councilor, he started to understand what leading an Empire must bring to Vitiate's lap daily. Even with the Dark Council, some things, one could only trust oneself to accomplish.
He held his breath as his own blade lightly sparked against the Mandalorian iron of his epaulets as Vowrawn touched it against both shoulders, eliciting another look of surprise from the councilor. "By the will of the Emperor…by the right of the Council…I give you command of Kaas City's resources to use and create the armada we will need to crush the Jedi and the Republic. You have claimed the right to govern over our Empire's newest capital planet, a right your father held before you. Rise…Darth Rathios."
The blade went out, and Rathios suppressed a grin. He had his foothold…now all he needed was patience. He pulled his saber from Vowrawn's hand into his own, and hooked it onto his belt. "I will not fail the council, my Lord." He bowed deep as the other Sith gave a nod of approval, and promptly left the domicile.
Exhaling hard, Rathios' grin manifested on his cold features as Sinya's arms appeared around his neck. "Why didn't you end him, master?" Her words were innocent, seductive, and genuinely curious against his ear, and for the first time since coming home, he allowed his emotions regarding exactly what he thought of her physical attributes to resurface, enough for her burgeoning talents to sense. Her excitement doubled, and she continued, "He could have fed your power immensely…you could've taken over the entire Dark Council…"
Rathios turned, still grinning, and amused at the swirl of emotions in his apprentice. Arousal, curiosity, unnerving fear at her master's grin, it was nice to be able to enjoy them again, somewhat. Each devoured rival had slowly filled the void left from Ilum, and thankfully, the trauma of that event had faded in the weeks that followed his public proclamation. Now that his position was secure, he could risk his ambitions being sensed, even by Vowrawn. "Vowrawn will be a useful tool to us later, apprentice. Besides, he wasn't that powerful. Anything I could get from him, I've already taken from the fools who came to challenge me. I wouldn't want to face two of him alone in an alleyway though…"
She rolled her yellow-tinged eyes. "Or in the Dark Council chamber, I imagine...if they ever bring you there, they'll probably kill you, once they realize what they've invited into their midst."
He flexed his hand, sending her flying into one of the softer benches of the lounge, and attempted to make his grin slightly less disturbing. He held her against the couch as she struggled and squirmed against his hold. "First, I need a power base…I will build it here, and then I will have you help me to expand it."
She made a comment about expanding other things, which elicited a chuckle as he stood before her and rolled his wrist moving her lower body into a position of easier access, leaving her all but floating upside-down on the bench. "Then, I'll join the Council…and eventually control it. Not openly, of course…that will just paint a target on my head. Subtly."
"Shut up…" she hissed, grinning as the blood rushed to her lekku. He indulged her, once more cementing her loyalty, which took several hours longer than he presumed it would. Not that that was a bad thing. He rose silently through use of the Force once he felt her mind was truly asleep, and moved through his newly reclaimed abode, searching inch by inch for any caches of valuable artifacts or knowledge his father would've kept hidden. Every Sith Lord worth their Lightsaber had such holes in their homes, close to where they usually resided. Rathios planned to find and use them to his advantage, to take over his father's power base, and truly start his own.