Epilogue
"Don't be nervous, it's just another mission," Bide thought, his attempt at reassurance doing little to quell his anxieties. The building before was incredibly daunting; a symbol of hope, order, and stability for most, but for him it was a reminder of his goal.
A year and six months to the day had passed since his encounter with the cultist, Jurn, on Coruscant. A year and six months since his real training with the aspiring Sith Lord, Ja'neel Fiiyal, had begun. It was more intense than he could ever have imagined, and traumatic enough that he'd never forget.
"Wrong! You just lost your left arm. How do you plan to survive the rest of the fight with only one arm?"
Ja'neel stood before him-bare except for cloth bottoms that reached his mid-thigh—still in his distinctive fighting stance, knees bent slightly, feet spread wide apart, with his body angled slightly to the right. Bide could see now why the Jedi had named the seventh form that of Ferocity—perhaps they had a vision of this moment, of a ruthless, ferocious Zabrak effortlessly overwhelming his apprentice.
Luckily for Bide, Ja'neel forbid the use of real lightsabers in training sessions—or any type of lightsaber, for that matter. Instead, he made use of one of the more creative Sith training weapons: a firm durasteel rod, covered from the end of the grip to the rounded tip in the microscopic barbs of the pelko bug. A single touch to exposed skin would leave the adjoining limb numb and useless for hours afterwards. Even without the poisonous barbs, however, Bide reminded himself that they were still essentially beating one another with metal rods.
The Sith apprentice's left arm hung uselessly at his side, the surprisingly light metal rod now grasped tightly in his right hand.
"Lightsaber combat is not about guessing where and when your opponent will strike next. Your Force awareness is absolutely key—it needs to be flawless for you to be an effective swordsman. Once your Force awareness heightened, you'll find that you fall into a rhythm—you don't feel yourself moving to block or parry your opponents attacks, but you know that your blade will be where it needs to be. You've probably felt this before, at least for a short period of time. You must be able to transition into this state at any moment."
Bide nodded obediently. He'd heard this before, but it was different in training. When his life was in danger on Coruscant, he'd entered this state of mind: had was the perfect warrior, unstoppable. It was like his opponents were moving in slow motion. But then he was stopped. It was a fleeting moment, that feeling of invincibility, but it had happened. He just wasn't sure how to tap into it again.
And then it hit him—quite literally, in fact. The barb-covered metal rod smashed into Bide's left cheek, sending him stumbling, struggling to maintain consciousness. Blood welled up in his mouth and he was sure that his jaw was broken. He couldn't turn his head. But before he could take time to assess his injuries, he felt a pressing sense of danger in the back of his mind. He swung his right arm around to his back and a loud clang resounded as it made contact with his master's weapon. Bide spun around now, his above-neck paralysis causing his head to remain stuck looking slightly to the right, and faced Ja'neel.
"Dire situations bring out abilities we would otherwise not have known we possessed," Ja'neel mused. He pushed forward with a series of attacks, testing Bide's burgeoning abilities, a pleased smile forming on his face as his apprentice blocked each one with apparent ease. "Can you feel that, Bide? Hold onto the feeling that you have now—the feeling of keen awareness, of oneness with your surroundings. Hold onto it, for without it you will not survive long enough to take the mantle of the Sith from me."
Bide's hand traced the scar on his left cheek, a memento of that day. It was less prominent than it was in the first few months following that day, but he knew it would never go away; he didn't want it to. He took solace in knowing that all his pain had not been in vain; Ja'neel had made sure of that. His master, eccentric as he may appear to be, is, if nothing else, efficient: everything he does has an its purpose.
As Bide reached the last of the steps leading up to the Jedi Temple, he felt his fears and anxieties wither away. He was strong. He was ready. He was a Sith.
The Gate Master, flanked by a pair of armor-clad Jedi Brutes, and addressed him.
"Greetings. I am Jedi Master Jokk Tanj," began the Iktotchi, his gleaming hilt clearly visible on his belt. The pink-skinned Jedi stood casually before Bide, the thumbs of his giant looped around his proportionally large belt, his unusually large horns extended down past his chest, concluding in a slight curve. "What can I do for you, young man?"
Bide glanced at the three Jedi before clearing his throat, flashing the most boyish grin he could muster, and saying, "Hello, my name is Bide Shriek. I'm here to join the Jedi Order."
