Note: More being sick, taking care of other sick people, and funerals. My grandfather this time. A war vet. It was his time, as we have been expecting his passing for some time as old as he was.

Also my writing computer broke. So yeah... been fixing that.

Episode 7 - A Spark of Hope Part 3

-Varus/Starkiller-

"You know, the view is quite nice." Squirt remarks on the comm in my ear.

Falcon turns to 'look' at me, prompting me to grin. "Ha. Ha." He mocks. "Let's all make fun of the blind guy."

"Oh, did Mr. Future-Sight not see that coming?"

Falcon groans. I continue grinning. That's my niece! Falcon says, "She learned well from you."

"Wha?!" I ask, defensively. "Are you implying I would be a poor role model for my niece? Look, if she is driving you crazy, just tell her to get out of your sight."

Squirt bursts out laughing and Falcon walks away from me, muttering about how I need to grow up. Pft! Yeah, right. My philosophy about growing up is that you only need to know when to pretend to be an adult. Granted, there are serious times and things to be handled with maturity, but picking on an old friend with my niece? Hell no. I'm the awful uncle who teaches my niece every bad word I know, gets her drunk the first time, gets her a temporary tattoo, lets her fly as fast as she wants without a license, and helps her stalk her crushes before handing her off to her father with both of us having the same wide innocent grin. I actually did one of those, told Koj so, and left him in the dark as to which one. Speaking of which...

"Hey Squirt," I start. "How you wanna give the news to your father that you shot me?"

"Ohhh... Hm. Don't know. Haven't thought about it." She replies. She thinks about it a moment. "How about simply 'she shot me.'"

"Three minutes." Falcon prompts in.

"What? You mean no context, no explanation, no nothin'?..." I chuckle. "I like it!"

"Varus, serious up."

"Okay." I reply. I reach up and clamp the helmet down around my face, fully enclosing me into an air-pressurized armor. I breathe in and out. All chatter ends. I look out the window and see the planet below. Squirt is right, the planet is quite beautiful. The capital of the Eternal Empire was fashioned to be the opposite of the capital of the Sith Empire. For all of the Sith's darkness, sharp edges, and horrible weather, the Eternal Empire is bright, softened edges laced in gold and polished stone and silver, and has ever endearingly-good weather. Amazing both were fashioned by the craziest god-complex ever born.

"Two minutes."

Behind me, Falon's squad of soldiers latches a belt onto the above ledge, and check their gear for the millionth time.

"One minute. Varus grab the guy on your left!"

I raise an eyebrow, but do as he says. A moment barely passes before the shuttle shakes violently and a hole rips itself out under us. All of us manage to stay in our seat, even as the shuttle shakes and air rushes out. The guy on my left suddenly falls as his stand is damaged, but my grip on him keeps him from falling. He nearly pulls me out of my stand in the process, and it takes calling on the Force to keep us from being sucked out.

"Damn you're heavy!" I bark.

"Thirty seconds!"

The shuttle shakes more, a platform appears under us. With my grip still loosening, I take a chance and drop him as the platform comes closer. Laser bolts fly in every direction, and I pray he makes it okay. A second platform appears under us.

"GO!" Falcon barks. He jumps.

The rest of us jump in after. The shuttle carrying us hovers briefly before flying up and away. In the distance in every direction, as well as above, fighters and bombers and assault craft enter combat in scattered dog fights. Rockets fly down ahead of us onto the orbital station. The platform quickly rises up to meet us, and I plant my feet as I land. The powersuit absorbs the impact. It squeaks painfully. A turret turns to aim at us. I reach out with the Force and crush the barrel of the gun. Barely a second later the whole thing explodes.

So far as it goes, Scourge's rebellion is not doing half-bad against the Eternal Empire. We don't have long before reinforcements arrive, though. They aren't happy about a surprise attack on Valkorian's palace. It took some time, but Scourge was able to rally his allies to attack Valkorian's second home. Now there is just the matter of getting in.

In response to our presence on the landing pad, line after line of humanoid-sized battle droids come out of the walls like living statues, the countless servants prove themselves to also be elite guards, turrets appear out of random places, and ships fly overhead dropping reinforcements around us or raining missles and laser fire upon us. Most of the chaos is subdued by the Sith rebel's temporary air superiority, and more reinforcements on our side are shuttled onto the various landing pads.

The air is so thick with plasma bolt fire, fire, and bombs exploding, that none of us dare show ourselves from the small cover we have found.

"We have to secure the elevator!" Someone yells unnecessarily.

Without so much as looking, Falcon grabs a missile about to land on us with the Force and throws it at the thickest area of defenders. "Show off." Squirt whispers into the mic.

A part of the platform opens, and up comes a tank. Most of the laser fire halts, as the tank is positioned between us. It turns its cannon toward us. We collapse once more into cover. It fires, and the shot goes over our heads into the metal just beyond. The platform starts to shake.

"We can't stay here. The platform won't last under this bombardment." Falcon says.

"Then time for us to do what we do best. Squirt, with me." I reply. I crawl to the otherside of the pile of boxes and crates. Squirt is not far behind. We reach the edge of the platform.

"What's the plan?" She asks. Rather than answer, I pull string from her belt, latch her onto the platform on a beam, and with her looking at my questioningly, I kick her off. She screams, I laugh, its a good day. Normally I would ignite lightning with my hands, but that would destroy the gloves and we are in high-orbit. Holes are a bad idea. Already small bits of shrapnel are threatening to tear through the outermost armor at points. So, rather, I ignite my dual lightsabers and fall down, dragging my lightsabers through the side. Air rushes out of the palace where I form a tear, threatening to push me off into a full aerial drop. I quickly reach a point where I can plant my boots down on a barely distinguishable ledge jutting out, and I stop.

"You're a dick! What was that for?!" Squirt yells. Behind me, she is being tossed in the wind. She hits the side of the palace. She desperately reaches for something to hold onto, not that she is in danger of falling, mind you. She bounces instead. I laugh again.

"That, Squirt, was for shooting me. Just because I'm proud doesn't mean I can't be vindictive. I'm not supposed to be a proper parent like your father." I reply. "Now grab on."

"Grab on what?!"

"When you hit the side, place your hand on the side and will in the Force to hold on. Come on. This is a teaching moment." I start moving towards the left. "And hurry up."

I hear her growl in my ear. Despite my antics, time really is ticking. I'm not going to baby her. I add, "Squirt, if I didn't think you could do it, I wouldn't have brought you."

She bounces again, but the next time she lands, she does as I said. She slaps the surface of the metal, and I sense in the Force that she has stuck herself to the side and planted her feet on the same ledge. "Good, now get over here." At my bidding, she starts inching her way over towards me. I am already cutting a hole through the wall with my lightsaber. I form a complete circle, but just before the circle is made, a rush of air snaps it out, nearly smacking Squirt in the face, before being ripped off into space. "Get in."

Squirt crawls in, I cut the cord on her belt, and crawl in after her. With the small area free of air to throw us out, we don't have to worry. I hand Squirt a lightsaber. "Okay, now cut a hole about here. We can access the elevator the tank is on." Squirt is hesitant about using my lightsaber, but shouts in the comm from above spurr her on. She places it against the metal, ignites it, and after flinching briefly as the metal sparks and metals on contact, starts to cut a hole. A decent cut is made, and a Force-push later, opens enough for me to crawl in. "Good, now stay here."

I crawl in like a spider. Its a massive hole beneath me, and barely anything to hold onto. Above me is the top of the elevator platform, and a sudden shaking and 'boom' tells me the tank is still there. The entire service elevator is held up by a pole. Far below is more floors.

"Okay, Squirt, we are going to improvise. Get in here." At my word, she crawls in after me. I steady myself with the Force, so I am standing sideways. I grab her, throw her onto my back, and leap onto the center pole. I manage to get a grip.

"What do you have in mind?" She asks.

"You might want to hold on tight." I answer. I close my eyes. I need to see as a Miraluka for this.

I ignite lightning through all ten of my fingers, instantly tearing into the pole and shredding my gloves. My grip disappears, we both fall down the pole, and as we descend, I tear the pole into ribbons. Squirt screams in my ear, a metallic crunching above me tells me the platform and tank collapse in. With my Miraluka sight I see a floor below. I kick off of the pole and we land rather roughly, but not bad all things considered. The tank and elevator lift collapses further down the hole towards whereever there is a bottom. There has to be a bottom at some point, because about fifteen seconds later I hear an explosion below.

Squirt pants beside me. "So, was THAT the plan?"

"When did I say I had a plan?" No one is around. I hear the stomping as men and women rush through nearby passages, but this immediate area is empty. Everyone is probably rushing to the front, or away.

I groan, rise, and stand. I am starting to get too old for this. I am still in my prime, but as hard as I push myself, it's a wonder I haven't aged my body by a couple decades

Ropes land nearby. The soldiers on my side, a mixture of the Mandalorian squad and Sith, propel down to my floor. Falcon is among the last.

"Watch the doors. You probably tripped a dozen alarms doing that." Falcon orders. "What floor are we on?"

"The sign says... 'fourteen'." One of the Sith answer. I can't read Infinite Empire text, but they can.

"Then we still have another two floors to go," Falcon sighs. "And from what I can see... the floor is too thick for light-sabers. What do you think, Varus?"

I close my eyes, rely on my Miraluka sight, and peer down. I see the floor beneath us, but he is right. The flooring beneath our feet is at least several meters thick. Lightsabers are can cut through thinner things, as they are long, but sabers are not wide enough to do much good on something solid that is several times thicker than they are long. We don't need something with surgical precision, we need a bulldozer.

"Of course, we take precaution against lightsabers." An ally Sith says sarcastically.

"Makes sense," I answer. "A society with sanctioned Force-users wielding lightsabers, there would be security measures in place for rogues. Pity the Republic rarely bothered with it."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

The Sith scoff. "So we fight our way down."

"Not so." I smile. I reach over and pat Squirt on the head. "Why do you think I've been bringing her along on missions for the last year? Its not just been about training her the same way I was trained. Or for my amusement."

"Sure seems that way..." Squirt mutters, suddenly embarrassed everyone's attention is on her.

-The Myriad-

Valkorian found he quite liked the title 'Myriad'. It spoke to him. It would do nicely. None of the less, as good of a mood as the name put him in, pleasantries were over. It was time to be rid of the one thing holding him back to his old life.

"Normally, I would offer a free shot," The Myriad said. "The Fourth-born disappointed me and Revan gave me a nice scar for a while. But you... Only a fool would underestimate you so much as to offer such a thing."

"Pity." Plaegus replied. He pulled a knife out of a sheath in his clothes. "I would have used it well."

The Myriad smiled. "I know you would have."

Plageus lowered himself into a fighting stance. The Myriad did not, but opened wide his hands, ready to use the Force in any a number of ways. Gemaal stepped forward, but the Myriad gestured for him to stay back.

"Master?"

"Do not fight him." The Myriad kept his gaze firmly on his old friend. He dared not blink. "He may not seem like much, but he hasn't lived as long as I by chance, and without purpose. In terms of power, he may be lesser than you now, but he is far more cunning."

Gemaal bowed, and stepped back. The Myriad watched his old friend warily. It was true, his old friend had always been cunning and smart, but when directly confronted was the weaker between them. In time, the Myriad had only ascended to entirely new leagues of power, new tiers and threshholds of ascension and greatness eclipsing all others, while his old friend had only grown a small amount. But he knew it was not due to being lazy. The man's little projects were testament to his busyness. While the Myriad grew powerful, mighty, and great, Plageus grew wise. While the Myriad established and nurtured empires and wars, Plageus made a family. While the Myriad rose to godhood, Plageus made a demon.

The Myriad took the first shot. He released a sudden shockwave from his hand. He wished to test him. It was small but his standards, but was great to most. Plageus planted his feet and held through it, even as the temple walls behind him cracked and crumbled. The outerdoor's arch cracked and the door collapsed in on itself. Again the Myriad released a shockwave, this time slightly greater, and again Plageus withstood it. A third time, a fourth, the Myriad released small bursts of Force energy with growing intensity. It wasn't until he released a fifth blast, that Plageus responded. The man released a shockwave of his own, equally matching the Myriad's. The two blasts, on collision, released an ear-bursting explosion. The walls of the palace fell into ruins around them. More annoyed than worried, the Myriad released a shockwave in every direction, clearing the rubble and collapsing debree away. His greatest shockwave yet, Plageus had to struggle to not be swept away.

Plageus, tho, had tricks up his sleeve. He extended his power briefly. In response the planet encased within the Tho Yor, if one could consider it a separate part of the Tho Yor, started to spin rapidly. The small sun and moon orbiting it rose and fell quickly so that the passage of a day became one second to the next. The winds picked up, threatening to toss them, and the ground shook violently. The Myriad groaned. The rapid day to night to day to night was annoyingly disorienting.

Then as the night turned into day, Plageus vanished. The Myriad's eyes widened. He couldn't sense his old friend in the Force at all. It was as if he was there one moment, and gone the next, in every form of the word. He could almost consider if it was all a dream he made up, were the chaos around him not reminding him this was very much real.

A sudden stabbing pain entered his side, and the Myriad flinched. The day turned into night, and as the moons brief rays fell on them, Plageus was revealed with his knife in Myriad's side. The Myriad extended his hand to release a shockwave, but was stopped short. He succeeded in releasing it, though it was only a haphazard attempt and only succeeded in pushing Plageus back. There was a far greater problem.

A pain he had never known ripped through him, body and soul, as each and every one of the consciousness within the collective mind that was the Myriad, screamed. Images flashed through his mind. A billion thoughts of pain, a trillion thoughts of grief and torment and guilt and sadness. It was enough to make any lesser man go mad. Were he a lesser man, he might have even died. As it was, he was the Myriad. He fell to his hands and knees, gasped, and had to bite his tongue so as to not scream.

It lasted but a second, but it felt like an eternity. In a second he felt sweat cover him, his limbs shake, his chest and lungs pant for breath, his blood pump furiously through his body so that he tasted blood, and heard his heartbeat in his ears.

The Myriad looked up, tears of blood pouring from his eyes, his teeth gritted in anger he had never recalled feeling so intensely, and before his eyes, Plageus disappeared again as the night turned to day.

"Oh, no you don't," The Myriad leaped back. He needed to buy himself a few precious seconds. He didn't know what the actual Hell that bastard did to him, but he felt threatened by it. It was a poison of sorts to his mind and soul, striking him in such a way that he was particularly vulnerable to.

The day turned to night, and the white robes of Plageus appeared in the darkness. He was right ontop of the Myriad! The Myriad extended his hand to hit him, but was too late. Plageus swiped up with the knife, knocking him in the palm, before dashing away and disappearing into the day.

The Myriad clutched his hand, stumbled to his knees, and screamed. Billions of voices screamed, all trying to force their way out of his lunges. Each with their own pain, their own suffering, their own personal hell, and each wanted their own closer to let it out. It wasn't the Myriad that Plageus seemed to be attacking, but all of the minds and souls that made up who he was.

"What did you do to me!?" The Myriad screamed, uncharacteristically frazzled.

Plageus reappeared in the night, nearby. He did not approach. "You have consumed countless lives for your ambition. Countless souls that have their own name, their own identity... and you took that away from them."

The Myriad released a shockwave at him, but Plageus disappeared in the day and reappeared elsewhere in the night.

"All I did, was make a knife. A knife that, upon wounding someone, torments them with their greatest regrets, deepest guilt, and saddest days. It is meant to be used in courts of judgement, a punishment, but to one such as you... it has special use. You think to judge the universe as beneath you, as worthy only of seeing the flame to be rebuilt in your image? You think yourself above judgement save for yourself. Very well, let us see you be judged by yourself. Let us see what the very lives you took think of you."

Were the Myriad calm, and in control, he would respond rationally. He would float and bombard the world with shockwaves until it was holed cheese, he would crush it all within his fist. As it was, he was the furthest thing from calm. How could he? His mind was filled with nothing but memories of pain that were not his, of tears he had never wept. The Myriad screamed his fury and rage and charged at Plageus. In a blind rage he stopped holding back. Power exploded from him as a sun, the likes of which Plageus could not withstand, and he felt his body be torn apart on the cellular level by the sheer winds of it as the Myriad came closer.

The Myriad released shockwaves directly on Plageus, that the other barely managed to avoid. The blasts destroyed everything in their path, carving a path across the planet before beating heavily on the outer walls of the Tho Yor. Plageus swiped the knife across the Myriad's chest before dashing away again.

The Myriad did not stumble as the pain struck him, but chased Plageus relentlessly, blindly, furiously. Like a good puppet, Gemaal watched patiently where he stood. The Myriad grabbed Plageus in the Force and pulled him closer. Feeling suddenly pulled back, Plageus took the Myriad's power head on, but paid him for his trouble by plunging the knife straight into his chest as they collided.

Large pockets of Plageus' flesh tore off before he stumbled away, but the Myriad fell to his knees. The Myriad looked down, crazed, and a tiny bit terrified, at the knife firmly in his chest. Physically, it meant little, he could recover from a mortal wound, but the side affects of what the knife had been made to do... The torture device of Dark Side alchemy that it was, did so much more.

Desperately, he reached up and grabbed it to pull it out, but by the time his hands had grasped the hilt, it was too late.

He looked up in blind eyes, and screamed so loudly his throat tore and blood flowed from his mouth. His mind tore itself apart into billions upon billions of pieces. The Myriad shattered into countless individuals inside a shell that struggled to contain them all, and were it not for the very collective power of those individuals keeping them contained, might have failed to do so. There was no individual to contain them all, as from the beginning there was no individual who reigned over the collective. From the very beginning he was a body contained within a form of self-democracy and melding of many. And in this moment the governmental body within him, that as a legion directed the actions of the whole, split into anarchy.

Plageus gasped for breath where he fell. He knew by normal standards, he was great and powerful. But the one before him was in a whole different league of his own. Plageus thanked the Force he had managed to survive this far in their duel. He should have died the moment the Myriad's full, unrestrained power struck him. He didn't know how he survived, but he knew it wouldn't last. His body was destroyed. He was dieing. He was just a walking corpse now whose mind hadn't caught on. Parts of his left face and chest and left arm had been torn off, revealing bone, where he was hit the hardest. His nerves were wracked he was numb and without pain.

Plageus struggled to his knees. He could not put any pressure on his left left or arm, as they were nothing more than dead weight to him now. He slowly raised himself up on one foot, and hopped towards the Myriad. He looked down on his old friend as he neared. The Myriad was frozen, his eyes empty, his mouth gaping open towards the sky. It took several blows, but Plageus had managed to stop him, for now. It wasn't enough to kill him, wouldn't be enough to stop him. The Myriad was still alive. As still as he was physically, the Force around him showed the opposite. The air was filled with the screams of the countless as they cried in their torments and nightmares, as in a small way they remembered themselves and by being individuals could not come together as a collective. The Myriad was a living shell to the dead. A being both living and dead in its own way. For this moment it was empty, but it would not last.

Plageus removed the Myriad's hands from the knife, allowing them to drop and dangle from his shoulders. He took the knife and plunged it further, firmly, into the man's chest.

As he did so, Plageus heard a sickening crunch, and looked down. A black hand pierced his chest. Another hand grabbed him by the back of the neck, lifted him up, and tossed him to the side to fall to the floor. In Plageus's last moments, he looked up, and saw the dark mask of Darth Gemaal look down on him.

Gemaal watched as the ancient Sith breathed his last before turning to his master. In the Force, the vessel that was Valkorian was empty, but the collective was still there. Whatever Plageus had done to him, it seemed it would not kill him, but it would take time before the Myriad could recover. Gemaal pulled the knife from his master's chest, wiped it on a cloth, and sheathed it into the sheath on Plageus' corpse. Gemaal placed the knife on his own person. It had its use. Whether it be used as a torture device, or if his master would want a little bit of reprieve by shattering it personally later.

Gemaal thought briefly on what to do with his master, but decided to do nothing. He felt nothing. The control over Anakin was firm, but he had no orders. He could not sense the mind of his master to rely on to determine what to do. He was... left to his own devices. Gemaal decided then to do nothing. The wound his master suffered was not a mortal one, and could hardly be classified anymore as a psychological one. This wound was beyond any doctor to heal or any Sith to understand in how to heal. Rather, it seemed to Gemaal that it could only be healed naturally. His master was still in there. He need only wait.

"Rest, my master," Gemaal said. "I will await your return. Until then, I will see to it that the work is continued."

-Revan-

Revan stumbled. Satele Shan looked up from where she sat.

"Father?" Satele asked, worried.

Revan put a hand on the table to steady himself. His daughter stood up, as well as his son, Vaner. Vaner asked, "Are you okay?"

"I..." Revan put a hand to his forehead.

What was this he was feeling? This... absence? This... loneliness? To his surprise, he realized he could not hear Valkorian's voice in his head.

"I'm fine. Just feeling a bit dizzy, but I'll be fine." He smiled. "I'm just old. Valkorian extended my life so I may look young, but doesn't mean I still feel young."

"You should consider retirement." Vaner suggested.

"No, we need him." Satele argued.

"Do we really need father on the front lines though? Surely Mandalore would accept Revan as an advisor on call from the central galaxy."

"No, Satele is right. I need to be on the front lines." Revan said firmly. "The war must go on."

The war had to go on. There was too much at stake.

-Varus-

"Okay... this is just freaky." Squirt says, a little scared to move.

"It is."

The rebel forces and us walk slowly through the room. It was... scary, to say the least. One moment there was fighting... and then it just... stopped. The droids continued to fight, but the Eternal Hand stopped so abrubtly I can't help but wonder if its all an elaborate, albeit stupid, trap. The Eternal Hand fall to their knees. Their weapons fall from their hands. Many of them gaze upward with an empty stare.

Squirt and I share a glance. We are both equally freaked out by this. Slowly I make my way up to one and wave my fingers in front of his face. His eyes move, but he is in a state of shock. "What happened?" Squirt wonders. "Its like they are in a trance or something."

"Possibly." I mutter. I wish that was it. It would make sense. Incredible Force users can overpower the minds of their enemy, but I have sensed no such attack. I look back to Falcon, to ask him what he saw, but the look of surprise on his face terrifies me. He didn't know about this. A seer did not see this coming. What could have possibly happened?

None of the less, this is not an oppurtunity to waste. I motion Squirt to follow. The Sith forces and us make our way through the final defenses of the Eternal Hand into what looks like the inside of a throne room. The guards sit, collapsed, around the edges of the room, and towards the center is a man. A prior, by the looks of him. The prior has a look of stark terror, and an empty gaping maw.

"Where is the sword, prior." I demand.

He doesn't answer. He just stares in frozen terror. He clearly can see me. His eyes move and look into mine. But whatever mental attack he is experiencing is overwhelming him. He is covered in sweat and tears of blood from his eyes. Without a hint of resistance on his part, I take his staff from his numb fingers.

Stomping behind me draws my attention. Looking back, I see Scourge enter the room.

"Have you secured it?" He asks.

"I think so." Falcon answers. "They have surrendered, by the looks of it, or they are being hit by something big. I didn't know you had your own dread lords."

"I don't and I have received reports that the Eternal Hand forces have stopped everywhere. The Eternal Empire is still mobilizing." Scourge replies. His eyes narrow on the prior briefly. His brow furrows. "I'm as lost as you, but! Let us not waste this. We have time, but it is limited. Secure the room."

Scourge took up the prior by the collar, and tossed him aside.

"You-" The prior whispered from where he landed. "You traitor! What... What have you done!?"

"I have done nothing. This is about what I plan to do." Scourge walked up the steps toward the throne, picked his boot up, and kicked it. Beneath the throne was a cylinder. He pulled the cylinder out of its slot, and opened it to reveal the sword. I gulp, as the force signature of the sword sweeps through the room. The void energy soaked into the metal, the countless screams of countless lives not knowing why they were being birthed and murdered in an endless cycle. Its a defeaning silence. The men around us, from the strongest Sith, to the soldiers without Force-senses, gulp. If there was ever something haunted, it was this.

He promptly shut the lid.