LOOOONG 10000+ WORD COMPLICATED CHAPTER AHEAD. Sorry for the over-a-month wait; school tends to confound things...I got a suggestion that another flashback from the G-dawg is in order (Oh, and thank you my two reviewing people. You know who you are! If I knew you both in real life, I'm sure we would all be real chums!). So, I was sitting randomly in bed on my laptop at six in the morning-I was hungry and couldn't sleep, you see-and I started listening to this really powerful, affecting song called "Dead Inside", by Skillet, who is my all time favorite band right now...for more reasons than one ^-^ hehehe...Anyway, I got the title of this chapter from a line in that song, because it struck me as...well, fitting. There'll also be a significant role played by a certain female counterpart of Grievous's from his past...I think you all know who I'm talking about. Yay! Won't that be fun...? You'll notice her name is not mentioned even once in the actual flashbacks (and trust me, there is a lot of them), but it is for the obvious reason: Grievous had limited access to specifics. I figured that, because of this, the general would still possess his original name, if indeed, I still remember the spelling correctly. And this is before he ever met Athela, just so you know...This was very enjoyable to write, mostly because I finally get to include a ton of stuff from the "before story" that's kinds of just been sitting in a folder on my computer for a couple years...Apologies in advance for any confusion you may or may not face!
One final note: "..." indicates that a flashback switches to a different one abruptly. I sure hope it worked or you're up the river without a paddle!
So without further delay!
REVIEW...the end of this is near.
Chapter 39~Forever and Always
"What, may I be so bold to ask, is your real name then?" Grievous, though impatient, had lowered his voice in attempt to convince her that his intentions were no longer hostile as long as she was willing to cooperate.
Shuddering, Athela answered, "Not...not here." She strained herself to get the words out of her throat. "They will hear me."
Initially, the cyborg thought that she was referring to the droids surrounding them, but he noticed she had raised her head to the skies. He followed her eyes upwards, wondering what exactly she could be trying to convey to him. There was obviously so much more to the woman than he ever had known...
She walked past him in evident pain and dizziness, expecting him to join her in wherever she was going. The droids went to come as well, but Grievous threatened them harshly, and lurked after his 'assassin'-who hadn't even killed anyone yet! In normal circumstances, he would have punished her for simply walking away without permission. The circumstances had long gone far beyond normal. Whatever she was about to tell him had to be important, and so he supposed that he would do anything in his power to find out what was wrong with her. Or rather, why she had always possessed a familiarity that went further than a past association. There was something about her that he was sure he had seen before he ever had made her acquaintance. Watching her from behind, he noticed how much she struggled. Blood from her side and shoulder ran all the way down her leg. It heard her to move, that much was obvious. Seeing this made Grievous suddenly have a very detailed collection of flashbacks to his primordial self. It was not in the form of a dream, but instead an out-of-body experience that seemed too meticulous to be mere coincidence. Something...or someone had granted him the memory...
Just as he stopped and his consciousness to everything around him began to fade, Athela looked back at him.
The sun rose in a display of reds and other various shades, filling the sky with color. General Qymaen jai Sheelal emerged from his temporary abode, wreathed in indifference and darkened by his own muscular glory. His thick black hair fell dauntingly down past his broad shoulders, framing his evenly chiseled, yet scarred face, and a thick strap of leather crossed his chest, holding as many rounds of ammo as it could. Soldiers turned their heads; eyes raked hungrily over him, taking him in. It was all excepted in stride, and the general nearly stretched out his arms jadedly and flexed to add to the effect, but this was not the time. There was too much to think about and an overabundance of anxiety around the military encampment to be wasting time with pointless flaunting. After all, that was what the victory celebrations were for anyway...
Qymaen allowed his gaze to sweep the warriors one last time before moving on. He walked intently towards the improvised "war room", in the form of yet another large tent located in the direct middle of the site. His expression remained indignant throughout the whole short promenade there, until the unmistakable voice of one of his comrades brought him back.
"Sheelal!" A male tone called. It was moderately pitched, and harbored unmistakable traces of a mischievously obnoxious side. Qymaen pulled to a stop and glanced expectantly behind him. N'jaere viir Rahkah sauntered towards him, his forest of black dreadlocks seemingly untangled for once-undoubtedly he was anticipating the coming undertakings as well. When Rahkah reached him, it was all Qymaen could do to stop coveting him and getting back to the topic on hand. This man was a god in mortal form...
"Rahkah." He greeted. "I trust you slept well?"
The general smirked characteristically. "Not a wink"-and Qymaen wondered vaguely if that was supposed to give implication to any other reasons why Rahkah would be losing sleep-"You?"
"I did...some. You know how I am...My mind is always flowing with tactics, which is what I wanted to run by you before Dau-Maz asks."
"Ah," Rahkah said, motioning for his comrade to follow, "walk with me."
"The plans Karivasi's spy retrieved from the Huk base camp can be easily misinterpreted." Qymaen began, catching Rahkah's attention at the mention of their fellow commander's spy. The older man nodded for him to go on. "I have been trying to learn some basic enemy dialect, and in my studies discovered that their word for 'mountain' can also be translated as merely a 'hill'."
Rahkah's eyes widened. "So you're saying that their attack point could be different then we assume? Where?"
He looked thoughtful. "I can not be sure, but the Northern Plains would be my estimate because-"
"They are covered in hills!" Rahkah finished. "The bloody parasites would have places to shield themselves!"
"Exactly. So, my proposal is that we outflank them directly from behind, if indeed they are going to be there, and not the original location we imagined. We would use their own tactics against them, and exploit the hills to our advantage."
Nodding again, but more enthusiastically, the other general smiled fully. "Well don't tell me, Sheelal! Wait until we get to Dau-Maz! He'll want to here this!" Rahkah picked up the pace, his dreads swinging back and forth around his neck, with Qymaen following closely behind. With a single fluid hand motion, Rahkah summoned a young man, a scout only in his teens. "Run to General Dau-Maz as fast as your little legs can carry you. Tell him that the plans have changed. We're not taking our regiments to the mountains, but rather the Eastern Plains. Tell him quickly and I'll make sure you're rewarded!"
"Yessir."
The scout took off rapidly, and Qymaen's eyes followed him until he disappeared. "Rahkah, what if they already left? What if-"
"General!" A voice interrupted him, and both men turned to acknowledge whoever it was. "Er, General Sheelal."
Qymaen stepped forward, throwing Rahkah a humorously arrogant look. "Captain." He said. "What have you to say? So close to battle one would think that you would be with your men."
The Captain tensed, but said confidently all the same: "My Sergeant saw a Huk spy in the trees. We shot at it, but it got away sir. I am sorry, sir."
Qymaen dismissed the apology with a wave of his hand. "Did you follow it?"
"No, sir. We feared an early attack if we did so without orders."
"While that is all good and well, if they in any way overheard the ploy General Rahkah and I just exchanged, we are in for a tough ride."
"Sheelal," Rahkah put, tension clouding his voice. "We gotta go. Dau-Maz'll be waiting if the little guy told 'im. The sooner we get to the plains the better."
With recognition, Qymaen agreed and sent off the Captain to gather his troops. He and Rahkah then went on their way, catching the attention of preparing soldiers. One by one, Qymaen's guards-all elite with special ops training-formed a group behind him, their long spears held on an angle across their torsos. Ly-khn, the leader among them, spoke of unrest within the general's ranks; his contingents were nervous. That was to be expected, at the very least. On the eave of battle, even he, himself became rather antsy about what was to come. He assured Ly-khn that he would handle it in due time. Rahkah reminded him that time was the only thing he didn't have, to which Qymaen replied that he would make time, for his troops were his priority. Then Rahkah had gone on to suggest other things that he should 'make time for', but his comments were ignored...as they rightly should have been.
When at last the two generals and royal elite guards arrived at the main military headquarters, they were greeted by four of the other commanders. Only one was missing, it seemed. All of them nodded in greeting, except for one of the more outspoken ones, Aavok.
"Well, if it isn't the two social butterflies. 'Can't say I'm surprised." Aavok mused, ignoring the disdainful looks from his equals. "Though Sheelal, I wouldn't have thought that you would be coming in here with Rahkah...I never thought I'd see the day when his life of women suddenly swerved onto a twisted path...Since when have you two been living it up?"
"General Aavok!" Dau-Maz shouted, "Would you kindly shut up!"
"Well excuse me for breathing, sir!" He went silent.
Dau-Maz exhaled, and looked at the newcomers. "The scout told me. Do you really believe it is worth the risk, Sheelal?"
It took him a moment. He felt anxious, for once in his life, about answering such a potentially disappointing question. But at last...
"Yes." He said with confidence in his tone. "Yes I truly believe that this will succeed."
Aavok scoffed. "Somebody's a little full of it this morning..."
"Shut your face, Aavok." A person spoke from the entrance. All heads turned, and when Qymaen saw who the individual was, he blinked inexpressively. A woman stood there, glowering at Aavok intimidatingly. She was tall, sinewy and had a face that openly displayed her disgust whether she wanted it to or not. A scar ran through her right eye, ugly to some, but to most all the more increasing to the amount of fury she showed. She wore all brown, a shade that contrasting her skin. Beside Qymaen, Rahkah chuckled lowly under his breath, half-smirking and very much disturbing the general next to him. She continued, advancing toward Aavok, and the man actually flinched back. "I do not see you losing sleep over battle plans. All you do is sit there!" Violently gesturing at him with fingers bent into claws, she ignored those who watched her. "You. Should not. Be talking!" She bent over him, looking ready to tear his head off. "Am I clear?" She hissed.
He nodded sporadically, and in the background, Dau-Maz watched with his mouth ajar. She then casually strode over to Qymaen and took her place between him and Rahkah, her eyes boring holes into Aavok to make her point. There was silence for a moment, Dau-Maz seemed perturbed to a point where speech had evaded him. It wasn't as if they had no clue how aggressive she was
"Was that completely necessary?" Qymaen said in an undertone. "Because I think you may have done more damage than service..."
"Save it." She snapped back, not cruelly, but with enough force to silence him.
Rahkah leaned down slightly in her direction and praised in an evenly quiet cackle, "Way to go on the aggression. Remind me to buy you a drink later." Everything about her small change in posture said that she would have ripped his face open, but for now, she directed her smoldering eyes at him. He looked away for a second, and muttered, "Sorry..."
Qymaen wanted to say something, but held his tongue, for fear of causing an uproar. While Dau-Maz rambled on about one thing or another, his mind was elsewhere. There had been...rumors, and Rahkah's sudden assertion had aroused all the more ill feelings within the confines of Qymaen's dark soul. As he watched the godfather of Rahkah inform all of them of last minute details before they all headed out, he couldn't help but notice that the godson was looking at his counterpart out of the corner of his eye. It made him edgy...
...
Something had snapped. Qymaen felt cold fury arise in him, his eyes burning with intense hatred and lust for murder. But there was nothing left to kill, a small voice within told him. What had happened? Everything seemed so blurred to him. It was windy; below, the waves surged, foretelling a storm's arrival. There were bodies, so many bodies. Had he killed all of them? Of course he had! They were the enemy, and he was the one protecting his homeworld! But why did everything feel wrong? His hair whipped around him, as did his cloak, torn and bloodstained. He stared out over the great ocean that spanned farther than the horizon. Dark clouds were coming, rolling in swiftly. The sensation that something terrible was about to happen did not go away. Overcome with incomprehension, he looked down at his hands.
They were covered in blood...
...and it was not from those he had killed.
Then, he saw.
There, on the ground below him, gasping in a pool of blood, was one from his own race. A female, as it were. He knew her. He knew her...What was happening? He dropped down beside her-how had he not seen her before? Maybe he had. He wasn't sure. He didn't even know where he was or why he was there! The dying woman lay on her side, and with a steady hand, he evenly grasped her shoulder and rolled her onto her back. It was a terrible, gory sight. Deep gashes and fissures covered her body. She bled to death before him. Her vicious eyes flicked skyward, then to him. He was at once, affected. Straight away, he remembered who he was and why he felt so utterly dazed.
She raised a broken, trembling hand and placed it over his own.
"You are hurt." Her voice was quiet. "They injured you..."
There was no response that would come to him.
"Time has run out. It seems as though death has finally come upon me...I will meet it with open arms..."
His face was impassive and hard, but his eyes betrayed his remorse. There was nothing he could do, but that did not mean that he accepted it. He forced himself to stay in the disposition of the general and leader he was, and said at last, "War is cruel. Life is merciless. But the afterlife...is where everything becomes perfect again." With his free hand, he traced a finger over the scar on her face, swearing on no account to forget it. It was a gesture of profound respect. "I will never forgive myself."
She knew he spoke the truth.
"No one is stronger than death."
Her point fell upon deaf ears. "You are..."
"No...I am not...Not now...not now..." The deliverance were barely discernable. "Listen to me...You must go on alone...There is still much that you have yet to accomplish...All I ask of you is that when you destroy all life in your path...Kill them all, for me..."
It took him less than a heartbeat to make the promise. "Forever and always."
"Say the words."
He protested silently, well aware of what it meant.
"Say them..." She repeated.
A strangled exhale. His eyes closed. "'The gods' will is not to be faulted. Our sacred deities foresaw this day in which the soul and the body part eternally. Your sacrifice will be revered evermore, and your efforts to ameliorate the cause of our race will never be disregarded. The life you have lived will be a undying reminder, unbroken and immaculate. Our dead ones have not given their lives in vain; the fired to claim their bodies were not lit without the greatest esteem we can give. Their spirits did not perish from this world. Over these lands the blood of our war-brothers' flowed, and it is the same with you now. May the hereafter honor you in the way your decent will'." The discourse he spoke was strictly prohibited but for the gallant beings who were to become divinities after death.
When he had finished, he opened his eyes.
Immediately, he knew that she was gone.
There were trails down her face where the tears had run...
...
"I swear...on my life...that I will hunt you and show you slaughter! I will burn your worlds and turn this system into a river of blood...if it is the last-thing I do in this time!"
His solemn, agonized vow echoed in his own ears. He was falling...Falling down, down, down...
The consciousness of an impact with the cold oceanic waters struck him as he awoke. He could still see the thunderous waves around him as he struggled to keep his head above the raging sea. His lungs ached for air, and he felt heavy. He lay on his back, gazing up at the ceiling; his vision glassy and indistinct. He coughed, choking on the brackish consistency that followed. Grit coated his tongue-sand, no doubt, from a collision with the shallow ocean floor. His black, plaited hair-also caked with sand-hung to one side in a tangled mess, and most of the shells in his bandolier were missing.
One arm, draped over his chest limply, clasped something; something cold. He lifted it weakly up before his eyes.
It was the medallion.
How he had managed to save it between the frequent waves coercing him underwater and the struggle for inhalations was further than his present frame of mind would allow. He assumed he had, in some way, ripped the chain from around her neck as he lost his grip, but that still didn't explain why he came to indoors without knowing why. His free hand absently trailed along the slashed lower section of his right ear, seemingly in better condition then when he had last checked. His damaged back had been tended to as well, though not nearly as well as he would have thought necessary. He supposed that in that the distress of his arrival, that whoever was treating him had simply given pain killers without binding up his whole torso.
The object in his hand shimmered, the beads of water that lingered on it reflecting the light from the small window above his head. With a circular frame and a shape in the center comparable to a star, it was one of the strangest and unique designs he had ever seen. It was because of that object that the brandings had been formed-each of the commanders had one, or in a couple of their cases, two or three, depending on class or aptitude. He would never be sure where it had come from. Another question I should have asked...He thought to himself.
He hacked again, calling the attention of an elderly man; a healer. He was scrutinized with wonder, and a smile formed on the aged face.
"General Qymaen jai Sheelal," he was told. "The gods have spared you once more..."
Qymaen, confused and faint, replied. "What happened to me? I feel...cold...Why?"
The healer blinked a few times. "You know not? Well then I am terribly sorry to inform you that we know no more than the obvious...General T'lit'ko became concerned when you did not return, so he went out to find you. When he arrived at the place he last saw you, there was only an area of bloody grass. He searched, and eventually, finding your unconscious body washed up on the shore."
"But that is not possible...I swam-I made it to the shore."
"That was not the case. You were brought back unconscious and wounded. I have done all I can for you, but, you must know, the damage will be permanent; the scars everlasting..."
Qymaen was at a loss. "Please, tell me-was another body found?"
The healer looked at the general with a sullen gaze. "I am sorry, blessed one...There was only you. May I ask who you seek?"
"My-comrade." He said, appending to that in a snarl. "She is...she is dead."
"A demigoddess? Able to die? Impossible."
"It apparently was achievable if it just happened!" Qymaen snapped, his anger rising. "Send word. My esteemed guard will take a regiment of my soldiers down to the beach and scourer it."
"But sir, the Huk-they will be back." The healer tried to reason.
Qymaen would hear none of it. "Do as I say, shaman!" He ranted. "My standings with the gods are more prominent then yours!"
"I-it will be as you say, great one..."
He grunted an approval and turned his head away, straying back to happier time; a safer time.
Safer time indeed... Qymaen cogitated, one digit vaguely tracing the impressions in the solid gold pendant. If only that was the case with my soul...
He tried to get some sleep, to prepare himself for the next battle, but no matter how much he tried, he couldn't get the pictures of the dead, austere face out of his mind. Weighing the odds of continual aggressive accuracy, he came to the conclusion that he would never be the same when he fought ever again. The will had been all but driven from him, and the mere detail that he would have to face all of the incensed reactions of his peers didn't help the matter. Why would something like this happen to him of all people? What had he done to deserve such torment?
"Hello, Sheelal."
Speak of the devil...
"Hm," the indignant Kaleesh commander huffed, clutching the medallion tighter. His temper had just been made so many times poorer. "Rahkah this is an...unexpected pleasure."
Rahkah, catching on quickly to the intended sarcasm, replied with just as much derision. "Likewise I'm sure..." He then said on a more emotional-or at least an impression that sounded realistic enough-note, "I heard about 'er passing. It must be a agonizing, losing someone that you were so close to-"
"Is there something you needed, General?"
"I...Well, I just wanted to say...that I am sorry...about all this...and mostly 'cause-"
"-you did not achieve a victory? I would not be surprised..."
Rahkah's mouth dropped open. "I was going to say that it's mostly 'cause you and I are war-brothers. We're supposed to have each others' back."
"Oh, of course that is what you were going to say! I never would have thought otherwise, with how much you sought after things the way you did!" It hurt Qymaen's throat to speak at such a volume, but he did it anyway; he cared not anymore.
"Listen, kid," said Rahkah irately, "you may have a better reputation than me, but do you hafta' be so nasty? I came to give you concern. Well, congratulations! You got it, and I thought it would at least cheer you up a little bit...Obviously I was wrong."
He grimaced. "I would naturally admire those who gave concern. But words from the mouth of a hypocrite do no more than worsen the situation..."
"Hypocrite?" The other general repeated. "Thank you very much." He sauntered on towards the door, muttering something along the lines of: "All because he never had enough audacity to talk when he should have."
"What was that?"
Rahkah glared over his shoulder. "You heard me."
Qymaen secretly wished he hadn't...
...
"You did what?" was all Fiatahh Aavok could say when Qymaen told him about his lack of success.
"It is my right! I will not let measly soldiers get in the way of my retaliation!"
"You did what?"
This dispute had been going on between them while the others watched with silent disapproval.
"This is a disgrace to us!" Aavok continued, talking to the generals that were seated all around the dark meeting room. "I say we kill him where he stands just like he killed off his regiment!"
"Be silenced Aavok." Karavasi cautioned. "You have said quite enough as it is to complicate matters."
Qymaen turned to face Arad Karavasi. "Surely you understand what is happening to me!"
There was a sigh. "No Sheelal. I am afraid I do not."
"I cannot sleep. I cannot focus on my obligations. And most importantly, this is driving me down a road to destruction!" His voice was now frantic "Is there no one who has any empathy for me?"
Csilvitor T'lit'co, who had been silent before, disregarded the remark. "Sheelal, I think it would be in your best interest if you took a brief rest from the business of war and let the more… attentive ones do the work for awhile."
"No! I will not allow that. I worked too hard to get to the rank I am today, and I did not just go through all this hellish misery for you underlings to tell me I cannot continue with my work! At one time they all said I was blessed by the gods, that it was my destiny to free all of our people!"
"Not anymore." Dau-Maz said from one side. "You forfeit that title the first time you allowed your emotions to ruin that mission to Tovarskl! Blessed? I would say 'cursed' now, truthfully...which is exactly why we are telling you this." He paused. "I am not sure that you are aware of this Sheelal, but we are, so please do not take offense to the truth." He looked around at the other spectators. "We have reason to believe…that the tragic occurrence might have very well caused something to… go wrong inside your mind, causing, well… a condition that is effecting your reason."
All was quiet for a moment. Then came the explosion.
"What is the matter with you all? There is nothing wrong with me! Why can you not simply accept the fact that I need only some real understanding for once?"
"We are most sorry, we tried. But if you can not handle controlling your actions… then we are afraid we will have to remove your services from our cause by force."
"That is utterly impossible! You would have to break the Oath!"
"We know that." replied Dau-Maz grimly.
"I do not have to put up with this." He sneered. "I do not need any of you to help me live my life!" Then he added under his breath. "I never needed help in the first place..."
"Very well then..." Dau-Maz said, with a slight nod, signaling for the guards to move in from their positions at the entrance. "That being said, take him out of this place and do not let him back in."
There were murmurs of all different kinds from around him. Some were of satisfaction; some, of disgust. Still some, though not many, were of commiseration. Qymaen looked to Rahkah for help. The other man was silent as the grave, stone-faced and stricken with some type of distress. Evidently he was still affronted from their exchange months and months ago.
"Have you anything else to say?" The leader of the cause's voice came again.
With his shoulders tightly held by the sentinels, Qymaen was unable to react in the way he wanted, but made it obvious what he would have done if he had been able to.
"I will have my revenge...and by the time I am through, you all will cry to the gods for mercy..."
Dau-Maz frowned. "I will have to remember that. Remove him now."
Just as the doors closed on Qymaen, he hissed through clenched teeth. "I'm coming for you Dau-Maz!"
...
A silence so unsettling crept over the night that one could hear the footsteps of another even in sleep. Everything had grown so complicated so quickly...It was enough to stupefy most of the more common civilians. For the commanders, their feelings on the matter of their former general's surname alteration were that of the utmost disbelief. Along with the abandonment of his title, it seemed most of the man's reasoning had gone as well. He was not well, that was for certain. Tales of his bloody conquests were spread all over the planet with both fear and admiration. Once every few months, he would be seen returning from battle with intent in his steps, forcing the weary soldiers behind him on with a brutality very much unlike his past nature. He would be tired; tired but cruel and callous towards those who had surmounted the battles fought. There would be not one ounce of appreciation summoned from his remorseless soul...
He was no longer what he had once been. The coldness of his own emotions had distorted him and embittered all the joy that he had once possessed. Rarely did he express his mourning, but when he allowed all the sorrow to escape, people usually were murdered.
Such was so on the soundless, forbidding night.
He stood on a rise overlooking the most heavily colonized village. Thick raindrops drummed steadily on his leather-cloaked shoulders; thunder and lightning infrequently occurred. It appeared that his was the only silhouette when the sky would light up, but he was not alone. From behind him came ten of his finest mercenaries, lead by Ly-khn. All of them wore identical masks, as did he, making it nearly impossible to discern who was who. The markings were of their leader; their general, in an effort to confuse any attackers in the case that their life would be forfeit. One would think that they had premeditated some intricate idea in which to beget retaliation, but that was the wrong assumption.
The actual plan was quite simple.
The five remaining generals were going to be assassinated that night.
It would seem rather hopeless to the inexperienced looker-on, but he had played his cards right. There was no going back. The time for reassessment had ended. His enemies were destined the heinous fate from the moment the contested his will.
He gave his subordinates the signal, and they all drew their hoods simultaneously. After doing so himself, he began the stealthy descent to the military headquarters on the outskirts of the village. It was a circular compound with seven separate living quarters spaced around it, five of which housed a sleeping commander. The ten other men with him had no weapons, bar a single dagger sheathed at each of their sides. They knew as well as anything that their leader's intentions were purely out of personal disdain, but no longer would his vehemence be kept in the shadows. With Ly-khn by his side, he arrived at the guarded entrance to the compound, faced by a lone sentry who eyed him and all of the masked men following him suspiciously.
"Who-who are you?" The guard stipulated cagily, worried to not see the face of the intruder. "What is your business here?"
He took a step forward, his wicked presence looming over the innocent one, and growled in a voice so unlike his own that his own men repressed the urge to cower, "The blameless shall die."
As he entered the enclosed area, Ly-khn did what needed to be done, and the innocuous guard dropped to the ground, lifeless. Not concerned in the least that someone would find out, he lead those who accompanied him into the spherical plot, standing in the middle so he could have an sufficient view of each lodging. He tilted his head and listened for any warnings that things could be amiss, and while he tried to perceive sound over the wind, rain and thunder, a strange, almost implausible thought came to him. Immediately, he raised an arm and beckoned his prominent elite protector to him once more.
"Find me the dwelling of General Rahkah," he whispered to Ly-khn, "but do not touch him..."
"Yessir." answered Ly-khn quickly, then looking back at the others. "Move out."
A minute or so passed as they searched each building, but soon one of them stood in the doorway of a house off to the side and motioned for him to come. He did so at once.
"We found him, my lord." He was told.
"Excellent."
"Shall we continue with the plan now?"
"No. Wait until I tell you to, idiot." He said. "Only then can you proceed, but I personally wish to deal with Dau-Maz."
"Of course, sir. Right this way sir."
The elite showed him to a small room where he saw Rahkah. Three other dark figures were gathered around his sleeping form, daggers drawn and clenched in their fists. Slowly he shook his head, a gesture for them to sheathe their blades. The man was a slick one, indubitably, and a distant memory came to him when he was pushed too far in his violent actions: about to kill his rival. Despite this, Rahkah would not meet death. Why? He wasn't sure...But in a sporadic feeling of charity, he knew that the other general might just be useful in the future. Yes, Rahkah was a thorn in his side, and had proved on countless occasions that his philandering ways had been directed at people they shouldn't have been, but killing the fellow commander might obliterate any future chances to use the latter as an object to take his anger out on. He badly wanted to pull out his knife and kill Rahkah where he lied; wanted to so bad his hand ached to bring down the sharp edge into Rahkah's skin. He restrained himself, however.
He looked to his elite, and pointed to the door. He offered not one glance back.
"Where is Voaga Dau-Maz?" He rasped-fingers curling and uncurling-at Ly-khn, who stood just outside. Ly-khn indicated the correct building, and the bloodthirsty leader wasted no time stalking in its direction. He thrust the man by the door out of the way and entered, dagger in hand instantaneously. The room was easy to find; all the houses were alike in virtually every way. Dau-Maz lay on his back, head rolled to the side in sleep. The interloper lurked up to the bedside and lowered himself to the ground, the hand not clutching the knife hovering over Dau-Maz. Slowly, he extended a finger and touched the insulter's forehead with the tip of his sharp nail. The general awakened abruptly, and to his horror the first thing he saw was the hooded face just inches away from him. He went to call out, but when he felt the cold, sharp sensation on his throat, he stopped. His attacker shook his head leisurely, savoring Dau-Maz's fear. From the hood, a pair of golden eyes met his, glinting fiendishly every time the lightning flashed through the small window.
From the other individual's view point, he smiled. It was playing out exactly as he wanted.
"So...my dear brother...how does it feel?" He asked Dau-Maz, quite sickly. "Do you feel suddenly as if the world has turned their backs on you...?" His smile faded. "I should hope so."
Dau-Maz considered his words carefully, breathing heavily. "Be sensible, Sheelal-"
"DO NOT CALL ME BY THAT DETESTABLE NAME!" He roared back, all but exerting all his weight into the knife upon the hated neck. Blood tricked out from under where the edge of the weapon had penetrated the skin. Dau-Maz hissed quietly, but was not through with reason.
"There are other ways; other possibilities! It does not have to be this way, just give us all a chance!"
His whole body heaving, he stared once more into the eyes of the one who had at one point been a courageous leader. "You said I was cursed, Voaga..." Leaning in even closer, his gaze scraped over the other. "I have not even begun to show you cursed."
Pushing down on the blade just deep enough so that he knew it would not kill him right away, he ripped it sideways out of Dau-Maz's neck. Blood splattered over him; he didn't care at all. This was what he wanted.
As Dau-Maz slowly bled out, gasping helplessly for breath, he watched with a mad, perverse satisfaction, then decided to leave the dying man to his fate...alone.
"And that, my friend, is what happens when you insult me...I hope you suffer."
That was all he offered before he walked out with the knife still in his hand. The ten men he had brought with him all stood at attention. He prowled up and down in front of them, steps purposeful and mindset the darkest and most wonderful it had ever been. His hand, stained with the blood of Dau-Maz were clasped tightly behind his back, holding his cloak in place. The rain ran over him like a flood. He said nothing as he traveled back and forth. His elite soldiers watched him, gazes unwavering. Ly-khn stood faithfully at the far end of the line. Finally, after a moment longer than was completely necessary, he spoke as he paced.
"Now it is your time. Go forth and kill the rest!"
He proceeded to climb atop a residence across the way, and when at last the elite had carried out the task they had been given, he dismissed them, lingering behind on the roof. He watched Rahkah exit his designated abode and run to Aavok's quarters, only to come directly back out. Rahkah sank to the ground, dazed it seemed, as was expected. Suddenly, as if some revelation had hit him, he bolted back to his feet and went to where Dau-Maz was, stayed in there a few long minutes, and stormed out the door into the rain in a rage unlike him. Rahkah staggered towards the building whose crown he stood on, and when he collapsed and happened to look up, his face disclosed his horror. The murderer laughed, a grating, intense expression of triumph, staring Rahkah down, before he leapt off the roof and ran vigilantly to the compound gates.
He vanished like a phantom into the trees after that.
...
Voices hit him like an enemy in battle. The loud, dark hostelry bustled with customers-each seated at various tables or the bar itself, conversing with the tender and each other in groggy tones. Those happy enough to just sit there without drinking were considered the most refined ones in the place. Ah yes...The civilized people. Civilized, in that instance meaning the people who avoided strong beverages all together, and were able to carry a decent conversation with their neighbor. On tonight of all nights, there was an overabundance of these respectable folks, and the whole establishment was presently under-control and moderately tranquil. There were of course, those utterly stupid few who were breaking the peace with their intemperance, but they were silenced as soon as they caught a glimpse of his face.
Grievous had arrived.
He walked up the path formed by his viewers, the last person the Kaleesh people thought they would see in such a common place. Most were frightened.
"Tender," his deep voice echoed through the quiet space, "get me a drink...I need to leave this place."
He sat himself down at a quickly empty seat at the counter.
"Tough day?" A drunk garbled beside him.
His head snapped angrily over to the man who dared address him. "If you do not get your sorry carcass out of my sight in three seconds, you will be dead on the floor before you know what took your head..."
Upon getting a worn mug shakily handed in his direction, he took it, swung around and walked to a table near the back corner. Sitting, he sighed, lost in his own miserable existence. He idly traced a line in the wooden surface, ignoring the eyes that were on him. Eventually, he could take no more.
"Stop looking at me you bloody infidels!" He shouted, turning his back on the people. "Freaks." muttered Grievous afterwards.
He noticed a person sitting back at the farthest possible table. "Not much of carouser either, huh?"
"No..." The female voice came as incredulous. "I suppose..."
Grievous got up-calling more attention to himself, which he heartily ignored-and joined her in her isolation, drink in hand. "Then why, might I so humbly inquire, are you in a place such as this?"
She exhaled slowly, her features obscured by shadows. "You are unquestionably right sir in asking that question...I prefer to remain on my own, yes, but life has taken a turn for the worse, I'm afraid."
There was a long silence, in which both of them completely avoided looking at the other out of sheer awkwardness. Grievous did not touch his drink; neither had she, apparently. As it was, she was the one who spoke again.
"My name is Athela Erihdiy, in case you were wondering. Pleased to make your acquaintance; I've heard so much about you."
He allowed a small smile in attempt to look even slightly jovial. "I am...flattered. It is rare in these dark times to encounter someone that admires me, instead of showing fear...May I ask where you originate from?"
"Far away." Athela replied.
Grievous studied her silhouette. "Then why are you here in this obviously uncivilized place?"
"I needed to get away, just like you...Many terrible things have been happening to me lately."
"Tell me, perhaps we can relate."
"I cannot disclose that information to you here. I know too much to be discussed in such a public, said unsophisticated place..."
Leaning against the table, he stared at the wall behind her. "Once more, I have to ask: why are you here? Other than for the evident reasons."
"Actually, I was hoping you could provide some enlightenment for me, since you appear to know so much. I am searching for someone; an old... friend of my family. Perhaps you would know them?"
"Possibly." Grievous drawled, eyes half-closed, and mouth in a tight line.
She leaned forward then, so he could see her, and his head snapped back so abruptly that he was surprised he didn't hear something crack. He stood up, motioning for Athela to do the same. Rapidly, yet still quite stiffly, he turned to go, expecting her to follow. She did. As they were about to leave, an unpleasant voice stopped Grievous dead in his tracks; an unpleasantly irritating voice.
"Hey!" The tender yelled from the bar.
They both turned.
"She did not pay for her drink!"
Grievous scowled at the man with such malevolence that those with any shred of sense left in their being cowered under the malicious atmosphere it cast.
"She's with me." He growled. "You do not need her money."
He left everyone gaping after him, and Athela very confused as she followed him out without further protest...
Everything moved fast for Grievous as he saw it, and far too soon was he back on Uvena Prime. Athela stared at him; he looked intently back at her, eyes glazed over. What was going on! Who was she? Why did he have the memories he did? What was even wrong with him! He had stopped walking, yes, but for how long? How long exactly had he stood there, motionless? Athela had developed an expression on her face that he had never seen her wear. Perhaps it was her alcohol induced state, or even a mental condition he never had known about, but she came across as...content.
"What...what happened to me?" He asked, very quiet. "What have you done?"
She did not reply.
"Why do you refuse to speak?" His voice had become unsettling; disturbed. "Do you not know what I am? Who I once was?" The cyborg took a step closer to her-there were no bystanders this time, he could kill her without any witnesses. But that was not his intention. "How can you not remember on your own will...?"
Athela opened her mouth to talk. Overcome, his fist made contact with her jaw before he even knew what he was doing. She made a kind of yelp, but stood her ground. Grievous realized what his anger had caused and voluntarily backed away. Just as suddenly, the comlink built into his arm beeped, and he was quick to answer it. "What?" He grated. "This had better be good."
"General, we have a problem..." said the warble of one of his bodyguards, wherever they were.
"Can it wait?"
"I do not think you understand, sir. The native race of this planet is-" Whatever it was about to say was cut off, followed by only static.
Grievous went on the alert immediately, just as everything around them came to life.
It had taken Rahkah a whole lot longer than he had expected to locate young Yeiro. What he had failed to attain from his spontaneous helper was the specific name of the "eastern tribe" the boy was residing with. In reality, there were dozens of possible choices, and Rahkah, the unfortunate character that he was, had to spy on them all, sometimes having to wait days on end, hiding in different locations around the perimeter hoping he'd get lucky. He had only been spotted once in the few months he had traveled around. The poor girl had thought that he was some sort of predator just waiting to snag an unsuspecting someone like her, and had exited the scene to go report him faster than she had entered it. Rahkah had been forced to run as fast as he could and as far as was possible without straying into unknown territories.
And then he had stumbled upon Yeiro.
Just like that.
On the second day of his watch on a particularly average village, he had simply seen him standing outside conversing with a male of his age. Maybe it had been Rahkah's eyes, but Yeiro appeared to have grown, physically and mentally. His way of carrying himself had improved; Rahkah couldn't help thinking that his absence had probably done that. He had observed the young man for a few days, taking in his daily habits and 'rituals' like a true stalker...which he most obviously wasn't. Much like before, he found a place to lay his head at night-if he even did decide to sleep-far enough away from the village that he wouldn't be found. And much like before, he was very hesitant about entering the establishment when the appropriate time came. But he had to. He had to...He wanted to, so badly. It was an obsession.
Rahkah could scarcely breathe when he stepped foot into the silent village on the night he had planned. Only a few stray fires remained to light the way. His feet made no sound against the cold earth; his gaze focused unwaveringly on the place which the one he sought had entered only hours before. Only when he glanced around him to ensure that he was not being watched did he take his eyes off his destination. The only sound to be heard were the night creatures in the surrounding jungle...and his occasional breath.
Somewhere, he heard a voice.
He moved faster, intent on reaching the house before he was spotted.
The voice went on, volume rising.
Another joined it.
He ran, throwing caution to the wind.
One by one, he saw people appear at the doors of their homes, then tear towards him from all angles.
Everything blurred, and Rahkah knew he had failed for the last time...
Yeiro walked upon shaking legs. Everything and everyone around him blurred. He pushed past the guards at the door in a daze, no matter how much they may have protested. He wasn't sure. He didn't care much either. It was dark. Dark and cold, the kind of environment that foretold tragedy. The kind of place where one would come and see death; feel death, hear death and even taste death...Yeiro trailed his hand along the worn wall absentmindedly, unsure of why he had chosen the path that would incontestably lead to sorrow.
The room he entered housed only one occupant, who sat in a chair in the corner. His hands were bound-so were his feet. His head was bowed, hair hanging in a thick curtain over his features. His shoulders, ordinarily squared, were lifelessly flaccid, and his chest rose up and down along with his steady breathing. He was a man defeated. A man that had nothing left to live for. He rightly well didn't. He had been captured once, only to escape when he had been given a chance to prove his ways had changed. And now...there he was, broken before Yeiro, a prisoner of his own doing for the last time. Justifiably, his death sentence had been swift and without vacillation, intended to be held publicly in the middle of the largest settlement on the planet within the hour. And as Yeiro stood silently in the doorway, he felt only a smattering of pity for the condemned. A criminal and murderer was what he was. Everything else he had previously been: a friend, and ally, and at one point somewhat of a father figure, was erased in the young man's mind. Even so, his last wish was to speak with Yeiro, and out of the last bit of respect that Yeiro held for him, he honored the request.
A man with the reputation N'jaere Rahkah deserved that much.
Yeiro cleared his throat emphatically. Rahkah's head shot up. Two pairs of eyes met, one pair grieved, and the other pair unemotional. The ill-fated pair were not the ones that were showed their owner's affliction. Yeiro didn't move, locked in a silent exchange with he who had caused him distress. It could have been his imagination, but nothing about Rahkah said "slaughterer" to him in that moment...
"Yeiro..." The name was spoken without feeling, like all that was left of Rahkah was deadness. "You came...?"
Yeiro nodded. "Yes. It was the least I could do for you...after you helped me out in the past."
Looking past him somewhere out into the hallway beyond the room, Rahkah mustered a half-smile. "I guess this is the last time we'll get a chance to talk before I get what's comin' to me. Take a seat if you want, kid." Yeiro studied him skeptically, then eyed the only other chair in the space. "Go on, I won't be offended or nothing."
It was a relatively tough choice, but Yeiro ultimately pulled the chair out in front of the older man and sat cautiously down. "You wanted to talk to me about something?" He asked finally.
Rahkah appeared to be considering his words carefully, peering at Yeiro through the untidy mess he called his hair. He contemplated the bindings around his wrists, turning his hands over a few times. He then cocked his head and his eyes rolled back to the visitor before him. "Yeah...I got...I got some stuff to explain...that I think you should know before they kill me."
"If you intend to clarify why you murdered two innocent people all those months ago, do not waste your breath, because I-"
He cut Yeiro off, raising his arms, "No...It's, it's not about that, Yeiro. Just let me talk, okay?" Rahkah took a deep breath. "All right...Gods, how am I supposed to put this..." He mumbled to himself, troubled about something. "How much, exactly, did your mother tell you about yourself when you were growing up? How much about your history?"
"Not much...She said that my father was a great man, and that my real mother passed away, but nothing else. Why do you ask?"
"I ask 'cause I know that you've been getting blatantly lied to your whole life, and I helped that along, much to my regret." Yeiro watched the prior commander uncertainly as he went on. "Your...father wasn't such a great man as your dear mother claimed...Your fake father was. He was what every kid wanted as a sire. He was a god, an arrogant one, but a god nonetheless. See, you remember that time when I told you the story of that guy...named Grievous?"
Dozens upon dozens of Shistavanens were upon the general before he could take hold of his lightsabers. Their incredibly heavy bodies slammed into him, and he met them with only his bare hands for weapons. He did not understand why they were attacking him and his troops! The Confederacy had made peace and won them over! Then, why were they acting out in hostility? Grievous roared in anger and ripped his fingers through the facial flesh of one of the aggressors. It backed off to paw at its wounds, but jumped back at him within no time. And that was only one of them. He couldn't do anything; he couldn't move. There were too many of them. He fought them all, though. He fought them all with every fiber of rage in his mechanical body, tearing and thrashing them despite the fact that they were heavier than he.
When a fraction of a second presented itself, he took advantage of it and grabbed a lightsaber at random, igniting it and impaling the next unfortunate Wolfman who dared go for him. It gave a high pitch whine and slammed into the ground beside Grievous, a gaping, burning hold through its chest. The remaining Shistavanens-and there were still many; his hand-to-hand fighting hadn't done much good-all began to try and dislodge his weapons from his belt and inside his cloak. All the same, he slaughtered them like animals, slicing them down mercilessly. His talons closed around the muzzle of one and slammed it into the dirt, but not before it managed to claw one of his lightsabers away from him. With a snarl, Grievous went to get it, but another enemy knocked it away and threw him off balance with its crushing weight. Both the canine and cyborg landed hard, grappling for control. The Shistavanen kept a forepaw on the wrist below the hand that held the lightsaber at all costs, while Grievous resisted. Not panicking just yet, Grievous flicked his wrist just enough that the glowing blade merely came close enough to sear his current foe on the side of the head. The dog reared back, and Grievous's outstretched, razor-sharp feet finished the job on the creature's exposed abdomen. He rolled out of the way in time to miss the dead one, only to be overwhelmed again. This time, he could do nothing. The brown Shistavanen's jaws lowered to the remains of his throat faster than he could react...
...
...
...
The pain never came. He could vaguely feel the labored breath hitting him, but the thing wasn't moving. Straining only slightly, Grievous craned his neck up to see over the huge body, and what his eyes beheld shocked him.
There stood Athela, his fallen lightsaber clutched tightly in her hands.
She had killed the Shistavanen who had been about to take his life.
Too much happened to him!
Grievous stood, and bracing himself for another round of battering, he was quite surprised when nothing came. Turning in a full circle, he saw bodies; tons of bodies piled on the ground around him, most of which were dismembered and bleeding. Some-a few-twitched and whimpered like the dogs they were, struggling to lick their injuries under the oppressive pain. In the distance, he heard the sound of blaster fire, which meant either his troops were experiencing the same thing, or that the Republic had arrived on the scene. Grievous stared down at one in particular. It was smaller than the rest, and had strangely colored fur with equally odd eyes, one blue, and one icy green. It dug at the ground under it with its claws, crying animatedly. Drool and blood covered its jaws; it breathed in sporadic snorts. Maybe he should have put it out of its misery, maybe he should have done it as a small act of kindness...But he didn't find the mercy in him. He and the Shistavanen made eye contact, and the cyborg took that as an opportunity to speak.
"You are different than them...I can tell..." stated Grievous, idly swinging around his lightsaber. "Why have you done this? Your race made peace with the Confederacy only hours ago."
It whined, writhing in agony.
"Oh, you do not know basic?" He turned sadistic, cutting into the Shistavanen's leg with the tip of the plasma blade. The unfortunate victim let out a high-pitched, wraithlike yelp, echoing into the night. "For me...you do."
"It...it w-was...Republic." It's basic was extremely broken, but understandable nonetheless. "Most...of us follow Separatists...Some n-not...We...not...We betray-our kind...So be it..."
Grievous left it lay there, looking to Athela, who stood in the exact same place she had been when she had killed the canine alien, shaking like a leaf. She had not deactivated the lightsaber, which Grievous was quick to retrieve from her quivering hands, placing it back in its rightful place inside his only faintly ripped up cloak. One thing was for certain: she had slain more than one of the enemies, for he had not dealt with all of them before finding himself restrained on the ground. On the bright side, she had proved she could kill. But on the other hand, what she had gone through that day was what no one should have had to experience. She needed to be with her people, the ones who accepted her for who she was, sarcasm and all. But that was obviously impossible, seeing as all the promises he had made to Darth Sidious were unbreakable. He could not risk his position to do anything about it just yet.
Or could he...?
No one would have to know.
No idiot! He snapped mentally, studying his fingers intently. They would know...They always know...
Quite unconfident-something that normally didn't happen to him-he sighed and cautiously placed his hand on Athela's shoulder, taking in her defeated face. She shrank back at his touch, as taken aback by the gesture as he himself was. Grievous remember so much it hurt, and seeing her standing there before his devastated self made everything seem all the more hopeless. It was never a problem he had expected to encounter ever again, the feeling of susceptibility his mortal form had endured on one too many occasions. He just couldn't do it anymore...
Finally, as the sound of a fight grew closer, he said, "Soon we will leave this place..." He paused for only an instant, and added decisively, "And then, you are going home..."
Weeelll...? Did I do a good job with the flashbacks and the random fight and the Rahkah and Yeiro part? And what did you think of the ending to this chapter? Was it good, bad, too OOC for Grievous? Sorry for the large amount of questions! I'm just so happy to have this one done for you guys! Speaking of which, if its not too much to ask: review, okay? If more people besides my two normal reviewers don't comment, I'm afraid my update will take EXTRA long. I mean, seriously, I worked hard, and I want some feedback, so...PLEASE SAY SOMETHING BEFORE THIS STORY IS OVER!