Just an introduction chapter for Taris, I think I am going a bit too quickly through this but I don't know how to stretch it out. So *insert shrug emoji*
"Nekorian, your thoughts are distracting you." Master's voice clawed my mind away from the past. His sabre flew through the air with controlled frenzy strikes which were directed away by efficient parries and blocks by my own blade.
"Apologies, Master."
"Are you?" His teeth were visible, eyes glowing with orange, both rotted with corruption, showing a weak-willed mind to have fully lost himself in the dark.
Nothing more was said and Master Zavros become all aggressive, falling into a pure Juyo form. His attacks became chaotic and erratic, fast and strong with seemingly no discipline in his movement. That was the point of Juyo however, becoming so overwhelming that your opponent cannot comprehend what to do. Except if you know its main drawback, Juyo was all offence with no application for defence.
If you match the opponent's Juyo with your own then it can become a violent dance, if you mix in Shien or Djem So into your fighting form then you could theoretically beat any Juyo practitioner. Of course, that depended on your knowledge of Form VII and the Form V variants.
Luckily, I had all three, adding Juyo to my library of Niman allowed me to dance with Master Zavros on an equal playing field. Except I had an ace up my sleeve. Juyo was great, the problem is its taxation on your body. Tiring out the user and then leaving you open to a death blow.
Like Niman before, I too started construction of a variant around Juyo. Form VII must be fought while surrendering yourself to your emotions, but never letting go of your mind as you would just become an animal infected with rabies. There is always that all-encompassing danger every time you fight. I would not take such a risk. Mine was a different philosophy, instead of using my own emotions, I would use my opponents, sending those attacks straight back at them.
A perfect counter for a Dark Side user.
I could beat Master Zavros with my new Form VII, I knew it in my heart but the time was not right. His teachings were…educational, and the fighting techniques and Force powers were good, for someone of his calibre. Zavros was nothing compared to me. I couldn't wait until the right moment to strike. Zavros was weak. It was clear as day except for my Master. He was just too blind to let me access his private collection, sure he let me see the mild texts but those artefacts locked away would be more than enough for me to become a true lord.
It was frustrating, knowing that I couldn't pass the final obstacle just because of a six-letter word. His mind was too well defended to breach.
So I played weak, until this waste of space that would follow Malak instead of avenging Revan.
My lightsaber escaped from its resting place and landed not too far away.
"It seems my lesson hasn't gotten through your skull!" Was the only warning I received before lightning pierced my nerves.
Pain was an old friend.
It felt like being pinched, the agony of Force Lightning became subdued after all of these years.
I screamed for the performance, naturally. Calling upon my experiences from that day, and the subsequent ones after that, I could near enough fake being engulfed in my Master's rage.
Huffing on the ground, I feel my Master's disgust before a scoff came from his mouth. Leaving with no further words, but as soon as the door to the training grounds slammed shut, I pulled the acting back and stood to my feet, using the Force to accelerate my healing. The anger coiling around my stomach at the continued game I was playing grew every day, and I knew that the Dark Side will take over and take control unless I released it on something or someone. Unfortunately, no viable option came to mind. I could not take it out on the soldiers, for they are needed to maintain control of Taris; and I could not bring someone to my bed, for they might maintain a sense of importance which, in turn, would create unnecessary problems down the line.
Scowl firmly on my face, I exited the room - the guards on either side stood to attention - and immediately marched to my personal chambers.
Entering with no words, I quickly gathered up a pile of clothing and shed my smoking robes, dressing up like any other Taris citizen before walking out. Corralling the Force to obscure my presence and simply walked out of the military base.
Taris was an almost recreation of Coruscant, the high-rise buildings and the sounds of workers shipping off crates to Force knows where except for several things that could put Taris above the Capital World. There was no crime on the upper levels, everything would be meted out on the spot by the highest-ranking soldier. The biggest problem was the lower levels and the disguised rats below.
Looking back to the clear sky, the memories of that fateful day revived within my mind, as they had always done for four years.
Four years.
One thousand, four hundred and seventy-three days, five hours, and thirty-five minutes since Asaak Zesh betrayed me; when the Jedi Order plotted my death because of their fear.
Battlefields became drugs, pain from bones being shattered was embraced, burns and scars healed, and the worlds of the Republic either fell or surrendered when the might of Revan's Empire surrounded the planet - and I was there alongside the troops. The men and women who fought beside me were nothing short of brave. Most never survived, but they died with the truth in their hearts.
The Republic is ending.
"Revan." His helmet popped into my mind, the face of my saviour hidden behind a Mandalorian mask.
Lips pulled back and the cloak nearly disapparated as rage reared its ugly head, I breathed and pulled back the cloak quickly. Being discovered outside the military base would do no good for my sanity. The Dark Side was an ever-present voice, whispering niceties in your ear, telling you that killing that civilian there or butchering that squad of soldiers there was give me power - and like anything that promises quick solutions, it would strengthen its hold over you. I could not allow it.
Control now reined back in, and with a quick scratch against my hand, I thought back to Revan's death.
It was reported my saviour died when a Republic strike force infiltrated Revan's flagship, slew Revan, and Malak quickly took control as Dark Lord of the Sith - picking up where his Master left off in revenge and honour for his former Master.
Nothing more than a lie, a bold-faced lie told to the rest of the galaxy by Malak, who had turned on his Master, like the way of all Sith. Firing upon Lord Revan's flagship, aiming for the command deck in a cowardly hope to kill both the strike force and the Dark Lord.
And for that, I would kill Malak and throw his corpse into a star.
Arriving at the nearby cantina, I entered without a fuss from the guards, nor the patrons and sat inside Ajuur the Hutt's little slice of paradise. The Force spread to my table, allowing my area to be engulfed by an air of insignificance as my eyes were glued to the screen next to me.
The Fighting Arena of Taris was a bore but it was the only outlet I could safely use, any other releases that I could think of would cause more problems down the line.
Except...except the cantina and the arena were calming to me somehow, just being in this location lifted my mood. I did not know why then, but I felt like I knew this place, it's layout was mich easier to remember - the first time I ever entered this establishment, I knew where Ajuur the Hutt, the dancers and the live bands were.
Yet, for the life of me, I couldn't recall why I remembered.
It happened similarly to the Sith Governer of Taris. As if an echo of the future reached back into the past and gifted the feelings and blurred images to me. It was not prophetic dreams. They just didn't...feel like prophecy. If that made sense.
"I can't believe we couldn't get arena tickets for this match! Now we'll have to watch the duel on the view screen." Searching for the whining voice, I could see two people - a man and a woman - arguing in front of a screen like mine, with the woman pouting like some child that didn't get their favourite toy.
"Who cares?" Responded the man, I could tell he was just like his female friend - whiny and arrogant - though the lingering lust in his heart, told me the guy didn't want to remain friends. "It's Duncan and Gerlon fighting. It's not like we're going to miss anything good."
"Shh!" The whiny woman pushed a hand to his lips, and that lust in him flared straight up. Force, if this is what the Republic protects, then no wonder organization was failing. "They're about to start, so quit complaining and just watch the view screen!"
Scoffing, I went to face the screen - hoping that the inevitable massacre would alleviate the rage - only to freeze. Massive, deep. A heart that had beaten with the sound of the universe was behind me. It wasn't Malak, he wouldn't dare to lower himself and enter the cantina. It couldn't be Master Zavros, the Twi'lek traitor was a protozoan compared to this star.
'An enemy?' I thought with wide eyes, my palms shook, my legs twitched, and my replacement forearm hurt just being near such a monster. 'An assassin, maybe? Did Malak find out about my traitorous goals?' The greys of the world were violently ripped and replaced by shades of blue and white. 'It could not be an assassin, for what darkness could be found in this ocean? How does Master, how does no one feel this weight?'
"Excuse me?" Slowly, my eyes bore witness to the monster that emitted such strength. "We don't mean to be a bother, but can we sit with you?"
'He's just a guy.'
This man was just that, no serene face of enlightenment, no corruption of the Dark Side. Just…a guy.
Stunned by the revelation that one of the most powerful Force wielders I had ever met was just standing in a slimy cantina, I stammered in my response. My entire persona as a Dark Side user was obliterated just by this one man's presence.
"Y-Yeah, s-sure."
"My thanks." The ocean said, taking a seat.
"Yeah, thanks." The ocean's friend muttered, sitting next to the giant.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I draw your attention to the duelling ring. Here, two combatants will battle for your viewing and gambling enjoyment." The announcer hyped up the match to the best of his ability, but that hype did not reach me - it never did - but that seemed so far away, so far ago. "Now, I hope all your bets are down, because we're ready to roll! In this corner," The camera turned to face a man of moderate height with equally mild looks garbed in a rushed together combat suit. "I give you…Gerlon Two-Fingers!"
The crowd roared at Gerlon, his hand raised and face smiling like the entire universe was watching him - though I imagined he knew only around twenty thousand were watching on the holonet.
"And over here, looking to climb the ranks yet again is the ever-persistent Deadeye Duncan!" the crowed dimmed more than halfway through the announcement, the ageing man simply didn't care, or was too ill-equipped in the head to understand his surroundings, and raised a hand.
The two men stepped forward as if it were an old holodrama when people still used projectile weapons, stopped and stared. If this were indeed a holodrama, the camera would be close to each of their eyes, music would be tense with strings being strummed in rising intensity. Until, finally, after a full half-minute passed and both men would draw their weapons in a quick and satisfying duel.
"Duncan's going to lose." The ocean roared, deafening in its volume, and I only just resisted the urge to curl up and bow before it.
"What do you mean, Delaan?"
"Just watch, Rekas." The ocean, Delaan, doubled down on his prediction - leaving no room for disagreement.
The two combatants went to draw their blasters, the music would have swelled in a sudden scream, the audience would've been at the edge of their seats, and the climax of the movie would be capped off with a spectacular shoot-out.
Gerlon drew his blaster.
Duncan…dropped his blaster.
Gerlon fired one shot.
Duncan went down.
The crowd laughed and hollered at the comatose man.
"And, to nobody's great surprise, Deadeye is down again. Don't worry, folks - he's just unconscious. As usual. Our medics will have him up and about in a bit."
"Told you." Delaan smiled in victory at Rekas, who just rolled his eyes.
"Well, that was quick, wasn't it? So I give you the winner…Gerlon Two-Fingers!"
The screen's turned off with the final shot being Two-Fingers raising his namesake in the air, the camera zooming in as some sort of 'powerful image' for the fighting arena.
"That was…entertaining," said Rekas.
"I-It isn't anything new." My composure was nearly back in my control, barely holding the gates open with its claws.
"Oh, you know about the combatants?" Delaan inquired with an easy-going smile.
"I mean…" Stopping myself from further embarrassment, I centred myself - not using the Force but through my own strength. Once my reasoning was back in my control, my thoughts were easier to direct - and Delaan's words were curious. This man, this ocean, called Delaan and his companion should've at least heard about the competitors or the duelling arena, or some mention of the people involved. They could not be people from the Lower City, for you must be wearing a Sith soldier's uniform and have the passcode to enter and leave; and since we occupied Taris last month, traffic to and from the planet has been denied both ways.
The Republic ship dubbed 'The Endar Spire' had been destroyed a few days ago, and reports did say there had been numerous escape pods falling down to Taris. I knew who these two were.
Especially 'Rekas'. A civilian doesn't sit that straight, shoulders high and wide, with eyes twitching left and right as if expecting an attack.
These two were Republic soldiers, hiding in plain sight.
However, Delaan was an…interesting opportunity. If I could train him in the Force, he would be a powerful apprentice and ally against Malak. We could avenge Revan.
'But how did the Jedi not sense this power? How isn't anyone?' These were the questions I wanted to ask.
"Y-You have 'Deadeye' Duncan and Gerlon 'Two-Fingers', wh-who you just saw fi-fight; then you ha-ha-have M-Marl, Ice an-and Twitch." Keeping up the facade of a stammering and pathetic man, I started to explain the fighters.
"Twitch?" Delaan's head tilted slightly, not at all bothered by my stuttering, that thought of him seeing through my disguise was there, but I had to continue now that I was walking down that road.
"I-If you meet him, t-then you s-see."
"Dunc-can is n-not g-great. He has g-gone through fifty-three? Fifty-four? Cons-s-secutive losses. Gerlon is an-an average f-f-fight-ter. Ice is-is an ice que-queen in all-all as-as-aspects. M-Marl has been in-in the a-arena for tw-twenty years, yo-you could talk to him for mo-more?" I shrugged my shoulders with a small smile, hopefully, innocent and not grimacing.
'Delaan' simply gave a teeth-filled smirk, and with a simple hard clap on my shoulder - which I gave a small yelp for - Delaan stood up and walked towards the competitors of the arena. 'Rekas' looked back between 'Delaan' and I for a few seconds, looking comically himself, only to end up chasing after his fellow soldier.
The two argued quietly, so as to not gather attention to themselves, but it was too late. They had my attention.
They needed to escape, I needed to kill Malak.
It would be perfect.
'Rekas' walked back over and slumped into his chair, actually appearing like a civilian. The great sigh wandered out of his lips as a hand reached across his face.
"W-What wron-ong?" I asked.
"It seems, Delaan wants to have a go at being a gladiator." He groaned.
I simply turned to look at the screen, not even ten minutes before the next fight began.
"Ladies and gentlemen, draw your eyes to the centre ring! We have a very special presentation in store for you: You've seen him lose night after night after night. But this time, he's after fresh meat. In this corner, I give you, Deadeye Duncan!" I held my breath, not for Duncan, the old man who would accept reality, but for his opponent who wielded a vibrosword in each hand. "And in this corner, a relative newcomer to the Taris duelling scene. Emerging from the shadows with no history, no past and no name…the Mysterious Stranger!"
With nary a blink, Delaan charged Duncan, who could not even lay the foundations for a defensive stance as the 'Mysterious Stranger' danced around the man, cutting his legs and arms before dropping Duncan with a leg sweep. With such speed and precision in his arsenal, I knew 'Delaan' had to be Force-sensitive, if not trained.
'He has to be!' I pleaded.
"It's over! The fight is over! The Mysterious Stranger has won! But really, are any of us surprised? Deadeye losing isn't news. You have to do better than that to impress us, Stranger!"
Right, how was it? Good, bad? Please review.
Revan is Mullet Man
You can search Kalotosh Zavros for an image.