Xeran frowned. He finally had all the power he had wanted in his hands, and the Empire had come to take it from him, like they had taken everything else. But this time, he was not a five-year-old boy, nor a lowly apprentice who needed his master to save him. He was a full-grown Sith in command of a superweapon. And revenge would finally be his.
He turned to the head engineer, raised his hand, and lifted the man in the air by his throat, choking him. "If you lied about the controls, I will make sure your death is slow and agonizing." He tossed the man on the wall with the Force, sat to the console right as the station shook from the fleet's first shots and activated the base's shields, protecting it from the incoming damage. Finally, he made the necessary calculations, activated the weapons, and targeted the Executor. Let's see what this weapon of theirs can do.
The entire station shook as he pressed the button. The green laser beam that emerged hit the dreadnought straight in the middle. There was a large explosion, and chunks of metal scattered everywhere. Part of the ship was completely vaporized, and the rest was turned into two large pieces of a wreckage that floated aimlessly in space.
Xeran smiled. One by one, he targeted the other ships in the enemy fleet, which were completely vaporized in an instant. The sadistic glee he felt was painted on his face as he finally took his rage and hate out on the Empire. They would remember this day, he would make sure of it.
His coms beeped. "Little hunter, they are jumping! Whatever you're gonna do, do it now!"
The moment of reckoning had come. His predatory rage subsided, and he targeted the cargo ship, still not sure what he was going to do.
Xeran roared, and he punched the wall so hard the durasteel dented. As fast as he could, to avoid thinking, to avoid feeling, he pressed the button and fired on the cargo ship.
His eyes were closed when the explosion happened, but he still felt their deaths in the Force.
Everything stood still as in the spot where the large ship was a second ago had now only been debris. He had killed them all. He had been left with no choice. The Empire had taken from him his home, his family, his master, and now they were taking his soul as well.
His body moved, almost of its own. The rage he was filled with guided him. Most of the ships were vaporized, but the Executor was still there, albeit a pathetic wreck. Vader was alive, he could feel it. The older Sith was trying to escape his ship, filled with such anger and hate that the Zabrak could feel his body grow cold as he touched his presence. But his anger was powerless. Xeran was in control, and Vader was going to die.
He punched the button. The station shook more violently than before. There was a green light, but no laser beam. The station shook more, and the ceiling above the control room cracked. All the alarms were activated.
He turned to the engineers. "What is happening? Explain!"
The men looked at each other, baffled, before one mustered the courage to talk. "There was…a substance inside the station which stabilized the weapon. Most of it has been removed. It was not safe to operate it under such circumstances. It is probably collapsing upon itself, destroyed from its own power."
Xeran cursed inwardly. He needed this weapon! He dared to hope it would have been the one to bring him his ultimate victory, and now it was being destroyed. "Is there a way to reverse the damage?"
"I…don't think so. We need to run, now!"
He activated his coms. "Burrsk, the station is collapsing. We need to evacuate. Meet me in the central hangar." He opened the blast doors, with Shammus following close. He looked at the engineers. These men had created this weapon for the Empire, to allow them to devastate worlds and raze civilizations as they saw fit. They may not have been soldiers, but they were hardly innocent. As he exited the room, he closed the blast doors and used the Force to destroy the controls, trapping them inside the room. Let the creators die with their monster.
As they entered the hangar, they found chaos. Everyone was trying to leave, while the air teams were trying to fend off the fighters that had escaped the capital ships' destruction. They were assigned to a small frigate, with a few others, and took off as soon as they could.
As the ship was fighting to escape, Xeran felt it. There was a TIE-Advanced approaching, and he could feel the darkness that emanated from its cockpit. He had not escaped his destiny at the hands of the older Sith yet.
Shammus rushed to the cockpit to help, and Xeran manned one of the ship's guns. He tried to shoot their assailant, but Vader was a really skilled pilot, some used to say the best in the galaxy, and he could barely keep him at bay. He felt the ship shake from the hits he scored, and even more violently when the shields faded. He heard the screams as a part of the ship was blown away, and he tried to call upon the Force to assist him, but the Dark Side would not yield to him when someone that strong was claiming its power. He snarled and launched a barrage of hits, desperate to survive, but the nimble starship avoided them with a skillful maneuver and kept shooting at them.
Xeran was not one to quit, but he was clearly outmatched, so he decided to rely on strategy. He kept up the barrage, trying to buy enough time to formulate a plan. But fate seemed to deny him yet again, as his enemy launched some sort of missile that cut power to the most vulnerable of the ship's systems, the guns being one of them. He felt the Force warn him when the older Sith targeted the gun, the one in whose control area Xeran was sitting, and he tried to use its power to shield himself, but he felt its energy fade on the other's command. His enemy's bloodthirst was poison at the edge of his senses, and he knew it would be the last thing he felt as he saw the change in the other's flying that indicated his guns had locked. And then he saw the lights, the blue lights of hyperspace, and he finally sat back at his chair, closed his eyes and sighed. It was over, and he was alive.
He was sitting in the ship's common area. The others were celebrating this huge victory against the Empire. Xeran was hailed as a hero. Every one of the men rushed to talk to him, drink with him, celebrate with him. It was easy for them. They did not know the cost at which victory had come, and they did not need to know. That was Xeran's burden to bear.
Shammus Fin sat close to the young Sith. He wanted to say something, to help him out of his misery. He wanted to say it was fine, that he had no choice, that it was the right thing to do. But he couldn't, because it wasn't, and the Sith had a choice. They always had a choice. And Shammus wondered whether his commander had made the right one, as he had wondered countless times during his service to the Empire.
He decided to speak "Sir…"
"Not now, captain Fin. I would ask you to be silent."
"But…"
"Please. I need to think."
The Zabrak sighed, finished the alcoholic beverage someone had placed before him and left, retreating to an empty room. Once there, he forced his mind's gears to turn. He thought back at that fateful moment. Since his master was killed, he had been trying to acquire a superweapon, in order to save the galaxy and exact his revenge upon the Empire. But the moment he was in possession of one, innocent people had died. Was that the right thing to do? Or was he no better than the corrupt despots he was trying to destroy? Was he even worthy of such power?
He thought about the Sith, the order he claimed to belong to. Every single one of them, including his master, would have done the same thing. It was what his master had went on saying time and time again: pragmatism. By sacrificing a few innocent lives, he had saved countless others, and he had delayed the Empire's research for years. But who was he, or any of them for that matter, to make that choice? Had these people less of a right to live than the others who would now be spared the Empire's wrath? Had the Zabraks of Iridonia, his people, less of a right to live than the ones who would have died as a result of their insurgency?
He thought back at that moment, tried to analyze what he had felt, as he had done countless times during his meditations. He did what had to be done. But he felt remorse, pain even, not enjoyment nor cold detachment.
It was then that he realized. That was the difference between him and his enemies. He was indeed a Sith, he had learned pragmatism, and he had learned to make the tough decisions where others could not. But acts like this brought him no joy, nor were they his first choice when it came to making his plans, as opposed to what the Empire was doing. They were his last resort, and they always caused him pain.
He raised his head. He did not regret his decision, and he knew that, if he had a chance to go back to that moment, he would do the same thing all over again. But he would mourn those people. He would make himself mourn if he had to. And he would make sure their deaths were not in vain. But he would not use them as an excuse to blame the Empire. He would turn their deaths into a reason to fight harder for what was right, not for his personal vendetta. And to become not just a better fighter, but a better man as well.
His communicator beeped, bringing him out of his thoughts. He stood up and activated it. A chubby man with a scared look on his face and a bruised eye appeared before him.
"Brehan Silc. I assume you have news for me?"
"I-I-I have tracked your target, my lord. He…"
"You have found him?"
"No." A tall, broad-shouldered, dark-haired human male appeared before him, pushing the trader out of his sight. "I have found your lackey first. If you wish to meet, I shall meet you. You will come alone, to the coordinates I will send you. And if you try anything, or you are too much of a coward to come face me yourself, your man here will die, and what you seek will be lost to you forever!" The device was deactivated, leaving Xeran alone to ponder what had happened. This day was taking an even weirder turn. But the Dark Side whispered of great potential for power in the events that would follow, and the young Sith smiled and wrapped its twisted aura around him like a warm blanket on a cold winter night.