Chapter 5: A Little Old School Sith Wrath
Back in the tombs, Reyenna reflected. For all the pride the Sith placed in it, so far as she could determine all of Korriban was nothing but dust and tombs. A planet-wide cemetery, the world itself nothing but a monument to the Sith's refusal to accept the defeats of the past and look to the future.
Reyenna had little use for the past. Nothing good rested there.
In comparison to Marka Ragnos' hole in the ground, the Tomb of Naga Sadow was immense. In typical Sith fashion, its history was convoluted.
"It isn't actually a tomb," Zash had explained, "and it wasn't built for Naga Sadow. The Sith Lord Tulak Hord commissioned the structure centuries before Naga Sadow was even born. When Sadow was the reigning Sith Lord, he expressed his desire to be buried in it. But the Empire fell at the end of the Great Hyperspace War, and he ended up dying in exile on Yavin 4."
"So his tomb wasn't actually built for him, and there's no body in it?" Reyenna clarified.
Zash had smiled coldly. "Oh, there are many bodies," she assured the acolyte. "Just make sure you don't become one of them."
Reyenna was still on the tomb's ground level when she saw the first bodies. The corpses were in various stages of decay, but all wore acolytes' robes. Victims of rival students.
Ffon would be here somewhere. She doubted she would be in any danger on the way in. By now, he would have realized that he was missing information needed to reach the Dashade. He would hide, allow her to solve the puzzle. Then he would strike. That's what she would have done, in his place. Still, she would remain alert.
Her first task was to gather the rods Zash had indicated. Four rods, that acted as keys to the Dashade's chamber. The ancient Sith had placed them in the hands of the statues decorating the tomb. Sith were born drama queens, so of course each rod had its own name: The Rod of Hate, The Rod of Fury, The Rod of Wrath, and The Rod of Despair.
She amused herself by renaming them as she located them.
"I dub thee The Horn of the Pretty Pink Unicorn," she announced to The Rod of Hate as she wrested it from its statue's grasp. If the metal bar held any resentment toward its re-christening, it gave no sign.
The Rod of Fury became "The Staff of Silly Balloon Animals." The Rod of Despair became "The Tube of Candied Sweets."
She left the Rod of Wrath with its original title. As she thought of Overseer Harkun and of Ffon, she had to admit to seeing the merits of a little old-school Sith wrath.
As she ascended to the tomb's top level, she found fewer and fewer traces of other students. She did find traces of Ffon's presence, however – in the form of several security droids that had been violently dismantled. A trail of decidedly organic blood showed that he had been injured in the encounter.
Had Harkun not sent Ffon along ahead of her, those injuries would almost certainly have been hers. She made a note to thank the overseer for all the ways he had unwittingly helped her. Still, she went on the alert. Ffon may have cleared away these droids, but that didn't mean that more weren't waiting further in.
As she proceeded, she began to sense the Dashade. It was powerful and cunning. Malevolence incarnate, and a hunter by instinct. It was hungry.
She followed that sensation, moving more quickly as she neared it. She strode confidently through an opening, briskly turned a corner…
…And caught herself just in time to keep from plunging down a sheer drop.
After backpedaling several steps, she inched forward to take a look at the chasm. It was a wide, room-sized shaft, that went all the way down to the tomb's foundation. Certain death. A thin walkway hugged the surrounding wall, providing a path forward for the cautious and well-balanced. It was a crude trap, certainly – but an effectively-designed one.
Would it be too much to hope that Ffon had taken that plunge? She shook her head, dismissing the thought. Much like Arkarix Krell, Ffon was a Pure Blood Sith. He had spent his entire life preparing for Korriban, and would not fall easily to its pitfalls. Certainly not to a literal pitfall, she reflected with a thin smile.
Reyenna hugged the wall as she crept along the walkway. She took her time circling to the opening to the next passage, making sure of every step. The vision Zash had shown her, that nightmare of blood and bone, had assured her that she would not die on Korriban. But the line between a vision and a hallucination was too thin to trust, not in the way she trusted the feel of stone beneath her feet.
When she finally reached the passage, she exhaled, relaxing with relief.
Which, of course, was when the droids attacked.
Had the droids been well-maintained, her mistake of relaxing would have spelled the end of her journey. Fortunately, the droids had been left to rust, and the squeak of unoiled metal alerted her a second before the blaster fire began. Just enough time to duck out onto the walkway, pressing her back against the stone and letting the blaster bolts sail harmlessly past.
Squeaks and clunks as the droids approached. She waited, holding her breath, listening intently. Placing their positions and numbers. She believed there were three of them. Arkarix Krell, with his Sith warblade, could have rushed out and dispatched them before any of them was able to so much as raise its blaster.
She was not Krell. Their fencing had improved her skill, but no one would accuse her of having lightning reflexes, nor would her practice blade do much against their metal chassis.
The droids moved slowly, however, and that gave her an advantage.
She backed further onto the stone walkway, making sure to make noise. The droids responded, approaching.
She sent a Force wave, a burst of pure air. The first droid toppled off the narrow walkway, and gravity did the rest. Two left. She dove for the passageway, sending another burst of air around her as she did.
It was enough to knock one of the droids onto its back. It fired at her from its prone position. She ran directly in front of the one still standing. She was quick enough to evade the blaster bolts, but the last droid was all but cut in half by them.
The droid on the floor continued firing. One more Force wave shot it out the opening, along with the pieces of its unintended victim. She heard the satisfying crunch of the metal hitting the foundation, far below.
The Dashade's trail led to a chamber. Beyond that was another chamber with a sheer drop, a single pillar standing in the center. An oubliette, a prison designed to be both unreachable and inescapable. The hatred and hunger originated within. Her goal – tantalizingly close and, at the same time, impossible to reach.
She grinned as she imagined Ffon's frustration.
In the chamber where she stood, there was a rectangular platform, with a sculpture at each of the four corners. Any bystander would presume them to be purely decorative, but Zash had told her the secret.
Each sculpture stood for the trait of its corresponding rod. Baleful red eyes stared out of the sculpture of hate. "The pretty pink unicorn," she announced, placing her renamed rod into its nose. The stone opened as the rod slid into its slot. With it sticking out from just below the red eyes, it actually did resemble a unicorn, albeit a particularly demonic one.
Wrath was an animal face, teeth bared in a snarl. Fury was the same face, only now in a full roar. The final sculpture, Despair, was represented by the figures of two slaves, a mother and her child.
Her eyes lingered on the sculpture, and she again saw the guard's knife opening her mother's throat.
"The past is dead," she told herself. "Have some candied sweets," she told the sculpture, ramming the rod into place between the two slaves, separating mother from daughter by driving the physical wedge between them.
The sound of metal, clattering along stone. A bridge emerged, connecting Reyenna's chamber to the oubliette. The path to the Dashade was open. The monster himself stood within the pillar. A hulking beast with green skin, red eyes, and enormous fangs. It still slept, but Reyenna could feel it stirring. Soon it would awaken.
"Thank you, slave. I had almost given up hope."
Reyenna turned, entirely unsurprised at the voice.
Ffon stood before her. In his hand, he held not a practice blade, but a blood red lightsaber.
Harkun. The overseer had made sure his favorite student had every advantage possible.
She kept her eyes on the Sith. She had seen the blood, so she knew the droids had wounded him. Where had he been injured?
"I saw your blood on the floor by that first pile of droid parts," she said. "Sloppy. I got rid of mine without getting hurt – and Harkun didn't give me a lightsaber."
"The droids were unexpected," Ffon said.
"I thought big, strong Sith like you were trained to expect the unexpected."
Ffon's lips drew up in a thin, hard smile.
"You're trying to make me angry," he observed. "You needn't bother, slave. I am always angry. It is the source of my strength!"
He lunged at her with the blade. She darted back, toward the sculptures.
"I will kill you," he boasted. "I will return with the Dashade and the map, and I will become Darth Zash's apprentice."
He swept his blade in a wide arc, which she evaded with a leap. She thought she detected a grimace. Pain? His first attack had been a controlled lunge, toward her midsection. His second had been a low sweep. No high attacks yet.
"Zash doesn't want you, Ffon," she snapped. "Haven't you noticed? You're Harkun's favorite, but I'm the favorite of the person he answers to."
"Zash is a Sith Lord," Ffon replied. "When you are dead, you will be forgotten as just another weak acolyte, and she will be happy to accept the strong."
Another lunge. Another low one. Reyenna was starting to feel confident.
She jumped onto the sculpture representing despair. She balanced precariously atop its uneven surface, presenting Ffon with a clear target – but a clear high target. If she was wrong, she would be dead in the next seconds. If she was right…
Ffon hesitated, staring at her. She felt a surge of satisfaction, and spread her arms. "What's the matter, Ffon? I'm right here. Strike me down, and claim your destiny."
Ffon lifted his blade, but his arm resisted him. He grimaced, pushing against the pain, his red face going pale pink with the effort.
Pain loosened his grip. She reached out with her mind and plucked the lightsaber from his hand, pulling it to her own.
"A Sith warblade," she observed. Like Krell's, though smaller in stature. Much like Ffon himself.
She leapt down onto her rival, slicing with the blade. He howled as his right arm was severed. He collapsed onto his back, wriggling away. She advanced, steering him toward the bridge she had extended.
"You wanted the Dashade," she said. "Let me introduce you to him!"
The creature's eyes were open. Fixed on the two of them. Pure hatred in its glare.
"Dashade!" Reyenna called. "I am Reyenna Desme, future apprentice to Darth Zash. I have freed you from your prison, and I deliver to you this offering."
A Force Blast propelled Ffon to the creature's feet. The Sith whimpered as he stared up at the beast. The creature glared balefully down.
"The universe conspires to mock me," the Dashade thundered. He raised his head and shouted at the walls of the Tomb. "Tulak Hord, I waited for you! And this is what you send me?"
Ffon whimpered again, raising his remaining hand in a futile attempt to protect himself. He shot a bolt of lightning at the creature.
The Dashade laughed.
"Fate is cruel to me, little one," he rumbled. "But not as cruel as it is to you."
The creature drew itself to full height, towering above the injured Sith.
"I am Khem Val, servant of Tulak Hord," he announced. "Together, we devoured our enemies at the Battles of Yn and Chabosh. We brought the entire Dromund system to its knees. Here, I have waited for my master's return. And I hunger!"
An enormous claw reached out for Ffon, pulling him up by his face. The Sith screamed, helpless as a child, as Khem Val suspended in the air. Slowly, the creature bent forward, and Ffon's cries turned from terror to white-hot agony as the Dashade tore his flesh with razor-sharp fangs.
It was a gruesome sight, but Reyenna knew she could not afford to show weakness. She stood in place, watching the creature feed, suppressing any pity she might have felt at her enemy's end.
What little remained of Ffon was dropped over the edge of the pillar. Khem Val turned his angry gaze to Reyenna.
"You should have run," the creature rumbled. "I have not yet sated my hunger."
The vision came back to Reyenna. Of this creature, at her side, grinning demonically. Who shall I devour next?
Reyenna shook the vision away, focusing her attention on surviving the present. The Dashade stood before her, clearly intent on making her its next meal.
She met its gaze firmly with her own.
"I am not on the menu," she said. "Khem Val, servant of Tulak Hord. Your old Master is long dead."
"Dead?" The Dashade seemed taken aback. "Tulak Hord? The Lord of Hate, the Master of the Gathering Darkness, the Dark Lord of the Sith… is dead?"
"Quite some centuries ago, yes," she confirmed.
Khem Val howled. "My Lord!" he cried. "Why did you not come to me sooner? For you, I would have slain Death itself!"
Reyenna felt a flash of impatience.
"Regardless, he is now dust," she said. "By now, even his bones have been devoured by time and scavengers."
He howled again, glaring at her with renewed rage.
She drew herself up. Zash had told her exactly what to say, and how to say it. She did this now.
"I am Reyenna Desme," she repeated. "I have freed you from your prison. I have given you my enemy, and you have feasted on him. According to ancient and inviolable law, Khem Val, you must now serve me."
The hatred in the creature's eyes was a force in itself, absolute and unyielding. If Zash's words did not work, if he remained unbound, then her death would make Ffon's look merciful by comparison. She had been able to defeat her rival acolyte mainly because of his injuries. Even with Ffon's lightsaber, she would stand no chance against Khem Val.
The Dashade drew back its head and howled one more time, this time in desolation.
"Tulak Hord!" he cried. "Why did you abandon me? Why have you allowed your servant to be reduced to this?"
His lament echoed around the chamber for a full minute before it finally, gradually died out.
"Very well," Khem said at last. "You have freed me, little one, and you have fed me. By the laws that bind me, I must serve. But you will never be my master."
"Denial won't change the situation," Reyenna replied. "You serve me, and you will do as I say."
"For now," the creature rumbled. "But someday, you will make a mistake and breach the law that binds me to you. On that day, your death will be a tale that will make the Tiss'shar's blood run cold, and that will make the fiercest Trandoshan hunter build his campfire higher, out of fear of sharing your doom."
Reyenna grinned brightly, the way she did when Harkun shouted insults at her. "Agreed," she said, sticking out her hand as if to shake his.
He stared at her hand, confused by both the gesture and her manner.
She shrugged, withdrew her hand, and ordered him to take her to the map.
"The Map for the Future?" he confirmed.
She sighed wearily. "I expect that would be the one, yes. The Sith do love throwing fancy titles at things, don't they?"