When Gaius starts swinging, he swings to kill. He swipes fast at the Chief Priest's head.
This fucker just tossed Portia into the wall and she's not getting up. The guy is full of sketchy tales that make his already humble background even worse. And, the priest stands between him and his girl finishing their marriage ceremony. And so, even though Darth Tenebrae might be on the Dark Council and, according to Azamin, be a crony of Vitiate, he's going to die tonight. Gaius figures he will just have to deal with the consequences later.
The priest anticipates him. "Fighting in a Temple?" he snickers after he safely ducks the killing blow. "What blasphemy is this?"
The comments aren't criticism. The creepy priest is mocking him. Tenebrae wears a galling smirk as he dodges and weaves just out of range of Gaius' sword tip.
"Lord Malgus, you lack the proper respect."
Bullshit. "Darkness and violence go hand and hand."
"So true, so true," the priest allows. And damned if Tenebrae doesn't look a little pleased that things have devolved into a duel. A small, satisfied smile tugs at the man's lips. It makes Gaius think he has been baited.
The priest now sheds his Lord's cloak. Underneath the garment, he's not wearing the traditional sorcerer's cassock. Instead, he appears to be wearing rumpled pajamas. They hang loose on his lanky, scarecrow frame. Gaius looks askance at this ultra-casual attire, but dutifully stands down as he waits for his opponent to produce his own weapon.
Except he doesn't. Instead, Tenebrae asks curiously, "How did you learn to shoot red lightning? And when?"
"I was born knowing," Gaius brags, unwilling to reveal anything.
"Yes," the priest nods grimly. "That sounds about right."
Recalling now how Angral had said Tenebrae is rumored to have survived the Army's coup attempt twenty years ago, Gaius resolves to remain extremely vigilant. Looks can be deceiving, after all. Just because the priest looks a wreck doesn't mean he's weak. If his reputation holds true, he won't be an easy kill.
Enough stalling. Gaius is ready to fight. "Light your sword!" He doesn't want to slay this important Lord unarmed. That's murder and it will look especially bad when Gaius is called to account for his actions. This fight needs to look like a duel that the priest started and lost. Will the Council think that Tenebrae hurting Portia was mitigating provocation? Gaius hopes so. Because once he kills this guy, there will be Hell to pay. This man has far more status than Darth Vindican and it won't be Gaius' first offense at slaying peers.
The priest is certainly taking his time producing his weapon. With his adrenaline surging, Gaius grows impatient. "Light your sword!"
"No."
"What?" Did he hear that right?
Again, the priest refuses. "No."
"No?"
"Correct. No."
Is this guy so contemptuous that he will not fight him? Does Darth Tenebrae think it's beneath him to duel a Lord he claims is some Temple nun's bastard son? If so, that's a bad strategy. Fuming Gaius engages anew with a charge and a stabbing lunge. He will give the priest an incentive to pull his weapon.
The priest leaps away and then practically pirouettes on one leg as he gracefully turns out of the direction of Gaius' next incoming swing.
"You're fast for a fat kid," Tenebrae observes with nasty glee as he hops on one foot to avoid Gaius' next strike.
Does Tenebrae think this is a game? Why he is jumping around like some impish kid on a playground? Gaius again growls, "Light your sword!" It is irritating how ridiculously this duel has started. One of them is going to die tonight, and that's serious business.
"I don't carry a sword. You will find me unarmed," Tenebrae shrugs with cheeky aplomb.
Oh. That's unexpected. But fortunately, it can be remedied. Gaius extends his right palm to pluck Portia's sword from beneath her cloak. He lobs the saber end over end straight at Darth Tenebrae's chest. "Here. Use this."
The priest catches the weapon, lights it, and gives it a few practice swings. He frowns. "This blade is too short for me."
Obviously. It was meant for Portia, who's about five foot eleven, not the priest who stands three or four inches taller but who is still shorter than Gaius' own commanding six foot six height.
"This is much too short for me," Tenebrae complains again.
Is this really about sword length or is the weapon a proxy for something else? Gaius rolls his eyes as he indulges in some sarcasm. "Too bad. I guess I have the advantage." He's sorry, not sorry. Fairness is not a Dark Side virtue.
But even as he says this, Gaius glances over to where Portia still lies sprawled. She hasn't moved once. Not even when he Force-pulled the saber. It's worrisome.
Tenebrae follows his eyes. "She's alive."
Yes, Gaius can tell from the Force. "You're going to pay for hurting her," he makes his foe a quiet, ominous promise.
"That traitor bitch got off easy! That was my mercy!" the priest snarls back. But as Gaius' eyes wander again to his slumped girl, the now somewhat defensive priest heaves, "She's fine! She's asleep in the Force. I don't need her coming at me with a sword too."
That's a real risk. Portia would do it, Gaius thinks. His girl is fierce. But he doesn't want her to get in the middle of this fight and get herself killed. So maybe it's for the best that she's asleep for now.
"She's fine."
'Fine' sounds right. Gaius doesn't sense any distress or pain coming from Portia. She seems genuinely asleep and unharmed, rather than knocked out unconscious. That's a big relief which will allow him to fully focus on killing Tenebrae. And now that the priest has a sword in his hand, they can get down to business. "Your move," Gaius grimly invites to his elder.
But yet again, prissy Tenebrae declines the challenge. He deactivates the borrowed sword. "I will not fight you. I will not kill you. Not tonight. For now, at least, the Empire needs you."
"Suit yourself." Gaius responds with a series of saber passes that send the priest scuttling away fast to put the large stone altar table between them.
Tenebrae's yellow eyes glitter, almost like he's perversely enjoying the danger. "Stop testing my restraint," he warns. "It has limits." But still, the man does not re-ignite his saber.
"I don't want to kill you unarmed, but if I have to, I will."
"You fool!" the priest scoffs. "You can't win. Stop insisting on a fight and walk away!"
Gaius has never walked away from a fight in his life. He won't start now. "Did you expect me to just give up?"
"Well, no . . . "
"I am going to marry Portia Metellus. If I have to kill you to do it, then so be it. Come at me, you fucking sorcerer," Gaius taunts. "Let's do this!"
"You're not going to walk away, are you?"
"You'd be disappointed if I did," Gaius asserts.
Tenebrae now addresses the air around him with a tone of peevish frustration. "Force? Force, are you watching? Force, I did not start this fight. I was not the one to use lethal means first. I did not display a weapon. Even the girl is fine. Are you getting this, Force? I am NOT the bad guy . . . er . . . this time . . . "
And what the fuck? This duel keeps getting weirder. Gaius is confused. Is this something that priests do? Talking out loud to God the Force like it's their friend? Tenebrae looks indignant as he glares into thin air. But he also seems sincerely worried about divine judgement. The moment just adds to the bizarre and slightly deranged impression that the Chief Priest creates.
His unwilling foe turns back to him. "You can't win. Don't say I didn't warn you." Tenebrae now exhales a theatrically long and loud sigh, rolls his gleaming yellow eyes, and then re-ignites his weapon.
By now, Gaius has become impervious to disparagement, even if it's a perplexing version that invokes the Force itself as a protagonist. But he's not above deploying some trash talk himself. "Don't worry," he assures his reluctant opponent. "You'll die quick and clean."
Tenebrae rejects this gallantry. "I never kill cleanly. Where's the fun in that? Tell me," the priest asks as they begin to circle one another around the altar table, with swords buzzing loudly and casting shadows in the candlelight, "how did you get anywhere near the Metellus clan to meet fair Portia?"
"Her brother's on my ship."
"He introduced you?"
"Azamin introduced us."
"Did he now? I will have words with Cornelius about that folly."
"No, you won't. You're gonna die tonight," Gaius sneers.
The priest chuckles softly at this boast. "If I ever die, you won't be the one to kill me. Better men than you have tried and failed. I have a long line of vanquished enemies far more impressive than you, kid."
With that announcement, the skinny, creepy priest starts swinging. Gaius lets him take the lead as he defends and observes. It's a strategy that dead Master Vindican taught him. Lord Vindican, the Empire's longtime preeminent duelist, was neither the fastest nor the strongest. And yet, he was seldom bested at tournaments, even by much younger and more agile opponents. It's because Master Vindican was smart with a saber. He taught Gaius that the key to dueling is to first analyze your foe. Identify his fighting style. Look for his strengths and weaknesses. And then, decide how to engage him. You win because you have the better strategy, Darth Vindican taught, not necessarily because you are the better man.
But as far as Gaius can tell, Darth Tenebrae doesn't fight with any discernible fighting style. He oddly acts more like he's knife fighting with a short blade in some back-alley brawl. Even his grip looks wrong. The priest uses slashing passes and lunges to keep his enemy at a distance. He makes the obligatory stab when Gaius gets close. But mostly, he's all footwork and improvised, sloppy moves. Gaius, who since he joined the Naval Academy, has been steeped in the lore of lightsaber forms and the art of the duel, is befuddled. But he gamely does his best to hold his own against his unorthodox opponent.
It's actually very hard to fight someone who fights very differently from yourself. Gaius prepared for this before Korriban, knowing he would encounter right-handed Jedi with strange fighting moves. So, this isn't the first time he's had to jettison the classic Sith sword fighting playbook he learned at school. Gaius decides that his best strategy is to wait for the priest to tire out. Because from the looks of him, Tenebrae's no athlete.
The duel remains all swords and no Force tricks. From time to time, Gaius attempts to throw in a Force push, but to no effect. The priest anticipates him each time and the move is summarily blocked. Same with the Force lightning Gaius hurls and sprays at his foe. It too is deflected and no harm is inflicted. So, Gaius abandons those tools and sticks with his weapon.
Interestingly, the priest too sticks to his sword. Tenebrae never fights with the Force. Does he deem it to be unnecessary? Is he trying to withhold showing his skills? Might the priest be attempting to lull him into lowering his own defenses? Gaius wonders. For as the fight goes on, Darth Tenebrae reveals none of the wizardry that made him the Chief Priest of the Empire.
The priest is not particularly aggressive, Gaius comes to see. He is fighting to survive, not to win. In fact, he's increasingly sloppy as the duel continues. Time to take charge, Gaius decides, as he goes on the offensive. But as Gaius struggles to gain the upper hand, his opponent parries and swings with an almost lazy disregard for danger. It's like he's going through the motions. Frankly, it's infuriating. Here Gaius is sweating and focused and the man he's trying to kill seems utterly unimpressed with the risk. Truly, Darth Tenebrae acts almost indifferent to the fight's outcome. And that makes no sense. Could he really be that confident?
The priest even has the gall to start to complain. "This is not how I thought this night would go. I come here to consult the Force, asking for guidance for the path forward. And the Force sends me you! Now, it's just fucking with me," Tenebrae pouts. Like he and the Force are longtime frenemy besties and they are in a tiff.
"You had your chance to walk away," Gaius reminds him between heaving pants.
The priest's complaints now shift from the Force to him. "You should not have been born. You should have been smothered at birth. I knew you would be a problem in the making," Tenebrae scowls.
Gaius responds smugly, owning his role as upstart Sith dissident. "I'm definitely a problem."
"Did you have to turn up just in time for the war to finally start? I'm too busy for this shit. I don't have time to deal with you." Tenebrae's pretty much whining now. "You give the people what they think they want, you give the Force what you think it wants, you make the Council happy, and life still fucks you over." He rants, "I don't have time to deal with you tonight. And now, I'm going to have to take your girlfriend home to her family after we're done. That won't be pretty. Meanwhile, I need to do a little augury because the Jedi might be coming—THE JEDI—you know, our arch enemies. But first, there's you—FUCKING YOU-to deal with! I don't know why someone thought you should be trained . . . one of us is plenty for the Empire . . . "
Darth Azamin said that Tenebrae would feel that way. That there was room for only one colonial in the Imperial power structure. That this guy would be an automatic enemy. Azamin was right, Gaius sighs inwardly. But not to be out done, he goads, "Threatened?"
Tenebrae scoffs. "Do I look threatened?"
No, and that's the problem. This priest isn't afraid, he's annoyed.
"I suppose this was bound to happen eventually," the man grouses. "Well, go on, hurry up and kill me. Let's get this over with. I have work to do tonight. You are delaying me. I'm here to receive a sign from the Force."
Alright. Here goes. Gaius does his best disarming pass. The one that never fails.
It doesn't work.
"Is that all you've got?" the peevish priest sighs. He lowers his weapon and cocks his head at Gaius. "Really, you disappoint me. After that red lightning, I thought you would be better than this. But you're just average. Well, maybe average good. But definitely not good."
"How's this?" Gaius engages anew. He battles back to land a hard kick straight to the priest's puny chest. The man staggers to a crouch as he absorbs the blow, but he still manages to bat away Gaius' incoming sword just in time.
"Better," Tenebrae admits as he regains his feet. "But still underwhelming. No one knows how to fight these days. It's all swordplay," the priest sighs as he executes a perfectly timed riposte that makes Gaius leap back lest he be skewered. Darth Tenebrae is plenty skilled with a lightsaber, Gaius has decided, even if his style is an ad hoc mess. But inexplicably, the priest disdains his weapon. "I hate swords." Tenebrae now flicks up his borrowed blade, frowns at it, and turns it off. The priest tosses the saber hilt aside in disgust. "That's enough."
Gaius blinks. His eyebrows raise. "Am I supposed to do that too? Is this a wrestling match now?"
The priest laughs out loud. "You're funny, kid. Didn't expect that. The best part is that you're not even trying to be funny. You're way too intense to be funny. But that's what makes you a dry, deadpan hoot."
Is that a compliment? Or was that more sarcasm? Gaius isn't sure.
"I'd like you except I hate you," Tenebrae continues making little sense. The priest shrugs and smirks. "I guess we could arm wrestle over the girl, but you're built like a rancor. You'd probably snap my elbow."
"That's right," Gaius affirms his strength. But as they stand down, each taking a much-needed breather, curiosity gets the better of him. Gaius asks, "Did you really best Darth Fulsome?"
The priest's freakishly yellow eyes narrow. "Fulsome," he snarls. "Now, that's a name I haven't heard in a long, long time . . . " He's clearly not relishing a reminder.
"Well?"
"I killed Fulsome. And Hostis and Lacerate and Revan. Revan died horribly . . . like he deserved."
Gaius draws a blank on all of those other names. "Who are they?"
"Men from before your time who came for the Dark Lord and failed to get through me."
"Never heard of them."
"The last one was a part-time Jedi. He probably doesn't count as a rival. But they're all anonymous dead men now. That's no accident. Soon, no one alive will know the name of Darth Fulsome either. In time, the traitors' names get forgotten. There is never any record of their attempt." Anonymity being the ultimate diss for the glory loving Lords of the Sith.
Gaius nods slowly as he continues to size up his opponent. Darth Tenebrae looks a wreck, talks a bit looney, and fights haphazardly, but his unorthodox style is still remarkably effective. Gaius has dueled Jedi and plenty of his Lord peers, and no one yet has put up so prolonged a fight as this strange priest. "So . . . you're Vitiate's champion?" he guesses.
"The Emperor doesn't need my help. But you have to get through me to get to him."
Gaius immediately disavows that intention. "I'm not looking to be Dark Lord. I just want to marry Portia."
"That's not how power works, kid. You don't get to break the rules until you make the rules. And I make the rules for marriage. But get through me and you'll need to confront Vitiate. He won't take kindly to you killing me." Tenebrae smirks and knowingly confides, "There's always a bigger fish."
"I don't want to confront the Emperor. I just want to marry Portia Metellus."
"No."
"Why not?" Gaius huffs.
"Because I said so. That's how absolute power works. I don't need a reason. Power gives me a reason. Okay, good. Look at you raging. Well, go on. Do your worst." The priest motions to him now. "Bring it, kid. Show me some Force. Fight me with power, not words and a sword."
"Alright." Gamely, Gaius deactivates his own weapon. He raises a hand and starts firing blue Force lightning.
This time, the priest doesn't resist. He makes no attempt to deflect the lighting. He simply stands there and takes it. Blue sparks crackle and dance around his skin while Tenebrae remains unconcerned. If he is in pain, it doesn't show.
Gaius is confused. What strange power is this?
"Is that all you got? You're tickling me," Tenebrae jeers. He's got a goofy grin ear to ear that is very provoking.
But apparently, that's the goal. "Good," the priest grunts as Gaius seethes, "Gooood. Now, use your aggressive feelings. Let the hate flow through you. Let me have it!"
Gaius redoubles his efforts. His brow furrows with the exertion. This is deep concentration. His fingertips singe from the torrent of Dark energy he is releasing.
But the priest stands there passive, calm, and unharmed. Whereas any other person would be writhing in agony on the floor, smoking and burning internally.
"Try the red stuff," the priest now casually invites, like this is a training session and they are Master and Apprentice instead of foes. "Come on. Hit me with the lethal lightning. Show me what you've got."
Gaius complies. But consternation is soon written across his face as even the rare blood red Force energy that had so intimidated Darth Azamin fails to affect Darth Tenebrae. Gaius is left depleted from the effort and disheartened by its results.
"H-How?" he marvels as his heart sinks. He's quickly realizing that this duel is over and he is the loser.
The priest gloats, "The Force is with me. With ME!" Tenebrae jabs a jubilant thumb at his chest with almost juvenile glee.
"How? How is this possible?" Gaius wants to know. "Is that some sort of Force shield?" He could really use the priest's trick the next time he fights a Jedi.
"I am more powerful than you can possibly imagine," Tenebrae brags, still acting like this is some schoolyard brawl and he's the strutting bully who won.
"Is it possible to learn this power?"
"Not from me."
No, of course, not. This cagey hater priest doesn't seem the type to reveal much of anything.
"Had enough? You can't win. You will never win. You are way outclassed, Lord Malgus. That's the lesson for tonight."
"Got it. I can't kill you with the Force." Gaius slowly nods to acknowledge the point. But stubborn as always, he refuses to give up. He's never been the type to limit himself or to stay in his lane. "I guess that means I'll need to kill you with a sword."
"That again?" Tenebrae makes a face. "No. I'm done with a sword. Can't stand a sword."
"So . . .?" Then, what happens next? Truly, this is the strangest duel Gaius has ever fought. But he increasingly worries that the fight is done. Gaius is first and foremost a tactician, and he knows a losing battle when he sees one. Even without witnessing more of Tenebrae's Force prowess beyond that shielding trick, Gaius knows the priest has him beaten. And if he can't kill the priest, he loses Portia.
It is a bitter pill to swallow. Gaius glances mournfully over at his beautiful girl laying in a heap on the floor. She had been so close, and now he knows she's lost forever to him. They took a risk, and it didn't pay off. Soon, their relationship will be exposed and he will have to answer to Darth Adraas. For as he and Portia have known all along, their love affair has the potential to get very, very ugly.
Darth Tenebrae watches him intently, clearly enjoying his distress. Gaius has never been great at mental shields, so he knows his emotions are leaking out everywhere, betraying his discouragement through the Force. He wishes he could hold back his emotions, but he can't. He's too disappointed. He and Portia would have been so good together. They might have set the galaxy on fire as leaders of a new generation determined to drag the rest of the Empire forward into modernity. They had one foot in the past, thanks to her old money and revered ancient family name. And one foot in the future, with him as the face of the colonial population that is increasingly demanding more respect. Their union would have married old and new, elite and commoner. It might have been a potent combination once the Sith rule the galaxy. Plus, they would have each other, and really that's the true loss. Because for all Portia might have brought him in terms of wealth and connections, Gaius mostly values her for herself. For her bright, confident mind and her streak of rebellion . . . for those coy smiles, hot pics, and snappy text messages . . . for her rapturous kisses, elegant profile, and head turning curves . . . Yes, Portia Metellus is the pinnacle of elite young womanhood, tailor made for him. And tonight, she just slipped away.
The gloating priest purrs out, "This time, Darth Malgus, I will let you live. Force? Force, are you getting this?" Again, the priest abruptly lapses into speaking to the air, like he's had another momentary psychotic break.
But he's quickly done and his next words are for Gaius. "You will be punished," Tenebrae assures him blithely as he crosses his arms. "But the boss still has use for you in the short term. You are to appear at the Palace with Angral tomorrow, yes?"
Dejected Gaius nods. "The Emperor is deciding tonight whether to attack."
"He hasn't decided yet," the Chief Priest informs him in a tone thick with insider condescension. "But since Angral clearly isn't the brains of the Sluis Van operation, we need you alive in case the guy on the throne has questions. Ergo, you live for now, Lord Malgus."
Well, that's something, at least. He's important enough not to kill . . . for now. With a resentful look, glum Gaius predicts, "Vitiate's going to take the gamble on attacking Sluis Van."
Tenebrae raises an eyebrow. "What makes you think that? I just told you—he hasn't decided."
Gaius grunts. Does this self-important cleric think that whatever seance he plans for tonight will make a difference? Hardly. History is made by wars and by economic, political, and social change. And yes, it is made by the Force. But it is presided over by leaders, and those leaders have individual personalities, biases, strengths, weaknesses, and even fears that become very important in the context of decisions writ so large. Gaius has had one humiliating personal interaction with Darth Vitiate. He doesn't particularly like the guy. But still, he honors his Emperor's many accomplishments over his thousand-year reign. And as a close student of that statecraft, Gaius tells the priest with confidence, "He'll attack."
"So certain are you?"
"Yes. He's Vitiate, THE hero of all heroes because he does what must be done and he does not hesitate. He takes action. He won't sit around waiting for the Republic to come without at least trying to divert them elsewhere. Especially when he was around to witness what happened the first time the Jedi came."
"I was there too," the priest brags. "I was born in the time of Marka Ragnos."
Whatever. Gaius finds the Sith cultural obsession with the past to be tedious and unduly limiting. Maybe this priest is especially slavish about bygone days given his insecurity over his own meager background. But why he's bothering to try to impress his vanquished foe is a bit perplexing. How insecure is this Tenebrae guy?
Gaius now reasons aloud, "Vitiate's known all along that there was a risk of a counter invasion once we attacked at Tindal Arm. A man like that already has a plan in mind for how to handle that risk. Probably multiple plans. He might be pretending to sleep on this decision, but it's for show. He knows in his gut what he'll do. He likely decided long ago."
The priest considers this. "You have a lot of faith in him."
"That's right. We all do."
"Even though you're out of favor?"
"I want what Vitiate wants—for the Sith to win." Gaius frowns and mutters, "I don't have to like the guy to serve him."
The priest purses his lips and now insinuates a ridiculous claim. "What if I told you that he doesn't care if we win?"
"I'd call you a liar." Gaius shoots the creepy priest a reproachful look. Because that's a claim that verges on treason.
The revenge of the Sith is the defining hallmark of the Second Empire. What started as revenge for the long-ago Exile has morphed to include revenge for the Great Hyperspace War and the genocide that followed. As a culture, the aggrieved Sith have a deep and abiding thirst for vengeance, parched due to several millennia of delayed gratification. Vitiate stoked that bloodlust for centuries as he rebuilt the Dark Side's power base. But the Emperor must think the time has come to confront the Light Side. That the Sith attacked the Republic first shows how resolved the Dark Lord is.
But the doubting priest repeats more insidious Palace gossip. He drawls off, "What if I said that Vitiate started the war because he's bored."
Bored? Bored? "Then, I'd call you more than a liar. I'd call you a fool."
"What makes me a fool?" Tenebrae goads.
"Only a fool believes that a Dark Lord would risk our entire civilization—and his grip on power—because he is bored. Men like Vitiate don't think like that."
"Oh, so you claim to know how our Emperor thinks?"
Gaius glares hard at the priest who bested him tonight but who seems to be something of an idiot notwithstanding his Council status. "If the Emperor was bored and self-destructive like you say, he would have let Fulsome win the coup . . . or one of those other names you said earlier."
"Fulsome was over twenty years ago. Things change."
"No, they don't," Gaius hisses. "That's the problem around here-nothing changes! And twenty years is the blink of an eye to a guy like Vitiate. If you're as old as you claim, you should know that." With a contemptuous look at the priest, Gaius asserts again. "No matter what hocus pocus you get up to in this Temple tonight, it won't matter. Vitiate's attacking Sluis Van ASAP."
"Is that so? Well, either way the decision is made, Lord Malgus, you will lose," the priest heckles. "If Vitiate attacks those shipyards, I'll make sure you're on the ground in the thick of the battle you planned. If it doesn't succeed, you will die for your failure. But if the Emperor decides to muster our forces here against the Republic invasion, you will stand beside me to defend the Palace. When the Jedi drop out of hyperspace to bomb our city, you can have a sword and the Force to save yourself and the Empire."
The priest sounds utterly serious about that doomsday scenario. "That's suicide."
"Maybe for you. For me, it's a challenge. Oh, come on, Malgus, you'll love it. It will be you against everyone—just like you like it. You're an agent of chaos if there ever was one. It's a futile role, mind you," Tenebrae sniffs.
"Fuck you!" Gaius retorts. Why are they even having this conversation?
The priest simply laughs at his vehemence. And why not? Tenebrae is the winner and he gets to be gleeful. "Oh, that's so you. Lord Malgus, allow me to school you in the art of not giving a fuck about what other people think. Here's a tip: you can never let on that you don't care. Put on a good show and pretend. Stop telling me and everyone else in the Empire to fuck off. And while you're at it, learn some nuance, kid. You don't get to be blunt at your stage in life, even if you are the smartest guy in the room."
"Fuck you!" How's that for blunt?
The priest now leans forward as if to conspiratorially confide, "Myself, I'm sort of hoping that the Jedi will invade. I'm up for the challenge."
"Then you'll die an arrogant idiot!" Along with countless innocent Sith citizens, Gaius fears. He's seen the casualty models for the most likely Republic invasion plans, and they aren't pretty.
"Scared?" the disheveled priest with a death wish jeers.
"I don't take stupid risks."
Tenebrae snorts. "That's a bold statement for man I caught in a Temple attempting to elope against the wishes of the girl's family and the Palace."
"Fuck you!"
"Oh, look how angry you are, how disappointed, how lost . . ." The priest is loving his distress. His waxy pale face takes on a wicked smile. "Lean into it," he advises, "relish those feelings. They will help you get Darker. And maybe then, you will be ready to stand shoulder to shoulder with me against a Jedi invasion."
"You're insane."
"Lord Maglus, you don't know the power of the Dark Side until you know fear so desperate and anger so deep that your heart becomes indistinguishable from the Darkness you wield. That's what it means to become one with the Force . . . to have the Force act through you and for you. That's when you become an instrument of fate. And that's when you become a true Dark hero . . . a favorite of the Force . . . able to push to the edge of what is possible . . . that's when you live as a god of hate with the power to punish . . ."
"While Republic fighters rain down laser fire on you?" Gaius remarks dryly. He's unimpressed by this crazy dude's metaphysical megalomania.
The priest takes his comment seriously. "Yes! You have anger. You have hate. But you don't use them well. But you are still very young. I suppose it will take time for you to incubate your power. Even with that red lightning, you're less advanced than I thought."
Gaius doesn't refute the point. "I don't have a Master."
"Whose fault is that?"
Gaius flushes. But he impulsively dares to ask, "Will you be my Master?" It's clear that this bizarre fellow has a lot to teach him. And what's the harm in asking?
Plenty, apparently. Darth Tenebrae is taken aback. "Seriously?" the priest literally gasps at the bold request. Panic and a bit of paranoia flash across his face and echo for an instant in the ether of the Force. Then, the priest becomes angry. Visibly, viscerally angry. "What the fuck, kid? You aim high!"
Gaius shrugs. "Why settle for less?"
"First you try and run off with a Metellus daughter, then you think you can talk yourself into being my Apprentice . . . you don't know when to stop, do you?"
"People like us get nowhere playing by the rules."
"You aim high. Too high."
Gaius is sheepish but doesn't back down in the face of the priest's indignant glare. "Haven't you heard? If you can't beat them, join them."
Darth Tenebrae's eyes flash as he declares, "I have never taken an Apprentice and I never will."
"Why not?"
"My secrets are my own. I do not share. Besides, you're in the Navy. You're not a priest."
"Does that matter?"
"I will not teach you. I cannot risk teaching you."
Gaius nods slowly, his mind working. "Is this like with Azamin? You're afraid Vitiate will misunderstand our pairing?"
"Did you—did you ask Cornelius Caesar to train you?" Darth Tenebrae's eyes bulge and then narrow. The man's long, greasy brown hair practically looks ready to stand on end. He is that alarmed.
"Uh yes," Gaius admits, again feeling uncomfortably sheepish.
"Of course, you did!" the priest snarls. "And that little fucker didn't tell me! I am going to kill Cornelius . . ."
"He declined."
"Damn right, he declined! Azamin's an old campaigner and he's no fool. He knows the limits and he wants to keep his head. Damn it, kid, I don't want to have to take his head!"
Gaius now comes clean about his predicament. "I need a teacher," he exhales his deep frustration, his eyes still involuntarily glancing over with regret at Portia. Because maybe if he had been stronger, he might have won her tonight. Cringing at his failure, Gaius stammers out the truth: "I have a power that I don't understand and I can't always control. They taught me war at the Academy, not the Force."
"I will not teach you."
"The answer's no . . . the answer's always no for me . . . " That's what it means to be an outsider in the insular world of the Sith. Seething Gaius makes a face and looks away. Why must everything be so hard for him? The basics every other young Sith Lord takes for granted—a family, an education, a Master, a commission, a marriage—he must fight for.
"You get the same teacher I had," the priest tells him cryptically. "Experience."
Whatever. But since they're having this conversation, Gaius wonders aloud, "How'd you get on the Council?"
"No one good wants to be a priest."
"No competition?"
"Not lately." Tenebrae scowls. "I have to make military commanders do a stint at the Palace Temple. Most only know war, they don't know the Force. Power is an afterthought for too many in authority. They're so enamored of technology . . . but a weapon of mass destruction—even with the ability to destroy an entire planet—is insignificant next to the power of the Force. All power comes from the Force."
The priest says this with a zealot's conviction. Listening Gauis thinks it's no small wonder why the man plans his martyrdom standing on the Palace steps when the Republic and the Jedi invade.
"The Force is mostly why Vitiate went to war. He knows that Darkness ever seeks a prey. If you do not give vent to its bloodlust against an enemy, Darkness will turn inward. And that means in time, if left too long in isolation, the Empire would start to destroy itself."
Gaius understands. "Darkness can consume you."
"Exactly," Tenebrae nods with no trace of irony about the fact that he looks pretty consumed by Darkness himself currently. With his ragged appearance and his bizarre shout outs to the Force, the Chief Priest of the Empire appears precariously sane. Will this be his own future someday if he is left untrained and his power continues to grow? Gaius looks away from the creepy priest, uncomfortably worried that his foe's miserable circumstances will eventually be his own.
He decides that his defeat has gone on long enough. "So . . . is that it? Are we done?" He's heard enough of this nut's lectures. And the longer he is in the presence of Darth Tenebrae, the more unnerved Gaius becomes. For, if anything, the sense of danger he felt when he and Portia arrived has only increased. And just look at Tenebrae staring him down with cool cruelty in his eyes. That's a detached look Gaius knows well. It usually precedes a kill.
"Get out of here," the priest dismisses him. "I have work to do."
Gaius immediately starts crossing the room towards Portia. "I will take her home."
"No, you won't. I'm no fool."
Gaius keeps striding. "I will take her home."
"I will take her home." To punctuate the point, Tenebrae shoots a bolt of lightning—lethal red lightning—right at his head.
Gaius ducks and whirls. "She's a Lady! If this gets out, it will ruin her!"
The priest crosses his arms and predicts, "Mostly, it will ruin you . . . if that's even possible at this point. You were an outsider before tonight. But now," Tenebrae flashes a sly smile, "you will be a pariah."
Gaius sees that smirk and gulps. He's always had haters, but this Chief Priest guy is next level. Gaius has no doubts that the fallout from tonight will be massive. For while Tenebrae may have spared his life, he seems weirdly personally invested in thwarting him nonetheless. Gaius has long encountered Lords who seem to take offense at his very existence. Being a random prodigy flies in the face of the elite worship of genealogy—for what's the point of all those carefully curated bloodlines if someone like him comes along? But Tenebrae's not elite. If the priest can be believed, he's a half colonial byblow, like himself. So what gives? Why all the viciousness?
"I will see to the girl. Now, go! Be off with you!"
But Gaius stands his ground, holding the gaze of the strange cleric a long, serious moment. In this evening's power play, Gaius has clearly lost. But that doesn't mean he's giving up entirely. He plays the long game and he's just getting started.
So, summoning as much gravitas as his short years and stinging defeat will allow, Gaius rumbles softly, "One day, I will come for you." He will get his revenge for the happy future with Portia that tonight has slipped through his fingers.
The priest shakes his head. "You will do no such thing! You will never speak of what transpired here if you know what's good for you."
Gaius doesn't back down. He slowly reiterates, "I will come for you," before he starts to leave.
He walks out slowly, down the altar steps, past the fuming priest, and disappears into the enveloping dimness of the empty Temple sanctuary. Gaius doesn't look back at Portia again. In that moment, he decides that he's not the type to look back. He's the type to get even.
He's nearly to the rear of the Temple nave when the priest's voice abruptly calls out. "I meant what I said about defending the Palace. If the invasion happens, you'll be there fighting with me. The Emperor will send the Council members and the high command off world with Cornelius in charge to preserve the chain of command. Then, he'll stand his ground with me . . . and with you, Malgus."
Wait—what? Gaius stops and whirls. He shouts back at the priest from twenty meters distance. "The Emperor will fight the Jedi himself?" Did he hear that right?
"Yes."
"Can he do that at his age?"
Tenebrae bristles. "Yes."
Well, at least he'll die in good company, Gaius decides. "Fine. I'm not afraid to die. I might be a colonial random—"
"You mean a bastard."
"—but this is my Empire too. And if the Jedi come to destroy it, they'll have step over my dead body to do it. I am just as Sith as you are, Tenebrae. I am as Sith as Emperor Vitiate himself! And my worth as a Dark warrior has nothing to do with the sins of my parents." Now, despite all intentions to the contrary, Gaius glances again at Portia slumped and asleep on the altar dais. He shakes his head with bitter regret as a lump forms in his throat. "We would never have run to the Republic . . . regardless of what she implied." He's no traitor and neither is Portia.
The priest seems to believe him. "Lord Malgus, if the Jedi come and you manage to live, then maybe I will train you."
That's a hollow promise. And it won't happen. "There will be no invasion. Vitiate is going to attack Sluis Van and the feint will work. The Republic will fall for it."
"You sound certain."
"I am."
Again, Gaius turns on heel and heads to the exit. But his retreat is interrupted a second time.
"What did the guy you killed as a kid do?" Tenebrae hollers.
"What?" Gaius isn't following. The question is a complete non sequitur.
"You said your eyes turned yellow at thirteen when you killed a man. Why did you kill him?"
"He was kicking my dog."
"A dog . . . You killed someone over a dog."
"That's right."
"Because it was your dog and only you could kick him?"
"No! Because he was hurting the dog!"
"I guess that's a good reason," the priest supposes, sounding wholly unconvinced.
"Any other questions?" Gaius snarls.
"No."
"Good." Gaius storms out.
