Chapter Two

Hyperion was admittedly surprised by how fast the Twi'lek moved even for a soldier. "Papa?" asked Menelaus.

"Get the frack out of here, hide, do something! Just don't stay here!" Hyperion ordered at once. Menelaus knew better than to disobey a direct order from the man who'd raised him but Hyperion knew as well that the soldier was going to give no qualm or room for mercy. After nearly twelve years away from such ruthlessness, Hyperion was about to find out if he still had the mettle for it. The soldier extended an arm out his flank and hooked Hyperion's throat with it as he expected a man in such a position as him to do when faced with a larger opponent.

It would have probably ended right there were it not for the fact that the soldier's rage caused him to run over a large enough stone to trip him, throwing them both to the ground. "You were a Sith warrior, this is the kind of monster Padawans get frightened by?! Pitiful!" the soldier taunted when he was able to.

"I warned you that you wouldn't want this confrontation. Now you'll see what it means to be in a real fight," Hyperion growled, rising to his feet more quickly. His Force powers, he noticed hadn't diminished much but he knew he couldn't rely strictly on them. If he should ever have his connection severed for any reason, he would need the weapons he learned to wield and his martial prowess in order to protect Menelaus from the foes of his past. The boy's time had come, the journey to Dathomir would begin, and he knew he couldn't teach the boy the Force. How could a master teach a youngling something he had no gift for?

When the soldier arose again, he made the mistake of trying to break in Hyperion's skull with a left hooking blow of his fist. Because the former Sith warrior deflected it with his left fist and proceeded to then jab for his throat with the knuckles of that same hand. Instead, he ended up hitting the jawline with his fist but quickly switched hands and landed a resounding blow where the Twi'lek would have felt it in his aorta artery if not for his armor. Armor, Hyperion noticed, that only protected him enough to stop him dying but not so much that he was immune to Hyperion's attacks. Further dooming the Twi'lek was the fact that all Force-sensitives trained in combat typically came with ungodly feats of speed and agility even if this was usually channeled in lightsaber combat.

This meant that the augmented momentum at which Hyperion landed his blows wouldn't kill his opponent straight away but would feel like he was being hit with fast-moving balls of pure cortosis. Either the standard of quality armor has dropped since the war ended or I've grown stronger in my older age. Regardless, this man will know why he should never have come here Hyperion thought, smirking wickedly as he did so. The first true fistfight he'd had in nearly twelve years and he was already disappointed both by his foreknowledge of the outcome and how easy it was going to be, Havoc Squad or not. All this was registered in less than ten seconds and when the soldier's left fist came next, he dodged then let him step three paces ahead before jabbing his lower back with a left underhand strike of his own.

Though Echani was a style mostly used for wrestling and pinning down opponents with the strength of the species of the same name, Hyperion had been trained well. It hadn't been a far stretch in his early years for him to take some of the same grabs of Echani and apply them for making an enemy open for punching, jabbing, or otherwise breaking with the closed fist. So when the soldier tried again with a left jab to his collarbone, Hyperion already knew to counter by first deflecting with his right arm then land a left hooking blow dead in the ribs. "Mercy is for the weak and stupid, when your enemy is dazed don't give quarter until he's dead!" said the voice of his trainer, which still rang deep in his head. "You use this skill against your enemy because he is your enemy, he must die!" it added a moment later.

But Hyperion knew that if the Republic had sent a guy who found him, there'd be others who'd come. Others who wouldn't take so kindly to finding out Hyperion had killed their predecessor with his bare hands. No, it was much better to merely cripple the guy long enough for him and Menelaus to make a break for the mountain range where they could hide for several standard months. Because then they could at least have a chance to defend themselves in court if when they were captured then they would if Hyperion killed this man. In desperation, the soldier tried to slug his right arm across to Hyperion's face but this was intercepted with both of the ex-Sith's hands.

This was followed by a short but potent jab to the nose, which broke the cartilage and let blood ooze from both nostrils, along with a powerful right hook below the eye. Switching hands, he punched the Twi'lek man's throat with his left fist (just under the chin) with a right jab to the teeth and another left blow just above his waistline. He then placed his left hand on the man's right shoulder to hold him in place as he swiped with the most powerful roundhouse punch he could throw without any Force powers to help him. Adding insult to injury, in a sense, was the fact that the knuckle plate of Hyperion's mechanical right hand was made with thick durasteel that had beads of phrik where the knuckles of a flesh and blood hand would be. So as he expected, the man was launched into a brief spin then fell on his back into the snow.

Each of those hits from his right arm, Hyperion realized, might have been the reason he had stood a chance at all of winning without the Force's help. The blows from his artificial arm must have really felt like they hurt whenever they were landed especially on flesh. This was of course, excluding the fact Hyperion had also had a band of thick metal he could wear across the knuckles of his left fist for such occasions as this. So in the end, in using only those two things he immediately possessed, he proved his point about the man making the weapon rather than the other way around. "Save yourself a hospital stay and stand down," Hyperion snarled, preferring to relish the fact he could still hold his own after so many years away from combat.

Of all the Sith traits Hyperion had wanted to do away with, self-preservation wasn't one of them. Not when his wasn't the only life he was fighting to protect as it might have been when he was younger. But the man rose, several minutes later and tried again though he was too dazed to truly fight now. So Hyperion grabbed his head with both hands, kneed him once below the ribs then heaved him over his shoulders. In keeping with Echani traditions, Hyperion threw the man up and over with such force that the thud of his landing at once alerted the older human there was no way his enemy wouldn't be down for the count unless he had a spare kolto pack somewhere.

He knew the man would be back, knew that he would chase after them again when he recovered. And that was assuming the native creatures of the planet didn't see an easy meal in him before then.

The only thing left to do, this noted, was see how Menelaus was coming along with their preparations for the mountains. That was, of course, if he had even obeyed Hyperion and taken refuge from the fight in the downstairs compartment that Hyperion had built for such occasions. Menelaus was nowhere that could immediately be seen which was a good sign of his obedience to Hyperion. "Boy, where are you!?" Hyperion asked, shouting so he could be heard. The lock to the downstairs doors unclicked and Menelaus emerged with the provisions they usually took to the mountains.

He had enough nutrition bars for them to last several years in the mountain without ever needing to hunt for meat. The boy had also done a good job of fetching enough water for them to find a source of melted snow they could safely rely on for hydration, one that was consistent. "Did you kill him, dad?" Menelaus asked.

"No, he should live and recover to fight another day. But there will be more like him and worse than him, the enemies of my youth will never rest until they've found us again. We only need to stay in the mountains until I can figure out what would be best for us. Is your bow ready?" Hyperion replied.

"I also have your whip and shuriken shooters if you want those," Menelaus offered, producing the weapons he was talking about despite what it meant for the baggage he carried. Taking both the whip and the dispenser, he then asked Menelaus to retrieve his shield, spear, ax, and both their knives. He added that he would get their mountain coats and the tents that they would need for the trip, whenever they couldn't find a cave to hunker in. The former Sith also kept the knuckleduster he'd used to enhance the effectiveness of his left hand punches for good measure.

"Pop?" Menelaus began, speaking when Hyperion assured him that he had his attention. "Where did you learn to fight better than a soldier of the Republic? From the ones who raised you?" he asked.

"A question for another time but be satisfied that I was never raised so much as groomed. I'll tell you more once I know we'll be safe and have time. Come, the longer we stall, the harder it'll be to get moving," Hyperion said. The longer he can go without knowing who I was and what he can never be, the more likely he'll have the stomach to know it when I tell him observed the older human.

"Yes sir," said Menelaus, who strapped the bow, quiver, and knife onto his person before placing his backpack with his camping gear over all of that. It took them only a few minutes to begin after that, their goal being to cover as much ground as possible in ten standard hours.

Chapter Three

He isn't ready for the journey... Hyperion thought grimly as they traversed the forest. Then again, no child was ever truly prepared to enter the world of adulthood no matter how much society of any scale tried to make the transition seem like a straight narrow. He is still too weak from the last time he got sick and too quick to fret even when he is healthy. Unsure and lacking in confidence, he thinks the fact he lacks the Force makes him inadequate he added to himself silently.

If only there was a way he could say that his feelings of inferiority due to not possessing the Force was one of the reasons he should've been the one to have it. He should've been the one born with powers like those of a god while Hyperion faded away in the folds of mediocrity. But such wasn't the case and as it was, the two of them got along as best they could. "Pop?" Menelaus asked.

"Yes son?" replied Hyperion.

"Did you kill that soldier?" the boy inquired.

"No, though I knew he'd follow us again if I spared him. If he died, the ones he answers to would've sent even worse agents. They're already going to hound us across this world or any other world we intend to settle down in," Hyperion admitted.

"Why are they doing this?" the boy continued.

"Old crimes I committed when I was a young man. You will learn all you need to know as time comes," Hyperion promised. They continued their journey in silence from that point even as voices Hyperion had long thought behind him began to reemerge with this quest to the mountains.

You presume too much in your belief that you have truly escaped what you were. Have you still not learned who is master and who is slave? said one. It was a voice he hadn't heard since he was a child but apparently, some things never changed. To this day, the ones who enslaved him whilst he trained still believed they held any meaning to him now. Ignoring them, he used the ax to bring down an entire aspen tree down so that it could be used for firewood during the night.

Pretend to be all you never aspired to in your youth... teacher, brother, father! But you will always be a barbarian monster incapable of real love or compassion. You will forever be marked by the Dark Side as its property even if you have forsworn your mastery of it said another of the voices as Hyperion chopped the tree down. This one, he recognized as his brother Dantius calling to him but not the kind of calling that was performed by a meditative trance. No, this was born of Hyperion's perception of how Dantius must have felt when he finally made the decision to cut the strings which bound them through the Force.

We gave you power and you used it to kill, Hyperion! exclaimed his mother. Hyperion did his best to drown out the voices of his families and those he killed, swinging the ax harder and wider. On two occasions, he almost hit Menelaus with the sharp back end of the ax but the boy was agile enough to dodge each blow. But Hyperion apologized for each occasion and asked Menelaus to focus on getting combustible materials like moss or something similar while he gathered the wood.

As I once told you, lead your so-called masters to strike us down and we would always be with you. Always there to haunt you and lead you down the path of guilt said his father. When Hyperion finished, he brought the pieces of firewood he wanted to use first, the ones that were dryest. But when he set them down, Menelaus not only provided fuel but also asked something of Hyperion he'd never asked before.

"Can I try to light it, this time? I've been working on my flints just like you told me to and I want to test it out now," he offered. Hyperion only nodded and took a seat at a nearby rock to see if Menelaus could make the fire start. It took Menelaus a good minute or so, seeing it was the first time he was being truly allowed to start a fire. But he was finally able to get it going and when he did, Hyperion smirked in appreciation that his foster son had actually learned something.

However, there was a flaw in Menelaus' crafting which was slight and almost imperceptible. Gesturing for the boy to bring his stone over, Hyperion looked it over and noticed the surface was not as flat as it had initially appeared. Using the Force power known as Force Sight, he found the flaws and ground them into the dust with the other stone. He also used the flawed areas of the grinding stone to fix the sparker, making both of them better in general. When the Force Sight was withdrawn, he handed both back to Menelaus and told him to try again when they needed another fire.

"In the meantime, practice your bow and arrow skills. If you need help fixing your string, let me know," he added. Menelaus nodded and it was then that Hyperion fixed his eyes to the fire before him which roared to furious life as he contemplated the road which laid before him. He isn't ready, I doubt he even stands a chance of surviving the journey he thought.

It is not for you to decide whether the Force should let him live or let him die in this journey. The only purpose you have is to help him make it, carry his mother's ashes until you have set foot on Dathomir. It is the only way to be sure that they will survive until he is ready to dispense them in the home of his forebears said a voice he hadn't heard in many moons.

"Clymene, your son is still too weak for the journey to be guaranteed. He still holds back because he knows that what I can do with the Force washes aside what he can do without it as water sweeps small rocks from the mud. Little does he realize the fact that he doesn't have the gift makes him better than me, not weaker," he said.

Do not judge your own gifts so harshly, Hyperion. In death I understand why the Force chose you to raise my son she said.

"Yet you weren't Force-sensitive yourself, how are you speaking to me?" Hyperion asked.

You will come to know the answer to that as you reach Dathomir. But in the meantime, your duty to my son beckons me away from you she said. He turned and saw what she meant.