Part One: Master of Death, Apprentice to Evil
632 BBY; present day…
Darth Perdition, reigning Dark Lord of the Sith and heir to Darth Bane, plunged the crimson blade of his lightsaber into the heart of his apprentice.
The battle had lasted for the better part of a day. Savage combat between master and apprentice, Sith against Sith, lightsaber against lightsaber, had utterly devastated the interior of their ship. A state-of-the-art Z-class Transport, it was large enough to comfortably fit twenty passengers, though advanced enough that only a single pilot was needed. The walls of the lounge were scored by countless cuts from lightsaber blades, causing numerous lights and wall panels to spark. The furniture was overturned, blackened and in pieces. A section of the nearby door lay buried in the wall from when Perdition's apprentice had hurled it at him with the Force.
His apprentice, Darth Briac, stumbled back as he withdrew his lightsaber. A gaping hole now marked the apprentice's chest, singing the black robe. Briac was a Givin, a gaunt, skeletal race hailing from Yag'Dhul. The severe tidal forces of the planet forced the Givin race to evolve a natural hardiness, which allowed them to survive even in the void of space for a time. During the battle, Perdition had jettisoned Briac out the airlock as a delaying tactic. His apprentice had cut back into the ship through the aft hull.
Givin were also prodigious mathematicians, a skill which Perdition had once thought an asset. Briac must have used his intellect to predict that a confrontation would result in his victory. Perdition was more than happy to oblige him. If he perished, then Briac would be the stronger and thus deserving of the mantle of Dark Lord. But, his apprentice had proven a failure in the end, unworthy of carrying on the Sith line.
Panting, Perdition deactivated his lightsaber. He felt the sweat running down his back and his face. His fingers ached from holding onto his weapon during such an intense struggle. His left leg pulsed with pain from when his apprentice had crushed it with the onboard Bacta tank. But despite all his cunning and relentless ambition, Briac had fallen. His aptitude with the Force was impressive, but analytical and scientific in focus. He had no grasp of the subtle intricacies of the Dark Side. Passion, creativity, these were the hallmarks of the Sith. Now, he fell onto his back, gasping his last breaths.
"I do not do this out of pity or mercy," Perdition told him, clipping his lightsaber to his belt. "I do this out of necessity. You forced my hand, apprentice." He spat out the last word as if it were poison. "Now you shall die, unremembered by the galaxy and detested by Sith of future generations." With a gesture, Perdition lifted him above the floor. Clenching his fingers into a tight fist, he used the Force to crush Briac's body. Bone and cartilage snapped like kindling, blood vessels burst, and the skeletal face contorted into a last expression of agony.
This time, Briac did not return when he was jettisoned out the airlock.
Perdition breathed a heavy sigh, pulling his sweat-drenched hair back. His apprentice had proven a failure, destroying eleven years of training and study. He would have to find and train a new apprentice; the future of the Sith demanded it. But the first priority would have to be tying loose ends from the battle. Since the Bacta tank was unusable, Perdition treated his leg with a medical bandage. He then cast his gaze around the ruined lounge. Even a blind Rodian would know this was the sight of a battle between Force masters. The Jedi would investigate, leading to uncomfortable questions and the possibility of discovery. The ship would have to be destroyed, but in a manner that could be easily explained.
Stroking his chin, Perdition mulled over his options. He and Briac had been traveling from their home on Kuat to meet a business contact in the Mid Rim. He could simply destroy the ship, but that would leave him stranded in the void. There was no telling when a ship would come by to rescue him. A planet, then. He could cause the ship to crash-land on a nearby world and reach the surface via escape pod. Over the next few minutes, he scoured the list of local systems for a suitable candidate. Many were either unexplored or had little to no civilization. Eventually, he made a selection.
"This should do," he muttered. Thousands of years ago, Manaan had been one of the most important planets in the galaxy. As the sole producer and exporter of the healing substance Kolto, the Rebublic and Sith Empire both had a large presence on the world. That importance, however, had waned over the centuries. The discovery of Bacta had made Kolto almost insignificant; the native Selkath had mostly abandoned Ahto City, the only above-water settlement on the planet. There should still be enough of a presence to facilitate a rescue, however.
Entering the coordinates into the navicomputer, Perdition pulled the hyperdrive levers back. Outside the viewport, the stars became streaks as the ship made the jump. Less than an hour later, he exited hyperspace.
The blue disc of Manaan loomed ahead as he guided the ship towards it. Locking in the autopilot, he made his way into the engine room. Perdition ran his hand along the hyperdrive, feeling the cool metal. He could feel the constant hum of its power as a tingle under his skin. Taking a step back, he gathered the power of the Dark Side before unleashing it in a great conflagration. Bolts of purple lightning arced from his fingertips, striking the boxy grey unit. Sparks flew as its surface blackened, and the indicator lights on the side panel flashed on and off. Ending the lightning, Perdition walked over to the main drive assembly.
Reaching between a coolant line and the inertial damper housing, he wrapped his fingers around the positive power coupling. Sending a large electrical discharge through his hand, he overloaded the coupling and fried the connection.
The ship's alarm began blaring as emergency lights flashed. Perdition smiled, entering the cockpit. Manaan grew larger and larger, and the indicators on the console flashed angrily with error messages. Pulling back on the control yoke, he found it stiff and unresponsive. Perfect. Reaching out with the Force, he overloaded the circuitry controlling the communications suite. It was as simple as crushing an insect with his thumb. With everything in place, all that was left to do was enter the escape pod. Perdition paused in the lounge to scoop up Briac's lightsaber and placed it in the folds of his robe. Once inside the pod, he sealed the door and triggered the launch.
With a jolt, the pod shot from the transport's port side. Perdition could see through a window as his ship punched into Manaan's atmosphere at uncontrollable speed. It became wreathed in an orange halo, soon becoming nothing more than a fireball falling towards the ocean. He smiled. The deception was complete, and any chance of discovery by the Jedi was gone. Even if any part of the ship could be salvaged, there would be more than enough evidence of power overload to indicate an accident.
His satisfaction dissipated like so much steam as reality set in. Eleven years of training and effort, all wasted. Perdition clenched his jaw as he felt the full power of the Dark Side within himself. Not since the death of his master had he been the sole Sith Lord in the galaxy. That occasion had called for elation to mark his ascendance. Now, he felt anger. Briac had done him a favour by dying to show his unworthiness. But the Givin had also deprived him of a successor, an heir.
A new one would have to be found. The Bane line had to continue for the good of the galaxy.
Perdition guided the pod towards Ahto City. It didn't have enough fuel to reach the city itself, so he would have to make do with getting close enough. The turbulence shook the pod like a rumbling earthquake, pressing him against his restraints. The ocean surface rushed to meet him, threatening to swallow the pod in its embrace. "Peace is a lie, there is only passion," Perdition said to himself, pushing all notions of fear and anticipation from his mind. "Through passion, I gain strength."
The pod slammed into the water, throwing him against his restraints hard enough to bruise several ribs. Finally it stilled, silence replacing raucous chaos. Perdition exhaled, undoing the restraints. He paused before reaching for the emergency hatch, cocking his head to the side. Out there, in the water. Through his superior connection to the Force, he sensed half a dozen heartbeats a few hundred metres below him. Focusing, he could tell they were non-sentient. Primal. Animalistic.
And they were closing the distance fast.
The first, driven by an insatiable desire for food and instincts honed over millions of years of evolution to strike at any intruder, slammed into the pod from below. The impact jarred Perdition, who stumbled before righting himself. He frowned as another creature struck the pod. Then another, and another.
The Dark Lord sensed their simple confusion; this was no ordinary animal they could bleed or eviscerate, and so they pressed their attack. The nearby console began beeping incessantly, and Perdition's frown deepened when he saw the display. The repeated impacts were creating micro-fractures in the pod's hull. Even now, it slowly took on water.
A trickle formed a pool at his feet, growing every second. Refusing to wait, Perdition blasted the emergency hatch open with the Force. He climbed atop the damaged pod, feeling the warm sun on his face as the edges of his black robe fluttered in the warm ocean breeze. There, in the water. A long, dark shape shot towards him like a blaster bolt. Firaxan Sharks, if he recalled. Pack hunters, vicious carnivores at the top of the planet's food chain.
"Through strength, I gain power," Perdition growled. He would not become fish food tonight. He was a Dark Lord of the Sith, inheritor of four centuries of tradition started by Darth Bane. Hundreds had died by his hand, and thousands more from his shadowy machinations. The power of the Dark Side was his to command. "Through power, I gain victory!" Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaped into the water.
He opened his eyes, scanning the surroundings. Even this close to the surface, the water was dark and shrouded like the depths of the underworld. It also worked in his favour; floating in the water did not require him to stand on his injured leg. Using the Force to enhance his eyesight, he identified the six sharks swarming the area. Realizing their prey was out in the open, they ignored the sinking pod and rushed him. Their wide mouths seemed to dislocate as they bared their multiple rows of sharp teeth.
Perdition gathered the power of the Dark Side into him. It built like a vortex of negative energy until it nearly burst. He released it as a great storm of lightning. Conducted through the water, the bolts lanced in all directions, striking the sharks with the fury only a Sith could muster. Three of the nearest sharks convulsed, then grew still and rolled upside down. The other three continued their attack, their skin blackened but otherwise intact. Perdition thrust a hand at one shark, gripping it with a telekinetic hold. Wrenching his hand to the side, he caused it to rush past him and block another's path. The second shark, lost in its ravenous momentum, clamped down into its brethren, drawing viscous green blood. Seizing the distraction, Perdition reached into the hidden recesses of the shark's mind.
'Through power, I gain victory,' he thought, forcing his iron will into a lance of mental agony. The shark quivered as its limited psyche buckled under the assault. Within seconds, it was reduced to a mindless husk, unable to move or act.
Finally, only one shark remained. 'Through victory, my chains are broken. The Force shall free me.'
Perdition gathered his power for one last attack. Before he could expel it, however, he was taken aback as a sonic wave pierced the surface of the water. It struck the shark dead-on, causing it to rear back. With a shake of its tailfin, it dove into the murky black depths.
Perdition pushed with his arms, swimming to the surface. When he emerged out of the water, he noticed two things. His pod was nowhere to be seen, sunk into the ocean. And a pair of Selkath stood atop a nearby hover-platform. An aquatic species by origin, Selkath had oily, dark blue skin with a pair of lobes hanging on either side of the mouth. One was clearly older, and held a weapon in a three-fingered hand. That must have been the source of the pulse that drove off the last shark.
It asked something in its native language.
Perdition, while naturally fluent in several galactic languages, was not familiar with the tongue of Manaan's indigenous species. He gently probed the other's mind with the Force, siphoning knowledge of the language into his own mind. After a few seconds, he replied in a passable dialect, "I am fine. But I have need of transport to Ahto City."
The younger Selkath garbled, perhaps in their equivalent of a scoff. "Hardly any outworlders come here anymore!"
"That does not mean we will not extend our hospitality, Zekh!" the older Selkath chided. He must have been the youth's father. Hooking the sonic blaster on his belt, he extended a hand. "Climb aboard, stranger." Perdition took the proffered hand, wincing as he put pressure on his left leg. "You are injured. Here, sit." The elder Selkath placed a crate nearby, and Perdition sat on it as the other procured a Kolto injector. As he applied the healing liquid, he said, "We saw your pod crash, and came to investigate. I have never known anyone to survive a Firaxan pack alone and survive."
"I used an electrical grenade to stun most of them," Perdition lied. He plied the Selkath with the Force, subtly nudging him to believe his words at face value. With the power at his command, he could have simply dominated his mind and forced him into servitude. But that was counterproductive for two reasons. First, such complete mental control would leave the man effectively brain-dead, and others would inquire as to the cause. It was much easier to convince him of something plausible. Second, Perdition's master had taught him to never destroy a possible resource. A trail of corpses in his wake would only risk discovery. "I shudder to think of what could have happened if you had not come along."
The Selkath waved it off. "Think nothing of it, friend. My name is Sculaz. This is my son, Zekh. We are fishermen by trade, offering our catch to passing traders."
"Well-met, Sculaz. I am Zephryk Uvanar. If you can provide me with a ship, I promise you will be rewarded handsomely." Once more, he pressed with the Force. Rather than controlling him like a marionette, Perdition led him towards an open door with a reward. Like a pet. It would have been so easy to kill them. He'd start with the father, crushing his windpipe ever so slowly, drawing out his agonizing end so the son could watch. The terror from the child would be so sweet to drink in, like the finest Alderaanian vintage…
He shook his head, controlling the bloodlust within. Fatigue from the battle had almost left him a slave to his baser urges. To lose his apprentice and reveal himself to strangers would spell the end of the Sith.
Sculaz stroked one of his lobes in thought. Eventually, he said, "Very well. We will take you back to Ahto. Not many ships land here these days, but there should be a merchant vessel that can give you passage." With no more delays, he got behind the controls of the hover-platform and headed east. It took nearly an hour to reach Ahto. By then, Perdition felt the pain lessen in his leg. It would still require a full Bacta immersion and the use of a cast, but at least he could walk. Once they docked at the edge of the city, near Sculaz's home, the elder Selkath left his son to watch the platform while he guided Perdition.
Just as the records he'd read indicated, Ahto City was almost entirely abandoned. It became evident only a fraction of Selkath remained. Streets laid empty, hangars closed, and nearly every building was unlit and quiet. A once-important world, reduced to a minor footnote on a galactic map. The only benefit to the emptiness was silence. Sweet, blissful silence. No milling crowds of pathetic low-borns and mortals. No cacophonous assault on his mind from their offensive thoughts. A city absent life was a perfect city.
As they walked, Perdition ruminated about the effects of time. The greatest killer of all, time could reduce empires to dust and render undeniable fact into hearsay and legend. It gave him hope that the Republic would one day fall. It was up to him to ensure that the Sith did not meet such a fate.
"Here we are," Sculaz said. They approached one of the few working landing pads in Ahto. Judging by the size, it was likely used for small to mid-sized cargo ships bringing supplies to and from Manaan. Sculaz spoke to another Selkath at the front office, then told him, "The port official says there is a transport docked here. It leaves for Corulag in the morning."
Perdition affected a smile, then forced himself to shake the alien's hand. His master's long tutelage had instilled in him the ability to put on a warm, friendly façade. It allowed him to interact with beings he would otherwise vivisect if only to see how they reacted to pain and death. "Thank you for your assistance, Sculaz. May you and your family enjoy long life and happiness."
"It was our pleasure." With that, Sculaz turned and walked away.
Once the Selkath was out of view, Perdition dropped his smile like a rotten piece of fruit. He walked through the doors into the landing pad. With a wave of his hand, he bid the port official to forget he ever saw him. After weaving through a series of corridors, he stepped out into the pad itself. An aged Corellian RH-200 model freighter sat there like a sleeping Bantha. The ship's crew busied itself with refueling and loading cargo. A middle-aged human man with greasy hair and a thick, unkempt beard called out orders. He was probably the captain. A pair of Zabrak men operated a power jack to load crates up the ramp into the ship's belly. Standing by a refueling pump, a Duros in a flight suit spoke with a female Twi'lek and a male Mungra with a shaggy brown mane and bright orange eyes.
Perdition strode over to the hirsute man. "Can I assume you're the captain of this vessel?" he asked, putting on a charming mask.
"I am," the other man replied, looking at him suspiciously. "What's your business, stranger?"
"My ship crash-landed here, and I find myself in need of transport. I can pay you handsomely if you'll take me to Kuat."
The captain snorted. "Yeah, and I'm the king of Hutt Space."
How would I kill him, Perdition wondered? Crushing the windpipe? Tearing his heart out with bare, crooked fingers? No. Forcing him to shoot his comrades, then manipulating the energies of the Dark Side to drain the very life from his body. The thought made him smile. Instead of acting, he simply said, "54-9917-64901-52."
The captain frowned. "What's that?"
"The number of an account I maintain at the Bank of Aargau. A paltry sum for me, really, but you're welcome to withdraw whatever amount you'd like. It will require my passcode, of course." He stood with his hands clasped behind his back. The captain glanced at his crew, who had stopped their respective tasks to watch the interaction. Grumbling, he took out a datapad and keyed in the account number. He then handed the datapad to Perdition, who entered his passcode. He'd been truthful about the account. Compared to his house's assets on Kuat, not to mention the millions discreetly acquired through Sith business ventures, it was a paltry amount.
"I hope you're not just pulling my collar," the captain said. He narrowed his eyes, no doubt exercising his mildew-covered brain trying to figure out an adequate payment. After entering a number, and hearing the chime of a successful transfer, his mouth fell open. "Well I'll be a Mynock's nanny…"
"I trust the transaction was satisfactory?" Perdition asked sardonically, arching an eyebrow.
The captain nodded vigorously. "Absolutely!"
"Captain?" the Twi'lek asked. "What is this?"
"This, Tizzi, is our charter."
"I thought we didn't take charters," she said in disbelief.
"We do now. This one just paid enough for all of us to retire to a life of luxury."
Forgoing the rest of the cargo, the captain ordered his crew to focus on refueling and prepping for takeoff. Once the fuel pumps were disengaged, and after a rushed pre-flight check, the RH-200 freighter, named the Chandrila Pilgrim, departed Ahto. Perdition felt a sense of relief at leaving Manaan behind. And yet, he recognized its value as a possible location for an outpost. A quiet, out-of-the-way world was perfect for one of his many Sith experiments. Perhaps he would return one day. But right now, he had more important matters to attend to.
Upon his return to Kuat, he would immediately set himself to the task of finding a suitable replacement for Briac. Covertly, of course. In the centuries since the end of the New Sith Wars and the Ruusan Reformations, the Jedi had spent more and more effort acquiring every Force-sensitive individual for their order. In recent years, they had even taken to snatching infants from their homes.
All to prevent them from being 'tainted' by the Dark Side. As if experiencing the true, unfiltered source of power in the universe and feeling emotion was tantamount to blasphemy. Why should the Jedi have sole authority over matters of the Force? They were not without sin and weakness. It was the Sith imperative to exploit those weaknesses and shatter the corrupt order once and for all.
"It's not pretty," the captain said. "But it's comfortable enough."
They stood in one of the ship's cabins. Compared to the luxury yachts and star galleys Perdition had enjoyed, it was simple and plebian in style. A single cot with a storage locker beside it and a cramped refresher in the corner. All in a space the size of a closet back in his estate.
"It will do," Perdition said evenly. "Thank you, captain." He walked over to the cot, keeping pressure off his leg until he sat down. Even through his boots, he felt the slight, yet telltale, shaking as the ship fought its way through the atmosphere. Corellian freighters were built with almost pure function in mind, not comfort.
The captain started to walk out the door, then paused. "So how does a nobleman such as yourself wind up in this part of the galaxy?"
Perdition eyed him. "I was on my way to meet a business contact when my hyperdrive experienced a catastrophic power failure. It forced me to pre-emptively exit hyperspace, and the feedback overloaded the positive power coupling. It was all I could do to get to an escape pod in time before my ship crashed into the ocean."
"Hm. Well, enjoy your stay. And thanks again for the credits. They're greatly appreciated."
"I'm sure," Perdition grumbled as the other man walked out. With the door closed, he pried one of the rear wall panels open just enough to stuff the two lightsabers into the opening. Closing it, he then laid back on the cot and allowed himself to drift off to some much-needed sleep.
A few hours later, his Force senses tore him from the realm of dreams, clawing him awake as they warned of danger nearby. Two individuals, their life forces barely notable in the wider currents of the eddies of the Force. One of the Zabraks and the Mungra, both radiating with anticipation and menace. Perdition sat up and swung his feet to the floor as the door to his cabin opened. The two men entered, blasters in hand. Their eyes narrowed, perhaps surprised that he was awake.
"Have we arrived at Kuat?" he asked, feigning ignorance and calm.
The Zabrak scoffed. "Not quite."
The Mungra rumbled low in its throat, echoing in the cabin like an earthquake. "The captain has decided you're far more valuable as a hostage. After all, why should we simply accept your payment when we can ransom you for all you're worth? A noble like you would fetch a high price."
"You're probably right," Perdition said, calm as could be. He felt no more threatened by these two than a Rancor did by a Saleucami grub worm. "But your captain seems to have miscalculated in this instance."
"How's that?" the Zabrak asked, his voice dripping with scorn.
"If you lot were content with my payment, then you would have gone on your way and continued to live your empty, pathetic little lives. But now, you choose the path of selfish, idiotic greed. And those who succumb to their vices never live long." Without making a motion, he used the Force to clamp the Zabrak's fingers to his blaster, swing it to aim at the Mungra, then fire three times. The Mungra grunted in surprise and collapsed onto the floor, the burns on his back smoking. The Zabrak cried out in shock. He looked at his weapon as if it were a venomous serpent and tried to throw it away. But Perdition kept his grip strong, and the other man's hand remained firmly fixed.
From outside came the voice of the Twi'lek. "Farlee, I heard blaster shots! What's going on?" Interesting, Perdition thought. He sensed genuine confusion from her mind as she approached. It seemed the captain did not inform all his crew of his scheme. She burst into the room, cheeks flushed and chest heaving from the run over. Her eyes fell on the corpse, and her mouth fell open.
Perdition made the blaster turn to aim at her, and the Zabrak lurched, helpless to follow the motion. The Twi'lek gasped, confusion etched on her face. "Farlee, what are you doing?"
"Get back!" he cried. "You need to get back, now!"
She turned and started to run. Her terror seeped from her spirit like juices from a fresh muja fruit. Perdition inhaled sharply as he drank it in, rejuvenating himself just as well as any Bacta could. He drew out the sensation for a few seconds, then forced the Zabrak to shoot her in the leg. She fell to the floor with a cry. Standing, Perdition walked out of the cabin, forcing the Zabrak out first. The Twi'lek, whimpering, tried to drag herself across the floor. He walked over to her and stepped on her wrist. Applying more pressure, he elicited a fresh grunt of pain as she tried to pry his boot off. Her suffering tasted oh so sweet, it was all he could do not to keep her in a perpetual state of terror for hours. But Perdition recognized the need to deal with the rest of the crew. With an almost negligent gesture, he snapped her neck.
"Farlee!" a gruff voice called from nearby. The other Zabrak stood at the top of a set of stairs, blaster in hand and disbelief on his face.
Farlee, almost at the point of tears, said, "This isn't me, Zuma! I'm not doing this!"
"Back away!" Zuma barked at Perdition. To his fellow, he added, "Put the blaster down, now! Do it!" Perdition crooked his finger, forcing Farlee to whirl and aim at his fellow. The other Zabrak, reacting on instinct, fired his own blaster, killing him. A flick of the wrist yanked Zuma from the stairs, sending him flying across the room until he hovered in front of Perdition and stared into his eyes. "What…what are you?" he rasped.
"I am death," the Dark Lord replied, revealing his true nature as his eyes glowed red like fearsome embers. He summoned the power of the Dark Side, lifting the Zabrak higher into the air. Curling his fingers like talons, he broke his victim's bones one by one. Zuma screamed, body contorting this way and that like an ill-used toy. The bones popped, one after another, and the screaming continued. Soon tiring of the distraction, Perdition bent Zuma in half so far his spine snapped with an audible crunch. He discarded the corpse with the flick of a finger.
Perdition then calmly strode up the stairs towards the cockpit, hands clasped behind his back. When he reached his destination, he found the door sealed shut. Scoffing, he reached out and took hold of the door with the Force. Focusing, he forced it to bend and warp as the metal creaked and groaned in protest. With an opening now created, he stepped into the cockpit.
The captain stood there, aghast as he held a blaster in his hand. The Duros pilot sat at the controls, throwing terrified glances his way. Perdition pulled the blaster into his hand from across the room, then tossed the weapon aside. "I'm curious, captain," he said, his voice even. "After you took me hostage, what was your plan? Contact Kuat Drive Yards and demand a ransom? While it is true that the company maintains enough credits to pay any ransom, it almost never does. Such a response would show weakness. Any KDY executive who is kidnapped is subject to immediate rescue by elite commandos with training in the Mandalorian and Echani arts. And I am a highly placed executive."
The captain swallowed, his hair plastered with sweat. "Y-you're a…a…"
"Sith," Perdition finished, adding a prolonged sibilance to his voice for dramatic effect. "Yes, I am. Know what it is to gaze upon power, weakling."
"The Jedi claim the Sith all died out in the war hundreds of years ago. You're not supposed to exist."
Rather than justify the man's words with an answer, Perdition chose to act and maintain his secret. Now that the captain had seen his true self, he had to die. The only question was how. Grinning wide, Perdition extended his fingers and cast bolts of purple lightning. The bolts struck the captain dead-on, eliciting shrieks of agony as they singed his clothes and burned his skin. The acrid stench of burned clothing and melting flesh filled the cockpit. The captain's screams were drowned in the sound of crackling lightning. In less than a minute, he lay dead, smoking.
The Duros pilot bent his bulbous head down and clutched it with both hands, rocking in his seat and weeping. Perdition, stepping over the captain's corpse, placed a hand on the alien's head. He reached out with his awareness and drove a spike of dark energy into the Duros' brain. The alien sat up straight as a bulkhead, eyes deadening. All resistance faded like smoke.
"Set course for Kuat," Perdition said.
"Setting course for Kuat," the Duros echoed in a monotone voice. Before long, they entered hyperspace. Maintaining the mental domination after he pulled his hand back, Perdition sat in the co-pilot's seat. Over the course of the days-long journey, he closed his eyes and meditated upon the Force, letting the energies of the Dark Side flow through him. By the time they reached Kuat, he felt restored to full physicality.
Ahead lay the green and blue disc of his homeworld. A planet whose surface was a verdant paradise, it was surrounded by a massive ring structure that served as the heart of Kuat Drive Yards. Perdition released his mental grip on the Duros, who slumped onto the floor as his brain and heart both shut down. It took several minutes to direct the aged freighter towards the planet's surface. As it entered the security grid, a gruff voice came over the com.
"Unidentified freighter, you've entered a restricted zone. Transmit proper identification codes or prepare to be boarded and detained."
Perdition activated the com switch and said, "Flight control, this is Duke Zephryk Uvanar. Voice identification: Aurek two nine eight Cresh five seven one."
He could hear the man on the other end of the line shuffling something. Clearing his throat, he said "M-my apologies, Duke. Your ship isn't recognized by our security scanners."
"No matter. It's a temporary transport I arranged."
"Is there anyone specific you'd like me to contact?"
"Not at the moment, no. Just grant me clearance to land at my estate."
"Of course, Duke. Clearance granted. And may I say, sir…welcome home."
Perdition ended the transmission and sat back in his chair. There was much work to be done in the days ahead, and he felt eager to finish it for the good of his order. It was the destiny of the Sith to overthrow the Republic and save the galaxy from itself. To do that, he needed to find a Force-sensitive being to be his successor. He closed his eyes, listening for any hint from the Dark Side. Where would his next apprentice come from? How soon until he found them?
These concerns plagued him all the way down to the surface.
For physical reference, I imagine Darth Perdition played by the ever-sinister and lovable Burn Gorman.
