CHAPTER 3 – THE PARIAH
"IN CYCLES, WE move. For eons we have built, acquired power, gone to war. Never once has this competition served to benefit us in the long game, for always, the Jedi meet us at equal capacity, and the resulting impact sends both factions back to an incubatory state." He paused for effect, looking over the faces of the congress at the table before him. "I suggest something different. A new tactic."
They convened in the meeting room of the Sith Academy. It was a solemn place. The stillness in the air held the obfuscated fears of those who had gathered there on that day. The dimness of the lights shrouded a circle of hooded figures, their heads bowed and hands clasped as it was not their turn to speak. The current Sith were not a loud bunch, not as eager to test themselves against each other as those in centuries past had done – they knew their breed was dieing, and this meeting was a matter of course. Emergency beget need. Then, someone chose to respond.
"You suggest weakening ourselves." Veshiram did not bristle; he had expected the opposition to his plan to be strong. "What reason is there in trusting our future to such an unexplored science? You claim this ancient Sith knowledge can surprise the Jedi, but it surprises me as well. Never before in my study of our history have I heard of such magics." The detractor was a respected Chiss Sith Lord, but Veshiram had not supposed he would take his side anyway.
"The Sith sorcerers of old did well to keep this secret hidden," Veshiram explained, spreading his hands. "Doubtless they intended to keep and use it for themselves. I have proof of its efficacy. Would you care to see?"
There was a tremor through the assembly. Lords of the Sith could rarely occupy the same place so civilly, but these days, their numbers were less and their motivation low. Eight, and he was the ninth. These were all that dared to call themselves Lords, but what would history have to say of any of them? Veshiram was the best student among them, and he knew that the future of the Sith was bleak. These men could not lead. These men could not restore the glory of the Empire. There were old councils, and not even so long ago - they teemed with eldritch power, and every ounce of their beings whispered ambition. Veshiram was looking at the table scraps of the Sith, and their inadequacy was contemptible. But they were all that was left.
Veshiram allowed himself a minuscule, dry smirk. The corners of his mouth curled in unison with the beckoning gesture his fingers made. Halfway down the left side of the table, a human clutched at his chest in discomfort. No one else noticed at first, but as his pain grew, others began to take notice. They watched as the Sith struggled against some invisible assailant, and listened to his strained attempts at breath. Likely it appeared as a simple application of Force Choking, but the caster knew differently. Veshiram was not going to kill this man. He was going to awaken his inner fire.
After a brief struggle, the blackness Veshiram had left in the man's heart assumed control of the vessel. Rage, pure and bright, bloomed from him. With gritted teeth and eyes of incandescent yellow flame, he stood. The expression on his face told the story to the onlookers – this was not the quiet one who had entered. Something had gone horribly wrong.
The afflicted man drew his lightsaber in a flash and leapt over the table. It was a single clean motion – the head of the Chiss rolled on the rough stone floor. The other Sith held still, their tongues stayed but their eyes wide with fear.
"Fear not – I am in complete control of him," Veshiram soothed. The other Sith were visibly not quite convinced. "Two nights ago, I found myself in his chambers. While he slept, I went about my work. A seed of rage, planted in his heart, blossoming only at my command. This is how I hold him." He looked with fondness upon his thrall, tilting his head like a proud parent. "And this is how we will wipe out the Jedi Knights."
HE REMEMBERED THE brightness an unknown sun. What world he found himself on was similarly hidden, but Taylor ran nonetheless. His captor had freed him intentionally – of that he was certain. A gnawing sensation in his brain was unshakable, but his sprint seemed to abate it somewhat. Duststorm. He had to find it. Oddly enough, the dust under his feet rose up in response. He realized, with a backwards glance, that he was very far away from the bar. A cave entrance sat firmly in his view, and the mere sight of the gaping blackness triggered a squirming fear throughout his body.
The hermit in the cave had dragged him out here, to the wilderness and...done what?
He couldn't recall.
He did remember, however, the ship. It had been their means of arriving in this forsaken place. The sedative had fogged his memory, but not obliterated it. Taylor was aware during the trance, and he was just coming to realize that now. He could find Duststorm if he searched himself thoroughly. The means were there.
Familiar rock formations became his goal. The planet was very red. The jagged blasts of sharp sandstone held no pattern for him yet, though. He kept running, scouring the wastes, understanding that it could not be far. Every fiber of his body resonated with that hope.
And then, miraculously, Duststorm's familiar profile bloomed over a ridge.
Taylor took no time in haphazardly scrambling down the treacherous hill, dirt assaulting his face in stinging bursts, his palms shredded as they dragged over crispy stone. He tore himself apart to get to his ship. And when he entered her cool metal halls, dousing himself in water from her reserve tank, the fear started to melt away. Duststorm left that planet gladly, but the murmurs it left in Taylor's dreams still lingered.
One in particular came to him in the narrow lanes of hyperspace.
"There now, hush. It can't be so bad," crooned the hermit. "It's over, just like that. No pain. No discomfort."
"What did you do to me?" Taylor begged. The most frightening realization wasn't that he had allowed himself to fall asleep in that cage – something he had pledged not to do. It was that, upon awakening, he felt exactly the same. Whatever the creature had done to him in his vulnerability, it was completely traceless.
"Nothing you wouldn't want me to," he assured. It was then that Taylor caught the clearest glimpse of the thing that held him captive. The wide, wide grin and the grey flesh was not an image easily parted with. "All I needed you to do was fall asleep."
THE STONE LATTICE spread over the structures made Ryker think. The Rakatans, he knew, employed vast amounts of slave labor to build the framework of their empire. But every inch of the Apex Ascent, from the towering spires to the wide ziggurats, seemed to have been meticulously hand-chiseled. The structure, despite the intense weathering it must face in the humidity and rains of the jungle, seemed no worse for the wear. The level of craftsmanship was astounding – far beyond what he would have expected a slave army, no matter how motivated, to produce. It kindled dreams of one day commanding such a legion himself. Production of glorious effigies across countless worlds, monuments to eternal power.
He liked the Rakatan's style.
"Many have died here," Ven commented. He was leading the way through the open-air facility, though Ryker wasn't particularly certain his master knew exactly where they were going. "This place seethes with the Dark Side."
"I feel it too, master," Ryker said. It was indeed a nexus of energy, though it was tinged in a peculiar way. Ryker could not quite place his finger on it, but the air carried a different scent, so to speak. This was unlike the swelling vortexes of the Force that pooled within Sith tombs on Korriban. It was an alteration of some sorts, and much, much older.
All around them, looming statues of gargantuan Rakatan watched their progress, looking down with bent heads as the pair silently continued through the thoroughfares of the Apex Ascent. Ryker realized just how much Sith art had drawn, intentionally or not, on the influences of the former masters of the galaxy. He felt the statues were judging him too, just like those in the Valley of the Dark Lords. He smiled and went about his business.
The compound was built on a long, sloping hill, and from the very entrance they had faced an incline. It was not so physically daunting to their hardened bodies, but to lesser forms, perhaps it would pose a challenge. The hike was long; Ryker felt the burn in his thighs as time progressed. It was then that he reflected on how adequate a name Apex Ascent was – they were certainly climbing to something.
Ven stopped suddenly. The atmosphere had changed; something quivered. The two Sith stood motionless and cast aside their sight, reaching out. The warm glow of droids, the whirl of their gears and clicks of their feet on coarse stone – these were the sensations that came back to Ryker. He felt their red animosity, their programming quite clearly set to defend the installation against intruders. His master loosened the belt loop on his lightsaber.
"Servitor droids. Sixteen of them," he buzzed casually, his back turned to his apprentice. Ryker nodded.
THE URGE TO flee was overwhelming, but something kept Taylor rooted to the spot.
Tulag Zan did not approach, maintaining his distance at the end of the alley. Probing tendrils of sickness brushed against Taylor's senses, testing to see if he remembered. He did. This time, however, Taylor had a new ally. The Force enveloped him like a cocoon, warding off Zan's playful taunts. The two did not need to speak to acknowledge their relationship.
"I see you've become quite the Jedi," said Tulag Zan, grinning gleefully. "I suppose we have the girl here to thank. What a potent master she must be to have brought you so far in such little time."
Taylor chose not to respond, though Lanee did.
"What do you want from us?" she asked cautiously. Taylor could feel her intensity – she was ready to strike at the slightest change in the situation.
"Oh, nothing much. I'm just here to satisfy my curiosity." Zan refused to look at anything except Taylor. "I gather you two have had a chat about me. I hope so, at least. Taylor and I shared quite the night together, didn't we?"
"He's trying to manipulate you Taylor. Let his words be water. They will flow past you," Lanee instructed.
"Then he would be but a stone in a river. He's much more than that, I'd wager. You can hear me, cant't you Taylor?" Zan asked with mocking, joyous tones.
"It's...been a long time," Taylor managed. Most of his attention was directed at battering back Zan's mental assault.
"How is Shayira?" Zan asked conversationally. "Let's see. Oh, ill, is she? That's unfortunate. She seemed quite special to you during our last visit."
"Steel your mind, Taylor!" Lanee said with urgency. "Throw up the wallls I know you're capable of. Think of something – anything – else!"
"Oh, hush, child, have you never seen a true Sith before?" Zan snapped with mild annoyance. "I know your hearts. They speak to the air, and I merely listen. There is nothing neophytes such as yourselves could hide from me." He regarded her now, for the first time. "Oh, Master Zemner's student! How is he doing? It's been a while since he and I have spoken."
With bleak acceptance, Lanee realized her own barriers had already been penetrated. Zan was pulling what he willed from her memories, and she hadn't even noticed.
"Let us pass, or face us in battle," Lanee warned, igniting her saber. The shadowed alley was washed in its strong blue glow.
"Unnecessary," Zan stated simply, waiving a hand. "I mean neither of you harm. Ask Taylor. I let him walk away from me without so much as a scratch.
"Then why abduct him at all?" Lanee asked.
"Taylor has a very special role to play in coming events," Zan explained. "Events that I fear are coming sooner than later."
Taylor was finding it hard to stay himself in the thing's presence. It was as though Zan was a great void, and the shimmering event horizon around him siphoned off a piece of Taylor's soul for each second he remained close. The world began to spin; Taylor struggled to focus his vision, and commanded himself internally to not lose his barriers. But he knew he was losing. Soon he wouldn't even be able to run.
"I'll stop if you'll agree to come with me," Zan offered quietly.
"...Where," Taylor grunted, one eye closed and the other rapidly fading.
"A place you know all too well, I'd imagine."
The cave. Its sights and scents returned to Taylor in a rush. It was a place that occupied his nightmares, the thought of which made his skin feel close to erupting from within. Taylor realized suddenly that the red earth he had noted upon his release was all around him. He had been to Korriban before, and steeped in its darkness. A lot of things began to make sense.
"What's wrong with here?" Lanee asked, her voice still stalwart. Zan looked around with disinterest, though seemingly scanning for something.
"There is a...new faction in Dreshdae. One only recently spawned. And while I think there are several interesting merits to discussing its leader with you in particular, Jedi, they move. And they move well." He looked back at Lanee intensely. "Do you understand what I mean?"
Lanee conferred with the Force. There were tiny pulses in the water, just as Zan had implied. They intended to converge upon the alley. She could see the outlines, blurry and vibrating, and hear fragments of cogent thoughts, none of which were good for them. Even Zan seemed to be slightly worried.
"Forgive me Taylor, for I do not think we have much time," she said to her ailing friend gently.
"Nah. I get it. We need to go now. I'm ready."
Zan's oppression ended abruptly, and all of Taylor faculties resumed their functions as though they had never left him. But there was no moment to linger. Zan strolled away into the murky sun, and the cautious pair fled after him.
A YEAR AFTER accepting Veshiram's tutelage, Ven had garnered quite the reputation.
No more did the stronger students of the Academy batter him in the training room. No longer did he struggle to remain unnoticed. There wasn't a thing he could do that didn't attract attention. People began to give him a wide birth in the corridors, and he was aware of their whispers. They saw his body growing stronger, acclimating to the prosthetics. He gained a tremendous amount of muscle weight in that short time. But the true increase was somewhere loftier.
From pariah to golden child, Ven became a name that was not spoken lightly. Once, when a powerful Twi'lek student by the name of Tyae who was not quite ready to relinquish his status to the up-and-comer Ven, a challenge to duel was issued and left outside of Ven's quarters. He glanced over the note briefly, and a surge of excitement rippled through his body. He had finally been given the opportunity he so desired.
The duel was in the shadows of the looming Dark Lords, out in the valley. The sun was low, threatening dark night. Roaming Tuk'ata packs began to stretch their limbs, skulking about with a gleam of intent in their eye, for they sensed a chance at a meal soon. Ven strode confidently down the path into valley, where a congregation of students awaited him in a circle. Tyae was in the center. He had obviously used stims; his frame had thickened considerably, and his shoulders heaved in undirected anger. His grip over the double-bladed lightsaber was choking, the metal imprinting firmly into the skin of his hands. Ven coolly parted the crowd and took his place opposite his opponent. Silence fell over the crowd, and they watched eagerly.
"You think you've improved, whelp. I can see it," Tyae growled. "But you're still just as weak as you were the day you came to this academy. I should have killed you on the spot."
Ven did not respond. He merely held Tyae's gaze with quiet composure.
"It figures you'd have nothing to say. Your strength is not your own – you ride the coattails of your master."
"You sound jealous," Ven suggested.
A vein bulged in Tyae's forehead. "You sound dead."
He ignited his staff and lunged at Ven in a graceful spiral. Ven calmly side-stepped the assault, not yet igniting his own lightsaber. He faced down Tyae's combination with ease, ducking the follow-up slash and springing backwards on his hands away from the vertical swing that came next. Tyae, who considered himself fast, showed visible frustration at the simplicity of Ven's movements. Ven himself was confident that Tyae could not hit him, yet the dangers of a double-blade were well-known. Their attacks were always part of a greater sequence, and with careful application of momentum, an exceptional duelist could bait his opponent into attacking an apparent opening, only to face his demise on the other end of the blade. Ven needed to wait for a particularly large gap in Tyae's defenses to strike with his single blade, and the quickest way to get that was to play on Tyae's uncontrolled fury.
"Fight me, coward," Tyae hissed. Ven merely watched.
The next pattern of attacks came accompanied bya scream of rage. Tyae swung relentlessly, his red plasma twirling and dancing in the twilight. He contorted his body with great agility, flinging strike after strike towards Ven's vitals. All missed. Ven was simply faster, and as the number of wildly thrown blows tallied higher, Tyae made this enraging discover.
"I'm sick of this. Time to be rid of you," Tyae said, an edge of breathlessness creeping into his voice. Ven sensed his window opening. "DIE!"
Tyae rocketed high into the air, his blade held high over head and his frame blocking out the dwindling sunlight. Ven could not hold back his smirk. Tyae's saber implanted itself into the dirt where his nemesis had been, singing the red soil into a black ring. Ven, moving faster than most students in the ring could follow, had nimbly navigated his way behind Tyae's landing point. The pair were now back to back. Still holding that smirk, Ven activated his lightsaber.
"You...you're not..." Tyae never finished his thought. Ven spun and swept his saber upwards, severing Tyae's right arm. It fell to the ground, smoke wafting from the severed area. Tyae raised his head to the sky and screamed in agony, accented by despair and anger. It was Ven's favorite sound.
"Don't worry, Tyae," Ven mocked gently. He slowly rolled back his sleeve to reveal his cybernetic arm. "Prosthetics have come a long way, you know."
Tyae rotated his neck to see Ven, his visible eye bloodshot and furious, teeth bared in pain. Suddenly, his remaining arm abandoned the saber and pointed towards Ven. A flurry of blue lightning erupted from his fingers. Ven quickly raised his blade to absorb the energy. He dug his feet into the soil, the force of the lightning causing him to dig his heels in, forming a small trench. His resolve did not falter. Tyae's face fell as Ven inched forward, his saber drawing closer and closer to Tyae's face. The Twi'lek issued a final scream as the scorching crimson plasma slowly pressed into his face, mutilating and searing him to death. His body collapsed on the ground, and moved no more.
Ven remembered walking back up the path to the academy, leaving behind the stunned crowd. Veshiram, leaning against the rocks with folded arms, was waiting for his apprentice.
"Impressive, pupil. Besting Tyae was no small feat. But I wonder, how will you handle the newfound fame being the strongest student at the Academy?"
"Tyae was not the strongest. I sense that those with the most power tend to be the quietest of them all," Ven responded. "It is there that I shall look."
"But don't they need to be? In times such as these, with our numbers so few, is it truly best to turn on each other and neglect our true adversaries?" This gave Ven pause.
"No master, of course. I will stay my blade. The Jedi must fall," Ven answered. Veshiram grinned wide in response.
"Oh I sense you will be quite the facilitator of that."
ACROSS THE BARREN wastes, a few kilometers outside of whatever semblance of civilization Dreshdae provided, there was a cave. Korriban was home to many, but this one in particular, and for whatever reason, was the hovel of a large, grey mass of a man who lived like a hermit and practiced like a sorcerer of the old Sith. Taylor's memories synchronized with the immediate image of that black cave entrance, and a inkling of dread began to build within him. He thought of the vastness of the galaxy he traveled – how was it he could possibly end up back here, in this tiny space?
"Oh come now," Tulag Zan murmured lowly by Taylor's shoulder. "Did you really think the first time was the last?"
They had stopped progress on a couple of occasions in order for Zan to make himself satisfied that they were not being followed. Whatever faction this was, they were certainly no friends of his. Perhaps the Sith remained fragmented in the aftermath of the war. But what kind of fragment was an old creature like this, secluded in the rocks of the desert?
Again, any desire to run was squelched by the looming threat of Zan's mental domination. They were his prisoners, but somehow that lack of choice moved to comfort Taylor. He didn't have to worry about second-guessing himself. Instead, he left his future up to fate for once. Glancing at Lanee, it was impossible to tell how she felt about the matter, but he supposed she was trying to find a way to hide her thoughts from Zan. Whatever good that would do them.
The cave's musty smell was perforated by piercing notes of some incense Zan was burning. The cave itself wasn't very deep, and their trek to the back took little time. Taylor was relieved to see that the cage was no more. The bench with the candle, however, remained. They stood in its tiny light, warding off the shadows.
"Now, I imagine that right about now -" Zan said with an effort as he lowered his weary body on to a wooden stool. "Ven and Ryker have arrived at their destination. I know that, because it was I that originally put them on that course." He paused to let that sink in.
"You've gotta be pretty proud of those two," Taylor remarked.
"Oh, I am. But they are not my crowning achievement," he said, smiling loudly. "That comes later. But for now, it is important you understand an old epithet. Older than Jedi or Sith. 'The enemy of my enemy is my friend'. Hmm? Simple. Doubtless you've heard it before."
"Ven is your enemy, then?" Lanee asked.
"Precisely. He and his student are...responsible for my condition," Zan said, gesturing to himself. "I was once a powerful Sith, with influence. For whatever that influence counted for among our remnants. Ven and Ryker sought to usurp my position. They had help, of course. Most Sith in the Academy did not agree with my...methods to restore our glory. And so they cast me out. Made me a pariah." He paused, a measured reflection apparent in his eye. "Oh, the irony in that..."
"Ven has been searching for a holocron for sometime now. I've been following him, but he got to it before I could. I don't know what knowledge he now possesses," Lanee said.
"I do," Zan replied. "Ven is not whole. Of course, who among us really is? But he seeks to become whole, and his path to that state is very direct. There is a facility, ancient and powerful, not at all unlike the Star Forge the Republic destroyed years ago. This place, however, is different. It does not make an armada for a man – it makes a man have no need for an armada."
"And the holocron told him where it is," Taylor surmised.
"Yes," Zan crooned, nodding. "I once told him, when he was younger of course, about such a place. His tenacity is quite remarkable. It had to be to overcome his malformations. But he never gave up, and now I fear the means to become something none of us will be able to stop are within his grasp." He looked up at the pair of Jedi in his cave. "I ask of you now that you do what I could not, and stop Ven before it is too late. For if he achieves the power of the Apex Ascent, there isn't a Sith or Jedi among us that could halt the destruction he will bring."
"But how?" Lanee asked. "He has the holocron that knows the coordinates."
"When Ven attacked me, he had another motive. It was anger – anger at me for not revealing the location of the Ascent. I was unsure of him at the time, and no longer believed him to be my colleague. I can tell you the way."
Taylor shook his head. "I don't understand. Why are Lanee and I your errand-runners?" Then a spark of anger flew into his brain for not yet knowing what it was that Zan had done to him in this very cave. "Tell -"
Zan raised a hand. "The Sith are no longer my ally. Those that we fled from in Dreshdae are sympathizers. They want Ven to take the throne that Revan once occupied and lead them against the Republic and the Jedi once more.
"I want to know what you did to me," Taylor demanded. His voice carried the promise of violence.
"I unlocked what you wanted the most," Zan answered simply. "There are simply not enough Force users left, and so many of you don't have the privelge of training since childhood. Infrastructure across the galaxy is not what it used to be."
"Then why am I not a Sith? Why did you just...release me?"
"Would you believe me if I told you it is merely the way the universe works?" He grinned with that sickly impulse once more. "It just so happened to be you who I found that night. And it just so happens to be you who returned to my doorstep of his own accord."
"You're claiming to have the power to enhance Force sensitivity?" Lanee clarified. She sounded as though this was the hardest thing she was being asked to believe of all.
Zan blinked, his eyelidss performing the motion one at a time with a sticky click. "Of course."
"But the Force guides us. It could not be pure coincidence that Taylor was where he was, and is where he is now. The chances of that are - "
"My dear child, there are so many truths you have left to learn. Of course I picked Taylor, because I knew he'd come back!," Zan exclaimed. Then he grinned with that sickly impulse once more. "Don't you know we move in cycles?"
AT THE CENTER of the facility lied the Reconstitution Chamber.
An uncountable number of doors and hallways occupied the space between the Ascent's entrance and its coveted inner core, but at last they all were behind him. Even Ven himself had given pause to consider the immensity of the physical task that reaching the chamber had been. He wasn't sure if it was Rakatan ritualism or a means of defense, but the Apex Ascent was not a place easily penetrated.
Laser turrets, clacking spider-like droids, and more than one room concealing toxic gas vents had been conquered. Now there was a finality in the air as he stood triumphant over the ghosts of the ancient civilization. He was sure they were watching him, a slave, succeed where he had never been intended to. And that felt good. The longing burning flooded his muscles once more, in the space where they would have been were it not occupied by whirling metal. Ven raised the final stone door with a wave of his hand, then strode into a room inundated with crackling white and violet energy.
Four enormous pylons, one in each corner, gave birth to a flood of lightning that hissed and sputtered as it whipped about far above their heads. Tendrils streamed off, caressing the stone walls and domed ceiling. Almost imperceptible were the silken threads that fell from the pylons, each vibrating minutely with the energy being generated up higher. They draped across a central, raised platform that supported a mesh metal square, intuitively large enough for a man to fit inside of. Around the outer edge of the room, racing surges of raw Dark Side energy skittered, tiny lightning storms of their own erupting as though they were microcosmic stormfronts. Ven's skin tingled intensely – the sheer amount of power contained within this room was staggering. It made his head swim and the edges of his vision blur, but the intoxication was not inhibiting. To the contrary, he found it invigorating.
And at last, he had found what he had been searching for all these years.
"It certainly is beautiful, master," Ryker commented, swiveling his head to take in the spectacle. Ven did not respond.
Approaching the platform, he took inventory. The brace was where he would be positioned when the device was activated; that much was obvious. But where was the power source to be placed...
The boy could not be harmed. Veshiram had been quite clear on that. Ven was the wounded one in the eyes of the Apex Ascent, and he needed his vital essences restored by the agency of one who is already whole. Ryker could be incapacitated if need be, but even risking that made Ven uneasy.
"So...how do we activate it?" Ryker asked aloud.
"There is a console. I will manipulate it," Ven stated. He needed to see if there was some delivery method to transfer the sacrifice gently into the reciprocal. Surely the Rakatans had not made such a glaring design oversight. Ven approached the console, staying aware of Ryker's wanderings about the room. He did not want his apprentice watching what he was about to search for.
By pure, terrifying accident, Ven opened the small circular shaft where Ryker was to fit. He had to remind himself that the boy had no way of knowing what it was for, but he was alerted by the sucking sound of it opening, and meandered over to it to investigate.
"Master? Did you do this?" he asked.
"I believe it is a vent. The machine produces much heat."
"Ah, of course," Ryker said. Realistically, there was little time until he discovered that no air flowed from the portal. But that was quickly ceasing to matter. Sanguine pleasure crept into Ven's smile as he closed in on the commands he was looking for.
Soon.
RYKER HAD NO intention of being made a sacrifice.
His master erroneously made the assumption that he was ignorant enough to fall for his trap. His independent studies of Rakatan techonology had helped, true, but Ryker considered his cleverness elite. He would have figured it out eventually, and the outcome would be much the same.
It was why he had gone through all of the trouble of building such a large following on Korriban, after all.
And now things were coming together. This critical moment approaching was, indeed, the apex. He loved how dramatically the pieces fit – after this fateful day, Ryker would be able to return to the comfort of the Academy, and then his true dominance would begin to unfold. There would simply be no one left to stop him. All that could possibly do so, with the rapdily diminshing exception of Ven, were too weak or too disgraced to make a move. It was a such a pretty way of doing things; much preferable to the typical Sith bloodbath. Besides, if he had initiated that, who would be left to serve him?
No, this was the cleanest way of doing things. Many on Korriban desired strong leadership under which to unify, something that there had been a sore lack of in the vacuum left by Revan and Malak. Apprenticeship to someone of Ven's stature had many advantages. There were some who even expected Ven to claim the coveted title of Darth for himself. But then he inexplicably disappeared, seemingly disinterested with the politics and power grabs. Thus Ryker casually swayed onto the abdicated throne. Oh, how quickly things had changed.
Years ago, Ven had found Ryker on a trip to Dantooine, in search of Silarith's holocron. From what Ryker understood, Ven had only recently seperated from his master himself. There had a been a growing rift between Veshiram and his peers; something soured their resolve to work together after the hatching of a plan that did not quite suit the tastes of the wounded Sith Lords who were so hungry for a swift return to power. Ryker never quite knew the details, as the plan's unpopularity made it short lived – and so was Veshiram, after his fall from the good graces of the Sith elite. Ven had, as was tradition, struck the feeble philosopher down himself.
Or rather, that was the truth both parties wanted the world to know.
THE TRUTH WAS, Ven disclosed, that Veshiram was still very much alive, having eluded the killing blow and escaping into the shadows, as he was so apt to do. Ven thought it likely he was still operating on Korriban, though it would have to be deep under cover, for he wouldn't dare risk showing his face again. That said, Ven did inflict significant injuries upon Veshiram – enough to mar his appearance to a severe degree. Ven was of the opinion his master might use that to his advantage in hiding. Ryker knew better than to test his master's temperament with questions of why he no longer pursued Veshiram – the man simply could not allow his failures to be known. But it did make him curious as to why Ven would tell Ryker the truth, then.
"You will meet many people in your travels with me, young one. But you must know this truth, for it is the only truth that will keep you free – my master was a deceiver to his core. Perhaps the greatest that ever lived."
"In what way?" Ryker asked, enthralled by the description.
"Every word he sires is calculated. He speaks math. Half of what he says is the absolute truth, but the other is outright lie. He will toy with you until you no longer know which is which."
"His ability sounds admirable," Ryker acknowledged. He, too, wanted to be as such.
"It is death," Ven offered simply, his eyes caught on an object much farther away than Ryker could hope to see.
"THERE IS SOMETHING I feel compelled to tell you, Taylor," Lanee said softly. They were once more in Duststorm's main compartment, away from the instruments of the cockpit. The air hung heavy with finality. Minutes before, Lanee had finished broadcasting everything she knew about her current case to the Jedi Temple. Taylor had felt a twinge of uncertainty as he listened to her broadcast – there was a sense of expectation in her voice, and he hoped that it didn't mean the worst. He wanted her to come out of this unscathed just as much as he did for himself.
"I'm ready for it," Taylor said, exhaling. She regarded him with her ever-studious eyes.
"I feel as though I must share this in the interest of fairness. I am not your master, but this bond we have come to share is equally important as if I was. And I must tell you this because I...am not perfect as a Jedi, though I strive to be."
"You're in love with me. Knew it," Taylor said dryly. "Why does it always turn out like this?"
A scowl traced its way across her lips. "I wish I had your sense of humor. But, unfortunately, that is not the case." She paused, considering her next words. "There is an ulterior motive to my pursuit of Ven and his apprentice. It is not merely a matter of galactic security for me. It's something more personal."
Now Taylor listened with rapt attention.
"When I was a child, I grew up on Dantooine as part of the resettlement program the Republic issued after the war. I had a happy childhood, and I never dreamed of leaving. I never even paid much thought to the Jedi." She smiled thinly, her eyes downward in recollection of something bittersweet. "But I had a friend who did. He was starved for adventure, and I didn't blame him. I still don't. When you're surrounded by a sea of grass, every spacer's story of a planet with so much as a building above two stories is enrapturing." She looked up at Taylor, meeting his waiting expression. "That boy was named Ryker, and he was my best friend. And when Ven came to Dantooine, he took him as an apprentice. I have searched for him ever since."
Taylor adopted a pose as if he was considering her words, but after a moment, he merely smiled and shrugged.
"It's fine with me," he said. "I'm not one to judge. How Jedi of me is that?" She almost laughed.
"I keep reminding myself of the Jedi code. I keep trying to leave emotion out of the equation. But each time I see the death that man is responsible for, I feel...something. I suppose I'm just hoping that Ryker is..."
"Able to be saved?" Taylor finished.
"Yes, but...I'm afraid, Taylor. Afraid that he's become the monster I don't want to find."
When the proximity monitor issued it's shrill series of bleeps to inform them of their arrival, it was an almost merciful interruption.
"Well, I guess we're about to find out," Taylor said grimly.
"IT SHOWS WEAKNESS," argued Lord Dominus. "And at a time where we cannot bare to do so. Our numbers are too few and our influence too thin to do something that might trigger a move from the Jedi. Surely you can see this for yourself, in all of your studied wisdom."
Veshiram hadn't even bothered to look up from the busy digging he was doing under his nails. His race, whatever it was, had very square, rigid nails that seemed uncomfortable to maintain with all of the blowing dirt on Korriban. He was bored with the opposition, and dissapointed that there was so much of it. These Sith were quickly earning his ire like a squabbling pack of dogs who wouldn't silence at night. They were rude, brash, and disgustingly steeped in their own ego.
"You know, the Jedi struggle just as much as we to replenish our numbers," Veshiram mused. And it was true – the Temple was but a monument to silence. Whatever survivors of the war had hid like cowards were only now beginning to crawl out of their holes and attempt a rebuild.
"Which is why we must put our foot down on their throat – allow them no breathing room. We can control the flow of recruits, but only if aren't complacent," Dominus argued.
"My plan isn't complacent. It's quite proactive, actually, but only if we steel ourselves against our reactionary impulses." Veshiram glanced at Dominus like a reproachful father. "You would have us campaign across the galaxy and hope that our reputation nets us the recruits we need, but if our bluff is called, then our enemies will see how truly weak we are. Only my Rage Seed is potent enough to carry us through these lean times."
The Sith had often found need to cloak themselves from galactic scrutiny in the past, and Veshiram saw the post-war era as no different. Only this time, Veshiram considered the cycle to be different. He was the prime mover, after all. This time, he could manipulate.
"You would allow the Jedi to recruit thousands of potentials on the wager that they will not sense your 'Rage Seed,' whatever is truly is. I cannot condone your deceitful methods, simply because I have no faith in them," his opponent flatly stated, reclining back in his seat. Veshiram sighed.
"I didn't suppose you would," he said with a hint of malice. Veshiram clicked his fingers, expecting his next puppet in the room to spring forth into action. But nothing happened. Scowling, Veshiram accesses his situation. It didn't look good.
"Trying to summon another pawn, Veshiram?" Dominus drawled, smirking. "Too pitiful to fight your own battles? It is no wonder why your plan is as such."
"I have more than enough power to dispatch such a pathetic assembly as this," Veshiram hissed. Like a conered animal, he withdrew, but none amongst the round table rose to challenge him.
"But do you have enough power to face the strongest of us all?" Dominus asked.
"And who is that?" asked Veshiram cautiously.
"You should know. You trained him."
The doors parted, and heavy footsteps entered the room. Veshiram felt the presence over his shoulder, and slowly craned his neck to look at his apprentice, Ven, hulking in the doorway.
"And you have no faith in our classic methods," Dominus said, a note of proud laughter building in his voice.
It became a full-blown cackle as Ven ignited his lightsaber and the doors drew shut.
IT WASN'T THE first time Taylor had felt like he had found a piece of the universe he wasn't supposed to.
He remembered a conversation he'd had with Shayira once, in which he outlined his uncanny knack for finding the most dangerous, out-of-the-way spots the galaxy had to offer. She'd believed in his bad luck, too, telling him it was something of an old wives' tale about smugglers. Their luck was cursed – the gods of a culture on a long-forgotten ocean planet did it. So plagued were the good people of that world by sea-faring pirates, they turned to the heavens with their offerings in exchange for divine intervention. Taylor had told her he wasn't a pirate. She'd merely shrugged and said, "Close enough."
And so it was that the familiar displacement gnawing away at him on the unidentifiable jungle world had to be once more banished. There was work to do; they were on the heels of the Sith, who had, Lanee assured him, passed through only hours ahead of them.
"There is great darkness beyond this point," Lanee warned. They were standing before the outer gate. Taylor found the stone artwork rather jarring. Whatever civilization had built this was quite enamored with itself. And murder.
"I think my darkness sensors are a bit less tuned than yours," Taylor joked, half-seriously. "This place doesn't look as bad as some clients have sent me to."
"Do you have the detonators?" she asked. Taylor raised a small leather pouch for her to see in response. She nodded a tiny nod.
"Mind your heart, Taylor. If it will be vulnerable anywhere, it is here."
"Sure thing," he quietly promised.
Their hike began.
THE MOMENT HAD arrived, yet both parties had difficulty initiating. Ryker had always expected it to be much easier were Ven to be the one to reveal his hand first; he could feed off that aggression to enact his coup. However, Ven seemed passive, and indeed he was. The truth was, Ven was not entirely sure how to proceed.
"Well, master? Isn't the device primed?" Ryker asked after a few moments of inactivity from Ven.
"There is an obstruction in that heat vent," Ven said evenly. It cannot exhaust, so the machine will not begin. It must be cleared."
"Ah," Ryker said, striding over to the reciprocal. He knelt and peered inside. He supposed that, had he not known better, he might have taken Ven's word for it. Who was he to say what an ancient machine's vents looked like? But Ryker knew of the oiled interior, like a carnivorous plant waiting for its prey to saunter in; the lacerating whips that would bind his body, piercing his flesh and draining him of his vital essences. Ryker pursed his lips and stood, turning to face his master. "I would assume that you would like me to clear it for you?"
Ven stood motionless, which often indicated a, "yes" in Rykers experience. The pupil studied the teacher's mask for a moment, watching the arcing glint of a line of light from the strands above their heads reflect in the metal. Ven had made every effort to evoke the presence of so many by-gone Sith Lords, and the mask was part of it. It had been ripped from a Trandoshan hunter's ship's hyperdrive and reforged with the Force. Ryker thought the adornment was more of a tool to hide, as opposed to a mask's traditional usage as an instrument to instill fear. So many who basked in the power of the Dark Side, Ryker had learned in his short career, harbored great insecurities.
"No, master," Ryker said softly, his eyes caressing that mask, wondering how it would fit on his own face. "I don't think I'll be doing that."
TAYLOR KNEW BEFORE the door had even opened. He felt Ven's presence within the room – an angry shadow, a deep blackness in the Force. The other aura was cooler, though somewhat nervous. Both were swept away in some sort of tension that prevented them from noticing the pair of Jedi outside, but when the grinding of stone alerted them, their heads spun to see the newcomers. It was impossible to read Ven, nor see his face behind the mask, but Taylor was certain something in his heavy frame betrayed his astonishment to see him again. Ryker looked similarly aghast, but it wasn't because of Taylor.
Taylor looked at Lanee, who looked at Ryker, who looked at her. Something in the air sparked, and Taylor swore he felt a breeze across his face carrying the grassy scent of rich earth. It was gone as suddenly as it came. Lanee had hardened by his side, her body preparing for combat. Taylor affixed his gaze back on the pair of bewildered Sith, telling himself to be patient. His own job was not to engage them, but rather to allow Lanee to distract them long enough for Taylor to dump the brace of thermal detonators in the pouch on his waist somewhere that would produce catastrophic results. In short, they were going to destroy the Apex Ascent, and then attempt to flee.
In short.
Before words, if there were going to be any, Taylor watched Ven's frighteningly fast thought process. Hatching a new plan before their eyes, the juggernaut whirled on Ryker and blasted him against the distant wall with a tremendous Force blast. The crack his body made upon contact in the dark corner of the room confirmed his incapacitation. Lanee showed no emotion, though she did loosen her lightsaber from her belt and begin to take slow steps towards Ven. Taylor hadn't a clue what had just transpired, but he did sharply realize that this could only make their plan more viable. Lanee would have been hard pressed to defend against two Sith, but now Taylor began to skirt the edges, peering into the mystical mess of machinery for structural weaknesses. None were immediately obvious. Nervously, he cast a glance at Lanee, who had yet to engage her opponent, but he soon returned to his search.
"We meet again," Ven greeted. Lanee said nothing, drawing her lightsaber. Ven returned the gesture. For a long moment, they stood still, paying their respects to each other as combatants. Then the duel began.
The whining song of plasma told Taylor what was happening, and he hastened his step. Around the circular room he worked, once or twice stooping to feel for a crack or some other dip in the floor that might fit a detonator. On all counts, he came up short. The solid construction of the room made nothing obvious. A minute of intense flashing of lightsabers had passed, and now Taylor found himself sweating on the opposite end of the room. When his foot made contact with something organic, he jumped.
Ryker, bruised and battered yet very much alive, looked up at Taylor with clenched teeth and fury in his eye.
The betrayed apprentice swiped for the bag of detonators, but Taylor managed to backpedal away. He was still completely caught off guard. Ryker rose, stumbling, and lunged for the bag. It was then that Taylor knew Ryker had no idea what the contents were, for if he did, he wouldn't be so eager to blow himself up. But Ryker still very much had enough faculties to summon the Force, and a swift riptide of invisible suggestion tore the bag from Taylor hands. A cry escaped his lips.
"No!"
Taylor dug deep, and summoned the Force on his own to return the bag. The treacherous satchel hovered in a gravity well suspended in air in the space between the two; Ryker's surprise at Taylor's ability was evident. Taylor strained and grunted, willing the bag back to his hand and praying that a lethal spill would not happen.
"Those...are...thermal detonators..." Taylor managed. Ryker shook his head, shock writing across his expression.
"What?!" he yelped, releasing his command.
There was the slightest sliver of relief for Taylor, before he realized he was pulling far harder than necessary. The satchel flew over his head, sailing carelessly towards the wall. Taylor watched in slow motion as the grey orbs tumbled from the open mouth of the bag, careening through the air towards impact. The slow motion, however, was quite real – Taylor realized he was moving fast, faster than he had ever moved before. The Force guided him, lending him speed, and Taylor leapt forward to catch the grenades.
It seemed, though, that he was not the only one with such plans.
In an effort to protect his precious Apex Ascent, Ven too had burst forth, somehow having the awareness to catch what was going on in the room even during his duel. Taylor turned his head just in time to see the metal meteor of a man rocket into his shoulder, their trajectories overlapping.
There was a sobering slam against the wall briefly before the explosion, and then a long tumble into the void beyond.
LANEE RETRACTED HER blade and darted to the new hole in the wall, but the thick, lightless ink obscured all vision. A great cavern, apparently, existed below the room, and Taylor and Ven were now alone within it. Reaching out, she searched for and found both of their lives, subdued but pulsing still. She momentarily contemplated jumping in after them, but gave pause when she remembered Ryker. Slowly, she turned, feeling her old friend's eyes burning into her back. He stood underneath the racing electrical impulses, watching her carefully, and recovering his strength from the blow Ven had dealt him.
"You've hit me harder," he said with a smile, mockingly soothing her imaginary worries. Lanee's jaw tightened into a rock-hard ball. "Oh, fine, I just thought you might be concerned about me. How long has it been? Nine years now, I believe. Almost a decade since we've last spoken. Did you miss me at all?"
"You're under arrest by the authority of the Jedi Council," Lanee snarled. She pointed her silent saber hilt at him with an arm outstretched. "You will -"
Two screeching ignitions resonated through the chamber. Ryker stood with a burning red blade in each hand, the tips just inches from the floor. Soft pools of pink light gathered on the floor beneath their glow. He let the thrum speak for a moment. He watched Lanee calculate, adjusting for his Jar'Kai. "I always had a flare for the dramatic, according to you."
Her first step was fast – faster than he could handle. She seemed to close the gap near instantly, a distance most swordsman would consider safe. Ryker judged it was an overhand strike coming first, but she feinted, dropping her shoulder into his chest just under his throat. White pain exploded and he gasped, and when she ducked and twirled to sweep his legs away, Ryker barely managed to find the will to jump over the attack. But her sequence had not finished. A penetrating thrust towards his face came next, in the space between his blades. Ryker crossed his sabers and swept downward in an X-pattern, deflecting the blow, but Lanee twisted her whole body, abandoning the saber and vaulting over his head, her hands pressing into the top of his skull. The lightsaber hilt shot through his legs, summoned to her by the Force, and she reignited it, swiping horizontally to cleave him in two at the waist. Ryker reached his blades over his shoulders, catching the blow, then crouched to the floor, holding his blades in the air at Lanee's eye level with the Force. The twirled in his psychic vortex, forcing her to retreat. Ryker stood and collected his blades, then cast a sidelong look at her over his shoulder.
"I am no longer your inferior," he muttered mirthlessly.
TAYLOR EXPLORED THE possibility that he was still alive. Although every ounce of his body was in pain, and he could see absolutely nothing, Taylor knew he was still a viable human being. Gingerly, he rose to his feet, first searching for and gladly finding his lightsaber was still on his hip. His assessment of his current location was that it was beneath the previous room, though how deep he had fallen was a mystery. With a pang of fear, it occurred to him that Ven, too, had fallen, and was most likely down there somewhere.
So when the lights turned on with the thump of ancient circuit breakers activating, he instantly was on his guard. Adrenaline stormed through his body as he quickly took inventory. The lights were still very dim, but he could see many pillars, suggesting that this was a support system for the massive chamber above. A thin blankt of water stretched out over the floor, and skittering points of light and random whining fans came into his perception.
"This is the power source of the Apex Ascent," came Ven's voice, disembodied and drifting through the gloomy catacombs. It reverberated heavily. "We are fortunate to bear witness."
Taylor said nothing, intending to not give away his position. He looked up and around, noting the complex mesh of cords and insulation. Tentatively, he stepped forth, but the tiny splash of moving in the water elicited terror as he realized Ven could triangulate the source of the noise. Taylor attempted to regulate his breathing, but anxiety was blitzing him, waves of paranoia that were impossible to ignore. Ven chuckled lightly through his vocoder.
"I first saw that glint in your eye on Tersi station. Do you remember that moment? Yes, I sense you do," Ven hummed. A long shadow swept across a far wall, and Taylor swiveled his head to catch another glimpse, but found nothing. "I realized what constituted your strength. It is impressive." He paused. "But then, when you came here, I knew. The source of your power cannot be your own – it must be derived from the very man that taught you how to find me."
He was speaking, of course, of Tulag Zan. The man the Rodian on Tersi had instructed the holocron be delivered to. It made sense these two would know each other.
"Tell me, has he explained it to you? The Rage Seed, I mean. What it is. What it does."
Taylor closed his eyes, Lanee's words echoing in his head. He listened to Ven's voice, now, feeling the currents. Closer. Closer.
"I often make the mistake of underestimating my opponents," Ven remarked. "That I will not do with you. But without it's handler, what good is an untamed beast?"
He was behind Taylor.
Taylor rolled forward through the water, and a crunching quake took out of a chunk of a stone pillar as Ven's fist slammed into it, where Taylor's head had just been. Taylor spun to face his adversary, and ignited his yellow blade. Ven straightened, flexing his cybernetic hand. Taylor could hear the gears whining. It was just as it had been in the apartment – the hood, the cloak, the mask, the armor – just standing there, mere meters away from him. But this time, his darkness did not overburden Taylor. It would not a Jedi.
"You think," Ven said, extending an gloved, crinkling finger towards Taylor. "That your ability is your own. That you somehow cultivated it in such short time. But it is one of his lies. He has deceived you into thinking you could beat me. And now I will show you true might."
"You're talking a lot more than I remember," Taylor said, smirking. He'd found his peace.
Ven called forth his blade.
THEY EXCHANGED BLOW after blow, swinging relentlessly. Neither had gained an advantage after a few minutes, but it did not deter them from trying. There was a particularly tense engagement when Lanee pinned one of Ryker's blades against a pylon, bearing down on him with all her strength, while her free hand held his other blade at bay by his wrist.
"How did you find us here so quickly, anyway? Were you that desperate to see me?" Ryker mocked through clenched teeth. He managed something of a mocking smile.
"I've seen what you've done on Korriban. What you've become. You think you're some Dark Lord of the Sith," Lanee retorted. "But they don't know you like I do."
"You'll think otherwise after today," Ryker grunted, breaking the pin and twirling back to a checking distance. "But seriously. How is it you've come here?"
"Like I said, I've been to Korriban. I met someone who isn't a fan of yours."
Ryker's eyes narrowed, and his guard relaxed somewhat.
"And who, exactly, did you meet?"
"A Sith you and your master failed to kill," she said, aiming at his pride. Instead, a dark cloud passed over Ryker's face, something that Lanee could not know dawning in his expression.
"And this Sith," Ryker said with slow intent, now standing with an inert pose. "Told you...where to find us?" Lanee furrowed her brow, nodding carefully.
And then a look of pure terror ate away Ryker.
"No...no, no...that cannot be..." he mumbled.
"What are you talking about?" Lanee barked. He had all of a sudden become disturbingly disinterested in their duel.
"If he knew...surely it wasn't him..."
"Ryker," Lanee said impatiently. "What's wrong?" He looked up from the floor at her with deeply discouraged eyes.
"It would appear you've met Veshiram."
"That was not his name," Lanee responded.
"Of course not. You only heard his alias. He is, first and foremost, the Great Deceiver. If he told you to come here, it was not without some means for him to exploit. That he knew where the Apex Ascent was all along..." Ryker shook his head, and spoke lowly. "Listen to me, and listen well: Do NOT believe a word he says. It puts you at too much risk. I fear less for you than I do the one you travel with."
"Taylor says he had a past with Zan – Veshiram. That he had once abducted him, but let him go."
"Then it is already too late for him. Veshiram has manipulated this the whole time," Ryker said before swearing loudly. "Damn! We were so careful – how does he do this?"
"What do you mean it's too late for Taylor?" Lanee asked, shocked.
"Veshiram disgraced himself before the Sith with his plans to imbue Force Sensitives with some ancient Sith arcanism he discovered, then let your lot take them in for training, none the wiser. At the snap of his fingers he can assume control over anyone he has operated on – utter, and complete. Your friend is in graver danger than he knows. My master is not the biggest threat to him."
"Right you are, boy!" chimed a jovial voice from the chamber's entrance. Zan, the one Ryker called Veshiram, was there, in his hunched glory, but looking sprier than Lanee recalled. His grey, moony face beamed at them like a proud father. "Now tell me – where is my pupil?"
His face clicked into his signature slimy grin.
TAYLOR DUCKED AND wove his way through the maze of pillars, chased by Ven's devastating blows. He had quickly realized just how outmatched he was in the face of a full-fledged Sith. He felt that there was some way of dexterously bringing resolution to the conflict, but that was dependent on V en showing him the same methodical, brutal style of combat. Perhaps if Taylor could just round the corner, just hit the right timing...
But then, the pursuit stopped.
"I tire of this," Ven said simply. "I want to test myself against your true strength. Show me the Rage Seed."
"Yeah, right, I still have no idea what that is," Taylor responded.
"Then I will have to drag it out of you. It is a shame he isn't here to aid you."
"He? You do realize my teacher is a girl, right?" Taylor asked, confused. He was happy for the breather, though.
"Fool," Ven scathed. "You haven't a teacher – you have a benefactor. You just don't know it yet." Ven snapped his fingers.
Something like a twitch spasmed in Taylor's brain. He felt different, afterwards, as though a new light had come on. It was the same closeness to the Force he had experienced in his duel on Korriban, but weaker somehow.
"I don't think you want to do whatever you just did," Taylor said, a new rasp appearing in his voice.
"Believe me. I do."
Their next clash was ferocious. Taylor ripped into Ven's defenses, forcing him to shift and sway, parry and dodge. Taylor felt good. His limbs were fluid and his mind clear. He felt capable of doing the things he needed to do in order to win. Taylor dashed forth, chaining strike after strike, taking complete initiative.
"It is strong," Ven said during a lull. "But not quite finished. I imagine he is the only one it responds to."
"I told you, I really don't -" the spasm recurred, but this time with new intensity. Ven watched, a curiousness in his stance. He hadn't clicked his fingers. He hadn't done anything at all. But when Taylor re-centered his gaze on the Sith, it was with a new heightened focus, and a new throbbing in his ears.
"He is here," Ven asserted calmly, looking at the ceiling.
"But I'm still here."
Taylor battered down Ven's blade work with ease, slicing his opponent into a corner. Ven fell against the wall, unable to maintain his posture against Taylor's pernicious attacks. The flurry of yellow cuts snapping through the air left Ven's proud armor in tatters, and the man within hopeless.
How had he come so far, only to meet an end like this? It was rage that occupied the last moments of Ven's life - unbridled anger, that all of the work he had done, all that he had been given and managed to overcome, was being rendered pointless at the hands of a puppet who had been gifted his strength. A lack of fairness was never something Ven had lamented, and not even at the end of his life would be begin to do so. He only hoped that his spirit would somehow manage to persist, like it had always done, even when he body was so frail, as it was becoming once more...
"TAYLOR!" Lanee cried. He turned around slowly, perfect silence having fallen over the room. But he was no longer standing in that Rakatan tomb, just as Lanee was no longer in her Jedi garb. She was somewhat younger and in a sundress, standing on a grassy hill, the breeze tousling the brown and green strands. She smiled at him, reaching out a hand, like an invitation to something better. He was confused, but altogether much calmer than he had been only seconds before. Taylor stretched out his own hand to grasp hers...
"That's right," she crooned, drawing him closer, cradling his head. "Come back to me. Come back. I won't lose another..."
Ven was broken and crushed behind Taylor, but Lanee had found him, and projected through the Force to appeal to his center. She let the Force course through her body and into his, easing away the hateful tension that was stemming from some black implant within his spirit. She cared not for the fact that Veshiram was soon to descend upon them, that they were surrounded by enemies on all sides, in the bowels of a hellish nightmare. All she cared about, all she manifested, was the peaceful energy of her soul's true form – and saving a friend, like she had been unable to do before.
"Oh, you are strong, child," Veshiram drawled. "But he. Is. MINE."
Veshiram clicked his fingers in the darkness, and Taylor's body convulsed. Lanee looked into his eyes with horror and saw that the once happy shade of green that occupied his irises had now become a pure, gleaming yellow. The Force sent her reeling, emanating from his palm. She gasped in pain at the impact against a pillar, but gathered herself fast and dashed to the shaft she had entered from, summoning the Force to bound a great distance back upwards to the main chamber. Taylor followed her, stalking her with his saber ignited, breathing heavily and no longer himself. Veshiram floated up the shaft behind him as lightly as a feather, his arms folded behind his back.
"Come now, this is an exercise in futility," Veshiram chided. "Taylor is much too strong for you now. And he will do exactly what I say."
"Lanee," Ryker breathed, appearing by her side. She had thought he had fled. "He is going to do what Ven attempted to do to me. I see it now – his end game. The wounds Ven inflicted on Veshiram years ago; he will control Taylor to sacrifice himself to the Ascent and power it that so that he might use it to build himself a new body."
Lanee's heart jumped to her throat.
"What can we do?" she whispered back. Taylor was approaching, spurred on by Veshiram's mad laughter.
"Only a whole body can be used to heal a cripple such as Veshiram," Ryker cited. "Either we kill him, or we maim him. But we cannot allow Veshiram to use him as he is. The result would be...an unmitigated disaster, for the whole galaxy."
"Alright," Lanee said, scrounging for resolve. A pensive rupture struck her as she drew her saber next to Ryker, who produced his own. Together the pair faced down Taylor, assuming stances in preparation to strike him down. Try as she might to banish the emotions that bombarded her, Lanee found it impossible. And with sadness, old and new, she watched as Taylor came within striking distance. A breeze by her side drifted by her cheek, like fingers. "Ryker?"
But he was gone. And she was alone.
"Damn you..." she whispered to the wind she hoped would reach him, then leapt forth into battle.
Taylor was not Taylor. Whatever enraptured spirit possessed him conducted battle in a way that Lanee knew she could not hope to match. As the man she had considered her closest ally swung his lightsaber, that she had helped him to construct not so long ago, Lanee felt defeated. This time, she thought with a mind distant from the battle, there was nothing to hope for. She had always thought that Ryker was recoverable – and perhaps she still did. But witnessing Taylor's symbiosis with this tremendous evil, she knew. He was gone.
And then in that bleakest moment, words came back to her that she had forgotten. Something Master Zemner had said to her that first day in the temple, as she walked with him to meditate with the other Padawans.
"It isn't so far," he said, smiling with closed eyes. "The journey's end, that is. As long as we stay true to who we are, the Light will hold us. It will bind us, keep us together." He put his old, strong hand on her young, nervous back, steadying her shoulders. "You have it," he said, patting her gently. "You have it."
Snapping back to her senses, Lanee found herself in a deadlock of plasma, Taylor's bloodthirsty visage on the other end. She peered into his eyes, and aligned herself internally. She found her strength by ceasing to doubt that she had it at all.
"Taylor," she whispered to him, knowing his true self would hear. "I am so, so sorry."
With a twist of her blade, Lanee severed Taylor's sword arm. And hours later, as she and Duststorm hurtled through the soundless vacuum, she could still hear his anguished screams.
"OH, MASTER," RYKER hummed. Ven's ragged breathing was sharp spikes of sound through the speaker in his mask. He had put much faith in Lanee up above, but this was far too important, and time was against him. Ryker had slipped down to the catacombs, where his body would no doubt be dumped and rotting, being reduced to the soup on the ground had Ven had his way. There were not enough precious minutes for him to do this the way he had wanted, but he could make this suffice.
Ven looked up at his student, his neck barely finding the necessary strength to support his heavy head.
"Here, let me help," Ryker said, pulling back the hood and removing Ven's mask. He looked upon the man who had given him everything. Taught him of a universe grander than Ryker had ever hoped existed. If one did not know any better, they would look at Ven and think that he was a dashing man of importance, perhaps a politician. Ryker traced the chiseled lines of Ven's face with his fingers, drawing to a point on his chin.
"Worry not. You might not feel like it now, but know that you have achieved that perfection you so righteously fought for," Ryker mused. "Through me."
Ryker's lightsaber ripped through Ven's heart, and as their eyes met, the master drew his last breath.
TO BE CONTINUED...