FINALE
IN THE FIRST days, the nascent Jedi order was unified. Strife came as a result of disagreement as to the role the Force should play in the life of its user. Those who would face exile and later become the Sith believed the Force was a means to an end, and that its use as a weapon by which to arrest greater power for themselves was a right inherent at birth. They believed themselves to be greater beings than those who did not hear the Force as they did. Those who followed the Light believed the Force was a responsibility, and a tool that could improve life not only for Jedi, but for the galaxy as a whole.
This sparked war.
For thousands of years, the Jedi and the Sith have fought the same battle. Were the Sith to win, their rule would be cold and cruel. They would claim the bounties of the universe all for their own, and none could resist their tyranny. For the Dark Side's true nature is consumption, and as sure as the light of the sun would be eaten by the blackness of an eclipse, so too would the fragile hopes of the powerless sentients who rely upon the Jedi to be their vanguard. Although…
Powerful as it may be, the Dark Side's ravenous hunger has been the downfall of many Sith. Their lust for strength and prestige has beget a culture of betrayal that has seen many who would influence history dispatched at more ambitious hands. This is no secret to the Jedi, and they have taken advantage of it for as long as they have waged this war. But if things were ever to change, all Jedi stand wary of a unified Sith, for it would be an evil unleashed the likes of which no one could escape unscathed.
"DO YOU KNOW what our strongest weapon is?" Veshiram asked of his apprentice. Taylor rose his head to answer his master.
"No, my lord," Taylor replied.
"Fear," Veshiram said with cold simplicity. "It is everything, and once in the hearts of our enemies, it is nothing. Fear obliterates the self, like shattered glass falling to the ground. They lose themselves in its chill. And we reap the rewards."
"I will try to remember that, master."
"I know you will. I made you perfectly." Then the Sith Lord sighed. He quite tired as of late. It had been a trying past few days, and yet the real work seemed to be just up ahead. Jedi didn't scare so easily, but he would need them to if he was to gain access to his waiting children. Something big had to be done to draw them away from their precious Padawans. Something bold.
"Taylor, gather your brothers," Veshiram commanded. "We're going to put your lesson into practice."
IT HAD BEEN quite some time since Zemner had found need to draw his blade.
It was a simple, compact hilt of silvery polish with a black rubberized grip woven across. He liked the way the small thing fit in his hand, yet generated such great power. The plasma spouted a brilliant orange hue from his crystal, a distinct flourish he allowed himself. The rare color was not to make him feel special or distinguished, but rather to remember where he came from. It had been a gift from his master, a man he respected greatly.
And in Zemner's hands, the lightsaber was worked to perfection.
Lanee did not become the premier duelist of the Jedi without an exceptional teacher. Other Jedi had attempted Zemner to adopt a more modern style, as opposed to his favored Makashi. The days of lightsaber combat are over, they claimed. Surely Niman or Soresu were better choices in this quieter age.
But as Zemner twisted his blade and slid his feet, it became apparent to the Jedi that had rushed to his aid at the sound of commotion in the hall that he knew exactly what he was doing. Taylor's slashes were fast and chained into deadly combinations of blows, but the reserved defense of the senior Jedi efficiently deflected harm. It was Zemner's intent to win the duel through economy of movement, accruing an advantage through efficiency. He sensed a great thrumming stone of hatred in Taylor's chest, and from that epicenter stemmed his power. It was an odd thing, even for a spell of the Dark Side, but not something Zemner was unprepared to deal with. It made the young man strong, and even seemed to grant him some measure of expertise, but his wild and formless style of combat was surely disadvantaged against someone of so many hours' practice as Zemner.
"You're pretty nimble for a corpse," Taylor said as their blades locked close, face-to-face.
"I don't suppose we could come to a mutual understanding," Zemner chimed sweetly. "I would be loathe to hurt my favorite apprentice's companion." Taylor smirked in response, then broke the stalemate and leapt backwards, sizing up his opponent once more.
"Let me free you from those bindings," Zemner shouted across the room. "I can tell you don't truly want to be that way."
Taylor responded with an acrobatic attack, vaulting high through the air and landing behind Zemner. His horizontal saber sweep met empty air as Zemner ducked. He flashed a smile at Taylor before disappearing into a shimmering stealth field.
"Have you seen this one before?" Zemner taunted from invisibility. Taylor frowned and rested his blade, swiveling his head in an attempt to track the old man. "The Force is capable of many things, you know. But your master's 'training' is limited."
"What would you know about my power?" Taylor called out into the void.
"We have only sparred for a few minutes, and yet I believe I've begun to see its end," Zemner said from another part of the room. The Jedi, with their withdrawn sabers, had stood back at his behest, allowing he and Taylor space to fight alone. Taylor's Sith did the same. "Veshiram would never allow you to be stronger than he is. That would be very un-Sith-like, wouldn't it?"
"Veshiram showed me the truth that I was neglecting," Taylor replied. "I'd always thought the life of a Jedi was sacrifice. I didn't know I could have it all."
"That's just the Rage Seed speaking, not you," Zemner said. Suddenly he drew very near Taylor, and tickled his ear with his words. "That's its name, isn't it?"
"Get out of my head!" Taylor roared, slashing at the source of the sound. No connection was made, but instantly a swift shot to his gut left him reeling in pain. Zemner uncloaked, having jammed a palm strike sharply above Taylor's navel. Seizing the opportunity, Zemner darted forward and disarmed Taylor, stealing away his lightsaber and pinning his arm against his back in a strong hold. Taylor grunted and struggled on the floor, but it was of no use.
"There's a lot of irony in wanting me out of there," Zemner chuckled. "When I'm the one trying to help."
Taylor experienced excruciating agony as Zemner rooted within his spirit, seeking to sever the anchors by which the Rage Seed was attached. Through the blood-red veil of pain, though, Taylor found his breath. Images began to flicker in his mind's eye, and there was a palpable sense of tranquility that tried to push its way through. Home. Duststorm. Dreams of becoming a Jedi, of helping, of feeling good about himself. Shayira. And his best friend.
"Lanee..." Taylor gasped. He realized he was trying to help the old man.
"Yes," Zemner crooned, concentrating hard. "Focus on her."
"Enough of this," echoed an icy voice. Zemner was blasted aside by an immense jet of the Force. He slammed into a pillar, and the Knights rushed forth in a protective ring around them. He assured them he was fine, rising slowly. He was bruised, but nothing was broken.
"I almost did it!" Zemner yelled happily. "I think I'll get there next time."
Veshiram strode coolly out of the darkness. His hood was pulled low over his face, obscuring all but the lower half. And on that half, he wore his trademark grin. He opened it to speak.
"We'll see about that."
THE PAIR OF old friends regarded each other with silent acknowledgement. The rain was coming down in grey sheets from the Coruscant sky, blasting the polished marble of the Temple steps, but Lanee and Ryker stood resolute, holding each other's gaze. He remembered the stern sharpness of her jawline when she was angry, and she remembered the playful ember eternally smoldering in his eyes. But what was most important was that Ryker had heard Lanee's call, and he had answered it. It would have been so easy to ignore, to let her writhe in her hour of need. But, for whatever reason, he hadn't. It was probably a selfish one, and there was much for Ryker to gain, but there he stood regardless. And Lanee was glad. She fidgeted with the homing beacon in her satchel, her fingers brushing against it once more just to make sure it was there. It was her only trump card.
"It seems your message could not have been better timed," Ryker commented dryly.
"So it seems," Lanee agreed. She hadn't been anticipating a true attack on the Temple, but it didn't surprise her that Veshiram had the gall.
"The manipulator is inside as we stand here, drenched. I can smell his stench," said Ryker. "Your charge, the smuggler; he's here too, commanding the battle while his master sneaks."
"Rage Seeds," Lanee breathed. Suddenly it all made sense.
"Yes," Ryker affirmed. "Buried in the hearts amongst your Padawans and Knights. Should he be allowed to activate them..."
"His power will grow twice over," Lanee finished.
"And that is something neither of us can allow," he replied. Lanee nodded.
"How many are in your fold?" Lanee asked.
"Forty-seven," he answered. "All capable Sith. They will do as I command. But the Rage Seed grants...unnatural powers. They will not be enough in battle."
"We just need to get Veshiram to stand down," Lanee stated firmly. "We need every one in this Temple to stop Ven."
Ryker seemed to wince at the name. "And your sure it is my master?" he asked cautiously.
"There is no doubt. I have seen for myself," Lanee returned. "But he isn't what he once was. This is no man we are dealing with – it's an engine of destruction."
Ryker turned his head upwards into the rain and smirked. "I can't believe it, but it seems as though he got what he always wanted."
"There is nothing of his mind left," Lanee corrected quietly. "He is controlled entirely by the Ascent. Your master died when you killed him."
Ryker lowered his head to meet Lanee's eye once more. "Good."
THOUGH HE WAS a man of peace, Zemner found himself eagerly anticipating his duel with Veshiram. It took a special kind of heart to both see and adore the artfulness of combat without straying too near the Dark Side, but Zemner possessed one. Always, he had been fascinated by the dance. It was intellectually and physically stimulating in a way that few other pursuits were. And there never seemed to be a time in a Jedi's life when it wasn't useful.
So when he sensed the arrival of Lanee and another, darker entity outside on the Temple steps, Zemner was somewhat disappointed.
"Forgive me, Veshiram, but it would seem that we have a more pressing matter to attend to first," Master Zemner said.
"Somehow, I agree with you," Veshiram said, turning his head to the main entrance. The massive, heavy doors parted, ushering in the blasting sound of the rainstorm outside. Two figures stood there, drenched in water and weighed down with intent. Lanee and Ryker strode into the ancient halls of the Jedi together, and were met with a confused reception.
"Lanee," Zemner greeted. "And you brought a dinner guest." Ryker blinked.
"Master," Lanee said, with just a touch of weariness.
"I sense you have a tale to tell," he said solemnly. Another Jedi stepped forward. He was a muscular Iridonian named Kale, and addressed Lanee sternly.
"You departed here with two others. Rannawann and Ujiri. Where are they?"
Lanee bowed her head, scowling at the ground. Kale understood the meaning, and stepped back to his brethren. She could sense his anger and sorrow.
"What happened out there?" Zemner asked, placing a hand on her shoulder. Lanee looked up at him with watery eyes.
"Something horrible approaches. And there is very little time."
SHE WAS SCARED. The Code seemed so distant from her that it was pointless to call upon it. The only thing solid she could find was within herself, and that was the desire to live. But as Ven marched toward her, his saber flashing so quickly that it deceived her eyes, Lanee knew that she was completely outmatched. The sound of her own breath and the pounding of her heart filled her ears exclusively.
Her skill didn't matter here; this was a complete mismatch physically. Ven's new body was nothing short of perfection, engineered to kill – and to do it with efficiency. He took longer strides, he jumped higher, he swung and blocked faster. There was a distinct pull of dread within Lanee that the only thing keeping her alive was the fact that he was enjoying toying with her so much.
Lanee summoned the Force and hurled plasteel containers and wayward tools at Ven, but the reaction time of his metal appendages was just too much. They battered away her projectiles with ease. Ven marched toward her with deliberate slowness, and she was just trying to create space, but there was a dwindling amount of that left in the hangar.
There was one possibility. The blast doors on the floor, if opened, would suck everything out into the vacuum, for the shield was disabled. There was an emergency hand release for those doors; Lanee had spotted it during her battle. Her life would surely end, but that sacrifice might not be in vain, for any price was worth sparing the galaxy from this creature.
The young Jedi took a steadying breath. Ideally, she could place Ven directly atop the doors. She had to have perfect timing. Ven's tendrils crunched the metal floor beneath their grasp, pulling it up like a cat on a rug, and with just as much pleasure. Lanee circled him, her lightsaber out forward in a warding capacity. How much intelligence was left within him? Or had it all been replaced with animal impulse? It was impossible to tell; he read like an enigma within the Force, a storm of different shapes and colors of emotion and intent. With a quiet prayer, she enacted her plan.
"Return to hell," she whispered, and pulled the lever.
What she would remember most was the horrible scream of the initial air being sucked out of the hangar. Ven's lightning reactions managed to plant his robotic arms firmly across the breadth of the doors, but it was far too wide to reach both sides once the doors had opened entirely. Thus an agonizingly slow sequence began: Ven fought agains the massive pressure of the vacuum attempting to tear him out into space, crawling with every inch of his might towards Lanee, who managed to cling to support scaffolding. She could only watch in terror has he made his approach, hoping against hope that the doors would open faster and Ven would succumb. When the starfighter above her was ripped loose and plummeted downward, Lanee narrowly dodged the hulk of metal. It screeched across the floor, ripping it to shreds. Ven battered it away as though it were paper, and proceeded his slow trudge, a wicked grin across his face. It became apparent that more would be needed to topple him.
And so, relinquishing any and all fear, she focused on that image of the sun warming her skin, and heard her master's words of wisdom fall upon her ears once more. She gave up her body, and believed only in the living Force.
Lanee let go.
She somersaulted through the air and planted the bottom of her boots squarely on Ven's chest. Any lesser man's ribs would have cracked, but Ven was only knocked backwards. The tactic, however, achieved it's goal; Ven lost his footing and tumbled with the debris.
Relief flooded her body in a massive rush of endorphins. She was going to die, yes. She knew it. But she had won.
Making peace with that fact seemed to slow time. When she opened her eyes from her dreamy, smiling trance, she saw it. Another starfighter had been ripped from the wall and was hurtling towards her. Lanee had zero momentum on her side, and averting the gaping door's inevitable portal to death seemed unlikely. But the plasteel crates – those she could use. The Force tore through her body to a degree she had never experienced. It ripped a passing container towards her, and from that she could jump. The lunge was just far enough; she grasped the fighter's narrow forward-facing wing and clambered up to the cockpit, smashing the release. She was in. And as the fighter tipped over the edge towards the black pit of stars below, the cockpit just managed to seal.
She couldn't believe it, but the debris splattering against her floating ship brought her senses back. Lanee engaged the thrusters and left the unknown world for good.
"I HARDLY BELIEVE your tale, girl," Veshiram said with curt boredom, picking at a nail. "My former apprentice was quite dead. Your former friend saw to that himself."
"If you think the Ascent turns a cripple into a god, what the hell do you think it does to a corpse?!" Lanee shouted.
Veshiram didn't show even so much as a hint of amusement. Merely a concerned frown that seemed to pull his face down to the floor. It was rather unlike him, but he felt the prickles of anxiety. Her sincerity was evident; there was no ploy here. This was not as planned.
"And it devoured your two Jedi Knights with ease," Ryker continued.
"Yes," Lanee said hoarsely. "There isn't one among us, Jedi nor Sith, who can stop it."
"You claim it comes here, but also that the beast was subjected to space unprotected," Veshiram said cautiously.
Lanee then produced the tracking device from her satchel. "I pulled this off the under side of my ship as I left. Does this look like anything but Rakatan technology to you?" Veshiram adopted a full-blown scowl. Indeed, the tiny hedron with it's blinking red light could not be mistaken for anything different from the plethora of technologies they had all witnessed at the Ascent. "He survived. And he is coming."
"If that is the case," Master Zemner spoke, "Then I propose a temporary alliance." Silence rang out like a bell.
"Tch, not likely," Ryker spat. "I am open to the idea; my Sith will serve. But the manipulator cannot be trusted."
"You seem so sure of my intentions," Veshiram mused. "As though I would be so misguided to assume my brood could best such a horror."
"Isn't that your hallmark? The hidden, throbbing pride you kindle?" rebutted Ryker.
"Isn't it yours?" Veshiram retorted.
Ryker grinned maliciously. "I don't hide mine, withered one."
"Master, if we cannot reach a compromise, these Sith will destroy themselves and us along with them long before Ven arrives," Lanee plead.
"No, Lanee, I do not think they will," Zemner replied calmly. His eyes seemed to be keeping a great storm at bay. It was a look Lanee almost felt uncomfortable seeing her serene master harboring.
"And you're so sure because…?" Veshiram queried.
"Why don't you drop the pretense?" Zemner suggested to the crippled Sith. "And tell us all why you're really here."
Veshiram shrugged in a lurching, grinding motion. "These Sith the young one leads do not deserve the title. They are weak. They have no fortitude. I sought to change that, but they were blinded by their own ineptitude."
"Yet you do not act of your own accord," Zemner continued. Veshiram cocked his head, squinting at the old Jedi. "I have seen what is beyond, waiting in your shadow. What called Revan away after the war. What we rebuild in the furtive hope of standing against. The true Sith. The real Empire."
Veshiram's face clicked. There was the smile.
"Elaborate, if you would," Ryker interjected. There was a note of nervous inquiry in his voice.
"It is as exactly as I have outlined. Only you, remants of the false Sith, the Revanites, have yet to see it," Veshiram explained. "In that way, Veshiram is right. You are quite inept."
"Do not look down your nose at me, old man," Ryker warned through gritted teeth. "I have restored us. Your order failed to wipe us out."
"Or, perhaps we've been attending to far more pressing matters," Zemner offered. The slight worked. Ryker's pride was wounded, and he became incensed.
"Watch that tone," Ryker said, igniting his blades. "Or I'll correct it for you."
Zemner's eyes scanned up and down the twin red lightsabers. "What comes from the dark corners of this galaxy is far beyond your Sith or my Knights. If you think you have a place in their Empire, you are mistaken. Veshiram's attempted coup is proof of that. My words pale in comparison to the indignities you will suffer at their hands. But if we sustain damage here today, to the immediate threat of your former master, then there will truly be no hope for any of us."
Ryker's eyes scanned the congregation of foes before him. After a moment, he switched off his weapons.
"Fine," he said. "But I still want to know why you think this unsightly grey thing will help us against Ven."
"Self-preservation," Zemner put simply.
"Well put," Veshiram acknowledged. "So be it. We will fight."
And so the Jedi Temple entered lockdown. Gates over the grand arches were lowered all across the building, and a quiet hush settled in over the blue shadows of night. At any other time, it would have been peaceful, but not with the restless anticipation. Though the Padawans - sequestered away from any danger and Veshiram's greedy glances - hadn't any idea what was going on, they too could sense the tremors of uneasiness. A detachment of Knights was formed to guard them in the dining hall, where they were to sleep for the night. The rest were positioned as sentries, watching and waiting.
All remaining Knights, including those from Outer Rim patrol, were urged to complete any immediate business and return home. Lanee watched Zemner broadcast the call.
"This will be the first time every member of our Order will have gathered in one place since its formation," Zemner remarked. There was a certain gravity to his statement that was not lost upon Lanee.
"If they day is lost, there will be no recovery," she said gravely.
"Indeed," her master affirmed. "And these Sith know that."
Lanee pursed her lips and bowed her head. "Master, I am sorry. I have failed the Order to have taken this so far. Had I been able to stop Ven on the Cresting Wave, none of this would be needed."
"Nonsense, child," Zemner chided warmly. "I have no doubt you did your best."
"You always put your faith in me, master, and yet..."
"Do not waver now, Lanee," he said. "Especially now. You can't. You simply can't."
"I will collect myself then, master," Lanee apologized, filling her lungs. The scattered strings of anxiety splintering across her arms and toros were not so easily banished, however.
The stakes were impossibly high – and the majority of the outcomes did not favor the Jedi. Perhaps they would all perish though, and the Force would be quieted. No, that couldn't be, for the Sith alluded to be master Zemner were still out there. Doubtless they would fill the void in time. If Veshiram and his ilk were to be the primary casuality, however, it would benefit the Jedi immediately by reducing the presence of this yet-to-come terror. But that would mean…
She shook her head to loosen the thoughts. She would keep her promise to Taylor.
Ryker's following could very well meet their end, and not necessarily to Ven. The whole ordeal was rife with a chance for Veshiram to turn upon his tentative allies. Even now, as each faction retreated to their own secluded corner for the night, his foul brood sat beneath their hobbled master's feet, drinking in his words. What directions Veshiram would deliver were entirely unknown. Lanee felt that Ryker's Sith would have to watch their backs even more than her brothers and sisters of the Order.
Of course, the Jedi themselves might be the ultimate sacrifice, and the pendulum would swing into dark shadow once more. She would do everything in her power to prevent that from happening. But as the only one who had seen the horror of the coming storm, Lanee could not help but feel profound uncertainty. With a sigh, she curled her knees up to her chest in a window sill and watched the rain patter across the glass.
RYKER'S SOLDIERS WERE kept far away from the Jedi. It was for mutual safety, but the newly christened Sith Lord was the first to propose it. Some of his followers knew the Temple quite well, having once defected from the Jedi. His lieutenant Xander was one such Sith. Her usefulness to Ryker didn't seem to cease to expand each day.
"What is your priority, my Lord?" she asked, kneeling.
"I want to see him coming," Ryker answered. "We must have adequate forwarning. Lanee says the target is large, but able to move swiftly and quietly, even utilizing small spaces such as air ducts. We must cover these."
"Yes, my Lord. Any further instructions?"
"If any of our warriors spot this thing, implore them to not engage it. They must retreat, so that we might attack it together. This is the most important part."
"Right away," she confirmed, and swiftly darted off to dispatch the Sith. Ryker watched her go to the mass of dark robes and hoods. They had been tasked with securing the upper floor of the Temple, and in the dim corridor with the storm raging outside, they gathered. Ryker knew the Sith had many questions, but he had been thorough in eliminating those on Korriban who might have opposed him in this new endeavor. Not that he had expected his prophesized exodus to encompass teaming with the Jedi, of all things. The situation was uncomfortable, and that bred whispers.
But, as of yet, they had done as he commanded, for they believed the dire threat of Ven's reconstituted corpus. Perhaps even more than Ryker did himself.
Of course, there was a white lie in place. Ryker had told his following that their true goal was to raid the holocron library, and that had satisfied the loudest dissent. It was an extremtly covetable goal; many Sith throughout history had attempted heists on that very room, but none had been in such great number with such ease of access as they were now. It made their assistance to the Jedi too good to pass up.
All the while, their new leader struggled internally. Because deep down, he knew why they were there. It was for Lanee.
Ryker slammed his fist into the wall, and the thunder outside roared to match his anger.
THE JEDI COUNCIL consisted of the wisest and strongest Masters. Zemner considered himself honored to be counted amongst them, but now he had to answer for his strange decision making. This alliance with the Sith was unprecedented in the history of the Order. Masters Arakond, Silon, Ta'Ree and Brezzle were his peers, distinguished Jedi all. He stood before them in the circular room atop the Temple's highest tower, and did so with a serene expression on his face.
"You have tremendous trust in your pupil," Master Ta'Ree began. She was a female Togruta with pale complexion, and the most likely member of the Council to mediate disagreements. "This could not have been an easy decision for you to come to."
"Quite contrary, Ta'Ree. It was the simplest decision in the world," Zemner replied with a beaming smile.
"To ally with the Sith?" asked the stalwart, and gruff, Kel Dor Master Arakond.
"Absolutely. They have much the same interest in defeating the coming enemy as we, and it allows us to keep them close, and thus in check. Such is my way of thinking."
"It allows them an opening to stab us in the back as well," Arakond cautioned.
"Of course. But we expect that, and can guard against it." Zemner shrugged beneath his closed-eye smile. "And truthfully, we don't have a choice."
Brezzle was the smallest in physical stature, being a mouse-like Chadra-Fan. But his squeaking endorsement of Zemner's plan was respected by all. Only Silon, a Chiss with piercing red eyes, witheld comment. He was the quietest and sternest of all the council members, and did not bother to hide his disdain for Zemner's free spirit. A total stalwart, but in Zemner's private assessment, a complete ass.
"If we do this," Silon said slowly. "We will not leave any inch of ourselves exposed. I draw a line here until adequate assurances are made."
"Of course!" Master Zemner brightly announced. "I have something of a plan, you see..."
Sometime later, he triumphtantly emerged from the Council Chamber's doors, and stopped dead in his tracks, surprised to see Veshiram leaning against the wall. "Bold!" Zemner chimed conversationally.
"Mmm," Veshiram agreed, not making eye contact. "I doubt a Sith Lord has been at this precipice in many years."
"Were you listening to our discussion?" Zemner asked. He was not concerned if Veshiram did; in fact, he was counting on it.
"Naturally," Veshiram declared. "As you put it, our common ground is our desire for self-preservation. I'm merely being pragmatic." Zemner nodded, smiling with his eyes.
"I'd expect nothing less. You know, I've been old for a long time now, and I'm lucky to be able to say that. But do you know when the first time I ever felt my age was?" Veshiram gave a single shake of his head. "It was when we met that first time on Tersi Station."
"We were looking for him, weren't we?" Veshiram mused.
"Yes. And we fought over such tiny traces of his presence," Zemner said. "Be honest with me. Revan still eludes your Empire, doesn't he?"
Veshiram continued to stare at his feet, lost in melancholy thought. "The only one to ever resist my Seed. To twist it, use it even. I will find him," he said with finality.
"If we survive the day," Zemner reminded gently. "And if you beat us to him."
Veshiram locked eyes with the old Jedi. "It's why I need your students."
CORUSCANT PORT AUTHORITY was a well-oiled machine comprised of tens of thousands of sentients working tirelessly to direct the ceaseless flow of space traffic on and off the planet. Often times, ships carrying contraband attempted to bypass the lanes and avoid potential search and seizure of their cargo. These ships were nearly always detected on the radars and reeled in by tractor beams to detainment bays. Unless, of course, they were outfitted with illegal sensor jammers like Duststorm.
Or were Rakatan infiltration units.
Ven's pod deftly swooped past the teeming array of freighters and personal vessels, falling like a graceful comet towards the planet surface. The obsidian sheen of the hull made it nearly invisible to the naked eye against the black background of space. Inside, he had contorted his apendages into a neat configuration for efficiency, and was running only the minimum operation systems. He found it was the best way he could achieve the quality of meditation he was accustomed to with his organic body.
When the proximity warning on the display screen indicated impact soon, his eyes flew open in its ghostly green flashes, and a rush of adrenaline surged through his tissues. It was time.
LANEE WENT UP to the floor that Ryker had been given command of as part of her final sweep. There was a touch of uneasiness about her as she ascended the stairs cautiously, watching the black robes and piercing yellow eyes of the judgemental Sith loitering about. It disgusted her to see them leaning so casually against those sacred walls, whispering amongst themselves a place of peace. But she knew that they respected Ryker's orders and, for the most part, she was safe there. She did snap at one wayward Sith who was shirking his watch duty in a window. This prompted Ryker's swift approach.
"I cannot have you undermining me," Ryker hissed, pulling Lanee aside.
"Why? Aren't these 'your' Sith?" she mocked.
"They do not follow me for my good looks," he murmured with a shifting glance. "They follow me because I am competent. My second in command, the female, Xander – she is already shown her self to be quite capable. Someday she will turn on me for my position, and I'd rather not hasten that experience."
"I'm not so sure I want to be allied with such volatile forces," Lanee said with narrowed eyes.
"It's what we do," Ryker said.
"It's what they do," Lanee retorted. "You are not one of them."
"Why is it so hard for you to believe I am truly a Sith? I've spent most of my life under one's tutelage. I have studied their ways, learned their Code, and slain in their name," seethed Ryker.
"Because you're here now, helping me," Lanee said with righteous ferocity. Ryker had no counter to that argument.
"Well, they don't know that," he said, glancing over his shoulder.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"In order to get them to accompany me here, I had to tell them we had a secondary goal. They think we'll be pillaging your holocron storage."
"You what?" she yelped.
"Quiet," Ryker plead, cringing.
Something within her twinged. "How did we become this?" she asked, a more painful emotion creeping in. "It didn't have to be this way, Ryker. You could have come to the Temple with me, instead of being ripped apart by this darkness."
"No, I couldn't have." Now it was his turn to correct her. "I'm not like you. I never was."
Her shoulder's slumped and her eyes beseeched him for a better answer, but the solid pit in her stomach echoed the truth in his words.
"The Dark Side is a choice. It can be rejected," she plead. "I can help you. We can overcome this."
"Help me?" he asked, bemused. "I don't want help. I like who I am, what I've accomplished. You are a servant of the Force, and it limits what you can do. I command it, and my ceiling is higher."
"But it eats away at you," she said tenderly. There was an urge to reach out and touch his face that she had to quell. "I've seen what the corruption does...how it ends. The Dark Side takes just as much as it gives."
"From those weak enough, yes," Ryker replied. He was so sure of himself, she thought. "I am not that. I will rise above." He saw the sad glitter in her glance and a hot spike of rage surged in his limbs. "Don't you see?" he shouted. "Don't you see the pity, the contempt you have for me? You're still the same as always – bloated on your own ego, looking down on everyone around you. You think you're better than me. That's why you hate what I am – you realize I made a different choice than you. How dare I, right?"
"No-" she began, but his tirade was unrelenting.
"How could anyone ever think differently than you? You, the prodigal child, the righteous Jedi, who went gallivanting off into space to prove to the galaxy just how good you are," he spat.
"I left you behind," she said, tears welling. "And I always, always regretted it."
"And now," he continued. "Your next pet project has fallen to the Dark Side as well. Some Jedi you are. You do more good for the Sith than for your own kind."
"I will free Taylor from Veshiram's control," she said with wavering breath, trying to muster her resolve. "That I swear to you."
"And what if he doesn't want it?" Ryker asked her sharply. "What if he has come to the same conclusion that I have?"
But something in Lanee's heart spoke a different answer.
"Taylor heard the call of the Force long before I ever did. It put the wind at his back and moved his feet." Now she felt the warmth returning to her hands as she wiped her eyes and sniffled. "It took him farther than even he realized. There was a part of him that knew he was destined to become a Jedi. His is not a dream so easily shattered."
"You sound confident in that assessment."
"I'm confident in him."
FAINT FRAGMENTS OF awareness floated to the surface. Taylor had been asleep for a very long time – or at least the stiffness in his limbs and the fog in his brain suggested so. When the old Jedi had rooted around in his mind, prying away the Rage Seed, he felt the detachment as pain at first, but past that initial burn, there was something more. He had begun to feel just how much weight he was carrying. And like a lesion on his skin, once found he could not stop running his fingers over it. He felt it even when he wasn't trying. It became the fixation of his thoughts, and he began to strain internally.
Could he break it? Should he? It was an esoteric thing, like trying to break out of a bundle of sheets wrapped around him in the night, but from within his own dream. He feared the loss of his power were he to separate from the Rage Seed, but the nagging thought that it might be worth it to break from Veshiram's spell was omnipresent. Taylor could not shake the notion that this, despite how good the strength felt, was an unhealthy symbiosis, that the Seed was withering him in some capacity that wasn't immediately apparent. Though again, that might have just been the work of a conniving Jedi. He just didn't know.
Master Veshiram sensed his confusion. "Be not troubled," he soothed. "The answer is simple; just let it go. Let the darkness run its course, and deliver unto you its gifts. All shall be much clearer, but only if you don't struggle."
"Of course, master," Taylor nodded. "This is what I want." Veshiram breezed past him in his cloak to tend to other business. Taylor could tell that he was furious the Jedi would not let him near the latent Rage Seed bearers; somehow they had discovered his plan and sequestered the vulnerable Jedi from his clutches. But perhaps even more importantly was the upcoming battle the master seemed to sense with the approaching anomaly. For some reason, Veshiram most of all seemed to concern himself with its destruction. It would seem that he knew something even Lanee, who fought with the creature, did not.
Taylor caught a glimpse of his reflection in the window. He shook his head and walked onward, thinking for a brief second that his eyes had changed color. His irises had always been yellow, hadn't they?
Hadn't they?
HUMMING TO HIMSELF, Master Zemner sat in the cool garden, listening to the sweet streams of water tumble down from the high fountains. Only a few days prior, he had sat on that very bench with Lanee, catching up on her first return to the Temple in years. It was always their favorite place; she loved to have lessons there as a child, and Zemner was happy to oblige. On days when he had nothing better to do, he liked to come down in the crisp early morning mists and tend to the plants in the soil himself and enjoy the waking songs of the birds that inhabited the place.
Only on this night, he realized that there were no birds roosting. They'd all left. He paused to consider a single feather, forgotten in haste by its owner, resting on the bench next to him. "Hmm!" he remarked, springing cheerfully to his feet. He switched from a hum to a sharp whistle.
That whistle continued as the Jedi walked from the gardens back into the halls of the Temple. It was meandering and aimless as a tune, but his stroll was the opposite. He had a fairly good inkling of where he was going. And so the song continued in the birds' stead. And when he came to a place that did not look any different from any other particular spot in those halls, Master Zemner stopped walking. On the final, high note, he stretched out his arm to point at the wall and ignited his lightsaber.
"Why don't we get started, then?" he asked loudly.
The wall ruptured, and Ven's tentacled carapace burst forth from the breach.
"WHAT THE HELL was that?" Ryker asked, leaping to his feet. Xander turned her head, a grave expression on her face. They both knew. His dark brood emerged from their shadows, shedding their obsidian robes in preparation for combat. They fell like snake skin, piling on the floor of a place that they never expected to be. Then the metal rattle of sabers jumping into their palms began. Ryker's face went blank, a calm settling over his body like fine mist. He swept from the hall, his horde in tow.
LANEE NODDED, SWINGING her feet over the edge of the bed. This was somehow so familiar, and as she slid into her boots, she remembered. It was just like the night she left Dantooine for the Temple, waiting in bed, a hollow space in her chest where her friendship had been. Now she supposed it was time to make amends. For everything.
VESHIRAM'S COLD HAND fell upon Taylor's shoulder, snapping him out of his trance. They exchanged a wordless look. Taylor stretched, rubbing warmth into his arms. The glazed eyes of Veshiram's other followers appeared then, ranked and filed, ready for command.
"You know what you must do," Veshiram cooed, brushing his long, knobby fingers across Taylor's cheek. "Go quickly; let them find me not."
"Yes master," Taylor said. He felt like his voice crossed a great distance just to get there. And as the hobbled Sith Lord crept from the hall to execute his plan, Taylor all of a sudden found himself wanting to be wherever that place was. And so he went.
IN HIS YOUNGER days, Master Zemner would often whimsically drift between worlds, traversing the galaxy with an unquenchable desire to see and learn all it had to offer. He was a Jedi, then, but shirking his duties gave him no remorse, as those days the stars were peaceful and bereft of conflict. He sought enrichment of the spirit, and only through his wandering, aimless pilgrimage would he be satisfied. The charitable acts of kindness and his advocacy for impartial justice that trailed him did a wealth of good, regardless of whether or not the Council had ordered it.
There was one world that impacted him particularly strongly, perhaps the most of all. Glee Anselm, the watery Mid Rim home of the amphibious Nautolan. He had met their kind within the Order, and their massive, glittering black eyes had sparked his interest. Zemner vacationed there, and by chance met a Nautolan Jedi Master. He did not scold the young Knight for his lack of focus. Instead, he taught him a lesson that Zemner would hold dearly in his heart for the rest of his days.
"The Force is much like water," said the wise Nautolan, spreading his arms wide before the calm, azure expanse of ocean before them. "It has no shape except for the one we give it with our will. Water flows until it meets resistance, and like water, if we let the Force be free, let it fill us, then it takes our shape." He looked at Zemner, who was soaking in his every word. "And then, like a wave, we can let it crash."
And crash he did.
Effortlessly switching between defense and offense, Master Zemner showed the Sith named Ven what it meant to be a master duelist. His lightsaber spun and twirled, repelling the strikes of the tentacles. To any onlooker, no matter the skill level it would look as though he was always several moves ahead; despite the random rapidity of Ven's blows, Zemner was somehow able to keep up. This was the strength of his form – the minimum necessary movement allowed for efficiency of guard that left extracted much value from the engagement. Against any normal opponent, this would be a long game that saw him or her drained and weakened by its end, whereas the master would be fresh as ever. This machine, however, was not a typical adversary. His reserves of energy were deep and vast. Zemner could sense their glow beneath the surface as they fought.
A tentacle whirled past his head, narrowly missing. It ripped a massive chunk of stone from the wall behind Zemner as it retracted. Zemner hopped on to it, racing down its length towards Ven's vulnerable human core, but his progress was blocked by more Rakatan appendages. Always, there were more. Zemner swiped at them, and back flipped high into the air to regain space. He shook his head, chuckling.
"Truly, you are the strongest opponent I have ever faced," Zemner said, deactivating his lightsaber. Ven watched with curiosity. "Without a doubt, you are far too powerful for anyone of us alone." Ven swayed like a snake, sensing his advantage was enough to end the fight.
"But do you know what the true strength of a Jedi is?" Zemner asked. Ven cocked his head, narrowing his eyes. Zemner smiled wide, seemingly lighting up the entire room. "It is that we are never truly alone." And from behind him leaped a hundred Knights, a rainbow of lightsabers high in the air, roaring their battle cry.
Not among those warriors, however, was Lanee. She entered with Ryker by her side, as she had wanted to do. The strode with cool confidence into the hallway, a small legion of Sith in their wake. "Oh dear," Ryker said. "We're a bit late."
"Perhaps fashionably?" Lanee suggested coyly.
"No longer my luxury," Ryker lamented facetiously. "You know, the whole Sith Lord thing."
"Right," Lanee nodded. "Shall we?"
"Ladies first," Ryker said elegantly.
For a moment, there were no sides, no factions, no Light and no Dark. Just the Force.
Ven swung from the ceiling, using his extra limbs to pull himself across. The united coalition of Jedi and Sith gave chase. Ven adopted a wicked grin; they were being lead into his trap. As he and the torrent of lightsabers rounded the corner, flattened servitor droids rose from camouflage on the tiles below, latching on to their victims' legs. Yelps and cries rang out as people tripped and fell, wrestling with their robotic captors. Still, there were not nearly enough to stop every pursuer. But this was accounted for.
Ven rocketed through a wall into the baths. Steam obscured his figure, and a hollow metallic laugh echoed through the walls and pillars. The Jedi and Sith slowed to a wary crawl, searching for the enemy with their perception and abandoning sight. But Ven was a unique thing to hunt. Lanee knew this, and shouted her warning of informed experience to everyone around her. A Sith towards the flank of the group suddenly was pulled flat on his face, and shrieked as a tentacle dragged him into the billowing cloud of vapor. Sabers of all colors leapt after him, despite Lanee's cry for them not too. Sharp yells of pain and the crunching of bone filled the room.
"This needs," Ryker said, channeling. "TO GO!" A massive sphere of Force energy blasted away the steam, revealing a blood-drenched Ven holding the limp corpse of a Jedi in his spidery grip. He tossed it aside casually and smirked.
Lanee and Ryker coordinated their attack, simultaneously darting forward from either side. This gave heart to their peers, who surged forward. Ryker pinned a whipping tentacle against a pillar with one saber, and launched the other from his hand towards Ven's face. He deflected it, but Lanee used the tiny window to draw close to the human segment of his body. "Hello," she said, then unleashed a vicious flurry of stabs. Ven moved his body backwards, weaving side-to-side, but a flash of blue nicked his shoulder. He groaned in pain, lashing out and swiping Lanee across the cheek, drawing blood. She winced, but just as the follow up blow to her stomach blasted forth, someone grabbed her by the collar and jumped her to safety.
"Careful now," Master Zemner kindly admonished. "Do not lapse." Lanee thanked him with a frowning apology.
As the Force army battered on Ven's defenses, they grew tired. Ven was limitless in this form, and his ever-widening grin showed he knew it. Never before had there been an enemy capable of withstanding such a unified onslaught of Force users, but somehow this creature was doing it with ease. And in that unprecedented feat, fear was born in the hearts of his enemies.
"Where the hell are Veshiram's soldiers?" Ryker shouted angrily, defending against a whirlwind of metal.
"I don't know!" Lanee yelled in reply. She too was tied down, and her allies were dwindling.
Things looked grim. But she didn't doubt Taylor, not once. And as she called to him with the Force, a reply struck out to her like a tolling bell.
"I'm right here," he said, and pushed by her side. Lanee saw two sabers in his hands; the crimson and the yellow. And then she knew.
Amazingly, the other nineteen Rage Seed-bearers entered combat on their side. Each one was terribly strong and ruthlessly neglectful of their own well-being. Such recklessness proved powerful against Ven when fear was no longer his ally. Together, a wellspring of power was born, and Ven retreated back to the hall. His saber clashed with the lightning quick dashes of those who dared to come close to him. Veshiram's Sith were not at all like Ryker's; their rage was pure. One after another, they appeared, striking and retreating. A constant battery was assembled, focused on Ven's weakest point. They suddenly found themselves forcing him back into the entrance hall, and out the main door, into the stinging tempest of rain on the entrance balcony.
Lanee paused in disbelief to see a group of Padawans, some young and some old, standing side-by-side in the rain. Completey drenched and expressionless, but oddly at peace. Ven seemed confused as well, staring at them, analyzing. Exposed as they were, they were not entirely unguarded; the Jedi Council, sans Zemner, flanked them. Then the grand doors of the entrance swung shut, sealing in the trailing Jedi and Sith, and leaving only Lanee, Ryker, Zemner and Taylor with the Council out to deal with the foe.
"Master, what is this?" Lanee asked in shock.
"Have faith, Lanee," Zemner said solemnly. "This is all part of the plan."
"What plan endangers these – wait," Ryker halted his words. "The Rage Seed lies within these Padawans. These are Veshiram's quarry."
"I found this to be the only way to bring him to this fight," Zemner said. "An unfortunate, but necessary step."
"Veshiram was never amongst our numbers," Lanee said.
"He was looking for these guys," Taylor sighed. Lanee eyed him warily. "It's me. Don't worry," he eased.
"A rare feat," Zemner said. "Only you and one other have managed to harness the Rage Seed, rather than succumb to it."
"Yeah. I can use it," Taylor said. "It hurts. But I can do it. I'd like this thing out after this, though, if you don't mind." Zemner agreed.
Ven was obviously surrounded, but not deterred. That is, until the hovering searchlights of a dozen Republic gunships washed over the balcony. Over a loud speaker, a familiar voice called out. "Master Zemner, the cavalry as arrived," Admiral Yllona announced.
"This ends here, Ven," Lanee roared over the pounding rain. Ven turned slowly to face her. "You cannot escape."
"I. Don't. Need. To," he growled in his heavily processed voice.
A shrill laugh skittered across the soon-to-be battlefield. Veshiram stepped forward from his seclusion, strutting forward in his jerking motions. "I have to hand it to you Zemner. You are clever," he said. "When I heard you tell your plan I thought it surely to be a ruse. But it was literal. You would give my gems up to me if it meant pitting me against my former student."
Zemner watched with uncharacteristically cold eyes. "I do what I must."
"Fool," Veshiram said with a sudden, sour scowl. He stretched forth his palm and beckoned the Seed within the Padawans. But he found himself only straining; there was resistance. A thin stream of blood trickled from Veshiram's nostril. He swiped at it, taken aback. The Jedi Council, upon further inspection, seemed particularly rigid. An aura of protection rippled faintly from them, wrapping around their students.
"I'm afraid that won't work," Zemner stated. Veshiram shot him a venomous glare. His plan had been completely reversed; this feeble Jedi had managed to trap him, now. All his enemies in one place, with no where to run.
"Taylor, destroy him," Veshiram ordered. But his slave did not move. He repeated the order, louder.
"Hmm. Nah," Taylor said. "I'm done listening to you."
"What have you done?" Veshiram snarled, turning back to Zemner, who merely shrugged.
"I did nothing, save for suggest to Taylor that there was an alternative." The venerable Jedi looked towards the young man with respect. "You should be proud, Taylor. Only one before you has managed to repel the Rage Seed as you have. You're in good company."
"Thanks," Taylor responded brightly.
It was at this point that Ven had enough. He slammed his ropy appendages downward, leaving heavy trenches in the marble. All eyes turned to him, but his glare was held only on one.
Ryker's mouth twitched. He stepped forward towards the mechanized maw of his former master.
"Be...trayer..." Ven groaned. Evil intent gleaned in his eye.
Veshiram took umbrage with the designation, however. "Ironic you should call him that, after what you did to me."
"Oh! Me too!" Taylor piped up energetically. Veshiram turned his toxic gaze towards him.
"What's happening?" Lanee whispered to her master.
"Do you see now?" he murmured in reply, smiling broadly. "Why the Sith will never win? This is a circle of broken trust. And so it has always been with them."
"This is the end," Ven creaked.
Veshiram was the first to present himself. His lightsaber made a piercing cry as the blade emitted, stinging jets of steam trailing off of the plasma under the pelting rain. "I feel responsible for this mess," he said, almost so quiet it was imperceptible. "And so I will be the one to finish it."
In a blink, he was within Ven's forest of tentacles, locking blades with his former student. Despite Veshiram's apparent injuries, his speed was absolute. But that alone was not enough. He began losing ground, Ven walking forward, his strength outmatching that of the elderly Sith's. And so Ryker vaulted into the thick of things. Veshiram shot him a sideways leer.
"I will give them no more cause to underestimate me," the younger Sith explained in a duressed voice. Still, Ven's tentacles were too powerful for Ryker's blades. He too was sliding backwards.
Lanee's blue lightsaber roared into existence next to Ryker as she lent her strength to the cause. "We'll do this together," she said resolutely. "Like we always did."
"Absolutely!" Master Zemner cheered, appearing next to them. His blade added to the strength of the push; Ven ground to a halt, his smug smirk replaced by narrowed-eye intensity.
One person had yet to enter the arena. Taylor was lost in thought, beneath that pouring rain. His body felt every bit ready to leap into battle, but concern roiled within his spirit. Without the Rage Seed, he was not enough. But with it, he was no Jedi. He might use it, striking that difficult balance, while maintaining his composure. Yet he watched the efforts of those working to drive back the monster, and he realized they had an identity. They knew, for better or worse, who they were. He didn't. Taylor was afraid to fail them – more than he already had.
Smuggler, vagrant, drifter, lover, leaver, dreamer, captive, failure. Not a Jedi.
"You can choose, you know," said a voice in his head. Taylor looked up, open mouth. "There are no foregone conclusions. No right way to be." It was Zemner speaking to him.
"Everyone is so confident, though," Taylor answered back.
"I think you were once yourself."
Taylor's first lightsaber, his lightsaber, ignited of its own accord. He felt something thrum inside of it, and he knew it was the crystal Lanee had given him.
"A Jedi must meditate on his crystal to imbue it with the power of the Force." Lanee had said that, aboard his ship. "If you're truly capable of joining us, then you will be able to imprint upon this crystal."
"I won't let you down," he promised.
"I have a feeling you won't," she said, smiling one last time.
Taylor tossed the lightsaber Veshiram had given him over the side of the balcony. He walked forward, crushing his yellow blade into Ven's cocoon of tentacles. A thin hint of a smile emerged on Lanee's face. Taylor screwed up his mouth, smiling sheepishly in return. Now Ven was rapidly approaching the edge.
"What are the odds he survives the fall?" Ryker grunted. The perilous plummet down to whatever platform Courscant had to offer in its vast vertical mileage was surely fatal for any normal sentient. But of course, this was not the case.
"Too good," Veshiram said, straining with all his might. Unearthly howls bellowed from Ven's vocoder.
"Oh, I wouldn't worry," Zemner said, calm as ever. "We're just about...there."
"What?" Taylor asked.
A missile salvo from the hovering gunships was unleashed at the wave of Admiral Yllona's hand. Escape was not possible. The barrage poured into Ven's vulnerable back; his eyes widened in pain for a moment, but after that, they just fell dark. His appendages were ripped to shreds, and Jedi and Sith alike shielded their eyes and faces, ducking behind the inert carapace of their enemy. The Jedi Council managed to scoop up the Padawans and hastily depart the area just in time, but there was no room for the combatants to maneuver. The balcony gave a great heave, spidery cracks shooting out across the marble. Then it simply exploded and crumbled, sending everyone atop hurtling into the dark, rainy crevaces between skyscrapers below.
"THIS IS THE STUPIDEST IDEA YOU HAVE EVER HAD," Veshiram shrieked. They were in complete free fall. "And you have had many."
"Oh, believe me, I'm well aware," Zemner said. His arms were folded in thought and a frown spread across his lined mouth as he dropped upside-down. "But I felt this was the only way to defeat our foe whilst keeping everyone honest."
"You'd kill us all to insure we followed your precious rules?!" Veshiram asked incredulously.
"I, for one, don't intend to die here today," Ryker announced, telekinetically gripping a massive chunk of falling stone and dragging it to him. "But if you do, by all means." Veshiram scowled and snapped his fingers; Ryker's platform disintegrated into dust. Ryker rolled his eyes and sighed.
"You have a choice, you know," Zemner said. All eyes turned to him. "If you'd all agree to, after this, go your separate ways and maintain the peace, at least for a small number of years, I will save us."
Taylor, who was falling next to Lanee, shouted to her, "Can he do that?" Lanee lost her answer in her throat.
"Fine, yes, whatever you want," Ryker said. "I relent." Veshiram scowled, reluctant to capitulate.
"Very well, then -" Zemner said.
"Wait. I choose life."
Master Zemner looked happier than a man falling many miles to his death had a right to be. "Excellent! Admiral, deploy the net."
"A net..." Taylor wondered. "Oh. This is going to hurt."
They had a lot of velocity, but it was absorbed by the miraculous materials spread between the buildings beneath them by Republic police forces. Five bodies rocketed into the memory foam like meteors, the impact knocking the wind out of them and sending them bouncing back into the air. Like rubber balls they dribbled on the net a few times before coming to a motionless, agonizing stop. Groans all around were heard as they slowly picked themselves up from the safety net.
"This. This is why I'm not a Jedi," Ryker rasped, clutching his ribs.
"That's...not entirely unreasonable," Lanee replied.
"I don't know, I had fun," Taylor stated plainly.
"Just shut up," Ryker spat.
DESPITE NUMEROUS CRIES to do otherwise, Master Zemner himself gave amnesty to a seething, wounded Veshiram who lurched away from many that would him arrested. A pledge was a pledge, after all. Neither Lanee nor Taylor would soon forget the furious ember in the Sith's baggy eyes as he turned heel and wriggled off into the dark depths. He would surface again; everyone knew it. But by then, they would be ready.
Ryker's faithful departed in the small fighters they had come in on, back to their waiting cruiser in orbit. But before their master himself left, he held a long gaze with his old friend in the fresh orange rays that parted the dark clouds of the previous night's storm.
"I won't stop trying," Lanee told him.
"I expected as much," he answered back. "It's funny. For all this soul searching we've done, things ended up exactly where they started. I guess the manipulator's prophecy of cycles wasn't wrong after all."
"No," Lanee disagreed. "I don't think things are quite the same."
Ryker sighed. "Until next time, then." Lanee nodded.
Later on, she and Taylor sparred in the training room.
"So you guys just...let them all go?" Taylor asked, ducking beneath the training sword's incoming sweep.
"Things don't change for the better if you force them," Lanee responded, parrying his counter. "It has to come from within. Surely you've seen enough to understand that lesson."
"So why train then?" Taylor asked, dancing around her blows. "Shouldn't I just focus on fostering my own power? From within?"
"Well, not always," Lanee said, sizing up her opponent. "I tried to do that – everything by myself. It didn't work so well."
Taylor paused to consider the words, but was knocked backwards to the floor for his lapse in concentration. Lanee laughed loudly. "And it seems you still have a lot of changing to do yourself if you want to beat me."
"Is that what makes you feel powerful?" Taylor asked from the floor with the indications of a laugh.
"No," she said with a grin, "This is." And she extended a hand to help him up.
THE END
AUTHOR'S FINAL THOUGHTS: First and foremost, thanks for all the great support I've received in doing this story. It was a new, and ultimately positive, experience for me. I'd never really considered fan fiction before, but the Star Wars universe is so rich in lore that I found myself intrigued by the design space. The short story format in which Apex Ascent is written is also new to me; I'm more accustomed to attempting longer, more cohesive projects. That said, I thoroughly enjoyed the more serialized manner in which I was able to write, and will probably return to it in future endeavors (more on that in a bit). However, I would like to take a moment here to perhaps explain and clarify a few things that may have not been properly fleshed out due to brevity.
The Veshiram thing is what I most want to talk about. Let me summarize it briefly: Veshiram was a Sith from the old Empire (Great Hyperspace War era). This is indicated by Master Zemner's story to Lanee in Part 4, and also touched on a bit by different characters in Part 5. This Empire is the same one from The Old Republic MMO, and the one referenced in KOTOR 2 by Kreia as having been the hidden threat that motivated Revan's actions in the Jedi Civil War and beyond (and, uh, where I'll be doing some more work in the future :D). Veshiram was the harbinger, essentially, trying to destabilize the Jedi and consolidate the remnants of Revan's Sith. His side goal emerged as he discovered the Apex Ascent.
Veshiram took an apprentice under his wing in Ven. Ven turned on Veshiram, as Sith often do to their masters, because Veshiram's plan to use the Rage Seed to subjugate the Jedi from within was unpopular with the current crop of Sith. They wanted a more robust plan of action than to rely on mystic Force techniques of mind control they had never seen before. Ven saw it as an opportunity to surpass Veshiram, quite simply because he was a model Sith. Veshiram, though betrayed, quickly saw his own opportunity, as he realized if he allowed Ven to maim him, he could utilize the Ascent for himself to acquire a new, incredibly strong body.
The Ascent, as explained in the story, needed a live sacrifice to work. This was no problem for Veshiram, of course, as he could use a victim with the Rage Seed to control. It just so happened that Taylor was the one chosen, as he was already particularly strong in the Force. Veshiram sought to draw Taylor to Korriban by sending the Rodian with Silarith's holocron to Taylor at the very beginning of Part 1. There was a slight flaw in the plan in the form of Lanee, though, who accompanied Taylor to Korriban in search of her friend, Ryker (though officially she searched for Ven). Veshiram again saw an opportunity, however, and sent both of them on their way to the Ascent. His aim was for Lanee, Ryker, and Ven to destroy each other, as Veshiram knew of Ryker's mistrust of his master. This would eliminate all of his most powerful enemies at once, and then he could utilize Taylor's Rage Seed to make him his sacrifice for the machine. This plan failed when Lanee overcame Taylor and maimed him as well, rendering him useless as a sacrifice.
Veshiram then decides to activate his army of Seeds and attack the Jedi Temple, after building up eight more. This would make his total number of Seeds twenty-one (thirteen originally, including Taylor, and eight more with Taylor's help). A sizable force of powerful Sith to attack the Temple, and hopefully trigger the latent Seeds within. Remember that the Jedi were still in their rebuilding phase after the war, so there aren't very many at this point in the timeline.
Ven, though seemingly slain by Ryker, was not done. As Lanee conjectured, the Ascent had a plan for a corpse that was much more deadly than for a mere cripple. Ven became the Ascent's monstrosity, and was used as a defense mechanism when the Republic's cruiser arrived to bombard the installation. Though Lanee managed to barely escape the new, horrific Ven, he did track her ship back to Coruscant, where his addled machine brain discovered he could find revenge against both his former master Veshiram and apprentice Ryker, who had each betrayed him.
All of this leads to a final confrontation in Part 5.
I did it this way to bring home the themes I was working with since the start: that the Force moved life in cycles, and that each individual had a very personal relationship with the Force. Star Wars has always very much been a vehicle for the classic hero's journey, but this story let me explore some amount of deconstruction of that concept. Taylor wanted so badly to be that hero, and instead was enslaved to become the opposite. Lanee was that hero, but she was riddled with doubt after having lost not one, but two close friends to the other side. Ryker could have been that hero, but pride and vanity obstructed his path. Ven wanted only to be whole, but used the Dark Side as his means of achieving that goal, taking the live's of others to fix his own (this was why his final form was reflected as the parasitic entity the Ascent made of him). Veshiram was the manipulator pulling the strings, and Zemner was the wise teacher willing to give it all up to break the cycle.
Anyway, I hope you guys found enjoyment in this story. I know I did in writing it. Please share it with your friends who might be interested in such things, and let me know what you thought of it in the reviews. Finally, keep an eye out for my next work, which should be coming sooner than later. It's entitled The Alchemist, and it too is a Star Wars story. The Prologue is already up on my profile.
Thanks so much! See ya.