A woman in her thirties kneels on the stone floor of Trayus Academy. By channelling the Force through her body, she is able to sooth the deep cut in her belly and slow the blood flow. Her skin, willed by the universe around it, grows membranes and enforces them. An image of Darth Sion flits into her thoughts. Kreia's heir.
A few seconds later, the former Jedi is standing. It's a good thing; there are more Sith coming. Behind the doors, she is aware of seven men and two women, all twisted so that they barely feel human to her.
Her lightsaber stands out against the eleven red ones about to burst through the doors. She holds it gently, blinks twice and prepares herself for the confrontation.
In the time it takes to assume a classic Soresu stance, the horde of crazed Sith students are upon her. Saber Form Three: defence. The first form her master ever taught her. He said a Jedi should begin any conflict in this position.
She can feel the indignant vitriol inside them. Their minds screech at her like hawk-bats as they slash from all directions, baring teeth.
With uncanny speed and a perfect procedural memory, the woman in the brown robes blocks every attack. Her small boots jump backwards twice while she feints with the blade. In her next move she manages to strike one of her attackers on the shoulder.
A weapon gets too close to her face and she switches to Form Four. With a quick stab and a high grunt, she kills the girl who nearly hit her, and then takes the legs from the young man on the other side whose gleeful anticipation gave him away. Her left hand leaves the blade for a second and hurls one of the others into the far wall, neck first. The bearded one with the broken shoulder is still stunned, and she carves into him with a flurry of three swipes.
The remaining attackers step back and finally start thinking about tactics. She catches up with two of them and cuts them down, then makes eye contact with the other three.
Her sword twirls, threatening. She senses their fear. They haven't been trained to guard against it. In fact, they're trying to use it to their advantage. Revan's philosophy. Broken chains. Power. She remembers seeing it in the Dark Lord's eyes when it was brand new.
Better not give them time to do whatever their masters taught them. With a speed they aren't expecting, she rushes them and again finds herself guarding against their ferocious attacks.
Her form is in flux now. The youngsters' fear is starting to get to her. She jumps back again.
The Sith are eyeing her, heads cocked, like Onderonian beast-riders trying to cage a drexyl. She kills them, as quickly as she can.
When it is done she takes a moment to calm her mind. The rooms around her are empty now. Thank the Force. She has killed so many getting here.
With a deep, nasal breath, she wraps her robe around herself. She remembers buying the garment on Dantooine, just before the battle for Khoonda. The old Jedi nostalgia was really flooding into her at the time. She bought it from the talkative Rodian chap at the base, along with some bed sheets and three modified vibroblades which he folded into them for safety.
It was so disheartening, buying those rather disparate items from the same merchant. It hadn't even seemed odd to the Rodian. Weapons of war were just general supply now. Necessary for survival on Dantooine.
And on so many other worlds. Worlds the Force has ruined.
She thinks about the Masters, in that final meeting at the Enclave, and wonders again what to think of it. It is hard to condemn them, as Kreia had, though she knew they had been wrong. And they had died for it.
Kreia, or Traya, or whoever she is… just destroyed them, spitting her contempt and crushing their connections to the Force. Watching it happen to someone else had been agony.
And she doesn't even know why… what is Kreia's goal? Has she been a slave to the dark side all along, nothing more than the mastermind of the Sith triumvirate? Why did she destroy Atris; sheer spite? And what had been the meanings of the visions on Korriban?
She has no idea. She has failed to comprehend her master's training, once again. And she's here at Malachor, again. Killing. Nothing holding her together. Same as always.
Just a few more wounds between herself and her enemies.
Kreia is no Sith Lord. But she's certainly not a Jedi. There are no Jedi left. Just Atris and Kreia, her and Sion.
... a Sith Lord who looks like he sleeps with vibroblades...
If only Atton were with her now. As usual, she can't sense his thoughts. Where is he?
