Chapter Five

"The Jedi are obnoxiously self-righteous beings," Ja'neel had said. "They're quick to advocate non-violence, but the first to take the path of greatest resistance. They grow stale in their Temples, drilling incessantly—but for what? The Sith are nothing but a myth to them, tales that the Masters tell to keep the younglings on their toes. But deep in their hearts, they know that we lurk in the darkness. The Jedi are many things, my apprentice, but more than anything else they are afraid."

From the brief ten seconds that Bide had to observe the trio of Jedi, he learned one thing: Ja'neel was utterly, completely correct. The Jedi had not fooled him with their almost robotic recitation of their apparent authority. This was simply a way for them to comfort themselves, cushion their fragile minds from the reality of the situation: they were not prepared in the least to face the Sith. All their years of stagnation, all their years of assurance that the Force was guiding them to victory—all of it was for naught. They were afraid.

Absorbed in his epiphanic moment, Bide had nearly forgotten that he was indeed about to face a trio of these terminally fearful beings. The first, the one who had made their presence known by announcing that Bide was under arrest, was a formidable-looking Nautolan male. He stood about two meters tall and his billowy robes did little to hide the impressive mass of muscle beneath them. The dark green tentacles protruding from his head draped down over his shoulders down to the center of his back. To his left, an almost comical juxtaposition to the Nautolan, was a portly Sullustan that stood only a meter tall. His almond-shaped black eyes were unprotected by any sort of eye-wear, so Bide assumed his was in his early or late twenties; young enough that the above-ground light had not yet caused his vision to deteriorate. Finally, Bide rested his gaze on the third, and most perplexing, Jedi: a human male, well into his seventies (or so Bide guessed), his hair long since grayed and his wrinkled face unshaven. He stood slightly hunched over, his dark brown robes completely covering his elderly form. Bide couldn't help but let out a hearty chuckle.

"Is this all the Jedi could muster? You finally have a Sith before you, and you send a old man, a fish, and a midget? Do you really think that you have a chance of defeating me?" He angled his crimson blade at the trio; its light flooded the dark alleyway, illuminating the puddles of disturbingly viscous fluid.

"Lay down your weapon, Sith, and we will not harm you in any way," said the elderly Jedi. He stood up straighter, now, and stared unwaveringly at Bide. When Bide made no attempt to comply with his request, he shifted into a Makashi salute; the Nautolan and Sullustan took the stances of Djem So and Shien, respectively.

The Force began to flow intensely into Bide as his anxiety grew; the thrill of the fight excited him. He wanted to fight, wanted to kill. He wanted to prove his superiority—the superiority of the Sith. He bobbed up and down like a boxer before the bell, then, without warning, he leapt at the Jedi.

The combatants were a blur of colors—red, blue, green, yellow—as their blades clashed, retreated, and clashed again. Bide's crimson blade, however, moved far faster, seeming to be everywhere at once. He wasn't on the defense, despite him being outnumbered; Juyo was horrifically potent in his hands. To Bide, the Jedi were moving in slow motion. He could see all of their moves individually, and react with plenty of time. He was toying with them now, wearing them down, destroying whatever hope they had of being the victors.

Bide set his sights on the Sullustan, ostensibly the weakest of the three. He was tiring already, becoming weary under Bide's relentless assault. The yellow lightsaber in his stubby fingers moved slower every second, and after only a few minutes, he was not able to perform any attacks of his own; he was completely on the defensive. Bide moved to block a high attack from the Nautolan Jedi, and then dropped to a crouch and slammed his palm into the ground, sending a shockwave of Force energy traveling outwards. As expected, both the Nautolan and the Human Jedi put up a Force barrier before the wave hit them, preventing them from being knocked over but still sending them sliding backwards. The Sullustan, on the other hand, was not so lucky. He lacked the energy to execute such a focus-demanding technique and, as a result, was knocked onto his back. Bide spun his blade in a quick flourish before plunging it into the chest of the now wide-eyed Sullustan, removing it just in time to block a strike from the Nautolan with the intent to bisect him.

"Eyom, no!" shouted the Nautolan. The pace of his attacks increased, and Bide was momentarily forced onto the defensive. High attacks, low, feints; this Nautolan was surely a proficient Makashi-user. He swung low, and when Bide moved to block it he was rewarded with a powerful elbow to the jaw that sent him sprawling. But the Sith apprentice had no time to recover, for the old human hurled a surprisingly powerful Force Wave towards him. With no time to block the attack, Bide was sent flying down the alley.

He barely had time to stand up before the Nautolan was on him again. "Kriffin' fish-head," thought Bide. He had forgotten how attached to one another the Jedi are: kill one, the others go on some sort of frenzy that makes them much more dangerous. But, as far as Bide was concerned, they still had no chance. He shifted gradually from the defensive Soresu that he had been forced into, back to his preferred stance of Juyo. Signs of fatigue were beginning to show on the Nautolan's face, now. His lips were pursed, his face wrinkled with strain, and his bulbous, glossy eyes were wide with fear. He was afraid.

Bide initiated a furious assault against the Nautolan's defense. He feinted high, then, when the Jedi moved to block it, snap-kicked him in the knee. The Nautolan yelped as he knee-cap was shattered, causing him to fall helplessly onto the ground. This was the last sound the Jedi ever made, as Bide severed his head with a single, swift stroke. It fell with a sickening squish to the ground, its bulbous black eyes just as lifeless in death as they were in life.

"And then there was one," Bide mocked, waving the elderly Jedi over. The old man's shoulders sagged submissively as he stared at the fallen bodies of his fellow Jedi. His grip on his lightsaber loosened; it fell, lifeless, to the ground.

"We didn't believe the call was real," the old man explained, his voice betraying his advanced age. "We've received so many of them in the past that we're used to false alarms. But we have to take the calls. The Council makes sure we do, just for that one time that the call will be real." He looked at the two bodies again and added, "Like this time."

"Seems like you've answered one too many of these calls, old man. Don't worry, your death will be quick and painless. I have a deadline to meet." Bide began to walk towards the last remaining of his three opponents.

"There is no death, there is the Force," said the old Jedi defiantly. He tightened his robe around him and stood up straight, his eyes burning with final defiance.

"Your Code won't save you now, Jedi. Accept that these are your final seconds in this world." Bide began to sprint, now, lightsaber extended to his side, preparing to strike down his last opponent.

"Then you must accept that they are yours, as well." As Bide began his bisecting strike, the elderly Jedi exerted himself in the Force, and the fallen Nautolan's blazed to life and flew towards Bide. The smell of burnt flesh filled the air, and the Jedi fell in two pieces to the floor. Bide looked down and saw the glowing green blade protruding from just above his left hip. Pain engulfed his entire body, and Bide felt his vision begin to blur.

Pain should never defeat you, my apprentice. Pain should fuel you, give you strength. That which does not kill you immediately can be used to give you power greater than you ever thought you could wield. If death does not takes you first, the pain from battle wounds will drive you to victory—unless you allow the pain to defeat you.

"I'm letting my pain get the best of me," Bide thought. "Exactly what Ja'neel warned me against." He gathered the Force within himself, using it first to shut off the lightsaber protruding from his back; it clattered to the ground, lifeless. The Force increased the rate at which his body was pumping out adrenaline; the pain lessened, at least for now. He needed to treat his wounds, and soon. Bide turned and prepared to leave the alley. Instead of an empty alleyway, however, he was face-to-face with Jurn once again.

"Don't tell me you forgot about me already," she said, reaching up and stroking his cheek. Bide had forgotten all about her. The faultless Hapan woman looked down at the still-smoking flesh on Bide's torso. "Ooh, that looks like it really hurts." As she said this, she reached down and ran her fingers along the wound. Bide winced in pain and pushed her away.

"I've already killed three people, I have problem killine one more. Though, I do find you much more attractive than those three."

"I appreciate the complement, but I will be the one doing the killing," she replied, cackling with laughter. Her presence in the Force seemed to increase one hundred-fold, and she removed a long, shining hilt from the folds of her clothing. She depressed two buttons on the hilt, and a crimson blade protruded from the emitters at each end of the hilt. "You are not the only one who refers to himself as a Sith. There are many of us out there; dozens of Dark Jedi cults, each containing people who stake claim to the mantle of the Sith. I am one of those people."

"There is only one person whose claim to the mantle is legitimate, Jurn," said Bide. "But you won't have the pleasure of meeting him. You'll die here, by my hand." He angled his blade towards her and goaded her over.

"We shall see."