When Darth Vitiate, the longtime Emperor of the Sith, and the Dark Lord who is the Lord of all Lords speaks, his voice is the deep growl that Meetra expects. The unseen wizard of the Dark Side even sounds menacing.
He croaks down from his high perch in sepulchral tones, "Welcome, Darth Sion, my good and faithful servant. You may rise."
The words are spoken leisurely. Cordially. There's no hint of any suspicion or threat . . . at least, not yet. But nevertheless, the Force screams danger at Meetra's mind. Like a blaring alarm or a persistent itch, it urges her to action even as she must remain still with her head bowed in her demure supplicant's crouch.
Tony stands to his feet beside her, and the Dark Lord casually commands, "Priest, see to his Lady."
That is apparently a direction to delegate her to Darth Tenebrae. So much for all her practice gracefully climbing to her feet in a fancy dress. Meetra unexpectedly receives help for the task. For all his earlier pouty glowering, the priest is elegant in his assistance. Perhaps the throne room setting has him on his best behavior, because Darth Tenebrae first performs a courtly bow in her direction. Then, he smoothly approaches to offer his hand to steady her as she rises.
Meetra hesitates for the briefest instant before she accepts his courtesy.
Still lightly holding her hand, Tenebrae leads her away into the recesses of the throne room apart from Tony who now stands alone in the spotlight. This has to be a good sign, right? Meetra has been dismissed from the attention of the Emperor. Maybe she has fooled him after all . . . Should she feel relieved? She doesn't feel relieved. If anything, the Force is more insistent to be on guard.
The shadowy figure on high again addresses Tony. Lord Vitiate begins with a slow, unfolding diss. Evidently, he is the peevish sort who must first insult you before he commends you.
"Sion, you were a middling talent at your onset," the Dark Lord starts ruthlessly cutting Tony down to size. "You have an unremarkable Academy record and served a brief, forgettable Naval career. You hail from an undistinguished family, and you possess a moderate midichlorian count that is nothing to brag about. You eventually were entrusted with the governance of an inconsequential colonial expansion system, where you have performed adequately with the few challenges you have faced. In short, you are average and satisfactory. And yet, here you are—hundreds of years later—still alive and now a full-fledged hero of the Empire."
"That is something to celebrate. We have had far too few heroes of late. Villains lurk in our shadows and whisper in our midst even as our enemy prevails and inflicts terrible losses upon us. These are grim times," the Emperor sourly laments, "and that makes courage and fortitude all the more necessary."
Whatever. Meetra doesn't fully attend to the Emperor's opening rant. She's focused on Tony. Or rather, she trying to focus on Tony. The continued proximity of Darth Tenebrae is distracting. Meetra glances to the priest at her side and finds his yellow eyes watching her and not the proceedings. Off-putting Tenebrae is standing too close, uncomfortably in her space. Yes, it's like she feared. Tenebrae appears a little obsessed with her even when he's not drunk and bored at a party.
Meanwhile, Vitiate keeps droning on: "Darth Sion, you chased the exiled Jedi General Surik for years. As a Lord Administrator, that was not your assigned task. But as the self-appointed captain of our collective revenge, you pursued the enemy across our furthermost systems. You were unusually determined . . ."
Yes, and that's because Tony wasn't chasing her to kill her, but to find her . . . to save her. His goal wasn't revenge, it was power. But only she and Tony know that. Outwardly, Tony was a patriot hellbent on retribution. And now, he hides her in plain sight.
"In the end, you were the one to finish her. We all cheered at the news. We applaud your accomplishment. We honor your grit. I and all loyal citizens of the Empire thank you for your excellence," the Dark Lord concludes.
Vitiate is saying all the right words. But somehow, they manage to sound both begrudging and perfunctory to Meetra's ears. The Emperor sounds more annoyed than impressed.
"And now, I ask you, Darth Sion," the grumpy Dark Lord drawls down from his throne, "what will you do next?"
It's not a random question. With so much treason afoot, the Emperor is surely looking to tease out Tony's intentions and perhaps catch him in a lie. Knowing this, Darth Sion repeats what he has said in his prior interviews. "With your permission, Imperator, I will return to my post to rule my system on your behalf."
It is a de facto disavowal of ambition. It's also a truthful response that omits a few key points—namely, that first Tony plans to murder Darth Lacerate and then to murder the Dark Lord himself.
Does Vitiate suspect? The Sith overlord now decrees to Tony, "Take that mask off. Let me look on you, Lord of Pain. Show me what you hide."
Meetra sucks in a quick breath of surprise and disapproval at the request. Tony is self-conscious about his condition. Insecurity can make him vain about his appearance. And in this setting, he will not want to appear anything but his very best. But a command from Darth Vitiate cannot go unheeded—it's why they are here today in the first place—so Tony reaches up to remove his helmet.
His unmasking reveals short auburn hair in wild disarray. But more importantly, the purple-brown bruises on his pale face are especially noticeable in the bright throne room spotlight. So are the lurid red streaks of fresh blood that run down one cheek and the patch of raw, oozing open flesh high on his neck. That wasn't there before they left for the Palace. Studying her pretend husband closely, Meetra sees that Tony's face is considerably more ravaged than when she last saw it an hour ago. His decay has progressed at an unprecedented rate.
Tony knows it. He ducks his chin. The head held high in the mask is somewhat less confident now that his affliction is revealed. The helmet is Tony's crutch in public as much as it is a tool for deception, Meetra knows.
In the moment, she aches for him. It's for the underlying physical pain that Tony is experiencing and for the public humiliation of this moment. Dark Lord Vitiate, Meetra suspects, knows exactly what he's doing as he unmasks the fearsome hero Jedi slayer in his gleaming armor to reveal that he is merely a man . . . and a very fragile, repulsive looking man at that. Tony is not bloodied because he is gloriously fresh from the fight, but bloodied because he needs to fight. That the reclusive, ultra-secretive, never seen Vitiate is trolling Tony like this incenses Meetra. Because why the Hell doesn't the Emperor reveal his own face? Just how ugly is he?
"Yes, see there it is . . . weakness," the disembodied voice from on high gloats. "There are those whose constitution can handle extreme Darkness, and those pretenders who flail around in constant struggle for their overly ambitious aspirations."
Meetra can almost hear in Vitiate's tone the hidden smirk that accompanies his comment. Fuck this troll, she thinks.
But Darth Vitiate keeps heckling. "Why hide who you are, Sion? Most of the Empire has already searched you on the holonet to see evidence of your various states of decomposition. Your peculiar affliction may be noteworthy, but it is nothing new. Tell us now the truth of your condition; state aloud what it means to be the freakish Lord of gore."
Tony takes a deep breath and announces, "Darkness makes me stronger. Darkness keeps me alive."
"Indeed. Those are words to live by," the Emperor piously intones.
Meetra knows Tony's maxims to be true—she's seen the proof firsthand. But she also knows the secret corollary lesson of the dyad which she and Tony have stumbled upon: that Darkness, combined with regular doses of her complementary Light, makes Tony even more powerful. For the full Force in equal doses of its extremes magnifies his power tenfold. Darkness alone is not supreme.
But predictably, Emperor Vitiate grandstands for the Shadow Force. "Yesss . . ." he purrs, "Darkness empowers, Darkness revives, Darkness safeguards. Let the allegory of your suffering be an example for all our people: the Dark Side is the answer. That a forgettable nobody like yourself can ascend to this moment is proof of its enduring power."
Seriously, Meetra thinks, fuck this guy. Fuck him and fuck his partisan view of the Force. Her feelings are strong and they accidentally resonate through the bond.
Fuck this asshole. I'm going to enjoy deposing him.
Meetra feels eyes on her again. She glances to her right and sees Darth Tenebrae still staring at her. Her quick look must encourage him because the priest leans in to whisper. "He's going to try it, isn't he? I hope he tries it . . ."
What is he talking about? Meetra's not following. And maybe it's her imagination, but the very nearness of Darth Tenebrae sends a ripple through the Force.
Almost involuntarily, she looks up at the shadowy figure on the throne. How she hates Darth Vitiate. It's for his false flag civil war that used the gullible, disgruntled Mandolorians as his wedge. Even though he lost, Vitiate succeeded in provoking a constitutional crisis that nearly collapsed the Jedi Order in the process. She hates Vitiate for the needless bloodshed on both sides and for the terrible moral conundrum that stirred the Crusaders to adopt their enemy's ruthless tactics as their own. In some ways, Emperor Vitiate lost the war, but he won an important battle when he coaxed Revan and even herself into using Dark tactics. Because in the epic battle between Light and Dark, the Sith Empire lost to the Republic, but the Dark Side won a great victory. For in the wake of the war, the best and the brightest of the Jedi fell to the Shadow Force and even she—the lone holdout who resisted—ended up with yellow eyes. Meetra asks herself now: did the Republic actually win? Not really. The Jedi Order certainly lost.
Damn, she hates this fucker Vitiate. That he so flippantly disrespects Tony makes Meetra want to confront him. To show him the power of the dyad and to make him eat his words about the role of the Shadow Force. He thinks the Dark Side is all-powerful? He hasn't seen the power of the Dark and Light aligned. In the moment, Meetra feels incredibly protective of her pretend husband. She will fight for Tony and with Tony, and damn the consequences.
"Is he going to try it? I hope he tries it . . ." It's the creepy priest again. Darth Tenebrae is fairly panting with excitement now. It confuses Meetra. She looks to him and he smirks. "You're so beautiful with yellow eyes . . . Power looks good on you . . ."
Yellow eyes? What the Hell!? Meetra winces and automatically lifts her hands to her face. But then, the old-style throne room doors whoosh open behind them to bang hard against the stone walls. They are thrown open not by force, but by the Force. The echoing thump is jolting.
Meetra's head whirls, like everyone else's in the throne room. Who dares barge in to interrupt? And in such a disrespectful fashion?
It's General Lord Lacerate. He's brought with him a small army of heavily armed supporters, too.
Fuuuuuck. Meetra's heart sinks. This isn't good.
Tony agrees through the bond. This is trouble.
As far as entrances go, Lacerate's is a good one. Startled Meetra glares at the newcomers while the priest beside her swears in Kittat under his breath. Tenebrae clamps both hands hard on her shoulders. He starts to physically drag her back with him into the outermost periphery to skulk at the wall of the cavernous throne room. Meetra resists until she realizes that Tenebrae is yanking her with him to safety.
"Stop fighting me if you want to live," the priest hisses, adding, "pretty much everyone here is about to die." He's pissed about it, too. "Great . . . just great. This isn't supposed to happen yet . . . this is NOT how I thought today would go . . ." Tenebrae is whining as if the impending treason is an inconvenience that has ruined his fun. He seems to blame her even though she's as surprised as anyone. "Everywhere you go," he grumbles, "chaos follows. Do you always have this effect on things?"
Meetra ignores him. But she lets herself be muscled away even as she cranes her neck to peer past the tall priest who practically lifts her off her feet in his haste to retreat.
Handsome, red-faced young General Lacerate now swaggers in to flank Tony's left side. His posse of proponents quickly fills in behind. "Ready, Sion?" the General bellows as he lights a gleaming red sword. He gives it a showy twirl and exhorts, "Let's do this!"
"N-Nooo . . ." horrified Meetra stammers under her breath. This surprise attack that preempts their planned ambush is a very unwelcome plot twist. It could ruin everything. "No . . . not him . . . never him . . ."
"Oh, agreed," Tenebrae snorts. "He's terrible."
Tony's expression betrays his own dismay and hesitation. The man has no poker face, for all his skill at deception. It's clear to anyone watching that Tony is not one of the General's key conspirators.
"I told you that you wouldn't get much advance notice, Sion," Lord Lacerate quips. He's upbeat and pumped for the fight even as he enjoys Tony's obvious fluster. For like during their dinner at Fortress Sion, the brash General does not lack for confidence.
"You're the Jedi Killer, so we couldn't pass up the chance to include your sword in this fight. Don't worry," cocksure Lord Lacerate assures Tony, "you're in good company." The General gestures to his looming posse of henchmen. "These are the best swordsmen in the Empire. With you added to the mix, we're unbeatable," he boasts.
Worried for where this is heading, Meetra snarls aloud to Tenebrae, "Why aren't the guards doing something?"
"They're with Lacerate," the priest answers glumly.
"Oh." He's right. As the General keeps emoting, the praetorians in the room abandon their posts. They move to join Lacerate's throng in a silent declaration of allegiance. And just like that, the traitors nearly double their numbers.
"Why doesn't the Emperor do something?" panicky Meetra hisses to the priest at her side.
Tenebrae shrugs and sighs. "We'll see."
What the fuck? "Is he just going to sit back and watch this happen?" she demands.
"Probably."
"Oh."
As Meetra frets, several Dark Council members now cross the room to join the traitor faction. One by one, the most respected, most powerful, most trusted Lords of the regime break ranks to stand behind General Lacerate. Meetra can't help but to regard them with some respect. For in an authoritarian state like the Sith Empire, this sort of political disloyalty takes true courage and the men in Vitiate's inner circle have the most to lose. Each Council Lord who defects seems to encourage the remaining others to follow. Before long, they have emptied their semi-circle at the forefront of the chamber.
All except for Darth Azamin.
Cornelius Caesar stays stubbornly rooted to his spot at the base of the Imperial throne. He's a small man, but his stance and his expression are mighty in their disapproval. Even from this distance, Azamin radiates seething outrage.
"You will never win!" the Sith Admiral calls out to Lacerate and his supporters. "You will lose, and you will get your sons and your Apprentices killed for this folly!" Planting his feet and positioning his fists on his hips, little Darth Azamin thunders, "Cease now before it's too late!"
"You die first then, Admiral," General Lacerate taunts back as he gives his sword another obnoxious twirl. From the look of him, the brash upstart can't wait for blood to spill.
"Heed his words," booms down a warning from the Dark Lord himself. The Emperor has remained silent as the battle lines for the revolt have taken shape. But no longer. "Choose your sides, my Lords," ancient, elusive, reclusive Vitiate purrs, "but choose wisely, for I am unforgiving. When you come for the Dark Lord, you must kill him."
That chilling truth of the situation spurs Meetra to action. "Come on!" she returns the priest's earlier favor by tugging Lord Tenebrae forward along the room perimeter closer towards throne.
"Choosing Vitiate?" the priest breathes out.
"Choosing to live," she replies grimly as she gets herself out from behind Tony. Meetra knows that principled Darth Sion will never support General Lacerate in an actual fight for the throne, even as a temporary ploy to gain allies and firepower for a joint assault on the Dark Lord. But Tony's in a very vulnerable position standing with thirty-odd opposing Dark warriors to his back. Time for one of the Force tricks they have practiced for contending with hostile groups. But if she doesn't get out of the way, she'll be caught up in the attack.
Stressed Meetra now starts intentionally communicating through the dyad bond. Telepathy is not a risk she wants to take in front of Emperor Vitiate, but she'll be damned if Tony survives the Dark Lord's sneering kudos only to fall to Lacerate's cabal.
Force shockwave to the back. Blow them all against the walls. Hard.
Yes. Then you get out of here.
I'm not leaving you. We stay together, remember? It's the will of the Force.
I knew you were going to say that.
We can take these guys.
I can take them. You stand down. Do NOT fight.
Understood.
Like at last night's party, Meetra knows that if she fights, she will expose who she is. And it's too soon for that. Because this fight will shape up to be a multidimensional conflict, she's sure of it. The incipient battle is with Lacerate—who either stupidly assumed Tony was his true ally or who coyly decided to get the jump on his own assassination. But either way, Lacerate and his crew will need to be dealt with now. But then . . . very likely there will be Vitiate to confront.
Still, standing down for round one doesn't mean Meetra can't help at all. She now summons her full power and slips into deep concentration for her portion of the dyad. The element of surprise is fleeting. Tony's shockwave needs to have maximum effect. Otherwise, it will be Tony and his brother-in-law versus almost forty men. Those aren't good numbers, she worries.
Will Vitiate help? Meetra is skeptical. In the power obsessed culture of the Sith, only the strong survive, which likely means Vitiate doesn't want any champion he has to help. In fact, she thinks, Vitiate will probably enjoy watching the two factions present in his throne room fight it out.
He will. That's Tony in her mind, hearing her thoughts. It's my duty to defend the Emperor. So, if you're not with Lacerate, you're effectively against him. There are no free agents here.
Well, perhaps there is one. Meetra looks to Tenebrae standing at her side and demands, "Whose side are you on?"
The provoking priest smiles, revealing white teeth as his yellow eyes twinkle. "My own."
Whatever. The flippant priest is probably irrelevant in this context, Meetra judges. He isn't wearing a sword, so unless he fights with the Force or conjures another beast, he won't be much of a threat either way.
In the main portion of the throne room, the brewing battle is seconds away as Lacerate and his supporters nod heads to one another and ignite their swords to affirm their allegiance. That is, except for Tony, who stands frozen clutching his helmet while his sword still hangs from his waist. Darth Sion gives the impression of a man who has been blindsided and is wholly unprepared to meet this fateful moment.
Ignoring Tony's indecision, General Lacerate proclaims his manifesto in ringing tones. "You failed us!" He shakes his sword angrily at his unseen Emperor and jeers, "You underestimated the Jedi, your Mandolorian strategy was miscalculated, and we lost the war! We wait centuries for another shot at the revenge of the Sith, and we lose spectacularly! That," the General spits out, "makes you unfit to rule!"
"There is only one measure of merit that matters, and I have it," Vitiate drawls back. "But by all means," he invites, seemingly unperturbed, "do your best, General."
The massive doors at the far end of the throne room now snap shut with the Force. Emperor Vitiate accepts the challenge. "Come and kill me," he rumbles ominously. "Kill me if you dare . . . kill me if you can . . . but be sure to kill me . . ."
"With pleasure," Lord Lacerate snarls.
And now, yet another lightsaber ignites with the familiar snap-hiss-hum that all in attendance know so well. This time, it's not a Lacerate supporter preparing for battle. It's not Tony either.
It's Darth Azamin.
"You'll have to get through me first," the Sith Admiral announces grimly as he takes up position at the base of the throne.
Now! Meetra exhorts Tony through the bond.
He needs no further urging. With a deep breath, Tony thrusts away the helmet he's holding and flings his arms backwards.
The movement lets loose a torrent of pent-up Force. It's an explosion of power. The rush of energy sends the men assembled behind Tony and General Lacerate flying in all directions. There are thuds of bodies hitting stone, the crack of breaking bones, and grunts and cries of pain.
"That just evened the odds," Tenebrae chortles approvingly from the sidelines. "They didn't see that coming. Well," he reconsiders, cocking his head, "maybe a few of them did."
He's right. Some did. For while the vast majority of Lacerate's attackers were overcome, several of the ones standing at the back—who Meetra recognizes as mostly Dark Council members—hold their ground unaffected. This, she knows, is a testament to their great power. Those Lords had the reflexes and the ability to shield themselves from Tony's onslaught.
Darth Sion has revealed his allegiance. He scampers to Darth Azamin's side and takes up position beneath the Dark Lord's throne. Tony lights his weapon and sinks into a defensive crouch to prepare for combat.
Some of the men thrown by the shockwave are picking themselves up off the floor. It's mostly the red armored praetorian guards whose flashy exoskeletons of equipment cushioned their impact. Other less protected Lords aren't getting up, Meetra notices. There are some dark shapes who remain slumped on the floor amid the prevailing gloom.
But while the numbers are less lopsided, they are still far from even. Tony and Cornelius are significantly outnumbered by their attackers. Moreover, they are less well armed. The brothers-in-law besties arrived in the throne room each wearing a single sword as their everyday weapon. Neither wanted to raise suspicions by arriving unusually armed before the Emperor. Instead, they left behind a small arsenal of armaments stashed at the Azamin villa for their planned ambush. That turns out to have been a bad strategic call in light of Lacerate's surprise attack.
Tony and Cornelius now face praetorians wearing multiple swords and blasters as part of their uniforms, and that's in addition to the Force pikes they use to stand sentry in the throne room. The others in Lacerate's strike team arrived similarly prepared for hand-to-hand combat. Moreover, most of Lacerate's gang came dressed for war. They wear real battle armor, not the fancy ceremonial stuff that Tony and Cornelius are sporting. As pretty as Darth Sion's and Darth Azamin's shiny costumes are, they provide scant protection.
How can she help? Meetra knows she needs to help. While she recognizes the strategic value of appearing to be a helpless female noncombatant, she refuses to watch the men fight while she hides in the shadows. It's not in her nature to sit passively on the sidelines.
Sword blades now clash with loud dissonant static feedback. Blaster guns pump out shots that are deflected to bounce off walls or strike opponents. The battle has begun, and it is vicious. Poor Tony and Azamin are besieged by advancing attackers.
Curiously, the surly cassocked man at Meetra's side seems to care little about which faction will prevail. Tenebrae's treating the deadly melee like it's a sporting match he's mildly interested in. His attitude outrages Meetra. No doubt, the priest will instantly declare himself for the winner when it's over. Meetra knows a cynical opportunist when she sees one.
Her strong emotions must leak out in the Force because Tenebrae softly observes, "Good. Goooood. Hide with me. Hiding is a very good strategy. Stay hidden, my Lady. I like you hidden."
Not a chance. Meetra will not be relegated to the role of bystander in this conflict. She sets about trying to covertly use her power to assist Tony and Azamin. She has to be smart about it, lest she interfere in a way that interrupts the combat interplay Tony already has working with brother-in-law. Meetra doesn't want her help to hurt their chances as the two men fight back-to-back against Lacerate's attackers.
She settles on some impromptu battle meditation. It's a seldom used Light Side skill that Jedi empaths developed to slow and confuse the enemy. Bastila Shan, Revan's girl, was an expert at the trick. Meetra herself has never tried it. But then again, she never did much Force healing before she began ministering to Tony's wounds. Hopefully, the magic of the dyad will come through again with some spectacular power.
Force be with me, Meetra offers up a quick and fervent prayer. Force make me an instrument of your will. If the dyad stands for anything—if her pairing with Tony means something in the larger scheme of events—then surely the Force will allow her to protect him today.
How does this work again? Meetra struggles to recall what little she's heard of the battle meditation technique. She's a general who prefers more active combat participation. The passive route to sabotaging the enemy never interested her much. But now, it's all she can do. Desperate, Meetra closes her eyes and begins to focus as she fumbles toward what the Jedi empaths call a battle trance.
This is deep, immersive concentration that requires her to be utterly in the moment. Meetra must sense the chaos of combat, the adrenaline, fear, and resolve of the individuals involved, and the high stakes, life and death struggle of the small war raging in the throne room. Connecting it all—connecting each individual participant—is the Force, and she is connected to the Force. That's how Meetra hopes to manipulate the psyches of the participants. She aims to confuse and demoralize Lacerate's forces while simultaneously sharpening the skills of Cornelius and Tony. She does her best to bolster the two underdog Sith Lords' confidence and determination.
Meetra whispers through the bond into the ether of the universe: You can do this. The Force is with you. You are a favorite of the Force. Simultaneously, she stokes the misgivings of Lacerate and his men: You can't win. Strike them down and Vitiate will kill you all the same. He will become more powerful than you can possibly imagine. You will die in vain.
Is it working? Meetra can't tell. But Tenebrae must hear her through the Force. She can't see the priest with her eyes closed and her mind's eye trained on the combatants. But she hears him croon his appreciation. "Psych them out. That's a good trick. I like that trick. Someday, you must teach it to me . . . "
She ignores him.
The air is fairly crackling with Force now. There are so many Force users straining hard against the constraints of their personal power. Bodies are being pushed to their limits as sabers are swung, sweeping kicks are administered, and even a few punches thrown and hard shoves given. But as fierce as the battle rages, not all present are participating. General Lacerate and his allied members on the Dark Council stand aside to let others fight first. They remain in reserve, waiting their turn. It's clear that none among them expects Cornelius and Tony to last long. They are reserving their power for the boss fight with Darth Vitiate.
But meanwhile, the Dark Lord remains aloof above the fray on his high throne. Is the Emperor thrilled by the violent contest for supremacy—does its cruelty fuel his Darkness? Or does Vitiate decline to intervene because he's not an adherent to the 'enemy of my enemy is my friend' logic? Could he suspect that Tony and Cornelius are fighting more to keep General Lacerate from being Dark Lord than they are defending the current Emperor? It's unclear. But for whatever reason, Darth Vitiate is content with merely witness the slaughter afoot in his lair.
Meetra is so deep in concentration that she becomes less and less aware of her own circumstances. She is surprised when a grisly missile that turns out to be a severed hand bounces off the wall beside her to flop at her feet. Seconds later, she is physically lifted and whisked out of the path of a ricocheting blaster shot that bounces off the floor where she once stood. It's Darth Tenebrae with an unexpected assist. "I've got you, my Lady," he assures her as he sets her back down.
She must depend on that help because Meetra has no plans to let up with her battle trance. The battle meditation skill seems to be helping. One by one, Tony and his brother-in-law whittle down their list of opponents. But they are both overwhelmed and Lacerate and his most powerful supporters are still fresh . . .
Winded and weary Darth Azamin needs a breather. He starts yanking men towards Tony with a Force-pull so that Tony can cut them down with his sword. The tactic works to slay three attackers in rapid succession, as Tony slashes and stabs mercilessly at the flying men. Praetorians are not particularly Force strong, but they are very well trained. It's easier to defeat them with the Force than with a sword, Meetra is learning. She files that information away for future use.
While Azamin is clearly fading some, Darth Sion holds his own. And that makes sense because as the Lord of Pain, the bloodshed reinvigorates him. Even at a distance amid the frenzy of activity, Meetra can see that today's violence has healed Tony considerably. He thrives on the Darkness he inflicts. It's just what he needs to feel his best.
The vicious sword and blaster fight now morphs into a full-fledged Force fight as Lacerate's vanguard of praetorians and youngsters have mostly fallen. Now, the cronies who have hung back from the fray start to engage. It's wizardry of an expert caliber that Meetra has never seen before. Force lighting—the rage of the Dark Side made manifest—crackles and lights up the dim throne room with its otherworldly blue glow. Its jagged, arcing sparks are as strangely beautiful as they are damaging.
"Now, we're getting started . . ." the priest beside Meetra exhales with excitement. He's still treating the revolt as a spectator sport for which he has a front row seat.
She quickly abandons her battle meditation strategy to focus her concentration to fuel the bond. Tony draws on the Dark Side, so she takes a deep breath and goes there with him. With a gulp and no small amount of guilt, Meetra immerses herself in her very worst memories. It's like diving into a pool with water so cold it takes your breath away. Like reaching your hand into a flame that you know will scorch it. But she will do what must be done to save Tony so he can live to kill Vitiate and rescue Revan.
Blithely, Meetra rushes headlong into searing recollections of the tragedy she herself caused. This is everything she has run from for years. These are the emotions she denies. This is the pain she strives to suppress. It's the mistake she will never live down and can never redress. Surely, her eyes are yellow again from tapping into this wellspring of Darkness. The mass shadow generator destroyed an entire world and took the Republic fleet and the combined Mandalorian/Sith forces with it. Hundreds of thousands died that day in the space of a few minutes. It was a contagion of destruction that wiped the slate of the war clean, pressing the reset button on the conflict by devastating both sides simultaneously.
Meetra physically staggers as she channels grief, pain, regret, anger, frustration, and fear through the bond. She is a veritable conduit of Dark emotions straight to Tony's mind. For Darth Sion is a Sith born and bred, a man taught from a young age to channel passion into power. He knows just how to use the intense feelings she's pumping into him through the bond.
Meetra feels like she is drowning, like she can't breathe. What's happening in the fight? Is she helping Tony? She can't tell, for she is held fast in the thrall of the hypnotic Shadow Force, a prisoner to all that she has tried so long to repress.
Force make me an instrument of your will. Again, she prays the prayer Tony likes best. It's done in hopes that her Darkness will ultimately help to achieve some modicum of peace and justice in the end. It's yet another moral compromise—Meetra can't stop betraying her own values—but it's the best choice in the moment. Forgive me, Force. I know what I do, but I can't stop myself from doing it. This is Malachor V all over again. Meetra is 'sorry, not sorry' for it. For yet again, her ends will justify her means and to Hell with the consequences.
"Yesss . . . give yourself to the Dark Side . . . Surrender to it." That's Darth Tenebrae whispering his encouragement. He sounds impressed and excited.
Meetra is starting to panic now. She flails around, arms waving, fearful that she will blackout like she once did when the pain from Tony's wounds through the bond was too much for her. The Darkness overwhelmed her like it threatens to do now. That is, until someone snatches her close. Suddenly, Meetra's face is buried in the fabric of the priest's cassock.
Darth Tenebrae coos in her ear as he holds her tight. "Control . . . you must learn control," he chides happily, sounding like an evil version of a Jedi Master. "I will teach you. Start by relaxing. Let go . . . Never forget that Darkness is dangerous. Don't fight it. Ride the crest of the wave and let it control you like a riptide. Eventually, it will take you to shore."
Meetra isn't sure what that means, but she strives to do it. And soon, she can tell that she's coming out of her Force induced delirium. Little by little, she becomes more aware of her surroundings. First, she senses the feel of the strange man who embraces her . . . his subtle musky scent . . . the width of his chest . . . Then, Meetra becomes aware of shouting. Someone is in agony, but it's not her. Their pain is screaming out in the Force. Is it Tony? No. The bond tells her that Tony is luxuriating in the pleasure of the suffering he inflicts. He is the tormentor and he's enjoying his role.
Whaaat? Meetra now twists in the priest's grip. She peeks around to see what he sees from the safety of the throne room perimeter. It's Darth Sion frying one of the elder Sith statesmen with blue Force lightning. Across the room, Darth Azamin fends off General Lacerate's sword as he is tag teamed by the General and another attacker.
That's it, Meetra realizes with surprise. Only three men are left standing to fight Cornelius and Tony. The other thirty-odd rebel Lords have fallen. The throne room is littered with their mangled bodies.
The Council Lord Tony is frying succumbs. The man is so powerful with the Dark Side that when he expires he literally disappears into the Force, leaving no trace of his corporeal form behind. Meetra has heard of such things in Jedi legends, but never seen it with her own eyes.
"Oooooh," she breathes out with lurid fascination. "Wow . . ."
"It happens," nonplussed Darth Tenebrae shrugs. "You'd probably do that too."
Valiant Cornelius Caesar looks exhausted. He wipes at his face after he manages to stab General Lacerate's last remaining henchman. The wounded opponent staggers and falls as General Lacerate leaps back out of range. Darth Azamin staggers back too. He's the victor, but just barely.
Now, Meetra realizes, there is just General Lacerate left to contend with.
Azamin hazards a glance at Tony. "Antoninus?" he heaves. "You alright?"
"I'm alive," Tony affirms.
And that's when the newly fallen traitor Lord Azamin just stabbed summons a final burst of dying energy to pull his sidearm and fire.
Tony's dyad-augmented reflexes are incredible. He Force pushes his brother-in-law out of the way of the close-range blaster shot. Then he nails the wounded but tenacious Lord with a dose of lethal red Force lightning.
The man instantly slumps.
Meetra sucks in a wary breath. She remembers how spooked Darth Azamin had been to see Tony display that skill. But Tony seems oblivious to the power he has just revealed. Or maybe, at this point he doesn't care. For all Meetra knows, he's been shooting red lightning throughout the fight and that's what made all the difference.
"Are you hurt?" Tony calls to his brother-in-law who is halfway across the room, slowly picking himself off the floor.
"I'll live," Cornelius Caesar answers back. "But next time, not so hard . . . I'm on your side," he grumbles.
"Sorry, friend." Tony cringes a little for his rough rescue. He orders to Azamin, "Stay back. I'll take it from here." Azamin is clearly weary, but Darth Sion is ready to finish the fight. Tony looks as determined as Meetra has ever seen him. His Darkness blazes through the bond.
Tony begins to slowly circle General Lacerate, stepping over bodies and kicking away discarded weapons in his path. "You are beaten!" he hisses as he plods his deliberate march. "It is useless to resist! Your cause is lost! Desist!" he commands as he brandishes his sword. "Throw down your weapon and yield for punishment."
"Not to you, Sion," the young upstart rasps defiantly. "Never to you!"
"Very well, then," Tony nods with a quick glance up at the shadowy figure on the Imperial throne. "I will kill you."
Death is pretty much a foregone conclusion for the General now. No one in Lacerate's conspiracy expected mercy if they failed. That's not the way of the Sith. At this point, the only issue is who kills Darth Lacerate—Tony or the Emperor.
Frustrated Lacerate sees his big moment has slipped away before he ever got the chance to fight the Dark Lord. He begins to complain. "How have you been hiding these skills all this time? I knew you were good . . . but not this good . . . I saw the duel with the Jedi bitch. . . you never showed any of these tricks . . ."
Tony's response is cold. "I have never hidden my Darkness. You weren't paying attention. You saw what you wished to see. Just like you presumed my allegiance."
Meetra glances to Darth Tenebrae and notes that finally the priest is paying close attention. Tenebrae's strangely yellow eyes narrow on Darth Sion, and his expression is inscrutable.
"There's no one left to hide behind. It's just you and me now, General," Tony snarls as he paces. "Raise your sword and stop whining."
His opponent stubbornly declines the challenge. "I didn't come to fight you. I came to fight him!" Lacerate gestures to the silent, unseen man observing from the throne.
"You'll have to get through me first," Tony vows grimly. "The only way you'll ever be Dark Lord is over my cold, dead body."
"Mine too," Darth Azamin chirps up. The slight Sith Admiral is somewhat bloodied and mostly spent, but still determined.
Hesitating Lord Lacerate now outright pouts to Tony, "I thought you were on our side . . ."
"I was never on your side."
"You should be! For decades, you have been trolling Vitiate—"
"That's not the same as wanting you to replace him."
"You lied to me . . ." The young General truly feels deceived. Apparently, his ego is such that he cannot conceive of someone opposing Vitiate but not supporting his candidacy. "You lied to me!"
"Did you expect anything different?" Tony fumes. "You park a cruiser in orbit over my home . . . you arrive unannounced and tease at an ultimatum . . . and then you foolishly believe that shakedown will earn my respect and loyalty? I wouldn't support you for Dark Lord if you there were a vacancy and you were the only candidate! You are a petulant, unimaginative bully! Too immature and untested to be trusted with leadership. How anyone thought you merited the title 'General' is beyond me, but I will be damned if I will ever call you 'Emperor!'"
Vehement Tony is done talking. He starts swinging.
His prey leaps back and scrambles to defend himself. "You're fast," the General breathes out.
"Fast? You think this is fast? This is nothing! How did you ever possibly think you could win?" Tony heckles.
"I didn't plan on having to get through you," the General admits as he dodges a well-placed stabbing lunge. "I thought Tenebrae and Azamin would be his only champions." The General leaps back out of range now, making to disengage.
"Fight me!" Tony commands. He's irked at the General's purely defensive posture. "Fight me!"
The General looks around now as he belatedly notes the priest's absence. "Where is Tenebrae anyway?"
"Quit stalling and fight!"
"He fled, didn't he?" Lacerate barely parries Tony's incoming slash. "I thought the priest might run . . ."
"I'm still here," Darth Tenebrae speaks up from the sidelines. He taunts the rebel General, "If the zombie doesn't take your head, I'm next in line to do it."
No one believes that boast. Darth Tenebrae's function in the Empire is purely ceremonial apart from his annual party trick at the Azamin holiday fete.
The General scoffs. "Is that a joke, priest? You hide in the corner cowering with a woman this whole time—"
"It's a good strategy. I'm still alive and fresh to fight," Tenebrae informs him.
"He has a point," Tony allows.
"I'm still here, too," Azamin huffs, not to be outdone. He stands somewhat precariously on his feet, but he's undeterred. "You'll have to get past all of us," he declares, "before you get to the Dark Lord."
"I can do that," the General announces with far more confidence than the situation merits. But it's clear that he doesn't believe his own words. They are bluster to cover his chagrin at his comeuppance.
"You really thought this was a sword fight? That you could swarm in here in sufficient numbers to offset your lack of skill?" Tony shakes his head at his opponent's folly as he begins yet another blistering series of saber passes. Tony's weapon is a buzzing blur of red to the naked eye. It's as mesmerizing as it is lethal.
Darth Lacerate falls back fast, but he escapes injury and evades the sly disarming trick wrist flick Tony attempts at the end. The General seems to be regrouping now. He's gathering his courage for his lost cause. No doubt determined to go out valiantly and violently, like a Sith Lord should. "I am going to kill you," Lacerate snarls at Tony, but the words sound more like a personal pep talk than a true threat.
"Unlikely," Tony judges with a ruthless smirk. "But even if you do best me, it will gain you little. To be Dark Lord, you must be the reigning master of the Shadow Force. The qualifications begin and end with power—Dark power. Not military might, not political acumen, not social prestige, not sheer numbers, not swordplay, but power. Raw power."
At Meetra's side, the priest affirms, "That's right."
"Tell that to Ludo Kressh," the upstart General sniffs. "He died in a battle, not a duel."
"You're making my point. Kressh lost to Naga Sadow, who was the masterful magician of his day," Tony counters.
"No, he wasn't." It's Tenebrae again. "I was the masterful magician of that day," the slighted priest preens. "Sadow was competent, but nothing special. Sadow was average compared to me—"
"No one cares, Tenebrae," Darth Azamin shuts him down. "This isn't about you."
The Admiral now addresses Lord Lacerate coolly. "Unless you've got an army or a fleet in your pocket, General, you're no Naga Sadow. You're just a loser. A soon to be dead loser."
"Do not underestimate me," Lacerate howls his indignation. He follows up those words with some well executed, textbook variety offensive swings of his own. Finally, he seems to have found his resolve to fight. Or maybe, he's resigned to fight. But either way, Meetra thinks it better to fall to Darth Sion than to endure whatever Darth Vitiate will do to him.
Lacerate is competent with his saber. His timing and footwork look practiced, and the longer he duels at his last stand, the more aggressive and reckless he becomes. But after watching a few interplays between the duelists, Meetra knows Tony to be the superior swordsman. Darth Sion easily counters, feints, and parries what Darth Lacerate has to offer. Tony doesn't even bother to throw in any Force tricks. He is content to wave his weapon. At all times, he appears in complete control of the conflict.
Both Lords battle in earnest now. Their lightsabers intersect again and again. It's a sharp, staccato cacophony that interrupts the constant low hum of the activated khyber crystals within. Sparks spray out and static feedback howls when the two Lords eventually lock weapons in an prolonged contest of strength. Tony ends it with a firmly planted kick to Lacerate's left leg.
Will the General go down? No. He recoils, but keeps his footing.
For his part, Tony nearly falls over a body on the floor as his momentum carries him forward. The throne room is littered with dead men and their weaponry. Worried Meetra judges the risk of a deadly stumble to be high. A mistake could lose this fight as surely as skill could win it.
But Tony recovers fast. He renews the swordplay and renews his trash talking. "When I met you, I knew you couldn't win. Do you want to know why?"
"I'm not dead yet," indignant Lacerate growls back.
"You will be," Tenebrae jeers loudly from his safe position. "You will be!"
"Shut up!" Meetra tells the priest. Tony doesn't need distractions to break his concentration. "This isn't about you," she echoes Azamin's earlier words.
"Well, actually—"
"Shut up!"
"You sat at my table and complained for an hour," Tony recalls aloud, still dissing Lord Lacerate. "At no point during that rant did you ever deign to mention the Force. That glaring omission—that hubris!—told me everything I needed to know about you! You're not a favorite of the Force, you don't revere the Force, and that means you will never be Dark Lord!"
"Sion's right," Tenebrae piles on to this reasoning, speaking up again. "You're the distraction from the real threat, General."
Lacerate is confused. "Who's the real threat?"
"Sion is." Tenebrae announces this information as if it is self-evident to any idiot but vainglorious Lacerate.
"Shut up!" Azamin hurriedly shouts down the priest again.
"Yes, shut up!" Meetra joins in. "No one cares what you think." She turns to Tony and shrieks, "Kill him! Kill him now!" Tony needs to end the fight with the General before this conversation goes in directions none of them wants.
"Slay, my Lady, slay . . ." It's smarmy Tenebrae chuckling at her shoulder. "You're cute when you're Light, but you're even better Dark . . ." It's more of his mocking flirting from last night.
The comment annoys her. There's a life-and-death power struggle ongoing a few meters away, but the priest seems only intermittently concerned. Mostly, Darth Tenebrae seems to be enjoying himself. He's acting as if there is no danger. Like he's amused by how seriously the rest of them are taking the events.
Casting a worried glance Tenebrae's way, Meetra resumes talking to Tony through the bond. Enough of this. Freeze him and take his head. Save your strength for the guy on the throne.
Tony doesn't get a chance to reply. For the increasingly erratic General makes another wildly aggressive move. It's an upward slash from the left that leaves him momentarily vulnerable with his sword arm raised.
Tony seizes the opening to stab him in the torso.
It's a clean, straight thrust, without the upward flick that does maximum damage and kills in seconds. Still, Lacerate gasps and staggers back. He drops his sword to clutch at his serious—and perhaps in time fatal—wound.
"N-No . . ." he groans out his keen disappointment and frustration. He pants fast through the pain as he vents. "N-No! Sion, you should have helped us! You of all Lords know how much change is needed . . ."
Tony doesn't dispute this. He simply answers, "The Empire deserves better than you."
As the proud young General who is the first Sith Lord in centuries to attempt a revolt now drops to his knees, Darth Sion positions his sword for the beheading stroke. "Force have mercy on your soul," Tony intones Darkly, "for there is no mercy in me. I do what must be done."
It's the short version of the rationale for killing Lacerate which Tony has believed all along: that this man is the wrong man, with the wrong message, at the wrong time, to lead his people. Change for change's sake isn't enough for Darth Sion. For all along, Tony has feared exchanging one tyrant for another. He always intended to kill Lacerate today, just not here in this setting. The Force put the two would-be agents of change for the Empire on a collision course. What does it mean that they met here in Darth Vitiate's throne room? Meetra isn't sure.
Darth Azamin has walked up beside Tony. He regards ailing Lacerate with a scathing look of contempt. Cornelius Caesar mutters something in Kittat that Meetra barely hears and can't translate. Then, he soberly nods his concurrence for the execution. "Do it."
And that's when the deep voice from above rumbles down from the throne. "Do not kill him," Vitiate preempts Tony. He pulls rank. "That privilege is mine."
Finally, now that the dirty work is mostly done, the Emperor intervenes. Meetra's not surprised. Was there ever any doubt that the peevish Sith overlord would steal Tony's thunder? The wizard Vitiate wants the bragging rights for killing the traitor General. Having to acknowledge Darth Sion as both the Jedi slayer and the Lord who almost singlehandedly quashed a rebellion would probably be too much for the Emperor's ego to handle.
An invisible hand—the Force—now plucks Lacerate from his sprawl on his knees and lifts him high into the air. There, he hangs suspended above the throne room, his face contorted in pain and frozen in place. General Lord Lacerate is imprisoned and immobilized by the Emperor's power.
Tony and his brother-in-law exchange looks. Then, Darth Azamin lumbers down on one knee before his Emperor. Tony is obliged to make the same show of obeisance at his side. The two men kneel and bow their heads before the Dark Lord as vassals, pretending allegiance. For ostensibly, they have just defended his rule by defeating his usurper . . .
"Darth Azamin and Darth Sion," the Emperor addresses the pair, "You have fought valiantly. Worthy of recognition in the archives of the Empire. I commend you. Arise, my servants."
From the sidelines, Meetra glances up at hovering Darth Lacerate. For now at least, Vitiate's power is somewhat diverted to his capture.
This is the moment.
Now is when they should attack.
They will never again surprise the Emperor in an empty throne room with locked doors. Brash General Lacerate's foolhardy coup attempt has provided the opportunity they've been waiting for.
Suddenly, Meetra is done lurking on the sidelines. It's time for her to emerge from the shadows. She rushes forth to intervene.
"My Lord! My Lord!" she cries as she lifts her long skirt and darts from her hiding place, hurdling over bodies as she goes. She strives to make it look like she's a frantic wife concerned for her husband and frightened by the bloodshed. But in reality, she's about to convene an impromptu treasonous battlefield conference in Vitiate's throne room amid the wreckage of another assassination attempt.
Meetra clings to Tony in a swooning embrace. But her head is turned to the side to speak directly to Darth Azamin under her breath. She is terse, as the circumstances merit.
"Are you ready? We kill him and you rule. Okay?"