Star Trek: The Mirror Gamer
Episode 8: Dantooine
Stardate: 41268.8
SW Date: 3956 BBY
Earth Standard Date: April 8, 2364
Location: Jedi Enclave, Dantooine
"Tyson's Personal Log stardate... 41268 or 9, I think." His voice filled the small room he had taken as his quarters in the Jedi Enclave. "It's been about four weeks since we arrived on Dantooine. I've been checking back on the Enterprise periodically, but no one seems to have missed us. The Enterprise is still in orbit of Earth. It's becoming a bit... worrying, honestly. I'm beginning to wonder if things there are in a holding loop until I return. I find it hard to believe that Picard has been in meetings constantly for nearly a month."
He leaned back in his chair. "The first few days after arriving were hectic, so this reasonably peaceful month of training was greatly appreciated." A smirk curled his lips at his next words, "It took about a day for the other ladies in the group to realize that taking my Corruption Seed during sex would make them stronger. Mission let that particular cat out of the bag. The ensuing arguments were... let's just say lively." He chuckled, "We had to create a rotation. And they've taken to forcing me to take a long nap after lunch so I can 'service' one girl in the morning and one in the evening. The things one does in the name of power… But it's worked. All of them have accumulated over Forty-Five Thousand Corruption."
He paused, glancing out of the small window, the verdant landscape of Dantooine stretching out before him. "Our powers have increased. I'm leading the pack, thanks to my Gamer abilities, but my advancement has slowed significantly since arriving. Bastila and I have been dismissed from training while the others finish up. She's been training as well. I didn't believe it at first, but she's only a Padawan. Unbelievable considering according to the system, she's at the same level as the Masters on the council. Doesn't make much sense."
Tyson's face hardened. "We've taken it upon ourselves to help out with some issues on the local front. There's a rogue group of Mandalorians causing trouble around here. From what I've gathered, their forces were scattered after Revan brought them to their knees. The ones that ended up here on Dantooine turned to raiding and pillaging." He ran a hand through his hair, "The Jedi Council has permitted me to undertake this mission to deal with the Mandalorians. Bastila, however, is merely an observer." He sighed, "Regardless, this is a good opportunity to put my training to practical use and get some time with Bastila away from the Jedi Enclave and the Council.."
"End log entry," he concluded.
~~Star Trek: TMG~~
Tyson found himself facing Sherruk, the leader of the Mandalorians. Sherruk was akin to Bendak Starkiller in terms of strength. He wielded a pair of menacing vibroswords that hummed ominously. Tyson, however, was far from intimidated. He drew upon his weeks of Jedi training, tuning into the rhythm of the Force. His will wrapped around Sherruk, lifting him into the air. As the rogue Mandalorian buckled under the relentless hold of Tyson's Force Grip, the Gamer began pelting him with blasts from his Corrupted Cardassian Disruptor.
When the dust settled, Sherruk's body lay sprawled at his feet practically oozing corruption. Tyson took everything from the man, leaving him a husk, and turned his attention to the spoils of victory. He sifted through the remains of the Mandalorian leader, retrieving two lightsabers that once belonged to Jedi. The leader's Heavy Mandalorian Armor was a valuable find. It offered protection greater than his armor but was heavier. The twin vibroswords, now ownerless, were added to Tyson's Inventory.
Mandalorian Battle Armor (Rare)
Defenses: +8 Reflex, +2 Fortitude.
Lightsaber (Red)
2d8 Damage
Lightsaber (Blue)
2d8 Damage
Power Activated: Absorb Corruption!
Attribute Increased! Strength (20)
Trait Gained: Dual Wield Proficiency II - The penalty for Dual Wielding is reduced from -5 to -3.
Trait Gained: Critical Strike - Rolls of both 19 and 20 are considered Critical Hits.
Trait Gained: Power Attack - Your attacks deal +5 Damage. Critical Hits deal double damage.
Trait Gained: Toughness - Instead of ten, you gain twenty Hit Points for each point of Constitution.
Trait Gained: Heavy Armor Proficiency - You suffer no penalties for wearing armor, regardless of its weight or bulk.
~~Star Trek: TMG~~
In the wilderness of Dantooine, under the twinkling stars, Tyson and Bastila huddled around a fire with the roasted carcass of a Kath Hound sizzling on a spit above the flames. Its scent was a mixture of smoke and charred meat that permeated the air.
Tyson held the red lightsaber he'd procured from Sherruk, the deceased Mandalorian leader. Its tainted crystal pulsed eerily under his touch. The Dark Side infused the weapon through the malice imbued by its former wielder. Tyson infused the weapon with his Corrupted Seed. The lightsaber crystal reacted to his energy, the Dark Side flaring up momentarily to fight his Corruption, before being snuffed out. Tyson engaged the blade and its red glow had been replaced with the purple of Tyson's Corruption.
Across the crackling fire, Bastila watched with an unreadable expression. Her eyes, usually calm and controlled, were now awash with curiosity. Despite her reservations about the methods Tyson used, she recognized the moment for what it was. He cleansed the taint of the Dark Side from the weapon.
As the quiet of the night settled around them, Bastila began to instruct Tyson in the art of wielding a lightsaber. "Remember, Tyson," she began against the backdrop of crackling flames, "a lightsaber is an extension of your will."
She guided Tyson through the complexities of stances, swings, and parries, as the fire behind them cooked their meal.
~~Star Trek: TMG~~
Tyson felt the disturbance in the Force. A presence that was adeptly masked but not entirely suppressed within the flowing currents. A flicker of recognition passed between him and Bastila, but she gave no verbal indication of the looming danger.
Suddenly, a blaster bolt, cut through the darkness, hurtling directly at Tyson. He had sensed it coming, the bolt's deadly intention a glaring beacon within the Force. With a swift, practiced motion, he engaged his purple lightsaber. With a deft flick of his wrist, he deflected the bolt, the energy dispersing into the night. The assailant didn't cease his attack. Two more shots echoed in the quiet, their fire-lit trajectories easy to track. With agile maneuvers, Tyson sidestepped, each blaster shot missing their mark, scorching the ground where he had stood moments before.
Tyson charged, closing the distance between him and the attacker. As he drew closer, he recognized the assailant's armor. It was a telltale sign of who was attacking them; the beskar steel gleamed faintly in the firelight, and the helmet's T-shaped visor was a known design of the Mandalorians. The enemy was probably a scout, drawn to their location by the cooking fire, investigating what he had hoped were unsuspecting travelers, easy marks. Tyson's first engagement with the lightsaber was a novel experience. The weightless blade was quite different from the solid heft of a blaster or vibrosword. His strikes, while aggressive, were a bit haphazard, a clear sign of unfamiliarity with the elegant weapon. Yet despite the clumsiness of his attacks, he managed to successfully avoid each of the Mandalorian's attacks thanks to his inherent reflexes and connection to the Force compensating for his lack of finesse.
Recognizing that his blaster was ineffective at close range, the Mandalorian switched to a vibroblade. Each of Tyson's strikes, clumsy though they might be, imbued the Mandalorian with Corruption when they landed. Over time, the Mandalorian began to weaken, his movements slowing, his attacks growing less coordinated. With his strength waning, he was barely able to keep himself upright, let alone defend against Tyson's assault.
Seeing the Mandalorian on the verge of defeat, Tyson took his chance. He seized the man by his armor, "Where is your camp?"
The Mandalorian, desperate and defeated, grudgingly revealed the location. Tyson's eyes gleamed violet as he absorbed the man's remaining life force. He reveled in the tingling sensation as the Mandalorian's skills and memories flowed into him. Afterward, his hands methodically searched the now lifeless body, stripping it of its armor and weapons.
Bastila found herself captivated by Tyson. His effectiveness in combat was undeniable, and his unique Corruption ability was unlike anything she had ever seen. It wasn't the Dark Side of the Force he was channeling as the Council suspected. His presence in the Force was unlike anything she had encountered before. There was no taint of darkness around him, even as he absorbed the lifeforce of his enemies, a hallmark ability of the Dark Side. He remained untouched by it, as if somehow immune.
Bastila, again at their campfire, watched as the wisps of purple streamed from Tyson into the lightsaber he'd acquired from the Mandalorian leader. Where Sherruk had obtained the tainted weapon, she had no idea. But it was undoubtedly tainted. The crystal produced a crimson blade, something that was exceedingly rare as a natural occurrence. Usually, it happened with a Jedi, or a Sith channeling their negative emotions into a lightsaber crystal.
She watched as Tyson used his peculiar power to cleanse the tainted lightsaber. It was a display that left her awed. Healing a lightsaber crystal was an extensive process, but she watched Tyson turn the crimson blade into his violet within moments.
As impressive as the feat was, seeing his unique violet energy caused her thoughts to stray. They were drawn to an image that made her cheeks burn and her heart quicken its pace. Tyson and Mission in their moment of intimate bliss. She recalled their bodies moving together in a rhythm. The Twi'lek's expressions of pleasure had been impossible to ignore, and Bastila had found herself unable to look away. The memory was vivid, intoxicating in its intensity. And she couldn't deny that it had stirred something within her. There was something about Tyson, something undeniably compelling. Bastila felt drawn to him and the aura of power that surrounded him.
~~Star Trek: TMG~~
Night fell once more. Bastila and Tyson had spent the day ridding the landscape of stray Mandalorian camps. Tyson's progress in dealing with them was nothing short of remarkable. Just the night before, he had handled his lightsaber with the hesitance of a novice, his strikes were awkward and imprecise. Yet now, his movements were swift, his strikes rarely missing their target. He moved with the grace of a seasoned Jedi Knight. It was a transformation that was nearly impossible to believe, and yet Bastila had witnessed it with her own eyes.
Tyson's proficiency had grown so rapidly that Bastila had decided to teach him a second form of lightsaber combat. He had already reached the limits of Shii-Cho, its basics embedded in his movements. Soresu, a defensive style, seemed to suit him best, given his natural adeptness with blocking and deflecting.
"You've mastered the basics of Shii-Cho. It's time we moved to Soresu. It is a defensive form, one that will allow you to block and deflect with increased precision."
She stepped away from the fire, her silhouette outlined against the night. She demonstrated the Soresu form, "Watch closely," she instructed, her voice cutting through the soft crackle of the fire. "Balance is key. Stay on your feet, and allow the force to guide your actions. It will guide you to anticipate your opponent's move. Keep the blade close, deflect and block, make them tire."
She continued her demonstration, her movements slow and deliberate, allowing Tyson to soak in each step, each swish of her lightsaber.
Lightsaber Form Unlocked!
Form III: Soresu - Soresu is a strong defensive technique for outlasting an opponent, waiting until they begin making mistakes due to frustration or fatigue, before taking advantage of these lapses and countering. Soresu lacks offensive capabilities but provides maximum defensive coverage. You may reroll a failed Use the Force check when using the Block or Deflect Talents.
Skill Increased! Lightsabers (18)
As the night stretched on she found herself encouraged by Tyson's attention. She watched as he emulated her movements, his growing proficiency was evident with each passing moment.
Tyson found himself confident in his growing Lightsaber skill. He decided to test himself and turned to Bastila with a proposition. His tone was amicable yet filled with a subtle challenge as he asked, "How about a friendly spar?"
Her eyes flickered in the firelight. She tilted her head slightly, a lock of her chestnut hair falling across her face. "Terms?" she asked, intrigued.
Tyson reached into his pack and produced the Sith armor they'd worn back on Taris. Its black sleek surface glimmered in the light, the emblem of the Sith standing out starkly against the metallic shell. "Hear me out," Tyson began, holding the armor up. "You're precise enough, and I can handle my abilities. Whoever manages to destroy the other's armor first, wins."
Bastila eyed the armor, then Tyson. Her lips curved into a smile, a spark of competitive spirit flaring in her eyes. She was prideful, even for a Jedi, and the challenge was impossible to resist. "Very well," she agreed.
With the rules laid out, they both began to shed their clothing, an action that felt strangely intimate against the backdrop of their friendly duel. Their outfits fell onto the soft ground, and they donned the Sith armor. The playfulness of their spar evolved into something more charged, the undercurrent of sexual tension weaving itself into their every move. They both relished the challenge, each intent on winning the unusual game they'd set themselves to.
The friendly spar between Tyson and Bastila had resulted in a starkly evident outcome. Tyson, having severely overestimated his abilities, found himself stripped of his armor. His muscular form was bared to the night, his only defense being his hands that he instinctively used to cover his privates. Accepting defeat, he yielded his lightsaber into his Inventory.
Tyson couldn't help but let out a chuckle at the situation, his eyes met Bastila's triumphant grin. Her laugh rang out through the night air. "You should move your hands," she teased, her eyes sparkling with mirth. "You did lose, after all."
Her words brought a crimson blush to Tyson's face. But as he looked into Bastila's eyes, he saw not ridicule, but desire. As Bastila approached him, her eyes roved over his naked form like a connoisseur inspecting a fine piece of art. The heat of her gaze was palpable, sending shivers down Tyson's spine. Finally, she murmured, her voice husky, "You'll do nicely."
Without another word, Bastila closed the distance between them, her lips meeting Tyson's in a heated kiss. Their bodies melded together under the starlit canopy, the cool night air forgotten in the warmth they found in each other. The campfire crackled in the background, the flickering flames casting a warm glow on their entwined forms. Their lovemaking was slow; every brush of skin, every heated whisper, each lingering touch was a promise made and fulfilled. The world seemed to shrink to the space around them, their surroundings fading into the backdrop as they surrendered themselves to the moment.
~~Star Trek: TMG~~
The Council recognized the progress and potential of Tyson's group. They deemed the group ready for the challenge that would be the proving ground of their strength and connection to the force. The trial required them to leave the enclave to face the dangers within the crystal caves and cleanse a tainted grove.
The group assembled at the edge of the enclave's borders. Tyson stood at the forefront with Bastila standing next to him, her focused expression revealing nothing of the emotions brewing within. There was a new synchrony between the two. Troi was beside them. There was Yar too, standing at a distance, her posture slightly defensive, her eyes guarded. Mission seemed excited yet nervous. She kept fiddling with a loose thread on her clothes, her large eyes filled with a mixture of apprehension and anticipation. Beside her, Selar stood silent. A strange calm emanated from her as if she had accepted whatever the future held for them.
The vibrant grasslands that made up much of the planet's surface were teeming with native wildlife, some of which were less than friendly. Almost immediately upon their departure, they were challenged by a horde of Kath Hounds, fierce canine beasts native to the region. These aggressive creatures were known for their strength and durability, and the group's progress was impeded but shortly they overcame the beasts. As they journeyed on, they faced environmental challenges as well. Rugged terrains, steep inclines, and sudden drops were common on the path to the caves. The planet's temperate climate gave way to sudden rainstorms, making the trek slippery and treacherous.
The entrance to the crystal caves was etched into the side of a rolling hill. As they entered, the verdant green of Dantooine's grasslands was quickly replaced by an underworld made of stone and crystal. The cavern's air was cool and still, carrying with it an earthy scent that mingled with an almost electric tang, an effect of the potent energies housed within the crystals. The walls around them were made of rough-hewn stone, in some places wet with condensation. The natural darkness of the cave was offset by the myriad crystals that glowed within. The crystals themselves were scattered liberally across the expanse of the cave, protruding from the ceilings, walls, and floors. They glowed with soft, luminescent light, casting a surreal prism of colors that danced and played across the cave's interior. They ranged in hues of blues and greens, and their soft glow was bright enough to guide their path. The atmosphere within the caves was serene, yet powerful. Each crystal hummed with latent energy, a harmonious resonance that thrummed with the Force within them.
The tranquility of the caves was abruptly shattered when they stumbled upon the cavern's inhabitants. The Kinrath. Kinrath were monstrous, insectoid creatures that were using the crystal caves as their nesting grounds. Their chitinous bodies mirrored the glow of the crystals around them.
The Kinrath attacked from the shadows with quick and skittering movements. Their carapace shimmered under the refracted crystal light as they launched themselves toward Tyson and his group. Their compound, multifaceted eyes locked onto the intruders with unerring hostility. The air filled with the sounds of the clatter of their segmented bodies. The group responded instinctively, lightsabers flaring to life, filling the cavern with their distinctive, resonant thrum and bathing the crystal walls in a kaleidoscope of colors.
In response to the threats, Bastila's lightsaber hummed, while Tyson's, imbued with the Corrupted Seed, pulsed a menacing purple. Yar, Mission, Selar, and Troi readied their weapons. Their sabers were training sabers, low-powered variants that they would need to upgrade with a crystal from the cave. Training sabers did far less damage than a true lightsaber but should be enough to engage the big bugs.
As the Kinrath lunged, the group deflected and parried, their movements flowing in harmony with the Force. Tyson was at the forefront, his once-clumsy handling of the lightsaber now deft and precise. Meanwhile, Bastila fought alongside him, her mastery of the Force evident in her precise, fluid movements. She moved with grace, her lightsaber a blur as she struck at the Kinrath with deadly accuracy. Mission, agile and quick, darted between their opponents, her twin blades singing through the air. Troi and Selar provided defensive coverage, stalling the insects' charge and holding them from the more aggressive group members. Their steady hands and calm demeanor ensured their group held the line, while Yar made attacks through the defensive openings.
Together they repelled the Kinrath. As the last of the creatures fell, the caverns fell back into silence, now broken only by the sound of their breathing and the quiet hum of the crystals around them.
In the hushed calm that followed the battle, the group began their search. Their gazes swept across the crystalline formations that seemed to spring from every surface, resonating gently with the Force. They listened, their focus attuned to the whispers of the crystals. It was said a Jedi's crystal chooses its bearer, not the other way around. Tyson, in particular, found himself drawn to a secluded part of the cavern. As if guided by an unseen hand, he reached into a cluster. His fingers brushed against a trio of crystals that pulsed with energy. A feeling of warmth, familiarity, and connection enveloped him. It was as though they were a part of him, calling him. He carefully dislodged the crystals and basked in their energy humming in his hands.
Glancing around, his eyes fell upon several untouched Kinrath eggs nestled into the craggy rocks. They glowed with an eerie light and seemed to pulsate with life. Despite their recent skirmish, Tyson carefully collected them. Each crystal and egg was stored within his Inventory. He stepped back, allowing his comrades to continue their search, their hearts and minds reaching out for their crystals, completing a symbolic milestone on their journey to becoming Jedi.
~~Star Trek: TMG~~
After stowing away their precious crystals, the group reconvened, preparing themselves for the next leg of their journey. With Bastila in the lead and Tyson close at her side, they filed out of the crystal cave. As they ventured further away from the crystal caves, the once-peaceful vistas of Dantooine began to morph, subtly at first, and then dramatically. The cerulean skies seemed to grow overcast, the vibrantly hued foliage dimmed, and the air, once fresh and crisp, now hung heavy with a palpable sense of unease.
The tainted grove lay nestled in the valley before them, an open wound amidst the pristine beauty of the Jedi stronghold. The grass was now a sickly yellow, and the surrounding trees were gnarled and twisted, their branches reaching out like skeletal hands. There was a stillness to the air that wasn't natural.
"Looks a lot different than the rest of the place, huh?" Mission piped up. She was attempting to sound casual, but the tension in her voice and the way her fingers nervously played with the ends of her lekku betrayed her nervousness.
"An aura of the Dark Side lingers here," Bastila commented. Her expression was solemn, her eyes barely disguising a hint of trepidation.
Troi had been having difficulty separating her Force senses from her telepathic abilities. She nodded in agreement. "The malevolent energy is strong." Selar added quietly in agreement, "The imbalance is palpable. It's almost as if the land itself is in pain."
Yar, gripped her weapon tighter. "The quicker we cleanse this place, the better," she grumbled, her typical demeanor hardened further by the unsettling environment.
Tyson, standing amidst his companions, couldn't help but agree. "Let's push forward," he commanded.
As the group ventured deeper into the grove, the eerie sense of desolation became even more pronounced. Stark against the backdrop of sickly foliage and gnarled trees, the skeletal ruins of what appeared to be an ancient complex lay in crumbling disarray. Their once-majestic structures were now nothing more than neglected relics of a bygone era. The ruins bore the distinctive, sharp lines and angular design that was characteristic of Sith architecture, and the darkened stones were etched with the intricate, looping runes of the Sith language. Their presence seemed to exacerbate the grove's taint, casting an even darker shadow on the surrounding area.
Bastila's knuckles were white as she clenched her lightsaber. "These were Sith strongholds," she explained, her voice barely more than a whisper. "The taint we're feeling is a residue of their presence. This is what we're here to cleanse."
"Disturbing," Troi commented, her eyes locked onto the haunting runes. Her telepathic abilities allowed her to sense the lingering, malevolent emotions of those who had inscribed them. "I can feel the cruelty and malice etched into each rune."
Tyson took the lead, his feet navigating through the tarnished undergrowth and crumbling stone. The rest of the group trailed behind him, their eyes scanning the surroundings warily. He approached an ornately carved pillar, its existence seemingly incongruous in this setting. He raised a hand to touch the glyphs, but as his fingertips made contact the sigils etched into its surface flared to life. They cast a pulse of blinding light onto his face his world tilted as his eyes tried desperately to adjust to the flash. And when he did, he found himself somewhere entirely different.
~~Star Trek: TMG~~
The atmosphere was filled with the scent of ancient dust and the disquieting silence of a long-forgotten temple. He found himself surrounded by dark, stone walls, etched with the same hauntingly familiar Sith runes that adorned the ruins. The eerie luminescence of the pillar still lingered, its glow reflecting off the metallic sheen of his armor, casting distorted shadows that danced on the weathered stone walls.
His attention was abruptly drawn to the figure that turned the corner ahead of him. An unsettling sensation of recognition hit him like a wave. Before him stood a mirror image of himself, decked in a style of Mandalorian armor that was different from his own yet equally intimidating. His mirror stood taller, reaching a height of six and a half feet. Despite the Vulcan characteristics - the pointed ears, the arched eyebrows - there was no mistaking the face. It was his own.
Tyson glanced back over his shoulder, seeking the familiar faces of his companions. But what he found was unexpected. Mission, Bastila, Yar, Troi, and Selar were all on their knees, bowed in almost reverent submission. It seemed whatever challenge he was facing, it was one he would have to overcome alone.
In the shadow of his mirrored image, a second figure took form. She was an ethereal beauty, adorned in a set of full, flowing robes. A habit was carefully arranged over her head, and a blindfold covered her eyes. Recognition flickered in Tyson's mind - Visas Marr, the Miraluka Sith. But like his comrades, she seemed frozen, unable to intervene in the unfolding scene.
His mirrored counterpart made no sudden movements, but his weapon was raised in a defensive stance. Tyson responded by removing his helmet and allowing his face to be seen fully. His own eyes stared back at him, set in a face identical to his own, though missing one notable feature - a neatly trimmed goatee.
A chilling realization seeped into Tyson's mind as he observed his double. His counterpart didn't have the goatee. He knew he'd arrived in Star Trek's mirror universe from the start, but hadn't considered he'd have a counterpart in the prime universe. It was a jarring thought and one that brought a new level of uncertainty to his predicament. The man standing before him wasn't just a reflection - he was a version of Tyson from a universe where the rules of morality were placid in comparison. It was at that moment that Tyson truly understood; he was the evil twin.
Tyson advanced, a sense of injustice washing over him. The realization that he had been set up, that the universe had put him through hardship after hardship only to pit him against himself, was a bitter pill to swallow. Emotions bristled within him, an undercurrent of anger and resentment threatening to break free. The words, when they erupted, carried the full force of his frustration.
"You look weak," Tyson spat out, his voice echoing in the ominous silence that enveloped them. His counterpart's eyes moved slowly, studying each of his companions in turn, before finally resting on Bastila. A flicker of confusion crossed his mirrored face, a look Tyson recognized all too well. It was his look of bewilderment, of uncertainty.
"Now you're beginning to see all the opportunities you had," Tyson continued, his words steeped in bitter sarcasm. He gestured toward his companions. "You didn't even try to stay in the holodeck, did you?" His double remained silent, the confusion in his eyes deepening. Tyson could feel it, his sense of disarray reflected back at him through the eyes of his counterpart. He seized on it, using it to fuel his tirade. "I can sense your confusion," Tyson sneered. He leveled a finger at his mirror image, his anger boiling over into the accusation that followed. "You are the weakest Gamer I've ever seen."
Tyson wondered if he'd been set up by the Jedi Council. His situation mirrored Luke's trial on Dagobah. But he didn't allow the thought to halt his actions. His hand moved in a swift, practiced motion, summoning his lightsaber to life. The corrupted blade hummed in the air as he lunged. When his Corrupted purple blade clashed with his counterpart's blue one, a shower of sparks danced in the air between them. The sound of their lightsabers' clash echoed throughout the temple, yet Tyson didn't waver. If he was to be the villain of this story, the Corrupted one, then he would embrace his role wholly. He reached out with his free hand, grabbing his mirrored self's forearm with a vice-like grip.
The purple energy of his Corruption coursed from his fingertips. His grip tightened, the Corruption Seed spreading like a rampant virus, a vivid stream of pulsating energy pouring into his counterpart's arm.
In response to the energy coursing through his arm, Tyson's mirror jerked back abruptly, breaking free from Tyson's grasp. The sudden pushback sent him into a brief airborne flight, causing a flicker of surprise to cross Tyson's face. A pair of insect-like wings sprouted from his back to stabilize his backward flight.
Tyson hadn't noticed the wings before, and coupled with pointed Vulcan ears, they transformed his mirrored self into a vision of a fae. The most infuriating part was that despite the fairy wings his alien features didn't detract from how damn handsome he was. An amused, incredulous smirk twisted his lips as he couldn't help but jeer, "What are you, some kind of fucking fairy?"
The words had barely left his lips when his mirrored self propelled himself off the ground. The wings blurred into motion, and out of thin air, a longsword materialized in his off-hand, appearing as though drawn from an Inventory similar to his own. The unexpected sight only fueled Tyson's excitement. His grip on his lightsaber tightened, ready for the next wave of attacks.
As his counterpart descended upon him, Tyson found himself holding his ground as their weapons clashed in a tempest of light and sparks. With each deflected strike, he found his confidence growing. It was clear that his skills were marginally superior, his strikes slightly swifter, his maneuvers more crisp. Moreover, the Force that pulsed within him was stronger, rawer. He could feel it coursing through him, could see its effects in his mirror's startled eyes. It was a fascinating revelation, a validation of his trials, and it ignited an intense thrill within Tyson.
Tyson lunged, his lightsaber tracing a line of purple plasma through the dim air as he attacked. His counterpart deflected the strike with a swift swipe of his own blade. They both used Shii-Cho, the most basic of lightsaber forms. Tyson played the aggressor. His strikes were fast, relentless, a flurry of violet fire designed to keep his counterpart on the defensive. Every cut, every thrust, was an attempt to find a chink in his counterpart's defense. His counterpart's longsword met Tyson's lightsaber with a metallic clang that echoed through the temple. For some reason, Tyson caught a look of surprise across his counterpart's face when his lightsaber and the sword met.
At one point, Tyson transitioned into a series of rapid-fire strikes, his blade a blur as he sought to overwhelm his mirror image. But the fae matched him, hard-pressed by Tyson's assault, though still parrying each strike. Tyson's movements were swift and wide, a characteristic of the Shii-Cho form. He was all power and speed, his lightsaber an extension of his will. His counterpart was a mirror, reflecting Tyson's movements. Every strike was met, every thrust parried. Yet, beneath the surface, a transformation was underway. With each exchange, Tyson's raw power began to mesh with the fluidity of the form. Each wide, sweeping movement became a little more refined, a little more focused. Amidst the chaos, a singular thought echoed in Tyson's mind: he was stronger, he was better. And he was going to win.
As their fierce battle raged on, Tyson felt a shift in the fight. He saw it first in the mirror's eyes, a flicker of uncertainty, the realization of oncoming defeat. His counterpart was tiring, his defenses wavering. Sensing the vulnerability, Tyson propelled forward with his lightsaber poised for the final blow.
Yet, as he charged, his mirror image did something utterly unexpected. His blue lightsaber hummed and hissed in the quiet air, and, with a move that was as swift as it was shocking, his mirror turned it on himself. The blue blade stabbed through his stomach like he was committing ritualistic suicide.
His mirror image had activated some unknown ability. Because, at that moment, Tyson felt a searing pain rip through his own body, as though the lightsaber had stabbed through his own stomach.
Gasping, Tyson stumbled, falling to his knees and clutching at his abdomen, expecting to find a wound, but there was nothing — no blood, no searing burn, just a phantom pain that resonated with his Corruption.
He looked up, his gaze locking onto his counterpart. Tyson could only stare in shock. Pain and confusion churned within him as he took in the scene. The sense of victory he'd felt moments before was suddenly very hollow. His counterpart's attack was not one of suicide, but a desperate final strike. Tyson's Corruption had carried the pain, the damage, across the divide between them.
His counterpart looked down on him and spoke, "Man, I really went full villain. Taking slaves, monologuing, thinking I'm doing good when I'm obviously the bad guy." Shaking his head, he continued, "This must be the part where I'm supposed to envy what I could've been, or be intimidated by your success and my lost potential, but looking at you… Nah, I'm good. But thanks for the tip about the Instant Dungeons."
With a flick of his wrist, the hilt still protruding from his stomach made a full rotation in a phantom bisection. The arcane sigils etched into the walls burst in an explosion of blinding light in the darkness. In a blink, Tyson found himself back in the tainted grove. The radiant, swirling sigils of the Sith's arcane script were now dull and lifeless, no longer teeming with the power they once held. It was as if whatever energy they had possessed had been siphoned away, their secret purpose fulfilled.
The pain he'd felt at his mirror attacking himself had faded. Turning around, he found his companions stirring, blinking with looks of confusion. Their eyes ranged from suspicion to concern, as they glanced anxiously at Tyson, no doubt worried. Tyson wanted to explain, but he wasn't exactly sure what had occurred. With no answers to give, they continued through the tainted grove.
~~Star Trek: TMG~~
Soon, they came upon another figure. Standing amid the greenery was a woman, whose presence radiated with a powerful, almost palpable aura. She was a Cathar. Her feline features were marked by streaks of dark and light fur, her eyes shining with an intense amber glow. She wore traditional Jedi robes. Her fingers twitched slightly, hovering near the hilt of a lightsaber hanging at her waist. Her posture radiated a sense of danger, yet there was an undercurrent of uncertainty to her, a wariness that hinted at the internal battles she might have been fighting.
Tyson approached the figure cautiously, his gaze meeting the amber glow of her eyes. She stared at him, her brows furrowing together as if wrestling with the decision to talk. "My name is Juhani," she admitted finally. Her voice carried an unexpected softness that sharply contrasted the harsh lines of her face. "And who might you be?"
"I'm Tyson," he replied, maintaining a careful distance. His voice carried no hostility, only curiosity.
Juhani looked at him skeptically, her tail twitching with agitation. "You stand here in the Grove where the dark side is strong. This is a dangerous place for one who does not control their emotions."
Tyson replied, "I'm in control of my emotions."
"Are you?" Juhani challenged, stepping closer. "I can sense the conflict within you. The dark side calls to you. Can you not feel its pull?"
His grip tightened on his lightsaber, "I can resist it."
"That is what we all believe," Juhani replied, her voice carrying a note of sadness. "I thought I was strong enough too... But I was wrong."
As Tyson listened to Juhani, he felt a pang of empathy. "There is still hope, Juhani. It's not too late to turn back."
"The dark side is not an easy thing to resist. I should know." Her hand drifted towards her lightsaber, her fingers wrapped around the hilt. Juhani's red lightsaber ignited with a harsh crackle. The illumination danced in her eyes, echoing the tainted aura of the grove. Tyson raised his hand, signaling to his companions not to interfere. He knew this was his fight to finish. A sense of quiet understanding passed between them as they stepped back.
With a flourish, Tyson drew his weapon, the distinct hum of his purple lightsaber slicing through the quiet tension. The weapon was an extension of his soul, a beacon of corrupted light that illuminated the surrounding darkness. An eerie silence took hold of the grove, disturbed only by the low growl of their engaged blades.
Juhani lunged first, her crimson blade slicing toward him in an aggressive arc. Tyson deflected her attack with a quick pivot of his wrist. Their blades collided in a sizzle of energy, casting an ethereal glow of violet and crimson around them. Every time their blades met, Tyson's weapon pulsed with dark energy, a striking purple that echoed the Corruption within him. Each clash sent a seepage of this energy into Juhani, the purple mist snaking its way into her form as if it were a living entity.
Juhani's blade swung with a ferocity that spoke volumes of her internal turmoil. This was a battle not just of physical prowess but of the very essence that constituted them. The Sith runes of the tainted grove bore silent witness to their struggle, the confrontation between two tortured souls, one trying to claw her way back to the light and the other grappling with the corruption within.
Tyson and Juhani clashed, their blades blurring into a storm of furious energy. The crimson and violet streaks of their lightsabers painted the grove in an eerie light. Tyson's technique was relentless. He was meeting every one of Juhani's strikes with a surge of his own, pushing her back step by step. His lightsaber pulsed with each successful hit, sending waves of purple corruption into her.
As their duel continued, the purple mist enveloping her form began to intensify, seeping into her movements, slowing her reflexes. She began to falter under the weight of the Corruption, her strikes less precise, her defense less steady. Overwhelmed, Juhani began to weaken. Her strikes grew sluggish, and her defense faltered. Finally, she dropped to her knees, her red lightsaber dropped to the ground as her body was cloaked in a shroud of purple mist.
As she knelt there, defeated and gasping for breath, Juhani looked up at Tyson. Her eyes were filled with a complex mixture of regret, defiance, and begrudging respect. "You... you are strong. Stronger than me, even in my darkness." Her eyes flicked around, drinking in the tainted scenery. "This is my grove. This is the place of my dark power. This is the place you have invaded." Her gaze fell on Tyson, a spark of resentment flaring in her eyes. "When I embraced the dark side, this was where I sought my solace. It is MINE!" Her voice rose in a crescendo, fueled by the pent-up anger and frustration within her. "When I slew my Master, Quatra, I knew I could never go back. And now I revel in my dark power. Power enough to crush the life from someone such as you... or so I had thought…" Her voice trailed off into a whisper, the final admission of her defeat echoing in the silence of the corrupted grove. "I have fallen, and dark power courses through my veins. I can never go back to the Council, so here I shall stay. What is it you want? Why do you bother me?"
As the mist of Corruption wrapped Juhani in its dark embrace, Tyson observed her with an unreadable expression. Standing over her defeated form, he broke the silence, "I was sent by the Council to cleanse the taint from this grove."
His words hung heavily in the air, and Juhani raised her gaze, her eyes flickering with a glimmer of surprise and resentment. Her voice was low in defeat and anger as she retorted, "The Council has sent you here to kill me? Why, then, when you bested me so easily, did you not simply finish your task? Is it not apparent that I can never be saved?"
Tyson, having observed her for a moment, allowed a dark smile to play on his lips. He felt the pull of his Corruption in Juhani, a resonance that was stronger than that of the dark side. It was an intoxicating feeling of dark power that he was all too familiar with. He lowered his lightsaber, extending an open hand toward her. "Juhani," he began, his voice layered with an undeniable persuasiveness. "You're not beyond redemption. Join me."
Juhani looked at him. She was teetering on the precipice of despair and hope, yearning to believe in the possibility of redemption, yet shackled by the chains of her past actions. Tyson could see the battle within her. He knew it all too well. And in that moment, his words resonated with an unnerving authority that stemmed from his formidable Social skill and the ever-present influence of Corruption.
His command was not a request. It was a compulsion she could not resist. And so, despite the turmoil within her, Juhani had no choice but to submit, to accept his offer.
~~Star Trek: TMG~~
Juhani's hand tightened on the hilt of her red lightsaber as she rose, the echo of Tyson's words and the lingering grip of Corruption still resonating within her. Tyson gave a nod of satisfaction, his actions were met with mixed reactions from his companions. Yet, none challenged his decision.
With a firm command, Tyson gestured for them to press on. Their journey through the grove resumed, the air becoming heavier as they delved deeper as if time itself held its breath in this place.
The team found themselves before a grand ruin. Each stone bore cryptic carvings, and the entire edifice held the promise of hidden knowledge and buried truths. It was in the heart of these ruins that they encountered a droid of a bygone era. It was time-worn yet remarkably well-preserved. Its metallic frame held the muted luster of antiquity, and its singular optic sensor radiated a ghostly blue light. Its voice, however, held the crisp and flawless articulation of programmed etiquette. As the droid began to speak, Tyson and his companions listened in silence, "My greetings to you. I am the keeper of this installation. My purpose is to serve the objectives of my masters. Is there a service you require?"
Tyson stepped forward to engage the ancient droid. The single, luminescent eye of the droid focused on him, the glow intensifying as if to match Tyson's intensity. "Who built this temple?" he asked.
The droid's artificial voice responded, its cadence not marred by the passage of time. "The master it serves built this temple. It was constructed eons ago by the Elders, who brought the Star Maps to the many worlds."
Intrigued, Tyson continued his interrogation, the recollection of the ancient game dialogue providing the script. "What can you tell me about the Star Map?"
The droid replied promptly, its narrative matching Tyson's expectations perfectly, as though it was indeed reading from the same script. "The Star Map is a navigation chart. The Master it serves used it to uncover the pathways of the Force."
Listening to the words from the droid, Tyson could feel the threads of his past life as a gamer, and his present existence intertwining. But the game was different now. It was his reality, and every spoken word, every exchange, was shaping the narrative of his life in this universe. The monotone timbre of the ancient droid's voice resonated in the stillness. "You have proven yourself worthy, the sealed door is open. If you wish to learn the secrets of the Star Forge, you must pass through the door to the room beyond."
Without a moment of hesitation, Tyson moved forward. The hulking, metal door loomed ominously before him, the intricate, archaic patterns upon its surface a remnant of the lost civilization that crafted it. It was weathered with time, the luster long gone, yet the aura of an uncanny power still hung in the air. The door slowly creaked open, groaning against centuries of disuse.
Stepping through, Tyson was greeted by an expansive chamber, grand in its ancient glory. A soft light filled the room, casting long shadows and painting an ethereal glow on the dust particles floating lazily in the air. His gaze was drawn to the far end of the room, where a large, intricate construct stood tall, a monument to the technological prowess of a forgotten civilization.
It was the Star Map.
A complicated array of lines and curves, bright with luminescent energy, danced across its surface. It was like a vast, cosmic puzzle, its secrets locked within the depths of the glowing symbols. The Map pulsed with unseen power, a silent heartbeat resonating through the room. This was the key to the Star Forge, an instrument of unspeakable power and danger.
Bastila fixed her eyes intently on the map. Her face was a picture of concentration as she spoke, "I believe there may be similar Star Maps on other planets. Each Star Map is likely a small piece of a larger puzzle." She traced the lines of the map and pointed at the different locations marked. "We must find the Star Maps on Kashyyyk, Tatooine, Manaan, and Korriban, and they should lead us to the Star Forge."
A ripple of bewilderment ran through the group. Mission asked, her voice filled with skepticism. "What's so important about this Star Forge?"
Bastila had turned to face the group, a solemn look in her eyes. She began to speak, her words echoing in the quiet of the room, filling the silence with the story of the Star Forge. "The Star Forge is not simply a shipyard, not merely a factory. It's far more than that. The Star Forge is an immense power, a dark relic from a long-gone empire. Its capabilities are not of this time. Its power is... unfathomable." Her eyes were fixed on the floor as if she were seeing the ancient past play out before her. "It's capable of creating vast fleets of warships. Yet, its power does not end there." Bastila looked up, meeting the eyes of her companions. "It's believed to feed off the dark side of the Force, to amplify the dark power within its wielder, molding them into beings of untold might... beings of merciless and ruthless power."
Her words hung in the air, the gravity of what they faced becoming a palpable presence in the room. She continued, weaving the dark mythos of the Star Forge, its allure, its past, its overwhelming power. The picture she painted was one of a looming threat, an ancient weapon that could bring about untold destruction.
"But we," Bastila said, her voice rising with conviction, "are the key to stopping it. We have to find the remaining Star Maps, to piece together this age-old puzzle. To locate the Star Forge and ensure its power does not fall into the wrong hands."
The weight of their mission had become all too real, the stakes clearer than ever. Their path was set, and their objective was clear. The Star Maps were their next target, and the Star Forge, their final destination.
With the tales of the Star Forge still echoing in their ears, Tyson and Bastila found themselves deep in discussion. They stood in the dim light of the Star Map, its soft glow illuminating their faces. They debated the first destination in this grand quest. Bastila's voice carried a hint of apprehension, "We should consider going to Tatooine first," she proposed, her eyes not leaving the map. "It's the most accessible of all the planets and its remote nature will allow us to remain under the Sith's radar." She reasoned further, her hands gesturing towards the planet's location on the Star Map. "Tatooine is a world of outlaws and smugglers. There's a strong chance we could find some information there that could help us. Moreover, its vast, empty deserts are perfect for hiding a Star Map."
The group fell into deep discussion as they considered which location should be their first destination. Kashyyyk, Tatooine, Manaan, or… Korriban.
AN: This marks the end of Mirror Tyson's individual story. Apologies, if this chapter wasn't edited as well as most of my current chapters. I need to get it out today to fit my self-imposed deadline. Thanks for sticking around for my little side story that ended up being twice as long as I intended lol.
The events of this chapter occurred concurrently with Episode 5.8 of The Next Gamer.
If you enjoyed this story, and read the main story, you'll be seeing Mirror-Tyson again soon! If you dropped the main story because of the writing or formatting, I encourage you to stick with it. IMO it gets much better around Episode 6.