He ran. It was all he could do as the screeching horde at his back sought to reach him. He could feel their foetid breath and the stench of their unwashed bodies filling the dilapidated corridor as the pale, grime-smeared bodies of the mutants fought each other for the right to kill him. He had stumbled upon them when he had been exploring the rusted ruins of what looked to be some kind of ancient leisure complex, the glow of his grubworm lantern bathing their hunched bodies in pale green light. He had been hoping to find several power couplings that were still in working condition but had instead found a slumbering nest of the nightmarish Forsaken.
The old stories claimed they had been people once before they had ended up here in the lowest, eternal night of the Underworld. Over the millennia the descendants of those people had begun to change, their bodies twisting into the mutated forms they now possessed. Pale-skinned and hunched creatures, near blind they should have died in the dark. If the Light had been merciful they would have, instead their other senses had evolved to allow them to survive in this living hell. He had seen for himself a pack of Forsaken tracking members of his clan with just their hearing and their sense of smell could pick up blood in the air easier than a hunting cat. Granny Tarsk, the ancient crone who led his clan, said they had been outcasts from the upper levels, thieves, murderers, rapists. They had been thrown into the dark abyss of the Underworld, the deepest levels of the eternal night that Coruscant had to offer and left to rot, never to see the light again. She said the change had begun slowly, gradually, piece by piece the Darkness had claimed them until only a fanged, mutated monster remained to haunt the ruined foundations of this accursed world.
It was a fate that awaited all of them down here in the dark.
A guttural screech behind him had him ducking as a pale body flew through the air, he could feel the Forsaken's ragged claws plucking at his tunic. He ran for the rusted wreck of the turbo lift he had used to get to this level; it had taken him hours to climb its pitted walls to the thirty-sixth level. Every other floor below had been blocked or so corroded that his instincts screamed at him that it was unsafe, and they had never led him wrong in the past. Now as before he jumped to the side, nearly tumbling as he narrowly dodged another flying mutant. This one he gave a kick to as he ran past, his booted foot snapping the creature's head back with a satisfying crunch. The doors to the turbolift were open before him and he pushed on, desperation giving him the strength to run ever faster. He could see the twisted length of cord rope he had tied to one of the exposed supports in the shaft and threw himself out into the open air towards it. His fingers clawed at the rope and he could feel the coarse fibres biting into his palms as he fell several metres, he ignored the sting as he watched a score of pale flailing bodies fall into the dark abyss below his feet.
The light of his lantern revealed several gnashing faces snapping at the air as he watched one of the Forsaken madly scrambling at the edge of the shaft, desperately trying to haul itself to safety, while more of its brethren tried to reach out and pull Jacen back in.
A sudden grin split his young face then as he reached up and grabbed the mutant's ankle, it gave a surprised yelp as he began to pull with all his might.
It gave a desperate shriek and kicked wildly, but Jacen's grip was like iron and he gave one last pull and its hold on the lift's edge slipped free. Its howl of denial still echoed in the confines of the lift shaft as a resounding, wet thwack reached him several seconds later and he grinned evilly at the nearly blind mutants still lingering in the doorway. "I'll say hello to your friends at the bottom."
With that he quickly abseiled down the shaft, the howls of outrage from up above echoing down to him but he could already hear more of their number rushing through the ruined corridors of the ancient tower. He would regret having to leave the rope behind, it had taken him nearly a month of harvesting the tough creeper vines that grew like weeds in the damp environment of the south lands and another on top of that to weave them together into something useful. He could only shake his head in disgust as his feet touched down upon the broken pile of bodies at the base of the shaft, their mangled forms nearly filling the doors to the elevator shaft. As it was he had to drop to his hands and knees and crawl through the small opening, grimacing as he felt the clammy grime-covered flesh beneath his fingers.
He went through feet first, it was a short drop to the cracked tiles of what had once been a lobby but he would much prefer not landing face first if he could help it. A quick look revealed that none of the Forsaken had beaten him here and he did not waste time in heading for the exit, the glass doors had clouded with age and the thick blanket of rustmoss hid everything from the light of this lantern. He rushed to the exit and carefully cracked the door, the bioluminescent glow of the grub worms revealed only the brown, barren soil that awaited beyond. Regardless of the Forsaken in the tower, there were other dangers in the darkness. A clanging followed by several howling cries had him cursing as he threw the doors open and without a second look took off into the twisting maze of the Underworld.
He would rather risk the potential danger of the unknown, than a certain grisly and no doubt painful death at the hands of the mutants. He did not stop running until he could no longer hear the howls behind him, and even then he did not stop moving. He had known too many fools who had thought themselves safe only to fall prey to the cunning hunters, that was one of the first things that he and his family had learned when they had been thrown into the dark. To stop moving is death unless you have thick walls and a weapon to hand.
He cursed his luck as carefully climbed over the rusted hulk of a support column for one of the ruined wrecks of what had once been a skytower; the clan had needed the power couplings for their water purifier. The workarounds that his father had rigged would last a few days, but soon they would fail and then people would start getting sick. It had happened before and would no doubt happen again, but the purifiers would postpone that at least for another few months. It was nearly a day's travel back to the compound from where he currently was, he knew that he could potentially roam further afield but he knew his mother would already be worrying over his whereabouts. He had been gone for two days as it was and his supplies were already running low, on top of that he had lost his rope, something that filled him with a sudden surge of anger.
With a growl, he sent another curse towards the mutated Forsaken. He refused to let the emotion go, as always it seemed to fill him, only seeming to grow stronger the longer he held onto it.
He pulled himself to the top of the support he had been climbing over. With a glance over his shoulder, he closed his eyes to the world around him, as he tried to focus his mind on his needs alone.
His mother hated it when he did this and had tried to get him to stop using what many called his curse, but right now he knew his people needed him to succeed. The lives and safety of nearly fifty sentient beings depended upon him and he would not fail them.
He focused on the furnace of anger in his heart, filling his mind with the image of what he wanted and he reached out. At first, nothing happened, he could feel nothing but the fiery swell of anger filling him. Until he caught a flash of an image, for an instant it filled his mind as he turned his head to the left and up.
His eyes snapped open as he turned to look up at the slanting column of the support revealed by his lantern, he could see nothing in the darkness around him but he knew with utter certainty that he could find what he was looking for in that direction.
The rage refused to leave him and he knew it would need an outlet soon, his curse had been growing stronger of late and the longer he held onto his anger the more likely it was that something would happen.
He could not control it, and he had tried, Light knew he had tried. He has spent countless hours trying to get the same sense of things that his anger provided him, but it was of little use. His anger allowed him to do more than just sense things, on occasion, he had been able to make things move.
He did not hesitate as he turned and ran, he moved with practised ease as he ran along the precarious platform the fallen support provided him. He clung to his anger as he moved, he fed it every hatred that he could find within himself as he clung to the fading impression he had gleaned only a few heartbeats ago.
He reached the top of the support, and in the glow of his lantern light saw the sudden drop looming before him. He could not stop himself in time and in sheer desperation threw himself into the open blackness, his anger fled him in an instant as he fell into the yawning abyss below.
His moment of terror was short-lived as he crashed into the rusted remnants of a floor within the tower the column had once supported and cursed himself for his idiocy, he knew better than to run blindly into the unknown. Here in the Underworld, it was a quick way of getting yourself killed. His mistakes only added fuel to the fire and his Curse suddenly roared back over him with a vengeance. He took off running once more, ducking under half-fallen panels and low-hanging conduit and cables before he even knew what he was doing. He ran through floor after floor of the tower until he felt his senses scream at him and he slid to a halt as he began to hear a rattling breath from up ahead.
His anger refused to leave him but he managed to stifle the burning fury of it, squashing it down until it was a bright sizzling ember that was begging to be unchained once more. He felt a cold sweat break out all over his body, it was becoming harder and harder for him to pull himself back from the brink each time he used his Curse.
Every thought. Every action seemed to be becoming tainted with the anger it roused in him and he hated it with a passion that only fed the fury it created in him. Another wheeze pulled him back to the here and now and his mind immediately supplied him with ever more hideous thoughts of what new nightmare waited around the corner. He was fully expecting the mutated hordes of the Forsaken to come surging around it and finish what they had not been able to do, but his eyes caught the faintest glow of red light peeking out from behind a scrap of black cloth that sealed the corridor.
He edged his way forward, carefully picking his way closer to the ragged cloth. Once he was close enough to peer through a gap in the fabric he felt his stomach roil at the sight beyond.
Cautiously he ducked underneath it as he held a hand to his nose against the stench washed over him as he looked down upon the grim sight before him. The black eyes of Weequay stared up at him, eyes that had long since clouded with death. He noted the carbon scoring that marred the greyish-brown lips of the Weequay and his eyes quickly dropped to find the battered blaster pistol that was still clutched in the alien's hand. He wasted no time in prying it from the vice-like death grip and quickly checked the cartridge to see how many charges it had left.
He cursed as he saw the depleted readout, he had at most a few shots at most. The stench that lingered in the room was nearly overwhelming and he doubted it came solely from the Weequay before him. A rattling wheeze pulled his attention to another curtained doorway, there he could just see the bare legs of another Weequay as they lay tangled in a pile of stained sheets. The dim red glow that emitted from a lantern beside the curtained door, did little to hide the sight that waited within.
Jacen felt his stomach roil once more as looked down upon the swollen and bloated figure of what had once been a sentient being. The thick brown skin of the Weequay, a female judging by what little he could see of her naked body, was pulled taut over her swollen body and had torn in several places. Blood that seemed a glistening black in the red light of the lantern covered her, and he found himself fighting the urge to vomit as his eyes found the deep puncture marks of a Forsakens bite. He had seen more than one of his clan suffer such a fate, there was no cure for the infected wounds caused by the mutant's bites. His eyes lifted from the wounds that were barely visible due to the inflamed tissue to find two black orbs that were leaking more glistening black blood as if in some grim mockery of tears.
"Mercy…Please! Mercy!"
Her eyes lingered upon the blaster he still held in his hand.
"Mercy."
The agonised plea tore at his heart. To put an end to her suffering would be a mercy, and he had seen it done far more than any young soul should have to witness. Yet his hand had never held the blaster before.
A part of him wanted to run from that place, to try and forget the sights he had witnessed. Yet he would not.
He was no coward, too weak to leave another dying in pain when he had the means to put an end to their suffering
Kneeling beside her Jacen carefully placed the muzzle of the blaster against the woman's temple as he stared into her eyes. He could not stop the tears that welled up in his mind as the Weequay wheezed thank you after thank you. Unbidden a nursery rhyme came to mind as he looked down into those black orbs, and he began to hum a simple tune that his mother had once sung to him.
The Weequay closed her eyes with a final word of thanks as his finger squeezed the trigger.
He took a circuitous route home, giving himself time to process what he had done. Death was no stranger to him, in the endless darkness of the underworld where the vilest scum of the galaxy dwelt, it was an ever-present shadow that hovered over them all. He had never had to take a life before, at least not in that manner.
He had killed in the defense of his home and his clan, those raiders that would have seen his people dead or worse. Yet that had always been a matter of self-defence, a literal kill-or-be-killed situation. His killing of the Weequay had been an act of Mercy, he knew that without a shadow of a doubt, yet the silence that had followed had been unsettling to him in ways few things had ever been.
It was almost as if he could no longer feel her. As if some great abyss had opened and swallowed her utterly. The strangeness of that sensation lingered within him and he felt as if he could not shake it no matter how much he knew his actions had been right.
He re-adjusted his pack, now full and digging painfully into his shoulders with each step after he had cleared out the small treasure trove of materials and parts that the Weequays had gathered. In the distance, he could see the looming walls of The Compound, lit with the greenish glow of grubworm lanterns. The place was a crumbling ruin, centuries, if not millennia old, yet it was home and one of the few places that could be called safe in this hellish existence.
His eyes alighted upon the permacrete pillars that held thick bars of durasteel that had kept his people safe ever since they had found this place nearly a decade ago. He had only been a boy then, little more than six or seven years old when they had followed Granny Tarsk's whispers of a safe haven. The gates, recently reinforced with razor-sharp spikes of reforged Durasteel and that he could see from here had been stuck open back then, the control mechanisms a rusted wreck that had taken them months to get working again. In that time they had been lucky, far luckier than any of them had expected but they had felt the eyes of others upon them. In the years since they had fought and bled several times to keep their haven, fighting mutants and marauders alike to defend their home.
Picking his path carefully through the open ground before the gates he gave two sharp whistles, a signal to the guards that he was back from his rangings. Immediately he saw the grime-covered face of a young twi'lek peeking out through a small grill in the gate.
"We don't want no strays coming to our door!"
Jacen just laughed at the words as he pulled his bag off of his back, it took him only a few seconds to pull out several glossy white tubers. "Devra, not even you would keep me away knowing I've got some sweetroot."
He grinned at the sight of his friend as the Twi'lek's eyes widened at the sight, it was a rare thing to find any of the sweet-tasting plant roots on this side of the old reactor. He had found a good supply amongst the Weequay stash and it would do no good among the dead so he had added it to his takings.
Almost at once, he heard the clicking of gears as Devra began to turn to hand crank, forcing the door to widen just enough for him to slip back through. Jacen wasted no time and hurried through the small opening, and would only let himself relax once the gate finally closed behind him. He turned to face his friend, the twi'lek was a year or so older than him but only came to shoulder.
Jacen held out a few of the tubers towards him, Devra wasted no time in snatching them from his hand and eagerly dug into their soft, sweet interior.
"How's everything been here?"
Devra took a few seconds to reply, happily finishing his last mouthful of the first tuber.
"Everything's been quiet so far. We saw a band walking along the other side of the Blackwater, but they moved on pretty quick."
Jacen frowned at that, the Blackwater was a large expanse of rushing water, that issued from a broken sanitation plant. It was not safe to drink, but they could occasionally catch the odd blind pipesucker eels that made the waters so dangerous. Nearly fifteen feet long the giant eels could generate enough electrical current to char a man in an instant. It was a risky business trying to catch one of the foul beasts, but if they could be caught they made for a filling meal, and the Blackwater a near-perfect protection on their southern flank.
The lands beyond were home to another clan, Redragni. Their two clans were typically on good terms with each other, and there had even been talks of their two Clans joining together under one banner.
His clan, The Baerward, had often provided aid to the Radragni when times had been hard, and the two had not long ago fought off a small horde of the Forsaken that had come tearing out of the darkness. Recently they had been hearing strange sounds from across the Blackwater, and as of yet Granny Tarsk had not dared risk sending anyone across to see what was going on.
Something about it gave him a bad feeling, he could not place it but he felt only a growing coldness whenever he looked across those waters.
"…your dad was looking for you…he said he was heading to the Great Elevator. Last I heard he was trying to get the…doors open again."
Jacen focused on what the Twi'lek was saying, piecing his words together around mouthfuls of mushy tuber.
"When did he leave?" There was an edge to his voice as he looked down at his friend, Devra even stopped eating as he raised his hands placatingly.
"Don't worry, he wasn't alone. He took Bernal and Terek with him, they each had a slug thrower with them."
Jacen let out a relieved sigh at that, the Great Elevator was a rusted relic. A reminder of a time when passage from the underworld was still possible, and the constant threat of the Dark and all the horrors it hid were only an inconvenience and not an ever-present shadow that hovered over their heads. It had been generations since the Elevator had been opened, let alone operational. There were legends of those who would climb its great shaft out of the underworld and into the light, risking death for the chance to be free from the lowest levels of the planet. It was also home to The Silent One, the largest Forsaken that the denizens of the Underworld had ever seen, making the great expanse before the old doors its hunting ground. Sightings of the monstrosity were rare and many did not believe the creature still lived, but the horror of the thing had been ingrained into all who dwelt in the Dark.
"Last I heard, Marrul was going to run some provisions out to them. If you're quick then you can catch her before she leaves."
Jacen gave a nod at his friend's words and took off at a run, his long legs quickly carrying him to the heart of the compound where his family made their home. His mother was there when he arrived, alongside half a dozen others. Several tattered piles of clothes lay at their feet as they worked diligently to mend the clans' worn and torn clothing. It was a common sight to him and he quickly leaned down to press a kiss to her cheek as he dodged the pinching fingers of the other women present as they laughed uproariously. He quickly made his excuses before they could start demanding questions of him, such as when he would choose a woman, or what his plans were for his future.
One insistent crone, kinswoman to Devra if he remembered correctly, kept pushing him about taking a wife, along with helpful reminders that her granddaughters were of an age to marry and reminders that the clan needed new blood.
He would only be half joking to say he would prefer a rabid band of Forsaken than dealing with his mother's knitting circle.
Dropping his haul in his room he quickly restocked his pack he quickly fled, much to the amusement of the women that had invaded his home, taking only his newly acquired blaster with him as he ran towards the main gate where he could see a huge hairy figure making their way along the main avenue.
The towering form of the Wookiee cut an imposing figure as she carried a pack with ease that would have needed two men to lift. Jacen watched as the tall figure of Marrul stopped to lift her hairy snout into the air, before turning to pin him with a stare. He ran to catch up to her as Marrul gave a low huff in greeting, as she slung a huge, hairy arm about his shoulders.
Her fur was recently groomed a far cry from the ragged and grime-covered mess it had been before he had left. The Wookiee had been invaluable to the Clan ever since she had joined them, she had become a surrogate mother to the many younglings that tended to follow her wherever she went. He had seen the Wookiee tear a raiding band of Forsaken apart when they had threatened her little band of followers.
Her rumbling growls and barking chirps fell over him and it took him a few moments to translate the Wookie's tongue in his head.
"Devra told me you were heading out to resupply my father. I hope you won't mind if I tag along, apparently the old man was looking for me before he left."
Marrul happily gave a bark of assent as the two of them reached the gate, the Wookiee seeming glad for the company.
He knew Marrul was young by Wookie standards, barely fifty years old; she had been taken from her homeworld when she was little more than a child. He had seen the white stripes that told a gruesome story across her back. She never spoke of what had happened to her in her past or of how she came to be here in the darkest depths of the endless night, but he had been able to piece together a picture of what had transpired.
From the small tidbits of information he had been able to glean from her, he knew she had been taken as a slave. Trandoshan slavers had found her small settlement and after days of ceaseless hunting of the adults, they had taken the youngest of the survivors and forced them into chains. From there her story was an enigma, he had never been able to learn how she had come to be here.
In truth he was glad for it, he had never met a more reliable being in his entire life. The two of them would often journey together when they stepped beyond the walls of the compound, they had saved each other's lives more times than either of them could count.
A shuffling of feet and a rasping wheeze pulled his attention away from his friend as he felt a hand grip his arm.
He spun to see the pale, wrinkled face of the Crone and felt his blood run cold.
Granny Tarsk, her face a wrinkled, toothless mass with two cold black and beady eyes glaring up at him from deep sunken sockets.
Her fingers were like bars of Durasteel as they squeezed his arm painfully.
"Beware the shadow, boy. I feel its fingers reaching out to you."
Jacen felt his back stiffen at her word. Granny Tarsk was a strange one, she had lived in the Dark all her life. Born into it from generations of outcasts, and some claimed it had given her many dark and twisted powers.
It had been her that had recognised his Curse. Her teachings had allowed him to tap into his anger and pain, and use it to draw out the strange perceptions his Curse provided him. It was said that she could look into the heart of any who stood before her and tell if they were going to die, something she called Falling into the Shadow.
He flinched as her other hand grabbed his hand, her long nails more akin to talons scraping across his skin almost painfully as she placed something smooth and hard into his hand.
"May it guide you better than it did me."
Her words seemed to echo in his mind, as she suddenly let go of him as she disappeared into the inky blackness beyond the light of the glow worm lanterns. He looked down at his hand and found a strange orb of metal, he could not tell its colour in the pale green light of the lanterns but he could not take his eyes from it as they tracked over a multitude of glimmering motes of light that made strange geometric patterns in the metal.
A gruff huff finally pulled his attention away from the orb as he turned to see Marrul staring at him in concern.
"Er…Sorry, Marrul. I…"
He trailed off as he gave his head a quick shake, feeling as if he had been startled awake from a fitful sleep as he slipped the orb into his pack with only a moment's hesitation.
"Come on, let's not keep the others waiting too long. You know how my dad gets if he doesn't get any grub paste."
Marrul gave a barking huff that passed for laughter and together the two of them stepped through the narrow gap that had been made for them, walking into the darkness with only a quick fleeting glance back towards their home.