Hey all! As I was reading through this story, trying to find a way to bring it back from the dead, the only way I could think to do that was to do a massive rewrite of the thing. This was my first ever fic, and I would love to finish this journey that I started so many years ago. I was quite young when I started this, and I have tried to hone my skills over the years. So here you are, the revamped, remixed, and (hopefully) much better version of a story I hold close to me.
Darth Revan. The very mention of this name echoed across the galaxy, instilling a profound dread in the hearts of even the most battle-hardened soldiers. It was not merely a name but a symbol of unparalleled terror, a chilling specter that haunted every corner of the universe. To those who heard it, Revan was no longer a man but the embodiment of malevolence, a force of nature capable of annihilating entire worlds without hesitation or remorse. Encountering him was often a fate worse than death—those unfortunate enough to cross his path were seldom afforded the mercy of a swift end. Instead, they endured weeks of unspeakable torture, their suffering prolonged until they had served their grim purpose.
The transformation of Revan from a celebrated hero to an unstoppable conqueror occurredo with such alarming speed that the Republic struggled to comprehend the enormity of the betrayal. Once a beacon of hope, Revan, along with his friend and apprentice Malak, returned to the galaxy's center not as saviors, but as the leaders of a formidable Sith armada. This armada, which outmatched the Republic's forces threefold, left a trail of devastation in its wake. Planets that Revan once fought to protect were obliterated, and the very people who once hailed him as a hero now lay dead at his command. Even the most sagacious Jedi Masters were blindsided by the depth of his descent into darkness, unable to foresee the full extent of his fall from grace.
Yet, perhaps this oversight was not entirely surprising, given the Jedi Council's own shortcomings. Their so-called wisdom, often touted as infallible, was little more than cleverly crafted rhetoric designed to control and manipulate their disciples. In truth, the knowledge the Jedi claimed as wisdom was but a drop in the vast ocean of the Force.
Now, Revan stood on the command deck of his flagship, gazing out upon the planet below with a contemplative expression. His arms folded across his chest, he looked upon Korriban—a world not seized through force or intimidation, but one teeming with his loyal acolytes. These followers, united in their shared lust for power and conquest, revered Revan as their leader, seeing in him the promise of victory and dominion over the galaxy.
The twilight of the Republic was upon them, a fading era giving way to the dawn of the Sith—a new age so tantalizingly close that Revan could almost savor its imminent arrival. Those wise enough to align with him would be spared the impending devastation, while those foolish enough to oppose him would find themselves pleading for death as a release from their torment.
He let out a cold, gravelly laugh—a sound so malevolent it could freeze the very blood in one's veins. Yes, the end was near, and soon his enemies would be ground to dust beneath his heel. Their blood would seep into the soil of the worlds he claimed, as the agonized cries of the vanquished reverberated across the galaxy like a mournful symphony.
His campaign of destruction would commence with the self-proclaimed sages of the Jedi Council. These so-called wise ones, who cloaked their counsel in riddles and prophecies rather than offering straightforward guidance, had long been a thorn in his side. They were ever cautioning against the Dark Side, yet failed to arm their students with the tools to resist it. They preferred to assess threats rather than take decisive action, always purporting to act for the greater good of all.
He scoffed at the notion. Ha! The Jedi, in their hypocrisy, were no better than he. True, he had sacrificed innumerable lives during the Mandalorian Wars. Admittedly, he had obliterated entire planets when he deemed it necessary. Yet, in his eyes, these actions were justified, mere steps on the path to a greater destiny.
In this looming era of darkness, Revan envisioned a galaxy reshaped by his will, where his vision of order and power would reign supreme. The time of the Sith was not just near—it was inevitable. And he, Darth Revan, would be its architect and sovereign.
The Jedi were indeed enduring the onslaught better than expected, a testament to their training and resolve. Revan had anticipated their resilience; his soldiers, though loyal, were hardly a match for the prowess of the Jedi. His intention was merely to exhaust them, to whittle down their defenses before confronting them himself.
The ship's tumultuous atmosphere settled into a tense silence, broken only by the distant hum of machinery. Revan felt the presence of the Jedi drawing near, their fear and uncertainty palpable even as they strove to maintain their composure. He drew strength from their trepidation, a cruel smile playing on his lips as he savored their unease.
The doors to the command center slid open, revealing four young Jedi. Revan's eyes flickered over them, recognizing their status as Knights—no Masters among them. It was typical of the Jedi Council to remain ensconced in their sanctuaries, sending these inexperienced warriors to face a Sith Lord. Despite himself, Revan felt the faintest twinge of pity. They were so young, barely adults, thrust into a battle they could not hope to win.
His gaze lingered on the lone female among them, sensing a potent, untapped power within her. She might be a valuable ally, a potential apprentice if he could sway her to his cause.
Sensing his scrutiny, she was the first to speak, her voice steady but lacking true conviction. "You cannot win, Revan."
Her bravado amused him. He laughed, a chilling sound as he raised his hand. With a casual flick of his wrist, one of her companions was hurled violently against the wall, the sickening crunch of bone echoing in the silence. The Jedi slid to the floor, lifeless, a trickle of blood marking his demise.
The remaining three ignited their lightsabers, the hum of their blades filling the room. They knew their only hope lay in direct combat, a realization that steeled their resolve.
"So, you wish to test yourselves?" Revan taunted. "Very well, I shall indulge you."
He unclipped his own lightsaber, its crimson blade springing to life with a menacing hiss. He stood poised, waiting for them to make the first move. The room was still, tension coiled like a spring, the only sound the rhythmic beeping of a nearby console.
Finally, one Jedi summoned the courage to advance, his weapon raised high. He struck swiftly, but Revan parried with ease. The Jedi's subsequent spin was clumsy, and Revan sidestepped, driving his blade through his opponent with lethal precision. He watched dispassionately as the light faded from the young man's eyes, his body crumpling to the ground.
"Pathetic," Revan muttered, turning his attention to the remaining two.
They stood united, their lightsabers held defensively. It had been some time since Revan had faced worthy opponents, and he felt a thrill of anticipation at the prospect of a true contest.
The male Jedi leaped over Revan, landing gracefully behind him, while the female lunged with surprising ferocity. Her power was raw, untamed—a promising prospect for a future apprentice.
Revan deflected her attack effortlessly, countering with a forceful strike that sent her staggering. As he spun to block the male's assault, he noted his lack of skill. This one would pose no significant threat.
The dance of battle continued, Revan's movements a blur of precision and power. Each clash of lightsabers was a testament to his mastery, a demonstration of the gap between a Sith Lord and these fledgling Jedi. Yet, amidst the struggle, he saw potential, particularly in the young woman whose strength, if harnessed, could serve a much greater purpose.
Revan reached out with the Force, calling the lightsaber of the fallen Jedi to his grasp. With a flick, the once-familiar blue blade sprang to life, a color that harkened back to a time when he had walked the path of light. Now, standing as a master of the dark side, he wielded the dual blades with the same ease and deadly skill.
The Jedi attacked from both sides, but Revan deftly blocked their strikes, holding them at bay. For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath as the three combatants stood locked in place, their lightsabers crackling against one another in a vivid display of power and tension.
Enough.
With a surge of ferocity, Revan unleashed his full might upon the Jedi, his movements a blur of lethal precision. His reputation as one of the galaxy's finest swordsmen was evident in every stroke—each movement a perfect blend of grace and devastating force. His attacks were as mesmerizing as they were deadly, a dance of destruction that his opponents struggled to withstand.
The male Jedi, lacking the finesse and skill required for such combat, faltered under Revan's relentless assault. His clumsy, predictable strikes were no match for Revan's expertise. With a swift, decisive move, Revan severed the man's hand, his scream cut short by another stroke that ended his life. Revan spared him no second thought, turning his full attention to the remaining Jedi.
She was different—an opponent worthy of his skill. Her prowess in the Force and combat made her a formidable adversary, and Revan found himself eager to test her potential. He would not let her share the fate of her companions. She was too valuable, too promising to be wasted.
Their battle was a deadly ballet, each attack and counterattack flowing seamlessly into the next. Where Revan struck, she parried; where she lunged, he evaded. It was a thrilling, dangerous dance that pushed both to their limits, and Revan relished the challenge she presented.
Suddenly, the ship lurched violently, throwing them both off balance. Revan's attention shifted to the window, where he saw the ship of his apprentice, Malak, turning ominously toward him.
Malak, you treacherous dog.
He watched as the cannons opened fire, the ship shuddering under the relentless barrage. The world around him exploded into chaos as the windows shattered, shards of glass flying through the room. A sharp, searing pain pierced his temple as a large fragment embedded itself in his head.
Revan fell to the floor, his vision blurring, his strength ebbing away. The last sight he saw before darkness claimed him was the young female Jedi leaning over him, her face a blend of determination and something else—a flicker of the potential he had sensed, now poised on the brink of an uncertain future.