Time for a bit of a palate cleanser, except for the action scene, which is not a palate cleanser at all and probably needs violence warnings on it. The song lyrics he quotes halfway through are from a song I’d like to write someday, if I can actually figure out how to form a metal band and write metal songs.
The music for the action scene is this headbanger of a tune from Corpse Party! One of those songs that makes me wish I could play drums!
And more importantly, I can stop using italics to represent ghosts in Murlesson’s POV now, thank goodness, that was getting tiring.
Part 30: To Sleep
Murlesson was completely out of it by the time they reached Ghen’s Outpost, and Andronikos, Talos, and Vany very quickly bundled him into their make-shift medical tent. He needed more medical care than was available out here in the wilderness, though, and as soon as they had looked him over and made sure he wasn’t going to croak in the next hour or so, they were back on the shuttle and headed to Voss City. There was a proper modern hospital there, one that could deal with weird things like “missing fingertips”. When Ashara was allowed into his room there, her first thought was that he looked really weird in white. He only ever wore black, edgy Sith boy that he was… and without it, he really didn’t look like himself. Though it was nice to see him all cleaned up and not stinky anymore.
Which made her wonder, not for the first time, how he would look and act if he ever decided to try being a Jedi. He would probably still be a sarcastic, blunt jerk, but he wouldn’t be the first Jedi to act that way and still be fine as a Jedi. And the Jedi had lots of history, too, so he could still study his passion on the other side, if he wanted to. Or just bring his formidable knowledge of the Sith over and share it, there were still so many Jedi who didn’t know what the Sith thought… and it could prevent others from ending up like Giri did.
She sat beside his bed, her hand on his shoulder to channel the healing power of the Force into him. He needed it, even after everything medical science had done for him; kolto and surgery and medications could heal a body only so far and so quickly, and it did absolutely nothing for the spirit. So she let her power seep into him, seeking out the worst damage and coaxing it back to wholeness, as well as she could. He was so deeply scarred, even her best efforts wouldn’t amount to much. But even a little was better than nothing.
She watched him, feeling strangely at peace now that she had him back, now that his Force sense was no longer that murky miasma of hateful Darkness – at least not completely. His soul was still dark and bitter like old caf, but that violet tinge that she’d never seen before lingered. And if she searched… there was his core, vulnerable while he slept, that little spark of hopeful light that had never quite been extinguished even through everything he’d been through. Maybe now he could begin to nurture it.
She hummed a little to herself from time to time, still watching him. It was really nice. She hadn’t had the chance to be close to him like this… well, ever. She never got the chance to just watch him sleep. Even Sabran’s presence, as they sat on his other side also healing, couldn’t bother her right now. Sabran was the kindest, least obtrusive person she’d ever met.
There was one time that he stirred, inhaling deeply and turning towards her, eyes barely open. “A… Ashara?”
He sounded groggy, and she smiled as she leaned over him, even though he wasn’t supposed to be awake yet. “I’m here. Everything’s fine.”
“W-what happened?”
“We’re safe in Voss-ka, don’t worry.”
“What’s… Voss-ka? Weren’t we… Salvara?”
She froze for a moment. He didn’t remember anything. …That was probably for the best, really. “I’ll tell you when you’ve rested more. Go back to sleep.”
“Hn. Don’t wanna.” But his eyes were closing again, his breath drifting away again.
So she hummed a little stronger, a slow pretty song she’d heard recently. She looked down after a minute to see tears streaming down his face from his closed eyes – just tears, thank goodness, no blood.
“What?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”
He shook his head, reaching for her hand with his own bandaged hands and holding it to his chest, rolling over to curl around it. “Don’t stop.”
Surely her thin little voice wasn’t affecting him so much he’d cry like he’d just had an emotional epiphany. But he kept crying, and crying, softly without sobbing, tears just running unstoppably from his eyes. “Mm, mm,” she said soothingly. “It’s all right to let it out. Let it all out.”
Because that was what this was, wasn’t it? Relieved of an incredible pressure, of a colossal struggle every minute to maintain control, his repressed feelings repressed even further in order to survive as long as possible – it was only natural that his body and soul should react this way. She reached over, still humming, and stroked his hair, smoothing it around his horns, sending as much of her energy to hold him as she could.
He slept, and he cried, and she sat beside him, even when Sabran left to go rest. She felt his mind wandering, dimly, and wondered if he knew yet how much he didn’t remember. Actually, she planned on telling him as little as possible, only the part where he fought all the ghosts. Maybe the part where she tried to fight the ghosts and failed so she had to beg him for help, but not all the terrible things they’d said just to try and get him in trouble. She was pretty sure half those things weren’t true anyway. Maybe he was only sixteen, but killing all the Sith and installing anarchy in their place? That didn’t make sense, even if the people who hurt him often happened to be Sith, and if there was one thing she knew about Murlesson, it was that he was logical to a fault. Anarchy wasn’t logical.
He slept even as Aristheron got clearance to have him transferred back to the Viper. Darth Severin wanted to interrogate him, but Aristheron managed to keep the nosy diplomat away, and Ashara was glad. Murlesson was in no state to bandy words with anyone.
Aristheron himself was off to the Kollyrion; he had to get back to business with taking over Salvara and… stuff. She was grateful, and thanked him on behalf of Murlesson, and herself, and the rest of the crew, profusely, but he put out his hand to stop her. “It was my pleasure to do this. It was an uncertain journey, and I am glad it came to a successful conclusion against such great odds.”
“Yeah,” she said. “You won’t tell Pyron yet, right?”
“No. I understand your reasons. I will take charge of Admiral Pyron until further notice.”
She nodded. “I hope your take-over of Salvara goes smoothly; I didn’t use to think Sith could be good governors, but having met you, I’d vote you for Emperor – if votes were a thing here.”
He chuckled softly. “I accept the compliment. Safe travels – and don’t go jumping off cliffs into vortigaunt nests. It’s needlessly reckless.”
She giggled. “I make no promises on that one, but thanks! You too,” she said, then turned to Sabran. “You’re going back with him?”
“Yeah,” they said. “I’ve done my part here, small though it was. I have… more to do, now that I’m recovering. Jan’s mission may be done, but I want to stay anyway, for a while. After reporting back to the Jedi Council, of course.”
“You can just do that?” she asked, making a skeptical face. “Just… go undercover, even though there’s no reason to do that like Janelle had?”
Sabran smiled serenely. “I’ve never believed in ‘sides’, just people. I know there would be a lot of people in the Republic, even among the Jedi, quick to cry “traitor!”, but… we’re not at war-”
“Yet,” Ashara put in; anyone could see war was coming back, and pretty soon, too. It was going to be sticky for her, wasn’t it? Since she didn’t want to go back without Murlesson, and she didn’t know what he would do. And she didn’t want to fight for the Empire. But she’d navigate that asteroid field when she came to it.
“-yet, yes, but… who knows? My master is dead and I must find a new purpose. And Aristheron hasn’t said he minds, yet. It seems I’m less aggravating when we’re not pushed into conflict against each other. So I will go where the Force blows and see what awaits me there, until my choices are narrowed down for me. …And I gotta get my hair fixed.”
“Sounds good,” Ashara said, laughing. “May the Force be with you!”
“May the Force be with you,” Sabran replied to her with a smiling bow.
“I hope Murlesson gets better soon!” Vany said, giving her a quick hug. “Take care!”
“Thanks! You too.”
Then the three of them went off into the Kollyrion while Ashara headed back to the others on the Viper.
The Viper was neat and tidy as always; Tuvee had managed to stay out of the way while Murlesson was possessed and had gone about taking care of the ship as usual while he was off in the Forbidden Lands, so Ashara almost couldn’t see any difference when she came on board. But there were fresh dents in the walls of the corridor up to the cockpit that Tuvee hadn’t been able to buff out yet, and she was pretty sensitive to the aura of the ship, having lived there for so long – she could tell where pain lingered that hadn’t been there before.
Fortunately, there wasn’t much angsty residue in his cabin, more than usual, anyway, as it seemed to be mostly concentrated in the cockpit. She managed to get him in his freshly-laundered nest with a sigh of relief. She was about to go check on her stuff in the crew quarters when she felt him catch her sleeve.
“Stay?” he mumbled sleepily.
She hesitated. It wasn’t right, he was only sixteen – but he wasn’t going to hit on her right now, right? It would probably be a big comfort to have someone nearby. “I’ll be right back. I gotta hit the refresher and get my stuff.” She’d been without a change of clothes for a few days, and it was nice to have access to her comfy clothes again.
And she couldn’t deny… it was nice to be in that bed again, it was way more comfortable than the crew quarters bunks. He was already looking better, his sleeping face peaceful across from her. This was what she’d fought so hard for.
He woke in a strange place again, not his cabin and not the place he’d half-woken up and heard Ashara’s voice say something about Voss, but this place was dimmer, cozier, and without the window streaming sunlight in. No windows at all, actually, and a vaguely comforting ‘canned’ smell to the air. He was in his pyjamas in a soft, comfortable bed.
His head was empty. The only thoughts in it were his own. His migraine was gone. His migraine was gone. He almost cried again, but he had the vague knowledge of doing a lot of that recently so he tried not to.
But his migraine. Was gone.
His body still ached all over, but it was a fading ache, barely anything to speak of after what he’d been bearing with for so long. He pulled a hand out from under the blanket and examined it. His unbandaged hands were still stained black, but… not as strongly, as if it was retreating, and his skin was no longer crumblingly dry. His fingertips had been replaced by synthetic caps, the join not entirely smooth, but invisible from a distance. They had a feel like latex, when he rubbed them together. There was no pain, only a dull ache, and since there were no synthetic nerves there was an odd numb feeling, from expecting full sensation and getting only pressure. But he was lucky to have his life, let alone his fingers, still. Surely the risks of saving him had been immense, and yet his friends came for him anyway.
Foolish, and sentimental – but he was grateful.
Ashara came in to the unfamiliar room just as he was stretching his senses further into this unfamiliar environment, noticing her approach and detecting others somewhere beyond; none of them were on alert so he supposed they must have been safe. “Hey! How are you doing?”
“I’m awake,” he said, and stretched and yawned mightily. “Which is certainly an unexpected state of affairs. Where are we?”
She grinned hugely, her eyes dancing. “We’re in your secret laaaiiiiir.”
“My what.”
“Don’t you remember?” She looked at him curiously. “You had me design a secret sanctum thingy under your cult on Nar Shaddaa.”
“Oh.” He vaguely remembered, but he hadn’t remembered what it looked like. The room was a soft medium green colour, and Ashara turned up the lights a bit so he could see it better. There were shelves all around, empty except for a few scattered holocrons that he recognized as being on his ship recently, and a personal work station set up to double as an entertainment station that could be viewed comfortably from the bed. Which wasn’t a normal bed, but a raised bed, similar to a nest the way he liked it, but properly made instead of just a mattress in a corner with pillows and blankets. The lights were warm and it felt very un Sith-like. “I guess it’s all right. I can tell you designed it, though.”
She snorted. “Ya, wait until you see the throne roooooom. I think it’ll fit your Sithy aesthetic. You did sign off on it, after all. This is just the apartment part that no one’s supposed to see except you and your very closest friends, like me. I thought you might want something that wasn’t gloomy all the time. Caf?”
“Gods, yes.”
She skipped away and returned in a minute with a mug of beautiful, blessed black elixir. He managed to get to a sitting position under his own power, and she sat on the other end of the bed while he sipped it. First taste and he closed his eyes and moaned at how much he’d missed just being able to enjoy the taste of things for their own sake, instead of pumping it in to keep himself going through difficulties.
“So… what happened?” he asked, when he was about half-way through.
“Hmm… What do you last remember?” she asked.
He flinched. “Agony. Darkness. Helplessness. Despair. Giri was dead, though. I know we got him.”
“Yup! But then – yeah, the ghosts took over. And then they jumped you from the tower…”
He listened as she rambled on about Voss, and Sel-Makor, and how amazing he’d been when he broke out of his mental coma, and how the others met them outside the ruins and carried him the rest of the way. He couldn’t remember any of it. Maybe… hazy images, from when he’d been wandering outside of his body. Aliens native to Voss, wailing in their native language, lamenting an ancient war… But he didn’t remember killing the ghosts. It disappointed him, and he glared into his caf. He’d wanted to enjoy killing them, tearing them apart with his mind…
“…Murlesson?” she asked.
He looked up, trying to reassure her. “It’s nothing. I just… wish I could remember.”
Her expression turned anxious. “I think it’s better that you don’t. You were in immense pain still, way past your limit, past anyone’s limit, and yet you kept going, because we didn’t have a choice. And you’ve been sleeping since, recovering, for like four days.”
There was a flicker in her sense. Was that the only reason she didn’t want him to remember?
He left that alone for now. “Well… I’m grateful you came for me.” He bowed his head. “It sounds like far too much trouble for one person.” He wouldn’t have come for himself. For her, though… Well… of course. But he wasn’t her.
“Well… you’re important to me. To all of us.” She shrugged, awkwardly. “We couldn’t just leave you. It was… too horrible to think of.”
He didn’t know what to say to that. He set down his empty mug on the sidetable and curled up against the back of the bed, staring at his hands in his lap.
“Is there anything you need?” Ashara asked quietly.
He shook his head. “I’m… fine.” He felt her starting to object and interrupted. “I don’t need anything.”
“Okay.”
She was confused – and he was confused, too. He should have felt amazing. His head was his own, his body his own, his friends were far too good for him, especially Aristheron, who had even less reason than the others, yet he still felt… tired and worthless. No, that wasn’t quite it, but he didn’t know how to describe it, only that he was just as sullen and cranky as he had been before.
Clearly something was wrong with him. Probably a great many things were wrong with him. And to realize that more hadn’t been fixed just by destroying the voices in his head… He would have been angry if it didn’t seem clear that it was utterly pointless. Everything was pointless.
“One thing’s different,” Ashara said in a tiny, nervous voice.
He looked up slowly. “What’s that?”
“Your aura… It’s not just Darkness, Darkness, and more Darkness.”
“You mean the…” The spark she had showed him before, that he still didn’t dare to speak of?
“No, not that.” She looked at him curiously. “You can’t feel it yourself? Your aura has this violet tinge to it now.”
“What?”
She looked even more confused. “Yeah?”
“No, I can’t feel it. You… see the Force in colours?”
“Yeah? I… thought that was normal?”
He had to chuckle a little. “Normal for you, perhaps. How many people have you consulted with?”
She deflated a little. “No one. Does no one else see it that way?”
“I don’t know. But now you know I don’t. Why violet?”
“I don’t know. Maybe your soul is violet. Mine’s blue and gold, though it’s not like I can just… activate it whenever I want. When I feel it, I know that I’m in the zone, though.”
“I don’t understand anything you just said,” he said. “Your soul… It’s light. And warm. But colours…” He shook his head. “No. I don’t see any of that.”
“Aww. That’s too bad.”
He snorted. “How do you see in colour when morality is grey?” It was a line from a song he listened to more times than was probably healthy. “No right or wrong, just broken hearts and minds…”
“Hm. I guess they have a point.” Ashara thought about that for a while. “I used to have a more black-and-white morality. As you know.”
“You still have a very strong morality,” he pointed out. “Don’t you, Jedi?”
“I hope so! But I’ve also tried to follow your example more, and to ask why people do things before judging them for it.”
“Well… good luck with that.” He flopped back, trying to figure out why his soul would be purple of all things. “The galaxy is broken. Morality is broken. I’m broken.”
“And fixing all those things is going to be hard, but I’m game to try,” she said gently.
“What’s the point, though?” he asked the ceiling. “Why me?”
“Because I love you, dummy,” she said.
He glared vaguely. “There’s no point to that. What is life, anyway, just an endless chase of dopamine and finding only disappointment.”
“Sure, there’s a lot of that, but… we have to keep trying anyway, don’t we?”
“Do we have to?” He rolled over and hid his head under a pillow. “You can if you want.”
“And what are you going to do?” she asked, trying not to sound indignant and failing.
“That’s the big question, isn’t it?” He didn’t know. He was cured of his condition but he was still broken, and angry, and worthless. “There’s no light at the end of the tunnel for me.”
“Then it’s a good thing we have lightsabers,” she said, backing down suddenly, making her voice and Force-sense gentle and patient – even a little teasing. “Hey. Give me your hand.”
“What for.”
“Just give it.” She held out her hand patiently.
He sighed and crawled out from under his pillow, putting his palm on hers. “You’re not going to show me the Light that hides deep inside me, are you? I know it’s there. I don’t need to see it again.”
“I think it’s important for you to see it again,” she said. “I know it hurts, and it’s scary. But I trust you, so you can trust me, right?”
He looked away. “Fine.” He sighed and closed his eyes. Their Force-bond shone between them, bright and stronger than ever before. He followed it, followed her, through the shadows, straight to the Light that hid in his centre. It was easier to find than it had been last time, and now it lay bare, leaving him feeling naked and vulnerable before her. He struggled with the urge to pull away and hide, just like last time, but she was holding him so gently, so lovingly, that he couldn’t commit to it.
He found tears running from his eyes again. “That’s not fair,” he said quietly.
“I can’t make a judgement on fairness,” she said. “But I love you, and that’s why I came to get you even though I knew I’d probably die, and you love me, and that’s why you saved me even when you couldn’t save yourself. This is why you should try to live, Murlesson. Maybe you can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel… but the Light is in you and between us – and that’s not a bad thing.”
“Jedi-speak,” he mumbled, trying and failing to be gruff.
She hugged him. “I know you’re overwhelmed right now. Just take it slow. You don’t have to decide anything yet. We haven’t told anyone you’re alive yet.”
He leaned his head on her shoulder, feeling tired again. “Aristheron knows, my crew knows… If we’re in my sanctum, surely Rylee and Destris know.”
“Yes, and also Vany and Sabran. They came to help too. But no one officially knows.”
“What are you suggesting?” She sounded like she had some plan in mind already.
“Well… you could… You could always leave.”
“Leave what? The Empire?”
She pulled back, fidgeting. “Forget all the Sith and the Jedi. Just… head out into the galaxy. Disappear. Thanaton doesn’t know you’re still alive again. This is like the third time, isn’t it? But we can make this one permanent. We can erase the records of your rescue on Voss-ka. He’d never find us.”
“Us?”
“Well, I’d come too, silly. I’m not leaving you that easily.”
He thought about it. She was pointedly not asking him to join the Jedi, though he could tell she wanted to.
“What’s keeping you here?” she asked.
His cult, for one – but he could hand that off to Aristheron as if he’d actually died. If he could give up his revenge against Thanaton and the Empire… “Well, I suppose the main reason I’ve stuck with the Empire is because they’ve been paying me.” She giggled. “No, I’m serious. I have a fleet, so they pay me to take care of it and use it properly. And some funding for the research that I do – not that I’ve done much recently.”
“So you could be a mercenary Sith lord?” she asked, still amused.
“I’ve never heard of one before, but… I suppose it’s possible, if you don’t make an enemy of someone like Darth Hyper-Control like I did… Still, every Sith will eventually fall prey to the same lust for power. And the Empire is the only place where the path of victory-through-power has been properly legalized and codified.”
“You say that like it’s a good thing,” she mumbled.
“Think about it. Would the Republic want me, even if I’ve never really fought against them directly? Would they give a fleet to someone they just met? And when they didn’t, would they allow me to keep one that I stole?”
“Well, no, because that really sounds ridiculous, and the Empire is silly for allowing it.”
“The Empire is silly, but I know how to use it,” he snapped back.
“You do,” she said. “But you know other things too. Like, say, how to navigate the underworld. You don’t have to just go to the Republic. Pick a third option, y’know? Sure, you can probably get therapy much more easily in the Republic, but you’d also get notoriety way too easily even without looking for it. I mean if you want to go there, I’d be thrilled to go with you, but I actually think that you don’t need either of them right now. And – even if you had to give up all your power with the Empire, you’d gain a lot of freedom. We could go looking for tombs. You don’t even need to do it for the money, you still have tons. Maybe everyone else would come along just for the fun of it. You wouldn’t be alone.”
That was tempting, achingly tempting.
She got up. “I’ll let you think about it. I don’t wanna be a bother.”
“You’re not a bother,” he said, and reached out to catch her arm. “Wait. Please.”
“Yeah?”
“You’ll stay with me, right?” That was the most important thing. If he lived, it was going to be because of her.
She hesitated. “Yes, but…”
“What?” he demanded, suspicious. Something was up, she’d been treating him differently since he woke up and it couldn’t just be explained by what she’d told him.
“Well… the ghosts said something, before you killed them.” She fidgeted again, twisting her fingers together. “They, um, said you were only sixteen.”
“Am I? I don’t even know. How do you know they were right?”
“Well… I don’t.” She was uncomfortable in the face of his anger, and he… shouldn’t have taken it out on her.
“What else did they say?” He might as well know it all, so he knew what to be paranoid about.
“It’s nothing,” she said quickly. “A lot of it was nonsense, and they were clearly just trying to get you in trouble, to make me give up.”
“Like what? Tell me. I need to know.” She could at least give him the chance to defend himself.
“Well… One of them said you tricked me into joining you. That you hired the very assassins that you saved me from.”
His hearts froze in his chest. They’d probably told her everything. Every black secret he’d never wanted shared with another soul, and now Ashara of all people knew it all. This was a nightmare he hadn’t imagined he’d have to deal with even if he did survive.
She read his silence and her eyes grew wide. “Wait, they were telling the truth on that one?” He could tell she was thinking over whatever else they’d said, re-evaluating it-
“That one,” he gritted out. “But- but I’ve changed since then!” Force, please- “I really have. I’m sorry I did it. I… You wouldn’t have spoken to me back then if I’d just asked. I wanted to make myself look like a… a hero. Kind of. I could have found another way, I know that now. But now… now we both know better, right?”
Her eyes softened, and he felt the tension relax between them. “Yeah. I was pretty stubborn, and I didn’t know you. I still wouldn’t trust any other Sith lord, except Aristheron, but… You know what? Like I told them, I don’t care. I don’t care what you did in the past. I still believe in you, and I love you, and we can make a better future together.”
She was so beautiful and earnest, and her feelings were overwhelming him. She’d been changed by rescuing him, he could see it in her eyes, changed as much as he had been. And she was forgiving him, and that was a weight lifted from him as suddenly as it had been thrust onto him. “Yeah.”
“But I’m not sleeping with you until you’re eighteen. That’s what I was going to say. I’ll stay with you, in your bed, even, but I’m not going to have sex with you for a little while.”
He gave her a sarcastic look. “So you’ll accept me fighting for my life, working two full-time jobs, murdering people whenever necessary, but not having sex? After we already did it?” The irony was killing him. This was as ridiculous as not being allowed to drink on Dromund Kaas. And now that his head was quiet and he could come into physical contact with her whenever he wanted – he’d wanted to hold her, and kiss her, and actually have the chance to explore things at their own pace, or maybe slightly faster because who knew when he’d actually die for real next, and now she was putting it all on hold for such a silly-
“Just because you don’t have a choice about those other things doesn’t mean you have the emotional maturity-”
“I’m sorry, are you calling me emotionally immature?” Coming from her-
“I’m not comfortable with it,” she said firmly, backing up verbally and physically. “I don’t regret doing it that one time, but now that I know, it would bother me. It wouldn’t be right. And don’t try to trick me or force me or beg me into doing it, or else I really will know that you’re immature.”
He tried not to growl, or huff, or fold his arms, but this was really irritating. Of all the things that could have happened, this wasn’t one he predicted. And how like her, too, to focus on that instead of ‘you could have killed me’. “Fine. But how will you know when I’m eighteen?”
“Ummm…”
“Drellik!” he hollered towards the half-open door.
“Ah! My lord! Coming!” He heard the sound of a scramble from somewhere outside, and Drellik appeared in the door, beaming. “Sorry, my lord, I was just in the lounge, doing some reading. It’s good to see you awake!” He looked back and forth between them, between Ashara’s sudden blush and Murlesson’s grumpy look. “…What can I do for you?”
“Do you have the records from the Netokos estate?”
“Why, I’m not sure. I will have to check.”
“If they’re not among my files somewhere, get them. Use Liiddi if you have to. And then look for the acquisition of all male Zabrak slaves from the last five Commenorean years and send me the details.”
“Er… yes, my lord!”
“That’s all,” Murlesson said. “Uh. It’s… good to see you too.”
Drellik smiled as he saluted, spinning energetically on his heel to go do as he was told.
“Will it have your birthdate listed?” Ashara asked anxiously.
“Probably not,” he said. “But it will list an age. I can always take the date of acquisition as a rough estimate. It was almost four years ago, and if I was at least thirteen then… I bet I’m closer to seventeen than you think.” Oh, real mature, rounding his age up.
“But that’s so depressing!” she said. “You can’t take that as a birthday. What about… Life Day? It’s coming up in a couple standard months, you wouldn’t have to wait too much longer to have a birthday. Oh, but then you’d have to deal with all the people who give you combined Life Day/birthday presents…”
That cracked him, and he laughed. “Ashara. No one even gave me presents until I took my freedom, and even of those, very few have come without ulterior motives. I’m not worried about not getting enough loot.” Besides, he could buy himself whatever he wanted, if it came to material possessions.
She giggled. “Well, okay then. So. You’re seventeen next Life Day?”
“You agree to that?”
“Are we negotiating your birthday?”
He tilted his head. “You agree to that?”
She giggled again. “All right. Oh, this is why I love you – you’re hilarious!” She swooped in to kiss him, and he first froze and then melted under her touch, fighting the urge to fling his arms around her and crush her greedily against him.
Instead, when she let him go for air, he stroked her cheek with his fingertips, even though he couldn’t properly feel it anymore. She was gorgeous when she smiled, her brown eyes laughing, her face and presence relaxed and warm. “And I love you for being bright, and brave, and bold. Thank you for rescuing me. …And for giving me a reason to live, fifteen months from now.”
She snickered. “Birthday sex, huh? I guess there are worse reasons.”
“I’ve had worse reasons,” he said sardonically, and leaned forward to get another kiss. At least he could kiss her. He would accept that.
He spent time thinking all that day, and dozing, just enjoying – was this what normal people called a holiday? He didn’t have to work, he didn’t have to study, he didn’t have to fight – for the first time in his entire life, he had nothing to worry about. His pending decision would change his entire future, but he didn’t have to think about it very hard yet; Ashara urged him just to rest, and relax, and suggested that they watch a holodrama after dinner and he got to pick which one.
Too much of this and he’d go insane from boredom, he could tell already, but at the moment it was the most welcome thing he’d ever had. He spent a lot of time just staring, feeling his head from the inside and marvelling at how it didn’t hurt anymore. Soon enough he’d take it for granted again, but right now the novelty hadn’t worn off yet and he liked it. Especially since Ashara was basically waiting on him hand and foot; that was definitely an anomaly that wouldn’t last, but at the moment it seemed to make her happy to do it for him. She even gave him a haircut; it had been a while. They rewatched a couple of old episodes from Voyage Among the Stars after dinner, and he fell asleep holding her hand.
He actually got up the next day, exploring the rest of his ‘secret lair’ – it was just as cozy as he’d guessed, with tasteful use of colour and clean, efficient lines. He had some work to do filling up all the empty shelves, though. He’d always intended to bring the best of his collection here, but had not yet sat down to pick out what the best was. He’d have to check the catalogue from his Commenor operation.
And the ‘throne room’, as Ashara called it… It really was a throne room, a glossy black chamber with a towering, rather spiky throne in the middle of it, big enough to hid the entrance to the apartment behind it. Secret rooms within secret rooms… he liked it. He also liked the massive bank of viewscreens that descended from the ceiling so he could monitor everything in his private domain at once – and then some. If he wanted to make full use of this, he would have to expand his operations.
And part of him wanted to. Part of him wanted to dive right back into that deadly game he’d won a reprieve from, to steal power bit by bit until the galaxy was no longer truly controlled from Dromund Kaas but secretly from this room on Nar Shaddaa. …But he’d probably need a lot more viewscreens for that.
And he didn’t have his ghostly safety net anymore. If he went back into conflict with Thanaton, he would do it with only one life, without the chance of reviving after a death caused by the Force. It was… just something else to keep in mind.
Part of him really wanted to take up Ashara’s suggestion. He might even consider her unspoken wish to try joining the Jedi – but that would need a lot more thinking about, a decision that could be made once he decided whether or not to break from the Empire in the first place. But her description of freedom was very tempting. It was true that he could probably keep them safe no matter where they went. Change his name, change his tattoos, mind-trick anyone who recognized him, go on practical archaeological expeditions for no one’s benefit but his own… What a life that could be!
He thought about it, and felt the spark inside him grow a little. It was weird.
“I think I’m a little bit high,” he said to Ashara while wandering about his throne room.
She laughed. “What makes you say that?”
“Endorphins,” he said. “I’ve never had so little pressure while recovering from injuries, and I think my system is entirely flooded right now.”
“So that’s why you’re acting so out of character,” she teased him. “You smile so easily now.”
He smiled. “I feel good. Better than yesterday, at any rate. This chamber is beautiful. You did an excellent job.”
She grinned at him, practically glowing. “I’m glad you like it! You can change the light colours, too. So you can make it spooky red, or spooky blue, or spooky green, not just spooky white.”
“But I can’t make it less spooky, can I?”
“It’s got black gloss metal panelling, spooky is the default setting.”
“So I could have a spooky rave if I wanted to.”
She laughed. “I’d be down for it. There’s a sound system included with the viewscreen display – I meant it for, like, if you want to do holocalls ‘in state’ or whatever but I’m pretty sure it can handle club mixes too. And no noise complaints down here!”
“The only issue would be – where do we put the bar?”
She let slide the implication that he’d be drinking and laughed. “Now I know you’re high. You don’t even like alcohol that much.”
“Well… I don’t like losing control. I don’t mind alcohol.”
“Right.” She watched him wander around for a minute or two more before blurting out: “So… um… have you thought about…?”
“A bit,” he said. “I need more time.” He paused. “It’s frightening. Once I commit, there’s no turning back from any of the paths before me. Not really.”
“Yeah. I should just let you know that Aristheron wants to know, because he’s taking care of Admiral Pyron right now and if he puts off officially taking command of him for too long people will get suspicious.”
“I thought as much. But I can’t give an answer yet. …But Rylee and Destris know, don’t they?”
“Would you like to talk to them privately?”
“I would, if they can contain themselves. Can Destris really be trusted?”
“Probably? He’s scared of you, you know.”
“True; even if I’m in a good mood and don’t feel like killing him, Xalek can always be trusted to take care of it.”
She made a face. “I feel like I shouldn’t have heard that. Do you wanna meet them here for effect?”
He grinned. “Sure.” He pulled his hood up to overshadow his face and made his way over to the throne to lounge in it. He really wasn’t comfortable with calling it a throne. Thrones were for oppressors and pompous fools. But then again, he was a ruler over his people; he had authority, he had power, and it was a not-so-secret delight to revel in it. If he didn’t have one, would he truly be on a level with the Sith lords who did?
The elevator took a long time; he remembered that he’d had this place built much deeper than most people currently lived on Nar Shaddaa, close to the moon’s forgotten true surface, but he’d never actually taken the elevator while conscious. It seemed to be forever she was gone, at least ten minutes, and he knew there weren’t any stops on the way… But when he was starting to get bored, the door dinged and opened, and Rylee, Destris, and Ashara got off. Rylee’s face lit up with joy. “Oh, Master, you look so much better! It’s so good to see you again!”
“Yeah, you look proper boss-like, in a place like this, too,” Destris said, looking around with approval.
He rose as they approached and made the Chraemmeft Scukri to them; they made it back with a low bow. “I am better. Thank you for looking after my people while I was unwell.”
“I could hardly believe it when Ashara arrived and said you were alive, after the last time we saw you,” Rylee said. “We’d been praying and praying, but we didn’t hear anything for so long… Will you be staying with us for long, Master?”
“Perhaps,” he said. “I have not made up my mind as to my plans for the future, but I require more time to recuperate and I would like to do it among my own people. And perhaps you would like to know that your prayers helped.” Even if just a little… but he’d needed every single advantage he could possibly get, at the end there.
Rylee clasped her hands in front of her, smiling fit to burst. She looked like she was holding herself back from tackling him, and he was glad that she had enough sense not to touch him and make everyone uncomfortable. “That’s wonderful, Master! I’m so glad we could be of use. Would you like to see what improvements we’ve made, in person?”
“I would be delighted, but tomorrow,” he said. He was realizing he’d rather missed them, and he was in danger of further eroding the distinction between them that had begun to dissolve after he told them he was dying. They couldn’t be allowed to be his equal friends, if he were to continue to be their Master. That wasn’t how cults worked. But they were familiar, and friendly to him, and in his oddly relaxed state he found himself trusting them far more than he knew was good for him. He just… couldn’t be cynical today. They seemed to like it, at least. “I would like to stay down here for today.” He didn’t have the energy to get mobbed by his followers.
“I completely understand,” Destris said. “Even for you, it must be very hard to recover from dying. We shall make preparations.”
“Discreetly,” Rylee said. “We know you don’t want Darth Thanaton finding out you’re still alive.”
“Again,” he said dryly. “Thank you. I’m looking forward to it.” He paused. “I didn’t actually die this time, you know. I only came close.” Perhaps he’d passed through death, while his soul had been out of his body, but did that count? One for the philosophers, perhaps.
“Oh,” Destris said. “Oh, that makes more sense. Even so, you get your rest, Master. It can’t be any ordinary thing to almost kill you, not after what you said to us before.”
“I can’t wait to show you the shrine!” Rylee said, clapping her hands.
“Er.”
Ashara stifled a grin. “I saw it, it’s quite something.”
Gods, this was going to be embarrassing, wasn’t it? “I look forward to it. Tomorrow, then.”
He woke early the next morning, and crept out of bed without waking Ashara. He was feeling better than ever. Today he was going to try sparring with Ashara for sure. He was certain he could give her a run for her money, even though he hadn’t really practised technique in weeks. Sheer energy would make up for it.
And then… he really ought to decide what to do. He settled into his throne with a mug of fresh caf and pulled down the viewscreens to observe his domain. Even if he left it all behind, he would miss this. Maybe he could get a bigger ship and install something similar? But what would it watch over? Could he actually become a mercenary, a warlord, independent from both major governments? Perhaps he would have to explore the Unknown Regions in order to avoid tagging Thanaton’s interest with such an undertaking, but that wouldn’t be the worst thing for him to do.
His problem was he was just too ambitious. But really, he couldn’t be blamed. He’d devoted so much of his time and energy to learning how to wield political power that he wasn’t sure what else to use it for, and staying small with what he had seemed like a waste.
A dim conversation floated from the dregs of his memory… something about what he would do if he could do whatever he wanted. To sleep – well, he’d finally gotten to do that. To hold Ashara – she’d let him do that without reservation in a bit over a year. To read whatever he wanted, for as long as he wanted… Yes. Would Drellik come with him if he quit the Empire? Ashara would, happily, but he would love to learn more from Drellik as well. So… he did know what else to spend his time and energy on. The hard part was making a plan that would allow him to do it in peace.
Still, no matter what he ended up doing, he was a long way from the angry, frightened slave boy he’d used to be.
One of the viewscreens was attuned to private communications between the upper administration of his cult; Rylee, Destris, and their closest counsel among the senior cultists, and it was about the only thing that updated continuously. The Commenor screen updated much more slowly – that office was much more focused and much more professional, only sending messages when necessary. The screen that would normally communicate with the Acrimonious was dark; if he didn’t know he was coming back, he didn’t need it yet. Still, he idly wondered what Pyron was up to.
A sudden flurry of transmissions from the cult caught his attention – and electrified his whole adrenal system. He had to sit back and take some deep breaths, to try to still his suddenly trembling hands. It didn’t work.
He tapped out a quick message – ‘dont send the troops, ill take care of it’ – and crept silently back to his room. There was his doublebladed lightsaber, black and gleaming, unworn for days. He’d be wearing it now.
The elevator was waiting for him, and he tried to calm himself on the swift but long journey to the top. He couldn’t lose control now. The situation was much too delicate for that.
But he also couldn’t suppress an eager smile. He’d wanted to test out his strength in combat today. He was going to get that.
He snuck out of the cult headquarters easily, following the streets away, away, down a little, into a poorly-lit semi-industrial area. Graffiti spattered the walls, scrawled in paint, blood, and the Force. Piles of trash had accumulated in every corner, rotting and sticky with unknowable substances. His hearts were pounding. This was unreasonable. This was…
He was going to lose control. There was no question of that. But he had to rescue the kidnapped cultists while he did so. He reached out into the world around him, touching souls and turning away as they turned out to be irrelevant.
There. An abandoned warehouse park. Armed sentients hiding in the shadows, all humanoid from the feel of it. Clusters of frightened sentients inside shipping crates, their despair wailing silently into the Force. Far more than Destris had reported abducted, and with a particular, horrifyingly familiar tinge…
This was a slaving operation. Practically on his doorstep – they hadn’t been here a month ago. A sharp, snarling smile split his face. He didn’t know who they worked for, and it really didn’t matter, no matter how powerful they were. He might not be able to end slavery in the galaxy. He might not even go out of his way to rescue slaves, even to save others who might endure the misery he and his peers had gone through in his youth, as Aristheron had once told him.
But his people would not be put through what he’d been through.
He pulled his hood over his head and stepped forward into a spotlight in front of the first warehouse. Someone barked an order in Huttese overhead, and another spotlight swivelled over to join the first. A trio of guards approached him. “If you’re not lost, get lost, buddy.”
He laughed.
“Somethin’ funny, sicko? Kriffin’ loony-”
Murlesson lunged, lightsaber roaring to life, and all three of the guards fell in pieces on the ground. And he stopped, staring at the blades of his saber. They had been… ordinary, before, a lethal scarlet glow powered by Qixoni crystals, which though rare and powerful had given off a fairly standard Sith colour. Now the centre of each blade was black, and he felt Darkness roiling within the hilt, confined within those crystals. Something had happened to them while he was AWOL.
Something to investigate later. From around and within the warehouse came shouts, and blasterfire, and the sound of running boots. Murlesson rolled his head back and forth, cracking his neck, rolled his shoulders for good measure, and sprinted forward. Black hatred boiled up from deep within his soul, long stifled, now let loose with a vengeance.
There were only thirty-two more hostile presences on the grounds, all converging on the warehouse he found himself within, dashing through doors on all sides. It was almost disappointing, he mused through the haze that clouded his rational mind. It would be too easy, over too quickly. They were yelling to each other in Huttese and Basic, coordinating with and without commlinks, moving to surround him as completely as possible, on all sides and from above as well. His eyes flicked up and around, taking in their locations and the terrain. Catwalks, containers, piles of scrap and debris, unlabelled barrels, cranes and pulleys – he registered them all in a blink.
Angles and trajectories flowed through his head as he skidded across the smooth duracrete floor, deflecting a few shots and slipping around others. A simple push into their minds and they wouldn’t see him coming, let alone be able to shoot him, but where was the fun of that? He bared his teeth in a feral grin and reached out. One Gran came flying through the air towards him, taking almost a dozen shots of friendly fire before Murlesson hurled the smoking corpse back in the direction it came from, hitting two others and knocking them to the floor under the body of their comrade. He tossed his lightsaber like a javelin, yanking a Bith forward into it and then tossing the impaled body backwards into a human, blocking another three shots with his bare hands in the meantime. He’d forgotten his gloves but it didn’t even matter; the Force protected him completely, his stolen power and dark rage bringing him to new heights of control. Grenades he batted away without even looking, and they dove for cover.
And then his lightsaber was back in his grasp. He vaulted a waist-high duracrete barrier and found a group of four within melee range. Two of them tried to run, but his saber hummed hungrily as he swept through them all, sending pieces of limbs and weapons flying. He might not be Aristheron’s equal, but it didn’t matter. These men couldn’t counter him. So now… what was he capable of?
Anything.
He sensed seven of them spread out over a catwalk up on his left, and leaped the three-story jump easily. The first one got bisected as he backed away; the second and third got zapped, standing so close together. He was running forward down the catwalk, reckless yet utterly certain of himself. He spun his lightsaber as he charged, slashing the railing into pieces and picking them up with the Force as he went, hurling them into the next three enemies like javelins. The last man, a human, he gave a Force-push, throwing him into the railing hard enough to break his back before he fell the three stories to land on his head.
They were still firing at him from the ground and he slashed the supports of the catwalk above him and in front of him, and it snapped, giving him a thrilling ride down to the floor of the warehouse. Two Twi’leks had been unlucky enough to get their bolts deflected right back into themselves – he hadn’t even been aiming for them, there were too many incoming shots for him to coordinate that.
They broke and ran. It had been only thirty seconds and they were at less than half-strength. “There will be none of that.” He picked up an empty shipping container and flung it over the back exit, crushing the one slaver who made it there, shoved a forklift in front of the left side door, and crumpling the right side door enough that they could see out but unless they had Wookiee strength or a heavy-duty cutting implement, they weren’t getting out. There was only the front shipping entrance, behind him. Now they were the ones stinking with fear. They reminded him of the guards from Netokos’s compound, Krznaf, Melcran, Wimgree, and the rest; they had been beneath him when he broke out and they were beneath him now.
But Sithspawn it felt good to crush them.
A human and a Gran charged at him, screaming hysterically; he reached out randomly, grabbing a piece of sheet metal from one of the piles of debris and swatting it across before him; their headless bodies collapsed in front of him.
“Wait, wait wait wait now,” called one of them, a Zabrak like him, lowering his gun and stepping forwards as the blaster fire tapered off. That must have required immense courage – or immense stupidity – so Murlesson paused, waiting to see which one it was. His skin was a lighter red, his head was bald, and his tattoos made a gaping black maw around his mouth. “Lord of the Sith. We can’t stop you. We’d like to surrender. What is it that’s made you angry with us?”
“You took my people,” Murlesson said, his raging fury barely in check enough to be sarcastically polite.
“We’re very sorry. We didn’t know. We’ll let them go immediately.”
Murlesson hissed. “As if that can save you now. I know your kind.” Hatred blurred his vision but power surged through him as he bared his fangs and pushed.
The Zabrak’s head exploded. Another kind of push and his body went flying backwards into a pile of pink glowing goop oozing out of the container he’d thrown at the back door; the goop made a gulping noise and the body quickly disappeared into it.
One of the remaining humans had been frantically working on the door of the closest shipping container, and had finally managed the dexterity to unlock and open it. Reaching inside, he dragged out a vaguely familiar figure – Khi, the Rodian with the red-and-black mohawk – and pressed a blaster pistol to her head while she blubbered in terror. “If you care so much about these schuttas, let us go or we’ll fry ’em all!”
Murlesson shrugged. “I mean, if you want to make it easy for me…”
Khi flinched and screamed as the blaster went off next to her head, but the slaver was the one who collapsed; Murlesson had nudged the blaster a little further and pulled the trigger himself. Khi crawled back into the container, shivering, which was the best place for her at the moment. There were still ten – eleven slavers trying to get out and away.
He clotheslined three of them on the other catwalk with a chain from a winch, winding it around them and hoisting them into the air fast enough to leave bloodstains on the ceiling. The rest, whether on the catwalk or the ground… Lightning, lightning, lightning, blunt object, sharp object; he froze the last three in place and walked up slowly behind them, bisecting one, beheading the next.
He stopped behind the last one, a human wailing softly to himself. “Who do you work for?”
“S-S-S-S-S-Sturch M-M-M-Mid-d-d-danyl,” gasped the human. “P-p-p-p-please-!”
The name meant nothing to Murlesson, but at least he had it. Probably. It was hard to understand through the stammering and the chattering teeth. He squeezed, crushing the slaver’s heart inside him.
Then there was silence except for the pink ooze burbling, and the occasional dripping noise.
He sheathed his lightsaber. It had all been too easy. He was completely unscathed. This was no test for him, their ignorant, greedy evil no match for his hatred. High on endorphins, high on an adrenaline rush, the thrill of death running through him and giddy with power, he wanted more. His eyeballs were vibrating with the force of his emotions as they rampaged freely. He was in full command of incredible power, of his body, of his mind, and it felt good to exercise it.
If he ran off into the galaxy to hide, he would never be challenged in any meaningful way again.
But you wanted peace, objected the little spark of light in his head. And… he looked around at all the dead bodies. He’d done that. It was… sickening. And perversely thrilling. And cruel and unfair-
Well if they wanted a fair fight, they shouldn’t have been slavers. He clamped his inner Light under durasteel and headed back to the open container, not looking at the bodies anymore.
There were six or seven containers full of people, people scared out of their wits at all the strange noises, he sensed. He stopped at the door and peered in, putting his hatred away. It served no purpose here now. “Khi. It’s all right. I’m here.”
<Masterrrrrrrr,> wailed Khi, throwing herself into his arms. <It was so scaryyyyyy!>
“I know,” he said gently. He really did know. What would he have wanted to hear in this situation, back when he was helpless and weak? “They’re gone now. They can’t hurt you anymore.” He patted her back and then stepped away, looking into the back of the container and raising his voice. “They can’t hurt any of you. Come out and be free.”
He went to the other containers while they were figuring out how to organize themselves; when they’d all been emptied there were more than two hundred people huddled in the middle of the warehouse, looking at the corpses in wide-eyed, unblinking fear.
One of them was lagging as she exited the container, a rather plump Devaronian girl just reaching adolescence. She was limping, leaning on a Nautolan woman who kept an arm carefully around her. Recently met, but already bonding, he read through the Force, and went back to them. “Do you need help?”
“M-my feet…” stammered the girl, looking down. And he looked down too, and saw marks he remembered from some of his fellow slaves before.
She wouldn’t make it back like this. His boots wouldn’t fit her. Maybe one of the others could carry-
No, he had to do it. Give them an inch of kindness, and they’d give him a mile of service, to repurpose a Republic saying. He crouched before her. “Come on. Get on.”
“H-huh? But…”
He glanced back. “I’m going to take you all to see my people. They can help you.”
Shyly, she leaned on him, and he pulled her up into a piggyback ride.
“Thank you,” said the Nautolan woman. “I could not carry her…”
He nodded at her, uncertain how to respond. Then he moved to the front of the crowd and whistled to get their attention. “I’m Murlesson Kallig, Lord of the Sith. I lead the Cult of the Screaming Blade, and I killed these slavers who took some of my people.”
<I was just telling them, Master,> Khi said, bouncing, seemingly recovering already.
“Yes, thank you, Khi. Anyway, I’m going to my headquarters. You are all welcome to come; my people will gladly take care of you.”
All of them followed him. Fantastic, some properly obedient minions.
He walked through the front doors of the Screaming Blade headquarters, head high, parade of ex-slaves behind him, and met the astonished gaze of his minions. Everything ground to a halt as they stared at him radiating strength and confidence. Ashara was there, and her worry turned to relief which faded back to worry as she saw him. Rylee and Destris looked up with hope and triumph. He let the Devaronian girl down into the arms of the Nautolan woman and strode forward into the foyer.
“I have returned,” he said. “And having fought Death and won, Thanaton is next.”
The cultists erupted into ignorant applause, cheering and bowing and prostrating themselves. He didn’t look at Ashara, but he could feel her disappointment and resignation. He… expected no less, actually. He understood, and he sympathized, after her hopes had been elsewhere, but he had made his decision.
She would understand when he won.
I probably could have avoided that whole discussion with Ashara if I’d just made Murlesson a bit older. But I liked the idea of Sassy Emo Teen on the Dark Council. ./shrug
And now I will have to take a bit of a break as I haven’t outlined any of the kaggath yet (and I’m the sort of writer to need very detailed outlines before writing any actual prose). I’m enlisting my much cleverer friend to help me, but it may be some time before I manage to put out another chapter. If you’ve enjoyed my story thus far, please consider leaving a comment! Thank you to everyone who’s left comments already, and thanks for reading! Cheers!