AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH It’s been a literal year and a half since I last wrote this, so terrifying has this last story arc been. I will admit to being distracted by other things – work, GW2, DnD – but also just… how to follow up on Kel Reu Giri?? How to follow up on literally punching ghosts in the face?? So I put it off.
Then I started feeling last month like “hey, you should pick that up again” and I was like “maybe in September, after I finish my Rinala cosplay” and my feelings were like “no you should do it now” so I re-read the fic twice (once to read it, once to correct a whole bunch of embarrassing typos and adjust small scenes that I thought weak) and played the Corellia arc of the game. (And I’m working on the other four storylines that I didn’t play before. Man, Consular is boring.)
Corellia is not actually a terrible arc in-game; it’s functional enough. Inquisitor does something, Thanaton does something, Inquisitor does something, Republic does something for some reason, and then you duel Thanaton anticlimactically since he runs away and then you have to fight him again on Korriban. The actual fights are pretty well cinemated, but I’ve never been a fan of the silly kaggath thing to begin with so I feel it’s a bit of a let-down to interrupt it in the middle. As Ravage says “there are no rules in murder”. Ravage is crude and violent, but I agree with him there.
Regardless of that, the in-game arc is too short for me to use, so once again I’m making things up out of whole-cloth. The greatest challenge of my writing career – making Thanaton interesting! lol Actually I have some good things planned for him finally; this chapter is really just warm-up to get back in the groove.
I’m not sure that it’s completely unfortunate that my depression seems to be in remission (thanks both to NotJustBikes on Youtube and Humankind: A Hopeful History, a book by Rutger Bregman) and that might make it harder to write Murlesson, but also maybe it’s giving me the determination and energy and confidence to write this. After all, Murlesson himself is feeling less depressed than ever – at least for now. XD Still, it is a difficult balance, and I feel I haven’t quite hit it yet. (cranks up Corpse Party OST and Disturbed)
Part 31: How to Start a War
The cult headquarters was thriving. The last time he’d seen it had been… when Leppo attacked, ages ago, and he had left the front hall a smoking wreck in dire need of repairs and upgrades. He’d noticed it was fixed, of course, when he returned with his cultists and freed slaves, and now as the newcomers were brought into the headquarters to be healed, fed, and cleaned if they wished it, he took a new glance at his defences. They were subtle, though he could see the ports in the floor where the turrets and half-walls were installed. There were several guards standing around in the cult’s colours, and he wondered if they were actual members or just hired for protection. The crystal holotrees were still looking out of place, but he was used to it by now, it was just the way the front hall was at this point. There were more rugs on the floor… and more trash, too. Eh, he didn’t care. His cabin on the Viper looked little better.
Rylee and Destris, after giving appropriate directions to the others, came to him. “Master, can we show you what we’ve done since last you were here?” Destris asked.
“No,” Murlesson said. “Bring me something to eat. And robes.” He was actually pretty hungry, now that the adrenaline of the fight was dealt with. A cup of caf didn’t go a long way after that. And he’d look better if he wasn’t in his pyjamas.
“Yes, of course!” Destris snapped his fingers at a nearby cultist, who sprinted off as Murlesson led the way to the dining hall. Rylee had to trot to keep up, and even Destris had to hurry to match his long stride. He tried not to inhale what was set in front of him, but his morning exertion, coupled with his recovering body, had actually made him ravenous now that he had nothing else to distract him. The others watched him and that was weird. His other crew had disappeared, now that the excitement was largely over, but Khem had taken up a place behind him like a bodyguard, as if unwilling to let him out of his sight again.
When he was done, he found he was actually missing his mask. He couldn’t hide his face from everyone without it, and Rylee and Destris were watching him closely to see his reactions to everything. He pulled on the robes they brought him, drew his hood over his head, and tried to school his face to stern neutrality, the way Aristheron might. Then he told them to show him everything they thought important. Inside he was burning to get to work, to immediately set off to destroy Thanaton that moment, the morning’s curb-stomp filling him with Dark energy, with determination he hadn’t felt in so long he’d almost forgotten what it felt like. But everything had to be done in a proper order.
On the upper levels, surrounded by cultists in red and black, he noticed more than ever what capable administrators his leaders had become, consulting with each other constantly, consulting with senior cultists on areas that they were not knowledgeable in, making hundreds of decisions constantly and providing guidance to those who accosted them. Destris in particular seemed eager to show that he didn’t need his hand held, and as long as he didn’t say anything stupid, Murlesson was fine with not interfering.
But it didn’t take long for people to recognize him even with his hood up – Khem following behind probably didn’t help – and they threatened to mob him, ignoring even Destris’s orders. “Master! Master! Speak to us! Heal us!”
Sith didn’t heal. He saw a sturdy-looking table in the middle of the central hall and strode towards it, the crowd parting before him – a hop on an intermediate chair and a quick levitation later, and he was standing on it, in full view of everyone. There was a collective gasp at how he’d floated up, defying gravity, and he was pleased to note that he barely felt the expenditure of energy; he’d just done it. He still had the strength of five souls, without the custody dispute that had gone with it before. He put his hood back with a dramatic flick and stared down at them. “Greetings, my people. I trust you have been well in my absence.” This was maybe more attention than he should have been drawing, and yet he embraced it.
“Yes, Master! You have come back to us! We prayed for you as we were told, and you returned!”
“That’s how it works,” he said, a little sardonic. “No being can ever achieve their greatest potential alone. I am your master and guardian, and you make me stronger.”
“But that lot is a bunch of lazy druk-shifters-” began one cultist, to angry hisses from others.
He raised a hand for silence and got it. “Do you say that because they truly have been shirking their duties, or because their duties are not the same as yours? I expect the best from all of you, but your best you may offer to me in different ways.” He leaned in. “You do not see the picture that I see. Give over jealousy and bickering, or I shall remove it from you.” As the cultist shrank back, he turned to those accused of laziness. “But some of you are not known to me. I shall be watching to learn how you may best serve me.” He wouldn’t. If he had more time to spend with the cult, he probably would, but for now he’d let his administrators look into them. If they’d really been lazy, Destris would certainly take care of it. As long as the majority of them were working, he didn’t care.
He turned away from them and spread his arms. “But come. We have greater concerns. You are safe, but one of my rivals seeks yet again to destroy me permanently. I need your support against him.” An angry shiver ran through him and lightning sparked around his head as Thanaton’s distorted face from his nightmares appeared in his mind’s eye. He raised a clenched fist. “I shall crush him and take all that is his – as I destroyed Paladius, as I destroyed Zash, as I overcame Ergast and Horak-Mul.” More fancy names were better. Padded his resumé a bit. “Mark well, my people, for with you behind me I shall be unstoppable.” He let lightning crack to the ceiling, let his face darken with the Force, and they all shrank back, some of them throwing themselves to the floor… and cheered, hushed with awe. Even Khem Val nodded approvingly.
He let the aura lift and stepped down, turning to Destris and Rylee and pulling his hood over his head again. “You may continue.”
“Y-yes!” cried Rylee breathlessly, with sparkling eyes. “You are so strong, Master.”
“All hail the Master!” Destris shouted, and everyone flattened themselves further and made a louder cheer.
They didn’t have to overdo it. “Was there anything else? I heard something about a shrine.”
“Right this way, Master,” Destris said, leading him through the rapidly-parting sea of bowed cultist heads. “Just at the end of the hall.”
Rylee reached up to it with a smile. “Many of us built it; constructing the frame, making the ornaments, and we all made offerings. One of our members, Vreka, is a great artist who carved the sculpture. Everyone prays daily, now, for your continued health and victory.”
He couldn’t answer for a minute, distracted by the extravagance before him. An entire two-story bronze sculpture of his upper body was positioned inside a gigantic wall niche, decorated with draped black cloth, red lights, and piles of… well, from a distance it looked like trash. The sculpture had its hood up, but no mask, its arms outstretched. One hand held lightning, the other a bowl – of water, perhaps? Dispensing judgement and nourishment, was that it?
As she said, it was a well-made carving, though it made him look rather more handsome than he really was, at least by his own reckoning. It made him uncomfortable, but everything about it was… as it should be, politically speaking. A focal point for his people, a symbol of their devotion that he should praise and encourage even if really it was kind of an inefficient use of time and resources. A symbol of his control over them.
“What do you think, Master?” Rylee asked, getting more anxious the longer he stared.
How ought he to deal with this? He was out of his depth here. “It is well done,” he said, turning to her. “It is more than I ever expected when I told you of my illness. I would like to meet the artist.”
“Right away,” Destris said, and snapped his fingers again at a nearby cultist. That seemed to be a bad habit. Murlesson didn’t snap his fingers at people. He didn’t need such gestures to assert his authority.
“You said you still pray daily?” he asked – about to protest that he was well now, and then stopped. They had helped him. Why should he tell them to stop now? It could come in handy again later. “It is much appreciated.”
“Yes, Master,” Destris said. “A lot of people come to the shrine, of course, especially if they’ve got something to offer, but some prefer to pray alone.” He sounded disapproving.
“You taught us that not everyone has to do things the same way,” Rylee broke in quickly. “So I said it was okay if they prayed on their own. Did I… presume…?”
“You did exactly right,” he said. “Coerced prayers will reach no one and accomplish nothing. True prayers give me power, the power to fight for you.” Was he really a god now? Should he do some megalomaniacal cackling?
“What do you wish with the offerings?” Destris asked. “We left them here for you to do as you wished.”
“I accept them,” he said graciously. “Though if I were to take them all at once, it would make the altar a little bare, wouldn’t it? Collect half of them and send them to my ship.” He could tell Tuvee to sort the credits and valuables from the junk and dump the trash in space, where no one would be offended.
The cultist returned with a beige Zabrak, somewhat hunched and shuffling. “I-I am Vreka… What do you wish of me, Master?”
Murlesson gestured to the statue and put a hand on Vreka’s shoulder. “Well done, Vreka. Your work pleases me. Do you have what you need to create art when you wish?”
“Ah… Yes… Thank you, Master.” He was lying, poorly.
“Ask whatever you wish,” Murlesson told him. “What more would you like?”
Vreka’s eyes slid over to Rylee and Destris. “Well… um… I would make more sculptures if I didn’t have to work in the factory so much…”
“Done,” Murlesson said. “Destris, this man is to be taken off the factory roster immediately. Rylee, see to it that there is a room with good lighting set up for him and any others who show talent and interest.”
“Seems a waste,” Destris complained. Rylee simply made a note on her datapad and smiled at the artist.
Murlesson tried not to roll his eyes and make too scathing a remark. “I didn’t ask for your opinion. And what of the project you’ve been working on for me?” He turned and led them away, back towards his office. This would be a good segue to getting back to work. The CN-12 ought to be done and on its way to Pyron; having a capital ship-killer in his fleet would give him a lot of pull.
“It is completed, and we sent the first lot to the buyer just a few days ago,” Destris said. “Though apparently there were some problems with them, so we’re working on another lot.”
Murlesson stopped and glared at him. “Problems?” If his people were producing shoddy work…
Destris blanched. “N-nothing foreseeable! What I understood from the folks who sent us the specs, sometimes you plug in something brand new and it doesn’t go as planned! I-it just needs a few adjustments, that’s all! I passed on the feedback as directed!”
“Hmph. I hope for your sake that’s the case. I require this to work. I will talk to the lab.” As he began picking up the threads of his life again, he’d hoped the Silencer would be ready to go, to hit Thanaton hard and fast with maximum surprise. “Leave me, and continue your work. I have much to catch up on.”
Rylee and Destris bowed, looking a little anxious. Good. They had done well, and he was pleased with them, but they needed this distance, now more than ever. Though he ought to think of some reward for them: he was actually very impressed with everything they’d managed to do, without his direct input, turning a bunch of poverty-stricken morons into functioning members of society. Were they interested in vacations? He’d suggest it after they’d had some time to fret.
Going into his office and closing the door, he took a deep breath to clear his mind and booted up his workstation. There was a lot to do. He was so far behind.
One of the first things he ought to do was call Aristheron and Pyron. There was a holocomm in the office now, and he put in Aristheron’s contact first. He could have gone down to his secret lair, but the more he went down there the less secret it would be. This would be fine.
It took a minute, but seeing his friend again as the hologram popped up was… a relief. Ashara had said Aristheron had helped immensely in his rescue, but he didn’t remember any of that.
“Murlesson,” Aristheron said, with a slight smile. “It is good to see you well.”
He gave him a slight smile in return. “It is good to be well. I hardly remembered what it felt like. But now I feel better than ever.” First things first. “Thank you for everything. I cannot repay you for all you have done for me and mine, without even knowing that you would succeed in saving me.”
Aristheron nodded. “We could not well leave you to die without attempting to recover you. Not after you gave everything you had left to aid me in saving Salvara. It is recovering quickly, and is now under my direct control. But as to your rescue, you have Ashara to thank. We could not have done it. She is the one to whom you should offer your gratitude.”
“I have, and I will again,” Murlesson assured him. “But thank you for giving her what she needed, and for taking care of Pyron.”
“Yes, have you made a decision?” Aristheron asked, business-like.
He only hesitated a moment. Ashara did not like it. But this was his choice. Darkness welled up within him, satisfaction with his power and strength surging through him. “I’m going to kill Thanaton. I will return to the Empire, take my revenge, and join you.”
“That pleases me,” said Aristheron. “Though you should know relations with the Republic are eroding rapidly. I would not be surprised if war were to be declared in a matter of days.”
Murlesson frowned, but the news was not really upsetting. “I still need a few days to get back into the swing of things and prepare. It will aid me if Thanaton is distracted, of course, though I will do my best not to become a distraction to you.” Let the nations fight. It meant little to him.
Aristheron nodded slowly. “Yes, I can see your strategy. I will support you as long as you are careful not to give the Republic an advantage.”
“I intend to use the Republic as just another tool, should the opportunity arise,” Murlesson said. “Any advantage I happen to give them I will take back myself.”
“Good,” Aristheron said. “I shall release Pyron to your command. Oh, and you should have a package arriving shortly. I believe it should be in your hands by the end of the day.”
He raised an eyebrow. “A gift? For me?”
Aristheron smiled that faint smile again. “I’m afraid not. Only that which was already yours. In case you still wanted to do something with it.”
What did that mean? “I look forward to receiving it.”
When he called the Moff, Pyron did not let much emotion show upon seeing him, but Murlesson thought he caught a crinkle in the corners of his eyes – or it could be a trick of the hologram. “My lord. It is good to see you well.”
“And you,” Murlesson said briskly. “I’ve been going over your reports. What is the Silencer’s status?”
“We will be on track, my lord, once we receive a new shipment of chips. The first set required adjustment, and I sent reports to both the supplier and your R&D. Your supplier assured us a new set would be sent tomorrow; if they are within spec, we should be completed testing by the end of the week.”
“Good,” Murlesson said. “That will give me time to complete my plans. I’m going after Thanaton.”
Pyron’s expression didn’t change, but Murlesson knew he was not quite thrilled. “I’m sure you’ve heard that the Empire is on the brink of war.”
“Yes, exactly,” Murlesson said. “I am aware that Thanaton out-powers me in terms of sheer resources. So I fully intend to use the Republic to split his attention, and cause them to damage each other. While they’re quarrelling I shall strike at his heart.”
“Very good, my lord,” Pyron said, mollified.
“Still. I want to strike him hard and fast whenever I do attack him directly. I intend to finish this quickly.”
“Where will you attack him?” Pyron asked.
“I don’t know,” Murlesson said. “I will challenge him to a kaggath. He can’t refuse – he’s failed to kill me several times already, and if he doesn’t take this opportunity he’s a fool – but he is my senior, and that gives him the right to pick the battlefield. I have some guesses. He won’t pick a strongly Imperial world, so we can rule out Dromund Kaas, Ziost, and Commenor. He is not fond of unsettled or lightly-settled systems where there is little in the way of support for his agents, so that eliminates planets such as Taris and Hoth. I think we shall be adding to the confusion of an already-contested world such as Balmorra or Quesh, though both are rather small and not densely populated.” He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter too much yet. When I know, I shall consult my holocrons.”
“Understood,” Pyron said. “I shall continue my present activities until you require me. Thank you for informing me.”
Ashara had gone to the refresher right after Murlesson had come back with his people – had gone to the refresher in the apartment she designed, and it was pretty amazing to see something she’d designed in reality, and all of that was still sinking in, but that was besides the point, she wanted as much privacy as she could get right now. She locked the door and sat on the woven rug in the centre of the room, rocking a little, hugging herself. “There is no emotion, there is peace,” she said, over, and over, and over, and she began to cry.
He’d picked wrong. She knew he’d picked wrong – he’d picked impulsively, high on battle-adrenaline, she just knew it. She was glad he’d rescued the slaves and his cultists, and he’d been so beautifully confident on his return, despite the sense of Death that had followed him, but why did he have to jump right back into the life that almost killed him hundreds of times over? Oh, it was because of all the Death that followed him, wasn’t it? It had dunked him right back into the Darkness that he’d been on a reprieve from for a few days. Her little voice wasn’t enough to call him out of it.
“There is no emotion, there is peace,” she said, but it wasn’t true, was it? It wasn’t literal, at least. She was feeling a lot of emotions right now, washing through her, controlling her. She couldn’t pretend that she wasn’t, couldn’t bottle it up at all. It demanded to be acknowledged, and if she did not acknowledge it, name it and feel it and let it run its course before breathing it into the Force, it would poison her and destroy her from inside no less than Murlesson’s hatred and trauma which she was pretty sure he did not try to deal with in any form whatsoever. Was this why relationships were discouraged for Jedi? If she loved him less, this would be less painful. She was a very bad Jedi and this was the price.
“I’ll be all right eventually,” she said. “But right now I’m not.” Acknowledge it, and it would be easier to control.
And then what? What would she do when she was bright-eyed and cheery again? Would she walk out of there and happily help him continue down this path he’d chosen? Could she do that?
She loved him. She couldn’t leave him. She couldn’t condone this and she didn’t know what she was going to do but she didn’t just want to abandon him – dump him – whatever. He would certainly let her go, would probably be fine without her, but…
“You cannot be his friend and his therapist,” Master Cyman had said to her.
And she couldn’t really talk to anyone else about it. Maybe Talos? He was the kindest person among her companions. But would he really be okay with hearing about her plans to coax Murlesson away from the Empire, after Murlesson had decided to stay?
When she felt like she’d had enough of a cry, she’d gone to the work-out room she’d put in the apartment. Movement helped her feel better, helped her regain her perspective and her optimism. Of course Murlesson had done what he did. Even if it was bad for him, to him it was familiar. ‘Safe’, in a way, or at least ‘comfortable’. And the way his confidence, his pride shone out was so… inspiring. Almost hypnotizing. She loved it. She wished it came from a different source, but she had to love it anyway.
Okay, so what was she gonna do? Could she work with this?
Yeah, she probably could. This wasn’t as bad as she’d thought. Call her an eternal optimist, but she still believed things would turn out okay.
She was still trying to turn a punching bag into pulp when she sensed Murlesson coming in, from far enough away and with clear enough intent she had time to come out of her head and grab a towel before he actually got to the work-out room. She had thought he would be busy with his people all day, with making plans… Wait, it had been all day. Somehow she’d missed lunch and dinner, just spending all her time in a trance, beating on the punching bag. Her body ached and she was starving. This wasn’t a good time for a talk; she hadn’t meant to go this long. Exercise just felt too good. But it was going to happen anyway, wasn’t it.
She turned to him as the door swooshed open and then shut again behind him. Their eyes met and she felt like the tension was going to suffocate her.
He looked so much better even than yesterday. His skin was clearing up, his colour was back to normal, his crimson hair was shinier, his yellow eyes were sharp and focused. His posture was upright and easy, no sign of pain or burden. It looked so good, especially compared to before. But his Darkness was growing stronger again, the violet fading from it already. She wished he’d woken her when he went out to rescue his cultists. She didn’t blame him for hating slavers, for killing slavers, but he must have gone to bloody excess. And with all the time he’d spent that day with his cultists, acting a lord, accepting their worship… she felt like he was slipping away from her even as she looked at him.
“You’re upset,” he said, bluntly, and went to lean against the wall beside the door. “…I don’t blame you.”
“If you knew I was going to be upset, why did you do it?” she asked, affecting annoyance.
He held out a hand and violet electrical sparks snapped around his fingers. “I can beat him. This is the best I’ve ever been. He ran from me before, when I couldn’t control it.” He closed his fist and the sparks stopped with a crack. Darkness swirled. “He won’t get away this time.”
She rolled her eyes. “You like to say Jedi are predictable, but can I say the same about you?”
He snorted, relaxing a little, and the Darkness seemed to withdraw slightly. Not much, but some. “Sure. I’m playing the game by their rules. The rules are predictable. Even when they’re broken.”
“You could have quit the game. There’s no one forcing you to play it anymore. Not Zash, not Thanaton, not anyone.” She softened her voice. “You still can, you know. Just tell the cult you decided to do something else.”
“I can’t turn back,” he said. “I already talked to Aristheron and Pyron. Things are in motion.”
“It’s not too late,” she said. “Even now. Even if it’s embarrassing to call them and say you changed your mind, it’s worth it. I really think so.”
For a moment, he seemed to be considering it, but he shook his head. “I made a choice. I intend to follow through.”
“Okay,” she said. “Then I have a request.”
He blinked. “Name it.”
“You have so much power,” she said slowly. “And when you kill Thanaton, you’ll have even more. So please… use it to make the galaxy a better place. Whatever you can do, anything you can do to help people.”
She saw his eyes flicker in thought, his gaze unfocusing to mull over that idea… maybe even to start planning around it? Should she hope?
“I can do that.” He nodded, and there was something wistful about it. “…Do you remember what you thought of me back when we first met? Do you remember what you asked me?”
She shook her head in confusion. “That was so long ago. You remember things I said?”
“You asked me what I was fighting for. You thought I wanted to change the Empire from within.”
“Oh… Right.” She shrugged. “I figured out that was just wishful thinking on my part. I was just trying to make myself feel better. You’ve always been good to the people around you, but you never had any real intention of changing the system as a whole, did you?” The ghosts’ warnings came into her head, though she didn’t quite believe them, either.
His smile was small, but proud. “So now you use our relationship to make your vision into reality.”
She made a face at him. “That sounds so manipulative!”
“Yes!” His smile grew. “That means you’re learning!”
“Argh! That’s not what I meant! I just want to… you know, make sure you don’t lose everything that makes you… you!”
“And help everyone you possibly can… Jedi.” She huffed and folded her arms as he grinned. Then his smile faded a bit. “All my life, I’ve been trying to figure out how everything works so I can use it to my advantage. Every single thing I’ve ever done has been towards that end. And everything has been against me. The traditions I study… the history of the Sith… it’s thousands on thousands of years of systems embedded into each other until harder than beskar. No matter how I side-step them, even if I take short-cuts, it’s all through paths long established.”
“You’re saying what even I thought back then – that it’s hopeless to try,” she said.
“I’m saying I’ve done the best I can with what has been given to me,” he said. “And now you’re asking me to go even farther. To take up an even more impossible battle. To change the future of this universe we didn’t create.”
“I’m not asking you to turn the Empire into a utopia within our lifetime,” she said. “Geez. I don’t think my expectations are that unrealistic. Just… to show mercy to those you can, and encourage people to be their best selves, as far as you can.”
“To be more like Aristheron, hm?”
“Aristheron is pretty cool,” she said. “Any chance we could make him the next Emperor?”
He tilted his head, looking almost… mischievous? “Not me?”
She snorted. “You’re the cleverest person I know, but it’s not like you like administration. Aristheron’s way more suited to governing. He’s been trained for it.”
“When was the last time you heard about the Emperor actually governing anything?” he said with scorn. “No one’s actually heard from the actual Emperor in years. Even the Emperor’s Voice has been missing for ages, and half the Dark Council doesn’t give a frak. I don’t doubt his personal power, but the Dark Council does all the work without reference to him. He could die and no one would notice. I could absolutely be Emperor and do what I want.”
That made her chuckle. “That’s pretty lame, though. Aristheron would get stuff done. For the benefit of everyone. He’d make sure there weren’t any more wars with the Republic!”
“I don’t know that that’s entirely true,” he said. “But he would attempt to ensure that the conflict was honourable. Might be difficult with all the other Sith Lords trying to slaughter anything that looks at them funny.” He gave her a wry look. “Anyway. Thank you for accepting my choice.”
“For a while, I didn’t think I could,” she said honestly. “I still wonder if you’ll be happy doing this. If this isn’t just the fastest way to get yourself killed. But that’s depressing and I don’t really want to think about it.”
He was silent a minute. “I’ll be happy enough with you at my side.”
“Guess I gotta stick around, then!” she said. “All right, get out of my way, I need a shower.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Don’t suppose I could join you?”
She reached up to lightly slap him on the cheek. “Bad Sith Lord!”
“Redundant,” he objected, capturing her hand and kissing the palm that had just bapped him. It made her shiver, that and the staring of his beautifully intense red-yellow eyes.
She laughed, ignoring the shiver, and leaned up to kiss him. “Stay out of my shower or else Thanaton will be the least of your worries.”
That made him smirk, and he crowded her space to kiss her more. “Why would I be worrying about Thanaton in the shower? Is he in there too? There something you’re not telling me?”
She screamed softly in outrage, yanking her hand away, trying not to laugh and encourage him. “Get out, dummy!”
“Fine, fine,” he said, stepping back, still smirking. “I have a lot of work to do still, anyway. Enjoy your shower. Murder and mayhem await!”
She rolled her eyes again and shoved him out of the room.
The package Aristheron had sent him was a small box, light to hold, but it rattled slightly. Inside were a number of metal fragments on a foam bed. It took him a moment to realize it was the shattered remains of the Kallig mask.
He grimaced. “And what am I supposed to do with this?” Had Aristheron ordered it recovered in case it was necessary to help him control his parasites?
There wasn’t much left. Even if he managed to jigsaw what was left back into a vaguely face-like shape, there were too many pieces missing. The Force left in it was a misty remnant of its former power. It wouldn’t have been much help against the ghosts. Maybe if they glued it directly to his skull. He sighed. “I guess that’s it for your mask, Grandfather.”
He toyed idly with the remaining bits, thinking. It felt wrong to leave it the way it was. Felt like a waste to mount it on his wall as a memento, or toss it out as useless.
After doing some research over the next day or so, in between setting his other affairs in order, he sent for Destris and learned the location of a forge not too far away that could handle smaller work. Not quite jewellery work, but definitely not combat armour, either. He had ideas he wanted to try. He paid the forge workers for the use of the space and then ordered them to leave. This could be dangerous.
The pieces melted together under super-hot jets of plasma, metals running into one puddle of awkward alloy. He took a deep breath and flexed his fingers, then raised them and called upon the Force.
Shaping it was the easy part. He had a specific image in mind, inspired by the relics of the past, though not perfectly copying any of them. This was his artefact. And shaping was already difficult enough. Sweat began to bead on his forehead and wind began to rise in the forge, whirling around the room, tugging at loose tools, picking them up into a chaotic maelstrom of flashing shapes around him that he ignored. It took nearly all his concentration, just to compel the molten metal to hold the exact shape he wanted, floating in the air before him, spinning slowly.
That was not even the most important aspect. He shut his eyes and probed his artefact with the Force as it cooled to a semi-solid state. It was in flux, the old Force aura in it disintegrating as it was reformed, yet not completely dissipating… which was good. He had a core to work with.
He felt power surge through him, pulled it out of himself, nigh-endless power, channelling it into his creation, all his Darkness, all his hatred and pain… and his love, too, his ambition, his newly-kindled hope… Everything that he was, he poured it into the metal before him, hands trembling under the strain of such a delicate endeavour. And not just his power, but his intent, for this was not supposed to be a simple accessory to boost his strength. Lightning flickered around him, making flashes outside his tightly closed eyes.
It was cooling quickly now, and he intensified his efforts.
With a gasp, he released it, and it hung for a moment in midair before clattering to the unused anvil. The Force blasted past him with a whoosh, most of the metaphysical energy he’d expended escaping into the ether.
Most. Not all. A plain, slightly misshapen, dull grey circlet sat before him on the anvil, seemingly inert. He picked it up and tried it on, and a familiar sensation settled around him – like his grandfather’s mask had felt, amplifying his will while protecting him from others’ wills, only not as strong. In fact, it was only marginally stronger than the broken shards had been.
He smiled. It had still worked. Time to do it again. Maybe he’d figure out how it worked this time.
Thanaton had more than one private hidden library on Dromund Kaas, and none of them were supposed to be easy to break into. Probably more difficult than his meditation chamber. Technically. For normal people. The difference was, Thanaton wasn’t at home this time. So it had been easier to order his minions-and-Ashara to stay behind this time, though he was pretty sure they had still followed him at least half-way. Given his track record, he didn’t exactly blame them, but he was in good health, he was at full power with no parasites to contest it, and this wasn’t even to try to kill anyone.
This was to issue an invitation.
It was almost too easy now, to turn gazes away from him, to cause minute distractions, to glitch security cameras for just an instant while he flitted from shadow to shadow. His new circlet was light on his head compared to the mask it had been, and repeated infusions had seen it get a little stronger than his first attempt. His hearts were thudding, but it wasn’t with fear. Excitement, anticipation, yes, and the thought of seeing Thanaton again, the person who had killed him once already, was filling him with bubbling adrenaline. His mouth was stretched in a permanent vengeful grin; he was fighting so hard not to be overconfident, but he felt free.
It wasn’t yet the freedom he aspired to. He had locked himself into a course, a destiny, and he had to follow it through to the end, hopefully to even more freedom. But he had chosen that destiny himself, and in this moment, he could do as he pleased towards that destiny and no one could stop him. He had magnitudes more freedom in all things than he’d had ever before in his life, and here in this hostile territory, just like when fighting the slavers, it was brought home to him most clearly. It was heady.
There was a holocomm chamber in the back of the library, and he flipped the lights on as he entered. Yes, Thanaton could still try to kill him with the Force over holo, the way he himself had killed… what was his name? Bilsane. But it would be a lot harder for Thanaton over holo than in person, and Murlesson was confident that his personal defences would weather any storm Thanaton could conjure up over the connection. He put in the code in and set the channel to broadstream openly.
The connection went through, and Thanaton answered. “Yes- oh. You’re not Tova. What do you want?”
Murlesson smiled. Thanaton’s affected unconcern was soon to disintegrate. “Oh, this isn’t the button for room service. Tch.” His gaze hardened, his hatred simmering just under the surface, clawing at his hearts. He couldn’t lose control here when there was no point to it. When any Sith Lord with their comms on could hear him. Some of the Dark Council had to be listening in. “I’m here to be a thorn in your side, old man. I’m challenging you to a kaggath.”
Thanaton raised an eyebrow. “Really. It seems you’ve learned something from the last time you burned yourself trying foolishly to kill me. But tell me this, boy: what benefit does it bring me? Why should I deign to accept your challenge?”
Murlesson’s smile grew toothier. “Because I’m not going to stop taking everything you have and making it mine. I got in here easily enough; nowhere and nothing is safe from me now. Why not cut to the chase? It would be more efficient for both of us.” I swear I will burn everything you have ever built to the ground.
Thanaton seemed about to answer when Murlesson turned. “Hold on. We’re about to be interrupted.”
A hiss spooled out of the shadows from the main library, and a Rattataki female and a human male approached the door to the holocomm chamber. “Master, it would be our pleasure to destroy this vermin,” said the woman. “Whelp, your head will do much for my prestige!”
“Don’t bother,” Thanaton called to them. “He is out of your league right now.”
They kept coming. “I’m delighted you agree with me for once,” Murlesson said sardonically, and reached out a hand, setting an invisible wall before them. The woman scowled as she found her passage slowed to a crawl; he couldn’t see the man’s face through his power armour. “Last chance to leave alive, kids. Prestige isn’t much use when you’re dead.”
“You’re a literal child!” screeched the Rattataki, drawing her lightsaber. Her companion followed suit.
Murlesson took one step back, not bothering to draw his own weapon, and made a mnemonic to the Force. The same mnemonic Thanaton had made at him once, and he knew his enemy would not miss the connection. He kept his face cold. This ought to be over quickly.
The human lurched to a stop, clutching his chest, and toppled over. The Rattataki froze with wide eyes, then slashed through the mental interference before her, gaining access to the chamber at last, hacking at him wildly. Now she had forced him to draw, and he drew back, weaving between her attacks.
He still had the attention to taunt Thanaton, who was watching impassively with folded arms. “Dear, dear. You really want such an undisciplined bruiser guarding your library, of all places? I didn’t know you were so hard-up for apprentices.”
“You think you’re witty,” Thanaton said. “Tova, cut his tongue out before you kill him. Or after. But preferably before.” The Rattataki grinned.
“You’re welcome to try,” Murlesson said, and then the woman’s aggression spiked and he had to be silent and concentrate. She was trying not just to kill him but to distract him, to pressure him so hard he could not use the Force on her in any way.
A futile endeavour. Ashara had been merciless in their training the last few days – at his insistence – and though he wasn’t at the point where he could beat her without cheating, he was overflowing with physical energy as well as the Force. His blood flowed through him hot and fast, and he met every stroke of his opponent with equal viciousness. While he couldn’t do the heart-attack ritual again with this assault raining against him, it was nothing at all to let the Force flow through his saber, strengthened by his circlet, slowing her, catching her, confusing her senses. She knew what he was up to, and hissed in frustration, pulling back abruptly before relaunching an attack. Lightsabers blurred and hummed, skidding and buzzing against each other.
She was acrobatic, too, bouncing all over the place, even more than Ashara normally did, whirling to kick him where he had left himself unguarded for a half-second, jumping nearly high enough to crack her head on the tall ceiling to come down on him from above. She wasn’t letting him keep any distance on her, and it was not comfortable for him. He swung and sidestepped, trying to use his greater height and reach to get around her defences, slid into a crouch to try to zap her with lightning, but she was jumping too quickly to be struck.
Until he did manage to catch her out, in the middle of a jump, sending her tumbling to the floor, twitching with electricity. She fell heavily with a yowl, scrambling up and fleeing the room. “Smart to run, but it won’t save you,” Murlesson called, dashing to chase her. “Should have left before you began!”
She was trying to hide, in among the shelves, the databanks, and she was not gambling badly – he did care too much about the knowledge here to just cut through it. But it wasn’t enough. He could sense her presence, her fear. So he softened his steps and his panting, turning off his saber, sending his Darkness out between the things in his way, seeking to prey upon her fear. His voice was a deep whispering murmur, floating on the suddenly still air. “Oh Tovaaaaa… I know where you aaaaaare… Come out and play… Or stay hiding like the frightened child you’ve always been. Oh, I know how it is. I knowwww…”
He rounded a corner. “Boo.”
She shrieked and attacked him, her lightsaber snapping out against his own newly-ignited blade, scorching through the databank next to her. It fizzled out with a pop and a spray of sparks. She was beating him back with sheer desperation, fighting for her life.
But he knew that feeling too, especially as her attacks grew heavier and faster. His eyes flashed as his own fear lashed out; he snarled and knew that he was showing fangs.
She screamed again and fled. He flung his lightsaber before she could round a corner, and she fell, her spine severed. He caught his saber on the return spin and walked up to the body, breathing heavily. Now what? Thanaton should see how weak his apprentices were. He hoisted up the body with the Force and floated it before him back to the holocomm room. It was actually really disturbing, and he almost thought better of it.
But he regularly saw worse in his nightmares. And he fully intended this to be the beginning of a nightmare for Thanaton.
“That went about as well as could be expected, honestly,” Thanaton said on seeing the body. “Tova always was… impatient. Useful in her own way. I did warn her.”
“You did,” Murlesson agreed amiably, dumping the corpse next to the other one. “Still a shocking lack of discipline. I hope not all your minions are so useless.”
“You have remarkable energy,” Thanaton said. “But that will not win you a kaggath.”
He gave Thanaton a flat look. “Please. I’m beyond any of them and you know it.” Another smirk, with an arrogant tilt to his head that he knew was going to get on Thanaton’s nerves. “I’m afraid this is beyond anyone but you now. I’m so sorry for the inconvenience, but you’ll have to kill me yourself – or outwit me in war, and good luck with that.”
“You need a power base to wage war,” Thanaton said dismissively. “You have what? A stolen fleet, a small cult, a few odds and ends floating around the galaxy. It would hardly be a challenge for me to crush you. Reading every treatise ever written does not make you a master of tactics. Pyron can only prop up your inexperience so far.”
“Well, if it’s so easy then, come crush me like you’re fantasizing.” He laughed, and despite his best efforts, there was an off-kilter edge in it. “I’ll just keep coming until you do. You know it. And isn’t this what you wanted? To meet me in battle?”
“I am hesitant to dignify the sacred ritual of the kaggath with the likes of you,” Thanaton said scathingly. “You don’t deserve such a fate.”
“You don’t get to be picky about how you try to kill me anymore,” Murlesson sneered back. “You had no choice before, I suppose. I was going to try and kill you eventually, and we both knew it. To bide my time and build my power slowly… You had to kill me before that happened, didn’t you? But in doing that, you forced me to this. You made me fight for my life, made me grasp at power immediately. Now see what it’s wrought you.”
Thanaton scowled. “Fine. If you’re so determined to seal your fate as fast as possible, slave, I shall meet you in kaggath. But I choose the location.” As was the right of the senior Sith, whether challenger or challenged. “And I choose Corellia.”
“What an interesting choice,” Murlesson said. “A Republic-aligned world, on the very day war breaks out between the Republic and Empire?”
“You’re not thinking better of it, are you?” Thanaton said. “Should you forfeit, you will-”
“Yes, yes, be hunted down by anyone with the power and resources to try.” Murlesson shrugged. “I’m hardly scared of the Republic.”
Thanaton smiled thinly. “Whoever sheds the most blood wins. To the victor, eternal glory. To the loser, death and shame. May the best Sith win.”
“Thank you,” Murlesson said. “I will.”
“Arrogance,” Thanaton said, and waggled a finger at him. “You’ll trip on your ambitions before ever you come face to face with me. I shall await you on Corellia.”
The hologram switched off. Murlesson grinned to himself and popped his neck, pulling out his personal commlink. That had gone very well. “Pyron.”
“I heard,” Pyron replied. “The fleet is bound for Corellia, my lord.”