Why yes hello I also write about emo Sith bois once in a while (wow it’s been a whole year!)
I’ve been having a rough start to the fall so I figured why not channel my wild mood swings and general depression into something that benefits from negativity? So here we go, let’s crank the Corpse Party OST and plumb the dark depraved depths of BioWare’s garbage writing!
This chapter was one of the most important ones for giving the Inquisitor back some agency. In the game, they just run off at Thanaton’s order, almost get killed, and then Grandpa shows up to save them and yell at them for being stupid when the player isn’t allowed any other choice? I don’t like that. If BioWare’s pretending I’m playing a cunning, scheming character, that’s bad writing. I also don’t like getting scraped off the floor by Kaal and Corrin because the Inquisitor was too dumb to plan any sort of escape route (in b4 anyone complains that there was no time to execute an escape route), even if I do like the part where the Inquisitor straight up dies-but-not (cockroach like). The confrontation wasn’t the worst writing ever, it was just lazy. So I’m adding some proper drama.
Researching ambiance; Thanaton show-down music!
Part 11: Into the Shadows
Zash’s former power came with a lot of bureaucracy and paperwork. Murlesson might have thought that with Sith murdering each other and taking each others’ playthings constantly, this process might have been cold-bloodedly streamlined a bit more, but no – he was suddenly buried to his horns in forms and procedures. Did she have to do all this when she took Skotia’s place? Probably she had more staff to delegate to. He knew some of her Imperial minions, but not nearly enough, or well enough; he didn’t trust them to do this yet. He hadn’t prepared properly for this outcome, hadn’t known what to prepare for. And she’d hidden a lot of her resources in different places, which he didn’t disapprove of on principle, it just made it take longer for him to find it.
A lot of her funding came from Imperial research grants, filtered down through the Sith hierarchy, mostly through Thanaton, where a lot of it had dried up after Skotia’s death. But he was not the sole provider, and Murlesson also found a lot of savings accounts under assumed names. At least he’d found enough that he could count on Revel’s continued loyalty, the Viper’s upkeep, and the small staff Zash kept on hand. Her private apartment he sold, over her distorted grumbles. He preferred to sleep at the complex as he used to – not that he’d had time to sleep yet. More interesting to him was tracking down all the repositories of artefacts, the secret libraries, the juicy stuff. He wondered when he’d have time to study it all.
Corrin and Kaal were not as much help as he might have hoped – of course, she had expected to be in control, and so would not have needed to tell them very much. But at least they were very eager to please. Testing them was slightly disappointing. They were burly and had a passable knowledge of Sith history and lore, but they were not overly bright; mere educated grunts for her to control. He would have to find a use for them anyway. They clung to him, in a way, conscious at least partly of their own inability to survive on their own in this ecosystem and clueless about where to go should he reject them.
He was interrupted from this whirlwind of activity a day later by Darth Thanaton, now of the Dark Council as Corrin and Kaal had said. His gut churned cold when the summons came. He had hoped to fade back into the shadows by not making a stir after Zash died, but realistically speaking there was small chance of that. Zash had not been weak, and anyone strong enough to kill a Darth needed to be watched. If the Force were with him, all Thanaton wanted was to start incorporating him into his power structure.
Thanaton’s office was much higher up in the Sith Sanctum, and Murlesson went there as soon as the message hit his datapad. There were Sith guarding the door, and Murlesson wondered what a fate it was to be strong enough to be considered to bodyguard Thanaton, yet weak enough that being given guard duty was the best use of one’s skills. He felt a bit shabby in his apprentice’s robes, awkwardly tall and skinny among all these power armour-clad adults, but that ought not to be a matter of concern – all that was important was responding to Thanaton as soon as possible. Though he stopped to take a few uncalm breaths before entering the inner office.
Thanaton rose from his desk as Murlesson entered and bowed. He was framed by a great transparisteel viewport overlooking the city. Probably everyone on the Dark Council had a window like that in their office. Personally, he hardly noticed the view. Thanaton’s power coursed through the room, and he was fighting not to freeze in place like a gizka in headlights. Focus!
“Thank you for meeting me here,” Thanaton said to him. “Respect for his superiors is the mark of a good Sith. Of course, Zash would’ve disagreed, did disagree with me passionately on that point. But then, Zash never respected tradition.”
From how Zash had treated him so familiarly from the moment they met, he could see what Thanaton meant. Although Thanaton sounded oddly conversational at this moment himself. He pointed out the obvious Sith caveat – Thanaton should not think him uselessly menial. “It’s wise indeed to respect your superiors, my lord – at least until you’re powerful enough to kill them.” As he had done with Zash.
“An intelligent answer,” Thanaton complimented him drily. “You are not like your master. Tradition. Principles. History. The threads that compose our society. Zash refused to acknowledge how one little tug could ruin the whole tapestry.” Or was she too selfish to care? “Your work was sloppy, brazen, even, but the news of her murder was sweet.”
“I am glad I was able to please you, my lord.” A slave’s answer.
Thanaton smiled grimly. “I only hope that next time you’ll be a little less obvious. Nevertheless, we’re here to talk about you, not Zash. You have demonstrated remarkable ability. Though I am a stricter master than Zash, I think you’ll find that to loyal followers of our traditions, I am not ungenerous.”
“Then I will do my best not to disappoint you,” Murlesson said with a small bow. His fingers were cold and numb, palms clammy.
“In that case, I think we will have a very fruitful relationship. Now, I wish to see how you work. To the west, between here and the Dark Temple, lies the tomb of Darth Andru, Sith scholar and alchemist. I’m interested in his last writings, which were buried with him. Recover them for me, as soon as possible, and we will discuss your place in my power structure.”
“Yes, my lord,” Murlesson said, and left as Thanaton waved him away dismissively.
He took a shaky breath once he was back in the elevator down. He had survived this encounter, and now his life was much more complicated than before. Zash had needed him, had made that clear from the beginning. He’d had a certain immunity from her. From Thanaton, he had nothing. Thanaton didn’t need him at all. If he couldn’t make himself useful immediately, Thanaton would dispose of him.
And that was assuming that Thanaton was acting in good faith. He didn’t trust him further than he could kick him, and while there was no sign yet that this was a trap… chances were better than even. They always were with Sith.
His commlink went off, and he jumped. “Hello?”
“Murlesson.” It was Aristheron. “Would you be available this evening?”
Was he? He should put all energy towards pleasing Thanaton, on the off chance that it wasn’t a trap, shouldn’t he? Or should he already be striving to break free from his inevitable demise? He amended his earlier statement. Aristheron of all Sith would never set a trap for him until they were actively enemies. “I could be. What do you need?”
“I can’t discuss it here. The Nexus Room, at 2200 hours?”
“Understood.” That would give him time to at least get some preliminary research out of the way. Corrin and Kaal would just have to figure out how to take some of the paperwork.
The Nexus Room, a fairly fashionable lounge near the Sith Sanctum, was more crowded than Murlesson would have liked that evening. He wondered if it was a weekend, then wondered how long he’d been working to not know if it was the weekend. Vany caught sight of him with a bright smile and waved him over. He was a bit too sour for the smile to have an effect on its own – with Revel’s help, he’d determined more or less that his task was 100% a trap designed to kill him off – but the simple fact that he was able to see his… friends again lifted his mood involuntarily. Janelle was not present; probably for the best.
Murlesson nodded to Aristheron and received a nod in return. “Do you need my strength or my mind?”
“Neither,” Aristheron said, looking vaguely annoyed that he’d had to clarify. “I thought it proper to inform you of developments in my career. My master is dead, and I am now commander of a small strike force bound for Corellia tomorrow.”
He’d heard Darth Emment was dead, and it didn’t take much guessing to figure out how. Murlesson frowned. “But who are you under?” Who do you belong to? There are no loose ends allowed in the Empire.
“Nominally, Darth Marr, if that’s what you’re asking. But I will be devoting myself to the military first and foremost. There is still a place there for you, should you wish to join me now that you are free of your own master.”
Murlesson smiled mirthlessly. “Getting free of her might be the last thing I do. I am now beholden to Darth Thanaton, and his first errand might kill me. I will have no autonomy until I’ve proven myself.” Or escaped. But that was too much to dream, wasn’t it.
“That’s terrible!” Vany exclaimed. “I’m so sorry.”
Aristheron’s face darkened. “Then it is a pity I must leave so soon. Be careful.” Not that he could interfere even if he weren’t going.
“I don’t have much of a choice. I will.”
Vany perked up abruptly, away from her fruity purple drink. “Oh! Hey! Look! There’s another blue Twi-lek over there. How unusual!”
Murlesson looked too, and blinked. “It’s that girl.”
“You know her?” Vany asked.
“Not the Twi-lek, the woman she’s with.”
“Akuliina Volkova,” Aristheron said blandly, not betraying any of his previously-claimed distaste. “Ah. She’s seen you, it seems.”
Indeed, the other blue Twi-lek had seen Vany, and was heading towards them, a nervous but excited grin on her face, matched only by Vany’s own. “Er… sorry to bother you, but-!”
“My name’s Vany!” Vany chirped. “What’s your name, fellow alien?”
“I’m Vette! It’s nice to meet you!”
“Fancy seeing you again,” Volkova’s arrogant, confident voice rolled over the two twittering Twi-leks. “I see you managed not to get yourself killed. Murlesson, wasn’t it?”
“Yes,” Murlesson said. “Murlesson Kallig. This is-”
“Aristheron Laskaris,” Volkova said, tossing her chin-length white hair. “Everyone knows him.”
“And I know of you,” Aristheron said, politely.
“I didn’t wish to assume,” Murlesson said sardonically. “What brings you here?”
“I’ve completed my training, and chosen a master,” Volkova said casually, picking an empty spot at the table beside him. “Came to have a drink and see who’s to be seen.”
“Also, she spent the last two hours buying furniture for her new penthouse, it’s crazy,” Vette said. “It’s being delivered now.”
“Oh my word,” Vany commiserated.
“Whatever shaves your bantha,” Murlesson said. Of course Volkova bought a penthouse. “They let you drink?”
She raised her glass of unidentifiable blue liquid. “They don’t let you?”
He scowled. “According to Imperial law, I’m not of an age to imbibe intoxicants.” And he couldn’t Force-persuade the servers, they were all droids or Sith alert for such things. Even though the law let him pilot speeders, command the military, and – oh yes – murder high-ranking Sith. And drink criminal amounts of caf, which ought to count as an intoxicant from his ship droid’s point of view.
She cackled. “You’re younger than I thought!”
“How old are you, then?” Murlesson demanded, nettled. She didn’t seem that much older than him.
She snorted. “Twenty. Laskaris?”
“None of your business.”
She shrugged at the rebuff and sipped her drink.
Murlesson glared at the tabletop. It wasn’t fair. Everyone was older and more experienced than him. What he could do with four more years of life…
“Murlesson, you are already a Lord of the Sith,” Aristheron reminded him. “In my personal opinion, intoxicants are overrated.”
That was true, even if it was wide of his mark. Perhaps deliberately, to keep the tone light. Also, this was valuable ally-gathering time. He lifted his head. “By the way, Volkova-”
“Akuliina,” she corrected him. “You’re not my minion nor my enemy. Yet.”
“Very well. Akuliina, I still owe you from Korriban.”
“You do indeed.” Her golden eyes glittered like a predator as she smirked. He didn’t like it. He was a predator himself – and so was Aristheron. All Sith were; whose teeth here were the sharpest?
“I may be dead in the near future, so the sooner you cash in that favour, the better,” he grumbled.
She lifted a white eyebrow. “You would warn me rather than spend your last days fighting your fate? How altruistic.”
“I’m still fighting my fate,” he said. He was also playing a longer game than the next few days. Just in case. It wouldn’t do to have such a debt hanging over him if he managed to keep acquiring power… and it would solidify some sort of strategic bond between them, hopefully. “Thanaton can’t complain if I’m helping the apprentice of Darth Baras, can he?”
“Very well. I will help you to help me.”
Aristheron stood. “I do not mean to be rude, but it is time for me to go. Murlesson, contact me when you can. Force willing, we will meet again.”
“Good luck with your strike force,” Murlesson wished him, standing as well and clasping his hand. “Goodbye, Vany.”
“Hope to see you soon!” Vany said, her smile fragile at the edges. She probably believed she was talking to a dead man. “And you too, Vette!”
“Call me!” Vette stage-whispered, miming a commlink, and Vany giggled and nodded. Aristheron nodded to them all, and strode off.
Akuliina had raised her drink again in response, and now turned to Murlesson. “Well, then. What do you know of the Dark Temple?”
“Quite a bit…”
Thanaton may have tried to be more subtle about it than Zash had been, but there were the signs – anyone who went into Darth Andru’s tomb didn’t come out again. Time to do the impossible again, Murlesson thought, and sighed long.
The research available on the tomb was thin, since no one ever came out alive, but he could extrapolate from similar tombs. There were only a few possibilities: traps, or the tomb’s angry occupant. Before getting sidetracked, he’d set his sights on researching his ancestor – had been researching spirits, less specifically, since Kallig had been erased fairly thoroughly from history. His preparation fitted in neatly to his new thrust.
Now he flung himself feverishly into his work, leaving everything else to hang. Turning in paperwork on time would help him not at all if he was dead. He could sleep some other time. He delved into Zash’s libraries, finding the oldest texts he could. She came with him in Khem’s body, offering what aid she could.
“Anything else by that author?”
“Not in my possession, sadly. I was going to steal one from Darth Grynsthal but…”
“Well, frakking Sith-spit…”
“Murlesson…?” she scolded him. “Where did you learn such language?”
He shrugged. What did that have to do with anything. “Around. Andronikos. The holonet.” It wasn’t like they were uncommon words, or difficult to learn how to use.
“I shall have to have a word with him…”
“What, because he’ll kriffing listen to you now?” He was going to use extra curses around her now just to annoy her.
“Oh, shut up and read your book. I’ll go see what else I have.”
He smirked at Khem’s retreating back and followed her advice.
And what he read… brought him a miracle. There was a chance. A chance not only to survive the trap, but survive Thanaton’s wrath afterwards.
Helping Akuliina into the Dark Temple was beneficial to him, not only to give him an excuse to prolong his life, but to seek out other ghosts… and experiment.
She was smarter than she had initially let on… not that he was able to be very subtle about chasing spectres, not after the spectacular metaphysical display of successfully binding the first one. She folded her arms, cocked her head, and stared at him, while her Twi-lek huddled behind her. “Why ghosts? What makes you think you can control them? The whole reason they’re ghosts is because they had too much willpower to dissipate into the Force.”
He picked himself up off the ground where he’d staggered, near-overwhelmed by the burden of power. “Because if I don’t consume them, I join them.” He glanced down at his skinny frame. “It’s about all I have time to eat these days, anyway.”
Her gaze was cool and penetrating. “You’re half-cracked, aren’t you.”
“Better than dead,” he snarked back, and she smirked. She was pretty psychotic herself, in his opinion.
Her forays to the Temple were completed all too soon, and it was only a few days later he stood before Darth Andru’s tomb, deep in the jungle, Khem beside him. Revel he had left behind. There was no point in risking the sanity of his pilot, and besides, he needed him for something else. He wished he’d had more time… but Thanaton had sent him an impatient message in the morning. No doubt he wanted him dead sooner rather than later, to avoid wasting too much bureaucracy on a doomed boy.
He breathed deep of the humid air – he could feel the Force with him, his control over it far greater than before thanks to the stolen power already within him. Certainly, it was written that any Force-sensitive could become strong with training and time. It was a popular maxim that to do anything properly, there were no short-cuts. But he had no choice. If he paid for it later… so be it.
The tomb’s entrance was unsealed, barred only by a modern-era door probably installed by archaeologists to keep animals out. The tunnel within was cloyingly dark around the beam of his flashlight; apparently whatever funding had financed the door had not extended to permanent light installations. Probably because of whatever kept killing everyone. It was narrow, and winding, and damp; water had seeped through the stone and dripped through the ceiling. He hoped that whatever writings lay at the end of the tomb were intact.
This ghost was less subtle than Kallig. “Venom-toothed vipers, always slithering, slithering,” hissed a whisper in the corridor. “Up the walls, along the floors.”
He was not nearly as intimidated as he had been by his ancestor, either, and pressed on. He came out into a slightly larger chamber, marked with a coffin in the centre and a pedestal behind it. Bodies lay about – no doubt the unfortunate remains of Thanaton’s victims. The whisper grew louder, and a dimly glowing shape began to coalesce over the coffin. “Trespasser! Trespasser! You’ll not have it. It’s mine. It’s the last place in the galaxy that’s mine!”
Murlesson huffed, as if speaking to an acquaintance. “I just want your writings. You can have the tomb.”
The ghost ranted and flailed, drifting to and fro before him and around him. “Never satisfied, are you, my apprentice? The poison still fresh in my body, you defile my tomb. You and your sister both. The poison may have burned away my sight, but I know you. Don’t make my mistake – strangle your children at birth!”
“I’m sorry your offspring murdered you, but strangling all children may not be the solution.” He certainly wasn’t at a point to be thinking about children, and didn’t see the point in starting to think about it right now.
The ghost shook with rage at him. “Solution!? Death is the only solution for vipers like you!” It flew at him, hands outstretched, a wall of dark power surging towards him. Khem growled something wordless and gripped his sword tighter.
Murlesson reached out his hand to divert the power away from him, to trap it, to seep the threads of his will into the nebulous other. He had to brace – the forces were immense, far stronger than the first ghost he’d bound.
The spirit’s attack blunted, it recoiled away from him in confusion. “What happened!? What did you do to me!? You’re not my son. Bring me that treacherous scoundrel so I can cut him open!”
Murlesson shrugged. “Your son’s probably dead by now too, but that’s not important. I’m taking your power for my own. You can come the easy way, or the hard way.”
Gathering itself again, the ghost laughed. “What about ‘not at all’? Do you really think you can handle my power? It doesn’t matter. You won’t have me. This is my last stronghold… and I won’t be your slave!”
Murlesson raised his voice and both hands. “I think you misheard. I wasn’t asking.”
Khem laughed as the ghost screamed in fury. “You treacherous-!”
It was caught in his will, now, snared in a thousand multiplying threads of his control. He was no longer aware of his physical body, his consciousness ascending almost entirely into the Force – a dangerous thing, if he lost himself entirely, if his mind and body separated. But this battle was not of the physical but of the supernatural, and he… mostly… knew what he was doing.
The Force tore through him, waves of black rage; he countered with his own desperate hate. He’d endure worse than this. His fingers clawed and straining, channeling dark power in a violent storm, he tore at the ghost’s manifestation, their strength evenly matched.
Wind howled through the chamber, glowing with a fell light, as the ghost gave a shriek and vanished, vanquished. The power surged into Murlesson’s body, through his soul, and he arched his back painfully as it racked him. No! Stop! Control! It roared through him, trying to break free even still. He felt like it was going to rip him apart and gritted his teeth, pulling himself bit by bit back together.
All at once, the pressure ceased, and he fell to his knees, trembling with exertion. His throat was raw and he wondered if he’d screamed. Slowly, painfully, he climbed to his feet, shivering. Why was he so cold? Freezing, even. He couldn’t wait to get back into the warm jungle air, even if he had to drink it rather than breathe it.
But the Force… the Force seethed inside him. More Force than he knew what to do with at the moment… though he was sure that would change once he saw Thanaton.
He smiled.
He was physically weak and shaky yet when he exited the tomb, but when the door opened, he tensed, hardly noticing the temperature now. Thanaton was waiting for him. Sithspawn! Of all the frakking scum…
He composed himself. Thanaton had surely sensed him, as he had sensed Thanaton. There was no hiding or turning back. He quickly tapped his commlink, sending a message to Revel, and walked out, trying his hardest to cloak his presence in the Force, the fact that he’d grown thrice as strong in less than a week. “I retrieved the writings for you, my lord.” He handed him the book with a subservient bow. For once, it was not raining, though if the book had survived the tomb this long a little rain probably wouldn’t do much more to it.
Thanaton accepted the book, turning it over thoughtfully. Murlesson tried not to eye the bodyguards nervously. “Hm. You’ve put me in a difficult position, boy.”
“My lord?”
“When Zash disobeyed me and had Skotia killed, tradition demanded that she be killed and her power base destroyed.” He sighed. “Believe me when I say I wish that you had stayed in that tomb. It will pain me to watch you die.”
Murlesson snarled, dropping all pretense at humility. “Because your feelings are more important than my life. I haven’t even defied you!”
Thanaton shrugged. “Your master openly opposed me, and I cannot risk you following in her footsteps. May the Force welcome you with open arms.” He turned to his bodyguards. “Kill him.”
They were instantly on him, lightsabers swinging; he drew his own, springing back with a growl. Would Thanaton help them, or just watch? Khem roared and charged into the fray. No, it was two on two. Technically, he was still outmatched. He didn’t have the experience in physical combat to stand up to them directly. He ducked, dodging, weaving, his double-bladed lightsaber whirling viciously. The Force beat upon him under his opponent’s control, but he hardly felt it through parrying the heavy sweeps of her scarlet lightsaber. He yanked on his own control of the Force, flinging it at her, aiming to confuse, to elude. The other’s saber slashed the sleeve of his robes, and he gave ground nimbly, gasping for air, on the edge of enraged panic. High, low, each side – his enemy’s guard was unbreakable, and he was getting separated from Khem…
His enemy was wearing a breath mask, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, in her aura. He pushed harder in the Force, willing himself invisible, willing her disoriented. He tripped over a stone, trying not to scream as he fell backwards unexpectedly, but she hesitated for the briefest moment in her onslaught. He thrust forward, releasing lightning through his blade into her chestplate – he hadn’t expected to get so far past her guard but he would take it-!
She collapsed and he slashed savagely before charging Khem’s opponent from behind. This one felt him coming, or at least heard him coming, spinning to face them both with a grunt. Murlesson darted forward, lightsaber snarling, and fell back with an agonized cry. This Sith had parried and sliced his arm near to the bone.
Pain flooded him, bleeding into his darkness, and he lashed out like an animal as Khem counterattacked from the other side. The Sith parried again, and again, the blades of the three combatants clashing faster and faster. He only had a little time before his injury caught up to him. He had to kill him now! He let out the scream that had been building inside him, and the Sith staggered as he blocked Khem’s strike. And Murlesson stabbed him through the chest.
Thanaton clapped his hands softly, sardonically, smiling mockingly. “You truly are relentless. I can see now why Zash chose you.”
“When my choices are death and painful death, I really can risk a lot,” Murlesson snarked, panting hard. His hearts were thudding in his chest, adrenaline racing through his veins, ready to act or react. The real fight still hadn’t begun yet.
Thanaton’s smile twitched, possibly in genuine amusement. “Indeed.” He did not seem to move, but suddenly the Force roared about him, the wind swirling through the jungle clearing like a million rattling snakes, rising to a scream.
Murlesson met the blast head-on, motionless in his turn as he turned it away with only his will. His crimson hair whipped in the wind, and his singed robes flapped loudly. Who would use a physical mnemonic to direct the Force to his command first?
It was Murlesson, flinging out first one hand, then the other, heedless of his wound, Darkness and desperation and pure venomous hate rising within him and around him in a whirling cloud. He could do this – he could challenge Thanaton, Darth Thanaton of the Dark Council, and live! All he wanted was to live! Just one more moment of life was a victory! His stolen power coursed down his arms, directed straight at Thanaton, intent upon beating him back, holding him off just a little longer. Just a little longer! And Thanaton showed signs of flinching before rallying, his own hands outstretched now, making sigils to direct the Force in response to Murlesson’s raw, determined strength.
A Force-blind observer would not have seen much; two men and a monster in a clearing filled with unnatural storm and the odd flash of lightning, but the tide of the Force surged between them invisibly, striking and recoiling, grasping and barring. How much longer could he keep this up?
“You’ve come prepared!” Thanaton cried over the howling wind. “By now I should have expected that. But this has carried on long enough.”
“Yes, it has,” Murlesson growled hoarsely, his ears pricking as he faintly heard the incoming whine of thrusters. “But it’s not over. I promise you, it’s not over.”
“Oh, but it is. Unfortunately for you, I am older and wiser and studied in powers you can’t even imagine…” Thanaton’s confident gloating trailed off as the Viper came screaming in, guns blazing, forcing both Sith to jump away from each other. Revel spun the ship fluidly, presenting Murlesson with the loading ramp; Khem jumped aboard and reached out to help Murlesson on.
Murlesson gave Thanaton a sarcastic salute, then saw how his enemy was standing, his posture, his pose. There was pain in his chest – his defenses were down-
He woke in his nest in his cabin, he knew not how much time later. As his eyes fluttered open, he heard movement beside his bed, sensed presences, and sat up abruptly, reaching out to blast the interloper with the Force-
But it was only Kaal, looking somehow both relieved and terrified. “My lord, you’re awake!”
“I suppose I am,” Murlesson said, feeling his chest. He felt fine now. At least, his chest did. His arm had been bandaged with kolto and he felt like painkillers had been applied, but it still hurt. “What did he do to me?”
“I-I don’t know, my lord. As per your last orders, we are bound for Nar Shaddaa.” He waited helplessly.
“Get everyone to gather in the common area,” Murlesson ordered. His worst-case scenario was in progress and he hadn’t had time to plan the next step yet.
He’d really hoped to have more time. There had barely been enough time as it was to drain Zash’s libraries into the Viper’s memory banks, and forget packing any of the artefacts. Thanaton would get them all, and that was annoying. Also annoying was how he felt like he was flailing from one catastrophe to another, only escaping by the skin of his teeth time and again. When was he going to have the upper hand, dammit!? But Revel had come to get him as requested, and if only he’d not let his guard down at the last second, his getaway would have been clean.
He exited his cabin to a veritable crowd – Khem, Revel, Corrin, Kaal, and most of Zash’s Imperial staff. How they’d all found space to sleep on the fairly small Viper, he didn’t know. Nor did he particularly care.
Corrin brightened. “My lord, you’re back!”
“Thought you were gone,” Revel said drily. “Collapsing on the ramp like that – it’s a good thing Khem Val dragged you inside before we left atmosphere.”
“You didn’t have a pulse for several minutes, but you remained warm,” Corrin said. “I don’t know how you survived that.”
His ears burned. He’d been at everyone’s mercy for long hours. “I guess I should thank you, then.”
“You are our master, my lord,” she said earnestly. “Without you, we are orphans.” He supposed that was true. Given how Thanaton had been ready to exterminate him for the mere crime of being chosen by Zash, he would have snuffed out these two without even noticing, and they knew it.
“Your survival is the most remarkable thing I’ve ever witnessed,” said Zash’s voice, and he turned to glare at Khem. “I still can’t quite figure it out. It seems Thanaton’s last strike should have killed you, did kill you, but he didn’t fully understand the bond between you and the dead. To truly kill you, he would have had to purge their spirits. You died… and their very presence kept you alive.”
“Great,” he said sarcastically. “So I’m resistant to Force-induced heart attacks. I’m sure that doesn’t work with decapitation.”
“Don’t suppose you’re willing to test that,” Revel said idly, and Murlesson glared briefly at him too.
“But what do we do, my lord?” Kaal asked. “We can’t wait for Thanaton to catch up to us and kill us.”
Murlesson’s eyes sharpened. “First things first. We’re going to Nar Shaddaa to regroup. My base there should be reasonably hidden from Thanaton’s eyes… though he knows it exists. Still, I think he’ll have enough to deal with absorbing Zash’s holdings on Dromund Kaas. He probably won’t even think that my base on Nar Shaddaa is much of a threat – or a resource – without me.”
“Without you, my lord?” Corrin asked doubtfully.
He nodded. “As far as he knows, he killed me. He must have felt my life end. I felt my life end, even if my spirit didn’t go anywhere. So there’s a time where I can move around freely, if cautiously.” So dying had probably actually worked out better for him. He looked around at everyone menacingly. “And if any of you breathes a word of my continued existence I will find you and kill you painfully. I will know if you do.”
The Imperials looked stiff and a little frightened, but he was being nice – really, he was! Naga Sadow would have executed them all and found replacements rather than risk it. But he couldn’t afford replacements right now. Even if he didn’t really have a use for them right now. And pulling rank to get a new office anywhere would land him on Thanaton’s radar… Urgh. He really hadn’t thought this through as rigorously as he’d believed. Maybe he should just execute them and be done with it. He was outside the Empire now, wasn’t he?
No, he needed to infiltrate these people back to Dromund Kaas to be his eyes and ears there. He would just have to find some way to ensure their loyalty, one way or another.
He took a deep breath. “Secondly – I need more strength. I will face Thanaton again – it’s inevitable. And this time, I want to crush him.” Force strength, political strength, military strength, he didn’t care. Give it all to him, he’d make something of it.
“If you want to keep chasing the dead, it’s a gamble,” Zash said. “None of us know the cost of acquiring so much power so quickly.”
“If you have another idea, say so,” Murlesson told her acidly, and she paused.
“The Jedi on Yavin 4 were investigating something of that nature,” she said. “I sent a man to investigate shortly before my… unfortunate change.”
His eyes flickered over Corrin and Kaal, wondering if they’d noticed at all that their former master was trapped in the body of a monster and was sharing it part-time. Or had all been explained while he was out cold? Half-explained? The whats but not the wherefores? He didn’t actually care.
“Then that’s where I’ll start,” he said. “I’m going to go flesh out the details. Dismissed.”
The Imperials he decided not to reassign back to Dromund Kaas after all. It would be a loss of intelligence, but they were not trained for espionage anyway. He didn’t have time for a detour… he needed more minions for that. He made the detour himself, and had Revel hack into one of Zash’s accounts while he was at it. He could have accessed it directly, but that would have left clues he didn’t want to leave.
It was ironic, but Commenor was his best chance right now. The world that he’d spent so long on, the world he’d fought to be free from, and now he was returning, because it was the other most-populated Imperial centre. Strangely, he didn’t seize up upon returning. Perhaps it was because he’d never been outside and had no emotional connection, positive or negative, with the planet in general. He recognized nothing, and he was fine with that. It was just a less-rainy, less-Sithy Dromund Kaas to him. Netokos’s estate had been taken over by a new merchant prince, and he didn’t care in the slightest. It… actually felt great to not care.
A Force-laced word here, a bribe there, and he had a new office in an unassuming sector of the planet. There was little for them to do for him as of yet; he had no repositories of artefacts for them to curate, no research projects they could assist with – he intended this ghost-hunting project to be hands-on and personal. But that didn’t mean there was little for them to do entirely. He got them assigned to adequate positions in the Commenor defense force and left them to settle in, after a few days organizing the office how he wanted. He’d call on them when he needed them, and if he acquired more Imperial holdings, now he had a place to send them.
If Thanaton really dug, he might see the ripples Murlesson was making. But first he would have to know where to look, and how; it was unlikely that Thanaton knew the name Kallig was attached to him. And Murlesson might be engaged in a spat with someone on the Dark Council… but he was still a genuine Lord of the Sith, and his word was the Imperials’ command as long as he didn’t directly contradict someone more important than him.
And then he could go to Nar Shaddaa, where he knew what he was doing, where the crime was blue-collar rather than white-collar, where gossip flowed like water, where the veneer of civilization was sarcastically thin. Where the Force bubbled dark and restless and chaotic, where dark-robed Zabrak were a much more common sight and he could move unseen.
The trip from Commenor to Nar Shaddaa was unwelcome quiet. He would have kept working on the way there, but after tripping over his own feet in the common room and passing out in the shower, he had to acknowledge that it was time for a rest. His breakneck schedule was chasing him down, and even with stims and caf, his brain was so foggy he could hardly think straight. Even the imminent threat of death and the fact that he needed to establish himself as a Sith Lord yesterday couldn’t keep him alert. He slept most of the way to the Hutt moon, trying not to obsess over his plans for when he got there. Trying not to dream about heart attacks or ghosts.
The cult was doing well. Destris was subdued and behaving deferentially, thank the Force, and things seemed to be running smoothly. Rylee was happy to see him, and showed him the latest updates on the factory’s productions. As he looked around, he noticed interesting things – the red and black bracelets he’d made as an identifying sign were evolving. Some cultists were wearing the colours as necklaces. Some humans were wearing them as hair ties. And one Rodian was wearing a rather hideous red-and-black striped outfit, complete with dyed hair, but whatever fed her hawkbat, Murlesson supposed. Though… “That’s hardly inconspicuous.”
<I only wish to express my adoration for you, Master,> said the Rodian. Whom he’d never met before.
“Khi doesn’t go outside,” Rylee hastened to assure him. “She would rather stay here. She’s been a great help to us all.”
“Very well,” he said, inclining his head regally. He’d allow it. He met with the members who had been abused on their arrival and listened to them, though he didn’t intend to do anything in particular even if they’d had lingering grievances. They seemed suitably awed just that he’d meet with them personally; Rylee must have been very persuasive. He ate a meal with his followers, though he discouraged the more fanatical worshipers from getting close, and took notes on what could be done to expand operations. At the rate they were growing, he’d be able to invest in more space, perhaps even proper legal and security aid for his leaders. Though caution was warranted; the bigger they got, the more their neighbours would take notice, and not necessarily in a good way.
And then he’d had to deal with Corrin and Kaal talking between themselves about sexually harassing Rylee and Destris. It was like running a kindergarten for adults, not that he had any experience with kindergartens outside of the expression tossed around on the holonet. He probably shouldn’t have brought them here if they couldn’t stay focused on his mission. Stupid low-level Sith. He wondered if giving them some philosophy would help… Even actually train them like actual apprentices.
They’d be out of Nar Shaddaa soon enough, and they’d either grow up, or grow dead. He had use for Sith minions, but he could always get more. “Have either of you met Thanaton before?” he asked them the next day.
“No, my lord,” Kaal said.
“He wouldn’t know of their existence,” Zash said from Khem’s body. “I took them on in secret. No one was supposed to know – certainly not you.” If she had been human, she would have glared suspiciously at him, he supposed, but she was not, and Khem always looked like he was glaring suspiciously. He certainly wasn’t going to tell her that it was his dead ancestor who’d informed on her, even if she was one of the few who might actually believe him.
Kaal stared. “I-I… You lied to us!?”
“I’m not sure why you’re so surprised,” Murlesson said. “That’s what Sith do. If you’re surprised, you ought to join the Jedi.”
Kaal blinked. “R-right. I understand, my lord.”
No, you don’t, he thought, but that was fine, because if they started distrusting him too soon, they’d be useless or worse. “I hope so, because I need eyes and ears on Thanaton.” Their eyes went wide with fear. “What are you being afraid for? He won’t notice you unless you do something careless. All I need is accurate updates on his movements until I’m ready to strike.”
“Ah, I understand, my lord,” Corrin said. “I think we can do that.”
“Good.” He considered. “While you’re there, if you see a chance to steal anything that used to belong to Zash, I wouldn’t mind having it back. Even steal from Thanaton’s collection if it comes up, but he’s less likely to miss something that he recently acquired en masse. You can have a bonus for every piece you obtain.” Hopefully that would be enough to forestall any thoughts of jumping ship to Thanaton.
Their eyes gleamed. “We’ll do our best, Master.”
He allowed them an encouraging smile. “Do well, and we all benefit. I will need someone to oversee the Commenor operation eventually.”
They had been sent off, eager and bold as young apprentices seemed to be. And now, finally, he was alone, and could dispense with ‘dignity’ and go back to eating junk food in his cabin while looking for ghost references on the holonet. Yavin 4, Zash had said. Now that was a repository for Sith bones if you knew where to look…
What was this? News from Balmorra… He skipped over the part about Akuliina single-handedly cutting through rebel fortresses. The rebels had also staged an attack resulting in the death of Darth Lachris… and the Rurouni had been spotted.
His vision swam. Was he delirious? Darth Lachris… dead!?
The Rurouni had done it. Whatever else had pushed him to do it… he had done it. Murlesson laughed, wildly, relief and triumph rushing through him. He grabbed a pillow to him with the Force and punched it into the air, half-sobbing. Never again. Never again would she take anything from him. The nightmares might come and go but he had defeated her, even if indirectly.
The others could probably hear him laughing. He didn’t care. Ding, dong, the witch was dead.