Had a bit of a scare with my hard drive in the last couple days; my computer keeps forgetting where it put my HDD, which I keep all my stories and games on (including SWTOR). I managed to save a copy of this story to my SSD first, so I kept writing. Apparently the HDD is wearing out and needs to be replaced. But it’s within warranty, so that’s good! But I have to pause here for a bit until it’s fixed. I know it’s not a very satisfying place to stop, but hopefully it’ll be fixed soon.
Murlesson listens to death metal! (optional listening with swear words) I don’t care for it personally, (symphonic/power metal for me!) but I respect his choices. (Ashara probably listens to, like, J-pop or something. I know the Republic has got a more Classic Rock/Country feel going on, but she doesn’t strike me as either of those, personally. Or maybe I just like J-pop.)
You know what, Khem reminds me of Sten from Dragon Age Origins. >.> Big, grumpy, honourable-combat-obsessed warrior with an oversized sword. Or maybe that’s just how I wrote both of them, oops.
Part 21: Venom Rising
He was getting better physically every day, though he was still far too tired and his appetite was still low. But though the ache persisted – an ache he now knew was linked to his body falling apart, as his headache was linked to his parasites nibbling at his mind – he could bear it enough to move around as normal.
Which led to Ashara bouncing into his room after a few more days, and poking him with both index fingers in the shoulder. “Hey. Hey hey hey. Let’s spar today. Stop with the screaming noises and spar with me.”
He pouted at her through the mask and pulled his headphones off. It was helping, a tiny bit, to listen to music. It almost drowned out the ghosts under the music that he had already found he liked to listen to: dissonant, tortured, distorted electronica, incoherent shrieking vocals, and percussion that sounded like it had been tossed down a 50-story echoing stairwell by an enraged Wookiee. It was chaotic and disturbing and gave catharsis to his soul, gave him some measure of feeling strong when he was pathetically weak. It was only an illusion, so he shouldn’t have clung to it, but… Revel said music was important, so he allowed himself this vanity. And it didn’t exacerbate his perpetual headache. What I don’t understand is why you relate so strongly to how the Force-ignorant feel about their helpless lot in life. Oh, the boy has a juvenile taste in music, it’s only to be expected. He may grow out of it, give him time, Horak. Oh wait. He’s running out of time. Rapidly. Heheheheh… “But I like it.”
“Well, that too. I was trying to make a joke about your Force sense.” She grimaced. “Fell a bit flat, didn’t it? C’mon, let’s go spar. You’re well enough to. Bring the music if you have to.”
She was utterly transparent; trying to posit her sudden demand as if she were bored, and not as if she were trying to drag him bodily back into action, back into living now that he was physically capable of it.
He sighed and hauled himself laboriously out of his office chair. “Fine.”
“Yay! I’ve got the cargo hold all set up!” There wasn’t much to set up, usually – they never carried much in the way of cargo, and what there was Ashara usually shoved into a corner and later Drellik would complain that he couldn’t find anything he was looking for. They had some floor mats for improved footing, some wall mats to absorb any stray lightning. They could never get too carried away, either, it was a small space even with no cargo in it. But having regular basic practise had definitely improved his skills since Ashara came on board.
He met her there a few minutes later, in a loose black tunic and pants, and without the mask for once. She tilted her head to the side curiously. “Not going to wear it right now?”
“I like breathing,” he retorted, putting the music on at a volume they could talk over. She winced at it but said nothing. “Especially since this is going to suck.”
“It’s not going to suck.” She handed him his training staff and took up her own pair of practise blades.
“It is,” he grumbled as they began to warm up together, practising technique before they started practising on each other as they usually did. “May as well give a lightsaber to Drellik, he’d be on my skill level right now.” How far you have fallen… you who tried to assassinate a Darth.
Ashara clicked her tongue at him. “I don’t believe you. Anyway, I’ve learned how to pace my sparring partner by now.”
As compared to when he was spying on her? “What do you mean, ‘by now’?”
“When I was studying on Yavin 4, my primary goal was to get through my training and go fight some Sith! Did I tell you about that? I think I mentioned that. And I was the best in my class!”
“Which is also a thing you have mentioned,” he said dryly.
“Well, it’s true! So anyway, I didn’t get it then, what Master Ryen was trying to teach me by pairing me with Varek, who… wasn’t very good, and I kept getting frustrated because he was A) not helping me get better for fighting Sith, and B) going to get killed if he ever tried to fight Sith.” You should have hunted him down and rid the galaxy of him before you quit Yavin 4.
“Well, here I am, a Sith,” he said. “Come kill me.” He beckoned as they took places opposite each other.
She gave him an exasperated look. “That’s what I’ve been trying to say! Sparring with you, I’ve figured out how to pace myself so we both benefit, and I don’t kill you by getting carried away. And right now, sure, maybe I won’t have much of a challenge, but that’s fine, it’ll be better later, once you’re back to your old self. And if we don’t keep your skills up, you’ll never get back to your old self!”
His answering look was dour. “You’re better at your worst than I am on my best days. Why should you ever bother to pace yourself?” She pities you, worm. That’s all you’re good for these days.
She smiled brightly. “Because your control of telekinesis is parsecs ahead of mine, so if I ever started going too hard, I’m pretty sure you’d just smash me into the wall! Heheh.”
“Huh. And here I am telling myself that if I ever act up, you’ll just stab me with your superior swordwork. Seems we’re both afraid of each other.”
She made another exasperated huff. “I’m not afraid of you.”
She lies. Or pretends she believes otherwise. “You aren’t?”
“Let me think about it!” They traded a few more blows. He was still slow and clumsy, over-correcting most of the time. She was still beautiful and graceful, concentrating on holding back just the right amount for him. “Yeah, no. You might have done some stuff that we’re not getting into right now, but you wouldn’t hurt me. You’re a sweetheart, even if you’re the grouchiest guy I ever met.”
He shook his head. “And you’re the strangest girl I ever met. And that includes my cultists.”
She giggled and began to push him harder. He was already running short of breath and sweating. “The healthy way to think about it would be that we respect each other’s abilities and strengths!”
He pulled back, held out a hand. “In that case, respect that I am done for the day.”
“I was thinking you could go another five or ten minutes, but sure, okay.” Weak.
Nope. He put his head down, leaning on his knees. This was fine. It wasn’t like he was going into battle any time soon. She dropped a towel on his head and rubbed it around, trying to get most of the sweat off even though he was going for a shower as soon as he got his breath back anyway. He staggered a little under her not-so-gentle ministrations, spluttering and backing away from her. “Ease up, this isn’t part of the fight.”
She wrapped it even more firmly around him and hugged him tightly. “I gotchu. And you can’t get me. Hahahaha!” Her spirit was warm against him, affectionate and playful.
He shook his head somewhere under the towel. “Jedi just can’t let Sith win, can they.” He couldn’t even get his arms free. I wish she would try and kill you, just to see what would happen.
She pulled it off enough to see his face, although he still couldn’t move his arms. “Sometimes it’s difficult to get close to you. So here you are.” She smiled brilliantly, and leaned up to kiss him.
Well, he often said she rendered him helpless, but he didn’t quite mean it so literally. Even as he kissed her back, he struggled with his arms until she let him out, then pulled her against him. It had been a while since he’d kissed her like this – not since before Thanaton – and suddenly he was starved for it. He wanted to devour her mouth, crush her against him, caress her lekku… easy, he couldn’t lose control now. Besides, wasn’t it enough just to feel her body against his and the soft touch of her lips…?
A searing pain shot through his skull and he fell back with a gasp, clutching his head and stumbling to one knee. Ashara hovered, her hands lingering on his shoulders. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
He winced and managed a hoarse chuckle. “I don’t think your ancestor likes what I’m doing very much.”
The parade of emotions across her face was something to see, but eventually she settled on disgusted anger. “That is none of his business! Wow! He needs to check out if he doesn’t like it! Oh, man, I’m so sorry. Are you gonna be okay?”
“It won’t last forever.” He winced as another spasm hit him. “Probably.” This meant he’d never be able to get her naked, didn’t it. Oh gods, his migraine just ramped up another notch. Kalatosh was making his opinion quite clear.
“Okay. You should go rest. Wanna do this again tomorrow? The sparring, I mean. Not the… you know.”
“…Yeah. All right.”
Next day they met again in the cargo hold, and immediately she commented on his demeanour. “You look tired. Did we go too hard yesterday?”
“No. It’s… what’s that line – I’ve been running through your dreams all night.”
She snorted and giggled. “That was smooth! But I think you’re supposed to say that the other way around.”
He really had been running in his dreams, trying to get away from some nameless fear that was going to devour him with inconveniently sharp teeth, but that was irrelevant. It was actually refreshingly generic, after the nightmares where Ten and Nel stood silently, staring at him accusingly, or the nightmares where Thanaton stepped on him like a literal bug, or the nightmares where he was being electrocuted, which were becoming more frequent, probably due to his aches. “Anyway, I’m fine. I was going to incorporate Force techniques today.” Oh, yes, good. Come, lose yourself in the Dark Side! He shook away the annoying, demanding pull.
“Okay.” She shrugged. “Good thing we still have the rubber mats up. Just don’t tire yourself out too early.”
“You’re not going to call me out for being lazy and using the Force as a crutch for my terrible saber technique?”
She smiled. “You’re recovering! Do what works for you. And I always need practise dodging and blocking Force techniques anyway.”
“All right then.” Warm-up complete, music screaming quietly in the background, he settled into a combat crouch, saber ready behind him. They circled, watching each other intently, waiting for someone to make the first move.
It was her, it was usually her, always breaking the ice for him, giving him a relatively slow attack to parry and counter attack against. Which he did, and then she counter-parried his counter-attack, and so on for several strikes until he tried to zap her feet and she had to hop back. She was grinning. “Ooh, tricksy!”
They could use training blades instead of real lightsabers, but he couldn’t tone down his powers much. If he pushed her too hard, she could get hurt. If he hit her with lightning, it was going to hurt. But then again, she was holding back for him. He always held back for her. And adding in some real danger seemed to excite her. Maybe a little too much, really. Kill the Jedi! Destroy her utterly! “Aren’t you supposed to be practising blocking?”
“That one was a little low to block,” she said. “And dodging is good too.”
He grunted and then they both settled in to duel. She was shining, sparkling, almost, in the Force, radiating calm self-control. She might not have liked the music that he liked, but to him it almost looked like she was dancing, she was so quick on her feet. And he had plenty of pain to draw on even for sparring practise, dragging his shadow around after him. He interrupted a chain of her strikes with a Force-push, and she crossed her blades to shield, and dissipated it well. The music gave him energy, more than if they’d fought in silence, and he felt a determination that he hadn’t felt in some time – even if he was already starting to get tired. But already they’d gone longer than yesterday, so… progress?
He snarled as he pushed out again, and Ashara – failed to block it, stumbling backwards with a startled look and a cry.
No, not startled: frightened. He’d scared her- “What? What did I…” He wanted to jump forward to help her, but if he’d scared her, he should stay away…
“Y-you-” Her eyes were wide and fearful but she was scrambling to her feet. Cautiously. “Your… I could have sworn you had fangs for a second there, and it… startled me.”
That would explain it. “Fangs?” He ran his tongue over his teeth, found them all to feel normal.
“M-maybe it was a trick of the light,” Ashara said. “You were getting pretty into it, huh?”
Was that all it was? “No… You wouldn’t be afraid of the light…” He dropped his practise blade on the ground and ran back to his cabin, to the mirror.
His teeth all looked fine as he grimaced at himself. But he hadn’t just been making faces at her. He snarled. No change.
No. He’d been using the Force as he did it. He opened the floodgates, just a crack, letting hatred and despair well out, and screamed silently.
And stumbled back, much the way she had, tripping over his own feet and landing on his backside on the cold hard decking.
Oh yes. Those were fangs. His eyes had flashed with supernatural light, his whole face seemed to darken. Even if he looked now and simply saw his own tired, shocked, miserable face, it didn’t change what had happened.
He covered his face with his hands. “I really am a monster.” Somehow it was easier to deal with when he was just speaking of morality, but… physically transforming – or at least displaying an inadvertent illusion – chilled him to the core. Shouldn’t it have been the other way around? What a horrible, vain person he was.
“You aren’t,” Ashara said quietly from the doorway.
He Force-pushed her out quickly and slammed and locked the door. The music was still rampaging and he blasted the local speaker with pure kinetic energy, then crumpled to his knees, sobbing silently into his hands in the deafening silence. He was a monster, a freak, inside and out, and no hippie-dippy words from a Jedi would change that or make him feel better about it.
She was tapping on the door. “Murlesson, let me in.”
“Go away.” His voice was strangled, cracking.
“Please. You’re not a monster.”
He threw the chair at the door, breaking the arm off. “Leave me alone.”
Her Force-presence hovered a moment more, then withdrew. To the other end of the ship, to the engine room. He could sense the others converging on her, to find out what was going on with him. How could she know? How did he know himself?
Why did he care?
What was he going to do now? Wallow in self-pity? Keep going like nothing was wrong? Naga Sadow would accept it as a price of power. Maybe even a perk for intimidating people with. He really was being too sensitive about this. His head pulsed with pain, his body ached. What kind of useless Sith was he?
A little boy, a baby boy who reached for more power than he had the maturity to handle, came the answer from Ergast. You dabbled in Darkness your whole life but you were never a Lord of the Sith.
Will you falter at this minuscule distraction? Horak-Mul demanded contemptuously. I cannot believe you defeated me with a soul this weak.
“Well, sorry for being slightly alarmed at something I had no warning of,” he mumbled, viciously sarcastic. He had been strong before. He had been so strong, determined, unstoppable. They were wrong.
Did you think being a Sith came with warning labels!? Kalatosh cried. Are you more foolish than all the Jedi put together!? You knew what you were risking!
Little snake really is a snake, was Andru’s so-helpful contribution, with a psychotic peal of laughter.
Stop. He needed to take stock of everything. So far the count was: his body was decaying, his aura was damaged to the point that it visibly manifested when he used it, and he had four tag-alongs trying to take over his mind. He didn’t know how to catalogue the emotional scarring so he lumped that all into ‘PTSD, deal with later’.
And what, really, was he going to do about it? Thanaton was going to devote all his time and attention to him now, now that he’d challenged him directly, and wouldn’t stop until one of them was dead. What’s he thinking now? Going to run and hide in his deepest, darkest hole? “Shut up, you lot.” He just needed a few more minutes to focus. He couldn’t afford to wait any longer, if he wanted to have a chance of surviving further. Assuming Zash found him a solution. And he didn’t trust her on anything, but without him, she would have a hard time of it, fighting eternally with Khem for control, so he could more or less trust her to try to save him for now.
It was time to get back to work. He picked up his mask and put it on. His headache lessened slightly.
Somehow this newest blow had broken him into being functional again, and he wasn’t sure what that meant. But then again… if Murlesson couldn’t handle this life… maybe Lord Kallig could. Lord Kallig definitely could.
He picked the chair away from the door, opened it, and found Khem Val looming in it. <This far I have tolerated your weakness, little Sith, but no further. You have been helpful, but you are no master to me.>
Oho, even the beast thinks you’re not worth the air you breathe. How will you respond?
He glared coldly up at him. “I am your master. Wounded as I may be, I’m still stronger than you.”
<Prove it.>
He clenched his teeth and flicked Khem away with a blast of the Force, then sprinted back to the cargo hold, summoning his training blade to his hand. “Do you need a reminder of who is in charge? Spoiler alert: it’s not you.” Nor was it the ghosts in his head. He was lord and master here, dammit!
Khem had picked himself up fluidly and drawn his broadsword; they faced off in the common area, Khem with his blade raised, Murlesson in a relaxed guard. He still didn’t have his stamina back. He couldn’t fight Khem for long. <You will not fight me with your lightsaber? Then you will doom yourself. I will slay you, depart this ship, and eject the witch through my own means.>
Murlesson laughed, and for a moment, Khem paused. “Try it, pet of Tulak Hord.” Somehow everything had reset, and it was like their first meeting all over again, with all the virulent animosity they’d both had then.
“What are you doing!?” Ashara cried from the door to the engine room. “Stop it, both of you!”
“This is necessary,” he said. “It will be over soon. Come on, Khem. I’ll give you a beating just like the first time.” But with more baggage. Yesss, fight! Punish the insolent Dashade! Kill him!
Khem roared and rushed him. Ashara squealed in dismay and jumped back, sensing that neither of them were going to hold back. Drellik and Revel had appeared behind her, Revel watching with eager anticipation, Drellik with apprehension.
He couldn’t allow Khem to destroy the practise blade, and flung out his hand to zap him instead. Khem rolled to the side and kept coming; Murlesson hopped away, wrestling for control over the Force, to at least use his own strength, even if the ghosts wouldn’t let him use theirs at the moment. The control panel he’d hit with lightning exploded, spraying sparks, and the ship’s lights flared for a moment as the systems balanced out the sudden influx of energy. Drellik looked even more alarmed. “Oh dear, do be careful.”
Khem was much, much faster and stronger than when they’d fought in Naga Sadow’s Korriban tomb. He was experienced, and cunning, and those beady little eyes were burning with rage. If he’d been this strong when they’d first fought, Murlesson wouldn’t have survived.
“Khem!” Ashara tried to cry out. “Don’t do this! I know you respect strength, but you have to give him time to recover! Even a Sith needs time to recover after spending everything!”
Khem growled in answer. <Then he should have made a better plan. My master Tulak Hord would not have been brought so low!>
“Don’t deceive yourself, Dashade,” Murlesson grunted, ducking and spraying lightning before him. “Tulak Hord was brought low by an insignificant apprentice, or have you already forgotten what Veshikk Urk told you?”
Khem roared and swung; Murlesson sidestepped as Khem clove a giant gash in the decking, then reached out to slap Khem on the hands with the training blade. The broadsword fell from Khem’s grasp, but Khem would easily beat him to death with his bare hands if necessary. But now he had a weapon and Khem didn’t.
Just a little longer. He had to maintain the illusion that he was invincible just a little longer. Never mind the fact that his knees were beginning to quiver with exertion, after the sparring ‘match’ he’d just had with Ashara.
He clenched his fist, channelling with all his concentration, and just as Khem drew back to punch him in the gut with a blow that might shatter his spine, a big, heavy cargo container flew past him and into Khem’s chest, knocking him backwards. Drellik jumped, now anxious over the articles inside the container. Murlesson didn’t care. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be more important than his life.
Before the Dashade could recover, Murlesson had thrown his practise blade forward, striking him precisely in the middle of his ugly, misshapen head. And with the Force, again, and again. It wasn’t quite as satisfying as getting his shoulders into it and punishing Khem himself like he had the first time, but a lot safer and probably more effective. “I won’t stop until you yield.” PUNISH HIM PUNISH HIM
Khem struggled, but every time he tried to get up, Murlesson thwacked him again, right side, left side, head. He wondered how terrifying he would look without the mask, if his eyes would be burning with that horrible dark light, as he flung his anger and frustration at Khem. The training blade snapped.
Khem ponderously raised himself to his feet, covered in burns and bruises, but still with plenty of fight left in him. <Now you are defenceless. And I won’t stop until you are dead.>
“You and every other frakking fool in the frakking galaxy.” Murlesson took a step back to get line-of-sight with the door of his cabin, and summoned his lightsaber, which blazed to life as it reached his hand. He fixed Khem with a haughty look. “You were saying?”
Khem stopped at once. <…I yield.>
“Do you? Do you actually? Because I would be more than happy to continue until you truly know your place.” NO KILL HIM NOW LET HIM BLEED ALL OVER THE SHIP
He resisted the urge to punch himself in the head. But it was difficult. They were very strong when their bloodlust was up, and it was very difficult to get them to shut up and settle down enough for him to focus.
<I refuse to die to you. You have bested me… master.>
“Good. Now get out for a minute, I need to talk to Zash.”
<…Yes… master.> Oh, Khem was angry. But… perhaps he’d recovered some of his respect. Once he really had his strength back and could go on missions again, and Khem had something other than him to unleash his frustrations on, the tension between them ought to decrease.
“Hello, Murlesson,” Zash said a moment later. She inspected some of the burns on Khem’s arms, poked at the ones on his head, then looked at Murlesson. “You look… slightly better today. I take it Khem did something stupid just now.”
“I’d appreciate it if you called me something more formal,” he said coldly, shutting off his lightsaber. “But what have you found for me regarding a solution for my condition?”
“Ah, so you’re finally taking an interest. I regret to say I haven’t found anything concrete, but I think there might be something on Korriban of use.”
“Then let’s go there directly-”
“May I advise-”
“You may not interrupt me, is what,” he snapped. He’d been far too lenient with all of them for too long. They were not his friends. They were his minions. Except Ashara, with Ashara it was complicated. “What would you advise?” Don’t listen to her. She is weak and wants to kill you.
Zash, ever proud, did not apologize. “I’m not done with the materials from Commenor. May I suggest you direct Harkun to send your prospective apprentices to recover certain materials from Ajunta Pall’s tomb? He seems to have had an apprentice who suffered from a similar affliction. I’ll write down what it is and where I think it can be found so you can pass it on. Also, it would be a good, traditional test for them – it’s a bit unbecoming for a Lord to fetch his own artefacts with Korriban is involved.”
“Which is ridiculous, but if you think you can glean something from your present resources, then I will do it. Revel! Set course for Vaiken.”
“Attaboy… sir,” Revel said, brushing past him to the cockpit with a bit of a grin.
Murlesson stared after him in shock. Had Revel… just called him something other than ‘kid’? And all it took was a little yelling. He’d even ignore the ‘attaboy’… for now.
“What shall I do, my lord?” Drellik asked, as bright as ever, as if he hadn’t just witnessed a brutal disciplining.
He could relax a little around Drellik. Drellik was harmless to him, for now. “I’m afraid I have no orders for you yet. Carry on.” He was doing some study of Murlesson’s collection on his own, wasn’t he? Without the ability to operate holocrons, he probably wouldn’t find anything relevant to his condition. But… every piece of knowledge was useful eventually. Zash had taught him that, at least.
“Will do, my lord!”
He couldn’t help glancing at Ashara. Her spirit was roiling with confused feelings – distress, righteous anger, hurt. She glared at him. “I’m not talking to you. That was horrible!”
He wasn’t going to argue with her. It was necessary.
She stalked into the engine room and shut the door behind her; a quarter-second later, it swished open again. “I changed my mind. Get in here!”
“Are you telling me what to do?” he asked coldly.
She hesitated. “No. But I think we- I don’t want to say ‘we need to talk’, because I’m not… okay, I am upset with you, but we should communicate about it, not just go away mad and let our negativity fester.”
He barked a short laugh. “Like I’ve been doing as long as I can remember?” Of course, no one had ever offered to talk about it before. …Unless one counted such things as Netokos’s ‘talks’, which had been obnoxiously one-sided.
She twitched, but held onto her temper with a mighty act of will. “Please just talk to me. Come on. In here, in private.”
He was about to fall over from exertion. Every muscle in his body was shaking from strain, and it was a good thing his mask was on so they couldn’t see the sweat beading on his face or the probable lack of colour in his crimson skin. “Now’s not a good time. I will talk to you later.”
She bowed her head. “I guess that’s as good as I’m going to get. Later, then.”
He found himself drained of all his energy once he returned to his cabin, and a few hours to rest didn’t do much to restore it. He’d spent too much too soon, and he was going to pay for it tomorrow, too.
He was so tired he didn’t go out in search of Ashara, but sent his thoughts towards her. You wanted to talk?
She showed up in a minute or two. “You’re feeling… better?”
“Not really.” He was sitting on the edge of his bed, mask on, blanket wrapped around him. What did she think?! Did he look or feel better!?
“Well, I’m glad I had time to think. Not talking right away was a good thing, you were right.” She heaved a sigh and plopped herself down cross-legged on the floor near his broken chair, facing him. “Every day on this ship is so topsy-turvy, I swear. One day I love you for being smart and clever and amazing, another day I just want you to find healing so that you don’t have to suffer anymore, because no one deserves what you’ve been through, and then some days… I just want to kick your butt for being so abusive. And then blaming it on ‘it’s what Sith do’.”
“It is what Sith do,” he argued. It is what Sith do, his inner voices chimed in, with various emotions – indignation, amusement, cold intent. He was going to comment disbelievingly on the ‘love’ part, but he was already distracted. This was more important. “Sith may be abusive, but it gets results.” He made a sarcastic smile that she couldn’t see through the mask. “I would know.”
“Well, sometimes it gets results that don’t work very well. I mean, Khem’s definitely going to try and kill you again. You humiliated him. That’s awful. He used to respect you, especially for getting those bones back, even though I get the impression that he never liked anyone. I’m actually really upset with him too for being so impatient about you recovering immediately.”
“That’s just who he is.” He is a good slave.
“Well, who he is isn’t very reasonable.”
“Have you met Khem? And trying to kill one’s master is normal. Expected. I’m expecting him to try again. Probably not for a while, but there’s always the chance he could attack me again tonight. I’m still physically weak. If he can get the jump on me, he’d win.” Khem probably never tried to kill Tulak Hord after their first duel, but Tulak Hord had a lot less petty druk to put up with. That he knew of. He knew he wasn’t Tulak Hord, so he just had to establish dominance by whatever means necessary. Khem wouldn’t respond to fancy words or feelings. But she didn’t understand that, because she did respond to words and feelings. Complicated. Oh, stop trying to convince her you’re right. She’ll never believe it. She’s incapable. Unless you hurt her like you’ve been hurt… No, stop it!
“That’s no way to live!” she exclaimed. “I just wish you’d stop with all this toxic masculinity bantha shit!”
“I’m sorry, what did you call it? We weren’t talking about men. We were talking about the Sith.” He added to himself: “And some of the most abusive Sith I’ve known have been women.” Definitely not all of them. But no gender or species held a monopoly on cruelty, especially among the Sith.
“Fine, toxic Sithisicity, then.”
He blinked at her. “Say that again.”
The tension was spooling out of the room. She gave him a lopsided smile. “Sithicisicithsicity?”
“That one. I think you made it up.”
“Language evolves, deal with it.” She grew serious again. “But I know you’re better than them.”
He snorted. “I’m not.”
“You-”
“No. I’m really not. Don’t make excuses for me. My face earlier today told you what I really am. I am a monster, like I’ve always said. Monsters are not good, and monsters can’t change.” They didn’t have to be good. They just had to win.
“That’s not true,” she said softly. “Anyone can change. I know you aren’t a monster, not deep down inside. And it’s not just because I like you. I know.”
“How would you know?” he snapped, recoiling.
She shuffled forward on her knees until she could reach out and unclasp the mask from his face. To look on his actual face, in all its uncertainty and hurt and tiredness. His red hair hanging lank and unbrushed, his yellow eyes bloodshot, the bags under his eyes puffy, the Dark corruption creeping across his flesh. She didn’t recoil from his unkempt decay; in fact, her gaze softened with melancholy affection. “Because you hurt so much.”
He looked away from her earnest brown eyes. “Nonsense. Any psychopath can get hurt feelings.”
“No. I’m no psychologist, so I don’t know what psychopaths think, but I do know – half of your burden is guilt. It’s hard to detect – you normally keep your sense so carefully concealed, it’s really hard to tell what you’re thinking. But I’ve caught enough flashes to know, you’re struggling with unbearable amounts of guilt.” Because you are weak and care too much. I never cared for my own children, why should you care for those not even connected to you?
He avoided her eyes silently. She wasn’t as clever as him, but she was far too smart, given time.
“I’m right, aren’t I? You feel more than you let on, about anything. You feel guilty over hurting people. You want your friends to like you, even if you grumble about them. You like me, a lot, maybe you love me. You laugh – yes, you can laugh, like a normal person – and you cry. And that means… you have a soul.”
“Souls are unnecessary baggage,” he grumbled. Dammit, she wasn’t wrong. He was a terrible Sith. “It would be so much easier if I didn’t have one.” He knows what he must do, he’s only too much of a coward to do it. No, that was wrong, he argued silently. He could feel guilt all day but the important thing was that he still did what was necessary. Of course, Ashara would probably argue that that just made him worse, that he knew things were wrong and did them anyway.
It was confusing and he just wanted to sweep the confusion and guilt and pain away in one blow. But he didn’t know how. Not without hurting Ashara and he refused to do that. See, a coward.
“I know. But life without a soul isn’t… isn’t living.”
“You wouldn’t know.”
“I’ve seen people without souls,” she said grimly. “Some politicians… But anyway, I know you have one, and I know you can change, and I know you can heal and have a better life without hurting other people. Without hurting yourself through hurting other people.”
“I’d like to see that,” he said sarcastically. But he was tired, almost too tired for sarcasm. Too tired to act as the Lord of the Sith he ought to be. “But what’s the point? Why do you want me to do all this?” What would any of that gain you, boy, besides compounding your vulnerabilities?
“Close your eyes,” she whispered, getting even closer to him, her fingertips on his cheeks. He did so. At least then he didn’t have to look at her. “You know we have a Force bond, right?”
Yes, he did have that vague idea. Two Force-sensitives, working closely together, joined both by their informal, unorthodox master/apprentice relationship and their mutual affection, it was only natural they should have some sort of spiritual bond. “What about it?”
“Have you really tried to feel it? Really really?”
He had not. It paled in significance compared to feeling her spirit. He hadn’t tried to pay much attention to any possible bonds, anyway. They were only liabilities. No don’t touch it, it’s foolish.
“Let me show you,” she whispered, letting go of his face, and she took his hands in hers. His fingers were cold and hers were warm. Don’t let her, she’ll only hurt you! NO DON’T
For a moment, he almost froze up. This was terrifyingly intimate, possibly even more terrifying than the prospect of sex, and certainly a lot less alluring. But he let her be. He… trusted her this much. And he wanted to see what she wanted to show him. Not to mention if his parasites didn’t want him to, he wanted to. So he followed her, the Light of her spirit, found the threads that joined them – slender but tenacious, and more luminous than he’d expected. He followed her, followed her into his own Darkness, past the howling voices, following those threads, down… down… down to his cold black core.
Except… there was a spark there. A spark he’d never noticed before, not even when he’d searched for it so frantically.
He flinched and pulled away, blinking his eyes open. “What- how did-”
“I knew it!” she said triumphantly. “Everyone has some Light in them, just like everyone has some Dark in them. And no one who feels things like you could possibly not have some Light somewhere.”
It was a handicap. A liability. As well as the thread of Light that joined the two of them, and- it wasn’t the only one, now that he fumbled for the other Force-bonds he’d grown over time. The one to Thanaton was as stygian and rotten as could be, unsurprisingly. Zash, less so, but still dark and corroded. But there was one to Aristheron – light. One to Vany – light. One to Drellik, and to Revel, and to Khem – all, shockingly, to various degrees, light.
He needed to excise all of them as soon as possible. He couldn’t take power and destroy the Empire with all these bonds, this Light surrounding him and within him.
No, he was freaking out again. This wasn’t logical. Maybe Ashara could help. “I don’t like it.” For the time being, he took that tiny spark that he was now far too aware of and buried it deep under overwhelming Darkness. No one would know about it except Ashara. Like you could ever go to the Light. You have no power there. Your power is here. Then why had they been so repulsed by him discovering it!? Not that he was planning to become a Jedi, but they couldn’t be making this big a fuss over nothing.
Her eyes were steady on his. “I think you would like it less if you destroyed it. You would become like Thanaton. And no one wants that.”
He frowned. “Have I mentioned I hate when you see through me? Especially when you do it so easily.”
“It’s not easy,” she protested softly. “You’re a locked and encoded datapad. I’ve been trying to figure you out this whole time and I’ve only gotten this far.” Heheh, to us you’re a wide-open holocron.
“That’s farther than anyone else has bothered to get.” It was scary. “Why do you even want to? You should just go back to the Republic and stop worrying about me.” Yes, send her away before she does any more damage.
“I’m not going back, no matter how many times you tell me to,” she said impatiently. “I want to stay with you, even if it makes me a bad Jedi. I won’t give up on you. What would you do without me, anyway?”
She was dancing around her true answer, around the word she’d used earlier that they’d both pretended she didn’t, the one that scared even her. Did he dare drag it out between them? “Because you think you love me.”
She blushed dark orange, almost brown. “Don’t make fun of me. I do.”
He gave her an incredulous smile. “Now I know you’re crazier than me, and I have parasites in my head.” You’re both immature idiots who have no idea what you’re talking about. He fought the urge to sharply retort. He might not know anything, but what did ancient dead Sith know about love, either!?
“I love you, dammit,” she snapped, though she wasn’t really angry. “Yes, sometimes you’re a jerk, and you hurt people, and I’m not making any excuses for the stupid things you do, but right there, what I just showed you, is why I do. You’re not evil.”
“Low bar, there, don’t trip on it,” he teased her, aware that baiting her was not the smartest thing he’d ever done in his life.
She growled and lunged at him, knocking him backwards onto the bed and kissing him soundly. “You – really – are – a jerk. Stop it.”
He couldn’t answer because his mouth was stopped up with hers.
She stopped suddenly. “Wait. Are you going to get hurt again?”
His head was already splitting. “Screw him. Keep going.”
You’ll regret that…
He walked. All about him was dark, a dark night outside. He didn’t know where he was, but he walked.
There were people behind him, following him. Slowly, he began to walk a little faster. They followed him.
His breath was beginning to rasp in his throat. They were still following him. He could hear them whispering, right behind him.
Suddenly, he stopped. He was dreaming. This was a dream. A nightmare, but though he hated and feared his nightmares, he’d had so many recently that he had started realizing that they were nightmares, while he was still in them. Which wasn’t something that had happened before. Normally he had to wake up in a cold sweat first.
He heard them discussing in a low murmur. “Foolish boy… ignorant boy… Don’t you know what happens when you stop?”
“I am not your plaything,” he said to the darkness. “Frak off and torment someone else.”
Mocking laughter was his only answer; then they launched at him, indistinct spectral shapes latching on to him – passing through him – and suddenly he was in actual, physical pain, so intense he could barely breathe. Th-this wasn’t allowed! It was a dream! It should wake him up!
“There are no rules in dreams,” came the mocking whisper.
He tore himself away from them and ran, stumbling over his feet in the darkness. The pain lessened, but persisted, that dull ache in his bones now a cold fire that was burning him from inside. There was no escaping it, no matter how he flailed and struggled. And still they pursued him. No matter how fast he ran, they were always right behind him.
“You think you have won a respite.”
“You think you can assert authority over us.”
He ground his teeth with frustration. “I did! I did! Go away!”
“You won a battle… the war is still upon us.”
“And it will be ours.”
Despair tore through him. They were bound to him. He couldn’t outrun them, no matter how he tried. He might as well have been running in place. His feet were so heavy, his body was heavy, but if he stopped, he would die. They would catch him and tear him apart and he would die.
He needed help. There was no way he could fight them on his own. “Ashara,” he gasped out, then louder. “Ashara!”
She was there before him, in the distance, and he ran towards her, a tiny glimmer of hope sparking in his chest. “Ashara! Please!”
She turned to him, and she had no face.
He stumbled to a halt, a cold spear of terror piercing him to see that… that thing standing there, watching him without eyes. Silently, it fell over like a puppet with cut strings.
He fell to his knees, but there was no ground beneath them, and he tumbled, into a starless void, into dark, cold, outer space. He tried to scream and there was no air-
Then he felt real hands on his shoulders and woke to find himself in Ashara’s arms.