Chapter Text
A wave of fire washes over the dirty red stones of a complex of towering buildings as a bolt of superheated plasma rains from the sky, its source a floating in low orbit, boxy, dirty grey warship unleashing turbolaser fire onto the earth below. The buildings crumble underneath their own weight as their foundations are blown away, dust fills and chokes the skies, billowing in all directions as the complex falls.
A female humanoid, crimson red skin, pitch-black long hair held together loosely by hastily adorned golden instruments. She runs from the rapidly collapsing city, a child clutched into her chest as she breathes hard but falls as smoke and dust fill her lungs. Her knees are scraped against the unforgiving earth, the loose clothing she wears doing little to protect her as she wraps her arms even tighter around her child, desperate to protect at least this one bundle of life.
The dust clears and she looks to the skies, convinced that surely another hellish rain of orange plasma and fire will come to finish what the invaders had started. Instead, her heart sinks even further, a continued rain of turbolaser fire would be a mercy, at least a quick one. She watches as the sky is not filled with plasma, but with several drop ships released from their carriers in the sky; individually, nothing more than a mote against the sky, stained yellow by the fires of war, but when deployed en masse, they blot the sky in a horrible painting of black on a broken yellow field.
She hears a weapon click behind her. She turns. A humanoid figure clad in heavy armor, that at one point might have been white but now stained with the reddish sand and dust of the planet firmly clinging to the no longer pristine surface, that covers a snug black body glove. There are blue markings and stripes, perhaps to designate whatever organizational structure this humanoid is a part of. The barrel of his rifle pointed down at her, surely ready to fire at a moment’s notice.
“Stand up!” the voice is harsh, deep, gruff, and speaks with no sympathy, no compassion.
She does what she is told, or she attempts to. Her knees shake and tremble, she cannot do what she is told. She was always told that fear was a powerful tool, that it was fuel to push you beyond your normal limits, but at this moment in time, that was the cruelest of lies. The solder, impatient, grabs her by the arm and forces her up onto her feet; it’s all she can do to continue to shield the child, which clings tightly to the only thing that it knows in this quickly changing field.
She is spun around and pushed forward. Just as she regains her footing, she feels something poke at the small of her back and hears something click behind her. She is certain of what it is, but is too afraid to confirm it as she hears the soldier speak again, “Move!”
She is marched forward, through the city streets she once called home, through the pyramids that once rose to the very fabric of the skies that are now piles of rubble. A corner is turned, and somehow her heart sinks to an impossible depth, she is afraid to breathe. Lined up against one of the last remaining walls are a number of humans and purebloods like her that amount to roughly twenty. Standing fifteen feet across from them are a group of soldiers, wearing armor near identical to the one behind her, the only difference being scars of battle, their rifles pointed towards the pitiful creatures that line the walls, daring them to make a sudden move. She is pushed into the line as the soldier at her back moves into her view once again, backpedaling to rejoin its companions and so it can keep its eyes trained on her.
There is another humanoid figure that stands behind the soldiers, dressed in light brown robes that go over a suit of battle armor. It wears a mask, its hood pulled up, made of some kind of white and gold material. It holds something in its right hand, an intricate metal rod, from which one end holds a brilliant blue blade of plasma with a white-hot core, it hums in the air as it moves. In its left hand is a small metal disc, a blue holo projection, shaky and threatening to fall apart, of a Duros wearing some kind of uniform. It speaks, “The Senate was clear. No exceptions. Veld out.” The projection flickers out.
The robed figure turns to face the wall the traps the twenty or so that are gathered at the mercy of these soldiers. One of the soldiers looks back, the robed figure nods. The soldier turns back.
Her heart seizes, her muscles tense, her eyes widen. She stares at the hooded figure. At the Jedi.
“Open fire!”
Her vision, before it is filled with a brilliant flare of red blaster bolts is that of the Jedi.
The Jedi.
The Jedi!
“Jedi!” Arcaernic screams as he bolts forward in his bed. A clap of thunder sounds in the distance, muffled by the thick durasteel walls of his apartment.
His eyes are wide, his skin slick with sweat, his lungs empty and his body fights for every breath of air. His heart begins to calm, it pounding inside his chest just moments ago.
He can hear rain pound against the outside walls of his apartment, followed by another distant roar of thunder. The constant rainstorms of Dromund Kaas calm him as he pulls the sheet aside and crawls out of bed. With weak legs he makes for the nearest wall of his bedroom, “Mirror, on,” he says in a dry voice.
The wall springs to life with light, imitating a mirror he cranes his neck up so he can look at himself in the face. Crimson red skin, dirty yellow, gold eyes, a short mess of hair whose color lingered somewhere between a deep shade of red to black, thin bone spurs evenly placed along his jawline that almost resemble horns. Typical features of a Sith Pureblood.
Arcaernic rests his hands far apart, placed flat against the wall as he leans his head forward, the top of his skull resting against the wall, distorting the image of the top of his head. It didn’t matter, he wasn’t using it anymore.
“Mirror, off,” he mumbled under his breath as he pushed himself off of the wall. The image faded back into the flat, horizontal wooden slats that made his bedroom wall. Running a hand along the wall in case his strength should suddenly fail him, he opens the door and steps out into a dark hallway, only briefly illuminated by Dromund Kaas’ perpetual storms.
“Oh, master!” the robotic voice of 2V-R8 sprung to life and the hallway immediately illuminated. Its voice continued, the rate of words spilling out of its speakers accelerating with each word in a nervous rant, “I heard you stirring in your sleep, but previously you had told me never to enter into your chambers, so according to previous orders I decided not to enter. But of course, should you have perished, I most assuredly would have entered to ensure your health and safety. I would never allow anything to happen to your personal health, please do not deacti-”
“Water,” Arcaernic said, dismissively and with enough harshness to stop the never-ending stream of apologetic drivel that Sith factotum droids were programmed to maintain. Apparently, having the droid installed with a constant fear of deactivation was something most Sith enjoyed, Arcaernic found it tedious.
“Of- Of course, Master!” the droid immediately killed whatever it was about to say and rushed off towards the kitchens.
Arcaernic followed, only because his destination shared a common initial route through the apartment, but it seemed to speed 2V-R8 up with fear as it stumbled down the spiral set of stairs. Arcaernic watched as the droid rushed down the hallway with apathy before he turned into the living room pit, walking the short set of stairs down before sinking into a nearby couch. His head craned up to face the massive set of windows that took up the entire wall which exited out to a patio which might be used if not for the constant downpour. A flash of lightning and another clap of thunder finally managed to dispel whatever horrible feeling clung in his chest from his nightmare.
“Couldn’t sleep, huh?” A feminine called from above.
Arcaernic tilted his head further up rather than look behind him and then up. Standing on the catwalk that made the bridge that overlooked the living room pit was a blue-skinned Twi’lek, dressed in her own sleepwear. “I take it from you being awake, you couldn’t either?”
“Yeah, y’know, probably something about the planet and how it’s literally always raining and you’re about the be struck with lightning. Or, wait no, maybe it’s all the big Sithy statues and the lights that give you headaches whenever you walk into a room; the kind of things that just let you know this is a place where freedom goes to die.”
“I think I get the picture, Vette.” Arcaernic settles back into slumping in the couch’s cushions.
“Are you sure? I think I got at least three more reasons.” Vette calls out as she descends the staircase herself and flops on another nearby cushion. “I honestly don't know how you can handle this place. I mean, I know it’s basically free for your Sithly eminence, but this is still a pretty terrible place to live.”
“Dromund Kaas is my home, Vette. I was born here, raised here, lived here. I’ve only ever been off-world twice, and one of those trips was how I got you.”
“Hey, I like to think of it as a friendly partnership, the start of a budding new relationship.”
“You’re a slave, you were given to me so I complete my last trial,” Arcaernic says matter of factly.
“Aww… I think you’re leaving a part out there? The part where you needed me because I was the only one who knew how to unlock the tomb of Junty Paul-”
“Ajunta Pall.”
“Whatever- But how I was your only hope.” Vette finished with a smug grin.
“Yes, yes. And because of that, we have a standing agreement, and I would hate if I were to have to change the terms because someone got a little too quippy.”
“But I’m, like, ten percent quip!”
Arcaernic’s eyes narrow.
“Alright, alright,” Vette says, she jokingly raised her hands in surrender. “Say, how long is Toovee going to be standing in the corner with a glass of water?”
Arcaernic turned his head, an impatient expression on his face. The droid rushed forward, “Apologies, Master. I did not want to interrupt your conversation with Lady Vette.”
“Hey, ‘Lady Vette.’ I like the sound of that.”
“Next time, just do what you’re ordered, preferably without talking,” Arcaernic said, taking a sip from the freshly delivered cup.
The droid steps back after being relieved, but without speaking, its logic processors believing that its new orders took place immediately.
“Just like that,” Arcaernic said, shooing the droid away and setting the glass down on a nearby surface.
Vette simply smiled at the exchange. “So, big day today, huh? Going to meet the boss.” Her neck turns so she can look out the floor to ceiling windows. Following her eyes, Arcaernic’s vision settled on the large imposing structure that lorded over the rest of Kaas City. The Imperial Citadel, the seat of the Dark Council.
“The boss for now,” Arcaernic said.
“Really?”
“It is the nature of Sith to seek advancement. Constantly and always. There will be a day when I betray the old man, I just need to bide my time.”
“Well, when the time comes, I’ll definitely want to be there.”
“I’ll be sure to secure you front row seats.”
Hard and crisp footsteps echo across the cold and expansive halls of the Imperial Citadel. Ceilings that stretch infinitely high and bright lights cascade down on the path, causing Vette, at Arcaernic’s side, to bring her hand up to shield her eyes. “See? What did I tell you? Instant headache.”
Arcaernic didn’t dignify her with a response, instead choosing to continue marching forwards through the Citadel’s intimidating halls. Every so often he would pass by a pair of Dark Honor Guards, dressed in their iconic blood-red battle armor and crested helmets, electro staves fitted firmly on their backs; they would stand to attention as he passed, but it was nothing more than a formality or a force of habit, the only Sith they truly respected was the Emperor Himself or a Dark Councilor. One day…
His path exited them out into an open atrium, a platform that was suspended over several hundred feet into the air, stretching out in all directions: the offices of the most prominent Lords of the Sith were here, including his master’s. Rushing out into the open, a thin, lithe man began waving his arms about to grab Arcaernic’s attention. Human, balding, more freckles than unblemished skin and he did his job well as Arcaernic approached.
“You’re the one, yes. You radiate power, lord. I bow before you.” His voice was quivering, dripping with a facade molded to please those with power, and from where he was standing, Arcaernic was power. “I serve Lord Baras, he sent me to meet his new apprentice. I made sure I was here on time, I certainly did. Yes, indeed. I am Sunder Ghettz, but my lord needn’t remember my name. I’m just a slave who owes his every breath to the tolerance of Lord Baras. He said to guide you to his personal chambers, and I take that very seriously.” The way he spoke was that of a beaten down, broken slave. Whatever mental capacity he once had for escape seemed utterly destroyed at this point and that realization showed quite evidently on Vette.
Arcaernic noted the expression but said nothing of it, “Then lead.”
“Oh, yes! Of course!” Sunder jumped at the opportunity. It reminded Arcaernic of 2V-R8, the way he was eager to please as if it were the only way to ensure his continued survival.
Following the slave, the pair made their way through the atrium until they stood underneath a grand threshold, presumably one that Darth Baras stood behind. Sunder jumped to the side, gesturing for the pair to enter through before saying, “You, uh, you will tell Lord Baras I was good, yes? That I served well?”
“You did exactly as was ordered,” Arcaernic said, striding past the slave.
“You have my thanks, gentle juggernaut,” Sunder said as the pair abandoned him.
Vette took a few long strides to stand closer to Arcaernic’s side, “Wow, what a weasel.”
“And you think I’m terrible,” Arcaernic said.
The two continued until the hallway emptied them into a large chamber with two additional hallways that went further into the Citadel. Tables, chairs, computers, and holo displays; all standard equipment for an office space. What stood out from it all was a diagonally leaning table tucked into the corner of the room, currently supporting a human male, battered, bruised, and bloody beyond any sense of reasonable comprehension. He was held, trapped in place by collars and cuffs on each limb, dangerous instruments, held from the ceiling, hovering ever so gently above his no longer breathing body.
“Ah, apprentice. Not a minute too soon. Your timing is impeccable.” A male voice, one muffled and augmented behind a mask, spoke out from the hallway to the pair’s left. Darth Baras walked through the threshold, rubbing his hands together as if cleaning it from filth. He was large and plump, a mask made of silver covered his entire head, fixed into a bland single neutral expression, making him near impossible to read. His armor was more robes than actual plating and his pauldrons were excessively wide.
“Did it just get considerably colder?” Vette said under her breath, backing up behind Arcaernic.
He couldn’t blame her. As Baras walked into the room, the temperature felt as if it dropped twenty degrees in a second. The hairs on his arms stood on edge and he could feel his stomach turn. What Baras lacked in physical prowess, he made up for in his mastery of Bogan, or as the ignorant of the galaxy liked to call it, the Dark Side. Being so suffused in it caused the body to turn in revulsion, Arcaernic was a Pureblood, born naturally with a gift for Bogan, but even he couldn’t help it as his body betrayed him, which meant it was even worse for Vette.
“I see you decided to keep the slave. I hope she amuses you. I trust you’ve been acquainting yourself with your new environs. Did my minion point you in the right direction?”
“He was dutiful and clearly lives to serve.”
“A properly beaten down slave is the only trustworthy creature in the galaxy. Your responsibilities will mandate contact with my various minions. Meet my directives and you may do as you will to anyone you encounter, adversary or ally.” Baras briefly turned his attention towards the deceased human trapped on the torture table. “Unfortunate you could not be here to witness my handiwork, our friend in the SIS had little to share, yet the information greatly impacts my work. Work that you shall now become a part of.”
“I imagine I begin immediately.”
“That you do, apprentice. I have painstakingly built a vast network of spies and operatives embedded throughout the Sith, Republic and Jedi alike. I have fingers, eyes, and ears everywhere. They are completely undetected, and I wish to keep it that way. You are my enforcer, deployed to protect my interests, intimidate my rivals, and destroy my enemies. And it is time for your tenure to begin.”
“I am ready, Master.”
“Good, because our SIS friend has delivered some troubling news about the status of my spy network. Nomen Karr, a name I grow tired of hearing, has growing suspicions of operatives of Balmorra and perhaps even Nar Shaddaa.”
“I take it that you have a history with this Nomen Karr?”
“Indeed,” Baras’ voice grows with discontented anger. “He once infiltrated the Sith during the Great Galactic War. I rooted him out, but he nearly destroyed me in the process. He is a tenacious rat, but what’s more interesting is how he came to become suspicious of my spy network. A padawan with an incredible ability in the Force, to be able to learn a person’s true motives. Such a threat must not be allowed to walk throughout the galaxy unchecked, and so your first mission will be this: ensure the security of my networks on Balmorra and Nar Shaddaa by killing them, they have served their purposes for me and can be replaced once the threat has been dealt with. Once there is no evidence that the Jedi Council can be certain in, you shall strike down this padawan, and if the Force serves us well, Nomen Karr as well.”
“Then I will depart immediately.”
“Time is a resource that we must manage carefully, as such I have commandeered a ship for you, the Black Talon, already heading for Balmorra, and don’t get your hopes up apprentice, it’s no warship.”
“I’ll learn to make do, master.” Arcaernic provided a proper bow before taking a step back.
“I must prepare our next moves. Waste no time, head to Vaiken Spacedock and wait for further instructions.”
“Yeah,” Vette whispered behind Arcaernic, “Let’s get going before he tells me to clean all that up, okay?” As the pair left Baras’ chambers, one with a bit more enthusiasm than the other to clear the hauntingly cold space, Arcaernic stared straight ahead, Baras was not the only Sith who could scheme.