Prologue - 7 days after the fall of
Varnus
"And so it happened that the ancient ones came forward once more.
The veil was pulled away, and the Shadow was finally revealed.
The Second Great War was about to begin…"
Discovered on the ruins of Tralaria,
200 years after the collapse of the Galactic
Alliance
This can't be happening, Xar thought desperately. Having long since given up his non-contraction usage during his imprisonment, he used them now more as expletives than anything else. He kept his gaze down on the metal floor as he was held tightly by two fully armored guards in the antechamber. His hands had been unbound beside him. For some reason they must have wanted him free. He knew they were just waiting for him to try something, so he was going to surprise them by remaining compliant… for now. Where the door in front of him led, he wasn't certain; no one had even spoken to him during this entire ordeal. But wherever it was, he knew he was about to meet with someone. Someone important.
He'd lost count of how long it had been since he'd been taken from Varnus, but he calculated that it must not have been much longer than a week, at least. Having been served only one small meal a day during that time, he found himself standing here now, dehydrated and almost too weak to stand on his own. He knew a full-fledged search by the New Imperium would already have been underway; he just hoped they were close. Of course, he didn't have any more idea to his location than he did about the identity of his captors. They could be anywhere by this point. He knew that at first he'd been taken onboard the lead Titan of the Varnus assault force, but had been transferred at least once since then. Whether he was now on a ship or planet, he couldn't be sure. Not even on the massive Titan had there been the normal sense of space travel. Whoever his captors were, their technology was vastly superior to anything in the NI, or the rest of the known galaxy, for that matter.
His thoughts were abruptly interrupted as the elaborately carved doors in front of him slid open. A shaft of light fell over him, and unidentified sounds from the other room came in to greet him, but he dared not look up. Then he felt the guards on either side tighten their grip on him and carry him forward.
Xar kept his
eyes on the ground as they moved him forward. They crossed onto elaborately designed
blue carpeting, its plush surface giving slightly under his dragging feet.
There he felt his support vanish as the guards let him go, and he dropped to
his hands and knees. Then, to his surprise, both guards knelt down on either
side of him, their hands crossed over their chests and their faces lowered to
the carpet surface. Whoever it was they were before, even the guards couldn't
raise their faces to see him. Not even
the Emperor made his guards do that, he realized with some bewilderment. Where am I?
Then his questions were answered as another voice from somewhere in the chamber called out in a loud voice in deeply accented Basic, "Kneel, outlander. Behold, the prince of the stars, the lord of time – Kronos."
Despite himself, Xar let out a short laugh. Was this some kind of joke? He made to rise, but before he moved an inch he felt a strong hand press against the back of his neck and slam his face to the floor. He heard a fierce whisper beside him, from the guard on his right. "Mind your tongue, outlander fool!" His barely whispered voice, though so heavily accented he could barely understand, held a tone that Xar could recognize. True terror.
He heard what sounded like a hushed whisper of voices in front of him. Then, a deep, crisp voice sounded, cutting through the others and sending the room into silence.
"Le vamola sho walama." Instantly, the pressure on his neck was gone. Xar brought his head up, blinked away the stars crossing his vision. Then he came up on his knees and rose, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. As he finally looked at what was ahead of him, all his thoughts and remarks were banished, replaced now by a growing shock.
He was in a throne room.
Ahead of him, a broad dais rose, upon which sat a throne like he'd never seen. Fastened in gold, it seemed to conform itself around the person within it, its intricately carved details growing smaller and smaller within each set until he couldn't make them out any longer. Dragons and exotic birds like phoenixes curved together in gold. Flowing draperies extended down from the side, and behind the back of the throne itself, plastered against the wall, was a massive set of white, leathery skeletal wings.
But it was the figure that sat sprawled upon the throne that held his full attention. He was a broad-shouldered man, dressed in a flowing purple and blue robe, a layer of black armor visible beneath. Straight, jet-black hair fell from his head and behind him, down past his shoulders and nearly to the seat. And his face… the face of a young man, about the same age as Xar, at first glance. No; perhaps he was younger, around thirty, maybe even less. But as he kept watching, he found it impossible to determine the man's age, exactly. His skin was perfectly smooth, speaking of youth, and his face was more than handsome by any standards. Even beautiful. Yet, from his eyes came a gaze so wise and intense it almost drove Xar back to the floor. He could feel the pressure of the man's gaze as though a real weight had descended upon him. The intelligence Xar saw within them… It was like a man staring down a small rat, a predator stalking a completely dumb prey.
Xar reached for the Force, if nothing more than to sense this man's Force potential. He knew that this Kronos was Force-sensitive. Only how much was a mystery. But when he reached for the Force… there was nothing there. He fought his shock, realizing that there must still be some device they'd implanted on or in him that inhibited his Force powers. That had to be it. He tried to stand there calmly. As he did so, he glanced around the rest of the room, for something to take his mind out of its shock. It was then that he noticed the women. They stood against walls to either side, waiting beside small tables or standing attentively on the carpeted floor. All dressed in loose, almost transparent material. Their robes were of different hues, almost covering what lay beneath the garments, but not quite. He glanced from one to another in disbelief, but his eyes were more on the faces than their revealing attire. The most beautiful women he'd ever seen stood here, all gathered together in this room. All tall, well proportioned, perfect in every physical sense of the word. And the shock was that some of them he recognized. Some he'd seen on popular tabloid covers throughout the galaxy, glamour holozines, and the like. And, impossibly, they were here.
Then he caught sight of one of the women near the throne, in the corner, holding an elaborately carved jar. Her long, curly red hair caught his eye first, then he saw her face and his mouth went dry. All the pain he'd welled up for ten years since the devastation of Varnus came rushing back on him in an instant. There in front of his eyes was the woman he'd been engaged to marry, the woman he'd been told had died in the bombardment. There was no mistaking the smooth contours of her face, the startlingly green eyes. Her name was Illiana.
Briefly, for an instant, the woman's eyes brushed past his, but continued on, no recognition in them. He couldn’t believe it. But in that instant, all the memories came back within him, of their times together, and he was sure beyond a shadow of doubt. His betrothed was here, alive, and in the court of a man named Kronos. They'd vowed themselves to one another, saving themselves until a wedding night that had never come. And now, all he felt inside was emptiness and outrage.
He turned away from her, looked back at the man on the throne, trying to hide his shock, to still his breathing. But there was no peace in the cold smile that Kronos held as his knowing eyes bored into Xar's. He couldn't stand it; he wanted to run, to attack, anything. But those eyes held him in place.
"You're the one who has caused me so much trouble," Kronos spoke suddenly in clear, unaccented Basic.
"I'm happy to oblige," Xar managed to retort despite his shock, taking any chance to strike at the man in front of him. Though he didn't even know him yet, he held nothing but contempt for the figure on the throne. "We have nothing to discuss."
Kronos leaned forward. "Oh, but we do," he countered softly, clearly. "You have been interfering with my plans for quite some time. This is unacceptable, even though I must commend you for eliminating that weakling traitor, Turles. You saved us some trouble, my friend."
Despite his anger, Xar flinched at the man's words, and felt a cold feeling creep into him. Turles was working for them? And he was… a weakling?
"Thus," Kronos continued, after taking a golden goblet offered to him by one of the women aides, "I decided not to have you killed outright. I wanted to see you personally, and judge you for myself." He drank then, a long swallow, then handed the cup back. The woman took it and faded back into the group with the others.
Xar seethed inside, but he kept it from showing on his face. He clenched his fist at his sides. "And have you made that judgment?"
"I have." The man smiled, his cold eyes seeming to bore straight through Xar, exposing every secret, seeing through to every fiber of his being. Those eyes, Xar noticed, were different. The right one was a deep purple hue, but the right was a bright blue.
Xar smiled, as well, feeling nothing but cold inside. "Good. Then you know where you can stick your opinion."
The next thing he noticed was a blur or motion to his right, then pain, as something slammed into the back of his neck, sending a jar of electricity through him. He jolted forward, breaking his fall with his hands; the blow had been enough to stagger him, but not completely incapacitate.
"Now, now." Kronos spoke as Xar slowly rose once more. "You are a gentleman, and you will act as such in my court. This is one of the lessons you will learn in my service. But this applies to all; forgive me, but sometimes even my forces exhibit a bit too much loyalty, and it effects their judgment." His eyes shifted to Xar's side, and Xar turned to see the guard standing there, pike in hand. What happened next was almost too fast to follow. Kronos extended his hand, two fingers pointed outward at the armored man. The guard's eyes widened, but he never cried out. Not even when a rushing of light and wind enveloped him, turning him into a living nova. The man became transparent, then only his outline was visible against the intense light covering him. Then the outline was shattered, blown away, leaving only streaming motes that vanished with the light. The pike thudded to the carpet beside Xar.
Xar looked back at the man on the throne in shock. That he had so casually killed one of his loyal subjects… That was hard enough to believe. But the concept that he could do it with barely the flick of his hand, without summoning up his Force power, without any detectable blast from him to his victim… That was beyond his ability to believe.
Kronos' laughter filled the air, a beautiful sound, yet horrible to Xar. "An example," he admitted with a nod. "Forgive my indulgence." His hand stroked the side of his gilded armrest. "As you can see, there is nothing that you or your New Imperium can do to face the might of my forces. We are poised to sweep across your space in one swift movement. You can offer no resistance; we will cut your ships to ribbons like pieces of grain. We will destroy all those in our path to domination. Then, system by system, sector by sector, this galaxy will fall to the might of the Altarin'Dakor. There is nothing you can do to stop us," he shook his head slightly, his voice deadly serious.
"We'll see about that," Xar said grimly. "And about my 'service', as you called it. I can assure you there won't be any."
Kronos brought his fingers together in front of his chest and stared through Xar. "You are here because, even though you have caused us some small annoyances, you have great potential and could prove very useful for me. Unlike most others, you have actually learned to dabble a bit in what you call the True Force, neither consumed by the darkness of some corrupted 'dark side', nor the pacifistic extreme these so-called Jedi exhibit. This is interesting, and I will know more about how you learned such secrets." He smiled again. "You will serve me, that much is inevitable. But, although I know you will refuse me, I will give you the opportunity to join me now, and spare yourself the anguish of torment that will simply delay your destiny with me."
"You're right," Xar agreed, shaking his head. "I refuse."
"Of course, I could Compel you to serve me…" Kronos seemed to consider the point. "It would save time and effort, but you would be of less use to me. A mere puppet, a shell with my will inside to guide you. No, you will better serve me willingly."
Xar was confused. What it sounded like a power taught to him by his old master, Runis. But that had been a Dark Side power. "Compulsion? Is that what you use on them?" he asked tersely, gesturing at the women gathered around the room. "Is that the only way they would serve you?"
"You obviously know more than you seem to let on," Kronos said, his voice dripping sarcasm. "But there is nothing you can hide from me. I will learn all, in time. I do not have to use it on them. They serve me with all of their hearts."
"Such a weakness for pleasure can be a fatal flaw," Xar pointed out darkly.
"Yes," Kronos cooed,
a smile of satisfaction on his face. "I have always had many
play-pretties. Some weren't so willing to serve me, you understand. For
instance, Queen Rashkia of Vyklon
was a queen in her own right, ruling her frozen wasteland from her crystal
palace." Kronos shook his head slowly. "An Ice
Queen for an
"She served me, in the end, of
course," Kronos continued mirthfully. "And once she had experienced
what it was like to be with me, she wanted nothing else. She became obsessed
with me." His grin broadened. "Which meant, of
course, that I had no further use for her."
"You are one very sick
individual," Xar admitted, nodding. He glanced at his former betrothed
again, standing in the line of women watching Kronos expectantly, ready to
serve his every whim. He felt a growl emanating from his throat as anger and
fury welled up inside him.
Kronos must have noticed, for he smiled and gave the barest flick of a
finger towards her. She responded immediately, coming over to him, eyes cast to
the floor. She knelt before him as he extended a booted foot slightly towards
her. Obediently, she leaned down and kissed it lightly. Then he dropped his
hand beside her head. Xar watched, his vision turning red, as his betrothed
caressed his hand with her face, kissed the back of it. Finally he shoved her
back with a shooing motion. She reeled back, her face a mask of ecstasy.
Xar exploded.
Throwing himself forward, he leapt at the
Warlord, barely conscious of the wild scream coming from his throat.
He never made it. Before he had gone three
paces he slammed into an invisible wall and was caught in midair by an unseen
force. Then he felt as if a hand reaching inside his body, gripping his heart.
Pain exploded inside of him. He gave a cry of instant agony; his knees buckled
and he collapsed to the floor. He could feel something clutching his heart, as
if an invisible hand were gripping it and… squeezing… harder and harder. He
clawed at his chest, emitting a gasp of torment. Dimly he realized that all of
his coronary arteries had to be closed; he was experiencing a massive heart
attack. He'd never thought anything could be so painful. Bursts of agonizing
pain shot through him, and he could feel his mortality, feel death so close. He
gasped and sobbed, trying to form words, but no breath came.
“I own you now,” Kronos said firmly. “You are mine. After eons I have
found a lot of time to learn things… I studied how to manipulate the body in
ways you wouldn’t think possible; all with the use of the ‘True Force’.”
Suddenly something arched Xar’s back, turning him the wrong way it was designed
to bend. He stared at the ceiling, felt his vertebrae on the verge of cracking
as he hovered in midair. The pain gripping his heart increased.
“You will be given a great honor,” Kronos continued. “In time you will
become one of my great servants. You will have a new life, even if you’re not
trueborn Altarin’Dakor. You will serve me for the rest of your days.” He
paused, as if considering. “If… not…”
The invisible hand on his heart
gripped tighter. Xar’s scream beat at the walls, resounding
throughout the room, past the unmoving guards and the women all watching him
blankly. He screamed and screamed and screamed until blood filled his
throat and he began choking on it. His vision shrank, distorted, disorienting,
until only a pinhole of light was visible ahead. Then it went out…
* * *
Varnusian Productions Presents:
Darklon Station
Orbit, Planet Darklon
Mizar System
The brilliant yellow sun of the Mizar system shone brightly against the backdrop of the Galbagos Nebula, which filled over half of visible space inside the system. The colossal, magnificent purple-cloud emission nebula silhouetted the second planet in the system, a black world known as Darklon, a planet composed entirely of solid, obsidian stone. Above the world, in orbit, its tether cable linked down to the planet's surface, a massive space station hovered, its lights blazing out above the darkness of the world below. The station was over ten kilometers wide, a huge military stronghold and waypoint. Designed in a rough saucer-shape, it was covered with hundreds of long metal spines, each one actually a long tethering spire at the end of which sat starships, freighters and transports, waiting for the special mission the station was to perform. The massive tethering cable extending kilometers down to the surface was a sturdy, zero-gravity corridor by which even small to medium starships could pass through. It linked to a small station on the surface, then extended below the surface of the planet. All this, part of Kronos' plan for invasion, a storm that would sweep through the galaxy with a ferocity never before experienced. Kronos was the Spearhead of the Return.
Xar awoke abruptly and sat up in the bed. The lights came on in response to his consciousness, and he glanced around the luxurious room around him in momentary confusion and wonder. "Ju'as suem'mah?" He wondered aloud. Then he remembered; this was the quarters that had been allotted for him during his stay here as one of Kronos' lieges.
Wide awake now, he pulled the sheets aside and slid out of bed, his eyes darting around the different fixtures occupying his quarters. A small table with a wine bottle and glasses stood in the center, accompanied by two wooden chairs. Various images came online along the walls, offering holo-views of various places he recognized; a series of floating, domed cities amid the purple clouds of Zubin, the gigantic, modern pyramids of the capital of Solos.
Jan tumans, he thought. Something wasn't right, here. A strange sensation came over him, an intense feeling of déjà vu, as if there was something familiar, lying just beyond memory, something that he should know. But for some reason he just couldn't remember what it was…
Then, suddenly, thoughts surfaced in his memory, of their own accord. Images and faces sprang to mind, but he couldn't connect them to specific places or people. Then those thoughts were washed away with a fierceness that shocked and startled him. He struggled to grasp them again, but nothing came. Now he knew something was wrong. He glanced about the room, at the scenes on the walls, the datapad on the computer that held his daily orders… All things he knew, but nothing that he was familiar with… He never really remembered using any of them before, never remembered being to Zubin or Solos. He put a hand up to his head; it had begun to ache from all the strain. He moved forward to the table for a drink. He looked down at the bottle and glasses, and a shock hit him hard enough to send a shiver through his own body. "Ne'mah jeni habicha!" The bottle was half empty, but he didn’t remember drinking any. He frowned. His spoken words hadn't matched his thoughts. What language was he speaking, anyway?
Suddenly the flood of thoughts and memories came back to him, clearer this time. Varnus. His… capture? What was he doing here? What was Varnus?
Then it all came back on him in a rush… His capture and imprisonment, his transfer here… His meeting with… Kronos… The man he served… "Ne!" No! The man he hated! The man who held the woman he was supposed to marry. This was wrong, all wrong! He was still being held by Kronos. The man had done something to him, brainwashed him somehow during his sleep… Even now his thoughts wanted to turn back, back to his life as an Altarin'Dakor.
He opened his mouth, fought back the rush of foreign words that came to his lips. Instead he focused on slowly pronouncing Basic. "N…o… I… am… Xa...r. I am… Xar, Xar Keren…sky!" The amount of concentration he had to give it was incredible. He could barely speak his own name! He gripped his head with both hands, leaned over onto the table. His head was throbbing, now, as if his gobi… no, his brain were expanding… trying to burst out of his head. He fought the false memories and thoughts that came up as though in a physical battle, it threatened to overwhelm him every moment. He needed some kind of… distraction. He yelled in pain, his head hurt so badly. Aug! Yes, that was it! Zubi'n… No! Basic, curse you! I am Xar Kerensky, from Varnus! By the Core, I'm ME! He thrashed his arm across the table, scattering the wine bottle and glasses. He heard them shatter as they hit the floor, sending a spike of pain through his head. He pushed off from the table. Pain! He had to have pain to fight these thoughts!
Yelling, he took hold of the back of the chair, turned and slammed it against the Holoscreen with all of his might. The plastic chair shattered into dozens of fragments, and the image on the wall shimmered and flickered a bit. "NO!" he screamed. Then the images on the wall vanished, the carpet and other small decorations in the room vanished, as well. He'd expected such. Kommi… No! Illusions! His mind raced for something to distract him from these thoughts. He began screaming expletives, calling them up from every language he could remember, anything to keep his mind from falling back into the trap that had been woven within it. He remembered, yelled curses in Basic, a few in Sullustian, even his own native Varnusian. Then a new idea came to him. "Kvrrg!" he yelled, in Crinn. "Rothlgak! Ktalm!" He continued screaming in Crinn, not only curses, but everything he could remember, phrases, commands, bits of memorized records. His throat quickly became raw from reciting the coarse language, his voice turning hoarse from speaking a language not designed for the human tongue. He continued anyway, adding to it by turning and slamming his fist into the wall. Pain shot through his naguis… no, his hand, blast it! He hit the wall with the other fist, felt his knuckle break. He screamed pain, but it wasn't enough. Dropping back to the floor, he scooped up a sharp piece of plastic from the chair. Screaming in Crinn, his voice so raw his throat was killing him, he brought the sharp point down onto the inside of his forearm, relishing the pain that exploded as a result and eliciting another scream from his scratched throat. He pulled the piece out of the puncture wound, brought it back up and rammed it down into his left leg. The shard broke off after it had extended in more than a centimeter, leaving a piece of it sticking out of his leg. Howling in self-inflicted pain, letting out all his anger and rage, he fueled his emotions to wipe away any trace of the brainwashing. He stood up again, cast about for some other source of pain. Finally he turned to the table and crashed his face down upon it. Pain exploded through his head, and he fell to the floor, feeling blood tricking down his chin. Still, it wasn't enough, he had to have more… Had to have…
He watched her as she studied the holoscreen in front of her, her gaze focusing upon the man who thrashed about in the small cell, inflicting pain upon himself to fight the effects of the brainwashing. "What is he doing?” she wondered aloud. “Odd, that Kronos included Crinn language. I've never seen that done before. He must have had some purpose…"
As she watched, her expression started out as a frown, then became almost bemused. "He's very strong," she whispered. "I wonder if Kronos may not be able to break him…" Her eyes watched him with interest, with… perhaps… attraction. He kept his own face still, hiding his emotions as he glanced at the figure on the screen, did not let the recognition show on his features. "He could be useful," she said.
"I do not think so," he replied stiffly. He immediately kicked himself mentally for venting his thoughts. His mind was as open to her as a book; he could hide nothing from her. She glanced at him and raised an eyebrow. "Strange that you say that. But, we shall see…" She smiled then, and he caught a strange gleam in her eyes. He prepared himself to serve.
Kronos lounged in his chair, deep in thought over the events he'd watched transpire on the holoscreen. "This is interesting," he mused. "He's fought off the procedure already…" He continued to watch with amusement as the hapless fellow inflicted torture upon himself, all in an intense effort to evade the careful, supposedly irreversible procedure that would have made him a willing servant of the Warlord Kronos. Obviously, there was a way around the Familiarization. The scientist responsible for operating on this particular subject would not live to see the morrow.
As he continued watching, he became more fascinated and impressed with how far this Kerensky was willing to go to resist the procedure. Some of the stuff he was doing to himself was truly creative. He really could be useful, Kronos thought. But on the other hand, let to roam free he could be a dangerous enemy. Of course, Kronos was only willing to go so far to turn him before it became unprofitable. Hopefully he would turn before then.
Finally, before the figure thrashing about on the floor fell completely into unconsciousness, he decided to stop it. "Enough," he spoke aloud. "Take him out of there before he kills himself and prepare him for the next phase." He made a half-grin; it was rare than anyone actually succeeded in resisting the mind control and compulsion, to reach the actual torture part of the operation. Those that succumbed to the first stage were the fortunate ones. He would enjoy taking care of this one personally.
Suddenly a musical chime sounded in the room. He sat now in another throne room with control room functions, lounged in a much more practical and modern chair which held controls for the various functions he needed at his fingertips. Even for someone who never saw to specific operations himself, he still had access to everything. The room's observation windows had been opened on all sides, offering floor-to-ceiling views of the sprawling Galbagos Nebula outside, and the black planet the clouds silhouetted below. A large skylight in the ceiling gave the impression of even more space. Other consoles and controls, fashionably contoured into furniture and other decorations, flickered unattended, waiting for his input from any point in the room. There were no other occupants, no guards to protect them. He had no use for them; they only got in the way, anyway. Anyone foolish enough to enter his chambers with the intent to kill him deserved the agony and death they would receive.
In response to the chime, he tapped a button on his armrest, and the far door slid open, admitting a high-classman dressed in elaborate robes, eyes cast down to the floor. He didn’t dare look up without permission, of course. "Yes?" Kronos acknowledged.
"General Akira has returned from Dorchav Sector, Lord." The messenger, actually a wealthy statesman in his own land, spoke with the utmost respect and admiration in his voice.
"Admit him," Kronos commanded. "And bring Taragi, as well."
The man nodded silently and backed out of the room and through the doorway, eyes still downcast. He wouldn't look up or turn until after the doors had closed. They did, and Kronos waited. Today he wore more comfortable, loose-fitting clothes, having forgone the formal attire he used in state to greet those like his new slave. He'd also gotten rid of his wig of long, black hair, also used on formal occasions or whenever he felt like it. Instead his true head was bared, revealing his short-cut, blonde hair, a complete contrast to the wig. He liked dualities like that. He’d used them on many occasions.
His thoughts were interrupted as the chime sounded again. This time, it was General Akira who entered, his booted feet sounding on the metal floor. The man's eyes lowered respectively until Kronos spoke, giving him leave to look up. Then he stood at ease, dressed in more comfortable attire than the uniforms most admirals wore. Instead he wore a loose shirt that sat on his broad shoulders and a pair of split-robed bottoms. Akira's once dark hair, which came down in a sharp widow's peak, was now streaked with white and nearly bald, a sign of mortal age Kronos had never had a chance to experience. Not that he intended or desired to, either. Akira's hard eyes and face looked as if carved from stone. He wore a gray mustache that reminded Kronos of an old friend, now eons gone.
"Greetings, my Prince," Akira spoke, his voice low and somewhat raspy. Another sign of time and age. The man was already over seventy standard years old, a mere eye-blink to Kronos, but still in fair shape thanks to modern technology; yet the strain he'd experienced had taken its toll on him. Akira had proven an exceptional and brilliant strategist and tactician in his service to Kronos, probably the best he'd ever had. The man's abilities were proven with many of his popular plots and schemes, from manipulating Senator Palpatine as a close advisor thirty years ago, to the razing of Varnus ten years past. His loyalty was absolute, and their business partnership was at a level of familiarity at which Kronos held with few others.
"Akira," Kronos pushed himself lightly from his seat and strode up to meet the man. "Your return is on schedule, and I trust your brief mission was successful. You've heard the news. The Devastator was lost at Varnus."
Akira's expression turned dark, and his eyes narrowed as he nodded. "I heard, my lord. I can't believe those savages could destroy one of our prized Titan Battleships…" he broke off, seething in anger.
"Then perhaps you should ask Admiral Taragi what went wrong," Kronos replied smoothly, gesturing toward a side door in the wall.
"He survived?" Akira asked incredulously. Then he turned as the door slid open, and a lean, uniformed man stepped through, escorted by two armored guards. Taragi bowed low to both men, but much lower to Kronos, of course. "My Lord. General Akira," he acknowledged.
The guards backed off, allowing Taragi to join them in the center of the room. Akira stood in front of him, glowering down at the man in anger.
"That was my ship!" Akira spat, his voice grating. "The Devastator, gone, the ship I personally commanded during my own admiralty. A relic with thousands of years of history. You do realize what you've lost?"
"He knows," Kronos said. "Perhaps he would like to explain himself in full."
Taragi glanced first at Kronos, then Akira. Since he'd already told his story to the Warlord, he addressed the General instead. "Virtually the entire New Imperial fleet jumped in right on top of us. They caught us totally unawares, General. We didn’t have a chance."
"A Titan-class Battleship?" Akira replied incredulously.
"The fleet had obviously been waiting just outside the system to make their strike. They hit us at key power and structural points," Taragi countered. "They had to have plans of the ship to know that. There's no way they could have done it otherwise."
"I find that hard to believe," Akira said uncertainly. "They've never even seen our ships, except perhaps in passing on their scanners in one of the waypoint systems."
"The loss of the Devastator was unavoidable, in my opinion," Taragi said, his voice in a formal tone.
"Your opinion?"
"As a last mark of vengeance, I sent the ship on a collision course with the planet before I escaped," the admiral informed them. "Varnus should be a wasteland, by now."
"You fool! That's probably what destroyed it!" Akira growled, his gaze staring balefully on the tall, thin man. If his eyes were fusion beams, Taragi would be a pile of ash on the floor by now.
"It doesn't matter, now, anyway." Kronos interjected, stopping the argument. "A sad loss, and I know how important it was to you, but in the end it was expendable." He glanced from one man to the other, his gaze finally resting on Taragi. "Throw him out the airlock," he nodded toward the man.
It took a second for his words to register. "What?!" Taragi finally gasped, his face full of shock. He made a startled half-grin, as if he thought the Warlord was joking. But his face quickly turned to horror as the guards obediently came up and pulled the man back. "Wait! L… Lord Kronos!" He glanced at the emotionless visors of the guards, struggled against their grip, but in their powered armor he could offer no more resistance than a child. "Wait, please! No! You don’t understand! Please, listen to me!"
Kronos listened to the man's pathetic, impassioned pleas for mercy, watched as he was dragged through the door into a side room, which held a small airlock reserved for the arrival of personal craft belonging to visitors like Akira.
"I called the Death Wing and the Blood Viper back, here." He told Akira. He didn't have to explain his reasons for calling the ships back, and Akira wouldn’t inquire. The former ship, the Death Wing, was his own flagship, and it wouldn't have done to lose it, as well. These savage barbarians had already shown, on numerous occasions, how crafty and resourceful they could be. He'd decided not to take any more chances with them from now on. Well, except for Kerensky, perhaps.
Kronos heard Taragi's screams, could see in his mind what happened as the man was shoved into the airlock and it was sealed around him. His voice was sealed away as well, and all he could do was stare through the viewport at the guards as they hit the cycle button.
Akira just nodded. "Now we are down to two Titans for this initial front," he pointed out with a sigh.
The airlock unsealed and the doors slid open, drawing out all of the atmosphere in the capsule and Taragi's screaming body out into vacuum. The Admiral flew out into space, passing in front of the viewports, alive for the three seconds or so it took for his blood to boil and the air and body fluids to be sucked right out of his mouth. Then his body inflated like a balloon, expanded until it finally exploded under the pressures of vacuum. Blood and spilt body fluids splashed all over the viewport windows, freeze-drying to a crusty paste almost immediately.
"I've already rectified that problem," Kronos spoke with a smile of pleasure. "The Cataclysm is on its way to assist us."
At that, Akira's eyes lit up, and he smiled. "The Cataclysm," he repeated, as if all thoughts of the Devastator's loss were now gone. In the past. Much larger than the Devastator, the new ship would more than compensate. And the past didn't matter. All that mattered was the future, and their destiny. "Was Varnus really devastated?"
"Again?" Kronos shook his head, a negative. Akira might have masterminded the original devastation of the planet, but Kronos' own sources on Varnus had informed him that this damage was minimal.
Behind Akira, a servant entered from the side room, eyes on the floor. "Shall I clean up the mess, my lord?"
Kronos glanced at the windows, now covered completely with crusted red in certain places, obscuring his view of the beautiful nebula outside. But that he cared little for; he'd seen so many like it that they all blurred together, now. And this was better, anyway. "No," he decided aloud, cocking his head to one side as he looked at his new scenery. "I think I like it, as a decoration."
* * *
Xar screamed. Screamed, as he had for countless hours, an eternity to his reasoning. He no longer felt his physical body's agony, having retreated to some subconscious corner of himself, watching dispassionately. He watched, while his body screamed. An endless cycle that repeated itself over and over again.
Finally, the pain stopped, and he slammed back into full consciousness with a suddenness that sent a feeling of nausea and agony coursing through his body. He was suddenly aware of every pain and ailment that had been inflicted upon him during his torture. The strength of adrenaline that had kept him upright left as well; his body went limp and he hung down on the shackles that had held him along the torture wall. This left him staring down at the metal floor, his head hanging limp, his eyes resting on the pool of sweat and urine he'd expelled instinctively. The simple loincloth that was his only clothing was soaked and stained, as well. He spit blood, adding to the puddle. His tongue ached, raw and bleeding from being clenched reflexively. Of all the times in his life, he'd never felt so completely filthy and drained. His nostrils stung from the strong stench of body odors.
"Will you submit?" came the question, as it had after every session, as it had for forever. The same routine. Xar didn't look up at the alien who'd been carrying out the torture. He didn't know if he had the strength even if he'd wanted to.
Staring blankly down at the floor, ignoring the pain, he barely managed to shake his head. "Kriff you," he whispered. He'd long ago made his decision. At first he'd seriously thought about it, though. He could serve Kronos, try and harbor some secret plan within himself, to where he could one day become strong enough to defeat the Warlord. But then, he knew Kronos could reach inside his mind at anytime, uncovering all the hidden secrets within. He'd done it before. And he could always just Compel him to reveal all. The inevitable alternative was, of course, death. Escape would be impossible once he gave in. And to do so would require his submission to this… this monster, the creature that held his betrothed as one of his "play-pretties". Servitude, or death. Xar had been faced with death before, many times. He'd always known that he had some destiny before him, and had never really feared actual death, except for a couple of times. When he'd fought Dasok Krun, and when he’d fought Turles. But he'd survived those, as well. This couldn't be the way he was to die… And even if it was, even if he had to choose death rather than service; he wouldn't submit. Never bend, never break, he reminded himself. There was only one choice.
He'd made his response, as he had countless times over. And every time the alien would repeat the same phrases. But this time the creature surprised him. Instead of making its usual quote, Xar felt its hand grab his throat and pull his head up to face it. He now found himself staring into the face of the creature, and fought a shiver of revulsion. The alien's face was wide and tan-colored, with large, compound eyes and leathery antennae protruding from its skull. Its four-fingered hand grasped Xar by the throat, its claws digging into his skin. The creature's mouth-parts came out in a mandible that clicked together as it talked. Its unaccented Basic must have come from a translator. Xar didn't recognize the alien's species.
The creature looked him in the face with an expression Xar couldn't hope to determine. "Why do you resist?" it asked simply, questioningly. "You know you must submit or die. Your life here would be pleasurable beyond your imagination. Why?"
Xar didn't even answer. Too tired to explain himself, especially not to the initiator of his torment, suddenly, curiously inquiring about why his subject refused to give in. He just hung, letting the creature's own strength hold him up.
Finally the alien
let him go, and he dangled back down to his former position, eyes down once
more. "Then you shall return here until you do submit," it spoke,
returning once again to its prewritten dialogue. Xar ignored it; he'd already
resigned himself to what was to come. "The next time, the pain will
increase once more. Ponder your reasoning while you can. I urge you to make the
right choice, before it is too late." Then, graciously, two guards
approached from the side to take him down, though a night in his cell on his
own wasn't going to be much more pleasurable, he knew. Maybe I won't have to, he thought with the barest flicker of a
smile.
As the guards disengaged the binders and held him aloft, he summoned up the last of his strength. For however long he'd been tortured, despite the device or drug that had hampered his Force power, he'd gradually saved his strength, bit by bit. Prodding around the block in his mind that held him from the Force, he'd managed to gather up a small well of it. And now he used it.
Calling upon his remaining energy, he let the Force flow up within him. In one motion, he thrust the guards to either side and threw all his gathered energy at the alien tormentor. A blast of lightning shot from his hand, connecting with the alien insect in front of him.
His ploy worked. The energy hit the alien's chest and exploded outwards, destroying the creature's midsection and blowing it back across the room. Its body slammed into a shelf of flasks and vials and sent the entire apparatus crashing down atop the dead creature.
Panting in effort, Xar barely stood up, grinning in satisfaction. Dangerous as it was, he felt good about killing that passively cold-hearted creature. He always hated to take a life, yet this one brought a certain sense of fulfillment. And why not, he wondered? It had certainly deserved it. And its death would prevent it from doing the same to others.
Then his thoughts were washed away as something slammed into the back of his head, and darkness came again.
Kronos stared impatiently as the medical assistant stepped forward and timidly held out a data pad for him. "Here are the test r-reports for the s-subject, l-lord," the man stuttered.
Kronos took the pad from his hand impassively, then held it up to study it. On it were the reports of every test that had been done on Kerensky: his biology, heredity, and things even he hadn't taken the time to learn. But he knew how to read the chart. And what he saw made his eyes grow wide.
"What is this?" he asked aloud. "How is this possible?" How could Kerensky have genes inside him that he’d only ever seen before in an Altarin’Dakor?
"I-I don't know, l-lord," the assistant stammered. “It just came up during the tests…”
Kronos eyed the pathetic creature darkly. "I didn’t ask you, fool!" he yelled.
The servant screamed as he was flung backward across the room and slammed into the wall, then went silent. He slid to the floor and didn't move. Kronos, already forgetting the intrusion, started walking toward the medical levels, intent on finding some answers to this.
He was taken back to the small cell which had been accommodated for him, and dropped onto the thin, hard cot that was the room's only decoration. He lay there, gasping for breath, his strength completely wasted.
They fed him, a thick paste squirted by a nozzle they forced into his mouth. The stuff tasted awful; he guessed it was just to fill his stomach, something with nutritional value. Feeding him a high nutritional diet would give their prisoners false hope and energy. Then a strange, tattooed creature he thought was a woman came in and gave him Force Healing again. It felt like he was being doused in ice water, and he gasped as the wounds on and in his body closed themselves up. Then he collapsed, helpless. That was the cycle, torturing him, almost killing him, then Healing him again. As much a mental torture as the physical things they were doing to him. They wanted him to think this was going to last forever. The worst of it was, he supposed he understood the cold-hearted logic of it. But experiencing it was something else.
After he ate, he fell into an uncomfortable sleep, full of dreams he knew had been manufactured for him by his captors. But even in them, he refused to give in, time and again, no matter the circumstances. No matter what was offered to him, or threatened as a consequence of his refusal. He wouldn't give in.
He was woken some time later - he was unsure of the time, having no sense of night and day other than his body's own need for rest. And he was surprised to be taken out by a pair of well-dressed guards, bathed, and allowed to dress in a cloth, lightweight tunic and pants. Then he was fed again, a meal that, to his surprise, was amazingly good. It was a feast, including many kinds of fruit, various meats, and spiced wine to wash it down. It was too rich for his heavily abused body, and he ate only sparingly. While he ate under the watchful eyes of the guards, he wondered why the sudden change in treatment. Was it a new persuasion attempt, by treating him well and hoping he would become complacent? It wouldn't work; they had to know that as well as he.
After the meal, the guards escorted him further on through the station, and he finally got a sense of how huge the place was. Corridors stretched off on all sides, and deep sounds hinted at larger machinery hidden away deeper within. Since his Healing, bath, and meal, he felt great - clean and full, albeit still a little weak. His strength had recovered enough that he could move along without having to be carried, but he was still somewhat exhausted from all his mistreatment.
They led him through a pair of large doors that slid open to the side, and he blinked at the size of the room they entered. It was large and round, and in the center the floor sloped up to form a raised platform on which stood none other than Kronos.
“I doubt you’ve been enjoying your stay here,” Kronos stated. At first he almost didn't recognize the Warlord. The long, silky-black hair was gone, obviously a wig he'd used to change his appearance. Instead the Warlord's hair was closely cropped, and blonde. Instead of the armor, he was dressed in loose-fitting, silk robes of reds, blues, and purples. Several other beings stood around him, draped in white robes that covered their whole bodies, including hoods that left nothing but their eyes exposed.
“Imagine life
serving me,” Kronos cooed. “As my right-hand man. You
would have everything you wanted. Power. Wealth. Women. Servants
and armies loyal to you, willing to die for you. Your name would be
revered by uncounted throngs of billions, trillions. You would have no
discomfort, no pain… You could live like a god.”
Kronos gestured around him then, and
Xar saw a massive, elaborate hologram filling the room around him, showing him
what he knew was the core of the Altarin’Dakor worlds. Riches beyond
imagination, beyond description, filled his eyes, along with wonders he’d never
even dreamed of. Technological achievements that were only ideas
in the known galaxy. Shining ships flew by, sleeker than any he’d ever
seen. Transports zoomed across golden bridges that spanned between worlds.
Massive structures like temples stood on different worlds, offering shrines to
the Warlords, Kronos among them. He shook his head in disbelief. Wherever this
was, he knew it wasn’t in the galaxy he had known and grown up in. These
Altarin’Dakor were from a different place altogether.
“What do you think, Kerensky?” Kronos looked at him askance. “Isn’t all this worth just a few simple words? Isn’t it worth the joy of serving me the rest of your days? Even your own power will be increased, far beyond the mere mortals of this galaxy. I will teach you secrets about the Force that you’ve never imagined. Powers lost since the Golden Age of the Jedi, before the First Schism. I was there, Kerensky. I know.” Kronos’ gaze bored into him, and for a moment, Xar almost gave in.
What if he did agree to serve Kronos? Then he would have the power to save those around him, like Illiana, and even his parents, who he had been unable to save during the attack. He could put a stop to the violence and anarchy raging in the galaxy.
“If you join me,” Kronos tempted, “I will let you choose what becomes of your fledgling New Imperium. You can choose who rules, who lives - and who dies. You can set the boundaries yourself. As my General, these will be the least of the honors available to you.”
Xar stared up at the Warlord, every fiber in his being wishing his words to be true. If he gave in, he could save the NI. He could save everyone on Varnus, and all the friends he’d made since joining House Ar’Kell. There wouldn’t have to be any more death. No long, drawn out war. He could sacrifice himself to a life of service, for them.
But he shook his head. He knew Kronos was lying. If his words about Queen Rashkia were anything to go by, Kronos would have no use for those who grew too enamored of him, too secure in their positions. He knew that if he joined, he would be forced into slavery for the rest of his life. And the more time he spent near the Warlord, affected and intoxicated by his presence, he knew the more he would grow to love his slavery. No, the coming was inevitable. There was no stopping it with a simple decision.
“Sorry to make you waste your breath,” he said, staring up at the man. “But I’d rather be a Hutt’s love slave than serve you, no matter what you offer me. I’ve had enough of your lies. And I’m afraid I’m going to have to kill you, Kronos.”
Suddenly Kronos burst into laughter. “A fine joke,” he said, between laughs. “Perhaps I will give you the chance to try.”
Then the hologram vanished, and the guards appeared once again behind Xar, to take him back to his cell.
* * *
This time when the guards woke him, they dragged him up bodily, dressed him in plain clothes, and started him down the corridors again. Xar didn’t know if they took the same routes or not… They all looked the same, and a constant line of humanlike beings walked the corridors, dressed in unfamiliar uniforms, all with faces set about their duties. They didn’t look at Xar twice. He wondered what was in store for him today. After Kronos’ temptations, he had to know offering him something new wasn’t going to work.
When they finally emerged into the laboratory - a large room filled with tables and various, unknown metal devices, he nearly collapsed in shock. It was then that he finally understood the reasoning of his new treatment. Instead of the now-dead alien who'd conducted the previous tortures, a new being stood in the room, draped once more in elaborate silk clothes: Kronos. More of the white-clad figures stood around the room.
"For nearly a week you have resisted our attempts to turn you," Kronos spoke up, not offering a greeting. "My patience is running out. You've almost become more trouble than the benefits of turning you would be worth. You should have accepted my generous offer."
"I'm so sorry to disappoint you," Xar answered tersely, trying to stall for time. He glanced around the room for something he could use against his captors, some means of escape, but his effort was futile. There was nothing within easy reach, and the Warlord would certainly know beforehand whatever he planned to do.
Kronos nodded to the guards, who took hold of Xar's arms and began pulling him toward the Warlord. Kronos then turned and led them into a small cell, one of several the lined the walls around the laboratory room. Kronos entered first, then the guards pushed Xar inside, blocking the exit behind him. The cell was a small space, perhaps only three meters square, and devoid of features except for the device which dominated the center of the room. A large, metal chair, covered with an amalgam of hideous-looking devices and instruments.
"Now, my friend, we shall see how strong you really are…" Kronos smiled.
Suddenly, Xar found himself in the chair, bound firmly in place by metal shackles. How he'd gotten there, he couldn't remember. More Compulsion? It seemed a power he had no defense against whatsoever. He could never sense it when Kronos used the Force; his Force Mask was that good. And even though Xar could sense the Force at this point, he didn’t dare use it.
He struggled against the restraints that held him firmly in place inside the chair. In front of him, Kronos stood beside a large machine, which rose up in a mass of twisted pipes and wires, ending in several arm-like attachments with malicious-looking pinchers and needles at the ends. Behind Kronos, another human aide stood, wrapped in what he assumed was medical attire, operating the device from behind. But it was Kronos who held his full attention. The Warlord nodded to the aide, who adjusted something on the other side of the device. Then he took hold of one of the arm-like appendages, this one ending in a series of sharp needles. Sparks of electricity shot between them, causing bursts of blue light that flashed across the Warlord's face. Kronos looked at him then, his eyes dark pools that seemed to reflect his dark soul, then he brought the wicked-looking device down into his own arm.
A high-pitched, electric whine cut through the air, and Xar's nostrils caught the putrid smell of burning flesh. The Warlord's arm tensed instantly as the needles penetrated his skin and sent surges of energy coursing through his body. But his expression remained the same, no effect of the pain could be visible, save perhaps a slight darkening of his features. The sight of it made Xar want to cringe in disgust, but also in anticipation; he wasn't going to like those needles underneath his skin. Seconds later Kronos removed the device, his eyes still focused on Xar, and his smile widened.
"I'll set it a notch lower, for you," he said, his eyes gleaming black pools. He gestured to the man behind him, who made another adjustment. “Unlike me, you can die.
"Make no mistake. This is your last chance," the Warlord told him, "To change your mind… to come out of this in relatively one piece…"
"No thanks," Xar whispered, already bracing himself for what was to come. His mind raced for a way out, for something he could use to counter the Warlord and escape this situation. He didn't intend to give in… Yet he knew he wasn't going to die here. It wasn't his destiny. There had to be a way out… but what?
Then Kronos jammed the device into Xar's own arm, and pain like he'd never felt before washed all his thoughts away…
Xar flailed wildly about in the interrogation chamber, his wrists and feet raw from rubbing against their restraints. He'd clenched his teeth so tightly to keep from screaming that his jaw ached and he could taste blood from his chewed tongue. Still, he thought he'd succeeded; he hadn't cried out, hadn't given the Warlord what he'd wanted.
Kronos jerked the device out again, and Xar slumped in the chair as the pain lessened, his body trembling and sliding around the sweat-filled seat.
"Serve me," Kronos whispered seductively. The power and authority in his voice was almost palpable, and drove its way through the pain to fill the space inside Xar's brain. It made him want to bow down and obey instantly – but the feeling lasted only a moment. It echoed over and over, until it slowly faded, leaving a splitting ache in his brain.
Xar managed to open his mouth without a sound, his teeth aching from being clenched tight for so long. "No," he whispered back, shaking his head. Sweat flew from his soaked head, showering the cold, metal floor below. He raised his eyes to meet the Warlord's once again, his vision blurred but good enough to see the quiet expression on his enemy's face.
"Why not?" Kronos asked, the question simple and unobtrusive.
Xar didn't answer. Instead, he shut his mouth, letting it fill up with blood from his raw gums and tongue. Then he raised his head and spit it out in a shower over the Warlord's face.
Kronos' eyes became black pools, his expression going instantly dark. The blood and spittle on his face began to run and drip down, off the tip of his nose, over his lip. "You may scream," he said, his voice like ice. Reaching behind him, past the aide, he made a violent motion on the control behind the device. Then he took two of the arm appendages, one with the needles and another with a crackling electric node, and thrust them toward Xar's body.
A scream of agony poured out of Xar's mouth before he even knew there was pain. Then it came, ten times worse than before, unbearable. He yelled at the top of his lungs, arching up out of the chair as far as he could, his screams beating at the ceiling above him. He could feel his system shutting down, his energy escaping once and for all. He was dying. No!!! he screamed inside his mind. This can't be the way it ends!! I can't die here!!!
"Only serve me," Kronos' voice interrupted. "Serve, and it shall cease."
He shifted his view to the Warlord, his eyes bulging wide from the pain. Kronos was watching him impassively, wiping Xar's blood off of his face, licking it. He focused everything he had on the Warlord, turning his screams into words… Words that he'd spoken before, when he'd stared down the tunnel at an inevitable and imminent death.
And, despite
everything, he wouldn't give in. He had a destiny. "Come on!!" he screamed. "Is that the best you can do!!"
Kronos' left lip curled up in a half-smile, and he gave another nod. In response, the aide made another adjustment.
The pain increased again.
Xar flailed about uncontrollably in the seat, his wrists swelling from tearing against the unforgiving restraints. His blood seemed to boil, his muscles tensed and relaxed reflexively. He could feel his veins bulging out all over his body. Again he fought to control the screams, to form words. As he did, he reached deep inside himself, for the Force that he knew was there, but was inexplicably cut off from him. Yet, as he had before, he could defeat it, draw it in gradually. His pain and rage would feed his power… Again he screamed.
"COME ON!!!! DO IT!!! KILL ME!!!! KIIIIILL MEEEE!!!"
"Maximum power!" Kronos shouted.
The pain went up to an inconceivable level. But he welcomed it, because he turned it into rage, pain, anger and rage to feed his Force power. Xar kept screaming, kept taunting, all the while welcoming the pain, the agony that would certainly kill him within seconds. He drew it in, relished it, reveled in it. More power than he'd ever been able to harness alone, unbelievable amounts of strength in the Force… Suddenly it was bursting within him, filling him with life and warmth. The pain was gone; only rage and power filled his body now, the utter strength of the Force. Enough to crush anything. There was nothing he couldn't do with it; and it was begging to be let out. His body was glowing with power. Kronos rose an eyebrow in surprise.
"KILL ME!!! KILL ME!!! AAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!!" And as the end began to tip and he felt himself fall over the edge toward final oblivion, he reached out and ripped the devices away from his body, crushing the machine, then he unleashed all the stored up energy… all at Kronos. Everything he had, all the power he'd ever conceived of; he hurled pure Force at the Warlord. Invisible, undetectable to anyone else, an unstoppable blast of pure Force energy.
Time slowed. The Force stretched out between them, reaching out to touch Kronos and vaporize his body and spirit where he stood. Xar sensed it as it approached him, almost connecting the two in a bond that was the Force itself. He had no idea what he'd just done; it'd been an instinctive movement borne out of every scrap of energy he'd had left. But he knew what it could do. It was over.
The invisible, pure Force energy reached out, touched the Warlord… and disappeared. There was a brief instant, barely sensed, in which the beam seemed to split, to somehow warp itself and pass around Kronos like an island within a sea. Then it was gone, sent off somewhere else, some other place.
For a minute, time froze. Xar stared in complete shock at the being in front of him. The pain was gone now. He hung there, strapped in the seat, and he could sense everything. No more pain, no feeling at all in his body. The device sputtered. He could hear his and the Warlord's breathing, hear the steady beating of each of their hearts. He felts the stillness of the universe, moving incomprehensibly slowly along its journey. All in that moment had stopped in time. His eyes met those of Kronos, and he saw something that he'd never seen before. Something he couldn't quite grasp or comprehend. It was as if he was staring into the eyes of Immortality. Kronos was ancient, beyond his imagination, invincible. And he realized then, that he’d really had no hope at all. All his struggle, from the beginning, had been in vain. And now, finally, he understood. He was going to die.
"As you wish…" Kronos whispered, his eyes black and emotionless.
Xar's heart exploded.
The pain that welled up inside him as his heart burst within its framework made his previous torture seem insignificant. And this time there was no scream. His lungs failed him, both of them collapsing at the same time. Then others, as his various internal organs began rupturing one by one.
He arched upwards, staining against the restraints, trying to scream, but he had no breath. His vision exploded and coalesced into a kaleidoscope of images and flashes of light. Inconceivable pain burst through his chest; he felt it bulge as the ruptures sent fluids collecting and scattering inside his torso. He writhed in agony, expending the last of his energy, feeling the life simply drain away from him.
He wasn't aware that the restraints were gone until he hit the floor. He wasn't aware of the impact, only that he was suddenly staring up at the Warlord. He tried to get up, to reach out and lash out at the Warlord, but he couldn't move. His limbs had stopped. There was no more blood circulation. There was no Force there to meet him. He felt cold, chill spreading throughout him as his heart no longer was there to beat. He couldn’t breathe. Inside, he was falling, the last of his warmth draining away. He was dying. That knowledge left him in astonished wonder. Death beckoned him with promises of peace and rest, but he fought with every last ounce of strength, down to the very last second…
Images flashed before his eyes, of his past, of his life. His growing up on Varnus as heir apparent. His betrothal to Illiana. His capture by Runis. He returned to Varnus to find it devastated. He went off on his own, finally joining the Imperial Navy. He served with Thrawn then finally left, going off on his own into Minos Cluster to find artifacts… And then, it stopped… There was something there, during that time. Something he'd forgotten… It was important, but he couldn't remember what it was… It was blocked off from him, as cleanly as a wall of steel. Then he joined the Imperial Remnant, and the Dark Brotherhood…. He killed Janus, Dasok Krun, and others, precursors to the enemy they faced now. He left and helped found the New Imperium… He served as Diktat… He built the Jedi Division of the New Imperium, fought Turles, Malphunoc, and other foes. But something was missing… some piece to the puzzle… But it didn’t matter, now. All this passed before him as a curiosity, as if it had happened to someone else. Someone… else… He watched, ethereal, ephemeral.
Then all he saw was Kronos, staring down at him dispassionately. The edges of his vision turned dark, then slowly crept inwards, a tunnel vision that shrank down and down until nothing was left but a small speck of light, just as before. But this time it wasn't unconsciousness that lingered beyond the void…
The light went out.
Kronos shook his head at the body on the floor, stepping back from the expanding pool of blood that was spreading across the floor from the man’s wounds, from his ears, from his nose and eyes. "Such a waste," he mused. "I've never met one so stubborn. He would have been useful…" He paused, as if in thought. "But then, judging by that little trick of yours, who knows what you might have come up with later? These barbarians; clever, but crafty."
He spit down onto the corpse, then gave a final nod. "Ta nomas, my friend." Then he turned away, striding out of the room and toward the exit. "Clean up this mess," he ordered.
They waited until Kronos was gone. Then, as she stepped out into the open, he followed behind obediently. She moved into the cell, where the kamis was pulling out the necessary cleaning materials from a side closet. The kamis turned back, vacuum in hand, and its eyes widened as he saw the two of them standing there in front of him.
"Your job is finished," she spoke up. "Return to your duties."
Immediately they turned away from the prisoner's body, the forgotten vacuum clanging to the deck as it was dropped. They moved past them, not even seeing them as they left to obey her order.
Then, to his surprise, she moved over to the body and knelt down in the pool of still-warm blood beside it, staining her robes. She stared down at the prisoner's face, his eyes closed, his expression at peace. "He is the one, you know," she said softly. Her comment didn't need a response.
He watched, containing his emotions, looking down in sad recognition at the body on the floor. The woman knelt over the man's body, reaching down to take his bloodstained shirt in both hands. In one motion, she ripped the shirt open, exposing the man's bare torso. The sight that greeted them was shocking, even for him. The prisoner's body was covered with scars, tracing all across his right side and continuing on down his right arm. But this was obviously from an injury long past. The recent injuries were much more prominent. The man's midsection and chest were bloated from the collection of spilled internal fluids. Blood had poured out of his nose, mouth, ears and eyes, and even burst up through his skin, covering his body and contributing to the pool lying around the body. He hadn't known a body could hold so much blood…
"Stand back, and keep watch," she ordered, interrupting his thoughts. Obediently, he stepped back to the entrance and checked the outer room. It was empty, as planned. He continued watching, but kept an eye on the scene behind him in the room, mostly out of curiosity. Distant emotions tried to come up inside him as he looked at Xar, but he pushed them all away. That wasn’t his life anymore.
The woman laid her hands on the man's bare chest, her eyes closed and her breathing rhythmic. He could infer, somewhat, the things she was doing, though he didn't really understand them. He wasn't Force-Sensitive, and he didn't really comprehend such things, yet he thought he did grasp the concept. And he could almost feel within the air the power and life which she summoned up. Then her hands began to glow.
And what happened was something he could only describe as a miracle. Beneath her hands, his body contracted within, the bulges going down until his body was normal size again. He could hear audible crackling noises as bones healed and readjusted and flesh knit. Inside, his organs were being reconstructed, according to their original design; they'd be as good as new when she was finished. His skin twitched and rippled, and a small wave passed over his body. When it passed, the scars were smoothed out and made invisible, every one of them, even the age-old one on his side and shoulder and arm. The prominent scar on his face closed and vanished, as well. Then his body arched slightly as his spine and every bone structure fell into perfect alignment. The sores on his wrists and bare ankles were gone, as well.
"Now," she said, panting. "Heart… beat…" There was a pause, and she nodded in satisfaction. "Have to breathe…" she said next. The body's chest rose and fell. Watching from the doorway, he swallowed hard. What he was seeing was supposedly impossible. But the biggest amazement was yet to come.
"Good… And now the final touch…" she whispered. The glow from her hands spread out to cover the prisoner's body, as she imparted life energy from her body into his. She sighed and moaned slightly, her eyes shut, her body dipping slightly as she continued to fill him with life and energy.
Then something he couldn't explain happened. There was a feeling, a snap that he couldn't hear, but sensed. Abruptly, the man's body lurched upwards, drawing in deep breaths of air. Above him, she recoiled as if struck, falling back away from the body. Only it wasn't a body anymore. As the man on the floor slumped back to the deck, his chest rose and fell rhythmically. He was… impossibly… alive.
She pushed away from the unconscious form, panting, clearly exhausted. Forgetting about the man they'd come to save, he moved toward her, intensely concerned for her well being. He'd never seen her look so drained. But then, he'd never seen anything like this before. Her skin was pale, and her hands shook as she pushed him away and stood up. Her body may have looked weak, but her eyes as she stared at him were full of authority.
"Bring him to my quarters," she commanded. "We are finished here."
* * *
Hyperspace
En Route to Mizar
System
2300 Hours Ship Time
The swirling blue-white sky of hyperspace filled the Black Star’s forward viewpoint as the three Jedi sat waiting. Suddenly one of them stared ahead in shock.
“It can’t be…” Icis breathed.
“What is it?” Mathis asked beside him.
“It’s Xar… He’s… gone,” Icis whispered, disbelief in his voice.
“No. Impossible.” Mathis shook his head in outright denial. “You’re lying!”
“I told you I would know if he died,” Icis shot back, feeling the shock inside as much as Mathis was showing it on his face. “It’s over.”
“NO!” the man said, reaching out and grabbing Icis by the front of his coat. “It’s not over!”
“Mathis!” Misnera shouted beside him, grabbing the Deputy’s arms to restrain him. “Get a hold of yourself, man! We’re not giving up the search, yet!”
The team of Jedi, having discovered a clue to the enemy’s stronghold back on New Cov, had been en route to the Mizar System for the last fifty-seven hours, crossing back through New Imperium space, and was about to travel back into the Unknown Regions on the other side. The journey and anticipation of what they would find at Mizar had them all on edge, and spending so much time cooped up in Xar’s black, utilitarian starship had them all on edge.
Misnera spun Mathis around to stare at him, saw the look of despair in his eyes. “Don’t just give up!” he spat. “There’s still hope! I know there must be!”
Mathis just sat there, refusing to speak. A moment passed in silence.
“We need to discuss this,” Misnera spoke up beside him.
Slowly, Mathis nodded. Icis had already stood and was exiting out the rear hatch. With the ship on autopilot, the other two Jedi Masters soon followed. They weren’t due to reach Mizar for another day or so.
They went down a short corridor and a flight of stairs to the main sitting area. It was a sparsely decorated room, with a raised ledge above which were large windows looking out on hyperspace lining one wall. Other than that, the furniture was sparse, but there was a display case high on one wall with a tattered native Varnusian banner inside. As they entered, Icis saw that there, sitting cross-legged on the floor mat playing a game of sabacc, were Gaius Adonai, Omega Kira, and Vynd Archaron. All three looked up and their eyes went wide as they saw the expressions on the Jedi faces.
“What’s happened?” Gaius immediately asked.
“We don’t know yet,” Misnera said before anyone else could speak up. He moved over and leaned against the large heavy wooden desk dominating one corner of the room. “We need to discuss things.”
Mathis walked over and took a seat in one of the crash couches while Icis chose to stand near the wall. They all seemed to be waiting on him, so he chose to oblige them. “I felt Xar die,” he said simply.
“You mean you think you felt it,” Mathis countered immediately. His eyes were looking more crazed by the moment.
Icis just gave him a stare. There was no use explaining. He was sure.
“No way!” Omega countered fiercely. “That’s impossible!”
“Wait. Tell us how you can know that,” Gaius spoke up, finally adding some calm.
Icis sighed, then went about explaining once more how he could sense the
life force of people wrapped in important events. What he didn’t tell them,
though, was why. The secrets of the Travelers, the truth about how they had
been watching the universe’s most important events far before the beginning of
the
“Whether or not what Icis feels is true,” Misnera spoke at last, “we have to decide whether to go on or not.”
“Of course we go on,” Mathis said hotly. “No matter what. We’ll bring just his body back if we have to.”
“How do we find him if we can’t sense his presence anymore, even if we get close?” Gaius pointed out.
That bought out a series of discussion then, about how they were going to find Xar – or his body – and make it out of enemy space in time. Icis just sat, brooding, trying to feel through the Force for the man he had befriended. It didn’t seem possible that he could die, yet. He’d glimpsed visions of the future that definitely had Xar in them. How could he be dead?
The conversation continued on for several more minutes, unabated. Finally, Mathis simply clapped his hands together loudly. “Enough!” he belted. “We’re going to Mizar and getting Xar back, and that’s final!”
Everyone went quiet then, and the Jedi just seemed content to look from one person to the next. Icis ignored them, still focusing on that empty spot inside him that was supposed to be Xar. But it was so clear. He’d felt it many times before, when the life force that was that person he felt was extinguished. It was just as final this time as it had been countless times before. The whole room continued to sit in silence, the sky of hyperspace swirling by outside the windows.
Then, just as suddenly as it had vanished, Xar’s presence returned. “It can’t be,” he said again, breaking the silence more forcefully this time. “What is going on here?”
“What do you mean? Tell us, man!” Misnera said strongly beside him.
“I can sense him again,” Icis said, turning to look at them all. “I don’t know how, I don’t know why. But Xar is alive. He feels… different… but definitely alive.”
He looked at their expressions then. Gaius had an eyebrow arched quizzically, Misnera looked thoughtful, Omega and Archaron disbelieving, and Mathis just looked more determined than ever.
“That settles it,” Organa said, his tone broking no argument. “To Mizar it is. One way or another, we’ll get to the bottom of this.”
* * *
Xar stood there at the wall, watching the
other kids below as they played roller-ball on the street. He wondered, sadly,
what it was like to be down there, with friends, playing games like that. If
only Dyran, his mentor, would let him outside the
palace at least once in a while. He was ten, plenty old enough to do some
exploring of his own. But then, his father had forbidden it, as well. His
father knew best, he supposed. He had to grow up and learn a lot so he could be
king, someday. It was true; he had a responsibility to his people, he was told.
But he'd never asked for that responsibility. Sometimes he wished he wasn't the
firstborn. Why couldn't Rydon have been born first, or his sister, Cassandra?
Then he shook his head; he was just being
selfish. Still, it looked like those kids were having a lot of fun, laughing
and screaming. But that wasn't for him…
Xar felt someone behind him, and he
turned, astonished at first at who he saw standing there watching. A pretty little girl, about two or three years younger than he.
Her bright red hair already descended below her shoulders. She was watching him
carefully, her deeply green eyes coolly calculating. There was a slight smile
on her face.
"Who're you?" he asked sharply,
angry at the disturbance.
"My name is Illy,"
the girl replied.
"And…?"
She smiled widely now, and shook her head.
"This is weird," she said.
"What is?"
She sighed then, and looked past him,
gazing at nothing. "Our fathers just finished talking," she informed
him. "We are going to get married, someday. They decided."
Xar recoiled as if she'd physically hit
him. "What? You mean they just decided…"
"Yep."
He backed against the wall railing, shaking
his head. "That's not fair… But… eww… you've got
red hair!"
"Well, excuse me," Illiana said sarcastically. "I bet you will like it,
someday. And mind your speech. You are of the Royal Family,
you have to act like one!"
"Bah… This stupid language stuff… Why
can't I use contractions?"
"Because they say
so?"
He shrugged. "Yeah, I guess you're
right…"
"You are, not you're…" she shook
her head in exasperation. "It is going to take a
lot to get you ready to be king!"
"I never said I wanted to be
king…" Xar countered. He broke off into a whisper. "I don't want
this…"
"But you cannot change that, can
you?" She brushed her hair behind her with one hand. "So, you wanna go exploring or something?"
"Yeah, sure…" he said
nonchalantly. "Whatever…"
Back within the warm comfort of the darkness, Xar shook his head. That wasn't him… it couldn't have been… It seemed like three lifetimes ago. But everything had changed, he knew. By the time they were in their mid to late teens, he hadn't only accepted her as his betrothed… he was madly in love with her. It had been difficult for them to hold back, not get too deeply involved in a relationship before their scheduled wedding date. The media tabloids would've been all over that kind of thing. But now, looking back, Xar didn't care what the tabloids or anybody else thought. Now they were all dead, and he was ruler of a new Varnus. Or used to be… That's right, he thought. I'm dead now, too. Oh well.
That thought struck him as funny. Of course, he shouldn’t know he was dead, should he? This was strange indeed… For a moment, he'd experienced and seen things he couldn't comprehend, much less explain. Then, abruptly, he'd ended up here. So, was he still dead? Well, one thing was for certain; he'd have a long time to think it over…
Lyccos II. Now why is that important? Of course. It was
where he'd tracked down and killed the rogue Dark Jedi Master Janus. Janus was
inherently weak in the Force, but he'd amplified his powers using a Force
Splinter. The splinter itself was a mere piece of the Shard of Destiny, a
device that would increase a Jedi's power to mythical levels. Xar killed him
before he was able to take the Shard from the ruins where it had been found, to
exact his own revenge throughout the galaxy. But the Shard had been lost, as
well. Now why was that important?
Ah… But he'd been there once before then,
to look for the Shard, himself. Those events were almost totally lost from
memory, now. That in itself was strange; he should have been able to remember
it easily. But the only memory he had of his visit there was in bits and
pieces. Something important had happened there… Something he'd been told?
Perhaps a clue to what was to come. It seemed clear Janus was working for this
enemy in one way or another. For some reason, whatever had happened while he
was there had been covered up by the local authorities. What was it? He'd often
wondered if the Shard itself were exactly that, only a piece of something even
larger. Perhaps he'd searched for that… Again, another dead
wall. There was something he was forgetting, something he'd been made to
forget! A piece of his history hidden even from him.
That would have been interesting to find
out… He would have to go looking for the source of this Force Shard. If he weren't dead, of course… He found that thought
incredibly amusing. Just for fun, he began to laugh. He practiced laughing from
low, rumbling laughs, to snickers, to guffaws. Soon he found he couldn't stop.
So he laughed and laughed, realizing he was probably insane, but not caring
anymore… An eternity in this warm, black blanket would be enough to drive anyone
insane.
It really was ironic, that this was how it
was to end. Ironic that the destiny he'd always looked toward, always strove
for, would never come. His whole life he'd done nothing but look to the future,
and in doing so he'd missed the precious moments of the present. What a mess
he'd made of his life. If he could just have done it all over, he would have
been there to stop the attack on Varnus, to marry Illiana,
and live happily ever after. No more struggles, no more heartbreaks and
hardships, just a quiet life in some remote sector of the galaxy. That would
have been perfect…
If only…
The first time he awoke, it was as if coming fully from the land of the dead into the land of the living. A rebirth, drawn out of the warm darkness in which he'd rested, jerked forcefully and violently back into his physical body. But his body still hadn't recovered; he was weak, so weak he couldn't even move.
He was dimly aware of lying on a bed, a bed so soft he practically sank inside, underneath covers as soft as silk. Using what strength he had to turn his head, he looked around the room from his horizontal position. He was in a luxurious bedroom, though luxurious would be an understatement. The finest cloths, furniture, and gilding he'd ever seen decorated the room. The bed was the prominent feature of the massive room. Along the walls were three huge, wooden dressers, a beautiful table with chairs, and glass shelves that held artifacts of many shapes and sizes. Elaborate purple, blue and gold carpeting covered the floor, matching the other colors around the room. The bed held those colors, as well. There were two exits, one large entrance at the end and another to the side of the bed - probably a refresher. Judging from the amount of detail, the colors, and the simple taste, he surmised the room belonged to a woman. The thought of that was a bit intriguing and exciting, and he found himself wondering whose it was. But he pushed away his instinctive musings to look at the situation logically. Obviously, he was in no position to fight at the moment. And whoever held him obviously wanted him to live, so he'd just have to rest up until he could move about on his own.
Then he noticed someone else enter at the far end of the room. A man dressed in servants clothing was moving about the room, dusting the furniture and straightening anything that might have been out of place. The man glanced at him once, then kept his dark head down and didn't look at him again. Xar watched him for a while, simply with nothing else to do, until he finally got bored and tired, and fell asleep again.
Xar cautiously walked down the hall lined
with long red glowlamps, until he entered a large
room with transparisteel viewports lining the far wall, starting near the floor
and rising to the ceiling two and a half meters overhead, then curving to
provide a skylight above, as well. Space filled the view outside, though few
stars were visible this far out in the Outer Rim. The room was dark, and mostly
empty, save for a few control panels, and a thin, plush mat covered most of the
floor.
"Welcome," said a dark
voice full of mirth. "And so begins your nightmare."
"Who is it?" Xar asked,
looking around for the source of the voice.
"I am Jedi Master Runis... And
I am your destiny."
Then the vision changed. Runis was still
there, but Xar watched as he relived his training under the dark master. He
went through challenge after challenge, training in many harsh environments.
When he did well, Runis rewarded him. When he did not, he learned from his
mistakes. He studied many intellectual fields such a science, engineering, astrogation. He learned new languages, and many Force
powers, those of a Jedi and those forbidden by them. He watched himself obey
Runis’ every command, going where he said go, killing those he ordered to be
killed.
Then the vision changed. He watched
himself attack Runis, saw the Dark Jedi Master catch him up in a web of the
Dark Side, slowly killing him. Then Xar used Runis’ own weapon and sent a poison
dart into the man’s heart. He saw himself push a struggling Runis into the
ship’s airlock, then hit the cycle button. He saw himself put all his hatred
for the man into the Force, felt the connection between them even as Runis died
out in space. Then he saw himself, sinking to the floor of the ship, tears
streaming down his face.
Then the vision changed.
“Do not despair,” said Runis’ voice over
his shoulder. “I am not dead. You
have become me.”
In shock, Xar ran, not even daring to look
over his shoulder.
Xar stared at Dasok Krun, his scarred, sneering
face framed by long, unkempt hair. He was in Palace Ravenspyre on Frigg, in that chamber again, about to face his mortal
enemy. All the hurt, all the pain of his family’s and his world’s death had
come back. But this time it had a true focus: the man in front of him. Anger
flared, but he fought it down. Instead a coldness
entered his stomach.
“You
killed them? You killed my family, for revenge? You betrayed your own people?”
“They
were not my people. They disowned me, remember? Remember that promise I made to
your father? I keep my promises, Xar.”
“You murderer!”
“Me, a murderer? You’re no different. How does it feel, Xar?
To know all those you’ve killed before, for revenge, are calling out their
innocence? To know that your life is a lie. How many
innocent lives are on your hands?” He smiled cruelly. “There is one more thing.
I had thought I had gotten all the Kerenskys. But I
found out I had missed one.” His voiced echoed above the hum of Xar’s
lightsaber. “Your uncle, Aron Kerensky, was alive.”
His emphasis on “was” was obvious.
“You
lie!” Xar yelled.
“Search my feelings,
you know I have spoken the truth. But to convince you…” He held up a small holorecorder. The device hummed to life, and an image was
projected a couple meters away. It was a small screen, and a little blurry, but
Xar could make out his uncle’s form. All hope left him. He saw Aron yell, “Why?
What have I done to you? NO!!” Then a red beam of light flashed in front of
him, and the recording stopped. The image faded, but the scream didn’t, instead
taken up by Xar and reverberating throughout the chamber.
Suddenly, the chamber was gone, Krun was gone, and all Xar could see around him was an empty
blackness. The pain was still there, unabated despite having dispatched Krun over two years ago. It was still there.
“It will always be there, Kerensky,” Dasok Krun’s voice echoed in his
head. “And I will always be with you.”
Xar screamed in his mind, and suddenly he
was falling, down through the blackness that seemed it would never end. Then
consciousness faded, and he fell into a dreamless sleep that seemed to last
forever…
The second time, he awoke with a start, fully refreshed. He didn't know how much longer he'd been out; he dimly remembered being woken up to be fed, but all that time was now gone past in a blur. Now he woke abruptly, coming to a sitting position immediately. He was still in the huge, silky bed. From his feeling of the sheets, he was probably dressed only in his underclothes. He looked around at the immaculate room. His dreams had faded with his waking; he barely even remembered having dreamed, now.
He looked down at himself, first taking stock of his physical condition. It wasn't just that he felt refreshed; he felt absolutely great, maybe greater than he'd ever felt in his whole life. He looked down at his bare torso and arms, and gasped in shock. His scars, the scars he'd lived with for over ten years, were gone! Not just those caused by the explosion and Runis' Dark Side Healing, but all of them! Out of curiosity, he brought a hand up to his face, to trace the scar on his cheekbone he'd received fighting the Dark Jedi Melgus. His fingers rubbed across smooth, uninterrupted flesh. This is unbelievable, he thought to himself. It's got to be a dream…
Then he looked up, to take note of the room again, and his world was suddenly and irreversibly changed. There she was, standing right there beside the bed. For a moment, it was as if he saw the future, his destiny finally revealed. And finally, he wasn't afraid.
She was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen; that much was certain from the start. Long, dark hair, tied in multiple braids and rivulets, hung past her shoulders, entwined with ribbons and jewels that seemed to glow of their own accord. Her robes were incredibly elabo