Lethe may have reason to be paranoid, still she sounds mad.

I like how you brought the attention back on Sierra. There is much we do not know about her.

Looking forward to the next part.

Argh, I should have spoiler tagged. Better late than never.

Responses in the spoilertags!

I have to admit, I am really glad with how you're having Lethe be so 'arrogant'- it really is one of the most common traits of Sith (by this, I mean her refusal to admit that Hadrax probably is forming a trap.)

In addition, I can't help but feel that the Holocron being literally in Lethe's pocket is definitely going to back-fire on her- whether it be literally while she's trying to unleash it's power, or when someone cuts of that part of her robe with a Lightsaber -say, Eris or Hadrax

Still, I've not given up hope on Nox or the Wrath putting an end to Lethe's blasphemous coup !!!

That, and I'm pleased that this chapter was mostly character-driven; it really is one of your greatest strengths .

Thanks Redsayn

Lord Beral woke to find herself strapped to a table, imprisoned in a cold and sterile holding cell lined with durasteel walls. A rack of what ostensibly should have been medical equipment had been wheeled in on a hover-cart, and a kolto tank sat not far off. What caught her amusement was the dessicated corpse that lay on the interrogation table just beside her. It displayed a wide assortment of injuries, not earned from battle. No, Beral suspected they had all been earned within this very chamber.

A prop, meant to instill fear.

Marvelous.

A sith pureblood hovered overhead, his arms - one cybernetic - securing the straps that imprisoned her. She knew his face from more than just the dossier Pallas had assembled for her: Lord Astraad.

Behind him, Agent Shiro Thresh stood with his own arms folded across his chest.

She started to speak, but soon realized they had gagged her. She hoped they would remove it soon. They probably would - what was the purpose of torture if not to elicit information? Her tongue would need to be free for them to gain any, and she did so want to speak.

It was all just so charming.

“Agent Thresh tells me your powers of mental persuasion are in a category all its own,” said the sith pureblood, leaning inwards to speak to her ear. He smelled of saffron and cologne in overabundant quantities.

Beral shrugged, waiting impatiently for her captors to ungag her, drumming her fingers loudly against the table beneath her.

“I trust you are aware of what will happen to you if you try those tricks here?” asked the pureblood. If Astraad recognized her, he did nothing to acknowledge it. His cybernetic arm pointed first to the electric nodes clamped to her forehead - the signal which Beral quickly discerned was connected to a control port in Thresh’s hands. The pureblood then conjured his own spark of electricity; it buzzed its eagerness to run amok, an akk dog waiting to be released.

Beral nodded.

Thresh made his displeasure at her prior coercion bluntly known. “Speak a single wrong word and I’ll scramble the neurons in your brain in so many directions that you won’t know how to sit down without defecating.”

“There’s no need to be vulgar, Thresh,” admonished the pureblood.

“Lord Astraad, this b--”

Astraad clicked his tongue to silence the agent. “Shall we proceed?”

Grumbling, Thresh conceded. Astraad undid the gag around Beral’s mouth and revealed her gleeful smile.

“You find this amusing?” asked Thresh.

Beral’s smile only widened. “I do. Shall I assume I’ve earned a measure of respite for answering your question truthfully?”

Thresh’s fingers looked poised to input the command sequence that would send a torrent of pain down Beral’s nerves, but the look Astraad sent him stopped him in his tracks. “I think this session will be more productive without your presence, Agent.”

“My lord, I beg your indulgence. She is due humiliation for what she did to me!”

“Retire, Thresh. Now.”

Fury splashed across the agent’s face in unrepentant waves as his hands balled into fists, knuckles whitening under the strain. Still, the agent knew better than to challenge a Sith. He retreated from the cell, leaving behind his datapad and his dignity. He was not in poor company; few retained such meager possessions in Beral’s presence.

Jovial snickers escaped her lips in brief bursts. “Finally, alone at last. Do you intend to ravish me, Lord Astraad? Is that why you sought privacy?”

Astraad glanced upwards; Beral followed his gaze to an active security camera that kept them in full view.

“Don’t tell me you mind an audience,” chided Beral.

“I’ll ask the questions,” said Astraad curtly. “Darth Siphon is very interested to know what you were doing in her quarters. What were you doing in a place you do not belong?”

Beral forcibly swallowed a smile. It would not do to be too flippant. She wanted her interrogator to be forthcoming in providing her the information she sought. Angering him would serve only to get him to clam up. “I would’ve assumed that was obvious, my dear friend. I sought the Holocron of Ancient Sorcery.”

His lack of a reaction to that revelation was more than illuminating. “And how did you know where to find it?”

“I had a friend search for it. I believe you were preoccupied with an assault on your Citadel at the time. He told me it was quite the simple task all things-considered.”

“Who is your friend?” He glanced to the security camera again before returning his attention to her. “Are you in league with Hadrax? Cyriak? The impostor and her cohorts?”

Beral smiled as she shook her head at each proposed co-conspirator. “Those meager conflicts hold little of my interest. You should know better.”

Astraad smirked. “Why would I know that? I wouldn’t put it past a thief to meddle in affairs that were not their concern.”

“You wound me. I am no thief and I never claimed to be such.”

“So you sought the Holocron merely for a private viewing?” Astraad offered a wry smile, then raised a spark of electricity in his flesh and blood hand. “Somehow I find that hard to believe.”

“You’re asking all the wrong questions, my good friend. My fellow patriot. I know you think I’m your adversary, but I’m here to help you.”

“Well. Isn’t that helpful.” Beral’s interrogator widened his own smile, and then surged the jolt of electricity into her.

Even convulsing under the power of Astraad’s attack, Beral found the pain exhilarating. Exquisite. The air filled with the smell of singed flesh and burning hair - sensory ephemera that only heightened her sense of delight. She had underestimated this one; he held no small amount of knowledge after all. But unlike Siphon and her lackeys, Beral did not fear being wrong, at least so long as her mistake enlightened proved interesting.

Astraad released his conjuring and paused a few moments for Beral to catch her breath before continuing, glancing once more to the security camera. “Perhaps you wish to be of further aid. What do you know about the Holocron?”

“I know many things. I know it will be the key to your master’s undoing.”

Astraad smirked in response. “And you know this how?

Beral wanted to cackle, to scream in ecstasy. She held herself back. It wasn’t the right time, not yet. Close, but not yet. “Just wait and see. It will become all too evident very quickly.”

Another surge of electric Force cascaded through Beral’s form. Her limbs spasmed independent of her body, so violent that she thought for a second they would snap free of their bindings. Astraad meant business, but that did little to lessen her amusement. He had already told her so much in such few words.

They were being watched of course. That was why Astraad continued to glance at the security camera. It was only natural that Thresh would not have allowed a simple directive from a Sith to deny him the enjoyment of watching her suffer. If he could not witness it firsthand, it was obvious he would seek his succor elsewhere. Astraad indulged the man his sadism. Feigning agony was the least Beral could do to relieve Thresh his vengeance.

The scream that loosed from her tongue sounded so real, she almost fooled herself.

“Had enough?”

It wasn’t all she had learned. Every word out of Astraad’s mouth - or lack thereof - hinted at a deeper meaning. Beral delighted in gleaning secrets from her torturer in this fashion. It was an irony that fed her desire.

Panting, she inserted a desperation into her voice. “You should really be looking at the girl Sierra.”

“Lord Eris?” Astraad half-corrected, half-mused. “And why should I be concerned about her?”

“I found her in Siphon’s personal quarters, her adorable hand in the cookie jar, just about to steal your master’s most-prized possession.

Astraad didn’t seem phased at all. “And I should believe you because of your sterling reputation for honesty?”

“Believe me or no. What matters is you do not ignore me.”

Her torturer glanced once more to the camera. “Every word out of your mouth is suspect.”

“Then it would seem interrogating me serves no purpose.”

“My apologies,” said Astraad. “I should have been more clear. Pain will draw the truth from your spittle.”

Another surge of power coursed through her veins, captivating in its intensity. She reveled in it, cackling as the lightning concluded its tortuous dance.

“You’ve all been fooled! The girl’s deceived you all this time and none of you have been any wiser!”

“And why would she do that?”

“I suppose you should strap her to a table here and find out,” mused Beral. “I’m not here to do your job for you.”

Astraad snarled as his cybernetic hand closing around her throat. “Don’t toy with me, Beral!”

She managed a taunt even as she struggled to draw breath. “Is this all that you can muster?!”

Suddenly, her pureblood interrogator released his grip. He took a slow moment to compose himself, adjusting his robes and slicking back his hair.

“Far from it,” he finally said. “Your lack of cooperation is troubling. I’m afraid we will now turn to less pleasant methods of interrogation.”

Astraad pulled the cart of medical equipment closer to himself. From her position, Beral saw surgical knives, syringes and bottled chemicals, as well as cruel-looking pliers and needles.

This is what she had been waiting for.

“Last chance,” offered Astraad. “Tell me what you intended with the Holocron.”

Beral licked her lips. “Don’t be shy, my dear. Let’s see what you can do.”

Writer's Note: I'm currently estimating about 10 or so chapters left in Part 3, including a couple of interludes and an epilogue. Part 3 will be closer in length to Part 1; the second half of part 3 is when the revelations will really start being thrown out.

Next week's chapter will see the confrontation between Lethe and Hadrax. Here's a preview!

Also, I wanted to give a quick thanks to Feldraeth for the shoutout earlier this week! I didn't reply to your post because I didn't want to clutter Misha's thread, but I do appreciate your taking the time to read my story.

If you're still looking for other fanworks to whet your appetite, Misha's Flip of the Coin is quite good, and her newest story has a really interesting voice to it that I really like. If you're looking for more Sith politicking, Lunafox's Marr is quite excellent, as well as Vesaniae's Afterimages: Dawn. And if action is what you're craving, check out Legacy of Darkness by MayhemofChaonus. If you just want a general good read, you can't go wrong with Frauzet's Trouble, Destiny & Other Complications AU: Caught which has another amazingly captured voice.

I'm sure there are tons of other amazing stories on this forum - I just haven't had the time to read them all

Beryl certainly has a strange way of enjoying herself I loved the interrogation, the back and forth, the dialogue and Beryl's depravity. You do have a lovely way with words and I really love your phrasing. I am really looking forward to next weeks part with Lethe. It looks delicious.

I also want to thank you for the recommendation for Marr! It's very much appreciated. ^^

Got to admire Beral. She seems exactly where she wants to be. She'll learn more from the interrogation than her interrogator. I do hope she'll be able to use this knowledge. Looking forward to find out about her plans

Thank you for the kind recommendation.

I don't know if you're aware Feldraeth has written some much enjoyed stories on the SFC thread. You can find them in this index under his name. If you like action and a bit darker than average take at the nastier sides of the galaxy far far away, they are definitely worth checking out.

Beryl certainly has a strange way of enjoying herself I loved the interrogation, the back and forth, the dialogue and Beryl's depravity. You do have a lovely way with words and I really love your phrasing. I am really looking forward to next weeks part with Lethe. It looks delicious.

Thanks Luna .

Got to admire Beral. She seems exactly where she wants to be. She'll learn more from the interrogation than her interrogator. I do hope she'll be able to use this knowledge. Looking forward to find out about her plans

 

Thank you for the kind recommendation.

I don't know if you're aware Feldraeth has written some much enjoyed stories on the SFC thread. You can find them in this index under his name. If you like action and a bit darker than average take at the nastier sides of the galaxy far far away, they are definitely worth checking out.

Beral's done with sitting in the background. She's here to see things through, no matter the cost.

I was not aware of Feldraeth's stories! I have to check them out now, thanks for the tip!

“Speak a single wrong word and I’ll scramble the neurons in your brain in so many directions that you won’t know how to sit down without defecating.”

Seriously though, I really enjoyed this chapter. Whilst nothing of noticeable note took place, the interaction between Beral and her interrogators proved to be one of the story's most enjoyable scenes yet. -The element of Beral finding the torture pleasurable was something I found especially humorous;

And that preview...:D:D

Beral is enjoying herself way too much, reminds me of a line from an old Carly Simon song, "Suffering was the only thing that made me feel I was alive." This may be the case with Beral, whether she is inflicting or receiving it.

It is also ironic that she is getting as much information from her torturer as he is getting from her and is planting seeds of division while she is at it. I found it odd that Astraad kept looking at the security camera, makes me wonder why.

Looking forward to the fight between Lethe and Hadrax.

Thanks for the recommendations, very kind of you, good sir.

Seriously though, I really enjoyed this chapter. Whilst nothing of noticeable note took place, the interaction between Beral and her interrogators proved to be one of the story's most enjoyable scenes yet. -The element of Beral finding the torture pleasurable was something I found especially humorous;

And that preview...:D:D

Beral is cray-z. Thanks for reading! Chapter 21 coming sometime in the next two days!

Beral is enjoying herself way too much, reminds me of a line from an old Carly Simon song, "Suffering was the only thing that made me feel I was alive." This may be the case with Beral, whether she is inflicting or receiving it.

 

It is also ironic that she is getting as much information from her torturer as he is getting from her and is planting seeds of division while she is at it. I found it odd that Astraad kept looking at the security camera, makes me wonder why.

That's a very accurate description of Beral. We've already seen her cruelty in the way she treats Pallas. I wanted to add another layer of mystery to her with her confidence in the face of torture.

I'm glad you picked up on the thing with the camera. The interludes divert away from the main action a bit, but they also include some details that allude to events / revelations in future chapters. Hopefully it will all come together in a satisfying way.

Lethe stood upon a vast, frozen lake that dominated the landscape of the Valley of Mirrors. The lake itself was mostly covered in snow, save for patches of ice that had been swept clean by natural eddies that coursed through the valley. The cold was all-consuming; Lethe’s breath was visible upon the air, even as sunlight pierced the overcast sky. Otherwise, the area was deathly still; no snow fell upon her or the rest of the assorted congregants this day. It was as though nature itself held its breath, waiting to see what would happen here.

“We’ve scanned the area, Darth Siphon,” a voice spoke to her via comlink. It belonged to one of her soldiers. “We’ve detected no signs of ambush or enemy reinforcements in the vicinity.”

“Good. Inform me immediately if that changes,” responded Lethe.

“Yes, my lord.”

Behind Lethe, Sierra paced back and forth, her anxiety unhidden from her expression. Three apprentices followed in a similar pattern. A small contingent of their elite soldiers stood in formation behind them, holding ready blaster rifles, each looking more tense than the last. An Imperial walker brought up the rear, its turret swiveling as it switched from scanning the horizon to monitoring the group of sith assembled across the lake.

Hadrax stood at the forefront of the group, with Cyriak whispering in his ear. Hadrax had reverted to sleek and form-fitting attire, accentuated only by the long braid that hung behind his head. Cyriak, on the other hand, had decked himself out in silks and fine leathers dyed in regal - almost flamboyant - colors. Both of them sported a confidence that was unworthy of their stature, that belied their impending defeat.

A dozen sith - all purebloods - formed a semicircle around Lethe’s two separatists, each brandishing scarlet lightsabers. Lethe recognized them all as disciples who had once followed Darth Orthas. They now followed Hadrax because they believed him to be the more worthy heir.

Lethe would show them their folly.

The two groups approached each other slowly, eyes watchful for any sign of ambush or sabotage. As Lethe and Hadrax closed the distance between them, they each ordered their respective forces to stand guard a distance back.

“I thought this was supposed to be a duel between us alone, Siphon. Or should I call you impostor?” asked Hadrax.

Lethe ignored the insinuation that she was not the real Siphon. An empty accusation, after everything that had happened. “How kind of you come to the battleground with my disciples in tow,” she countered. “I would thank you, but I don’t need their aid to put you in your place.”

Cyriak offered one of his simpering smiles, then shouted: “We thought it best that there be witnesses to the ascension of a new master.”

“Bold claims,” said Lethe, continuing her advance. “But I’ve brought my own ‘witnesses.’ If they see any interference, we will broadcast your treachery to the rest of the Empire so that all who declare themselves Sith will know of your cowardice.”

Hadrax pulled out his twin lightsabers and activated them. “It is not I who will be proven the coward here.”

They stood only a few meters apart now. Lethe activated her own weapon with one hand while the other clutched the Holocron tight in her leather gloves. With it at her side, she would end this joke of a duel quickly and once more her house would be united.

“Any last words, Hadrax?”

“Last words? No. But I do have words I would share with you. You, the impostor. Usurper. False Sith. I will show you the might of Orthas’ legacy! The Empire will know again the value of the pureblooded. All will know our superiority!”

With that, Hadrax launched himself into the air, a whirlwind of speed, lightsabers striking downwards in an overhead slash. Lethe screamed her fury; she shouldn’t have given him the first strike. She swung her own weapon upwards to block, but the sheer strength of the Hadrax’s attack almost pushed the blade of her lightsaber into her mask.

The pureblood smiled, crazed. He drew one blade back, and then drove it forward towards her gut. Lethe surged the Force into her legs, dashing back to avoid the strike. As her feet landed on solid ground once more, she made to draw strength from the Holocron. Just as she completed her conjuring, her opponent leaped forward, bounding toward her like a rabid akk dog.

She could end him here and now. But from the recesses of her mind, Sierra’s words echoed into her core. Lethe already knew she couldn’t trust her apprentice. But then … why did her words resonate with her so?

Each time you invoke it, you lose a bit more of yourself to it. It’s changing you, and not for the better. Don’t lose yourself to the Holocron. You don’t need it.

Sierra was right about one thing. Lethe didn’t need the Holocron to defeat Hadrax. Lethe was disciple to Siphon; she had assumed Siphon’s very identity. Hadrax might be skilled, might even be the most prodigious apprentice to Orthas … but Siphon had beaten Orthas. And so would Lethe defeat Hadrax.

She would prove that fact to herself.

The roar of Hadrax’s battlecry renewed her focus to the task at hand. Lethe recognized the initial steps of his Ataru attack stance. The man was impossibly fast; she could barely track his movements. She parried each of his strikes only at the last second; before she could return an attack of her own, he vanished, pirouetting away only to reappear at her side, behind her, above her, beneath her.

He thrust upwards at her neck from a crouching position; their blades had no sooner clashed than when he somehow appeared behind her back to swipe at her waist. Lethe caught the attack just in time, but too late to counter. It was clear his mastery of Ataru far-outclassed her own skill in Niman. Every time she moved to seize the offensive, Hadrax was already striking from another angle, another position: an acrobat overdosing on stimulants.

But speed alone would not afford him victory. Lethe soon recognized a pattern in his attacks. She waited for the right moment - an airborne overhead slash that left him without leverage to dodge - if she could just catch him then …

She saw her opening, and seized it. With both hands, she hurled him backwards through the Force, sending him flying. Lethe did not let up. Just as he was about to recover, she slammed her hands downwards, intending to crush him into the ice much the same as she had done to Sierra.

But Hadrax was defiant. He leveraged his body’s downward momentum, amplified by the power of Lethe’s Force attack, to punch the ice beneath him. Empowered by the Force, Hadrax’s blows sent quakes rippling outwards. Lethe lost her balance and her grip over the pureblood dissipated.

In the second it took to steady herself, Hadrax was in the air once more, this time with only a single lightsaber, launching into a spinning slash. Lethe reflexes drove her to prepare a defense against the incoming assault, but instinct and the sound of an oscillating energy beam resonating from behind her saved her from a fatal mistake. At the last second, she whirled around to knock aside the lightsaber that Hadrax had directed to skewer her. In the next second, she turned back around to --

“Master, look out!” cried Sierra.

She did not need the girl’s interference!

“I HAVE YOU!” screamed Hadrax from above. The pureblood flipped his blade around in midair to drive it downward, the tip of his lightsaber desperate to plunge into Lethe’s head. She couldn’t move fast enough to bring her lightsaber up to deflect, didn’t have the time to gather the requisite energy for tutaminis. All she could manage through the Force was to redirect Hadrax’s trajectory so that his blade only grazed the side of her mask before driving into empty air.

The pureblood’s body continued unabated, carried by momentum to slam into Lethe. His knee hit her gut as they both toppled over and Lethe almost vomited before they both collapsed onto ice and snow, their lightsabers flying from their grips. Both their weapons hissed angrily as they made contact with the frost before the blades retreated into the hilts. Steam rose in steady gusts around them as they struggled to disentangle from each other.

Hadrax was the first to get to his feet, both arms outstretched to summon his weapons back to his hands. But where Hadrax needed physical weapons, Lethe needed only her mind. Even winded, collapsed on the ground, she still had the strength to seize victory. She thrust her right arm upward in a gouging motion and in that instant, she knew she had won.

Frenzied whispers fled her tongue to assault Hadrax’s mind: they were a crushing darkness, unbridled chaos, madness incarnate. The pureblood screamed his agony, his fear. His lightsabers flew to his hands, only to collide against unmoving palms and then fall to the snow unacknowledged. Instead, Hadrax began clutching at his head, his eyes, his face, clawing at his skin, desperate to peel out the affliction with which Lethe had cursed him.

“You think you are the heir to Orthas’ legacy?!” She laughed, still panting for breath. “The only thing you’ve inherited is delusion!”

“Snap out of it Hadrax!” Cyriak shouted, unable to hide the panic from his tone. “Don’t let her win!”

Lethe offered her betrayer no respite. Slowly, she got to her feet, one hand still affixing an iron vise around Hadrax’s perception. With the other, she invoked the Force again, simultaneous but with different purpose. As her right hand lifted to steal from Hadrax his sanity, her left hand pushed down to take from him his defiance.

Hadrax sank to his knees.

All who would defy us,

know only submission.

“Get up! Get up!” screamed Cyriak.

Lethe had won.

She could kill him now. Could make him an example of the consequences of rebellion. She could end his threat once and for all. She could offer him to the Holocron, could use this traitor’s life as a tribute to the Ancient Sorcery. What was it that it demanded?

All who would strive for us,

know only sacrifice.

And yet, still the voice in her mind cried out for absolution. This was not her way. Mercy was the mother of unity. The progenitor of strength. She wanted to slay Hadrax, wanted to erase him from existence, but could she afford to sacrifice her ideals, even once?

So lost in thought, she almost didn’t hear Sierra cry out: “Stop!” Almost didn’t hear Cyriak shout “DO IT!” Almost didn’t hear a high-pitched whining emanate from below, from an unknown source, shrieking its displeasure - it sounded remarkably like a thermal detonator.

She heard the explosion first before she felt it rock the world like an earthquake.

The ice beneath Lethe splintered, then cracked. Translucent lines snaked out like a spider’s web from the epicenter of the detonation, fracturing the frozen lake below her feet. Lethe looked down. For a second, she watched as the reflection of Siphon’s mask - the mask that was supposed to be bound to her face forever - shattered into a hundred pieces.

For a second, she thought she was free.

Then, she felt herself fall, tumble, collapse into a massive pool of freezing water. She couldn’t find her lightsaber, didn’t know if it had sank to the bottom of the lake or if had been knocked away on the surface. The shock of the cold demanded immediate attention and overwhelmed all other thoughts. Was this Hadrax’s doing?! How could he have --

From above, she heard Hadrax’s thundering voice through the water, crazed and furious even distorted through the lake: “What are you doing Cyriak?! She’s mine! SHE’S MINE!”

“Don’t stop, you fools!” screamed Cyriak. “Kill Siphon! Kill her now!

Even submerged in freezing water, Lethe felt the Force twist as Hadrax and Cyriak’s disciples thundered forward. She knew what they were going to do - she thrust her arms into drawing a circle around her in the water; the Force did her will, pushing the liquid from her body so that she floated in a suspended bubble of air - just in time to see four surges of brilliant lightning surge into the lake, electrifying everything in its path.

Protected in her sphere, Lethe avoided the deadly trap - but the effort robbed her of so much strength. It was all she could do to surge upwards, using the Force to propel her out of the electrified water, landing shakily on a large patch of unbroken ice.

Still drenched and freezing, it took a moment for her to assess what had happened.

In the distance, Lethe saw her forces engage a throng of the separatist’s Sith disciples - her own apprentices no match for Hadrax’s training. Her walker managed to blast a few to smithereens, but it was quickly cut down by repeated lightsaber strikes to its mechanical limbs. The rest of her soldiers launched volleys of blaster fire at their Sith enemies, most to no avail, but their numbers seemed - for the moment - to occupy their attention.

Nearby, four corpses of Hadrax’s disciples littered the frost-covered lake; Lethe suspected they were the ones who had sprung the lightning-infused trap. Not far from the bodies, Sierra had engaged Hadrax and Cyriak in vicious combat. She moved like a demon, possessed of unflinching resolve, but she was hard-pressed to seize any advantage in this lopsided contest. Every time she moved to attack, she was forced instead to defend another incoming assault. Curiously, Hadrax seemed just as intent on killing Cyriak as he did Sierra; his attacks launched against his fellow pureblood came in equal measure to the ones he threw at Lethe’s apprentice.

“What are you doing?! I’m on your side!” screamed Cyriak.

“I told you not to interfere, snake!”

“You would be dead without me, you bantha-brained fool!” retorted Cyriak. “She had you on your knees!”

“Cowards!” screamed Lethe. “You betray the terms of our duel, just as you betrayed the terms of your master’s Kaggath!”

Hadrax whipped around. “I betrayed nothing! Cyriak’s head will follow yours, but I will not allow his treachery to steal this victory from me!”

“Did you really think I would let our fates be decided by a duel?!” sneered Cyriak, before turning back to his fellow rebel. “This is your chance Hadrax! Take Siphon while I finish off her whelp!”

Hadrax snarled at Cyriak, but turned back to Lethe all the same. He had retrieved his weapons, and the energy beams sizzled at the base, where they had gotten wet in the earlier skirmish.

“Don’t tell me you still think you can win?” asked Lethe, hoping the pureblood would not see through her bravado. The strain of the last few moments was already sapping the strength from her exhausted limbs.

“I don’t think. I know.”

“No, you don’t think, do you?” Lethe sniped. “You only have your base prejudice and its dictates, the false ideologies that Orthas implanted in you, the undeserved arrogance of a buffoon playing at significance.”

Hadrax roared. “I will cut the tongue out from your mask!”

But Lethe would not let Hadrax get the first move again. Her weapon lost, she only had the Force to do her bidding. She molded her hand into a claw and thrust it upwards, seeking to latch onto Hadrax’s mind once more, to return him to that quivering, pathetic state on his knees. But the pureblood was ready this time, dodging Lethe’s invoked power and charging forward to return the contest to one of close-combat.

Lethe would be at a distinct disadvantage if she had to face his Ataru without her weapon. She empowered her feet, forced them to move, but the exertion was excruciating - Lethe’s strength fled her body with increasing speed. Her movements and reflexes slowed to a dangerous crawl. Hadrax did not lack for stamina, driving forward to assault her with incredible agility, as though he stood refreshed and renewed.

Her eyes darted around the area for her lightsaber, but it was nowhere to be found, camouflaged by the ice and snow of her surroundings. Her options were fast becoming limited. She couldn’t let him get in striking distance, not while she was still unarmed. She directed a turbulent blast in his path of movement, but Hadrax seemed now somehow prescient of her strategy. Even as her arm extended, the pureblood sidestepped out of harm’s way and then continued on his course, unabated.

Dread curled its skeletal fingers around her heart.

She still had the Holocron. If she could just summon its power in time, bring its full might to bear against Hadrax, he would be nothing! She thought she didn’t need it, but now was not the time to quibble over pride. She needed to reenact that moment with the real Siphon, that moment she laid her old master low.

A current of wind howled through the valley as she felt the power rise in her chest, spread through her circulatory system to infuse her with living Force, with ancient and boundless knowledge. All that was left was to direct it. Hadrax continued his charge - he was almost upon her. Her hands inched forwards to unleash her attack, so slow, too slow! They moved as though drowned in a sea of molasses even as one of Hadrax’s lightsabers lanced forwards, impossibly quick, a blur of motion and deadly intent.

She wasn’t going to make it.

Hadrax screamed. “Unworthy scum!”

It was all she could do to convert the Holocron’s attack into a barrier at the last second; sparks exploding outwards as the scarlet lightsaber collided with pure Force.

She had almost nothing left. The well was almost dry, her reserves of strength sapped to near their limit. She had no time to summon more from the Holocron again. She had no defense.

Hadrax raised his other lightsaber high into the air, mouth stretched wide in triumphant glee. “So ends the reign of Darth Siphon!”

No. Not like this!

So certain was Hadrax of his victory, that he didn’t notice the whirring blade of a lightsaber arcing towards him, flying through the air, whistling its intent.

Not until it severed the hand holding his lightsaber from his arm.

Lethe didn’t understand at first - and she could tell neither did Hadrax. The glee on his face turned slowly to disbelief, to shock, to indignation. Lethe turned to see Sierra racing towards them, eyes locked on her apprentice’s outstretched hands, hands that had flung the lightsaber that now arced back towards her with victorious declaration.

But she hadn’t asked for Sierra’s help. She didn’t want it. She didn’t need it. The girl had stolen Lethe’s victory, had tainted the duel just as Cyriak did.

Hadrax screamed his agony. “How -- how dare you?! I am pure of blood, I am a true Sith! You are an impostor, a fraud! You can’t win!”

“I can!” Lethe summoned what power she still had, empowered by fury, charged by rage. She gripped the base of Hadrax’s skull through the Force, so violent that he lifted off the ground for just a second. Then she closed her hand into a fist, squeezing, choking, suffocating. Hadrax’s eyes bulged in terror; Lethe watched as the man tried clawing at his neck, still suspended in above the ground, one hand missing, pawing at empty air.

“No!”

The cry came from Cyriak. It was Lethe’s turn to be caught unawares as a torrent of Force Lightning surged into her body, racking her torso, her limbs, seizing her mask, amplifying unbearable pain.

Hadrax’s unconscious body dropped to the ground in a crumpled heap.

“I will never bow to you again!” shrieked Cyriak as he continued to surge electricity into her. Lethe wanted to scream, but the sound erupted from her mask in distorted and shuddering wheezes. She could not be defeated like this. Not like this.

Suddenly, the pain stopped. It took a second for Lethe to realize what had happened - Sierra had used the Force to throw Cyriak back, interrupting his attack. The sycophant landed on his feet, limbs ready to throw himself back into battle, but his eyes darted first to assess the situation. Lethe did the same as Sierra threw herself in front of her in a defensive stance, panting heavily.

Lethe’s own forces were all-but demolished - their corpses strewn about in a bloodless massacre, but of the disciples Hadrax and Cyriak had brought with them, only three remained standing far in the distance. Lethe couldn’t identify them, hadn’t recognized them earlier. Two against four. In normal conditions, Lethe would not have hesitated to take them on - but weakened as she was by Cyriak’s treachery, she was no longer sure she could emerge the victor. She was exhausted, panting for breath, vision blurring. If they were to unite against her --

“This isn’t over,” hissed Cyriak. With one hand, he summoned Hadrax’s body to him, swinging the unconscious pureblood’s form over his shoulder. He then slowly backed away a few steps before racing to rejoin his remaining apprentices while signaling a retreat. Some things didn’t change. Cyriak was still a craven.

Sierra started to bound after them, but Lethe would not have it. “Stop!”

“I can take them, master! We can end this here and now!”

“They are mine! Let them run. They cannot hide from me forever.”

“But Darth Siphon --”

Lethe screamed. “You will do as I say! I don’t need your aid to defeat these whimpering vermin, I never did! Who asked you to intervene against Hadrax? Who told you you could strike at him?!”

Sierra looked stunned. The words fled her mouth in disbelieving spurts. “M-master … I … I thought he was about to … I feared for your life.”

It didn’t matter if the words were true. It didn’t matter that the outcome would likely have been far different had Sierra not intervened. Lethe knew only one truth. Because she did not leverage the Holocron … she had to be saved by her apprentice. Because of her foolish reservations, she suffered another humiliation.

Lethe didn’t acknowledge Sierra’s explanations. “We’re going back to the Citadel. Get the shuttle ready.”

The girl bowed her head and returned to the shuttle. Lethe watched her go, then turned to spot Cyriak and his remaining followers in the distance, scurrying to do the same.

Cyriak. The man’s treachery knew no bounds. Lethe had no doubt that it was he who had planted thermal detonators beneath the lake surface in anticipation of Hadrax’s defeat. A coward that was no fool. He knew Hadrax would not be able to take Lethe head on and had planned for that eventuality. If it weren’t for his duplicity, Lethe would not have needed Sierra to secure victory.

Lethe cursed her shortsightedness - she should have known Cyriak would have something up his sleeve, something he kept even from Hadrax. The latter’s pride would never have agreed to such a ploy; Lethe’s mistake was in thinking Cyriak would let himself be shackled by his fellow rebel’s ego. In many ways, the cunning sycophant was a far more dangerous opponent than the brazen egotist.

She would not make the same mistake. The time for reservation, for hesitation, for doubt … it was over.

She would not risk losing again.

Lethe watched as Hadrax and Cyriak’s shuttle took off, departing into the horizon, before heading back to her own vehicle.

For a second, she watched as the reflection of Siphon’s mask - the mask that was supposed to be bound to her face forever - shattered into a hundred pieces.

 

For a second, she thought she was free.

Seriously though, I really enjoyed this chapter- you balanced the battles with the characters expertly, whilst never over-powering one with the over.

Congratulations; another great chapter!

A great encounter, not that I doubted it would be.

Looking forward to the next as the intrigue unfolds.

Now THAT was powerful!

Seriously though, I really enjoyed this chapter- you balanced the battles with the characters expertly, whilst never over-powering one with the over.

Congratulations; another great chapter!

Thank you Red, I always appreciate your kind words and feedback. I was really pleased with the way that line worked out as well.

A great encounter, not that I doubted it would be.

I suspect it was delusion rather than pride that stayed Lethe's hand from using the holocron. So certain she had been that she could win the day without its power. I somehow get the feeling that the holocron will be the true winner here and that Sierra is trying to stop Lethe from using its power for darker reasons than she stated. Much to ponder.

 

Lethe is wiser now at least by realizing that Cyriak is the greater threat, the snake in the apple barrel which is much harder to combat than the one seen crawling across the floor.

 

 

Looking forward to the next as the intrigue unfolds.

Thanks Misha!

Woo hoo I'm still allowed to post. Haven't been kicked out yet.

That was an amazing chapter! I loved the battle, it was very exciting and I enjoyed the way you choreographed it and the imagery that went along with that. You had so many really nice lines, that it would be hard to pick just one as a favorite. Really, great stuff. So much fun to read. ^^

Woo hoo I'm still allowed to post. Haven't been kicked out yet.

 

That was an amazing chapter! I loved the battle, it was very exciting and I enjoyed the way you choreographed it and the imagery that went along with that. You had so many really nice lines, that it would be hard to pick just one as a favorite. Really, great stuff. So much fun to read. ^^

An exciting chapter! You had me at the edge of my seat.

Yay, hopefully Luna hasn't been kicked out yet now either!

Thank you Luna and frauzet for your kind words as always. Hopefully the action came across as driving the story forward.

Never had Sierra been so glad to return to the Citadel. As she made her way to her quarters, she could not help but let her thoughts drift to the look her master had given her when she interceded in the duel with Hadrax.

It wasn’t a ‘look,’ exactly. Her master’s true expression was forever hidden behind the now-distorted mask that could no longer removed. No, it was more the body language. The physiological response, the innate tics and reflexes that might go unnoticed to less-trained eyes. Sierra didn’t miss a single one. In her line of work, a keen understanding of her status and standing among her superiors was critical in ensuring the veil she wrapped around herself was not penetrated.

That was why Siphon’s reaction was so startling, even though the warnings signs had already grown to a deafening din.

Sierra struggled to understand how it happened. She had Siphon wrapped around her thumb, or so she had thought up until a few days ago. A change had come over her “master.” A slow evolution, not discernable hour by hour, day by day. But she could sense it now, could feel it in her bones: the suspicion leveled at her from those vacant, empty eyes in her master’s mask. The distrust that permeated every word spoken.

What had changed? How had she gone from being Siphon’s most favored apprentice to the one she seemed to hate the most?

She was sure Siphon had believed her story about why she “accidentally” killed Doctor Tivan. That had been Sierra’s most egregious mistake. To let one of Siphon’s lackeys overhear a comlink transmission to her true loyalties: she was lucky to not have been revealed then and there.

Fortunately, the Darth had just survived a traumatic battle and had lost half of her powerbase in one fell stroke. Anyone in that situation would’ve wanted to hold onto whatever she could. So badly did the Darth need to cling to professed loyalty, Sierra suspected that she could have spun a tale that Tivan was a Hutt in disguise, spying for the Cartel, and Siphon still would have believed her.

No, it wasn’t the good Doctor’s death.

The answer was simple: it all came back to the Holocron of Ancient Sorcery. Something about it was changing Siphon. Twisting her thoughts. Corrupting her ideals.

Of all the Sith Sierra had encountered in her life, Siphon was unique among them. She professed an ideology that was not slave to malice and barbarity. She believed in the strength of unity, aspired to an Empire that did not see backstabbing and infighting as the norm. This was a philosophy Sierra could get behind, revolutionary ideas that could see an Empire reformed.

In another life, she might even have truly professed fealty to the Darth.

Not anymore. Not since the impostor’s attack. Not since Siphon had grown enamored of the Holocron to the point of obsession. More often than not these days, she found her master studying the relic in silence, barely moving, eyes glassy and surrounded in dark side energy. And with every passing day, Siphon’s ideals seemed no longer to be hers. They were being replaced by the very thing she once sought to overthrow. That they once promised to reject.

It had to be the Holocron.

Sierra shuddered, remembering the first hand experience of its all-encompassing power; it felt like she was being suffocated, except it wasn’t just her lungs being denied oxygen, her neck being squeezed, her throat crushed. It was her whole body. Every organ, every cell - they all felt like they were being starved, choked, sapped of life. A few more seconds and everyone present in that battle would be dead, Sierra had no doubt. If the relic could inflict harm of that magnitude as well as manipulate and dominate someone so thoroughly that they would abandon their ideals, their work, their goals … what else could it do?

It was clear. The Holocron was the key to the puzzle she had been seeking to unravel for all this time. The answer to so many of her and her true master’s questions, the reason for her placement on Ziost.

Her twin purposes now served the same goal. First, to get ahold of the Holocron, to steal it away.

The second, to return Siphon to her senses. For everything this curious Sith had done for her, freeing Siphon from the bondage of the relic was the least Sierra could do. She might not be able to offer her true loyalty, but for this Sith who once was a paragon among her kind - who sheltered Sierra and protected her when there was no need to do so - Sierra would break the Holocron’s chains and save Siphon from herself.

She had to get ahold of it, had to take it away. In so doing, she would hit two birds with one stone.

But to do any of it, she had to learn more.

If only she had been able to spend more time with it, if only Lord Beral hadn’t interrupted her, hadn’t caught her in the act of trying to take it. She might already have her solutions already, and Siphon might still have considered Sierra her favored apprentice. Sierra would not be in the perilous situation in which she found herself.

If only Beral hadn’t come for the Holocron.

Sierra hadn’t been able to get her answers yet, but it was obvious who had them.

She reached her personal quarters but instead of walking in, she turned around. She strode once more through the hallway, reaching the turbolift and directing it to head towards the detention level. The holding cells.

Siphon had been right about one thing. That pureblood knew a lot more about the Holocron than she had said.

The turbolift whined its displeasure at being used again so soon; Sierra ignored it, tapping her foot impatiently. She forced herself to stop, almost by instinct, but then realized that she did not need to hide her restlessness here. Her true master would have frowned on such a display, but the persona she inhabited now did not need to curtail irritability. She was now the personal apprentice to a Darth, after all. She could do as she wanted.

By the time she decided she would let her foot tap as much as it pleased, the turbolift had already reached the detention level of the Citadel.

Of the whole Citadel, it was the detention center that was the most state-of-the-art. Indeed, while much of the fortress’ still bore an archaic and overly traditional level of sophistication, the holding cells had been steadily upgraded and maintained. Orthas had seen to that - he seemed not to possess much of a sense of interior design, nor put much stock in keeping up with the latest fashions or trend, but he greatly valued keeping his prisoners and enemies secure in their cages. As such, save for Siphon’s personal quarters and the armory, there were few levels that were as well-defended as the detention center.

Durasteel walls three meters thick encapsulated the entire floor, preventing outward or interior penetration by lightsabers. Even if the blades could pierce the metal, no lightsaber could extend long enough to breach the other side of the wall. Within the walls, holding cells equipped with the latest in forcefield technology aligned themselves in carefully positioned rows. A carbonite freezing chamber also made its home here, convenient in the event of unruly or uncooperative prisoners in need of transport.

In the event of prisoner escape, smart-turrets had been installed above the singular entrance, programmed to lock onto and incinerate anything or anyone designated as a prisoner by Citadel Security. And of course, there were guards standing at the ready to seize any escapees. Finally, security cameras had been installed to cover every square inch of the place, ensuring every word spoken, scream uttered, breath taken would be recorded and on file.

That last one would be a problem.

She briefly contemplated interrogating Beral out in the open, for all to see. Siphon had instructed her to do so after all, and Astraad hadn’t had any luck extracting any information from the woman as of yet.

Still, Sierra hesitated.

With the way things were going with Siphon, the Darth’s suspicions would likely only grow if Sierra were to volunteer for a task she had initially refused. That, and the truth was Sierra really had no stomach for the infliction of suffering. Torture wasn’t how she intended to extract the answers she wanted from the interloper anyway. No, she intended a far more direct approach: leveraging the Force to pierce the woman’s mental defenses and scoop the secrets from her mind.

Despite their previous encounter, Sierra was relatively confident that with both her own mental prowess and the focus nodes Thresh had placed on Beral’s head - devices attuned to the Force that would shock the woman should she attempt to summon the Force herself - Sierra would be able to acquire the answers she sought.

Should anyone see her, however, it would raise questions that Sierra would be hard-pressed to answer, especially if it were recorded and the footage got back to Thresh or to Siphon. If Siphon already suspected something was off about her, Sierra had no wish to add fuel to the fire; she could not allow even the possibility that Siphon might see her mental prowess and start to doubt the backstory Sierra had concocted for herself.

No. She did not want this to be recorded.

Fortunately, she had come prepared. Her handler had provided her with several useful devices: a dataspike that could loop security camera video and disable audio feed. A second one that would hack the turbolift functions to skip over certain floors. And in the case of an emergency - a short-range EMP device that would knockout power to everything within a ten-meter radius.

Sierra hoped she wouldn’t have to use the last one. Knocking out the power could help her escape detection, but it might also help Beral escape as well. She doubted she would be able to get the jump on Beral a second time.

One step at a time, Sierra told herself. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. First up is the guards.

She approached the two guards standing watch around the holding cells. For all the defenses with which the detention level had been equipped, Sierra found it slightly amusing that only two of the cells were occupied at the moment.

“Lord Eris.” The guards saluted.

“Who else is on patrol?”

One of the soldiers glanced to his compatriot before turning to Sierra to respond. “Just us, my lord. We’re … a bit understaffed at the moment.”

It was true. After Hadrax and Cyriak had fled, the Citadel found itself short-staffed in almost every department.

“I see. Is Lord Astraad interrogating the prisoner?” asked Sierra.

“He said he’d return in about half an hour. We can tell him you were looking for him if you wish, my lord.”

Half an hour. It would have to do.

Sierra lowered her voice and then summoned the Force to do her will - it was tougher to toy with minds without the use of hand gestures, but she was still being recorded. Better to be safe than sorry.

“You did not see me here today,” she said.

Both guards generously complied in a quiet monotone. “Yes, my lord.”

Guards were always the easiest part.

Sierra nodded to both of her mind puppets and then hastened her way to a security console. There, she subtly inserted both dataspikes and programmed them. She ambled back towards the turbolift to leave a recording of her departure before she counted ten seconds and then promptly returned to the holding cells. Now the turbolifts would refuse to take anyone to the detention level and the security cameras would have a record of her departure from the floor while it looped footage of Beral’s cell before Sierra had entered.

Lord Beral was now hers to interrogate as she wished.

Sierra approached Beral’s holding cell slowly, passing the only other occupied cell. It held a another pureblood sith - one of Hadrax’s disciples they had caught scouting the Citadel’s perimeter. Sierra summoned the Force to overwhelm his mind. The pureblood collapsed, knocked out.

She needed no witnesses for what she was about to do.

Beral’s confinement chamber itself was immaculate, save for the dried up husk of a humanoid lying on the interrogation table beside Beral’s own. The room smelled of sweat and body odor - as well as the lingering scent of burnt hair and flesh. The distinct aroma of several chemicals - Sierra recognized truth serum, but not the others - flooded her nose. Astraad had clearly been hard at work.

Though she had been careful to tread lightly, Beral roused as she approached; metal restraints around the woman’s ankles, wrists, waist and neck prevented her from doing much more than squirming a bit. She was massive; a looming pureblood sith that would have towered over Sierra had she been standing. Even lying on the interrogation table, the woman gave no indication that she found her accommodations disagreeable.

Her lips, cracked and dry, mouthed empty words. Her forehead appeared distorted, covered in burn scars and scorch marks. Someone had done a poor job of shaving her head recently, though Sierra suspected tidiness had not been high on their list of priorities. A shaved head did assist in the attachment of the mutiple Force foci that now adorned her head.

Sierra could only imagine the kind of torment this woman had suffered. She almost felt sorry for her … if not for the wide, brimming smile that emerged from Beral’s face.

“Precious child. You’ve come to visit me.”

Though it was Beral on the rack, Sierra couldn’t help but feel a chill jolt down her spine. How could she be smiling after days of torture? Sierra had known stronger-looking men to have buckled within a single hour of being under Astraad’s care, and yet this woman ...

She steeled her own resolve before speaking. “You will address me as Lord Eris.”

Beral giggled, her voice cracking from her parched throat several times. “As you wish, my lord. Is that all you’re here to do? To get me to acknowledge a title? Or are you here to continue Lord Astraad’s good work?”

“I’m here for answers.” Sierra chose her words carefully. She was still in the heart of an enemy’s powerbase, after all.

“What a coincidence. So am I.”

She allowed herself a smirk. “It doesn’t seem like you’re in a very good position to get much of anything.”

“No, it doesn’t, does it?” Beral grinned, unfazed.

Sierra had enough of this banter. It wasn’t getting her anywhere. “Tell me what you know of the Holocron.”

“Well, isn’t that curious. Do you know that’s the first time I’ve been asked that question in all my time here?”

That couldn’t be right … could it?

“Astraad’s been so busy focusing on what I intended to do with it, how I knew where to find it. He never even bothered to ask me what I knew of it. That one is possessed of a singularly uncompromising focus, isn’t he?”

“Tell me what you know of the Holocron,” Sierra repeated. “Its powers. Its history. How it can be used … and contained.”

“Where shall I start?”

Sierra blinked. What trickery was this? Could it really be so easy? “Its history.”

“Very well, Lord Eris. Where to begin … ”

Beral smiled.

No one knows exactly when the Holocron was created, except that it was centuries ago. Some have speculated that it was assembled during the time of the Jedi Civil War, when the fallen Jedi Revan and Malak trespassed into Sith space before it was known that the Sith still existed.

 

Rumors posit that the Holocron possesses near-unlimited power and vast stores of lost knowledge. That any Sith who partakes of even a sliver of what it has to offer will see their power increase tenfold. That those who submit themselves to its will would ascend to godhood. None could stand as their ri--

Sierra cleared her throat. “I don’t need these rumors spoonfed back to me.”

“You did ask for its history.” Still strapped to the interrogation table, Beral contorted her face into an expression of innocent naivete. Sierra forced herself to suppress her gag reflex.

“Cut to the chase,” said Sierra. “What do you know beyond the old wives’ tales?”

“I know that the Holocron’s true master lived centuries ago. I know that he created the Holocron as a means to achieve a goal no one has ever achieved. I know that he feared that it would fall into unworthy hands and so he severed the Holocron into six pieces, six perfect cubes and locked its true power - as well as a part of himself - behind ciphers that would only reveal themselves when the time was right.”

This was information that she could use. But could she trust it? Would Beral so freely give these answers to her when Astraad had gained nothing?

She pressed for more. “If this master was so powerful, why would he still fear losing the Holocron?”

“The fear proved clairvoyant, did it not?” mused Beral. “At some point, this ancient Sith lost the Holocron to treachery or deception and it has been denied to him ever since. But even so, the relic yearns to be with its true master. It has found its way from Sith to Sith throughout the ages, never for long, never content to remain by any unworthy sith’s side. And they have all been unworthy.”

That made sense based on what Sierra already knew of the Holocron. “From Miro to Orthas … from Orthas to Siphon,” Sierra mumbled to herself.

“Miro?” asked Beral. “Darth Miro? No wonder its existence has become shrouded in rumor and mystery these last decades. Miro always was a coward. Of course he would be content merely to hoard such an artifact as a trophy rather than to leverage it as the tool, the weapon that it truly is.”

Sierra wanted to slap herself. She needed to watch her words more carefully. “I’m the one asking the questions here.”

“Ask away then, dear child.”

The need for answers overwhelmed Sierra’s urge to demand proper honorifics. “You said the Holocron’s maker locked a part of himself into the Holocron itself? Is it his influence that drives its power? Is it his will that unleashes it? Can it … can he overtake the Holocron’s wielders?”

Beral smiled once more. “Clever girl. A lofty ambition, isn’t it? What Sith would not dream of immortality even in such a fashion? To be able to chart the course of a thousand generations from beyond the shackles of a mortal body. The prison that is flesh and blood. Bones and --”

“That was the purpose behind the Holocron’s creation then? The reason for its existence? So that this Sith could survive by interposing his will, superseding the minds of those who seek its power?”

“All who would defy him … know only submission.” Beral’s voice rasped, heavy with foreboding.

Cold surged down Sierra’s spine. “You serve him. Who is he? What is his name?”

Beral did not answer, revealing only her pristine, white teeth.

Sierra felt the rage fester in her blood. The answers only led to more questions. “Answer me! Why serve a man long dead? Why … why tell me any of this if you’re just going to --”

“You mistake my intent. I only relayed a story. I spoke nothing of its veracity.”

The woman was toying with her.

Sierra stood in stunned silence as she contemplated Beral’s words. Everything she said was suspect. Every word from her tongue, every utterance. She couldn’t trust any of it.

Not unless she verified it.

She lifted her gloved hand and reached into the Force.

“What’s this now?” asked Beral, more amused than afraid. “What does the child think she can accomplish?”

Sierra ignored her. A mind probe required concentration. Focus. She would pierce the walls of Beral’s mental defenses and siphon the knowledge that she needed by force.

Slowly, she pushed her hand outwards towards Beral’s restrained head.

“Wait … no. Stop! … get out! Get out!”

As Beral struggled against her restraints, Sierra drove everything but her purpose out of her conscious mind. Before her, a twisting morass of memories stretched outwards: Beral’s history laid bare for her to peruse.

She followed a thread, watched as a woman with Beral’s face brutally slaughtered an entire village of Rishi natives, delight growing with every kill.

“You don’t have the right!”

Another strand led to the sight of Beral taunting an indiscernible figure over a holocom with a - a madeleine of all things.

“Get out of my head!”

A third vision showed Beral - huddled with at least ten others - bowing before a looming figure that stretched into the skies.

But these images were not what Sierra sought. This wasn’t what she --

That’s when she felt it. A presence in her own mind. An outsider. An intruder! Beral had seized upon the connection she had formed, had seen the opportunity and snuck herself into Sierra’s subconscious, into her memory, her history! Her pained words of protest were only a ruse. A distraction!

She couldn’t believe it. How could Beral be doing this?! The Force foci, they should have overwhelmed her. She glanced down; that’s when she saw that the focus nodes were indeed working. Tendrils of electricity wrapped around the prisoner’s head in response to the activation of the Force. The smell of charred flesh assailed Sierra’s nostrils as the surges reverberated into Beral’s body.

But none of it seemed to affect her at all. The pureblood seemed only to revel in the agony.

Sierra raced to plug the leak, close the hole, slam the doors in her mind shut. But it was too late! Beral had delved deep, insinuating herself into the very recesses of Sierra’s mind, beyond all of her defenses, far past anything of what Sierra had shown to Siphon. She was going to find out everything! She would discover the truth!

Beral howled with glee. “Precious child! How could I not have seen this?! It’s so obvious! So clear, staring at me right in the face!”

Instinctively, Sierra shoved the interrogation table holding Beral away, sending it careening against the wall on the far side of the cell, overturning it, collapsing it to the floor. The force of the impact severed their connection and drove out Beral’s intrusion. Still, the prisoner cackled.

“I know who you are.”

Sierra’s mind raced. If that were true, she couldn’t let Beral live. The risk was too great, especially now that Siphon had turned on her. If Beral were to tell Siphon, Astraad, Thresh … Sierra would be dead.

Her hand reached for her lightsaber just as a hand placed itself on her shoulder.

She whirled around, eyes wide in surprise, in shock. It was Astraad. What had he heard?! What did he know?!

“And who exactly do you think Lord Eris is, Beral?” asked the pureblood.

Beral chuckled, still toppled over, body straining the shackles that kept her bound to the overturned interrogation table. “She is Siphon’s disciple, of course.”

Astraad arched a brow, glancing first to Beral and then to Sierra. “What is this lunatic talking about, Eris?”

Why didn’t Beral rat her out?

She couldn’t risk it now. Not with Astraad present. Not if there was a chance Beral was lying and that her secret was still safe.

“Meaningless babble, I’m afraid,” she said, composing herself so that her tone steadied. “I thought I might take a gander at interrogation, lord Astraad. I hope you don’t mind.”

Astraad moved to retrieve their interrogation subject. “Did you get anything useful out of her?”

“Wasted breath, mostly. Lies. Nothing that helps us,” said Sierra.

“For your future reference, I’ve found that overturning tables rarely proves a sufficient incentive.”

Sierra feigned a half-smile at that. “I suppose I ought leave such matters to your expertise.”

“That would not be unwise. You’re welcome to stay if you wish. Just keep out of the way.”

She wanted nothing more than to get the hell out of there. She needed time to regroup, to think. Beral’s actions were incomprehensible, senseless. Without reason - at least, without any that she could see. What was that woman after? Why could Sierra not see the purpose behind her actions?

“I think I best retire.”

“As you wish,” said Astraad absentmindedly as he righted Beral’s interrogation table along with Beral herself.

She was halfway out the door when she heard the prisoner call out one last slight, chuckling with sinister intent. “Thank you, Lord Eris! I look forward to another discussion soon!”

Writer's Note: First chapter from Sierra's point of view. We will be finding out a lot more about her soon, but I wasn't quite ready to reveal all of her secrets just yet. As always, any feedback would be much appreciated.

Well done as always.

Eagerly awaiting all to be revealed, a little at a time, of course, the conjectures are endless.

This chapter was really excellent; I really enjoyed the way you portrayed Eris. Whilst all your characters share these qualities, it is always a treat when a character with motivations, weaknesses and evident superiors -both known and unknown- is created and developed convincingly, just as you have done now.

I adored the way you handled the Holocron's 'backstory' (as doubtful as it may be)- the myth-like aspect of it really makes it feel as though it is part of a developed mythos, and whilst I doubt that the Holocron's creator is the same person,

I'm really excited to see them introduced... or re-introduced;)

Also, my theory:

I legitimately cannot wait for more!

Oh, I love it!

I may have even more questions than before. I'll just say I'd like to know more about Eris.

Looking forward to the next part.

I loved Sierra's POV. Seeing all the machinations going through her mind was brilliant. She's a truly slippery one. I also have to give you kudo's for the way you put Beryl across. The way she spoke gave me shivers. I could completely relate to Sierra in that moment. Very nicely done. ^^

Well done as always.

 

 

That damned holocron almost reminds me of the one ring, it wants to be found, but only by the right person. Sierra's POV was refreshing and informative, and I enjoyed her confrontation with Beral. It all opens up such possibilities for still unanswered questions.

 

Eagerly awaiting all to be revealed, a little at a time, of course, the conjectures are endless.

This chapter was really excellent; I really enjoyed the way you portrayed Eris. Whilst all your characters share these qualities, it is always a treat when a character with motivations, weaknesses and evident superiors -both known and unknown- is created and developed convincingly, just as you have done now.

I adored the way you handled the Holocron's 'backstory' (as doubtful as it may be)- the myth-like aspect of it really makes it feel as though it is part of a developed mythos, and whilst I doubt that the Holocron's creator is the same person,

that Beral is bowing before

I'm really excited to see them introduced... or re-introduced;)

Also, my theory:

Eris is somehow connected to the Emperor's Hand. I have no idea how, but I am hyped:D

 

 

I legitimately cannot wait for more!

Oh, I love it!

I may have even more questions than before. I'll just say I'd like to know more about Eris.

 

Looking forward to the next part.

I regret to say but i feel that this story has lost it's appeal, at the beginning it was riveting and had you wondering, now it almost seems to be boring. I am sorry to have to say it but i don't find the story enjoyable anymore

Hey there, I'm sorry to hear that the story's not doing it for you anymore. But thank you for the honest feedback and for reading as much as you did. If I may ask, what specifically did you enjoy before and is there a specific aspect of the story you find boring now?