Bridge of the Terminus-class destroyer Malevolence, three weeks after the rise of Darth Nox

“My lord, Lord Erriant is requesting permission to come aboard.” The comm officer, a young ensign named Nerron, fidgeted anxiously, nervous in his master’s presence.

“Erriant?” Kyravi frowned. “Did he say why?”

Nerron quickly reviewed the data scrawling across his terminal. “No, my lord. He, uh, requests to speak to you privately, as soon as possible.”

Kyravi snorted. Lord Erriant never requested anything, he demanded. “Calm yourself, ensign. I don’t kill my servants without good reason.”

Fear was good when it kept people in line. It was a tool all Sith learned to use early in their careers. But when it got in the way of efficiency, when it stifled innovation and improvisation, it became an obstacle – and Kyravi greatly disliked obstacles.

“I . . . yes, my lord.”

The newly appointed Sith Lord – Kyravi’s Master Lord Iolis had named him such only three weeks earlier – moved to the bridge’s forward veiwports, searching the vast vista of space for the approaching vessel. He spotted it, still far out but closing fast. In the Force, it reeked of the dark side.

“Direct Lord Erriant to dock. Inform him I will await him in my quarters.” The slight would not be lost on the pompous Erriant. Kyravi was eagerly anticipating putting the man in his place.

Kyravi walked quickly from the bridge. Solir, his Mon Calamari advisor, fell into step with him as he entered the ship’s main corridor.

“Lord Iolis has been trying to contact you,” Solir said. His voice was calm, but his Force presence, minor though it was, was tinged with . . . uncertainty.

“Why was it not put through to my personal comm?” Kyravi demanded.

Solir shrugged. “Something seems to be distorting the signal. Nerron is trying to establish a connection.”

“Something is worrying you.” It was not a question.

They were entering Kyravi’s quarters, a set of sparsely furnished rooms. “I’ve been unable to establish communications with his mercenary force. They were supposed to contact me when they finished the contract on Nal Hutta.”

“You think the source of the comm distortion is on our end?” Kyravi asked, settlng into the chair behind his desk and reviewing the first in a small stack of datapads, reports from variously archeological dig sites and translations of ancient writings.

Solir remained standing, and Kyravi noticed that he kept one large eye on the suite’s single entrance. “We may have a saboteur aboard the Malevolence.”

Kyravi frowned, closing his eyes and leaning back as he concentrated. He drew the Force through him, sifting through the emotions that presented themselves. One person in particular leapt out at him, a presence burning with dark purpose.

With a carefully projected sense of calm, Kyravi activated his holo comm. “Captain Dallos, destroy Lord Erriant’s vessel. Immediately.”

The captain responded at once, clearly alarmed. “I'm sorry, my lord, but Erriant has already docked.”

“Then vent the hangar to space. Kill him.”

Kyravi did not waste time waiting for Dallos’ reply. He sprang from his chair and sprinted out the door, Solir at his heels. The Force throbbed with rage as Erriant, somewhere toward the mid of the Malevolence, engaged the ship’s security.

Solir darted towards the dormitories, likely to rouse the marines. Kyravi grasped the hilt of his lightsaber and increased his pace.

Then the blast door between Kyravi and the swirling whirlwind of the dark side that was Erriant was blown open. Kyravi slid to a halt, using the Force to anchor himself in place and send a bolt of blue-violet lightning through the opening.

Stepping through the doorway, Erriant caught the bolt on his burning red blade. He was tall, and wide of shoulders, heavily muscled and garbed in dark battle armor. He was a member of the dying race of Sith, a Pureblood, and he was not one to let it be forgotten.

Lord Erriant’s lips twisted in what might have been a smile, and a low chuckle rumbled in his throat. “Is that the best you’ve got, Kyravi?”

Eyes narrowing in concentration, Kyravi gestured with his free hand towards one of the fallen sections of the blast door. The hunk of metal shot off the floor and through the space Erriant had occupied a mere second before.

Erriant’s evasive jump carried him directly into Kyravi’s follow-up attack, another bolt of Force lightning. Grunting, the Pureblood botched his landing, nearly slipping to a knee as his legs spasmed. Erriant struggled to gain control of his limbs.

Then Kyravi’s saber was sweeping down at the exposed flesh of Erriant’s neck. Erriant threw himself sideways and shoved Kyravi with the Force, buying just enough time to get his feet under him.

Then a ceiling panel smashed down on Erriant’s back. Kyravi darted in close again, flicking his saber at Erriant’s face and neck, the only areas not covered by the Pureblood’s armor. Erriant intercepted a dozen of Kyravi’s blows, then went on the offensive, using his massive strength and greater reach to batter Kyravi down.

Kyravi retreated back the way he had come, now trying to put as much distance between himself and Erriant as possible. He snapped off a trio of lightning bolts, but his opponent caught them on his saber.

Then Erriant stopped pursuing. He extended a hand in Kyravi’s direction, focusing. Kyravi stopped backpedaling and waited.

He felt something large and heavy come hurtling towards him from behind with back-breaking speed. Kyravi wited until the last possible instant, then leaped above it, flattening himself against the ceiling of the corridor with the Force. As the object – a durasteel crate – rushed past below, Kyravi gave it an extra Force shove.

The crate slammed into Lord Erriant’s chest and knocked him off his feet. He slid five meters before finally coming to a rest, the crate pinning him to the floor.

Kyravi approached his fallen foe cautiously, unsure how much damage the crate had done. As he saw Erriant’s right hand twitch towards his fallen saber, Kyravi prepared to pounce. Then, his danger sense *****ling, Kyravi spun about and dropped into a defensive stance.

A dozen marines had been approaching from behind, their presences drowned out by Erriant’s aura. They were soldiers from the Malevolence, people Kyravi recognized from the crew’s mess hall and the ships corridors. And they were pointing their blaster rifles squarely at Kyravi’s chest.

From the floor, Erriant began to laugh. “I underestimated you, Kyravi.”

“Don’t feel too bad,” Kyravi replied, his heart sinking. “There’s a lot of underestimating going on around here today.”

Kyravi weighed his chances. If he engaged the marines, he could probably kill them all without getting hit. But by the time he was done, Erriant would have regained his feet and be attacking from behind. If Kyravi finished off Erriant before the Pureblood could recover, the marines would shoot him in the back.

And then whatever chance Kyravi had was lost as Erriant shoved the crate off his chest and leapt to his feet, lightsaber in hand. Kyravi waited for Erriant to order the marines to fire. He waited for Erriant to lunge forward and shove a lightsaber through his heart.

Neither happened. “In the name of my Master, Lord Maronis, servant of Darth Nox of the Dark Council, I place you under arrest for the murder of Lord Iolis.” Kyravi could hear the smug tones of victory in Erriant’s voice.

“Lock him in the brig.”

The Malevolence, in orbit around Dunston VII, two days after Lord Kyravi’s imprisonment

“Alright, they’re gone,” Ensign Takon whispered. Like so many of the officers in the Imperial Navy, he was human, born and raised on Dromund Kaas. He knew that, when the Sith were involved, it was best to avoid picking a side. He knew what happened to those who displeased the Sith.

And he knew that, sometimes, you had to pick a side, and that when you did, you d*mn well made sure you won.

That’s why, when the Pureblood Lord Erriant had come aboard and placed Lord Kyravi in the detention cells, Takon had helped hide Kyravi’s Mon Cal aide, Solir, from the search parties. As Kyravi’s closest companion, everyone knew that Solir would be the rallying point for any effort to free the captured Sith Lord.

Takon and a few – so very few – like-minded individuals had pilfered cutting tools from Engineering and carved a square meter out of the floor beneath one of their bunks. They shoved had Solir down into the tight space between the decks, and smuggled him food and water as often as they could.

One of the more daring members of the conspiracy, Corporal Tannis (of the Malevolence’s marine complement) had snuck into an escape pod and launched, hoping Lord Erriant would believe Solir had escaped.

The Malevolence’s gunners had picked off the escape pod within minutes.

But security sweeps had died down after that, and Solir, kept updated about the happenings by the small loyalist group, judged it time to attempt the rescue.

Now, Solir, Takon, and three marines made their way cautiously through the corridors towards the brig, relying on their insider in Security – Ensign Karasa – to keep their progress hidden from any of Erriant’s men.

The ship’s intercom beeped to life. “Attention, all personnel: brace for jump to hyperspace. Repeat, brace for jump.”

Takon cursed quietly. “Those repairs should have taken them longer. Erriant must have kept Engineering up all night to get the drives stabilized.”

Solir gripped the small sidearm that he carried with him at all times. “We still have a few hours before we’ll reach Dromund Kaas. Plenty of time.” That said, it was clear that everyone felt a new pressure, a new sense of urgency.

They reached the secondary entrance to the detention center without incident. The doors they needed to get through were closed, and likely sealed, but Ensign Karasa opened them remotely. Solir led the small group in, all crouching low with their weapons drawn.

The detention center was much more crowded than usual. It was obvious that Lord Erriant was taking no chances with his prisoner escaping. Solir did a head count as he raised his sidearm, noting at least fifteen targets.

Then he opened fire. The lieutenant in charge of the shift, Nelsoc Reynning, one of the most petty men Solir had ever met, dropped to the floor with a hole in his chest right above his rank insignia.

Takon had managed to secure himself a blaster rifle from the armory the day before, and got two of the nearest security guards with his first spray. Another five were dropped by the rest of the group.

The security guards reacted quickly, diving to cover and returning fire. One of the marines in Solir’s group tossed a frag grenade into the center of the room, and suddenly there were a lot fewer defenders.

From her place in the main Security Office one deck above, Ensign Karasa sealed all the exits to the detention center and cut all comms. Her supervisor could override her commands, but first he’d have to notice something was wrong.

The last of the security guards fell, outflanked by Solir’s marines. Moving quickly – all the blasterfire must have been noticed by now – Solir grabbed Lieutenant Reynning’s access card and headed to the long row of cells. He opened each as he went, unsure which contained Kyravi.

The Sith was, of course, in the last cell in the row. Kyravi was huddled on the cell’s single bunk, his hands bound by stun-cuffs. From the look of him, he was drugged.

The cuffs yielded to the dead lieutenant’s card, and Solir jabbed Kyravi with a syringe of adrenals someone – likely Takon, that man had definitely earned a promotion – had nabbed from the medbay.

The stuff worked fast. Within a minute, Kyravi was sitting up and rubbing his hands, trying to get his blood flowing. “Where am I?” he asked.

“Still aboard the Malevolence. It’s been two days.”

“Quick work,” Kyravi said, getting to his feet. “I expected to wake up on Dromund Kaas, just in time for my execution.” He paused. “They’re framing me for Lord Iolis’ death.”

Solir grimaced. “So I’ve heard. Maronis is making a power play.”

“I realized that.” Kyravi held out his hand expectantly to Solir. “My lightsaber?”

Instead, Solir placed a blaster pistol in the Sith Lord’s waiting hand. “Erriant smashed it. Try shooting people, it’s actually rather fun.”

Kyravi regarded the blaster contemptuously. “Hmm.”

Ensign Takon appeared at the cell’s aperture. “My lord, there’s a security detail trying to cut through the main door.”

“Any word from Karasa?” Solir asked.

Takon shook his head. “She might be dead. From what I understand, she wasn’t sure how well she could hide what she was doing, once they caught on to what was happening here.”

Kyravi made for the small cell’s exit, the adrenal shot adding a bit of a bounce to his step. “Let’s get moving. Solir, do you have anyone on the bridge?”

“No, I didn’t have enough time. I had hoped to get Ensign Nerron on our side, but apparently he’s disappeared.”

Kyravi didn’t slow. “Interesting.” He approached the detention center’s main entrance, a set of thick blast doors that someone was trying very hard to cut through.

“They’ll switch to explosives in a moment,” Solir noted as the cutting beam faltered.

Kyravi’s lips twitched in a feral smile. “No they won’t.”

He closed his eyes and extended his left hand towards the door. He expanded his perception, reaching out with the Force, allowing his fury at his betrayal and capture to fuel his power. He located the small, flickering presences of the assault squad beyond the door. There were ten of them; two had small, inanimate packages on their belts, perceivable in the Force as bundles of destruction.

It was so simple to set them off.

The resulting explosion shook the floor, and the blast doors bulged ominously. They held, though severely weakened.

Kyravi surveyed his troops. “We go now to the bridge and retake this ship. Each of you will be rewarded for your service when all of this is done.” He looked to Solir. “When I find Erriant, stay out of the way.”

Then the blast doors were smashed open by an invisible force. Kyravi darted through the opening and the carnage beyond, flattening an unfortunate officer who failed to get out of his way. Solir and the rest of the group brought up the rear in a brisk trot, weapons readied for battle.

A dozen brief skirmishes slowed their progress. Each time he engaged the enemy, Kyravi looked eagerly for Erriant, and each time he was disappointed. The arrogant Pureblood seemed to be hiding, perhaps waiting for Kyravi to expend his strength.

It only added fire to Kyravi’s hate. The entire journey to the bridge, Kyravi cultivated that hate, that rage, sharpening it into a weapon. He held his power in check, though, like a man with his finger on the trigger of a very big gun. At that moment, no one on the Malevolence mattered as much to Kyravi as Erriant.

The door to the bridge loomed ahead as Erriant began his assault. The first casualty was Ensign Takon, who got caught in the edge of a tremendous Force wave aimed at Kyravi. Kyravi shielded himself from the attack, staggering slightly but unharmed. Takon was not as fortunate; he slammed against the left wall of the corridor, bounced off the ceiling, and fell in a crumpled heap.

Erriant had gathered a eighteen marines – the remainder of the ship’s complement – and masked them with his presence, which hung all over the ship like a great cloak and made it impossible for Kyravi to get a fix on him in the midst of the chaos. Now Erriant’s marines sprang from hiding and exchanged shots with the few men who backed Kyravi.

Kyravi’s counterattack shook the corridor. Bodies bounced around, thrown from cover and against the walls. He rejoiced in his power. Never before had he drawn upon the dark side so strongly. He felt invincible, immortal – until a marine shot him.

The offending marine died almost before Kyravi realized he had been hit. It wasn’t a serious wound, but it would slow him, distract him. And Kyravi realized that Erriant had been waiting for just such a moment.

The Pureblood joined the fray, flinging himself out of a side corridor and bisecting one of Kyravi’s men with his red lightsaber. Then he jumped at Kyravi, intending to impale his bladeless foe.

Kyravi swatted Erriant out of the air. He pointed at Erriant’s saber with one finger and the blade’s hilt crumpled, extinguishing the weapon. Erriant watched with dismay.

“I have you now, Erriant,” Kyravi hissed, gathering the Force in his left hand in preparation for a blast of lightning. He drew on the swirling emotions of the skirmish being waged around him, savoring the strength they gave him. Combat was . . . glorious, he decided. He’d have to remember to do it more often.

But then, one of the last of Erriant’s marines – the rest having been killed by Kyravi’s attack or the skilled shooting of his men – threw a grenade. Kyravi redirected its flight away from himself and his men harmlessly, but the second of distraction allowed Erriant time to retreat.

Kyravi watched his foe fleeing, his instinct telling him to run him down and kill him. Regretfully, he let him go. Without the emotions of the battle to sustain himself, Kyravi felt drained. Even the adrenal’s effects were lessening. His arms were shaking, he noticed in surprise.

“Secure the bridge,” he rasped, wishing he had some water. “Then we cut off the air. Everyone not with us dies.”

No one fought them. With Lord Erriant’s retreat, everyone quickly decided that they had always been, and would always be, Kyravi’s men. The bridge was sealed.

Kyravi stalked to the Flight Control Officer’s station. “Can you lock down the hangar?”

“No, my lord,” the FCO responded hesitantly. “Someone has remote control. They shut me out.” Then, “My lord, we’re falling out of hyperspace!”

Kyravi sighed. “It isn’t you fault. We’ve had a member of Imperial Intelligence with us for the past several weeks.”

Solir, now standing next to Kyravi, asked, “Who?”

“Ensign Nerron, our former non-Communications Officer. And I must say, he is very good at his job.” Kyravi watched over the FCO’s shoulder as, on a screen displaying the interior of the Malevolence’s hangar, Lord Erriant’s shuttle escaped into space.

Frowning, Kyravi turned and went to stare out the forward viewports. “Disable life support throughout the rest of the ship,” he commanded. In an aside to Solir, he added, “I think this went rather well, don’t you?”