For years there had been no word from Drew Karpyshyn on Revan's fate. Long before he decided to assassinate the Exile's character, the True Story of Revan had already informed the world of what had actually occurred in the life of one of the Jedi Order's most infamous members. Now, that tale is revisited.

And it is all entirely canon.

Chapter Guide:

01 - Uncertainty.

02 - Unforeseen.

03 - Unbound.

04 - Unwanted.

05 - Unleashed.

06 - Unchallenged.

07 - Unintended.

08 - Unanticipated.

09 - Unrealized.

10 - Unafraid.

11 - Unbroken.

EP - Untold.

Chapter One: Uncertainty.

Revan, arguably the greatest Jedi of his time, was unquestionably terrified.

The transparisteel before him allowed the young Jedi to look into the sharply contrasting lines that hyperspace offered any foolish enough to meet its gaze. While he had heard of some veteran soldiers being able to stomach the intensity without batting an eye, the reason why he had opted upon the action was to take his mind away from the sea of uncertainty that surrounded him. The Mandalorians, an enemy who legend did not discredit in word of ferocity or brutality, had been defeated. By all accounts he should have believed that the Republic saved: he was a hero, a visionary that had stood against the maelstrom and prevailed.

But then, why was he so horrifyingly afraid?

There was more to the situation at hand; perhaps the only true talent that he had was discerning that quality about that which floated around him. Tales of his prowess with both the Force and lightsaber had already begun to reach the minds of many, which in turn spun earnest hard work and tactical knowhow into a fantastic story of a single man that was very much akin to staring into the Heart of the Force. He knew that talk such as that served its own purpose – it bolstered the hopes of his allies and demoralized his enemies, but he also knew better than to believe it. He was just a man, nothing more than a simple man.

Of course, the question that was on his mind – that had been on his mind since he witnessed a particular general turn away from his victorious bands and return herself to the Jedi Council for reprimanding, was why it was that he had not gone with her. They had achieved their goal in a sense: the Mandalorians were defeated, and yet the thought of a danger far greater still lurked within the expansive beyond. Was it truly his place to right every wrong that the galaxy faced, or did he simply assume that mantle when the people offered it to him? Whatever the case, Revan and the Revanchists were prepared to enter yet another storm.

The sound of the refresher’s doors opening drew Revan away from his momentary introspection and brought to his stomach a sudden and harsh pain as his mind related to his body the labors of staring for so long into hyperspace. He pulled away then, queasy and paled, when his vision befell the one that had escaped from the confines of the shower to his aft. It was a person that he had seen before and one that as always managed to bring a smile to his face, if only vaguely.

That toned physique; those well shaped legs and finely sculpted abdomen. A chest that was expansive and desirable, easily cut from marble and painted a fleshen tone by the hand of some immortal artist. With water still faintly glistening upon supple flesh and dripping from a noble nose, Revan found it difficult to breathe. Oh how strong and succulent those thighs were, or the powerful biceps that at the moment flexed when the white towel was moved to rub along a smooth, tattooed scalp. Finally, his breath left him as a single, simple gust – trembling, almost whispering with unspoken lust.

“Alek.”

And as always, so too did Alek Squinquargesimus present him with a winsome smirk – a becoming smile that did well to quiet his heart’s uncertainties and in their place ignite a fire the likes of which none could deny. To the rest of the world he had become "Malak", but that was a title that had no place within their relationship. Whatever it was that Demagol did to change his beloved Alek did not matter; he would forever see him as the loving and caring boy that he had fallen in love with so long ago. “None other,” he answered in voice velveteen; as smooth and supple as his flesh. “You seem distraught, is everything alright?”

He desired nothing more than to confess that everything was not alright; that from the moment they left Dantooine he felt ill and uncertain of himself. But he knew that not even Alek, who had gone from being a pupil, to a brother, to something… more could truly understand those fears. He had to remain strong, to appear brave, even in the face of certain doom. The Mandalorian woman’s mask that he had taken permitted that in the heat of battle, for though he presented a grim picture to his enemies, it did well to mask his fear and trepidation. At that moment he looked almost longingly to the discarded mask and desired nothing more than to place it back on. But he did not and knew that he could not; he would not shield himself entirely from his beloved Alek.

“I am fine,” he heard himself saying without much feeling. “Tired, is all.”

Alek chuckled understandingly (what he understood was beyond Revan) and languidly placed his tall, fit body against the bed that the two Jedi shared. He patted his hand in place once and curled his tongue as he clucked a response. “Then rest, my love. If any have earned that right, it is you. Revan, savior of the Republic.”

It certainly had a nice ring to it, did it not? He could already tell that one day, in the distant future, laymen would say his name with greater acclaim than any other. That his meager talents and unassuming demeanor would be forgotten and in their place the image of a titan superimposed. That was both an exciting and frightening thought! The former because he would be immortalized; the latter because his true self would be forgotten.

And just who was he truly? Well, that question was answered when he placed himself beside Alek on the bed. With unchecked affection he looked up to Alek, whose eyes swam with worry and concern. “I do not know if I have saved anyone,” he said with a surprising level of sincerity. “I do not know if any of this has amounted to much.”

“That general’s words still paint your vision,” Alek chided as he placed his hand to Revan’s unassuming, diminutive chest. “Forget her, Revan. She was – is, of little repute. She served her purpose and will be forgotten; if she is to ever be heard of again it will be only in the shadow of your name. We both sensed… something was out there and it is only right that we investigate it.”

Alek’s words did well to assuage some of the pain that rose within Revan’s chest and he smiled appreciatively in return. He fit his head against Alek’s shoulder, nuzzling it in place as his eyes became veiled hoods with sleep’s imminent arrival. The feeling of Alek’s strong arms and body near him always brought peace to his mind, and the raging emotions that coursed through him were given a positive spin. “If not for you, I do not know if I would have the courage to face this threat,” Revan confided with a wary sigh.

In response to the statement, Alek turned his head and brushed his lips along Revan’s forehead. After the kiss was offered he nuzzled closer to Revan and whispered into his ear. “Then you are truly blessed by the Force, Revan, because you will never have to. I will be with you,” he began.

Revan looked up to him then and captured Alek’s eyes within his own.

Together, they whispered a single word. Though their lips did not meet, their heated and warm breath pressed together in a ferocious and passionate interlocking of their invigorated desires. So close, yet so far away, that affection could only be expressed in that lone utterance.

“Forever.”

Why, thank you. I hope that it only becomes better.

Have we met on a distance field? You'd think I'd remember.

Stop lunchin' on revan! Just cuz he so cysed up don't mean nothin' Dawg, you be lunchin' hard lunchin'...

On the other note. Good Read.

OH MY GOD REVAN ISNT GAY HES LIKE blah blah blah whatever.

Right. There we go. That's enough for this thread.

OH MY GOD REVAN ISNT GAY HES LIKE blah blah blah whatever.

 

Right. There we go. That's enough for this thread.

Man, you lunchin' too hard lunchin'!

On the other note. You know that won't stop it...

Chapter 2: Unforeseen.

Inexplicably, Revan found himself kneeling before the Sith Emperor.

He did not know how he had arrived, but he knew that he was there. In years to come he was certain that if the same fervor surrounding his victory found him at this moment, inept and incompetent historians would be forced to use conjecture to fill the synapses between his defeat of the Mandalorians and his meeting with the powerful man that now sat before him. To his right Alek also kneeled. Though he desired nothing more than to clutch his lover’s hand and reassure him that all would be well, each had their hands bound behind their backs. This was no act of contrition that they made upon their knees – they had been forced there!

Considering that the Sith were believed to have been annihilated quite some time ago, culminating in the impressive defeat of Ulic Qel-Droma at the hands of Nomi Sunrider, he had not even know there was a true Sith empire to discover. Of course, Exar Kun had managed to evade capture but as Revan looked upon the man that sat before him now in the throne, he was certain that it was not the robust Sith that he had heard so much about. No, this man was someone entirely differently; something entirely different. It would behoove him for the moment, he knew, to remain as silent as possible.

“It is most impressive that you were able to find our empire,” the Emperor said from atop his mighty throne. He sat, fingers pressed together at the temple, and eyed the morsel that had been brought before him by his guards. Not even he, on the outskirts of space, could have missed news of the charismatic champion of the Republic who beat back the Mandalorians single-handedly. He had been of half a mind to seek the boy out, but as he simply dropped into his lap… well, fortune favored him indeed. “A pity should you not be able to live beyond that discovery.”

Life within the shadows was a difficult thing for the Sith Emperor, who had created an entire empire around his mysterious appearance. No one truly knew what to expect of him nor could they properly formulate strategies to overthrow him. He was an enigma that continued to confound even his closest advisers and by forwarding his messages through the Council of Twelve, he had done well to diffuse power over enough underlings to keep them from making serious grabs for power. It was that clever mind of his that had brought the two Jedi under his heel at that moment, and that clever mind that allowed him to consider all the possibility that could come from watching them squirm.

A dry chuckle, hollow and desiccated enough to crumble upon its utterance, slipped past the Emperor’s lips and caressed the minds of those before him. “Truth be told, I had expected the revered Revan to be a larger man.”

“He’s bigger than you’ll ever be, you coward!” Alek shouted defiantly as he lifted his eyes toward the Emperor. In times past he had seen Revan as small and weak as well, but there was a passion within the man that spoke much louder than any physical grace the Force may have gifted him with. He was his twinkle; a small effect that could be seen from lightyears away. To show his vexation Alek attempted to break the restraints upon his wrist but found them, as always, too powerful to break. His muscles bulged then within the confines of his garments, which made it appear like small rats were scurrying up and down upon his well-conditioned body.

In response to Alek’s outburst, the Sith Emperor lifted an eyebrow and waved but a finger in the boy’s direction. Where once he had been a struggling, raging lunatic now did the Jedi become a tormented series of screams and paroxysms as his body was overwhelmed with the dark hand of the Force. His every thought led to a still more painful one and try as he might to free himself he pitched to the ground and rolled about miserably. “I am not in the habit of tolerating childish displays, boy. I fear I am too set in my ways to change now.”

“What is it that you want from us?” Revan asked, his mind acutely aware of the power that the Emperor held. When it came to the arts of the galaxy he knew of two intimately – control over the Force and how to properly kiss a man. Considering that the latter skill was probably not going to come in much use when dealing with a stogy fiend like the Emperor, he instead had to focus upon the former. And what was there? Well, he could tell by the man’s command of the Force that he was powerful, perhaps the most powerful being he had ever encountered. The sound of Alek’s screams against his mind were tormenting and try as he might to divorce them from his logical process, he could not. If not for the mask that he wore the grimace that he held would have been easily seen. Of course, emotions were not so easily hidden. “You did not bring us here for simple games.”

“Right you are,” the Emperor said as he lowered his finger and Alek’s torment was brought to an end. He turned his hand over, a simple gesture that in turn forced Alek to roll onto his back before with a curling of his fingers he brought him closer. “Then again, I did not intend to bring the two of you anywhere. You are the true champion here, Revan. This boy is nothing more than a trinket; he provides little usage other than to occupy space.”

The words were spoken with such a grim finality and jovial maliciousness that Revan feared the worst for Alek. Seeing the man’s tattooed head against the darkened shadows of the Sith Emperor’s throne was not at all dissimilar from witnessing one’s child in the shadow of a wolf. Alek turned his head away from the shadow and clenched his jaw, his struggling muted though ever active as he fought to find a way out of his manacles. It would be to no avail, he knew, but to simply lie there and take his punishment was never the way he had been.

“Without him, I would not have been able to accomplish any of that which I have,” Revan stated without shame. “If you must end one of us, I would rather it be me.”

“Of course you would,” the Emperor said. “It would be a simple thing for you to sacrifice yourself for a friend. Do the Jedi not teach these things? Even easier still would it be for you to sacrifice yourself for… something more,” the Emperor drawled with a delighted chuckle. He lifted his hand then, touching against Alek’s jaw and carefully tapping his fingers against his ruggedly handsome features; the same features that Revan’s lips had showered with affections so many times in the past. “But they do not teach you to feel desire, do they? I should rid you of him so that your masters would better accept you for who – what… you are. The Council rarely accepts love, as you well know, and never have they accepted... man-love."

There was truth to the Emperor’s words, even if Revan did not want to see them. While he would be justified in sacrificing himself for Alek, they also would have been mollified to know why that he did it. His life had become increasingly complicated when he found that his feelings for Alek went beyond that of friends and try as he might to reconcile it with some just penance he was forced to endure from the Force, he knew that it was simple as his body greatly desiring the man that had been close to him for so long.

Of course, there was the realization that the Emperor could end that all. With a flick of his wrist he could kill Alek, whose death would give him reason to fight on, and who would forever be immortalized in the annals of history as a true hero lost at the hands of a tyrant. If he simply did not act he would have been capable of changing both of their entries in history for the better. Revan bowed his head and closed his eyes, his face immeasurably hot due to the fact he wore a mask in the midst of a sweltering chamber. He could simply wait this out and everything would be better.

But in the darkness of his mind, Revan knew well that there was to know about Alek. He replayed the look of horror on his face when they were captured; the need to be protected that came from his big, burly friend. He thought of how the Sith Emperor had brought him such pain and torment and even went so far as to think of the man’s hands caressing a face that only he should have touched. These events playing within his head were too much – he could not allow his beloved to become but a statistic in a never ending war.

Revan’s head snapped upward as he brought his arms away from one another. Where the restraints should have held instead they slipped apart, granting him a freedom of movement the likes of which not even the Sith Emperor could have prepared for. He held his hand out to the left and willed his lightsaber into his grasp, then sprang into the air with an agility that bespoke a mastery of the Force worthy of being placed into legend. Compressing the activation plate of the weapon, as it sprang to life he turned about sharply and dispatched a succinct slash into an approaching palace guard, effectively ending the man’s life before he had time to ready his weapon. The swiveling of his cloak created a visual illusion that did well to prevent the other from recognizing his movement in his direction, which culminated in his hand extending outward to protect a wall of the Force toward him and repel him into the distance.

“So there is fight within the legendary Jedi after all,” the Emperor chuckled as Revan set to dismantling his guards one by one. Each that died was of little value to him – if they were too weak to defend against the Jedi then what purpose did they serve? Instead he watched, bemused, as Revan fought through the throngs toward their position.

He knew that he was not the best lightsaber duelist to ever live, but what Revan was certain of was that he could defeat those that were before him. Utilizing the Force he struck one in the abdomen and forced him to double over, then rolled over his back and ripped his lightsaber upward to bisect the man’s chest. Twisting about sharply, he checked an incoming slash and slid to the side only to twirl his wrist and cut low at the back of the guard’s legs, instantly sending him to the ground. Another surged toward him with an intensity that refused to be denied, yet rather than engage him head-on Revan drifted backwards, dodging and weaving out of the way of his flurried slashes before he shoved his lightsaber’s hilt directly into the man’s throat and ripped upward from his lowered position.

The carnage continued unabated until finally the last guard fell gurgling to his knees and expired. Revan lowered his clenched fist then, his chest rising and falling as he focused his attention upon the Sith Emperor. As his cloak settled into place once more, the last of the twitching guards surrendered his grasp on life, leaving the Jedi a silent sentinel in the midst of the viscera he had opened to the throne room. Only the tapping of blood escaping the hilt of his weapon sounded against the walls of the enclosure, until finally the Sith Emperor drew his hands together with a steady clap.

“Well done,” he said good-humoredly. “I have not seen fighting like that in well over a millennia, which says quite a bit as I am an innumerably old and wise fellow.”

“Enough pleasantries,” Revan growled. “Give me Alek and get out of my way.”

“I see that when you’ve had a bit of fighting you become a little less controllable,” the Emperor chided. “I like it. Willfull; powerful. Are you so certain that the path of the Jedi is one meant for you? Look around you, those men you fought could have slain 10 Mandalorians on their own and yet you defeated them single-handedly. Is that not something to be proud of?”

“Give me Alek,” Revan repeated, his voice almost a hiss as the acrimony and malice in his body came to a boiling point.

The Emperor sat back within his throne. “I am afraid that we Sith do not give ¬anything, my boy. If you desire your precious Alek back, then earn him.”

Given that he had just dispatched the man’s elite guard, Revan was hardly in the mood to be played with any longer. He growled and began to progress toward the Emperor, only to find that his advance was suddenly checked. Gasping he took a step backward and looked on in disbelief; never before had he felt so helpless, so weak, so pathetic, as he did at that moment.

For the Sith Emperor’s grasp upon the Force was indeed a powerful thing. So powerful, in fact, that it had done well to strike Revan in a manner that he had not imagined. It did not act directly upon him as a storm of lightning or painful strike to the solar plexus. No, that would have been too pedestrian for the grandiose emperor. Instead, it presented him with an eventuality the likes of which not even he, the Great Revan, could have planned for.

Before him stood Alek.

His lightsaber was activated.

Chapter 3: Unbound.

It was a sight that Revan had never expected to see – a sight that he could not have dreamed of in his darkest nightmare. There had been countless times in which the two had dueled one another, but never before had it been with the look of hatred that Malak… no, Alek had at that moment. He seemed completely engulfed within his rage; a marionette at the hands of an acrimony that knew no escape but through chaos and discord. It took all of Revan’s wits not to drop his lightsaber then and there; shocked, he found his voice hardly strong enough to penetrate the mask upon his face.

“Alek, what are you doing?”

“What I should have done long ago,” the taller Jedi stated with unyielding vehemence. He took a step forward then, his body commanding an attentiveness that Revan knew all too well. Within Alek was a physicality that few knew answer for: strong enough to challenge a Mandalorian head-on, tough enough to withstand the strikes of an Echani. While Revan was the superior duelist, he knew that there was nothing about Alek that made him inherently inferior. Luck had been on his side before – the Force had been on his side before. At the moment, ti would appear that both of them had abandoned him. “Your weakness; your insecurities… they’ve always held me back. Having to hold your hand has cost me my place in this galaxy. It should be my name that they shout in triumph, Revan.”

The very idea that those thoughts could be genuine was so foreign to Revan that he looked with accusation toward the Sith Emperor; however, the man sat with his hands steepled once more and wore his ever-present smirk of bemusement. No, he was not directly controlling Alek. These were true feelings and each word that landed upon Revan’s ears brought to him more pain than he could have imagined. “We fought together, Alek. Do not let him –“

“My name,” the other interrupted with a mighty howl, “is MALAK! Whatever fanciful notion you had in your head about me – about us? It was for naught! Abandon it for I assure you that I have abandoned you. The Emperor has shown to me his plan and it is one that none can stand against. There are so many layers to this reality – so many folds that we simply could not see: that you could not see.”

That statement alone was enough to draw apprehension from the masked Jedi. While he had never believed himself to be a great proponent of the Force, he had believed himself to be perceptive. The Force was to him a guide and he its loyal observer. Was it possible that he had been led astray? Was it possible that it was his fault that he and his beloved were now facing one another within the shadowy throne room of the Sith Emperor? No, the Sith Emperor’s prevarications could not be minded, even if they were to leave Alek’s mouth.

“Alek, I will not fight you,” Revan stated resolutely, his voice trembling with unbridled fear of being forced down a path he did not desire to experience. There was such intensity and conviction to the man – how could he have allowed himself to be so deluded by the Sith? They had learned long ago never to trust them!

“Then you will die, Revan.”

It was at that moment that Alek sent himself toward Revan and that Revan was forced to defend himself. With his larger size and superior reach Alek’s strike radius was much greater than Revan’s. He brought his saber lashing about in an arching strike meant to cleave through his former lover, but as his weapon closed inward Revan lifted his own to deftly deny his assault. While he could not bring himself to strike down Alek, Revan did not desire to die – not yet. The thought of living without Alek was a horrifying one, but his hatred for the Sith Emperor for forcing them into the situation was one that kept him acutely focused upon the present. He could not afford to lose sight of the true enemy here, even if that enemy placed his precious Alek in his path.

The rapidity with which Alek attacked revealed to Revan the strength of the Dark Side as he had never experienced. In times past Alek had relied more on his power than agility, yet with each successive slash that he related to Revan, there came a heightened speed and alacrity the likes of which he had never seen from the other. Without much effort he managed to deflect the strikes, refusing to allow himself to become flummoxed in the bright display of colors that flashed about as sabers and sparks flew through the air. He saw within Alek’s s assaults still small weaknesses that he could have exploited, should he want to end the fight. A slow motion here; a lazy execution there. While the man was fighting better than he had ever before, it was not so great an improvement that it would bring him victory over the more experienced Jedi.

Certain that a prolonged engagement might lead to the demise of one of them, Revan hurriedly struck outward and parried one of Alek’s strikes in hopes of drawing him away; however, as his saber kissed against Alek’s so too did he find that his own attack was but a step in the other’s plan. The searing pain of superheated metal against his face forced Revan to realize that Alek’s lightsaber had come dangerously close to slicing through his mask. He shoved outward then and retreated ground, his saber once more twirled about and leaving a harrowing swoosh against the surrounding darkness.

“What is it, Revan? Did you think that this would be like times past? That I would be stopped with a simple sleight of hands?” There was a venomous quality to Alek’s voice then that Revan had never heard, not even when he addressed the Mandalorians. It dripped from him with a severity that brought to mind malice, and in that instance, for the first time, Revan could see that perhaps his beloved Alek – the man that he would have liked to spend the rest of his life with, had vanished. It was a terrifying notion and one that he forbade himself to consider beyond that initial glimpse. As fortunate would have it, his mind was drawn away from the supposition when Alek charged him once more.

Now aware that Alek had increased his agility through the Dark Side’s grace, Revan responded by putting more of himself into his evasive maneuvers. Rather than meet Alek head-on he dodged to the left with a twisting jump that cleared the saber’s slash by some distance. The tips of his feet had only touched against the ground when Alek reeled about to strike once more at him, his blade describing a horizontal plane against the air when Revan bent backwards and performed a back handspring to clear himself from the other’s attack radius. Utilizing his grace he spun to the left as Alek thrust inward, then rolled against his arm and shoved outward to propel himself away and into the darkened shadows, his cloak acting as a distraction to further confound his opponent’s senses.

Once more, the steadied clapping of the Sith Emperor met with the air. Slow and determined, it was followed by a deep and rumbling chuckle. “Marvelous, Revan. You are every bit the fighter that I had heard, indeed. But surely you must know that you cannot evade him forever. Malak’s mind is one that knows only victory and conquest; you will tire and he will end you, if not the other way around.”

The droning sound of the Sith Emperor’s force afflicted more than Revan’s ears in that moment: it spoke to his heart. As a skilled tactician and strategist he was more than aware that evasion was in no way a permanent solution. For the present it allowed him to think and plead with Alek more, but what if he could not reason with him? Would he wear himself down before finally allowing himself to be defeated? The sound of Alek’s lightsaber making a steady, rotating swoosh against the air as he idled upon Revan’s return said that more than likely, that would be his fate.

“Alek…”

“Malak!”

“Alek,” Revan repeated with determination. Not only did he have to dissuade Alek from believing that he was truly Malak, but he needed to remind himself of that fact. “Think of everything that we have shared. Think of all that we planned to do! You cannot tell me that it was all a ploy!”

Alek narrowed his eyes on the darkness as Revan spoke. “I was blind once,” he began as he slowly began to step to the side. “I once believed in your vision – but that was before the Emperor elucidated me. That was before I truly came to understand the part that I am to play in the coming dusk,” he said. “But now I know who I am and what my purpose shall be. Now, I know that you are nothing more than a broken coward, who should have perished on Malachor V but lacked the courage to push the button himself. Is that why you had that general do it, Revan? Did you fear what would happen if you had done it? You have always used others, always used me, for your own personal gain.”

Those were not really Alek’s thoughts! They couldn’t be! While he was prepared to protest each and every one of the statements, when the time to deny the comment about the general came, he could not. She had been selected because she held something within her that he knew was dangerous. In the back of his mind, he had hoped that she would perish on Malachor V, but she had not – he had mistaken her resolve, her ability, and in turn he had turned her into something that neither he nor Alek could understand. Her existence, cursed as it was, was his fault and though he had thought he reconciled himself to that ugly truth, he realized then that he had not. It hurt him so to think of his failure; it pained him to know that he had created that husk of a woman.

“But I am blind no more,” Alek continued as he brought his sidestepping to a halt.

“Now, I can see.”

Certain of where Revan was, he whipped his arm about and released his lightsaber. The weapon cleaved through the darkness as though a ray of sunlight banishing the umbra before dawn. With each revolution that it made it tore through the air at a speed that could hardly be comprehended, assuredly bringing Revan’s stay within the darkness to an end.

Unfortunately, it did just that.

Revan saw Malak’s attempted tactic for all that it was and bound out of the shadows just as the lightsaber struck where he should have been. Drawing the Force into himself, he exploded forth at a speed that bordered upon being imperceptible. The slash that he related them was nothing if not ravening, as it tore from his hip toward Malak’s shoulder, but though the attack had every ounce of desire to kill within it, Malak was swift enough to dodge to his left and recall his lightsaber. Feeling the cold metal of t he weapon in his hand he snarled and answered Revan’s charge with his own counterattack. Much to his chagrin though, he was now fighting the force of nature that the Mandalorians had come to fear.

No longer was he restrained by the thought that Alek was his enemy: no longer did he see his beloved in the monster that was before him. The venom that had been upon Malak’s tongue did well to poison the well of love that Revan once clutched to, and in its wake existed only a fountain of spite the likes of which no memory could bring to a halt. The sound of the Sith Emperor’s triumphant laughter only further enflamed Revan as he met Malak in what was surely to be the final duel for one of the two.

Revan twisted about sharply and dispatched a hellacious swipe to Malak’s shoulder, the strike skimming against his guard and sending sparks into the air. The close call presented to the other’s eyes something that had not been there before: fear. Fear, the thing that he had been accused of possessing. Fear, the thing that Malak had said made him weak. But who was afraid now? Who was weak? A hellion unleashed from the confines of his self-loathing, Revan brandished both Force and lightsaber with an acuity the likes of which not even he would have believed possible.

“Do you see it now, Revan? Do you understand the power that comes from the Dark Side?” Malak called out, almost as though to goad him further into his attacks. While the advantage went to Revan, Malak was not so outmaneuvered that the fight could not be turned to his favor in but a second. “Think of what can be done with this power – think of what can be done with this awe-inspiring power! You could accomplish anything!”

Effortlessly, Revan batted Malak’s lightsaber to the side, his eyes narrowing as his understanding of the battlefield seized upon just how vulnerable Malak was at that moment.

“I can silence you,” he replied. The word that followed was one that held meaning to him, but as he cast it aside acted as the clincher upon which his action would follow. “Forever.”

The strike was so sudden – so swift, that not even Revan was certain he had done more of think of it before it was finished. It was the sound of Malak’s jaw literally drawing to the floor that drew his attention away from the reverie of the realization that he could stop the man from speaking. A gurgling, blood soaked scream escaped Malak then as the cauterized wound filled his mind with immeasurable pain. His lightsaber fell and he dropped to his knees, hands placed to where his strong chin had once been. So distraught was he that he did not see Revan’s lightsaber move the position beside his head; did not hear its hum against the inside of his mind.

Finally, the Sith Emperor stood. Alone the action may have been overlooked, but considering that the man had hardly moved other than to clap since Revan had seen him, it was an action that drew his mind away from dispatching his former lover. Clapping once more, the tyrant drew down the steps of his throne toward the kneeling Malak and the triumphant Revan. “Magnificent,” he said with unabashed praise. “Truly, a marvel.”

“After I kill him,” Revan said coldly. “You die next.”

“But you need not kill either of us,” the Sith Emperor demurred. “Think well of that fight – was it not the most intense, the most powerful that you had ever experienced, Revan? Imagine what strength could be yours if only you surrendered yourself to that Darkness.”

“And lost myself forever within its shadows?” Revan asked. “You Sith preach about freedom from the Force, but you are more its slaves than any other. No, I will not be made chattel by anyone; least of all your Dark Side.”

The ire in Revan’s voice was not lost upon the Emperor. He shook his head and clucked his tongue, bemusement as ever his favored expression. “Tell me, my boy. Do I appear to you a slave? I have lived for long enough to know that the very notion is a lie – for Jedi and for Sith. I am not compelled to do anything by the Force, neither are you. Yes, some are lost within the shadow, but… there are those that rise above it. That are reborn from their experience!” Without fear the Emperor placed his hand to Revan’s shoulder. “I could show you that path; I could make of you a champion the likes of which history will never forget.”

Within the blink of an eye Revan brought his lightsaber to the Emperor’s neck. The sound of Malak’s pathetic sobbing was driving him mad, yet he was aware enough that he saw the other did not flinch in the slightest. “Or I could end you here.”

“Or you could end me here,” the Emperor repeated.

It was in that way that a minute, then two passed. Revan with his lightsaber to the Emperor’s throat; Malak with his jaw clutched in his hands. He looked from the Emperor to Malak, the once bold and imposing man that he had found such courage within. He was now broken; shattered. No different than the general that had made her way back to the Council. In that vulnerability he saw the faintest inkling of Alek, and in that he found that his will to strike him down weakened if only slightly. Though it may have been slight, though, it was enough to keep him from acting. When finally the second minute had met its end, Revan did what he had never expected to: he deactivated his lightsaber and lowered his arm.

“You said that there was a way that neither of you need die,” Revan began.

The Emperor nodded and placed his hand to Revan’s arm. At once, the lightsaber’s blade diminished. Revan was uncertain as to whether he had done it or if the Emperor had willed him to, but he was not alarmed that the humming was over. “I will teach you the ways of the Sith – you in turn will teach them to Malak and together you will return to the Republic and prepare it for the glory that the Empire will bring.”

Return to the Republic – only to have it conquered by the Empire? Had he not sacrificed blood and sweat to ensure that the Republic stood? Of course, in doing so he had seen just how weak it was; he, more than anyone else understood that it was held together by little more than weak bonds. But to really consider it, to conquer that which he had been the savior of… did it make sense? There were so many worlds, so many leaders.

Too many, in fact. The Sith Emperor had shown him what one, strong leader could accomplish. And of course, that was not to say that the Sith Emperor would be that leader forever – or for long.

Revan lowered his eyes then to Malak once more and found that he had stopped sniveling and silently awaited his fate. With a single stroke he could have lopped his head off and in the same action decapitated the Emperor, of that there was no doubt. Noticing that Revan was looking at him, the jawless one lifted his eyes and their gaze met.

This was not Alek; it was Malak. There was still hatred and rage, tinged with fear and disdain. He had created an abomination of Alek just as he had of the general. But deep within those eyes he knew that Alek existed, somewhere. He would not abandon him as he had the general at Malachor V. He would remain strong; vigilant. Perhaps he would find a way to return Alek to him.

“Darth Revan,” the Emperor whispered soothingly. “Does it not sound like the title of a conqueror? No, of a liberator?"

It was indeed a powerful name – a name that promised revenge for all those that had been lost. For if the Jedi Council had agreed with him, then he would not have had to make the sacrifices that he did. If the Jedi Council had been more integrally associated with the Republic, then he would not have needed to lose the friends that he did. The Republic was a bureaucratic beast and the Jedi the detached keepers that allowed it to suffer.

Darth Revan lifted his head back to the Emperor. He knew that in time Malak would attempt to betray him, but perhaps if he evaded him long enough… kept him on a long enough leash that Alek would be saved yet. It was a risk worth taking he told himself; it was a risk that he had to brave.

“Yes, my master,” Revan replied hollowly. “It truly does.”

Chapter 4: Unwanted.

“Believing that reports of Sith influences largely overestimated, Czerka Corporation has announced its decision to move its headquarters to the desolated planet of Korriban. Citing the location as having an advantageous position in the arms trade as well as materials vital to its own endeavors, spokeswoman Jana Lorso further clarified the mega-corporation’s policies and assuaged rising concerns.”

The holo-feed shifted from the appearance of the reporter speaking on the current event to a woman with black hair and piercing blue eyes. Amidst the other Czerka employees it was simple enough to see that she was the focus around which they orbited. The holo-feed did not necessarily distinguish whether or not her jacket was grey or dark blue, but what was evident was that it seemed rather expensive. When she spoke, an almost forced charisma was attributed to her every word, and the smile that she gave seemed more practical than affectionate.

“We at Czerka are not at all unaware of the implications drawn from our decision to move to Korriban. While we are conscious that the Republic’s position in the galaxy is not necessarily strong in the region, we seek only to supply our wares to those that can best find usage with them. As of current the Republic’s military is well armed and stocked; maintaining a competitive market of purveyors that will surely see it remains that way. In hopes of securing our own financial stability, our move and new motto is focused more so upon the sale of private arms to private citizens than any government – be it Republic or otherwise.”

“Well if that ain’t the load of poodoo that broke the Tusken’s back,” one of the bar’s patrons mused as he listened to Jana’s explanation for the events at hand. The collective grunt from his comrades more or less agreed with him – or informed him that they cared far less than he did to argue. In either event he waved to the bartender, a burly besalisk, and indicated the desire for another drink. Without needing to set down the glass that he was polishing the four-armed bartender grabbed a bottle, filled a cup with its murky contents, and then slid it down toward the patron. “Thanks, Rex.”

“Yeah,” the bartender grunted in response.

Though the glass passed before her for but a moment, one of the few females in the cantina lifted her gaze from the bar top to watch it continue on its course. She could not tell what the contents were; in truth, she knew it didn’t matter. No matter the name, no matter the make, it was intended for one thing only: to make someone forget about something through a dulling of the senses. As though to salute the drink as it made its voyage to an inevitable resting place in the mouthy patron’s stomach, she lifted her tumbler and downed the remnants of the Corellian ale before her. The taste was stinging; spiced and raw and burned all the way down. It was a sensation that she could not deem pleasant and yet as she set the glass down she was not at all disappointed when it was filled once more.

Days and nights had started to blend together for the lone female, let alone seconds and minutes. Time mattered for little when one had nowhere to go; when they had nowhere to be. Though her senses may have been dulled by the drinks and her vision mildly blurred by the haze of smoke that permeated through the dingy cantina like a miasma trapped between its scarred walls, she was still acutely aware of the fact that she there was absolutely no place in the galaxy that needed her. That there was absolutely nowhere in the galaxy that wanted her.

Silently, she thanked the bartender with a nod as she heard her tumbler topped off once more. She had thought to be adventurous about her drinking in the beginning; why not try as many drinks as quickly as she could? There were so many things that she was free to do now that she was no longer needed, and although many of them did not appeal to her she could not help but wonder what it felt like to be intoxicated. The dulled senses; the tingly feeling in her face; even the inability to walk properly had all initially been very surprising events in a very boring life, but they did not answer the real problem that was before her – though they dulled her mind, they did not deafen it to the horror that it relived with each waking moment.

How was it that things had come to be the way that they were, she wondered? For all of her life she had been told to listen to the Force and it would in turn guide her where she needed to be. So she listened to the Force and became a Jedi Knight – she listened to the Force and saw that there was suffering and mayhem in the galaxy around her. She listened to the Force and was introduced to the charismatic young Jedi known as “Revan”, who in his passionate speeches had managed to galvanize a disjointed people into a force to be reckoned with. She listened when he called for her assistance and answered it – hell; she’d listened when she was told to activate that damnable generator!

Oh, the generator, what a horrible thing it was. In the beginning she had not completely understood what it did; not because she was ignorant, but because her mind was filled with the sound of the chaos and desolation left in its wake. So many lives lost so quickly; each tightly wound about her mind and soul. They had been her friends and companions: brothers and sisters in a righteous cause to free the Outer Rim from the tyranny that the Mandalorians. To hear Revan talk of it, in one swift move she would be able to bring it all to an end.

And true to his word, she had. She had brought everything to an end.

She did not know how – she did not know why, but when the generator unleashed its echo of discord into the world about her; she snapped. In a manner no less harrowing than being forced to chew her arm off to escape from an entanglement, her mind had forced her to severe her connection to that single guide that had for so long been her mentor and shepherd against uncertainty.

It was a pain that still lived within her memory, nearly as fresh as it had been the day that she first experienced its excruciating grasp. Violent; oppressive. Even at that moment, with her mind all but pickled from her drinks, she could still hear their screams. But it was not simply the sound of pain that chased her; no, it was the sound of innocence shattered in the face of a vileness the likes of which no word could qualify nor number quantify. They had trusted her; she had loved them and with one action it was all gone.

The Force was gone. And she was alone.

When the horrors of war had come and gone, she found that not a single survivor was there to accompany her back to the Council. Revan and Malak, forever inseparable, had ventured out into Deep Space. The Jedi that were not torn asunder in the Mass Shadow Generator’s activation were driven mad by what they had seen. Only she had the courage – no, courage was what she had called it to make herself feel like less of a monster. Only she had the ability to claw her way back to the Council; to draw herself up from the deafening cry of her fallen comrades and present herself for punishment… and more importantly, salvation.

But they offered her nothing. “Exile,” they had called her. “Exile” so had she become. But what did an Exile do, what did it really mean? In defiance she had slammed her lightsaber into the stone, more an act of childish dissidence than any political metaphor. They were so unforgiving; so unrelenting. How could they not see that she had done what she believed was necessary? How could they not reach out to her, in her current state of despair, and tell her how to fix… whatever it was that had happened to her? She felt empty – worse, she felt nothing. Why did her mentors and teachers not rise to the occasion and heal her?

Why had they abandoned her so?

Anger was the first emotion that she felt when she realized that she was no longer a Jedi. For though no person could truly strip someone of being a “Jedi”, even if they had a title to do so, she was infuriated by the very notion that they felt they could. Her entire life had been placed into the pursuit; she had done everything that she could to become the best Jedi possible. This did not mean she was the strongest, the smartest, the most skilled, or the most cunning. It meant that her every day was dedicated to improving herself so that she in turn could be a tool for the Force to utilize when the time came.

Well, the time had come and she was its scythe: she cleared away the harmful growths so that the innocent people of the galaxy would not be lost in their shadow. But though she allowed herself to be used, so too was she cast aside – abandoned, marooned. Lost.

The sound of one of the patrons sitting beside her drove her out of her introspection and made her vaguely aware of the real world. In times past she would have not only known who the person was, but also felt their intentions and desires simply by extending her will through the Force toward them. Now, she was as blind to the Force as she was to compassion, and though she lacked the former’s graces intuition told her what the person was after. There were two things were ever after in the cantina: ale and company.

She just wanted the former.

“I seen you sitting there day in and day out,” the fellow began to say with a clever chuckle. “Nursing those drinks; knockin’ ‘em back like it’s nothin’ at all. Tell me, darling, don’t you think that some things are better shared with another person? Drink, sorrow, conversation – you name it?”

Oh, she could name it. She would have happily meted out just an inch of her dejection if she could, but no more than she could reach in and give the man her liver could she casually pass him off her melancholy. “Leave me alone,” she said under her breath before downing more of her drink. “Whatever it is that you are selling, I am not interested.”

She had never been a prideful woman; a vain woman, but as time went on outside of the Order she was beginning to assume that there was something about her that make her attractive to all the wrong types. Perhaps it was her aforesaid sorrow, or some physical trait that Jedi were taught not to think of, but whatever the case was she had long since grown irritated with having to put up with its attracting of drunken rakes.

As always, the first time was never enough. “Don’t be like that,” the man went on to say as he rested a hand on her shoulder. “What's the matter, Daddy's Little Girl made a bad investment? Get kicked out of the family's inheritance for marrying a rat that took your money and vanished? I'm not judging you, beautiful. I’m just here to be your friend.”

It was not the touch that truly bothered her – she had enough patience to weather his drunken attempts until Rex eventually hoisted the man out of the bar. What she could not take was his usage of the word “friend”; his belief that he was anything like those brave and beautiful men and women she had lost at Malachor V. She lifted her left hand and placed it to his hand, an action that may have been seen as affectionate, until pressure was applied to his fingers and she sharply twisted his arm over her head and rose to stand. With enough force to bend him against the bar, she slammed the tumbler against the side of his head and then kicked him away. In all, the actions had taken no more than two seconds to complete, and a silence overcame those around that included everyone save for the cheap holographic recording of Bith playing their music.

“You are not my friend,” she said in a hushed and heated voice. “You are nothing.”

She looked toward Rex then, who had not yet stopped polishing his glass, and offered him an apologetic nod of her head. “I am sorry for the damage done,” she stated plainly. He gave her a noncommittal nod and grunt, perhaps as kind a gesture as he could in the given situation, and accepted the credits that she transferred to him presently.

“Guy had it coming to him anyway,” he mused.

“Regardless, it should not have come from me.”

Without another word she pulled her hood over her head and made her way away from the groggy fellow and those that gathered around to chastise him for being so soundly thrashed by a woman. By the time that he had recovered himself enough to deny that he was hurt at all, she was gone.

Every planet looked the same – every street was as filled with displaced people as every other. Walking as briskly as she could, she lowered her head and fit her hands into the pockets of her cloak. Was it right that she had hurt the man? No, of course not, but she also did not feel any different because of it. In times past she would have feared the ever-present Dark Side might descend upon her and turn her into a monster. But now she felt nothing – not Darkness, not evil. If she was a monster then she was naught but its skeletal remains. An empty, vacant hole.

She did not know just what she was anymore. She wasn’t a Jedi. Wasn’t really a soldier of the Republic by any measure of the word. She most certainly was not a general. Hell, she wasn’t even really a person if that meant being able to genuinely feel. Everything that she had spent her life attempting to become had suddenly become unattainable. The only thing that she knew that she was was not what that man in the bar wanted her to be. No matter how bad things became, she told herself, she would never become that desperate for feeling. It would be better to space herself than sink to that level.

After she had been angry with the Jedi, she became angry with herself. She was angry that she had allowed herself to be used and that she in turn had used other people. She was angry that she had to learn to live without the Force, that things she could normally do now had become infinitely harder. Even something as simple as walking down a street had taken some time to get used to when she had to carry around that void that was inside of her. Because even if she knew that she would never feel the Force again, that did not mean she did not miss it with each passing day. What she would give just to feel it once more – just to know that it still cared for her!

Oh yes, that had been the negotiating. If she repented enough would it return to her? If she beat herself up over it, would it see how much she cared? Nothing worked, nothing filled the void except for the dullness that the booze brought her, and even now that had revealed itself to be an avenue she could not walk down for long. Much like the one she currently traveled, it seemed.

The street’s denizens became of less repute the more that she walked, yet never did she feel in any real danger. Of course she had been forced to learn that the lack of precognition did not mean that there was a lack of threat. Almost being hit by speeders twice had apprised her on that situation and mindfulness of her environment was one of the first skills she mastered once more. After completing her walk she came to the hole-in-the-wall hotel that she had decided on for her duration of a planet-side visit. She could have afforded better, but that would have involved meeting respectable people with friendly smiles. She didn’t deserve to be around respectable people and she didn’t have any smiles to give.

Within her room she attempted to occupy time by watching holo-feeds, but nothing of interest presented itself. Gladiatorial matches from across the galaxy: softcore skin-feeds that did more to make her stomach turn than feed her anything akin to emotional relief: political turmoil once more afflicting the far edges of the galaxy. At last she settled upon a holofilm depicting the one of the Alderaanian expeditions. It was mind-numbingly boring – better than Corellian ale and without the aftertaste.

“The galaxy is a bigger place than you can imagine! Find out today by signing up with the Republic military forces and discover life on planets you’ve never even heard of!”

The commercial was a jarring thing to wake up to and while the faint whispers of discord still played in her mind, she was groggy enough not to experience some horrible overreaction to the image of republic soldiers heroically charging the Mandalorians. She knew the battle; hell, if she really looked she could have probably name all the soldiers that fought in the engagement. But to do so would invite memories and memories brought with them pain. Pain was more than dullness, but it wasn't something she was certain she desired.

Not wanting to tempt that fate, she switched off the feed and rose with a stretch. As terrifying a thought as it was, she knew that it was time to go to sleep.

Freshly showered and dressed for bed, the Exile laid her head against a lumpy piece of cloth that could be considered a pillow and closed her eyes. As always, the moment that the darkness descended upon her she was reminded of all of the horrors of war she had seen. Like an overeager dog waiting for its master to open the door, the visionettes flooded back into her mind and seized her entirely. It would be within this horrifying chamber of reality that the Exile rested.

Although she did not know how or when she would be able to do it, she knew that she had to find reprieve from her nightmarish existence in some way. That conviction was all that kept her going; faith was all that sustained her through those dark nights.

The Force would redeem her, she thought before surrendering completely to her nightmarish dreams.

It simply had to.

Chapter 5: Unleashed.

The chaos was glorious.

Had it not been for the codes supplied by Saul Karath the newly emerged Sith fleet may well have been stopped from taking Foerost, but fortune and the Force were two things that Darth Revan had come to understand all too well. With the seizure of the Galactic Republic’s navy, the war that loomed before them would be a short one and the Sith Emperor’s goals would be ever closer to fruition. He truly had been blinded by his devotion to the Republic; incapable of seeing just how weak and pathetic they all were. Even at that moment as their would-be heroes boarded ships and attempted to ward off the omnipresent Sith fleet they could do naught but surrender their lives to the inevitable tide of fire that rained down upon them. Each life lost only further confirmed his newfound understanding: the Republic was too weak to stand on its own. It had to be brought down.

The Sith Emperor had done well to alleviate him of the guilt that came with “betraying” the people that had once called him a hero. The culling that was occurring at that moment did not at all harm what he had done, rather it reinforced the need for the galaxy to see just how defenseless they were. Though they would call him a conqueror for the day, his true title of liberator would be understood once the fat was trimmed and the weak were forgotten within the far reaches of time. This glorious rebirth, heralded by an elucidation that could only be understood from the shadows, was one that none would be able to countermand or denounce. His would be the hand of freedom – of enlightenment.

The course of conquest had already been outlined for him by the Sith Emperor and although Malak did not seem to grasp every nuance, Revan understood it all too readily. The Republic as a whole was a cantankerous beast incapable of supporting its own girth, but there were portions of it that could be properly utilized in times to come. For that to occur he would have to leave many things standing – targets that while easily destroyed, would nevertheless have led to the collapse of his master’s plan. The brilliant conflagration of a republic starfighter being rent by turbolaser fire brought an ever rare smile to his face, hidden forever behind his mask. Foerost was theirs; the Republic simply did not realize it yet.

The hologram projector to his right suddenly activated. Though he did not look in its direction instantly, Revan was well aware of who would appear should he have. Dressed smartly as ever and with a look that could only be termed as predatory, Admiral Saul Karath cut the perfect image of a man that understood the intricacies of war and life – to be ruthless was to be victorious.

“My lord,” the hologram began. “We’ve all but secured Foerost for the Sith Empire. As expected, they were hardly prepared for the temerity of our assault. Causalities were kept low, as per your request.”

Revan looked away from the ensuing battle toward the hologram. “Excellent,” he stated curtly. “Ensure that capitulation is an option available to all that continue to fight. We require still more soldiers for our cause and while the loss of manpower for the Republic is advantageous, it is still more lucrative to convert the enemy to our will.”

“Of course, my lord,” Admiral Karath replied. “Lord Malak’s fleet has ensnared the majority of the Republic’s fleet and awaits your command. Our boarding teams have met with unprecedented success.”

“Fat and lazy,” Revan noted. “Just as he said they would be. Prepare a landing party, Admiral. I would like to see our newly acquired shipyard, personally.”

The admiral presented a sharp salute. “By your command, my lord.” The transmission ended soon thereafter.

______________________

There was no way that they could have been prepared for the storm of fire that had come their way. Positioned against a wall, Jahn “the Hammer” Hen-Ri overlooked the Republic defense force with rising concern. As a Jedi of some repute he had been expected to protect those beneath him, but not even the mountain of a man could stop the hellfire that was coming their way. Their defenses should have been able to stop the sea of ships that were overhead, yet somehow they had bypassed them. Considering that the Leviathan had vanished from their fleet, something told him that they were betrayed. The flaws of humanity, it seemed, would be the end of them yet.

“What should we do, sir?” Sergeant Annette O’Klee asked. Though the majority of their squad had managed to evade detection from the approaching enemy forces, they had engaged enough of them to know that there was more to this invasion than just an expeditionary assault. They meant business and from the radio silence that they were meeting, it was a business that they knew far better than she liked. “Epsilon and Lambda companies have both gone silent.”

“It is relatively difficult to communicate from beyond the grave,” Master Hen-Ri responded more to himself than to the woman to his left. In his mind he replayed all the events that had brought them to that point. There had been no indication that the attack was coming – not even the Force had warned him! He lifted a hand to his chin and stroked his beard, a bushy collection of hair that curled inward upon itself in a surprisingly orderly fashion. His dark hands, the color of tree bark, felt suddenly inadequate. Everything felt inadequate. “Our only hope is to escape and notify the Council of what has occurred.”

Annette sighed. “You make that sound a lot easier than it’s going to be.”

“Isn’t that always the case?”

It felt unnatural being so helpless; ever since he was a young man, Jahn had been able to rely upon his strength to see himself through anything. While he knew that the Force was infinitely stronger than he was, he could not help but be appreciative of both his physical prowess and acumen in combat. Yet neither of those were going to come to his aid as he motioned for the sergeant to move after him. No, the only thing that he could rely on was the Force. But even then, there seemed to be something… different about it, as though the presence of some unseen entity was clouding its naturally pristine communication. The sooner that they escaped to Coruscant, the better!

The nearest hangar was several kilometers away, meaning that the seven troopers and their Jedi leader would be forced to cover ground at both a swift pace and yet a stealthy one. Not wishing to endanger the sergeant, the Hammer instead augmented their speed through the Force while navigating the streets with as much caution as possible. When a patrol group approached, garbed in their shining silver and black uniforms, he was certain to persuade them not to look in their direction and wait for them to pass. It was not the most alacritous way to handle things, but it was the safest. Together, he and Annette moved with a cohesion that did their military training proud.

As the capital building came into sight Jahn lifted a hand and halted in his tracks. Something was calling to him – something dark and foreboding. Try as he might to see through the shadows and understand just what it was, the very presence of it defied everything that he had learned about the Force. There was an entity nearby that was not only strong in the Force, but corrosive to it. It did not take him long to realize what it must have been and that realization brought with it coldness in his heart that he did not wish to explore further. These were more than soldiers. There was a Sith Lord present.

“I know what we are fighting,” the Jedi master said warily. “O’Klee, to the hangar. If I do not arrive within an hour, launch and do not look back. You must inform the Senate and council of what has happened.”

“Sir?” The sergeant responded with uncertainty. “If you’re thinking about doing anything heroic…”

“Heroism is for the brave,” Master Hen-Ri interjected with a vague chuckle. “No, I am doing my duty. Just as you should yours. The Republic will need to know what we are fighting and unless you carry that message, I fear they may learn too late.”

Sergeant O’Klee opened her mouth to refute the point, but found that the words did not manifest as she would have liked. While she had always found the Jedi to be a stogy bunch, they were nevertheless steadfast in their duties and had brought peace to the Republic numerous times. Master Hen-Ri had been something of a surprising find, namely due to his humor, which she often joked made him “more human than Jedi”. At that moment she saw the humanity in him more than ever. She saluted him sharply. “Even if they take out my legs, sir, I’ll crawl my way to that ship.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” the Hammer responded. “It was an honor serving with you, Annette.”

“Don’t make it sound like you won’t be making it back to the ship,” she contested.

“Maybe I just wanted to remind you of that fact,” Master Hen-Ri replied. He gave her his best smile and then lifted the hood of his cloak. “When I make my diversion, run for it.”

“I’ll see you at the landing pad,” she insisted.

Jahn “the Hammer” Hen-Ri could do nothing more than continue to smile before nodding. “Take care of yourself, Annette.”

With the wind at his back and the Force as his guide, the Jedi master ran with a speed that defied the eye. He counted in his head the seconds that it took for him to arrive at his target, but once he collided with it without hesitation. The sound of his lightsaber activating was all that gave the patrol warning of his presence before he dove into their midst and made short work of them. Their shouts were all the need for diversion that he required. Through the Force he sent a single message back to Annette: RUN!

Hoping that the girl moved as quickly as he knew that she could, Jahn continued still further along the path before him. Wherever he met a Sith patrol group he dispatched them with a speed and grace that bespoke his connection to the Force. The darkness that loomed about was indication enough that he should be wary of exhausting himself in such a profligate manner, but the sooner that he drew the Sith out the more likely they were to miss Annette’s dash. It was an exhilarating feeling using himself as bait – no different than when he had run from kath hounds on Dantooine as a test of his agility. Only this time he knew that there was going to be more than a stern reprimanding from his master when he reached the end of the line.

This time, he was more than likely going to meet with the Force.

A sudden, intense pang struck against the inside of his mind as he turned the corner that led to the capital building. Try as he might to see through it, the feeling bore into his senses and almost caused him to scream in agony. He clenched his jaw and closed his eyes, fighting against the sensation until finally it was relegated to nothing more than a pulsating headache. When his eyes opened, he saw a cloaked man, garbed in black, making his way up the steps before him. About him were more of the silver clad soldiers and to his immediate rear, a hulking man whose lower jaw looked metallic. These were certainly the Sith Lords. Two of them? He would have been pressing it with one alone. By the Force, he thought to himself, let Annette leave without waiting for me.

The lead Sith, turned about then and looked in his general direction. Though he could not identify the man’s face due to his mask it was the mask alone that bespoke all that needed to be understood. How was it possible – had Revan actually betrayed the Republic? Surely he was seeing things incorrectly! The very thought of it defied everything that they had learned within the last years of the Mandalorian War. And just as his awareness threatened to overtake him in regard to the gravity of the situation, when he saw Saul Karath numbered amongst the detail the Hammer realized they truly had never stood a chance.

They were indeed betrayed and the Republic would suffer for it! This could not go unavenged, he had to do… something.

“Revan!” Master Hen-Ri shouted from his position of hiding, but the Dark Lord did not look back in his direction. His voice carried with it the power of an unleashed storm, but that storm did not come close to the maelstrom surrounding the masked one. Despite this, the hulking man with the jaw of metal did turn about to face him. Was it possible that was Malak? He started toward the slowing Sith, but as he drew closer the soldiers about him turned and trained their weapons upon him.

“Ah, the Jedi,” Malak stated with noticeable amusement. “You would have done better to hide within the shadows.”

“I’m afraid that we Jedi do not condone cowardice,” Hen-Ri answered in return. “Alek – is that you? What has happened to you, to Revan? You are the saviors of the Republic!” As he spoke he noticed that Revan and Saul continued up the steps and eventually entered the building. If he was going to kill Revan, then he would have to make his way through Malak first.

“Alek is dead,” Malak answered. “But you would not know that would you – Hammer of the Jedi, was that not what they called you? Tell me, where were you when good and honest men died fighting the Mandalorians? We had expected the famed Jahn Hen-Ri to be at our side. Instead, you hid then. Why was that cowardice permissible?”

Master Hen-Ri clenched his jaw. “There was something darker at work there – clearly, whatever it was, you found it. I’ll not apologize for doing what was right.”

“I never asked for an apology,” Malak said. “Simply your life.”

Before Malak could move for his weapon, Jahn Hen-Ri threw his lightsaber in a curving arch that slashed through the raised rifles of the Sith soldiers. As it returned to his palm he charged directly toward Malak. His thoughts were varied, yet centered upon a single target. The many lives lost; the betrayal to the Republic and the Jedi; the fact that at that moment Annette risked her life carrying a message; the very idea that the saviors of the Republic could become its oppressors. Roaring as he drew closer to Malak, Jahn Hen-Ri lifted his arm above his head and prepared to engage the newly recognized Sith – to avenge his comrades and prevent future bloodshed.

The sound of the Jedi’s head rolling across the ground directly followed that mighty cry of his. Bouncing without ceremony, it rolled until eventually one of the Sith stopped it with his foot. Malak lowered his lightsaber and turned about as Master Hen-Ri’s body fell to the ground with a resounding thud.

“Weaponless soldiers serve no purpose,” Malak demurred as he waved his hand. Those surrounding him clutched their throats and soon too fell as the defeated Jedi master had. Without concern for the scene created, Malak followed after Revan into the building. They would really need to invest in better soldiers.

• “The liberation of the Republic from the hands of corrupted politicians and ineffectual heresiarchs has begun. From this day forth, let it be known that Darth Revan and Darth Malak stand as champions for the people; we will bring to them a new day, one in which strength and ability are valued over political finesse and connections. We, the Sith, hereby declare ourselves as the emancipators of the Republic’s disenfranchised and downtrodden.

• Resistance to our cause will be met with annihilation: capitulation will bring about untold rewards. To the Jedi Council and the Senate, we say only this: your time has come. There will be neither mercy nor charity shown to any that stand in our way.”

From within the cockpit of the shuttle, Peqos, Sergeant Annette O’Klee could hardly believe what she was seeing upon the holo-projector. The Sith had returned to the Republic? Furthermore, if they were able to speak then that truly meant that Master Hen-Ri was no more. While she had reconciled herself to the fact when she launched, it was not until that moment that the gravity of it sank into her mind. To think that Revan, a man who had been called a hero, would betray them in such a ruthless manner…

Who could truly stand against them? Who would be able to stop the Sith when its leader was their only champion?

Chapter 6: Unchallenged.

He was not exactly sure as to why he attended these meetings. Sitting at the head of the table, Darth Revan paid attention to not a word that came from the mouth of the man that was speaking. To be fair, he had not listened to the words of any of them and instead regarded them as a torrential downpour that he could control no more than he could a rainfall. True, he could slip his will about the boisterous one’s scrawny neck and choke him until he reddened, but to even exert that much effort seemed to him an act born from childish petulance than necessity. No, he would let them go on, posturing and plotting.

Of course, it made not a difference as to whatever they decided, nor did he ever truly give them the indication that it would. These were the brightest minds within the galaxy working together to find a way best to cut the head off of a dying animal. After engaging the Republic in what he supposed could be considered “battles”, Revan found himself in the position that his vanquished foes, the Mandalorians, surely must have seen themselves in: disappointed, irritated, but insatiably driven. The Republic was no foe; no more than any overgrown toddler with a spanner was. Its army was nothing more than local militia and frightened recruits. To think that he had sacrificed so much to save them once; that he had given so much to see them free.

Well, he was going to be giving them a bit more soon. The Dark Lord’s eyes lifted from the space before him and moved to the speaking commander. Though silent, the gesture caused an uneasiness to be born from those around him as they waited to see what would occur. Had he said something to offend the Dark Lord? While Revan was certainly a powerful man, they had come to understand that he was not quite as reckless as his apprentice, who would kill a person for bringing him good, but not “better” news. The seconds ticked away as Revan’s eyes drank up the man’s fear, from the increase in perspiration upon his brow, to the manner in which his lips quivered. In his eyes though was the true treasure; for there he saw the unchecked despair. This man was nothing more than a coward.

But then again, they all were.

With the measured motion of a clock’s hand moving from one position to another, Revan’s focus lowered back to an unspecified middle ground and the commander slowly roused himself from his stupor. Those around him let off sighs of relief, though some seemed noticeably disappointed. They had wanted to see the Sith Lord shoot lightning from his fingers, no doubt. If their eyes did not avert they very well might in a manner most uncomfortable. As though that feeling could be heard, they all returned their focus to the speaking man.

In the lull of activity with the Republic, Revan had allowed his mind to wander. With each incremental increase in his strength, he found this to become more the norm. Only the weak needed to worry about the present; the strong could simply correct a problem when it presented itself. One did not plan on exterminating a roach, after all, simply if it appeared it was stepped on and the issue was resolved. The thought of Vandar Tokare or one of the other Jedi “masters” with their heads attached to scrambling insects was not at all an unappealing one. Revan might have chuckled, but mirth was not something he had shown in quite some time. Truth be told, he wondered if perhaps he had forgotten how to.

He thought back to the Mandalorian War, where he was proven to be a man of ability. Though he had known fear, as Malak pointed out during their battle before the Emperor, he had also known how to control people – how to properly utilize them. By sacrificing a few, he could galvanize the many. By galvanizing the many, he could crush the enemy. This macro management was a superficial detail and the true fulcrum of his ability rested upon finding the right people to operate his war machine. Alek was a hammer, graceless but powerful. He was the control unit, ever moving and operating, and then there was… her. The poor, forlorn, broken general. What had her name been again? For nights on end he thought of it back then, feeling nothing but shame and remorse in doing what he had done, but that was a lifetime ago. She was a lifetime ago.

In a time of war, she was an invaluable tool. Though few would realize it, Revan had felt upon her something unlike anything he had ever before. She drew the eye – in the manner a rising sun did so, with command upon the senses rather than the heart. Had she come to him and he been in the audience, he would have joined her – but the Force had seen it the other way around and for good reason. For though this idealistic event may have carried upon her a sharp mind and cunning wit, what she lacked was the ability to make the hard decisions. Oh, she could carry them out – she had done so countless times, but with each one that caused her to question herself he saw the disappointment in her eyes. She had judged him, Revan, the Savior of the Republic.

There was that quality to her that he could not quite place his finger upon. Being around her seemed right; the men loved her with an affection that children showed their venerated mother. At times he even found himself captivated by her influence – by her presence. But unlike the others he was aware of her peculiarity and handled it professionally. While the others may have thrown themselves headlong into her unknown charisma, he resisted it as best he could. Had she been willfully exerting the Force on him he would have had her court martialed, but he knew she did not and it was too risky to expend her without cause. What could he say the problem was? She was too likable? Now, perhaps. Then, he cared far too much for what his men thought of him.

But Revan was not the type of man to sit by while a problem intensified itself. While he could resist her influence in the beginning, he felt himself gradually beginning to agree with her more and more. Perhaps they should not throw soldiers away to draw the Mandalorians out; what if they built better defenses to do more than antagonize the Mandalorians but instead actually protected the soldiers? He tried his best not to listen to her, but hers was an argument that became only more attractive as she gave it. He had been in love with Alek at the time, or so he believed, and while he knew that Alek had at times chased after women (for they possessed something he could not offer), it was not lust that he felt for her. Not even love. No, just a slavish sensation of agreement not for fear of being wrong, but for fear of disagreeing with her. A situation like that had no good outcome, not for the control unit to possess. He had to find a way to extricate himself from her web and he had to do it quickly.

Malachor V presented him with that option. Informing an Iridonian engineer to prepare for him a weapon capable of using the planet’s dense gravity to his advantage, he drew the Mandalorians into a final confrontation that was still being spoken of. Later generations would use his defeat of Mandalore the Ultimate as a sign of his true strength, but the man had not been a force-sensitive and while “dangerous”, was not a difficult target to bring down. No, the true genius of his plan was in how he had used his tools and how they would rectify his problem for him. He would be free of her and her pleading eyes. It was, after all, the only logical thing to do.

There had grown a faction in his army that he did not like. Though they were not insubordinate or argumentative, they drew upon the affections of the General with such devotion that it made them into perhaps his best fighters. They would gladly die to for her and she used them as he told her, despite how it may have saddened her. But only a fool could overlook the power she held then; how she could continue to contaminate the wells of his men until it was her name they cried and not his. What if after the war she turned them against her? Oh, perhaps what he was doing was not the nicest thing to do, but then again, he was not a particularly nice person. Another had seen to that, quite some time ago.

So they fought. Republic and Mandalorians locked in a vicious battle the likes of which none could have ever imagined. With Mandalore the Ultimate defeated, Revan gave his command to the General, who in turn relayed it to her engineers. She had no idea what she was doing; in truth, Revan was not entirely certain of it either. But if all proved well, if all went as it should, well… there would no longer be anything for him to worry about. And he had been right. Partially, anyway.

There was released through the Force a scream the likes of which he had never before experienced. Shrill, piercing, and overwhelming, it drove through space with a power that could not be completely comprehended in one sitting. Even at that moment, he still had not quite figured it out. Those torn asunder by Malachor V’s gravity well were forever lost within their agony; their suffering amplified as legions of men perished into the event horizon. Even he, who had been prepared for something, had felt himself unnerved by the sudden extinction of so many lives in so gruesome away. He had been winded, shaken, but managed to remain upright. The initial reports carried with them promising signs: the Mandalorians crushed, the Republic victorious, the contingent of soldiers on Malachor V were devastated. All that remained were those fervently loyal to him.

He recalled then looking out into space and for the first time realizing that the darkness before him was not entirely born from the lack of existence. There was something inside that darkness that seemed familiar and a part of himself that he did not want to identify with, stirred at the realization. He had done what was necessary and there were none that would – no, could challenge that now.

And that was when he heard additional chatter from the communication link. Not all of the Republic’s forces on Malachor V had perished. There were many in bad shape, but some were rousing. He felt a cold chill sweep over his heart then and grip him at his soul. It was impossible! He listened with more intention now and fought to keep from falling to his knees when a triumphant shout emerged from across the com-link. The General was alive! Injured, but alive!

To think that he had planned so intently on defeating her and she remained – to think that he had convinced himself she needed to die and she prevailed. The calls of joy at her survival were almost as great as those regarding their victory over the Mandalorians. Infuriated, Revan thought of nothing other than sabotaging her life support systems and ending her in a manner much more personal than the grandiose finale he had offered her. What shame would there have been in perishing with her men? How dare she defy him in this manner? His grand stroke was marred by her existence!

Yet he could not bring himself to end her. He did not know if it was because of what he had felt for her, or that the Force had seen in her a champion worth saving, but in both cases he felt suddenly unsure of himself. After rejoining with Alek, he went to see the General. If nothing else, she had earned his gratitude for her bravery and heroics. But what he saw was not the General – what he saw, was not… natural.

She looked the same, relatively speaking. Physically, she was still an attractive woman though bruised and scraped from fighting. The life support system and its kolto did well to revitalize and repair what could have been mortal injuries in record time. No, it had not been her body that he found disconcerting. It had been her soul.

For a moment, Revan feared stepping closer to her. Though she had all of her body parts it felt that she was missing something and furthermore, that that something was potentially contagious. He no longer felt drawn to her as he had before; no longer knew why it was that he had believed in her in the first place. The Savior of the Republic approached her then and looked to Alek, who carried a look no different than his own. They had never before encountered something like her. She was whole and yet broken; she was there and yet not.

And that was when it happened.

Her eyes snapped open, an awareness the likes of which caused her blue eyes to reflect the light-blue fluid about them with a sharp glint. Yet there was no acuity in to her focus, no longer that warm sensation of friendliness that had been with her. Revan froze in step as he looked upon her and felt completely unprepared for what it was he saw. She caught his eyes then, a hold stronger than that of Mandalore the Ultimate; an emptiness far deeper than the space he had been looking at previously. She was confused; frightened; alone. It was as though she wished to ask not why she had not died, but why had she died and was still in her body. Revan did not know the answer.

He turned and fled.

Days later the General had recovered enough to leave her tank. Alek and Revan were preparing to continue their search for the True Sith and since Revan knew that the General had been an invaluable tool, he presented her with the same opportunity he had the others – follow him and rid an even greater threat to the Republic from the galaxy.

But the woman that he saw sitting on the edge of her bed was not the same woman he knew. She was small and lost, a child that had been incapable of finding her father in a terrible storm. Revan watched her quietly for several moments before beginning to speak, but just as his mouth opened – it was her voice that met him.

“I will be returning to the Council,” she said with a finality that left no room for question. Previously there had been an assertiveness to her voice that he found endearing, but now it was as hollow as her body. “Will you be coming with me?”

The audacity in the statement was two-fold: first that she would tell him what she would do and secondly that she felt that he should do as she did! This broken, empty shell of a woman was speaking to him as an equal, when it had been by his hand that she was elevated at all. But his feelings did not manifest as anger or even irritation. There was a thin meeting place between disappointment and sorrow that occupied his mind at that moment, and without bothering to speak a word he turned about and left her in her room.

And that was the last he had seen her; that was the last time that he had felt her presence wash over his mind. No longer did he need to fear that quality of hers that had made her so dangerous; no longer did he need to believe that she would turn his men against him. The only thing that she was was nothing. He could have killed her, but in perhaps his darkest moment he did not. No, he would let her live as she was – let her experience what it meant to be just like the planet she destroyed. The Council might kill her, of course, but then that would involve them rising above their pettiness.

No, she was a woman damned and he was the cause of it.

That thought had been haunting him for quite some time, or so he had believed. Perhaps it was that he did not feel worse about it that truly bothered him. Master Kae, so long ago, had said that his greatest strength was in his ability to do what was necessary and that his greatest weakness was in attempting to feel sorrow after the fact. Well, he no longer felt sorrow and he was willing to do what was necessary. The thought of Arren Kae was enough to bring a chill to him once more. She was a topic that he would have to tackle at another time.

“My patience has reached its end,” Revan finally stated to the immediate silence of the room. “If there is nothing more to be discussed, then we move on with our next stage in the liberation.”

The men in the room then cleared their throats and began to look to one another, perhaps for which one it was that had the collective room’s courage at the given time. It was Admiral Saul Karath who rose from his chair, an eagle amongst a flock of gulls, and addressed Revan directly. “There is one more matter that needs be addressed, my lord.”

Revan reclined in his seat slightly and tilted his head. “And just what is that?”

Admiral Karath paused for but a second. It was a second longer than Revan would have liked, but it also revealed to him the depth of the situation at hand. Fighting the urge to pull at his collar, Saul spoke plainly. “There is a Jedi padawan that has become something of an issue for our forces.”

“My forces,” Revan corrected, “have no issue. If a padawan is giving you pause, then that falls squarely upon you, Admiral,” he continued. Yet he knew that Saul was not a man that minced words. He leaned himself against his chair and tapped his fingers in place. “But in any event. What is this troublesome padawan’s name?”

“Shan, my lord,” the admiral replied. “Bastila Shan.”

Chapter 7: Unintended.

“Boy.”

It came to him as no surprise that he was dreaming about her. He had made the mistake of thinking about her earlier in the day, so it only made sense that she would invade his mind. It was the same way that she had invaded his mind so many times before and undoubtedly the same way that she still did, to that very day. He was conscious enough within his sleep to know that he could awaken himself at any given moment, but he did not desire to do so. In watching the events that unfolded, he supposed there was something to be learned. There was, after all, always something to be learned.

Master Arren Kae was not a woman that he would have called compassionate, but severity was not a word he attributed to her either. She was stern at times, but even when seeming disappointed there was always a smile within her eyes. When he was younger he had assumed that smile was meant to encourage him, but as he grew older he realized that it was a smile not meant to be shared with him, but at his expense. She knew something that he did not; saw something that he could not. Whenever he thought to ask her just what she found so amusing he lost the courage and instead deferred to whatever question she had presented to him to draw his attention in the first place.

“I have a name,” he said with an almost impetuous flare to his voice. Back then he was not “Revan”, a Savior to the Republic, a Sith Lord, a villain, conqueror, liberator, or even a Jedi. He was a student and nothing more, yet he knew that he had a name. Standing as he was before the seated Jedi Master, he balled his fists and tried his best not to allow his vexation to show. Anger led to darkness, after all. To his right, Alek cracked a grin but did not speak. “I would appreciate it if you used it.”

Master Kae regarded him with surprising patience. Her lips trembled slightly, perhaps a smile or a frown (he could never tell which would be offered at any given moment), and then she spoke. Hers was a voice that lacked accusation and instead carried with it an inquisitive and almost belittling tone. “So you do,” she stated almost as though it were a question. “And of what importance is that to me, boy?” She repeated the word then. He bristled inwardly, but did not interject again. “I should suspect that if I were to see a chair, I ought not call it a chair – for perhaps its creator gave it a name and it would take offense to it?”

“Chairs are inanimate objects,” he clarified. “I am not.”

“And why is that? What makes you any better than a chair?” The question, though preposterous in nature, was asked with a somber hue. There was a note of derision to her words that made it appear that she also realized the notion was preposterous, but more so that she had to point out the difference than that she had asked at all.

“Well, he has arms,” Alek began with a chuckle. “A chair only has legs.”

“A head,” he continued with his friend’s analogy, “but a chair only has a back.”

Master Kae weathered their jesting words with what could be considered a smile. If it was truly a smile it did not seem mirthful, nor did it bode well for what was to follow. “Then the anatomy is all that separates you from a chair? Interesting. What of intention – utility? A chair serves a purpose and you do not. A chair has a function: you do not. Perhaps you are correct, boy. You are nothing like a chair. It has earned its name and you have not.”

Earned its name? He thought to argue that he had earned his name by being born, but something told him that was an avenue she expected him to take. His mouth opened and closed then, an audible sign of defeat that was not at all lost upon Alek. He looked to his friend and found that other than offer him a nod of condolence, there was to be no reprieve from their master’s discipline.

“Boy,” Master Kae said once more. This time when he looked to her there came not a word of protest. “You find yourself faced with a conundrum. The Council has tasked you with tracking down a child held by a Sith lord, this child being extremely gifted with the Force.” The situation was explained with Master Kae’s natural way of doing so: confidence that neither of her pupils would find a way out of it. “After some difficulty you locate them and find that they are bound for the Outer Rim. Upon confronting them the Sith lord threatens to kill the child should you not allow them to leave.” She paused then and looked between both of her students, their eyes hard at work already. “If you allow them to leave the girl will likely become a Sith as well, one capable of harming many people. If you move to stop them, the girl will be killed but you will also be able to kill the Sith. Which option do you select?”

He paused then, uncertain of how to proceed. They had similar questions before, but each time that he thought he knew the answer he was met with a reply of derision. He all but thanked the Force when he heard Alek shift and knew that his friend would fill the void he needed in order to think.

“We don’t know enough details to properly answer this question,” Alek said plainly. “Are there other people there when we apprehend them? Are we certain that we can’t save her before he kills her?”

Master Kae chuckled then, a sound without joy. “Details,” she drawled. “Details are nothing more than manners in which the mind prevaricates in order to avoid reality. What does it matter if the girl is surrounded by others or not? It is possible that if she escapes she will one day kill thousands, if not more. Is your statement that the present is more important than the future? If so, then you have already answered the question.”

The redressing was expected, but Alek nevertheless resented it. “I have not,” he pointed out. Even at their young age, Alek was already a strong and tall boy. He would surely grow to be larger and stronger in the future. He ran a hand through his hair and continued. “If no one else is going to be harmed, then I would let them go and try to track them down later.”

“Someone is always harmed,” Master Kae said. “The girl will be with a Sith lord; what they do to their disciples is something far worse than death. She may very well be killed in his training: you find this an acceptable answer? You believe that so long as your hand is free of blood, that no wrong has been committed? All actions have consequences; intended or otherwise.”

Alek, incapable of surrendering, instead attacked the problem from a different angle. “What if I used the Force to stop the man, preventing him from harming the girl?”

“You would have to not only contest his will, but also do so before he opened her throat. You are not that strong: she would die.”

“What if I surprised them?”

“Impossible,” Master Kae answered. “And noticeably stupid, if you were to consider that the man already has her captive and is aware of your presence as the scenario has specified. Perhaps next you will suggest; what if I could turn into a mynock and suck the life out of him before he knew what I was doing?”

“What if,” Alek began.

Master Kae finished, “Details.”

Alek ground his teeth, his exasperation all but palpable. It was all he could do to keep from throwing his hands into the air and calling his master every name under the Sun. Her questions were irritating – her smarmy smile infuriating. He could not wait until they left her tutelage so he could forget everything she ever said!

“There is no right answer to this,” he grumped.

Master Kae chuckled once more. “But there is a wrong one.”

Defeated, Alek looked to his friend for an answer. He felt even smaller then, uncertain as to how to reply to the expectation lumped upon him. Perhaps he was truly nothing more than a “boy”. If he could not even answer a question, then how was he supposed to become a Jedi? Surely there was an answer to be found. Master Kae was correct, there was certainly a wrong answer. Perhaps both answers were wrong. That did not mean that one did not have to be selected.

“I would apprehend the Sith,” he answered with wavering confidence. Part of his answer came from the fact that Alek had already been reprimanded. But there was more to it, more that he felt was correct and yet somehow cold in nature.

“You would kill the girl,” Master Kae corrected, if only to drill that point home. “What do you believe the Council would feel about that?”

He fought the urge to chew his lip then. “I do not know.”

“An answer wiser than it appears at face-value.” The admission came as a surprise to both he and Alek, who looked at her as though she had just sprouted another head. “Perhaps it does not matter what the Council would think,” she went on to say. “Perhaps it only matters what you believe is correct.”

Alek, overwhelmed, huffed. “But you said there was no right answer.”

“No, I did not,” Master Kae pointed out. “But even if I had, ‘right’ and ‘correct’ are not always the same thing. No more so than ‘good’ and ‘correct’ are. The galaxy we live in has many streams of morality and logic, each intersecting and diverging. There are times when the right thing is the good thing, and times when the right thing leaves us cold.”

And that was what he had been meant to see, Revan suddenly realized. This was what he had truly missed all those years ago. He had believed that it was the Sith Emperor that opened his eyes to the truth of things, but in reality Master Kae had planted those seeds. Even before the Mandalorians had set foot in the Outer Rim, or before he had believed himself destined for greatness, he was brought to face the reality that there would come times when doing what was necessary would mean abandoning what he believed was good. Master Kae was as much to blame for everything that he had done as he was!

“I would not say that blame is what I am responsible for,” Master Kae stated. Though the dream’s replications of himself and Alek remained stationary, the woman looked to him then without any ambiguity in her gaze. “I simply showed you a truth that others could not see, or more importantly would not explore.”

He was taken aback by this. Never before in the recollection had he been introduced to Master Kae reacting to his presence. He had thought himself a tree or perhaps even a rock, as far as they were concerned.

But there was a change then, a change that bespoke an awareness outside of his own. The world became fuzzier; less focused upon the clarity of the moment. The bright sky, the green grass -- it all faded into a distant and unfocused blur. All that managed to channel through him at that point was the image of Master Kae and himself, a world apart from his dreams but not yet within reality.

This, he knew, was something that he did not control.

“No, you are no tree,” Master Kae corrected. “If nothing else, you have finally earned your name. Revan.”

The woman using his name was so unexpected that he feared he might awaken, but just as he felt the world shattering all the more, it suddenly held firm. “Don’t call me that,” he said in a voice that he had not heard for quite some time; one all but trembling with uncertainty. “You are nothing more than an apparition; a willful part of my subconscious.”

“Perhaps,” Master Kae stated. “Or perhaps I am something more. Does it matter? We are speaking, which means that either you have gone insane or I have invaded your mind.”

“There are many other possible alternatives than that,” Revan corrected.

Master Kae waved her hand. “Details,” she stated. “Good for nothing other than wasting time. Time, which is something you do not have much of mind you.”

Was that a threat? He thought to brandish his lightsaber and be rid of the bothersome image, but though he knew it was at his side he did not feel it would be of any use. “I am the Dark Lord of the Sith,” he said defiantly. It was the same brand of impetuousness that he had utilized when she had called him ‘boy’ all those years ago. “Time is but an aspect of reality, a reality that I mold with my hand.”

“You know that hubris is never a becoming trait,” Master Kae stated. “No, time is something outside of your control – outside of every man’s control. But you do well to shorten it by acting as you have. Surely you know of the deception that brews upon the horizon: the darkness that will swallow you.”

Her words each struck a plangent cord that reverberated within his mind. He frowned behind his mask. “I control him,” he said without need to clarify as to who he meant. He would have been truly blind if he did not see that Malak was plotting and scheming. The time would come when his apprentice would make his move, but by then he would surely be too well entrenched to be harmed. For every three steps that Malak made forward in his understanding of the Force, Revan made a dozen. That was how it always had been and always would be.

Rather than respond to his statement, Master Kae drew closer to him. She looked the same she had when he was younger, although he was certain that by then she had aged. About the corners of her eyes were the beginnings of crow’s feet and although he could not call her beautiful, there was a handsome look about her that he had never before noticed. She did not necessarily appear old, but she did seem wise. She lifted her hands to his mask and though he thought to stop her, he could not. Without fear she removed it and looked directly into his face. Her lips, fuller than he recalled, formed another of her smiles.

“Do you believe that hiding behind this mask will protect you from the inevitable?” She asked. “It is no more protection against betrayal than your lightsaber is against a bomb.”

“Give me it back,” he said half-heartedly. When she did not, he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her closer. “Why are you doing this to me? I have done everything that I was told – become everything that I was said to. Why do you torment me? Malak is a dog beaten, he would not bite my hand!”

Master Kae did not respond, instead she held the same smile. In vexation, Revan tossed her arm away and turned about to stalk away.

“You still love him,” she said. When he stopped, a dry chuckle followed. “I knew it then and I know it now. Your love for him was a strength that I did not want to see extinguished.”

“You knew?” Revan asked, his voice dripped with doubt as he tilted his head downward. “And you did nothing of it? We were your pupils; you our guide. There is no emotion, is that not so? Was it not your duty to prevent us from venturing down that path?”

“That implies that I believe in the infallibility of a Code,” she stated demurely. “There is of course emotion. Likewise, peace is not a lie. If our existence could be summed up within a simple mantra, then what point would there be to life?”

Revan fumed inwardly, but found that as before he could not show it. He looked back to his former teacher then, his hands clenched into fists. “You could have prevented me from doing this. You could have stopped me from destroying so many lives, from…”

“Breaking her?” Master Kae finished. “You believe yourself an end, just as the Sith Emperor believes power to be. Perhaps in both you and power, there exists naught but means toward a greater end. Concern yourself with that woman and you will find yourself in a very dark place, Revan. Far darker than the one you are in now.”

Revan could not believe what he was hearing. When he was awake, he was the strongest man in the galaxy! The Sith Emperor had feared him enough to convert him into an ally; the Mandalorians had been stripped of power and left for dead. Even the Republic was scrambling to find an antidote to the menace that he presented, yet before this damnable apparition he was nothing!

“I have a conundrum for you, my student,” Master Kae said as she drew closer to him once more. She placed her hand to his shoulder, a feeling no different than blades trailing along his skin. Not enough to break it and cause him to bleed, yet enough to let him know that they could. “You are tasked with overcoming your greatest weakness. In doing so, you must also sacrifice your greatest desire. Would you do it or allow that desire to consume you?”

The question was not one that he wanted to answer, but as he considered avoiding it he felt Master Kae’s grip tighten. “I do not wish to choose,” he admitted.

“That is a choice within itself,” she replied. “You would be consumed and all of your glories, lost.”

Revan did not know which hurt more: her grip or her words. Try as he might to rationalize that he had abandoned Alek the moment he severed his jaw, he knew that he had not. He still saw hatred and malice in the man’s eyes, but there was something that refused to relinquish hold of what he once was to him. Perhaps Malak would betray him, but Alek never would.

“Perhaps that is the right answer then,” he said.

Master Kae responded, “But not the correct one.”

Chapter 8: Unanticipated.

Oh, he had known it was a trap.

The ensuing starship battle outside of his flagship was watched with veiled disinterest as Darth Revan awaited the inevitable defeat of the amassed Republic forces. They had been relatively clever in baiting both of the Dark Lords into the area with the promise of snagging not only the remnants of the Republic’s fleet, but also Bastila Shan. Bastila Shan, the irksome padawan who had turned a beleaguered fighting force into something remotely worthy of respect. Yet her talents and prowess were wasted on the cantankerous beast that she fought so desperately to save and once she was captured, he would make certain that she was made aware of that fact.

“My lord,” a voice announced as the holo-projector to his side activated once more. Realizing that Revan would not turn to face him, the wavering image saluted and continued hastily. “Republic Forces have boarded your flagship. We have sent a response team to detain them, but…”

Revan inhaled then and the hologram drew silent. He lifted his head a notch and looked to the emptiness of space outside of the window. Vaguely, the echo of Master Kae’s words returned to him with their gingerly smug self-satisfaction: Time, which is something you do not have much of, mind you. Oh, what he would have given to be able to kill her then and there, but even as the Dark Lord of the Sith he drew an understanding from the woman that he would not have previously. His eyes narrowed upon the distance as he watched the Leviathan trade blows with an inferior Republic battleship. It was only a matter of time before they smashed everything.

He only hoped it did not happen before they captured Bastila Shan.

“You are faced with an untenable situation, admiral,” Revan stated. “Either you stop these Republican dogs from progressing through my ship and potentially lose your life, or continue to vacillate as you are now and assuredly lose it. The choice is yours.”

If one could audibly detect a blanch, it would have been from the one that the admiral gave at that moment. “My lord,” he stated hastily and then ended the transmission. More than likely the fool would get himself killed, but it was better for him attempting to do is duty than hiding from it.

The matter of Malak’s potential betrayal presented itself to him at that juncture and with nothing save for the waning battle to occupy his mind, he allowed himself to investigate it further if only for a moment. He was certain that Malak would not openly betray him: the man’s lack of a jaw was a reminder to his prowess with the ligjhtsaber. While his apprentice had become more willful as of late, destroying planets he indicated should have been kept intact; he nevertheless detected no true machinations from the malicious entity that he had once known as a friend. It was safe to say that Malak knew his place.

There came a sudden pull through the Force that he had not expected to feel. It was a reminder of sorts, returning his mind to the fore and away from the distant Leviathan as it continued to engage the fading Republic fleet. They had definitely placed a trap for him; unfortunately, they once more underestimated his strength. More the fools them, he supposed.

The holo-projector activated once more. “My lord, we have destroyed the boarding party. All is well upon the ship.”

“See that it remains that way,” Revan stated dryly. He did not know what it was that he felt through the Force, then but he did not like it. It was as though someone was attempting to see through him: it was as though someone was trying to locate just where he was.

________________________________

“Commander Shan, we can’t lollygag much longer,” the commando stated as he looked back toward the brunette Jedi behind him. While the main force had done well to draw the attention of the Sith, he and the Jedi Strike team had made their way into the ventilation system where they could continue relatively unmolested. The sound of fighting intensified beneath them, but it was certainly a foregone conclusion. Those men that elected to stay behind knew that they were throwing their lives away in hopes of bringing down Darth Revan. “The sooner we get to Revan, the sooner we bring all of this to an end.”

A hand touched against Bastila’s shoulder then, drawing her out of her stupor and to the fore. She looked away from the fading sounds of combat and to one of the aged Jedi Knights that had accompanied her. His face, though lined with wrinkles, managed to present an assuring aura of confidence as he offered her a sad smile. “He is correct, padawan. Theirs were noble sacrifices: now we must continue with the plan they’ve given the ultimate price to see come to fruition.”

Bastila looked once more toward the din of combat and then back to the Jedi. She could practically see the desperate soldiers holding their own against the Sith, but against a tide that would never end. Her eyes closed for a moment as she tried to will the image from her mind and then, with a shaky sigh, nodded her head. “Of course,” she intoned more so to herself than the others. “They will be avenged. Darth Revan’s reign ends here.”

It had taken even more sacrifices and heroics from past members of the Republic now numbered amongst the dead, but slowly the Republic gained an effective layout of Darth Revan’s ship. The Dark Lord was often within the Bridge, where he was said to overlook battle with a dispassion that managed to permeate past his mask and into the surrounding area. How a man could possibly watch his loyal subordinates die was completely beyond her, but she knew that if she dwelled upon it then she would give in to a hatred that threatened to manifest about her. She had to remain focused: calm. There was no emotion; there was peace.

“For the Republic!” She heard shouted from a woman beneath her. The woman, none other than a survivor of the horror on Foerost, had been the first to volunteer herself for service against the Sith in the operation. She said that if she could die a thousand times then she would do it a thousand more, if only it meant that Revan was brought to justice. Bastila would never be able to understand how a woman as passionate as Sergeant O’Klee could accomplish such a brave act of heroics, but then she supposed that was what separated her from them. They could give into their emotions and find strength: she had to defend herself against them in order to.

Silently Bastila begged the Force to watch over the soldier, before she joined with the others.

Together, the four of them began to navigate the ventilation systems with as much alacrity as they could muster. The commando in the lead, with his blaster at the ready and stride a step ahead of the Jedi, acted as the perfect vanguard. They would encounter very little resistance at this part of the plan, they all knew, but that did not mean that they should not be prepared for the eventuality that something might go wrong. It was then that the final sound of blaster fire ended from beneath them. Without needing to look back, he barked a command backwards.

“Commander Shan, let’s move it!”

Bastila, once more slowing and glancing back, was pulled to the fore by the order. She thought to offer a derisive comment in reply to the man, but found that she lacked the desire to. He was right – she needed to move. Drawing upon the Force she increased her speed and that of those around him, sending each barreling down the opened pathway.

Of the many lives that had been lost in the attempt to gain information on Revan’s flagship, one been an engineer who re-paneled a section of the wall with faulty metal. The commando crouched down and knocked on it once, then stood and slammed his foot down. The panel fell noisily to the ground and he dropped behind it. In what was perhaps the swiftest gunfight Bastila had ever heard, he killed the three Sith guards that they had anticipated.

“All’s clear,” he announced.

The Jedi descended. Bastila looked once toward the empty shells of men that had been defeated and felt herself slightly mollified. Soon Darth Revan would be joining them and the galaxy could know peace once more. She stepped around the bodies and waited for the commando to take the lead once more.

“From this point on, things will be getting a little hairier,” he said with a note of disdain. “There can be no looking back.”

Bastila, aware of what the comment meant, nodded her head. “I know,” she said.

“We all do,” the Jedi behind her confirmed.

The commando looked them over for a few more moments and then nodded his head. “Then let’s bring some hell to the devil,” he grinned. Rather than continue forth with his current weapon, he placed it against his back and then moved over to the nearest wall. This would be the most advantageous aspect of their operation: one of the crowning moments in Republican infiltration. It had been difficult enough to get the Republic to sign off on letting one of its experimental weapons go to the frontline, let alone having it placed within the heart of the enemy’s base. Yet the infiltrators had held up their part of the deal and now it was his time to do his.

He fit the power supply against his pack and attached the strap of the weapon across his shoulder, just as the weapon itself was lifted and rested against his side.

“By the Force,” one of the Jedi gawked. “What is that?”

Had a man been told his son was the next best thing, more pride could not be shown upon a person’s face. The commando chuckled and patted the immense firearm. With its four rotating firing ports and the ammunition and power supply generated by his pack, the thing was supposed to be able to stop a charging rancor and whatever was behind it. He’d never experienced anything with that kind of power before, but it was not to say that he was not excited to try it out.

“Comeuppance,” he answered. “Let’s go deliver some.”

By the time that the blast door had finished opening, “comeuppance” was already charging. A high pitched and shrill scream escaped the weapon as its barrels began to rotate. The stationed guards lifted their weapons, but could not have anticipated the maelstrom that was coming their way. The sheer amount of blaster fire that was released from the weapon was enough to sunder anything that stood before it, and as the Sith soldiers attempted to return fire they found their position far too perilously exposed to do more than run away and shoot. The Jedi at the soldier’s side warded off their blasts as they continued forth.

“I have never seen anything like that,” Bastila said breathlessly as she looked to the decimated soldiers that could not escape the path of the unleashed torrent of blaster fire.

“Me neither,” the commando added. “But I want to see it again!"

The group progressed forth in that manner: the Jedi offering protective cover for the commando, and the commando shredding anything that got in his way. By the time that that they had made it half way to the Bridge the Sith were simply retreating in lines rather than standing against the destructive power unleashed upon them. While normally they would have more than likely returned fire or set traps, Bastila knew that her Battle Meditation was strong enough to galvanize her forces while at the same time demoralize the enemy. This battle was theirs – she could taste it.

To think that she, a padawan, would be responsible for the downfall of Darth Revan was something that she tried her best not to let show. Pride was just as dangerous as anger and while she had been told in times past that she could be boastful, she did make an effort to curtail her rising sense of self-worth. Not that it could be helped: she truly was the reason for all of this to be occurring. Darth Revan had never stood a chance and she would show him and the galaxy that it was Bastila Shan that was the true savior of the Republic.

Never again would she be doubted.

“Out of juice,” the commando said with a sorrowful sigh as he dropped the weapon and unstrapped it from his person. While he had been told that the power supply was still heavily in need of repairs, he had not expected it to die out quite that soon. Of course, it was also possible that he had simply pushed the gun far harder than it should have been pushed. In either event, he returned his blaster rifle to his hand and looked about the wreckage before them. “The bridge is just up ahead,” he stated.

“This is it.”

No more time for preparation or self talk. Bastila nodded her head and gripped her lightsaber so tightly that she felt her hand beginning to hurt. One of the Jedi at her side placed his hand to her shoulder and patted reassuringly, something that managed to calm her through either affection or the Force. She nodded her head silently in acknowledgement. She could not become excited. This was a mission that they were destined to succeed in.

With his explosives attached the door, the commando stepped back and waved for the Jedi to take cover. Each watched as the timer counted down until finally it exploded and the door was thrown open. Through the mist emerged the Sith soldiers that had not fled their positions, but just as they came forth so too were they sent to the ground by blaster fire.

The commando shouted as he charged into the room. Not to be outdone, the others moved in behind him.

The room was a mixture of dark Jedi and Sith soldiers, each prepared for their approaching foe. Bastila steeled her nerves and engaged them head on, her desire to see it all come to an end flowing forth with an acuity that presented her with several swift kills in the face of her enemy’s sudden demoralization, not to speak of those that her comrades achieved as well. She batted aside a charging soldier and slashed deftly across his chest, then turned her eyes to the end of the bridge.

There he was.

The Dark Lord of the Sith, Revan.

________________________________

Darth Revan had long ago stopped paying attention to the frantic dispatches that came across the com-link. His men were being scattered in every engagement with a small Republic force, which told him all that he needed to know: there were Jedi amongst the boarding party and Bastila Shan amongst those Jedi. It would appear that just as they had offered her to him in this paltry trap, so too would she offer herself in the foolhardy charge.

Revan did not take his eyes away from the Leviathan as it continued to exchange blows with its enemies. By now the ship had all but decimated the Republic’s forces, though more were approaching. It was good to see that Malak was still a capable fighter, even given his hindrances. In a way it reminded him of their time in the Mandalorian War. A thought that almost brought a smile to his face. Almost.

The sounds of fighting behind him grew still more intense. Revan could feel the desperation from his men and the courage from the Jedi. He had never actually seen Bastila Shan fight before, but the thought of it was an intriguing one. While the padawan had been blessed by the Force in terms of being capable of using Battle Meditation, it did not at all mean she was yet strong enough to be anything akin to a challenge. He shifted his eyes away from the battle outside and brought his attention to the ensuing fight behind him.

One of the dark Jedi that he had turned in the midst of the Mandalorian War was at that moment engaging Bastila while her comrades fought through his other subordinates. Her technique was sound, but there were enough flaws to be exploited that he amused himself more with seeing what she was not doing rather than what she was. A pity it would be if she should be slain before he could extract from her the secrets of the Force, but that was always a risk that one ran when charging a ship.

“For the Republic!"

How he hated that shout. “For Mandalore” was irritating enough, but at least they were holding up an ideal that meant more than bloated planets feasting off of the disenfranchised. The commando charged inward to meet Revan with what he supposed was to be a tackle, but just as the mammoth of a man drew in closer, Revan extended his left hand and caught him with the Force. He could have snapped his neck then and there or caused his heart to explode, but there was something dreadfully delicious about watching the panic in a man’s eyes as he realized he was going to be slowly and painfully slain.

It was then that Revan heard the dark Jedi’s lightsaber batted out wide. He looked away from the trooper and to Bastila, who executed a deft slash across the fool’s chest and cast him to the side, effortlessly slaying him.

If nothing else, the girl was not afraid to kill. He supposed she could be commended for that. Without a second thought, Revan snapped the commando’s neck and allowed him to drop to the ground.

“You cannot win, Revan,” the padawan stated with a sense of worth far exceeding her ability. The Dark Lord thought to draw his lightsaber, but held off on the action. There was something about the girl that was familiar; not that he had ever seen her before, but rather than she engendered a quality lost long ago. Was it the judgment in her eyes, or the certainty on her undeserving voice? That was what it was. It was the same look he had seen when he ordered her to sacrifice their men. It was the same look when she had told him she was returning to the Council and implied that he should as well.

“Bastila, allow us to take it from here,” the senior Jedi to her right said he stepped forth. Revan held his attention upon Bastila as the three Jedi that outranked the girl began to move inward. He could feel the disappointment and anger upon her as she saw them move in for “her kill”, but she did not directly refute their statement.

The Jedi that had spoken previously, a balding man with little in favor in the way of his appearance, spoke directly to the Dark Lord. His voice remained constant, despite the silent terror that Revan could detect behind each of his words. False bravado – the sign of a fool, prepared to lose his life for the sake of a superficial showing of confidence. “Revan, you were once a great man. By surrendering now, you may still be saved.”

The Dark Lord of the Sith responded in a manner curt: he shook his head slowly.

There was a nearly palpable wave of dread that escaped the man then, as though he had actually expected Revan to turn himself over to the Jedi. Yet despite what could have been considered fear, he placed his lightsaber to the fore as did his comrades. “Then you must die,” he declared.

To watch the trio of Jedi charge at that moment was to see the hopes of the galaxy resting upon the experienced shoulders of well intentioned men and women put to the test. They closed in upon him in tandem, no doubt an aspect of Bastila’s battle meditation, which created within them a sense of unity that would have been sorely lacking otherwise. Each of the strike team had been specifically selected for his combat prowess, and while they each could feel the Dark Side power that radiated from Revan, they steeled their resolves and engaged him as a single fighting force.

The fluttering of Revan’s cape concealed his every motion, assisting in his deterring of the three Jedi from landing the strikes they desired. He would have fed off their desperation if possible, but the presence of Bastila’s Battle Meditation forbade him from truly extracting their fears and using it to his advantage. Their lightsabers flashed and sparked as would-be assaults were parried or converted into near-hits for the Jedi. There was no doubting that Revan was far stronger than any of the three had encountered individually, and if not for Bastila’s assistance they very well may have been harmed.

An arching lash from one of the Jedi was met with an intercepting strike from Revan’s lightsaber, only for the Dark Lord to twist about and quickly dispatched two strikes that prevented a weakness in his side from being exploited. With each second that passed he could feel the Jedi becoming more comfortable in their attack patterns and thus bolder – both a blessing and a curse. Complacency meant that they would slacken, while recklessness gave them an edge that he had not previously anticipated. Yet for however much ground the Jedi gained, so too did the Sith relate a similar prowess. It appeared as though his lightsaber was in all places at once, a plasmatic maelstrom that had no end. Truthfully, it was a breathtaking sight to behold.

The most logical plan of action would be to rush Bastila and be done with her, thus forbidding the Jedi from having their unnatural boost in prowess; however, each step that would have carried him toward her was resolutely checked by her companions. They were more than aware of his intentions, almost before he had formed them. Having long relied on his superior battle precognition, Revan now found himself faced with three Jedi that formed a singular entity – theirs was a mind that perhaps not even his could overcome.

He could feel himself slipping, though not to a degree that they would have been able to detect. In his mind, he detected a slackening in defense; a lack of resolve in a counter. The battle could easily continue for another hour, but he knew that at the end of that time he would be skewered and defeated by the Jedi. In that, he saw that perhaps he would have done better than to trust his own skills quite so much. That notion alone birthed fear, but true to his training and with an alchemical skill that would have done any Sith proud, he converted that fear into hatred. The Jedi would not bring him down! Not without a fight!

It was then that he felt something else enter the fight. It was a feeling distant and guarded, yet present enough to be minded carefully. The Jedi were closing in upon him once more and though he warded them away, he knew it would be foolish to counter attack them. At that point any strike offensively would open him to at least six attacks that he could foresee, which meant that they would undoubtedly detect at least two. While keeping his mind focused upon that aspect of defense, he shifted his attention to what that guarded feeling could be. It was a familiar notion – a very familiar notion.

Pride.

The faces of the Jedi were like steel walls, but upon them he could feel that the Force was as controlled as ever. Sweating though they may have been, not a one of them revealed anything akin to a prideful or boastful look. Revan unleashed a flurry of slashes that flummoxed them momentarily and bought him time to retreat further toward the bridge’s aft. The Jedi closed in upon him, but the second that he was afforded was enough to seize hold of that emotion and track it to its source.

Bastila Shan, the padawan, was worried that her chance for fame was slipping away. Perhaps the annals would record her as an efficient Jedi with auxiliary genius, but that was not at all the same as being the one responsible for slaying the Dark Lord of the Sith. Revan felt one of their lightsabers flash just before his mask and was thankful that the Mandalorian ore that composed it did not flinch under the duress. Yet though he was in danger of being overtaken, he instead retained focus upon the padawan and her feelings.

She wanted them to lose – she did not wish to give up her chance for victory. A childish notion, but one that he understood all too well. Glory, after all, was all that these fights came down to. Would she be the next Kavar or the next Atris? That would be decided in the moments that followed their confrontation. If she did not enter the fight, she would never be taken seriously. She would be a nothing – a joke. Something that padawans told themselves they would never become. Vainglorious and shallow, more a suppressor than a teacher.

The thoughts continued to flow from Revan and toward Bastila as he felt the net that the Jedi placed upon him tightening. He realized then that this was his last ditch attempt, if Bastila’s will was greater than his influence he would not be able to escape the clutches of the strike team. But Revan had always been a masterful tactician, and rarely did a plan go awry.

This one, at least, did not.

There came a twitch to Bastila’s eye then, the smallest indication of irritation. Her concentration wavered as the possibility of her dark future befell her. Though a minor thing for Bastila to experience, that twitch proved to be catastrophic for the strike team. Working in collusion as they were, when suddenly their synchronization was lost so too did their spatial awareness fail them. The Jedi that had spoken before was quick to close in upon Revan, but without his comrades to act as his support, he found his slovenly slash answered soundly, and a counter attack explode forth to leave charred flesh lining his chest. He gagged and dropped instantly.

Aware of her flaw, Bastila gasped and attempted to return her attention completely to the other two, but by then it was too late. Revan struck out sharply to his left and denied the female Jedi the position for her attack, then rotated and cleaved with such an acute angle that the slash seemed to pass before it had even begun. Her head, once attached to her neck, sailed through the air. Before her body was given chance to strike the ground, the Dark Lord turned his attention toward the remaining Jedi and drew him forth with the Force. He impaled him through the chest, an action that gained him a gurgling froth from the startled Jedi, before he was kicked and allowed to drop to the ground.

It had taken no more than three seconds for the flawless Jedi strike team to be dismantled at the hands of the Dark Lord. Truthfully, he could not be more pleased with himself. It was perhaps his greatest martial feat ever. To think that another could emerge from similar odds in the future, without assistance, was a foolish thought indeed. There remained but one left. One child to teach a lesson in --

“No!”

It was a shout so sudden that Revan was taken aback by its manifestation. A wave of anger rose through Bastila, previously composed as possible in her attempt to see her comrades successful. She projected the Force as an agent of reckoning, its impact with Revan so violent that he was stricken in the chest and jettisoned back to collide soundly with the transparisteel window behind him. Staggered, he cough and lifted his gaze in time to see Bastila closing in upon him. The Jedi was alive – and Revan did not know just how to take that.

They met with a flurried series of slashes that sent hissing snaps into the air. Bastila, overcome with grief after witnessing the defeat of her friends, refused to allow the Dark Lord to escape unharmed. She threw herself completely into the fight then, snarling and growling as she fought to overcome Revan. The Dark Lord was torn between placating her acrimony and avoiding the very real edge that her hatred brought to her. Her pride, mixed with sorrow, was something that he had not expected to find in such abundance upon the Republic’s poster girl, but as it was unleashed he was reminded of his duel with Malak.

They met with a flurried series of slashes that sent hissing snaps into the air. Bastila, overcome with grief and self-loathing for what she believed to be her hand in the defeat of her friends, refused to allow the Dark Lord of the Sith to escape the confrontation unharmed. She threw herself completely into the fight then, snarling and growling as she fought to overpower Revan with every ounce of her being. Naturally she would have been little more than a snack for him to enjoy before casting aside, but her unleashed vehemence was so powerful that Revan found himself actually forced to contend with the rapacious strikes that came from the girl. Malak had fought with such savagery before the Emperor – was it possible this padawan had the same potential, if not more?

But wonder was not something that Revan was accustomed to expressing, nor did he desire the loss of his life at the hands of the awakened Jedi. He could feel her connection to the Force being corrupted by contact with his own, but where he naturally would have guided her, there was now a wall that prevented him from moving the girl’s mind as it needed to be moved. Their duel continued for one minute and then another. Bastila at each interval attacking, yet being prepared to defend when he made his move. Fearful of being flummoxed, the Dark Lord rebuked her with a powerful shove through the Force that sent her sliding away.

“That feeling you have right now,” Revan managed to say without revealing how strenuous the combat was. “It is but an aspect of true power – true strength. Feed off of it and you will be able to avenge those lost to you. Resist it and join them.”

Bastila knew that she should not have felt the way that she was. It was raw and powerful, but it was wrong. The council had warned her many times against giving into the temptations of the Dark Side, but her heart pleaded with her to allow it just this once so that she might end Revan. She could detect his battered state; the strike team had softened him up. This was her chance! But, would it be the last chance? Would she be able to stop?

That uncertainty was exactly what Revan had been planning on as he quickly twirled his lightsaber and brought it to shoulder level. Either Bastila gave into him and became his apprentice, or she resisted and died. In either event, the Republic was to lose their prized possession. He had won and nothing could change that.

Your time is up.

Revan did not know where the voice came from or how Master Kae managed to invade his mind again, but just as he prepared to charge Bastila and make short work of her, he found himself reminded of the dream he had experienced. How could his time be up? The Republic was defeated: their trap foiled. Danger was the furthest thing from his mind, so why would his time have expired? Hell, there was nothing at that moment that could stop him! Nothing in the galaxy that could unseat him from his throne!

The sound of the turbo-laser approaching was all the warning that Revan received through the Force. He did not turn to face it, for what good would it do? The Dark Lord of the Sith could have shielded himself, but in the split second that it would have taken to do so he instead thought of something else: was this it?

He thought back to Malak’s eyes and the hatred that he had seen there: thought of the fact that the Republic’s auxiliary forces had not yet arrived and that the Leviathan was the only ship that could land that attack. Betrayed from afar; he had never imagined it possible. It was unanticipated; a fatal flaw in what he believed to be a net that held his apprentice in line.

The cannon fire landed.

And Darth Revan was no more.

________________________________

Bastila did not know how to comprehend what was happening until it was over. She felt Revan’s attention leave her, but after it had she was uncertain of where it went. It was then that the turbolaser hit and Darth Revan was thrown to the ground, incapable of stopping so powerful a strike. Alone in the room, Bastila Shan look over the wreckage and carnage. What was she to do?

She could still feel the pull of the Dark Side upon her; a strength that she had never before known. It had allowed her to go toe-to-toe with Revan when the Strike Team was defeated. It had allowed her to fight as a goddess; an Avatar of the Force. If that strength could be harnessed for good, what would be able to stop her?

But there was still a pulse of the Force within the room; a faint beating that came from a position she found far too logical to be true. She turned her eyes away from the fallen Jedi and looked back to Revan, who lay crumpled beneath debris. How was it possible that he had survived the attack – that he, who had been its sole target, had not been slain in the assault? Bastila looked to the Leviathan and found that it was retreating. More Republic ships were appearing on the horizon and fresh to the fight, they were more than it could stand to confront.

Just fire one more time, she almost pleaded as she watched the Leviathan leave, but it did not. The defeated man on the floor would not be ended by his apprentice’s treachery.

No. That was an honor that she would take.

She made her way over to where he lay, her breathing increasing with each step. A Jedi was never to strike down a defenseless person, but she knew that exceptions could be made. Revan had caused all of this death – he had been responsible for the deaths of people that had come to know her as a friend. It was only right that she should finish what was started and ensure that his stain would never again spread across the galaxy.

Towering over the man, Bastila could see just how small he was. Battered and beaten, he was no more a threat to her than a gnat was, but that could not change her vision. She compressed the activation plate of her lightsaber and narrowed her eyes, hands trembling as she thought of what she was to do. At worst the Council would reprimand her; otherwise, she was sure to become a hero of the day. It would be simple. Stab him and it was all over.

It was then that she saw through his mask and into his eyes: the eyes of a tyrant, the eyes of a villain, the eyes of – a Jedi. The final realization brought with it a gasp. Revan had once been a Jedi after all, he had once fought and struggled just as she did against the Darkness. How had he fallen, she wondered? How had he allowed himself to be turned from a hero into a villain? At which point did he decide to abandon all that he stood for and become all that he despised?

Was it a moment like this? Had it been the power that she felt at that moment that turned a savior into a tyrant?

Her hand trembled upon her lightsaber, finger itching to activate it once more and be done with it all. To start a new Chapter in her life, one in which she was seen as a scion of justice and not simply a student.

“Ma’am,” Bastila heard someone say behind her. She turned about, her lightsaber prepared to strike, but found that a woman in a republic uniform awaited her. Leaning against the door frame, her battered armor detailed that she had been through quite a bit of fighting. “The fleet’s almost here.”

“Sergeant O’klee?” Bastila asked with disbelief favored on her tongue. She had heard the girl’s fire end – heard the Sith say that all was cleared! “I thought you were…”

The injured soldier shook her head. “Not yet,” she grinned as she staggered over to the padawan. “Soupcans had be captive, but when… whatever just happened did, they high-tailed it. I guess the Force looks out for all of us, huh?”

“I suppose so,” Bastila said hollowly. She looked back to Revan then, whose breaths were becoming all the more shallow. “He has not yet died.”

O’klee followed Bastila’s eyes and felt her heart clench. It had been Revan that killed Master Hen-Ri, or so she believed. It had been Revan that surely ordered the deaths of so many good men. To be so close to him was like to be next to the Sun, and yet where she expected heat she instead found cold. “How long is he going to stay that way?”

“Alive?”

“If that’s what you want to call it.”

Bastila hesitated and clenched her lightsaber. She should end it all; O’klee would understand. But as she turned to finish the job, she felt the soldier’s hand on her shoulder. The same way that the Jedi had grabbed her shoulder in the ventilation shaft. Bastila looked back to Sergeant O’Klee.

“If you do what you want to do,” she began softly. “Then there’s not a man or woman in this galaxy that could say you did wrong,” she continued. There was a sadness in her eyes and on her voice that Bastila could understand, yet she held her tone steady. “But you’re not like every man and woman in this galaxy, ma’am. You’re something more.”

Bastila felt herself deflate at hearing those words of praise (or was it admonishment?) from the soldier. “Your words have much sense in them, Sergeant. You truly understand the Jedi perspective.”

“I had a friend once,” O’Klee said. “He was a great guy, but a better Jedi.”

Those words were the last ones that Revan could remember hearing before the world slipped into complete darkness. Against that darkness he saw the entirety of his life flash before him: from his years as a youngling, to the moment that he decided to place on the Mandalorian woman’s mask and become Revan. He experienced the love, hatred, turmoil, and peace all over again. Against the backdrop of his visionettes he witnessed the moment that he could have stricken Malak down, but did not because he still saw traces of his friend in his eyes. He saw the broken remnants of the General, and the lives that he had thrown away for his gains.

He had done everything to become a legend and believed that the cost of his humanity was a fair trade.

Boy, he heard the darkness say.

You made the wrong choice.

Chapter 9: Unrealized.

This time, the screaming was not only in her head.

The world about the Exile had become a sea of chaos and discord, marring every available surface in either flames or blood. There came the plangent report of blaster fire, descending upon any that were not fortunate enough to escape the indiscriminate preferences of the Sith soldiers and their droid companions. Men, women, children – they were all cut down like fleshen vegetation; in full bloom, wilting, or just sprouting it mattered not. It was a massacre that only a depraved individual could unleash upon a peaceful people, and she knew exactly who was to blame for it.

News of Revan’s death at the hands of his apprentice had spread like wildfire. Although she would have never imagined it possible for Alek to betray his beloved Revan, she supposed that just as the Battle of Malachor V had changed her, so too had it morphed them. Those names were little more than familiarities attached to beasts that were far more capable of death and destruction than any sane man. Had she been partially to blame for this as well? If she had acted sooner to stop Revan and Alek from venturing down their path then all of the lives lost; the cries of mercy, would never have had to occur. It was a heavy burden to carry and one that threatened to stop her from doing what she thought she never would.

Along with the other people in the city, the Exile was running for her life.

Several times she felt the heat of a blaster bolt whizz past her head, leaving in its wake the very real sensation of a near-death experience. The Sith seemed to be more amused with firing at them than actually hitting them; if they earned a panicked cry then they accomplished something. Had the event occurred only a few years prior, she knew that she could have turned the tide and prevented more of these people from perishing needlessly in the unleashed violence of the Empire. That, of course, was wistful thinking. As she had seen several times already, the Republic troops that encountered the Sith held for no more than a second before they were vanquished.

A Rodian woman brushed past her, her head down as she moved. Shuffling in her step, it was surprising to see that she could move so quickly while at the same time carrying a burden. The Exile thought to follow after her, but just as she did so she felt another bolt careen past her. Without needing to look, she knew that it had stricken the Rodian in her back from the surprised cry that left her. She threw her arms forth as she fell, and from them emerged a child who also struck the ground.

The thought of the child struck her deeply, but she knew that she could not afford to risk saving it from the death that would surely befall it when the soldiers arrived. She could hear the mother, pleading against the constant fire of blaster bolts, for someone to help her baby. The Exile continued on her course though, certain that to involve herself would mean that she would be in no different a situation. It was not her child, after all – no one that she knew. Heroics were something that the Jedi did, and she was no longer a Jedi.

She passed by another fallen Republic soldier, a man surely killed within the first moments of combat. His orange uniform drew to mind memories of brave men and women charging tides of Mandalorians with nothing more than pride in their eyes. Those were simpler times and she would have given anything to be back within them. The galaxy was a cold and dark place now; certainly not a place for a child to grow up in. By not acting to save the child she was actually saving it from itself. After all, who would want to live in a time when good men betrayed each other and evil men grew powerful?

But she thought back to that pleading from the mother, who knew nothing other than to try to save her child. It was a need that she had known when her soldiers looked up to her: when a new padawan asked her a question and she in turn answered believing that it protected them from the Dark Side. Those were real emotions, true human emotions. They had not relied upon her being a Jedi, had they? The mother was not a Jedi and still she had braved the wild gunfire if only to save her child. There was something to be admired in that.

Something to aspire toward.

The squadron of Sith soldiers continued their happenstance marching through the city, shooting and killing with wild abandon. The Republic’s presence on the planet was meager to say the least and before they had landed most of their number had already been exterminated. Darth Malak’s army was to be an invincible one and no backwater planet could challenge that notion. Women were the easiest to kill – they ran with such determination but lack of direction. The men might actually try to shield them; empty heroics. But it was a baby, oh, that was the real bonus kill. They didn’t even see it coming. So blind, so stupid. The squirming of a small Rodian at that moment caught the eye of one of the troopers behind his visor. He grinned and lowered his weapon. “That’s another one for me,” he chuckled to his comrades.

Blaster fire rung out through the air, penetrating the endless stream of it with a target that had previously been unexpected. It was not until the trooper felt the superheated bolt enter his body that his mind turned toward the blonde woman emerging from the distance, but by then it was too late for him to return fire. He dropped with a grunt as his comrades turned their attention to her, each discharging their blasters with intention to kill.

She could not explain what it was, but as the Exile moved forth she witnessed blaster bolt after blaster bolt stream past her. Soldiers that had previously been crack-shots when it came to killing the unarmed found their vision much less accurate when trying to bring her down. She continued her stride without fail, her eyes narrowed upon each target of her blaster rifle. Shot after shot landed, diminishing the numbers of those that stood before her until she was directly above the crying child. Those Sith that had not been killed in her initial assault fled back into the distance, uncertain as to how to respond to a woman who moved as a ghost amidst their shots.

With a moment’s reprieve from the Sith, the Exile looked toward the child’s mother and saw that her eyes had glassed over. She placed the rifle on her shoulder and then crouched to lift the child. Upon feeling her touch, the Rodian infant’s crying came to an abrupt end, almost as though a sense of calm was extended through her. The reaction was so sudden that she missed it for a second, and only realized that a change had occurred at all when the droning sound of crying no longer filled her ears. She placed the child against her chest, feeling its arms wrap about her neck, and made her way back in the direction of her previous flight.

What was she thinking, to risk her life and save a child that she did not know? It was a foolish act; a stupid act. Had it occurred on another planet she would have surely died, but for some unknown reason she had stood alone against a legion of Sith and not been scratched. The Force had accounted for that once in her life, was it possible that…? No, she knew it was gone, knew that she would never again feel the completeness that it brought to her. It had simply been a freak accident that she had battled off the Sith. An accident that she would not risk repeating.

The streets, as far as she could see, were completely devoid life. With the Sith to her aft and the wave of fleeing civilians by now ahead of her, she occupied an area that could be considered relatively safe if only for the moment. The sound of overhead patrols drew her attention to the fact that she and her young ward were still exposed, and rather than risk being sighted she ducked into a nearby building. From the look of it, the building had at one time been a factory of sorts. The machines were now dormant and nothing save for the sound of her footsteps filled the interior.

What were her possible options? They could attempt to wait out the Sith occupation, but that assumed that the Sith would ever be leaving the planet. From what she had seen the Republic did not care much about it to begin with, and since the Sith were defeating them nearly everywhere they met, it was logical to believe that whatever the Sith wanted on the planet was not something that they would leave without taking. It was safer to assume then that the Sith would be a constant problem and she, in turn, would have to work around them.

The starship she had requisitioned was in no way capable of running a blockade, of that there was no doubt. If the Sith decided to give the order for a Base-Delta-Zero, then it was even more likely that the child would be killed in a manner far more gruesome than the Sith’s blaster would have related. But as she had assumed previously, if the Sith simply wished to raze the planet then there would have been no need to land their troops. No, they were looking for something. They had to be. The Exile continued her walking and came to a security room. Once inside of it, she sat down in a chair and sighed, the baby asleep in her arms. What was she going to do?

It was then that one of the security feeds indicated that someone was entering the building. Her attention shifted at once to the indicated monitor, which shoved a select group of Sith soldiers making their way in through a side entrance. The map beside her glowed at their point of entry and as she looked back up to the screen she saw that the detail was finished off by a bald man in black armor. From the way that he carried himself she denoted that he must have been in charge of the detail, not that it meant much to her. The heroics she had displayed earlier were a fleeting thing: the only chance that she and her ward had for survival was to make a hasty escape.

Another update emerged from the monitor and then another. The Sith had all but surrounded the building! It could not have been a coincidence that she had selected it and they arrived in such large numbers to besiege the facility. That meant that either the infant she carried was the secret prince of Rodia, or they had decided to kill her because she had killed so many of theirs. It was only a fair exchange, wasn’t it? If not the fact she knew that they would not allow the baby to live she would have turned herself over right then and there. But she had to think for someone else, and that meant not selecting the easy way out.

Aware that her position would overtaken in a matter of minutes, the Exile rose from her seat and looked about her immediate area. The security office was not well stocked, but she did find a wall supply of munitions. She said a silent prayer, begging whoever was listening to her to present her with something useful. Her eyes returned to the monitor as she fumbled with the wall storage unit, minding where the Sith were and how long it would take for them to arrive. The safe popped open and she turned her eyes back to the front. Instantly, her jaw dropped.

This might not be so impossible to survive, after all.

_____________________

“It would behoove you not to follow in the wake of your predecessors,” Lord Bandon said as he watched the soldiers before him progressing into the building. There was precious little time to waste with the city, but if what the soldiers had said was true then he could not afford to allow this opportunity to pass him by. After being promoted to the rank of Dark Lord of the Sith by his master, he had quickly and ruthlessly set to proving his worth by attacking fringe worlds. The latest should have been a routine training exercise for his soldiers, but then there came a snag.

And snags were something that he could ill afford to tolerate.

He tugged at his fiber suit in an attempt to displace the irritation that was growing within him. It would have felt good to electrocute one of the idiots for failing him so, but then again he had sent them in hoping to see if a rumor was true. It would be fairly illogical to punish them because it was, would it not? They had a Jedi to hunt, and there was nothing short of success that would mollify him in that pursuit. True, it had been strange that the suspected Jedi had decided to use a blaster instead of a lightsaber, but they lived in changing times. He could not deny that he felt something in the Force. Something… unlike anything that he had ever experienced before.

The clicking of his boots as he marched behind his soldiers was a worthy distraction from the tedium of the hunt. Jedi were crafty rodents, capable of performing great feats of deception if only to buy themselves more time to survive. With the Force has his guide he could generally find them, but at that moment what he thought he felt was so different that he did not know what it could mean. The more he tried to focus upon it, the harder it became to detect – like staring into the Sun for too long, even though he knew it was there he could no longer see it.

“We’ve found something,” he heard communicated over one of his lieutenant’s com-links. Bandon nodded his head. “A sealed room. The Jedi is probably behind it.”

“Then investigate it, I will be there momentarily.”

He furrowed his brows, irritated with having to deal with their incompetence. A hand lifted and brushed against his goatee as he indicated for his detail to proceed in the direction of the disturbance. If they found the Jedi quickly, perhaps he could receive reward for his diligence. After all, he had done everything that his master had asked of him and more.

He simply needed to make a slight detour first.

_____________________

Three… two… one…

The sound of the door being forced open was all that the Exile needed to hear. As the Sith made their way through the door, a sudden and shrill beeping filled the air. It lasted for no more than a second, enough time for the Sith to throw up a shout of dismay, before a series of explosions were set off in a line to tear through their ranks and leaving smoke and smoldering bits where once the men had stood. She heard similar reactions going off in various parts of the compound, no doubt a credit to the mines that she had placed in the short time she had been given. It would not kill them all, but it greatly thinned their numbers.

The rest, she would have to handle alone.

“Remain here,” she said to the infant, who looked up at her with his large, unblinking black eyes. She realized that no response would be forthcoming as she read the energy level on her blaster, but it did not hurt to attempt to reassure the child. A small, weak smile was given before she made her escape from the room and entered the hallway. In times past she would have relied on the Force to see her through what was to occur. Now, the thought of protecting the child was her guiding force. It was more than enough motivation.

The first group that she encountered was composed of the disoriented remnants of a few survivors from her carefully laid traps. Shaken as they were, they offered no resistance as she blasted through their number and continued on her course. She performed a forward roll and came to a kneel, the blaster checked against her shoulder as she unleashed a barrage of bolts in the direction of one soldier’s back, before she turned and did away with two of his comrades. She was only thankful that she had taken the time to train with her troops in the past: that she had learned the basics of their maneuvers. Perhaps it was a foregone conclusion that she would die, but that did not mean she could not make them pay for what they had done.

The halls of the compound were vaguely foreign to her, but within her mind she had charted them down as best as she could from the map. The relative locations of each soldier group was minded and though there were some that were bigger than others, that did not mean she had to worry necessarily about numbers as much as quality. Charging headfirst into a group of three expert shots was much more foolish than charging five rookies. Needless to say, if she wanted to thin them out then it would be smarter to do so without charging anyone and instead using the factory to her advantage. With the Sith cleared for the moment but surely closing on her position, she did just that.

The blaster was placed against her shoulder once more and the Exile knelt beside one of the building’s energy conduits. She opened the panel and began inputting codes, relying more on luck than any form of skill as she tried her best to find one that would – yes, there it was! The sparks that jumped from the area told her that it would be only a matter of seconds before the entire thing exploded. A blaster bolt whizzed past her head and she scrambled to the side, running as best she could but incapable of dodging a second shot that tore into her arm. She hissed and pitched herself around a corner as the Sith shouted in triumph and closed in.

Boom.

A wave of heat and shrapnel raced past her as the soldiers were killed in the conduit’s explosion. Power in the area was dimmed dramatically, casting a shadow upon her and the surrounding halls. She looked to her wound, a grazing shot that had torn through her sleeve and left a red mark. She leaned her back back against the wall and sighed, before removing one of the kolto packets she had prepared and placed it over the wound. It stung horribly, but ensured that infection would no set in. Using the torn sleeve, she ripped away the fabric and wrapped it about her arm before pushing back to her feet and muttering to herself. She really did not have the Force on her side – she couldn’t afford to be so reckless.

What followed was a lethal game of cat and mouse, though the Exile was not exactly sure as to who the cat was and who the mouse was. At times it seemed that she was hunting the Sith, while at others quite the opposite. The longer that it took to overcome them, she knew, the more likely it would be for more soldiers to arrive. At one juncture she might dodge into a crevice or closet to avoid detection, while at another she would run down a hall, depleting more of her blaster’s energy reserves to be rid of a detachment. What was certain though, was that she was not indefatigable, and there came a point where her energy was perilously low.

It was after she had exterminated what she believed to be one of the last remaining groups of Sith soldiers that she heard something she had not expected to. Though distant, it was a sound that spoke to her heart and caused her to nearly drop her gun. She knew that the security office was nearly on the other side of the compound, yet the sound of the infant’s crying was coming from much closer. The minor yelps that punctuated those tearful cries made it seem that whatever had been the catalyst of the tears was being repeated again and again. Drawing on as much energy as she could muster, the Exile approached the sound and cautiously looked into the room that it came from.

The man in the black armor stood before the baby, who squirmed as he delighted in extended his finger to its abdomen and releasing a very small, stinging zap of electricity. The room appeared to be some form of kitchen, and considering the flat surface that the baby was on the Exile could only assume that it was a stove. She could easily see the lightsaber at the man’s side and the cold, clammy look to his skin bespoke the same transformation she had witnessed upon her comrades in times past. This Sith was a dark Jedi and he held something that he knew she wanted. Another zap sounded and the baby cried once more.

Even if it was a trap, she had to act.

A mighty cry preceded the Exile’s emergence into the room as she closed in upon the dark Jedi. The blaster was nearly out of ammunition and she knew that if she attempted to shoot him, he would deflect it and potentially harm the baby. With the rifle’s stock in hand, she brought it crashing down toward the side of the dark one’s head, only for him to turn smartly toward her and offer a grin. With the Force as his ally he effortlessly swatted her charge aside, but she reeled back and swung at his face. Gripping the front of her shirt, he shifted backward to avoid her strike and lifted to slam her down upon one of the counters. The impact was enough to jar her senses for a second, and without hesitation the dark Jedi began running along the counter, laughing as he dragged her through pots and pans before flinging her against a wall and drawing the cooking pottery above her down with enough pressure to seriously injure.

“Is this not a fun game that we have constructed?” The Sith lord asked as he reached into the debris and lifted the Exile by the front of her shirt once more. He regarded her coolly for a moment before striking her in the abdomen and tossing her forth to collide soundly with another counter. The malevolence that he had kept trained for so long was unleashed them, afflicting her as he extended his hand and from his fingers, did lighting emerge. Her pained cries filled the area and brought to him untold joy. “Is this not a wonderful display of power?”

She had long known the strength of the Dark Side, but never had she encountered it in such abundance. Not only did the electricity burn her body, but it left within her mind a searing pain that was matched only by the memory of what had occurred on Malachor V. As a Jedi she would have been hard pressed to wound the man, but as nothing more than a human? She stood not a chance. The feeling of the assault ending brought to her a wave of relief as she slumped, but no sooner had she done so than did she once more feel him begin to shock her.

“Come now, Jedi! I know that you are hiding your potential – your power! Is this your latest technique? Do you believe that I cannot tell what you are?” The dark Jedi asked with surprising delight. “You would have me believe you are dead – I can show you death!”

He lifted his hand toward the baby then and began to divert his strength from the hand that shocked the woman, toward the child that lay atop the stove. It would be a simple matter to exterminate it; for what usage did it truly serve? Babies were weak and had no purpose. As an instructor of his had told him once before: “Babies are weak, killing them makes you stronger, being stronger makes you more POWERFUL!” Yes, he would kill the child to show the Jedi that he was not to be trifled with! Yes, that would impress his dark brethren!

While the Sith lord took the time to think about how ingenious his evil scheme was, the Exile fought through her pain to look in the direction of the child. She could feel the shift in his power and knew that he was going to do something truly grotesque. Had she been a Jedi she would have done anything to protect the infant, yet she could do nothing now. She did not have the Force – what was she capable of?

She saw the child’s eyes meet hers; the same calm that it had displayed when she first touched it once more shown in the face of her suffering. It did not see her as a Jedi or as a failure; it did not see her as an exile or as a broken excuse for a soldier. All that it saw her for was a woman, and in that it still drew inspiration and calm. What could she do without the Force? Why, she had done plenty. She had learned to live again without it. She had learned to fight for what she believed in.

It took nearly everything that she had in her to fight against the residual streams of pain that were in her mind, but as the Sith lord prepared to unleash his attack the Exile pushed herself away from the counter and gripped hold of a pan. The torque behind her swing could have been sharper; her aim better, but her intentions were so pure that he could not see it coming. Though normally the Force would have informed him of another’s actions, within the Exile that was nothing but a blank screen. Her strike moved without notice.

The harsh sound of collision filled the air.

Hardly expecting the woman to rise quite so quickly or with as much purpose as she did, Bane was thrown back by her attack. She swung again, striking the corner of his temple and pitching him in the direction of the strike, before he narrowly evaded another swing and retreated into the distance. His lightsaber activated then and looked through the stream of blood that had been opened in her attack toward the bedraggled warrior.

“You idiot,” he snarled. “How long will you allow this charade to go on? Use the Force or perish!” With that, he dove toward her.

For a moment the Exile thought back to her decision to slam her lightsaber into the stone before the Council. She thought of the looks of disgust on their faces: from Kavar, who had always been an inspiration to her, to Atris who seemed almost satisfied. She remembered Vrook’s stern gaze and Vandare’s sorrowful eyes. None of them held the hatred that the dark Jedi did as he charged for her though. She did not need any of them. All she needed was herself and the trust of that child: a fact that she would prove then and there.

When dealing with lightsaber combat, the combatant often used the intentions of their opponent as part of their attack sequence. Even those that were non-Force Sensitive were given to revealing what they might accomplish and so be the enemy Jedi, Sith, or Mandalorian there was something to be gained from “reading” them, but in the case of the Exile there was no such trail – nothing to base one’s attack off of. He slashed blindly and she narrowly evaded, though another sizzling sting was left as her shoulder was grazed. In response she utilized her rifle’s butt once more to strike at the dark Jedi, but found that he was swift to dodge and attack once more. She caught the attack against the side of her weapon, the metal holding barely until she shoved off and released the last shots in the barrel toward him. He deflected two, but the final and third impacted with the center of his chest and caused him to stagger back with a cough.

The Exile did not require the Force to know what was to happen next. She did not require anything other than common sense to see that as his face darkened, he was gathering the Force into one, immense push. It flew forth from him like a tidal wave, picking up debris and throwing it against her until she too was thrown back and into a wall once more. With his hand still extended, he waved dismissively to his left and sent her colliding with a few wall ornaments, before drawing it back and pitched outward to slam her again and again against the wall. Battered and bruised, she groaned as she felt her will slipping.

“You think that you can toy with me, Jedi? That I am simple game to be insulted?” The Sith lord growled. He slung her away then and outside of the room, where she hit the wall and slumped down. “I will tear you apart, piece by piece, until you reveal your true self. Fight me, damn you!”

And she truly wanted to – she truly wished nothing more than for the Force to return to her and rescue her from his clutches, but it did not. Even for a Sith, this vile man was far stronger than any she had seen before. He effortlessly sent her sliding across the ground and into a collection of fallen Sith soldiers. She had not the energy to continue, nor the will to push on. He lifted his hand once more, willing her into the air and splayed his fingers, the pathetic woman sent careening through the air to not only impact with the wall behind her, but crash through it.

“Fight me!” He challenged once more.

But she did not respond.

A cough escaped her, her body all but abandoning its will to continue breathing. She rolled to her side and attempted to crawl, but as she moved forth she felt the Force tugging her backwards. There was nothing that she could do to overcome him, nothing that she could possibly do to contend with so powerful the enemy. She had always imagined the Force to be an omnipotent ally, but she had not considered that it was just as powerful a foe. Abandoned by the Force, what hope did she have of victory? Another tug struck her then and she reached out for something, anything to hold onto. Though she grabbed an object, it gave away and she was sent streaming back to the Sith.

The Exile knew that once he had her back in his grasp she would not escape again. She had exhausted her every option and every ability. The Sith was simply stronger than her, and though she had given it her all there was nothing that could change that. She opened her eyes then and looked toward her hands as she prepared to say goodbye to all that she had known. Time slowed, she inhaled for what she believed to be the last time. It was then that she saw the object that she had grabbed and furthermore, saw that the toss had placed her back into the midst of a few fallen soldiers. Was it possible that…? No, it couldn’t be.

Darth Bandon ignited his lightsaber once more as the woman’s body raced back toward him. He would be rid of her if she refused to play the game; it was as simple as that. The woman began to turn then, a peculiarity but nothing that the Force told him to be concerned with. However, it was his eyes that told him to be mindful of the beeping read square that flew through the air and attached to his chest. Dismayed, Bandon prepared to slash the woman only for an explosion to rip through the hallway and propel him back into a wall. The Exile, also caught in the backdraft, was flung helplessly into a wall where she lay on her stomach.

Several minutes passed in darkness before she began to hear the sounds of the infant’s crying once more. As she was certain that spirits in the Force did not cry, she had to assume that the Sith lord had not yet killed her. Her every ounce of energy had been taken away from her then and yet she could not help but think of the baby. Every Jedi knew that the Force had its limitations only so far as their body did, and she knew that both her body and whatever latent benevolence the Force had was gone. No, she was spent, defeated. The Sith would recover eventually and both she and the child would die.

The thought of the mother’s pleading returned to her mind then. She had not been pleading for herself, though she could have. No, she pled for her baby. Please, she had said. Please. Most would have died from the shot she took, but she held on if only to repeat that word. The Exile’s mind seized upon the moment as she placed her palms to the ground. Perhaps a Jedi had the limitations she knew of, but she was no Jedi. It was not the Force that compelled her to rise and carry on. No, it was simple compassion.

Each step ached; each motion felt as though it would be her last. The Exile used the wall to support herself as she moved. With the faint flickering of exposed wires and overhead, faulty lights as her only source of vision, she felt through the darkness with her eyes mostly closed and her heart guiding the way. It was not until she had the infant in her arms that she felt secure once more. She groaned and looked back to the defeated Sith lord then and saw that he was far from dead. His every breath came stronger than the previous. Before long, in fact, he would awaken – as full of hatred as ever before. She could have killed him, but she felt it was not right; it was not her calling. Someone else would do that, some other time.

Staggering as she was, the Exile made her way slowly out of the facility. She did not know how it was she had survived. She did not know how she would be able to get herself and the child off of the planet. She did not even know how she would take her next step. As she felt the child once more hug about her neck, the Exile knew only one thing:

It had not been she that saved the baby. Rather, it had been the baby that saved her.

Chapter 10: Unafraid.

Malak was unstoppable.

While he may have regained his memories, he could not think of a single incident when he was presented with an adversary more vicious than the one before him. To meet his former apprentice head-on was to invite certain defeat, yet Revan knew that if he did not engage him then he would turn his malice toward more of the captive Jedi that lined the Star Forge’s interior. Brought to a knee from the sheer intensity of the fight, the Jedi felt his heart hammering against his chest as he struggled to find the strength to compete with the indomitable power that was before him. This was a fight unlike any other. Malak had become all but an avatar of the Dark Side, and their very surroundings intensified that power. Alone, Revan would have to overcome that which seemed without weakness. But he would find a way.

He could not help but blame himself for what had become of Alek. Though he had never forced the boy to follow in his wake, he would not have proceeded had he not. Though he never told Alek of the dangers that they faced, he would not have braved them had he not known of them. Revan struggled to quell his doubts and focus upon what was most important. Countless lives had been lost as a result of his actions, but none was quite as horrific as his former lover and friend’s fall. It was here that he would make right the wrongs he had committed: the Force had seen fit to birth him anew, and he would not prove to be an unworthy recipient of that honor.

“Do you not feel the Dark Side’s power, Revan?” Malak asked as he drew his pacing to a standstill. There had been a time when he would have imagined Revan invincible, but the man’s foolhardiness and lack of foresight had brought an end to that. Now he saw him for what he truly was – an empty shell that was capable of nothing other than throwing his life away for whatever cause promised to redeem him. “How is that you can bring yourself to serve them so utterly? Was it not they that betrayed you; was it not the Council that deceived you into believing you were something that you were not?”

Those words were not foreign to him, neither was their meaning. After discovering the truth of his past – that he had once been a Dark Lord of the Sith and was later deceived by the Council into believing he was something he was not, Revan found it difficult to cope with reality. Had it not been for Carth Onasi’s strenuous support and Jolee Bindo’s indefatigable patience (though the old man would never admit to it), then he may have very well been lost within that moment of realization. Had it not been for Mission Vao’s childish exuberance and Canderous Ordo’s pragmatic assessments, he may have well plunged back into darkness. Even HK-47 and T3-M4 had played their role in reminding him of his humanity! There was more to life than simply power. There was something greater, far greater, than any other emotion – an emotion that though corruptible, was pure in its original form.

Love.

It had been Bastila Shan, the same padawan that brought him so close to death, who had shown him the meaning of the word once more. She had sacrificed herself to save him, and he in turn had returned to the Star Forge to see that debt repaid. Through their travels together he had often resented her, even finding her to be overbearing and decidedly judgmental, but through it all they remained together and in that, something very familiar yet repressed began to blossom within Revan. He had feelings for her; real, genuine feelings. Those may have been lost when her deception was revealed, but to his amazement they were only redoubled. Bastila had been redeemed through the same love that he felt.

Now, the battle outside the Star Forge was slowly being turn in the Republic’s favor. Bastila’s battle meditation was a powerful foe to contend with, he knew, and as an ally it was without equal. But no matter what she did, if he did not slay the abomination that he had created, then it would all be for nothing. He would have to rise again, fight again, until eventually his enemy was no more. There could be no other outcome: the Dark Side had to be defeated.

Had he been stricken in the face with a gauntlet-clad hand, Revan would have felt his senses less jarred than when he rejoined the fight with Malak. He understood the chemistry of the fight: if he gave into his emotions he would only feed Malak, who in turn would become all the stronger. Unlike the fight that occurred before the Sith Emperor so long ago Revan knew that this confrontation could not end without one of them perishing. He seized hold of that reality and owned it. This was it – this was what he had been born to do.

“Give into your rage, Revan,” Malak hissed as he shoved outward to send the Jedi reeling backward. With each second that passed he felt his strength redoubled; his voice made all the sharper. Revan was a pathetic ragdoll before him. So lost within his thoughts he was little more than game and though he erected defenses, they were nothing more than child’s play to shatter and send the smaller man scurrying away. “The Star Forge’s power is infinite; only with it can you emerge victorious! Only with it can you ever dream to present me with a challenge!”

The shouts were tempered with savage strokes from Malak’s lightsaber that grew both stronger and faster with each related strike. Revan parried and dodged as best he could, but he knew that there was no hope of stopping Malak in that manner. He placed both of his hands to the hilt of his lightsaber and turned about sharply, relating a sweeping slash that Malak effortlessly blocked and shoved outward. There was always the possibility that he could tap into the Star Forge’s infinite power supply for just a moment; use its strength if only to overcome Malak. He was right, after all, the hungering strength that came with the Dark Side was a tool unlike any other. It could be harnessed toward a good end – emotions; passion, these were the providence of champions.

But so was love. The return of that thought drove him away from the darkness that he felt approaching. It had been rationalizations such as that which placed him on the path that he now traversed; rationalizations like that which had turned a once glorious vision into a nightmarish reality. He could not defeat Malak alone, that much was certain, but he also did not battle him alone. Revan felt himself batted to the side and lifted his lightsaber as Malak came barreling down atop him, the other’s face inches from his and highlighted by the shower of sparks that followed. That hatred in Malak’s eyes; it was so raw, so boundless. Yet it was that glimmer that told Revan everything he needed to know. It told him everything that he needed to understand in order to overcome the goliath before him. A simple line; a single phrase.

“There is no emotion,” he began coolly. “There is peace.”

Malak roared and pressed down harder upon Revan’s lightsaber. “Peace is a lie, you fool!”

“It isn’t, Malak,” Revan answered. “And that you cannot understand that is why you must be destroyed.”

The shift in positioning came so suddenly that Malak almost staggered forth as Revan slid along his lightsaber and dodged to the left. He whirled about sharply then and attacked Malak’s flank, but the Sith Lord turned and met his attack with one of his own to send another shower of sparks into the air. It all made sense to Revan – everything did. It was not that a Jedi could not feel emotion, it was that he could not act upon it. The purpose of the emotion was to remind him of what he fought for; to give him strength not from its employment but rather its presence. Master Kae had said it best:

You believe yourself an end, just as the Sith Emperor believes power to be. Perhaps in both you and power, there exists naught but means toward a greater end.

And he knew what he was a means toward; he understood what power was meant to accomplish. It was not to reign over the weak or to kill as many as possible. It was to ensure that an emotion like love, which was innocent and pure, would never be corrupted and turned into what he saw within Malak’s eyes. He would not act upon his love for Bastila, his friends, or the Republic. No, it was too genuine a feeling to be used in such a way. But he would defend it; he would turn himself into the means for which it could be protected. And nothing – not Malak, not the Emperor – would be able to stop that.

The tide of battle could not help but change when the pieces fell into place so succinctly. Malak may have been strong with the Dark Side, but Revan was greater with the Force itself. He did not draw upon the image of the poor Jedi captured within their fields as a means to attack Malak; he instead thought of how much better off they would be when this was all ended. He did not think of what Bastila had been put through at the hands of Malak; he instead thought of what she had shown him in her redemption. There was no reason to use hatred and violence when love was a bottomless well. The Star Forge and its Dark Side influences could create an entire army.

His compassion would see it all destroyed.

The contest continued still further, the Light Side and Dark Side meeting in what was to be a battle to be told for generations to come. Revan, entrenched within his newfound understanding of the Code, was a scion of the Force in nearly every way imaginable. His was a mind that was omniscient; attacks that seemed omnipresent. Whereas Malak, who drew his power from being a bastion of the Dark Side, answered each attack with malice and hatred, which tore through his body with such unchecked power that though he grew stronger, so too did his sinew and flesh further degenerate as he fought to overcome the beacon of hope that Revan had become.

Revan could feel the storm of the Dark Side energy upon the horizon. He braced himself, grip steeled upon his lightsaber as he watched Malak call forth all that he could from the energy source that had so enslaved him. He felt not an ounce of hatred for Malak in those moments, in which the beast of a man relented all control over himself and turned his ire into a weapon. No, what Revan felt was pity. This was a man that had once been his best friend and closest companion; a man that had empowered him when he was weak. Malak was not an object of scorn; he was an object of sympathy. He would be merciful and end his tortured existence. That, he knew, was the least that he could do for his friend.

“This draws to its close, Revan,” Malak snarled as he opened his palm and allowed a few lancing rays of electricity to dance toward the ceiling. “You were a fool to deny the power of the Dark Side!”

“No, Malak,” Revan answered. “You were a fool to allow it to enslave you.”

A shout unlike any other burst from Malak then; it reached far beyond the audible ranges of the ear and speaking directly to the flesh. Revan could feel the lancing bite of electricity beginning to work its way through him, but he did not relent and give in to the hatred that he knew he was meant to feel. Taking a few steps forward slowly, he exhaled and broke into a run. It was then that the torrential assault of negative energy met him in full; not only a physical deterrent from moving forth, but a psychological one as well. The area had all but become consumed in white light form the unchecked power of Malak’s hatred, yet Revan continued forth against the stream. Never before had he felt more pained; never before had he known more agony. But he kept his mind focused upon all of those that relied on him, and continued to charge forth.

And then, it all stopped.

It was not until he felt Malak’s body slump against him that Revan knew he had reached his destination. The hilt of his lightsaber pressed directly against the center of Malak’s broad chest, while its blade projected out of his back. Panting as he was, Revan’s mind was a ringing inferno of pain and suffering, yet he rose above that call and slowly drew his arm back. With a cough, Malak fell backward as well and slumped against a column.

“Revan,” Malak said through blood stained lips as he lifted a hand to his chest. The seductive power of the Dark Side, that had once been all of his mentality, abandoned him then in his moment of need. His vision was already fading and yet he could see more clearly than he had in the past year. “Revan,” he repeated.

There was a change in the man’s voice then that was not lost upon Revan. It still carried the hissing sound born from his lack of a jaw, but no longer was it hateful. He seemed almost scared in a way; lost. The hum of Revan’s lightsaber punctuated the silence before he spoke. “Alek,” he said.

Upon hearing his old name, Alek attempted to smile – or at least, reveal some level of mirth. He coughed once more, a sound far too wet to indicate that there would be anything other than death in his future. “I cannot help but wonder, what would have happened… had it been I that was captured by the Jedi. Do you… believe that I would have been able to return to the Light?”

“I do not know,” Revan said calmly. His heart was torn in that moment, wrenching in a manner that far outweighed the pain he had been forced to suffer at the hands of Malak’s electrical assault. “Even in my darkest hour I could never bring myself to betray you, Alek. I knew of your deception – of your desire to usurp me, but I held off… because one day, I hoped, that I would be able to see you once again.”

Those were difficult words to say, but even harder to hear. Alek began to cough once more, his eyes tearing as he looked up at Revan. “You led me down this path,” he protested with fading awareness. “Had you not, who knows what joy I might have known, what… happiness.”

Revan tightened his grip upon his lightsaber and clenched his jaw. It hurt to hear the truth spoken, but he could not deny that fact. “I set you on this path, Alek and for that I am sorry. But it was your decision to continue on it, just as it was mine to never again return to it.” He did not doubt that Alek could deny that; he did not doubt that he could easily refute his any point. But he spoke with genuine compassion then, as painful as it was to believe that their relationship had brought them to that point.

What Alek said in response was, to say the very least, unexpected.

“I suppose you are right,” Alek conceded, his voice but a whisper. “It was my choice to do as I did; to seek the power that I craved so wantonly. I wished to be the Dark Lord of the Sith, to be a savior as you were. But that was not what destiny – nor the Force, had in store for me,” he continued. “I have lost everything I fought for… power, respect, love… I am defeated. I am… alone.”

“No, Alek,” Revan said as he closed his eyes. “You will always be with me; my heart will never forget your name. As Malak you were a tyrant, yes, but as Alek Squinquargesimus you were a hero. Nothing will ever change that.”

“Thank you, Revan,” Malak said with a final exhale, a sigh that ended in dead silence. Those words would be the last that Alek ever heard.

Standing over his friend’s corpse, Revan wept.

___________________________________

The Republic had been saved; the Jedi avenged.

Though the galaxy was returned to something akin to order, Revan knew that there was still much to be done. The Sith Emperor was not yet defeated; whatever reprieve they experienced would be insignificant in the wake of the holocaust that was upon the horizon. It pained him greatly to leave behind the others, but he knew that their purpose would be better served going their own paths. He could feel a dark presence nearby, but that was not what he would be forced to answer. No, his friends would be able to do that. They were, after all, heroes in their own right.

He rubbed his cheek as he looked out the viewport of his starship and thought of the kiss that had been placed upon it by Bastila. While they may have had their more intimate moments, that kiss was perhaps the sweetest thing he had ever experienced. Before the eyes of the others and without reservation she did her best to display some affection as he departed. It brought a smile to his face, something that was surely to come in handy with the mission that was ahead of him.

Could he possibly stop the Empire alone? More than likely not, but a Jedi did not operate under the pretense that the impossible was truly impossible. The Force would see that he met whatever fate was intended for him and he would answer that call without fail.

It was an odd feeling to have. Years before he had faced that same inky blackness and known nothing but fear and uncertainty. Together, with Alek, he had braved it and found a darkness far more severe than he had ever encountered before. Now, he returned to it again, alone, yet there was nothing on his mind other than the potential to make a lasting difference in the war that was ever approaching.

The Ebon Hawk, T3-M4, and HK-47 had been left on Malachor V. He did not know why, but it simply felt right to ensure that one day someone would be able to use them for the same purpose that he had. Perhaps he would never see them again; perhaps no one would ever see him again, but that did not mean that they would not serve a purpose. For it was the act of serving a purpose that truly gave life its meaning.

He clasped his hands behind his head and continued to watch the sublight space pass before him. The thoughts of his friends and companions passed before his eyes as small visionettes. They were all special people; important enough to give him the courage he needed to continue on in the face of an almost certain death.

Revan, arguably the greatest Jedi of his time, was not afraid.

Chapter 11: Unbroken.

Was this the same view that Revan had been afford, she wondered, as the Ebon Hawk coasted through the abounding darkness.

“Irritated Observation: Being a meatbag apparently means that you don’t have to be forced into a suicide mission,” HK-47 quipped as he emerged into the starship’s cockpit. While he could have easily remained within the nearly vacant ship’s starboard quarters should he have desired to avoid confrontation, the fact that he actively sought out one of the two rooms where another member of the ship could be found was proof enough that he was either lonely and bored. Considering that there was nothing to do as the ship repeated the coordinates T3-M4 had scrounged from his damaged memory core, the Exile could not necessarily blame him. “Mocking Revelation: Oh Master, I can feel the Force flowing through me. Can I be dropped off at the nearest planet to spread my religious experience to others? There is no emotion; there are blaster bolts.”

“You know, HK. The vocabulator isn’t a necessary part of any droid,” the Exile stated with an almost threatening edge to her voice. The feigned irritation could hardly survive the duration of the sentence though, and she felt a smile creeping along her features as she looked back at the droid. “Besides, I thought you would be elated to see Revan once more.”

If a droid could appear to be thoughtful, HK-47 pulled it off for a moment. “Begrudging Acceptance: You have a point. This unworthy bucket of bolts would love to see his real master once again.”

“I take it there was just a little hint of sarcasm in that.”

“Feigned Resignation: Just a little.”

She could not blame HK-47 for his show of dissidence, in truth, she hardly knew what she was doing either. While the galaxy may have been saved from the immediate threat of the Sith Triumvirate, a collection of Sith the likes of which she had never thought she would be capable of overcoming, the Exile knew that there was a larger and darker threat on the horizon. In her final moments of life, Kreia, a woman to whom intrigue and cryptic meaning seemed a first language, had expressed to her the wonders that awaited the galaxy as a whole. How much of it was true she did not know, but even if the old woman spoke but half-truths, she knew to take something from the parts that were not lies.

If nothing else, there was one message that she would never doubt nor forget, for when it was spoken it was carried with such affection that she had almost forgotten the old woman had moments before nearly brought her life to its end: You are my greatest student of all.

But what did “greatness” mean? Did it mean that she had become the strongest, the smartest, or the most cunning? Did it mean that she had found an understanding of the Force that none of the others – not Revan, Malak, Nihilus, or Sion could comprehend? Was it perhaps a sign that she had become all that Kreia wished for her to, where others had held onto some unique aspect that forbade them from being properly molded?

The Exile was not certain and with all honesty and candor, she did not care what it meant. Kreia was a woman to whom deception and treachery came naturally to, and yet she had seen something within her worth loving. That love was reciprocated in the woman’s final student. She was thankful for all that she had taught and shown her, even if it had come at a heavy price.

A soft beeping came from the navigational system on the ship as more of T3-M4’s inputted data prepared the ship for another hyperspace jump. It was quite possible that the temperamental droid’s memory core had been corrupted and they would end their jump in the center of a star, but she did not allow herself to consider all that could go wrong. Between finding the True Sith, seeking out Revan who was more than likely dead, and then joining with him if he had not fallen once more to the Dark Side to stop the threat; there was more than enough reason not to follow in his wake. But what was most important was that she was going to anyway – that the Force, her returned ally, was taking her where she needed to be once again.

In truth, she knew that she could not have remained within the galaxy any longer. She had played her part in it and seen that stability could be regained once more. Though G0-T0 provided little more than pessimism as to what would follow in the next few years, she had not an ounce of doubt that all would be corrected and that her companions would do what was required of them. The ship’s beeping had reminded her of Atton Rand, who sat in the chair she now did for so many months, and did nothing more than think of games of Pazaak. When he explained to her why he did it she had thought him mildly insane, but the rational proved advantageous in the days that were to follow. He was a man scarred by his past, but quite like her, he had overcome it and emerged a redeemed person.

But her redemption was not so complete that she could forget who she was or what she had learned. The Jedi Council would have to be rebuilt in the face of the tragedies: from Darth Nihilus’ conception of those on Katarr, to Traya’s rescue from the hands of the Council members that had feared what she was, their numbers were depleted. Her companions, as the Force would have it, were nearly all Force sensitive though and with dedication and focus each had been able to connect directly with the Force. Only the great Mandalore, a hero who would live on in legend, did not remain with them to see that the galaxy was stabilized, but she knew that his people needed him and could hardly fault him for leaving to see them once more find pride and honor.

Ironically enough, though, she knew that she was the last thing that the galaxy needed in its rebirth. As touched as she was by darkness and as warped as her mind had become, she would perpetually be an exile, even amongst her friends. The Council needed to return to what it was: not what she would turn it into had she remained. Atris had been the perfect lesson in what became of a person that forced herself to ignore her true calling and instead attempt to become that which she was not. That woman’s madness would not be repeated in her: she was sure to avoid it at any and all costs.

So then, why had she gone through it all, if at the end of the day she would still not be able to find a home? Because it was the journey, she understood, and not the destination that mattered. Just as Revan had been forged in the fires of war, so too had she been shattered in them; it was the gentle and careful hand of a master smith that came behind those harsh times and mended her that made her as strong as she.

Living without the Force she had learned to rely on human instinct and compassion: with it, she had learned to value control and purpose. She had slain a man so enthralled by the Force that he was but a whisper of a person, yet capable of engulfing entire planets. With her love and mercy she had defeated a man who lived through centuries of warfare and was more dead than alive; a necrotic entity that existed only to destroy. By her understanding she had answered Traya’s final riddle and lain her to rest. Where Revan was a sword, she was a shield. Together, they would be unstoppable.

But that all depended on finding the man.

“HK, get ready for the jump,” the Exile said as she rested within her seat once more. “I don’t want to hear you complaining about not being prepared for it.”

The droid replied, “Derisive Reminder: I do not wish to be here at all, master. I suppose neither of us is going to get what we want.”

“Touché,” the Exile chuckled. “Touché.”

________________________________________________

Following in Revan’s footsteps proved to be much harder than she would have expected, but then again most things in life tended to be that way. T3-M4’s coordinates had become questionable at best shortly after their jump and with nothing more than vague fragments of what was to follow thereafter, the Exile was forced to utilize the Force more than conventional charts to guide their ship where it needed to be. It was in this way that she discovered the first clue of Revan’s whereabouts and from there, continued on their journey.

Despite HK-47’s constant complaining, she knew that he was excited with how close they were coming to Revan’s location. The man had, after all, created the droid and though she doubted he understood love, she was certain that there was a kinship there that no other person could fill. She was more like a step-mother to the assassin droid; Revan, his natural father. While HK-47 would never admit to being wistful, she could almost hear it on his voice whenever they discovered a new planet with a semblance of Revan’s prints still upon it.

A trail of bread crumbs, the Exile discerned, would have been easier to follow with the time that has passed between Revan’s journey and her own, than his Force prints – but silently, and with surprisingly good humor, she continued to seek him out. It was when they made contact with the Sith for the second time that she was made aware of what Revan had been up to, and furthermore, why he had left in the first place. That was a meeting she would not forget for the rest of her life; however short a duration of time that may be.

The young man had looked no older than his mid teens, but he carried upon his a sense of worth that she understood all too well. Cocky, but restrained, it was like watching a rancor placed within a harness. He was very much a Sith; his bearing, mannerisms, and even regalia bespoke that. But there was something brewing within him that she had not anticipated on finding when she snuck away from the Ebon Hawk to resupply it. While most Jedi would have been captured in an instant, her travels had taught her how to conceal her presence in the Force. She should have been there and back in a matter of an hour, but it was she that felt something odd through the Force.

The boy that say before her? He was indeed strong with the Force, but it was not the Dark Side that she felt.

“A Light-Sided Sith,” she had stated incredulously in the confines of the man’s home. He nodded to her, almost impatiently, and regarded her with a curious look mixed between impetuousness and earnest surprise. “I did not know that such a thing existed.”

“I didn’t know that there were Jedi this close to the Empire,” the boy responded bluntly. “I suppose we've both got a surprise. The difference is, mine can be solved by turning you over to the authorities.”

The Exile did not reveal any traces of fear. “But you will not.”

“And why is that?” He asked.

“Because you know that it would be wrong.”

A grunt of disapproval was all she received then and for several moments she watched the boy search within himself for an answer. The one that he found brought him even less reason to smile. “It isn’t that I believe the Jedi are right,” he explained. “It’s that I don’t believe in what the Emperor is doing.”

“I understand that,” the Exile said with a hint of empathy. “But, how is it that you came to appreciate the Force in such a manner? I had always believed that the Sith…”

The boy shifted, his patience a very changeable thing. “We’re people, lady. Just like not all of you Republic folks are ‘good guys’, not all of us are ‘bad’.”

“Yes, but… you are the exception, are you not?” Her question was not forceful, but did reveal a note of confusion. “Would it not be easier for you to escape to the Republic? The Jedi Order is still seeking…”

“I ain’t a damn Jedi,” the boy interjected. “And I don’t give a damn about the Republic. I was born Sith; I’m going to die Sith. Revan understood that.”

And just like that, the Exile had been given her largest clue to date. “Revan,” she repeated with an attempt to mask her excitement. “You know of Revan?”

“Of course I do,” he replied, though not quite as standoffishly as he had previously. With a perked eyebrow he leaned closer just a bit. “Why else do you think I’m talking to you, lady? He told me that you would be coming.”

“He said that I would be coming?” The Exile asked. “How do you know that he meant me?”

“How many other Jedi do you think have come this far?”

It was a good question, solid and without any reason to be taken for more than it was. “Do you know where he is now – what he intends to do?”

“Nope,” the boy answered. “I just know that he isn’t here. There’s more of us you know – not enough to make a difference yet, but maybe one day we’ll have a chance at changing things. Revan, he’s a visionary, and knows that if you’re going to change the Sith then you have to do it from the inside.”

Visionary was putting it lightly, the Exile realized. She could already see the potential that this movement had. If Revan could touch enough people; if he could convince enough Sith that there was something more than hatred and chaos, then perhaps he would be able to effect a lasting change upon the galaxy. Was it possible that this concept of a “Light-Sided Sith” was a fortuitous revelation that only she could understand at the moment? Had this been what Kreia had been preparing her for, to see beyond “Jedi” and “Sith”, “good” and “bad”, and accept that neither was a static position?

The Exile felt hope blossoming in her stomach. “Do you know where Revan went from here?”

“Yeah,” the boy said and held out a datapad. “Like I said, he expected you to arrive.”

And in this way, following the directions on the datapads, the Exile slowly made her way through the Sith Empire. At each new location she met with another Light-Sided Sith; some alone, others in small communities, who shared their hopes for one day changing the Empire for the better. Though but a small crevice within the entirety of the Emperor’s domain, theirs was a presence that could only grow stronger as time went on. She had planted a seed of hope in the Republic; Revan had placed one of devastation in the Empire.

The last of the groups with a datapad had indicated for her to arrive on Dromund Kaas, the Seat of the Empire. While landing on the planet was not as difficult as she had intended, finding the next piece of in the puzzle proved to be a quest unto itself. She searched high and low; attempting to evade detection form Dark Side users that were like Force Storms unto themselves, while searching for the smallest glimmer of the Light. After nearly being captured by guards, she found at last the location she was meant to, though what greeted her was in no way a pleasant sight.

It was Revan’s mask. Dented and scratched, it revealed signs of combat that far exceeded the wounds she had known it to carry. HK-47 and T3-M4 both adopted an almost reverential silence as they laid attention upon it, perhaps the best that they could say as a final farewell to their master. The Exile approached the battered helmet and ran her fingers along it. Perhaps if she tried hard enough, she could feel what had happened to it before it was abandoned.

What happened next was far outside of her expectations.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, a feeling so suddenly that she feared the guards she escaped had found her. She whirled about and activated her lightsaber, the blade perilously close to dispatching the one who had touched her arm before she saw who it was – bathed in but the faint glower of her blade’s projected edge.

“It would be a tragedy if you came all this way to kill me,” Revan chuckled as he removed his hand from the Exile’s shoulder. “I see that you found my mask.”

“By the Force, Revan,” she stated with exasperation and relief dancing upon her tongue. “I had thought you were dead.”

“Not yet,” the Jedi beamed as he looked toward the distance, a location where the Sith Emperor sat upon his throne. “I just got tired of wearing it as I waited for you to show up.” He returned his attention to the Exile and grinned once more. “Took you long enough.”

The Exile was torn in that moment. Revan was indeed the person that had started it all – everything that had become of her and the galaxy rested solely on him. Sure, he may have been starting a silent rebellion in the Empire, but would that be enough to answer for all of his crimes? He had broken her in so many ways, and even though she should have hated him, she could not bring herself to draw on those emotions.

“You left a pretty big mess in your wake,” she said with as much humor as she could manage. “Someone had to clean it up.”

“Bemused Interjection: There was much death to be had, Master, much death to be had indeed.”

“I have a feeling that he’ll not be calling me master anymore,” the Exile said as she looked from HK back to Revan. “I’ll have to learn to live with that.”

“If it’s any consolation, I believe he has every desire of killing his master one day to take his place as Dark Lord of the Sith,” Revan said. “Maybe I should update that driver before we go.”

“And after that?” The Exile asked, almost as though to imply that she realized their time was limited. It had been difficult enough leaving behind Atton, Mira, Mical, Brianna, Canderous and Visas, but she knew that she had made the right choice. But looking at Revan in that moment though, as he placed his mask on for what was surely to be the final time, she came to understand that those farewells had indeed been final.

“After that,” Revan continued. “We make sure that our loved ones have enough time to prepare the Republic for what is to come.”

And there it was. The period at the end of the sentence; the explanation following the question. There was no turning back, no retreat from what the Force had prepared both of them for. The Exile felt her stomach clench, yet at the same time could not help but be relieved that the end of her journey was so close at hand. She had spent the first half of her life learning to live with the Force and the latter learning to survive without it. The idea that she would soon be joining it eternally brought her some degree of solace.

“I wager that our lives will have to be the tools for bargaining then,” she stated.

“Well,” Revan said. “I don’t think the Emperor trades in credits.” He paused and looked back to her. “I know that I never had the chance to apologize for what happened to you; I heard what the Council did.”

“You don’t have to apologize, Revan,” the Exile expressed with genuine courtesy. “I believe that all of this was meant to happen – so that we would be standing where we are right now.”

They were sage words, but he found her unreadable. “And how does that make you feel?”

The answer to that could have come in a multitude of ways: betrayed, scared, alone, deserted, abandoned, forlorn, dejected, melancholy, angry, furious, upset, and dolorous. She could have invented words to describe just how she felt, because her journey had been one that had broken her, reshaped her, and broken her again. Yet for every injury she received, every bruise she endured, and every scrape that could have ended her life – she learned something new about herself. There were indeed many answers to the question, but only one that was correct.

“Whole," she said and offered a grin to punctuate the word. "Now, let's go kick some Sith hindparts."

"Excited Exclamation: Finally!"

Epilogue: Untold.

Theirs was a glorious charge that would go forever untold.

With nothing to do but wait for the moment when the Exile arrived, Revan had devised a four stage plan that would accomplish all that their small group would need to. The first part he said would require their most dangerous and volatile member, and since both he and the Exile had traveled with HK-47, it was no surprise that the droid’s name did not need to be stated specifically. The citadel from which the Emperor ruled was one that stood above all others. It had two main entrances, an east and a west, which meant that if an attack was launched from one direction, generally the other side would be less guarded than before. The question became how to convince the enemy to believe they were being assaulted and not simply victims of a diversionary tactic.

Initially, Revan had thought to galvanize the Light-Sided Sith he had embedded within the Empire. With a small enough army he could make it appear that an uprising had occurred, thus presenting his group with enough time to slip inside. But to use them so apathetically was a tactic that he would have employed a lifetime ago. He had learned to value not only the length of a person’s life, but also what it might accomplish if allowed to run its course. Theirs was an influence that would spread, slowly, throughout the Empire. No, he would instead have to rely upon the theatrics of a truly malevolent and depraved individual. As it turned out, HK-47 was more than willing to make up for the slack that was presented in not having an auxiliary force behind him.

“Emotional Divulgence: There has been pleasure in terminating meatbags with you, Master and False-Master. May your kill count come within half the range of my own.”

It was as heartwarming a sentiment as they were going to get from the assassin droid, they knew. Even T3-M4, who had been relatively well behaved, was given to relate a few sentimental chirps and whirrs as he parted company with his vocal counterpart. If HK-47 was capable of crying, Revan did not doubt that he would have done so; partially from the sorrow of his inevitable demise.

But mostly with joy at the arsenal he had been given with which to meet it.

“Delighted Exposition: Yes, yes! This will be fun. Very fun.”

The Exile, relegated to the status of “False-Master” she assumed, could not help but think that the droid had taken on an almost soldierly look. With more than enough blaster clips on his person, enough grenades and mines to stop a platoon of Mandalorians, and heavier arms than some starships sported, he was a force to be reckoned with. It was with that thought in mind that she gave him a salute and departed with the others to their next destination.

With the first step of their plan thus prepared, Revan, the Exile, and T3-M4 only had to wait for things to get started. Thankfully, that was not something that required much ambiguity or patience. Once he was sure that the others had made it to their positions, the well-armed assassination droid lived out his wildest fantasy. This was total war and no one was going to stand in his way!

Against the night’s sky, the single rocket appeared very much like a comet as it cleared the distance between the assassin droid’s position and its desired target. With enough of a punch to stop a Krayt dragon in its tracks, the explosive impacted soundly with the western face of the citadel and sent a plume of flames into the air. Having anticipated a need for further pyrotechnics to impress upon the enemy the appearance of an actual siege taking place, Revan had with much difficulty and care, placed several additional explosives along the citadel’s crevices. With the first strike landing, the successive explosives ignited with enough force to shake the building and sent detritus showering toward the ground below. No different than ants emerging from a kicked hill, the Sith swarmed outward and into the direction of their assailant.

With the high ground as his ally, HK-47 placed his munitions to the test.

The initial conflagration was a sight to behold, but it was only after the sound of blaster fire filled the air that Revan knew to command his group forward. They would have preciously little time to cover ground and with T3-M4 moving at a pace that could not necessarily be considered alacritous, they would have to be efficient if not swift. Naturally, any attack on the citadel meant that there would be a guard presence to the eastern gate, but Revan and the Exile proved more than capable of dealing with them. Lightsabers at the ready, they prepared the second part of their plan: the siege.

When Revan’s ability and the Exile’s prowess were placed together, the Mandalorians stood not a chance. It served as no surprise that when the two of them clashed with the remaining Sith guards, their enemy could not provide an answer to the problem they presented. For Revan it had been the Star Forge where he learned to engage the Sith head-on; for the Exile, it was the remnants of Trayus Academy. Alone each of them stood a good chance of breaching the citadel’s defenses, but together they were a force unstoppable. Now was the time for their training to be related to their opponents and with each second that passed, that relation only intensified.

It felt as though the Force had consumed both Revan and the Exile in those moments of combat. While it was possible that they could have fought through the legions of Sith on their own without HK-47’s noble sacrifice, now that there were a scarce few in their way it proved to be no problem to engage them directly. The Force came to Revan naturally and bolstered by the presence of the Exile’s connection to himself and the surrounding area, he found that what would have once been a whisper of uncorrupted energy was turned into a roar within him. Subsequently, the Exile who excelled in lightsaber combat found herself much more agile than she once was. The two complimented each other perfectly and thus presented not an ounce of weakness for their enemy to exploit. Where the Exile attacked, Revan parried. Where Revan pursued, the Exile covered. Even T3-M4, who was more or less a decoration in the middle of battle, shared a deluge of flames time and time again to ward off approaching soldiers.

It had been many years and a mind-erasing ago since Revan set foot within the citadel, but he remembered well enough the layout. The continued in a steady line of progression through the halls, meeting and dispatching Sith wherever they might be. The difficult part was not in locating the Emperor, for his was a hubris that far exceeded explanation. No, the difficulty would be in what followed.

“You know what to do from here,” Revan said as he drew to the area that would eventually lead to the Emperor’s throne room. Once before had he braved it with another only to have that person turned against him. Although he did not speak that fear to the Exile it was the motivating factor in what was to follow. T3-M4 came alongside him and regarded the Exile with a series of chirps.

This was it and she knew there was no way around it. The sound of T3’s words of encouragement brought a misty screen of tears to her eyes for but a moment before she nodded her head. “I will buy you as much time as possible, Revan. I cannot say how long that will be.”

“After what I just saw,” Revan said with a bit of amazement. “I’m pretty sure that will be more than enough time.”

The Exile nodded her head and looked away from the arching mouth of the tunnel that would soon swallow Revan up. Her eyes trained upon the distant darkness where eventually the Sith would return from their meeting with HK-47 and turn their attention to her. She may not have been as strong as she would have been had she gone with Revan, but she did not doubt that his intentions, this time, were pure. She listened as Revan and T3-M4 began to make their way down the hall and then turned back to face them. “Revan.”

The sound of his name drew him to a halt and he turned. “Yeah?”

“When you tried to apologize before,” she began softly. “I wanted you to know that I accept it.”

It was an odd thing to say. The incident had passed – she had marginally accepted it before. But the words had never left her mouth and for the remainder of her life she did not want to regret not letting them leave her. If she held onto that resentment, even for a second, then she knew that she would fall in a way that there would be no recovery from. Revan had fallen to the Dark Side and emerged from it; she had experienced the death of the Force and subsequently its rebirth. If there was one thing she knew, it was that regret was something best done away with.

Revan’s smile explained his understanding of that concept.

“I figured that,” he answered. The Exile gave him a slightly confused, though interested look.

“Oh?”

“Well, you’re standing here now, aren’t you?”

The Exile shared her final chuckle then and nodded her head.

“Touché,” she conceded. “Touché.”

As the sound of Revan and T3-M4’s retreat down the hall met her ears, the Exile stood tall as a sentry to guard their retreat. She closed her eye and inhaled, calling upon the Force as never before in order to not only augment her awareness, but also safeguard her against the torrent of discord that was coming her way. Before she heard the humming of their lightsabers or felt the venom of their souls, the Exile could detect where the Sith were. She steeled her resolve by remembering all of the people that she fought for; her friends, now rebuilding the Republic in her wake.

There was a good deal of comfort to be taken not from the fact that she was going to die, but that she was going to be rejoining with old friends. In time, she knew, her companions would pass on as well and the Force would accept each of them as a lost child. Perhaps she was the fortunate one to get a head start on them? It was a macabre thought, though one that allowed her to hold onto her smile for just a moment longer. The sound of the Sith drew closer and at last she opened her eyes.

The horde of Sith that approached her faced not only a reborn Jedi, but something much more dangerous: a woman that fought for the memory of her friends. Fearlessly, she charged their center and set to the task of buying Revan more time.

_______________________

The sound of lightsaber combat was not at all lost upon Revan, who heard the sound of the Exile’s struggle as he moved quickly own the hall. To think that his final companion in the assault would be none other than the utility droid he had picked up on Taris was almost humorous in its own right. But T3-M4, with what Revan assumed was grim faced determination, rolled on alongside his master as they cleared the distance between himself and the room where he had fallen and Alek was lost to him forever.

“Bet you never thought you’d be rushing to save the galaxy once again, did you?” He asked T3-M4 as the droid kept pace alongside him. A series of swift whirrs answered the question, which gained a chuckle from his master. “You never know when to keep it in, do you?”

The third stage of their siege was fast at hand. Revan knew that the Sith Emperor would dispatch his palace guards to the fore when he realized what was happening. Although he was certain that the Emperor had not expected him to return in so hostile a fashion, that did not mean that he would expect the man to be surprised when finally they did meet face to face. Revan drew himself to a standstill and held his hand out, stopping T3-M4 from moving forth. Before them was the throne room.

Between them, the Emperor’s personal guard.

“Stay back T3-M4,” Revan stated. “This part of the plan rests on me.” He ignited his lightsaber as the first of the palace guards stepped forward. “You may want to attack me all at once,” he insisted. “I’ve learned a few more tricks since the last time I was here.”

_______________________

No matter how many of the enemy she cut down, the Exile knew that there would be more upon the horizon. She weaved out of the way of one strike, then slashed upward to remove the arm of a would-be assailant. Her lightsaber strokes had become increasingly fluid, relying more upon the Force than the intensity of her muscles or the burning desire that was within her to keep fighting. Once a person had resolved herself to dying, she realized, there was nothing to keep her from giving her all.

The last of a particular squadron of dark Jedi met his end as she dispatched a flurried series of attacks in his direction, but no sooner had he fallen than did another group emerge from the tunnel ahead of her. Gritting her teeth, she bounced on her toes to remain focused, before shouting and charging into them as well. It was a tactic that had done well to take them off their guard, as the psychological advantage of seeing a lone Jedi battle through legions of their comrades was enough to make the lesser experienced Sith doubt themselves. Utilizing Juyo for the time being, she gave them not a moment to reconsider before they were sent into the afterlife.

The question on her mind, of course, was just how long it would take for Revan to get to the fourth step in his plan. Holding them off was a task in itself, but judging it against the events that were to follow was not only taxing but also mind-boggling. An ear piece would have been nice to have, but she supposed that she would simply have to make due with the metaphysical energy field that had treated her so well throughout the course of her life. If nothing else, she knew it had relatively good reception.

A lightsaber’s stroke came perilously close to her face. Though she initiated a backhand spring to avoid being stricken, it foretold the fact that she would not be able to fight forever. She landed in a crouch and twirled her lightsaber once before engaging the one that had almost been the end of her. With her attention turned to him she saw him defeated in a matter of seconds, but the indication that she could be harmed was not lost upon his comrades. Their numbers increased, they swarmed inward once more.

She could only hope Revan was getting closer to his goal.

_______________________

The palace guard, impaled upon the end of Revan’s lightsaber, burst through the door. The Jedi extended his hand and sent wave of the Force outward to dispose of the fallen one as he turned his attention toward the throne before him. Behind him, the remains of the palace guards acted as something of a shrine to the memory of Alek’s fall. Unlike the time before when he arrived the Sith Emperor was not seated. Instead, he stood beside an attendant who assisted him in fitting his armor on as he looked down toward Revan.

“I thought I felt the presence of a traitor,” the Emperor drawled. “Decided to return to finish the job you failed so miserably at before?”

Revan found it difficult to control his emotions then, but he knew that he needed to at that moment more than ever before. The slightest crack in his façade would bring all of his plans to an end, and since he could not simply go back and tell the Exile to abandon her valiant defense, he knew that was no option. “I was indeed once a traitor,” Revan said without hesitation. “I betrayed the Code that I believed in and turned on the people that I loved. I failed them once, but I shall never do so again.”

A chuckle left the Emperor then that expanded throughout the room as though thunder. He waited as his attendant adjusted the pauldrons on his regalia and then stepped forward. “I do not believe that the option of failure is yours to decide,” he stated with malicious bemusement. “But you knew that when you came here. Suicide, is that the best that the Jedi have to offer?”

“That and a lightsaber,” Revan stated smartly. “You’ll find that this time, I won’t be aiming for anyone’s jaw.”

The Emperor held his hand out to the side. From the wall furthest from a double-bladed staff jettisoned through the air and smacked against his palm. He gripped it at its center, then twisted it and held it before himself. Though the edge was honed to a point, there existed upon the blade a presence that Revan had never before experienced. It was alchemical metal, no doubt. “I’m rather fond of this jaw, but I would not mind taking your lightsaber. Precious toys they are.”

“Then allow me to give it to you,” Revan remarked as he twisted the blade and brought it to shoulder level. “Blade first.”

_______________________

The Sith were too numerous and her energy nearly depleted.

Bodies upon bodies lined the entrance to the tunnel, but the Exile knew that she could fight no further. She responded to the stab from one Sith by shoving him away with a block, then kicked out sharply and backed another into a corner. Not since she had wandered the galaxy bereft the Force had she felt more alone, but she knew that there would be no saving grace this time. The end of her energy would mean the end of her life and that was a fact that could not be changed.

She reached into her soul and found whatever was left, responding to a charge from a Sith warrior by shifting o her left and allowing him to pass, then slamming her lightsaber through his back and twisting about to check the advance of another. If the best offense was a sound defense, then she truly did not have much to give on either front. Her robe had become drenched in blood and sweat; tattered where lightsabers had almost pierced it. Yet onward she fought, unwillingly to relinquish the hope that a few more seconds might mean all the difference in the world.

Sharp hissing filled the air as more Sith approached. She gave a weak cry and met them again and again, bashing and slashing with all of her might to keep them from passing her. A slow strike with her left hand was dispatched and in horror she watched as a lightsaber closed in upon her. Searing pain filled her mind; her hand and the lightsaber that it held were severed and sent to the ground.

It felt as though her world had finally come to its end then. With so many Sith around her and disarmed, the Exile hissed as she backed away. There was nothing that she had that could prevent them from proceeding beyond that point.

She staggered then and fell to a knee, the bloodied stump brought to her chest where the other arm hugged it. Though she had used them as her center of strength before, the humanity within her could not help but mourn the fact she would never again see her friends. Their faces returned to her as she looked toward the ground and closed her eyes. The Sith would be upon her in a matter of seconds. There was no weapon to aid her now.

But it is not a weapon that a Jedi requires, she heard a voice say within her mind, it is the Force.

And there was truth in that unlike any that she had heard before. It was a truth that revitalized and invigorated; that elucidated and emancipated. All but within the strike radius of the Sith she knew that they delighted in seeing her suffer at long last. She clenched her eyes shut and thought of those very same faces that had passed through her mind; of Revan who now battled against the Sith Emperor. Though the Dark Side was present within the area, there too was a trace amount of the Force, itself. She latched onto that then and drew it inward as though inhaling. Slow at first, it began to coalesce within her core and grow ever stronger.

The Force was an ally that could not be bested.

Against all odds, the Exile rose to her feet and extended her remaining hand toward the ceiling. In doing so, the Force was released from her in a manner that created a sonic boom, forcing those about her back and sending still more slamming into nearby walls. With the energy extended as far as it could, she clenched her hand into a fist and slowly drew it down. The very citadel began to tremble, stone falling from the ceiling as though preceding an avalanche before she ripped downward completely and brought the area about the tunnel crashing down to seal off Revan from the amassed Sith forces. It was all she could do to buy him time.

Her eyes opened and she smiled for the final time as she felt one of the lightsabers pierce her body and send her plummeting into darkness.

_______________________

Revan felt the Exile through the Force as she made her final attack. It was a sensation that filled him with sorrow, a sorrow that invigorated his focus and reminded him of what he fought for. Gritting his teeth, he struck out against the Sith Emperor but found that the man’s prowess was far beyond anything he had ever dreamed of encountering. Revan had faced difficult adversaries before, but to the Emperor he was nothing more than a child. One of the Emperor’s blades blocked his lightsaber, before he shifted forth and rammed his shoulder into Revan’s chest. As the Jedi was pitched backwards he slashed outward and carved his mask in half, then propelled the Forth to carry him further still to smash against a wall.

“This is the best that the Jedi had to offer? I should have invaded long ago,” the Emperor quipped with another of his sinister chuckles. Striding forth at a leisurely pace, he seized hold of Revan through the Force and pitched him into another wall and then another. So harsh was the impact that small showers of rocks descended from the ceiling and covered the Jedi before he was sent still further into another assortment of objects. “You’ve felt your friend perish. Whatever it was she did before her demise, it was for naught. I would extend to you the option o capitulate once more, but you are surprisingly… weak.”

Through the pain, Revan endured. He held tight onto his emotions and grunted as yet another pummeling occurred as a result of the Dark Side’s presence. If he was like starring in the Heart of the Force, then the Emperor was a Star of the Dark Side. The entropic energy that wafted off of him was almost contagious and it took a good deal of self-control on Revan’s behalf simply to keep from falling back into his old way of thinking. He had to endure if he wanted to succeed.

“For centuries I have sat and plotted, believing that the Jedi were as capable in this day and age as they had been in those before it,” the Emperor went on to say with a noticeable level of contempt. “Imagine my surprise when I find that they are nothing more than broken men and shattered women. How is it that you were capable of defeating Malak, again?”

“Don’t you dare say his name,” Revan growled against his better intentions. It was such an obvious ploy, he could only scold himself for responding to it.

The Emperor laughed and drew Revan inward them. “Oh, did I strike a nerve?”

“No,” Revan spat as he was pulled forth. “I just can’t stand the sound of your voice anymore.”

There was a jocular nature to Revan’s voice that touched the Sith Emperor in the wrong manner. Was it possible that this insignificant man was taking his power as a joke? He snarled and clenched his hand into a fist, forming a vice upon Revan’s throat. “Insolent whelp! I will crush the life from you!”

It was not the first time that he had been Force choked; however, it was the only time in which he was uncertain he could escape from it. Baiting the Emperor’s rage was no less foolish than throwing raw meat a rancor, yet Revan knew that if he did not take the man off of his game somewhat then he would certainly be outmatched. As he felt the grip upon his throat tighten he ground his teeth and closed his eyes. Breathing was becoming difficult, but that did not mean he was completely at a loss. He had held back long enough.

Now was the time to fight back.

The Force arose within him then with no less splendor than HK-47’s rocket salvo had created in the wake of its utilization. Revan extended his will far beyond himself and drew from it the strength necessary to break the Sith Emperor’s grip upon him, battered and beaten as he was he would not surrender himself without a fight. The Sith Emperor let off a grunt of irritation as he felt his hold breaking and fought to redouble it, but by then it was too late. Revan was ascendant and it would take more than parlor tricks to stop him.

Free of the Emperor’s grasp, Revan cleared the distance between them by propelling himself forth with the Force. He descended upon the Emperor hastily and related to him a succession of slashes that did well to put the other on the defensive. While he knew that he could never hope to keep up with the Emperor for long, he employed the element of surprise with such temerity that his lightsaber passed across the Emperor’s left cheek and left charred flesh in its wake.

“You don’t seem quite as smug anymore,” Revan joked as he drew his lightsaber back. “Maybe you should take this more seriously?”

A cacophonic roar exploded from the Emperor in response. To even imagine pain had become difficult for him; to actually feel it intolerable. He was upon Revan as never before then, exchanging strikes that seemed unending from both edges of his weapon. Revan, to his credit, met those strikes with rising ability in the beginning, but true to his expectations as they continued he found himself incapable of keeping pace.

There was more at play than simply the battle of lightsaber against blade. While the Emperor may have been focused upon overcoming him physically, Revan could also feel that the man was attempting to defeat him spiritually. The Dark Side continued to breach his mind, yet he refused it with each successive slash that was attempted by the Emperor. Every feint that he made in reality had to be repeated in his mind.

He had felt these emotions before; the call to give into his fear and anger and answer the Emperor’s strikes with equally passionate ones. His understanding of the Force was stronger than it had been before, but so too was the enemy that he faced. His lightsaber would never again land upon the man’s face; his power was not great enough to overcome his adversary. With each passing second all he did was ensure that he brought himself closer to falling once more. The Sith Emperor was a man that had dedicated centuries to breaking his opponents. What chance did Revan have to truly overcome him?

The answer, he knew, was none.

What followed took more courage for him to do than anything else he had achieved in his life: more courage than his defeat of the Mandalorians, his battles against the Sith, or even his contest with Malak. It required more courage than his initial decision to disobey the Jedi Council, or when he expressed his feelings to Bastila. As he thought of her then, though, he knew that he was doing what was necessary.

Revan deactivated his lightsaber.

The Sith Emperor skewered him through the midsection.

A wet slurp filled the air as flesh was parted; a sound that the Emperor had desired more than anything else. He let off a dark chuckle as he shoved inward more, the corrosive metal of his blade opening within Revan still more levels of pain. “This is it?” The Sith Emperor asked. “This is what you had in store? A noble death? A death that no one will ever hear of? You fool; this cannot be the end you were fighting for!”

Life was already fading from Revan as he felt his lightsaber drop from his hands. He looked toward the Emperor and smiled, blood coating his lips as he spoke. “The End?” He asked, an almost snide grin framing his lips as he coughed. “This was never about ending anything.”

It was a statement so outlandish that the Emperor did not know what to take from it. Luckily for him, Revan decided to finish his statement.

“This is about the beginning,” he whispered.

Without further ceremony or delay, Revan, the Savior of the Republic, left his body and joined with the Force.

The Emperor dropped the Jedi from his staff and snorted derisively. To see Revan crumble upon the ground then was to see a man lost and defeated. To think that he had invested the time and energy into him only to find him wanting was perhaps his greatest blunder to date. The Empire would recover from the minor setback the Jedi had presented in their shenanigans; there was no doubt about that. Filled with irritation, the Emperor returned to his throne once more.

But the powerful Sith had claimed his seat for only a second when the silence of the room was interrupted. He lowered his hand from his scarred cheek and looked toward the doors, where a small utility droid emerged, bobbling along as it rolled forth. He could not help but chuckle as he lowered his eyes to it and leaned forth. “Then you must be the final combatant. Think you can fare better than your foolish friends?”

T3-M4 did not know what to do at that point. His part in the plan had been completed.

_______________________

A gasp escaped her mouth as the Exile’s eyes fluttered open. Her mind was filled with unbearable pain as the mortal wound that she has suffered reminded her of what had occurred. Through her ability to decipher Force techniques she had called upon that which Sion showed her to do what was necessary. In him, it had been hatred that allowed him to return from the living. With the Exile, it was her unquestionable love for those that she fought to protect. The pain from her wound only intensified and she could only feel sympathy for Darth Sion, who had lived centuries with innumerable wounds much more severe than her own. She pushed the feeling of pain from her mind as best she could and attempted to focus on her surroundings.

Still positioned within the hallway, she could hear the Sith about discussing how best to move the debris that prevented them from assisting to the Emperor. She had not met directly with the Force, but rather existed in a cold synapses between it and the living. That cold lingered upon her as her nerves began to revitalize, presenting her with the feeling that she had just emerged from some dense miasma. It was a harrowing thing to return from the dead and a notion that she was not bold enough to linger on for long.

The Exile knew that she could have arisen and challenged the Sith about her to combat again and again, just as Darth Sion had done so with her. But the beast that he became informed her of what happened at the end of that path; it warded her away from that potential power. No, she could not simply fight for the sake of fighting, no matter how much her pride burned for her to do so. She had to remain focused and remember that this technique, while employed for good, could easily become something garrulous and disturbing.

Her ability to nullify her presence to those that could detect the Force was not at all wasted then, as she looked about. It had been the feeling of Revan's presence brushing against her that alerted her of what was to occur. She swallowed the seedlings of rage that her wounded heart wished to sprout within her. The pain called to her, tempting her to give into the acrimony, but she would not.

It was time for the final stage in their plan.

She lowered her eyes toward her remaining hand but found that it was not responsive. Like waking from deep sleep too soon, her body tingled but would not react to her commands. She narrowed her gaze then, aware that each second that passed meant that she might fail to accomplish what was necessary. Calling upon everything that was left inside of herself, she lifted her hand and placed it against her robe. The appendage felt heavy and unnatural and she knew that the Force moved her far more than she did. Nevertheless, she felt upon her abdomen for but a moment before a switch was found within the confines of the robe. She flicked her thumb against its trigger and compressed the button.

There was nothing more to do. She closed her eyes once more and relinquished her hold upon her body. The way of relief that met her not to do with her escape from the pains of the physical self, but rather an entitlement that only her spirit could comprehend. No longer was she to be an Exile; Rem'ii was finally going home.

_______________________

The Sith Emperor loomed over T3-M4 as the utility droid looked up at him. HK-47 had been terminated. The Exile had been terminated. Revan was terminated. Only he remained.

He knew that the Sith Emperor would attempt to gut him and take from him information that might harm the Republic, but for some reason he knew that would not occur. Logically, his memory core simply relayed the sensation of calm and patience. He had served his master dutifully up until that point, there was no reason to change it now.

The compression of a button in the distance caused two actions to occur. The first was the transference of a small packet of data that had been stored within his backlogs.

The second?

Stored within T3-M4 had been more than enough explosives to see the citadel destroyed and everyone within it. While the Sith Emperor may have been a powerful entity, there was little doubt that he would be hard pressed to recover from what was in store. The interest that flashed in the Sith’s eyes drew suddenly larger when T3-M4 chirped for his final time and exploded into an incomprehensible wave of heat. Through the apex of the citadel a beam of light was projected into the sky, which tore still further into the heavens and presented what seemed a second moon.

Shortly thereafter, the entire structure imploded.

_______________________

The relayed data bounced from datapad to datapad, emblazoning a path along the small communication links that Revan left in his wake. Those bright lights told the few Light-Side Sith followers that the time had come to spread their word; the Sith Emperor was incapacitated and a steady expansion of their ideals could begin.

This transferring of data continued in a series of leaping calls until finally the message reached Republic frequency, where it projected itself directly to the personal communication device of Jedi Master Bastila Shan.

A faint pinging sound roused Bastila and more importantly, her son from slumber. She looked with confusion toward the source of the sound and witnessed the screen on her datapad light up. With the Force she groggily drew the pad over and shushed the crying toddler.

“Come now. There’s no need for any of that,” she muttered as she compressed a button on the datapad. It instantly activated the holo-projector to her left.

“Bastila,” the projection began. Although she had not seen the person’s face directly in quite some time, she had seen references of it in her son. Seeing Revan again was something that she had hardly expected, yet his handsome visage was not at all wasted upon her eyes. “If you are receiving this message then it means that I have at long last joined with the Force.”

The image flickered then, but Bastila’s eyes had by then filled with tears.

“I simply wanted you to know that if not for you, I would never have been capable of accomplishing that which I did,” the image of Revan went on to say. “There are still many threats in the galaxy and I am certain you and the Order will have much to prepare for, but know that while I have momentarily stopped the Sith Emperor, I cannot say that he is defeated. You must be ever vigilant – ever prepared for the emergence of the Sith.”

It was then that softness was attributed to not only Revan’s face, but also his voice. “Thank you, Bastila, for all that you have done. Your name will forever be a part of me, as I hope mine will forever be with you. Know that I do not wish for you to shut yourself off to the world with my passing; instead, I would prefer you use this knowledge I have given you to find a new life for yourself, as well. I had believed that after Alek I would never know what it meant to feel love again, but you revealed to me an emotion so pure and true that it has seen me through darkness and returned to me the Light.”

“I ask only one thing and I pray that you follow this directive, my dear. Do not tell the others of my fate – of Rem'ii's fate. We present to them a hope that the danger upon the horizon is being actively prevented from finding you. That sense of security is what the Republic needs now.”

“I love you, Bastila. I will be waiting patiently for you when it is your time to join with the Force. I hope that is a long wait.”

And then the datapad was silent. Bastila sat stunned as she tried to grapple with all that she had heard. As a Jedi she knew that she should not have felt as much as she did, yet the very thought that Revan had sacrificed himself for the Republic brought no lack of pain to her heart. She replayed the message again and yet again, each time trying to find a glimmer of hope that perhaps Revan had accidentally sent it.

She found nothing but the truth. With silent resignation she lifted a hand and wiped at her cheeks. “Come now,” she uttered softly. “There’s no need for that.”

The Republic had been granted a reprieve. She would have to see it prepared for what was to come.

All right, my eyes are bleeding.... did I just read fanfic in which Revan was portrayed as GAY?

I have to admit it is not badly written at all but Revan and Malak as couple? Seriously? No, just no - it won't work.

All right, my eyes are bleeding.... did I just read fanfic in which Revan was portrayed as GAY?

 

I have to admit it is not badly written at all but Revan and Malak as couple? Seriously? No, just no - it won't work.

And yet, somehow, it did work.