Chapter Text
Sparks of lightning flew toward the artifact – but the young apprentice couldn’t tell if he was still too inexperienced with the spell, or if the relic was too resistant. Seconds passed and the lightning flickered out, though sparks still danced on his fingertips.
“It won’t open,” the apprentice, Altrethir, muttered.
“Why do you suppose that is?” asked Lord Sen’tulo - his master.
He felt his gut churn. Pride was a feeling he’d come to know while discovering his abilities through apprenticeship. But so often would it be crushed or threatened – and how he despised having it snatched away.
“I am too weak,” Altrethir hesitantly replied.
But Sen’tulo’s lips twitched into an amused smirk. “The first step in eliminating weakness is to admit there is weakness.” She moved closer to the artifact, reaching out and manipulating the Force around her.
The intricate puzzle-like lock on the box shifted and clicked. A small hiss sounded from the relic – and Altrethir narrowed his eyes in thought.
“But humility is not today’s lesson. Today was meant to show you that there are always alternatives; simply zapping something until it gives in won’t necessarily work the way you want it to. It could break, leaving you with nothing.
“The Force has gifted you with its powers; use them to their fullest potential.”
Members of the Dark Council were never assigned trivial tasks, and scarcely they obliged to investigate information that could lead to a pointless cause. But after Altrethir - Darth Nox - delved further into the mysterious murder of Darth Arkous, his interest became piqued.
And he did some investigating on his own, being discreet all-the-while. He learned that there were four key players to the whole ordeal: the former Cipher Nine of Imperial Intelligence; the former advisor to Darth Arkous; a commendable Jedi Knight known to the Republic as the Hero of Tython; and a former agent of the SIS.
An interesting group to be certain, he thought.
A moderate amount of time had passed since Darth Arkous fell, and since the absolute destruction the Republic brought upon Korriban.
And now, he’d been reached out to by none other than Arkous’ former advisor.
The call went as normally as it would have gone between two cautious Sith; neither placed all their cards on the table, and details were left vague. Still, since Altrethir did his own independent investigating, he knew that this was indeed a matter worth pursuing.
He was off to Rishi: a planet set in the Outer Rim that dealt with pirates, smugglers and the sort. The ex-advisor, Lana Beniko, had preferred to speak in person. He’d been given rendezvous coordinates and made haste for the spot.
The city--if one could call it such – was in shambles. No, it didn’t appear as though it’d been assaulted by a fleet of ships; everything was simply... rustic.
Still, it held some manner of charm, Altrethir supposed.
He dressed casually for one on the Dark Council; he was to be most discreet about his presence, and attracting the wrong eyes could compromise the entire mission.
The meeting location was a safe house of sorts. The door had a passcode, of which Altrethir was provided with. He punched it in and entered. He felt a presence, but not that of another Sith. He proceeded with caution.
He sensed movement by the corner of his eye.
In an instant, Altrethir flung his free hand forward to send the mysterious figure crashing into the far back wall, and he held him with a firm grip.
“Wait--wait, hold on,” the human man said with a strain in his voice, pressure from a Force-choke squeezing his throat. “Nox--Darth Nox.”
The Twi’lek loosened the grip on his neck but didn’t free him altogether. “I am looking for another Sith.”
“I know you are, but she’s out right now. Put me down – I’ll explain.”
“Drop your blaster.”
The man hesitantly let his blaster go.
“Both of them.”
And he picked up the other at his hip, promptly dropping it.
Altrethir hummed thoughtfully before releasing his hold. The man straightened his jacket and pushed back a few loose strands of hair, “Lana Beniko is who you want. I’m her… I guess I should say ‘partner’ in all of this.”
“How do you mean?”
“Theron Shan. SIS, formerly. Worked with Lana during the past couple months, trying to figure everything out.”
Ah – the agent Altrethir learned about from his investigating. Yet he lacked a name and a face in the files; he couldn’t be certain if Theron was lying or not.
Heeding caution still, Altrethir spoke, “Contact Lana, I shall need to inform her of my arrival.”
Theron gave a nod and turned toward one of the holoterminals. He considered using his implants, but knew their new ally wouldn’t exactly want to trust a Republic agent right off the bat. The holoterminal would present communications aloud, as opposed to him and only him.
He reached Lana in seconds- and cocked a brow, “Weird. Were you trying to reach me-?”
“Theron, there’s been an emergency,” said the blue holo-figure of Lana. “The Nova Blades heightened their defenses on their slave encampment. They anticipated an attack and our allies have been compromised.”
“That’s- not good. Get me the coordinates and I’ll take the ship-”
“They’ve turrets surrounding the island. You won’t be able to fly a ship. In addition, someone needs to remain at our base.”
“Jakarro and Ceetoo are on their way back. They’ll be here in a second and- oh, your Darth friend showed up.”
Altrethir stepped into view of the camera, his hands folded behind his back, and Lana gave a nod. “Dark Lord, I regret that I am unable to greet you in person.”
“There will be time for a formal meeting later,” Altrethir said. “If the forces are as strong as you make them out to be, you may need some additional help.”
“I agree, but I would not ask that of you, my lord.”
“You don’t need to.” He turned to Theron, “Once your associates arrive, I’m accompanying you to provide aid to your allies.”
Theron was, understandably, hesitant. He briefly glanced between the two Sith but he gave in. He wasn’t exactly in a position to argue. “Okay. So, how do we get onto the island?”
“I’ll transfer coordinates to a loading station. You will have to do what they did: Hide within the cargo, then be carried onto the freighter to be taken into the camp. Hopefully there will be crates big enough for the both of you.”
“I’ve squeezed into tighter spots before,” Theron muttered, glancing down to his datapad. He looked over the coordinates and hummed thoughtfully. “That’s not too far. Now if only those two would hurry, we could get out of here.”
They arrived at the cargo drop-off. Being discreet, Theron and Altrethir navigated the stacked crates, trying to remain hidden as they moved. And they looked for any that could be empty – ones big enough to hide in.
But time was running short. Altrethir saw a cargo freighter in the near distance and he chewed the inside of his cheek.
He whipped around and threw open a lid of a crate. It was... not exactly spacious, especially for what he was planning. “Get in,” he told Theron.
“What about you?”
“There’s no time. We’ll have to share.”
Theron blinked, “Wait--hold on, I don’t think-”
“Get in.”
Theron felt his stomach drop. But as he looked overhead, he could see the freighter looming in the distance. Altrethir was right; they had little choice.
He huffed and muttered something under his breath before climbing inside. Altrethir joined him, trying to be as respectful as he could by giving the other man space, but it wasn’t exactly easy. They secured the lid and silence swept over the two.
Altrethir shut his eyes. He felt his surroundings; he felt the ship approaching, then their crate being loaded inside. The jostling caused Theron to bump into the other man a few times, but he’d quickly straighten back up, hugging his knees to his chest.
It was uncomfortable and awkward as hell–-and not to mention Altrethir’s Sith aura wasn’t exactly pleasant to be in such close proximity to.
But was that really why Theron’s heart hammered in his ears?
Yes – of course it was, he’d tell himself.
But even so, he’d think back to all those months ago when he learned of the new Darth that’d ascended to the Dark Council. What had particularly caught Theron’s interest was Altrethir’s species. The Empire has never been exactly warm and welcoming to non-humans or non-pureblooded Sith; Theron was a bit curious as to how a Twi’lek managed to climb the ranks so quickly – and with as much success as he did.
And then he learned of Altrethir’s history. His past, his upbringing. Some of his achievements while finding his place in the Empire.
His ideals.
And his ideals were what caught Theron off guard most of all. He didn’t even believe his intel at first. He couldn’t.
Altrethir expressed a manner of sympathy. Diplomacy. A calm, level-headed attitude that was scarcely seen among Sith. He was as cunning as he was powerful; he was observant and took the time to learn about his foes, even using violence as an alternative and not an immediate choice.
Theron was utterly intrigued. He knew he shouldn’t be, yet still...
The freighter came to a sudden halt, sending Theron lurching forward and- “Shit, sorry- sorry,” he muttered and immediately pushed himself off of Altrethir.
“There are... five workers in total. They are likely to have droids accompanying them, and they are more likely to be armed.”
Force-stuff, Theron figured. Altrethir had been focused the entire time; he was probably getting a feel for their enemies, calculating how many there would be.
“We will remain here for just a moment longer,” Altrethir continued quietly, “so that we don’t risk attracting any attention.”
And hide they did. One minute passed, then two. Three.
Theron shifted uncomfortably, a thin sheen of sweat on his brow. They’d bake out here if they stayed for much longer.
But, fortunately, Altrethir finally moved to open the lid. It quietly creaked open and he glanced out, scanning whatever he could see. Yes- he was right: Two assassin droids guarded the delivery platform. Theron had moved to take a look for himself and he noted the threat, pursing his lips thoughtfully.
A spark flickered at the top of a nearby streetlamp.
Theron began to draw one of his blasters.
And Altrethir reached out and made a twisting motion with his hand.
The streetlamp promptly exploded in a flash of light, giving the two droids a violent shock. Altrethir threw the lid of the crate open and dashed toward the droids. He cut through the metal effortlessly with his blade, the droids collapsing in two pieces.
And behind the crate, where they couldn’t see, were two more droids lying in wait.
They opened fire upon the Sith but he deflected their shots. That was Theron’s cue; he used the crate as cover and fired, landing fatal shots on each.
“Good shooting,” Altrethir said.
“Good thinking,” Theron complimented in turn. “Best course of action is to head where they last contacted us.”
The encampment was, as Lana described, indeed heavily-guarded. Altrethir and Theron managed to lure two guards aside, kill them, then slip into their attire. And while Altrethir would have loved nothing more than to slaughter every last guard on this forsaken island, there was a greater mission at hand.
They snatched up the guards’ blasters, the Sith moving his lightsaber to be concealed better by his coat, then they moved further into the island.
Altrethir’s felt his throat tighten as the sounds of the slaves’ cries met his ears.
He marvelously harnessed control of his emotions as an experienced Sith; yet the shouting and sounds of fists colliding with flesh created a flighty feeling in the back of his mind. It gave him flashbacks to a time he wanted to forget about.
Do not break character; the mission could be jeopardized if you did so.
His jaw clenched and his gloves creaked quietly as he balled his fists.
Still, anger festered in his gut. All the hatred for these cruel, unrelenting criminals would fuel his power when he needed it.
A woman’s cry echoed from behind him – and then it was suddenly silenced.
Chills prickled at his skin. A cold, empty feeling washed over his mind like a wave. His heart weighed him down as heavy thuds pounded in his chest.
His peers would tell him he shouldn’t care, but such was impossible for him.
He had, of course, been in the presence of slaves throughout his time in the Dark Council; however, being in such a position like this was tormenting. Altrethir had the capability to kill every single guard on this island, but he’d risk compromising the safety of their allies.
The bigger picture was what was more important.
He inhaled a deep breath, trying to take back whatever control he could; the Dark Side pushed and it pushed hard, desperately trying to sway him into giving in to his temptations: To lash out at these monsters; to take their lives just as they’ve taken innocents’; to strip them of their freedom by bringing an end to it altogether.
He felt its whispers in his conscious. His hands twitched at his sides, his breaths became short and shallow again.
“Here,” Theron said, taking Altrethir out of his thoughts momentarily. “Give me just a second and I can get us inside.”
Altrethir held his stolen blaster against his chest, shifting to watch Theron’s back as he worked. And though anyone who looked to him would be shielded from his glare by his goggles, they’d certainly see the tight scowl that curled his lips.
The panel beeped twice and Theron straightened his posture, “All set. Come on.”
Altrethir located the Jedi and ex-cipher agent, but until he and Theron could take down the turrets, helping them escape would be pointless. They moved further through the base, avoiding suspicion wherever possible. They reached the control room. But, of course, it wasn’t without its own group of guards. Altrethir paused to think up a plan.
“What is the name of the Nova Blade’s leader? The one who oversees this facility?”
“Dael Margok,” Theron said.
“Very good. Let me borrow your fake identification papers.”
Theron raised a brow. “You don’t exactly look like Margok; they’re not gonna buy any tricks into thinking that you’re him.”
“They won’t need to,” he beckoned for Theron to follow and they casually walked into the control room. As predicted, a guard halted them before they could get far.
“Authorized personnel only.”
“Kolbry Axton. Technical support,” Altrethir said, shifting into a Huttese accent. “Margok called. Said you having power outages,” he presented Theron’s fake ID papers. “Our credentials. These work fine, yes?” Altrethir reached out with the Force to persuade the guard into agreement.
“Yes--yes, Margok said we should be expecting a tech team,” he handed Altrethir the papers back. “Get on it, then. And don’t bother me for help; I don’t know shit about any of that stuff. I just watch for intruders.”
Altrethir and Theron moved further into the room and off to the side. He lowered his voice, switching back to his regular Imperial accent; “I am relying on you to get those turrets offline. Which control panel do you need to slice?”
Theron peered around. “There. Far back, on the right.”
They casually wove through the small number of workers, making their way over to the device. Theron knelt before the panel and retrieved his slicer spike and got to work. Altrethir turned around nonchalantly, pulling out his datapad to make himself look occupied.
Something in his gut still stirred; a feeling he couldn’t shake, nor one he knew he should ignore. After a moment, he knelt beside Theron and leaned forward, “Take all power offline. Everything.”
“I can do that, but it’ll trip some alarms for sure. You got something in mind?”
“Yes, but we’ll need to act quick. Scramble their systems, buy us enough time to work. Once it’s down and we’re out, we’ll be on the clock.”
Theron got to work and Altrethir stood up again, resuming his act of working from his datapad.
After a few moments, the lights in the facility suddenly dimmed before flicking out entirely, leaving the crew in the hands of the emergency lights. Altrethir gave Theron a tap on his shoulder before briskly walking to the entrance of the room, and he followed just behind.
The crew was in disarray and they were able to flee amidst the chaos. They ducked around a corner and into the cells where their allies were being held. Altrethir promptly executed the men who stood guard, and Theron rushed to the Jedi and agent.
“Thank the stars you’re both in one piece,” Theron sighed in relief as he took the cell shield down. “Let’s get out of here. Lana will be on her way for pickup soon.”
“You’ve got help from another Sith,” the Jedi said.
“Yeah, well-”
“Pleasantries or otherwise can wait; we’ve no time to argue,” Altrethir said.
Lana was right on schedule. But, unfortunately, the Nova Blades quickly realized that their island had been infiltrated by even more intruders. Though the turrets were down, the Blades still pursued them. Blaster shots sailed through the air as the Jedi and agent climbed aboard, then Theron jumped onto the ramp.
He turned. Altrethir had his lightsaber in-hand.
“Nox--hey! No unnecessary heroics-!”
“This is necessary, and I’m certainly not doing it for glory.”
Before Theron could protest further, Altrethir pushed him further up the ramp with the Force and the ramp slowly closed. The ship hovered in place all for a moment before flying further away.
“Kolbry Axton,” called a gruff voice. “Not the most convincing name. You’re bold, I’ll give you that.” Clad in heavy armor stood a large, masked guard, his voice filtered by his headgear.
The Nova Blade guards held their fire but kept their blasters pointed straight at him, then the man continued. “We ain’t got no quarrel with the Sith, but you’ve sure caused a hell of a stir in our base. We can’t exactly let you waltz out of here.”
No--no, Altrethir didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want negotiate as he typically would. He didn’t wish to seek compromise, nor reach any agreements. He wanted this entire island to burn, along with every slaver that practiced the cruel trade.
And the man’s arrogance was just enough to tip him over the edge.
“If you wanna live, how ‘bout you start by putting down that fancy blade-”
The man flew forward and the Sith skewered him with his saber, all in the span of a second.
The Nova Blades opened fire. Altrethir cast the corpse aside and raised two pieces of scrap metal, shielding himself on either side. With a thrust of his arm, he sent one of the sheets flying toward a group, taking them out. Using his now-freed hand, he channeled electricity through his fingers and into the other group. The shock paralyzed them, and he took the opportunity to clean up his work with his lightsaber.
His movements were fluent; smooth, fast but calculated. Sorcery was his strong-suit, but he wasn’t untrained in the art of melee combat. And his pent-up anger from earlier fueled his strength; Altrethir lashed out with brutality--an unrelenting force that none of the Blades could hope to stop.
When the last troop fell, another group was already rushing toward him. He exhaled a short breath and gave a small twirl of his saber, electricity sparking in his free hand as he prepared a spell.
A ship whizzed through the air above him and immediately opened fire upon the rest of the soldiers.
Ah, perfect timing.
The ground exploded in debris with each blast that landed, chunks of soil and rock flying. Altrethir took off in a sprint and clicked on his comm, “Just in time, Andronikos.”
“Sorry, Sith. Somethin’ about those coordinates made the navicomputer freak out.”
“Continue bombardment, I’ll handle things from the ground.”
He ran through the camp, slaying any Blades that interfered. Large metal containers--much bigger than the crate he and Theron traveled inside--sat idle near the cliffs. Altrethir fried the circuits of the control panel and the lid hissed open. He lifted it with the Force, and the people inside recoiled as they saw him.
Altrethir tugged off his goggles and tossed them aside, “You’re getting out of here.”
“Y-you’re not with them?” a starved human woman stammered.
“I am Darth Nox and I am here to free you. Go; the ships by the southern northwest docks are clear. Help as many slaves as you can.”
Theron collided against the metal wall of the ship with a grunt but he quickly scrambled to his feet. The ramp had closed, leaving Nox down with the Blades all by himself.
But he was Sith--he could handle himself, right?
And, more importantly, he was Sith.
Why did Theron care? He was the enemy, only agreeing to work together in order to solve a mutual problem. Were it not for the chaos Revan ensued, he and Nox would no doubt be at each other's throats.
Though tense and conflicted, he took a breath and applied logic to the situation; Nox was an ally, temporary or not, and a powerful one at that.
Theron whipped around and rushed into the cockpit, “Turn around, we’ve got to help him.”
“They may have the turrets back online if we delay. The Dark Lord knew what he was doing; he wants us to leave,” Lana said calmly--a little too calmly for Theron’s liking.
He sneered and brushed past their allies whom they’d rescued to look out the back window. And he narrowed his eyes at what he saw: The Nova Blades ceased fire. Nox was conversing with one who looked to be heavily armored, but-…
Lana took the ship higher and away from the island, until Nox and the Blades were out of sight.
A thought wedged itself into his mind: Why wasn’t Nox fighting? Why weren’t the Blades fighting? Unless…
They were allied.
No--that couldn’t be the case. Lana made absolutely certain that Nox was on their side, fighting this battle with them, not the Revanites. Even so, if this man was as cunning as he was deceptive, he could have had Lana fooled. He could have had them all fooled.
None of his suspicions had been confirmed, but Theron internally braced for another betrayal.
He leaned against the wall, keeping silent for the rest of the flight back to Raider’s Cove.