Bright Shadow Chapter 12

Previous Chapter: Chapter 11 - The Price of Victory

 Chapter 12 - A New Era 

Dulcia’s chambers resembled that of a luxurious dungeon. Residing deep underground, beneath the Academy, the Sith Lady’s quarters were akin to something out of an indictive dream; massive stone pillars upheld a roof of shimmering gold and diamond. A chandelier crafted from emeralds and chains hung in the centre of the room, illuminating the chambers with its many candles. Two flows of molten lava flowed symmetrically along the sides of the room leading directly to a desk and throne that sat at the end of the gallery.

Standing next to the desk and awaiting his new master was Doran. His face was no longer the expressionless façade that he had worn during the previous years. An impermeable smile was spread across his face as his mind was occupied with recent memories of his victory in the arena. He relished the murder of Belushi and his nemesis’ reaction. He could not wait to find Vycerant and keep the promise he made the pureblood in after the end of the trial.

The newly crowned apprentice was so enamoured in his own self-indulgence that he did not see Dulcia enter the chambers and aggressively grab him by the collar of his new, black robes.

“Wha-“ Doran choked as his collar tugged against his throat. “Master! What the hell?”

The infuriated Dark Lady said not a word as she used her superior strength to drag him across the floor and hold his face over the viscid lava that ran through her chambers. Doran desperately tried to push his head away from the magma as he felt his skin begin to burn.

“You failed me. You wasted two years on the task I set you and yet I have seen no results!” she clamoured.

The opportunistic Doran used his free left leg to kick at Dulcia’s ankle, causing her to trip and fall next to him. With the odds evened, Doran leapt onto his master and placed his hands onto Dulcia’s throat. He held her head to the lava, burning strands of her crimson hair. The Dark Lady did not change her disposition and, surprisingly to Doran, kept her composure.

“Go ahead,” she taunted as her hair singed in the magma. “How do you like your chances of getting out of here alive after you kill me?”

Doran, now flustered and breathing rapidly, bit his lip and shook his head. He knew his master’s words were true. He’d never make it out of the Academy alive if he murdered his own master. He loosened his grip on Dulcia’s throat and stood back up from the Sith Lady. He held his hands up in relinquished surrender as Dulcia shuffled herself away from the lava and patted her hair down from the fire and smoke. Seemingly unaffected by the burns, she stood up and gazed into Doran’s eyes. He looked down at his feet and did what any good apprentice would do: kneel.

Taking the knots out of her hair, Dulcia let her curls flow free down to her shoulders. She spat at her apprentice with a look of disgust and disappointment.

“You’d better have a good excuse for not killing the boy,” she demanded of her apprentice.

Doran glanced up at his master with remarkable confidence. “My apologies, master,” he said with cynicism in his raspy voice. “But there is method to my madness. The pureblood is broken to the core. He hates this Empire now more than ever. We now have him on a slippery slope towards pushing back against the Empire. He’ll be tempted to rebel against Zhen and his orders. Soon enough Zhen’s hand will be forced and he will be coerced into killing the boy for his defiance. When the higher-ups see that Zhen is unable to keep his own apprentice in check, they’ll strip him of his rank and his prestige. Then you’ll have your opportunity to remove him from the picture and you’ll finally have your chance to rise in the hierarchy.”

Doran’s defence was compelling to Dulcia. She looked down at her kneeling supplicant with an eyebrow still raised yet with a minute smile on her face.

“An interesting approach, though not what I would have done,” she said, turning her back on Doran who watched her hips sway back and forth as she walked to her obsidian desk. She sat in her dark red, throne-like armchair at the head of the room as she continued to pat her hair down from the heat of the lava. Doran, seemingly in self-imposed submission, walked to the desk and stood modestly at the opposite end of her desk.

“So what now, my master?” he asked of her.

“Now… we prepare for the coming war. We’re to be stationed at the edge of Sith territory and will lead and assault against the north of the galaxy. Alamis, Kotafan and Eron will be ours within the month if all goes to plan.”

“If all goes to plan?” Doran asked, instinctively guessing that his master had something more than just conquering planets up her sleeve.

“Once we have three conquered planets under our belt, we will turn our attention to our true target. Darth Lamin,” Dulcia continued.

The mention of the Sith Blademaster’s name sent a faint yet undeniable shiver down her apprentice’s spine. Darth Lamin was one not to be trifled with; a fierce Zabrak who often kept to herself in her quarters. Dulcia knew that the only way to even get close to her rival was to wait for the war to begin, where Lamin would be driven out of the sanctuary of her quarters and into the dangers of the open world.

“So,” Doran continued after contemplating his future. “What would you have me do?”

Dulcia leant forward from her seat and activated a hologram from a projector on her desk. The blue, translucent images of hundreds of military documents jumped out of her desk. Images of shuttles, battlecruisers and an endless of soldiers marching in front Dulcia and her apprentice.

“We must bide our time as the war takes it’s toll on the galaxy,” she said coldly. “We must wait for the peak of the chaos the Empire causes. Then we shall strike.”

Doran’s eyes narrowed again. “That will be years away,” he said. “Maybe even decades.”

Dulcia’s tone did not change. “I am willing to wait for the ultimate prize. Our planning must be flawless, lest we both end up with our heads on the chopping block.”

Doran nodded at his master’s words, yet he refused to let them register with him. The adrenaline from the trial was still flowing through his veins. He was eager to satiate his bloodlust, yet was now permanently bound by the demands of his new master. He has been held back by her chains for the last two years ever since he agreed to assassinate Vycerant. Now his punishment for failing to execute his master’s plans has come to fruition. He would not be able to quench his thirst for killing the pureblood.

“Now,” Dulcia continued. “I need you to rally our contingent of troops in the hangers. Go now, get to know the commanders and establish your dominance in the legion. We have a long road ahead of us, apprentice. Let’s make the most of our opportunity.”

Doran was already on his way out of her office, “You have my word master.”

*            *              *

Vycerant stood over a wooden table in what was once his quarters that he shared with Belushi. Their beds had been stripped of their sheets and mattresses. All that was left was the bare, metal skeletons of the bunks. The metal bars that ran along the ceiling of the room were coated in dust, as was the floor and the barred windowsill. The light of the Korriban sun was setting on the horizon, creating rays of orange that shone across the room and onto Vycerant’s red skin.

Outside the room were a group of Imperial officials moving the property of other acolytes who had survived their trials. The hectic commotion outside was still not enough to distract Vycerant from his mourning. No tears came from his eyes and no cries came from his voice. Only silent pondering and relishing in memories of a time he could never return to.

On the table laid his lightsaber, the same blade he used during the trial. Oddisor had gifted it to Vycerant as a reward for passing the trial. It’s matt black hue refused to reflect any of the auburn sunlight that infiltrated the concrete room. The recently crowned apprentice leaned against the table with his hands either side of the lightsaber. His chin rested against his upper chest as his black hair hung from his sorrowful head.

As the last of the Imperials left the acolyte barracks, Kristina came into view from the doorway to Vycerant’s quarters. Her soft hands ran along the juxtaposing, rough walls as she entered the room. Concern was the only emotion she harboured. She too had been wounded by the death of Belushi and her thoughts dwelled on her lover who had clearly been distraught by the loss of his friend.

Yet despite Belushi’s demise, Kristina had somewhat kept her composure. Being older and more mature than Vycerant, she had a substantially stronger control over her emotions. This contrasted greatly with her red-skinned lover, who had been, to some extent, paralysed by the death of their Miralukan bastion.

She approached Vycerant from behind and placed her hands around his waist and laid her head against his back. Vycerant placed his hands on hers and turned to face Kristina; the only solace he had left in the world. Not saying a word, he embraced her with his muscly arms, burying his face in her red hair.

“I still can’t believe he’s gone,” he whispered to Kristina.

Her grip loosened around his waist and the concern on her face switched to discontent. Her eyes began to water slightly but she blinked her eyelids quickly to bury her forming tears.

“Alright, look,” She said, her voice slightly croaky. “I miss him as much as you do. But this is not the time nor the place for us to mourn. I know it’s gonna be hard, but we have to move on.”

Vycerant’s grip on her shoulders loosened upon hearing Kristina’s apparent lack of sympathy. “Are you asking me to just forget the last three years, Kristina?” he asked. “Belushi was like a brother to me, he fought by our side when we needed him the most. I assumed you thought higher of him than this-"

“Of course, I did!” interrupted Kristina. “But we can’t let that distract us now. Don’t you see, Vycerant? By becoming apprentices, we are now part of the army. We now have a responsibility to command the soldiers that follow us and if we don’t follow through with that, we won’t survive these next few years. And frankly I don’t wanna end up like Belushi.”

Vycerant had let go of his lover’s shoulders, shock and disbelief setting in. “Slaves then?” he asked. “Just keel over and live a life of servitude? That is not what Belushi would want us to do. He would want us to fight back.”

“Does it look like we have any choice in the matter?” Kristina implored.

Vycerant’s disbelief had begun to change into anger. “I will not serve a system that made me stand idle and watch my best friend get slaughtered before my eyes. I refuse to be a part of this-“

“Unfortunately, apprentice, Kristina is correct,” interrupted a deep voice from the entrance of the quarters.

Kristina and Vycerant both turned from each other to see Zhen standing in the doorway of their room, his arms folded and leaning against the doorframe. The bald man entered the room unopposed, with both Vycerant and Kristina dropping to their knees in voluntary submission.

“My master,” Vycerant said to Zhen, a tinge of anger lingering in his young voice.

Without another word, Zhen raised his right arm over his shoulder and swung down at his apprentice, backhanding the pureblood across the face and sending him skidding across the room. Kristina instinctively jumped up from her kneeling position and stood between Vycerant and Zhen, holding her clenched fists by her side.

“What the hell, Zhen?” she shouted at the Dark Lord as Vycerant regained his feet.

“Your loverboy here nearly cost me an apprentice,” Zhen bellowed to the woman, soon turning his attention to Vycerant himself. “What the name of Kaos were you thinking, going to strike Doran down? You are very lucky I’m as tolerant as I am, apprentice. Any other lord would have flayed you! You nearly jeopardised my reputation as a lord and, now that you’re my disciple, you’re my responsibility. You nearly gave Dulcia the excuse she needed to call for my impeachment!”

Vycerant’s anger seeped through his eyes, his iris turning bright red. He rubbed the back of his head from where his body impacted the hard concrete floor.

“Why do you do this Zhen?” he asked his master simply. “Why don’t you just leave this place. I can see it in your eyes. I can feel it whenever we talk about the Empire. You despise this place. Almost as much as I do. You hate the lords you fight alongside. You hate your superiors and followers alike. You don’t like being told what to do. You wanna be free. Like I do. Like Kristina does. Like Belushi did. So, you tell me why the hell should I listen to you when you don’t have the guts to practice what you preach.”

Vycerant’s bold accusations sent a chill up the spines of both Zhen and Kristina. The red-haired woman fully expected Zhen to strike him down then and there for his insolence. It’s what Dulcia would do. It’s what Oddisor would do. Hell, it would be what she would do if she lives long enough to become a Lord. But Zhen, like in every situation, was different. And he knew he was in the right. He knew his words would speak louder than actions.

“Because, my very bold apprentice,” he said quietly. “the end is upon us.”

With that, he pulled out a holoprojector from under his robes and activated it. Standing no taller than a flower from out of Zhen’s hands was Emperor Kalluux himself. His pale white skin and black tattoos were covered by a black hood and robes that fully encompassed his body. He sat upon a great throne, made of pure obsidian and decorated with all manner of kyber crystals taken by the foes of the Sith and placed o the ancient throne over many millions of years; the blue and green of the Jedi, the yellow of the Djedah, the Orange of the Eron and the red of countless rogue Sith that would have perished at the blade of whoever sat at the throne of the Sith. Either side of Kalluux were two Imperial assassins decked out in shiny black armour, acting as his personal bodyguards.

“My loyal subjects,” he said through the hologram. “Today is a grand day for our magnificent Empire. In the lasts six years that we’ve been free of the Republic’s blockade we’ve rebuilt our forces tenfold. The legion of the Sith has never been stronger than it is today. And today marks the end of the fragile Republic and their precious Jedi protectors.”

A sea of cheers briefly erupted from the holorecording before Kalluux lifted his hand to order an immediate silence. The applause finished almost as quick as it had begun.

Kalluux continued. “Today we shall commence our return to the galaxy. To show the weak bureaucrats of the core worlds that we can challenge their claim to galactic dominance. As I speak, the senate is in turmoil. Our plans have been flawless. With no firm hand to guide the Republic and only a meagre Jedi force defending them, the Republic is ripe for the taking. Within the next 24 hours our plans shall begin. The Dark Council shall relay my commands to you. Listen to their words well. And bring us glorious victory.”

Vycerant looked up at Zhen who was entranced by the words of the Emperor. Kristina held onto the arm of her lover, becoming extremely concerned over the future of, not only her life, but her life with Vycerant.

Kalluux swiftly concluded his speech. “Remember this day, my friends. This is the day that the Republic’s death warrant was signed. And each and every one of you has your signature on it.”

The hologram evaporated out of Zhen’s hands, cutting off the sound of a large cheer from the background. Zhen wasted no time putting his apprentice in his place. “So, you see now, apprentice,” he said. “we have a job to do. And if you’re gonna refuse to do your job, then I may as well just kill you right here and find myself another apprentice that is willing to do the job.”

Vycerant looked up at his master, with more fear in his eyes than anger. Zhen continued. “So, what’s it gonna be, huh? Live as a warrior? Or die as a slave?”

The pureblood turned and walked to the window that looked out into the vast plains of Norinthia. Witnessing hundreds of ships leave the planet, almost blotting out the sun as they flew higher and higher. As the light in the acolyte chambers began to fade, Vycerant made up his mind. It was the only way he would live through this catastrophe. He was either with the Empire or against them. And he certainly did not want to be against them.

“I will live,” he reluctantly said at last.

Zhen’s fluctuating attitude swung back into his optimistic and friendly façade. “Excellent,” he said cheerfully, completely juxtaposing his previous mannerisms. “Now, it’s time that you get to know the crew.”

“The crew?” Vycerant asked.

“The men we shall be commanding in the war. We will have control over the 59th Annexor Regiment, and the commanders are awaiting your presence in the hanger of my capital ship, the Oblivion. I expect you there within the hour.”

With that Zhen began to exit the room. Vycerant was slowly approached by Kristina who wrapped her arms around him, knowing that it would be unlikely they would see each other again.

Zhen looked back at the two apprentices. “You are right, Vycerant,” he said, catching the attention of the two newly crowned Sith. “I hate this Empire. And I’m gonna hate this war. But it’s what we have to do to bring about peace.”

Zhen left the chamber promptly, his thudding leather boots echoing throughout the halls. Vycerant and Kristina knew it was time. Their brief time together was over. Kristina placed her hand on the pureblood’s face, ignoring the bony spurs ejecting from his chin.

“Come back to me in one piece, will you?” she pleaded.

Vycerant forced a smile to comfort her. “I would say the same to you, but I have a feeling you can take care of yourself.”

Without saying another word, Kristina pressed her lips against Vycerant’s, almost cutting him off mid-sentence. Vycerant was completely taken aback by this sudden move, although he had anticipated it in the back of his mind. Letting go of her love, Kristina stepped back from the pureblood, not shifting her gaze off of his fiery red eyes. She picked up a bag with her few belongings and tossed it over her shoulder, exiting the room through the same doorway that Zhen had left. Giving Vycerant one last wink, she left his sight, her own boots making less of a racket than Zhen’s when he left.

With Kristina gone, Vycerant was left with a mix of emotions. The rage still burned deep inside him, but the cooling of Kristina’s kiss had calmed his ire. Vycerant took another few minutes alone in the acolyte chambers, lying down against the wall with his head in his hands, deep in thought over his future.

Remembering Zhen’s orders, Vycerant picked himself off the floor and twisted his neck from side to side, cracking it. He looked out of the barred window once more; the all too familiar sight of the orange Korriban sunset was now eclipsed by the battlecruisers leaving the planet’s surface and entering space. In one of those massive ships were the men he was meant to meet; the soldiers he was to soon command.

He was ready. He was ready for war.

Next Chapter:  Chapter 13 - The Great Annexing 

Copyright Jacob Burbidge 2019