Bright Shadow Chapter 16

Previous Chapter - Chapter 15 - Catalyst for Rebellion

Chapter 16 - Veil of Secrecy

The early morning sun of Voltrus Prime began to rise as hundreds of vessels rose from the surface and exited the atmosphere of the rocky planet. The orange light creeped up the hillside where Vycerant’s camp was settled, now, less than half a dozen tents remained on the mound following the events of the previous night. Many men still dotted the site, gathering the last of the resources they could scrounge before beginning the long trek to Coruscant. Most everyone in Vycerant’s Regiment had left the night before; Neris, Ambassa, Devrick, Basan, Hyke, most others as well, half of whom were massively hungover from the night of celebrations.

Vycerant himself sat on the edge of the hillside, watching the sun ascend from the horizon. Out from the palisades came Jerrad and Corso, both men looking concerned of their young commander. Jerrad avoided the nocturnal celebrations, so his mind was as sober as the day he was born, which could not be said for Corso, who still had his drink in hand from the previous night.

The large demolitionist remained standing next to the pickets drinking from his mug whilst Jerrad approached Vycerant from behind.

“What happened in there?” he asked inquiringly.

“He killed the prisoner,” replied Vycerant dejectedly. “Tortured him for hours even after he got the information he wanted.”

Jerrad looked back at Corso, raising one eyebrow at his large friend. “Well, not unusual for a Sith,” he said. “That is the way of your order isn’t it? To kill your way to the top?”

“Yes but… Zhen was always different,” Vycerant claimed. “He taught me so much more than the instructors at the academy did. His methods were so unorthodox, but they garnered much better results than any of the other lords. Now I feel the pressures of war are pushing him back into place, making him like all the other lords we fight under. Making him just another pawn in the Sith war machine."

“You genuinely believed that Zhen was different than the others?” Jerrad said, as if trying to let the young pureblood know he had been fooled by his master for the past several years.

“That’s what I believed,” Vycerant said. “Zhen was always contradicting in his beliefs. He claims to despise Sith history and wants to start anew, yet he keeps a collection of Sith relics in his office on Korriban. He preaches alternatives to violence, yet when the situation calls for it, he won’t hesitate to torture someone to death. He wants the Sith to evolve but he doesn’t want them to change. I was willing to look past the contradictions if it meant making the galaxy a better place. Now I see he’s just a murderer and a monster.”

Jerrad’s expressive eyebrows narrowed, digging deeper to find the source of Vycerant’s strife. “You can’t say you’re not a killer either, my friend,” he said. “I saw you on the battlefield. You slaughtered more Voltrans than anyone that day.”

“I didn’t make them suffer for my enjoyment,” Vycerant retorted defensively.

Jerrad nodded to himself, realising the benevolent inconsistencies of his young commander. “So, what are you gonna so now?” he asked.

“What can I do?” Vycerant said with a hopeless chuckle. “Zhen commands a force of a-hundred-thousand men. He has friends on the Dark Council and an entire cult of worshippers. Not exactly much I can do. I suppose I still do respect him, he has saved my life more than once. But after what he did in the dungeons, I’ve seen under the veil. This war has twisted him, and I don’t think I can trust anyone anymore.”

Corso, who had been eavesdropping in the background approached his conflicted commander audaciously, his drink still in hand. “You can trust us kid,” he said nodding to Jerrad.

“Agreed,” Jerrad concurred. “You are our commander, not Zhen. We take your orders first, not his.”

“I’ve known Zhen for longer,” Vycerant said, barely looking up to Corso’s cleanly shaven face. “How can I trust you when I’ve only known you a few short years?”

“Oh, don’t give me that Sith crap, Vycerant,” Corso bellowed. “We’ve conquered whole planets together. Sharing in the spoils of war is the greatest way to get to know someone. And I feel like I know you pretty damn well.”

“Well if you think you know me so well, what do you think I’m gonna do next?” asked Vycerant.

“I think you’re gonna go off and do something stupid that’ll piss Zhen off even more. Just do what he’s telling you. You have hundreds of men in your regiment that are looking to you for leadership and courage. Their lives will be put on the line if you’re here brooding about one thing that Zhen has done. You have soldiers to lead and a war to fight. Get your priorities straight.”

Vycerant remained discontent after Corso’s berating, but nodded at his friend’s advice all the same. “I suppose you’re right,” he said at last.

“Good man,” said Corso. “I’ll see you two on the battlefield.”

As Corso walked away, his step slightly shaky from the affects of his drink, Vycerant once again turned to Jerrad for his wise words. “Well Jerrad?” he asked his Kage friend. “What do you think Corso’s analysis?”

“Oh, wait, that was supposed to be an analysis?” Jerrad said, getting at least a little laugh out of Vycerant. “Sounded more like a drunk brute flexing his muscles and barking nonsense to me. I say keep an eye on Zhen’s moves. If he does something that you don’t like, confront him about it. We’ll be here to back you up.”

“And I can trust you with this?” Vycerant asked.

“Of course!” Jerrad said intensely, “That is a question you need not ask. We will always be there to fight alongside you.”

With that, Jerrad stood up and left for his transport, beckoning his commander to follow him to the last ship leaving for Coruscant. With Jerrad’s words still ringing in his mind, Vycerant ran after his friend to their vessel.

The last stage of Vycerant’s war had begun. The invasion of Coruscant was to begin, and with it, the rise of Sith dominion over the galaxy. But the young man questioned in his mind if he would live to see that dominion, and whether he would bare standing beside genocidal maniacs for the rest of his life.

*              *               *

The concrete jungle. The steel ball. The world without green.

These were just a few labels given to the hub of the galaxy. The centre of all operations in the Republic. The human homeworld, Coruscant. Even in the middle of a war, Coruscant’s citizens continued to labour away at their own behest, content in their comparative freedom in relation to the rest of the galaxy. Hundreds of billions lived on this grey planet that shone with orange from the atmosphere during the day. A bustling planet-wide city that never slept.

That was what Coruscant used to be like. Before Vycerant and his master’s armies arrived.

Entire regions of the city-planet laid crumbled into concrete and metal ruins under the feet of Sith legions. Men wearing the insignia of the 59th Annexor Regiment trekked across fields of gravel and shattered glass as they scavenged what they could to feed the prowling hunger of the Sith war machine.

All these paths converged at another Sith war encampment, now built over the crushed bricks and pipes of collapsed skyscrapers and bridges. The tents of Vycerant’s legion were now blood red and the mood of the many campfires filled with angst and anticipation for the next battle. Along the blood-stained, makeshift paths that weaved in and out of the crimson tents were hundreds of Republic citizens, soon to be turned into slaves and shipped off to some unknown corner of the galaxy.

Vycerant and Zhen traversed through this ocean of people. The sound of clanking chains and begging families filled the air. The young pureblood felt himself becoming sickly at the sight of the enslaved Coruscant inhabitants. Yet, against his will, he pressed the feelings of dread deep down as to avoid the wrath of his master.

Ahead of the duo stood a massive figure processing the enslaved citizens. Vycerant knew there was something different about this man. He bore the garments of a typical Dark Lord, yet the shape of his head was wrangled and unusually shiny. He stood a solid seven feet high and the ground shook whenever he took as step.

“Haha, Nova!” Zhen shouted friendlily to the Dark Lord.

The huge man turned around, revealing his face to Vycerant. It was the most peculiar thing about the Dark Lord: he had none. Vycerant was unsure if he even was a man, much less human. There were no eyes, just a deep, red light emanating from the centre of a metallic head. As the droid-man approached Zhen and Vycerant, his movements were expressive and human, juxtaposing greatly with his lifeless head.

“Zhen!” responded the cyborg man in a mechanised voice. “Small galaxy, old friend,” he continued, shaking Zhen’s hand in his own, which appeared to still be fleshy and alive. “How’d the advancements in Wild Space go?”

“Like a knife through butter if you ask me,” said Zhen. “Oh, yes, this is my apprentice, Vycerant,” he continued, seeing the bewilderment in his apprentice’s eyes.

Vycerant lowered his head in submission to the large man. He felt the ground shake as Nova approached to inspect the young man.

“Hmm, fresh meat,” the Dark Lord said menacingly. “I was in the crowd during your final trial, pureblood. I saw as you went to impale the other acolyte after the bell had rung. A risky move given how many Sith and Imperials were watching. You’d best not try anything like that with me. Or you’ll get a lot worse than just a slap from your master.”

Vycerant looked up at Nova after the thinly veiled threat, with a silent rage in his eyes.

“Haaaah, I’m just kidding kid!” Nova said jokingly, quickly extinguishing the fire in Vycerant’s eyes. “You’ll find your men in the barracks down the street. Make yourselves at home and fill your bellies with food tonight. We’ve got a long day of advancing ahead of us tomorrow.”

After patting the pureblood on the shoulders with his massive hands, Nova returned to persecuting the Coruscant citizens. Vycerant raised an eyebrow at Zhen, who was chuckling to himself after the awkward encounter.

“Well he seems chuffed,” Vycerant remarked.

“Oh, that’s just Nova in one of his rare good moods,” said Zhen. “I’m surprised the old bastard can even have moods given how much of him is droid. Me and him go way back. He oversaw my training at the academy when I was an acolyte myself.”

“Can’t imagine you as an acolyte,” said Vycerant.

“Humph, it seems like such a long time ago now,” Zhen said, reminiscing on memories of his long dead master.

“You’re not that old, are you?” jabbed Vycerant.

“Hah, I graduated at sixteen,” boasted Zhen. “Don’t think you’re the special one for graduating at eighteen. But, yes, it was a while back. Not a single inch of me misses those days.”

“I’m relishing every moment of freedom I have,” said Vycerant.

“As you should,” said Zhen. “For that is the core tenant of the Sith is it not?”

“As long as you’re not the slaves,” Vycerant scorned his master as they entered Zhen’s tent.

“Oh, here he goes again, wishing to debate,” Zhen said tiresomely. “The minion advising the master. You are just so full of inquiries aren’t you, apprentice?”

“Well you agree with the prospect of slavery, correct?” Vycerant probed, becoming the interrogator instead of the interrogated for once. “I mean your vision for the Empire is certainly unconventional for a Sith. Or is slavery just another addition to your list of exceptions? Alongside mass genocide and torture?”

Vycerant’s pushback against his master’s hypocrisy left an uncomfortable silence in the tent. All that made a sound was the gushes of wind that racketed the sheets and rope that held the roof over the head of the two quarrelling Sith. Zhen looked at his apprentice with displeasure but not with disappointment. After all, it was him who taught Vycerant to question all forms of authority, even his own. Zhen knew he had to defend his positions to keep the leaking respect of his apprentice.

“For a stable society to function there must always be people above to obey and people below to command. This is the grim reality of life and to ignore it is to deny reality. Just look at his whole campaign. Look how united the Sith are these days. The Empire has been able to do in just six years what the old Dynasty couldn’t do in millennia. Doesn’t that speak volumes to you about how much we’ve succeeded? It’s because we have put ourselves above those who wish to undermine us. Our very way of life. Now we are on the precipice of victory against our mortal enemy. All because we chose to elevate ourselves above them.”

Zhen’s attention was swiftly caught by the sound of singing and laughter outside the tent. Vycerant turned his head to see the same group of Sith and Imperials by the campfire; Devrick, Basan, Hyke, Ambassa, but this time accompanied by Jerrad, Corso and a couple other Sith warriors, with ale in their mugs and high spirits.

“Take a good long look, apprentice,” Zhen said gloomily. “A sight like that should not be taken for granted.”

Vycerant found himself agreeing with his master, however disheartening the thought was. He found himself staring at the group; all with smiles on their faces and happiness in their hearts, all whilst they stood on the rubble of a dozen collapsed buildings.

The pureblood turned back to face his master one more time, who had, by this point, sat back on his small throne and began sifting through the messages and briefings he had been sent by hundreds of other Imperials. Vycerant let himself out of the tent, with not one more word said to his belligerent master.

*                 *                  *

Another day of marching on the jagged, concrete streets of Coruscant. The summer heatwaves burned on the horizon as every member of Vycerant’s regiment followed him in sweaty, exhaustive succession. The heat began to break the marching army, so much so that Vycerant had to personally help up the young Devrick as he collapsed from fatigue.

When night fell, the company rejoiced at the cooler temperature. They also began to find their feet were no longer standing on rubble, but paved roads and streets of unbesmirched city. They had entered dangerous territory. A place where neither Republic nor Empire ruled. A place of anarchy where the citizens began to vie for their own survival in the midst of the chaos brought to their world by the Sith.

Vycerant overheard Jerrad muttering a quiet prayer to himself as the marching continued. “Who are you praying to?” he asked.

“The natural forces that be, my friend,” Jerrad responded vaguely, not changing his walking pace. “We could be ambushed at any moment. I want my soul to be ready and at peace if I die.”

“I never took you for a spiritual man,” Vycerant remarked.

“I worship the Creator. The Bright Overlord. In this mortal realm we are the ones in the middle. A place between Kaos and Serenity. The neutral zone between two warring realms that occasionally break through to bring good or evil into our galaxy. I believe the Bright Overlord watches over us, observing the good and the righteous, whilst a Dark Underlord watches keenly as well, maintaining watchful eyes on the wicked and the malicious so that he can purchase them from the Bright One to take to his dark realm. There’s a special place in Hell for all of us. We only need to make peace and repentance with the life we are given before we give ourselves to the eternal force. Beyond that is up to the Lord of Grace and the Lord of Gore.”

“So, you do believe in the Force?” Vycerant said.

“Of course,” Jerrad responded. “I never used to, but I now believe after all the horrors I’ve witnessed. I see our lords move boulders with the wind every single day we’re out here. I’ve seen the Sith choke the life out people without laying a hand on them. There is a Force. It’s all around us. But what defines those who can manipulate it is whether they choose to wield it as a tool to build or a weapon to destroy.”

“Then why do you serve the Sith?” Vycerant asked his comrade.

“Not all slaves wear rags,” Jerrad replied. “Some wear medals to decorate their uniforms,” he said as he brandished the metal accolades on his trenchcoat. “Others have lightsabers attached to their hilts,” he concluded, giving Vycerant an emphasising look as he continued his prayers.

The pureblood felt silent at Jerrad’s notion. He knew it to be true. He was still enslaved by this Empire. His helpessness to stop Zhen’s torture of the Voltran, his fear at the hands of the other Dark Lords. He was as much of a slave as the people that Darth Nova was processing at the encampment.

Vycerant continued to ponder his loyalties when Hyke, the Mirialan soldier called out to the regiment. “Movement to our left!”

The chorus of marching halted as all the members of the company halted and drew their blasters. Vycerant too, awakened from his brooding, ignited his red lightsaber and pointed it in the direction that Hyke had indicated.

A large collapsed chunk of metal wall leant up against the side of a still-standing building, creating a dark, cave-like entrance to a shadowed fissure. Hyke, along with Basan and Devrick, entered the cavern with their blaster’s torches activated, illuminating the darkness. Ambassa, with her own lightsaber drawn, led the men into the rubble where the sound originated from. A few more rocks fell from a pile of concrete slabs and Ambassa held her lightsaber in front of her, illuminating a young, feminine face.

The men lowered their rifles in horror to what they saw. Vycerant, Jerrad and Corso peered into the opening, attempting to see what Ambassa had uncovered. They only heard one word from her.

“Child!”

The three commanders hastily ran into the hole along with ten other men who activated their torches and brightened up the concrete grotto. Vycerant stepped forward as Ambassa extinguished her blade. The light from the torches revealed a human girl, no older than six, hiding at the back of the cave with another infant girl in her arms. A baby around a year old and coated in rags was sleeping in her sister’s arms. The older sibling hid her face from the group as Vycerant approached.

“Hey… it’s okay. Let us help you,” he attempted to say before the older sister turned her head around to face the red-skinned man.

Vycerant slipped from the back of the cave, mortified at the sight of the girl’s face, which was scarred across her left eye socket. The place where her left eye should have been was empty of sight. All the Imperials fell silent upon the sight of the young girl, who began to cry from her only remaining eye.

Ambassa came over to Vycerant, her commander paralysed by fear and conflict. “What the hell do we do?” she asked. “We can’t just leave them here.”

Before Vycerant could even respond to the woman’s pleads, the mechanical footsteps of Darth Nova began to shake the ground. The entire company turned to see the Dark Lord entering the cavern, towering well above any of the Imperials or Sith.

“What in the name of Kaos is going on here?” the cyborg lord demanded of his subjects.

The one-eyed girl hid behind the rubble with her sibling to hide from the giant cyborg that entered the cavern. All of Vycerant’s followers looked to him. His response could mean the death of them all. The burning resentment inside Vycerant for the cruel cyborg was boiling over, but his fear remained the deciding factor in his response.

“It’s nothing, Lord Nova,” he said, much to the surprise of Ambassa and his other followers. “We thought we saw some of the resistance fighters. Nothing to worry about.”

The rest of the company waited tensely for the Dark Lord’s response. “Well then let’s stop wasting time and continue to the encampment. Come along,” the cyborg said, pacing away from the group, continuing to create tremors with every step.

All of Vycerant’s troops looked at him with worry in their eyes. The conflict in their minds spoke louder than any words could. They feared the wrath of the Dark Council more than anything and Vycerant may have saved their lives.

“We have to keep going,” Vycerant muttered to his troop. “I want every person here to forget what we’ve seen in here. We do not mention it to anyone. And we keep our thoughts to ourselves. Is that clear?”

Only a deafening silence followed the question.

“Am I clear?!” he demanded, shouting this time.

“Yes, commander,” responded the group in half-unison.

The regiment moved out, with Hyke and Devrick wiping the sweat from their frowning foreheads. Ambassa stayed an instant longer than the rest, watching where the little girls were hiding with a sorrowful expression. Eventually, she too joined the rest of the regiment in their affliction, leaving only Vycerant in the cavern. Sweat poured down his temple and forehead as he clung onto the last shreds of faith he had in an Empire that was the antithesis of everything he was not.

Another part Vycerant broke that night. He knew it as well. He chose to keep it inside of himself as he dragged his feet along the floor back to the encampment, where the monsters he fought for slept and celebrated their many, many atrocities.

Next Chapter -  Chapter 17 - The Fateful Night 

Copyright Jacob Burbidge 2019