Bright Shadow Chapter 13

Previous Chapter:  Chapter 12 - A New Era 

 Chapter 13 - The Great Annexing 

The journey to the Oblivion was a nerve-racking wait for Vycerant. He had never left the soils of his homeworld before, so his first time and cursed him with feelings of anxiety. Seeing his ravaged planet slowly get smaller from the tiny window of his shuttle made him homesick already. Yet he felt happier to see Korriban in its pure state, rather than the wasteland it had become.

His attention was swiftly caught by the sight of Zhen’s personal flagship, the Oblivion. The massive Violator-Class battlecruiser was the prize jewel of the Sith Armada; an oddly shaped frigate that resembled a torture device made into a vessel; dozens of rods and antennae protruded from the outer shell of the vessel like stalactites. Over a dozen lasers and turrets dotted the hull of the Oblivion, easily able to take on the best of the Republic Navy. Vycerant was enamoured by the sight of the vessel, believing it to be the most splendid and glamorous vessel he had ever seen. Albeit, Vycerant had never seen any of the fleet from anywhere other than his barred window back in the Academy, a completely uncomplementing view of the armada’s true glory.

Arriving in the hanger of the Oblivion, Vycerant stepped out of his shuttle and took in the breadth of the shuttle bays; dozens of fighters lined the walls and ceiling of the hall, primed and ready for battle. Dozens more Imperials, from ensigns to Moffs, travelled in and out of the hanger performing seemingly never-ending tasks, whispering to one another about the new arrival to their crew.

The black-clad apprentice paced through the hanger, ignoring the many eyes that were laid upon him. In a way he enjoyed the attention, yet it made him feel insecure and unsafe. The last time he had been around so many strangers was back during his days as a homeless teen in Vortem, spending every day of his life starving and begging. Now those days were over, and now it was he who had the power to command armies to his master’s behest. He saw the sigil Zhen had pointed him to; a black and red insignia on the side of a large starfighter, with a strange-looking dialect inscribed next to them. The language of the insignia was foreign to Vycerant, but as he approached the large vessel, he began to feel the all too familiar feeling of the Sith hierarchy.

Standing in front of half a platoon of soldiers were two men, whom Vycerant assumed were the commanding officers. The one to the left was short and skinny, barely a muscle on him. His skin was a light grey, like that of gathering clouds before a thunderstorm. His attire was as grey as the walls that surrounded him; a seemingly oversized trench coat with the sleeves rolled up his arms, revealing his pale skin underneath. Based on the complexion of the man’s skin, especially that of his bald head, Vycerant assumed he was a Kage.

The Kage’s counterpart, however, was the polar opposite; a massive human man, draped in tattoos and body armour. His hair was neatly combed, yet scruffy at the same time. His armour was distinctive from the other soldiers; far less colourless, with tints of deep blue running down the chest with an orange collar, signifying some kind of prestigious rank. He looked more akin to a mercenary than an Imperial officer.

Vycerant felt himself getting nervous once more. He knew he had no reason to be, given his newfound status as a Sith apprentice. Yet it still bothered him that he would be commanding so many men from this point forward. He would lead them to murder others, or worse yet, lead them to their own deaths. He spent his whole life being told what to do and now the prospect of being the commander shook him to the bone.

The large brute noticed him first, his arms crossed, and his eyebrows narrowed. “Ah, here he is. The man of the hour”, the large man bellowed boisterously, causing the smaller Kage man to turn his attention to Vycerant.

“My Lord,” the Kage said, slightly dipping his head in a tense bow.

“You guys Zhen’s men?” Vycerant asked.

“Yes sir,” the large man said, shaking Vycerant’s hand friendlily. “Corso Blaze, Chief vanguard and demolitionist.”

“Or for simplicity’s sake, the most obnoxious man in the military,” jabbed the Kage man, offering his own and for Vycerant to shake. “Jerrad Kand, chief tactical officer.”

Vycerant shook the man’s hand, surprised with the kindness of the two men. “So, gentlemen,” he said, trying to sound more confident and authoritative than he was. “Where to for our first gander?”

Jerrad turned to Corso with a small grin on his face. “I say we introduce him to the boys,” he said.

“You reckon?” replied Corso. “Very well. Form up, lads!”

Responding to the Chief’s orders on point, an anthem of marching began behind Vycerant, making the hanger around them shake. Vycerant turned to see a grey and black sea of men in fresh armour marching towards him. No more than one-thousand men, the men in the front row of the regimen stopped just before stepping on Vycerant like a bug.

“Here they are, kid,” exclaimed Corso. “One thousand of the best Imps in the army.”

A gobsmacked smile spread across Vycerant’s face upon seeing the legion he would be leading. “Incredible. And these are all my men?” he asked.

“Every hand is yours to command,” replied Jerrad, taking the fresh apprentice on a walk between the lines of the soldiers.

“Each man is in peak physical condition,” he continued. “Born out of the most efficient training the galaxy will ever see. They are all well versed in all forms of combat. From explosives and blaster rifles to swordplay and hand-to-hand guerrilla warfare. Effective against all forms of enemy, be it hordes of Voltrans or a hostile animal hell bent on devouring them. Any situation you find yourself in, they are trained to deal with it.”

Vycerant looked from his left to his right, taking in the sight of the hundreds of men that surrounded him. Jerrad continued. “These are your men, sir. And so are we. Me and Corso here are at your command.”

Vycerant chuckled nervously at the prospect of leading experienced soldiers. “Well, um, as my first order as your commander, you are to call me Vycerant. None of this military nonsense,” he said, to which both Jerrad and Corso nodded to. “Also, I must ask. You place so much faith in me; a boy fresh out of the Sith Academy. Why?”

“I believe you’ve just answered your own question kid,” said Corso. “You’re a Sith. We aren’t. You’re inherently higher rank than any of us. It's the illusion of choice, ya'know? It's a big Empire. Not all of us get a say in things we want.”

Vycerant took a few moments to take in this revelation. He knew he would be in charge of a legion, but he had no idea he was higher in rank than the entire military. Was this really how the army operated under the Sith? Being subordinate to adolescents fresh out of Sith training?

Vycerant imagined how Kristina was coping with her newfound legion, grimacing at the thought of Doran leading innocent men to their demise.

“Very well,” Vycerant muttered after inspecting the soldiers. “I wish to speak to Zhen. We have a lot to discuss.”

“As you wish my lor-, ah, Vycerant,” stuttered Jerrad. “You’ll find Lord Zhen on the bridge with Moff Garson. Now if you two will excuse me, I have orders to dish out. See you on the battlefield.”

As the Kage left, Corso approached Vycerant with questions on his tongue. “You’ve never commanded men, before have you?” he inquired.

“That happens when you’re a slave,” Vycerant retorted.

“Ah, right,” said Corso. “Forgive me, kid, I’ve never been one for Sith tradition. I’ve never understood the ways of the old Dynasty or the Lords or all of this light versus dark gibberish. All I understand is how to operate these bad boys,” he said, brandishing his large machine blaster.

“Only word of advice I can give you is this,” he continued. “In my eyes, all you need to do to be a good commander in battle is to tell me where to point this thing.”

With that, Corso left Vycerant in the hanger with his one-thousand men legion. Vycerant instinctively knew what to say to his massive platoon.

“Dismissed,” he shouted. The men were back to their duties before he even finished the word.

*            *              *

Zhen stood in the middle of the Oblivion’s bridge with sparkling optimism in his eyes. An ocean of ships decorated the vast space that laid before him. Each one primed and ready for war. One by one, the vessels shot into the abyss of space like bullets, each one being shot at different planets the Empire has targeted for invasion.

The mood in Zhen’s bridge was one of seething anticipation. The men and women under his leash were not fearful of their commander, they remarkably respected the man for his composure and, albeit twisted, wisdom. Dozens of hands carried out their jobs in preparation for the beginning of the war. Dozens of hands that stopped what they were doing the moment Vycerant entered the bridge from the doors at the back of the command room.

Vycerant had met with his commanders Corso Blaze and Jerrad Kand. He had seen the hundreds of men in the regimen he would command. Yet the feeling of uneasiness was still present when the Imperials in the grey suits dropped their tasks and bowed their heads to them. It was a brief moment and, before long, the officers returned to their duties. Vycerant knew it would take some time for him to get used to people bowing down to him instead of the opposite.

Vycerant approached Zhen who continued to look out into the fleet from his window, watching the last few ships leave the system. Next to him stood an elderly man in a Moff’s uniform. With a dozen badges and medals decorating his attire, Vycerant knew the man had to be Moff Garson. Both the men were smiling a gloating grin, a face that Vycerant had become very familiar too. For the first time in a few hours, he felt comfortable.

“Vermillion… Architect… and there goes the Crucible,” Zhen said watching the last three battleships exit Sith Space before turning to see his apprentice standing beside him. “Leave us, Moff Garson. Our new commander has arrived.”

The old Moff said not a word to Vycerant as he exited the bridge, leaving the two Sith alone with each other.

“That’s the last of our fleet beginning their missions,” he continued. “It’s official. The war has begun.”

“Garson seems like a talkative fellow,” Vycerant sarcastically pointed out.

“The man has a lot to get done,” said Zhen. “He’s not all talk like you are.”

Vycerant chuckled to his master’s remark. No longer was Zhen insulting him for the fun of it. His harsh words has turned into friendly banter.

"What does our insignia stand for?" he asked, remembering the strange symbols he saw on the shuttle as he entered the hanger.

"A good question, Vycerant," Zhen replied. "It's an old sigil. From a time before the Empire, before even the old Dynasty. It was the symbol of the rebellious Djedah warriors who turned on their brothers during their civil war some thirteen-thousand years ago."

"Who were the Djedah?" Vycerant asked inquisitively.

"The original Jedi," Zhen explained. "The first ones to use the Force as a tool to build as well as a weapon to destroy. The Jedi these days are a pathetic mockery of what their ancestors once were. The Djedah at least had the guts to be an Empire that expanded across their entire homeworld. For that I respect them. That's why I have their symbol on my vessels; to honour our past."

"Our past?" Vycerant asked. "You just said the Djedah were the ancestors of the Jedi."

"And where do you think the Sith came from?" Zhen responded confidently. "As much as the other Lords refuse to admit it, we share a common ancestry with our nemeses. Evvret Darth led his followers in a war against the establishment to pursue a better life for his family and his Order. For their 'crime' they were banished from their homeworld by the Djedah. And then they found Korriban. Your ancestors. The red-skinned ones became the foundation of the Sith Dynasty. That history is important to us, or at least it should be. I honour our history by flying the same banners our forefathers did thousands of years ago."

Vycerant let Zhen's history lesson sink into his mind for an instant before changing the topic. “So where are we jumping to first?” Vycerant asked, realising he had no idea where they were going.

“Another good question. You're getting good at this,” Zhen replied, still smirking. “Where would you like to go first?"

Vycerant was taken aback by his master’s question. Was Zhen really giving him the option to choose which planet to attack first?

“I, um, have no idea,” Vycerant eventually stuttered. “What are our options?”

“Well, the plan is to first attack the colonies that the Republic has established outside the Core Worlds,” said Zhen. “When they send their navy to retake the colonies, they’ll leave Coruscant vulnerable. No home defence means that the bulk of out armada can swoop in and take the Core Worlds. No politicians to run the colonies means that the galaxy will fall into chaos and the citizens of the Republic will have no choice to join with us.

“We have a few options. Kotafan would be a nice first stop,” he continued. “We could even begin with bombarding Gameth. Would make the Jedi feel much less safe knowing their holy planet is burning beneath the feet of the Sith. We could also try Eron. Would send a message to the other splinter groups of the Jedi that we mean business. We may also want to leave Voltran Prime for now. It’s too well defended.

“Well, commander?” Zhen continued to ask his apprentice, who was overwhelmed with a plethora of information. “What’s our first stop?”

The bridge went silent for a moment as the Imperials listened for the young commander’s first order.

“Shall we pay Kotafan a visit?” he said, mimicking the simpering grin that Zhen wore.

Zhen turned to his officers. “Well you heard the commander! Set a course for Kotafan!”

With that the Imperials began their work send the Oblivion into hyperspace. Vycerant’s heartrate shot up as the adrenaline fuelled his veins. Giving his first command gave him an ecstasy he had never felt in his life; commanding dozens of people to do his bidding. If this was how he felt when telling a few people what to do, he could not wait to command thousands.

Suddenly, all Vycerant’s worries and fear had been washed away as the Oblivion entered the azure haze of lightspeed. The day had been one of tragedy and triumph; the death of his best friend had been overshadowed by the many things he had done for the first time; seeing Korriban from space, giving his first command, and finally travelling through lightspeed. He and Zhen shared a smile that would last the whole journey to Kotafan.

The past was finally behind them. Their future had finally begun.

Next Chapter:  Chapter 14 - Catalyst of Rebellion 

Copyright Jacob Burbidge 2019