Morgan looked down at the red planet, enhanced eyesight just barely able to make out the sith Academy.
"You look serious." Vette hummed, her small digital face staring at him. "More so than usual, I mean."
"We won. It's a dangerous thing for me to push, to take risks, and be rewarded for it."
Vette shrugged lazily. "If it hadn't I'm sure you'd have survived. Worst comes to worst you can hide out with me. I'm sure I can find something for you to do in my modest criminal enterprise."
"I suppose taking over would be a fun vacation."
She looked insulted, briefly seemed to contemplate that, then shrugged. "Eh, probably. Still, I'd make it annoying enough you'd give up."
"That you would. How is your oh so modest enterprise going, anyway? I haven't heard about any mercenary wars yet. Not on the news at least."
"Eh." Vette explained. "It's going. Not quite a normal war, not quite a shadow war. You know how it is."
"I really don't."
"Oh, right. Not terribly important, really. Proxy states, 'rogue' armies, political unrest started by 'independent' politicians. There's a lot of people fighting on either side, but it's spread out over a large area, you know? Your war is actually providing a great smokescreen. Now spill. Why are you brooding?"
He supposed he was. And hearing about her exploits when he wasn't really a part of them, even less so than before, was getting more surreal by the week. Is this what people felt when he told them about the things he'd done?
"I broke an Empire." Morgan finally said, the words sounding ludicrous even to himself. "I already sort of did after Dromund Kaas, but now Korriban is done for. Their vessels are destroyed or answer to me, ironically enough we now have more navy personnel than ships, and everything outside the Academy shields is being reduced to rubble."
"In for a long siege, then? They're not much of a threat while trapped on Korriban. Unlike Dromund Kaas, indiscriminate bombings won't target civilians. Much."
Morgan nodded. "True enough. It can be argued the acolytes are not there by choice, and that a number of slaves live in the Academy, but I don't have the luxury of being that kind. But, and wipe that grin off your face we're both adults here, we're going to have to invade regardless."
Vette pouted, no doubt having been ready with some horrid comment about her butt, then tilted her head in question.
"There are three Darths down there." Morgan explained, sighing. "Which means I can't leave lest they corrupt the fleet. Not a great danger, not short term, but over weeks and months? I don't doubt there are rituals and doomsday weapons aplenty down there. And even assuming there aren't, which is unlikely, the Darths could slip away."
"You don't have to convince me, you know? I trust you'll do what you think is necessary."
He smiled, taking a moment. "Sorry. I've been doing a lot of browbeating, and it's not something my career thus far has really prepared me for. Fighting, the Force, even leading, but not intimidating. Leading by fear and force."
"If you say it's intimidation you're probably just being stern." Vette shrugged, her grin widening. "They made you Emperor. Doing that and then not obeying you is not something you should let slide. At all. Triply so while at war."
"I know. I'm not. It's just not something I'm used to, is all."
"You'll learn." She promised. "Being in charge is nothing more than a set of skills and the upholding of law. Do both of that with confidence and everyone assumes you know what you're doing."
Elarius cleared his throat, Morgan having felt him coming four hallways away. He sighed. "I have to go. We'll talk about you wanting your Valkyries turned into giants later."
"Pretty giants!" She insisted, hands waving. "Not like yours. That's important."
"Of course it is. Goodbye Vette."
"Bye!"
The comm shut off, Morgan turning towards the general. "Update?"
"The last four hours have been quiet. The victory did much to boost morale, and the Reborn have made great progress at recruiting members from the Navy branch. I wish to thank you, my Emperor. Those who feel guilty for their doubt are easier to sway."
Morgan glanced at the man. "You're very straightforward, aren't you?"
"You would not tolerate the Reborn if I were not. It is better to correct course when we misstep than to earn your displeasure in full."
Well, what was he supposed to say to that? Please stop being so loyal and proactive because it makes me uncomfortable? "I see. Continue."
"Sir. The first of the smugglers have started to arrive, the army is being brought forward and initial orbital scouting of the planet has completed. It is as Imperial Intelligence said. All ground up to fifty miles outside the main Academy have been altered to deny the landing of troops. Teams have been spotted laying mines, artifacts and setting free beasts."
"They'll want to negate our numbers advantage by forcing us to fight in limited space. A good plan, especially with the thousands of acolytes on the planet."
"My thoughts exactly, sir. But the men are eager for a fight, and sith make for acceptable targets. Few career soldiers have not suffered at their hands, pardon the implication, so you will find them more motivated than you might expect."
Morgan hummed, the general seemingly happy to wait as Morgan thought. How strange that this man knew him, knew what he might fear, and anticipated it. Wished to lessen the blow. Morgan knew so little about him, yet it seemed Elarius knew him far better.
It struck him, then. How this wasn't about him. Arrogant to think that, perhaps, and not in line with his usual self-deprecating reflex, but Elarius would continue the fight without him. So would Jirr, that charismatic wookiee, and so many after them. Reborn and not, Imperial and not.
He'd shown that it was possible for the Empire to change. Proved it without a shadow of a doubt. How many of those soldiers saw their gods bleed and stopped believing them invincible?
Not the point. "That's good. We're going to need it. The Academy is relatively small and horrendously well defended. Some of us know the place, but few know it all. John has acquired the plans and schematics?"
"Not yet. He says they will be ready before the next strategy meeting."
"Good. Now I want you to do me a favor, general."
Elarius paused, a moment of hesitation flickering in his soul. The man straightened. "Sir?"
"The fleet. Tell me how it is. Not how we want it to be, not how a sailor would report it. I want the truth. How badly is it broken?"
"Badly." The general said, sighing. "We won, but this fleet is done for. It'll take a year at least to bring it back to full strength, and that's assuming we have proper facilities. The Republic reinforcement helps, as limited as they are, but you can't push them again. Not for a while."
Ah, Gonn had arrived. Good. Vesta was with the Republic general, and her presence alone made the trouble worth it.
And she'd brought jedi, too. Those unwilling to fight alongside sith but willing to plead ignorance about the past of a je'daii. Knights and Masters, though far more of the former than the latter.
Vesta had pull with the order, it seemed. Morgan shook his head. For all that jedi and sith were supposed to be mortal enemies, he'd barely fought any jedi. Two on Dromund Kaas the first time around, a few more on Tatooine, Jaesa's former master, and… And? No one else came to mind. Noone who hadn't died because of their own stupidity.
He'd need at least a minute to list the names of sith he had killed.
"Anything else, general?"
"Nothing that won't be covered in the meeting, sir."
Unsurprising. Only so much could happen in a few hours, even while at war. "Then I won't keep you any longer."
Elarius bowed a shallow bow, leaving as they came to a split in the hallways. Morgan himself was about to go to his room before someone poked at him, which meant he was going to have to forgo his meditation. A shame. He'd come to enjoy that more than he'd ever thought possible.
The room he found himself in, to his surprise, wasn't one he'd ever seen. The Yamada was big, yes, but he'd spend a great amount of time on it. Explored, both for fun and to familiarise himself with the vessel.
But the room wasn't half as interesting as the person in it, and Morgan closed the door as the miraluka turned to him. "Morgan of Nowhere. I greet you."
"Vesta. The Barsen'thor of the jedi order. I really hope you're not here to kill me."
"Why would I be?" The woman asked, startled and confused. "Oh, yes. I suppose it must look strange for me to ask you here. Apologies. I hope I am not interrupting anything important?"
"Can't you tell?"
Vesta shook her head, the threads of her woven eye-cloth swinging as she did. "You are a blind spot. Fate is hesitant to disclose your future, though it will yield before one with a great enough will. Yet tracing your path is harder the further from the present I stray."
"That's good to know." Morgan hummed. "Now, before we get to the reason of your visit, I do have some questions."
"I shall endeavour to enlighten you."
"Yeah, that's first. Why are you so polite? I've met jedi that hated me, tolerated me, even learned to like me. But you? We've never met. I never helped you, saved your life or possessed something you wanted."
Vesta shrugged. "Does it matter? I am here to help, and I will not seek your life during or immediately after this quest."
"Fair enough." Morgan allowed. "That's the second thing. Why are you here to help?"
"You ask why I would assist in the battle against the natural enemy of my order? Why I assist he who has come closer to success than any in uncountable decades?"
Morgan paused, realising this was going nowhere. "Just ask your questions."
"I did not mean to frustrate." Vesta offered. "I have become accustomed to planning out conversations before they happen. It helps me understand people. Understand their choices and emotionally driven actions. My questions. What are you going to do about the excessive tax rates on businesses with more than twenty employees, and what exemptions are you going to include?"
"What?" He held up a hand, taking a second to realize what she'd meant. "Don't answer that. I'm going to appoint someone who's trained in business economics to advise me on any needed adjustments."
"And if your advisor proves corrupt, incompetent or both?"
"Assuming corruption get's past Internal Affairs? Have them arrested. Incompetence will get them fired. Any reason you're trying to evaluate my ability to rule?"
"Because when we win here, you will do exactly that. Rule. More than likely a third of the galaxy, assuming the economic destabilisation of hutt-space and the dissatisfied outer-planets alliance continue as they have been. I feel it is wise to ensure you have thought about what comes after war."
War. Funny how used to it he'd gotten. There'd be more meetings soon. With Gonn the Republic general and Rykeland the Imperial loyalist. With Krovos to coordinate her sith, with Jillins to best utilise his Chosen. A thousand things to do, all seemingly made redundant by a simple question.
Have you thought about what comes after war?
After. When they'd win, not if. Morgan let a small, genuine smile grow on his face. "I have. Want to help make sure I can live that long?"
Vesta tilted her head.
"That is why I am here."
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
"Glory and death." Morgan heard the captain bark. He didn't turn. "Victory or defeat, there is only glory. Glory in battle, glory in duty, glory in service. We stand today on the precipice of greatness. On the threshold of legacy. The Chosen have been reforged, but now we must earn the right to carry it. Earn the strength that was bestowed upon us."
Four hundred of them. It was more than Morgan had been surrounded by for a while now, and all towered over him. Just shy of six foot, he was. An old joke against those who lied about their height. Now it was both more funny and not.
He could adjust his own height at will. Adjust anything about himself, really. Not like his soul was going to complain about the changes. The perfect shapeshifter. Apparently John and Astara were recruiting fleshcrafters into Imperial Intelligence for exactly that purpose.
Morgan had spread the art, showed everyone what it was capable of, and he didn't think it was going to die. Not anymore. Not with thousands of people learning it, even if only some pushed past the basics.
"Korriban is vile." The captain continued. Morgan ignored both him and the rattling of the transport, their descent towards the surface only just shy of a free-fall. "Korriban is a disease of corruption and betrayal. Assuming anything you see, anything you meet, can kill you, and you would be right more often than not."
How funny. Even the towering Chosen had to keep hold of handholds lest they lose their footing, yet all Morgan had to do was anchor a few threads to the floor. An explosion rippled through the air, one of their decoy 'ship' containers being blown to pieces, and the woman barely missed a word.
"We fight today to end a thousand years of oppression. Of cruelty and taint, slavery and shackles. We fight with our Emperor as his Royal Guard, his Chosen few, and the bones of a million beasts shall break upon our armor. Shall shatter under our fists, pulverise under our weapons, as we do our duty."
Four hundred giants slammed their foot down, rattling the cage further, and Morgan let his mind drift. Each of the Darth-level Force users on his side was attacking at once, all six of them. Krovos and Hexid, Soft Voice and Lana, he and Vesta. Three main assaults, more than half a million soldiers with them. Well over fifty thousand rakatan war droids, hundreds of jedi and many times that in je'daii.
A lot of them would die. He didn't feel good about that, but neither did he feel bad enough to stop. Was that how it started? Death becoming a little more bearable until you found yourself not caring at all?
Another explosion, another wave of pressure travelling along the dropship. Well, calling it a ship was something of a misnomer. More like a retrofitted cargo container with triple the armor and shields. Slap some thrusters on there, a control system allowing at least some mobility, and you got a shockingly effective way to land troops on a planet.
Vette had found them. Some hutt he'd never heard about had a company that made them, apparently. She'd told her people to just take everything in storage, then sent half his way. Nearly a thousand of the things, big enough for five hundred men each. A little cramped with the Chosen, but doable.
It was worth billions. Most would be utterly unusable after they landed, but that was the point of them. Land the troops safely, and no one cared what happened to it afterward.
"Fifteen seconds to impact." The pilot warned. It was another Chosen, since they were going about twice the maximum safe speed. The dropship wasn't enjoying that, but it was the people such a manoeuvre usually killed. He barely felt it, and the Chosen could take a lot of punishment. "Landing zone is hot."
"Clarify."
That was the captain. Senior captain, technically, though he was pretty sure he could call her 'hey you' and no one would bat an eye. The pilot grunted. "Looks like sith and shyrack."
Ah, shyrack. Flying bat demon things. It occurred to him then that he was stepping foot on Korriban again. Not the first time since he'd left, but only the third overall.
At least he wasn't shackled to a shuttle this time, nor coming to tempt Baras' restraint. No, now he was just looking to kill them all.
Much safer.
"Organize and orient." Morgan said, his Force enhanced voice cutting through the noise. "I'll take care of our welcome party."
Ten seconds. Then five, then one, and Morgan felt the vibrations of a hard landing fail to travel further than his shins. The cargo-door groaned and opened, more falling away than lowering, and half a beast was visible just outside.
The other half was under the dropship. Morgan was fairly sure it was one of the bat demons, but he honestly couldn't tell.
He stepped. More walking than running, sixteen knives unsheathing themselves from his light armor. It looked actually ridiculous, like some cosplayer with too much edge in his heart, but it worked just fine.
Sixteen knives, forty nine enemies. Fourteen sith, only two strong enough to not be acolytes, but none seemed unwilling to be here. Eager, actually, though some were reconsidering their bloodlust.
The remainder were soldiers, and the group was rounded out with equal parts beast and machine. Forty nine sentients, eighty two non-sentients. His knives danced and the entire patrol was ripped to pieces, Morgan noting how his telekinesis was both slightly stronger and more finely controlled.
It didn't matter much. The Chosen did as he'd ordered, exiting the container ship in an orderly fashion after ensuring their gear hadn't been damaged. The sith Academy rose in the distance, a pair of monstrously large statues closer to them.
Korriban was a barren planet. Sand and stone made up most of it, both tinted red, and what few native creatures lived here were vicious enough to survive it. Yet the only true structure that remained was the Academy, which wasn't much larger than a small town.
More densely populated, yes, but not big. The tombs and statues spread out further, but no one lived near those. So it was just the Academy, those who lived there to work in the Academy, and those who lived nearby to work at the small spaceport.
The rest of the planet was abandoned. There might be some tribe of sith natives there, hidden and forgotten, and beasts roamed the entirety of the wasteland, but the Academy was the only location of any value.
It made it easy to defend.
"Objective A, north-north west. Railgun installation and tertiary shield generator." The captain said, moving to stand next to him. One of the newer officers since Dromund Kaas. She looked down at him. "Visual confirmation of the target has been completed."
"Very good, captain. I'll kill the sith Lords, you kill everyone else."
Sith Lords. The Empire was running out of Darths, but Lords? They had hundreds before the collapse of the Dark Council, and though that number had been cut in half it was still terrifying.
A sith Lord was not a jedi Knight. Knights could be promoted for just about any reason, though a certain skill of arms was required. But a Lord? Those rose to that rank over the bodies of a hundred friends and enemies. Each was equivalent to a small army, but even then it would have been manageable.
His army had less of them, be that Knights or Lords of War or sith Lords, but they tended to cooperate. Single out targets of opportunity, overwhelm them, divide and conquer. But the Empire, or at the least their Empress, had learned.
Now sith Lords moved in groups no smaller than four, and each of them knew the risks of hubris. Of bounding towards glory and bloodshed.
The sith thrive in war. Morgan shuddered to think what they would become if they'd won it.
Well, what they'd become for a little while. Then the infighting and betrayal would start all over again. Yet in that time of rare unity and restraint worlds would fall, one after the other. A glorious resurgence of the Empire.
"Let's move, captain."
The Chosen saluted, her fist slamming against armor with a loud thud, and Morgan cracked his neck. Hundreds of thousands of soldiers, thousands of Force users, dozens of plans. Far too much for any one mind to encompass, let alone appreciate.
One mission at the time. Kala and Quinn and half a dozen more qualified minds would take care of the rest.
Travel, perhaps unsurprisingly, was uneventful. Korriban was a wasteland of death and horror, but Morgan found his memory of it worse than reality. And maybe that was why its reputation was so strong. Acolytes struggling to survive, over and over, until even as sith Lords they remembered the place as deadly.
Now? Morgan let his knives rest after the Chosen proved more than able to ward off the few curious predators, the one flock of shyrack torn apart before they could complete their ambush.
Quite a few Force users called the Chosen home. Four of those were with them now, and their Force detection was more than able to succeed where mundane senses failed. And this was hardly a few squads of men.
Their target emerged in the distance, outside the main shields but with its own protections. Deep underground, well hidden from orbital sight. Thermal cameras showed nothing, there was too much stone for sound-imaging and no visible structures stood above the surface.
Aside from the abandoned temple, of course. But it was exactly that, abandoned. John had supplied schematics that showed underground tunnels to and from the facility.
All that to avoid having it too close to the Academy. Should the Academy shields be breached and the entire structure bombed from orbit, this generator would keep working just fine. Regenerate the shield, though not as strongly as before.
Clever clever. But it was also out of the way, and Morgan needed no thermal sight to feel the sith Lords there. Oh, they'd clearly been chosen for their stealth capabilities, but they were still just Lords. Not even apprenticed to someone important, from the feel of them.
No one really important, in other words. Morgan slowed as they got closer still, the Chosen surging forward to attack. The temple wouldn't have access to the facility, but the charges they'd brought would make a hole. From there they'd storm the facility, disable the generator and break it.
Until then, he had something else to do. A plan that he wasn't sure was wise, but needed to be tested. Korriban was one of the few places a failure wouldn't be too horrific, and he'd made triple sure it had an expiration date of minutes.
A plague. Specifically, a plague that induces cardiac arrest into its victims. One that the Chosen were immune to, and killed those it infected quickly and painlessly. Best yet, regulation Imperial helmets didn't filter it out.
The facility was separated into different areas, of course, and each had a closed air supply, but just creating a plague wasn't the limit of his ability. No. This plague carried his intent, and intent meant control.
Morgan exhaled, breathing out living pestilence as it danced to his will. Not completely, not perfectly, but enough so he could direct it. It would weaken over large distances as he lost bits and pieces, but that was fine.
The Chosen detonated their explosives just before Morgan arrived, using his senses to guide the plague. Strange, really. To be there yet not. Like moving with both his soul and body, though both in reality.
His body moved towards the temple as his mind directed the plague downwards, sith Lords already there to engage the Chosen. Those he would deal with if it came to that, though as he'd hoped none wore specialized masks.
Mistake.
The Lords hesitated as Morgan pressed his plague into their lungs, the men and women undoubtedly feeling the danger but unable to pinpoint why. More sith were behind them, a few dozen in all, and those Morgan infected too.
Morgan tsked. The Lords, as he'd feared, were mostly unaffected. Their physiology was too sturdy to fall to a plague, and their basic enhancements took care of infection easily enough. One even seemed aware enough of their own body to kill it manually, and Morgan almost startled when he realized the man had employed fleshcrafting.
The lesser sith, on the other hand, were not. Them and the soldiers with them fell, the Lords looking back briefly before the Chosen charged, and Morgan stilled his mind. Drew on his focus, all but baiting the Darths to try and stop him. To come here and try to influence his working.
None did. Morgan snaked past the Lords' defenses and crippled them just before the Chosen closed the distance, having to expend a fair amount of power to do so. Lords stuttered and froze, each no longer than a split second, and the Chosen fired slugthrowers with perfect timing.
Three dead, the remainder wounded and alone. Morgan nodded to himself. His Chosen could handle the rest.
He turned, spreading his arms as the gargantuan terentatek roared. The thing was easily twice as large as it should be, its hide turned sickly red from whatever experiment produced it. The Dark clung to it like a jealous lover, fury all that remained in the beast's eyes.
"Doomsday weapons." Morgan mused, snaking past the beast's rudimentary mental shield. He crushed its brain, the tower of muscle and bone collapsing with a deafening drone. He turned towards the wasteland surrounding the Academy. "And unlike Marr, you managed to keep them somewhat under control. I wonder what else you have stored in your vaults, Acina."
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Lana cursed as the assassin vanished again, barking at the nearby Chosen. "Push towards the objective. We've lost enough time to that damn science project."
The hulking men and women roared, a sound that travelled quite a distance, and moved. What enemies tried to hold their ground were killed in close-combat.
Strong, fast, durable, disciplined and accurate. And on top of all that, on top of an army that would make any Darth salivate, they were well-trained.
The Pale Lady appeared again, a nickname that seemed to have come from nowhere. She killed four Chosen before a rakatan war-droid smashed into her, the machine's je'daii handler behind it, but the assassin vanished before she could be finished off.
Lana took a moment to trace the source of her, finding nothing. Not Force sensitive, though stronger and more agile than any she'd met. Her frame was small, and the Chosen could overpower her, but not if the assassin could vanish at will.
And the name. A name that no one said yet everyone knew. Like a mental presence in the Force despite not having access to it.
Reports had been coming in all over. Bio-tech assassins, nanite swarms, plant-monsters, apparently there was a swarm of terror-birds somewhere that pecked soldiers to death. Horrors the likes of which only sith could produce, though the fact Enosis soldiers had been enhanced by fleshcrafting blunted the damage.
It was still every horrible thing kept locked away for emergencies, unleashed now that the Enosis had landed on the planet. Her problem, though, was the Pale Lady. Someone who couldn't be anticipated, couldn't be tracked, couldn't be hit. A ghost flickering across the battlefield, dealing damage where it was most devastating.
Weapon caches, officers, je'daii healers. She alone had done more damage than every enemy soldier combined.
Who stood only a few thousand strong, but still. Damn woman.
Lana moved, instinct screaming even as the Force laid silent. The dagger entered her neck instead of her skull, the Pale Lady clinging to her back, and then the knife blurred clean through.
The assassin unbalanced, losing her grip on a body that wasn't really there, and Lana's hand shot out. Gripped the woman by her neck, lightsaber coming up to bisect the assassin. Who, somehow, managed to twist out of the way. Twist in a manner even Lana, possessing all the gifts of the Force, couldn't manage.
Lana let her lightsaber drop, the now free hand joining the other in clasping the Pale Lady's neck. The woman snarled something, Lana didn't care what, and one twist broke it.
Her lightsaber hovered next to her, telekinesis gripping it firmly, and Lana cut the damned thing into four pieces. Then turned it to smoke, because the flesh had started regenerating anyway.
That done, and she wasn't even going to waste brainpower on figuring out how that thing had been able to hide from her detection, she looked around. Krovos was some ways away, the woman's apprentices close behind, and the company of sith in their way didn't seem to be enjoying themselves.
Lana didn't feel much, in truth. Annoyance, yes, and some slight regret when people died due to her mistakes, but war was a habit for her now. Something she just did, even though it wasn't overly enjoyable.
Overcoming an opponent, solving a problem, both things she enjoyed. Killing less so, though that depended on the target.
"Ma'am." A Chosen lieutenant came up to her, and it took her a moment for his name to come to mind. Yanas. They looked so different these days. "Lady Krovos reports a potential artifact trap one and one-half klicks north."
Those. As if the professionally trained, do-or-die motivated army wasn't enough, the Empire had opened their vaults wide and released every damn artifact capable of causing damage. Explosions, Force ghosts, there were even reports of a rakatan mind trap. Morgan was going to need to take a look at that one.
Because aside from everything else he was, he was somehow capable of mostly understanding their technology, if only the Force side of it. Which was more than everyone else managed.
Complaints aside, it was a mess. Corrupted Enosis soldiers, Force-poisoned spikes, dozens more. The only reason their assault hadn't ground to a halt was because of the healing corps, really. That and the surprisingly large amount of knowledge the jedi Knights brought with them.
She supposed fighting sith for several thousand years meant even they learned something. Eventually.
"I'll assist." Lana answered, shooting the lieutenant a glance. "Keep me updated about any deviant appearances."
The man saluted. "Glory in battle."
Lana nodded, hiding a smile. Morgan wouldn't like that at all, but honestly, what did he expect? Raising a warrior cult and then not have them seek valor in battle? Especially when he keeps rewarding service with power?
For all his insight, that man could be blind. Oh well. That was why he'd built an organisation that was seemingly succeeding at galactic conquest.
Blind indeed.
Lana found Krovos waiting as the fighting played out around her, not seeming to care overly much about the several Lords holding the Imperial line. Lords of War were trying to distract them, but they seemed oddly focused on the regular soldiers.
"Going to help with that?" Lana asked. "It's your people dying too, you know."
Krovos glanced at the battle, then at the shields a few hundred feet away. The start of the official Academy grounds, a ten-person wide ramp leading deeper down. If the Empire lost it, the Enosis had free reign to open fire from above.
"Not until Vowrawn is distracted. He is very good at being in the way. Right now my problem is that."
That, Lana saw, was a stone. Carved into a square shape, maybe a foot wide, and absolutely covered with symbols. Lana's danger sense went into overdrive just looking at it, though it didn't appear to be in the way.
"Why not go around it?"
"Not sure." Krovos muttered, leaning to the side. "I'm no artificer, but that thing has a purpose. A bad one. The sith Lords refuse to get near it, grenades do nothing to the exterior and the one sith I sent to carve it up with a lightsaber had a panic attack when he came too close."
Lana raised an eyebrow, motioning to a je'daii. The man joined them, handing over his lightsaber when she held out a hand, and telekinesis failed before the weapon could reach the object. The lightsaber laid where it fell, Lana ignoring the somewhat annoyed spike of emotion in the je'daii.
"Well, that's a problem."
"Can the Emperor take a look? He's the best artificer we've got."
"Last I heard Morgan is dealing with a squad of Force ghosts spreading decay wherever they go, a sentient blade that possesses its wielder and is apparently able to break through Lord-level mental shields, before-"
"I get it, he's busy. I didn't even know we had a tenth of this shit lying around."
Lana shrugged. "I think the Dark Council raided every vault they could. I'm not surprised their former fellow members kept stuff like this around. Regardless, we have other specialists."
"All of whom are busy or wholly unable to enter a battlefield. Communications are patchy at best and I don't have time to play twenty questions with someone anyway. I need the stone dealt with, and you're better at the arcane arts than me."
No pride, or not enough to influence her speech, and more than happy to let someone else take the risk. Lana grunted, moving towards the stone. Krovos was cautious, it seemed, and unwilling to tempt fate.
Not surprising, perhaps, considering how she ended up joining the Enosis.
"Continue the assault." Lana said, trying to make it a not-order. Krovos stiffened slightly. She did not, however, do anything about it. The pecking order was clear, then. Morgan at the top, Soft Voice and herself just below it. "I'll deal with the stone."
Non-sith might find that funny. All that fuss over a block of red-tinted granite. But Lana was sith, and she knew better than to discount the horrors sith alchemy could create.
The galaxy was lucky Morgan was about as kind as someone of his position could be. Not that anyone would thank him for his restraint. But then he was far from the only artificer around, and most did not share his ethical code.
Lana breathed in the Force, focusing on her lungs. Inhaling air and using the motion to imprint intent. The Force flowed inside her soul, thick and rich and containing so much information she could spend a hundred years sifting through it all.
Now she only looked at the stone. At the impression the Force had of it. Darkness, clawing and deep, but also strangely static. Like time was rewound and twisted the longer she stared at the thing.
Trap.
She threw herself back, wondering when she'd gotten so close. One hand had almost touched the thing itself, though at least the Force had warned her just in time. No, had been warning her.
Mental manipulation. Downplaying its own threat and seemingly capable of outright ignoring mental shields. Artifacts, honestly. Lana shook herself, doing a cursory inspection of her own body.
The fleshcrafting technique returned static.
Lana startled, looking down. Then down, and down, until her perception folded in on itself and melted away. The Force rushed in from all sides, the Empress with them. Lana overcharged her shields, weariness tugging at her mind.
No body. No brain. A shudder ran through her soul when she finally remembered. How she'd just stood there as the fire burned her to ashes, incinerating everything from her flesh to the armor she'd worn.
Everything. Including the ring on her left pinky finger. The ring that linked her to everyone else, and sent out an automatic pulse at its destruction.
Acina's attack ripped through her shields, Lana sluggish to respond and cursing that fact, but the woman's smug smile dropped when Zethix arrived. The devaronian howled and the Force twisted, though the fact only one came to her rescue didn't bode well.
Lana blinked, seeing Zethix standing closer and Acina gone. The concern was plain on his face. "What happened?"
"Acina fled. Your turn."
"A trap." Her mouth felt dry, even though it didn't physically exist. "The stone can exert mental influence subtle enough to get past even my shields. My body is gone. I. What do I do?"
Zethix frowned. "You follow the plan. Find a je'daii, get consent for a temporary possession, get to Mad Mouse. He'll grow you a new body. What about the stone? Do you remember?"
"Yes." Did she? Lana wasn't sure. "Everything is sluggish. It cracked, I think? I'm not supposed to be alive, am I?"
The devaronian grunted, his soul starting to fade. "The rules don't apply to people like us. Possess a body, find Morgan. I have to go. Repeat it back to me."
"Possess a body, find Morgan." Lana muttered, flexing one of her hands. The other was gone, and she reformed it with a scowl. "No one mentioned losing your body was fucking terrifying, did they? No. Possess a body, find Morgan."
She ascended through the Force, having to press down a surge of panic as no link to her body materialised. How strange. It was so subtle, usually. An almost unnoticeable thread linking body and soul, glaring now that it was gone.
Possess a body, find Morgan. Yes, she remembered. Something else about that was important too, right?
Consent. Ask permission before possessing a je'daii. Lana frowned, going further and further up until she found herself in reality. A mistake like that might be forgiven considering her circumstances, but that was not the kind of person she wanted to be.
A wave of weakness washed over her, but Lana pushed past it. Being in reality was tiresome, the Force far too thin to support her soul, but she was strong. Skilled. It would take days before the situation became dire.
But that assumed no one was going to attack her here. And considering they were at war, that was not a given.
Now where was Morgan? And why hadn't the trap activated before she approached? Remotely triggered, perhaps, as an overall plot by Acina.
No, focus. The battlefield had moved, though she hadn't come back exactly where she'd intended. A tomb spread out before her, some warning scribbled above its entrance. She gave the ghost inside a hard look, the man skittering back inside once he felt her power.
Some Lord with more skill in politics than the Force. It guaranteed a nice burial place, perhaps, but what did that matter?
A jed'aii. Lana flew towards the battle, catching her reflection once or twice. She did not look great. Half molten, almost, and she briefly considered seeking someone out in the deep Force. But no, that wouldn't actually help. Someone strong enough to talk to her there wasn't an ideal candidate.
Consent or not, the host's soul would struggle. If she couldn't dominate it completely and utterly then there would be friction, and friction would lead to damage. Damage that the host would not survive.
There. Lana moved closer to the aid station, a few hundred Enosis soldiers gathered inside. Four healers and another two dozen medical personnel were tending to the wounded, though it didn't seem as overcrowded as projections estimated.
A consequence of the Imperial military receiving fleshcrafting enhancements just before battle, she supposed. Enhanced stamina and increased skin density doesn't sound like much, but it kept people alive. Limited the damage when they got wounded.
It wasn't permanent, of course. That was just for core Enosis personnel. Quinn had been smiling in a somewhat disturbing way when Morgan had authorized the permanent enhancement as an incentive to further enlistment, too, an-
No. One of the fleshcrafter healers, the only woman of the four, was a good candidate. A body similar enough to Lana's own to limit dissonance, strong enough in the Force to house her yet not so strong as to hurt herself when possessed.
I require your body.
The woman startled, shields snapping in place over her soul. A defense that required the user to manually activate it. Sloppy. Lana drifted closer to the woman, willing herself to become visible.
I require consent before possessing your body. You will not be harmed. It is temporary.
The other healers had paused, the Force humming as they prepared to attack. A pair of je'daii fighters moved into the tent, bringing a jedi Knight with them, but the female healer held up a hand. Recognition flickered in her eyes.
"Lady Beniko." She said, bowing. "Of course. I give permission."
Lana slipped inside her body. Not something she'd done before, possession, but it wasn't hard. Suppress the soul, ignore the body dysmorphia, limit her own power. Then resist the urge to shape her new vessel to something she was used to, because that would be a shitty way to repay loyalty.
"Morgan." Lana said, her tongue feeling wrong. "Where is he?"
One of the jed'aii stepped forward. A Reborn loyalist going by the patch on his uniform. "I'll take you there. The Emperor is engaging a small group of Force ghosts twenty klicks west."
Lana looked that way, redoing the reinforcements of her host body. Strength rippled through it, something the girl should be able to use once she had her body back. A gift, of sorts.
Then she started moving, leaving the jed'aii behind within seconds. A Lord of War might have kept up with her being limited like this, but not him. And twenty klicks was nothing when she moved this fast, so before long she came across Morgan.
Who was, indeed, fighting the ghosts of long dead sith Lords. Lana hummed. She was forced to admit that was a first.
"Wither." Morgan spoke, the sound rolling oddly through the air. Lana tightened her mental defenses, feeling the strain even though it wasn't aimed at her. She wasn't at her full power, no, but neither did Morgan really seem to realize how strong his intent was. Morgan took a step closer, power rolling through the Force. "Wither."
The translucent bodies staggered, Lana reaching out. Force ghosts were strange things, and not something that she specialised in, but she was familiar with the base principle. They refused death, but did not live either. Suspended in between both, so there should be a tether somewhere. A link for them to ascent to reality.
Lana smiled when she found it, snipping one after the other. They noticed, but they were too focused on Morgan and didn't react in time. Her body might be weak, yes, but her soul was not.
"Thank you. That was proving harder than expected, and Vowrawn would just love for me to exhaust myself fully." Morgan said, moving closer. It took some seconds, and she felt him cycle through the Force. Refilling his reserves through passive collection. Not worth the time, usually, but the Force here was almost thick enough to swim in. "I assumed something went wrong when your ring broke, but possession?"
"My body is gone. I would like a new one."
Morgan paused. "That would take time. Not to be a dick, but I'm putting out fires just slightly faster than the Empress is lighting them, and her goal of tiring us out is working. I'm not sure I can spare an hour to grow one from scratch."
"You won't need to." Lana said, raising a hand. The gesture was stupid and normally unnecessary, but as the beast rose in the distance she felt the strain. This body was not one well accustomed to her level of power. "I'm a fleshcrafter too, remember? I just need you to anchor my soul to that corpse and shape the general pathways. The rest I can do on my own."
"Oh, right. Fair enough. You are aware I will need to access your soul for that, right?"
Lana suppressed an uncomfortable wave of hesitation at someone having that much power over her, though she was almost surprised it wasn't stronger. "It is better than being dead."
"Very true." His eyes darkened, just for a moment, but he moved towards the dead tuk'ata before she could comment on it. "I'll shape the vessel first. Keep in mind that it could take weeks before it feels like yours. I'd recommend therapy."
"We have a war to win first."
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Morgan watched Lana adjust to her body, flesh and bone shifting around. Profoundly strange to look at, though not as disgusting as carving a base-template human out of a sith hound.
"I have to get back to it." He said. His datapad pinged with four new emergencies, only two of them categorised to any real degree. Another Dark infused beasts and a minor cult running around with a device capable of causing horrific, if localized, damage to terrain. "You going to be alright?"
"I'm fine. I'll finish this up while I escort Asha back to her post."
Ah yes, the jed'aii. Morgan turned to her. "Thank you. It can't have been easy to give up your body."
The woman stammered out some reply, which was horrible for many reasons but mostly because she was older than him, and he spotted a trail of dust in the distance. It took but a moment to expand his senses, something he wasn't going to keep active when the Force was this chaotic, and confirmed what he'd already known.
The Enosis was moving up the battle lines. Closing in around the academy, their superior numbers allowing for a complete encirclement.
And that with only half their soldiers on the ground. It was nice not to be the underdog for once.
"I'm going to make sure the front line is clear." He said, Lana already turning away. "Four tombs that probably have ghosts in them need to be cleared out."
"Sever the threads that keep them linked to reality."
"I saw you do it." Morgan agreed. Lana kept moving. "Guess I'll see you around?"
No response came, though he felt a small surge of annoyed-fondness she didn't bother to suppress. Morgan grinned at her back, turning towards the desert. His feet kicked off, remembered that sand was a poor surface to run on, and leashed a thread of telekinesis against stone.
Morgan pulled, his body accelerating over the dunes and stone outcroppings. Despite the seriousness of the situation, and despite feeling an ever increasing number of souls joining the Force, a smile crept over his face.
Flying was, and continued to be, exhilarating. But even so, with Lana gone, his mood returned to what it had been previously. Introspection summed it up nicely, he thought.
It deepened as he approached the tombs. There was a battalion of sith there, along with a few thousand soldiers, but only one Lord. The man died as Morgan split his attention in two, attacking in both reality and the deep Force at the same time.
Overkill, to say the least, but he only needed to employ that for a second. Then the Lord was dead, plasma meeting skull and winning handedly, and his knives killed a few dozen as the rest ran.
The soldiers he let go, but the sith found his knives hard to evade. The battalion had stood at three dozen strong, more than half of it acolytes. Students pressed into service, a number of them not even wielding lightsabers.
"We surrender." One of those called. An older woman, though new to Korriban by her displayed power. "Please don't kill us. We didn't have a choice."
Afraid and willing to give up. It had been happening more and more as the battle went on. So much so that Quinn had ordered the je'daii to focus on the more powerful of sith. The ones meant to keep the rest in line. Without those, many surrendered.
Barely trained, unmotivated Force sensitive sith recruits. Already hundreds of them had been taken off planet, an insurance policy should the battle be lost. Quite a few would want to go home, but it was good for recruitment.
Right, introspection. "Throw down your weapons and surrender to the nearest Enosis battalion. If you don't do something stupid you'll be in space by the end of the hour."
The group accepted. Of course they would. Quinn, though unable to shine when ships decided battles, was born for strategy. And making the enemy believe surrender was their best chance at life worked about as well as expected.
"Go." Morgan said, waving his hand. The men and women scrambled away, the one who had spoken pausing briefly to bow. Morgan turned towards the tomb, seeing the entrance hadn't been broken into yet. "Want to come out now?"
The ghost drifted through solid stone, because contrary to expectations most tombs weren't built to be looted. They were locked, filled with traps and often hidden. The sith Lord had seemingly only just gotten started.
Probably wished to bind the ghost inside, which seemed easier than it should be. The Empress had probably given them a ritual for it.
"You are not of the Dark." The ghost rumbled. Old armor covered his frame, though it and the ghost were translucent. Profoundly strange to look at, though after meeting Star few things really horrified him. The living dead weren't so dangerous, all things considered. "You are not of the Light. You are an abomination."
Morgan rolled his eyes. "I don't have time to chat. Though you'd think someone who is closer to the Force than most could appreciate finding balance. Or the absence of it, really. Exception being wha- You know what? No. You're not worth my monologue."
"I have shunned death for seven hundred years." It spoke. "I will do so for another ten thousand if that is what it takes."
He reached down into the Force as the ghost tried to drift away, finding the thread Lana had found. Morgan pulled on it, finding one end attached to the soul and another to reality. Clever. And sustained by longing, of all things. No, not quite longing. Purpose. A goal.
Attachment.
"Why can't you die?" Morgan asked, appearing before the things soul. The soul hesitated, clearly unused to someone coming down here, but shaped a body. Slowly, and almost clumsily, but it shaped a body. "Why are you still here, Lord Raski?"
Raski startled, frowning. "You can divine my name. Who are you, stranger?"
"No one important." Morgan flicked his hand, an oblivion-knife appearing close to the ghost's tether. "Answer my question."
The Lord froze. "Anika. I need to find her before moving on."
A lover? Morgan narrowed his eyes, looking more closely at Raski's soul. Some parts of it were weak, eroded after so long without a body, but the center burned bright. He ignored the Lord's struggle as he looked closer still, whatever skill the man possessed not properly infused with intent.
More than a lover. Someone the man loved. Loved dearly enough that her death broke him, pushing him to this. Trying to find her soul in the Force, even though the man must know it was long gone.
Attachment. Connection and purpose. Humanity, even if that word didn't quite apply in a universe with so many sentient species.
His tranquility was power, yes, but it was more than that. It was Other, though not in the same sense as Star or the Eye. But it was, undeniably, not human. Not mortal. Attachment kept a sith ghost alive for centuries after his physical death, and attachment was what made Morgan unable to embrace tranquility.
Because he didn't want to give up the last of his humanity. Because he was already so different than the person who'd woken up on Korriban, and because most of all he didn't know what he'd become.
So far tranquility made him distracted. Not great, but also not terrible because of the time limit. It didn't matter if he wanted to chart the life-cycle of a star, because after a little while he would go back to being little old Morgan again.
But what if there was no running out of time? What if he got distracted for a hundred years and no one could find him? Would he forget about Vette? Forget about all the good he could do with the power he wielded?
Would he become just another entity floating among the stars, so alien he might as well never have existed?
"Is it worth it?" Morgan asked. Raski raised an eyebrow. "Spending seven hundred years looking for her, I mean."
"Seven hundred years and seven thousand more. Until the end, together."
"I see." And Morgan did. He severed the tether, the Lord panicking before rage took over, and Morgan sighed. "Go. I'm pretty sure she's waiting for you on the other side."
The Lord paused again, anger going as quickly as it had come, and realization spread through the man. The ghost undid himself, not sparing Morgan another glance, and after a moment he was alone.
Morgan looked at the deep Force. At a sea of power so vast it defied description, energy and souls and a thousand other things combining to create the weave of the Force. The weave Force users tapped into, so very few ever realizing what it truly was that they used.
This was it, wasn't it? Morgan sighed deeply, almost wishing it wasn't. Almost wishing he wasn't alone, though he didn' have to be. Soft Voice could be here, as the man had been in the beginning, and Star would come if Morgan asked.
But no. Not even Star, born in the Force as he was, understood. Not fully. Perhaps the Eye was the only one who did, and Morgan was just only now seeing the paths the Elder had prepared. Smoothed over, nudging things here and there to push him forward. To hasten an event that would always have happened.
Morgan took out the necklace Vette had given him, that moon-shaped pendant with a piece of her soul in it, and gently detached it from its pocket dimension. Sent it back to reality, back to his room on the Yamada, and let go as he did.
Let go of the fear of the unknown, of the hesitation for change, of the maybes that came with the future. Tranquility didn't hit him over the head. He didn't suddenly become a different person. But maybe that was worse, in a way.
There had been a divide before. A him as normal Morgan and a him as tranquil Morgan. Now there was no divide, though it strangely didn't feel the same at all.
The Force opened behind him, Morgan turning as Fate decreed that he would. A sith pureblood stepped out of the tear, sealing it behind him with masterful control, and Morgan nodded to the man.
"This was how it was always going to end, then." Morgan said, feeling so very calm. "I see it now. Do you see?"
Tenebrae, the Emperor that gave the Empire its name, appeared almost proud. "I do see. You played your part well. Took readily to my suggestions. I was afraid you would recognize my manipulation of Fate, but it seemed you were not quite ready."
Morgan hummed, ripping apart the bindings to his free-will. The bindings that had come as feelings, the direct result being his attack on Korriban. So obvious, in hindsight. Everything was.
"Are you going to kill me now, Tenebrae? Drain me like you drained your homeworld. Like you drained Yavin-4 and who knows how many more on Zakuul?"
The Emperor let a blade materialize in his hand, a wave of power blasting forth. Morgan stepped aside, unravelling a technique without flaw, and let the remaining power travel through him. The intent clashed against his own, but it was nothing he could not endure.
A white blade of bone gently grew from his palm, Morgan taking hold of it as the not-wound sealed shut. Tenebrae nodded, seemingly more to himself than to Morgan, and smiled a small smile.
"I have waited a millennium for someone like you. For the chance at true immortality. Don't disappoint me."
Morgan felt a faint sense of amusement bubble through the unending calm. "There is no death, there is only the Force."
Afterword
Story finished on the discord.
The Warcrowned on Royal Road (pinned comment)
Discord (two chapters ahead for the low, low price of your soul) [Check author profile or pinned comment on the chapter.]