Serenno - Dooku's Estate
The training courtyard of Dooku's manor rang with the clash of plasma blades.
Savage Opress moved like a storm given form—powerful, relentless, barely controlled. His newly constructed double-bladed lightsaber hummed through the air, one crimson blade ignited, the other dormant for now. Sweat gleamed on his yellow skin, tracing the intricate black tattoos that covered his muscular frame.
Across from him, Sora Bulq stood with the casual confidence of a master facing a talented but unrefined student. His own lightsaber blazed in his hand, ready to punish any mistake.
They'd been at this for days. Ever since Savage returned from his successful missions—the string of outpost massacres that had sent the Republic reeling—Dooku had recalled him for intensive training. Raw power was useful, but controlled power was a weapon. Uncontrolled power was a liability.
And Dooku did not tolerate liabilities.
Around the courtyard's perimeter, the other acolytes watched in silence. Severance Tann's arms were crossed, her expression analytical. Cadrian Sey looked skeptical. Prosset Dibs observed with the detached interest of a scholar studying a dangerous specimen. Masana Tide nursed her pride after her humiliating defeat during Savage's initial trial.
Count Dooku himself stood in the shadows of the covered walkway, hands clasped behind his back, missing nothing.
"Again," Bulq commanded.
Savage roared and charged.
His opening strike was pure Juyo—aggressive, overwhelming, channeling dark side fury into devastating attacks. Dooku's eyes narrowed with approval. The Nightbrother had no formal training in lightsaber forms, yet his instincts drew him toward the most vicious, unpredictable style. Form VII, the Ferocity Form, suited him perfectly.
But instinct alone wasn't enough.
Bulq deflected the overhead strike with minimal effort, sidestepped the follow-up, and responded with a lightning-fast riposte that nearly took Savage's head off. The Zabrak warrior twisted away at the last second, the blade singing past his ear close enough to singe skin.
"Your power means nothing if you cannot land a blow," Bulq said calmly, already resetting his stance. "You fight like a beast. Predictable. Easily exploited."
Savage's answering growl was pure animal rage. He spun his weapon in a complex pattern—Shien elements now, the strength-focused Form V that relied on overwhelming kinetic energy. For someone of Savage's build and raw power, Shien should have been devastatingly effective.
Should have been.
Bulq's blade met each strike, guiding them away with Makashi precision. The Dark Jedi Master was water flowing around stone—effortless, graceful, untouchable.
"Control yourself, my apprentice." Dooku's voice cut across the courtyard like a whip-crack. Savage stumbled mid-strike, his attention fracturing at his master's rebuke. "Your power is a storm without center. Rage is a tool, not a master. Learn the difference, or you will never be more than a blunt instrument."
The words struck home. Savage shook his head, visibly wrestling with the fury burning in his veins. Then, with deliberate intent, he ignited the second blade of his lightsaber.
The double-bladed weapon sprang to life with a snap-hiss that echoed across the courtyard. Crimson light painted Savage's face in hellish tones.
Dooku's eyebrows rose fractionally. A smile tugged at his lips. "Better."
Savage attacked again, but this time with the focused intensity of a predator rather than the wild abandon of a mad dog. The double-bladed lightsaber became a wheel of death in his hands, each strike flowing into the next, the weapon's momentum carrying it through complex attack patterns.
Bulq actually had to work now. The Dark Jedi Master's footwork became more active, his parries more precise. One particularly vicious combination nearly singed his beard, forcing him to leap backward.
Then, with the surgical precision that came from decades of mastery, Bulq struck.
His blade slipped past Savage's guard, and a telekinetic wrench tore the double-bladed lightsaber from the Zabrak's grip. Before Savage could react, Bulq had both weapons—his own and Savage's—crossed in an X-shape against the Nightbrother's throat.
Savage froze. Slowly raised his hands in surrender.
"You have natural ability," Dooku said, emerging from the shadows. "Raw talent that would take most acolytes years to develop. But talent without discipline is wasted potential." He gestured, and Bulq lowered the blades. "Are you ready for the next test? Can you control your rage long enough to complete a delicate mission?"
Savage retrieved his lightsaber, deactivating both blades before kneeling before his master. "I am ready, my lord. Command me."
"Rise." Dooku waited until Savage stood at attention. "You will travel to Toydaria. King Katuunko sits on that throne—a Republic sympathizer who has resisted our overtures. Bring him to me. Alive. Kill anyone who interferes, but the king himself must be unharmed."
"It will be done, my lord."
"Master Bulq will oversee the operation," Dooku continued. "He will assess whether you are capable of independent action. Fail this test, and you will spend another month in training before being trusted with real responsibility."
"I will not fail." Savage's yellow eyes burned with determination.
"We shall see." Dooku turned away, dismissing him. "Prepare your ship. You depart at dawn."
As Savage left to make ready, Severance Tann approached the Count. "Are you certain he's ready? He still fights like a barbarian."
"Barbarians," Dooku said mildly, "have conquered civilizations. Raw power has its uses, Tann. And if he fails..." A thin smile. "Then we will know his limitations."
Dathomir - Wanda's Quarters
"I understand the necessity," Wanda Maximoff said through gritted teeth. "What I don't understand is why I have to go with her."
Mother Talzin stood in the doorway of Wanda's small dwelling, her expression implacable. "Did you not promise to make an effort at reconciliation with Ventress? To set aside your conflict for the sake of the children who love you both?"
"Yes, but—" Wanda caught herself, knowing the argument was already lost. "Fine. Fine. I'll go. But this doesn't mean I like it."
"I would never expect you to like it," Talzin said with something that might have been amusement. "Only that you do it. Merlin and Illyana will remain in my care while you're gone."
"They can take care of themselves," Wanda said automatically, then winced at how defensive it sounded. "But yes, thank you. And the alliance negotiations—"
"Will proceed as planned." Talzin's tone turned serious. "With Gethzerion potentially returned, every clan on Dathomir must stand united. I will ensure the agreements hold."
Wanda nodded, some of her tension easing. Whatever else could be said about Mother Talzin, the ancient Nightsister kept her word.
After Talzin departed, Wanda began gathering supplies for the journey—whatever ritual Asajj needed to complete, it apparently required traveling to sacred sites across Dathomir's wilderness. Which meant days, possibly weeks, in close proximity to someone she'd rather throw off a cliff.
For Illyana, she reminded herself. For Merlin. They asked you to try. So try.
She entered the small common room and stopped short.
Asajj Ventress stood in the center of the space, both holocrons activated and hovering before her. The crimson pyramid pulsed with dark side energy while the pale one emanated cold wisdom. From each, holographic figures projected outward—Ajunta Pall and Darth Traya, ancient Sith Lords offering counsel to the woman who sought to kill her Sith master.
The irony wasn't lost on Wanda.
"Hey!" The word came out sharper than intended, startling Asajj from her concentration. "Ever heard of privacy? This is my home, you bald—"
Asajj's eyes flashed. "The door was open."
"So you thought you'd just waltz in and activate ancient Sith artifacts in my living room?" Wanda crossed the space in three angry strides, reaching for the holocrons. "These are my responsibility—"
"We were having a productive conversation," Ajunta Pall interrupted, his spectral voice carrying notes of irritation. "Until you arrived, Maximoff."
Wanda didn't even look at him before using chaos magic to forcibly seal his holocron. The crimson pyramid's light dimmed, and Pall's holographic form began to flicker.
"This is unnecessary—" he started to protest.
"Not unnecessary," Wanda said flatly. "Necessary. I can only deal with one of your egos at a time."
The holocron sealed completely, Pall's voice cutting off mid-complaint.
"There was no need for that," Kreia observed dryly.
"There was every need for that," Wanda countered. "He was lecturing me about conflict resolution while simultaneously trying to teach Ventress how to murder people more efficiently. The hypocrisy was giving me a headache."
Despite her outward calm, Asajj felt a spike of concern. Wanda had sealed Ajunta Pall's holocron with barely a thought—dismissed a Dark Lord of the Sith like swatting a fly. The casual display of power was... unsettling.
"The three of us should travel together," Wanda said, addressing Kreia now. "You'll want to witness the Nightsister ritual anyway, won't you? Hearing about our magic is one thing. Seeing it firsthand is another."
"Indeed." Kreia's holographic form inclined its head. "And afterward, we can begin Ventress's training in earnest. Helping her access the power sleeping within her."
"Don't forget," Wanda said, "the ritual requires witnesses from the clan leadership. We'll need to coordinate with—"
"We're talking about me," Asajj interrupted. "I'm standing right here."
"You're also an intruder in my home," Wanda shot back. "I should kick you out on principle."
"Don't make me get Illyana."
The threat landed. Wanda's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Don't you dare hide behind your cousin. She's been hurt enough by our fighting without you weaponizing her feelings."
"Enough!" Kreia's voice cracked like thunder. Both women froze. "Illyana and Merlin are children. You are adults—supposedly. Act like it."
Silence stretched for several heartbeats.
"She started it," Wanda muttered, looking away.
Asajj let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "What are you, five years old?"
"Are you two finished?" Kreia's eyeless gaze somehow managed to pin them both simultaneously. "There are larger concerns at stake than your petty grievances. Gethzerion may have returned. If she has, Ventress's clan will need every advantage to survive. That includes the power we're helping her unlock."
Kreia turned her attention fully to Wanda. "You call yourself a hero, yes? Someone who helps those in need? That means doing things that are uncomfortable. Difficult. Working with people you don't like for the sake of those who cannot protect themselves."
"You don't need to lecture me about duty," Wanda said coldly. "I know what's at stake."
But she did know. That was the worst part. Wanda was being forced to help someone she despised, and that person was family to children she'd come to love. There was no clean answer, no simple moral high ground.
She looked at Asajj and saw something flicker across the woman's pale features—something that might have been hope, or calculation, or some mixture of both.
And Wanda thought of Ilsigi. Asajj's mother. A woman who'd died protecting her daughter, whose Force ghost Wanda had briefly encountered. If Ilsigi were still alive, she would want someone to help Asajj. To give her the chance at redemption she was struggling toward.
"This is your journey," Wanda said finally. "I'll accompany you. But every step of the way, I'm watching."
"Are you spying on me?" Asajj's tone dripped sarcasm.
Wanda's eyes flared crimson. "Don't test me."
Ventress stared into those scarlet pupils and felt a spike of genuine fear. She looked away first, hating herself for it but unable to help the instinctive response. Maximoff's power was... it was something else. Something that made even Dooku's dark side mastery seem limited by comparison.
"How many times do I have to tell you to stay out of my head?" Asajj whispered, venom in every word.
"Stop trying to kill my friends for five minutes," Wanda shot back, "and maybe I'll consider respecting your mental privacy. You want to be treated with trust? Earn it."
"Can we just... go?" Asajj's request came out more pleading than demanding.
Wanda's smile was sharp, victorious. She'd won this round, and they both knew it.
Kreia observed the exchange with the detached interest of a scientist watching experimental subjects. Then, her holographic form curled back into her holocron. Wanda caught both pyramids with telekinesis—Kreia's pale one and Ajunta Pall's crimson one—suspending them above her palm.
"Lead the way," Wanda said. "It's your ritual."
Asajj hated the condescension in those words, hated the smug superiority radiating from Maximoff like heat from a star. But she needed this. Needed the ritual. Needed whatever power Kreia and Pall could help her unlock.
Because if she was going to kill Dooku, she needed every advantage she could get.
Even if it meant days of travel with the one person in the galaxy she despised most.
"This isn't going to be simple," Wanda said, examining her nails with studied casualness. "The ritual sites are spread across Dathomir. Some in dangerous territory. We'll be dealing with wild rancors, territorial clans, possibly remnants of Gethzerion's old followers."
"I can handle it," Asajj said.
"We'll see."