GHOSTS
Timeline: after 980 BBY, before 550 BBY
Darth Sareth stared at the Sith holocron she had just created. She had foreseen her death at the hands of her apprentice and had created the holocron so she could store all of her knowledge away before she died.
I have taught him too well. Ever since their mission to Bosthirda, Sareth had began to realize that her apprentice had become more powerful than her, as much as she hated to admit it. She also began to wonder if this was how her master felt when she killed him; proud and fearful at the same time.
She would never forget his last words. You may have triumphed now, but I will always haunt you. Such is the way of the Sith. Of course, his words never became reality. To this day, she had not been given the inkling that he was haunting her. But his words did.
She wondered if her last words would have a similar impact on her apprentice. She did have a way with words, which explained how she got her apprentice to join the Order of the Sith Lords.
Her musings were interrupted by the sound of an opening door behind her, followed by the slow, soft footsteps of her apprentice. He was azure skinned Duros, with red, piercing eyes, and a breathing apparatus at his neck, which he acquired after a lightsaber duel accident, which damaged his jaw. Not unlike Darth Malak's injury, Sareth thought. He also wore the traditional black Sith robes, and held a curved lightsaber hilt in his hand.
With a deep, electronic-toned voice, the apprentice spoke. "Hello, master."
"Hello, my apprentice," Sareth replied, not turning to face him. "What brings you here so late at night? Even a Lord of the Sith needs time to rest and meditate."
"I don't need rest," the Duros Sith growled. "The dark side gives me all I need to kill you."
"Ah yes," Sareth said quietly. "Such is the way of the Rule of Two. Makes you wonder if Darth Bane would be proud of us, to have carried this tradition so far."
"He would certainly be proud of me," the apprentice replied. With a snap-hiss, the Duros' lightsaber turned on and a scarlet blade of light ignited. He then began to slowly approach Sareth from behind.
"You know," Sareth murmured, as if she was oblivious to her apprentice's approach, "my master once told me that nothing is ever as it seems."
The apprentice was four feet away. Still Sareth went on. "Because you never know if the halls of the Jedi Temple are being roamed by the ghosts of past Jedi Knights who fell during Darth Malgus' attack..."
Three feet away. "Or if the streets of Nar Shaddaa are being walked upon by the ghosts of people who have been murdered or have starved to death..."
Two feet away. "Or if this very chamber is being haunted by the ghost of Sith Lords who have died attempting to explore the temple's secrets."
One foot away. "My master was known as Darth Necrosis. Quite fitting, isn't it?"
The scarlet blade went into her back as its wielder's voice went into her ear. "I don't believe in ghosts...."
Sareth smiled as she whispered, "Oh, you will, Darth Malus. You will..."
She would never forget his last words. You may have triumphed now, but I will always haunt you. Such is the way of the Sith. Of course, his words never became reality. To this day, she had not been given the inkling that he was haunting her. But his words did.
She wondered if her last words would have a similar impact on her apprentice. She did have a way with words, which explained how she got her apprentice to join the Order of the Sith Lords.
Her musings were interrupted by the sound of an opening door behind her, followed by the slow, soft footsteps of her apprentice. He was azure skinned Duros, with red, piercing eyes, and a breathing apparatus at his neck, which he acquired after a lightsaber duel accident, which damaged his jaw. Not unlike Darth Malak's injury, Sareth thought. He also wore the traditional black Sith robes, and held a curved lightsaber hilt in his hand.
With a deep, electronic-toned voice, the apprentice spoke. "Hello, master."
"Hello, my apprentice," Sareth replied, not turning to face him. "What brings you here so late at night? Even a Lord of the Sith needs time to rest and meditate."
"I don't need rest," the Duros Sith growled. "The dark side gives me all I need to kill you."
"Ah yes," Sareth said quietly. "Such is the way of the Rule of Two. Makes you wonder if Darth Bane would be proud of us, to have carried this tradition so far."
"He would certainly be proud of me," the apprentice replied. With a snap-hiss, the Duros' lightsaber turned on and a scarlet blade of light ignited. He then began to slowly approach Sareth from behind.
"You know," Sareth murmured, as if she was oblivious to her apprentice's approach, "my master once told me that nothing is ever as it seems."
The apprentice was four feet away. Still Sareth went on. "Because you never know if the halls of the Jedi Temple are being roamed by the ghosts of past Jedi Knights who fell during Darth Malgus' attack..."
Three feet away. "Or if the streets of Nar Shaddaa are being walked upon by the ghosts of people who have been murdered or have starved to death..."
Two feet away. "Or if this very chamber is being haunted by the ghost of Sith Lords who have died attempting to explore the temple's secrets."
One foot away. "My master was known as Darth Necrosis. Quite fitting, isn't it?"
The scarlet blade went into her back as its wielder's voice went into her ear. "I don't believe in ghosts...."
Sareth smiled as she whispered, "Oh, you will, Darth Malus. You will..."
FEAR
Darth Metus was afraid.
Of course, that wasn't much of a surprise. He was always afraid. But this time, he was more afraid than usual. Here he was, standing before the entrance to his master's chambers. He knew that, behind those doors, his master was sitting in deep meditation, unaware of him.
Metus sighed heavily. He knew it had to be done, for it was rule that was established by Darth Bane.
Lightsaber in hand, he quietly opened the door and quietly walked into the chamber. Sitting in the center of the room was a female Twi'lek, with violet skin and cyborganic plating all over her body, a result of a duel between her and her Sith master on Jaguada.
Taking a deep breath, Metus slowly approached the Twi'lek, his suction cupped fingers nervously resting on his lightsaber's activation button. He was nearly there. Just a few more steps and he'd be in range to-
Suddenly, his master awoke from her meditation and lashed out at the Rodian Sith Lord, unleashing a blast of lightning from her sole uninjured hand. Metus fell to the floor, twitching in agony as the Twi'lek walked up to him, lightsaber in hand.
"Idiotic fool," she said quietly. "Did you really think it would be that easy to get rid of me?" She rose her lightsaber over her head. "I knew you would never be a worthy Sith Lord."
Before his master could deliver the final blow, Metus rose his hands and pushed her away with the Force. Retrieving his lightsaber, the Rodian charged towards the Twi'lek, howling an ancient Sith battlecry to boost his confidence. Just as he brought his weapon down, his master reactivated her's and the two scarlet blades clashed.
Through the blood colored glow of the lightsabers, Metus could see his master's yellow eyes glowering at him, filled with rage and hatred. They frightened him....
Quite ironic, he thought. When he first met his master, back when she was simply the aide of his father's friend, he thought she was the most beautiful person he ever saw. And now, to him, she was fear itself.
He couldn't take it anymore. Those eyes-it felt as if they were taunting him, tempting him to lower his guard. He let out a horrified yell and unleashed a blast of the Force, so strong, that it hit his master square in the chest and sent her flying out the window, descending towards the street hundreds of feet below.
He didn't need to hear the sickening crunch of her body to know that Darth Gean, the woman he might have loved once, was dead.
* * *
Darth Metus stood before the window through which his master, Darth Gean, had fallen through, trembling with fear and shock. The Rodian Sith Lord was surprised with himself; he had barely enough courage to confront his master head on. No wonder she had named him for his fear.
Metus scrambled to his feet and let out a sigh of relief. At least it's all over, he thought. Or was it?
He nervously looked around his master's former quarters, and began shivering when his bulbous black eyes laid upon the Sith holocron the two of them had found on Korriban. The holocron belonged to the Dark Lord Darth Ruin, a Sith Lord who believed strongly in solipsism.
When Metus viewed the holocron's contents, he was given a taste of Ruin's outlook on life and the Force and was deeply frightened, and was now fearful of the device ever since. Realizing this, Darth Gean tried to use his fear to turn it into anger, but her attempts failed.
Knowing that his master would soon try to get rid of him, Metus sneaked into Gean's quarters and, after a short but brutal conflict, killed the Twi'lek Sith Lord. The last word he heard her say, which was spoken through the Force, was Coward.
And now it appeared Darth Ruin's holocron was suddenly starting to hiss the same thing....
Metus' eyes widened further. Surely it was his imagination...
Fool, the holocron hissed into his mind. Coward. Coward. Coward!
Metus screamed in fear and frustration as he seized the holocron and attempted to throw it out of the window through which Gean had fallen. But, much to the Rodian Sith's horror, the object stuck itself to his hand.
He shook his hand forcefully, but to no avail. He began to feel a sharp pain in his arm, as if the holocron was sowing its energies into it. Seeing no other way out of his predicament, Metus activated his lightsaber and severed his hand off, causing the holocron to drop to the floor, still glued to the severed hand.
With a raged yell, Metu kicked the hand and the holocron and sent it flying out the window. He watched it fall to the ground, right next to where his former master laid.
Breathing another sigh of relief, Metus quickly walked out of the room, planning to never return to it.
* * *
"My stars, Jark," the Quarren doctor Kraw muttered, as he examined Metus' handless arm. "What trouble did you get into this time? Looks like your hand got sliced off by a Jedi..."
"You could say that," said Metus, or 'Jark Kenu' as anyone outside of Darth Gean knew him. "I'd...rather not talk about it."
"Find with me," Kraw said as he searched for the tools he needed to make a prosthetitc hand. "By the way, you wouldn't believe what I found this morning! A dead Twi'lek woman, lying face-first on the ground! Looks like she fell out of a hundred-foot high window or something."
Metus glanced around nervously. "R-really...?"
"Yeah!" the Quarren doctor replied. "I also found this next to her body too..."
Kraw reached into his coat and brought out a pyramid-shaped object, glowing with red energy, and with a severed hand attached to it.
Metus screamed.
FIN
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