CHAPTER ELEVEN
Korriban
The seven Dark Jedi stood in the interior of the tomb of Marka Ragnos. The journey had been a long and treacherous one, and Jerec was not convinced that the chamber they stood in was the actual resting place of the ancient Dark Lord. Many of the tomb’s entrances had been blocked off due to either deliberate sabotage or the mere passage of time. While he could tell that some work had been done to uncover every square inch of the tomb, there were still places that were forever sealed off, their secrets never to be accessed.
Unfortunate, perhaps, Jerec thought, but ultimately irrelevant to the task at hand, as they had at the very least located the object they were after. The Scepter of Ragnos was held tightly in the hands of the statue they stood in front of. The effigy of Marka Ragnos stared down at them, the curled horns of his crown still in pristine condition even after five thousand years.
Jerec could feel the dark side energies radiating from the Scepter and he could tell that he was not the only one who sensed it. Boc Aseca was on his knees, practically worshiping the statue, while Yun was slowly stepping towards the monument. Jerec grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back, earning himself an irritated glare which he ignored.
“The dark side is so strong in this place,” murmured Sariss. “I can feel it flowing through me.”
“Indeed,” Jerec agreed. He stepped over to the statue, analyzing it to see if it would react at all if anyone attempted to take the Scepter. Surely the ancient Sith would not have made it so easy to take such a powerful artifact; otherwise it would have been taken from this tomb long ago.
Tentatively, he reached out to touch the Scepter only to stop when he heard an anguished cry. Turning around, he saw Boc glaring at him, still on his knees but with his face contorted in rage.
“The spirits!” the red-eyed Twi’lek cried. “You will disturb the spirits!”
The corners of Jerec’s mouth creased as he frowned. “Silence, Boc. It’s all in your head.”
“No,” Yun murmured. “I hear them, too. They don’t want you to take the Scepter.”
“Of course they don’t. But the Emperor’s orders are clear. We must take the Scepter.”
“Correction.” Yun drew his lightsaber and ignited its yellow blade. “I must take the Scepter. It belongs to me.”
Jerec growled as he reached for his own blade. “Don’t be a fool, boy. I am your Master. You will do as I command!”
Yun smirked. “No. I don’t think I will.”
The young man lunged at him and Jerec ignited his lightsaber, ready to block the incoming attack. The boy did not get far however as Maw reached out and seized him with the Force, before pulling him back and throwing him to the floor. The Boltrunian dark Jedi then stood over Yun as he activated his own lightsaber. His attention, however, was focused on Jerec and the statue behind him.
“The Scepter,” Maw growled, “is mine!”
Jerec scowled, preparing to defend himself once more, but he was once again deprived of the chance as Gorc moved in and brought his lightclub down onto Maw. The blade cut through the Boltrunian’s thick, leathery skin and Pic let out a shrill cackle from where he was perched atop his brutish companion’s shoulder.
By now Yun was back on his feet and he moved in once more to take the Scepter. He was forced to stop in his tracks when Jerec released a burst of lightning from his hands, prompting Yun to raise his lightsaber blade and block the assault. This gave Pic the window of opportunity he needed and the goblin-like mutant jumped off of Gorc’s shoulder and onto Yun’s back, stabbing him repeatedly with his small lightsaber. The attack cause Yun’s defense to falter as he yelped in pain, allowing Jerec’s lightning to fully consume him. Pic was subsequently caught in the storm as well and let out an ear-piercing shriek as he joined the human in death.
Sensing his brother’s death in the Force, Gorc let out a cry of rage. Before he could move in to attack Jerec however, Sariss leapt at him and drove the blue blade of her lightsaber through his skull. The ground shook as his large body fell to the floor, and all that remained now besides Jerec and Sariss was Boc, who continued to sit on his knees in prayer to the statue of Marka Ragnos.
“Dzworokka yun,” the Twi’lek spoke in a harsh tongue. It took Jerec a moment to recognize it as the ancient language of the Sith. “Nyashquwai, nwiquwai. Wotok—”
He was silenced when Sariss drove her blade through his chest. As Boc’s body crumpled to the floor, Sariss turned to face Jerec. The two of them stared at each other for a moment before Sariss deactivated her weapon and knelt before him.
“My lord,” she murmured, lowering her head. “I am forever your servant.”
Jerec watched her warily for a moment, still suspecting a trick. However, he deactivated his lightsaber as well and cautiously returned his attention to the Scepter of Ragnos. To his relief, Sariss made no move to attack him from behind. He reached for the Scepter, bracing himself for a trap to trigger. None did when he touched it, and he was able to remove it from the statue’s grip with ease. He waited for something to happen upon its removal, but nothing did.
As he turned back around, he took a moment to regard the dead bodies of his Dark Jedi, save for Sariss who still knelt before him. In a matter of minutes, his dream of fulfilling Palpatine’s Rule of Seven had been torn apart before his metaphorical eyes. All that remained was Sariss, the daughter of the man who had taught him. Fitting, he thought. Perhaps this massacre had been the “trap” set up by Ragnos; in order to attain the power he desired, he needed to sacrifice the power he already had.
And now the seven Dark Jedi had been reduced to two. Such was the way of the Sith, he supposed.
He motioned for Sariss to rise and together the two exited the tomb of Marka Ragnos, retracing their steps back to the thousand steps and making their way back out into the scorching deserts of Korriban. The sun had since set, although Moff Nihan’s forces continued to guard the entrance, and the scarlet-robed Messenger of the Emperor still stood exactly where Jerec had left it.
As Jerec and Sariss approached the droid, the face of the Emperor materialized on its screen. “Well done, my friend. With the Scepter of Ragnos now in our possession, it is time to proceed to the next stage of the plan.”
Jerec frowned, regarding the Messenger carefully. “And just what is this plan of yours?”
He didn’t expect an answer and the Messenger did not offer him one. “You will travel to the Vulpinus Nebula and deliver the Scepter to the Super Star Destroyer Ravager. Your next orders will be given there.”
The message ended there and Jerec was left there standing in front of the scarlet droid. He had half the mind to simply crush the machine then and there, but he restrained himself. He was already growing tired of playing errand boy, but he would comply with this last order. If whatever awaited him on the Ravager did not prove promising, then he would take the Scepter for himself and use it for his own machinations. Perhaps he would even resume his quest for the Valley of the Jedi.
And with Sariss as his loyal apprentice, perhaps he would even pick up where Sidious and Vader had left off. The Sith would be reborn under his rule… and Skywalker would be helpless to stop him.
Smiling tightly to himself, Jerec stepped past the Messenger and headed for his ship, Sariss trailing close behind him.
* * *
Across the galaxy, the Messengers continued to carry out the Emperor’s message and last orders for his most faithful of servants, setting the stage for his final revenge against the galaxy. Many heeded the call, loyal until the end to His Imperial Majesty.
Others, however, were not quite as receptive.
On a distant world, Carnor Jax drove the edge of his double vibroblade straight through the scarlet robes of the Messenger droid and into its chest. The droid’s body seized up and twitched as sparks flew out from its exposed circuitry.
“’Most faithful servant’, my ass,” he growled.
He pulled the blade out and let the droid fall to the ground, its motors sputtering as it shut down permanently. He gave the machine one last glare before looking over to his master, who stood on the edge of a cliff overlooking a small, unremarkable village down below.
“You think this is anything we should be concerned about?” he asked.
Lumiya said nothing at first. The self-proclaimed Dark Lady of the Sith wore a form-fitting cybernetic suit that accentuated her lithe form, complete with gauntlets and boots that had a silvery metallic sheen. Her head was wrapped up in a triangular-shaped headdress that left only her green eyes exposed. Hanging from her belt was a coiled-up lightwhip, a rare weapon among Force-users.
It had not been that long ago that Jax had entered Lumiya’s service as one of the Royal Guards bequeathed to her by Director Ysanne Isard, and it was only shortly afterward that she sensed his potential in the Force and offered to make him her apprentice, offering to teach him the dark side of the Force in exchange for helping him claim the throne of the Empire, which he and his friend Sarcev Quest had already begun conspiring to do shortly after the Battle of Endor.
Their first mission as master and apprentice had brought them out to the Outer Rim, in a cluster of worlds that had once belonged to the ancient Sith many millennia ago. It was here that Lumiya had hoped to find the remaining members of the Prophets of the Dark Side and wipe them out in order to tie up loose ends and get rid of any dark side rivals that could pose a threat to them. They had been making progress on their hunt when they had been approached by a strange droid, carrying with it a supposed message from the late Emperor Palpatine, ordering them to carry out his bidding.
Lumiya had immediately dismissed the droid and had left it to Jax to dispose of it. But now he was wondering just how much weight its words carried.
After several minutes, Lumiya spoke. “The Emperor is dead.”
Jax snorted. “Well, we both know that much. But do you really think he recorded those messages or is someone trying to play us?”
Lumiya shook her head. “You don’t understand. The Emperor is dead, but I felt him come back, if only for the briefest of seconds.”
Jax frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Not too long ago, I could have sworn I felt his presence. As if he was being pulled out of the depths of Chaos itself.” Lumiya turned to look at Jax, her cold green eyes staring into his brown ones. “But then he was gone. I heard him scream and he vanished once more into oblivion.”
“Okay….” Jax looked back down at the droid’s remains. “So what does that have to do with this?”
“I’m not sure, but it can’t be a coincidence.” Lumiya looked back down at the village below. “We will continue with our mission to find the Prophets. But be on your guard, my apprentice. I sense that this will not be the last we hear from His Imperial Majesty.”
* * *
“Play that last part again.”
The Messenger droid stiffened, indicating irritation, as it rewound the Emperor’s message and replayed it. “As one of my most faithful servants, I have entrusted you with—”
Warlord Zsinj nearly choked on his food as he let out a hearty laugh. “Ah, music to my ears! Never thought I would hear the words come from his mouth.”
Those surrounding the warlord smiled nervously as he chowed down on the rest of his food, prepared for him by the finest chefs of Serenno. Many of them eyed the Messenger warily, unsure of whether the message and its speaker were legitimate as well as how Zsinj was going to respond to it after he finished listening to it. He had already delayed the message several times by commanding the droid to replay certain segments, purely for his own amusement.
Count Orom Malvern, sitting near Zsinj at the end of the table, folded his hands nervously as he glanced at his guest. “Perhaps we should let it finish what it has to say.”
Zsinj harrumphed, his mouth full of cooked spikebat. “Very well. Please, continue.”
The Emperor’s message resumed. “—protecting the planet of Dathomir and the secrets it contains. As I’m sure you are aware, the Nightsisters pose a dangerous threat to my rule, and you have dutifully kept their power at bay.”
“Interesting use of the present tense, wouldn’t you say?” Zsinj remarked to his second-in-command, Colonel Melvar, standing beside him. “Last time I checked, he was dead.”
Melvar cleared his throat. “I really think you should listen, sir.”
“Bother.”
The image of the Emperor flickered as the droid resumed playing. “However, the Witches of Dathomir are not without their uses. Their forbidden magicks have been known to lead to things some consider to be… unnatural.”
Zsinj raised an eyebrow at this and glanced at the woman standing on his other side. While Lanu Pasiq had not been raised as a Nightsister as far as he knew, she nonetheless hailed from Dathomir and thus might know something of what the Emperor was speaking.
“You are to locate a Nightsister and capture her. Once you have done so, this droid will direct you on where to send her.”
With that, the message ended and the Messenger’s screen went blank. Zsinj dabbed his mouth with his napkin as he leaned back in his seat. “Interesting. Very interesting.”
Count Malvern glanced around the table, studying the expressions of Zsinj, Melvar, and Pasiq. They were unreadable to him and the Serennian noble cleared his throat. “I understand it if you must leave to carry out your orders, my lord.”
“Oh, I’m in no rush. I’ll at least finish my dinner before I….” Zsinj trailed off, grimacing as he noticed a nearby Imperial officer who had just entered the room and was trying not-so-subtly to grab his attention. “What is it?” he grunted irritably.
The officer stepped forward, trying in vain to hide his nervousness. “Sir, we just received a transmission from Moff Gideon.”
Zsinj’s eye twitched. Gideon was one of the few Moffs to have allied with Zsinj and his domain—nominally, at least. Zsinj had accepted his allegiance if only because of his oversight of the Mandalore sector as well as his history as an agent of the Security Bureau, both things that Zsinj could use against his rival warlords and even the greater Empire if necessary. Still, he was wary of the other man and saw him as a potential rival, bracing for the day when he broke away and established his own fiefdom.
“He has received a message that he believes to be from the Emperor,” the officer continued. “He has been ordered to bombard Mandalore and destroy the city of Sundari.”
Sundari. One of Mandalore’s two capitals. The Mandalorians themselves were divided, yet they were nonetheless united in their effort to repel the Empire, having overthrown the Suprema two years ago and, more recently, repelled the forces of Grand Admiral Takel. It made sense that the Emperor—if he truly was behind these messages—would want them out of the picture. And as much as Zsinj hated to admit it, Gideon was the perfect man for the job.
Raising his glass of Serennian wine, Zsinj said to the officer, “Tell Moff Gideon that I wish him good fortune in his efforts to carry out the Emperor’s will.”
The officer stared at him for a moment before quickly saluting and taking his leave. As he left, Zsinj sipped from his glass and let out a satisfied sigh. He caught Count Malvern’s nervous eye, smiled, and raised his glass again.
“To the Empire.”
* * *
Moff Panaka stood on the bridge of the Torment, watching as the tunnel of hyperspace spun before his eyes. The Emperor’s Messenger stood just behind him, speaking into his ear as it played its final message.
“Resistance. Rebellion. Defiance. These are concepts that cannot be allowed to persist.”
Panaka swallowed hard, doing everything he could to push back the doubts and second guesses starting to creep into his mind and heart. Nothing he did worked.
“You are but one of many tools by which these ideas shall be burned away.”
He felt the Star Destroyer lurch slightly as it exited hyperspace. The beautiful green world of Naboo instantly came into view. Panaka took in a shuddering breath as he regarded his homeworld in its current state for what would probably be the last time.
“The great error shall be corrected. Operation: Cinder shall commence.”
Panaka opened his mouth but he could summon no words. Captain Duvat didn’t even wait for him to give the command and was already shouting orders, eager to carry out His Imperial Majesty’s will.
As the satellites were deployed and the TIE fighters were launched from the hangar, Panaka could only close his eyes as he hung his head in remorse.
I am sorry, my Queen. I have failed you.
He did not open his eyes for a long time. He did not want to see the fires until it was too late to stop them.
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