Star Wars: Tales from the Dark Side - The Many Deaths of Ochi of Bestoon

THE MANY DEATHS OF OCHI OF BESTOON

  Ochi of Bestoon twirled his knife in his hands as he mulled over the job he had just been offered.

“A Jedi, huh? That’s a new one.”

The man sitting across from him interlaced his fingers, his face mostly hidden by the hood of his black cloak. “I trust that you are capable enough, Ochi of Bestoon. Your reputation as the one of the best the Assassin’s Guild has to offer precedes you.”

Ochi snorted. “Heh. Don’t let any of my buddies hear you say that. They already hold plenty of grudges against me.” He leaned back in his seat, still twirling his knife. As one of the top assassins in the Guild, on his way to joining the Elite Circle itself, he had been given all sorts of jobs from clients who were willing to pay the credits. From crime lords to nobles to even members of the Galactic Senate, he had killed all kinds. But a Jedi… a Jedi was something else. He hadn’t heard of anyone in the Guild killing a Jedi, not even those in the Elite Circle. It wasn’t like they had much reason to; they were just magic-using monks, weren’t they?

After a moment, Ochi asked the potential client, “What’s so special about this Jedi that you want him dead?”

“It’s not so much the identity of the Jedi that is important,” the man replied. “It’s the impact that his murder will bring.”

“Ah.” Ochi slowly nodded. “I get it. You want to show the galaxy that these wizards aren’t strong as they make themselves out to be.”

Beneath the rim of his hood, a smile crept onto the man’s face. “Something like that.”

“Good enough for me.” Ochi stabbed the middle of the table with his knife. “I’ve been itching for a challenge for a while now. Who knows, this job might be what gets me into the Elite Circle!”

“I certainly hope it will be beneficial for both of us,” the man said. “Now then, shall we discuss the matter of payment?”

Ochi narrowed his eyes as he studied the man, trying to figure out what kind of wealth he head. “Fifty thousand up front, another fifty after the job is done. And this is non-negoti—”

Before he could finish, the man slid across the right amount of credits across the table. Ochi’s eyes widened and he counted them all to make sure, as well as ensure that they were legit. He then focused his shocked gaze on the hooded man. “How did you get this kind of…?”

“Is my income that much of a concern to you?” the man asked.

Something about his tone dissuaded Ochi from prying and he tried to play it off casually as he scooped up the credits. “Just curious,” he muttered. “So, where can I find this Jedi?”

The man slid a datapad across the table. “Everything you need to know is on here. The file will delete itself once it has been viewed. This is a need-to-know assignment, as I’m sure you’ll understand.”

“Oh, I get it,” Ochi said as he picked up the device. “Trust me, I’ve been at this job for many years.”

The man smiled again, in a manner that Ochi found somewhat ominous. “And for many years to come, let us hope.”

*  *  *

The information on the datapad had led Ochi to a icy world in the Outer Rim Territories known as Mygeeto. He had heard of the planet before and had even visited once to assassinate a rogue officer of the InterGalactic Banking Clan. The Jedi in question was a Muun by the name of Marhu Koss, who had gone into self-imposed exile on the planet following a disagreement with the Jedi Council, even going so far as to undertake the Barash Vow, cutting himself off from the known galaxy.

This perhaps explained why his client had selected Koss as a target. Because he was already in exile, his death would not immediately come to the attention of the Jedi Order but when it did, they would know that there was someone out there capable of killing Jedi. Ochi imagined his client would then follow up with more Jedi targets that would become increasingly more prominent, causing the rest of the Order to worry for their own safety. If he was right, then it was quite the cruel strategy, one which he approved.

If this doesn’t get me into the Elite Circle, he said to himself, then nothing will please those losers!

Stepping off his transport, Ochi took a moment to survey his surroundings through the enhanced lenses of his mask. The surface of Mygeeto was characterized by jagged crystals jutting from out of the ground. Most of it was difficult to land a ship on, let alone tread safely across; he was fortunate enough to find a patch of solid ground that was large enough for his blocky WTK transport to land on, before it narrowed into a small strip that led directly to the abandoned ruins of some sort of tower. The tower looked much too primitive to have been built by the Muun settlers of Mygeeto and was instead likely made by the native Lurmen.

Once he made sure he had all of his tools and weapons on hand, Ochi trekked down the narrow strip of land, sidestepping crystals that were sharp enough to impale him. As he reached the tower, he switched on the infrared sensors of his mask and was able to detect a heat signature radiating from within the ancient structure. Whether it was the Jedi or not, there was definitely someone inside.

He stepped closer before stopping. He realized that there wasn’t just one heat signature that his sensors were reading… but two.

Was this a setup? Had the man lied to him, or simply been misinformed?

Scowling to himself, Ochi made a mental note to double his asking price before stepping into the tower. Inside, the stairs leading up to the top of the tower were collapsed, meaning it would be impossible to climb to the top. As far as he knew, Muuns weren’t capable of flying, even with the Force, which meant that the Jedi had to be here on the ground floor.

Pushing his way through rubble, Ochi made sure to stick to the shadows as well as keep his heat sensors running. There was at least one heat signature straight ahead, and from all appearances it was stationary, indicating that the Jedi had not moved. Most likely he was in some sort of meditative trance, meaning he would be open to any attack that came.

“Not much of a challenge,” Ochi muttered to himself. He now really hoped that his client would give him another target after this. He looked around for any sign of the second heat signature but he had lost track of it. Nothing to the left or right of him, and not even when he looked back the way he had came.

Then, he remembered the collapsed staircase… and looked up.

The snap-hiss of a lightsaber igniting was his only warning as the furred creature dropped down on top of him. Quickly stepping to the side, Ochi unsheathed his knife and prepared to attack only to have to quickly dodge the swinging blue blade.

“What have you done?” the Jedi cried, jumping around on his legs. “What have you done?”

In between dodging his swings, Ochi was able to identify the Jedi as a Lurmen, a lemuroid species native to Mygeeto. Definitely not a Muun. Again, either the man had been wrong or….

“You will pay for this!” the Lurmen Jedi roared, gripping his lightsaber with his tail and lashing it like a whip. “My master will be avenged!”

Ochi sidestepped to avoid the tail before grabbing it and slashing at it with his knife. The Jedi screamed in agony as blood poured from the gashing wound and his lightsaber dropped to the floor. Ochi moved to pick up the weapon only to be pushed back by an invisible force. Ignoring the blinding pain caused by his severed tail, the Lurmen summoned the lightsaber back to his awaiting hand before lunging at Ochi. The blue blade was centimeters away from stabbing him in the head when Ochi managed to shift his position and thrust his dagger out, stabbing the Jedi straight through the chest. 

The lightsaber fell again from the Lurmen’s grip, and this time he did not pick it back up. Ochi let his lifeless body fall to the floor before wiping the blood clean from his knife’s blade.

Not what I expected for my first Jedi kill, but enjoyable enough.

Picking up the discarded lightsaber, Ochi turned back in the direction he had been headed and pressed on, moving closer towards the remaining heat signature. Before long, he had reached the center room of the tower and he was standing face to face with his target.

Or at least, what he thought was his target. There was indeed a Muun standing in front of him… but there was also a second one lying dead on the floor. The dead one was dressed in the brown robes of a Jedi Master, whereas the one above it was dressed in a black cloak, not unlike the one his client had worn. A transpirator mask covered the lower half of his pale gray face and a pair of yellow burning eyes glared at Ochi from beyond the shadows.

Before Ochi could formulate any words, the Muun standing over the dead one spoke a single word. “Impressive.”

He then raised a hand and as if pulling on an invisible string drew Ochi towards him. The last thing Ochi of Bestoon saw was the scarlet glare of a lightsaber igniting before impaling him straight through the abdomen.

*  *  *

“You took a great risk in undertaking this operation.”

“Yes, Master. But it was worth it in the end, was it not?”

Darth Plagueis did not respond to his apprentice as he stared at the orange-skinned humanoid floating in the bacta tank before him. The Bestoonian was close to death but still clinging onto life… just as Venamis had before Plagueis had let him perish for good.

Darth Sidious continued speaking, adopting a casual tone as if he were discussing the weather. “From what I hear, the Jedi are greatly saddened by the death of Master Koss. They had worried for the mental state of his young Padawan, but never once did they suspect he would go so far as to murder his master for abandoning him.”

Plagueis turned to Sidious, yellow eyes blazing from behind his transpirator mask. “It is fortunate that such a convincing narrative was weaved, Sidious. But do you realize how close you were to exposing us to the Jedi Order?”

Sidious stared back at him, feigning humility. “Yes, Master. But, as I recall, it was you who killed Master Koss.”

“Only because he had already come closer than I would have liked to uncovering even a whiff of our operations. Mygeeto is a world not visited by many non-Muuns, let alone a Jedi. Fortunately his self-imposed exile provided a decent cover… but then you had to lead his Padawan to discover his dead body.”

“Only so that Ochi would have a Jedi to kill. How else would he have proved his worth?”

“What worth? We already have the Sun Guard to do our bidding, and I doubt he will be a stronger candidate for our experiments than Venamis.”

Sidious glanced at the bacta tube. “But we’ve lost Venamis. Surely any subject is better than none.”

Plagueis shook his head. “I have already learned what I needed to from Venamis. I fail to see how this creature will provide me with different results.”

With a heavy sigh, Plagueis turned away from the bacta tank and began to walk away, stopping only to look over his shoulder at Sidious.

“He will survive, and then you can use him as you wish. But be wise not to utilize him as… recklessly as you have today, Sidious.”

“Oh, I understand, Master.” Sidious turned back to Ochi’s floating form, smiling to himself. “I understand completely.”

*  *  *

Ochi of Bestoon twirled his knife in his hands only to stop himself. It was an old habit, one that he told himself he would quit.

The Equani had a term called “ceno-ka,” which was a sensation that one was in some sort of temporal loop. That events were repeating themselves somehow. That was how Ochi felt now, sitting in the same tavern on Ord Talavos as a cloaked man sat in front of him.

This human was different from the one Ochi had met with twenty years ago. At the very least, this one had a white beard, which the other one very well could have grown in the intervening years. But this man had a much deeper voice, one that reverberated in Ochi’s head as he spoke.

“I understand you have a reputation for killing Jedi, Ochi of Bestoon.”

Ochi shrugged, trying to appear casual. “You could say that,” he murmured. He did not mention the fact that it wasn’t much of a reputation; the Lurmen Padawan he had killed on Mygeeto had hardly been a challenge, and the other Jedi he had come across were no more trained than newly minted Knights. He had yet to kill an actual Jedi Master, which would be the only thing that would impress his peers and give him entry into the Elite Circle.

“As you know,” the deep-voiced man went on, “there is a war going on and the Jedi are now serving on the frontlines for the first time in a thousand years.”

“So there’s more Jedi for the picking.” Ochi tilted his head. “Let me guess, you’re with the Separatists.”

The man’s lips twitched into a smile beneath his hood. “You could say that,” he echoed the assassin’s words.

“Hey, I’m not judging. Some of my buddies have already gotten contracts to take out some Jedi; I’m gonna need to work hard to keep up.”

“Then you will be pleased to know that the target I have for you is a member of the Jedi High Council.”

Ochi tried to keep the excitement from showing on his face. That would be a big catch and would surely cinch him a spot in the Elite Circle. “Say no more. Just give me the details and the down payment and I’ll be on my way.”

Just like before, the man slid a datapad across the table. Just like before, he paid Ochi the agreed upon price. And just like before, Ochi was on his way to kill a Jedi.

*  *  *

“Not today, Sithspawn!”

Those were the last words Ochi had remembered hearing before he had died at the blade of Mace Windu. At least, he was pretty sure he was dead. It didn’t cross his mind that he wouldn’t be thinking anything at all if he were dead.

At some point, he opened his eyes and was met with the sting of bacta. Through the water, he could make out the shape of a man in a dark cloak standing in front of him. He remembered the man from before, from that first meeting on Ord Talavos nearly two decades ago. What was he doing here? What did his presence mean? Who even was he?

He felt a searing pain in his mind and everything went dark again.

*  *  *

  Ochi of Bestoon kept his knife sheathed in its holster. He did not dare touch it this time.

He had finally made it. It had taken far too many years for his liking, but he had finally made it. The Guild had accepted him into the Elite Circle; he had finally gotten the recognition he rightfully deserved.

He no longer needed to wait for clients to offer him work. He would come to them rather than the other way around. Besides, the price he now charged would be too high for even the wealthiest man in the galaxy to pay.

Of course, that had not been enough to deter a lowly industrialist from Scipio to seek him out, braving the dangerous swamps of Ord Talavos in order to speak with his associate and hire him for a job. Ochi had only accepted the job because of who the target was. It was no longer Jedi he would be going after, not after they had already been driven to the edge of extinction.

It was a Sith Lord.

Ochi had long been fascinated with the Sith, going so far as to track down and collect relics belonging to the ancient dark order. When he had been accepted into the Elite Circle, he had decided to fashion a new set of armor that emulated the Sith warriors of old. The Jedi had fallen and the Sith now ruled the galaxy once more. It was only fitting that he would wear the face of those who had won in order to strike fear in those that had lost.

And, once he had killed Darth Vader, he would perhaps attract the attention of the one who taught him. After all, there had to be two Sith, and Vader did not strike him as the Master. In fact, Ochi had a pretty good idea of who was.

Yes, the Dark Lord of the Sith would finally recognize him for his talents, and he would be so much more than a mere assassin.

As his ship exited hyperspace and bore down on the moon of the Heinsnake Cult, Ochi of Bestoon pressed forward, heading straight for his destiny.

*  *  *

Ochi of Bestoon screamed as he came to life for the second time.

He collapsed onto the floor, laying naked in a puddle of bacta water. A shadow fell over him and he looked up to see the man in the dark cloak standing there once more.

“You,” he croaked. “It’s you. It’s always you.”

“Indeed,” Darth Sidious answered him, yellow eyes glowing from the darkness of his hood. “I must say, you have exceeded my expectations, Ochi of Bestoon.”

“What….” Ochi looked down at his body, looking as new and fresh as if he had just been born again. “What have you done…?”

“I have accomplished what few have done before me: I have brought you back to life.” 

Ochi stared up at him in utter disbelief. Darth Sidious responded to him by cackling.

“With the knowledge of Darth Andeddu and the Tedryn Holocron, I was able to save your essence from falling into Chaos and transfer it into a newly made clone body. While my master was only able to save you from death, I was able to gift you a new lease on life.”

Ochi continued to gawk at the Dark Lord, barely able to comprehend the words he was hearing. “But… why? Why me?”

Sidious smiled, although it was hardly pleasant. “I became aware of your fascination with Sith artifacts when you happened to acquire a particular relic I had been searching for. Naturally, this meant that we needed to keep a close eye on you lest you prove a hindrance to our plans. My master had suggested that I simply kill you, but after learning about your skills as an assassin, I decided that there was perhaps a… different opportunity for you.”

“Okay, fine.” Ochi spat out some of the bacta water that had gotten into his mouth as he laid in the puddle. “But why use me to see if you could bring back the dead?”

Sidious shrugged. “Convenience, really. It’s not like anyone would have missed you if I had failed to save you from death.”

Ochi scowled, and under normal circumstances he would have lashed out at this kind of comment. But he was too weak to move, and he knew better than to try to fight a Dark Lord. He had already learned his lesson with Vader.

“So now what?” he said instead. “What happens to me now?”

The facade of mirth faded from the Dark Lord’s face and tone as he spoke coldly to the assassin. “You are now indebted to my service. From here on out, you shall do as I say and carry out my will.”

“What about the Assassin’s Guild?” Ochi asked, immediately regretting it as he realized how dumb of a question it was.

“As far as the Guild is concerned, you are dead,” Sidious said plainly. “Instead, you will answer to me, and only me.”

Ochi knew there was no point in arguing. He owed his life to this man and his continued existence was no doubt only ensured if he agreed to the Dark Lord’s terms. Thus, all he could do was manage a nod as he laid their in the puddle of bacta.

“As you wish, my lord.”

Sidious grinned. “Excellent. I will have you dressed and equipped; I already have a job for you.”

*  *  * 

Of course, it was never just one job.

Over the next twenty years, Ochi of Bestoon carried out the Emperor’s will as he had pledged, eliminating every last target he was given. Some of them were Jedi, some of them were not, ranging from renegade politicians and rogue Imperial officers. None of them were a challenge and brought little satisfaction to him. But then, his satisfaction wasn’t really the point, was it?

For two decades it was like this, with little change. Then, Endor happened.

He had felt it from halfway across the galaxy, like a knife piercing through his skull. Darth Sidious, Dark Lord of the Sith and Emperor of the galaxy, was dead. As he perished, he had unleashed a scream heard across the cosmos, bringing with it a single command that only Ochi could hear.

“AVENGE ME.”

Ochi had collapsed at the controls of his transport, fading into unconsciousness. When he awakened, he had found himself on board a Super Star Destroyer somewhere in the depths of a remote nebula. Standing in front of him was a man in a white officer’s tunic with a scarlet cape draping from his shoulders. A welcoming smile graced the features of the man’s pale face.

“Welcome, Ochi of Bestoon, to the Ravager.”

Ochi shook his head, trying to figure out what was going on. “What’s going on? Who are you?”

“I am Admiral Gallius Rax,” the man answered. “Counselor to the Empire and protege of the Emperor himself.”

“The Emperor,” Ochi murmured. “He’s… he’s gone. I heard him—”

“Yes,” Rax said solemnly. “I heard him as well. But not to worry; we shall avenge him.”

Ochi stared at the admiral, eying him warily. “How did you find me?”

“I didn’t. You found us.” Rax smiled at Ochi’s visible confusion. “Your ship appeared on our radars and we brought you in. Normally we would have destroyed any intruding crafts, but I recognized your ship.”

“But… I don’t remember entering any coordinates. I don’t even know where this place is!”

“The will of the Emperor works in mysterious ways,” Rax said cryptically. “Now then, there is much work to be done. If you will follow me.”

Left without any other choice, Ochi followed the Counselor, resigning himself once more to the never-ending nightmare.

*  *  *

Another twenty years had gone by in a blur and yet he was still stuck at square one.

The Emperor was long dead. Rax was long gone. And yet still, they wanted him to do their work. Even in death, the Dark Lord of the Sith still controlled him.

They had sent him after a girl and her parents. He wasn’t sure what they wanted them for, although he had a few ideas. He had been close to finding them, but the Jedi Skywalker and his friend had foiled him at every turn. Now he had lost the girl and he had killed the parents in a fit of rage. He had followed the only lead he had to Pasaana but failed to find the girl and instead succumbed to the treacherous sands.

And yet… he lived. 

Just as before, he had died and been reborn. He had long lost count of how many lives he had lived.

He realized now that they would never let him die. He would never be free from this nightmare. From the minute he had set foot on frigid Mygeeto, he had sealed his damned fate.

He had long since given up on trying to do anything about it. There was nothing he could do but do as he was told and fulfill the will of the Emperor.

And so, he sat at the controls of his ship and twirled his knife in his hand.

It was all he had to keep himself sane.

Star Wars: Tales from the Dark Side - Old Wounds

OLD WOUNDS

Adapted from the comic by Aaron McBride

  He knew something was wrong when he had opened his eyes.

He should not have been able to do that. He should have been dead.

Why wasn’t he dead?

He couldn’t feel anything. The pain was so agonizing that his mind could not register it as being real. Whatever fluid he was floating in was not bacta; or, if it was, then it was not doing anything to heal whatever wounds he had suffered. It certainly wasn’t going to regenerate his legs.

His legs. What had happened to his legs?

He tried to reach back in his mind. He remembered a man. A young man, human, with brown hair tied up in a braid. He had surprised him, jumping up and drawing the green blade from the weapon of his fallen comrade. He had sliced at his waist and then… there. That was where the pain had started.

He had fallen into the pit. His legs separated from the rest of his body as he tumbled into the abyss. Then… nothing.

That had been it. That had been the end.

Then why was he still here? Why was he still alive?

Through the bubbling red water, through the glass of the cylinder he was floating in, he could see movement. A giant stood in front of him, at least two meters tall, the crest of their helmet nearly scraping the ceiling. In the titan’s hand was an equally massive axe, nearly the length of its owner. All he could make out of their visage was a pair of red glowing eyes.

But the giant was not alone. Another figure stood between the colossus and the vat. They were cloaked in a simple black robe, a hood raised to conceal most of their face. But even the little glimpse he had of the old man’s pale face was enough for him to identify who they were.

His master. Darth Sidious.

And just like that, Darth Maul finally remembered his name.

His arm jolted up as if it had a mind of its own and his red palm pressed against the glass. The man on the other side did not so much as flinch, regarding his apprentice with an expression impossible to decipher.

The Dark Lord withdrew a crooked hand from the sleeves of his robes and made a single gesture. 

The next thing Maul knew, he was out of the vat, out of the water, and laying on some sort of table, screaming in pain. Machines surrounded him as they opened him up, cut him open, sewed him back up. 

He had no idea what they were doing, nor did he care. He wanted to destroy them. But he couldn’t. Something was preventing him from using his powers. It was as if the dark side refused to answer his call.

Eventually, the pain subsided, almost abruptly. It did not completely go away, of course, but enough so that he was able to take in his surroundings and feel his body. He could feel his legs again, albeit barely. He looked down and saw a pair of unfamiliar metal appendages in the spot where his legs had once been. They terminated in a set of clawed feet, which curled and uncurled at his mind’s command.

He then lifted his head up to see his master standing over him. It took him a moment to realize that the Dark Lord was, in fact, not physically there, but instead transmitting from a mobile holoprojector droid, his blue-tinted figure shimmering with every movement.

“Master,” Darth Maul croaked, his voice weak from disuse. “Where… where am I?”

Darth Sidious stared down at him in silence, his lips pressed into a thin line. When he spoke, his words were not directed to Maul but to the giant looming in the background. “I must admit that I am impressed by your handiwork. I did not expect the results to be so successful.”

“You may express your gratitude in the form of the agreed upon payment, my lord,” the giant growled in response.

“The funds have already been transferred to the appropriate accounts,” Sidious said. “Have you disposed of the other specimen like I asked?”

“It has, Lord Sidious.”

“Good.” Sidious looked back down at Maul. “I still have use for you, my friend. Although you may have failed me on Naboo, your continued existence has proved to me that the immortality the Sith have sought for so long is indeed possible… to a certain extent, of course.”

“Master.” Maul grimaced as he struggled to sit up but could not muster the energy to do so. “Please, give me another chance.”

“You have already been given another chance,” Sidious said coldly. “Otherwise, you would not be speaking to me now. However….” The Dark Lord paused and Maul dreaded to hear the words that came next. “You shall no longer be my apprentice. I have already found another to serve as my Shadow Hand.”

“Master, please!” The fear and anger now running through him jolted Maul up and he swung his mechanical legs over the operating table. “I can still serve you!”

“And you will. There is still much work to be done; work that I and Lord Tyranus alone cannot handle. You will serve as my secret assassin, eliminating targets that are too public for myself to eliminate through my usual methods. You have already proven yourself capable of that, given how you have eliminated the leadership of Black Sun. In fact, they have been seeing a resurgence of late, so perhaps it would be worth checking in on them….”

Maul bared his teeth, glowering at the hologram in front of him. “Is that all I am to you? Just some tool for you to use as you please?”

“That is all you have ever been to me,” Sidious said icily.

“I am your apprentice! You named me a Lord of the Sith!”

“That was before Naboo. I have since found better alternatives.”

Maul got down from the table and stood up to his full height. Rage coursed through his veins and he could feel the dark side finally answering to his summons. “I will no longer be your slave.”

Even from across the galaxy, he could sense the Dark Lord’s building ire through the Force. “If you wish to prolong your existence, you will do my bidding.”

“No.” Raising a clawed foot, Maul brought it down on the holoprojector and smashed it into pieces. The Dark Lord’s image dissolved into oblivion and Maul was left standing there in the darkness, illuminated only by the glow of the giant’s red eyes.

For a long time, the two of them simply stood there, staring at each other in silence. A silence that was broken by the grating voice of the giant.

“If you wish to leave here,” the titan said, “I can arrange for transportation. I will even provide you with the means to defend yourself. I ask for only two things in return.”

Maul narrowed his eyes, wondering if he should simply crush the giant’s throat with the Force. Instead, he said, “Name your price.”

The giant did. After taking a moment to get over his stupor from the strange request, Maul agreed.

A double-necked eight-string quetarra and an alias were an odd payment for a starship and a reconstructed lightsaber, but it was a deal worth making nonetheless.

*  *  *

Years passed. A decade, even. And throughout all those ten years, Maul had only one thing on his mind.

Revenge.

In his dreams, it was the Jedi’s face that he saw, the last thing he had seen before he had tumbled to what should have been his demise. It was a face that haunted him, and the only way to be rid of it was to find the Jedi and kill him. Only then would he finally be free.

It took him many years to finally put a name to the face: Obi-Wan Kenobi. It took him even longer to even find so much of a trace of him.

It was a big galaxy, and the Jedi Order was spread from its quaint temple on Coruscant all the way to the furthest fringes of the Outer Rim. It did not help that he had to keep a low profile, lest Sidious and his new apprentice catch wind of his activities and bring them and his second lease on life to a premature end.

Ten years after his rebirth, he had finally found a trace. An anonymous source had tipped him off to the remote world of Kamino, a planet located on the edge of the galaxy which Kenobi had gone to for reasons Maul did not know or care for. But when he got to the missing planet, the long-necked natives told him that Kenobi had already left two days prior. He would have killed them then and there had one of them not offered up the name of a planet where Kenobi could have possibly gone to: Geonosis.

He had wasted no time in making his way to Geonosis. But when he made it there, not only did he learn that Kenobi had already left the planet… but that the galaxy was now at war.

This was it, he realized. The culmination of the Grand Plan that the Sith had been working towards for nearly a millennium. Sidious and his agents would now be more alert than ever, and he would need to work even harder to keep a low profile to evade the Dark Lord’s omniscient gaze.

He did not have to hide for long however, as the Clone War ended up producing a useful distraction: Himself.

He wasn’t sure how it was possible, but another Zabrak identical to him in both appearance and name had came from out of nowhere, building an alliance between the criminal syndicates of the galaxy—including Black Sun—and using it to take over the planet of Mandalore. Sidious would no doubt believe this Maul to be the same one that had defied him a decade ago, giving the other the opportunity he needed in order to make his own preparations.

He would not be able to face the Dark Lord alone. He needed others to answer him and carry out deeds that he himself could not perform without rousing the attention of either Sidious or his clone. Fortunately, it did not take him long to find them.

Their names were Fomadu and Mei. Both survivors of dark side cults that had lost its members at the hands of the Jedi during the war. Like him, they sought revenge against the Jedi. And, like him, the girl Mei carried a burning hatred for one Jedi in particular—the same Jedi who continued to elude him as the war saw the Jedi Order scattered across the galaxy even more so now than they had been a decade prior.

It was the promise of revenge that Maul had been able to bring Fomadu and Mei, and others, to his cause. That, and the philosophy he had developed over the past decade, after he had made the decision to turn his back on the Sith once and for all.

There was no dark or light. There was no Force. There was only the Great Void. The all-consuming Darkness that bore them and would one day end them. No living being ever chose to be born in this life, and they only ever suffered before returning to the welcoming Void from whence they had came. There was no point to any of it; nothing, that is, but their own personal desires. If there was no Force to serve, then they could only serve themselves until they perished as all living things did.

Maul supposed it was ironic that he had reached this conclusion only after being pulled back from the Void to live once more. But such was the way of the Dark.

The war came and went. Then, the Jedi Order fell. He picked up the trace again, traveling to Utapau, then Mustafar, then Polis Massa, then Nar Shaddaa. He lost Fomadu and Mei, then the others shortly after. It was just him now, just as it had been in the beginning.

The Sith had finally won. The galaxy was in the hands of the Dark Lord. There would be no escaping his former master now. But he didn’t care anymore. All he wanted was Kenobi. Then, he could finally be free.

It only took another three years. But finally, he had found him.

*  *  *

The sand crunched beneath his clawed feet as he ran. The simple homestead laid dead ahead. There, he would find his quarry.

There were three of them. A man, a woman, and a child. The man had a blaster rifle in his hands, pointed in the intruder’s direction as he delivered a series of futile warnings. Maul could sense the man’s fear, which only further fueled his mechanical legs as he hastened his pace. The man pulled the trigger and Maul deftly avoided the blast before summoning the rifle to his hands and swinging it at the man’s skull. There was a sickening crack and the man fell into the sands.

The woman let out a cry and held the boy close to her chest as Maul turned to face them. He gazed at the child, peering into his scared blue eyes as he reached out with the Force.

And there it was. Just as the logs from the medical center on Polis Massa had indicated.

“So it’s true,” he murmured. “There is a son.”

And just like that, he felt it. He turned away from the weeping woman and crying child, scanning the Dune Sea for what he had sensed. Or rather, whom.

“A heart just quickened. I know you’re here.”

Silence. The only sounds he could hear were the pained coughs of the man and the sounds of despair coming from the woman and child. He ignored them all as he focused on the presence he had sensed.

“I missed you on Kamino by two days,” he continued. “I was a day behind you on Geonosis. I came across a corpse on Mustafar I thought might’ve been you. Imagine my relief.”

Still the silence stood, although he detected another prick in the other’s heartbeat. He must have touched another nerve. A satisfied smirk twitched onto his face, knowing that his next words would only further draw the Jedi’s ire.

“Those mute runts on Polis Massa were the least satisfying lives I’ve ever taken. But their medical log was worthwhile. An old junk dealer in Mos Espa choked up a name before I separated him from his greed. I knew if I found the boy… you’d come.”

This, finally, got a response from the Jedi. His voice seemed to carry through the wind, coming from all directions. “Does Palpatine know?”

“No,” Maul snarled. “There is no Palpatine. No Empire. No Jedi. There is no light. No dark. Just you and I, here, now!”

“We can do this for old time’s sake,” the voice continued. “But I was a Padawan then. Now…”

Beneath Maul’s feet, the ground trembled and a hand erupted from the sand, followed by the hunched form of a man. The same man Maul had seen in his dreams for sixteen years now. His once youthful face was now tired and old, covered by a brown bear tinged with gray. But his blue-gray eyes had the same hardness in them that Maul remembered from all those years ago.

Those eyes met Maul’s as Obi-Wan Kenobi stared at him with the fiery defiance of a Jedi. “You won’t heal clean.”

Maul snarled as he doffed his black cloak, at the same time drawing his lightsaber and igniting its twin red blades. In response, Kenobi ignited the blue beam of his own lightsaber and raised it in a defensive stance as Maul lunged, the setting twin suns blazing behind him.

Kenobi had expected Maul to attack with his blade first, but instead the Zabrak seized his neck with a clawed foot, using it as leverage to bring the Jedi closer to him.

“That day in Theed, I fell so far from what I was,” Maul growled into the other’s face. “When I came to rest, all I could see was you.”

He brought his scarlet blade close to Kenobi’s face, although the Jedi was able to bring his own between them. Sparks flew as the two beams of energy collided.

“But I rose from my ruin,” Maul pressed on, “to find myself greater… and all the days since have been to your end!”

With a grunt, Kenobi was able to wrest himself from out of Maul’s grasp. The Zabrak allowed him to do so; he wanted this moment to last. He wanted to savor the sweet taste of revenge. The past sixteen years of his life—ever waking hour of his renewed lease on life—had been leading to this moment.

After this, there would be nothing to await but the Great Void.

Kenobi swung his lightsaber and Maul blocked it with the lower blade of his double-edged weapon. This left the rest of him vulnerable however and Kenobi swung his leg up to kick him in the head, shattering large chunks from his elongated horns. As Maul staggered back to recover himself, Kenobi twirled his blade as he moved in to attack again, leaping up in the air with his blade raised high. Maul raised his double-edged sword, ready for him… and too late realized his mistake.

The blue saber cut through the hilt of his weapon… and through his left arm. The bisected weapon and severed limb fell to the ground.

So blinded had he been by his hatred that he had let his guard down and made the same mistake he had made sixteen years ago, that had seen his old weapon broken and himself sliced in half.

He would not repeat that moment. Not here. Not after so many years of waiting for this moment.

Crying out in rage, he thrust out his mechanical leg and kicked Kenobi in the abdomen. The Jedi went flying and crashed into the hood of a nearby landspeeder, weighing the repulsor-powered vehicle down. Maul then summoned one of the two pieces of his shattered weapon to his remaining hand, igniting its still-working blade as he stormed over to Kenobi.

But the Jedi was already back on his feet. And had the emitter of his lightsaber pressed against Maul’s skull.

Seconds crawled like hours. Maul could feel the emotions boiling within Kenobi as the Jedi’s thumb rested on the activation switch. And for the briefest of moments, Maul witnessed a flash of white-hot anger flare within the Jedi. He remembered that anger; it was the same anger that Kenobi had unleashed when Maul had killed his Jedi Master.

Just as Maul had clung onto his desire for revenge for sixteen years, Kenobi had clung onto the memory of him killing his master. The desire for revenge was mutual in that respect, even if the Jedi tried to hide it. In that sense, they were almost kindred spirits, sharing the same old wounds.

At that realization, Maul’s golden eyes went wide. He stared into Kenobi’s steely blue gaze, saw the restrained anger burning within them. Then, he closed his eyes, resigning himself to his fate.

So focused was he on his opponent that Maul did not see the man he had threatened earlier get back to his feet, pick up his discarded blaster, point it at the Zabrak’s head. He did not even hear the blaster go off before the Darkness enveloped him and he fell once more into the welcoming embrace of the Great Void.

Star Wars: Tales from the Dark Side - Desolation

 DESOLATION: THE FALL OF DARTH DESOLOUS

Twelve Jedi stood on the desolate ground of Yaga Minor, lightsabers drawn, as the world burned all around them.

Above them, Republic ships engaged in combat against Pau’an vessels, lighting the night-sky with laserfire. The plan had worked exactly as Master Vissola said it would, having coordinated with Admiral Huvick to set up the trap for the Dark Lord of the Sith and his army. Surrounded by Republic capital ships coming from all the charted hyperlanes leading to the Yaga Minor system, there was no place for his minions to run. They had been cornered. Boxed in.

Surrounding the twelve Jedi and their singular foe were the bodies of their fellow Knights and their enemy warriors. None of the Jedi still standing had taken any pleasure in taking the lives of the Pau’an warriors they had been forced to killed, having been left with no choice by the situation they had been placed in.

Their foe, on the other hand, derived great pleasure from every single Jedi he had killed and would take even more from those he had yet to kill.

Darth Desolous stood before the twelve Masters of the Jedi High Council, holding his crimson lightsaber blade in one hand and hefting a heavily dented shield with the other. A cruel, mirthless grin split across his lined face, revealing rows of sharpened teeth. His black eyes were blotched with red, an aftereffect of the dark side’s hold on him.

None of the Jedi spoke to him or even made an attempt to sway him away from the path he was already set on. They all knew that he was too far gone.

Just as with his followers in the sky, there was no turning back for him now. It would all come to an end, here and now.

They waited for him to make the first move, to make the first mistake. His booted feet scraped against the dirt as he crouched down into a battle stance, raising his shield to cover his body.

Silence reigned over the scene, save for the low hum of the thirteen ignited lightsabers and the sound of turbolaser fire above them.

Jedi Master Hahkann made the first mistake. He charged towards Darth Desolous, lightsaber blade raised high as he released a guttural roar from the depths of his throat. All of the rage that he had pent up inside him had boiled over; witnessing his apprentice falling to his former master’s blade had been the breaking point.

The Dowutin Jedi brought his blade down and Desolous blocked it with his shield. Harsh laughter rang out from the Sith Lord’s mouth.

“I have taught you well, my young Padawan.”

The words sparked something in Hahkann and he raised his lightsaber for another attack. Then, an invisible hand seized and threw him to the side, just as Darth Desolous swung his own lightsaber.

“Don’t let your emotions cloud your vision,” roared Grand Master Axon Roden, his green three-fingered hand still outstretched as he held his blue lightsaber with the other. “You are giving him exactly what he wants!”

“It would be a first,” said Darth Desolous, repositioning him back into his battle stance. “Had you done so in the first place, none of us would even be here.”

“No,” rumbled Master Tolada Boor. The ancient Ithorian woman held her yellow blade in both her hands, looking tired and weak. “We would have ended up in an even worse place. The galaxy would be suffering the tyranny of the Sith once more, just as it had less than two centuries ago.”

Darth Desolous sneered. “Of course you would know, you old hag. Shouldn’t you be in your library, ‘Master Bore?’ I think you’re a bit too old to be out here fighting.”

“Enough,” barked Master Roden, pointing his azure blade at the Sith Lord. “This ends here, Dion. Whether with your death or surrender, it ends here.”

“Just ‘Dion?’” Desolous snapped. “Not even a ‘Master Sazon?’ Surely I deserve that much.”

“You deserve nothing,” hissed Master Vinthec through his breathing apparatus. “Especially not after all of the Jedi you have killed.”

The Dark Lord laughed. “Still salty over your mate’s death, are we? Don’t worry; I’ll help you join him in the Force.”

He extended his shield-mounted arm and called upon the dark side of the Force. Vinthec let out a grunt as an invisible fist wrapped around him in a tight, vise-like grip. Before any of the other Jedi could save their brother, Darth Desolous pulled the Tognath towards him and ran his crimson blade straight through his chest, laughing as he did so.

This was the mistake the Jedi had been waiting for.

As one, the remaining eleven Masters charged towards Vinthec’s murderer, even as the Dark Lord tossed the Tognath’s body aside as if it was nothing. Blue, green, yellow, and purple blades crashed onto crimson as the Jedi fought to avenge their fallen brothers and sisters.

Master Tolada Boorr was the next to fall. Violet lightning coursed through her body as Darth Desolous released his bottled rage. She had been the first to refuse him access to the forbidden secrets of the Jedi Archives, even after he had attained the rank of master.

As the Ithorian Jedi’s body crumpled to the floor, Master Caario was the next to act. It only made sense, as he had once been Boorr’s apprentice and had always been close to her. It only took a few seconds for him to be deprived of his lightsaber blade before receiving one to the chest.

Master Roden was the first to deal a blow against the Lord of the Sith. When Darth Desolous raised his shield arm, the shoehorn-headed Vurk saw an opening and drove his blade into the Pau’an exposed shoulder. As the Sith Lord howled in pain, Master Berkuss moved in to slash at his legs. Desolous moved out of the way before he could deliver the blow and proceeded to drop the shield onto the Gand’s head. Berkuss dropped to the ground and did not move again.

“Your efforts are futile!” Darth Desolous bellowed. “A thousand Jedi have already fallen cursing my name! You will soon do the same!”

“Dion, stop this. Please.” Master Ona Lesim deactivated all four of her blades. Disapproval rippled from the other Jedi through the Force, but she paid it no heed. She stared at the man who had once been her Padawan, sadness creasing her simian face. “This isn’t the brave man I once knew; the one I taught; the one I saw as like a son. What happened to him, Dion? What happened to the Jedi Knight I once knew?”

“He died,” Darth Desolous spat. “He died and was reborn!”

The Force made his shoulder wound pointless as he grabbed his former master by the neck without even touching her. With a simple twist of the wrist, the Ardennian’s neck snapped and her body dropped to the ground like dead weight. Master Roden released an anguished cry as he lunged at the Sith Lord, blade raised high.

Darth Desolous saw an opening and took it. With his one good arm, he swung his lightsaber blade at the Grand Master and carved a deep slash across the Vurk’s chest.

Axon Roden fell, and then there were six. The remaining Jedi Masters formed a circle around the Sith Lord. Hahkann, back on his feet, took point with Master Kotu Vissola on the left; to the right was the seer Niira Baelar and the healer Grulah Lanami. Finally, taking center were Master Jodon Starbreaker, Hero of Halmad, and Master Mela Seibb, Savior of Sullust.

Above them, the sky had gone quiet. The Battle of Yaga Minor was already over. The Army of Desolation had been defeated.

Yet, still, its leader laughed.

“Look at how far you have already fallen,” Darth Desolous jeered. “I can sense the hatred you feel towards me; the anger. Surely you realize by now that only by embracing the dark side can you seek to achieve that which you desire.”

“A true Jedi desires nothing but peace,” said Master Seibb. “Surely you realize that by now.”

He sneered at her. “Even when facing death itself, you still spout your filthy Jedi lies. Stubborn and persistent to the end.”

He raised his crimson blade one last time. Despite his injury, despite exhaustion threatening to consume him, his eyes still burned with the ferocity of a warrior.

“I suppose,” he muttered, “we have that much in common.”

He pointed his blade at Starbreaker and Seibb… then, reaching out with his injured arm, he seized Master Vissola with the Force and started to drag her towards him. The blue-skinned woman’s eyes lit up with fear as she struggled against the Sith Lord’s invisible grip but to no avail. Lightning crackled at Desolous’ fingertips as he prepared to—

“NO!” Master Baelar launched herself forward, her violet blade raised above her head. Darth Desolous turned to face her, contempt plastered on his face.

It was the last mistake he would make.

The energy blade cut into his chest, pierced through his heart, and came out through his back. Darth Desolous let out a gasp; whether out of surprise at being killed or at the identity of the one to deliver the killing blow, the galaxy would never know.

Baelar retracted her blade and Darth Desolous, once the Jedi Master Dion Sazon, fell onto the ground, joining the bodies of his soldiers and victims. The hilt of the blade that had killed him fell from its user’s hands, landing beside his head.

Six Jedi stood on the desolate ground of Yaga Minor, faces stained with sweat, dirt, blood, and tears, as the world went silent all around them.