Timmns Aduli, jedi Master and increasingly uncertain Revanite, looked out from his balcony. Rough stone let his hands rest, the temples of a once fearsome Naga Sadow refurbished to serve as living quarters.
Not for everyone, of course. There were many temples, but the Revanites numbered far too many. Millions, a vast fleet to ward off anyone seeking to disturb Revan's work. Endless fortifications, ground-to-space weaponry, triple-overlapping shield domes. Even if someone managed to break the fleet in orbit, which was a task Timmns did not envy, they would break upon their ground defenses.
Sith and jedi, soldiers and fanatics and tamed beasts. Droids and more, one of the largest armies in the galaxy.
No one had come.
Not beyond a half-hearted Republic investigation, and even then it was barely an attack. It made all those grand preparations seem almost foolish, but he was not so high-ranked as to express his opinion freely.
Important enough to live in the temples, yes, but not so important as to dictate policy.
If he'd managed to convince Morgan to join, and the man had all the indicators of a Revanite, it might have been different. Timmns sighed, putting the je'daii out of his mind. He was off conquering Dromund Kaas, and winning from all reports, but he didn't matter here and now.
Far in the distance, far enough he could only just about see it, stood the main site. The ruins of a seemingly minor structure, half the size of those around it. Yet there it was that Revan had chosen to meditate, and there it was that everything was happening.
Nearly a hundred Force users sat with him. Only Revan himself did so without breaks, jedi Masters and sith Lords and those without titles at all attuning themselves to their founder. Timmns had heard a rumor of a ghost Revan joining the physical Revan, but no one he knew was willing to talk about it.
It wasn't during his shift, either. Which, as he pulled up his datapad to check the time, was in an hour. Timmns grunted. Time to serve as a living battery for a purpose he neither knew nor was allowed to understand.
Joy.
So he was a little bitter, sue him. This wasn't what he imagined the great plan to be like. There was unity, yes, and the talks with sith were enlightening, but to just sit there? In the outer ring, fueling some grand work he had no hope of comprehending? One that an actual seer had warned was a trap?
Oh, assurances had been given. Protections put in place. But Timmns had a bad feeling about it, and no one seemed to share it. So loyal it blinded them, their mighty Revan incapable of doing wrong.
Timmns got out of the temple and boarded one of the speeder-cars, the pilot giving him a polite nod. High ranked he was not, but neither was he a grunt. That came with being a jedi Master, his authority coming from some sort of compromise between the former Revanite splinter factions.
Something else he wasn't supposed to know. Not more than he already did, at least. Timmns said nothing as they rose into the air, looking out over the fortifications.
The jungle was fierce, but they had an army. Ships in orbit more than capable of flattening large swaths of it, what beasts or massassi existed killed or chased off. Now it was a military camp, and a well constructed one at that.
Not that it was Timmns speciality, but Revan used to be a soldier. Made sense that the man insisted on a proper military camp. Or a city, going by its sheer size. A military city. Timmns snorted.
Just like Dromund Kaas.
That damned warning. He couldn't get it out of his head, couldn't stop thinking about the sheer confidence and tired authority he'd said it with. Like Morgan was used to people taking it seriously, and obeyed when he told them to stop being stupid.
The worst part? Timmns still had friends here, if not very many. One of them had a contact in the SIS, who had noted a high chance of the Enosis moving to engage the Revanites if it wasn't for the Empire's weakness. Morgan would have started a literal war to stop them from doing this, and everything he knew about the man insisted he valued his own people.
Something was wrong, so horribly wrong, and there wasn't anything Timmns could do about it. The Master wouldn't listen, Revan didn't really speak to anyone but his few most trusted, leaving wasn't an option. Timmns believed in the teachings, he did, so why couldn't he stop questioning the man?
Some few shared his concerns, but none had been there to hear Morgan give his warning. So everyone promised to keep their eyes open, and nothing happened. Nothing changed.
The speeder slowed, Timmns catching a brief glimpse of the ritual site before they landed. An eight hour shift wasn't so long, not once you attuned yourself, but it drained you. It was a good thing there were hundreds of Masters and Lords here, since it took a few days to recover at the least.
And Revan just kept going. Days, weeks, months. It didn't seem to matter. Timmns suppressed an uncomfortable shudder as he passed the security checkpoint. He was connected to the Force, and as a jedi Master he felt he understood it, but then there were people like that.
Not prodigies, necessarily. Those rose quickly, yes, but more broadly. Picked up lightsaber skills, language, technique and more. No. This was something else. Not stronger, even. Not at first.
No advantage over everyone else, no real safety net to fall back on. But if they survived? When they came to that point where the Force started doing things science could not explain?
Being faster, stronger, quicker. All that could be achieved without the Force. Often less smoothly, less well, but achieved. Yet who could look at people's very souls? Terrify whole battalions, read the future and prune Fate?
No, that was when those people became terrifying. Unknowable. Where they learned skills and tricks no one was really prepared for. And Revan, well. He was one of those.
Timmns stood aside as a small group of sith exited the ritual, six in all, and he himself joined the queue. Shift changes were done in stages, a few at the time so as to not disturb the ritual, and there were three groups before him. Yet one of the organisers waved him over, the young woman seeming to have a permanent scowl on her face.
"Jorden can't be found." She said, and Timmns frowned. He had no idea who that was, but no one disappeared in a military camp. "Someone needs to take his spot, and you're here. Get in."
A chill went down his spine, the Force whispering a warning, but what could he do? Refusal wasn't something they took kindly, and he had no standing to disobey. Timmns bowed his head, moving to join those first in line. Another organiser was there, datapad in hand.
Seconds crawled by, the man waved them through, Timmns saw the ritual site again. Nothing special, really. Revan at its center, cross-legged with a straight back, with Force users around him in a spiral. If there was anything special about this exact place, Timmns didn't feel it.
The group he and his new team replaced were at the outer ring, Timmns sitting as everyone else did. Relaxed his mind, attuning to the whirlwind of power they were feeding to the working. It was easy enough, in truth, but now Timmns was curious. Curious and scared.
So he delved a little deeper than he should. Interpreted the chaos instead of merely letting it pass, though the latter was far less exhausting. What he found wasn't encouraging.
The rumor of there being two Revan's seemed true, considering he saw two souls in the process of fusing together. Not something he knew was possible, but he could accept that. Yet only a small portion of power aided the fusion, the rest funneling towards a cage.
A cage with yet another soul inside.
Timmns flinched away, just about managing to keep his output of power steady. What in the actual fuck where they doing? Someone must have noticed before, but either they didn't care or trusted Revan's promise of safety. But if that was who he thought it was…
How? No, the how didn't matter. Revan had the Emperor locked in a cage, trapped and secure. Using the power of a hundred souls to keep it contained. But power wasn't enough to cage people like that, so the man was his warden.
Timmns didn't know much about Revan. Not nearly enough. Why imprison the Emperor? Why not kill him, assuming Revan could? Why not-
A crack appeared. Timmns watched with horror as Revan sealed it shut, yet could do nothing as a tiny tendril of presence leaked from the cage. A tendril that latched on Timmns's power, an echo of an echo left behind as he investigated. Traced it back to his soul, Timmns rapidly backing out and away.
It didn't matter. Revan moved to contain it, the cage shook, more cracks appeared. Some distant alarm started going off, which struck Timmns as impossible, and what happened next happened in just under a tenth of a second.
The cage rattled. Revan turned back to it, but something slipped. The man's soul wasn't one, not yet, and a containment technique took a split second longer than it should have. Revan's face drew into a mask of fury, a bellow of rage escaping his throat, and strangely thick shields wrapped over his souls.
The cage broke. Tenebrae laughed, his power spreading out towards all those feeding the ritual. The weakest, the ones not paying attention, died first. Power flooded to the man, Revan slashing forward with a sword that made the Force scream, and the Emperor laughed louder.
More tendrils spread out, latching around the remaining sith Lords. Then jedi Masters, and Timmns felt his soul die. Felt its vital essence drain, pulled towards the center of the technique. Some distant part of his mind realised the very construction of the ritual aided the Emperor in doing so, but the rest of him was too busy screaming.
Then nothing. Silence. Yet a flash of light even he saw, and then something felt wrong. The Force groaned, breaking apart as the soul that used to be Timmns was cannibalised even further. Not just his essence, but the very idea of him. His potential and future and death.
The soul felt another join, one strangely split, and felt it should recognize it. Then there was a feeling of dissolution, then one of millions of souls joining it, and then there was nothing but laughter.
A voice, old yet young yet weak yet powerful.
Tenebrae sighed, cracking his neck. His new power felt unstable, and it would take some time for it to settle, but that was alright. Fate spread before him, and the Emperor smiled. "Let's see what I've missed, shall we?"
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
"What am I looking at here, major?" Morgan asked, tapping the railing. One of the Yamada's hangars ran below, only housing a quarter of the starfighters it should. A consequence of their quick departure, though on the whole they were only missing thirty percent. "Because from what I'm seeing, someone disobeyed a direct order."
The woman grinned, her Reborn emblem worn proudly below her Enosis one. Elarius had finally broken him and managed to get official military status for his cult. Damn them all.
"All parties involved insist it is just a friendly sparring match, my Lord." The major said, waving her hand to indicate the ring. "No lightsabers were employed and strict rules have been implemented."
"Right. So why, exactly, is one of my Lords of War missing his leg?"
"It appears Lord Phos tore it off."
Morgan sighed. At least no one had continued after Chosen had arrived to break it up. "Of course. Still, three to four?"
"The Lords of War were winning despite the disadvantage."
Pride. Such an interesting feeling. Morgan looked down at them, the group finally having noticed his presence. The Lords of War kneeled, the man with the missing leg managing to make it seem graceful. The sith Lords joined them after a beat, not wishing to stand out.
Morgan stepped up on the railing and let himself fall, slowly drifting down. The web of threads allowing for pseudo-flight were all but invisible, something that only added to the illusion, and Morgan landed in front of them.
"There's this saying I'm finally starting to understand." He began, looking them over. Seven of them, the wounds of his je'daii slowly closing. The sith continued to bleed. "Don't give orders you know won't be followed. It erodes command, forces you to discipline them, weakens the strength of your word. In that light, do you think I would look at your paper-thin cover of a 'friendly spar' and ignore the fact I ordered a stop to the infighting? That beating each other with wooden sticks instead of lightsabers somehow gives you the right to ignore my authority?"
No one answered. That was alright. He was in a lecturing kind of mo-
The universe unfolded. Branching paths of the conversation spread out in his mind, from earning the everlasting loyalty of the sith Lords to both sides banding together to attack him. Then further, every possible permutation of their short flight to Korriban. Disaster and fortune, death and hope.
Morgan looked at himself. Two arms, exactly where they should be. Lana had been wrong, then. Unlike her. He frowned, seeing the kneeling Lords starting to stare at him. Time was moving so slowly, wasn't it? More so than enhanced perception would account for.
He distanced himself from his own body, spinning up an alternative perspective. Ah. Seven arms moved back and forth, swaying and gesturing and more. A localised time field allowing for an altered perception of the flow of causality, essentially increasing the speed at which he moved.
Fascinating. An instinctual technique based on the distortions of his one-time prison, an overall continuation of the speed focused basic enhancements.
This had been happening more often, hadn't it? Ever since watching that Other die. A memory he now saw contained more facets than anticipated, though he managed not to get sucked into it.
What had he been doing? Something about orders. Ah, yes. Maintaining discipline.
Morgan looked, narrowing his focus to reality and reality alone. A trick he and Lana had come up with, hopefully leading to less distraction and thus a more focused mind.
What he saw was a silent hangar. The Chosen were looking at him with hunger in their eyes, the Lords bowing lower even as the Reborn major looked confused. Discipline was important, so he really should continue his speech.
Why didn't he finish the job properly? Morgan walked over to one of his men, the woman staring at him with wide eyes. Not fear, but something akin to uncertainty. Ah, he'd floated over. No matter.
The Chosen. His Chosen. The base layer of reinforcement wasn't so bad, built as it was on self-sustained biochemical augmentations that needed no maintenance, but why leave so much wasted potential?
If their body could only support so much, increase the size. Improve nutrition efficiency, lung capacity, blood-vessel throughput, then rebuild the skeletal frame. Thicker bones, the calcium structure altered to possess the same compressive and tensile strength of steel, then muscles supported by their own dedicated oxygen reserve.
The increased size allowed for all organs to possess duplicate copies, the major arteries to be properly encased in bone, then overall improvements to toxic immunity and environmental tolerance. Triple their lifespan by smoothing out genetic disrepair, leading to less error and breakdown over long periods of time.
Morgan hummed as he redesigned his Chosen, the mental picture coming together nicely. Seven to eight feet would do, adaptive based on the host dna, and increased senses where only natural. Their reflexes were fine, but pain receptors should have a proper threshold.
"There." He said, nodding. Morgan looked at the woman, who was still looking at him, and sent a copy of it to her mind. She staggered, Morgan frowning as he repaired the damage, then sent another. One with just an overview of the final product. "What do you think? I am no soldier, so perhaps you see flaws I cannot."
Hesitant, slow feedback came. Morgan sighed, linking the remaining Chosen on the ship to it. Better to just ask them all at once, and it wasn't like connecting two thousand one hundred and four was much harder than connecting one.
Some had clearly thought about it more than others. The Force users among them adapted the fastest, of course, though Morgan saw no reason the base template shouldn't work for them. The Force enhanced, so it would only make them better still.
Thoughts communicated faster once linked to one another, creating a web not unlike those of his beasts. Unsustainable without him here, and complex minds required constant attention Morgan could not normally afford, but for now it was doable.
People adapted. Suggestions flowed, Morgan altering the design as they did, and time passed. Minutes, at least, though it could have been hours. No, not hours. Minutes. Morgan shook his head.
Time being relative to the movement of quarks, such a confusing thing to keep track of. Reverse their position, time flows backward. Yet that did not work, and Morgan just about managed to pull himself away from the problem. A problem he instinctively knew had no solution.
The final adjustments were made, the Chosen approved it and Morgan scattered the design. Scattered it along the web of thought, along with a question.
Yes or no?
Two thousand one hundred and four questions, two thousand one hundred and four confirmations. Morgan smiled at them, taking apart their cellular structure to begin the process. And hey, there wouldn't even be pain. Though that did have to be pointed out to him.
Oh well. That's why he asked for their feedback in the first place. After this it was time to begin on that other proj-
Morgan blinked, the moment gone as quickly as it came. Continuing to feed the necessary energy was doable, if draining, and a call saw Lana take up most of the burden.
At least his tranquility had lasted long enough to actually get that done. Progress. Morgan turned to the Lords, finding each staring at him with wide eyes. "Right, discipline. I'm afraid I've lost my train of thought. Lord Phos, anything to say? Excuses, perhaps?"
"N-No." The man said, just about managing to keep his tone even. His head bowed lower. "No, my Emperor. I beg your forgiveness."
"Hmmn. And you, Xeth?"
One of the newest Lords of War. One of those promoted after the battle of Dromund Kaas. One of two dozen. Unlike the sith, she raised her head. "No, my Emperor. I will do better."
Morgan nodded, eyes looking between them. Boredom, grudges, he didn't really care. What he could not afford was infighting between sith and je'daii. The Lords of War outnumbered the sith Lords, yes, but hundreds of sith were here. Sith that Morgan didn't want to become desperate.
"Good. Next time you want to spar, and do so outside the proper channels, come to me. I'm sure I could teach the seven of you some things."
Xeth seemed eager, Phos did not, and the former's enthusiasm was only tempered by the fact that being rewarded was unexpected. Which was good, because Morgan hadn't meant it as a reward.
"Go. I'm sure all of you have duties to attend to."
The group left, Morgan turning to the approaching Enosis major. The woman looked at the Chosen, all of whom were hastily taking off armor, and pulled up her datapad. "Shall I warn the medics, my Lord?"
"Do that. Make sure they're alright, though I'm confident they will be. And schedule a meeting with Jillins, please. I'm sure he'll have some things to say about this."
The major smiled, took notes, then saluted. The Reborn as a whole had been very chill since he'd been named Emperor, actually. Like they'd completed a plan. That. That was something he was just going to ignore, for now.
"Very good, my Lord." The major said, handing him her datapad. Morgan took it, raising an eyebrow. "The preliminary report concerning Yavin-4. It just came in just as you arrived at the hangar."
When did those operations start involving more than one person and a few pages of notes? "Summarize for me, major. I assume you've read it."
"My Lord. The advanced team we had in the area reports that all biological activity on the planet has ceased. This includes the entire Revanite fleet, every creature on the planet and every visible form of plant matter. Early bacterial readings suggest that all life below the complexity and size of a rat has been spared."
"Jesus christ. What about non-organic? Spaceships and the like?"
"Those appear intact, assuming they were in stable orbit when the crew died. Approximately three fifths of the Revanite fleet suffered some manner of catastrophe during the incident, along with nearly all structures on the planet's surface."
"Dispatch teams from Taris and Dromund Kaas to take the vessels. We're closer than most, and it would be a waste to let space debris destroy it all. How is the Republic responding?"
"We know little. Our intelligence will need a few more days to properly gauge the Republic's mood. The SIS has dispatched scouts, as has the Republic navy."
"Figures. With them gone it's one less thing keeping them from sending a fleet into Imperial space. Do we have a response from Ziost?"
The major frowned, Morgan sighing. "Right, nevermind. Get me Mirla on the line."
It would be good to speak to her, anyway. He didn't have much to do with the old Enosis second in command, but there were so few founders left. The major handed over her comms device, Morgan watching the woman appear.
"My Lord?"
"Do we have a response from Ziost?"
Mirla frowned, swiping at her datapad. She shook her head. "Not yet. It appears they are adopting a wait and see approach after our envoys made their pitch. Without a navy or significant sith presence they pose no threat to us."
"No, but it's one of five main Imperial worlds and the most populated one after Dromund Kaas. Insist, and if they still ignore it, send moff Ront. He seemed eager to impress, and Dromund Kaas can spare a few ships now that the Revanites are gone. We've been taking most of the troublesome elements with us anyway."
And wasn't that the truth? Better to keep those with a high risk of treason close, lest they plot where the Enosis couldn't hear it. For once Jaesa couldn't solve the issue, either. Make a list, yes, but they couldn't exactly arrest half the defectors.
Ships, after all, were useless without a crew. And while the Enosis had ships, captured after the naval battle just before sieging Dromund Kaas, qualified navy personnel was another matter.
"How are they behaving, anyway? The Imperials we took with us."
Mirla shrugged. "The expected friction, but we kept the ships as they were. No sense taunting them with all the aliens in the ranks, so to speak. If we had more time we could have stress-tested inclusion programs, but it is what it is. Jaesa's reports are keeping our intelligence people busy."
"Keeping all the xenophobes together means less friction, yes, but it raises the chance of them turning on us once battle starts."
"Unlikely. Je'daii personnel has been distributed, and Lords of War are stationed with those captains deemed most likely to give in to their hatred. It is a familiar threat, to say the least, so the point is well made."
Yes, he supposed it would be. Having a sith Lord breathing down their neck to ensure loyalty was an old strategy. "Very good. I won't take any more of your time."
"Your grace."
The line cut, Morgan handing the communicator back to the major. "Thank you. That will be all."
"Very good, sir. Another message was delivered, one stating the following; 'This is the last time, I promise. I ordered you pastries.'"
What? Morgan frowned, waving the soldier away. The woman saluted again, leaving him to his thoughts. Who had ordered him pastries? Vette wasn't here, busy as she was, and there wasn't really anyone else who would leave him cryptic messages like that.
Well, no one but one. Yet he'd been told John was done being a pain, ostensibly out of some great fear of Morgan himself, but no one else really fit.
Morgan spread out his senses, looking for the man. Keeping it constrained to the Yamada lowered the number of souls he had to inspect, and from there he implemented a rough filter. Intent sorting by age and experience, leaving only some four dozen.
Manually looking through them narrowed them down to one, and John's soul spread out before him. The man's fear wasn't entirely unfounded, Morgan supposed. Locked as he was to the ship, with no defenses but those a soul naturally enjoyed, Morgan could kill the spook without ever getting close.
Might as well see what the man wanted.
Minutes later found Morgan entering a mess-hall, four dozen troopers eating lunch. The room shot to attention as a sergeant barked, Morgan ignoring the by-play. There, laughing with a few other old timers.
How in the hells did the man smuggle himself onboard again?
"Everybody out."
No one needed to be told twice. John, amusingly enough, went with it until Morgan gave the man a glare. A roguish grin was the answer, though there was an undercurrent of fear there.
Morgan ignored the somewhat queasy feeling that came with his reserves bottoming out. Half his mind was still on ensuring his Chosen underwent their metamorphosis correctly, but it was just to make sure. Not much for him to actually do.
"John." Morgan started. "I suppose my rushed departure from Dromund Kaas gave you the opportunity to slip your name among the transferring troopers?"
John shrugged lazily. "It was closer than you'd think. But chaos, as ever, is a generous mistress. I assume you got my message?"
"Of you ordering pastries for me just like the first time I met you on Dromund Kaas, yes. And here I thought I'd never see you again."
"So eager to be rid of me?" John asked, all but pouting. An expression not nearly as cute on an old man as a twi'lek, Morgan decided. The uptick of fear told him everything he needed to know, though. "And here I thought we were friends."
"We are. But you told Vette I was too scary to talk to, and yet here you are. That tells me you want something, and the fact you pulled this again means you wish to imply your past usefulness. A large risk, from your point of view. Something went wrong."
John gave him an appraising look. "Not bad. You might keep your position as Emperor by more than might alone if you keep up your studies of statecraft. Something did go wrong, in a manner of speaking. You see, a certain twi'lek we both know has made my organisation somewhat redundant. And being redundant in the spy game is a very dangerous thing. As such, my presence here."
"Are you implying it's Vette's fault you suffered misfortune?" Morgan asked mildly. John all but flinched, his soul cycling through several emotions before settling on resignation. "No matter. She can take care of herself, and I doubt her reputation needs defending. Yet I see a flaw in your explanation."
"Oh?"
"Intelligence gathering, especially the kind you are capable of, is very hard to make redundant."
The spook settled, if only slightly. A smile spread over his face. "Learning indeed. You're right, of course. But growth opportunities have been limited by the war Vette started, which sounds unlikely but I found to be true, so I had a choice to make. Stagnate, join her, or join another organisation."
"And you're talking to me."
"And I'm talking to you." John said. "You see, I've been poking around Dromund Kaas since a few days before your arrival. A little sabotage here, some poking there. Nothing your own people couldn't have done, though I hope to have smoothed their way some. And lo and behold, I found myself back among Imperial Intelligence ranks during the battle."
"Imperial Intelligence all but vanished from Dromund Kaas before my fleet entered the system."
"So it did. Not my doing, believe it or not, yet it was such a beautiful opportunity. And me, well, I took it. Seeing as they didn't swear allegiance to you, and that your lovely Astara has been hunting them, I feel like you might need a replacement."
"I have Astara, as you just pointed out."
"And a wonderfully skilled spy-mistress she is. Yet I feel like running a galactic intelligence network needs a certain level of experience. And as filled with potential that she is, it will take time for her to grow into her role. Time where your new Empire is critically behind in the intelligence game."
Morgan sat, pushing a half-finished eating tray aside. "You've been a great help on multiple occasions, John. To both me and Vette, which earns you a lot of leeway. I enjoy you, so to speak. It could even be said that we are friends. But this is coming dangerously close to opportunism, and the time where I cannot afford to turn away help has passed."
"That's probably because I had to up my time schedule." John admitted, shrugging. "By quite a lot, actually. Best I could do on short notice, this, though I don't think it's a half bad attempt. I know how Imperial Intelligence is run, bring my own operatives and I'd like to think I've proven myself trustworthy. That oath thing we once swore notwithstanding."
"Yes, that. An interesting binding, though one that's long since dissolved. It's a branch of the Force I'm not interested in, and even if I was I got something better already. Not the point. You make good arguments, but realise that this is a path of no return. Join Astara in running the Empire's intelligence department, and I expect you to keep running it."
"Forever? I've heard some rumors you can make people immortal."
"Not forever." Morgan allowed. "But at the very least until this war is over and Astara can run it herself."
"Then I gratefully accept, your grace."
Morgan rolled his eyes, grasping the man's soul. John stiffened, cold terror spreading throughout, but Morgan ignored it. A few moments later and the tether was gone, making him let go of the panicking spook.
"There. I'd recommend keeping a Force user on staff in the future, just in case a Force sensitive hunter tags you with a tracker again. It only works when you and them are in the same star system, but all the same."
John grunted, seeming more displeased by that than anything else so far. "I have one. Not good enough, I guess."
"Apparently not. Go talk to Mirla, then Astara. I doubt you can do anything before we arrive at Korriban, but I'd rather you try."
Morgan turned as John shot him a somewhat insulted glare, leaving the man to it. He wasn't an intelligence officer and likely never would be, so that was that. Astara and John would deal with it.
With that interruption dealt with, he had an apology to give. Lana was powerful, yes, but few people enjoyed their power being drained to fuel a multi-thousand person ritual without notice.
She, and by the feel of it Hexid, were in one of their larger sparring rooms. One of few capable of hosting Lord-level sparring matches, which meant both had to keep their full strength in check. Lana had her eyes closed, still funneling power to the ritual, and Morgan kept half an eye on it.
Almost done now. The Chosen had been transferred to the medbay for examination, going by how close together their souls were, and he could feel the frantic activity of the healers as they tried to accommodate that many people.
Powerful as it might be, strangely soothing it might be, convenient his tranquil moment where not.
"My Emperor." Hexid said, bowing. It was a somewhat mocking gesture, but less so than before Dromund Kaas. More so than since the planet, and Morgan sighed internally. Dealing with this strange new Hexid was taxing. "It seems my sparring partner is busy acting as a living battery. Up to taking her place?"
Morgan hummed. "She's busy for another few minutes."
He didn't mention how half his mind was required to be on the ritual, and Hexid didn't seem to care one way or the other. Her lightsaber came screaming at his face, Morgan leaning back, then pushed himself back further still as her weapon extended.
Short-range, finely tuned telekinesis. Interesting technique. Morgan attached threads through the room, which Hexid had to spend more time breaking than he did building, and it allowed him proper mobility. So he jerked himself to the side, narrowingly avoiding a kick, and finally drew his own weapon.
With half his will on the ritual he couldn't afford to fight in reality and the deep Force at the same time, but that was alright. Hexid didn't seem to favor that kind of combat, though she, like Malgus, had built her defenses as a passive ward. If anyone was so stupid to try and break it, ignoring reality, they would very quickly find themselves without a body.
Which wasn't actually lethal, and Morgan longed for the days slicing someone's brain in half was the end of battle. Not that he would actually kill Hexid.
Now that was an interesting idea. Morgan backpedaled as he ruminated, his body all but on auto pilot. Hexid was far from going all out, after all, and infusing intent into his precognition allowed him to avoid her.
Should one of them die, those with souls sturdy enough to live without bodies, could he grow them new ones? Teacher's holocron had plenty of records about possession, mostly the dangers involved for the soul, and that cloning removed many of those exact problems. He felt pretty confident about creating something better than a mere clone if he had proper samples to work with.
"If you die, would you mind me growing you a new body as an experiment?" Morgan asked, deflecting one of her strikes. Hexid slowed, a labored sigh leaving her lips. "What?"
"Your precognition. It's been getting more invasive."
Morgan raised an eyebrow. "It has? I'm just infusing intent into it, same as you."
"Infusing intent gives me migraines that can last days." Hexid said, frowning. "Does fleshcrafting remove that drawback?"
"I don't know? I don't get that. Tired, sure, and if I press too hard it feels like my brain is getting wrung out like a sponge, but no migraines. I'm willing to see if it can, though?"
Hexid grinned and Morgan felt his advantage crumble. Not completely, and now that she'd mentioned it his precognition did feel smoother than before, but with her actually trying it wasn't so large a gap.
Step, twirl, bring his lightsaber to block. Dodge, block a kick to the balls, then step-
Morgan stuttered, forcing his body to abort the movement. Her lightsaber caught him in the shoulder, piercing straight through but no further, and Morgan limited his pain receptors. He could endure it, sure, by why suffer needlessly?
"Keep control." Morgan said, tone going flat. "This is a spar, and that blow had enough potential energy to go through the wall. A wall I will remind you is attached to a spaceship, which can't endure you or me going full strength."
Hexid, to her credit, looked abashed as she pulled back her weapon. Or, no, wait. Pretending to look abashed. "Sorry. Got carried away."
"So it seems." He replied, flexing his shoulder. Skin flowed back into place as muscle regrew, the wound healed in moments. "Don't let it happen again."
Morgan moved to attack, continuing the spar, and he all but felt his skill with the lightsaber improve. Hexid was better, far so, and with precognition cancelling each other out experience mattered. Yet he was not so green with a weapon, not anymore, and fixing flaws mid-fight was something every Force user learned sooner or later.
Finding people to push you, after all, was rare. Those not seeking to take your head, that is. Jedi had it easier, with how their fellows weren't looking to kill each other given the slightest opportunity, but then they had their own problems.
Their sparring matches, he assumed, didn't involve a zabrak trying very hard to cut your head off. At least she didn't try to break the walls again. Small mercies.
A few minutes of being beaten around, and enjoying the growth of his skill, before Lana stirred. Morgan felt the strain of keeping the ritual together ease, making him double check the process. Hexid slammed into his shoulder, which was somewhat rude, but Morgan ignored it.
Well, that was done. The Chosen would need a few hours to recover and thousands upon thousands of calories each to refuel their change, but it was done. His very own chapter of space ma-
"Are you quite done staring at nothing?" Lana asked, her tone clipped. Annoyed, then, which was fair. "I do apologise if my presence here is an inconvenience to you."
Morgan smiled. "Sorry. I didn't plan on it, I would have warned you if I'd thought about it, and thank you. I owe you a favor."
"I don't do favors." Lana said, but her tone mellowed. "Come here to spar?"
"That's what it turned into, yes. Hexid has been kind enough to give me a proper opponent to hone my skills against."
"Trying to cut your limbs off, then." Lana said, shaking her head at the zabrak. Hexid grinned back, and oh those two were becoming friends. Interesting. "She tried that with me too. I feel my disappointment in her behaviour was properly expressed."
"She bit off one of my fingers."
Morgan raised an eyebrow, Lana turning away. "Yes, well. You were here to spar?"
"So I was. Need to take a rest?"
"No." She replied. "It's good to fight when I'm tired. And it'll be good for you to fight against two high level opponents at the same time. When we get to Korriban they're going to single you out, you know this."
Morgan shrugged. "Most likely, yes. With how many Darths and Lords they have it's probably for the best. We can't let Tenebrae take control over them, not without this turning into a proper war, but even if he doesn't they could overwhelm us during a ground assault."
"So bomb them into ashes." Hexid said, shrugging. "No civilians to be worried about on Korriban."
"Would if I could. But just like on Dromund Kaas, they have shields capable of withstanding that for months. A long siege would still be preferable if it wasn't for him, though. But this is a topic for the strategy rooms, not during a spar. Begin when ready."
He barely got the words out before Lana attacked in the deep Force, her simple sword slicing through his shields as if they weren't there. Intent allowed them to still function, the weapon rebounding as if it couldn't decide who to obey, but Morgan's soul earned a shallow cut.
Hexid, meanwhile, was moving in reality. Closing the little distance between them, her lightsaber coming up in a vicious overhead blow. Morgan moved to the side, earning himself a kick to the knee, and his fist lashed out.
Without the ritual to worry about he had enough mental capacity to infuse his body with energy, moving faster than the eye could follow. Hexid danced back, Morgan unable to fully capitalise on the move as Lana pierced his shields.
Breath. Morgan split his focus, tired that his mind was, and paid attention to both as best he could. Move, attack, infuse and block. Weathering the blows that they scored, fleshcrafting regenerating his body as fast as they could damage it, and there he had the advantage.
This was, after all, a spar. Even Hexid limited herself to mostly non-lethal moves, and those Morgan could all but ignore. Yet as seconds turned into minutes and his reserves moved steadily towards empty, he found himself on the defensive. Forced to take more and more punishment to avoid bad positioning.
The one area he was improving in, at least, was the deep Force. Continued refinement of intent when infused into his shields kept Lana increasingly at bay, to her mounting frustration, and Hexid learned to be cautious when he had time to prepare his attacks.
But, as he himself had proven in the past, two against one was more than twice as difficult. Hexid and Lana didn't really work together, not as well as they could have, but even basic coordination saw him on the defensive for a dozen exchanges at a time.
Saw him making mistakes that would have ended a regular fight, nevermind against more than two opponents. Morgan breathed out his frustration, finding an odd moment of peace between barely controlled chaos.
He flung a knife towards Hexid, using that moment to imbue it properly. Met Lana in reality, not noticing that Hexid had stalled. He did notice after Lana let one of his attacks pass clean through, Morgan skittering back from her retaliation.
"What?" Morgan asked, finding the zabrak standing still and looking at him. Lana slowed herself, head tilting slightly. Morgan shrugged at her questioning gaze. "I don't know. Hexid?"
"What was that?"
"A knife?"
Hexid scowled, arms crossing. "Specifically."
"An oblivion knife." Morgan answered, increasingly confused. "The memory of a knife imbued with the experience of death. I toned it down, since I'm not that big of a hypocrite."
"Toned it down? That was a lethal attack."
Morgan frowned, summoning one. It felt normal to him, just a void-black knife without embellishments. Oblivion all but reeked from it, sure, but it wasn't that strong. Nothing he hadn't been able to conjure on Dromund Kaas, and she'd seen him use it then.
"Hexid is right." Lana said, moving closer. The zabrak did not, keeping her distance even in the deep Force. "Power is an abstract thing, but it feels real. Solid. I'm unsure what to make of it, in truth. A side-effect of your tranquil moments, perhaps. It and yourself drawing closer together."
"It? That's still me, you know. Just absent minded and with a slightly altered mental state allowing for a closer connection to the Force."
Lana waved her hand dismissively. "You know what I meant. Regardless, perhaps you should not use that during a spar. Not until you figure out where your power stops growing."
"Or be handed to you." Hexid muttered. Morgan decided to ignore that, though she spoke louder a second later. "How about a switch? Beating you up is fun and all, but sometimes a girl wants to be on the receiving end."
Morgan shrugged, briefly wondering if it really was being given to him. He didn't have to suffer for tranquility, no. But then, he never would have gotten to that mindset without learning what true unity was. Without the Force and those who pushed him to seek solace within it.
Sometimes he wondered if this all wasn't some last second of life, stretched out as he was dying in Marr's prison. But no, that was little more than an animal fear. Primal and unbecoming of his experience.
Morgan rolled his shoulder. "Let's go. Not long now until we get to Korriban, and we have a lot of planning to do. Best to make the most out of these sessions, yes?"
Hexid fell back as Lana turned on her, Morgan activating his seal and scattering the Force. Invisibility fell over him like a cloak, unable to hide from someone like Hexid but able to limit her precognition, and Morgan stalked forward.
It would be fun to put the zabrak through her paces.
Afterword
For those confused, it was Revan that killed/kidnapped the Emperor, not the jedi Knight. Why? Now that's a good question. 'Twas a good plan, Revan buddy, but you were destined to lose. And that's what happens when you don't get involved in a quest, Morgan. The quest continues anyway.
Also, yes, Morgan might have made his own, bootleg version of space marines. I sure hope Games Workshop can't find him there, though I'm not one to underestimate the power of lawyers. But hey, he's getting better at this whole accidental ascending thing. Slightly.
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