Value Loyalty Above All Else [Star Wars]

Inara exchanged a look with Alyssa as the door opened, finding their Lord in deep meditation. He looked normal enough, sitting there, and she could honestly say he looked average. In very good shape, they all were, but otherwise? Nothing about him really stood out, not when she judged with just her eyes.

Her perception, of course, said something very different. A tightly constrained swell of power, pulsing softly as Morgan contemplated on the Force. And she could swear it pulsed at her, both in greeting and warning. A greeter because she was a subordinate, an ally, and a warning should that ever change. It kept staring as she watched, and Inara blinked first.

"Master." Alyssa bowed to the cube, making her join. It could be surprisingly stealthy when it wanted to be. "It is a pleasure to be under your tutelage again."

Teacher wobbled in a gesture she couldn't decipher. "A strong sith needs strong followers. Pity the fool who keeps his underlings weak, for he doubts his own strength. Fear the one who encourages their progress, because he does not."

She bowed slightly deeper, straightening in sync with her partner. Something that had been happening more and more as they meditated together, though it was all they got out of it. "We will remember, sir."

"Good. Sit, meditate. Morgan will be instructing you in the art of fleshcrafting, a clear mind will be needed."

They sat, Inara closing her eyes as Alyssa became a clear point in the Force. She drew to it, almost instinctively, and together they sank deeper. Two orbs rotating around one another, pushing and pulling, as they shared something. Memories were part of it, though not the whole, and talking about it afterward felt almost taboo. This was sacred to her, to bear her soul to another. To be one, however briefly, and become a bastion in the Force.

But now they drew ever closer to the larger presence, bigger than both of them combined. Their Lord steadily breathed in and out as she caught herself, pulling Alyssa back a ways. She had no wish to share herself that deeply with him, or anyone that wasn't Alyssa, but she couldn't bring herself to leave entirely. Her lover didn't want to, for starters, so they compromised. A wide orbit around their Lord, still drawing ever closer to one another.

Then, with an exhale that she could feel, Morgan woke up. It dragged them both out of it like a tidal wave, making her blink blearily as he nodded. "Apologies. I know how jarring that can be."

"No need, Lord." Alyssa covered, seeing as she was still too busy blinking. "It was an experience well worth it."

"Perhaps. Nonetheless, you are here. It has become increasingly clear to me that fleshcrafting is the force multiplier we need, and that only myself being capable of it is no longer feasible. Therefore I would like to offer the two of you tutelage. The secrets, so to speak, of the art."

She fought very hard not to stare, she really did, but at least she wasn't alone. What composure her girlfriend had cracked, her mouth opening to ask a question that never came. Teacher made a noise of amusement, though if she was being honest it was more akin to contempt, before leaving.

Well, at least they'd only be embarrassing themselves before one highly powerful, career shaping sith. Progress.

"We would gladly accept, my Lord." She managed, managing to not sound like a fangirl. The horror of it, she thought, that the only man she found herself wishing to impress didn't look impressed. "I'm sure Alyssa feels the same."

Her companion snapped her focus back to reality, no doubt daydreaming about all the power she could horde. "Yes! I mean, of course. I would be honoured."

Morgan nodded, not seeming to notice or care they were making fools of themselves, and she could hardly wait to make fun of her for it. When the embarrassment was gone, though. It wasn't so funny right this moment. "I'm glad to hear that. I'll assess your level of skill now, if that is alright?"

Framing it as a question was nice, but everyone in the room knew it wasn't one. She offered her hand as he held his out, the other going to Alyssa. She frowned slightly as something tickled her subconscious, a warning that something was wrong, until she realised his hand didn't move. Didn't sag with her weight on it, or tilted however little to the left or right. It just hung there, perfectly still, and she had the ridiculous urge to stand on it. To see if it would move then, and if not what jumping would do.

She didn't, of course, and tried to clear her mind when he started speaking again. So much for meditation giving her calm. "Thank you. I'm going to destroy your arms, you are going to stop me. A battle of tug, so to speak. I'll start low and ramp up from there, but try your best even at the start."

He started without further comment, and she had to clamp down on the surge of pain. Not even the pain, she realised after a moment, but on the wrongness. On the panic that tried to worm itself in her head, because her arm was disintegrating. Being undone on a level she could scarcely believe, let alone fight.

But then she took a breath, and actually looked at it. It was slow, incredibly so, and not so inevitable as she first thought. An effort of will and the area around his incursion was locked down, the Force flooding her arm to combat the invader. And it worked, too, as it tried and failed to bypass her defence. Alyssa was seeing similar results, a small smile on her face, and Inara felt one from herself. Maybe this wouldn't be so hard after all. Maybe all those hours of study and practice had prepared them more than she thought they had.

Then her lockdown cracked as the attack went into overdrive, grinding through and through until she panicked and surrendered the section. Another defence could be erected, stronger this time.

But power wasn't the solution, she found. Again and again it broke through, uncaring about what few tricks and feints she employed. Alyssa groaned, making her lose concentration, and she looked to see her arm blackened. Dead flesh hanging off the bones, and to her horror her own was the same. It finally ended as she contemplated jerking her arm away, damn the consequences. "That's enough. Repair your arms, I will observe."

She dropped her shield, Alyssa doing the same after a second, and went to work. She'd been injured before, lost a few fingers and a good chunk of her shoulder, but those had felt different. Life had still been there, if rapidly fleeing away. It had been a matter of accelerating natural healing in combination with kolto, an Enosis medic reattaching her fingers with wire. And that failed her here, because there was nothing to heal. Just death and decay, as if her arm stopped after the elbow.

And he was watching. She felt his attention on the wounds, on their person. Patiently cataloguing their actions and mistakes, no hint of emotion leaking past his shields. Yet she could imagine the disappointment as she failed to do anything at all, Alyssa resorting to the crude move of shoving the Force in her arm. Better than doing nothing, perhaps, but the end result was the same.

"Thank you. I'll heal your wounds. Watch."

The Force surged into her body, she had the odd feeling it was giggling at her defences, and grabbed hold of the wound. He did something, an application of internal body regulation she'd never even thought of before, and it dawned on her he was grabbing stem-cells from her blood. Grabbing it, like picking up groceries or moving a book. They flowed to her wound, she was far too enthralled to check if Alyssa was getting the same treatment, and multiplied rapidly. Became healthy flesh and tissue, bone and muscle, and after half a minute her arm looked fine. Normal.

And she had the feeling he'd been going slow for their benefit, too, which didn't make her feel better. Alyssa looked at him with near awe, something that amusingly enough did make him appear uncomfortable, and she spoke with a low tone. "I. We never. How did you do that?"

"Regrowth paired with accelerated healing, creating tissue at a rapid rate. One of the many applications of fleshcrafting, and mastering the technique will teach control above all. One of the more difficult feats, I will admit, but the skill transfers to many others. Hands, please."

Neither she nor her girlfriend hesitated, which made him nod approvingly, and it started all over again. But this time it was noticeably less refined, going so slow it appeared to be standing still. She abandoned the defence idea and went for something else, forcing blood in the affected area and focusing on it. She usually accelerated her healing over her whole body, a sort of low level meditation, but she could narrow it down. Not that that made it more potent, really. Just localised.

But it worked. Slowly, and clumsily, but it worked. She could almost feel her control sharpen as she struggled, her Lord sending disruptions she had to deal with every now and again, but when she opened her eyes her hand looked fine. And time had passed, since her stomach complained loudly at being ignored. Bad idea to skip breakfast, even if the activities in its place had been so much more fun.

"Very good." Morgan let go, picking up the drink next to him. She watched with some amount of jealousy as he drank the water, knowing she had to deal with her thirst. "Stretch, discuss your experience. We start again in ten."

"My Lord."

He left, leaving them alone, and she exchanged a look with her lover. "He thinks we're abject failures, doesn't he?"

"No." Alyssa winced as she looked at her, knowing her stance on platitudes. "Maybe a little. I think he spent too long training alone with Teacher, unfamiliar with comparing his progress to others. And I got this suspicion Teacher didn't hammer home the fact he's rather good at fleshcrafting. He thinks what he learned, and how quickly, is average."

"You think it's going to be a problem?"

"I don't think so. If it does, we'll politely shed light on the fact. Only as a last resort, agreed? Better for us if he thinks we're competent."

Inara agreed with a nod, then spent the rest of the break stretching. Force reinforced bodies didn't cramp as normal, nor got as stiff, but if it ever fully disappeared they weren't there yet. When their break ended she watched the door, tuning her senses to anticipate his arrival. A useful trick that ensured her decorum and readiness, since she really didn't want to be sent back to the Enosis.

Not that she hated it there, mind, but because she would just be another face in the crowd. Getting good training, yes, but no personal instruction from a high ranked sith. Lord Zethix only tutored on occasion, and then only on martial skill, to speak little of the others. Too busy with their jobs, growing stronger themselves. So she would ensure her Lord had no reason whatsoever to send her away, and flinched when the door opened.

Without her feeling him coming, either, and even as he walked inside he was hard to feel for. Not impossible, now that she paid closer attention, but slippery. Water in cupped hands, requiring ever so careful attention to ensure none spilled.

He sat without comment, Inara scolding herself. Of course he wasn't standing still. Of course he was learning Force stealth and damned knows what else. At least she didn't have to bury any dreams of being his equal. Having been chosen by not one, but two Darths had made it abundantly clear he had something she didn't. Assuming Teacher had been a Darth, of course, and not counting the fact he could see into the future.

As the lesson started again she was doubly glad, because she caught him adjusting the lesson twice. Turning down the difficulty, calculating timetables when they learned slower than expected. But he never said a thing, so she resolved to learn what she could.

But doing so made time slip by quickly, and before long their Lord had left again. Off to do whatever he occupied his time with, and leaving them alone to do as they wished. That usually involved training, relaxing, or relaxing after locking the door. Now, however, they had a rather special assignment. The Enosis second in command had contacted them personally, requesting a meeting. And when Mirla requested something very few people had the option to choose. The long ranged communicator room was empty save for an operator, who bowed and left when he was done setting up the connection, and then Mirla was there in all her glory.

A somewhat short, overworked and tired young woman that invoked none of the fearsome reputation she actually possessed. Even her aura, should they have been meeting in person, would reveal little more than a slightly above average sith, hardened but common. "Alyssa, Inara. How goes the mission?"

"Well, ma'am." Alyssa replied, bowing. "But I'm afraid I will have to direct you to Lord Morgan for more details."

Mirla scoffed, waving her hand. It didn't stop the small smile from shining through, and Inara wondered if any part of that woman was actually real. If any conversation with her didn't, at the end, leave them exactly where she wanted them to. "He does invoke loyalty, I'll give you that. Fleshcrafting, then. Anything that can help the Enosis?"

"Several training exercises, we'll have them written down and double checked within the hour. Forgive me, ma'am, but wouldn't it be more efficient if you asked him yourself? I'm sure he wouldn't mind spending a few hours helping old friends."

"He is not my friend." Mirla corrected sharply, eyes narrowed. "He is Lord Zethix' friend, and the rest of us pray they never turn against one another. To answer your question, said Lord has forbidden it. Informed me we must stand on our own two feet, without leaching power from our travelling founder. This is, you might say, a loophole. One you have gotten indirect permission to use from Lord Morgan, but all the same I hope I can count on your discretion?"

Another non-choice. They both nodded, and explained in more detail when asked.

Stuck between an ambitious second, two soon-to-be sith Lords and their own personal goals. Fantastic.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

"Do or do not. There is no try." Bundu scowled at him, something which Morgan enjoyed more than he should have. The man wasn't one of his, a loose ally despite oaths and promises, so he usually refrained from irritation. The masks stayed on, so to speak, but to see his slip was good. Aside from being funny, it showed the jedi was growing more comfortable around him. "And as unhelpful as that advice might seem, it really is the truth. You're making progress, getting closer, but it will take time. Practice. And you can only practise by doing."

"I am aware of this. It is not as easy as imagined, to abandon all I've learned at the feet of Tython."

"Good. Easy accomplishments grow hollow, quickly forgotten."

The man didn't answer, taking a breath and sinking in the Force again. Not how the jedi described it, since nothing could be easy and everyone figured out their relationship in a unique way, but he did all the same. Pulling on the Force without intention or expectation, and for a moment it looked like he might succeed. Then he flinched away instinctively from something he perceived as Dark, and the connection snapped away as Light surged dominant.

"Closer and closer. You really are doing well, Bundu."

Bundu shook his head, smiling despite the failure. "I never thought to have a civil conversation with a sith, nevermind studying under one. You are a strange breed, all the more dangerous for your charm."

"I'll take that as the compliment I'm pretty sure you intended it as."

"It was. And I know you agree with the general consensus that sith are, by nature, violent and incapable of even the most basic forms of trust. Seduced by the promises of easy power, uncaring of the horror they inflict on others."

"I agree they are self destructive, we should be thankful for that, and that they inflict horror upon others without a care." Morgan stiffened involuntarily, making the jedi tense himself, and took a moment so his tone would be even. Neutral. "But do not ever think Korriban gives away its power easily. They would be oh so harmless if it did. It breaks you, over and over and over, until you harden into steel or shatter as glass. Until it takes everything you love and value and twists it away and around, making you unable to recognize the face within the mirror. Abuse creates abusers as easily as victims, jedi. Do not speak of what I, and many others, had to endure to survive. Not until you have wandered that cursed rock and experienced it yourself."

Bundu was silent for a moment, then bowed his head. "I apologise. I spoke without thinking, and meant not to trivialise what you went through."

"Apology accepted." He relaxed with some effort, Bundu following after a moment. "Now, I believe we were talking about balance."

"Indeed so. Balance, as I've been taught, is at the heart of tranquillity. A jedi is trained to use his mind as much as his body, to sharpen his skills with the blade equally with diplomacy. Brilliance without strength is fragile, broken by those uncaring. Strength without thought makes you a puppet, controlled by the motive and desire of others. Only by training both, and seeking to weigh them against one another, do you become unbending."

"The sith teach much the same. Power above all, yes, but power through knowledge is encouraged. Many trials have acolytes delve old tombs, to learn from those before, or retrieve artefacts of a bygone age. To study the words and actions of Lords long dead, so they might glimpse some of their wisdom."

Bundu frowned at that, his eyes distant. "Interesting. Even my order, which places great importance on truth and information, doesn't know much about the training of acolytes. Shares less, especially to those out of favour like myself. Infiltrators able to pursue Korriban's teachings are rare beyond mention, and rarer still when their learned secrets don't end up locked away in some archive none have access to. Nomen Karr comes to mind, one who you find yourself as your adversary, and he made an enemy for life as his reward."

"An enemy who needed an apprentice, and I use that word scathingly, to help with that. Guess I got the lucky draw."

"Has he not fulfilled his obligations as a teacher?"

"The only thing he's done that I can honestly say has been useful for my progress is giving me a long leash and manageable scrutiny."

"A tool, then, if you'll forgive the word. I can sympathise. This study on the Force has given me time to reflect on the Order I am a part of. How they are so stringent on knowledge, yet demand I turn over whatever I find. How they forgive anything should it be for the purpose of the quest, yet preach the destruction of the Dark without exception. Ironic, since shunning it will mean their search is endless."

"Nomen Karr used, or uses, the Dark."

Bundu shrugged. "They forgive anything to those in search of the quest. You might see why I grow weary of their hypocrisy. And I am not alone."

"Pardon?"

"There are others, two, in this case, that wish to learn. That listened when I spoke, even though my oath to you forbids much. I would not have been as patient, in their shoes, nor have taken as much on faith. They wish to meet you, Fleshcrafter Lord."

"They know of me?"

The jedi seemed amused at that, something which didn't fill him with much hope. "The Darth's apprentice who has resurrected a long dead area of study? The man ghosting along his mission, showing more honour than all but a few sith? A rising star killing and growing at a rate few manage? You are very well known in some circles. Very well indeed."

"Ominous." Morgan rolled his eyes, even if that thought displeased. A reputation would be necessary, yes, but it would bring many eyes with it. Judging eyes, always weighing and watching. "These two friends of yours, are they expecting me to drop my shield? Because I'm telling you now, I only did that because I owed you a favour. Not about to let any curious disciple feel the essence of me."

"They do not. Meeting you would be enough, as would my own demonstration. They are already on the planet, should you wish to get it over with. I am aware you have other obligations."

That was true. But he could spare some time, Quinn and Vette were still trying to find where exactly Jaesa's parents had been hidden in House Teral. They had more than a few holdings, apparently, and even knowing their aliases didn't make the search instantaneous. He'd be moving the second confirmation came, but until then being productive was better than sitting around.

"Lead the way."

The way, as it turned out, wasn't very far. Far enough he couldn't sense them, and even then the two strangers belonged to an order focussed on discretion, but not that far in the grand scheme of things. Close enough he could get to the ship quickly, something which he appreciated. And relaxed him, because the last time he was surrounded by jedi it hadn't ended well.

The man and woman, on the other hand, didn't seem at ease in the slightest. Both wore robes customary to jedi, but it folded just so he could glimpse armour underneath. A warning, maybe, that they had come prepared for betrayal. Morgan had too, though not with bodies. Strangely enough, he didn't feel all that threatened by them. Something about how their signature in the Force shied away from his, backing down before any words could be exchanged.

"Kell, Gasnic. Meet Morgan, the sith I told you about. Morgan, meet my colleagues."

A chiss and zabrak respectively, he noted, though it shouldn't surprise him. While the Empire was human dominated, mostly through selective citizenship, his own species was dwarfed by all others. The woman spoke, her voice a touch wary. "Sith. I'd say it's a pleasure to meet you, but I'm still unconvinced this isn't a trap."

"Sensible." Morgan shrugged. "But if I wanted to trap you, I'd have brought my own backup. Could even have argued it'd be fair, since you outnumber me three to one."

"They could be hiding nearby."

"If you suspected I had sith capable of stealth that advanced you are a fool to have come here in the first place. And the two of you don't strike me as fools."

The chiss nodded at that, the zabrak still hadn't said anything at all, and an awkward silence descended. Not for him, mind you, since he'd decided very long ago to stop participating in those, but for everyone else. Even Bundu shuffled a little, though he was also the one that got the ball rolling again. "While I was forbidden by oath to speak of my experience, he is the one. The one we've been looking for, even if that knowledge took the form of a person. Be not afraid."

Be not afraid. Really? Morgan shot him a look of disbelief, only mildly exaggerated for the strangers benefit, and it had the desired effect. The zabrak actually cracked a smile, which made the chiss relax again, and Morgan shook his head. "Alright, that's enough out of mister 'I found the chosen one'. Just to confirm that yes, I am, technically speaking, je'daii. Yes I figured it out myself, and yes I taught Bundu here how to do it. Yes, I'm open to teaching more, and no, it won't come for free."

"I won't turn on the jedi, or the Republic." Kell warned, managing a look between warning and apprehension. "Not even for that."

"Bundu here said the exact same thing. Word for word, actually. Do you lot gather together and practise, or something?"

"No." Gasnic spoke. Morgan looked over, raising an eyebrow when no more information was forthcoming. The man seemed to sense he wanted more, shrugging helplessly. "I have never done such a thing."

"Alrighty then. Bundu, you're free to share your experience with me to your friends. I'll be over there, meditating. Let me know when you've reached a decision."

He nodded, Morgan moved away a ways, and closed his eyes as they started talking. Low, hushed voices that seemed to echo slightly in the Force, something he ignored with mixed success. It made sinking deep difficult, all those ripples, but he didn't want to go deep anyway. Just some light nothing to clear his mind, banishing the what if's circling his head. What if they turned on him, and Bundu joined them? What if they did, but the jedi stayed by his side? Would he fight or watch? Would the man have to kill another jedi, just like on Balmorra? And what about him, Morgan? Would that resentment taint what he was trying to do here, break the tenuous bond of friendship before they could form?

It all washed away under the Force, calming his mind and easing his soul. Like a hot shower after a long day, beating on your shoulders with near scalding heat. Gods, he used to love those. Now showering was an efficient thing, something to get out of the way before jumping back to more important matters.

He opened his eyes as he felt Bundu step closer, the man seeming unworried. "They would like a demonstration. They understand you are unwilling to bear your soul to them, and so I proposed a compromise. We spar, I practise while under pressure, and they observe with their own eyes this is not some elaborate trap."

"They would be assured by me trying to hit you with a lightsaber?"

"They would, yes."

Morgan grunted, rotating his shoulder in a way that used to make it pop. "Sure, why not. If they attack me while we're fighting, I'm probably going to kill them."

"They have given their word no violence shall occur by their initiative. Should they break that promise, you won't be fighting alone."

That. That was good to know, really. Bundu had this thing about upholding one's word, he'd seen the man nearly hiss when he questioned it at their first proper meeting, but going against his own allies was something else. A shift, one Morgan couldn't truthfully say he planned for. Teaching someone else was a good way to revisit the basics, to test your own understanding, and knowing a jedi he was on speaking terms with had sounded useful. But he expected it to go no further than that, and it still might not.

He shook his head, nodding to the man as he gripped his weapon, and soon enough they were dancing. Giving ground and taking it, ever fluid as their weapons whined through the air. A fight not about killing or maiming, as they so often were, but about testing defences. Ideas and tricks. Ones that might not work so well as envisioned, which was good to know before the consequences of failure turned deadly.

And speaking of, he had one to test. His own lessons on proper mental attacks, as Teacher called them, had been progressing smoothly. No great breakthroughs, but solid progress scaling with time. So he felt around Bundu's mental protections, which, to his utter lack of surprise, were very good, and spent most of his attention on making a hole. A tiny little crack he could slip some suggestions through, hopefully without the man noticing.

All about subtlety, he chanted. If his opponent figured it out it was easy enough to counter, at least at his current level of skill, and making a gap small enough to go unnoticed was difficult. Consequently, only the slightest amount of power could be weasled through. Just enough to confuse the senses, which was another problem entirely.

But, as they fought, he managed it. A tear so tiny he himself wouldn't be able to find it if he looked away. It did cost him enough focus he was solidly on the backfoot, giving away good positioning as he stepped back and sideways, and then some more as he crafted his attack. An insidious little worm capable of very little, which he slipped inside as one of his knives barely redirected a strike.

Bundu reacted beautifully to his distraction, the muted breath of an attacker just behind him, and realised what had happened after a split second. But a split second was enough, and as Morgan's lightsaber was blocked his knife froze a quarter inch from his neck.

It dropped as the jedi conceded the match, lazily sheathing itself on his belt, and Bundu shook his head. "Mental manipulation with the control of a fleshcrafter. And you wondered why people are taking notice."

That wasn't fair, Morgan decided. He just had a good teacher. "Says the man able to adapt so quickly it almost didn't work. And won't in the future, though I suppose that's good practice."

They rejoined the two spectators, who'd been shadowing them from a safe distance, and the chiss felt spooked. She didn't look it, wasn't flinching away, but the Force wobbled around her. Only briefly, and the zabrak's presence calmed that too, but still. Strange. Bundu nodded to them. "I hope this has assured you he is not here to kill us."

"It has assured me of nothing." Kell said. Her tone dropped, a whisper so quiet he probably wasn't meant to hear, and he almost didn't. Almost. "Beat the fourth Shadowed Sun then bantered about it, like that isn't supposed to make me want to order a kill squad."

If Bundu heard, he ignored it. "You gave your word."

"We will listen." Gasnic said, perhaps a little too quickly. "As promised."

There wasn't too much to discuss, really, but Morgan tried his best. Talked about his deal with Bundu, the training they were doing. Nothing about any practical applications, not without him getting something in return, but just talking was progress. They left after that, he checked to see Jaesa's parents hadn't been found yet, and turned to his maybe-friend.

"What's a Shadowed Sun?"

"A title. Our order organises duelling tournaments, to sharpen our skill against those we would not normally interact with. It comes with trials and tests, to further add strain, and the leaders use it as an opportunity to select new Masters."

Morgan frowned. "And you won, presumably. The fourth to do so?"

"Indeed. The last trial was difficult, and helping a village solve their drought problem nearly cost me victory."

"And they didn't give you bonus points for that because your bosses are assholes." He shook his head, more disappointed than seemed warranted. "Please don't tell me you're the fourth to beat it ever. It might make me doubt the competence of your organisation."

"They are held thrice every fifteen years, after which all title holders have been promoted or have their achievement stripped."

"Good. That why those two seemed more afraid after the duel than before?"

"I underestimated their reaction. They have heard only stories of the tournaments, not seen them. And your insistence on humility is growing repetitive."

Morgan held up his hand, a small smile tugging at his lips. "I'm really not that special. You beat me on Balmorra easily enough, as have many others. A good teacher, practice and luck. I blame it all on that."

"If you insist. I have business to attend to, if you'll excuse me?"

Bundu left after a nod, making him sigh. Well, always nice to learn more about his favourite jedi. Him being the only one he talked to was irrelevant, Morgan decided. Besides, having a soft spot for those that saved your life was fine.

Healthy, even.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

"I need a location." She said, tapping her knife on the table. "Not a guess, or more begging, but a location. And before you try to moralise again, you sell people into slavery. It's something of a personal pet peeve of mine, so the question isn't if you're going to live. No, the question is how badly you're going to suffer before I allow you to die."

The man glared at her with what he obviously intended as bravado. All she saw was fear, the dawning understanding that no amount of money, threats or promises would let him leave the room alive. He struggled still, but her Valkyries held him tightly. Having two of them with her added to her intimidation factor, she conceded. Much better than people not taking her seriously.

That usually meant she had to spill more blood. "Come on, you know as well as I do that the Nine Fingers are done. Broken, shattered, utterly decimated without any chance of recovery. I'm going to take the pieces, mould it into something useful, and never think about you again."

She already had someone in mind to run the place, too. It had become increasingly clear Bob wouldn't fit in with the way her and Dorka were organising things, but the man was competent. Recent mistakes notwithstanding, he had potential as an administrator. Educated, experienced and ruthless, while also having a very good understanding of what she would do if he deviated. She'd keep an eye on him, of course, but hopefully she wouldn't have to come back.

"I don't. I don't know what you want from me. I'm just a businessman, I have nothing to do with slavers!"

Turning her attention back to the present, and glancing at her datapad, she shook her head. "Now that's a bald faced lie, my doomed acquaintance. Altemaradi Klent, one of nine people running the Nine Fingers. Well, seven, since I already killed two others, but all the same. You run the forced prostitution ring, selling slaves like meat. I'd say kinky, but then that hits rather close to home. So you're going to tell me where your headquarters are, and then you can die. Speaking of, turn to setting four."

Her Valkyrie nodded, rotating the knob, and the man went white as pain laced his body. Vette looked at the innocent little device, procured through Armie and shipped all the way from Balmorra, and shook her head. Interfacing straight with the nervous system, causing unimaginable pain without killing the target. Truly, the galaxy was inhabited by the sickest of people.

"Still nothing? Setting five it is."

Altemaradi shook his head stiffly, panic in his eyes. "No, wait. I'll tell you. Please, make it stop."

"That was only forty percent power." She pouted, making the man flinch. Ah well, if he couldn't see her inherent adorableness then he was unsavable anyway. "But fine. Turn it off."

He went boneless as her guard complied, staring at her with unseeing eyes. "What are you?"

"Just a gal trying to make the best of life. And making slavers go to sleep forever, cause you're a scourge on this universe."

"I. Why? Why us? Why here, now?"

"Why not you? Why not now?" She countered, bending down. "But I'll give you an answer. Because you bombed your own warehouse and blamed me for it. Because it made me realise cutting off the heads won't change you after all, so I'm going to clean house. I'm going to kill your fine leaders, your guards and lieutenants, and we'll see how my captain does with what remains."

Well, that and because John had given her a file on the organisation. Her own people had known most of it already, which had made her happy, but the intelligence had some new bits. Such as the personal residence of her friend on the floor, which would hopefully lead her to the others. His two fellow big shots had known little to nothing, which had been annoying, but she had a good feeling about this one. He seemed to have actual responsibilities, which would mean he was trusted with information.

"Mark it on the map, if you please."

The man did, with shaking hands no less, and she handed her datapad to the woman on her right. She would be sending it off to Miraka for analysis and double checking, since killing the man before doing so could lead to embarrassing mistakes. Like finding out your captive had more spine than you assumed, and fed you false intel before croaking.

Spending the minutes watching the man, and thinking about what horrible concoction she'd have to make for dinner without Morgan to cook, it came back positive. A note even explained how she verified it, something about cross referencing known personnel and their hangouts, but she ignored it. She trusted the little firebrand she recruited on Nar Shaddaa to do her job.

"Seems your information was good." A flick of her wrist and her blaster was in hand, her finger applying the lightest amount of pressure. The slaver died as he should, terrified and on his knees. Vette turned, jerking her head to the corpse. "Get rid of that. And someone pay his staff after torching the bodies. They deserve something nice for working for this asshole."

An awkward shuffle made her pause, raising an eyebrow. Gyline cleared her throat. "We discovered half of them are slaves, ma'am. Call just came in. They are distraught at the capture of their master and tried to overpower their watchers. No casualties, though plenty of bruises."

"Fuck. Get Amelia to polish off the reintegration program we used on Nar Shaddaa. I doubt they're the only ones he saw fit to brainwash, and I'm not leaving them out in the cold. She'll know the drill."

Gyline nodded, hand going to her helmet, and Vette sighed. So much for a clean extraction. This would take hours to sort out, days more to handle properly, but she pushed it away. Amelia could deal with it while she took care of the rest of the syndicate, even if they were going to be leaving pretty soon. Morgan had warned her finding Jaesa's parents could speed up the timetable considerably, enough so they might have to split. She didn't want that in the slightest, leaving him with no one to watch his back, so speed was important.

Because he had seemed a tad too eager to leave her behind, no doubt in some misguided attempt to protect her. His coddling instincts weren't too strong, she was far too capable for that, but it still reared its head at times. And if she allowed it here the balance would slide from partners to protectee, even if he didn't mean to. And she'll be damned if she allowed that to happen.

No, she was going with him. Which meant finishing up the Nine Fingers, installing Bob as its new head, and suitably impress on the man what would happen if he forced her to return prematurely. With that in mind she left the estate, stepping over the odd body, and climbed back in her transport. Her Valkyries joined her, leaving the former slaves to fend for themselves. Only for a few minutes, until Amelia could get more people here, but needs must. If they couldn't survive for that long without turning on each other or dying, she was afraid very little could be done regardless.

Her Valkyries shuffled as more of their numbers joined, Jess nodding to her as they transferred personnel in mid air, and just like that she had eighteen hardened killers around her. Who also valued her opinion a tad too strongly, hanging on her word like children listening to a tale. A disturbing contrast she found oddly comforting, knowing there were people just as screwed up as her. Killers abandoned by everyone they cared about, earning the only way they knew how. Teenagers making hard choices to stay alive, no matter the cost.

She could remember how it felt to find a group she belonged with, with people she could trust, and knowing she was exploiting it did bring some guilt. But she had been open and honest about her intentions, and so far they'd seemed more than willing to trade loyalty for companionship. Service for belonging. Truly, people after her twi'lek heart.

The building Altemaradi led her to, it turned out, wasn't much to look at. According to the schematics Miraka had dug up there was an unfinished underground section, and she nearly snorted when she read that bit, but otherwise it looked normal. Unfinished wasn't what they were going to find down there, though. No. It would be expansive, well guarded and fortified, with several layers of security. Droids and men armed and trained to resist attack.

Their transport landed on the roof without resistance, not that she expected anti-air capabilities, and her guard swarmed out before her. By the time she herself managed to force her way out, her Valkyries seemed adamant to have four of them pressed against her at all times; the initial guards had already been killed. Guards wearing high quality suits, to her surprise, and little more than sidearms.

Alright, that was smart. Don't put heavily armed and armoured soldiers in front of your secret base. Still, she expected personal shields at the least. Those weren't that expensive, and even if they only blocked a hit or two they were worth their weight in gold.

She shook it off, waving her people forward as they went inside. A few more guards, who promptly surrendered, and all she found was an office building. Boring cubicles broken up by even more boring break rooms, all painted in the most soul numbing colour she could imagine. This. This was why she turned to crime.

It was after hours, so the few hundred people working here weren't, but even so the place seemed unusually normal. No hidden defences, or guards disguised as employees working late. Just a normal office building. Which, again, she supposed made sense. The best cover wasn't a cover at all, since no one in their right mind would think this place was hiding anything abnormal. Even the security seemed to fit, their planet rapidly descending into open civil war and all.

They pushed deeper down, to where her schematics said the unfinished basement was, and they found an elevator instead. Finally, a trap. One of her Valkyries with slicing experience interfaced with it, a silent minute passing, and replied negatively. Just a normal elevator.

Vette sent two more for a visual check, but they found the same. No hidden turrets, override commands to lock them in place or gas nozzles ready to choke them. They piled in with some pushing, she herself somehow ended up almost right in the middle, and down they went. At least there wasn't elevator music.

The door opened to gunfire, her Valkyries closest shouting out warnings, and her people spilled into the hallway. Vette herself jumped, vaulting over most of them with ease, and pushed off against the wall to clear half the distance. Then it was a few unpredictable steps forward and sideways, and she was in the middle of those that had setup the ambush.

Five properly armoured soldiers behind a proper barricade, finally. Her knife sliced as her leg kicked out, two screams resounding shortly before cutting off, and she twisted to bash two heads together. Hard enough to knock them out, which left one. One that froze when she lashed out, which was such a piss-poor reaction she almost felt bad about kicking him in the balls.

Jess rushed past to clear more of the hallway, half her men following, and it revealed nothing but empty space. Returning, after sending squads out to secure and map out the space, the captain of her guard looked down at the bodies. "This doesn't feel right, ma'am."

"No it does not." She agreed. "There should have been turrets aimed at the door, we lugged around that mobile shield generator for a reason, and these five had almost no training in close quarters combat. We've either been set up masterfully, since I fully believed our recently deceased slaver friend, or this is actually what they have defending their base."

"We'll find out soon, ma'am. Squad one found their meeting room, subdued the two men guarding it, and confirmed they have a full house."

Vette nodded, picking up the pace as her people finished checking over the rest of the surprisingly small facility. She also sent a message to Dorka to hold her reinforcements at two clicks, since it wasn't looking like they were needed. She'd rather avoid causing too much of a panic, even if this wasn't their capital. Smart, she'd thought, that the Nine Fingers build their headquarters in a small-ish trading hub away from the big cities. Hidden away, easy to subvert local authority, ensured any outsiders can be monitored without issue.

Now she was thinking something else.

The room, build for style and with a round table in its centre, was silent as she strode inside. The six people there all showed varying levels of fear, terror and confusion, though one did not. A fairly normal looking man, one eye replaced by cybernetics. He looked eager, instead. Nothing for it. "Good evening. Stay seated."

"Who are you?" A woman asked. Vette knew her name, or could find out easily enough, but didn't bother. "How are you here?"

The cyborg rolled his eye, sighing deeply. "She's the one that's been terrorising our organisation, Merbeth. Excuse her, this place isn't what it used to be. I am surprised you managed to find this place so quickly, offworlder. It does you credit."

"I'd say the same, except your security is shit. Was shit. You're the one in charge of the mercenaries, hired thugs and such, right?"

"I am. Leobard, pleased to make your acquaintance. As for our protection issues, it has been something of a sore point. The others believe letting me supply proper guards would grant me unfair leverage during meetings. Not untrue, and I've been doing what I can, but here we are. Are they dead?"

"Some." She admitted, nodding to her Valkyries. They rounded up the rest, who seemed more than happy to let the man speak for them. "Others are wounded and subdued. You realise what I'm going to do here, right?"

Leobard nodded, unhurried. "So I do. I warned them, the fools, I did. Alderaan has always enjoyed a peaceful underworld, seeing as half the Houses take the more hardcore business for themselves, and it was only a matter of time until proper criminals realised it. The kind of people whose business is war, who travelled with private armies. Hear that, you utter buffoons? Here is the boogieman you assured me I was exaggerating. Does she seem harmless to you now? Manageable? By all means, reason with her. Bribe her, for you all seemed so convinced they desire gold above all."

"Got it out of your system?"

"I did." The man stood, Vette waved down her people as they aimed their weapons, and walked to the side. The room was plenty big enough for a fight, even with the table being four times the size it needed to be. "It's been building for a while. After I'm done here I think they'll be more inclined to see it my way."

Vette quirked an eyebrow. "You don't lack confidence, I'll give you that. Seems strange, since you just scolded them for underestimating me."

"They are administrators without even a year of combat experience between them. You are strong, yes, and hardened, but so am I. I fought across the stars when you still walked in diapers, burned ships to cinders when you were learning maths."

She didn't answer and waited until he struck, bounding forward with speed capable of breaking any defence, and stepped to the side. Her leg kicked out, smashing him into the wall, and shot his kneecaps as he sprang to his feet. A shield absorbed it, it didn't even flicker, and she holstered her gun. Shame, a quick execution would have sent a strong message.

He struck again, slower this time, and managed to adjust as she glided to the side. He still groaned as she redirected his strike and kicked his leg, metal complaining at the force. Then she scrambled back, because the mad fucker dropped a grenade at their feet.

Leobard did the same, not turning his back, and she dove behind the table as shrapnel flew across the room. Her people were far enough away their armour protected them, but his colleagues weren't so lucky. Three lay groaning on the floor, another two dead. Not worried about friendly fire, clearly.

She drew her knife as he did the same, shaking her head to dislodge the dust from her helmet. A ceiling of stone did that when you detonated a grenade. Leobard nodded to her, a sign of respect she returned after a beat, and this time she bounded forward.

And stopped short as she threw her knife, sliding low as the man dodged. She grappled his legs as he did, flipping him over as he grunted in surprise. Adjusting her grip wasn't hard, after that, and it seemed the man had let his wrestling skills rust. Then his arm twisted, her legs wrapped around his throat, and he slowed after a desperate fifteen seconds.

"Jess, could you come over here real quick?"

"Ma'am."

"Kindly shoot him in the head with your slugthrower. I'm not suffocating a cyborg to death for the next ten minutes."

The woman put her weapon against his head with a careful hand, ignoring the man's wild look, and pulled the trigger. His body went slack as metal met metal, Vette letting go, and a twist of her legs brought her to her feet.

Then she turned to the few surviving members, wiping some dust from her shoulder. "Stabilise them, find out how they operate, then let them go. You lot have twenty four hours to get off this planet."

The relief translated to their bodies, even through the pain, and Vette shook her head. It seemed Leobard wasn't lying when he complained about being the only professional.

None of them were leaving this room alive.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

The guards opened the door as he stamped another decree, hopefully doubling the corporation's profit over the next year or so. Honestly, it might be time to start over. The people running it had been inherited, and they did good enough work, but time and a lack of personal attention was starting to make them complacent. Maybe a visit from one of his apprentices would wake them up.

Competence, unfortunately, was hard to come by. As of now only two of his apprentices were still alive, both of which too deep in their tasks. The others had been killed, proven unable to grow to his satisfaction or outright tried to flee. He'd tracked the latter down personally, using the Ravager to extract every secret from his mind. His spark, the reason for his recruitment, had turned out to be a lie. The fool had been better at deceit than anything.

Such a useful little device. He really owed his youngest apprentice for bringing it to him. That and the fact he seemed to be delivering on Karr, which admittedly was the bigger reason for his survival.

Baras shook his head, ignoring Draahg as the man came to a stop before his desk. The only other of his apprentices that hadn't insisted on proving themselves redundant. The new crop testing themselves on Korriban showed some promise, but that was for later. No, Draahg was a good minion. And unlike his fleshcrafting fellow, didn't consort with jedi and pirates.

Still, Morgan had gotten closer to Jaesa than any other. Maybe there was some method to his flailing, even if it rendered his long term usefulness moot. Such a waste.

"Apprentice. Report."

Draahg bowed, as was proper, and Baras tasted the fear in him. Failure, then. "Darth Vengean grows suspicious, Master. His personal journals have been locked away from me, as for anyone else. I cannot get to them."

"Disappointing. He does not suspect you have betrayed him?"

"No, Master. He seems to believe I work against him on my own, to supplant him. It amuses the man."

As it should. Vengean was a member of the Dark Council, and while he himself didn't think most of them were even remotely worthy of the seat they sat on, none of them were weak. Or stupid, though some arguments could be made to the contrary. "Very well. Keep your head down, don't break routine, and get me access to those journals. I need to know what he learned on Yavin four before challenging him."

"I understand. I'll return, if you have no more need of me."

Baras waved his hand, already done with the man. Skilled, yes, and a worthy addition to his ranks, but he was boring. No special talent to steal, nothing new to learn when he was fed to the Ravager. Just a strong, skilled sith that wouldn't ever rise further than he already had.

And if it didn't make Baras stronger, what was the point of the man? Still, best to keep him around after Vengean died. Possessing no Lord rank apprentice would reflect badly on him, which he normally cared little about, but a newly crowned Dark Council Member needed his prestige intact.

He worked some more, approving several assassination contracts and many more benign requests, but his mind wandered. Nomen Karr needed to die, sooner rather than later, and the jedi child was key to that. His apprentice, however loosely he used the word, would be close. But he didn't know how close, since his spies kept disappearing. Every tail, watcher and infiltrator caught and disposed of.

Only one managed to report a disturbance before he died, claiming an Imperial Intelligence operative was on the planet. But he checked, and no sith he knew of had both the pull to block him this effectively and inclination to do so. Yet those bureaucratic fools wouldn't move without sufficient backing, and took unkindly to him poking in their business.

And as long as they played nice with the Council, he couldn't force them to squeal. Not even one or two, since the suspicion alone would be enough to have Marr after his head. That man was one of the few worthy of sitting in the seat he claimed, and took it upon himself to maintain peace. Order, as much as there could be, between Darths.

But all of that still left him without an answer to what his apprentice was up to this very second, so he indulged. Broke a rule of his, and contacted the only soldier he both managed to turn and not have disappear within hours. Some woman with a sick brother, if he recalled. Threatening the brother to blackmail the sister had been so easy as to be boring, but needs must.

It took another hour before she deemed fit to answer his summons, though he could forgive that, and he looked at her pale face as he waited. Waited for her to speak, to crack, and remind her who was who in their relationship. "Sir, please. This isn't a good time. The captain has ordered a full mobilisation and my sergeant won't tolerate me being late for more than a minute."

"Then speak quickly. What has happened?" Honestly, this was beneath him. An embarrassing failure to not only lose his long term tool in Quinn, but fail to acquire more than a lowly private. Someone would pay for that, and he had just the consorting apprentice in mind. "How close are you to your target?"

She flinched at his tone, eyes flickering to the door. "I don't know. Rumour is the Lord has been leaving for extended periods of time, contacting the captain every half an hour. We think they found whoever we've been looking for, and are double checking. Please, I have to go."

"Do so. Another month, at most, and your brother will be released. Healthy as could be, thanks to my doctors."

Something flickered, something in his tone, maybe, but the woman's face blanked. Her eyes died, going dull as she stopped fidgeting. "You're lying, aren't you? He's already dead, or as good as. Even if I do everything you ask, there's no reason for you to release him. For me to continue living. He healed my arm."

"What?" The non-sequitur made him blink, though he rallied after a moment. "Do not be a fool, private. What are you talking about?"

"After the battle. I felt him. This maelstrom of power, dancing at the behest of his will. I don't. I've never felt anything like it. My arm. He regrew my arm."

Baras roared as she closed the connection, throwing the communicator hard enough it embedded itself in the wall. Then he flipped his desk, because what in all the hells was going on over there?! Since when did grunts care about high level politics more than their own family? When did his fucking apprentice start commanding more fear than him?

No. He calmed with some effort, ignoring the mess he'd made. No, not fear. Loyalty. He'd seen this coming, back when Morgan hadn't even left Korriban yet. How fleshcrafters instill loyalty unlike any other. Artificial, maybe, but loyalty all the same. He never suspected Morgan had progressed that far already, but it wasn't too late.

Nomen Karr first, and then he would have to die. Quickly, cleanly, and before he could spread his influence too far.

Before he figured out the more dangerous techniques of the Fleshcrafters.