Morgan looked at Marr. The Darth realized he was actually expecting an answer. "This was not what I planned."
"No, you just wanted to kill every being on Dromund Kaas for a chance to kill me instead. Which, so far, only the gestalt face thing seems actually capable of. Which you can't control, which just makes this whole thing stupid and probably lost you the war. Actually, it did lose you the war. The Imperial military is done with you."
The gestalt laughed, the sound like falling glass. "You choose me, then? Good, good. Together we will kill this pretender and claim the Empire for Ourselves."
"Fuck that." Morgan said, the possessed pureblood frowning. "Marr might be insane, but at least he's not whatever the fuck you are. How many are you, even?"
"One hundred and twenty eight, by my last count. And you will call me Barthezal."
Marr shook his head. "The military would not abandon me. They serve the Empire, and I am the Empire."
"Technically, we're both claimants to the throne." Morgan replied, shrugging. "That's how they see it, anyway. And while I'm trying to limit casualties, you're giving speeches about wiping out their own planet to kill me. Guess I was right about that ritual fucking with your head."
"I hope you don't expect me to confirm or deny that."
Barthezal barked out a laugh, the sound strangely distant. "I can see it draped over your soul, Marr. The youngling is correct. All that iron discipline won't help you if the Dark is invited into your very mind."
"Help me kill him, Darth Caro, and we'll finish our feud. The Empire will be stabilised, one way or the other."
Morgan exchanged a look with Synar, the woman looking at the gestalt with great interest. "I think not. In fact, I'll be right here until you two are done killing each other. Unlike anyone else here, I have backup on the way. Feel free to worry about that as you fight."
"Thief." Nox screamed, going from silent to enraged like flipping a switch. Morgan let the wave of power roll over him, undirected as it was. "You stole my souls. My souls. It took me so long to collect them, and you stole! Stole, stole, stole."
The child wearing an adult body threw herself across the room, Barthezal rounding on Marr as Synar smashed the child aside. Nox flipped in midair, landing hard against the wall and pushing off anyway, and Morgan grunted.
So much for staying neutral.
"Fight her in the deep Force, if you please." Morgan said, moving to meet the girl's charge. "I'll keep her body busy. If Marr or the gestalt attacks, pull back."
Nox, as Morgan had already expected, knew how to fight in both the deep Force and reality at the same time. It made little sense for Marr not to teach her, especially since she was one of the few proper allies he had.
And even with him being able to focus fully on reality, along with Synar pressing the girl in the deep Force, she was good. Very good. Better than him, and he was pretty sure she only learned it after he had.
A prodigy. Great. That explained how she sat on the Dark Council at such a young age.
Morgan stepped back as Nox swept her lightsaber up, nearly slicing his chin, and infused his body with strength. A heartbeat of flesh tearing, bone splintering strength, and Nox was a hair too slow to dodge. His lightsaber pushed her own aside, slicing through hardened flesh without pause.
She leaned aside enough to avoid having her skull sliced open, but much of her arm and shoulder went flying. Morgan pressed the advantage, unwilling to let someone with fleshcrafting skill a moment to recover, and power blasted out from the girl.
It was a regular Force attack, without using a medium such as air or metal, and he'd build his defenses around being able to withstand that. Layered shields, eighty percent Force immunity here in reality, the ability to bleed techniques dry before they ever touched him. Yet he staggered, the attack a tenth of its original strength and forcing him back.
Morgan shook his head, finding Nox to have staggered back too. Black, pulsing vines spread from her eyes, bleeding tar and smelling foul, and Morgan risked a moment to look in the deep Force.
Synar had been blown away and nearly had her soul ripped in half, the explosion quite a bit more powerful down there, but she was already pulling herself together. Fixing a soul wasn't really a thing, not in the 'regrow a hand' kind of way, but stitching it together let someone continue the fight.
But Nox, contrary to the damage she'd just done, was not looking great. Her slave souls were there, screaming and howling and thrashing, but there was something else. The something he'd noticed before, even if he hadn't actually recognized it then.
An Other. A dead Other, and after a startling moment he recognized it. The cloud that used to be a giant, the same Other that had been there the first time he'd met Nox. It being dead was impossible, especially so according to Star, and the Other came when Morgan called.
Or some small part of him did, anyway. The bulk was refusing to come out, saying he would just be banished again, and Morgan sighed. Just tell me what she's doing to it.
Death does not exist, not for us. Star insisted, tasting Morgan's offered memory. It is dead. It is not dead. She has stopped it from being reborn, taking the power of rebirth for herself. She is mad.
Morgan snorted. Well, she is sith.
No. Star said, shying back further as Nox started crying. Her arm regrew, but Morgan let it happen. Nothing much he could do about it until Synar rallied. I have learned of you. Of your reality and the one before. It would be as if you attached the output of a nuclear power tree to your body to mimic the natural electricity of your flesh. It is not meant for mortals, and she will die.
He raised an eyebrow. Nuclear power plant, not tree, but I see your point. She was afraid of me, before. It seems she did something stupid in response.
Star didn't answer, shying back as Barthezal looked at them. Morgan did the equivalent of raising his middle finger at the gestalt, raising his actual one too, and the thing roared in outrage. Marr shoved a lightsaber of not-plasma through its neck, and the gestalt focussed.
I know the Elders aren't happy you're hanging out here. Morgan said, shoeing Star back. Go. I'm capable of handling myself, remember?
The Other hesitated but left, Morgan nodding to Synar as she took over in the deep Force again. Opened his eyes to see Nox where he left her, even if only a scant few seconds had passed.
The lines of sickly black had only spread, and Morgan shot forward. Attached thousands of threads to the wall, using those to pull himself faster still, and infused his body with energy at the last moment. Nox was sent flying, never even having attempted to dodge, and Barthezal slapped her away.
Then focussed back on Marr, who wasn't having a great time dealing with the gestalt. A shame. Morgan had hoped to make Nox fight the thing again. Well, this was only meant to buy time. With three Darth-level Force users the AI-plague alliance should be crushed soon enough, and he'd feel a lot more confident facing a sith god thing with the five of them.
At least Synar hadn't just abandoned him. Not that she gave any indication of being a coward, or a person untrue to their word, but still. This wasn't exactly a low risk mission.
Nox came charging again, Morgan put the Lure of Love on display, Nox barely stuttered. Then she was on him, fighting two Darth's in a display of multitasking that seemed almost impossible. Her form was awful, but any damage taken healed as fast as it could be made. And despite her blatant corruption, she was adapting to it.
Thank fuck she hadn't had a few more years to grow.
"How long will you lie to yourself, youngling?" Barthezal asked, and Morgan startled. The gestalt was still fighting Marr, but it seemed the Darth was on his last legs. "How long will you insist on limiting your own potential?"
"No idea what you're talking about."
Barthezal shook his head. "You lie even to yourself. I see it just as you see my faces. There are more paths to transcendence than there are stars in the universe, but one core tenet is central. You have to let go. Reality is but one of many places, and we cannot be tethered by it. Not truly. Freedom of mind is the cornerstone for the freedom of the soul."
Morgan frowned. That. That struck him as wrong. He didn't know how, exactly, but wrong. The gestalt laughed, either at Marr or him, and Morgan hummed. Nox, thankfully, was twitching and muttering to herself instead of attacking. For now.
"I'm good with making my own way, thanks."
"Then you will never defeat me. I have been locked away for ninety eight years, little je'daii. Feared and studied, fed and bargained with. Twice I have been let loose to hunt and twice they spilled an ocean of blood to recapture me. Do you believe five Darths, two of which are barely deserving of the rank, will manage to kill me?"
"Now that's a good point." Morgan admitted. Nox was screaming, now, and Synar was mostly letting her tire herself out, and the girl's body jerked forward to attack. "One moment."
He met the girl-woman's charge and crafted an attack, pouring his very understanding of souls into a dagger of absence. Of oblivion. He flung it at the gestalt as he swung at Nox's brain, plasma melting hair as the Darth moved to dodge. His second attack, hidden behind the first, dug deep. Yet the curse that had killed a Darth was shunted off to one of her slave-souls, doing nothing much at all.
Barthezal, who Morgan was keeping an eye on, didn't dodge. Arrogance, maybe, or supreme confidence. Morgan's dagger sliced through two lazily raised shields, separate from those guarding against Marr, and Morgan rolled his eyes.
Honestly, the level of arrogance some could attain never ceased to amaze.
The gestalt moved when his shields broke, but too late. The knife sliced through four faces, more taking their place, and the souls broke away into death. Separated like the bars of his one time prison. Barthezal swelled in outrage, this being the most damage he'd sustained since Morgan got here.
Marr immediately adapted, trying to shave away pieces rather than smash the whole, and Morgan smiled lightly. That's confirmed, then. Marr was influenced by whatever ritual he'd used to boost his power. Not a trade he'd make himself, that. Not with how narrow the man's focus seemed to have become.
"Did you really think you could control me?" Barthezal said, tone shifting to something altogether more gleeful. Morgan ducked as Nox became responsive again, dropping all active techniques and resetting his seal. He faded from her precognition as he moved forward. "That I was unaware of my purpose? No, little sith. I allowed myself to be captured. Allowed myself to be imprisoned."
Morgan fought an off-kilter Nox as the gestalt talked, her movements growing increasingly desperate. Her eyes turned wholly black even as her power increased, Synar distracting her admirably.
"There is only one man that could truly kill me." The gestalt said, slapping Marr away. The Darth roared, one of the more uncontrolled attack's Morgan had seen him use, and Barthezal yawned. "But he's gone now, isn't he? Off to play house in a different galaxy. Or not. Trapped and weakened, unable to call on his golden fleet to rescue him. Pathetic."
Nox let out a whisper of pain even as her raw strength continued to grow, Morgan blocking one of her overhead strikes. His bones groaned as muscle failed, and he slipped to the side. Power funneled into physical prowess, but it was the flailing of a child.
"Ah, it is good to breathe free air again. So much I have missed. So much I have not seen." Barthezal paused, half turning Morgan's way, but Marr ripped into him with vigor. The gestalt backhanded the Darth, a gesture so lightning quick the man had no hope of dodging. "You entertain me, little one, but don't become annoying. Another fifteen seconds, then we're done playing."
Morgan backpedalled as Nox seemed to double in strength, muscles and flesh warping with power. Tears of blood trailed down her face, eyes unfocussed as she bled the Other dry. Synar retreated from the deep Force, Morgan tightening his defenses as she did.
Another attack, superimposed over reality even as it moved in the Force, and Morgan stepped next to Synar. Overlaid his shields with hers, their combined defenses just barely able to weather the onslaught of power.
Then Nox's power doubled again, and her soul collapsed. Fell in on itself, something Morgan hadn't even known was possible, as the full might of an Other was syphoned from its corpse. She was shred to nothing, every molecule of her being scattered across the Force, and Morgan watched an Other die.
Star had explained it. That they didn't really die, only returned to life somewhere else. Without recollection, but reborn. The Other had even shown a memory, once, though it was a rare affair to begin with.
It didn't compare. Watching a source of power more bright than any sun wither, streaming away now that the shackles keeping it here were gone. And the power was vast, but it was the depth. The layers of reality they existed in, the complexity of their souls, the sheer beauty of their structure.
Synar flinched away as even Barthezal paused to look, but Morgan ignored them all. There was a peace there, a oneness of being that pulled at his memory. A memory he had unlocked before, of the nothing between life and death. A memory he had assumed he understood, finding his comprehension shallow and immature.
The serenity of death. Of being one with the universe, truly and utterly, floating through the Force without purpose or want. It was an experience without description, unworthy of words or memory, and Morgan found himself longing for it.
Tranquility. The word he'd given to a state of mind so at peace the Force itself bowed to it. Morgan closed his eyes as he felt them burn away, but the experience of watching an Other die was not something he could look away from.
The power spiked, like a sun going supernova, and then it was gone. The Force calmed, Nox was so thoroughly destroyed nothing remained, and Morgan realized he knew nothing at all.
Tick.
Nothing. To be tranquil was to be without care, to be without care was to be dead. And there was nothing scary about oblivion. Nothing alien or macabre or unsightly. It simply was.
Tick.
The Force caressed his soul as Morgan breathed it in, his ideal of non-expectation so very superficial. So childish. The Force did not know reality, that was true, and so became what people thought it should be, but that didn't mean anything. Not really.
Tick.
It wasn't nothing the Force wanted, it was understanding. The ability to want, a consciousness so vast yet so simple. Not hostile, not friendly, barely curious. And if someone attuned themselves properly, met it not with expectation nor its absence but with want?
The contractions spiralled as Morgan smiled, all but feeling the frustration of the Force. He was so close, yet so far. There but nowhere near. That was alright. They had time to work it out.
Tic-
Morgan felt tranquility slip away as the door behind him opened, the remaining Darths of his party spilling through. Soft Voice sent him a memory packet, which was an uncomfortable but quick way to update him, and Barthezal inclined his head.
The Empire had surrendered. His apprentices had apparently slaughtered three Lords wishing to carry on the fight, but even before that people were making deals. Generals and moffs bargaining for safety and position.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Morgan of Nowhere." Barthezal said, and he actually sounded sincere. "It will be a greater pleasure still to add your face to my collection. Come, and let me taste of the universe."
Snorting, and fixing his eyes once he realised they were but empty sockets, Morgan exhaled. "Marr, we're going to help you kill that thing now. After that, we'll see what happens."
"The Empire is dead." Marr replied, his tone strangely mournful. "It was dead after you won the naval battle. Four generals had to be killed before the rest fell in line, most wishing to sue for peace. But you can't make peace with an idealist. Not really. I still believe we might have won. Still believe it would have worked."
Barthezal grinned even as six Darth slowly surrounded him. "And then you released me. Divination truly is the most powerful of the mystic arts. The most useful. I saw this moment sixty one years ago."
"Wait, what?" Morgan paused, eyebrow raised. "Precognition isn't that powerful. It can't be. If you saw this moment, then you know how it ends. If you know how this ends, then there's nothing to be done. Fate is not a shackle."
"And the youngling understands. Does it hurt, Marr? To see someone with a tenth of your experience grasp the Force quicker than you?"
"No, wait." Morgan said, raising a hand. "You're not lying when you say you saw this moment, but that isn't how Fate works. Blind spots, branching paths, the mathematical impossibility of interpreting infinity. This is a trick. A trap. Fifteen seconds, you said. It's been nineteen."
"Me? Trap the likes of you? You're a godling now, remember? Those can't be tricked."
It was a trap. A trap, but how? Morgan saw five faces think of the exact same thing, but it was Lana that figured it out first. "He's not real."
"I beg your pardon?" Barthezal said, actually sounding insulted. "I am very real."
"No." Lana said, shaking her head. "Your power is, but you're not. You're just the husk. What was left over after they put you in your container. It drains the willpower of anyone inside, doesn't it? You're nothing but a semi-sentient ghost running on auto-pilot, pretending you know what's happening."
Barthezal frowned, everyone else keeping still. Marr looked like he was about to say something, but Morgan glared at the man. Surprisingly, the Darth backed down.
"I am as real as anyone." The gestalt said, but he sounded unsure. Hesitant. "I am the largest collection of Force-attuned souls in the galaxy. I am a god."
Lana shook her head, her tone turning kind. "No. You were a god, but now you're an echo. I'll prove it. Look at Morgan. Where does he come from?"
"Korriban." Barthezal said. Then it frowned. "He does. He does. He was born and raised on Korriban. He was- I am- What are you doing to me?"
She smiled sadly. "I'm not doing anything. You can't divine the future or the past anymore, so you're running on old information. The last time they captured you, how long ago was that?"
"Fifty ei- I don't have to answer that." Barthezal said, tone hardening. "Your logic is flawed. I am, therefore I have a right to be. Your faces will be added to the collection."
Lana shrugged. "Then why haven't you? You've been playing with Marr since before Morgan got here, right? With him and Nox both and those other two? You are a god, so you could have killed him at any moment. Added him to the collection. But you didn't, not even the ones you did kill. Is the soul of your host even dead to begin with?"
"I am a god!" He thundered, and a wave of Force rippled out from the gestalt. But, tellingly, it didn't attack. Morgan steadied himself, but the pseudo-assault did little damage. "I am! I can do anything!"
"I think you can't. I think it requires a strong sense of want, of need, and you don't have that anymore. So if you can't add us to the collection, what is the point of existence? The point of being?"
Barthezal shook his head, all but staggering back. "No. No!"
"Then divine the future. See what would happen if you tried."
He couldn't. Barthezal had all but admitted that seconds ago. There were some contradictions, like it knowing the name Morgan of Nowhere, but who was Morgan to point that out? The puppet-pureblood shook its head. "I- Why- What is the purpose of existence when growth is impossible?"
The gestalt didn't wait for an answer, starting to rip souls away from itself. Looking for something, though Morgan had no idea what, and he watched in morbid fascination until there was but one left. The first one, and Exunar's soul took back control from it. The Darth who's body it had taken.
The Darth killed what was left of the gestalt, and before anyone could do anything Soft Voice cut the man's head off. It rolled briefly before stopping, the pureblood's body falling with a quiet thump.
"Did you just talk it to death?" Morgan asked, incredulous. He shook his head, turning to Marr. "Nevermind. Doesn't matter. So, Marr. Any chance we can end this without you insisting on a heroic last stand?"
Darth Marr screamed, a sound laced with mental and soul numbing intent, and charged.
But he was outnumbered five to one, and the Dark was not kind to those who let it inside their mind.
Morgan had allies. And Marr, at the end, found himself alone.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Quinn firmed his tone, tapping the table as he leaned forward. The fact both sides were in the same place was a good sign, but not that this man was in charge of them. "You don't seem to realise your position, moff Broysc. Stalling to determine the outcome of the battle inside the sith Sanctum will not change the facts. We have won, the Empire has lost."
"The Empire is eternal." The man blustered, but Quinn could see sweat trickle down his brow. His old nemesis, an incompetent fool with a remarkable amount of luck. The same fool that had gotten him demoted, shepherded into Baras' arms and nearly got him killed. "When Darth Marr returns, there will b-"
Quinn slammed his hand down on the table, shocking the moff out of his glass-eyed fantasy. "Marr is dead by now, you imbecile. No, I'm done with this. General Rykeland, you are effectively in command of the remaining Imperial forces on Dromund Kaas. I'm giving you five seconds to replace this fool, or there will be no peace."
It was heavy handed. Elarius and Octavian were looking at him, but Quinn didn't care. He was so very tired of blustering fools getting good men killed, and now he had the power to do something about it. And even outnumbered two to one, the Enosis held power. Morale, as ever, was all important.
Rykeland, old and fat and with half his face replaced by machines, took three seconds to decide. The fourth to sigh, then the last to wave his hand. Two of the soldiers of the Imperial delegation moved to restrain the moff, Quinn nodding to the general.
Old, fat and indulgent the man might be, he was also known to be a realist. One with a sharp mind despite his age. "Thank you, general. Now we might have an actual productive conversation."
"My question is simple, general Malavai Quinn." Rykeland said, voice almost raspy. "Will Darth Caro declare himself Emperor?"
"Yes."
Probably not, no. But he had to, or else there could be no true peace. If they simply left, the Empire's power shattered, the infighting alone would kill millions. Give rise to warlords and civil war, neither of which he wanted for the Empire. Morgan could be convinced given the right arguments, of that he was sure.
He wouldn't be happy about it, but he'd do it.
"Then we are in accord." Rykeland said, nodding. "We offer our surrender with the understanding that the existing military structure will not be wholly disassembled. I am sure there will be documents to be signed, speeches to give and history to make. But for now it is the spirit, not the letter, that is decided."
The man stuck out his hand, Quinn shook it, and just like that the Enosis owned the Empire. Or a part of it, at least.
Three sith Lords stood at the back, not seeming happy, but Quinn paid them no mind. He had four Lords of War with him, if it came to that, but this was between soldiers, not Force users. The Empire would have to get used to that.
Speaking off. "Get the remainder of your men in order, then start securing the city. Disable the traps, recall assassins, you know the work. Then start clearing up. The Enosis will provide full medical coverage for all those wounded in battle, be those military or civilian."
"Healing?" Rykeland seemed surprised, the expression passing quickly. "Fleshcrafting healing? I was not aware you possessed enough trained personnel for that."
"We spent a great amount of effort ensuring you didn't. It will take some time, but limbs will be regrown, tissue repaired and injuries mended. Emergency rations will be distributed in the meanwhile, something the Enosis is more than happy to provide."
The Imperial general tensed, just slightly, before nodding. Quinn suppressed a smile. Enosis military rations were quite a bit better after Force-sensitive soldiers started being involved in its production, and tasteful food was always good for morale. The healing would go a long way to endear the regular trooper to the Enosis, and the overhaul of the chain of command further still.
Ah yes, the chain of command. "All sith will be removed from the chain of command, be their command official or not, and will gather at the sith Sanctum. Any who disobey this directive will be hunted down and shot."
The three watching sith Lords stirred, the embers of anger blazing to life, and Quinn stared them down. Only one spoke, an older man. "We did not agree to this."
"You will agree to anything I damn well please." He retorted. The Lords of War shifted, though didn't quite act. Yet. "Your lives belong to my Lord now, and it is him that put me in command of the conquest of Dromund Kaas. The time of indulgence and disorder is over. You will fall in line, or you will be disposed of. The Imperial military is no place for undisciplined children."
Rykeland actually seemed to brighten up at that, but the same sith took another step forward. "I am Lord Phos, and I have commanded entire continents to burn. Your Lord has not yet returned from the Sanctum, soldier. I am not a dog for you to leash."
"Yes you are." Quinn said, and his tone was flat. Pointed. "Unless you would rather die, which is a choice I heartily recommend. You see, we held many meetings before ever entering this system, and one concerned the likes of you. Of all sith, for that matter. I supported the notion of a clean slate. Of the plan to eliminate all sith, no matter their skill or potential usefulness, so as to ensure the Empire could rise from the rot that has infested it."
Quinn sighed, waving his hand dismissively. "But Darth Caro spoke in your defense, and so you will live. You will live until he can determine your potential for change, or until you prove a danger to the Enosis. Are you a danger to the Enosis, Lord Phos?"
The Lords of War behind him, destroyers crowding the skies and without any real support. Lord Phos sneered but stepped back, and Quinn wasn't surprised.
"Good." Quinn said, turning back to Rykeland. "Power comes with responsibility, general. They are yours to command, yours to discipline and yours to answer for."
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Hexid tried to smile as Morgan regrew her spine, Marr having managed to shatter it almost wholesale seven seconds into the fight, and found her muscles unwilling to cooperate. That, and the fact she wasn't sure how to approach this particular problem.
Marr's corpse was turning to smoke not four feet away.
She was a good fighter, she was, but Marr had more than proven why she'd never have sat on the Dark Council. Her ability in the deep Force mostly focussed around defense and simple concepts, and it wasn't enough. Honed, yes, but not enough.
When three Darths combined precognition to all but blind the man, then weaved around each other like they'd shared a damn womb, it really made one question the sith's insistence on personal might.
"Don't stress your back for the next few hours." Morgan said, stepping away. "It'll damage the nerves, and regrowing those again will hurt."
"I can take a little pain in the pursuit of pleasure."
Her tone was right, her body language was right, and she might as well have been trying to seduce a brick wall. Hexid didn't say anything else as Morgan moved away, not even rewarding her with an annoyed glare.
She didn't know how to handle him. That was the truth. Not after her game had been thoroughly spoiled and he'd looked at her with such impersonal attention.
Who does that? Become so attuned to the Force they might as well not exist? Nothing she'd ever read even suggested it was possible, and sith sought power more than anyone else. Hundreds of holocrons she'd plundered, ancient tombs and expensive experimental research facilities. None of them had contained anything close.
Nothing worth the price, at least. Yet all the price he seemed to pay was a distracted mind and an inability to control when to use it. Which, while crippling, also meant he could go off at any time.
Fighting someone and losing? He might become an absent-minded god and smite them. Looking at a bridge awash in sunlight? He might just find her secrets. Her plans. Plans she would have certainly killed someone else over, yet he'd said nothing.
What next? The limits were vague, the timing was vague, the fact he had apparently been inspired by the death of something that couldn't die was vague, all of it. How do you dance around someone who wildly swings off-course without the slightest warning?
But if that was all, she'd be fine. Yet it wasn't, was it? No, he just had to be damn near unkillable. For all his wounds, all his injuries and close calls, he'd never died. Always learned, adapted, grew. The Empire was finally learning that, and now it was dead.
The Emperor is dead. Long live the Emperor.
Well, not dead, and Morgan didn't want to be Emperor, but the sentiment stuck. There was no way this didn't end with him being forced into it, and at that point they were setting themselves against a thousand year old immortal.
"Ready to go?" Soft Voice asked, all but looming over her. Not hard to do, not for him. "I've been updated on the situation outside, and the Empire has officially surrendered. The remaining sith, those not trying to flee into the jungle, are gathering above."
Consolidating power as quickly as possible. Smart. Hexid nodded, moving closer to Synar as they travelled. They weren't part of the golden trio, her mind snarked, but she resisted the urge to needle. No sense in burning that bridge quite yet, not when she could potentially replace either should something tragic happen.
Though neither was going to happen until she'd figured out whatever Morgan was.
The elevator was more cramped going up, leaving the cave-vault empty, and when they came back to the Sanctum proper, soldiers were waiting for them. Chosen, saluting their Lord with zeal overflowing.
She'd seen plenty of cults. Made some, even joined one once just to see what it was like. These men and women weren't quite the most fervent she'd ever met, but they were far more stable. Obedient but self-thinking. A surprisingly difficult balance to obtain.
"My Lord." Their lieutenant said, looking past everyone else like they didn't exist. "The Sanctum has been secured. We still need an hour to finish collecting all the sith, move them to the main chamber, and so far seventy five have attempted to flee. Eleven managed to enter the jungle, after which pursuit was broken off."
"Very good, lieutenant. Ensure there is a healthy Chosen contingent during my talk with the sith."
The man nodded, turning around sharply as his men fell into an honor escort. She detected some faint whiff of discomfort from Morgan, but it seemed shallow. More for the sake of it than true distress.
Down the winding pathway they went, and soon enough the group split. Soft Voice and Lana turned to deal with the Empire, officers linking up with each of them, and Synar muttered something about soul cohabitation. Probably to do with her endless quest of soul-eating.
Hexid stuck with Morgan. She needed information, asking was utterly out of the question, and aside from glancing her way he didn't say anything about it.
Some snooping told the story of a relaxed, laid-back man who valued friends and didn't care much about appearance.
That man was gone. Around her he wasn't relaxed, of course, but he wasn't like this. His presence, usually constrained so tightly you had to work to even feel it, wrapped around him like a cloak. His face went blank, like someone had switched a lever on his emotions, and his walk slowed a tad.
The image of control, patience and power. A good illusion, though she'd seen better. Not hugely so, but better. Probably had lessons on it, judging from the slight discomfort he exhibited.
Learning to be what people expected. An image more than a person. Yes, lessons indeed. Hexid slowed to match, somewhat grudgingly adjusting her own position to enhance his. Forced to be inferior to someone was exactly why she'd remained an independent, but this was necessary.
Another game, more dangerous than the last. A thrill went through her, and Morgan's eyes flickered her way. Only the slightest gesture, but it was there. A mistake or letting her know that he knew what she was doing?
Yes, a game indeed.
The assembling area of the sith Sanctum rose in the distance, and Morgan turned left just before they would enter it. A side chamber, several officers there to greet him, and Hexid didn't follow. The walk hadn't even taken ten minutes, and she didn't fancy he'd approve of her listening in on whatever he was discussing anyway.
Probably boring after-conquest details, regardless. No, much more amusing to stalk the waiting sith. And some had already arrived, of course. It was mostly waiting for stragglers that demanded the hour-long delay.
She stepped into the hall from a side entrance, ignoring the room itself. High, vaulted ceilings, sweeping architecture, imposing statues. Enough room for a crowd of thousands, which they wouldn't be filling by a large margin. All boring.
The sith were much more interesting. There was the usual fodder, barely able to use the Force at all, and in them she found Dark fueled fear. The kind of souls that was unable to properly master themselves, and thus unable to master the Force. Weak, but useful in large numbers.
Then came the apprentices. The sith actually worth something, be that as semi-skilled assistants or with actual potential. There were less of those, maybe sixty in all, and they looked almost bored.
Hexid smiled. Yes, she supposed they didn't have much to fear. Useful enough not to be discarded, too unimportant to be killed, numerous enough no one really singled them out. Their Masters might die, but they would serve the new ones easily enough.
Next was technically the rank of Lords, but she found there was one more in between. The apprentices with both potential in the Force and a mind capable of basic cunning. Those were watching, calculating, looking for advantage. Sith after her own heart.
Then the Lords. Four of them, and she'd be surprised if that number increased. One of them she actually knew, to her surprise. Phos, an all together capable Lord with strong survival instincts. He wasn't happy, but he also wasn't using this opportunity to stage a revolt.
Not that it would go far, of course. Not with the Chosen lining the walls. Enough to outnumber the sith two to one, and only the apprentices and up could really kill them without risking serious injury. With reinforcements outside and Morgan not seconds away? He'd butcher the lot of them before two dozen could fall.
Lord Phos' eyes found her, a flash of fear spreading through him, and Hexid almost preened. It was good that some still recognized the threat she represented. The man whispered to the three others, far enough away she couldn't hear, and none turned to look.
Of course they wouldn't. Too experienced and well trained. With the Enosis hunting for them and the surprisingly effective assassins, few of those were left. One or two had probably ran into the jungle, and being Lords they had probably succeeded, but the remainder?
Many were on Korriban, more still out and about in the galaxy, but the Enosis intelligence department had estimated one-third had been on Dromund Kaas. And now all but very, very few of those were dead. A blow the sith wouldn't recover from for decades, assuming they ever did.
Also a declaration of strength to the entire galaxy. The Enosis screaming a challenge out into the universe, no matter that it was unintended. A testament that they could challenge the Sith Order and come out victorious.
Oh, the truth wasn't quite so glamorous. She and the four other Darths had done more than the rest of the jed'aii combined, Marr had sabotaged himself so thoroughly it was almost comical, their naval superiority meant that more than one Lord had been bombarded from orbit.
And sparing civilian casualties might be the cornerstone of the invasion, but it was still war. Morgan had chosen his own people over faceless Imperial subjects, which was good. If he had any hope of ruling the Empire, soft was not something he could afford to be.
She spent her time idling, recovering from the fight and trying to see if any sith was stupid enough to rise to her bait. None were, sadly, but even if they had she could excuse it easily enough by saying she was just ensuring the troublesome elements didn't sneak through inspection.
That excuse fell somewhat flat when Jaesa slipped into the room. It was a side entrance, Inara and Alyssa were with her in unmistakable protection duty, and two squads of Chosen could be seen behind the closing door.
The girl looked haggard, but that's what you get for having a unique power. Hexid raised an eyebrow as the jedi looked at her, seeing the frown there and notes being typed on a datapad, but Hexid resisted the urge to go over to them.
If the feared Lord Caro cared about his Chosen, his apprentices were practically family. Attacking any would see him promptly eviscerate the poor fool who dared. Or worse yet, he'd watch and give tips. She's heard he did that while fighting the True Empire.
Her visit didn't last long. Looking for those unwilling to surrender, though the Chosen didn't drag anyone out of the group. If Jaesa had found anyone, they'd likely just get an update and an extra pair of eyes watching them.
Expandability. Hexid felt Morgan return from his talk with the officers, getting updates or whatnot, and the room fell quiet. Finally feeling his aura, then. But expandability was what it boiled down to, she found.
The Enosis wasn't built to do the bidding of their Lords, though it did do that. No. It was built to recruit, retrain, absorb then expand. A slow process, at first. A few thousand recruits there, mostly destined for the rank and file, then another ship here.
Exponentially scaling. The more people they had, the more they could recruit. Now their bureaucracy was going to chew on the capital of the Empire, and she honestly didn't think the Empire was ready for it. Not with how reliant they were on the Dark Council.
And the Dark Council was either dead or on Korriban.
The military had the most power after that, and the Enosis had broken it. Starting to absorb it, the fact the Enosis was built from Imperial principles greatly easing that task. For the civilians? Whole departments would be overhauled, entire divisions disbanded or reassigned, laws adjusted and rights enshrined.
Hexid grinned. Not her problem, though she was curious to see if they'd succeed.
The grand door opened, leading to a grander hallway behind it. Morgan walked inside, power starting to dominate the room. The Lords shielded themselves well enough, but everyone else blanched white. It dropped after a moment, the point made, and he just looked at them.
One second, then another. Hexid rolled her eyes, but she could see it working. Even the Lords shuffled, the nervous gesture stilled quickly.
"Darth Marr is dead." He said, and his words rolled over the crowd, enhanced. "He released a sith gestalt capable of burning this planet to ashes, then six more threats aside. We dealt with it. Darth Nox enslaved a being with enough potential power to crack the planet's core, and we also dealt with that. These two acts might give you the impression I care about your lives."
Another small silence. "I do not. Some of you might harbor resentment. You might even feel a small surge of power as fear fuels your anger. Some of you will work against the new directive, against the new way of doing things. This is expected. It is planned for. I am here to inform you that this is your only chance. The war is over. You lost. You will be given new orders, new constraints and new officers. Some of those will not be able to use the Force."
"Everyone here has been registered as conscripts. Your officers will have the authority to execute you. Failure will not be punished with death, but sabotage of yourself or your mission will be considered an act of treason." Morgan let that sink in, Hexid humming. A hard approach, but she honestly didn't see any other way of this working. "Do your job, do it well, and you will be afforded the chance to attend lessons on the Force. Pass your exams and you will have the opportunity to join the je'daii. At that point your conscript status will be removed, and you are free to leave, stay or otherwise choose your own future."
Hexid let her eyes roam over the crowd. Some, particularly the fodder, looked interested. The apprentices looked annoyed, angry or contemplative. The Lords could have been carved from stone for all the emotion they expressed.
"I am in charge now." Morgan said, and it was clear it was the last he was going to say. Not a man of long speeches, him. His presence spread out again, and this time he was inflating it. She knew that, how fake the strength was, and that didn't stop it from looming like a mountain. "Reject that fact at your own risk."
One of the fodder kneeled. A young girl, weak even for her station. Then an apprentice joined her, then another fodder, and from there it spread like a wave. Morgan said nothing as hundreds kneeled, until all those who remained standing counted four.
The Lords. Morgan looked down at them, not expectant or proud or angry. Just looked. Lord Phos slowly fell to one knee, the three others with him.
"Hail, my Emperor." Lord Phos whispered, his tone all but dead. "Hail."
The other Lords echoed it, then the apprentices, then the fodder. It didn't last long, perhaps some seconds, and Hexid watched it with interest. When silence fell Morgan didn't leave, not quite yet, and his tone was hard.
"You are mine. My responsibility, mine to command." Darth Caro said. "God help you all."
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
"Run this by me again." Morgan asked, massaging his forehead. "Slowly, this time."
Soft Voice had a shit eating grin on his face, slowing his stride. "Well, your majesty, the cult you liberated from Baras on his fortress moon? The one you ignored, had the Republic house and then forgot about? You know, just after you killed the man? They took four commercial freight ships and are on their way here. Now, let me just savor this moment. I, and by that I mean me, told you so."
"Are you done?"
"No, actually. The True Empire? A bunch of ships fled, either during or before the battle. They're back. Turns out they left the Empire for a reason, and after you massacred their hopes and dreams, you're the next best thing. Some forty odd ships, all looking to rejoin the Empire."
Morgan sighed. "It's not even been three days."
"What did you think was going to happen?" The devaronian asked, shrugging. "You as good as declared yourself Emperor. I'm sure someone will do the same on Korriban, lest they give credit to your claim by inaction, but still. The former one didn't contest it, and that counts for a lot. We need to push up your coronation."
"I haven't slept in forty two hours, personally put down eleven fires and literally everyone is working from dawn to dusk ensuring Dromund Kaas doesn't collapse in on itself. The bureaucrats are only barely falling in line, the emergency food stores have been tainted and four attempts have been made to liberate ships from the sith that fled into the jungle."
"Your point being?"
"No one has time to watch me put on a damn crown."
Soft Voice snorted. "There won't be a crown. A ceremony, yes, but no crown. There is a contingent of priests here, which I already had arrested, but even without it we can find some high-ranking but non-military soul to officiate it. A judge, maybe."
"And we still have no time for it."
"After you're crowned, the sith will quiet down. So will the Empire. This is already one of the most successful hostile conquestes in recent history. The Empire will fall in line if we pretend you're just taking over, not planning to change it from the ground up."
"It shouldn't be me. I don't want it, I'm barely passable at ruling in the first place and I don't want it."
"And as is my duty as your friend, you shall have it regardless." Soft Voice said, tone light. "So suck it up, sit on a chair for a few minutes and let people see what they want to see."
"Power is an illusion, eh?" Morgan said, snorting. "That doesn't work so well when we can shatter steel and slaughter armies."
"Can you organize the entire logistical nightmare of feeding billions? Plan the construction of roads, houses and critical infrastructure? Can you farm food, bake bread, build hover-cars and create medicine? No one rules alone. That goes double when ruling something vast, like a world. Or worlds. Or entire star systems."
"I know, I know." Morgan sighed. "Fine. We'll have the damned ceremony. Now which meeting am I walking into again?"
Soft Voice shrugged. "I'm not your secretary."
"I'm going to have you hanged."
The devaronian laughed, peeling off as Morgan went left. The meeting room was ordinary enough, though in a building with a long history he didn't care about, and inside were more than forty eight people. Four moffs, a few generals, more admirals, high-ranking bureaucrats and all their aides.
"Thank you for waiting." Morgan said, every conversation stopping dead. He took a seat, ignoring the fact it was nicer and bigger than anyone else's. "Moff Uolm, start us off."
The man startled, rising. Probably not how the meeting usually went, but confidence was ever so useful. Made people question if they were the ones unprepared. "Of course, your majesty. The trading vessels postponing their visits have been in talks, and assurance of their safety have been given…"
The meeting rolled on, Morgan paying as much attention as he could. Someone was keeping notes, regardless, and a summarization would be sent to his datapad later, but it was important to be here. To be seen.
It was only after nearly an hour, general Gladiom reporting on the state of his soldiers, that Morgan interrupted by raising a hand. The man stopped as the Force twisted.
Morgan narrowed his eyes. "Assemble the fleet. We're leaving for Korriban within the day."
Protests rose, silenced by a raised hand, and Morgan closed his eyes. It had taken time for the ripples to spread, which meant he could do nothing, but interpreting proved difficult. Not impossible, but requiring his full concentration.
A flash of light, like bombs exploding. Screaming. Millions of souls, all dead nearly instantaneously. Then a jerk, the Force groaning as someone broke the natural flow of life. A man with two faces, bellowing in rage, as an old voice laughed with triumph.
Power, like the birth of a star, then a smirk. A smile, whispering a promise of vengeance against the galaxy.
"We're leaving for Korriban within the day." Morgan repeated, tone hard. "Set a meeting with high command. Kala is promoted to Grand Admiral, Quinn to Field Marshal. Everyone now falls under either one of them."
More protests, confusion and even outrage. Morgan ignored it, leaving the room as his Chosen escort picked up on his discomfort.
No spending a few months getting Dromund Kaas in order. No trying to bleed Korriban dry with spies and assassins. It had to fall, now.
Before the Emperor took command of them.
Afterword
The Warcrowned on Royal Road (pinned comment)
Discord (two chapters ahead for the low, low price of your soul) [Check author profile or pinned comment on the chapter.]