Prophet, Thing of Evil
A KOTOR story by
Yimmy
Chapter 1: A Midnight Dreary
I numbly walked through the Star Forge with Mission and HK at my side. Flashes of green, red, blue, and blood told me of incoming attacks; my continued breathing told me of my victories. Some time ago--ten minutes? an hour? I didn’t know--Mission asked how I was, that she was worried at the way I acted.
I didn’t reply, but that didn’t stop HK. “Statement: Quiet, meatbag. Master requires her concentration for maximum destruction.”
The few more times she tried to talk, well-placed enemies cut her off, leaving me to my thoughts.
And my thoughts consisted of one all encompassing passion: Bastila.
Never one to fight his own battles, no doubt Malak sent her to cut us off. In this case, using Bastila was also the sound tactic: one or both of us had a high chance of dying, leaving our remains for him to mangle afterwards. Forget the Battle Meditation, with the overwhelming forces the Sith had, they didn’t have a use for Bastila’s abilities. Forget taking Bastila as an apprentice, the paranoid warlord would never leave room for another to supplant him. She was a well-positioned pawn, able to strike me down or at least hurt me in ways I’ve only felt once before.
Malak knew this, and he knew I.
Rage bubbled through the numbness, and the unfortunate Sith on the other side of my lightsaber found himself cleaved in half. The soldiers acting as his backup blinked at the gruesome sight, glanced at me, and ran. A hint of grim satisfaction snaked up my spine before I withdrew from the surroundings again.
Bastila. I felt her from our bond. Close, so close I could almost touch her, taste her, surround myself with all that was distinctly her. I sensed how... abused she was, her mind a twisted jumble, sharpened by Malak into another weapon to use against me. Funny how telling her the truth--the truth about the three of us--accomplished most of the task for him.
Damn the Jedi Council. Damn them for their meddling ways, their unyielding restraint, and their venomous lies!
“Selene, you’re scaring me.”
Mission’s voice. I blinked as blood splattered across my face. We were in one of the control rooms deep within the Star Forge and bodies littered the scene. Dark Jedis, their tell-tale sabers clutched in their dead grips, lay in all sorts of conditions from burned to beheaded. Sith troopers big and small piled against each other like a mountain of toys. In front of me, a girl floated, still held four feet off the ground by my Force Choke. She couldn’t have been more than sixteen years old, but the robes she wore signified her place as an apprentice. Her eyes stared past me while her neck and stomach bled.
With a wave of my arm, her corpse flew against the nearest wall, casting an ominous, wet smack into our ears.
“Revan,” I corrected.
Mission shook her head, startled. “What?”
“Selene Jashan is a lie. My name is Revan.”
She just wouldn’t listen. “Don’t lose yourself, Selene,” she urged, eyes widening as she finally caught on to my less than Light Side thoughts, “You’re better than the Sith You... You’re not Revan anymore! First Bastila, now you, you can’t let it happen to you too. What’s going to happen to everyone?”
“Nothing is going to happen to the crew,” I calmly said, not facing her. “I remember what happened to me, and Sith and Jedi alike are going to pay.”
Her firm hand locked onto my shoulder, stopping me from going forward. I didn’t have to see her to know tears streamed down her face. “How can you do this?!” she yelled, moving herself in front of me. “We stuck by you even after we found out who you were. You told us you wouldn’t let us down. All those great things you did, all those people you helped, and now you’re just going to walk away? You were never such a... such a... LOSER!”
“A loser?” I grinned despite myself.
“Observation: That was pretty weak, meatbag. Considering it came from a Wookie lover, I am not surprised.”
Mission was about to explode again, and honestly, I didn’t have time for this. Before she could say another word, I used my powers put her to sleep, catching her in my arms as she slumped. “Bring her back to the Ebon Hawk, HK. You and the others should leave right now.”
“Statement: That would leave Master without a means of escape. Request denied.”
I blinked at him. Interesting. Maybe he needed the proper motivation. “Don’t make me permanently remove your assassination protocol, HK.”
If droids could pale, HK would’ve. Instead, he settled on shifting uncomfortably and generating small, random noises. Such an expressive creation--I was quite proud of myself for making him. A part of me winced for being so stern, but what lay ahead was my business and my business alone.
“Statement revision: Affirmative. I will escort this meatbag to Master’s ship.”
I couldn’t help but add, “And watch after Master Jolee, too.”
Instead of firing back, he slung Mission on his shoulder a little harder than necessary, another sign of his displeasure. “Statement: May Master succeed in her endeavor to retrieve the other meatbag.” As he disappeared up the elevator, I heard him say, “She made you happy.”
And then I was alone. I tucked my lightsabers away and slowly approached a set of double doors, the only other exit to this room. Behind them: Bastila. The awesome flow of energy exuding from there showed her use of Battle Meditation to aid the Sith forces. Our bond still closed to me, I could only guess what else she felt. Did Malak fill her with hate? Anger? I saw her once before, and to see her tainted broke me. That’s when I started remembering, understanding, and accepting myself as Revan.
That’s when I swore Bastila would live to see another day.
They say those attuned to the Force can glimpse into possible futures so they could change the world as they saw fit. I saw those possible futures now, all of them approaching this next room, this nexus, and then exploding outward into infinite fates. Some ended badly, others well, but none were clear. I steeled myself for the unknown and opened the door to my destiny.
Bastila, sitting alone, waiting.
Life began and ended with her. Her long brown hair, soul searching eyes, and blinding spark of life drew me to her, an attraction even the Jedi Masters couldn’t stop. Malak should’ve known better, but he was foolish, so I couldn’t blame him. And after what felt like an eternity of worrying, of pure terror, I was with her again.
Alone.
She smiled at me, shades of corruption marring her perfect features. “Revan, my love.”
My breath caught. She rose ever so seductively, the light somehow accentuating every small movement. A primal urge spurred me on, but I stifled it. This wasn’t my Bastila. This wasn’t the Jedi Council’s Bastila. This was the Sith’s Bastila.
“You came for me,” she drawled, “Like you said you would. I’m... glad.”
Malak’s damnable handiwork was all over her: the sultry voice, the slightly insane look, the predatory movements. “Bastila,” I almost cried, unable to get out any other words.
“Sssssh,” she hushed, placing a finger on my lips, “You remember, don’t you? The Dark Lord Revan has returned.”
Images stirred. Calls to power exploded into my thoughts. Here stood everything I ever wanted, what I started a galactic war for, and I could take her. I sensed how pliable her mind was, all her defenses weakened by days of nonstop torture. I saw the openings Malak left, obviously trying to entice me. Was she his peace offering? Doubtful, most likely other unforeseen traps loomed within. For all my contempt of him, the man had perfected his mind powers to the point of surpassing my own. Who knows what else he picked up in my absence.
The monster... the sick mongrel...
Bastila tried to kiss me, but my body finally responded and pushed her away.
Feigned sadness crossed her face. “You wound my feelings. Didn’t you love me, Revan? Don’t you love me now?”
“Tell your jawless brother to get out here,” I sneered, anger rekindling my resolve and focus. “Malak!” I yelled. “Malak! You again put your sister in harm’s way?!”
All I got for my effort was Bastila’s laughter. “Silly Revan, Malak knows you’ll never hurt me. Now I, on the other hand,” she paused to activate her lightsaber, “am willing to kill you to please my brother.”
Can’t say I didn’t expect this, but to expect and to experience are two different beasts. I barely got out my weapon before she was on me, attacking with ferocity I’d never seen. Aided by her Battle Meditation, her blows rained down from every side, preventing me from recovering and arming myself with my other lightsaber.
“The Dark Side remains strong in you,” she noted as we locked blades, “Why do you fight for a Jedi Council that manipulated you and separated us? Why do you help them when they’ve hurt me?”
What she had in exuberance, I matched with experience and strength. As she distracted herself with her speech, I knocked her off-balance and kicked her away. “The Jedi can burn in their ivory tower,” I said, finally pulling out my second saber. “I’m fighting to free you from the Sith.”
She stumbled for a moment, taken back by my apathy to the Light. “What are you saying? Malak freed me--freed US--from the Council. Without him, you would still be ignorant little Selene, running from world to world to please our puppeteers. With me, he took away the lies they forced on me and showed me the truth.”
“The Sith’s truth,” I spat, “Not even Malak’s truth. He didn’t free you: he only changed your shackles.”
Her weapon streaked from her hands, catching me in the side before I could deflect it. Smiling and buoyed by drawing blood, she lunged at me. “Do not insult my brother, Revan. He warned me of your unorthodox tactics to return me to the Light, but the Dark Side is where my power is, where I belong. I will not be fooled!”
If I wasn’t so concentrated on blocking both her strikes and my painful cut, I would’ve threw my arms up in exasperation. But what did I know? Bastila didn’t listen to me in our youth or when I was Selene. Why would anything be different now?
I parried one of her thrusts and threw an elbow into her stomach. A knock to the hands and a sweep later, I had her flat on her back and disarmed. Stunned, she moaned and coughed in between soothing deep breaths.
“What did Malak tell you?” I asked, my traitorous voice softening.
She ignored me and shambled to her feet. “You’re strong,” she coughed, “but you refuse to shun the Light Side. I tremble at the power you must’ve had when you were the Dark Lord.”
“What did Malak tell you?!” I repeated, echoing through the room.
“He didn’t tell me anything. He helped me remember by destroying the mental blocks the Council put on me.”
“What else did he do?” I pressed, “If your memories are true, we would not be fighting.”
A playful trill of laughter filled the air. “Poor Revan, still blinded by the Light. Your memories are the ones untrue, influenced by your old Masters to fight against us. I know I am well. My dear brother personally saw to my rehabilitation.”
Blood thundered through my body. My face ran hot as if on fire and my hands shook. “Rehabilitation? You call days of torture rehabilitation?!”
Unexpectedly, our bond opened again, revealing to me her inner battle. Malak’s hold over her slipped as stray recollections bombarded her. Sudden images of anguished cries, vicious blows, and all manners of emotional manipulation peppered her psyche. For a moment, her eyes became lucid. “No,” she choked out.
But just like that, I lost the connection.
“No,” she repeated, as if two seconds ago didn’t happen, “Your mind tricks will not save you. Either you will join us again or you will die.”
Years of battling Jedi and Sith taught me things, and keeping a Force user’s lightsaber away from them was definitely one of them. She tried to call her fallen weapon to her, but I had other ideas. Ever since I’d disarmed her, I extended a small part of my powers to holding her weapon down. And now, sure she’d been calling it to her, Bastila quizzically peered at her stationary saber. It didn’t move until I levitated it up and tucked it into my pocket. As she realized what I’d done, her arrogant smile turned into a furious scowl.
I sheathed my lightsabers and plastered on my best shit-eating grin. “If you play nice, I’ll give you back your glow stick.”
Oh how I loved needling her. Sorry, but it was a force of habit.
The woman charging forward, however, was neither annoyed or amused. Insane about summed up her approach. A Jedi worth anything would’ve called upon the Force--Force Lightning, Force Choke, hell, even Force Push--to do combat. A devious person would’ve capitalized on my emotions and tried to seduce me. A person with half a brain would’ve backed off, perhaps to find a blaster to give him or herself a fighting chance.
With a throw I learned from Carth, I had Bastila on her back and pinned to the floor. She gnashed her teeth at me, incomprehensible sounds accompanying her struggles. Her raking nails had nothing on the hurt her empty gaze did to me.
I should know; I taught Malak this.
Sometimes, all the diplomacy, bargaining, trickery, and subterfuge didn’t work. That’s when time came to cut one’s losses, destroy the evidence, and hurt the enemy as much as possible. A good number of Sith recruiters--captured prisoners of our opposition--had a simple failsafe imbedded in them: fail the objective given and be reduced to an animal. Severe the soul from the body, and either the target died by the ex-spy’s hand or the ex-spy died by the target’s hand. On the off-chance there was no killing, the foaming, bestial love one served as a clear reminder of our power.
I taught Malak this, and he used it to great effect. Every day I lived as the Dark Lord Revan, I wished I hadn’t opened my fat mouth.
I... I... I had no idea he’d be so cruel to his sister. No, I did, but I didn’t want it to be true. I... I don’t know what I thought. Before I stopped myself, my tears fell onto Bastila’s face. My beautiful Bastila didn’t even notice, instead straining against my grip to do me more harm. Seeing no other choice, I finally reached into her chaotic mind and calmed her with the Force.
Angry snarls descended into quiet whimpers. The clawing stopped, replaced by soft pawing. None of Bastila returned. I gathered her in my arms and hugged her tight. As I cried, she rested on my shoulder and purred contently, oblivious to my suffering.
Malak perfected this, but I taught Malak: I was still the Master. He might’ve surpassed me in certain areas, but I wasn’t helpless, not by a long shot, not when it came to Bastila.
I tried to apologize, but my voice couldn’t form the words. Felt like all my sins had come to collect their due, taking the only person I lived for in this universe. I fumbled about in her mind to look for signs of her.
A body, but that’s all. Damn it, the woman still had a connection to the Force, but Bastila wasn’t there! Bastila-
No, she was there. Faint, like a dying breath. I nursed her with the Force, giving my entire being to her in hopes of a sign. What I wouldn’t give to hear her--my Bastila--even if all she managed was a arrogant “Hmph.” Very slowly, too slowly for my tastes, the ember of Bastila grew, but her body didn’t respond.
I tensed when her purring stopped. Through the maelstrom of my emotions, Malak’s presence stuck out. I instinctively cradled Bastila and jumped forward, namely “away from foreboding aura.”
Too late. The burn of his lightsaber lashed across my back before I got out of the way. Lucky me: any later and the strike would’ve taken off my head. I had to settle for bleeding profusely.
“How touching.”
I turned to face him with lightsaber in hand, all the while keeping a comforting arm around a scared Bastila. Her fingers dug into my open wound and my eyes grew blurry from tears and blood loss, but Malak didn’t need to know that.
“I recall you saying you only needed my sister in your arms and you could die happy. Aren’t you overjoyed I allowed you this opportunity?”
No words in my considerable, colorful vocabulary expressed my contempt for him. No punishment fit his crimes. He’d betrayed me once and hurt me like none before--I could live with that, forgive him even. When he hurt Bastila, he sealed his fate.
“Ahhhh, yes, anger. The Dark Side feeds on anger as I’m sure you know. For one who arrives so entrenched in the Light Side, you possess many of your old traits, Revan.”
I rolled my eyes. The bastard rehashed old arguments to use every imaginable way to aggravate me. He rubbed in the Dark Side, Light Side garbage while fully knowing my rather unique view. Try as he may, but I saw through his thinly disguised ploy.
I just couldn’t do anything about it.
The sadistic bastard wanted me to suffer. Killing me wasn’t enough: he wanted to kill Bastila before my eyes. In my state, I was no match for him, but like a childhood bully, he required an extra jolt of power. He wanted me broken and begging for a swift death. He wanted the Dark Lord Revan to subjugate herself, die in spirit, then have the husk of her obliterated.
That’s how he worked now, predictable as can be.
“Silence, Revan? This is unlike you. What happened to your witty remarks? Where are the inventive curses and declarations of destruction? Believe it or not, I’ve missed your inane comments. I was hoping to catch up for old time’s sake.”
In my darkest of hours, Bastila kept me on my feet. Now was no exception. Through the commotion of machinery and battle, I heard her weak voice.
“Revan...”
Both Malak and myself stopped fuming at each other to look at her. Fragile like a newborn, she struggled to support herself and make sense of her surroundings.
“Revan,” she whispered again. I beamed in delight when I realized she was using my name as a focus for her strength.
Malak chuckled. “Wondrous, Revan! Unbelievable! You bested my work and snatched her from the brink of madness. By this act alone I am proud to have called you Master.”
He just had to talk, didn’t he? I looked at him with death in my eyes. “Do me a favor and run yourself through your lightsaber.”
“Wishful thinking,” he replied, smirking. “Since you so valiantly saved my sister, I’d be remiss to not show my deep gratitude. I’ll even give you a choice.” The amount of the Force swirling about him startled me. So sudden and enormous--how did he do that? Where did he get the energy? What was his game?
“Would you like to die for her or with her?”
He let out an ear splitting roar and aimed his power at Bastila. Seemed like twenty Jedi lay upon us. He attacked from all angles, physical and mental, wielding the Force like none I’d ever encountered. I instinctively threw a hasty Force Shield around us, taking the brunt of Malak’s punishment myself. I say brunt because unprepared and wounded, I stood no chance. My bones wanted to shatter at the pressure he applied to my body. Shards of me splintered away, consumed by Malak’s power or flung into Bastila’s consciousness. Along with his mental assault came the Force Lightning blistering my skin and cauterizing the angry slash across my back.
I hurt so much I couldn’t gather myself to scream.
A hand caressed my face, and in the tidal wave of pain, a familiar, glimmering sanctuary made itself known. Wanting the hurt to stop, I retreated into it and descended into darkness.
- To be continued...
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