Value Loyalty Above All Else [Star Wars]

Lana closed the door as he finished up the alteration, warping fingers back to their original state. Claws were useful, many predators could attest to that, but not for him. Good practice, though. "And how can I help you, Miss Beniko?"

"You could start with calling me by my first name."

"This didn't seem likely to shape into a casual chat. People have a look about them, sometimes, when they come prepared for an argument."

She folded her arms. "The generals are gone."

"A tragic breakout." He admitted, shrugging. "Jedi can be ever so wily."

"Yet no guard was hurt. Or even inconvenienced, really. Almost like they didn't know about an attack at all."

"Jedi can be ever so sneaky. I'm sure Quinn will reprimand them appropriately."

A scowl flickered over her face, tucked away a blink later. "They broke into a heavily armed, heavily patrolled warship, filled with sith, and stole four high value targets without anyone noticing? Targets encased in carbonite, needing heavy equipment or superior strength to move? Don't lie to me."

"I'm not sure you want me to do that." He stood, turning to face her. "Because then you'll have to make a choice. A choice you might not be prepared to make, with consequences you might not have fully grasped."

Tension spread as she didn't answer immediately, frown deepening. "This is treason."

"Of course it isn't. Failure, maybe, which I will admit some will find indistinguishable, but I am as loyal to the Empire as ever."

"Half truths." She hissed. "Statements that mean nothing. I have followed your way of doing things, sacrificed dominance and fought by your side. Tell me the truth."

Morgan tilted his head. "You came to me expecting something that never existed. Sought things I cannot give you, sacrificed that which you don't value. I owe you nothing, though I am thankful for your assistance. Ask again, and I will tell you the truth. The truth, and all the consequences that come with it."

She hesitated, eyes inspecting the room. There wasn't much to see, just his normal training facility on the Aurora, and he knew she wouldn't have an easy escape. She might be able to hijack a shuttle, assuming she managed to get out of the room, but it wouldn't help. Hyperspace was a field he would claim no expertise in, yet even he knew leaving without the proper procedures would see you stranded or worse. Probably worse.

"Tell me."

"I never planned to kill the generals, war with the Republic is not what I want, and a jedi friend of mine is claiming credit for rescuing them as we speak. A rescue that never took place, since some of my more discreet Chosen delivered them without the need for clandestine foolishness. Now the Republic is satisfied, or at the least no longer forced to start a war, and I bought the time needed to finish my project. A project that will see me survive the wrath Baras would bring upon discovering my so-called betrayal. Which he did."

"I shouldn't have stayed."

"Perhaps not." He agreed. "Yet I gave you the choice. You chose to stay, though I will admit to withholding some important details at the time. Should you wish, departing is still possible as soon as we exit hyperspace. In the interest of full disclosure, I might be starting a civil war."

She stared, disbelieving, and ventured a smile. It dropped when he didn't join. "You're serious. You. That's suicide."

"As I am right now? Yes. Soon, though. Soon it might not be. And I'm not talking about a charge straight to Dromund Kaas. Independence is first, the rest will come in time. But that might very well not be your problem."

"I know about it. You're saying you'll let me walk, clear and free, as you're admitting to treason?"

"Treason." He repeated, tasting the word. "Again you say that. I'm curious, when was I supposed to develop a distinct love for the Empire and its Emperor? Was it when they enslaved me, sending me to die on Korriban? Or in the hell they shoved me in, to be reforged or broken, as luck alone allowed me to live? Afterwards, perhaps, when Baras put golden chains around my neck and ordered me to kill across the stars. When, pray tell, did they ever do anything for me?"

"They made you a sith Lord. Royalty."

Morgan grunted, voice mocking. "Weak. They made me a Lord only when not doing so would have them laughed at. Explain to me, Miss Beniko, when the loyalty was to start. When they expected me to overcome the resentment for stealing my life away."

"So you plan to take revenge?"

"I plan." Morgan exhaled, emotion draining down deep. "I plan nothing. Expect nothing. But I will act to preserve my own life, and at this moment that means surviving Baras. Now, you have that choice to make. Many options, but as I see it you have three. Leave, stay to protect the ship or act against me. And choice, in the end, is all that matters. We are passing curiosities, circling hounds, stalling to see if we like the scent. Time to decide if it's worth the risk."

"And when do you have to decide?"

"Unlike you, I don't have a time limit."

A frustrated grunt escaped her throat, making him shrug, and Lana shook her head. "Betting isn't my style. Either I stay here, risk getting caught into the madness you seek, or leave and meet the chance of something catching up on me when I'm alone."

"You could call it a bet. I like to think of faith, both in yourself and those you love. Leaving now would, most probably, see you make a clean exit. A good idea to lie low for a few months, perhaps, but that would be up to you. The question is, then, if what brought you here is worth it."

"I don't know." She bit, irritation bleeding from her voice. "I dislike not knowing."

"Everyone does. I surely do, but there is value in trust. I'm afraid it's up to you."

Lana shook her head. "You can tell me about the project you've been working on, the one that's making you feel so confident."

"That would be poor secrecy keeping. And confident isn't quite the right word. Hopeful, perhaps, or prepared. I suppose time will tell."

"So you want me to take your word, possibly tie myself to a sinking ship, while making no sacrifices yourself?"

Morgan rolled his eyes. "I do not want you to stay, I am open to the possibility. And the fact you don't have any secrets worth bargaining for isn't my problem."

"Feeling rude, are we?"

"Honest, though I could be mistaken. You have time until we exit hyperspace, let me know before we do."

He was left alone as he got back to practise, building flesh and bone like moulding clay. He reformed the claw, quicker and with sharper nails, before warping it into a crude tentacle. Then a foot, but at that point he admitted he was just stalling.

Avoiding what he feared was coming, no matter how justified this kind of practice was. So he stood, walking slower than he would normally, and entered the small room set aside for Teacher. The holocron sat there, inactive, and for a brief moment he feared. Then it hummed to life, ever so slowly letting the man's presence fill the room, and the voice that escaped sounded tired. Old.

"Ah, apprentice. Good of you to come. What has happened?"

"We left Taris. Baras knows, I felt it, and I've done what I can to prepare for the plan." He sat, tone turning neutral. "I also felt that the next time we speak would be the last."

Teacher hummed approvingly. "Your senses are sharpening. And you were right, of course. I've enough power for years, but the structure is stressed to its breaking point. So much for immortality."

"I could give you a body." Morgan offered, knowing he would fail trying. "A small chance is better than none at all."

"I am old, older than you can imagine, and I am not so afraid of death. Nor eager, or even resigned, but not as fearful as I was when I crafted this artefact. Indulge an old man, show me your progress."

Morgan did, hands shifting form. "All my bones are hardened, Siantide couldn't even scratch it, though I haven't tested it with lightsabers. I'm working on copying kidneys, found a way to pseudo-fly, and had an idea on how to apply the bone strengthening treatment to skin. Suppose I won't have to waste time asking for it here and now."

"Oh? I shall assume resisting Siantide is impressive, but how would you harden skin? More so than I've already shown you, I mean."

"Skin is, for us humans, three layers thick. The outer layer can be compressed, the same as done with bone, and filled with fragments of the same to reinforce it. I'll have to change the other two layers as well, of course, but it would allow for a more resistant exterior."

"Basic biology." Teacher agreed. "But how would you ensure the bone does not shift? Does not detonate when destroyed? Fragments are inherently less stable than their fully formed counterparts."

He rolled his eyes. "Now who's wasting time? Connecting them with a web, a sort of miniature exoskeleton, and phasing that partway into the Force. All the stability without any of the risk, though I'll admit doing so was damned difficult."

"You've got it to work?"

Morgan showed his forearm, a small patch of skin outlined in red. "Stressed the blood vessels a little too much, I'm testing to see how well the body can heal that on its own, but it works. Not as good as the bone treatment, of course, but still an upgrade."

"Well done." Teacher praised. "Would it surprise you to learn I did not think of that? My own experiments ran into destabilisation, I could not find a suitable way to fix it, and the project was abandoned. This is exactly why you don't need me anymore, and why my presence would be more hindrance than help."

"I am not on your level. Not even close."

"Are you not? We will see. The power you hold at any one moment often does not matter as much as growth, and you grow quickly. Experiment and adapt, learn and admit ignorance. You surround yourself with the competent and loyal, are not as blinded as the jedi, and your only true drawback is raw power. Soon that will be fixed too, assuming your project succeeds."

"It will."

"Confidence, good. Resolve will bring you far, but I've talked about that quite enough. My teachings would only close paths you have not even attempted, block creative insight by insisting it cannot be done. We spoke of this already too, though I suppose it would be a while ago for you."

"So this is it?" He asked. "No last minute piece of advice, a story filled with lessons? I don't even know your name. And I know you remember it."

"I have not shared all my secrets, and neither have you. It is healthy to have boundaries as Master and apprentice."

Morgan hesitated, then sighed. "I suppose it doesn't matter. When I arrived on Korriban, sitting in that shuttle confused and afraid, I had a vision. Not the exact right word for it, but it will do. Details and large scale events, secrets and information I should not have. Baras, for example, will most likely declare himself the Voice of the Emperor. Who's quite absent, busy doing something I dearly hope won't happen, and so much more. At first my actions didn't change much, a lowly apprentice working in the shadows, but as time went on? Lana should not be here. Pierce should have been recruited, Quinn revealed to be a traitor. More dangerous things, too. Weapons and technology capable of altering the balance of power forever, things to happen in centuries and centuries. Or not. The accuracy varies."

"I see." Teacher hummed, not nearly as surprised as he should have been. "I wish you had told me sooner, though I understand why you did not. It certainly would have explained some of your stranger actions. You are gifted in more ways than one, I suppose."

"It only happened the once. Back before I even knew how to use the Force."

"What happens once can happen again. Even if it does not, you hardly need it anymore. It makes you more dangerous, yes, but you are not a scared child running from monsters. Nor is this a story where I shall die having uttered my last words. No. I am the master of my own fate, and I shall die by my will alone."

"At least tell me your name. Tell me to whom I owe my life."

Teacher laughed mirthlessly, sounding distant. "You cannot fathom how long I've lived in this holocron. This is not an insult, none that have not lived it can, and time changes people. I am not who I was as an apprentice, he not as I was a sith Lord. Me at my death, however unconventional, is not the same as I am now. I would scarcely recognize the man, nor would he look fondly upon you. I made so many mistakes in my life, only truly learning from them after my death. Do not mourn the man I was. I will not."

The Force condensed around the holocron, more than he'd felt Teacher use in a long while, and Morgan half stood. "What are you doing?"

"Sit down. I am simply preparing things, I've had long enough to think it over, but I won't leave without saying a word. No. This holocron is filled with knowledge about fleshcrafting, more so than I dare say any other repository in the galaxy, and I won't have it die with me. It will be, for all intents and purposes, a regular holocron."

"Isn't that dangerous?"

"It would be, if I do not configure your signature as the only rightful owner. I do not doubt some enterprising Darth would be able to open it, in time, but for now it will belong to you and you alone."

"A library of knowledge is a poor substitute for a teacher."

Teacher snorted, the holocron dimming yet again. "My death is not going to be some pun. I do retain some sense of honour. But the universe conspires against me, as it often does, and if I wish to have enough power left to make the changes this will have to be goodby. Remember that we are in the business of bending cosmic powers to our unbreakable will. Fifty four years I waited on Korriban since the one before you proved arrogant beyond belief. Dozens more before that. You alone proved worthy of my legacy, proved worthy to be my pupil. Goodbye, apprentice. I have faith that the very stars will bow soon enough."

"Thank you." Morgan whispered, the Force spiking briefly before growing calm. Teacher's holocron went inert, making him reach for it. "For everything."

Interfacing with it felt almost wrong, working past the puzzle with comfortable ease, and as it opened no voice drifted out. No mind reached out to take control of it, nor did it work to organise the information stored within. A query and detailed logs returned about grafting species of predators, splicing dna to create new life, and he retreated with a sigh.

He knew it had been coming, they'd tried and failed to stop it, yet somehow it still caught him off guard. Morgan closed his eyes, sinking deep into the Force and sending a greeting to the Other hanging around. It tasted his emotions and sent a greeting of victory, unable to see death as anything but a rival removed.

Not stopping to explain, even if he succeeded he wasn't sure it would care, he felt around. The ripples of Teacher's last act still drifted out, growing weaker and disappearing soon after, but no trace could be found of the man himself. No Force ghost to smirk at him for thinking death was the end, no message from beyond the grave. Morgan watched the last waves calm, then stood.

"Goodbye."

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Vette looked at him curiously as the holo connected, only having been onboard for maybe an hour, and already he knew she suspected something. Two days he'd told not a soul, no one questioned a thing, but it seemed she knew him better than most. A derisive grin itched to show itself, Morgan pressing it down. Of course she knew him better than most.

He'd been off his game, a horrible time for it, so maybe talking would help. And before any of that could take place, Bundu would have to be spoken to. The plan had gone smoothly, returning the generals and leaving in the confusion, but he'd rather get confirmation. "Lord Caro."

"Jedi Knight Bundu Argrava." Morgan replied, rolling his eyes. "This is going to take a while if we're using our full titles."

Bundu smiled, appearing in a good mood. "I have time. War is avoided, the generals are angry but complying with orders, and you escaped in the confusion. A good outcome, I would say."

"Complied?"

"The senate has finally put a committee together to deal with the situation." The jedi answers, tone wry. "They've been very effective in one regard and one only, they outrank the War Trust. The second they heard two sith Lords were on the planet, and having since left, they ordered no aggressive action of any kind. No tracking, surveillance, nothing. Congratulations, your plan worked."

Morgan straightened. "Of course it did. I am, after all, a military and tactical genius. Correction, I employ military and tactical geniuses. Close enough. Their success is my success, their failure is their own, something like that. Did you get a medal?"

"I don't exist." Bundu waved. "A nameless jedi has been credited with their rescue, all records of my presence erased. I dislike being known."

"No medal, then. How about me?"

"You're unpopular. I understand why you came to Taris, most do not. I would not return anytime soon. And that reminds me, will you need assistance? I do not know what Darth Baras will send, nor what your plan is, but I would help if I can."

"Kind, but no. This is something I have to do on my own."

Bundu leaned closer, frowning. "Is this an ego thing? Those are good for nothing but making oneself feel better."

"It will be proof." Morgan said, exhaling slowly. "Proof I am ready for the next step. Do not worry, my friend. It needs to be done."

"So it seems. Be careful, and do not forget allies exist for a reason. Nor that those wielding the Force still need breath, should an opportunity present to take care of the problem. And having said that, I need to go. We will speak later about Gasnic and Kell?"

Morgan nodded, the communicator went dark, and Vette raised an eyebrow. "Did he just suggest spacing anyone that got in your way? How terribly ruthless of him."

"I think it was more along the lines of blowing up their ships if I can't beat them in combat. Which, admittedly, doesn't sound any less effective."

She skipped over, one hand locking the door. "Right then. You've been hiding something, which is a terrible habit, and you're going to spill. I doubt it, but, if someone's been bothering you, I can kill them easily enough. Just saying."

"I don't need to outsource my killings." He shot back, sighing. "Teacher's dead. Preserved his holocron and the knowledge therein, but he's gone."

"Ah. I'm sorry. Would it be callous to ask a question?"

"Ask away. He was, above all, created to preserve knowledge. He grew, or stopped pretending to be limited, but he never lied about that."

"How can he be dead if the holocron still works?" She leaned against him, nudging his arm over her shoulder. "Sorry, I'm terrible at grief counselling."

Morgan shook his head, a small smile on his face. "You really are. Holocrons are strange things, I do not fully understand them myself, but they are, essentially, informational storage devices. Ones that need the Force to interact with, and are infused with it in turn. He found a way to copy a mind, store it within, and have that be a curator for the knowledge. To serve as memory, in a way."

"I follow."

"Right. Holocrons can last for a long, long time, but not forever. And the greater the strain, the shorter it lasts. Neither was it constructed as he'd originally planned, spending most of his time in hibernation as a result, until I came along. Someone requiring active tutoring and interaction, which compounded the issue. But now that he is gone, so is that strain. Just a normal holocron filled with fleshcrafting journals, details and experiments."

"Cutting his life short to preserve it. He never lacked spine, I'll give him that."

He snorted. "That he did not. I'm going to miss him."

"So that's what this proving yourself thing was about? Testing if you're ready to stand on your own two feet?"

"As I told Bundu."

"No it's not, not everything." Vette looked at him, eyes narrowed. "You're angry. Angry enough to want to burn the world to ashes. But your code won't let you, so you find an excuse to vent. To hurt people that deserve it. Don't let that lead you too far, alright?"

He startled, if briefly, and his smile widened. "You really do know me better than almost anyone, don't you?"

"Almost?"

"Then anyone." He amended, kissing her forehead. Vette preened, a self-satisfied grin on her face. "I need to get back to training, but before that I have a favour to ask."

"I'd give you the universe."

Morgan looked at her with a tolerant eyeroll. "You focus on conquering the criminal underworld, I'll take care of the rest. And in direct contradiction to that, I need you to steal a planet."

"Is it Ryloth? If so I've got a head start."

"Not Ryloth, no. Makeb."

She tilted her head back and forth. "Not to sound modest, Goddess forbid, but I sort of have my hands full with just the one. Watta you want it for?"

"I don't care about the planet as much as one of its resources, isotope-5. Makes superfuel, if I remember correctly, and makes ships go fast-fast. It's controlled by the hutts, though again details are fuzzy, but sooner rather than later people will figure out how valuable it is. I'd prefer to control it by then, or at least have a good stockpile."

"Superfuel, right. How super are we talking?"

He shrugged. "Outrun and outmanoeuvre anyone not using it. Really good stuff, won't matter if the formula hasn't been invented yet. Still, I would like the raw resources just in case."

"You don't know if it's been invented yet?"

"Nope. Know it will, though. Can you do it?"

"Of course I can do it." She replied, insulted. "I'll divert some people, dip into my funds. Questioning my ability, the nerve. This doesn't count as your gift."

"You don't need to get me a gift. Skipping your protests, I need to mess with my skin. Wanna watch? Unless you have other work."

"I'll come. Whatcha messing with your skin for?"

"Making it denser, growing an pseudo-exoskeleton, fusing some of it into the Force. That sort of thing. Should make me more durable."

"Cool."

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Draahg suppressed his growing desire to attack first, eyeing the four sith Lords with him. Hirelings, a word he used with scorn, and without a loyal bone between them. They didn't even appear to trust one another, occupying a corner each in the room they were in, and he questioned why this was necessary.

Lord Caro, a name that had come too early and without a proper trail, was someone who he could take care of on his own. It was clear enough the man possessed smaller than average reserves, no matter his skill, and he most assuredly wasn't above pulling the man limb from limb without ever drawing his lightsaber.

The same could not be said for his supposed help. The only thing the four of them hated more than each other was him, being a Dark Council member's apprentice and all, and their presence made the job harder rather than easier.

"I broke seven jedi without receiving a single wound." Mandos sneered, making Ellaria scowl. "You will not ridicule my legacy."

Oletus grunted. "They were padawans, barely knights, and everyone knows you ran when their masters came to hunt you. I, on the other hand, killed a sitting member of the jedi council."

"She was ninety four." Ellaria dismissed, hand on her lightsaber. "Hadn't fought outside a sparring room in decades. I seduced two Knights to the Dark, played with them for months until they killed each other fighting for my favour."

Omarus was the only one he had hope for, really. The man kept quiet, had an air of competence about him, and let his record speak instead of bragging about it. Draahg nodded to the man, receiving one in turn.

"Be silent." He commanded, hearing blessed peace descent over the room. "You are here because Darth Baras has acquired your service, and I am in charge of this operation. If anyone has a problem with that, we will resolve that here and now."

No one challenged him, though he could see Ellaria calculating the odds. Fuck her. If she didn't die, and if plan A didn't work, he was going to ensure they had a go first. He might keep her. Fuck her in a more literal sense. Or maybe not. She had the look of someone more eager to stab than serve. He'd have to keep an eye on her after Caro was dead.

"What's the plan?"

Draahg flicked his hand to the hallway. "Major Plium and his men will ensure we are not disturbed while we find, kill and erase Lord Caro from existence. Then we destroy his base of power, thoroughly, and you will be released from service."

"Lord Caro has rumours surrounding him." Oletus said, sounding surprisingly cautious. "Dangerous rumours. He defied your Master, right? A Darth. What if he has good reason to be that bold?"

"We outnumber him five to one, and those same rumours say his reserves are nothing to be impressed with. Even should he prove our equal in lightsaber combat, something which I doubt, raw power alone will see us win the day."

Ellaria grinned, licking her lips. "I wonder if Greatos and Hellbaster thought the same. I met them once, did you know? Worked with them for a time. Nothing special, I will admit, but they earned their Lordly titles. I suppose I cannot tempt you to let me keep Caro for myself? It would be oh-so-fun to break him."

"No." Draahg sent a glare at the assassin, flaring his aura. She backed down with a pout. "Darth Baras was clear, his will absolute. Omarus, can we count on your sorcery to break his regeneration?"

"You can."

"Good. Oletus, Mandos, you both served as marauders. The three of us will keep him contained, Ellaria to take advantage of any openings, and Omarus to counter his fleshcrafting. This is assuming he will not die the moment we lay eyes on him, but Ellaria makes a point. Jedi Masters and sith Lords have died to the man before, I will not join them."

The door opened as the major finally arrived, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. The man bowed, more towards the room than anyone in particular, and his tone was carefully subservient. Draahg approved. "Major Plium, reporting as ordered. How can I assist?"

"We are soon to discard of a traitor, you and your men will assist us. How many under your command?"

"Eleven hundred, my Lord. We are honoured to assist. May I inquire as to the description of your target?"

Draahg flicked out his hand, the holo displaying Caro's figure. The major studied it dutifully, bowing low after a second. He let his hand drop. "He might have his own men with them, those so called Chosen, and your primary duty will be to contain and destroy them."

"I understand." Hesitation filled the man, though fear overpowered it. "Would the target be another Lord, sir?"

"He was named on Korriban, and I will not add to his pretender legend by explaining more. Is your duty clear, major?"

The threat was, even if the words had failed. Draahg dismissed him with a jerk of his head, the soldier bowing again. Irritating the Aurora blocked him from shuttling his own men down to the planet, but it would have to do. Soon enough they, and everyone else, wouldn't be a problem anymore.

"Remember, my fellow Lords." Draahg spoke, turning back towards the room. "Fail me and Baras will make you beg for death. Let's go."

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Snow covered his boots as he walked towards the knot of life, the cold unable to cling to his body. A look up and Morgan spied his two ships in orbit, glad his communicator was set to emergency only. It was doubtful whoever came would be alone, Kala had raised more than a few possibilities, but she would take care of it.

Vette had looked at him like he'd gone crazy, insisting on going alone, and the memory brought a smile to his face. A bit zealous, his girlfriend, but her heart was in the right place. She'd gone quiet when he'd shrugged, not so subtly implying everyone else would die if they came along.

He was the one with Phrik armour, if not a full suit, and he was the one with the plan. Everything else was left behind, only a lightsaber hung on his belt, and whatever notes he had made left behind on the ship. He'd memorised them anyway, and since this was the first time he would test with an actual specimen, they weren't that useful.

At least Baras wasn't coming. The Other he'd asked had told him the great-leash-holder hadn't moved, and immediately followed that up with annoyance. Not happy to be used as a spying service, clearly. Maybe one day he'd find one that was.

Still, Hoth had a beauty to it. A reminder that nature still held sway in some places of the galaxy. The freezing temperatures alone would make it ruinous to colonise, there were few enough resources to make it profitable, and as a result it was near untouched by mortal hands.

Especially here, far away from any signs of civilization. The shuttle had been left behind a while ago, making sure any interested party would mark it as unusual, and his pilot had been more than willing to abandon him on Hoth. It had made him chuckle, seeing there were still some people with sanity under his employ.

He didn't know how long he had, not really, but strangely enough he felt in no need to rush. Sith Lords would glare like beacons in the Force, especially here, and he would know soon enough if his plan would work. If it didn't, well. It would work.

What didn't work was his tracking ability. The Force was more concentrated around living things, even those not organic in some cases, but the prey he was looking for was small to begin with. Add to that their natural fighting and stealth abilities, neither of which had detailed accounts, and minutes turned to an hour as he scouted across the frozen wasteland.

Yet he still didn't feel rushed. Still didn't feel like time was running out, or his effort was wasted. And, as he felt the Force swell above, his patience was rewarded. The beast's eyes watched him with territorial rage as it displayed a mouth full of teeth, uncaring about their difference in size.

Morgan shrugged and stepped forward, crossing two dozen feet in a moment. It startled, whirling around like only those using the Force can, but before it could bite him he picked it up.

The cricet hissed furiously as it was lifted off the ground, reminding him of an oversized hamster. Full of anger, too, but that was probably due to him being a Force user. A long, long evolutionary path, with their own numbers being their largest competitors, clearly gave them excellent senses.

It also made them resistant to the Force, while able to use it themselves, and he'd been surprised to find no Lord had bred an army out of them. Perhaps sith alchemy didn't play nice with them, and he sent a probe to find out.

Which shed a distressing amount of power as it pushed through its hide, forcing him to reinforce it twice before stabilising. Any less control and all he'd be able to do was kill it, nevermind make any alterations. But he did have the mastery, so he poked. Coaxed a little patch of skin to change colour.

Again, more power was required than he expected, making him smile. This part, at the least, was going to plan. Then the skin shed his alteration like water, reverting after a few seconds, and he sighed. More experiments were needed, but it seemed there was a good reason no one had weaponized them before.

Good thing that wasn't what he wanted them for, then. A moment and the cricet was immobilised, their innate resistance overcome, and he sat cross-legged in the snow. He cast out his perception, senses honing on the Dark, and found four signatures screaming towards the planet. A breaching pod?

Quick, maybe, but most would be leaving it with broken bones. He tilted his head, eyes closed, and peered deeper. Not four at all, were they? Five. By the lack of suddenly disappearing Lords, they came with backup. A shame. Bundu's suggestion had been a good one. The signature flickered as another tried to trace his own presence, Morgan letting the Force fall over him like a blanket.

Not fool-proof, not against someone capable of doing that, but it would buy him time. A twist of his hand and the little hamster-thing was lying on his lap, fear finally penetrating its fog of fury. "It's alright, small one. Unlike some stories you might have heard, I won't need to dissect you to make use of your secrets."

Because that was his biggest problem, wasn't it? His reserves couldn't be grown forcefully, not without horrific side effects, but what did he really need it for? Not for mobility, fleshcrafting or killing. No. He needed defence. To stop those suitably powerful from overwhelming his shields, no matter the skill. And if he could combine his ability to bleed attacks before reaching him with innate resistance? A resistance that would not interfere with his use of the Force?

Well. Small or not, these little things were a biological miracle. A miracle he was going to steal without shame or delay. Which, as he looked closer, made him blink. "Right, so. Any chance you'd tell me how it works?"

The cricet didn't answer, naturally, though he wished it could. Its flesh was just flesh, bone nothing more than a hardened calcium mixture. The Force reinforced it, primitive and wasteful, but from what he could see nothing special about it.

Nothing for it, then. He took his left pinkie and copied one of its claws, flesh shifting to adhere to copy that of the cricet. Which, in moments, it did. He flexed the furry digit, preparing to warp it back to normal.

The Force resisted his own manipulation like it had for the hamster, making his efforts clumsy at best, and what little he could do was reversed within seconds. Then his soul flexed as something else fought for control, a feeling he'd never truly felt before, and he cut off the finger. The struggle subsided, making him shake his head.

"How in the hell does that work, then?"

He dived deeper, getting used to the interference as time slipped by. Then more time still, feeling the Lords coming closer and closer. At least it seemed none were going for the ships, which was good. Lana should be able to deal with a lone assassin, which would be the only one capable of sneaking past him, and his apprentices weren't as helpless as they'd once been. Still, better for him to take care of this.

A scowl passed over his face as he abandoned his latest attempt, contemplating if he should go deeper into the snow. But his pursuers were just as fast as him, and had more power to burn regardless, so no. This would simply have to work.

Simply, right. The cricet, surprisingly, had warmed to him. Not nuzzling, exactly, but it stayed still as he relaxed its paralysation. Strange behaviour for a predator, but he took it in stride. It wouldn't be able to pierce his skin regardless, not deeply, and any wounds would heal in moments.

Time for drastic measures, he decided. Morgan strained as he focussed on the animal, examining every inch of flesh and brain and organ, while simultaneously attacking it with a hundred little probes. Not enough to overcome resistance, the little thing actually seemed to enjoy it, but enough to stress its defences. It took power he wished to preserve, draining reserves, but at least he was getting somewhere.

Every minute that passed saw his executioners coming closer, bounding along the snow like madmen possessed, and for a strange moment he thought they knew what he was doing. Not that it mattered, really.

And then, moving on to its soul to see if it would yield any secrets, he paused. Examined again, feeling stupid for not doing so immediately, because it was the same thing that had fought him for control. How could anything could see that as a viable strategy for survival?

Its soul wasn't where it should be. They technically weren't a thing, so to speak, so he saw no reason why this shouldn't work, but no one had even raised it as a possibility. Teacher's holocron hadn't even mentioned that it existed, let alone having found live specimens. Shunting parts of his body into the Force was one thing, doing so with the center of his being was another.

Through every cell, every muscle fiber and drop of blood, the cricets soul shined. In a layer below that of the material, an exact copy of its body existed. Not as a template, or potential growth in dna, but a living, breathing being. No wonder changes didn't take. No wonder the Force was hindered and their bodies were reinforced.

And it would mean his death. He'd gambled, took a risk, and lost. This was one thing he couldn't copy with fleshcrafting, not from the little beast. No unique shield pattern, inlaid in dna, he could mimic. He would have to fuse his soul partway into the Force, become as they were. With no time to test - fragments of bone barely counted -, experiment or consult experts.

Not that any existed. Or if they did, they sure weren't going to mention how it worked. He wouldn't.

A sweep revealed his enemy to be close, too close, and Morgan looked at the cricet. "I'm going to name you Fortuna, little one, and Lana was right. Not knowing sucks."

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Omarus raised a hand, causing the others to halt. Draahg sent an annoyed look at him, one he ignored, and he observed the strands of fate. "Something has changed."

"Can you be any more vague?" Ellaria complained, hand itching to her lightsaber. "You haven't exactly been keeping your end of the bargain."

"Lord Caro covers his tracks well."

Oletus smirked, confidence all but leaking out of him. "You were supposed to track and then keep him from using his healing abilities. Are you completely useless, or just half?"

"This brings us nothing." Mandos interrupted. "Lord Draahg, what say you?"

"We keep the mission. Omarus, is he close?"

"Lord Caro is no longer hiding." He replied, pointing. "Not as he was. Two clicks east-north-east. I advise caution."

The others dismissed him with their usual disdain, making him shrug. They could not see as he did, had not witnessed what he had. The Force surged and watched as one of its favoured changed, beings he feared flocking to this place. Curious and angry, eager and afraid. He withdrew his sight, lest he be dragged under.

When they did find him, not a minute later, Omarus cocked his head. His contacts had spoken of an armoured man wielding knives and lightsaber, which was what he saw, but something was off. The knives were sheathed, not orbiting, and he seemed calm. His senses fuzzed as he pierced closer, a shielding technique he had never encountered before.

This was wrong. Too little was known, too much attention was being drawn. He turned to the others. "We should retreat."

Draahg looked over with an annoyed twitch, face blank. How did any of them perceive, he wondered, blind as they were to the truth of things? Their leader turned away, dismissiveness written over his body, and Omarus reached back into the Force.

Tracing his own path was something he had done for years, decades, and had saved his life more times than he could count. It showed him not what would happened if he fought, yet fleeing would have him hunted down and killed. A shame.

"Ellaria, go stealth. Ambush him if you can, join us if you can't." Draahg looked at the man waiting for them, who seemed not in the slightest hurry, and scowled. "Oletus, Mandos, you're with me. If we can't pull his body apart, cut him down. Omarus, keep him from regenerating."

"As you say." He reached over, pressing down on the man's shields. Filling his body so any change would grow sluggish, any attempt at repairs twisting into failure. The moment he did a thing of horror hissed at his soul, incensed at his invasion, and power bled like mad as energy passed through flesh. Omarus winched, withdrawing. "He is unlike any I have felt."

Draahg paused, turning to him. "What does that mean?"

"I am unable to prevent his regeneration" Omarus shook his head, considering. "I request we withdraw."

"Fuck this."

The Force swelled as Draahg drew on it, crafting an attack capable of levelling buildings. It raced towards their target, intent on crushing his body into fine paste, and the moment it left the sith's body the man injected it. Omarus watched large fissures appear as the technique was drained, memorising how it was done. He should be able to learn something.

It was not, however, drained to failure. And true to all reports Lord Caro did not feel strong in the Force. Yet, as it impacted and should have injured him greatly, the sith Lord smiled. A grin that etched deeper as his eyes glowed, kicking off towards them.

Fast. Omarus flicked his lightsaber to hand as Oletus blocked a deceptively simple overhead strike, guard breaking as Caro pressed. The man was spared a gruesome death as Mandos came from the side, blade keening, and his attacker was forced to abandon the assault. Oletus flinched as he tried to capitalise, mental shield straining, and any opening they created vanished.

Draahg joined them as he himself fell back, taking the time to create a proper assault. The Force split in a thousand tendrils as he sent them racing towards the man, intent on piercing his shield, and Lord Caro didn't even attempt to pull them apart. Ignored the attack entirely, actually, and the moment they passed his flesh Omarus understood why.

They withered, draining of power until they accomplished less than nothing. The man's shield seemed to coo as it blocked, tracing the attack back to him. That thing again, meaning neither of his failures were isolated.

Omarus shut the connection, focus returning to the fight. It was, in a word, going. They were not winning, and contrary to his earlier words this came as a surprise, but neither was he. Forced to dodge and block more and more, giving ground as his three attackers smoothed their union.

Then Lord Caro stuttered, a clear lure, and Oletus fell for it almost eagerly. Wishing for the glory, perhaps, but it didn't much matter. The weakness vanished like it had never existed, hand reaching out. Not in a punch, or even a slap, but a grab. Oletus bled terror into the Force as his throat was savaged, pulled open with unyielding fingers.

Their leader punished the move, raking lightsaber over metal and flesh, and it did not penetrate as it should. Slowing for just a splinter of a second, allowing the man to angle his body. The wound was shallow, balance of body was regained, and they were down one Lord.

Almost. Oletus staggered towards him, a crude construct stemming some of the blood. Omarus inspected it briefly, shaking his head. He had no skill in healing, not passed the basic, and that wound was beyond him. The Dark fled his dying ally as the man collapsed, colouring the snow red.

Draahg pressed the attack as he took a moment, sending an almost lazy mental assault that went nowhere. What did he learn? Force resistance of a variation he hadn't seen before, recent and strong. Strength brutal enough to gore heavily reinforced flesh, his own slowing lightsabers. Quick, well trained, but not fighting clean.

Not used to the strength, not entirely. Not yet. Another recent ability, but less so than the resistance. Capable of bypassing mental shields, defences that seem almost alive. Omarus looked at his dead ally, frowning. Rage.

Rage was what he felt, buried under all that discipline. Anger and wrath and fury, their attack serving as an excuse to let loose.

"Help us, you braindead fool." Mandos barked, skipping back from a kick. Draahg paid the price, blocking a blow he should have dodged. The creaking of bone interrupted the whine of plasma and harsh breathing, the Force spiking as he pushed their target back. Another wound scored, deeper this time, but the man seemed to barely feel it. "Now, or I'll kill you myself."

Omarus nodded, taking most of his reserves and surrounding the Lord. The man's eyes narrowed as planes of power blocked his path, limiting movement. A dodge was used to test their strength, the blow making Omarus wince, but they held.

Which was when Ellaria made her appearance, lightsaber unerringly finding flesh. She smiled with a wicked gleam to her eye, bending over to whisper in his ear as she all but draped herself over his shoulder.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Morgan cursed as the shield held, risking a look towards the sorcerer. The man would have to die, soon, or no amount of resistance was going to matter.

Another cut was earned when Draahg hemmed him in, the sith getting used to his style of fighting. He couldn't spare the time to heal it, something that took a distressing amount of concentration, and he pushed back to urge the mock himself.

Like power ever came without a price.

Then their assassin made her play, the Other tightened around his shield whispering a warning, but he had no time to spare. Nor, unless he misunderstood the planes and his own positioning, could she ambush him at all.

Draahg ripped the woman off him as he hissed, red mist covering a wound that must have wrecked his heart. She giggled, veering well into the deranged, and clapped as Morgan took the distraction to punch the man.

His fist shattered bone as he stepped after him, lightsaber blocking lightsaber, and grabbed his arm. Morgan pulled, tearing the man off balance, and collapsed his throat as he fell. The woman laughed again, eyeing the dying Lord. "Don't be cross, Mandos dear. All perfectly legal. Baras wishes for a new apprentice, this one seemed to have failed him, and offered me the position. Such is life."

Morgan ignored the byplay, making a ruin of his fellow apprentice's body with a touch. Draahg surged instead, surprising him, and a second lightsaber cut through his chest. Pain bloomed as Morgan staggered back, the plasma slowing on his ribs. His grip tightened on the man's shoulder, shattering bone, and telekinesis ripped out the blade.

Plague gripped flesh and the sith stilled, full concentration bending to keep himself from being overwhelmed. Good enough. He stepped away, flesh hissing as he encouraged muscle to regrow. Slow. So terribly slow. Damn that man, cutting past the Phrik coating his vitals.

"And you chose now?" Mandos asked, seeming actually annoyed. "Not afterwards, or even before, but right when we had him cornered?"

"It'll be better if I kill Caro myself. Shall we?"

The sorcerer sighed, Morgan more than happily taking the moment to continue healing. Muscle was on the verge of tearing and his flesh was nearing its breaking point, neither of which was quick to repair. Fortuna should have warned him that fusing the soul removed his ability to copy from its template, the adorable bastard. Now he had to do it the hard way, something not all that easy in the middle of a fight.

Nor had he realised how much he'd come to rely on it, even before he realised the soul held a template of the body.

"You seek a larger share of glory not yet earned. Your stealth is compromised by the thing murmuring secrets, any cooperation we had soured by your betrayal."

"Don't be like that. Help me kill him and I'll tell you where to find an old tome of Lord Naga Sadow. Mandos, I'm sure I have something to tempt you with. Breeda, perhaps? I know where she ran off to. You could have her again, own her again, and all you need to do is help me kill The Fleshcrafter Lord."

A last link laid and his muscles relaxed, working on skin as he watched them bargain. If this had been a team of jedi Masters he'd be dead twice over, making it the only time to date he was glad to be fighting sith Lords. Not the first time he'd made a comparison like that, either.

"Our target is using this time to regenerate. If we plan to attack, we should do so now."

Morgan sighed internally as Mandos turned, keeping his face blank, and sent out a light wave of terror. The Other cooed again, this one had the habit of doing that, and did so louder as the sith hesitated. Morgan raised an eyebrow. "Come and see, ye mighty."

Ellaria scoffed while Omarus called on the Force, Mandos moving like he'd never paused. Too much to hope they'd fall to infighting completely, he supposed. Still, three was better than five.

Unfortunately, their sorcerer seemed to be actually trying. Morgan didn't stand still again, which meant he'd lost a lot of power building those planes, and almost the second he had that thought they began moving. Trying to box him in, limit movement so the other two could attack together.

And then he began throwing mental attacks like it was going out of style. Most bled fiercely as they passed through flesh, even if he didn't pull them apart before, but that wasn't perfect. His reserves began dropping, slowly but steadily, and he grunted.

Eighty percent resistant, by his reckoning. An effective five times increase to his reserves when it came to defence. Even if healing was harder, and slower, that was a better boost in power than he'd dare hope for. But he was also outnumbered five to one, treachery notwithstanding, and the man was good. Well crafted assaults, distracting or striking at the worst of moments.

Ellaria disappeared as he took a step back, losing sight of her for just a moment, but this time he was watching for it. Her mind still blinked, aiming to stab him in the back, and he took the split second between Mandos aiming to take his hand, the planes moving to break his balance and the sorcerer taxing his shields to tear into her mind.

She stuttered back into visibility, eyes bleeding, and he followed it up with another. Her already damaged mental defences were bypassed easily enough, the second worst after that fellow who's throat he ripped out, and shattered them from within. Cracking them like an egg, which granted him full access to her mind.

The woman's presence surged as she filled her head with power, aiming to slow him until the others could force him to disengage, and Morgan almost scoffed. He wasn't some brute, needing seconds to craft attacks. His tendrils dug into her mind like the knives he'd left behind, making her collapse.

He was about to finish her off when Omarus shielded her, great domes of power flickering into existence around her body, and Morgan didn't have the time to find their flaws. Mandos had already sliced part of his leg when he incapacitated her, moving to drag the lightsaber upwards, so he broke the attack and stepped away.

The planes rushed to block more space, almost screaming as they pushed the wind aside, and he kicked the marauder to create distance. The man dodged, as he should have, and Morgan healed his injured leg. Only to be forced to abandon it when it proved more difficult than he expected, containing the burns instead. Too used to being able to heal in seconds, he admonished.

Mandos smelled weakness as Morgan switched tracks, interpreting a look at Ellaria for being distracted. The Other giggled as the man tried to break his shield, bleeding so much power it felt more like poking. The thing ate some of it, too, which surprised him. Did the lost power go straight into the Force, allowing it to feed? That would explain where the energy went.

Morgan grunted as the lightsaber entered his gut, missing the Phrik again, and angled himself just right to avoid the spine. He grabbed the man as the sith basked in the supposed victory. Bad habit, that. Mustn't have fought many Lords before. Mandos flinched back, avoiding having his neck broken, so Morgan settled for an arm. It tore as the marauder screamed, detonating the Force in a crude telekinetic wave.

He went with it, turning to avoid the near fall, and the rest became a whisper against stone. He took the man's distracted mind and broke it, that split second where he was too lost in pain, before turning to Omarus. Mandos fell with lifeless eyes, cerebral cortex reduced to a jagged mess.

The tube shaped wound stopped burning as he soothed the cauterised flesh, keeping the see-through hole. The sorcerer recalled his planes, all five shrinking in size to serve as shields, and stopped. Not running, nor looking like he was waiting for the opportunity, but allowing Morgan to attack.

He did, latching a thousand threats to ice as he kicked off. Snow sprayed as they allowed him to retain traction, flying at the man quick enough turning would be difficult. The shield intercepted him, predictably, and he shifted. His leg moved, energy flowing through it until his muscles screamed, and broke the thing whole.

It also stole near all his momentum, twisting down and sideways. The lightsaber passed within inches of his neck, so close yet too far, and his own separated legs from torso. Omarus fell without a sound, directing his planes to force him away. Morgan grunted as one clipped him, anchoring himself before he flew too far.

The sorcerer rose with legs of black tar, disregarding his flesh with a near casual ease. His four remaining shields orbited his body as power rushed to the man, left eye clouded while the other watched him. Morgan could almost taste the future as the Other thrummed, detaching from his defences. It confused him, briefly, and then he saw why.

Fortuna landed the same moment he refocussed, having aimed straight for the neck and missing as Omarus leaned. The distraction worked wonders, allowing Morgan to envelop defences, and that interrupted the siths concentration. A step and he was within the man's guard, his lightsaber only just moving, and his sliced through skull.

Peace returned as Morgan straightened, covered in blood and more tired than he remembered being for a long time. Fortuna jumped on his shoulder, nuzzling his neck, and he petted the little thing. Creatures of blood and conflict, he found, so he supposed he shouldn't be too surprised it took a liking to him.

Yet two still lived, so he turned and walked back. Draahg appeared stable, surprisingly, though unable to move past a crawl. Ellaria, on the other hand, had struggled to her feet. Her eyes had cleared, blood wiped clean by snow, but she was far from fresh. Neither was he, of course, but they both know who would win should they fight.

So she did what he expected, kneeling with trembling legs. Cold or afraid? He found he didn't care much. "Master. Forgive this one. Spare its life and it will serve until death, yours whole and true. Your enemies would bleed and its secrets would be yours, a servant in the war against Baras. Please."

It piqued the interest of one of the Others, the same that had watched as he bound Bundu on Tatooine, and he knew he probably could. Freely given means it would bind her tight, giving him an assassin capable of ambushing Lords. A tool he could spend, using her up without guilt or condemnation.

But he would lead no slaves, not even her, and he didn't feel like watching his back every second of every day. She tried to dodge as he grabbed her, too slow, and fleshcrafting turned her brain to sludge. None of the difficulty he encountered when healing himself came, he almost expected it to, and her body fell as he let go. The mutated gut microbiota would consume her soon enough.

One more to go.

Draahg stared at him with such hatred it was almost enough to make him stand, Morgan snuffing out the attack before it could form. "None of that. Are there more Lords coming? Did Baras send anyone else, be they sith or not, after my people?"

"I am immortal." He gurgled. "An equal to some that sit on the Dark Council. You cannot kill me. No one can kill me."

Morgan tilted his head, making Fortuna shift. "Did Baras tell you that? Are you arrogant enough to believe he would keep an apprentice that strong? No matter, I feel like you're not going to answer my questions. Sit still now. This won't hurt."

He kept his promise, destroying the brain before setting his body to be eaten. Their fight had moved over quite a distance, he didn't feel like going past walking speed himself, and by the time all five where turned to dregs shuttles had approached. The armoured, heavily armed kind.

Shifting his weight to keep pressure off his injured leg, and prodding the hasty construct he'd made to keep his torso from splitting open, he foresaw some long healing session in his future. Morgan sighed, petting Fortuna as one of the shuttles landed. A baker's dozen walked out, moving his way at speed.

"I am major Plium of the fourth Hoth division, my Lord." The man saluted. Morgan felt little but hopeless terror from him, though he masked it well. The soldiers snapped to attention, very carefully keeping their weapons pointed down. "My men await your word, and it would be my privilege for them to serve as your honour guard."

Morgan looked up, his ships having long since moved beyond view. "I am tired, major. Slaughtering your men would have been a chore. Thank you for being wise, is what I'm trying to say. Get me back to my ship and I'll forget you exist."

"At once, my Lord."

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Cricet are made up by me, and not part of any existing lore structures. Think of a hyperaggressive, Force-using hamster. Evolution bred them to create an innate resistance to themselves, their largest competitors.