The huge towers of Kaas City towered over them. The lord had ditched the trooper assigned to protecting him so they could visit Liracen. They still had to keep the meetings with their older sister secret. One day he would change that.

War was in his spirit, but this was his heart. He needed this. He needed some time away from being lord Sciriato. His service to the Empire demanded much of him, his younger sister seemed taller every time he saw her. He was forced to miss much of her life so he would make sure to visit whenever he could.

“Come on Thanny,” the girl said, pulling him along. “I know a shortcut to the shuttle.” Than’so smiled. “Are you that eager to get rid of me?” he asked. The girl grinned. “No, I want to show you something cool me and Eless came up with!” The trio moved to Kaas city’s alleys. “Are you sure this is right?” Than’so asked after they passed several deserted streets.

A cloaked man suddenly appeared from a side alley ahead of them. Than’so frowned, he could sense malice through the force. The man looked up, revealing a t-visor in the style the cultists wore. “Milica, stand back,” Than'so warned. “What’s wrong?” the little girl asked, grabbing his sleeve tightly, realizing something was wrong.

Than’so started to back away and glanced over his shoulder. More cloaked individuals appeared from that side, they were boxing him in. His eyes darted around, he needed  a spot to hide his little sister. There was none. The pureblood girl kept tugging his sleeve. “Than’so, I’m scared,” she whispered.

Lord Sciriato looked down and yanked his sleeve away. “Grab your saber,” he instructed. “Stay by my side.” He took two sabers from his own off his belt then motioned at LS-10. “Get Paltrow,” he ordered. The remote flew straight up as the masked man leapt at them.

The combatant activated his purple saber mid air and aimed it straight at the girl. Sciriato raised his fist and sent a powerful force wave at him, sending him back from where he came. He could sense the rest of the assailants closing in from behind. He decided he might manage to scare them off, if he was brutal enough. He spun on his heel and charged forward. His red blades moved in an erratic flurry of strikes. This group was using shock pikes to block his blows. Good, he thought, spinning away and reversing back to lance his saber at the cultists. He longed to release himself to the force and let the dark side sweep him up but he had to keep an eye on Milica.

The little girl had run to catch up, her blade readied but unused, she hid behind her brother. “He’s coming back!” she shouted. Sciriato had already sensed the masked man returning to the fight. Than’so dropped one of his weapons mid swing and spun to grab Milica with his free arm. He launched himself into a force flip, over the masked man, exchanging a jab as he tumbled past.  

The cultists were all one one side as Than’so landed. “Run,” he whispered to Milica. The girl obeyed. Sciriato scowled and turned back towards the cultists, cutting an x through the air. “Let’s try this now,” he whispered, feeling the dark side rise in him like a bloodied tide. He raised his saber in a two handed grip and prepared to charge.

A frightened scream drew him back into himself. He turned to see Milica ensnared by an electro-net. The current cutting into her skin. An armored mandolorian stood next to her, keeping the net charged. The Sith started to move when the masked man flew over him. He extended his blade and Than’so advanced, scything his weapon at his opponent’s knees. The man spun away and Than’so followed with an upward stroke. Again the man spun away, blade helt low.

Milica screamed. The Sith was seeing red now. He needed to help Milica, he needed to save his sister. He snarled and started forward again, a shock pike caught the back of his leg instead and he fell down.

Another scream. The cultists swarmed him, jabbing their pikes at him, rapidly overwhelming his senses. Milica screamed again. "Thanny!" He kicked out at one of the cultist’s knees then grabbed an arm and pulled. The cultists fell on him, forming a shield. More screams. Left with no weapons, the Sith tore at the man’s throat with his teeth. More shocks. Finally a boot found the side of the Sith’s head and his world started turning black.

--

--

(Read part 1 here and part 2 here.)

Lorson was sitting next to the scarred Sith, both were strapped into their respective chairs as the agent piloted his ship through Hoth’s arctic weather and into the hangar of the hidden base. The agent felt sick, he had never done anything like this before. Throughout his career each of one of his missions had been concluded successfully. He had never felt bad for his target, still hadn’t, emotions did not usually factor into it… but the Sith had been right; the agent was in no position to end the Kaggath before any more people got hurt. The only course available was to put both Sith in a room and let them end it without any more collateral victims.   

“Lets go over the plan,” Lorson said after landing. The Sith nodded while unstrapping himself, he was wearing Imperial armor. “I update my access codes and hack into the restricted ones, we meet at the lowest floor after debrief in two hours, then we go get Krarsh. Do -not- get caught and do -not- kill anyone besides Krarsh.” The Sith simply nodded again and put on the Imperial helmet. “I do not have room in this to hide my saber in this outfit, I am trusting you with this,” the Sith said almost as an afterthought before he left. The agent nodded and took the extended weapon. It was odd for the Sith to trust him, he thought, likely he had no other choice, he couldn’t wear anything non regulation to hide the blade in. The agent hoped that this was the only detail the Sith had missed, both of their lives were on the line.

He made his way down the cargo ramp and into the hangar, a small party of Imperials were waiting for him. “Agent Lorson,” the one in charge said saluting. “Welcome back. We have received the report of your success.” Lorson returned the salute and held up a data pike. “I need to update my access codes, make sure I can still get in before the next mission. Tell the captain I will be ready for briefing in two hours.” The Imperial shook his head. “Negative, you are to come with me at once, the Sith requested to hear about your victory personally.”

The agent felt a sense of panic but nodded, he could not ignore an order even if it disrupted their plan. They would simply have to wait until nightfall to strike. The party led the agent through a series of corridors until they strode into a conference room. “You return successful,” Krarsh said as she strode in from the other side, escorted by ten guards. Instinctively Lorson took a knee. “Yes my lord,” he said, though he felt panic in his heart. If the scarred Sith messed up now his deception would be undone. He considered confessing everything; here and now. He could make up a story about the Sith forcing him into this; but he immediately saw the flaw in that plan, he did not know where the Sith was at all, he couldn’t say that the Sith was forcing him if he wasn’t even present; slaves had collars that blew up if they tried to betray their masters, so unless he had some device that detonated should he-

His thoughts were cut short when a second pureblood strode into the room. “Get up, my friend,” Adush said, a big grin on his face. “You have done a great deed today.” The agent’s blood ran cold as realisation dawned on him. He reached into his satchel, feeling the grip of the Sith’s lightsaber. “Get back!” he managed to scream before his satchel suddenly exploded into a shockwave, combusting into a great inferno tearing through the room and everyone inside.

-

The scarred Sith took his helmet off as he walked into the smoking and searing hot conference room. He could hear wheezing and glanced at what remained of Krarsh before shaking his head and turning to Adush. The man had somehow managed to shield himself through the force, but he was still taking his last pitiful breaths. “It has been a while,” the scarred Sith said, pausing for a long time.

Technicians of the star destroyer’s docking bay were hurrying toward the Sting as soon as it landed. Than’so stretched his arms, having only just gotten out of the cockpit. He had grown a lot in the past few months, so much so that he had to request a new padded flight suit to replace the one he arrived with. His, unlike that of most imperial pilots, was a bright red with a jacket that ran down to his knees. Slowly he reached up and unlocked the helmet off his suit, revealing a few days worth of stubble, dark messy curls covering his scalp and predatory yellow eyes peering out from beneath bushy eyebrows. 

Members of Shortstraw squad were checking their own fighters; a few of them gathered to make small talk. The Sith knew they had enough Imperial reserve to banter rather than acknowledge their lost comrade; they would have time to honour the man in the mess hall later, now was the time to celebrate a victory rather than mourn their loss. 

“Sie batha ne beechee?” the Sith asked in huttese, a playful smirk on his face as he approached a pair of his pilots: one female chiss and a corellian male. The chiss raised her eyebrows and shook her head. “You should be so lucky.” The human said, smirking back. “Ouch,” the Sith said, grinning as he continued his stride. “Why did they call us back?!” the chiss woman shouted after him. “Oh, lord Adush thinks he’s going to give me a scolding for leaving my post.” The Sith said with a shrug. “I’ll be back soon, make sure we’re ready to depart by then.” The duo nodded and signalled to the other Imperials to get to work. 

The Sith had to take a turbolift up to the lord’s office, his collection of lightsaber hilts clanged against the metal padding on his flight pants as he made his way inside. He conveyed a calm confidence as he made his way to a lanky pureblood in battle armour sitting behind a desk. “Good thing you called me back, my lord,” Than’so started, hopping into the chair across from the desk. “I lost a craft, I need a replacement and a suitable pilot.” 

“You have a lot to answer for, Sciriato,” the pureblood snarled as if the pilot hadn’t said a word. Than’so raised his eyebrows and glanced over both his shoulders, feigning innocence. “What do you mean?” he asked incredulously. “You were not at your command. Your men were not at your command. Explain yourself!” the higher ranking Sith barked. 

Than’so frowned as if in confusion. “My orders are to protect the Empire from pirates are they not?” Furiously the pureblood pushed himself up on his desk. Always dramatic, the scarred Sith reflected before tilting his head, a small smirk forming on his lips. “Your orders are to patrol wherever we-!” the crimson skinned Sith started again before the other slammed his hands on the counter and got up, turning toward the door. “It hardly matters anyway, I answer to Darth Amaris,” he said, his hand brushing casually against the hilt of one of his lightsabers before he wagged his finger in the air; the brush seemed like an insignificant gesture, but for Sith born of nobility it formed an unmistakable challenge. The other Sith’s eyes grew wide, but instead of attacking he collected himself, leaning back from his desk. “Go debrief your squadron, Sciriato. We will continue this when I desire to deal with you,” he said, feigning exhaustion, though the other could feel the barely contained fury radiating from him through the force. The pilot smiled and nodded, “yes, my lord,” he muttered before heading out of the office and back to the turbolift. 

A storm of crimson fire lanced out of the modified S-13 Sting-starfighter’s quad laser barrels as it soared through a maelstrom of flames and debris that had only moments ago composed an enemy vessel. “Shortstraw, single line,” the ship’s Sith pilot commanded over his intercom as he loosened the grip on his auxiliary trigger. Seven clicks responded affirmative back before the rest of the fighters fell in behind him.  

Shortstraw squad: a name given to a squadron with one of the highest mortality rates in the Empire, the squadron serving under Than’so Sciriato. Technically the group was a scouting party; sent out to patrol the Empire’s borders over a series of months before reporting back at the first sign of activity. However, the collection of scars suffered at the hands of pirates often left the Sith with different opinions on how to use the command left in his charge. This time, he had tracked such a group far beyond the fringes of the seat of the Empire and into wild space.

As soon as the last of the squadron rolled into position the Sith flared his port jets, kicking his fighter into a half roll before bringing it down into a screaming dive. “On me,” he commanded again before an old COC corvette came into view. His current astromech started to beep in fear as they neared the much larger ship cannon’s line of fire. “I know,” the Sith snapped then turned on his comm. “Shortstraw, even split in five!” he barked, before twisting his yoke to force the ship into an evasive looping spiral. The two vessels exchanged streaks of crimson fire before the Sith forced his ship’s nose up, loosening two torpedoes at the corvette.

One by one the line of fighters mimicked the manoeuvre, each splintering off in a different direction. Wave after wave of explosion blossomed on the Corvette’s shield before finally it gave in. A sudden sense of fear then silence echoed through the force before one of the pilots reported the loss of Shortstraw six. At one point such a loss would have been enough to emotionally cripple the young Sith; now it simply fueled his anger and lust for victory. His lips formed a tight line as he brought the fighter back into a half loop. “Tear this ship apart!” he ordered over the intercom. Once again his astromech started to protest as the Sting neared the Corvette, until the Sith barked for it to shut up. He took a deep breath and focused his rage, counting on his connection to the mystical energy field rather than his vessel’s sensors to guide his path. The Sting tumbled and spiralled a jagged course through a hailstorm of enemy fire, pulling its nose up near the Corvette before its lasers pumped a ragged line into the larger ship’s hull.

The Sith reached into his pocket and took out a comlink. “He got away,” the youth snarled. “A shame,” a female voice on the other end of the comlink commented. “Regardless, I got a chance to investigate the assassin’s room.” The Sith waited patiently, golden eyes fixed on the city. “The markings on her face, they do not match the ones on the pictures there. Whoever she was, she took the place of the real consort.” The Sith’s brows furrowed. “I see,” he started then stopped mid sentence, eyes growing wide and smirk forming. “Get out!” he barked, dropping the comlink and slamming his own door open before rolling out of the vehicle and into the rain. Seconds later a short scream and a loud bang echoed over the landing pad and the vehicle went up in flames. The Sith glanced at the vehicle, noting his passenger had not escaped, before looking into the storm; as if out of nowhere the heavily armoured warrior appeared in the sky, jetpack blazing.

“I was wondering where you fled!” the youth shouted arrogantly, though it was clear that he was in horrible shape. Red fire escaped his saber with a sharp hiss as he faced his opponent, circling in anticipation. Slowly the combatant descended, landing a few meters from the Sith. He bent through his knees and wordlessly moved one hand behind his back.

The Sith nodded then became little more than a blur as he sped forward, honing his saber in a spear like trust. The warrior swung his arm wide in response, revealing a collapsable force pike that extended mid swing and cut underneath the saber, lifting it up and redirected the crimson blade harmlessly into the air. The Sith stumbled briefly as his attack was parried. “You will find it more difficult to find balance,” his mother had warned. The warrior used the momentum of his parry and slammed his fist forward, a sharp pain shot through his body as the tube in his chest snagged out, reopening the wound. “Like a cat that lost its tail.”

A guttural cough escaped his throat and he dashed backward on light footsteps, arm extended, saber blade angled at his opponent as he gasped for air. He felt a warm stream stick to his undershirt and quickly moved his saber hand upward, pressing into the wound, trying to stop the loss of blood. His yellow eyes blazed with hatred and pain, lips retracting from his teeth like a wounded tuk’ata, and then suddenly his expression changed to a smirk.

“Why are you laughing?” the warrior finally revealed her voice and gender hidden beneath the thick armour. “You are outmatched!” The Sith nodded, still circling side to side albeit much slower. “Perhaps,” he commented. “But I know something you don’t,” he added. The warrior, tilted her head, though he could sense her growing unease through the force. “What’s that?” she demanded. The Sith shook his head, still grinning ear to ear, “you shouldn’t have come back.”

The warrior managed to grab a hold of his wrist first; twisting it and throwing a punch at the other’s ribs before slamming his heavy helmet into the Sith’s eye socket, finally he let go of the dazed Sith, tossing him into the thick dark clouds below.

Thunder cracked loudly and the dark clouds would sometimes light up with lightning as the small dark figure started falling, tumbling and spinning as the wind and rain tore at him. A few blaster shots passed by him but they failed to reach their target. He felt his heart racing in his chest while slowly coming back to his senses; his cheeks ached and he realised he was grinning. He was afraid, for the first time in a long time; but he welcomed the sensation as it flooded his heart; it was like an old friend that had left; it made him feel alive.

He could hear the speeders before he saw them through the thick grey clouds. The Sith closed his eyes and focussed, wrapping his will around the heart of his terror, holding it in place with an iron grip, then pushing it outward to create a barrier of force energy around himself.

The young Sith’s sulfuric eyes bore into the alien as patrons and employees hurried past, keeping a large space between the Sith and themselves as they got to the turbolifts in order to get as far away from the establishment’s floor as possible. The Sith’s left hand was curled into a claw, slowly closing into a fist; his right was still resting uselessly in a sling. A soft touch found his shoulder, the pureblood woman smiled as the young Sith lowered his arm, releasing the twi’lek from his malevolent grip.

“Why did you do it?” she asked lightly as the alien struggled for breath, her voice carried an air of amusement and why wouldn’t it, the twi’lek was as if nothing compared to her; he posed no more a threat than would an ant. She caught the establishment’s gathering security force in the corner of her eyes as she circled their boss, but she sent them running with a challenging glance. Security or not, there wasn’t a person on Dromund Kaas ignorant of what it meant to meddle in Sith affairs.

“I didn’t know she was an assassin… you have to believe me…” the alien managed in between gasps for air. “I understand,” the red skinned woman started, nearly sounding empathic. “It’s not that you hold malice in your heart, you’re merely incompetent.” The twi’lek started to nod eagerly. “I would never dare to strike at you, my lords,” the twi’lek managed, seeing a way out, though he did not dare to raise his gaze to meet either of the Sith’s eyes. “Incompetence, yes. Sadly, the Empire does not tolerate either,” the woman remarked. A red flash cut through the air, vaguely the twi’lek wondered what it could have been and why it seemed to be getting darker.