Treachery

Author's Title : "Treachery"

Author: Darth En Ghedi

Origin: Portugal

Language: English

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The eyes opened and he tasted blood. Lying face down he tried to look around. There were ismembered bodies scattered around him and his nostrils caught a powerful stench of cauterized flesh mixed with the distinctive tell-tale smell of ozone. There had been a lightsaber fight.
His lightsaber hilt was still in his hand, although he couldn’t remember using it. He tried hard to recall what had happened. Memories were confusing and vague, but there was a certainty that acted as a beacon.
No! It couldn't be the causer of this slaughter. His memories slowly returned. He was a Jedi and Jedi do not murder. This wasn’t his work. But was he really a Jedi or was he just holding the weapon of a murder? And if he was, did these people surrounding him deserve their death? Was he defending himself?
Whatever happened he was spared from death, although the headache and the numbness he was feeling wasn’t allowing him to move much. He fought every breath, every eye movent. He felt like every single muscle was sore.
He suddenly heard footsteps. It was so far in his damaged hearing, but it was clearly footsteps. Boots, most likely a soldier.
He fought to stand, but found it painfully impossible. He turned to lie on his back and faced the ceiling. It was low and brightly illuminated. Most likely a starship. The intense glare hurt his eyes.
The footsteps were louder now. He thought he needed to act now. He decided to call for help, since he couldn’t stand up. But surprisingly all he was able to do was let go a small grunt. Words formed in his mind, but his mouth wasn’t capable of pronouncing it. He felt pain as he tried.
But his grunts appeared to have some effect on the approaching steps. Voices were heard and the steps increased the pace.
His memories were slowly returning now. He remembered staring at some large window, then a faceless foe, then…
“My Lord? How do you feel?” A uniformed man asked.
He couldn’t quite explain, even if he could talk. His body felt numb, he felt weak and his ability to think was damaged. He couldn’t even remember his name, not that it mattered anyway.
“Can you walk, sir?” The soldier asked again.
The simple movement he attempted with his head was so painful that he almost collapsed. Still his grunt almost sounded like a “no”.
“Alright, sir, just stay here, I’ll get help!” The man said while his steps were heard fading away in high rhythm.
‘Help’? The soldier was ‘Help’. All he needed was to be taken to some Kolto tank and take some vitamin shots.
He suddenly recalled his connection to the Force. At first it was justa small glimpse of light, then it became brighter in his mind. He used it to scan his sore body and his… what was this? His mouth was still sore, especially his chin. The Force became a blur again.
He decided to make another painful move, this time to massage his mouth. Maybe something hit him, since the taste of blood was evident.
His hand slowly and painfully reached his face and he felt it was wet. Blood. There was a painful scar in his right cheek. But there was something else. The wound was cauterized hence the intense smell of burnt flesh in his nostrils. But has he reached down his lower chin, nothing prepared him for what he felt.
Or what he did not feel. His fingers touched a soft tissue pulsing and also wet with blood, but that was all. His sudden choke and nausea made him realize he was touching his own throat. His chin appeared to be completely gone.
He felt terror take over. What had happened?
With intense pain and groaning with his efforts, he turned to lie on his belly again. He used the full extent of his strength when suddenly he felt a newfound source of energy. He saw... No! He felt the sheer power that surrounded him again. In a split second he was back at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, a small youngling touching the realms of the Force for the first time.
Yes! He was a Jedi after all. He tried to exale slowly and concentrated on the living Force.
“My Lord!” The man was back running frantically. He never heard him and facing down, he could only see the man’s feet. There was another pair of boots beside them, “This is our Squad medic, sir!” The soldier added, while trying to catch his breath.
There was an intense fighting to rise. He needed a Doctor, of course. His chin… Perhaps the skin was so sore, his mind was playing tricks.
Still no words came out, only grunts as he tried to rise.
“Easy sir!” The soldier said as he helped him, arm around his waist.
When he finally was able to stand, the Medic could at last face him. His hand immediately to his own mouth and a look of disgust. Yes, he really was disfigured.
“Doctor!” The soldier holding him said, “Focus!”
The medic was shaking as he reached for his emergency kit, took some instruments but just stood there staring.
He felt he was being cheated by the men. Suddenly the Force felt even more reenergizing. But also darker. He felt the urge to understand what had happened. The Force was now feeding him.
He should ask... No! He demanded to see his face. He needed a mirror of some sort. But the word never came out, only the familiar grunt.
“Sir, we need to get you to the fleet Medic Center, I can’t…” The Medic was shaking.
He felt patience was gone and his sudden urge to choke the doctor was palpable. He thought of his hands around his neck. It became real in his mind.l Almost instantly the Doctor reached for his neck and emitted choking sounds.
“Doc?” The Soldier said. He turned to face the man by his shoulders, “My Lord, please, the Doctor is only trying to help. There isn’t much he can do, perhaps the fleet doctors can… recover… you…”
‘Recover’? He felt the grip on the doctors neck become loose. He was now dead.
The Force was feeding him fully now, only a different version of it. Something not taught by Jedi. Something primordial and visceral. Pure hatred.
And this hate was materializing into a shape, a familiar silhouette.
His grunt was more of despair. He let go of the Soldier's grip and reached the doctor’s kit to search the content, between syringes and several other items, he finally found a box of some pills, made of reflective metal, a rough mirror.
It took him some time to interpret the image he was seeing. There was a familiar tattooed bald head and his eyes, although severely swollen and deep red, he recognized them.
But the lower half of his face was horribly disfigured. He only had the upper lip and part of his upper teeth. His skin was pale white, perhaps from the loss of strength. But there was also some burn marks and signs of fight.
“My Lord, we were called to aid you… But we were cut off!” the Soldier broke the contemplation of his scarred face.
He felt there was no reaction to what the soldier said. It felt insufficient. Weakness felt very intolerable. And weakness should be purged.
He was still holding the box looking at his bizarre reflection. His memories suddenly became clearer and clearer. The shape that formed in his mind was now perfectly identified. A hooded figure wearing a mask, Holding a lightsaber. A move and a parry followed by a strike, so quick and precise. Then the shock of lightning that surrounded his body with pain. In that split second he thought he was dead. But the masked figure cared not for his life or death.
“My Lord, we should go…” The soldier reminded. His voice sounded annoying.
He felt he needed no help. His pain was feeding his anger. The desire to taste his executioner’s blood. And this was feeding him with power.
“Lord Malak, you should…”
He raised his hand and pushed the soldier beyond human strength. The Force was his weapon. A Dark weapon. The Dark Side was his ally. The lifeless body crashed far in the ship's tunnel.
His taste for vengeance, fed by his terrible pain only made him stronger. As he walked back to the ship’s exit, there was only one goal in his mind.
Kill his treacherous master. Kill Darth Revan.