Bright Shadow Chapter 11

Previous Chapter - ***Chapter 10 - The Final Trial***

***Chapter 11 - The Price of Victory***

“No!” screamed Vycerant as the mystical hold on his body was released. He and Kristina ran over to their deceased friend in a state of utter panic and despair. The spectating horde of bloodthirsty Sith and Imperials cheered at the result of the skirmish. Kristina and Vycerant knelt down to the bloodied corpse of Belushi, tears running down Kristina’s messy hair and dirtied hair.

“Belushi! No, no, no please!” cried Kristina as she held her friend’s head in her lap. Vycerant placed his first two fingers on Belushi’s neck and felt nothing. The Miraluka’s body still felt warm under Vycerant’s fingers. The pureblood breathed heavily and clenched his fists tight as his rage built up inside him like an overflowing boiling pot. He ignited the double bladed lightsaber and turned to face Doran who was still basking in his newfound glory. Acting on pure rage, Vycerant began to sprint towards the man who had killed his best friend. He held the lightsaber tightly with both has as he dashed towards the man with his lightsaber ready to strike him down.

Zhen anticipated Vycerant’s moves from the spectator area. He held his hand out, preparing to freeze the acolyte, just like he had done to Doran several nights before when he attempted to murder Vycerant. However, he held onto his faith that Vycerant would see through his emotions and do the right thing. Vycerant quickly approached Doran from behind who was still facing away from him with his arms held up like a cross at his adoring audience. Vycerant readied himself to strike a vengeful blow against his nemesis.

Yet as he prepared himself to do so, he hesitated. He felt the thousands of eyes on him, watching his every intent. The crowd saw was Vycerant was doing and began to shout him down, exclaiming vulgarities and insults as well as warnings to Doran who seemed oblivious to his enemy standing right behind him.

Doran, however, knew exactly how the situation would unfold. He lowered his arms and turned around to face Vycerant with a smile on his face. The rage in Vycerant’s expression continued to tether on the edge of boiling over. All he wanted to do was to kill Doran. It was all he had wanted for the past three years. Yet a voice in his head told him to let go. To calm his emotions and to not make, what would undoubtedly be, a foolish decision.

“Come on, kid. Don’t be a fool. Just put the blade down”\, whispered Zhen to himself, almost praying that his acolyte would make the wise decision.

“Vycerant, no!” shouted Kristina’s voice from behind the pureblood. “He’s not worth it!”

Vycerant looked behind himself to gaze into Kristina’s tearful eyes. She was still cradling onto Belushi’s body. Making a conscious decision, Vycerant lowered his lightsaber, deactivating the red blades that it emitted.

Doran smiled a smug grin at Vycerant, who was still enamoured with fury. “A wise decision, kid,” Doran said mockingly.

Vycerant would have none of his nemesis’ self-satisfaction. “I swear, by Belushi’s life, I am going to kill you,” threatened Vycerant.

“Perhaps another time?” Doran replied casually. “Surely this should be a time for celebration? We’re going to become Sith, Vycerant! We’re finally going to get out of this hellhole and take part in the Empire’s plan."

Vycerant simply stared at Doran with the most spiteful of expressions. Doran continued. “Listen, I am more than happy to fight you again. And frankly, I cannot wait for the time I get to kill you. I will sear your flesh and hang you from the peak of Mount Wrensk by your feet. Your blood will run into the Dead Rivers of Barnost for days and the ravens will have a feast chewing on your eyeballs and pecking at your rotting flesh. However, you are just going to have to wait. You’ve lost people in your journey to become Sith, so have I. If you really want to have a rematch at this, then that time will come. I promise you.”

Vycerant said not a word to his rival as the arena began to shake again. The pillars of rock had returned from the magma below and transformed back into the fighting pit that the acolytes were familiar with. The gates to the cages on the walls of the pit opened up and a dozen or blackboots ran out into the pit, grabbing each of the acolytes by their arms and escorted them all back into the Academy. Doran and Vycerant offered no resistance to their escorts, however Kristina writhed and struggled out of hers. She shouted and screamed as she was pried from Belushi’s body by the masked minions. All three surviving acolytes were taken into the Academy and the arena immediately began to empty of spectators. A thunder of footsteps followed the thousands of Imperials and Sith exiting the colosseum.

As Oddisor exited his platform to return to the academy, Zhen and Dulica exchanged brief looks of enmity between each other. Both of the Lords left their positions on the platform with animosity boiling in their blood. The tension between the two had reached critical levels. Their seething resentment for each other was overshadowed by their need to focus on their future plans, for both of them had a defiant apprentice to scold.

\* \* \*

*The teenage Zhen struck the scorching hot iron with a rock mallet. Embers and sparks flew in all directions, flashing in the dimly lit room, as the boy forged the malleable metal sword he was creating. Sweat poured down his face like a stream of rivers flowing down a mountainside as he worked determinedly on his project.*

*In the corner of the room, stood the massive pureblood blacksmith Toras, who took the young human on as an apprentice one year prior. His hair had been cut shorter than the first time Zhen had met him; his head had begun to bald whilst his beard had become elongated, down to the bottom of his neck. In his hands were a series of gems and mined materials; emeralds, gold and silver. He was forging a new ring made out of a red kyber crystal with a golden body. It was unmistakably the same ring that Zhen had brought to Toras when they first met, a ring that belonged to the boy’s drunkard mother.*

*The metalsmith shop had been completely refurbished during Zhen’s first year working for Toras. The walls had been repaired, the forgery had been reinvented and the anvils were renewed. A harsh thunderstorm shook the blacksmith workshop and echoed fiercely in the distance, yet the building stood strong against the gales from outside.*

*The young Zhen performed one last hammering strike on his project before setting the tool down and dousing the sword in a cauldron of cool water. Steam rose from the barrel the moment the hot, metallic blade made contact with the water in the barrel. Toras turned around from his worktable and set the now finished ring down on his desk. The pureblood took the completed blade from his apprentice and analysed it through his tired eyes. He looked at the young blacksmith through the corner of his eyes and raised an eyebrow.*

*“P'rfect,” he said at last, sharing a smile with his young disciple.*

*Toras took the blade and hung it on a wooden rack alongside dozens of other blades. Some of the swords were less than stellar, with some having asymmetrical crossguards and others being too short or too long. Still, Zhen had proven himself to be remarkably proficient with a hammer and anvil. The boy had never felt happier; finally free from his abusive parent, safeguarded by a notorious blacksmith. Things in his life were looking up.*

*“Yu’ve a knack fur ‘dis kind o’ work, kid,” Toras continued as he hooked Zhen’s finished product on the wall proudly.*

*“Only trying to owe back a great debt, boss,” replied Zhen.*

*“Oh, come on,” Toras said insistingly, “It’s been, what? An ‘ole year since I took you in? You need ta let that lil’ debt go. Yu’ve more than repaid it.”*

Z*hen’s smile endured on his young face. “If you say so boss.”*

*At that moment, a group of humans briskly entered the workshop through the front entrance. Both Zhen and Toras quickly glanced in the direction of the newcomers; The apparent leader of the group was a middle-aged man with short, brown hair and a trimmed beard. His four accomplices wore a strange variation of the garments worn by the blackboots. Although they wore the same masks, they donned capes and heavier armour. They also had two small, shoto lightsabers hanging from their belts, a strange variation given the regular Sith Minion’s tendency to be equipped with regular lightsabers.*

*Toras approached the group of men with caution. He had heard rumours of a sect of Sith who operated outside the rules decreed by the Empire A group of reprobate enforcers who saw the future of the Empire as human and only human. A disavowed rogue military known as the Humanite Sith. They wished to undermine the purebloods as the dominant people within the Empire to usher in some kind of ‘new age’ for the Sith kingdom. What business they had in Toras’ home was unknown to him, but he knew that it would not be good.*

*Toras regretted leaving the door of the smithy ajar as he approached the authoritative looking men. He looked back nodded at Zhen, indicating the boy to hide in the back of the room and wait, which he did without question.*

*“Can I ‘elp you gents?” he asked in his usually boisterous drawl. The leader of the six-member ensemble of Sith minions stepped forward towards the front desk and leant his left elbow against the table.*

*"We’re gonna need access to your establishment, pureblood. We’re on the hunt for an infant that went missing over a year ago,” said the leader.*

*“A year ago?” asked Toras unsuspiciously. “I would have assumed that you blackboots would have given up the search by now.”*

*“Well, we would have if we weren’t being paid so well,” replied the leader. “See, the mother of the missing child recently passed away and the Imperial law decrees that all orphaned children are to be taken to the Sith Academy for acolyte training.”*

*Silence came over the room after the leader’s alarming assertion. Zhen, who had taken refuge inside a cupboard in the back room of the workshop held his hand over his mouth as he breathed heavily. He hated his mother, but he couldn’t believe that she was dead. Could it really be true? Or was it simply an excuse for the rogue enforcers to trash Toras’ home and find an excuse to kill the pureblood?*

*“Well, um… do ya ’ave a search warrant? I mean, it’s my proper’y. Ya can’t just come in ‘ere ‘nd pillage what ya like,” Toras said desperately.*

*The Humanites chuckled to themselves at the pureblood’s poor excuses. “Like hell we don’t,” said the leader.*

*As the chief of the Humanites attempted to push his way through the hatch door in the desk, Toras blocked him with his muscly, right arm. The six masked enforcers placed their hands on the hilts of their shoto lightsabers, eager to pounce if the pureblood made an unwise move. Although Toras stood at an incredible seven feet, he was no match for six highly trained Humanite Sith. The leader looked up at the pureblood with resentment, virtually ignoring the one-and-a-half feet gap between their heights.*

*“I’m going to go through here and into your workshop,” he stated assertively. “Me and my boys will look through your coffers and your chests and your wardrobes and if we don’t find anything of value for us, we shall leave. Surely you would be okay with us taking a look if you truly do have nothing to hide. Let us pass.”*

*Toras could crush the human’s skull under his fist in a matter of seconds. Yet through all his physical advantages, he would not last a minute against the other enforcers. He conceded to the Humanite’s demands and took his hand off of the leader’s chest. He stood aside without saying a word and took a seat next to his forge.*

*“That’s what I thought,” said the leader coldly as he walked into the faintly lit smithy. “Get to work, lads.”*

*Upon the chief’s command the masked Humanites swiftly strode into Toras’ home, giving him dirty looks through their red visors and black helmets.*

*“Filthy shlyk,” one muttered to the pureblood blacksmith.*

*“Not so tough after all are you, thorn-face?” mumbled another.*

*A third Humanite crouched down to look into Toras’ eyes on his lowered head. “You falsebloods are all alike; weak, cowardly and useless.”*

*Toras did not give the Humanite the satisfaction of a violent response. He simply kept his composure and said not a word. He didn’t even blink to the enforcer’s statement. The rogue enforcers began to trash the pureblood’s smithy in their search for the missing boy. They toppled the cauldron and threw all the blades that Zhen had forged onto the ground. The steamy water in the barrel spilled over onto the surface of the workshop and many of the swords broke on contact with the floor. Farveil watched indifference as his men vandalised the smithy.*

*“Ye blackboots aren’t like the on's I’ve seen before. Who are ye people?” asked Toras, suspicious of the group’s true intent.*

*“The name is Farveil”, the Humanite leader said. “And we're adherents of a new era of this Empire. One where our people reign supreme whilst yours are put in its rightful place; lying submissive the blood-stained dirt”.*

*Toras kept his calm composure after Farveil’s threatening response but found it increasingly difficult to do so. Underneath his crimson skin his blood was boiling. All he wanted to do was to crush the leader of the Humanites with his oversized hands.*

*“You won’t find what yur looking for, Humanite,” he said defiantly. “Me record's as clean as it gets”.*

*Farveil was not convinced by the pureblood’s lie. “Do you think me a fool, pureblood?” he asked rhetorically.*

*“Your reputation reaches further than your local settlement here. It spreads like a plague, infecting everyone who comes close to you. Everyone who sees you out of the corner of their eye. Everyone who hears your name. We know about how you are accused of social treachery by the higher-ups. By the rich and the elite. We know that you brought shame to your family by defying your species' precious traditions. You cannot hide any aspect of your life from us. We know everything about you. Your secrets, your past, everything.”*

*Toras clenched his fists tightly at Farveil’s words. Sweat began to pour down through his thin black hair and down his forehead. His desire to kill every last one of the Humanites was insatiable. Farveil continued.*

*“However, despite all this I suppose we could find some common ground. After all, you’re an outcast of the dominant culture, as are we. We’ll be out of your hair soon.” Toras took no respite to Farveil’s empty assurances. “You ‘ad better."*

*As Toras and Farveil continued to argue over their intrusion into the pureblood’s home, the other Humanites continued to tear the trespassed workshop apart, going through every alcove and recess they could find. Zhen kept his dirtied hands over his mouth as he saw one of the masked men approach the wardrobe he was hiding in. The Humanite threw all of Toras’ possessions on the floor and checked every possible location for a small boy to hide in.*

*Suddenly, the man jolted upwards and looked directly at the wardrobe the boy was hiding in. He reached out and cautiously grabbed the handle of the wardrobe door and opened it slowly. The boy took no chances with getting caught and leapt out of his hiding place, startling the Humanite Sith. He bit the hand that opened the door and the Humanite stumbled back in pain. Zhen sprinted round out of the back room and right into the open of the workshop where Toras, Farveil and the other Humanites were standing.*

*Frozen by fear the boy stood in paralysed silence as Farveil and Toras looked at him with differing expressions; Toras’ eyes became wide eyed and abruptly stood from his seat. Farveil and his minions, however simply chuckled amongst themselves and ignited their lightsabers. Farveil’s blade was a long and fiery blade, absent of a crossguard. The intricately crafted hilt was as black as his robes, resembling a lightsaber a Sith warrior would wield. His followers ignited and wielded two separate lightsabers, longer than daggers yet shorter than Farveil’s. The Humanite’s had found their excuse to murder the pureblood who’s home they had intruded upon.*

*The Humanite that Zhen had bitten returned from the back office and grabbed Zhen by the collar of his clothes.*

*“Found the child in the back boss,” said the esteemed Humanite. Farveil continued to smile a wicked grin. “Excellent work,” he said to his subordinate. “It seems you fit every stereotype in the book, pureblood. Lying, foul-smelling, empty-headed. And now we can add child kidnapping to the list.*

*“Zhen, get be’ind me!” Toras shouted just well enough for Zhen to understand his words through his thick burr. The child elbowed the Humanite that held his collar in the groin, causing the man to let him go. Zhen ran behind the seven-foot tall pureblood as the black-clad Humanite’s encircled the blacksmith, slowly closing in on him.*

*“Imagine the reward for bringing to justice a child kidnapper,” boasted Farveil. “We’ll bring your severed head to the Dark Council themselves. Then they shall see the true treachery of the false-bloods. You’ll all be exiled from this glorious Empire and we’ll finally have our kingdom.”*

*“Not in me lifetime, scum,” taunted Toras as he quickly pushed over a nearby crate and dug his hand into its many contents. Just as the rogue Sith began to move forward to kill the pureblood, his hand emerged with the hilt of a weapon in his hand. Toras pushed the button on the side of the hilt and ignited a crimson blade, not too dissimilar to the one the Humanites wielded.*

*Farveil and his followers suddenly changed their stances and backed off slowly, like a group of predators who’s prey suddenly had the urge to fight back. Farveil took a moment to analyse the changed situation. The hilt Toras had suddenly ignited was unlike any he had seen before. It was a crossguard design but of much different: the two side vents were shaped like a V.*

*“Well how about that?”, Farveil said tauntingly. “Looks like you were hiding more than just the child. Who are you really, false-blood? Who was your master?”*

*Toras stood firm at the Humanite’s accusations.”I ‘ad no master,” He replied defiantly. “I made this one wit’ me bare ‘ands. An’ you won’t be taking the child to be contor’ed into one of yer daft minions”.Farveil raised an eyebrow as his follwers became giddy with anticipation. All they wanted was to kill Toras and make it truly hurt.*

*“Then you have chosen death,” Farveil said finally. “Kill him!”*

*With their orders clear, the masked minions closed the circle in on Toras and Zhen. An eager Humanite unwisely leapt forward with his blades raised only for Toras to skilfully turn his body and grab the Humanite by the legs. The huge pureblood held the Humanite upside down by his ankles and used all his might to throw the man out at the window of his smithy. The other Humanites ducked as their comrade flew past their heads and shattered the window of the building. The other four Humanites stood together and retaliated in synchronicity. Toras, however, used his incredible size to overpower the group through a series of large swings of his lightsaber. The searing sounds made by the many lightsabers making contact with each other was similar to an electric wire being scraped along a hard floor.*

*Standing his ground, Toras brutishly continued his barrage of flurries, eventually impaling one of the Humanites in the stomach and chucking him to the floor at the feet of Farveil.*

*“Damned amateurs,” the lead Humanite said irritated. “Let me show you weaklings how a real Sith does it”.*

*Farveil gripped his lightsaber tightly with his right hand and clentched his other into a rageful fist. He approached Toras and Zhen as his followers backed off from the fight, having witnessed two of their brethren fall to the pureblood’s strength.*

*Toras held nothing back and angrily charged at the leader of the Humanites. The pureblood swung his blade downward at Farveil, who simply sidestepped the attack and casually swung his own blade up the back of the attacking pureblood, creating a prefect, cauterized gash running up Toras’ spine. The pureblood was dead before his muscly, oversized body hit the ground.*

*Zhen’s eyes became wide eyed and tearful upon witnessing the death of the only person who cared about him. Farveil looked down at the corpse of the pureblood he had just slain and deactivated his lightsaber, clipping it back onto his black belt. He turned to see the young Zhen speechless and motionless upon the death of his master.*

*“It seems your master was hiding things from even you, young one,” Farveil said to Zhen, kneeling down to the distraught young boy as his followers looked on. “Unfortunately, that’s what you get with these red-skinned ones. They hide things even from the people who are closest to them. You can never trust them with anything.”*

*Zhen felt a power coursing through his veins. A feeling of rage and immense power that he had felt before. He had a feeling what it was and he was willing to use it. If Farveil and his minions had their way they would he would be taken to the Sith Academy and tortured into a shell of his former self. He closed his eyelids tightly, squeezing the tears out from his eyes and opened them to see Farveil, who’s confidence had evaporated at the sight of Zhen’s bloodshot sclera.*

*“You’re wrong,” Zhen said insolently. He took a grave risk and reached out with his hands towards the lightsaber that Toras had dropped to the floor. The power that Zhen had felt in his body slithered up his arm like an invisible serpent. The hilt of Toras’ lightsaber shook and suddenly leapt form the floor and into the young boy’s hand.*

*Farveil and his enforcers stood back cautiously as their target gripped the large hilt tightly. Zhen, however was not looking for a fight and took advantage of the Humanite’s sudden lapse of judgement. He sprinted over to the front desk of his decedent master’s workshop and leapt over it.*

*Hurrying away from the workshop with his new weapon in his hands, the teary eyed boy ran from his past, with the malicious Humanites in hot pursuit.*

\* \* \*

The ceremony chamber was darker than the most dimly lit caves. The only source of light was a small opening in the roof that allowed passage of the faintest slithers of light. The rock that composed the unique room was obsidian-like; shiny and smooth. The three champions of the trial stood shoulder to shoulder with their heads bowed. The three masters stood well above them, looking down upon their new prodigies. A suiting symbol of the permanent servitude the three victorious acolytes were about to enter.

The mood in the room was mixed and heavy. Doran stood in the centre, with Vycerant on his right and Kristina to his left. Even with his head bowed he was a source of great optimism in the oversized room. His shoulders were proudly raised, and an irremovable smirk was planted on his face. Kristina and Vycerant, however, were conversely dejected from the ceremony. They cared not for the apprentice baptism they were about to receive. Their thoughts dwelled only on their friend who they had lost mere minutes before.

Zhen, Oddisor and Dulcia stood above their new students. Dulcia stood in the centre of the three with her hands out front her body like a cross as she muttered some ancient dialect.

“Umvah ka ree. Che ee bokora. Umvah ka raa. Evvret bokora va tor,” the woman uttered in the ancient Sitharsis language. “Kneel,” she then commanded to the three acolytes.

Vycerant, Doran and Kristina both did as they were told, not once lifting their heads up form the ground. The platform the masters were standing on was lowered by a great mechanism and the masters were suddenly on par with their soon-so-be apprentices.

Dulcia continued. “Fear is our father, malice is our mother. We dabble in darkness to free those from the oppression of the light. You are the future of our Order. Make the galaxy a place our forefathers would be proud to rule.”

Oddisor stepped in. “Rise our newly crowned warriors,” he said. The acolytes did as they were told. “Shed the skin of the acolyte life from your mind. Disregard that lowly title. For you are now apprentices to Lords of the Sith. Now, leave us. Us Lords have a lot to discuss.”

With that, the fresh apprentices bowed to their new masters and exited the glassy-floored room, with many onlookers watching them walk past. Many blackboots and warriors watched in awe at the three apprentices. Mere minutes before they would have been acolytes and so were subject to the will of even the lowest ranking warrior. Now they were disciples of Lords and were not to be trifled with.

Although Vycerant felt their admiration heaped upon him, his heart was shallowed. He said not a word to Kristina as he left and even lesser acknowledged Doran’s presence. He just wanted to be alone. For victory was upon him, yet his best friend was not here to celebrate with him.

Next Chapter - ***Chapter 12 - A New Era***

Copyright Jacob Burbidge 2019