Bright Shadow Chapter 7

Previous Chapter: ***Chapter 6 - Dark Rivalries***

***Chapter 7: Unholy Alliance***

Doran travelled back through the endless halls of the Academy with a victorious stride in his steps. He had made his first unauthorised kill and he felt the spoils in his veins. Sharmall’s death had given him clarity on what it meant to be Sith and he bathed in his success. Greatest of all, there would be no ties to Doran for the elder Sith to pin the murder on him. Everyone would assume that Sharmall was simply overpowered by the malicious Wanderers and died a horrible death. A weak and pathetic way to go. The Empire would forget about him and move on. A perfect assassination.

“Doran!” shouted a voice from the dark halls ahead.

Swift on his reactions, Doran unsheathed his blade and held it towards the origin of the voice; standing in the path were the silhouettes of were the outlines of two men standing shoulder to shoulder. Their own blades were readied for a fight as they walked towards Doran and out of the darkness.

Stepping into the luminous bean red neon radiance emitting from the light on the ceiling of the hallway; Doran’s two brothers, Dredge and Damor, emerged from the darkness, staring down their elder brother with trademark Sith rage in their eyes.

“Where is Sharmall?” demanded Dredge, his veins popping out of his clean-shaven head from his intense rage.

Doran merely raised a callous eyebrow as he looked back at his infuriated brothers. He sheathed his blade and let his words do the fighting.

“Let’s just say that there’s one less acolyte that I have to deal with," he said coldly.

Upon hearing his words, Damor and Dredge briefly looked at each other in shock and raised their sharpened blades at their cruel brother.

“You sick bastard! Sharmall was out friend!” shouted Damor.

Doran chuckled to himself as he remembered Sharmall’s last words to him before he left the Mirialan to die. He found the repetition of that one word particularly amusing. *Perhaps I am just a bastard* he humorously thought to himself.

“And I am your brother, am I not?” he said, still keeping his own blade sheathed in his belt.

“You’re not the brother I grew up with in the slave pits,” said Dredge. “You’re no longer the good man who would look out for others, even at his own expense. How could you…”

“Because I am not the weak person that you grew up with!” Doran bellowed to the two men, finally losing his calm composure. Damor and Dredge both nervously shuffled backwards slightly as Doran shouted at them. “I am not the pathetic rodent that you took in after my real family died. That child has been dead ever since I arrived at this forsaken place.”

After a tense silence Dredge lowered his blade. He exited the defensive stance he was in and walked slowly towards his fallen brother.

“Dredge, what the hell are you doing?” Damor queried in a worried tone.

Dredge put his hand up to order Damor to be quiet as he walked over in front of Doran. Dredge could feel it. Inside, Doran was breaking up. He could feel the conflict between the good and evil inside him. None of them had wanted to be part of the Empire. They were slaves their whole lives and they never desired to be Sith. They had all vowed to escape the Empire the moment the opportunity revealed itself. But Dredge felt that Doran had fallen to the pull of the dark side. The power that had been offered to him in the form of Sith adherence was too much for Doran to say no to. But Dredge could still fell the man he knew inside the cold shell that was Doran.

“You don’t have to do this, bro. We can still escape the Empire. It’s not too late for us to turn back and flee this place,” he begged.

Doran’s eyes began to water but his soul had already been consumed. His mindset was cemented in the darkness and he was determined to come out on top. “You have no right to call me brother” he whispered, his voice cracking slightly. “You and I both know that we are not of the same blood”.

Now it was Dredge’s turn to become emotional. “Please… don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Doran shouted. “Don’t speak the truth about who I am? Oh, I am very much willing to discuss my past. You took me! You gave me no choice but to fake being your brother! I never wanted to be your family!”

Still standing behind the other two, Damor was becoming nervous and shaky. His blade remained in the attack position and stayed ready to strike at his fallen brother if the opportunity arose.

“We rescued you!” shouted Dredge. “Gave you a home. A place to be. Without us you would have died…"

“Don’t you dare!” retorted Doran, pointing a disapproving finger at the man. “I could have handled myself. If that measly shlyk-eater Vycerant could have survived on the streets for years, I could have done the same.”

Dredge stepped back from Doran, accepting the realisation that Doran was too far gone to save. He had been defeated by the man’s malicious and hurtful words.

“The truth is, brothers, that neither of you have ever appreciated my skill,” said Doran, his ego now bursting through his words. “That is why we can never truly be family. I once thought you would be able to become as powerful as me someday. To follow in my footsteps. Could you imagine? With our combined powers as brothers we could have taken over the Empire and we could have ruled this planet. This galaxy. But now I see the truth. You were given the option to embrace unlimited power.”

Doran raised his right hand in front of his face, sparkles of blue electricity running through his palm and up to his fingertips. He analysed the lightning run up and down his fingers as he spoke.

“But you never took the opportunity. You had your chance. And you blew it. So now there are only two things holding me back from my potential. And they are both you!”

With that, Doran extended his hand and unleashed a volley of Force lightning towards the brothers. The azure currents of energy illuminated the entire gallery as it cackled flashed in the darkness of midnight. Damor and Dredge stood together and attempted to hold back the torrent of unnatural electricity with their own powers. Their efforts were undermined by their fallen brother’s superior strength and were both knocked backwards by the blue flood of power. As they landed on the cold floor several meters away from Doran, Damor quickly got up to his feet and charged at Doran whilst Dredge was dazed and incapacitated on the ground.

Unsheathing his own blade, Doran engaged his former brother through a fierce downward swing of his balde, which Damor blocked easily. Doran, however, knew his brother’s fighting style well and twisted the hilt of his training saber and causing the two metal blades to shear at one another. The two colliding blades generated sparks and embers that flew into Damor’s eyes. Crying out in searing pain, Damor closed his burning eyes and pushed Doran back with a powerful thrust. Caught off guard, Doran was thrown backwards and landed on his back several meters down the gallery. Doran had enough energy to get up just in time to see Damor soaring through the air towards him with his saber raised. Doran lifted his own blade in the defensive position and blocked the downward swing from Damor, just as he had done moments prior.

Infused with anger and resentment, Damor pushed down on the now defensive Doran, forcing the fallen brother to his knees. Embracing his opportunism, Doran released one hand from his training saber and Force-pulled Dredge’s training saber from the ground where he was lying. The blade came flying towards Doran who leaned backwards and kicked Damor in the chest, directly into the path of the blade. The training saber impaled Damor through his back and out of his diaphragm, releasing all the air he had left in his now punctured lungs.

Dredge regained his strength and lifted his dizzy head from the ground only for him to see the teary-eyed face of his dying brother standing a short distance away from him. The dying brother staggered towards Dredge as Doran struggled onto his feet. Dredge’s eyes became widened and mixed with fury and grief as his brother’s shaky legs gave out. Damor collapsed onto his knees directly in front of Dredge, not taking his eyes off his younger brother as his life force left him.

“Run”, he whispered with his last breath as Doran approached him from behind and pulled the training blade from his back, making a grotesque shearing sound as it was wrenched from Damor’s flesh. Doran remained monotone and composed as he watched Damor die on the floor in front of him. The good man inside him was desperately trying to get out and the conflict brewing inside him was growing like a foamy potion.

Dredge listened to his brother’s final words without question or retaliation. He reeled onto his feet and fled from the monster that was Doran, tears streaming down his eyes upon the loss of both his brothers. Before he could even make any distance between himself and Doran he felt himself tense up and began levitating in the air. He grasped his throat and struggled for air as his windpipe shut completely.

Puzzled, Doran watched as Dredge writhed in the air when a hand appeared out from the darkness: a red hand. Immediately identifying who the Force-wielder was, Doran sheathed his sword and dropped to his knees, bowing his head at the hooded Lord.

Darth Dulcia’s full body emerged from the shadows, her head hooded and her body obscured by a shadowy, black cloak. Her eyes shone like a yellow lantern in the night under her ensconcing hood. Dulcia dropped Dredge’s body to the floor in front of Doran. His released throat coursed and cackled with every breath he took, trying to regain his lost energy.

Doran raised his bowed head nervously, attempting to decipher the motivations of the Sith Lady. She removed the cloak from her head, revealing her curly, flowing reddish-black hair. Doran kept his eyes on the floor; no one had ever seen Dulica’s hair before. At least, no one who had lived to tell of it.

“Rise, young one,” she said smiling at Doran, keeping one hand pointed at Dredge, encasing him in a Force-generated cocoon preventing him from escaping. Doran did as he was told and slowly rose to Dulcia’s command, standing only an inch higher than his master.

“You’ve been busy this night,” she continued.

“I only did what I had to do to secure my future. My destiny,” Doran replied. Dulcia glanced over his shoulder to see the corpse of Damor. “And him?” she said raising an eyebrow and nodding in the direction of the lifeless body.

“Collateral damage,” Doran responded coldly. He kept his gaze ahead, not daring to look into the deep eyes of Dulcia lest he be encapsulated by her splendour and have his judgement impaired by her beauty. “If I could have avoided it, I would have.”

Dulcia began to circle the acolyte, slowly walking around him as she ran her hand across his chest and his shoulders. “Yet you understand the inevitability of it all?” she asked. “You knew that they would hold you back. You acknowledged that you had to make it on your own. Without them.”

Doran took a risk and broke his gaze. He looked Dulcia in her eyes as she walked past his right shoulder. Any other acolyte would be dead by now for breaking the rules. He thought to himself. What could she possibly want from me?

“Forgive me for asking, my master,” he said at last. “But what is the meaning of all this?” he asked looking Dulcia straight in the eyes, an act that would earn any other acolyte a painful death.

“I have ambitions, acolyte,” she said. “Do you seriously think I am content with training measly amateurs in the fighting pits? Having to filter out the most mediocre set of beings I’ve ever seen, and then somehow morph them into Sith? I think not. I’ve spent the last year observing your group of acolytes and I’ve found that the only one with potential is you. I’ve witnessed every action you have taken tonight; deceiving Sharmall, evading the Wanderers and now killing your brothers. You have elevated yourself above all the other acolytes and I want to be the one to wield your power. I will use your untapped abilities to bring me to the top. To make me the Empire’s blademaster.”

Doran knew that he had no choice in the matter, yet still, he welcomed the opportunity to supplement his own craving for power. He nodded at Dulcia and she smiled at the man’s sheep-like obedience.

“Excellent,” she said with a gleeful grin on her face. “But first,” she continued as she released Dredge from his stasis and pulled him over to Doran’s feet. The man pulled himself up to his knees as Doran looked down at his former sibling. “I need to know if you have the guts to completely commit yourself to the dark side,” she continued. “To sever all ties with your previous life. The penultimate challenge to become my apprentice.”

Those final words rang in Doran’s ears like a great bell had been struck. The vibrations registered in his mind as the dark side itself took the wheel. The training saber used to betray Sharmall and murder Damor had been removed from its sheath. It's blade hovered over Dredge's bloodied and bruised head. Panting and in agony from his injuries, Dredge looked up at Doran, his blade raised above him with both hands on the hilt ready to strike down upon the man.

“Doran! Listen to me!”, Dredge said, begging more for his brother's soul rather than his own life. “This is not you! This Sith witch has perverted your mind. I know who you are deep beneath. I’ve known you this whole time. I know you are still my brother…”

The man’s trivial monologue was cut short by the metal blade slicing into his head, piercing through the bridge of his nose and down into his mouth, cutting his tongue in two. Doran pulled the blade out of Dredge's forehead, letting blood and brains scatter across the floor, no doubt another meal for the Wanderers to feast on later. The lifeless body of Dredge toppled over to the side like a statue being torn down. Almost immediately after killing the last family he had, Doran once again dropped to one knee before the feet of Dulcia who played with her hair giddily as she excitedly looked down at her new apprentice.

“And there we have it,” she proclaimed. “The perfect specimen. No more connections left outside of these halls. Pure Sith strength. I sense that the conflict within you has been cleft asunder with one quick slash of a blade. Congratulations, acolyte Doran. You have made the first true real step to becoming a Sith.

The blackened heart of the man became infused with a hot, zealous desire. A bloodlust of epic proportions. He had tasted the sinew of the dark side. And a wanted more of it.

“What would you have me do next, my master?” he asked of Dulcia.

The woman pondered the question for a moment. So many opportunities. So many missions to complete. So many rivals to gut. Mentally she put her objectives in order of importance and came to a swift conclusion.

“There are those among us that seek to dilute our foundations. To sully our future with their own weak-minded sacrileges. It throws into question the very purpose of the Empire. Understand this well, apprentice: We are the guardians of those forsaken by the light. We satiate our bloodlust in darkness and depravity. That is the core divergence between us and the Jedi; we do not squander our gifts on self-righteous sacraments. But there are some who linger between the cracks of our Order that wish to undermine our great Empire. To add benevolence to tyranny. To add love to hate. These are the actions of traitors. And traitors must be removed. Permanently.”

Doran had to ponder for a moment to decode who it was she was talking about. He searched his mind for members of the Empire who had shown obvious distaste for the Empire’s methods and found it increasingly difficult to narrow down the search. Then it hit him. Like a charging Rhackhoust bull, it hit him. The master of the Neophyte Council. The man who was suspiciously absent during the training of his own acolytes. The man who would only ever appear out of the shadows to converse with Doran’s nemesis.

Dulcia’s theory seemed unthinkable. But as Doran quickly evaluated the possibility of this individual’s treachery, it made all the more sense to him.

“You suspect that Zhen is a traitor?” he said.

“Not just him,” Dulcia replied. “An acolyte amongst you who that weak man has corrupted. A rot at the very foundation of our Empire. A seed of doubt planted in the most impressionable members of our order. I believe Zhen has taken this student under his wing and tainted his potential with thoughts of disloyalty; A light Sith, Kaos forbid.”

“The red skinned acolyte,” Doran said with a resentful fire in his eyes.

Dulcia’s eyes narrowed and another smile found its way across her face. *My, he does learn fast, doesn’t he?*

“Yes, apprentice,” she said. “When a Sith strays too far from the darkness, they make themselves an orphan. That is where our purpose comes to fruition. We take what is ours by birth-right and the likes of Zhen and his pet are the antithesis of what the Empire is at its very heart. We must remove them from the equation or the whole chain will collapse. The besmirched and the unfaithful are a threat to everything we stand for. And it’s about time that order is restored to our ranks completely: I want you to kill acolyte Vycerant”..

Doran dared to test the patience of his new master once more. “Why can’t you do it?” he asked her."

“I cannot go around murdering any Sith I don't like," she replied. "That was the way of the old Dynasty and look where that got them. It is up to the trials to determine the strength of the new recruits. But there are no rules regarding what the acolytes do to each other, however. Your assassination of Sharmall was in violation of the rules only because you did it under the blanket of night, rather in broad daylight. It must be you to deliver the killing blow to the pureblood acolyte in open combat. As for Zhen, I have no physical evidence of his treachery. The man in tenacious and he hides his schemes well. Even if I were to testify that Zhen was corrupting the core of the Empire, he has connections with even the Dark Council themselves. He has an entire following of minions at his disposal and I doubt they’d take kindly to me accusing him of treason. It’s simply far too risky for me to accuse Zhen of anything until I have evidence.

“But you, however, have more flexibility," she continued. "There are no rules regarding how acolytes achieve the top four places for the final trial. This gives you the opportunity to kill acolyte Vycerant and get close to Zhen. Become a thorn in their side and prevent them from obtaining any more power than they have already amassed. Can you do that for me?”

Doran looked up at the yellow eyes of the striking Sith Lady, his eyes now sharing the same fiery hue as his master’s. “It will be done, my lady."

Next Chapter: ***Chapter 8 - Assassination Attempt***

Copyright Jacob Burbidge 2019