Bright Shadow Chapter 17

Previous Chapter: ***Chapter 16 - Veil of Secrey***

***Chapter 17 - The Fateful Night***

Vycerant woke later that night in a cold sweat on his thread-bare bed, panting in a petrified state. The dark nightmares haunted his sleep ever since he discovered the two girls in buried under the rubble. A rubble that he helped create. His young imagination couldn’t help but wonder how many more families have fallen victim to his command. It had stolen his sleep and refused to give it back.

The last shreds of tolerance Vycerant had for the Sith were ebbing away like the last embers of a dying fire. A fire that was replaced with a new flame; a raging inferno in his mind that wanted nothing more than to burn the Sith to ashes. He wanted to escape this nightmare. It wasn’t helping that Kristina had stopped calling him. His only true solace in the galaxy was disconnected from him. Now he was alone. Surrounded by thousands of Imperials outside his quarters. Yet alone.

Vycerant was livid in his bed. His fists clenched so hard that is nails imprinted deep marks into his palms. He was angry that Kristina had stopped calling him. His rage was not directed at her, rather than the Sith that commanded her. He knew that Oddisor may have sent her to her death. Or worse, carried it out himself. His fury was intermixed with the terror of Zhen discovering his internal conflict. He knew he had to do something to escape these thoughts. Anything to calm his restless mind.

Jumping out of bed and putting his robes and cape back on, he ventured out of his tent, with his trusty lightsaber on his hilt.

Just in case.

The conflict Vycerant felt could be seen throughout his company. Sitting on a wooden bench outside his tent was the young Devrick, almost dozing off on his guard duty, but awakened at the sight of his commander. The startled young man gave Vycerant a nod, but not smile. His muscles could not muster it. Not after the horrors he had witnessed that day.

Coming into a clearance between the sea of red tents, Vycerant sat before a large campfire where a few Imperials were still celebrating their victories. A couple sung and danced in the background whilst another laid on the ground next to the fire, intoxicated from a strong cask of ale that laid spilt on the ground next to him.

Vycerant stared into the flames before him. They reminded him of the carnage of Korriban during the siege that killed his parents and started him down this dark path. Barely anything remained of that memory to Vycerant. Mostly fragments; seeing his family’s bodies, Dulcia rescuing him, seeing Zhen cut down a Jedi knight like butter. It all seemed so trivial and small now.

Staring through the flames into the tents ahead of him, he could only barely make out the face of Zhen walking towards him. Vycerant’s stomach churned at the sight of his master. He quickly stood upright and lowered his head to his master whilst the drunken Imperials continued to dance and sing.

“We need to talk, apprentice,” Zhen said with his hands clenched into a fist.

Vycerant stood silent for longer than he should have. The terror he felt in his master’s presence was greater than any he had felt before.

“Of course, master,” he said, containing a fightened stutter. “I’ll, um, bring you back to my tent if you wish-“

“No,” Zhen insisted. “We will talk here. Here and now.”

The two Lords began to attract the attention of the surrounding Imperials. The drunken man lying by the fire had scuffled away from the confrontation and a few onlookers watched the scene from their tents.

“I need to know that I have your support in these next few days, apprentice,” Zhen said. “The war is almost over. And I want you by my side when it ends.”

Vycerant pondered his master’s words, knowing them to be a smokescreen for his true intentions. “What makes you think you don’t have my support?” he asked ambiguously.

Zhen began to circle around the fire to his apprentice as the small crowd of observing Imperials grew. “Look, I know we’ve had our differences and our arguments,” he said. “It was to be expected by someone of your disposition. But I will not tolerate weakness in my army. And when I feel the amount of conflict within you, I worry that it will infect the men and women you lead. The last thing we want is a rebellion within our mix.”

Vycerant looked down at his feet before looking up at Zhen’s lightsaber; he had his right hand on his belt. Like the buildup to a shootout, Vycerant placed his own hands on his belt, close to where his own lightsaber hung.

“I agree,” the pureblood admitted. “A rebellion would be catastrophic for the war effort. Many would die and our efforts would be set back months. If not years.”

“Then I have your word you will stand beside me when the time comes?” Zhen asked.

Vycerant deliberated the question in his mind as his eyes were drawn to the ever-growing crowd of soldiers surrounding him and his master. Most of them were members of his regiment. Some were Zhens, a few belonged to Nova. His eyes scanned the crowd and saw his officers standing with each other; Jerrad, Corso, Ambassa and all the others. The fear in their eyes were outweighed by the determination to do what was right. It then dawned on him what was happening. Vycerant’s troops were all perfectly positioned and spread across the growing crowd. It was all too well planned to be a coincidence. Vycerant’s followers were ready to stand by him should the situation turned foul. And the circumstances of his situation were speedily becoming foul indeed.

It all hung on Vycerant’s response to his master’s question. On whether he would stand by Zhen or not. The air felt cool and the wind had halted. The fire was the only movement in the area. It’s crackling and popping were the only sounds to fill the black air. The flame inside Vycerant had grown and had reached it’s tipping point. His rage was boiling over and his opportunity had come.

“No,” he said at last, to a chorus of anxious whispers from the crowd and a look of indignation from Zhen.

“No?” the bald man asked calmly.

Vycerant raised his voice, wanting every member of the army to hear it. “I didn’t do your bidding at the Academy because I wanted to, even though I saw you as a mentor. I didn’t follow you into battle because I believed in you, even though I had faith in your cause. I didn’t defend you against your sceptics because respected you, even though I saw you as a lone light in a sea of darkness. All of that I did because I was made to. Because I was forced to. I am a slave! More now than I have ever been in my life. More than when I was a child and more than when I was an acolyte. And you are the one who is holding my leash. I will never be free so long as I am bound by the shackles of the Sith.

“We’re all slaves!” Vycerant shouted, turning his voice to the bewildered crowd. “Every single one of us! We’re murderers, the lot of us! We’ve been dragged into this war where the only people to benefit are monsters like him!” he continued, pointing his finger at the infuriated Zhen.

“Do not listen to his lies!” Zhen attempted to command his loyal servants in the crowd. “He had been poisoned by the manipulations of the light side. We cannot afford to waver in these last few days! We must stand united. Help me kill this traitorous runt and we will continue the war as planned!”

“You really think that’s what they want?” Vycerant interjected. “More death? More slaughter? More torture and enslavement of the innocent? I won’t stand by as you bring this galaxy to it’s knees. And neither will they.”

Vycerant made the first move, unclipping his lightsaber and igniting it in front of Zhen. The crowd became riled with fear and uneasiness. Zhen laughed at his apprentice with a hearty evil in his voice, undeterred by the lightsaber mere inches away from his face.

“You really think that they would follow you instead of me?” he asked. “I control legions you fool! I inspire fear in their hearts, and they follow me without question. And I have more than enough to deal with your pathetic presence. Shoot him!”

Zhen’s order was received by the crowd, yet no one acted on it. Zhen’s men shuffled in their boots with their hands on their blasters yet unwilling to pull the trigger. Even Nova’s men refused to take the shot. The crowd remained as they were, much to the rile of Zhen, whose overconfident smile quickly faded from his face.

“I gave you a direct order!” he shouted at the disobedient crowd. “Shoot him! Shoot him now, you dogs!”

The soldiers and Sith remained where they were, with not a single blaster aimed at Vycerant nor a single lightsaber ignited. They simply stood there. Watching. Waiting. They wanted a spectacle. To prove who was the best out of the two Sith. Zhen would gladly fulfil their desires.

“I’ll kill him myself then!” he shouted, lightsaber in hand and ignited just as Vycerant’s was. The betrayal and deception was over. Vycerant was now faced with the prospect of killing his now former master.

Zhen swung his blade from the ground upwards, a move that was blocked by Vycerant at the last second. The force of the swing pushed the pureblood back only slightly, before he unleashed a flurry of complex attacks that he had, once upon a time, used against Doran on Korriban. Zhen countered and retaliated. Vycerant did the same in turn. The rage-fuelled back and forth continued for almost a minute until Vycerant realised Zhen was manoeuvring the young pureblood closer towards the fire.

He should have felt it. He was so focused on the fight he couldn’t feel himself heating up from behind. A poorly placed left foot tripped on a flaming log and Vycerant fell backwards into the blaze, narrowly missing a hefty swing from Zhen’s blade.

The crowd watched concerningly as more and more Imperials came to observe the display. Vycerant’s cloak was completely engulfed in flames. The burning cloth came close to singeing his face, but not before he tossed the black cape off his back, letting it burn to embers on the floor. Zhen wasted no time and lunged forward with his blade. Vycerant returned in kind by dropping to his knees and skidding along the dirt floor to dodge the attack and nicked his blade against Zhen’s leg. Vycerant’s knees were bloodied and grazed from the move, and the attack did little to alleviate the threat of his master. His thick body armour was brittle, yet strong enough to resist a poorly planned attack. Zhen amassed his potencies and unleashed a barrage of lightening from his fingertips. Vycerant, unable to block the electrical burst dodged to one side, allowing the blast to engulf a group of Zhen’s followers who were standing behind him. They screamed as the dark energies shocked and charred their bodies. Vycerant had no time to react. He knew his only opportunity was to get Zhen in the leg again. His armour had been weakened. His stance becoming overconfident. He knew his armour was too strong for Vycerant’s blade. But the pureblood knew that with enough precise strikes, he could break his master’s shin guards and cripple him.

He tried once more, using the force to pick up a boulder from the ground and threw it at his ex-master. Zhen sliced the concrete ball open like a knife to a cake. Vycerant assumed the distraction would allow him to strike at Zhen’s knees. But Zhen’s composure remained, and as Vycerant went in for the kill, Zhen redirected the pureblood’s blade with his own, leaving his free left hand to punch his younger adversary in the face. Vycerant fell to the floor. And Zhen went in for the kill.

Leaping high, Zhen brought his blade down upon Vycerant’s bloodied face. The pureblood dodged last minute, kicking Zhen in the chest and winding the older man. Another kick was directed to the face, breaking Zhen's nose with a crunch. One final kick nagged the old man in the neck, forcing him backwards from his apprentice and choking the wind out of his lungs. With his defences weakened, Zhen was ripe for the taking. Vycerant sprinted at his with both hands on the hilt of his lightsaber. Zhen readied himself to be attacked in the leg once again. There was no way that Vycerant could break his armour from the front.

Vycerant, however, foresaw this and threw his blade around Zhen in a circular motion, spinning around to Zhen’s back. Before Zhen could react quick enough, the flying blade, guided by Vycerant’s use of the force, came up behind the Dark Lord and struck his shin, shattering the armour that was protecting his lower leg.

Zhen fell to one knee, in pain from the power of the blow. He looked up from his injury just in time to see Vycerant catch his spinning saber and leap into the air, bringing down his blade and his fury upon his old master. Zhen mustered all his strength to raise his crimson blade over his head and block the weapon of his former apprentice.

The two blades creaked and sparkled against each other for a brief moment, before Zhen looked down at the opposite blade of Vycerant’s double-bladed lightsaber. The pureblood shouted ragefully at the man and spun his weapon upwards, driving the second blade of plasma up into Zhen’s chest.

The former master fell to the ground, a deep, cauterised gash running up the middle of his chest. Vycerant fell to his knees before his old master, blood dripping out of his nose and hair. The two men looked each other in the eyes, with no exchange of words between them. Zhen coughed up his own blood from his trembling mouth as the muscles in his neck relaxed, dropping his head on the ground. His eyes closed before his victorious apprentice before becoming completely silent. His hands unclenched and his shoulders slumped as the legendary Darth Zhen exhaled his final breath.

The surrounding Imperials stayed silent in pure shock. As silent as their Lord had now permanently become.

Next Chapter: ***Chapter 18 - Shattered Memories***

Copyright Jacob Burbidge 2019