The Masar’s Revenge arced lazily into the atmosphere above Coruscant. Inside the small cockpit, Darth Crozeus sighed to himself as he looked at the traffic reports on screen. It was going to be a long time before he left this planet. After what seemed like an age he was finally allowed to dock his small fighter on a landing pad, not too far away from the former Jedi Temple. He popped the hatch and climbed out of the cockpit, ensuring that his Watchman Blaster and his lightsabers were concealed. He approached the dock worker, a sweating, bulky man, flashed his ID and carried on.
“Hold on there!” The worker shouted. Crozeus sighed and slowly turned around. “You’re a bit young to have your own ship ain’t ya boy? Ay lads, come an’ ‘ave a look at this lad.” Crozeus narrowed his eyes at the word ‘boy’ and strode up to the man. “I am on official business,” he hissed.
“Sorry lad, but I’m gonna have to scan ya.” Crozeus grimaced and stood motionless as the man roughly ran him over with a metal detector. The man pulled back Crozeus’ robe to reveal his short lightsaber handle. “What’s this then?” He sneered. “A lightsaber? Trying to play at Jedi, are we boy?”
Kriff, Crozeus thought. Is everyone trying to pick a fight with him? He thought to himself, what would his master do in this situation? Talk his way out, probably, but no one would take Crozeus seriously at the age of 14. He couldn’t mind trick them all, they would notice. Kill them? He wouldn’t be arrested, being a Sith, but their influence only carried so far on Coruscant. His thoughts were interrupted by the dock worker who made a grab for his lightsaber. Crozeus immediately sidestepped and took hold of it. “No, don’t,” he whispered. The brute took no notice, lunging for it with a cry of “Gimme!” Crozeus activated the blade and arced it upwards, at the same time pushing with the Force. The man had both his hands severed at the wrist before he was thrown back onto the duracrete floor.
Screaming, the man rolled around in agony. Crozeus allowed himself a small smile as he basked in the other man’s pain, and pushed one of the other workers away, knocking him cold as he smashed his head on the hard floor. The other pulled a vibroblade and moved on him, both the blade and the saber humming. As Crozeus ducked the man’s clumsy swipe, his hood was thrown back, revealing his gray face, blood red eyes and scarred mouth. The dock worker flinched, and that was all the opportunity Crozeus needed. He leapt forward, Juyo at its finest, and slashed twice across the worker’s thighs. Bawling, he dropped to the floor and Crozeus knew he would never walk again. Crozeus reached into the men’s minds and pulled any memories of him out, but he found he could not with the bulky man. He stepped forwards and crouched next to him, using the force to haul him to his feet, trying to hide his exhaustion. “I am no Jedi!” Crozeus screamed his fury and decapitated the huge man with a single blow. Putting his hood back on, he re-holstered his lightsaber and ran from the carnage.
High Prophet Crozeus
Chapter 2
It was not long before Crozeus pushed his way through the milling crowds of the Coruscant night clubs, trying to blot out the noise of the millions around him in the force, occasionally being blotted out or new ones being cast. He checked his datapad and looked up his location. His contact was almost parallel to him, a block over. He turned down an alley and walked down it, deep in thought.
“Hey, nice datapad. That new?” A shadowy figure came from the darkness. Crozeus sensed that it was not long after he had killed someone, as he still carried the sense of death on him. He looked at him for one second with his bright blue eyes, which faded to become a blood red. He reached into the Force and found the man’s windpipe. Closing a fist, he crushed it, lifting his hand. He considered Force Lightning, but it would attract unwanted attention. The man had gone purple, hands clawing in vain at his throat as Crozeus squeezed the life out of him. Soon, he collapsed and Crozeus moved on, arriving at the club he was meeting his contact.
The bouncer stopped him. “You’re a bit young aren’t you lad?” Crozeus sighed. He reached into his mind. “I can go in.” The bouncer stared blankly at him. “You can go in.” Crozeus stepped into the club, passing the crowd of sentients from all species: Twi’leks, Rodians, Weequays, even a Geonosian. He found the tale he was looking for and crossed to it, casting an appreciative eye over a dancing girl. He took a drink of some blue liquid in a cocktail glass from a serving girl in a pleasingly short skirt and sat down. The man didn’t look up and Crozeus looked around, slightly nervous, but exhilarated after the kill to feel confident if he was attacked. After a moment, the man passed a datacard to Crozeus, still not looking at him, and Crozeus handed over 200 credits. It was not worth killing him. Without a word he stood up and left the club, glancing at the card.
A few clubs down stood the place he was looking for. He entered in much the same fashion as before, but this time took a seat at the bar, waiting patiently for the barman, a human, to notice him. He was just any other customer, Crozeus told himself. He looked at the barman, a greying man, probably in his fifties, Crozeus guessed. A look of surprise crossed his face as he saw how young his customer was, but only for an instant as realisation dawned, and he served his young patron the drink without a word. “Any problematic customers in here?” Crozeus asked, trying to keep his voice casual, but the bartender understood, and nodded. “Young lass with a bunch of armed guards are always at the centre of any fights. She’s in here all the time and any who go near her are ushered away... hopefully quietly. I don’t wanna mess with, her, and I’m certain you don’t either.” Crozeus grinned and drained his cup, the Juma warming his blood.
Nonchalantly, he strolled over to the party, in the centre of which reclined a striking young woman, the same age as Crozeus, and six guards around her, as well as a Rodian servant. The guards were all human, and all male. One of the guards moved over to Crozeus blocking him, but Crozeus punched him in the face, feeling the satisfying crunch of a nose breaking. Knuckles stinging, he turned and jabbed the other in the stomach as the first coiled back, screaming and holding his face. His fist, expecting to hit soft flab, recoiled as it struck a wall of hard muscle. The guard grinned and grabbed Crozeus’ wrist, before launching him backwards into a table. The guards closed in on him, now drawing wicked blades. Crozeus, recovering swiftly, ignited the lightsaber in his wrist holster and thrust it into the approaching man’s throat. He gurgled slightly, and then fell back, the wound cauterized. When he fell, the whole crowd fell silent. Crozeus used the advantage to quickly slash down two more. From her chair, the woman watched it all calmly.
When they fell, the whole club dissolved into chaos. People ran, women screamed, men fought. The bartender shouted uselessly over the din, and Crozeus made a note to pay reparations. He was more than wealthy enough and the barman did not deserve to suffer. There was no need to disguise himself any longer, so he threw back his hood, and sent Force lightning into the two remaining men, ripping their flesh apart. He strode to the guard with the broken nose who was struggling to rise and decapitated him. The woman had now risen, interested, but still had no trace of anger. “Fenko, deal with him,” she ordered smoothly. The Rodian pulled two wicked looking blades and advanced, in a natural combat position. It was clear that he was an expert. Crozeus lunged to the Rodian’s insect-like head, expecting it to be parried. As it was, Crozeus used the momentum to launch himself over the Rodian, cleanly jumping over the slashing blade where his waist was a split-second earlier. He reversed his saber and plunged it into the Rodian’s back. He smirked. It was clear as well that this one was only used to dealing with thugs and drunks, not a Force-augmented Sith.
Finally he turned to face the woman, who unsurprisingly now faced him with a curved crimson blade ignited, its silver handle curved in the opposite direction. Infuriatingly, she remained impassive. Her plush lips parted and she spoke softly, despite the milling crowds and booming of the barman’s Argazdan Riot Buster. Yet Crozeus could hear every word.
“Why have you come here?”
“You know why. If you had faced me first these men need not have died.” These words were true, Crozeus knew, but the Jedi were selfish, despite what they preached.
“You would have killed me. Then these men would have attacked you. It would have been the same.”
“I...I don’t want to kill you, Jerina.” Crozeus now spoke softly, still speaking with the truth as he used her name for the first time, his voice heavy with emotion. “I once had feelings for you. It doesn’t have to be this way.”
“I felt the same way. But attachment is not the Jedi way.”
Crozeus laughed bitterly. “Jedi way? Neither of us follows the Jedi Code anymore. I left those tenets of weakness and servitude. And don’t tell me you are still a Blade. Keeping armed guards is definitely not the Jedi way.”
Jerina sighed. “You are right. I... I do not know who I am anymore. None of this makes sense. Please. Help me.” Her voice trailed off and she fell forwards. Crozeus rushed out to grab her. He put her in the baby carry and took her out of the club, out of the district, back to the Revenge out of Coruscant, back to the Sith Academy. Crozeus could feel her. She was no longer light sided. She was dark. Not fully, but she was turned. Crozeus eyes gleamed, brighter than they had in a very long time, and he broke into a full smile as he stroked her hair.
After an hour they arrived at the Academy. He put her down in the middle of the entrance hall where many prospects, guards and others stood. He put his hand on her head and pushed energy into her. She stirred and moaned softly, her dark brown hair in pools around her. Crozeus looked into her sharp green eyes and spoke hard. “I am Darth Crozeus, and together we will kill Kwai-Jin Shii.”
“Yes... this is what I want. More than anything. Will you help me?”
Crozeus laughed, so happy that someone he finally knew was here with him. He had grown close to many after his time here, but he knew her, and this made him happier than he had been in years. Regret dawned on him.
“I already have an apprentice. But there must be one who can train you. One as talented as you, you will learn the true Force with ease. I can see it. I will take you to my quarters where you can sleep, and in the morning we will look for a Master. You must be exhausted after breaking the mind control.”
Jerina merely smiled, overcome by the emotion. She simply hugged him and allowed him to lead her to his quarters, where she fell asleep instantly. Crozeus smiled as he sat down to meditate. Great things were on the path for that one. He just had to find out what.
High Prophet Crozeus
Two months later
Crozeus had always thought of Space Station Scardia as a strange place. As Dark Warrior, it was his duty to protect and defend it, but he found it such a peculiar structure. It was hard to classify it into defensive sectors. But, true to duty as always, he had done it. He walked along the central spire, heading towards the office of the Supreme Prophet. He rapped twice on the door and it opened almost instantly, yet Praxeum remained at his seat. Crozeus walked in, suddenly aware of himself, and bowed. The places he wasn’t allowed in while surveying, were indeed the offices of the Supreme and High Prophets, and Crozeus was surprised at how spartan it was.
“Ah, young Crozeus. What brings you here?”
The Dark Lord regarded him evenly, and Crozeus blinked.
“I keep receiving visions. The same vision, actually. I just see black and grey, and then a voice, an elderly woman’s voice...” He trailed off. The Supreme Prophet frowned.
“What?”
“When I try to think, I can never remember the words. But then all I see is my body. On a leafy floor. Stabbed with a lightsaber. And then all I see is Jerina’s face. She cries, and then she too is killed, by an unknown hand. What do you think it means?”
Praxeum laughed. “Well, I can’t really interpret that without the words. I often have visions of my death. So does Aequitas. But look, if you are worried, drink some of this. It clears the mind and visions are clearer. If you do make sense of it, you know what to do.”
He opened a draw on his desk and pulled out a small crystal phial. In it were a few green herbs which looked like mini ferns. Crozeus nodded his thanks and took it, putting it secure in a belt pouch. “Of course.”
He bowed once again and left the office. I wonder if this will work, he mused. Behind him, as the door swung shut, Praxeum shook his head and sighed. He turned to the figure behind the door. “So, Inquisitor. Where were we?”
