Omega: What Lies Beneath

[Irtar Mal'Gro]

A long time ago, in a galaxy far far away…

Omega​

WHAT LIES BENEATH​

​

It was a time of WAR.

Under pressures from the GALACTIC ALLIANCE and​

MANDALORIAN CLANS the ONE SITH had begun to collapse.
A ROGUE faction had taken it upon themselves to save their empire.
In the fringes of the GALACTIC CORE they built their project.
They called it OMEGA, the last word.

A mighty facility shrouded in mystery,
designed to destroy the enemies of the ONE SITH.
While the Galaxy descended their armies and fleets
upon the world of Castameer to face this threat
others sought to take advantage of their averted gaze…​

The shuttle lazily listed above the world, the soft grey hull gleaming dully in the sun. Beneath them lay the once gleaming capital of the Galaxy. Coruscant. Being at the center of the centuries long Galactic Civil War it had not come through unscathed. Countless battles between Republics, Empires, Cabals, and Orders had been fought over this world. Debris littered the system from a thousand battles. Deep craters peppered the world. Some recent, some ancient. Its iconic tall spires appeared humble next to the blood shed in claiming them.

But life always finds a way. The planet was still visibly busy from the surface, as speeders and peoples fly busily about. Busy clearing up the wreckage of their lives and finding a way to move on with yet another regime change. A song and dance the citizens of Coruscant had long since adapted to.

Until recently, it was the capital of the One Sith before being taken by the Galactic Alliance. But just as the Galactic Alliance had finished clearing the rubble of the most recent Battle of Coruscant, the Omega situation had begun. And it was here that Irtar saw his moment to strike.

This had been their capital. The heart of their territory. They had fought for it, tooth and nail. There was no way they had gathered up everything before they had left. He nearly trembled as he put his hand against the viewport on the side of the shuttle.

The most important things would be gone. Any relics of the Ancient Sith would be gone. The more valuable arcane artefacts would be gone. But there were things that were impossible to find in the Galaxy at large but are essential for a Sith Order. Lightsaber parts. Training holocrons. Alchemical equipment. Lightsaber resistant materials. It would be impossible for the One Sith, while facing an evacuation, to grab all of it. And the Galactic Alliance and their Jedi would not have been able to find it all either in this short of time.

And that was just assuming one was looking at things left by the One Sith.

The shuttle made its way to start lining up for approach. A Galactic Alliance cruiser hung between them and the planet, inspecting as many ships as they could. Tensely, the lithe Human female pilot held on to the controls. She looked uneasily towards the cruiser and back to Irtar as he looked out the view port.

“I don’t know how you talked me into doing this…” Elana muttered as she looked at the looming shape before them.

Elana, his fellow apprentice under Lady Skygge, sat at the controls. She was an able Sith Apprentice, and in many ways more experienced than Irtar. But she was not overly powerful in the Force, and seemed to take on the mantle of a subservient well for all of her noise and fury. It took a simple offer of a share of the bounty and a reminder of their Mistress’ words about lack of ambition. He could swear the idea of a word of praise from their Mistress had filled her with more eagerness than the idea of what could be found.

“Come now.” Irtar said in a slightly mocking tone. “Neither of us have a criminal record in the Galactic Alliance. This ship has no record of criminal activity. They are thinly spread. Their worry is not a couple of people. They are currently prepared for a counter attack from the One Sith or a betrayal of the Mandalorians. We will slide in and out without even raising an eyebrow.”

“Our Mistress has said we do not show enough initiative. The best way to dissolve this accusation is to strike out on our own at something. Take something of value. Learn something on our own rather than being fed from her tit.” Irtar reminded her as he turned his gaze back to the planet outside.

Elana scoffed at that, shaking her head slightly. Irtar shared her concern. The Galactic Alliance was firmly aligned with an order of Jedi, and the relations of Jedi and Sith were famously… poor. Especially with their war with the One Sith. There was a fairly good chance if they were caught, they’d be arrested. Or worse.

“This is Coruscant Flight Control.” Came a voice crackling over the communication device. “Please acknowledge.”

“This is the Shuttle Lucid.” Elana replied as evenly as she could. “Looking for landing clearance. Forwarding destination now.”

“One moment Lucid....” The Flight Control responded, and the crackle of the comms went quiet for a moment before sparking back to light. “We have received. Forwarding flight path now. Remain on the designated flight path unless given clearance. Understood?”

A light on the shuttle’s command console lit up, and a series of waypoint markers came up on the shuttle’s display.

“We have received Flight Control. Proceeding on designated flight path.” Elana confirmed, as she altered course towards the first waypoint marker. It would take them right under the nose of that Alliance Cruiser.

“So far so good.” Irtar said with a small smile before returning to his gazing.

Elana had run him through the obstacles they would face on both insertion and extraction.

Insertion would be easy. They would need to keep their connection to the Force nearly totally suppressed. It would make detecting any Jedi from a safe distance impossible, but it would keep them from being detected as well. The patrol craft would scan them on approach. Ship bound sensors were inaccurate at fine point detail. Designed to give the crew a look into the a cargo hold or to see if a shuttle actually had a squad of soldiers on board. It wouldn’t detect anything as small as a lightsaber or blaster. That is what the customs checkpoint would be for.

The customs checkpoint would be the first real challenge. As a recent conquest, they would be on high alert. Insurgents sneaking in, and Loyalists trying to sneak off. Thankfully, Irtar had yet to be flagged for any sort of watch list so he didn’t have to worry about tricking the database. The problem would be sneaking in the necessary equipment.

That could be accomplished with a couple of Mind Tricks and some subterfuge. It was mostly just equipment commonly found with salvagers in the Outer Rim and there was no shortage of work for them on Coruscant and the millennia of decaying infrastructure in her depths. Weapons would be the problem. But he had a plan.

“Well Elana, I am going to get prepared for landing while you take us in.” Irtar declared, breaking his reverie and heading into the back of the shuttle. “Remember to keep your connection to the Force suppressed. I do not want us to find out the hard way that Cruiser has a Jedi Master at the helm.”

 

[Irtar Mal'Gro]

The shuttle’s hatchway slowly opened up and the ramp lowered. Irtar had foresworn his Sith robes for this adventure, else it would have ended the moment that ramp lowered. Instead, he was wearing a pair of thick worksman boots, a pair of thick pants, and a simple shirt. He looked every bit the simple workman trying to find some legitimate work. A simple disguise, but sometimes simple was the best.

He lugged the large backpack off the deck of the shuttle over his shoulder. It had a cutting gear, breathing apparatus, and various ropes and ties. Anything needed to cut, hold, hoist, or remove any sort of debris. Gear useful to both his purpose and his ruse.

Elana followed closely behind him. She had switched from her robes to a simple flight suit to denote her role as a shuttle pilot. She began locking up the shuttle behind them as they finished departing.

Here, they would split up. Each would try to learn what they could in their own ways. Neither was completely honest to the other of how they would go about it, as Sith often were. He knew first she would be refuelling the shuttle, but after that she wouldn’t say. But she promised she would come back for him. He believed her if for no other reason than a share of whatever he found.

Irtar’s part would begin with making it through the Customs. The spaceport was crawling with a variety of peoples and species. A plethora of languages were muttered back and forth as people bickered with the Customs Officers about what was permitted and what wasn’t. One culture’s sacred tradition was another’s illegal foodstuff.

For his part, to avoid attention and trouble, Irtar patiently waited until his turn finally came along. He placed his pack on a tray to be scanned and inspected by the rather bored looking Customs Officer. A Human Woman that looked like she hadn’t done anything but sit on this stool for the last decade. Her glazed eyes looked up at him.

“Any paperwork?” She asked him, after giving him a once over.

“No Miss. Straight out of the Outer Rim.” He told her, putting a bit of a yokel twinge to his voice. Not so much as to be obvious, but enough to sound just slightly out of place.

Even before the conflict, the people of the Rim were very rarely registered with the Galactic Database. Eight hundred years of Galactic War had torn down most systems of identification. What use was a passport when planets changed hands as often as currency?

The woman grumbled knowing the extra work ahead of her. She brought up a datapad.

“Name?” She muttered unenthusiastically.

“Irtar. Irtar Mal’Gro.” He responded honestly. A blip came up showing he was unregistered in the Galactic Alliance’s database and she would have to enter his information.

They went back and forth about his information. His homeworld, his age, his height, his blood type. She took a photo to add to a file for the Galactic Alliance. It took about ten minutes to register him with their database and now Irtar was on the grid. With that finished, she turned it back to why he was disturbing her day.

“What is your purpose on Coruscant?” She muttered as she lazily typed into her keyboard.

“Salvage work in the ruins. I figure with all the damage done they need help clearing out the underbelly.” He responded, again honestly. It was not a whole truth, but it was not a direct lie.

“Hrm. Permit?” She asked, giving him a stern look.

Now was the one point he would need to use just a little bit of the Force. The woman had no patience or joy for this work. She wanted him gone as badly as he wanted to be gone. She was bored to death and just wanted her day to end. It would only take the gentlest of nudges, more than subtle enough to not be picked up on a world so infused with the powers of the Force and so recently a center for the One Sith.

“I have a contract with the Central Coruscant Power Service. Worried about some lines damaged in the attack buried in the Undercity. They have my permit.” Irtar said with an attempt at a friendly smile, before leaning forward and pulling just a little bit on his desire to be done with this. “You are sure of this.”

The woman stared at him for a moment as the Force slowly wriggled the idea into the crevices of her mind. She looked at the scan of the bag, filled with air filters and cutters and other scavenger tools. Nothing appeared to be out of place. She couldn’t even find a small blaster. Then with a shrug she tapped her datapad. “Those lazy Union men didn’t send off your permit.”

“I know. It’s a pain. Thanks for being so understanding. I’ll be going to their office as soon as I’m done here.” Irtar assured her as she grumbled and continued with her paperwork.

“I see no reason to waste any more of our time. Welcome to Coruscant, Mister Mal’Gro. Abide by Galactic Alliance law and keep the peace.” She grumbled unenthusiastically at Irtar as she handed him a datachit that gave him clearance to pass. He took it with a kind smile before gathering up his pack. She looked at the next person in the line with a new wave of annoyance.

 

[Irtar Mal'Gro]

The Spire Cafe was one of the few old world locations left on Coruscant. It sat atop one of Coruscant’s ancient towers, looking down upon the cityscape around them. It had managed to avoid being levelled by fire, crashing ships, or the variety of other horrible things that had befallen the planet in eight hundred years of war. It offered a commanding view that had only become more pronounced as its brothers and sisters fell to the near constant pressures of war.

Irtar seemed a bit out of place amongst the normal patrons in his workman’s clothes, but business was slow after the Galactic Alliance seized the planet. A curious tourist with credits was better than no one and no credits. From the tall balcony, Irtar played the part of the awestruck tourist. It wasn’t hard. Coruscant was still an incredible sight, and he had never seen anything like it before.

Not a speck of true land to be seen. Sure, there were green spaces, but they all sat hundreds of meters above the true surface of the world. It was said that the top of Coruscant’s tallest mountain finally fell victim to the swollen girth of Galactic Society a millennia ago. The sheer scale and scope of it all was staggeringly astounding.

He gazed about the cityscape with his macrobinoculars, taking it all in. Truly, the Galaxy was a place of wonder and beauty both natural and artificial. A testament to the Golden Age of High Galactic Society. But he couldn’t help but notice this close to it the markings of millennia of war. Some of the spires had walkways that would have led to some long dead twin. Plazas that had been used as staging areas. Parks that now held weapons emplacements. What would have been possible, Irtar wondered idly to himself, if the Galaxy had managed to avoid falling victim to its pride.

“Sir?” The waiter asked, nearly startling Irtar who jumped slightly. The man was dressed in a very simple and clean suit. A professional but not overwhelming look that stood in stark contrast to Irtar’s choice of attire.

“Oh! Sorry about that. I was somewhere else.” Irtar said with a bit of a laugh, placing his macrobinoculars on to the table. “I’ve never seen the like of it.”

“Thank-you.” The waiter said with a small bow of his head. “It may not be as regal as it once was, but it is still home. And we remaining Coruscanti great pride in our home.”

“I don’t imagine it is easy growing up here.” Irtar commented with a supportive smile. “The regime changes, the battles. Must feel like being a trophy handed out to the strongest fighter.”

“At times.” The waiter admitted with a hint of sadness to his voice. “But that’s because the Galaxy knows we’re worth it. Just like our daily specials. Might I tempt you with a Coruscanti Cappucino Deluxe? It is made with beans grown in the Axium Atrium and topped with a fine whipped cream. Comes served with a delicious sweet wafer.”

“You’ve sold me.” Irtar said with a warm smile as the waiter went back to fill his order. With the Waiter gone, Irtar went back to his city gazing.

His gaze settled on the Sith Temple. It was a grand building, but still badly damaged from the most recent battle. He was near enough that he could make out rough numbers, and the comings and goings. The place was a buzzing hive of activity. Obviously a focus of the Alliance occupation. Likely to keep would be looters and raiders out.

He ran through some options in his mind of how to get into the facility, but came out empty. There was a good chance whatever Jedi were taking part in the occupation would be there. He might be able to handle a Jedi Apprentice on his own, but a Knight? Or a Master? And with soldiers at their back? It would be suicide.

He carefully began to make a mental map of the overworld in his mind. Points of interest and the layout of the surface structures. This time, he was paying some more attention and caught the approach of his waiter. He put down the macrobinoculars as the man approached with his beverage.

“Here you are! Enjoy.” The waiter said, placing the mug with its steamy brew on the table. Before he walked off, Irtar raised his hand to encourage him to stay.

“I was wondering, before you left, about the Alliance occupation?” Irtar asked, and the waiter went a bit quiet at that and looked slightly uncomfortable. “Oh, don’t worry, nothing dangerous. I was just curious about how it is flipping back and forth.”

“Well, to be honest, it’s not much different from one to the next.” The waiter said with a lowered voice, the most recent stint of Sith rule leaving the waiter with a bit of paranoia. It made one careful of their choice of words. “Keep your head down. Do your work. Keep out of their way. Works with whatever Republic or Empire decides to rule the city.”

“Fair enough.” Irtar conceded to the waiter with a bit of a nod. “Just busy watching all the activity at the big building over there.”

“Jedi are busy purging the Sith Temple. Trying to bring in some ‘Light’, whatever that means. We occasionally get a couple of them here.” The waiter said, and a short lived wave of fear and paranoia creeped up Irtar’s spine as he quickly looked about the cafe. He didn’t see anyone that looked like a Jedi, but then again he had never met a Jedi before as to say what one would look like.

“I don’t see any.” Irtar said, feigning the disappointment of a tourist missing his chance to see something interesting.

“They won’t be changing shifts for a couple hours yet. If you want to come back around diner time one might be here?” The Waiter offered, and Irtar slowly shook his head.

“Work to do. But who knows? I might run into one later on.” Irtar said with a small smile, and a looming sense of dread at the prospect.

“Well, if there’s nothing else, I’ll leave you to it. Don’t want your cappuccino getting cold.” The Waiter said, reminding Irtar of his dish before getting on his way to help the other customers.

Irtar took the sweet wafer and dipped it in the cappuccino and took a bite. He paused for a moment as he appreciated the taste. Too sweet, he thought with a frown, but not terrible.

 

[Irtar Mal'Gro]

He knew from the start that Plan A was highly unlikely to be an option. It’s why he came packed for Plan B. He waited until night to make his move.

Within a couple of kilometres of the Sith Temple was a great gash in the cityscape. Irtar didn’t know what caused it. Perhaps a ship that came in from orbit at speed. Perhaps a turbolaser blast that missed its mark. Maybe some sort of devastating weapon the likes of which he had never seen. He couldn’t say to be certain, but what he did know was that it led down.

He found himself a large lamp post that used to illuminate whatever avenue or path ran through this block before. Now it was dead and abandoned like much of this district. He hung the spool of cable on one side of his hip, and attached the grappler to the end of it. It was a simple droid that would cling to whatever surface and with a press of a button would release. Very handy to leaving without a trace and wouldn’t require the complicated knots he was more used to. With a metal whirr it clung hard to the duracrete base of the post.

It gave him a bit of trepidation, handing his life over to this little mechanical being, but it was necessary.

With a few hard tugs to make sure that he was properly anchored, he nodded to himself with confidence it would hold his weight. He leaned off the side and looked down into the yawning abyss. A few ancient conduits sparked with life down below, but otherwise it was an inky pit. He would reach out with the Force if he thought he’d go unnoticed.

Discretion was still needed. He set a device on his wrist that would act as an altimeter to let him know how low he was going. He set the zero point to his current altitude and prepared himself.

With a deep breath, he propelled himself off the side.

Carefully, slowly, he moved himself down. He couldn’t use the Force to give him an explicit guide down. He couldn’t use a light without drawing attention to himself. He couldn’t do this during the day without risk of being spotted. But he had to be wary of chunks of durasteel that would cut him. Live conduits that could electrocute him. A constant awareness of threats he may not even be aware of.

The further down he went, the darker it got. Emergency lighting had been set up on some levels, but the further he went, the rarer it became until he had nothing but the dim light of the megapolis above him to keep him from groping around in the dark. The line slowly ticked along, feeding out meter after meter of the thin ultratensile line. The altimeter ticked alongside it, counting down the abyss.

He kicked his way along the side of the pit of shattered ancient cityscape for what felt like an eternity. His legs began to protest his progression. He back began to ache from the strain of holding himself upright. And now even the countless lights of Coruscant were having trouble reaching this far down and what paltry he had began to fade. He looked at his altimeter. Minus one thousand meters. And still the pit descended. The chronometer gave him a couple of hours until sunrise.

Here was as good a place as any.

With a little further he found a gap in the wreckage and swung in. His boots hit the floor with a thud and he nearly fell on to his face as his legs gave out under him. The feeling of a thousand tiny daggers stabbing into him permeated the length of both legs. They were exhausted from the work and the nerves cried havoc at being returned to their normal function. He braced himself with a grunt, and steadied after a minute with the blood flow returned to normal.

Recovered enough, he took a light pack out of his sack. This far down, inside the structure, he’d be free of the prying eyes of the people on the surface. With a flash, the inky blackness retreated. He saw an old store front of some kind, long since abandoned. The counters smashed, and the walls covered in faded posters of long forgotten products. No immediate threats.

Irtar pressed a button his belt. After a moment, the line began to reel itself back in. Now he had to wait for the droid to make its way down. His body was thankful to have the excuse to rest.

 

[Irtar Mal'Gro]

After finding a quiet corner to relieve himself, Irtar put his bag on the floor and sat himself next to it with a grunt. He did a quick double check on his supplies and his tools to ensure he’d have everything he could conceivably need to make further progress. Content that he had lost nothing in the climb, he took out one of his welding torches and a few of the spare bits he brought with him.

He began disassembling the plasma torch, first by removing the gas canister that fuelled the plasma. He did want to risk rupturing it. He then began taking apart the focusing crystal that the plasma energy passed through. And he continued taking apart some of the other gear to get a collection of odds and ends.

And then he began putting it back together. The focusing crystal. The plasma housing. The spare couplings. And it came back into form.

With a crackle, the simple lightsaber sparked into life. A boiling blade of barely contained red plasma.

It was spectacular how standard the parts for a lightsaber COULD be if you wanted it to be. It was nothing beautiful, and totally lacked artistry, but it was something more than that. It worked. Utilitarian, and simple. There was a beauty of its own in that.

The lightsaber was very roughshod, though. He didn’t know how it would endure in a fight, or if the shielding would collapse. He didn’t even frankly know what would happening if the shielding did collapse. Would it explode? Shoot out an uncontrolled beam of plasma? Fizzle out? Hopefully he wouldn’t have to find out. But he would rather have some form of defence than being left with nothing but a sharp word.

With his tools accounted for, and his weaponry ready, he decided to take the chance to reward himself. He fished out some cheese and a handful of vegetables. It was best to start with the food most likely to spoil, as to avoid waste. A matter of habit he had developed in another life. A different life, long ago and distant. He would regularly have to worry about this for any trip. If he travelled to the old capital to visit the University, it would take days for the carriage to make the trip. Hard tac and stew were not the most appetizing of meals, but that’s how you lived after the first five days some times. Especially in the winter when the farmers had no crop for sale except what they needed to survive the winter.

Now he had fancy packs of quick heat meals. He could eat steak and potatoes every day for years. He looked carefully at one of the packages. Five years, to be exact. He laughed lightly and took a bite out of his apple.

What a strange and modern age, he thought to himself, as he tossed the core into the corner he had relieved himself in. A drink of water, and he began to hear the familiar whirring noise getting closer. He looked over towards the hole in the wall just as the small grappler droid made its way to the coil. Its task completed, the droid made a low whirring noise and shut itself down.

“Perfect timing.” Irtar said to no one in particular. With a grunt, he got himself on to his feet again. His legs were feeling better, at least well enough to take him for a couple hours of walking. It was time to pack, and get to the adventure.

 

[Irtar Mal'Gro]

The halls were mostly abandoned this far down.

The air was thick, literally thick. Likely to keep the surface comfortable, they had to artificially thicken the atmosphere. On the surface, that resulted in an altitude ten kilometres above the surface that is comfortable. But the further down, it became exponentially thicker. The muggy air clung to him, the sweat beginning to pour as he made his way further and deeper into the under city.

That didn’t even begin to get into the smell of stale air and refuse that assaulted his senses at every step.

There were the odd signs of habitation even this far down, though. The odd door that rather than being kicked in was instead fortified. Makeshift barricades. Graffiti. Garbage. Blaster scorches.

Some of the buildings had caved in under the weight of the conflict, causing forgotten plazas to become dead ends. Some had been purposely turned into holdfasts for some long forgotten turf war whose participants were long gone and likely long dead. If one looked closely enough, one could see the signs of the different ages it had lived. As a prominent surface neighbourhood. As a modest middle class subsurface dwelling. Then a place deep down where only the forsaken and desperate had called home.

Centuries ago, the population of Coruscant had been much higher. Back then, this far down, he might still find it inhabited. But a millennia of war had taken its toll. Every year, how many more billions died from the conflict. Even humanity could not hope to match the replacement rate needed for the attrition of the Galactic Civil War. He presumed that, as conflicting governments came and went, and war gripped at the Galactic Core, that many had fled or died. The surface was busy, but the undercity was a ghost town by the standards of the records he had read.

Many would wonder what he would hope to find in this abandoned place. Anything of value had apparently already been looted. There was a chance that whoever, or whatever, remained down here would not be incredibly friendly. But that was the point of it all.

It was a labyrinth by the very nature of its existence. Countless miles of tunnels, buildings, forgotten structures and infrastructure.

With the fall of Coruscant and the One Sith, anything of value would likely have been taken by those that could carry it. What about the things valuable enough to keep out of Jedi and Alliance hands, but not worth the precious shuttle space? There was really only one place they could hide them with some knowledge it could be decades, even centuries, for it to be found. So one day, it could be reclaimed when the Sith returned to Coruscant.

Irtar smirked to himself at the coincidence. Or maybe it was the will of the Force?

Through the power of modern electronics he was able to create a map of where he had been so he at least would know how to get back out. But that didn’t mean he had any idea of where he was going. He presumed that any caches that the One Sith had hidden would be near the Temple, but beyond that? He had no idea how far they would go. Perhaps they had even found a way down to the surface, which was who knows how far down.

Presumably, the planet surface was anywhere between a couple kilometres to over twenty kilometres away from the city surface depending on the point you’re standing at. Irtar frowned at the prospect of trying to find a way twenty kilometres down through this mess.

This far down, with this much cityscape and life between them, Irtar figured he’d be safe to release his senses. It would be much easier for him to spot a light in the darkness down here, than for them to spot him. And even if they did, it’d take them hours to reach this spot.

His senses flared as if he had been walking blind this whole time. The great mysterious labyrinth gave way just a little as his senses began to creep around every corner and behind every door. There was life here. He could FEEL it. The slinking cockroach. The gluttonous rat. And the desperate...

Irtar’s lightsaber ignited just in term as the bolt of plasma energy collided with it, the shielding of the lightsaber deflecting it into the wall with a hissing noise. He looked carefully towards the window of the old apartment block the shot came from. Nothing. He could sense the presence, but in the inky darkness he could pick nothing out. This was their environment, and they were the apex predator of these grounds. And they were hungry.

He reached out through the Force, sensing for the tell tale beat of emotion of the sentient heart. There was a couple dozen he could sense. He narrowed his focus to pick out the threats. The people whose focus was on hate and harm. About seven, all around him. A couple up high. But mostly on street level.

“Well I’ll be damned.” He heard yelled out from the window, a voice with a thick accent he couldn’t place. With a groaning hiss, one of the doors near Irtar opened and one of those hateful hearts stepped out on to the street. The man wore rags, tattered and filthy. His face was stained black from the dirt and grime of his existence. But the blaster he held in his hand gleamed in the perpetual night, and that was all that really mattered.

“Yep. Those Alliance guys kicked them surfacers in the teeth.” The man said, as he made a broad and crooked grin, his cracked teeth as grimy as his rags. “How much you figure one’s worth?”

“Nice pile of credits, you ask me.” Came the voice in the window. “How about you play nice Sith and throw down that flash stick? Come all peaceful like?”

He held his lightsaber, tense and ready, as he quickly weighed the options in his mind of what to do.

 

[Irtar Mal'Gro]

Irtar weighed his options carefully. If he did what they asked, he likely would be spared. Their desperation for credits was obvious and the pay day would be worth more than any sort of pleasure they could get out of doing him harm would be. But then he would likely spend the rest of his life in prison by virtue of his beliefs.

The alternative would be to fight his way out, but against a group like this he would need to call on the Force. There was no way this would go undetected by the Jedi above. And being hunted by the Jedi would make this whole exercise a far riskier exercise.

Of his two options, only lowered his chances of success to a hard zero.

The Sith took a deep a breath, as the eyes of his ambushers watched him carefully for any sign of threatening movement. He could sense their fear. Their trepidation. He could feel their growing anxiety. He looked carefully about the buried avenue and tried to figure out which would give him the best options for escape.

He could offer them a payment to let him go, but anything he had that he could pay them with they would likely take if they captured him regardless. So bribery was out.

His advantage was that these would be muggers had no experience in fighting Forcers. That would be his strength. If it was just one, he could use the Force to cloud their mind to give him a chance to escape. Maybe two. But this many? That was not an option. He would have to fight.

Down the street would be hopeless. Back from where he came would be hopeless. It would leave him exposed and vulnerable, and he didn’t know how long this lightsaber would hold up under the stresses of combat. He didn’t know if any of the other doors worked, they could be barricaded.

One path. One plan. And he would have surprise on his side.

Irtar focused on his loathing of these men, and their plan for him. He focused on his rage that they would challenge him, and try to stop him from reaching his goal. He grabbed on to these emotions, and used them to amplify his might. And then he unleashed it on that man in the doorway.

The man gasped as the air was shot out of his lungs as the force of the unseen blow slammed into his chest. He flew backwards, completely flabbergasted as to what was happening. The others were also taken off guard about what happened, and in that hesitation Irtar moved.

He focused his fear of death, and the inevitable plasma fire that was about to come in his direction. The adrenaline enhanced by the Force gave him speed. And with that, he stormed towards the door.

His would be assailants were untrained and unready. Their blasters spewed forth their deadly song but their aim was inaccurate. Panic at seeing their friend thrown like a rag doll made them unsteady. This lead them to fire as quickly as they could rather than taking the time to aim. They tried to lead the Sith in the small windows before he made it out of sight the best they could, trying to follow in with their blaster fire.

The bolts crackled and hissed as they cut the duracrete behind him, scoring the ground behind him black with the super heated bolts of gas. The blaster fire nipped at his heels, and the fear of it catching up to him propelled him faster still. With a leap, Irtar flew through the door as their shots tore into the faded façade of the building.

The man who just earlier was holding a blaster at him looked up at Irtar with a look of terror in his eyes. He had lost his grip on his blaster when he took the blow and it lay a couple meters away. He gaped lightly, trying to get his breath to say something. Pleading, Irtar would guess. But as it stood, he was a risk.

A quick slash with his lightsaber severed the gasping man’s head from his body. The head continued to try and gasp a moment longer, as the body quivered from the sudden shock to its synapses. Quickly enough, both were still.

Irtar quickly surveyed the room he was in. It was a dilapidated lobby to what appears to be a housing complex converted from an old hotel. He could make out what was once a sweeping stairwell had been smashed and replaced by a simple ladder. The light fixtures had all been broken, except a few empty spots that he assumed were in good enough shape to someone to be worth salvaging.

Underneath the sagging balcony, he saw an open door for a lift. He ran forward and shone his flashlight down. About eight stories down, he saw the crumpled wreck of the lift itself. Down might be a dead end. It could also provide him the means to escape into another level. Hearing his would be assaulters shouting from the street outside, his decision was once again made for him.

 

[Irtar Mal'Gro]

Irtar hurriedly climbed the rusty service ladder along the side of the elevator shaft. The rungs jostled and vibrated as he went, but he had no time to care about that now. If he was caught here, in this confined space, he’d be an easy target. Even they couldn’t miss. Down he went, pass broken pipes and doors. Inch by inch, he got closer to his escape. Inch by inch, they got closer. Louder.

A light began to crest the entrance, moving along the wall. Bobbing with every step of the man holding it. Irtar looked below, he still had a ways to go. There was no way he’d be able to make it to the bottom before they’d get there. He had to settle for what he had. He had made it about six floors down, and the door there hung ajar, one of its doors missing.

The unused rungs groaned in protest as Irtar threw himself through just as light dancing along the wall had begun to turn downwards. As Irtar got to his feet, he scanned his light about his new surroundings to try and figure out where he was and where he could go from here. He was in a service hall of some kind, it looked like. Plain duracrete walls. The air had that fetid smell of must and mildew. Pipes hung over head, slowly dripping whatever liquid was in them as they rusted away.

He could go left, or he could go right. Either was as good as the other, though one could be better. Both could be dead ends. But at least down here, in this cramped spaces, he would have the advantage. So either was at least better than the streets above.

He paused for a minute, letting his instinct pull at him and putting his faith in the Force. He knew it would lead him to his destiny. Confidence is what made him believe that destiny was not a death today. And that destiny was somewhere to his right.

He began to hear the clanking of the rungs behind him and knew that was his cue to get moving. Irtar began running down the plain grey hall, casting his light down every doorway he passed. One led to an old machine room of some kind. One looked like a place where they used to store the cleaning materials. Another a rusted laundry. He didn’t bother to stay and search any of them. He felt himself being tugged further along.

The hall slowly turned, obstructing his view of the shaft behind him. But he could still hear the clanging as they closed in. It encouraged Irtar to continue pushing himself as fast as he could. Suddenly, one of the doors caught his eye. A dull red glow emanated from it, and his senses told him here was the place.

The room still had a working emergency light. A collection of broken crates littered the room. Nothing else. Irtar looked around desperately, in case he missed something. But nothing. Perhaps his gut had misled him? Maybe it wasn’t the Force that compelled him into this room, but just primal fear manifesting in the old fashioned way?

He cursed himself, and turned to go back into the hall but saw a light coming down in this direction. They had caught up in the time had been searching.

Irtar turned back to the walls, looking for perhaps a crack in the duracrete. A sign that there had once been a door or something down here. Everything in the depths was at one point on the surface, after all. All of it was a rebuild of a rebuild of a rebuild, centuries of civilization piled upon one another. There had to be something.

And then, as he put his hand against one of the walls he felt something like a pulse, slowly and horribly shuddering. He put his ear against the wall, listening to it. There was something behind this wall, but Irtar had no clue as to what it might be.

“…and tear these rooms apart until we find the son of a queen!” Came echoing down the hall, the voice of one of his pursuers shuddering with rage. Gone was any hint of the casual confidence they had displayed when they had him caught in the open. Irtar couldn’t tell if they would be more angry about having their easy score slip away, or of the corpse he left in the lobby.

Irtar’s lightsaber snapped to life. If he did not have a door, then he would make a door.

He quickly swung his lightsaber across the wall to cut himself a door, when there was a sudden sickening sound of shifting metal. The floor sagged, and Irtar held himself as perfectly still as he could. There must have been something important behind that wall structurally.

For a moment, everything seemed to go still and quiet. Even the footsteps of his pursuers went silent. Irtar thought that maybe, just maybe, things had settled. Then just as quickly as things went silent, everything became a crash of chaos and noise. The floor collapsed, and rather than a floor beneath him, there was nothing it seemed but void and crashing duracrete. Irtar tried to slow himself using the Force, but he had no idea how far this fall would be. All he could do was focus on the sheer terror of death to fuel his powers as much as was possible. There was no Mistress to save him this time.

With a sickening thud, Irtar found the depth.

 

[Irtar Mal'Gro]

There was no space. No time. Only the Force.

Irtar’s consciousness drifted along the fringes of unreality, unhinged from his damaged form. Half realized imagery and detached emotion drifted about him. Visions of broken cityscapes, a frozen waste, and a mighty battle amongst the stars. A large object floated above them all, cloaked in terror, and spewing forth death from its tainted bowels.

He perceived shadowy shapes in flames, and a chorus of voices screaming in pain and death.

At first he pondered if he was dead, and if the Hell the preachers had promised was real. That he was being punished for his sins. Being threatened with fire and ice and oblivion for the people he hurt. For the people he killed.

Suddenly, through the noise he saw the visage of his Mistress. Skygge. She seemed… distant. Hazy. Like a mirage. The only thing that came into clear view and cut through the haze was her eyes. They pierced through all, even his very soul. But even still, despite all that, he could feel the anger and see the look of disappointment in her eyes.

“You will die only when I will you to die.” Her lips did not move, but her voice rumbled from all around him. A rolling thunder above the din of the battle playing out in the theatre of his mind.

“Now you will get up.” The voice demanded. Irtar hesitated. How could he get up when he was nothing? A soul cannot stand.

“Get. Up.” The voice insisted, this time, the hazy form of his Mistress threw something at him. An arm. It stuck to his bodiless form like a dagger. The pain was palpable, and it filled his existence. It was followed by another. Then a torso.

Piece by piece, she threw the body at him. Each amplified his pain and suffering. Desperately, the soul tried to escape it, but he could not move. The body was weighing it down, pulling it into the inky abyss it floated in. A hand. A foot. The pain became unbearable. It was all he could do to scream out.

And scream he did. A scream that shattered all of non-existence and replacing it with horrible reality.

His Mistress was gone. The battle was distant once more. It was replaced with a dull light, and a musty room. He looked down at his limbs, they were there and bandaged. He laid on top of ripped and soiled mattress. He could tell nothing more of where he was. The room was threadbare and featureless. Had those men caught him, and he was waiting to be hauled off to the Jedi? Or was there an even worse fate awaiting him?

But his answers came quickly, as his scream must have alerted his attendant. The figure entered the room, covered in shabby rags like those from before, but this one also had its face covered. It quickly made its way over to him, and looked down upon Irtar with a single blood stained eye. It quickly looked at his injuries, nodding to itself.

“Wha-“ Irtar tried to speak, the word catching in his throat as his lungs protested the effort. A sputtering coughing fit strangled the words, killing them before they could make it into the world.

“Shush.” The being said, nodding to itself with satisfaction as it was obviously happy with how the bandages were holding up. “You fell. Wormskin rescued you. Yes. Took you somewhere safe to heal. Out for days. Yes yes, two days.”

Two days. That didn’t leave him much time. This Omega situation would be wrapping up, whatever battle they had planned to wage for it was likely waging as he lay there. He would likely have another day or so for the survivors to sort through the wreckage of whatever of value there was and to return. Be it the One Sith, the Alliance, or someone else. Irtar tried to sit up and winced, his body refusing his command.

“Broken, yes. Badly. A great fall. Thankfully, you brought bacta. Very valuable. Very valuable. Wormskin could have sold, left you for dead. But Wormskin is not like that. No no no no…” The being muttered, its voice nearly a whisper and obviously tainted by the tell tale signs of an affliction of the soul. Mad though it may be, it chose to save him. So he owed it that much at least. He wondered how much of the emergency medical supplies the being had to use to save him from his fall.

“Thank-you…” Was all Irtar could manage, and the being seemed to lit up at that by the sudden spring in its step.

“Oh yes yes yes. Always happy to serve the Sith. Always happy to serve Sith.” The being said, bobbing its head. Irtar would’ve asked how it knew if he had the strength for it, but he figured he was most likely given away by his lightsaber. A couple days this Wormskin had likely gone through all of his possessions. He wondered how much of it would be left and how much would have been pawned off? But if that was the price of living, he would gladly pay it.

“You are healing well. Much better shape than you were in. Much better. Meditate. Focus. Heal. We leave in the morning.” Wormskin said with a vigorous nodding of its head.

“Where?” Irtar managed to ask. How was an entirely other matter, but this creature seemed incredibly confident that by morning he’d be well enough to walk. Or perhaps the creature planned to drag him? Maybe the creature assumed Irtar was much more powerful in the Force than he was?

“Where? Why else would a Sith come here except to reclaim the treasure? Yes yes. We have prepared it. Readied it for reclamation. We must just get there and take, yes?” The creature said excitedly, getting close enough to Irtar that he could smell its fetid breath.

And Irtar knew that once again, The Force had provided.

 

[Irtar Mal'Gro]

The night was long and painful. But pain was not an inhibition for a Sith, but a catalyst for growth.

He had used that pain as a source of strength, and turned that strength inward. He focused the pain, and his hatred of the weakness it symbolised, and willed his body to heal itself faster. He used the Force to drive his natural processes harder, and faster than they normally functioned. It was exhausting work, but fulfilling. Every moment lessened the pain just that much more until finally he could at least move his limbs again. It hurt to do so for any extended period of time, but between the Force and the bacta patches it was impressive turn about to say the least.

With a horrible list, Wormskin entered the room. It basically scrapped itself along the ground as it saw that Irtar was awake and mobile.

“Ah. I see the Sith is feeling more himself now, yes? Wormskin knows.” The creature praised as it bowed its head towards Irtar. He frowned at the creature, not quite comfortable with something that nearly felt like worship.

Irtar presumed his coming meant it was morning. Many of the electronic devices, such as his chronometer and altimeter, were broken in the fall. He had no idea the time, or how deep he now was in the depths. It could take him weeks to make it out of here now. And if the One Sith won their engagement, they likely wouldn’t take well to an interloper stealing from their world. He began to wonder if he should cut his losses and make his way towards the surface.

“I may be able to move, but I would not be able to make a day’s march if that is what you are thinking.” Irtar said, as he began to stretch out his legs. The muscles shuddered as they moved, feeling like a cable line drawn too taut. If he went too far, he was likely to snap one of the newly mended sinews like a dry twig.

“Will not be move walking today. No no no.” The creature assured, as it began to motion for the Sith to follow it. Agonizingly, Irtar got to his legs and followed the creature. He had been in a small shack of reused refuse, panels and metal bar salvaged from wherever they could be found. But what was beyond was in a true sense breath taking and nearly unbelievable.

They sat in a void between levels, it would seem. A great empty space stretched before him filled with an ancient, ruined cityscape. Some of the spires on this level still stood, stretching to the great plate above, but many had fallen into a pile below. Mighty metal pillars like tree held the canopy of the cityscape above them. Dim lights from the pillar illuminated the world below, a world of broken and rusted metal.

“What wonders the ancients built...” Irtar muttered absentmindedly as he stared at the site, his mind trying to comprehend the scale of the engineering involved. He wondered how many people in the world above realized their little slice of the world was held aloft as such. And Irtar also began to wonder, as he did not yet stand on solid ground, what sort of miracle was below that could sustain such weight for all these centuries without collapsing into ruin and bringing the entire thing down.

“As rotten as the ancients.” Wormskin scowled as it shouldered Irtar’s pack that was sitting by the exit to the ruined shack that this creature called home. “Come, come. We must get to the treasure. It is this way, yes. This way.”

Slowly, they made their way along the wreckage. Irtar picked his way along as carefully as he could. Every uneven step sent a wave of pain up the length of his spine. Every stab of pain drove the next step. He ground his teeth, fighting to keep the pain focused on the task at hand. They walked through the crumbled ruins amongst the pillars for about an hour.

They came upon an opening in the ruins, a low spot. A fuming liquid bubbled and boiled. A lake of it that seemed to go on for miles. Wormskin pulled out the breathing mask from the bag and offered it to the Sith. Irtar looked at it incredulously.

“Are we going across that lake of… I don’t even know?” Irtar asked the being, which laughed as it made its way down the incline towards the lake of goo. The sickly odour had already began to claw at his nose, burning his nose hairs.

“Yes. Yes!” Wormskin replied excitedly, pointing towards a small craft near the lake. “It was a lake once. It is a lake now, but a water lake. Park, yes. But things rupture. Leak. Flow down. Water is gone. Coolant now. Oils. Bloods. Different types. Doesn’t play well with one another, no no no.”

“Why can we not go around?” Irtar asked with a frown, as he began putting on his mask. He exhaled to force out what was left the fumes in his lungs and nose then inhaled an artificially cleansed breath of air.

“You are still sore? Broken? It would take time and much walking. No no. Must CROSS. Only way!” Wormskin insisted, nodding its head to itself, agreeing with its fine logic. Irtar had no choice but to agree with it as well. The creature wasn’t wrong. And he didn’t have many other choices.

 

[Irtar Mal'Gro]

The craft was small, better described as a raft. It had a small motor attached to the back and bounded fiercely in the chemical brew. Wormskin jumped into the raft fearlessly and looked back towards Irtar, motioning for him to follow. Trepidation paused him.

The lake of goo roiled angrily towards the horrible fact of its own existence. A rainbow of colours and fumes churned, fuelled by the discharge of the city above. The raft seemed to less be floating upon it as much as the lake was trying to throw it out. And what would happen if it succeeded, he wondered. This was the point of no return.

With a deep breath, Irtar stepped aboard the raft.

The sheet of metal shifted uncomfortably as Irtar stepped upon it and sagged. For a moment, he was afraid the contents would spill inside the raft. It passed and settled as much as a sheet of metal in a boiling lake of chemicals can. Irtar cautiously sat down, as the simple motor in the back cackled and spat and came to life.

The raft slowly hopped along the multicolour waves, Wormskin trying to take things with some measure of caution it seemed. This environment seemed so hostile he had no idea how people could survive down here. What did they eat? What did they do? Had the people forgotten below the surface suffered the same fate as his forgotten amongst the stars? Reverting to their more primitive state? Interesting anthropological questions that he would have to answer later. For now, he had more pressing matters.

“What can you tell me about this treasure?” Irtar yelled over the din of the engine to the captain of the vessel.

“Many things. Great value. Yes yes. They came down here.” Wormskin replied, it kept a fabric wrapped hand on the controls for the engine.

“They?” Irtar inquired further. He had a fairly good assumption as to what its answer would be, but confirmation was always a boon rather than running with assumptions.

“Surfacers. After the great crashing.” The creature reaffirmed Irtar’s assumption. “Came with boxes of things into the depths, yes.”

And now Irtar had to ask the other obvious question he already knew the answer to. “And why haven’t you looted this treasure yourself? Why do you need me?”

“The treasure is yours of course.” The creature responded in false humility. Irtar could tell it wasn’t giving him the full story of what was down here. He turned to look the creature dead in its blood shot eye and it wavered slightly. “The… the guardians would not allow others near.”

And the truth comes out.

“What ‘guardians’?” Irtar asked of his rescuer, narrowing his eyes. Wormskin looked away from him, feigning to be looking at the engine.

“There is an encampment of surfacers. Small. Not many. But they will let you in. You are Sith!” Wormskin said excitedly, as it pushed fiddled with the knobs on the engine. Irtar wasn’t sure if it was confident in this, or just trying to convince itself that was the truth.

What it did mean was Irtar had to think much more carefully on how to proceed. Of course it was manned. A squad of soldiers would be enough to hold an unnoticed position in the depths from any interlopers. Send a few fanatics, and you guarantee the cache is safe. Strategically, and even tactically, their numbers wouldn’t have made a difference in the short term. But in the long term? It meant any infiltration group sent to reclaim the planet would have a cache they could pull material from, and a safe house in case things went sideways. It was brilliant, in a way.

Knowing that he’d have to fight his way to this ‘treasure’, whatever it was, Irtar decided on quiet meditation until they got wherever it was Wormskin was taking him. It was awkward at first due to their unstable floor, and the horrible mix of chemicals about them, but eventually he managed to focus himself enough. The fear of his position, the pain of his wounds, and his dread of the fight to come. He poured these emotions into his sore bones.

 

[Irtar Mal'Gro]

The trip was rocky and uncertain. Twice the raft nearly flipped into the chemically tainted depths that surrounded them. But the vessel proved true in build and in purpose. After four painfully awkward hours, they managed to cross the great lake. The desolate beach front once must have been an attraction. Stands with faded colours hung to the blackened sand like memories of a distant dream when morning came. A sign of better times, before it was consumed by the growing cityscape above and left to be forgotten.

They hauled the craft up on to the shore, in case they needed to use the craft to get back across from whence they came. Irtar personally hoped that without the rush, he’d be able to take a less lethal route back up. But he couldn’t deny that speed was still a necessity if he meant to beat whichever victor made its way back to Coruscant.

As the two walked in land, his legs ached. The long ride had done no favours to his damaged form. But the pain had dulled, and became more subtle and less fierce. They ached far more from the trip than the fall.

The ancient boardwalk carried on for a while. The shattered store fronts and amusements of a by gone age standing as stark testament to the people that had come before. There was something unsettling about this place that was one a place of joy now forgotten. The realization, perhaps, that any of those who had found joy in this place were long since dead.

“How much further?” Irtar asked Wormskin, his skin crawling from the hollow impression he was feeling through the Force. It all just didn’t feel right to him.

“Not much further. No no. Beyond the boardwalk. Yes. In a ruined spire.” The creature said, nodding along to itself as it often did. It was as if the body was showing its consent to what the mind was saying.

The sense of unease had begun to change itself to a sense of being unwelcome. The thick atmosphere of the place began to weigh down on him like the cityscape did on those ancient pillars. What started out as a distant sensation steadily became more urgent. Irtar was on full alert. Something wasn’t right. When he reached for his lightsaber, suddenly shots came out of the haze.

Irtar heaved himself to the side, and with a blast of energy drawn from the Force, he pushed Wormskin into cover as well. The red bolts of plasma cut along the boardwalk, piercing the deafening silence of the place. Irtar had ended up crashing through into an old store front. Thankfully, the window that once allowed passer-by’s to look inside had long ago been broken. He hauled himself to his feet, and looked back down the street.

A man in the uniform of a One Sith soldier stood at a distant, makeshift barricade. A waft of smoke came from the end of the barrel of his repeater. His head elicited another wave of blaster fire down the boardwalk. Irtar knew that diplomacy wouldn’t work. These men had forsaken the Galaxy for this duty. They would suss him out quickly, and likely kill him for his effort.

But it might let him get close enough for a lightsaber…

With a snap and hiss, his smuggled lightsaber snapped to life. He held the red blade out into the boardwalk. No fire. Irtar looked out into the street. The soldier was still aiming this way, but was up to this point holding his fire.

“Identify yourself!” The fanatic demanded, still ready to open fire at the slightest provocation. Irtar took this chance to step out into the open.

“I am Irtar Mal’Gro.” He identified himself as he carefully stepped towards the soldier. He kept going slowly, and held his lightsaber in a non-threatening manner. At least as non-threateningly as an ignited lightsaber can be held. “I am Sith. I am here to liberate you from your duty, and bring you back into the fold. The Omega was a success. The Alliance is in retreat.”

Irtar lied through his teeth. He imagined the Omega situation would tie into all of this. But apparently he said the right combination of words to make the soldier lower his guard slightly. He was on the right track of lie to get where he needed to get.

“How did you know we were here?” The Soldier demanded to know. This new trail of thought roused his suspicions again and he was back on alert.

Irtar considered using the Force to try and influence him, but thought better of it. The man was a fanatic follower of a Sith Order. That fanaticism alone would give him a strong will to follow this task. That’s not including the fact the Sith would likely train him to be resistant to those kinds of influences. It did no good if your soldiers guarding your hidden cache could be convinced to just hand over the keys to the lock.

“I was instructed by my master to come down here and find you.” Irtar told him calmly, as he took step after step, steadily closing the distance. Steadily putting things more and more into his favour. “I am to retrieve the cache, with or without you. That choice I leave in YOUR hands.”

Irtar hoped the little bit of pompous threatening would make it sound properly authentic.

“No. You weren’t.” The Sith soldier said, as he raised his weapon. “I saw you with that Aberrant. He told you we were here. You’re just another reject.”

[SIZE=11pt]And as the capacitors surged, he aimed at the now exposed Sith and fired.[/SIZE]

 

[Irtar Mal'Gro]

Fear was a powerful emotion. Desire to survive. The most basic and fundamental emotion shared between sentient and non-sentient creatures alike. Almost everything that lived had an innate desire to continue doing so. It was a powerful tool the Force offered to those so inclined to use it. Irtar had found himself beginning to use it as a crutch in the dangers of the Coruscanti undercity.

When the guard called Irtar’s bluff, his stomach dropped to his feet. He could sense the guard’s suspicion boil over to anger. He could almost feel the man squeezing the trigger. There would be no cover to jump into from here. His ramshackle lightsaber would likely burn out even if he could catch all the repeater fire from this range.

He had once chance to avoid being riddled with blaster fire.

He grabbed on to that terror, and that desire to not die, and pulled.

With a shout, the One Sith Trooper was hauled forward over the barricade. The sudden pull, and having his feet knocked out from under him, threw the Trooper’s aim wide. When he crashed into the rotten street of the boardwalk, he lost his grip on his repeater that went skittering off into the shadows. If this had been any other man, he likely would’ve surrendered at this point. But this was a fanatic.

He felt the rage and the shame of the trooper. He pulled a combat knife from his belt and came charging towards Irtar with the ferocity of a man possessed, bent on redemption. Irtar brought his lightsaber across his front in a wide arc, hoping to end the fight quickly, but the trooper went low. He slammed into Irtar, meaning to drive the knife into his side.

Irtar took momentum of his swing, and of the man’s charge, to roll over his opposite shoulder instead. The blade dug a gouge into his overalls, but they absorbed most of the blow. Irtar recovered his footing faster than the trooper could turn around. This time Irtar swung low.

The air was pierced with the pungent odour of burnt plastics, and flesh accentuated with the screams of a Human. The soldier rolled over, off the stumps that used to be his legs. Pain washed over through the Force. Suffering. Resolve.

Years of training turned action to instinct. And instinct demanded that he give all he had to the Sith. Including his life. Irtar saw the man’s hand opposite his combat knife. It contained a small orb. An explosive of some form, or the other, Irtar determined in the flash.

Time seemed to slow down at this point. The victory Irtar thought had been in his grasp was just turned dangerously against him. Irtar’s eyes went wide in the terror of this explosive being mere feet from him. His swing wouldn’t connect in time to remove the arm or the head commanding it before the button was pressed. Throwing it away, it would detonate midair. There would be no mind trick to stall the Trooper. This man meant to kill this Sith with his last action in life.

The Trooper’s finger slipped down the activator.

“Vae Victis.” The Trooper muttered through clenched teeth.

The old boardwalk was filled with all sorts of shops and amusements. Stores once sold the newest and best in Coruscanti beach fashion. Shops with the most delicious treats for a warm summer day of fun and frolic. Places to the leave the kids when you and your partner wanted a quiet diner together. The place in its prime must have seen hundreds of thousands of visitors every weekend.

The stores must have had elaborate displays at one point. Things to set them apart from one another and entice the peoples of the Galaxy to shop at their store front versus any of their rivals. Many of the signs had faded through the years, their paint growing dull and dim. Though their chains and posts were rusty, still some stood defiant to the years.

But not defiant to the Sith.

All it took was one hard pull. With a sickening sound of ripping metal, the weight of the years suddenly caught up with the display. In seconds it went from listlessly titling to careening towards the surface. It swung down angrily towards the Trooper who dared to get between it and its resting place. With a resounding and messy thud, it slapped into the Trooper. Mere moments later, it was followed by a muffled bang.

 

[Irtar Mal'Gro]

“Well done. Yes yes. A sign of his end, yes?” Wormskin said to itself snickering as it slithered out of wherever it had been hiding. Irtar looked over his shoulder at the creature, giving an expression that he hoped showed just how unimpressed he was with the being’s pun. It shrunk a little at that.

A small pool of blood had begun to trickle out from the gap between the sign and the street. Its smell cut through the odour of rot, decay, and chemicals. His mind recalled the sensation just before he died. That sense of dread and indignity just as the sign connected. The feeling of all his organs rupturing at once and bringing his life to an abrupt and sudden end. A chill crept into his soul.

“Well. There’s one. And I imagine he called back to the rest of his group. How many more are there?” Irtar asked the creature, as he kept his eyes on the site of the former Trooper. He was not supposed to dwell on such things, but he could not help it.

“This one is not sure. Less than fifty, more than five.” The creature answered with its characteristic nodding. It gulped as Irtar wheeled about upon it.

“Think, curse you! If we have a couple dozen men about to come down upon our heads… even if I was a Master I would have problems!” Irtar yelled out his frustrations with the creature. It shrank away for a moment, muttering to itself and counting its fingers a couple of times.

“Ten.” The creature finally replied, with a measure of finality and confidence.

“Are you sure?” Irtar asked, looming over the creature. His growing dissatisfaction at his circumstances being made perfectly clear.

“That… is all the fingers this one has…” It replied as it broke eye contact. Irtar for his part showed great restraint for not throttling the creature. It had saved his life. It had gotten him this far. He knew it knew where the location was, and it was his only way to find it in a reasonable amount of time.

But now he feared the creature’s madness would destroy him.

“The soldier. He called you an aberrant.” Irtar muttered, glaring at the creature. Its bloodshot eye flashed about at the question, looking from side to side as if for an escape. But it found none and looked back towards the Sith.

“A name for the people of the depths. We are… not as you are. Yes. Chemicals. Yes. Toxins. Oh yes.” Wormskin bobbed up and down as it answered the question. “Centuries of disease marked upon the flesh. Yes yes yes. That is why they call us aberrant.”

Irtar felt dissatisfied with that answer but he doubt he’d get more out of the mad creature. Besides, now was not the time for an interrogation. He looked about the shadowy shops and venues for some unexpected path he could take. He didn’t know where the others of the One Sith soldiers down here would be, whether they’d be hours away or simply minutes. He had to find an alternative path.

The main problem of a place like this boardwalk was that even the centuries, or millennia, ago that this place was active, repulsor vehicles were common. Streets didn’t quite work as they did where he came from. A carriage needed to have a means to go for one street to another. Here, the concern was focused entirely on street traffic. They didn’t even necessarily need alley ways, able to load whatever goods the stores needed from the roofs. This meant streets were designed entirely with pedestrian traffic in mind. Here, on this boardwalk, that meant pulling them down this avenue and drawing every credit they could out of the passer-by’s. Unfortunately for Irtar, that made his options of a quick parallel movement very limited.

One of the storefronts seemed the least damaged from the street. No obvious signs like a sagging roof or some debris from above. If there was a chance for an alleyway, or perhaps a way to get to any roads or paths beyond, it’d be further in. At the very least if he could get into the ruins, he could force them into close ranged combat. It wasn’t perfect, but it was much better than charging down the open avenue.

Heavy cobwebs laced the space. The bodies of centuries of dead insects and small rodents littered the webs and the floors. The smell was atrocious. Musty and heady from the thick atmosphere and detritus. Irtar was almost tempted to put back on his air mask, but he pushed through. His lightsaber easily cut through the ancient webs, they parted with a hiss as the strands slowly smouldered. Wormskin followed behind him in the path the Sith made.

An old doorway hung open, the door that used to block entrance to the rear rooms long gone. Irtar cautiously poked his head around the corner. Nothing but plain walls and rusted shelving, anything of value long since looted. Irtar carefully walked down the hall, keeping an eye open for any traps or falls, casting his light deliberately every step of the way.

The storage room branched off in a couple different directions. Obviously this complex shared their roof lift with the neighbouring buildings. He decided to push on to the one opposite the avenue, and hope they find a street across the way. If not, he would keep looking and going further. He considered making a path but, with how well his last attempt to clear a path had gone he decided against it. The plan was for the two to make their way into the labyrinth of ruined cityscape and regroup. After they had some distance between themselves and the dead trooper, they could find their bearings and start making their way towards the cache once more.

 

[Irtar Mal'Gro]

The storage room had turned in the other building. The other building was a warehouse of some kind that must have serviced the whole area. It had a series of underpasses and tunnels that webbed out. Amongst the broken machines and discarded memories of a bygone era, they eventually found themselves walking through an abandoned underground rail pass. It was likely once used for mass cargo movements without interfering with the streets above.

As they walked through the turning mess of tunnels, Irtar began to wonder how thing the plate was here, and how far of a fall it would be from this level to the one below. Or if there even was a level below. He knew they had yet to hit the planet, or at least he thought they hadn’t yet. He had yet to see a surface that wasn’t artificial, but he couldn’t be sure.

In one hand his lightsaber, the other held the light. If the One Sith soldiers hadn’t found this path yet, it might be a chance for him to get the drop on them. If they did know about it however, this would be a death trap. It was a narrow passage, with only the odd wrecked cargo tram for cover. The Force had been with him to this point. He saw no reason that the Force would abandon him now. But that was no excuse to get sloppy.

As they walked, a flash of movement caught Irtar’s gaze. He turned the light towards it and there was nothing. Irtar reached out gently with the Force, trying to figure out what it was. With his second sight, he felt a number of presences around him. Little sparks of the Force all around him. Some were brighter than others, greater. It was then, only when he realized what was going on, he noticed.

The slight reflection off their eyes. He was surrounded.

Once more, Irtar snapped the lightsaber to life. The eyes flinched back into the holes they belonged to.

“What were those?” Irtar asked Wormskin, who merely bobbed its head towards its master.

“Aberrants. Denizens of the deep. Very rarely see surfacers. The rest are not bold like Wormskin. No no no.” Wormskin said, shaking his head in admonishment towards its lesser kin. “They hide. They wait. Eat your scraps. Take what you don’t need. Yes yes yes.”

“Are they a threat?” Irtar asked, looking about the shadows. He could feel their desperation and their despair. Outcasts, unwanted, left in the depths like corpses that had yet to realize they were dead. Left buried alive in the ruins of the long dead.

“No no. Not unless they think you make a good meal, yes? Yes.” Wormskin said in agreement to himself, bobbing his head to himself. “Sith are not so tasty. Nasty. Risky. Yes.”

They reminded him of rats with the way they skulked and their beady eyes reflected the light in the darkness. Irtar frowned slightly in pity for the creatures. Weak, and neglected. They would never have anything. But such was the way of the Force. In the competition of life there will always be winners and losers. And they unfortunately were given a losing hand upon birth.

But perhaps a Sith could alter their fate? He could not will them into something more than what they were, but they might be able to. The seed of a plan had taken root, and was beginning to form. He smiled slightly as the details began to form.

“They speak Basic, yes?” Irtar asked Wormskin, who gave him an odd look. The creature eventually nodded along, which Irtar took as confirmation rather than just a nervous twitch.

“I wish to make a bargain.” Irtar proclaimed, looking out into the shadows. The eyes looked back and forth to one another, uncertain of what to make of the sudden change of cadence. Not even a whisper from the underdwellers. Time to offer the carrot.

“These Sith soldiers are protecting a cache of some kind. Likely more than or I this one can carry.” Irtar began explaining as the eyes narrowed in. He could sense the growing interest. “You all move through the shadows. You all know this place better than those troopers could ever hope to. So here is my bargain.”

“I will take my share. This one will take his. Then you all may take whatever scraps are left. If, and only if, you help me fight those troopers.” The bargain was given, and now the shadows began to make noise. Their chittering whispers from the shadows made them sound even more as rats. But rats were what he needed.

He gave them a couple of minutes to debate amongst themselves. Uncertainty rippled through their ranks. They were unsure of how to proceed. Fear drove them to hide and wait for the situation to pass. Envy drove them to want to strike at the Surfacers and take what was theirs. Wrath and vengeance for the wrongs these soldiers had done in clearing out their haven made the deciding vote. He could feel their distrust of him, but their desires outweighed their reservations.

“You first.” Came a raspy voice from the shadows. He could sense their paranoia.

“I will. And while they are distracted, you follow.” Irtar agreed to the term.

“Leave food.” Another hissed. He could sense their hunger.

“I will take only what I need for my return trip. I can make no promises for this one.” Irtar agreed as much as he could to the term.

“Leave blasters.” Another growled. He could sense their anger.

“They are no good to me. You may have them.” Irtar agreed to the term.

Silence followed, and the pact was sealed.

 

[Irtar Mal'Gro]

The cache was hidden in a ruined spire about five hundred meters away from the boardwalk. The tower had tumbled over centuries ago, and sprawled on for miles in its own right. The tower that once scraped the heavens laid low by the weight of the years and the dereliction of its masters. It was in this sprawling husk of rusted, twisted metal that the promised cache was supposed to be found.

The Sith had been clever, relying on low tech solutions that didn’t require things that would stand out in a scan. No shield generators, or automated turrets, or anything fancy. It made sense. It meant that if they had a dampening field to protect the cache that it would be as small as possible. A large space of nothingness would stand out on a sensor sweep. A speck that sensors couldn’t read would likely be given to the depth and amount of interference. A margin of error.

This lack of equipment is what created the need for the low tech solution of sentries. Thankfully, though the troopers may be trained in urban warfare, they had never been trained in something quite like this. The depths of Coruscant were unlike any other world in the Galaxy. Ravaged by time, war, and sheer indifference, the thing was a maze of ruins and access tunnels that only made sense in the deranged minds of the generations of engineers who have had to hobble it together into a state of functioning.

Irtar and Wormskin managed to sneak up almost into the spire itself using the underpaths of the deeps.

The spire appeared innocuous at first sight. Nothing that would stand out amongst the other countless ruined spires that littered this level of the depths. But it was at closer look you saw the things that made it stand out. The ruined beams were less laid about randomly, but purposefully to act as cover and choke points. Sheets of metal of different hues than the rest of the building laid against it, blocking off many of the gaping entrances. The dim glow of life.

Irtar slunk out from the old access hatch, crawling along the ground to try and avoid detection. The troopers were likely still on alert after he crushed one of their fellows with an old shop sign. He may have drawn off some to investigate, but the ones remaining here were likely on full alert. He had to get as close as he could before they realized he was present. Preferably right on top of them.

There wasn’t a sentry visible to the naked eye, but he was Sith. He could feel their presence. He could feel their unease, and their fear. There was two of them hidden amongst the scraps and ruin. Irtar looked carefully towards where he felt them. They looked like near crumbled parts of structure, laying in a pile haphazard, but it was a façade. The gaps amongst the broken duracrete had been carefully made. They had clear views of the approach to their fort of ruins.

Irtar pondered carefully how to approach this. He couldn’t deflect two repeaters, even if he had the greatest lightsaber the Galaxy had ever known. He was simply not skilled enough to do it. With this lighsaber, it’d likely blow out the capacitors for the shielding and leave him completely helpless. He had to be more cunning than simply charging in.

It was as he was staring at the piles of rubble that the obvious suddenly struck him in the face. Piles of rubble. It would take some skill though to time it correctly.

The Force flowed through all things. Every man, woman, and child. Every animal. Every plant. Every rock. This included duracrete and steel. Irtar was not so skilled at reading the non-living, as the Sith drew very heavily off of emotion. A stone feels nothing, it simply is. So it required a much more steady hand and concentration to feel out these unfeeling piles of rubble. As much as he disagreed with some of his Mistress’ philosophies, her attempts to teach her students the art of quiet meditation did pay some dividends. It had allowed him to develop this part of his connection to the Force that would have remained almost completely untouched.

He put together in his mind what he needed to do. He reached out with both hands, his mind projecting the motion of one to one pile, and the motion of the other to the next. He prodded carefully for a key part of each structure. There, he felt them, one was a hunk of rebar that was holding up the core of the one structure. The other was a couple of pieces of duracrete forced into the hole to one of the walls in place.

He clenched his hands, action a reflection of will, and felt his mind grasp upon the objects. He prepared himself, as the calm was about to be destroyed. With a firm pull there was a horrible shuddering sound as both structures suddenly collapsed upon themselves, burying the terrified men underneath. With a crack, Irtar’s lightsaber snapped into life and he charged towards the entrance to the ruin and the cache within.

 

[Irtar Mal'Gro]

He could feel the sense of alarm rising from inside the ruin. The sense of urgency. Irtar ran as fast as he could towards the entrance to the ruin before he could be caught in the open by whoever besides the sentries were left. He hopped over the makeshift barricades, and through the darkened courtyard. He charged up to the entry way and then skittered to a halt, slamming against the wall next to the entry way. His shoulder hurt slightly from the impact, but he had to keep from charging right into the corridor.

Now against the side of the ruined spire, Irtar cast a look inside. A couple of lights had been set to illuminate the corridor. Again, defensive positions. It seemed that these Troopers had planned on an attack from the Alliance in force. Something that they would have seen coming and had time to dig in. They planned to make the Alliance pay for every inch of this place. They hadn’t anticipated on a lone Sith sneaking in unannounced. These Troopers were slow to react to the shift in doctrine required to tackle this new task. That would be their downfall.

Sensing nothing immediately inside, Irtar ran into the gallery.

It had once been a lobby of some kind. The walls to either side had once been ceiling and roof. The odd terminal and desk that had been bolted to the floor still stood upon the wall, stretching out above him. Shattered chandeliers hung to the wall opposite. Ahead, he saw a turn where someone had obviously cut through the floor to create a makeshift doorway. Irtar again pulled up along the cover to get a look before moving in.

He knew there were other troopers here. Not many though. Most were likely either at other sentries or looking for him. If the underdwellers upheld their end of the bargain, he should only have to worry about the ones in here.

He carefully looked about the corner and saw what appeared to be a canteen. A couple of tables had been gathered and some chairs, with a makeshift kitchen set up against the wall. The feeling was much more claustrophobic as unlike the former lobby, this apparently floor had apparently been office space. The high ceiling of the lobby replaced with one only about ten feet high. Wall to wall in this hallway it must’ve been closer to eight. Now tilted on its side, it felt oppressive.

But of far more concern than the topsy-turvy architecture were the two troopers that had obviously been eating a meal before being interrupted. They wore their armour, but their equipment and helmets still lay on the table beside them. They’d gotten enough time to grab their blasters, but not much else. Not that they needed much else. Seeing the Sith suddenly before them, one overturned a table and assumed a firing position. More out of habit than need, for Sith rarely used blasters.

Irtar didn’t have time to hesitate, they were within fifteen feet. He charged forward with lightsaber at the ready. As the one who flipped the table was picking up his blaster, the second began firing.

Deflecting a shot using a lightsaber was a tricky thing. The mistake most padawans make, and one of the first they’re trained out of, is to look for the shot to deflect it. The plasma the blasters fired was simply put too quick for that, and you would already be hit by the time you reacted. What one had to do was look instead to the Force and to instinct. They had to trust that the Force would give them the foresight to know that the shot was coming, and their blade should already be there to deflect it before the shot is fired.

As Irtar charged down the old office hallway, his blade was already shifting as the trooper’s finger began to squeeze on the trigger. Irtar batted the first shot aside, his lightsaber audibly shuddering from the impact. It dug harmlessly into the ancient duracrete, scorching it. He carried through his motion from the first shot to a spin to dodge the second. He lost valuable momentum, but after the way his lightsaber responded to that first shot he didn’t want to risk a second.

The third shot went wide, as the lightsaber severed his arm. His face twisted in anguish from the searing pain of having bone and flesh separated. The smell quickly filled the corridor. The second soldier had got his blaster and was lining up a shot on the exposed Sith. However, with his companion reeling from the shock of losing his arm, Irtar grabbed the first trooper and tossed him into the second. A shot rang out as the second trooper’s gun discharged down the hall. The trooper tried to push his one armed companion off of him to get a second shot at the Sith but Irtar’s saber fell upon the pair.

There was no screaming. Just the sound of smouldering plastics and the smell of blood and burnt flesh.