Private Shadows of Imperium

[Caliban Arkay]

Imperius Indomitus

The room was sterile, cold. an austere cage carved out of stark white and steel, illuminated by harsh fluorescent lights that cast no mercy in their glare. The sharp lines of the sparring chamber reflected the Empire's ethos: control, precision, discipline. Here, there was no room for distraction, only focus.

Caliban sat cross-legged on the polished floor, the hum of distant machinery and the faint clink of boots a reminder that he was not alone, yet the silence around him felt thick, he'd mastered meditation long ago, it came as easy to him as breathing. His eyes were closed, breathing steady, muscles taut beneath his armor.

They call me Sixth Brother. The thought slipped in quietly, unwanted. They'd woken him up from the cold silence of his crypt, dragged him into this new age, Do they think this title will bend me? Control me? No. Control was a tool, a weapon, one I would wield as easily as the lightsaber at his side. Loyalty to the Empire was not servitude, it was order carved from chaos. He would be their blade in the dark. While not the same, this so called Imperial Confederation was filled with Father's legacy. He would atone for his crimes.

The seal of the Imperial Inquisitors gleamed faintly on the hilt of his lightsaber resting beside him, a silent reminder of the title forced upon him: Sixth Brother. He wasn't a man given to trust, nor one quick to bind himself to others. But the past was ash, and if he wanted to redeem himself loyalty was demanded.

His thoughts drifted, there was a test coming, he knew that much.

The promise of a sparring partner. Someone important to test his skill, prove his worth. This was something he could understand, he liked that, this way words would not be necessary.

Somewhere beyond the sliding door, footsteps approached, sharp, deliberate. The force thrummed around him, whoever was coming to test him they were strong. The inquisitor stood and turned to the doors ready to greet his partner.

 

[Imperius Indomitus]

W A R M A S T E R
LORD INDOMITUS
Through war, we bring order.
Through strength, we bring unity.

The Iron March
Order. Strength. Discipline.

Caliban Arkay

​

Imperius walked with calm steps, long strides clanking every time his sabatons hit the floor. From toe to neck he was armoured in his black warplate, trimmed with gold and adorned with a deep red cape and tabard. Behind him moved two ominous figures, hooded and of almost ordinary human size, though their faces invisible within their hoods. One carried his sheathed blade, Valoris, the other his helmet and a lightsaber hilt of similar colours as his Armor but with a dragon's maw as emitter.

"You are the Sixth Brother." The titanic Pureblood said, his voice deep, commanding and yet it was not intrusive or arrogant. Yet it was a fact he spoke, not a question. "I am Imperius."

He advanced to the training pit, keeping his entirely black eyes on the shrouded Inquisitor. His steps seemed quite slow, but we're deliberately placed as such. His entire being spoke of supreme confidence without oozing arrogance or pride. While clad in his ornate plate and bearing himself nobly, he was not believing himself superior or looked down on the man he just met - or anyone.

His presence in the Force was that of silent cold, similar to his physical aura. It was inspiring in a very pragmatic and methodical way. Despite his species, there seemed to be no trace of the Dark side on him.

"You have joined the ranks of the Inquisitors only recently. Where do you hail from?"

 

[Caliban Arkay]

Imperius Indomitus

The figure that entered was wrapped in symbolism, everything about him deliberate. From the long, rhythmic cadence of armored strides to the quiet gravity that trailed him like smoke. A mountain of black and gold.

Caliban's eyes flicked to the shadows trailing him beneath the brow of his hood. Not guards. Not attendants. They were too silent. Too fluid. One bore his weapon, the other his helmet and saber. A performance of power, but not the kind meant to intimidate.

Interesting, Caliban thought. He did not need to wield the tools to show they were his.

Then he spoke, a simple statement. Not a question. Exuding authority.

"You are the Sixth Brother."

Caliban didn't answer right away. He let the silence hang, not as defiance, but as study. The man radiated control, but not the fevered, hollow kind so common among Sith. There was no hunger in him. No rot. Just that cold, calculating stillness. He found himself thinking of his Father, he'd been similar to this Imperius, both in form and presence.

"I am," Caliban replied finally. "And you are my test."

He let the words settle. Not mocking. Not impressed either. Just an observation.

"You carry a blade and a saber, but don't wear them. You let others do that for you. Why is that?"

His tone was level, measured, but there was an edge there, deliberate. A scalpel, a test. If he was to be tested, then so too would this Imperius be observed.

When the question of origin came, Caliban offered a shallow nod, he had no need to hide his heritage. Surely the man had access to the files detailing the events that led to his discovery.

"I hail from before all this. Before New Alderaan. Before your Empire. I was put to sleep as punishement. Now I will atone by serving as an instrument of order, a blade. He would have wanted it."

The Sixth Brother stepped closer to the edge of the training pit. The silence between them was thicker now.

"I don't serve out of loyalty to the Empress," he added quietly. "I serve because order must have a blade. I will be this blade. The Empire provides me the ability to be so."

With a sudden snap-hiss, Caliban ignited his lightsaber. White light spilled across the chamber in stark contrast to the black lines of the room.

He did not assume the opening stance of Form IV, but he was ready to start whenever Imperius saw fit.

 

[Imperius Indomitus]

W A R M A S T E R
LORD INDOMITUS
Through war, we bring order.
Through strength, we bring unity.

The Iron March
Order. Strength. Discipline.

Caliban Arkay

​

It was rare that Imperius felt that there was something common between him and someone he was talking to. This man in front, he was not young, he was not old, he did not demand attention nor need praise. There was the hint of age that would be confirmed by his vague response, but right now it was something familiar. Somehow Imperius doubted that Caliban was as old or older than himself, but it was not with certainty that he made that assessment.

"I do not expect to fight anyone on my way here and for a test such as this the conditions should be optimal. A sheath, a helmet, an extra weapon can be unnecessary and in the way. The armigers are honored by doing their duty and I intend to uphold this tradition." The armigers behind remained unmoved, unbothered and silent.

"Before -this- Empire. I serve alongside it, but I was a Knight before this Empire existed, it has yet to prove that it is worth my full devotion, so does its Empress. That though shall not stop me from serving the imperial cause, nor will it stop you. Order and stability must be restored, through strength and discipline. A mutual understanding."

With little effort or hesitation his hand calmly stretched out and called the lightsaber to his hand. The Force did not merely obey, it submitted to this most simple gesture.

"Atonement? I see. Correcting one's own past is a deed that few accomplish. Let us see how you intend to do so." His white blade ignited, though it did so with an arhythmical hum, it was smooth and stable, but it was somehow not as well. His blade flourished, presenting the weapon in front of his face before flourishing it again in the salute of a duelist.

Upon seeing readiness, Imperius advanced. His footwork was meticulous as he started with a flurry of slashes and cuts towards the extremities of Caliban. They were fast, precise and strong - even if only one-handed, the physique of Imperius harbored great strength. It was a testing, a trialing, the warm up.

 

[Caliban Arkay]

Imperius Indomitus

The Sixth Brother nodded as Imperius spoke of order and stability. He was thankful this meeting had been arranged, Imperius was precisely the kind of ally he needed within the Empire.

The moment Imperius advanced, Caliban saw what the Empire had placed before him, a weapon honed by discipline. The strikes came sharp and clean and he raised his weapon to meet them.

Caliban met the first strike with his own white blade. Sparks exploded as the weapons collided, his saber humming erratically—the result of a fractured kyber crystal. It was unstable, unreliable, and all the more dangerous for it.

Their sabers clashed in bursts of pale light, white against white, each hiss of contact painting stark lines across the sterile walls of the training pit.

Caliban gave ground, but not in retreat. He moved with the flow of the strikes, his footwork a simple echo of Form IV, restrained. He didn't leap. Didn't spin. Not yet. Instead, he moved like a shadow, allowing Imperius to lead, for now.

The Sith was stronger than expected. One-handed, yet he lost no precision. Good reach. Strong hips. No wasted motion. No overextension. Discipline like that couldn't be faked.

He twisted left, catching a blow aimed at his shoulder with a tight parry, their blades scraping together with a roar. The mask Caliban wore showed no emotion, but behind it, his eyes were alert, sharp.

Men were often more honest when distracted, and battle was a fine distraction.

"You serve order then," Caliban murmured between exchanges. "Yes... we may find common cause there. I didn't expect to find one such as you here. The others, the soldiers, they seem almost fanatical. Always muttering about their Empress."

A pivot, he dropped low, sweeping his saber in a crescent arc toward Imperius's left thigh. Then he stopped. A feint. The slow rhythm had served its purpose.

Without warning, he launched into motion, fully embracing the agility of Form IV. He somersaulted over Imperius in a graceful, controlled arc, striking downward in a sharp upward slash toward his opponent's back as he passed overhead, looking for the break in rhythm, the sliver of overcorrection.

 

[Imperius Indomitus]

W A R M A S T E R
LORD INDOMITUS
Through war, we bring order.
Through strength, we bring unity.

The Iron March
Order. Strength. Discipline.

Caliban Arkay

​

Their blades clashed, as have thousands before for millions of times. The noise echoed through the hallways, its meaning right now was that of a simple exchange of blows but it could bear the fruit of future endeavours, of unity and of victory. Right now though, it was a sparring match, both to test and be tested, to learn and be taught.

The Sixth Brother was skilled, his bladework was deliberate and calm, reserved even. A measuring stance and approach that waited for the right moment to strike. Imperius was well versed in this kind of combat, his own martial philosophy that of calculation rather than blind fury, of measure and precision rather than wrath and strength.

"Blindly following a sovereign who has neither proven themselves nor takes the center stage to command and lead is foolish. While we Imperials might enjoy our idea of order and hierarchy, it is nevertheless the inspiration of personal cult that will truly drive us forward. It just requires tempering."

Slash, riposte, cut, parry. Imperius was barely moving his arm, letting the wrist and feet do most of the work as he continued his methodical extension of the Inquisitors defences and reaction. He maintained the speed, unaugmented, though started to vary the target zones, away from the arms and legs. Sudden stabs and jabs towards the torso and stomach complemented the basic profile of his attack.

He was curious to see how far he could drive the man before the counter would come - but a counter would come and the duel start in earnest.

"What realm did you serve before your punishment?"

 

[Caliban Arkay]

Imperius Indomitus

Caliban remained silent for the moment, not ready to respond.

Imperius was now pressing forward, probing Caliban's defenses and adjusting his strategy. The attacks targeted Caliban's center, aiming to disrupt his stance and break his rhythm. They nearly succeeded.

Caliban evaded a sudden jab aimed at his midsection, twisted around a sharp thrust, the unstable hum of his saber vibrating ominously in his hand. Sparks flew between them once more.

He considered the Sith's words thoughtfully. His father had indeed allowed a cult of personality to grow around him, enhancing the loyalty of his followers. Yet, he had always ensured it didn't spiral into fanaticism.

"You are right. Admiration of a strong leader lays a solid foundation. But it must not turn into worship, religion breeds chaos. You are wise, Imperius. I would like to discuss this further with you once this battle concludes, if you agree."

Caliban suddenly moved in closer. The clash of their blades brought them into a range where fists could strike. The Sixth Brother seized the opportunity.

His left hand shot out in a swift open palm strike aimed at Imperius's chest plate, trying to unbalance the towering warrior. Simultaneously, he lowered himself and spun, aiming a kick at the back of Imperius's knee with his boot's heel. If Imperius stumbled, Caliban would follow with a downward saber strike, if Imperius held firm, Caliban would retreat to create some distance. Either way, it was time to get serious.

"I was a loyal servant of the The Sovereignty of Taris, established by my Father, the Emperor, built on the principles of order and sacrifice. As his sword and shield, I was devoted to upholding his vision. Others shared this duty with me, guardians, sons of the Emperor all. One among us betrayed the Empire and killed our Father. I ended the betrayer's life. Though sometimes I wonder if he was right."

 

[Imperius Indomitus]

W A R M A S T E R
LORD INDOMITUS
Through war, we bring order.
Through strength, we bring unity.

The Iron March
Order. Strength. Discipline.

Caliban Arkay

​

Their exchange remained tight, their blades meeting multiple times a second, probably making it quite difficult for any unaugmented or non-Force sensitive to follow the combat. It was quite flawless so far, it was dedicated bladework, one offensive, fencing, the other defensive, preparing. Both held their strength in reserve, both seemingly measured and waited to break out, unleash their unrelenting force.

Imperius personally did not understand the usage of unstable lightsabers. His was not unstable, it was just not an artificial white crystal and neither ordinary in its crafting. Shroudsabers were different to ordinary lightsabers and made for a different kind of Force user. But willingly sacrificing reliability in a primary weapon was a risk he could not condone as efficient.

Religious worship was actually not on his mind. He saw what a simple succession crisis could do and how too strong of trust in leadership failed a top to bottom system. Imperial hierarchy should not work on reciprocity, but close to it. Stability and strength from below, purpose and order from above.

Then came the shift.

The hand connected with his chest plate. It connected with the bedrock of a mountain. Imperius felt the punch, not only through the senses of his power armor, but also its kinetic energy transfering through the layers of his armor and bodyglove unto his skin. He estimated that to a normal human, it would have probably cracked a rib or outright broken it. Imperius though did not move from it. The Warmaster seemed like an almost unmoveable object.

The kick to the back of his knee connected as well, while bringing in more power and it hitting what was no doubt a weak-spot, it did not bring him down either. He felt the brief pain and it slowed him for the split second the other warrior needed to regain distance.

"I have been part of this Galaxy for a long time, but I have not heard of this Sovereignty you speak of. It would indeed be interesting to exchange more in a less volatile environment."

It was a warning. An announcement.

While Caliban got away - or tried to do so, Imperius tried to help him. His off-hand pushed forward, moving not only air, but creating a concentrated Force push that was aimed to destabilise Caliban's return to a prepared stance. But that gesture, the attack, almost seemed like an afterthought. Imperius for the first time made use of the Force in a serious manner and it seemed to bend reality. It should have been impossible for a figure this heavy and big to move that fast, he was barely a flicker on the retina, one moment standing, the other his blade came rushing forward, in a heavy strike aiming upwards.

 

[Caliban Arkay]

Imperius Indomitus

The strike to Imperius's chest landed, and did nothing. The Sixth Brother felt it immediately. No give, no shift. As if he'd struck a monument carved from obsidian and will. The kick followed, precise, aimed with intent—but again, the result was less physical and more informative.

This man did not move.

But it had cost him time, and that was enough. Caliban had barely begun to reorient his stance when the Force buckled the air between them. The push was compact, But it bent the world like wet paper.

It struck him directly in the chest, with a force so powerful that it launched him several feet backward. He fought to control his fall, managing just in time to land on both feet, skidding across the ground until his heels collided with the wall behind him.

Imperius closed the distance in a blur. A shape that should not move with such speed, but did. It appeared that the Warmaster had grown tired of play fighting. Caliban's instincts flared, he brought his saber up in a vertical guard just as the massive blade came crashing down. The impact sent a shudder through Caliban's arms, down his spine. He dropped to a knee under the force of it, digging in, white blade barely holding back white blade. A crack of a smile formed beneath the mask, tired, perhaps, but real.

With a grunt and a twist, he disengaged, pushing up and off the downward strike, spinning to the side and re-establishing his distance. But this time, he didn't settle back into a stance. He didn't wait for the next exchange.

He understood it now. That last exchange had made it clear. He couldn't defeat this man. If it were a real fight and not just sparring, he would have been killed after a few blows. Though he wasn't at his full power, having just awakened from a millennia-long slumber, he doubted even his best form could manage more than a few ineffective hits.

"You are strong, Imperius," he said, extending his arm and pointing the tip of his saber at the imposing Sith warrior, "brazenly so. It would be a dishonor to deny you a proper battle."

The Sixth Brother's lightsaber started emitting a peculiar sound, its irregular hum replaced by a more steady tone. This was the effect of Force Weapon taking hold. The blade was enveloped in a swirling aura black plasma, making his attacks stronger, more precise, and faster. He launched into an assault, going on the offensive for the first time in the fight. Utilizing his lighter frame, he leaped and struck from unpredictable angles, showcasing his mastery of Ataru.

He had one last trick up his sleeve: Force Cloak. While attacking, he couldn't muster the concentration needed to use it, but between strikes, while jumping and sliding, he could vanish, becoming invisible with the force, reappearing only when he intended to land a blow.

 

[Imperius Indomitus]

W A R M A S T E R
LORD INDOMITUS
Through war, we bring order.
Through strength, we bring unity.

The Iron March
Order. Strength. Discipline.

Caliban Arkay

​

The Warmaster met the renewed onslaught with the same composure he had held throughout. There was no surprise in his stance, no shock in his expression beneath the helm, only the cold discipline of one who had fought wars for millennia. The black-tinged strikes of the Force-empowered saber came fast, unpredictable, fueled by desperation and Ataru's chaotic grace. But chaos did not unmake steel. And Imperius was forged of sterner stuff.

His blade moved in broad, efficient arcs, angled precisely to catch, deflect, absorb. He did not chase the acrobat, nor did he try to outpace him. He was the center of gravity in the storm - anchored, calculating. Where Caliban danced, Imperius advanced, slowly, inexorably. Each parried strike told him more, each flash of the shrouded blade refined his understanding. His technique did not waver; he had no need for flair.

The sudden vanishing act drew a moment of curiosity.

Imperius did not despair, nor shift his stance. It was not sight he required to fight, it was his experience and mastery that carried him on. The shift from elegant fencing to brutal counter-attacking was sudden. While he could not see where the fast paced fighter would go, he could guess based on the duel so far, based on the individual in front, based on his style. Even though guessing was probably not fitting the description, he analysed and predicted through the experience of thousands sparring matches and duels.

His blade was swift to block with brutalist grace and strike towards the most likely next location, erratic as it was, few sentients actually understood chaos and everything followed a thought, an impulse and therefore a pattern. The Shroudsaber moved as the massive figure made use of his superior footwork to minimise exposure and attack, strikes aiming to cut into the pattern and into the rhythm the Sixth Brother aimed to establish.

"Your skill is remarkable. Though it is entirely ill-suited to best an opponent that offers extreme forms of defense and superior experience. Do not exhaust yourself on their behalf, overwhelming force can overwhelm yourself too if taking too long."

 

[Caliban Arkay]

Imperius Indomitus

Caliban registered the shift.

Not in the way Imperius moved, he had barely moved at all, but in what he allowed. The way his strikes adjusted, ever so slightly, to follow the new tempo. He simply absorbed it, processed it, and carried on.

Then the Warmaster began to counter, aiming his strikes to throw Caliban off balance. Caliban felt fatigue setting in, his attacks becoming less precise.

He pulled back from the chaos, let the wild energy of Ataru bleed off into something sharper. Less erratic, more measured. He was trying to learn from the Warmaster now. It served no purpose to deny useful advice simply because of pride. The truth was that he was not well suited to fight Imperius, his fast and strong style was completely walled off by the Sith's superior defensive capabilities.

"Very well. What would you suggest I do if I encounter someone like you in the future?"

He raised his blade to his face, then swept it to the side in a duelist's salute. An informal request to reset the fight. He adopted a more neutral stance, ready to let Imperius guide and teach him. It had been a long time since he'd felt the need to learn from anyone.

The Warmaster had earned that respect. Not by dominance, but by clarity, by revealing the gaps Caliban hadn't seen in himself. He'd fought Jedi, Sith, beasts, warlords. Few had withstood the weight of his offense. Fewer still had dissected it mid-motion and handed it back to him. There was no shame in learning from a superior hand. Only in refusing to.

 

[Imperius Indomitus]

W A R M A S T E R
LORD INDOMITUS
Through war, we bring order.
Through strength, we bring unity.

The Iron March
Order. Strength. Discipline.

Caliban Arkay

​

The shroudsaber's hum dimmed as Imperius deactivated the blade, the white light retreating into the emitter with a soft hiss. He did not immediately return the salute, nor did he break into a formal stance. Instead, the Warmaster stood tall - unmoving, unbothered, unreadable. A monument in armor, forged from war and sharpened by centuries of reflection.

He studied Caliban in silence.

The younger warrior's shift had not gone unnoticed. The reckless momentum had waned, giving way to restraint, to focus. That, more than any blow struck or parried, had Imperius's attention. A student had stepped forth from the fury. Not in supplication, but in acknowledgment of truth. There was a quiet nobility in it.

"You do not fight poorly, Sixth Brother," Imperius said at last, his voice low, modulated, almost ecclesiastic. "You fight as you were shaped to: fast, unpredictable, overwhelming. But you rely on speed to mask decision, on motion to obscure intent. That will always break upon someone who does not chase you."

He began to move, not with aggression, but with purpose. A slow circle formed between them, the rhythm of a teacher walking the edge of a dueling ring. Each step was measured, every motion economical. Despite the towering bulk of his armor, he moved with eerie fluidity, his presence undiminished by stillness or calm.

"If you meet someone like me, you do not try to outmatch strength with strength. You fight them with terrain. With time. You exhaust. You undermine. You make them move more than they wish to. You make them play your game."

He stopped directly across from Caliban, facing him fully now.

"But first," he added, raising one gauntleted hand with subtle emphasis, "you must know your own limits. No opponent can teach you that if you refuse to see it."

His weapon ignited again, this time with no fanfare, only certainty. The white blade came to life, bright and unwavering, and rose into a neutral stance. It was not a warrior's challenge, it was an invitation.

He held it there.

"If you wish to continue, I will give you no less than truth. But I do not spar for sport. I teach through adversity."