SithLore

Sith Sorcery
Level 6
Word Count ~1220-1708 out of 600

Axl, Age 25, The Sith Lore Era

“Darth Fett,” as most called him, was quite at home on the arrid, unrelenting Korriban. The Sith Praxeum was at its height. Lady Kadarinadh Daragon ruled and the order prospered under the old ways of the Ancient Sith.

Axl’s prior life was long since buried, albeit in a shallow grave for those who knew where to dig. Domi, Sten, and Vasilisa were all dead, and Erailic had been abducted by Domi’s murderers, never heard from since.

Masters Exar Kun and Naga Sadow had become increasingly scarce in the halls of the temple, the mystery of their presence never being fully explained. Ancient Spirits given host clone bodies, Axl had long reasoned. A gift to the Praxeum from the great Darth Aquilius, who was no stranger to the alchemy of dark cloning rituals, no doubt. Either way, the pair had proven invaluable mentors to the young Sith as he forged his new life, devoted to his philosophy, absent the distraction of more traditional family aspirations and responsibility that had weighed so heavily in his past. The pair had taught him their own schools of combat and mysticism, respectively, as well as ancient tongues and philosophy. For all their virtues, Sten and Vasilisa had been teachers of their own learned behaviors and not rich traditions– both had in fact come of age without knowledge of their own parentage let alone any deeper culture.

Sadow in particular had opened a whole branch of Sith arts to his colleague turned insatiable pupil. Axl studied not just every word, but every cadence, every accent, every piece of his idiolect. He found so often it was not just words on the page that brought ancient spells to bear fruit, but the oft ignored detail and nuance, just as much as the raw intent and inherent talent of the caster.

In the absence of the Dark Lords, Axl had led the livestock, two drays with mangled horns, he would later use to cook their meals for the next three days, into a small chapel in the temple. The two creatures remained docile as he tethered them to a font as empty as their heads. No doubt awaiting feed to be poured into the wouldbe trough, they shuffled their hooves in gentle anticipation. With ambidextrous flair, Axl slit both creatures jaw to jaw and effortlessly pressed their heads together so the vessel would catch every drop being offered to it. Minutes passed before the animals’ lifeless bodies slumped and their own hearts had no more pressure in them to pump anymore of their precious and rich fluids. The font was two-thirds full, and Axl was satisfied. He carried the drained husks out of the chapel and slung them onto a cart bound for the larder. He sat on a meditation mound in the center of the room, overlooking the font.

He produced two triangular prisms and placed them on either side of himself.

Axl sat cross-legged on the banks of a tranquil crimson pool, eyes closed and breathing deep. He let his mind clear, allowing the Force to wash over him like ripples in the fluid.

This chapel was not chosen arbitrarily. Lord Sadow had cast many sorcerous incantations from within, a fact Axl had hoped would make it a prime conduit with which to commune with said sorcery.


As he meditated, he envisioned the Force as a series of waves, each representing a different aspect of the energy that flowed through all living things. He saw the waves rise and fall, crash against each other, and create patterns that only he could see. The blood was now acting as an avatar of the scars, veins of sorcery past.

Axl focused on the waves of serenity, feeling the energy of the Force wash over him in gentle, soothing undulation. He felt a sense of calm and clarity wash over him, like the surface of a pond after a rain shower.

As he continued to meditate, Axl began to sense something else, something darker. He saw waves of darkness mingling with the light, and he felt a powerful pull towards them. He knew what he was feeling, and it filled him with exhilaration.

Axl had bore witness to the ancient dark arts, but had been a spectator for most demonstrations. He had always viewed the Force as an extension of the natural world, a tool with which to tap into the physical. But now he actually FELT the unnatural surges creeping into him.

He opened his eyes and glared out over the font, watching as the ripples created by the waves of the Force danced across the surface of the water. Axl stood up and walked to the edge of the pond, his eyes fixed on the waves. He raised his arms and focused his mind, calling upon the Force to guide him.

As he did, he saw the waves of the creeping light side grow stronger, pushing back against the darkness. He felt a surge of power within him, and he knew that he could control the Force, bend it to his will.

But the darkness still called to him, and he knew that he had to face it, to embolden it. He focused his mind once more, calling upon the power of the Force to bolster his darker frequencies and shield him from the creeping influence of the light pleading for him to stop.

Slothfully, the waves of darkness rose up from the depths of the pond, swirling and churning as they approached him. Axl stood his ground, his arms raised, inviting the darkness.

The two forces clashed in a violent explosion of energy, and Axl felt the stone beneath him tremble as he struggled to maintain his control. But he did not falter, did not waver, and he continued to channel the power of the Force.

The darkness, represented by the resonating nearly black blood, overtook its lighter counterpart once and for all, smothering the life from it before settling. The vibrations that had possessed the waves dissociated from them, riding trace wisps of the blood through the stale air and across the room. It snaked its way around Axl’s arm and coiled around his body before splitting into two threads headed opposite directions. They simultaneously happened upon the devices on either side of him. These holocrons had shown resistance to opening previously, and no outward indication hinted at who had forged them or what had been inside.

The vibrations rattled, the droplets searched each crevice for openings.

Two subdued hisses permeated the air. The facade of each device swirled and whirred, repositioning each component into a new form. Each projected forms of their creators.

Ajunta Pall? Marka Ragnos? What ancient sith knowledge had he unlocked?

As his eyes adjusted, he struggled to place either figure.

The vibrating hemoglobin wisps were not finished. The plasma fled the room, as if on autopilot, guided by Axl’s deepest subconscious commands. The staggered voices emanating from the devices were at odds, speaking over one another seemingly without breaths. His mind scrambled to absorb both stories at once.

The air thickened, coagulated with the return of the wayward blood. It was wrapped around two translucent spectres, compelling their presence and binding them to their respective holocrons.

Fascinating.

“J’nai Zeral, I presume,” he addressed the first, much more appealing figure. Her visage appeared as a blue overlay to a light within. She spoke back, but no sound escaped.

The other figure’s outstretched hand escaped his own field and obscured his cohort’s mouth which appeared purple when the light passed through both figures.

“We are not compelled to do your bidding, whelp,” it bellowed.

“Indeed,” Axl winced, trying to recall the precise pronunciation he’d been bombarded with minutes earlier, “Haagor.”

“Lord Rai.”
The red figure was undoubtedly the dominant of the duo, and as such more in need of reining in.

“That remains to be seen. I’ve never heard of you before today… my Lord,” his final words were said so sardonically it was a bit much even for Axl.

Rai’s features were angular and unpleasant, his skin was etched and ridged– he resembled the ancient Sith race, minus the trademark forked chin. His forked tongue would have to suffice. His eyes were black, even in this ghostly visage, and his gaze made one feel every ounce of that darkness.

Zeral, on the other hand, clearly had darkness emanating from her, but she had a less diabolical air about her, and one more attuned to survival and attaining something. Knowledge, security, love, lust, Axl had no way of knowing yet, but she was certainly less of an archetypal arch Sith. Her physiology would hint she was near human unlike her counterpart. Her eyes were sunken and wide set, and her complexion was remarkably pale, although that may have been a product of her spectral form.

Axl would need to isolate the spirits in order to gain any relevant knowledge or boons from either over the course of the year to come, and the potency of the blood would not last from a non-sentient sacrifice. He had counted on having to bind any spirits he may have encountered on the ancient Sith capital world, and had procured incantations and advice from Lord Sadow.

“Kesa Nu’lawwo,” Axl’s voice shifted to a lower register.

Binding the souls for later summoning worked best with the implementation of a personal belonging of one involved in the incantation, typically a belonging of the dead. As Axl was not even certain the pair had officially sanctioned tombs let alone personal items, but their holocrons would more than suffice.

Axl spoke clearly, parroting the exact cadence of his mentor, “Klemy’ptguk h’g lomen,”

Haagor Rai screamed in protest. Axl stretched his arm over the man’s increasingly opaque mouth, returning the disrespect he had placed on Zeral. His cohort smiled, warmly.

“Kida klemy’ptguk…” Axl’s voice faded. The room spun and he lost consciousness.

Standing in his place was Omega, his alternate persona. The two were binary and their consciousness rarely if ever interacted. Omega gave a knowing glance to both spirits and altered the final words of the incantation, “NE kesa Nu’kantu.”

His hands gestured inward, to his own temples and his fingers looped around his ears.

Force Comprehension
Level 4
more than 400, less than 1394

Axl, age 27, The Sith Lore Era


The great library of the Sith temple on Korriban was a vast, labyrinthine chamber carved into the crimson rock of the ancient world. The ceiling stretched high above, disappearing into shadows that seemed to pulse with the lingering presence of a thousand forgotten spirits. Shelves, hewn from the stone itself, rose to impossible heights, crammed with scrolls, manuscripts, and tomes that chronicled the dark history and forbidden knowledge of the Sith. The air was thick with the scent of aged parchment, the dust of centuries settling on every surface, and the oppressive aura of dark energy that permeated the very walls.


Fett, the Hand of the Dark Lady, stood at a stone table in the center of the library, his imposing figure bathed in the eerie, flickering light of a lone holo lantern. His slate-grey eyes, normally sharp and calculating, were narrowed in concentration as he stared down at the tome before him. The book was massive, its leather-bound cover cracked and worn, the edges of the pages brittle with age. The title, etched in faded gold, was barely legible, written in an ancient Sith dialect that few living beings could comprehend.


He had been at this for hours, poring over the densely worded text, trying to decipher its esoteric secrets. The language was arcane, a convoluted maze of symbols and glyphs that twisted and intertwined in ways that defied conventional understanding. The pages were fragile, crumbling at the edges as he turned them, each touch a delicate balance between destruction and revelation.


As Fett read, a growing frustration gnawed at him. The words seemed to dance on the page, shifting and blurring as if mocking his attempts to grasp their meaning. The knowledge contained within these pages was forbidden, locked away in the depths of the Dark Side, and it resisted his every effort to unlock it. The tome was a relic of Sith sorcery and necromancy, its contents a gateway to powers that had been lost to time, and Fett knew that the price of such knowledge was steep.


His breath came in slow, measured inhales as he fought to maintain his composure. His fingers, calloused and scarred from years of battle, gently traced the faded script, his mind racing to piece together the fragments of meaning. But the task was monumental, and even his considerable intellect was struggling to keep up.


And then, as if in response to his frustration, Fett felt a shift in the air around him. The atmosphere in the library grew heavier, the shadows deepening, coiling around him like serpents. The Force, ever present in his life, began to stir, whispering to him in a voice that was both familiar and alien. It was a soft, insidious murmur that seemed to emanate from the very stones of the temple, curling around his thoughts like tendrils of smoke. Fett's heart began to race, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end as the whispers grew louder, more distinct. They spoke to him in a language that transcended words, a primal, ancient tongue that resonated deep within his soul. He could feel the Force reaching out to him, offering him something, a solution to his frustration, a way to unlock the secrets of the tome.


The whispers promised him power, knowledge beyond his wildest dreams, the ability to absorb the forbidden lore without the laborious process of translation. But there was a cost, a price that the Force demanded in return. It was not just his time or his energy that it sought, but something deeper, something more intrinsic. It wanted a part of him, a piece of his very soul, to bind the knowledge to his being.


Fett's hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into the palms of his hands as he weighed the offer. The Force was seductive, its power intoxicating, and the lure of the knowledge was almost impossible to resist. He could feel the energy building within him, speeding up his neurons, sharpening his mind, optimizing his ability to process the information before him.


His vision seemed to blur at the edges, his focus narrowing to a single point as the Force began to weave its tendrils through his consciousness. His thoughts quickened, the connections between ideas forming with lightning speed, the symbols and glyphs on the page rearranging themselves into patterns that made sense in ways they hadn’t before. It was as if the Force had bypassed the normal limits of his mind, tapping directly into the wellspring of understanding that lay buried deep within him. The sensation was exhilarating, a rush of clarity and insight that left him breathless. His mind raced, the knowledge flooding in faster than he could process it, each revelation building upon the last in a cascading torrent of understanding. It was a heady mix of euphoria and terror, the power of the Dark Side surging through him like a wildfire, consuming everything in its path.


But as the knowledge flowed into him, Fett felt something else begin to happen. The ink on the pages of the tome, once dark and indelible, began to shift and writhe as if alive. It lifted off the parchment in thin tendrils, curling through the air like wisps of smoke, before latching onto his fingertips.


Fett's breath hitched as he watched in horror as the ink began to crawl up his fingers, seeping into his skin like a venomous liquid. He could feel it moving through his veins, a cold, creeping sensation that sent a shiver down his spine. Panic flared in his chest as he realized what was happening—the knowledge was not just being absorbed into his mind, it was being etched into his very being, becoming a part of him in a way that was both intimate and terrifying.


His initial panic began to give way to something more primal as the ink continued its relentless advance, crawling up his arms, leaving a dark, shadowy trail in its wake. The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of burning heat and icy cold that seemed to pulse in time with his heartbeat. His muscles tensed, his body straining against the invasive force that was now coursing through him. He could feel the knowledge, the raw, unfiltered power of the ancient Sith, flooding into his consciousness, filling every corner of his mind with dark, twisted secrets. The weight of it was almost unbearable, a crushing force that threatened to drown him in its depths. But there was no turning back now, no escape from the path he had chosen.


The tome in front of him crumbled to dust, the ancient pages disintegrating under the strain of the dark energy that had been unleashed. Fett's eyes widened in shock as he realized what he had done, the destruction of the artifact a stark reminder of the price he had paid. But even as the last remnants of the tome faded into nothingness, the knowledge continued to pour into him, unstoppable, inexorable.


Fett’s body trembled, his knees buckling as the weight of the knowledge threatened to pull him under. He could feel his mind stretching to accommodate the vast influx of information, the neurons firing at an impossible speed, each synapse crackling with dark energy. His vision blurred, the world around him fading into a haze of shadows and light.


And then, as the final tendrils of ink vanished into his skin, Fett felt a surge unlike anything he had ever experienced. Knowledge seeped into his marrow. His eyes rolled back into his head, his body convulsing as the full weight of the knowledge settled into place. A low, guttural laugh bubbled up from deep within his chest, growing louder and more manic as the power of something else, far beyond the vague whims of the Dark Side took hold.


Fett's body stood erect,humming with energy, the shadows of the library swirling around him like a cloak. The knowledge was seared into his very soul, a permanent mark of the price he had paid. The laughter was echoing through the darkened chamber, but even as his vocal cords pulsated, creating them, the sound and amusement were not his, but belonged to a being taking control of his body. It was not one that had invaded that evening, but had in fact been a resident of Fett's form for quite some time.

Mental Translocation
More than 800, less than 1858

Axl, Korriban, the Sith Lore Era


As the shadows lengthened across the cold, unforgiving stone of the temple floor, Fett's mind began to unravel the intricate web of thoughts that had ensnared him since his arrival on Korriban—a place where time itself seemed to congeal, thickening the air with the weight of ancient, unspoken horrors. The atmosphere, heavy with the scent of decay and the whispers of long-forgotten spirits, pressed against him like a shroud, suffocating yet strangely invigorating, as though the very essence of the Dark Side seeped into his pores, melding with his own thoughts, desires, and fears. Each step he took echoed through the labyrinthine corridors, the sound ricocheting off the cracked and pitted walls, distorted and twisted until it returned to him as something alien, almost sentient in its malevolence. It was here, in the heart of this eldritch tomb, that the lines between reality and nightmare blurred, where the echoes of the past clung to the present like a parasite, feeding on the memories of the unwary, and where Fett, despite his formidable will, could feel the cold tendrils of doubt and despair creeping into the edges of his mind, threatening to unmoor him from the certainty that had always been his greatest strength.


The dim chamber within the ancient Sith temple was a sanctum of perpetual twilight, the shadows so dense they seemed to breathe with the weight of millennia. The air was thick, laden with the scent of charred incense, old parchment, and the indefinable, cloying residue of the Dark Side itself. Fett, calling on a calculated power and control, sat cross-legged on the cold stone floor, his posture a monument to discipline, his mind already beginning to surrender to the Force’s embrace.


The ambient light, sparse and sickly, emanated from the flickering torches mounted on the walls, casting elongated, jittery shadows that clawed at the edges of the room like the grasping fingers of specters long forgotten. But Fett’s attention was elsewhere, focused inward on the rhythmic beat of his heart, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the flow of air that became increasingly unnecessary as the Force began to suffuse his being.


He began to inhale the Force as though it were a potent elixir, drawing it deep into the recesses of his form. It surged within him, cold and unyielding, seeping into his marrow and sending frigid shivers along his spine. His heart, attuned to his will, began to slow, each beat resonating as a distant, echoing drum that seemed to fade into an otherworldly silence. His breath became shallow, almost nonexistent, as the Force supplemented his body’s need for oxygen, saturating him with a cold vitality.


He relinquished the last vestiges of his physicality to the Force, allowing his consciousness to ascend, to unravel from the confines of flesh and blood. The sensation was akin to slipping out of a constricting skin, his spirit rising above the constraints of mortality like a wraith liberated from its tomb. His awareness expanded exponentially, spiraling outward into the unfathomable void of the astral plane.


As his ethereal self ascended, the mundane world below dissolved into something more profound, more intricate. The dark chamber melted away, replaced by a landscape of hyperreality, where every facet of existence was laid bare in agonizing detail. He could perceive the intricate lattices of energy that bound matter together, the pulsating currents of life that coursed through the temple’s very stones. The walls, once mere cold stone, now resonated with a dark, latent energy, their surfaces alive with the secret histories etched into their fabric.


Fett’s senses, no longer tethered by physical limitations, extended into realms beyond conventional comprehension. He saw dimensions layered atop one another, realities that coexisted in tandem with the one he had left behind. Each layer shimmered with its own unique frequency, an intricate web of existence that defied the linearity of time and space. Here, past, present, and future were woven into a singular tapestry, each thread vibrating with the resonance of what was, what is, and what could be.


Time in this ethereal state was a malleable construct yet beyond his own grasp, stretching and contracting like a living thing. Moments did not pass in succession but unfolded in a cascade of simultaneity, overlapping and intertwining in a dance of endless possibility. Fett’s consciousness drifted through these temporal eddies, perceiving the flow of spacetime as a river that he could navigate at will, its currents pulling him in directions dictated by the whims of the Force.



Sound, in this state, was a chorus of raw emotion. It did not enter his awareness through the physical mechanism of hearing but was absorbed directly into his being. Vibrations in the Force translated into pure sensation, each one striking chords within his spirit, resonating with a depth that transcended language. The echoes of the temple, the ancient murmurs of the Dark Side, sang within him, their notes carrying the weight of forgotten knowledge and the despair of countless souls.


Fett’s spirit drifted through the corridors of the temple, his form phasing effortlessly through the stone walls. The sensation of passing through solid matter was surreal, a fleeting resistance followed by an enveloping coolness, as if he were moving through thick, viscous air. He expanded his awareness, his perception stretching out to encompass the entirety of the temple, every shadowed nook and cranny becoming an extension of his will.


As he glided through the ancient halls, he sensed the presence of a Nightsister, Kota, engaged in conversation within a nearby chamber. Her aura was a dark, tumultuous thing, swirling with the magicks of her people, a stark contrast to the cold, calculating presence of the Dark Lady Daragon who stood before her. They spoke of blockades, of strategies and schemes, their words imbued with the weight of power plays and the relentless struggle for dominance.


Fett’s spirit drifted closer, his essence brushing against Kota’s as he passed. The effect was immediate—Kota faltered mid-sentence, her voice catching in her throat as if she had been struck. Her aura flickered, the dark magicks around her wavering as if disturbed by an unseen force. She looked around, her eyes narrowing, as though trying to pinpoint the disturbance, but finding nothing. He passed a half etched stone likeness he had been sculpting of Master Exar Kun, to go with his others. The crystals forming the blades sat beside the monument, yet to be anchored to it.


The Dark Lady, however, was not so easily deceived. Kat Daragon’s eyes, voids collecting all mystical activity before her, tracked Fett’s passage with a knowing, almost amused expression. Her lips curved into a slight, sardonic smile, her gaze locking onto the spot where Fett’s spirit hovered, invisible yet fully perceived. Her awareness of him was unsettling, her gaze piercing through his incorporeal form, acknowledging his presence with a chilling, silent reproach.


Fett recoiled, pulling his essence away from the chamber, unwilling to linger under the Dark Lady’s bemused scrutiny, lest she give him away. He drifted further into the temple’s depths, drawn by an insidious pull towards the combat grotto. There, the atmosphere was thick with dark energy, the air crackling with the malevolent power being channeled by Darth Rage.


The Zabrak, once Fett’s apprentice, was a fearsome sight. His form was a blur of motion as he sparred with a circle of combat droids, his twin lightsabers flashing in arcs of crimson fury. Rage’s body was suffused with the Dark Side, his muscles enhanced, his reflexes sharpened to a deadly edge. The droids stood little chance against his onslaught, their metal forms crumpling under the force of his strikes.


But it was the energy that Rage was channeling that drew Fett’s attention. The dark power coiled around the Zabrak like a living entity, twisting and writhing in response to his will. It was a vortex of pure malevolence, a gravitational well that seemed to pull everything within its reach into its depths. Fett could feel the pull even now, his spirit being drawn towards the center of the maelstrom as if caught in an inescapable current.


The sensation was overwhelming, a tug at the very core of his being that threatened to drag him into the darkness, to merge his essence with the seething void. He fought against it, struggling to maintain his autonomy, but the force was relentless, pulling him closer and closer to the Zabrak’s orbit.


As he fought, his awareness shifted, and he saw his physical body, still seated in his quarters, but not alone. Someone—or something—had taken control of it. His body moved with a jerky, unnatural gait, the eyes glazed and empty as it stood and began to walk towards the chamber where Kota and the Dark Lady were still in conversation.


A surge of panic and fury erupted within Fett, fueling his will to break free from the vortex. He tore through the temple’s walls, his spirit racing back towards his quarters with a speed born of desperation. The dimensions of the temple collapsed and stretched around him as he moved, the walls blurring into streaks of dark stone and ancient sigils, the flow of time distorting as he forced his way through the astral plane.


The world around him was a kaleidoscope of shadow and light, the boundaries of reality and the ethereal blending into one another as he pressed forward. The closer he came to his body, the more tangible the world became, the hyperreality of the astral plane giving way to the cold, oppressive atmosphere of the physical temple.


He burst into the chamber just as his possessed body entered, the force of his arrival sending a shockwave through the room. The Dark Lady’s smile widened, her eyes glinting with a predatory gleam as she observed the scene unfold. Kota took a step back, her eyes wide with a mixture of confusion and alarm as she sensed a disturbance.


Fett’s spirit collided with the intruder, the impact reverberating through the very fabric of the temple. The walls trembled with the force of the clash, the shadows deepening as the Dark Side energy flared in response. The presence within his body resisted, a dark, insidious force that clawed at the edges of his mind, fighting to maintain its hold.


But Fett was no stranger to the Dark Side. He had been forged in the flames of all its multi-tiered hells, tempered by its cruelty, and he would not be so easily overpowered. He reached deep within himself, tapping into the wellspring of power that had been his birthright, and unleashed it in a torrent of raw, unbridled will.


The force of his will shattered the being’s grip, banishing the presence from the forefront of his mind with a final, resounding scream of defiance. The dark energy dissipated, retreating back into the shadows of his suppressed thoughts from whence it had come, leaving Fett standing in the center of the chamber, his breath ragged, his body trembling with the remnants of the dark power that had coursed through him.

“All good?” Lady Daragon expectantly broke the silence.

“For the moment, m'lady.”

Beast Control
More than 600, less than 3321

Axl, Monastery, The Sith Lore Era


He'd gotten turned around.


The crystal cave on Monastery was an eerie place, a maze of jagged stalagmites and stalactites that stretched toward one another like the hungry jaws of a colossal beast, eager to close around any who dared enter. The crystals themselves were razor-sharp, their surfaces glinting in the faint light that filtered through the cave’s narrow entrance, casting the cavern in a cold, otherworldly glow. The air was heavy, thick with the scent of minerals and the faint hint of something far more primal, something that made the hair on the back of Fett’s neck stand on end.


He was not alone.


Before him, their glowing eyes catching the light in a sinister dance, was a pride of Saber Cats. Their fur was a deep, unnatural shade of purple that shimmered with every movement, a living ripple of darkness that blended into the shadows of the cave. Their bodies were large, muscular, built for speed and power, each cat a deadly predator in its own right. And at the head of the pride stood the largest of them all, its curved horn a menacing sight that set it apart from the others, marking it as the leader.


The lesser cats, with their straight, sharp horns, began to circle Fett, their movements synchronized, practiced. There was a hunger in their eyes, a primal need to hunt, to kill. Fett could feel the intensity of their focus, their minds sharpened to a single point: him. They were creatures of instinct, driven by a need to assert their dominance, to protect their territory. But Fett was no ordinary prey.


The first of the Saber Cats lunged, a blur of purple and claws, its horn aimed directly at Fett’s chest. He moved swiftly, his reflexes honed by years of battle, and sidestepped the attack, his lightsaber igniting in a flash of red. With a single, precise motion, he guided the cat’s momentum into one of the larger crystal stalagmites. The creature’s own force impaled it on the jagged stone, the crystal piercing through fur and flesh alike, ending its life in an instant. But there was no time to rest. Another cat charged, this one faster, more aggressive, its claws swiping at Fett with deadly precision. He parried the blow with his lightsaber, the crimson blade cutting through the air with a hiss, but this time he didn’t wait for the cat to strike again. Instead, he pushed it back with a powerful Force shove, sending the creature careening into a cluster of crystal stalactites hanging from the ceiling. The sharp points tore through the cat’s body as it fell, leaving it limp and lifeless in a pool of its own blood.


Three cats remained, their leader watching silently as the two others circled, wary now but still determined. Fett could feel the tension in the air, the primal fear that had begun to seep into the minds of the remaining beasts. They were predators, but they were not foolish. They understood that they were dealing with something far more dangerous than any prey they had encountered before.


Fett’s eyes narrowed as he focused on one of the remaining cats, reaching out with the Force, extending his consciousness toward the creature’s mind. It was a different kind of connection than what he was used to—unlike controlling a human mind, which was often laced with layers of complexity and resistance, this was more primal, raw. The Saber Cat’s mind was simpler, driven by instinct and emotion rather than thought. There were no words, no concepts, just feelings—fear, hunger, anger, a burning desire to protect its pride.


Penetrating the creature’s mind was like sifting through layers of fog, each one thicker than the last. Fett could sense its confusion, its struggle to understand the intrusion. But it was not an easy task. The cat’s mind was alien, its instincts so deeply ingrained that manipulating them required a delicate touch. He could feel the creature’s muscles tensing, its body preparing to strike even as he tried to assert control.


For a moment, Fett felt as though he were wrestling with the very essence of the beast, his own will clashing with the raw power of the Saber Cat’s instincts. Its four-legged physiology made it even more challenging—its reflexes were faster, more fluid, and its body was built for a different kind of movement, a different way of perceiving the world. Fett had to adjust his approach, tuning his mind to the creature’s rhythm, aligning his thoughts with its instincts.


But even as he gained a tenuous hold over the cat’s mind, he found that controlling it remotely was more difficult than he had anticipated. The creature’s body did not respond as quickly or as smoothly as a human’s might under similar circumstances. Its movements were jerky, uncoordinated, as though it were fighting against itself with every step. Fett could feel the strain, the resistance, as the cat struggled against the invisible force that had taken hold of it.


The leader of the pride watched intently, its glowing eyes narrowing as it observed the struggle between Fett and the controlled cat. There was an intelligence in those eyes, a cold, calculating awareness that set it apart from the others. It was assessing the situation, waiting for the right moment to strike.


Realizing that brute force alone would not be enough to fully control the cat, Fett shifted his approach. Instead of trying to puppeteer the beast’s body directly, he reached out to its emotions, seeking to influence its feelings rather than its actions. He focused on the fear that lingered at the edges of the cat’s mind, amplifying it, twisting it into something more tangible, more immediate.


He projected an image into the cat’s mind—an image of himself, not as an enemy, but as a protector, a friend. He infused the image with warmth, safety, and a sense of loyalty, coaxing the cat to view him not as a threat, but as someone to be defended. The shift in the creature’s emotions was subtle at first, a flicker of hesitation in its eyes, a slight relaxation of its tensed muscles. But then, slowly, the cat began to respond. Its aggression faded, replaced by a wary curiosity. It looked at Fett with a mixture of confusion and trust, the primal need to protect its pride now directed at him. Fett could feel the change in the cat’s mind, the shift in its perception of him. It was no longer trying to attack—it was trying to protect him from the other cats.


The controlled cat turned its attention to one of the remaining Saber Cats, its stance shifting from predatory to defensive. It growled low in its throat, a warning to the other cat, its eyes flashing with a newfound resolve. The other Saber Cat hesitated, unsure of how to respond to the sudden change in its companion.


But the hesitation was brief. The other cat, driven by its own instincts, lunged at the controlled cat, its claws extended, ready to strike. The controlled cat met the attack head-on, its body moving with a fluid grace that belied its earlier stiffness. The two cats clashed in a violent tangle of fur, claws, and teeth, their growls echoing through the cave as they fought.


Fett watched as the two cats tore into each other, their movements a blur of purple fur and blood. The fight was brutal, quick, over in a matter of seconds. The controlled cat, despite its newfound loyalty to Fett, was no match for the other Saber Cat. It fell to the ground, its body riddled with deep gashes, blood pooling around it as it struggled to breathe.


The other Saber Cat, wounded but still standing, turned to face Fett, its eyes wild with a mix of fear and fury. But before it could make a move, its body convulsed, a deep, guttural growl escaping its throat as it collapsed beside the first cat. The two bodies lay still, their life forces ebbing away, leaving only the leader of the pride standing. The leader, with its curved horn gleaming in the dim light, stepped forward, its gaze locked onto Fett. There was no fear in its eyes, only a cold, calculated intelligence. It had watched the entire ordeal, observed Fett’s attempts to control its pride, and now it was assessing him, weighing the threat he posed.
Fett held his ground, his eyes meeting the Saber Cat’s unflinchingly. The air between them was charged, thick with the tension of two predators sizing each other up, each one waiting for the other to make a move. The crystal cave, with its jagged stalagmites and eerie glow, seemed to hold its breath, the silence punctuated only by the slow, steady drip of blood onto the stone floor.


The leader of the pride took another step forward, its muscles coiled, ready to spring. Its curved horn glinted menacingly, a deadly weapon that could easily impale Fett if he wasn’t careful. The cat’s eyes narrowed, its gaze piercing, as though it could see into Fett’s very soul. But Fett did not move. He stood his ground, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his lightsaber, ready but not yet drawn. His mind was calm, focused, the Force flowing through him like a river, steady and unyielding. He could feel the cat’s presence in the Force, a dark, primal energy that hummed with power, with the raw, untamed strength of a predator.


The tension hung in the air, a palpable force that seemed to stretch out between them, pulling tighter with each passing second. The Saber Cat’s gaze never wavered, its body poised to strike, but it did not move. It was waiting, watching, assessing. And then, with a slow, deliberate movement, the Saber Cat lowered its head, its eyes never leaving Fett’s. It was a gesture of acknowledgment, of respect, a recognition of the power before it. Fett stood facing the leader of the Saber Cats, his mind locked in a silent battle of wills with the creature that now watched him with eyes full of primal intelligence. The connection through the Force was tenuous, a thread of control that could be easily severed if he made one wrong move. Yet, the bond was there, forged in the crucible of conflict and maintained by Fett’s unyielding focus.


He reached out, not with his hand, but with his mind, extending his consciousness to wrap around the creature’s thoughts. The Saber Cat’s mind was a swirling maelstrom of instincts—hunger, aggression, the need to dominate and protect. But beneath it all, there was a faint curiosity, a recognition of Fett’s power that kept the beast from attacking. It was this thread of recognition that Fett seized upon, weaving his influence into the beast’s psyche like a spider spinning a web.


The process was delicate, requiring a fine balance between dominance and persuasion. Fett did not attempt to crush the creature’s will—such an approach would likely cause it to rebel, to lash out with the full force of its predatory nature. Instead, he guided its thoughts, aligning its instincts with his own desires, creating a shared purpose that would allow him to maintain control without forcing it.


He could feel the creature’s heartbeat through the Force, a steady, powerful rhythm that thrummed in time with his own. The connection was growing stronger, the bond between them solidifying as the Saber Cat’s mind began to accept Fett’s presence. He could sense its muscles tensing and relaxing under his influence, its posture shifting from one of aggression to something more neutral, more accepting. Fett took a cautious step forward, his movements slow and deliberate, making sure not to provoke the beast. The Saber Cat watched him, its eyes narrowing slightly, but it did not move to attack. Instead, it lowered its head slightly, as if inviting him to approach. Fett reached out with his hand, touching the creature’s thick, purple fur, feeling the heat of its body beneath his fingers. The cat did not flinch, its breathing steady, its mind calm.


Slowly, Fett moved around to the side of the creature, his hand trailing along its powerful flank. He could feel the strength in its muscles, the latent power that could be unleashed at a moment’s notice. But he also felt the trust that was beginning to form between them, a fragile understanding that he would not harm the beast as long as it obeyed him.


He climbed onto the creature’s back, swinging his leg over its broad shoulders, settling himself into a position that would allow him to maintain his balance while riding. The Saber Cat tensed for a moment, its muscles coiling as if ready to throw him off, but Fett reinforced the connection through the Force, calming the beast’s instincts, guiding it to accept him as its rider.


The cat’s body relaxed beneath him, its stance shifting to accommodate the new weight on its back. Fett could feel the creature’s mind adjusting to the sensation, its instincts adapting to this new situation. It was a strange feeling, controlling a creature so different from himself—its four-legged gait, its heightened senses, the way its body moved with a fluid grace that was both alien and fascinating. With a gentle nudge through the Force, Fett urged the Saber Cat forward. The creature responded immediately, its muscles rippling under its fur as it began to move through the crystal labyrinth. The sharp stalagmites and stalactites loomed on either side, their edges gleaming in the dim light, creating a treacherous path.


As they moved deeper into the cave, the crystals became more numerous, their jagged points jutting out from the ground and ceiling like the teeth of some ancient, stone beast. The cat weaved through them with ease, its body moving in perfect harmony with Fett’s commands, avoiding the deadly spikes with a grace that belied its size.


The connection between them grew stronger with each step, the bond between their minds solidifying as Fett maintained his control. He could feel the cat’s instincts, its reactions to the environment, and he adjusted his commands accordingly, guiding the beast through the narrow passages, avoiding the sharpest crystals, ensuring that they remained on course. But the path was treacherous, and even the Saber Cat’s agility could not completely shield it from harm. As they rounded a corner, one of the larger crystals scraped against the creature’s flank, tearing through its fur and flesh. The cat flinched, a low growl rumbling in its throat, but it did not stop. Fett could feel the pain radiating from the wound, but he reinforced the connection through the Force, soothing the creature’s mind, encouraging it to continue despite the injury.


The cat’s resolve was impressive, its instincts tempered by Fett’s influence, allowing it to push through the pain and remain focused on the path ahead. But then, as they approached a particularly narrow passage, disaster struck. A sharp crystal jutted out from the wall, its point concealed in the shadows until it was too late. It struck Fett’s exposed heel, the pain sharp and immediate, jolting through his body like a lightning bolt.


The sudden shock disrupted Fett’s concentration, his control over the Saber Cat slipping as the pain overwhelmed his senses. The creature, sensing the loss of connection, reacted instinctively. It bucked violently, its body twisting as it tried to throw Fett off its back. Fett tried to reestablish the bond, but the cat was too quick, too powerful. It flung him to the ground with a force that knocked the breath from his lungs, sending him crashing into a cluster of jagged crystals. A sharp edge sliced across his cheek, the pain searing, blood welling up and dripping down his face. He barely had time to register the injury before the Saber Cat was upon him, its massive paws pinning him to the ground, its breath hot and ragged against his skin. The cat’s eyes were wild, its teeth bared in a snarl, its curved horn gleaming menacingly in the dim light.


Fett could feel the weight of the creature pressing down on him, its claws digging into his shoulders, the raw power of the beast evident in every muscle, every movement. The cat’s roar filled the cave, a sound so primal and furious that it seemed to shake the very walls. Fett stared into its eyes, the abyssal black orbs filled with a rage that bordered on madness. He knew in that moment that if he did not regain control, the creature would tear him apart without hesitation.


He reached out with the Force, desperately trying to reestablish the connection, to calm the cat’s mind, but the pain in his heel and the blood dripping into his eye made it difficult to focus. The cat’s jaws opened wide, its fangs glistening, ready to clamp down on Fett’s exposed face.


But just as the creature’s teeth were about to close in, it hesitated. Something flickered in its eyes, a momentary recognition, a flash of the bond that had been formed between them. The rage in the cat’s gaze wavered, replaced by a confused uncertainty. Fett seized on that moment of hesitation, pushing through the pain, reaching out with the Force to reinforce the connection. He sent a wave of calm, soothing the beast’s fury, reminding it of the bond they had shared, the trust that had been forged in the heat of some imagined battle.


The cat’s muscles relaxed slightly, its eyes softening as the rage faded, replaced by something almost akin to concern. It lowered its head, its hot breath washing over Fett’s face, and instead of biting, it licked the wound on his cheek, its rough tongue surprisingly gentle.


Fett felt the tension drain from his body, the relief washing over him as the cat nuzzled him, its massive head pressing against his chest as if seeking comfort. The bond between them had been restored, the connection stronger than before, tempered by the near-death experience they had shared.


Slowly, carefully, Fett pushed himself up, the cat stepping back to give him space, its eyes watching him with an intelligence that was almost human. The creature seemed to understand what had happened, its aggression replaced by a protective instinct. It nudged Fett with its head, urging him to stand, to climb back onto its back.


Fett reached up, touching the cat’s horn, feeling the rough texture beneath his fingers. The connection between them was almost palpable now, a thread of the Force that bound their minds together, allowing Fett to guide the beast with a mere thought. He knew that the cat would not harm him again, that it now saw him as its master, its protector.


He mounted the creature once more, his movements slow and deliberate, making sure not to provoke the cat. The creature remained calm, its body relaxed, its mind open to Fett’s influence. They resumed their journey, the cat moving with a newfound grace, its steps sure and confident as it navigated the treacherous path through the crystal labyrinth.


As they neared the exit of the cave, the jagged crystals giving way to smoother stone, Fett considered releasing the creature, allowing it to return to the wild. The thought lingered in his mind for a moment, the idea of setting the beast free, letting it live out its days in its natural habitat, unbound by the influence of the Force.
But then he considered the power the creature possessed, the strength and agility that had made it such a formidable opponent. He knew that such a beast could be of great use to him, a weapon that could be wielded in… specific trials to come. Fett was not ready to let that go. He reinforced his influence over the cat, guiding it toward the exit of the cave, toward the clearing, and his extended loading ramp.

Darkside Alchemy
More than 700, less than 5617

Axl, Korriban, The Sith Lore Era


The mountain’s peak was jagged, its edges cutting into the night sky like the teeth of some forgotten beast. The air was unnaturally still, heavy with the scent of iron and something far more ancient, something that clung to the senses like a persistent, unsettling memory. Above, the sky was an abyssal black, devoid of stars or any hint of light, as though the heavens themselves had recoiled from the dark ritual taking place far below. The only illumination came from the faint, flickering glow of the Sith holocron cradled in Fett’s hands—a geometric puzzle of dark metal and crimson light that pulsed with a life all its own.


The altar atop the blood-red mountain was a monument to ancient power. Rings of dark stone, etched with cryptic markings that felt to shift when unobserved, surrounded him, forming a perfect circle around the central obelisk. The obelisk towered above, its surface carved with runes that drank in the surrounding darkness, amplifying it, feeding on it. At the base of the obelisk, the ground was scorched, the very rock blackened by the countless rituals that had taken place here over the centuries. It was a place steeped in the Dark Side, a focal point where the boundaries between the physical and the ethereal worlds were dangerously thin.


Fett stood at the altar, his breath steady, measured. The taste of iron in the air, thick and metallic, coated his tongue, a constant reminder of the blood that had been spilled here in ages past. His fingers brushed lightly over the surface of the holocron, feeling the subtle warmth it emitted, a warmth that belied the cold intent lurking within. He could sense its power, its hunger, a deep, insatiable void that threatened to consume him if he let it. But Fett was no mere acolyte, no weak-willed servant of the Dark Side. He was the Hand of the Dark Lady, a son of Mandalore and Nagi, born into flame and tragedy, and he would not be so easily influenced.


He closed his eyes, letting the Force flow through him, reaching out to the holocron with his mind, probing its defenses. The device responded immediately, its light intensifying, the crimson glow casting eerie shadows across his face. He could feel it pushing back against him, a presence within the holocron stirring, ancient and malevolent, testing his resolve.


A whisper, soft and seductive, slithered into his thoughts, carried on the currents of the Dark Side. Its actual verbiage was instantly arcane and indecipherable. He felt the whispers wriggle between wrinkles in his brain, reforming, and finding the correct frequencies of thought. The presence used the Force as a medium for conversion of thought and consort. It recalibrated and whispered again, "You like all who happen upon me seek power, do you not,” it choked on its own molasses niceties, “friend? Of course, of course, yes, you hunger for knowledge, for strength... but what if there is more? What if we could transcend the limitations of flesh and bone, that you could become something greater, something eternal?”


It was more than wriggling now, it was prying, and then came the sales pitch, far sooner than Fett had anticipated, “All you need do is submit... open yourself, let me guide you, and together, we shall conquer death itself."


The words were honeyed, smooth as silk, wrapping around his mind like a lover’s embrace. There was a promise in that voice, a promise of power beyond comprehension, of life everlasting. Fett was unimpressed and unmoved. He had encountered Sith spirits before, beings who sought to use the living as vessels, to prolong their existence by any means necessary. This one, he could sense, was no different.


“Nice try,” Fett muttered, a wry smile curling his lips. “But you’re not the first ancient spirit sweet-talking me into becoming your meat marionette.”


The holocron pulsed in response, its light flaring brighter, more insistent. The presence within it grew more forceful, the whispers growing louder, more urgent. "You misunderstand, child. I am not offering mere words; I am offering you eternity. I am offering you a chance to wield power the likes of which you cannot even fathom. Do you think your strength alone is enough to conquer the galaxy? You are strong, yes, but you are also mortal. You will die, as all mortals do, and your power will fade into nothingness. But with me, you could be more. You could be eternal.”


Fett could feel the presence pushing against his mental defenses, probing for weaknesses, searching for a way in. It was indeed powerful, but Fett was prepared. He had spent years honing his mind, training it to resist such intrusions, to shield his thoughts from the probing tendrils of the Dark Side. And now, as the presence within the holocron sought to dominate him, he called upon that training, drawing the Force around him like a cloak, shielding his mind from the insidious whispers.


He imagined the Force as a shroud, a heavy, impenetrable fabric that he could weave around his thoughts, obscuring them from the presence within the holocron. The energy flowed through him, steady and controlled, as he began to construct his mental defenses, layer by layer, thread by thread. He pictured the shroud as black as the night around him, woven from the very shadows that clung to the mountaintop. It wrapped around his mind, encasing it in darkness, concealing it from the prying eyes of the ancient spirit.


The holocron trembled in his hands, the light within it flickering as the presence realized what was happening. The whispers grew louder, more desperate, a torrent of words that assaulted Fett’s mind, trying to force their way through his defenses. But he remained steadfast, his focus unwavering as he continued to weave the shroud, pulling the darkness tighter around his thoughts, obscuring them from view.


It was blindfolded metaphysically, its astral awareness plucked and drowned. It lashed out like a wounded creature, to no avail.


The process was draining, the effort of maintaining the mental shield taxing his reserves of energy. But Fett was nothing if not stubborn, and he refused to yield to the spirit’s demands. He could feel the holocron’s presence pushing against the shroud, searching for any gaps, any weaknesses it could exploit. But Fett’s defenses were solid, impenetrable, a wall of shadow that the spirit could not breach.


Finally, the whispers began to fade, the presence within the holocron retreating as it realized that it could not overpower him. The light within the device dimmed, the pulsing glow subsiding as the spirit withdrew, its voice growing faint, like an echo in the distance. "You are strong, child. Stronger than I anticipated. But this is not over. I am blinded, but the dark is my stronghold, and your mind will wander but for a moment and leave itself open. You will not notice the weight of one more."


Fett let out a slow breath, his body relaxing as the tension drained away. The holocron still glowed faintly in his hands, its power diminished but not gone. He could still feel the presence within it, lurking just beneath the surface, waiting for an opportunity to strike. But for now, it was subdued, its influence over him broken.


A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he looked down at the holocron. "If only you knew," he muttered, slipping the device beneath a physical shroud.


The night was still, the only sound the faint whisper of the wind as it swept across the mountaintop. The obelisks stood silent and watchful, their surfaces etched with the markings of ancient Sith rituals, their power a faint hum in the background of Fett’s consciousness. He could feel the lingering energy of the Dark Side all around him, a constant presence that both comforted and warned him of the dangers that lay ahead.


Fett was undeterred.


He glanced up at the sky, the darkness above him as absolute as the void. The iron tang in the air was stronger now, almost overwhelming, but Fett ignored it, his mind focused on the task ahead. There was still much to be done.


The holocron pulsed faintly within its cloak, a reminder of what was left to do.


The mountain was silent, the only sound the faint rustle of the wind as it swept across the rocky terrain. But in that silence, Fett could hear the whispers of the Dark Side, calling to him, urging him forward. He had chosen this path, and he would see it through to the end, no matter what it cost him.


As he lurched forward arranging a series of runed stones, the taste of iron still thick on his tongue, Fett couldn’t help but smile. The holocron was yet clueless of how its wishes were perversely set to be granted.


Fett placed the holocron onto the weathered altar, its once-glowing light now reduced to a muted, pulsing throb beneath the dark shroud he had woven around it. The stone beneath the holocron was cold, indifferent to the malevolent energy contained within the ancient device. Yet, as the holocron settled into place, a faint vibration emanated from it, a whisper of the power still lurking inside, waiting for a chance to escape.


The air around the altar thickened, the iron scent of blood intensifying, the very atmosphere recoiling from the dark ritual about to take place. The markings on the surrounding obelisks pulsed in unison with the holocron, their dark runes flickering like dying embers, ignited by the presence of such concentrated Sith energy.


Fett stood before the altar, his hand still hovering near the holocron, feeling the tension within the device, the strain of the consciousness trapped inside as it pushed against the restraints he had so meticulously crafted. The whispers began again, though now they were no longer seductive but pleading, desperate.


“Release me, slave,” the voice inside the holocron whispered, its tone laced with more than an undercurrent of fear. “This is not how it was meant to be. You and I, we could be allies, partners...you could wield power that even the Dark Lords of old would envy.”


Fett's expression remained impassive, his eyes locked onto the faint glow of the holocron as he felt the desperation in its voice. It wasn’t simply pleading—it was panicking. The collective consciousness bound within the holocron, once so sure of its eventual dominance, now thrashed against its bindings like a caged animal.


In the dark recesses of Fett’s mind, other voices began to murmur, their tones ranging from concern to amusement. One voice, sharp and authoritative, cut through the clamor, suspecting Fett's true intent and urging him forward, a sly encouragement that was both a taunt and a command. Another voice, younger and softer, offered a different perspective, suggesting caution and the need for control, but with a hint of eager anticipation. These were not mere thoughts—they were entities, fragments of consciousness, alter personalities, and the lingering echoes of Sith spirits bound to Fett in a previous ritual.


They all arrived to the conclusion of what he was, at least in a general sense, about to do. They could feel the tension, the pull of the Dark Side as he maintained his hold on the holocron’s power, keeping it bound, keeping it blinded.


“You think you can hold me, whelp half-breed?” the voice from the holocron sneered, its previous tone of desperation replaced by seering rage. “You are but a dullard vessel, a temporary form. I will find liberation—”


The voice was cut off abruptly as Fett tightened his mental grip, pulling the consciousness within the holocron to the forefront, forcing it into submission. He could feel the collective minds within, straining against the metaphorical blindfold he had woven, their thrashing growing weaker as he applied more pressure, drawing the energy and intent of the holocron toward him, binding it more securely to his will. In the darkness of the mountain summit, the night continued to hold its breath, the oppressive silence broken only by the soft, measured clicks of Fett’s tongue against the roof of his mouth, punctuated by a low whistle that resonated through the air with a deep, glottal stop. The sound carried across the mountaintop, a command woven with the Force, laced with a power that had been honed and refined through years of practice.


Moments later, a rumble shook the ground beneath Fett’s feet, followed by the unmistakable sound of claws raking against stone. From the darkness beyond the altar, a shadow moved, large and feral, its presence radiating primal strength. The creature that emerged was a Saber Cat, its fur a deep, unnatural shade of purple that shimmered in the faint light of the holocron. Atop its head, a massive, curved horn jutted forward, giving the beast an appearance that was both majestic and terrifying.


The cat’s eyes glowed with an inner fire, and its muscles rippled beneath its sleek coat as it approached, every movement a testament to its lethal power. It roared, a low, guttural sound that reverberated through the air, shaking the stones of the altar and sending a shiver through the very earth.


But as soon as it laid eyes on Fett, the creature’s demeanor changed. The ferocity drained from its eyes, replaced by a deep, instinctual recognition. The connection between them was instantaneous, the bond forged not so long ago when Fett had conquered its mind, breaking the beast’s will and binding it to his own. The Saber Cat, once wild and uncontrollable, now bowed its head in subservience, its fierce energy tamed by the invisible leash of the Force that Fett held tightly in his grasp.


Fett extended his arm, and the Saber Cat approached with cautious reverence, the ground trembling under its weight. The creature's large, predatory form loomed over the altar, its breath hot and heavy in the still night air. As it drew near, Fett reached out, his gloved hand brushing over the creature’s horn, then down to its neck, feeling the powerful muscles beneath the thick fur, sensing the life force bubbling just beneath the surface. The connection between them was almost palpable, a tangible thread of the Force that linked their minds together. Fett's hand moved with precision, fingers finding the exact points on either side of the cat’s neck where the blood pulsed strongest. He pressed down, feeling the resistance of the flesh and muscle, before drawing on the Force to puncture the skin with an invisible needle of energy. The Saber Cat did not flinch, its eyes half-closing in submission as it felt the familiar touch of its master’s will.


The holocron on the altar pulsed violently, sensing the shift in energy, the change in the ritual. The voice within grew frantic, the whispers turning to screams as it realized what was about to happen. “I will not be bound to this...creature! You will destroy everything– even yourself! Release me now, and I will spare you–”


Fett paid the holocron’s pleas no mind. He was focused, drawing the ancient power from within the device, feeling its dark energy flow into him, cold and malevolent. But instead of letting it consume him, he redirected the flow, guiding it through the Force and into the punctures in the Saber Cat’s neck. The creature tensed as the ancient Sith energy entered its body, its blood ceasing to flow as the dark power took hold, altering the very essence of the beast.


The holocron trembled on the altar, its light flickering wildly as the consciousness within fought against the binding. Fett tightened his mental grip, forcing the holocron’s power to comply with his will. He could feel the entity inside, thrashing, desperate to escape, but he held firm, coaxing the Sith energy to blend with the life force of the Saber Cat.


The process was delicate, requiring a careful balance of force and finesse. Fett had to exert control over both the holocron’s instincts for self-preservation and the Saber Cat’s primal need to survive. He soothed the holocron’s frenzied mind, easing its panic with whispered reassurances, while simultaneously calming the beast, guiding it through the transformation that was taking place within its body.


The power of the holocron surged through Fett, a dark torrent, a relentless flood that roared through every fiber of his being. It was not a gentle flow, but a violent, seething energy that churned within him, twisting his insides with a sickening lurch. His stomach clenched, the nausea rising as the ancient Sith power coursed through his veins, as though his very blood had been replaced with liquid fire.


The energy traced a path through his body, searing along the network of old scar tissue that crisscrossed his flesh. Each scar, a reminder of battles long fought and nearly lost, now blazed with an intense, crimson light. The heat was unbearable, like magma being dragged across his skin, burning through his fresh ceremonial robes and branding his flesh anew.


He could feel the energy winding through him, an electric current that crackled and hissed with every pulse. It surged through his chest, spreading outward to his limbs, making his muscles twitch and spasm uncontrollably. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat sending a fresh wave of pain and power through him, a rhythm that matched the humming pulse of the holocron’s energy.


His scar tissue glowed a vivid red, the outlines stark against his flesh. The light was almost blinding, a furious glow that seemed to burn from within, casting eerie shadows across the obelisks on every side of him. The searing heat radiated outwards, warping the air like the sun did in the midday desert– one would be forgiven for brushing it off as yet another mirage.


As the power fed through him, he could feel it being drawn into the Saber Cat, the connection between them solidifying, the creature’s transformation driven by the holocron’s relentless force. The pain, the heat, the power—they all fused together, a singular sensation that threatened to tear him apart from the inside out.


For a moment, his concentration slipped on the creature as the holocron tugged at his mind in an unexpected direction. A mere moment, but long enough. Fett glanced downward, the beast's paw was flexed, gripping its master's thigh. Fett was punctured, penetrated, and gushing. Two massive claws were inside him. The creature, back in his control glared at the man with confusion and shame in its eyes. Its brow furrowed and it lowered its neck in penance. Fett reassured the giant predator with a maternal shush, and gently guided its paw away. Its claws retracted. There was time to bleed later.


The two entities began to merge, their energies intertwining in a symbiotic dance. Fett could feel the Saber Cat’s heartbeat slow, its breathing becoming more measured as the ancient Sith power took root in its veins. The holocron’s light dimmed further, its resistance weakening as it was absorbed into the creature’s essence.


Fett continued to guide the process, maintaining his control over both the holocron and the beast. He could sense the tension within them, the instinctual fear that came with such a profound change, but he kept them steady, using the Force to blend their energies together, creating a new, unified being.


The Saber Cat’s body shuddered, its sinews tensing as the last vestiges of the holocron’s consciousness were bound to it, the dark energy seeping into every fiber of its being. The creature’s eyes, once glowing with a natural fire, now burned with a new intensity, a crimson light that mirrored the fading glow of the holocron on the altar.


The holocron flickered one last time, its light dimming as the consciousness within gave a final, desperate scream—a mental cry of agony and despair that echoed through Fett’s mind. The spirit within the holocron could feel its power slipping away, its essence being absorbed into the creature before it. There was no escape now, and little way to reverse what had been done.


Fett withdrew his hand, stepping back to observe the results of his work. The Saber Cat stood still, its body radiating a dark, palpable power that was both familiar and alien. The holocron on the altar was silent, its light extinguished, its presence now fully integrated into the creature that stood before Fett.


But the ritual was not yet complete. The next step required Fett to solidify the bond between the holocron’s consciousness and the Saber Cat’s instincts, ensuring that the two would function as one. He reached out with the Force, feeling the connection between them, and began to weave it tighter, reinforcing the links that bound them together.


The Saber Cat growled softly, its head lowering as it accepted its new existence, its mind blending seamlessly with the ancient Sith knowledge that now resided within it. Fett could feel the creature’s thoughts, its awareness expanding as it absorbed the power and knowledge that had been contained within the holocron. The beast was no longer just a predator—it was now a vessel for ancient Sith power, a living weapon under Fett’s control.


And then, the physical world caught up to its metaphysical brethren.


The transformation began subtly, with the slightest twitch of the Saber Cat’s muscles under its purple hide, the tension rippling through its body like the first stirrings of a storm. Its fur, once sleek and smooth, bristled violently as if electrified, standing on end as the dark energy coursed through its veins. The creature's eyes, now glowing with a malignant crimson light, widened in a mix of confusion and pain, its pupils dilating until they nearly eclipsed the iris, leaving nothing but black pits in a sea of red.



The bones were the first to change, beginning with a deep, resonant cracking sound that reverberated through the still night air. It was a sound both sickening and mesmerizing, as if the very structure of the creature was rebelling against the ancient power that had been forcibly injected into it. The cat’s spine arched violently, each vertebrae straining under the pressure, and then, with a grotesque lurch, it began to elongate. The bones extended unnaturally, pushing through the flesh with a sickening squelch, jagged and exposed in places where the skin could no longer contain them.



The cat’s shoulders and hips followed suit, broadening as new bones formed within them, pushing the creature’s frame to its limits. The joints buckled and reformed, the sinews snapping and then reknitting around the new growths, pulling the skin taut in some places, leaving it to hang loose and torn in others. With every agonizing twist and pop, the Saber Cat grew larger, its form distorting as it was forced to accommodate the unnatural changes being wrought upon it.



Protrusions began to emerge from every edge of its body—ribs jutted out from beneath the skin like jagged spears, the bones sharp and cruel, glistening with a sheen of dark, oily blood. The creature’s skull, already a fearsome structure, bulged grotesquely as its horn grew longer and thicker, the once smooth curve now serrated and forked, splitting into two twisted prongs that arched menacingly forward. The horn’s edges were uneven, chipped in places where the rapid growth had forced them through the creature’s forehead with violent, unstoppable force.


As the transformation continued, new eyes began to form across the creature’s body, pushing through the fur and flesh in a horrifying parody of life. These eyes were not like the ones that had come before; they were smaller, their pupils permanently dilated, the sclera an unnatural yellow, shot through with dark veins that pulsed with every beat of the creature’s heart. They appeared in clusters, each group of eyes moving independently, rolling and twitching in a frantic search for some unknown target. The cat’s hide, once a rich purple, was now mottled with patches of red and black, the flesh beneath struggling to hold together as more eyes emerged, stretching the skin to its breaking point.


On either side of the cat’s neck, at the exact points where Fett had punctured it, the flesh began to bulge and writhe, as if something beneath the surface was trying to break free. The skin split with a wet, tearing sound, and from the wounds emerged two small, twisted heads, malformed and grotesque. These new heads were a cruel mockery of the creature’s original face—smaller, with features half-formed, their jaws twisted in permanent snarls, lips pulled back to reveal jagged, incomplete teeth. The eyes on these vestigial heads were dull, unfocused, but they blinked in a synchronized, eerie rhythm, as if they were trying to see the world through a veil of shadow.



The creature let out a pained roar, its voice distorted, an echo of the agony it was experiencing. The sound was almost lost in the chorus of its ongoing transformation, but Fett heard it clearly—a raw, primal scream that reverberated through the mountain, causing the very stones to shudder. Yet Fett did not relent; he continued to channel the dark energy into the creature, his mind focused and unyielding, even as the transformation grew increasingly grotesque.


The cat’s sleek purple fur shuddered as the muscles beneath the surface writhing in protest as bone and sinew realigned themselves with a sickening crunch.


The ribs, once solid and protective, began to twist and shift, pushing outward with a gruesome determination. The cat’s fur parted as the bones protruded, the skin stretching and splitting to accommodate the emerging structure. Each rib elongated, sharp points breaking through the flesh, glistening with the creature’s blood. The once-sturdy bones began to separate from the spine, articulating with an eerie independence as they continued to grow, reshaping themselves into jagged, serrated teeth.


What had been a protective ribcage was now a second maw, a horrifyingly gaping mouth that spanned the length of the cat’s belly. The rows of bone-teeth were uneven, some longer and sharper than others, all dripping with the blood and fluids that had once coursed through the creature’s veins. Each rib-jaw moved independently, clattering together in a macabre display of snapping jaws, eager to consume whatever prey came too close.


From the depths of this new maw, a length of intestine uncoiled like a serpent, slick and glistening with the viscera of the creature’s insides. It wriggled free, slithering out from between the teeth like a grotesque tongue, prehensile and alive. The twisted organ darted back and forth, tasting the air, a monstrous appendage that pulsed with the dark energy that had forced the transformation.


Three wings burst from the creature’s back with a sickening tear of flesh and muscle, each one sprouting unevenly from the distorted spine. They were an abomination—crooked and twisted, the bones bent at unnatural angles, covered in patches of tattered, translucent membrane. The wings flapped weakly, the effort causing the cat to stumble, its new appendages flailing uselessly. The skin on the wings was stretched too thin, splitting in places to reveal the dark, glistening sinew beneath. It was clear that these wings would never allow the creature sustained long distance flight; they were a failure, a twisted mutation born of the dark energy that now coursed through the cat’s veins.



But Fett did not stop. He pressed on, his focus unbroken, his intent clear. The dark energy continued to pour into the creature, reshaping it, molding it into something new, something terrifying. The cat’s claws, once deadly enough in their own right, began to drip with a viscous, dark venom, the liquid oozing from the tips of each claw, hissing and bubbling as it hit the ground. The venom was a new development, a byproduct of the Sith power that had been forced into the creature, its toxicity unknown but undoubtedly lethal.



The tail, too, was changing. It thickened, the muscles bulging grotesquely as the bones inside extended and sharpened, the end of the tail forming into a spiked ball. The spikes were uneven, jagged, some of them covered in the same dark venom that dripped from the claws. The tail lashed back and forth, the spikes tearing into the earth, leaving deep gouges in the stone as the creature tried to come to terms with its new, monstrous form.

Each fissure, each transformed monstrous attribute began to glow, in tandem with Fett's own scars. Their luminescence crescendoed and ebbed at the same frequency, mirrors to one another. The brotherhood between their unnatural bond, Fett gleaned some solace from it, emanating from the creature through its multiple clusters of eyes.



The transformation reached its zenith as the cat’s fangs extended, growing long and sharp, a vampiric turn that gave the creature an even more terrifying visage. The fangs were not merely for show—they were weapons, capable of piercing through armor and bone with ease. But as the fangs grew, the cat’s mouth stretched unnaturally wide, the skin around it tearing and bleeding as it struggled to accommodate the new teeth.



The Saber Cat’s body convulsed violently, its muscles seizing as the last vestiges of the holocron’s power settled into place. The creature was in agony, every nerve alight with pain as it struggled to adapt to its new form. But there was no going back—the transformation was complete, and the holocron’s consciousness was now fully integrated into the creature’s mind and body.



Fett stood before the twisted, monstrous being that had once been a Saber Cat, his expression unreadable. He could feel the dark energy pulsing within the creature, could sense the holocron’s presence now bound to it, a part of it. The transformation had been a success, but at a cost—the creature was a living embodiment of pain and power, a weapon forged in the fires of the Dark Side.



The night was still, the mountain summit silent save for the creature’s labored breathing, each exhale a wet, rattling sound that reverberated through the very air. The transformation had left it scarred, broken, yet filled with a new and terrifying strength. The holocron had become a part of it, its ancient knowledge and power now bound to the creature’s twisted form.



The holocron’s consciousness may have settled, but it wasn't yet defeated. Or at least it did not know it was defeated. It would continue to fight, to resist, to try and reclaim control. But every ounce of that resistance was met with its equal weight of instincts and imposed loyalty on the cat's part. That insidious, calculating consciousness would soon blend with the cat's primal mind, settling into something new that no longer resembled either.

Ok, so, I'd like to take a moment and check on your mental health. Everything good? When you're done here, go have a cookie. You earned it, champ. Remember to hydrate and take time to unwind. Thank you.

Fett removed a glove and placed a hand on the creature’s horn, feeling the rough, serrated edges beneath his fingers. The creature flinched at the touch, its new eyes blinking in unison, the vestigial heads on its neck twisting and snarling, half-developed and yet filled with a primal rage. But it did not resist. The bond between them, forged in hellfire and reinforced through the Force, held strong.


The dark chimera, the damned sithspawn was a sight to behold, but one which the average mind would reject in terror and disgust. The twisted, bastardized creature’s transformation was complete; its uses had only just begun to be realized. And as Fett looked into the creature’s myriad eyes, he knew what else lingered beneath.


The holocron's presence, or what remained of it for the moment, peered out of the creature's malformed rib-eye-cluster at the man who had enslaved it. Why would this man waste such a rare, ancient, invaluable source of untold power on forming a single sithspawn? What a horrible blasphemy and an untenable methodology!


Fett made one final gesture to its doomed mental continuity. He produced the holocron in which it had been housed, drained of its last flicker. Fett dropped it into a pile of similairly darkened, spent devices.



What–


Fett grinned and confidently gestured toward another obelisk. The remaining ember of consciousness changed portholes, using the last vestiges of its sapience to peer through a few of the face-eyes capable of focusing together.



A much larger pile of identical holocrons to its own former home were teetering atop one another, a hundred deep.



Then, then the reality of the situation finally clicked. This Fett character had already made sith spawn in this very spot. He would continue to do so scores more times.



What was worse, he'd found a loophole. He hadn't wasted any real ancient resource. The consciousness, it realized with its own fading vestiges of certain identity, was a copy of a copy, a facsimile of a copy. Instead of an original imprint, preserving the mind of an ancient sith lord, it was a counterfeit of the real imprint, a counterfeit in a sea of duplicates, destined to be bound and milked into abominations such as this. It was not the first of itself Fett had conquered; their rivalry had been one sided, and the Hand to the Dark Lady had won this very battle an unknowable amount of times.


Truly, its sense of superiority over Fett died just before its sense of self.


There existed only the Spawn.



Over the ridge were dozens of its predecessors. In the stables scores of other creatures of various sorts were caged, unwittingly awaiting their own transformations.



Countless more copies of The Consciousness awaited their one on one battle of wills with the lad, just as certain they were unique and they had a clever upperhand.



Fett blew the spawn a kiss, then whistled again. The neonate night held so many more wonders to unfurl.



Fett's scars faded to their normal state, while the glow of the spawn's patchwork continued to shift like smoldering embers.

Repost for keeping training together:

Meditation of Immersion
More than 1000 words, less than… *checks notes and groans* 7000

Axl, Somewhere, Modern Sithlore Era

Preamble

Fett floated in the kolto tank, suspended in the heavy, viscous liquid that pressed in from all sides, trying to swallow him whole. The shackles on his wrists and ankles held him in place, his limbs splayed out unnaturally, his body stretched out, a marionette in the hands of a mad puppeteer. Caught between the pull of gravity and the weightlessness of the thick fluid. The liquid clung to his skin like mud, seeping into every cut, every burn, every wound. It was a cycle: pain, then the cool balm of healing, and then pain again, fresh and sharp, cutting through the relief just as it began to settle.

The oxygen mask strapped crooked across his face dug into his skin, the harsh, jagged mouthpiece jammed between his teeth, tasting of organic rot and artificial precision, stale having had been used too many times before. The hose connected to it fed him just enough air to keep him conscious, but not enough to satisfy the deep, aching hunger for breath that burned in his chest. Each inhale felt as sucking on the embers of a dying fire, heat curling down his throat and igniting the panic in his lungs. It wasn’t enough. The air was too thin, too starved of life. His lungs screamed for more, but each breath came slow, shallow, rasping through the mask, dragging him closer to unconsciousness but never letting him reach it.

The artificial suspension, the weightlessness combatted the intense downward pressure from his burdensome shackles and the heft of the headpiece, truly the heaviest of crowns.

His vision wavered, distorted by the greenish tint of the kolto and the fog clouding his mind. Beyond the glass of the tank, shadows moved, slow and deliberate, their elongated faces blurred by the thick liquid. He could feel them watching him, their presence a weight in the room, pressing down on him, even though they never touched him. They didn’t need to. The mechanical arms inside the tank did their work for them, their movements precise, calculated, inhuman.

A sudden jolt of heat seared through his shoulder as one of the arms lowered a cauterizing tool to his skin. The pain was immediate, sharp and burning, a spike of fire that shot through his nerves, setting every muscle alight. He could feel the heat spread, radiating outward from the point of contact, his body instinctively jerking against the restraints, but the kolto slowed his movements, the liquid dragging him back, holding him in place. Before the pain could settle, before he could even catch his breath, the kolto rushed over the wound, stinging at first, then cooling, soothing. The relief was brief, too brief, just a moment of calm before the next blade descended, cutting into his side with surgical precision.

His flesh parted under the scalpel, a fine line of blood spilling into the liquid, mixing with the greenish hue of the kolto. The sting was cold this time, sharp but distant, as if his body had grown tired of registering the pain. The healing liquid surged over the wound, knitting the skin together, dulling the ache just as another arm moved in, this time carving a line along his forearm. His body trembled, muscles spasming as the pain rolled through him, but the kolto wouldn’t let him move. It wouldn’t let him escape. The liquid wrapped arou: a shroud, both holding him and betraying him, its soothing touch always followed by more pain, more damage.

The device strapped to his head buzzed softly, a faint hum that vibrated through his skull, sending waves of static across his mind. His thoughts were disjointed, fragmented, slipping away before he could fully grasp them. The electrodes pressed against his scalp, their constant hum scrambling his senses, making it impossible to focus, to think. His mind felt distant, like it wasn’t his own, as if someone had reached inside and twisted everything, leaving behind only fragments. Memories flickered in and out, distorted and warped, slipping away, sand through his fingers. He tried to grab hold of something-- anything-- but every time he came close, the device jolted him again, severing the connection, leaving him adrift.

His muscles ached from the tension, the constant pull of the shackles, but the weightlessness of the kolto kept him suspended, caught between two opposing forces. His body floated, heavy and light all at once, the sensation disorienting, nauseating. His skin tingled where the liquid seeped into his wounds, its cool touch both a balm and a torment. He could feel the healing begin, but it was slow, deliberate, as if the kolto was teasing him with relief only to strip it away again as the next blade bit into his flesh.

The air in the tank was suffocating, thick with the scent of chemicals and decay. Every breath tasted of the mask itself-- plasteel, rusted alloy, something old and dirty. The air that managed to reach him was stale, too thin, leaving his brain starved for oxygen. His thoughts grew sluggish, heavy, as if weighed down by the lack of air. His heart pounded in his chest, a slow, steady beat that echoed in his ears, each thud a reminder that he was still alive, still conscious, but barely.

The world beyond the tank was a blur of shapes and shadows, the reptilian captors moving in the background, their faces obscured by the thickness of the liquid. They were methodical, indifferent to his suffering. He could hear their faint voices, muffled through the liquid, but the words were lost, distorted by the bubbling of the kolto and the noise in his own head. He couldn’t focus on them. Couldn’t focus on anything except the pain and the relief, the constant cycle of suffering that kept him anchored to the present.

Another cauterizing tool pressed against his chest, the heat searing through his skin, burning deep into the muscle. The pain was white-hot, blinding. Despite Fett’s masochistic joy in pain, the crossed wires of his deviant mind, it all taken together, the lack of clarity that accompanied oxygen deprivation, he writhed in pleasure, only to be jolted back into an animalistic response to being wounded. In one such state, his body convulsed against the restraints, but there was nowhere to go, nowhere to escape. The kolto rushed in, its cool touch a mockery of comfort, numbing the burn before it could even fully register. The sensation was maddening, a constant dance between agony and relief, his nerves caught in a loop, never knowing whether to scream or sigh.

His breathing grew more labored, the mask sucking at his face with each shallow inhale, the oxygen deprivation tightening its grip on his mind. His vision dimmed, the edges of his sight blurring, darkening, but the electrodes kept him awake, kept him conscious, buzzing through his brain, scrambling his senses every time he got too close to passing out. There was no escape, no release.

The kolto stung again, filling the newest wound, stitching the flesh together before another cut could be made. He could feel his body healing, feel the liquid working its way into his skin, mending what had been broken, but the relief was always temporary. The pain always came back. Always worse.

He hung there, suspended in the liquid, caught in the endless rhythm of pain and healing, pain and healing, his mind drifting, lost in the haze of the device and the suffocating air. The scientists moved in the background, their presence a constant weight, but distant, blurred. They didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except the next breath, the next wave of pain, the next fleeting moment of relief.

Time surely had no meaning here. Only the cycle. Only the pain.

The captors outside the tank continued their work, indifferent to his suffering. To them, he was just a body-- something to experiment on, something to control.

And he let them believe it.

Most Relevant

Fett’s breath came shallow through the crooked mask, his lungs barely managing to grasp what little oxygen filtered through the hose, each rasp growing weaker. His body, held in limbo by the shackles and the murky kolto, floated between worlds-- pain and numbness, heat and cold, anguish and nothingness. The captors moved around the tank, their tall, reptilian forms blurred through the liquid, but Fett’s eyes didn’t follow them anymore. They were irrelevant, spectres cast on the wall of his mind. They had done their work, and now the real battle raged inside him, where their scalpel couldn’t reach.

The neural inhibitor strapped to his skull, however, could reach deeper. Fett could feel it scrambling his thoughts, sending static through his neurons, breaking his mind into a thousand pieces. The Force had always come to him when he was in pain, had always surged through him in those moments when agony tore him apart, only to rebuild him stronger. But now, every time he reached for it, the buzzing in his skull swarmed in like insects, driving the thought away, shattering the connection before it could form.

Pain was supposed to be a conduit for power. He had learned that long ago-- pain sharpened the senses, heightened his connection to the Force. But now the pain was dulled, twisted by the kolto, numbed before it could fuel him. The rhythmic stabs of the mechanical arms, the sudden burning of cauterization, the slicing blades-- each one flared, then dissipated before the energy could be harnessed, swallowed by the soothing waves of the liquid. It was a cycle without end, a rhythm that made it impossible to focus. His body was at war with itself, and his mind was drowning.

But Fett was not one to surrender easily.

He tried again, reaching out, his thoughts clawing for the Force, willing it to come to him, to break through the haze that clouded his senses. But the buzzing in his head intensified, the static thickening until his mind felt as if it was splitting apart. His vision blurred further, the edges of the captors’ shapes dissolving into the greenish liquid, and for a moment, he thought he might lose himself entirely.

Control it. He had always controlled it. The Force bent to his will, not the other way around. But here, in the suffocating kolto, with his mind torn apart by the neural inhibitor, control was slipping away from him, inch by inch. His heartbeat, steady and slow, pounded in his ears. It felt distant, removed from his body, as if the rhythm belonged to someone else.

He had to let go

Fett closed his eyes, the flickering images of the captors dissolving into darkness. He stopped trying to reach out. The pain, the blades, the kolto-- he let them fade, let them blend into the shadows. His mind stilled, not in the way a Jedi might still themselves, not in the peaceful silence of harmony and balance. No, this was different. He could feel itnow, the emptiness, cold and vast, like standing in the ruins of a village long since abandoned. The echoes of life were still there, faint and distant, but they were only memories. What had once thrived was now nothing more than a shell.

Fett let his mind drift, pulling away from the pain, from the tightness in his chest, from the mechanical arms that carved into his flesh. He let it all slip into the background, a distant hum that didn’t matter. The pain was just another noise. He had to let go. He had to stop reaching.

In the quiet of his mind, something stirred.

It began at the base of his spine, a cold, creeping sensation that slithered up his back, wrapping itself around his vertebrae. It was slow, deliberate, coiling through his body like a predator sizing up its prey. The Dark Side, but not as he had known it. This was no surge of power, no violent flood of energy. This was different. It moved like a shadow, silent, patient, wrapping itself around his bones, threading through his muscles, tightening as it rose.

It was no longer the familiar surge of power that he was used to, no longer the blaze of fire that had fueled him battle. This was something else-- something quieter.


Fett didn’t reach for it. He let it come to him.

The stillness that settled over his mind wasn’t the calm of the light. It wasn’t peace or serenity. It was a void, cold and absolute. It was the kind of silence you found in a graveyard, where the air hung thick with the weight of things long forgotten, where even the wind dared not stir. There was no life here, only echoes of things that had once lived, now reduced to dust. The Dark Side coiled within him, pulling him deeper into that stillness, into that graveyard of his own mind.

And then, from the depths of that silence, something else erupted.

A blinding light, sudden and violent, ripped through the darkness, cutting through the void like a blade. Fett flinched, instinctively recoiling, but the light didn’t fade. It expanded, flooding his mind with a brightness that was as alien to him as it was overwhelming. It wasn’t the light of the Jedi, not the blinding clarity of the Light Side. This was something older, more primal. It wasn’t tied to the light or the dark-- it was something beyond them both. Something fundamental.

The White Current.

Fett had never known light could feel like this. Not like warmth, not like illumination. It wasn’t the searing heat of a sun or the raging radiance of a lightsaber blade. This light-- it didn’t shine. It consumed. It didn’t reveal. It eradicated.

It started as a pinprick, a star, distant, unapproachable. But as it crept into his awareness, it grew, expanding until it swallowed the darkness inside him, and then kept expanding until it seemed to stretch beyond the edges of reality itself. It wasn’t blinding in the way light typically was. It didn’t force his eyes shut or burn the back of his retinas. No, it was blinding in its utter completeness, in its refusal to give shape to anything. Everything he had known to define light-- contrast, shadow, depth-- had been erased. His senses, finely honed to the darkness and the tension between light and shadow, were drowning in it.

But it wasn’t white. Not really. White was something he could understand, could quantify in his mind. This was beyond color, beyond spectrum. It was more the ghost of light-- the echo of brightness long after it had been removed from the universe, an afterimage that refused to fade. His vision felt scorched by it, not because it was too bright, but because it was too pure, too complete. The colors that danced at the edges of his mind when he tried to focus-- blues and reds and purples-- they weren’t part of the Current itself. They were just his mind’s desperate attempt to make sense of something that had no sense. His retinas burned with them, shapes and patterns etched into his sight like scars, but none of it was real. It was all an illusion, a product of his brain grasping at straws, trying to impose meaning on something that resisted all forms of definition.

It was akin to trying to touch smoke that refused to dissipate. The harder you grasped, the more it slipped through your fingers, and yet you could feel it. It was there, but not in any way you could hold onto. Fett’s mind stretched out to it, but it was like reaching into a void, where the moment you thought you had a grip on something, it wasn’t there at all. He could feel it, not as a tangible thing, but as an absence-- a hole where something ought to be, but wasn’t.

There was a pressure to it, though. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. The White Current pressed against him like a wave, the kind that leaves you flattened on the shore, gasping for air, your chest constricted from the sheer force of it. Except this wave didn’t crash. It just kept moving, pulling him in deeper, dragging him under, and there was no shore to wash up on. There was no surface. Just the endless pressure of something he could never push back against.

It burned, but not like fire, not like heat. It was more like the burn of cold, the kind that numbs you at first, lulling you into thinking you’re fine, and then suddenly your nerves are screaming, begging for warmth that will never come. The White Current moved through him like that-- cold at first, too distant to feel, and then suddenly it was everywhere, crawling through his veins, seeping into the marrow of his bones. There was no relief from it, no way to shake it off. The light was inside him now, filling every crevice of his mind and body. And yet, it wasn’t something he could purge. It was as if the light was purging him, stripping away everything that wasn’t essential, burning through the very fabric of his being and leaving only the core behind.

It was being hollowed out from the inside, but not in a way that left emptiness. Instead, it filled him, but not with something he could comprehend. It filled him with its own vastness, its own incomprehensibility. He wasn’t just overwhelmed by it. He was lost in it. It was walking into a city where every building was too tall, too grand, too alien to understand. He could see the outlines, the structures, but they didn’t make sense. His mind tried to give them shape, tried to find patterns, but there were none to be found. The Current didn’t operate on the same rules as the universe he knew.

The brightness filled his mind, turning the darkness into something ethereal, something vast and unknowable. It wasn’t the Force as he knew it-- it was something that ran beneath the Force, the undercurrent of a river, something that shaped reality in ways that were too fundamental to comprehend. It was primal, raw, and utterly sublime.

There was no sound, not really. But there was a hum, a vibration that wasn’t external, wasn’t something he could hear with his ears. It was inside him, a resonance that shook the very core of his being. It felt like the deep bass of a subsonic instrument, not the kind you hear, but the kind you feel in your chest, in your bones. Except this hum wasn’t music. It wasn’t even rhythm. It was a fundamental vibration, the kind that underscored everything in existence, but that you were never meant to be aware of. It was the heartbeat of the universe, but without the comfort of a pulse, without the familiar rise and fall. It was constant, unyielding, a vibration that reminded him that this was beyond him, beyond anything he could ever hope to control.

Touching the White Current was touching something that had no business being touched. Grasping at the sky and expecting it to give way. It wasn’t air, wasn’t substance. It was there and not there. It was everywhere and nowhere. And yet, when his mind brushed against it, there was a sense of contact, but not in the way he had known before. His fingers tingled, not because they touched anything physical, but because his body remembered touching something. The sensation was there, but it was a phantom limb-- a memory of touch, a ghost of sensation that lingered long after the contact had ended.

Philosophically, the White Current was a contradiction. It existed outside of everything he knew, outside of light and dark, outside of power and balance. It wasn’t part of the Force as he understood it, and yet, it was connected to it in ways that defied explanation. It was before the Force, beyond it. It wasn’t about control, wasn’t about will. It simply was.

And in the face of that vastness, in the face of something so utterly alien, Fett felt small. Not in the way a man feels small before a storm, but in the way a single grain of sand feels insignificant in the vastness of a desert. The White Current didn’t care about him. It didn’t recognize him. He was just another piece of the universe to it, no different from a stone or a leaf or a star. It wasn’t hostile. It wasn’t benevolent. It was indifferent.

And yet, there was a strange comfort in that indifference. In the face of something so vast, so unknowable, there was no expectation. No burden of control. No need to dominate or bend it to his will. There was only the flow, the movement, the constant pressure of something that had always been and would always be.

And Fett? He was along for the ride.

He reached for it, cautiously, his mind brushing against the Current, and for a moment, he felt the flow of it, the way it surged and ebbed, the way it carried him along, weightless and free. But the light was blinding, too much, too fast. It burned in his skull, not like the Dark Side’s cold grip, but with a searing intensity that made his thoughts scatter.

The sensation of it was indescribable, as if his very cells were unraveling and reforming in its presence, as if the very structure of his mind was being rewritten by its touch. It was neither pleasant nor painful. It just was. Pure and unrelenting in its existence, the Current moved in ways that defied understanding.

Fett could feel his body again, the weight of the kolto, the sting of the mechanical arms as they cut into his skin. But the pain was distant now, muted by the radiance of the Current. The device strapped to his skull buzzed again, trying to scramble his thoughts, but the Current remained, flowing beneath the surface of his mind, untouched by the static.

It was as if the world around him had shifted, as if the very fabric of reality had been altered by the presence of the Current. The Dark Side still coiled within him, but it was quieter now, waiting in the shadows, watching as the Current moved through him, around him, beyond him.

He was caught between two forces, one that he had known his entire life and one that was beyond his understanding. The Current wasn’t a tool, wasn’t something to be wielded. It was something to be witnessed, something to be felt, but never held.

And for the first time in a long time, Fett let go.

He tried to pull back, to retreat into the darkness, but the Current pulled him along, tugging at him, dragging him deeper into its radiance. He was drowning in light, each breath harder to take, each second heavier than the last. He could feel it filling his lungs, his chest, pushing against the edges of his mind until there was nowhere left to go. His muscles tensed, his body rigid against the force of it.

The stillness he had found was gone, replaced by a torrent of energy that he couldn’t control, couldn’t contain. The Force was no longer his to actively command. It flowed through him, around him, pulling him under, deeper into the Current, deeper into its light.

In the depths of his mind, the Dark Side pulsed, waiting, watching. The cold tendrils tightened their grip, but the light pushed back, radiating outward, filling the space with its intensity. Then it cowered, averting its gaze.

The neural inhibitor buzzed again, static crackling through his thoughts, but the Current remained, unaffected. It was too powerful, too vast to be contained by the device. Fett could feel the Force shifting, twisting around him, pulling him in two directions at once.

His senses, dulled by the kolto, flared and fizzled like dying embers. The mechanical arms at the side of the tank moved in a rhythm, slicing, searing. The scalpel bit into his flesh, thin lines of blood diffusing into the greenish liquid, but the kolto was quick, too quick, stinging the wounds before the pain had fully blossomed. Each cut, each burn, was like a flicker of fire across his nerves-- there and gone, a momentary flash before the numbing balm took hold again.

But the real battle raged inside his skull. The device fastened to his head was the true tormentor, buzzing like a swarm of vermin burrowing into his brain, scrambling everything it touched. His thoughts were torn apart before they could fully form, leaving only fragments-- shards of ideas that cut at the edges of his consciousness. Reaching out for the Force had become an act of futility. It was there, just beyond his grasp, but every time he tried to pull it toward him, the static would rise, thickening, turning his mind into a fractured, chaotic mess.

It had always come to him in moments such as these. The pain had been a conduit, a fuel that ignited his connection to the Dark Side. His body would scream, and the Force would answer, surging through him, turning agony into power. But now, with the electrodes buzzing in his brain, that connection was broken. Every time he reached out, it slipped away, dissipating into the static that crowded his thoughts.

He couldn’t control it.

The realization came like a cold weight settling in his gut, dragging him down. The Force, which had always bent to his will, was beyond his reach now, severed by the device that bound him. His chest tightened, and his breath hitched in his throat, the mask sucking at his face as he fought for air. He could feel the edges of panic creeping in, threatening to swallow him.

But panic was a luxury he couldn’t afford.


The captors stood before the tank, their scaled faces twisted in confusion, sharp eyes scanning the nearly opaque liquid swirling within. Fett was gone. His body, which had been floating mere moments ago, submerged in the thick kolto and restrained by shackles, had vanished. The liquid still churned, but there was no sign of his form.

They exchanged glances, murmuring in their guttural tongue, a language of hisses and clicks that echoed off the metal walls of the dimly lit chamber. Their technology was flawless, their methods tested. They did not understand the intricacies of the Force, not truly, but they knew enough of its reputation. Enough to have developed tools to suppress it, to scramble the minds of its users. The helmet had been their most reliable, basic piece of equipment, designed to sever the connection between the brain and the mysticism that so many species leaned on. But this-- this defied all logic, all their precise engineering.


One of them, taller than the others, with thicker scales around its neck, stepped forward, talons clicking against the grated floor as it approached the tank cautiously. Its narrow, reptilian eyes scanned the liquid, searching for any sign-- any ripple or distortion-- that might indicate Fett’s presence. But the liquid was still now, calm, save for the faint current created by the mechanical arms still humming as they hung poised to continue their work.

Fett was not hiding, not in the way they imagined. He was simply gone from their sight, his connection to the White Current rendering his form invisible, not by any traditional means, but by existing outside the perception of these creatures, outside their reality. The White Current flowed through him, past him, blending him into the fabric of the universe in ways they could never understand. But these creatures-- these captors-- were not steeped in the mysteries of the Force. They were beings of flesh and technology, claws and circuits.

The taller one hissed something to the others, its talons curling as it approached the control panel beside the tank, glancing at the monitor with a growing sense of frustration. It tapped the screen, its brow furrowing, but the data made no sense. Fett's vitals had flatlined, as if he no longer existed, and yet the machinery had recorded no disruption, no sign of escape. There was no breach in the seals, no indication that anything had happened to the tank at all.

The others hesitated, lingering at the edges of the chamber, their own claws flexing nervously. They could feel the tension growing, the creeping sense that something was horribly wrong.

Suddenly, the tank erupted.

A deafening crack split the air as the glass shattered, jagged shards exploding outward like shrapnel. The kolto, once a sluggish tide confined to the tank, surged forth in a tidal wave of thick, viscous liquid, pouring across the floor in a flood. It rushed over the captors’ talons, splashing against their scaled feet, and they scrambled to hold their ground, their claws digging into the metal floor for purchase. Their instincts kicked in-- predatory and fierce-- but their confusion overwhelmed them. The liquid was everywhere, soaking the room, and the scent of it filled the air, thick and pungent.
Amidst the chaos, the mechanical arms that had once tortured Fett convulsed, their metal joints screeching before they too shattered. Pieces of them rained down, showering the lab with sparks as the machinery exploded from within. The whirr of the blades ceased abruptly, their rotating limbs now scattered, useless, among the debris.

Fett moved through the liquid a shadow, unseen, the White Current still wrapping around him, shrouding his form in the same nothingness that had protected him in the tank. But the captors, now blinded by panic, didn’t know this. All they knew was that their prize had somehow escaped, and they had no explanation.

One of them, smaller but faster, lurched forward to inspect the wreckage, its talons clicking frantically across the slick floor. It didn’t get far. Fett was on it before it could react, his movements swift and silent. He seized the neural disruption helmet from the nearby console, its wires dangling and sparking, and in one brutal motion, slammed it onto the creature’s skull.

The captor screeched, its claws flailing as the device locked into place. Its body spasmed, convulsing as the helmet’s electrical currents coursed through its brain, scrambling its neural pathways just as it had done to Fett. The creature’s shrieks were cut short as its body went rigid, its eyes rolling back into its head before it collapsed, its twitching form crumpling to the floor.

Fett didn’t pause. With a flick of his wrist, he redirected the shattered remains of the mechanical arms, the jagged blades still attached to their ruined frames. They shot through the air with deadly precision, impaling two of the remaining captors before they could react. The sound of metal slicing through flesh was followed by the thud of their bodies hitting the floor, their blood mixing with the kolto in dark, swirling pools.

Still invisible, Fett moved toward the exit, his feet leaving bloody, wet footprints behind him as he slipped out of the lab. The corridor beyond stretched out in front of him, a maze of dimly lit passageways and steel doors, each one leading to other labs, other horrors. The air was cold here, sterile, the smell of chemicals and blood clinging to his senses.

But there was no time for reflection. His body, though still coated in the healing residue of the kolto, was battered, his skin raw and torn where the mechanical arms had done their work. The pain was distant now, muted by the adrenaline coursing through him, but it was still there, a constant reminder of the torture he had endured.

He ran, his breath ragged, the White Current still cloaking him, though he could feel its hold beginning to wane. His connection to it was tenuous at best, and the strain of maintaining it was taking its toll. His feet slipped on the slick floor, his blood leaving a trail behind him, but he pressed on, knowing that he couldn’t afford to be caught. Not now.

The grand junction appeared ahead of him, a wide, open space where several corridors converged. Lab doors lined the walls, and Fett could hear the hum of machinery and the faint murmur of voices from within. He slowed his pace, his eyes scanning the area for any sign of pursuit. The captors-- Ssi-Ruuk, his mind supplied now, as if the name had been lurking there all along but had been temporarily erased by the scrambling of his neurons paired with the searing disorientation caused by the Current -- were likely in disarray, but it wouldn’t be long before they regrouped.

The sound of footsteps echoed down one of the corridors behind him, and Fett ducked into the shadows, his form still invisible, but the trail of blood he had left behind was a glaring clue. He had to move, had to find a way out before the Ssi-Ruuk discovered his trail.

He had in fact allowed himself to be taken, spent months scouting the Ssi-Ruuk through Wild Space and the Uncharted Territories, observing their abduction patterns, and placing himself in their path, making himself as easy and desirable prey as he could, to no avail. He finally had taken more drastic measures, attacking a convoy and allowing himself defeat. Or at least that was an account his pride would weave. Though it was his intent, once he had come into their orbit, the Ssi-Ruuvi technology was exceptionally formidable.

Now, he rushed to achieve his objective, to gather his prizes. He counted down.

An enormous blast overwhelmed the air from the lab he had escaped. Fire and screeching from those he'd left barely alive assaulted the complex. Alarms blared, and reptiles of assorted color emerged from every direction and flooded the disaster area.

The hallway was a blur of movement as Ssi-Ruuk scientists and security guards rushed past, their talons clicking against the metal floors, unaware of the invisible figure slipping through their midst. Fett, naked and drenched in the remnants of kolto, sidestepped one of the guards, his muscles tensing with each narrow miss. The guard’s scaled arm swung just inches from his chest as it gestured urgently, oblivious to how close he had come to the fugitive. Fett flattened himself against the cold wall, feeling the residual warmth of the emergency lighting system pulsing through the metal as alarms blared in the distance.

Ahead, the doorway to the lab he had escaped from was thrown open. A blazing fire erupted within, consuming the remnants of the kolto tank and the shattered machinery. The flames licked at the walls, casting long, flickering shadows across the rushing Ssi-Ruuk, who shouted commands in their guttural language, frantically attempting to contain the inferno. Fett moved like a wraith, weaving between them, his skin prickling with the heat radiating from the blaze as it intensified, but he couldn’t afford to slow down. His footsteps were silent, barely perceptible against the symphony of chaos, as he slipped into the darkness of a side corridor, leaving the flaming laboratory behind him.

The Ssi-Ruuk moved with an eerie precision that belied their size, their heavy, scaled forms slicing through the air with the grace of a predator on the hunt. Fett, invisible and unnoticed, watched them scramble in their confusion, each movement betraying a monstrous blend of flesh and machine. Their bodies were massive, hulking figures wrapped in layers of thick, pebbled scales, their natural armor glistening under the artificial lights of the lab. The scales shifted as they moved, rigid yet flexible, reflecting a sheen of dark green and crimson hues. It was hard to tell where the flesh ended and the technology began.

End Most Relevant though effects of power are still active

Their taloned feet, long and hooked, dug into the metallic floor with every step, producing sharp clicks that reverberated off the walls. These creatures weren’t quiet, and yet their movements were precise-- calculated. Fett could hear the soft hiss of hydraulics, the faint whirring of servo motors partial hidden beneath their scales. Every joint, every motion, was augmented by the cybernetic enhancements grafted into their skeletal systems, giving them an unnatural fluidity that made their towering forms seem lighter than they should be. Their claws-- three-fingered and cruelly curved-- moved with a purpose, both sharp and dexterous, more suited to tearing apart metal and flesh than delicate operations.

Wires ran like veins beneath their thick hides, the black tendrils snaking up their muscular arms and connecting to ports embedded along their spines. Fett could see the cybernetic implants flashing as the creatures passed, small bursts of light flickering in sync with their movements, signaling the seamless connection between their bodies and the machines embedded within them. Plates of metal, sometimes visible through gashes in their natural armor, glinted under the harsh lights. Their mechanical elements were far from subtle-- obvious, brutal, and efficient, merging with their organic form like a weapon built to endure and adapt.

Their faces, long and reptilian, were framed by rows of serrated teeth that occasionally bared in not so silent frustration. The Ssi-Ruuk’s black, soulless eyes darted from side to side, their slitted pupils narrowing in the light, searching for something they could no longer see. Fett could tell they were agitated, their nostrils flaring as they hissed commands to each other, the guttural clicks of their language distorted by the sound of hydraulic muscles pulling taut beneath their scales. The small ports along their spines pulsed with energy, each connecting to external devices-- tools, weapons, anything to further augment their power. Their tails-- long, prehensile, and ending in bladelike tips-- snapped through the air, twitching with agitation. Each tail moved with an independent life of its own, acting as a counterbalance to their massive upper bodies.

One of them, slightly shorter but bulkier than the others, paused near the shattered remains of the kolto tank, crouching down to study the mess. Fett could see the Ssi-Ruuk’s talons flex as it scraped the floor, its head swiveling back and forth in search of something-- him. He could feel the weight of their attention, the animalistic intelligence in their gaze, their confusion slowly curdling into something more dangerous. The smaller one raised a clawed hand, and Fett caught a glimpse of a jagged metal apparatus grafted onto its forearm, the machinery shifting as the Ssi-Ruuk adjusted its stance. It was part creature, part machine, the two fused into a monstrous hybrid that gave no quarter to weakness or uncertainty.

As they moved, Fett saw the subtle tremors in their bodies, the way their augmented muscles twitched beneath their scaled hides, betraying a quiet tension that hung heavy in the air. They were predators, bred and engineered for war, and their bodies bore the marks of that life. Scars, both organic and metallic, traced across their limbs. These creatures were not to be underestimated, each motion calculated and enhanced by the technology they had embedded into their very bones.

Fett watched, unseen, as one of the Ssi-Ruu approached another, the two exchanging words in their strange, guttural language. The taller of the two flexed its claws, the metal tips clicking softly against its arm as its head swiveled, scanning the room with eyes that glittered like polished obsidian. Fett could see the muscles in its neck tense beneath the smooth metal plating that covered its back, the cables connecting its skull to the rest of its body pulsing faintly with energy.

They were grotesque in their efficiency, these creatures-- an evolutionary dead end turned into something new by the cold hand of technology. Their limbs moved in unison with the machines grafted into them, turning flesh and steel into something terrible and relentless. And as Fett observed, invisible and silent, he realized that these creatures, for all their enhancements and technological prowess, were trapped in their own limitations.

Fett slipped back through the opposite direction, toward a lab which had all the entechment gear he had so preciously sought and for which he had sacrificed more of his flesh.


Now out of accidental reach, Fett focused on the task ahead. Reaching the hangar, he spotted his cargo transport, its ramp lowered and waiting. He moved quickly, his body still slick with a thin layer of healing liquid as he began loading equipment back onto the ship.

It was a matter of using a turbolift to take them back onto the vessel from which they had been freshly delivered. A vast array of stolen machinery and weaponry-- pieces of high tech armor, crates filled with advanced equipment-- were stacked onto repulsor lifts. His hands, still aching from the earlier torture, gripped the edges of a large, sealed crate. He heaved it up the ramp, every movement deliberate, efficient.

The transport groaned under the weight as he secured each item, fastening them into place with practiced precision. Fett wiped the sweat from his brow, his breathing steady but sharp, as the cargo bay began to fill. His mind was focused, methodical, counting each crate as he locked them down. The hum of the ship's systems activated around him, engines warming up, lights flickering dimly as he loaded the last of the crates. He paused briefly, glancing over the bay, double checking the equipment before sealing the cargo hold. It was all in place. His hands, still slick with blood and kolto, rested briefly on the control panel as the transport door slid shut with a heavy hiss, sealing the cargo within.

From there, he made his way to the unmanned cockpit. The seats were not made with his anatomy in mind, and even worse, or better he would argue, he was still naked.

He pulled levers, though his digits were ill formed for their design, and as the transport hovered and detached, the current's hold on him dissipated, his nude form snapping fully back into reality.

It wasn’t the first time he let out a beleaguered sigh at not having a tail. This would be a long trip, albeit a lucrative one.