Pain was everything. The author, the page, the words. The air he didn't need to breathe and the twitch of limbs he did not have. Morgan was pain, the future was pain and the past was pain. The present and the times in between. Pain.
Darth Marr stopped whatever technique he'd been using, and Morgan let out a ragged breath. Tried to piece together his mind, only succeeding to a point before it started again.
His tormentor didn't even seem to hate him. Marr was curious, perhaps, and annoyed, but not hateful. What progress Morgan had made was undone, utter agony stripping him bare of everything he could want. Everything he treasured, consumed by pain.
Another pause, and this time he was given the opportunity to rebuild properly. To regain the ability to speak, inspecting his soul to find it on the brink of death. Marr waited, and Morgan only spoke when he knew he could manage it with calm.
"You know where I was trained." He said, and Marr shifted. Not much, but enough. "You know the project I was a part of. You know who I was before, who I was during, what I became afterwards. I did not come here on purpose, because if I had I would not have chosen to become a slave."
Marr smiled, a strange expression when Morgan could not see his face. "You knew something of our galaxy before coming here. Good. You will tell me everything you know, seer."
"You are not the first." Morgan said, exhaling. He retreated to an old part of himself, a part that had gotten soothed by companionship and buried by love. "You will not be the last. I have chosen defiance once, and will choose it again. And again, forever."
The Dark Council member paused then turned, leaving as Morgan realised the other two had already done so. They hadn't given their identities away, and blocked by these bars of confinement he could not feel them, but he supposed it didn't matter.
Morgan put all thoughts of escape and retribution from his mind, feeling for the pulse of the cosmos. This deep in the Force it should have been an unmistakable heartbeat, but it was so faint. Faint enough it took hours to find, and unable to sooth him with its presence.
But it was there, and he had nothing better to do. This prison was built from intent and purpose, not something that could be slipped past or fooled, so until his willpower overcame that of several Dark Council members, he was stuck.
The Enosis would be fine without him, they had been before, so he would focus on this. Return to his roots, because it was clear he had gotten complacent. Content to tinker with artifacts, raise apprentices and slowly grow his power.
Not good enough. None of it was good enough. The Dark Council had cut off a part of the Force, put him in a container without resources or allies, but he had his soul. And even without Star, he could improve.
The cosmos beat to no drum but its own, oddly slow yet there. Morgan put his entire focus on it, on that razor thin connection they overlooked, and found it had no end. That it possessed a depth he was wholly unequipped to handle, as if crawling through the tiniest cave had given him access to the vastest cavern.
Pain was inevitable, and it was time he remembered how he survived. To be without tricks and fleshcrafting and clever plans. Just him and the pain, an endless game to see who would break first.
Defiance.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Marr stepped out of the artifact and stretched, shaking off the constraining effect of the prison. It was not without flaw, for the Dark Council would never have been granted it if it was, but he had inspected it himself.
There was power it could not stop, but Lord Caro did not possess it. Fate was severed, the Force was constrained, and there was no escape. Which meant it would only cost time, and time he had.
For its greatest tool was the ability to increase time, allowing the prisoner to recuperate between interrogation. It could not allow two to exist concurrently, but a day would feel like a week. So every day Marr would spend a few minutes breaking his prize, and the man would spend a week trying to rebuild his essence.
Over and over and over, until Lord Caro's willpower was spent and his mind broken. He was not so foolish as to believe the Enosis would shatter without their leader, not with two of their Lords still alive, but the threat was blunted.
It was so clear, in hindsight. A seer, for no matter how the man came here he knew the future, steered them. Masterminded its creation from his early time on Korriban, growing and shaping it as Baras turned a blind eye.
Using that to grow strong, hidden away beneath secrecy and lies. Clever clever, but now the game was over. Confirmation was all he needed, and that he had already gotten.
Vowrawn had warned that Lord Caro might grow faster than he could be broken, but that was unlikely. And he had stationed interrogators inside regardless, to ensure the man could not grow without limit. Well-trained, loyal men who had the ability to exit at any time, leaving their charge trapped and alone.
No, this issue was dealt with. Which meant he could move on to the Master, Baras growing increasingly irritating as of late. Sending agents to Voss by the dozen, and Marr had tracked them.
Investing in his own intelligence agency had been well worth the cost.
Weariness tugged at his bones, making him sigh. It took time to travel from the prison to his private chambers, the artifact situated inside one of their containment facilities, but Marr almost smiled. If the Lord did escape, by some unforeseen turn of events, he would find himself trapped regardless. Even without a physical form, these walls blocked more than just matter.
The door sealed and he slumped in his chair, cycling the Force through his body. The ritual allowing him to grab someone of Lord Caro's power was draining, requiring three Dark Council members, and had almost failed besides.
Darth Rictus had been one of the two assisting, however, and the man had managed to deal with the creature. Even injured it, which Marr himself didn't know how to do, but he hadn't pushed it.
He had been assured the prison was capable of keeping them out, so all was well. Marr cracked his neck, looking down at the neatly organized stack of datapads waiting for him.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Thirteen days it had been, by Morgan's count. Marr had only been back once since then, and he was starting to suspect time-dilation was at play. Giving your captive the opportunity to drive themselves crazy was one thing, but once a week?
The interrogators were annoying, but he figured out pretty quickly they only interrupted if he tried to break out. Unable to tell he was meditating, most likely, or they simply didn't care.
They had good reason to, Morgan admitted. He had found no flaw beyond that tiny crack to the heartbeat of the cosmos, far too small to escape. Small was the wrong word, perhaps. Incapable of allowing him through, even if he could fit.
Not an escape, but a treasured resource. He was starting to unravel the intent behind the bars, finding them to be made by many people and artfully woven together, but trying to inspect it too deeply summoned the inquisitors.
He mostly ignored them, in truth. Their corrections hurt, yes, but it was nothing compared to what Marr could inflict. The damage they did was likewise shallow, and allowing it to be visible usually satisfied them.
Except that one time, but ignoring sadists was surprisingly effective.
Yet there was no bliss to be found, this was no Nexus Point and the cosmos was oddly distant. But there was enough to regain his sanity, if only just. To reforge his shattered focus after fighting the damage, willing his soul to remain intact. The basis of any defence, since intent was the bones of technique.
And as was so often true, pain and danger skyrocketed growth. Not quickly enough, and Marr seemed to have very little issue breaking him, but growth. One last powerup before he died.
Morgan snorted to himself, inspecting the latest crack. It was deep, splitting all the way down the side, and stitching it proved difficult. Letting it mend naturally would take too long, if the pattern held Marr would return any day now, so he bent his focus to it.
Was shaken awake by one of the interrogators, poking him with what he'd come to see as a taser on a stick. It broke the stitches he was applying, a flash of pain fueled anger overriding his better judgement.
Took the connection, for everything here was constructed out of the Force. Fought his way through it, finding the resistance laughably pathetic. The bars would have stopped him, as they did for any attempt to pass them, but Morgan showed it the inquisitors' tool. Grinned as the protections were satisfied, letting him co-opt the connection.
The woman screamed as Morgan invaded her soul, presence flooding her being. She wasn't even a Lord, to his glee, and another presence appeared. Far greater, and pressing to return him to his cell.
He snapped the inquisitor's ability to feel hatred, abandoning her soul to return willingly. He wasn't going to win against Marr, not yet and maybe not ever, so best to avoid unnecessary damage.
"That should not have been possible." Darth Marr rumbled, reaching out a hand towards the woman. Her body materialized as he touched her soul, strangely colorless where his own was not. "No more interaction with the prisoner."
Marr snapped her neck and Morgan snorted, curling into himself. Trying to wrap the most injured part of his soul with the uninjured, achieving only limited success. Licked his wounds, the mental image both amusing and helping him to focus on healing.
Darth Marr walked to stand before his cell, seeming perfectly patient. "You have figured out this place has a strange relationship with time. Do you know why? Why we would risk giving the prisoner the opportunity to find an escape?"
"No."
"It's because there is no escape." Marr answered. "You could have been so much more. So much better. But here you are, an animal in a cage. You could have been a king."
"Then you shouldn't have bought me as a slave."
"Perhaps. Two weeks have passed, Lord Caro. How many more will you last? Five? Ten? A hundred? How long until the pain breaks you, and I finally grant you death?"
"Death." Morgan repeated. He let himself sink into the razor-thin connection to the wider universe, grim realisation spreading. "There is no death."
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Marr felt the panicked, animal-like mental state of his prisoner vanish, and suppressed a sigh. Raised his hand and activated the amplifying function of the prison, regular soul-lightning turned into something much more.
Watched the trapped soul curl into itself, shifting his essence to spread the damage. Marr let him, for if this was about killing it would have happened already. But a seer was priceless, especially one with a broken will, so the artifact would not let his subject die.
The amplifier turned off moments before oblivion could claim its prize, Marr not speaking. Let Lord Caro gather his shattered psyche, waiting for the long minutes it took.
"You want secrets?" Lord Caro asked, and Marr felt a moment of satisfaction at the broken state of it. He could not be fooled, not here, and that meant he was making progress. "The real Voice is on Voss."
Marr didn't react, he was far too experienced for that, but he didn't suppress his surge of vindication. It explained what Baras was doing there, and when proof was fetched, the man would be done. A powerful sith, yes, but he had been making too many enemies. When his bluff was called…
Oh, that would do nicely. Marr was about to speak when two eyes glowed from the haze that was Lord Caro's soul, finding himself at a loss for words. "I have died before, Marr. Twice now, once in body and once in mind. The first brought me to this cursed universe, the second forged me into something that could survive it."
"And I have decided that this will be my third." The voice continued, and the eyes stared at him with shifting hatred. Going from white-hot to absolute apathy, the soul curling deeper into itself. "I have decided that the sith will burn. That every stone on Korriban will be shattered, every artifact broken. That the Tombs will be emptied and the Nexus cleansed. The sith will burn, and no one will ever know what the ashes belonged to."
Darth Marr turned and exited the artifact, pretending he wasn't fleeing.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Morgan felt the realisation leave, deciding not to chase it. Perspective couldn't be forced, not by him and not by anyone, and he was in too much pain besides. His mind felt strangely slow, insisting he'd just said something important even if he couldn't remember what.
He curled deeper into himself and tried to rest, instinct telling him consciously fixing the damage was impossible. So he tried to sleep, or the closest a soul could get, and didn't do much of anything.
No interrogators came to bother him, not anymore, and Morgan wondered why. Flashes of anger and a snapped neck made him blink, his eyes vanishing the moment he realised they existed.
Did I kill them? Her. Did I kill her?
Not that it would bother him, but not being sure was grating. Morgan managed to put the question to rest when he reasoned that their gender was irrelevant, time slipping by as his soul mended.
Enough time for his thoughts to flow easier, memories to reorder and plans to be made. Which, he found himself admitting, wasn't going well. The small oversight that let him meditate seemed just that, small. Nothing he could escape through, his soul still incapable of overcoming the intent of his prison.
Because leaving was against the design, and Morgan was starting to see how brilliant it truly was. Without inquisitors he was free to inspect the architecture, trying to separate flavors of the Force. Everything was tuned to the purpose of keeping someone in, yes, but meaning was life. And life was unique.
No two people could truly give the same meaning to a concept, not even his apprentices. And those two seemed a candle-lit dinner away from creating soul-bonds, the thought of old romance-novel cliches lifting his spirit.
Right, intent. Morgan shook his non-existent head, focusing. The bars and grates and pillars kept him locked away, but things were strange here. This was the deep Force, no matter the constraints, and things shifted. His cage was that, a cage, but the pathway changed. Sometimes it was a door, old and wooden, and other times people descended from above.
His cage was suspended over nothing, then carved from the wall. There were chairs for the interrogators to sit on, then not. Intent was all that mattered, and only the cage was imprinted strongly enough that it would not change.
So he worked, separating flavors and meaning, and slowly built an understanding. There must have been dozens of Force users, over years and years, that worked on it. Not Dark Council members, the power felt too soft, but combined in a way those very men were unable to.
Dark Council members, after all, could not fathom their fellows being anything more than temporary allies. The weakness of the sith, brought to their highest office.
It was skillful, it was old, but it was not infallible. His study with Inara and Alyssa as they created their bond, as well as the soul-threads, had given him experience with weaving the Force. How to look for it, separate the whole, look beneath the surface intent.
Yet this was harder than anything he'd done, their very creation meant to stop him from leaving, and he was unable to study them without the desire to escape. Not for long.
Marr returned and Morgan buried a moment of fear, exhaling the Force as the man started his questions.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Six weeks the prisoner had been in his cell, six days of real-time, and Marr still hadn't discovered where that moment of fear had come from. When Lord Caro made a speech he had heard a dozen times before, swearing vengeance against the Dark Council and the sith.
Still hadn't figured out why it had affected him, and it was starting to influence his work. The not knowing.
The Voss mission, at least, was progressing. And Marr found Baras much more tolerable when he knew the man to be in his last moments, still scheming for more power. For allies on the Council, regrowing his powerbase after repeated blunders.
At first the man had seemed an acceptable member. Not the best they had seen, but tolerable. Yet his greed proved to know no bounds, so his death would be swift. They could afford no foolishness, not now.
It was partly why he himself was being so heavy-handed, Marr reflected. The war with the Republic had stalled, both sides temporarily exhausted, and as the Lord of the Sphere of Defense of the Empire he was endlessly preparing. Yet preparation took information, and a seer could fix most of his issues.
Preparing for traitors, fleets and incompetence. It all circled around to Baras again, and he had not forgotten the slights done to him. The thinly veiled theft of the Javlin had come at a bad time, forcing him to sacrifice it to Baras's ineptitude, but more had been lost.
Ships and admirals, armies and armoured divisions. Lost in pointless battles, though at the very least it had allowed him to restructure Imperial intelligence. The perpetrator of that assassination campaign, the one that had almost cost them the damn war, still hadn't been caught.
Marr lamented the fact he could not use the prison to catch up on his work, for material things could not be taken into the Force lightly, but such was life. It would have been fought over more fiercely if such things could be done, regardless, and the Council would never have approved his use of it.
Keeping this from Baras was one of his more entertaining projects, though the man was busy. Fighting with Vowrawn over the fact that the Sphere of Production and Logistics did not fall under the office of the Sphere of Military Offense, neither side seeming willing to bend an inch.
He signed another decree and stood, armour bleeding from the shadows to wrap around his frame. His office was one of the very few places he went without, though he never truly left it behind. Marr departed from his sanctuary, striding over to the prison.
Entered the artifact and found a semi-solid soul condensing itself, a shadow of shape appearing. Lord Caro was learning to take physical form, breaking even the most optimistic predictions by a month, but Marr was unworried.
The artifact was inescapable. He had tested the fact himself. An unpleasant experience, being trapped inside, but necessary.
A snarling mouth filled with colorless light was all that greeted him, but no fear came. Marr grunted and activated the interrogation amplifiers, reducing the man's mental state to a point where he would answer questions.
Not that Marr succeeded every time, especially since pressing too hard could lead to a mental break. A thin line, but he was confident he could walk it. Had done so before, many times, though this would be the longest interrogation by far. And his first using the artifact.
Most people broke after a few weeks, but Marr supposed Lord Caro had already undergone this manner of torture. Reading the proper files on Project Culling had been illuminating, to say the least.
The Sith Order benefited from weeding out the weak, but killing ninety nine of a hundred applicants? Creating an environment of constant war, endless pressure, and then adding soul-based torture on top? It had produced two fine sith Lords, and a potential Darth, but that was luck.
He himself would have broken, Marr knew that. Felt it was important to be honest about past weakness, for it could only be fixed once it was recognized. It took something from you, having your very being broken, and it was very few indeed capable of adapting to it.
The amplifiers shut off and Marr turned his attention back to his captive, finding Lord Caro had abandoned his near-physical form. Only in the sense of intent, where a threshold was passed and the user could impress their very bodily shape onto the Force, and the man was not there. Not yet.
Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts four.
The speech slammed into Marr's mind like a sledgehammer, and he needed a moment to parse it. Then hesitated, because that made no sense at all, before deciding it didn't matter. "Speaking the language of those creatures is a waste of time, Lord Caro, for they cannot travel here, but I will not deny your skill."
Quiet laughter drifted from the cell, and Marr activated the amplifiers again. They stopped almost instantly, leaving his captive on the edge of death, and there was no mocking this time. No laughter or pointless riddles.
"You want a secret." Lord Caro whispered, tone half-broken. "I will give you a secret. Do you want to know the secret?"
Darth Marr folded his arms, contemplating if he should go again. Decided against it, in the end, but only because it would cut the session short. "Yes."
"Darth Arkous is a revanite."
A pause, but nothing more seemed forthcoming. Marr shook his head. "Revan is dead, his followers with him."
"If you in-insist." Lord Caro muttered, curling into himself. "Believe me. D-Don't believe me. I don't c-care. Just g-go away."
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Lana pressed her hand against the slab of muscle and flesh, shaking her head when she felt the same thing she had for the past week. No soul, no brain activity past the basic, nothing.
Zethix grunted and shut off the holo, growing grimmer and grimmer as Morgan's condition worsened. The link between it and the soul would eventually degrade, all their research had pointed to it, and distance made matters worse.
Wherever Morgan was, it was far away.
The door hissed open and Quinn walked inside, casting a look at the medical machine containing his Lord. "My Lady. The First Fleet is assembled and ready to depart. General Octivian is, to the best of my knowledge, holding to his oath of fealty."
"Thank you, Quinn. There's no change here, as usual. I can't trace the link, the Other I am fairly sure is Star gave up talking to me a few days ago and Zethix hasn't found anything new in Teacher's holocron. Which, apparently, took him almost four days to break into."
"I see." Quinn replied. "It is good that the Enosis was built for this exact situation, then. You are the highest ranking member present, my Lady. Lord Caro's absence has already done enough damage without your refusal to fill his shoes."
"What shoes would those be? I am no seer, I am owed no loyalty from you or Kala or anyone else, and you will run things whether I am there to play figurehead or not."
The general hummed. "Strange, isn't it? How caring about people can sneak up on you. But he is not dead, so I will not abandon what he had started. And if he is, then I will see it through. That is why he made me the Enosis's general, did you know? Because he knew that I would continue if he failed."
"How sith of you." Lana snarked, tone sounding forced even to her own ears. "Don't let me stand in the way of your powergrab."
"Even if I wanted that, which I most assuredly do not, I wouldn't last the week. And in the small chance Lord Zethix would somehow let me, Vette would have me dead rather than see me usurp her boyfriend's project. And I don't know if you've kept up with it, but that one is growing more dangerous by the day."
Lana had not, though it didn't matter much. She stood, pushing the strange feeling of helplessness down and away. Sneaking up indeed. "What do you need?"
"Speak to Jeasa, Inara and Alyssa. They have been speaking with Star, though they've only successfully interpreted some measure of meaning this morning. Dark Council, which just confirmed what we already suspected, but also the words 'prison' and 'barrier'. He can't get to Lord Caro."
That was that plan dead, then. "If they failed, why have me speak with them?"
"Because last I saw, Inara was bleeding from her eyes and Jaesa was insisting that 'realignment made for optimal bone structure'. Alyssa is mostly alright, but she can't keep both them and herself from doing something stupid until they get their senses back."
"I'll calm the Force." Lana replied, sighing. "How long until we get back to Enosis space?"
"Lord Zethix hasn't transmitted exact coordinates yet, but we have a general location. A ship will meet us there to show us the rest of the way. Another week, maybe ten days if the damaged ships break down again."
Ten days. Lana nodded to herself, turning towards the door. She could stand to be in charge for ten days.
Her communicator rang and Lana picked it up, annoyed at the interruption. Vette's face stared back at her, a smile on her lips and eyes as cold as ice. "Lady Beniko. Any progress?"
"Some. The trio has discovered that Morgan was taken by the Dark Council, put into a prison where Star can't get to him, and that rescue from our side seems impossible. You?"
"Nothing. No regular transport was used, the contact I manage to install on Korriban says he has heard nothing of a high-value prisoner being brought in and the experts I contacted say they have felt nothing."
"Volryder, Bundu, John?"
"The first falls under your purview, but no. Nothing. The second I can't find, doing something shady in the war against the Empire, and John says that if the Dark Council is involved, there will be no one to bribe. They play by different rules, or so he insists."
"We'll get him back." Lana said, surprised at her own confidence. "I owe him that much, and I don't leave debts unpaid."
Vette's smile sharpened. "He will be back, that much we agree on. But I have faith, and place even odds on us having nothing to do with his rescue. He'll be stronger, if the pattern holds, but I've come to learn that power never comes without a price. I intend to be ready in either case."
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Sanity, Morgan found, was a luxury few appreciated.
Weeks had passed, many of them, and he wasn't sure about the ratio anymore. He'd thought ten-to-one, at first, where an hour outside is ten inside. But now Marr came in strange patterns, twice quickly then nothing for three times as long.
Two pieces of intel had been given. Two of a limited supply, where running out would mean death. The end, no matter that his body was safe. Realisation and madness ebbed and flowed, giving him strength and draining it, but he was tired.
So tired.
An inquisitor came and looked at him, making Morgan look back. The man flinched, noting down some things on paper made of memory, then fled. He called after the man, slipping into Other speech, and the inquisitor stumbled.
Morgan grinned, but the humor faded quickly. The language he and Star had practised was helping, anchoring him to concepts well-suited to insanity and loneliness, but it had a limit. Which he was starting to approach.
Morgan shook his head, trying to form a hand again. One of the projects that kept him busy when Marr stayed away for long periods of time. It was easy, every now and then, before it became impossible. Willing it, like he usually did with matters concerning the Force, seemed too easy then not possible at all.
A hand managed to manifest by the time his torturer returned, and Morgan waved at the Darth. Marr slowed, raising an eyebrow Morgan could not see before pain became his entire existence.
But the soul adapted to anything that did not kill it, and Morgan felt himself unravel with the most odd clarity. Distant, almost, or too close. Marr either didn't notice or didn't care, because the demand for information came the moment the pain stopped.
"I'll tell you what." Morgan said, tone hollow. He felt more alive than he had in weeks, and perspective loomed like the edge of reality. "You tell me how long I've been in here, truly, and I'll give you something really juicy."
Silence, a man weighing cost to benefit, then acknowledgment. "Eleven weeks, four days."
"Three months." Morgan mused, forming eyes to narrow them. "Alright, I'll tell you something very few people know. The cosmos is a game, and reality dances to the tune of entertainment. Your existence is paper thin, yet death will not be the end for you. Wait long enough, and a little green jedi will join you in oblivion."
The utter silence was worth the pain, Morgan decided.
It took an eternity for the agony to end, and Marr frowned down at him. "I did not take you for one who would break his word."
"Then you shouldn't have lied." Morgan barked, purified intent smashing into the bars. The cage shook, wobbling and creaking as if rocked by great waves. "Lying, lying, to the lyre? You are more man than fire. Pain resisting, pain will come, pain the father, I'm the son. Pain that hit-"
Sanity fled before agony, and as he regained the ability to think the Darth had his arms crossed. "Tell me."
"You first." Morgan countered, tone childish. "You lied, thinking I wouldn't catch you. But I did, so now you must tell the truth. Or no more secrets, you greedy little leopard."
"You have been here eleven weeks, four days, eight hours and forty one minutes. Twenty one seconds, twenty two seconds, twenty three seconds."
Morgan beamed a smile. "There you go. And you were right, I do reward honesty with honesty. Once upon a time, when I thought power was necessary and Korriban looked scary, I found a holocron. It taught me the secrets of flesh, and I called it Teacher. He and I became friends, and then he died."
"I'm not done!" Morgan insisted, Marr having raised a hand to his brow. "Teacher died, and then I met the real Teacher. He called himself Naga Shadow, and he was nicer than he should have been. He told me what happened after death, told me that intent matters, and now I intend for you to leave."
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Marr turned around and left, uncaring about the sniggering laughter. Lord Caro was deteriorating, and fast, but more pressure would only speed up the process. A month, Marr decided. Perhaps he would be more sane then.
Until that time, he had new information to parse. More worthless than the last, initial investigation into Arkous was already uncovering suspicious ties, but information.
He could not be lied to, not as the one who operated the prison, but that did not mean whatever he was told was the truth. Intent was what mattered most, as Lord Caro had said, but intent was subjective.
He would put his people on it, a fresh think-tank devoted to decrypting his pet seer, and he watched the artifact. He usually left the room at once, but now he felt compelled to double check its integrity.
Affecting the cage, even as little as he had done, should have been impossible.
The pattern to ward away the creatures was still strong, not recording any attempted breaches since that one time at the very beginning, and he draped his own meaning over it. Reinforced the weight of it, just to be sure.
And the cage itself was self-repairing, to a point, so even if Lord Caro managed to chip away some small part of it, no harm done. His guards inside would note down any attempts, of course, but do no more than that.
No need to waste them for Lord Caro's amusement.
The day came and went, then another. Work kept him confined to Dromund Kaas, even with the war, but he had planned for that. He had been generous and estimated two weeks to break his prisoner, three months' subjective time, and the planning bore fruit.
But now he was running out of time, though a fortunate find on Voss gave him an excuse to delay his departure for another week. Another seven inside to break his prisoner, and if that wasn't enough he feared the man's mind would be broken anyway.
Just not in the way he wanted. The way he had hoped, because any project of this length was expensive.
Though, in truth, the information about the true Voice had already paid for itself. Anything else would just be a bonus, something to let him stave off the current decline. Because the Empire was declining.
The Dark Council was less unified than ever, and as much as he would like to lay the blame at Baras's feet, that would be unfair. The man sped up the process, but it had been happening long before the man was even a Darth.
They were, in origin, a Council. Meant to advise and govern, not rule. Without the Emperor to bring order, too many of them were questioning their restraints. Questioning why it should not be them that sat on the throne, for were they not the most powerful? The most skilled, the most sly, the most ruthless?
Marr grunted, pressing down on the datapad. His signature was accepted, the document sealed, and he stood. Stretched, for not even the Force kept old age fully at bay, and made his way over to the prison.
Four days for him, four weeks for Lord Caro. Time had done him good, it seemed. Marr decided not to start with his usual interrogation strategy, wishing to test if the fear alone was enough, but he had a feeling it would not be.
If he'd learned anything, it was that the man responded to aggression with obstinance.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Morgan looked at Darth Marr and tried to keep his legs from shifting, being only partially successful. It felt good, though, to glare at someone with actual eyes. With brows to furrow and shoulders to tense, even if none of it actually existed.
But he wanted it to, so it did. It was almost impossible to describe the feeling, to have the very cosmos bent to your will, and Morgan could see how people got addicted to it. To the sheer control he had, both over himself and the Force.
He'd had that before, sure, but now? Now he knew it.
"How goes the outside world?" Morgan asked, receiving no immediate reply. "Galaxy, I guess. That still trips me up, being here. But you don't really give a singular fuck about where I'm from, do you? Even you, probably the most level-headed member of the Dark Council, figured out I'm from an alternate galaxy and your mind immediately leapt to power."
"Power is needed to keep the Empire in check, and do not forget who taught you the first steps."
Morgan snorted, delighting in the fact he could physically do so. "Oh, beg pardon. You enslave me, torture me for a year, shackle me to an insane madman who would gleefully burn the galaxy for childish revenge, then you torture me again? Did your precious Dark warp your mind that much, or do you actually think that's how loyalty works?"
Pain was his answer, but after so many weeks it was almost boring. Agonizing, yes, but retreating his consciousness inside his own soul let him achieve distance. The pain was there, but he simply didn't care. Like an old injury, itching as you work. Sure, you were itchy, but it was like seeing your nose. There, undeniably, but ignorable.
Unfortunately, it was still pain. Less mentally scarring, but his soul suffered. Tore and bruised, aged and crumpled. Morgan nodded the moment it was over, on the brink of death but with his faculties intact. "When you have no answer, leap to violence. Good point."
"You are adapting." Marr rumbled, frowning. "I know loyalty, Lord Caro, but I don't discuss the finer workings of the Empire with just anyone, let alone you."
"The Empire, or your Empire? The Throne is empty, his absence more than displayed by Baras. Running around, calling himself the Voice. Honestly, our good Overlord really let himself go. He's really gone, if you were wondering. Fucked off to do something that isn't this, because even he realised his millennium long experiment failed. Talk about breaking a sunk-cost rationalisation, am I right?"
More pain, more agony, and Morgan laughed in Marr's face the moment it was done. "Weak. Took me a while to see it's not you but the prison doing most of the torture. I'm sure you have the mindset for it, don't misunderstand, but the power? You don't get as long to recuperate as I do, to speak less about choosing the exact moment where to stop. People are sloppy, even us, but machines? They stop exactly when ordered. I'd suggest randomizing the fail-safe if you want people to believe you are in absolute control."
"A secret, Lord Caro." Marr rumbled, seemingly unimpressed. "Or we continue until the flippancy runs out."
"A secret? Hmmn. I suppose I do have one more. You want to rule the Empire, right? Take the military and the navy and run them properly?. Well, my fiendish friend, if you really hurry, there should be some isotope-5 left on Makeb. What I didn't already take, I mean. Are you going to ask? Please ask."
A moment of silence, but no pain. Marr spoke after letting it stretch, tone flat. "It is how your ships have been moving faster than they should."
"You were supposed to ask." Morgan whined, watching the Darth turn. The man walked away, but Morgan saw. Giggled, the sound disturbing even to his own ears, and knew the man needed to. "Pretty. Walking to associate leaving, the stairs to imply vertical movement. Bye, mister mage. Go fight over the scraps I left behind."
Morgan kept waving until Marr was gone entirely, then exhaled. Made sure the inquisitors were still too scared to actually come close, the twice-daily inspection having dropped to once every few days, then let his grin drop.
Inhaled the force, that tiny crack of the cosmos refreshing him, and slowly put himself back together. Which was significantly easier to do when you retain your mind, or at least most of it, during the breaking. It still took hours of careful stitching, hours of slow breathing, until the pain ebbed and he was mostly back to normal.
He shook himself and got back to actually trying to escape, approaching the bars. The cage hummed in warning, but no one came running. No one came to check on him, so he was free to taste it. To run his fingers over cold steel and separate the flavors of intent, the wood-grain rough on his skin.
For all its strength, it was susceptible to expectation. Or maybe just his, now that he spent so long here. Pushing his presence against it, never managing to break but clearly doing something. Had that happened before? Morgan couldn't remember, putting it out of his mind.
He could find four signatures reliably, now, and worked his way there. Slowing his own thoughts, as intent-driven as they were, and found them. One every half-hour, a personal record.
T, the first, was calm. Disciplined. Resonated well with the letter, so Morgan saw no reason to be difficult about it.
P, the second, was calm of a different sort. The calm before chaos, restrained fury mimicking patience. It reacted badly to his intent, no matter how light, so once he identified it it was left alone.
M, the third. Also the most skilled of the four, not flickering in the slightest no matter what he did. It was likewise left alone, this time due to his own inability.
K, the fourth and last. Young, perhaps no older than ten, but strong. Brimming with power, an apprentice filling in due to need rather than desire. Brittle for all its strength, not used to imprinting their intent so deeply.
Morgan had no idea if those were initials to real names, and neither did he care. Identity helped to separate them, so letters they would have. Another was found, U, and Morgan shifted. Prepared to go for a sixth, using a moment's pause to gather himself.
The threads snapped back, intertwining back into one whole, and he cursed. He was getting better, mistakes happening less often, but there were dozens of threads. More than he first thought, many more, and the work was too slow.
Marr would run out of patience sooner rather than later, perhaps find a workaround to his growing resistance, and then the failsafe wouldn't stop the pain. Isotope-5 was his last good card, though one that would fuck over his allies more the ones he played before, and without the artifact guaranteeing his life…
Time. How ironic, to run out of time in a time-dilation artifact. It had been, what? Four months? More? His perception wasn't quite capable of keeping track, not anymore. A long time to spend as a soul, he knew that.
Unravelling the bars would set him free, or at least let him slip past, and taking care of the inquisitors wouldn't be hard. Not without their precious cage to trap him, and then he could show he was able to do more than laugh.
And then. Morgan looked at the ceiling, finding nothing but utter darkness. He ignored it.
And then what? If he got out, where would he be? Korriban? That didn't feel quite right, but he doubted it would be some remote planet with an easy escape. Assuming he was going the route of possessing a body, which he hadn't actually done before but was theoretically possible.
But as a soul he had no need for starships, so that was the preferred option. Marr was capable of chasing him, though. And while he had not seen them since his capture, there were three Dark Council members that had taken him, not one.
Presuming he was capable of leaving at all. That this special prison wasn't put inside a normal one, one still able to trap souls, which is exactly what he himself would do. And Marr might be more arrogant than expected, but relying on that seemed foolish.
Morgan cast a look at the crack allowing him to feel the heartbeat of the cosmos, getting a terrible idea. A stupid, suicidal idea.
He grinned, pulling back from the bars of his cage. Separating dozens of threads was beyond him, but what about taking one? Using it for his own purposes, that masterfully condensed intent so eager to contain him?
What if he forced it at something incapable of being contained?
The grin stretched wider, and Morgan cast a look at the direction where the inquisitors would be killing time. Rest, then practise. But soon.
Soon.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Marr checked his datapad, noting the time as his apprentice fled the room. His new one, though the death of Lachris had not hit him hard. Enough so that none of his actions to this point had been motivated by it, or for him to throw it in Lord Caro's face.
The new one, his name would be remembered once he proved himself able to survive, was strong. Came to Korriban as a graduate of Ziost, where he had impressed his instructors enough to warrant a transfer.
Bloodthirsty, but learning. The child would be gone for a few weeks, to be tested in proper battle, and Marr had charged him with the death of a jedi. His approach would reveal much, from temperament to potential, and the child would be judged accordingly.
Two more hours until his scheduled visit to the prison. Twenty eight since his departure, giving Lord Caro approximately eight days to recover. Enough for a proper session, and he would not leave without another useful piece of information.
Isotope-5 was already being discovered, scattered details of its mass-mining on Makeb put together, and it hinted at something large. A shadow network operating under the order of his prisoner, either skilled or lucky enough not to be noticed by Imperial Intelligence.
Or with ties to it, which would fit the lax attitude it possessed until recently.
Marr stalled without really understanding why, spending a split second hesitating. Then his focus narrowed on the prison, and he shot from his chair. Made for the door at speeds his furniture wasn't able to handle, slamming through rather than waiting for it to open.
People made way for Dark Council members, as a general rule, but if they didn't even notice you, they couldn't. Stealth was not a skill he was particularly proficient in, nor something he expected to hold against any Darth, but here? In hallways filled with little more than Lords? It was faster to go around them than to have them scramble to get out of his way.
The prison appeared within nine seconds, mostly due to the fact he had to take the elevator. Jumped to skip it, but prying the doors open cost time.
Security procedures would take minutes to pass, so he ignored them. Defences meant to stop hostile Force users from doing exactly that activated, but none could hold a person of his caliber. Slow him, yes, but it was still faster than going through normally. If fortifications existed that could do that, sleeping would be a much more relaxing affair.
The cell appeared, energy grids capable of resisting a lightsaber blocking every avenue of approach to the cube, and the sith Lord meditating nearby startled. He was not an inquisitor, only there to feel for fleeing souls, but Marr still felt a moment of irritation.
Competence was so damned hard to find.
He entered the artifact as the shield lowered, costing a few more precious moments, but then he was there. A response time that would make any breakout attempt dead on arrival, and Lord Caro would be unable to escape his grasp. Not quickly enough.
His soul slipped inside with defences raised to full, madness greeting him. The cell holding his prisoner, the artifact handed down and perfected by generation after generation of artificers, was shattered. Broken shards of intent laid scattered around, the three men and woman meant to keep an eye on his prisoner writhing in agony.
A creature. Marr focused and stabilised the Force, vibrating old patterns he never bothered to understand. The thing was forced back, but stubbornly kept hold of its victims. The inquisitors screamed as their souls were liquefied, flowing into the thing's mouth like a vacuum demanding oxygen.
Horror spread beyond it, something having happened. Lord Caro was on the far side of the creature, grabbing hold as it was blown back, and one of its metallic appendages curled around the sith. Almost protectively, which made no sense.
Then the image blurred, and flesh replaced steel. His prisoners' influence fighting his own, Marr realised, and winning. Lord Caro's eyes looked at him, perfectly human and ice cold, before the sith disappeared from sight.
And chaos reigned as the creature raged, resisting Marr's effort to banish it. Stubborn, more so than than any he'd heard of, and strong. No, not just strong. Trained.
It knew how mortals worked. Lord Caro flickered away further and Marr followed, spending a precious moment to banish the creature with a proper technique. It hissed at him, speaking in a language more primal than any civilization, and he paid it no attention.
The creature would grow bored soon enough, returning home and forgetting all about this, but Lord Caro would not. The Enosis was already popular due to its healing and racial tolerance, nevermind having just absorbed the military assets of the True Empire, and if their founder returned war would be inevitable.
War Marr could not afford with Lord Caro at its head, and the man's usefulness had well and truly run out. Imprisonment was still preferable, but he doubted he could capture the Lord without killing him. Not anymore.
Marr cursed his own greed as he slipped past the echo of a black hole, following the sith down and down. Despite his greater strength, his greater experience, he was just barely keeping up. Barely managing with raw power what his target did with smooth turns, having abandoned his physical form.
But he was keeping up, and though it functioned less at first, his movement technique was superior. Lord Caro started at his maximum speed, which was annoyingly fast, but Marr was increasing his. Soon he would be close enough to slice the man's soul, and then there would be no grand rebellion to worry about.
It was among a constellation of dying suns that he caught up to the man, a trinary star system ever so close to collapse. Lord Caro had slowed, soul forming back into a body as the man waited. Conserving strength after realising he wouldn't be getting away. Smart.
But fruitless. Marr didn't know how he had escaped, but it had not been because of power. Not because of intent, because while the man had grown, he was not there. Not yet able to overcome the artifact, especially not when Marr himself was unable.
The creature came again, appearing from a higher dimension and splitting thousands of needle-like appendages, and Marr banished it. Wounding it was beyond him, but neither would it be able to harm someone of his strength.
Marr slowed, cautious. Underestimating Lord Caro was how a great many people had died, no matter that he should technically be able to counter anything the man could do, and something felt off. Nothing tangible, the Force was not warning him of danger, but something.
The answer came as his target prepared a spear of intent, twisting concepts of piercing and binding into a stronger union. The man had grown, but Marr had not become as powerful as he was by being unable to defend himself. The attack would be nullified without issue.
Which is exactly what happened, except that the moment his concentration was locked, the Force tore. A soul came charging towards him without hesitation or fear, forging hatred and vengeance into crude shields. Crude, but strong. Very strong.
The spear was weakened and the attack dodged, some idiot Lord using his very soul as a weapon, and Marr prepared to deal with both. Then the creature reappeared, Lord Caro crafted a chain of atrophy, and Marr froze. Just for a moment, a split second of indecision, but he froze.
His mind analysed which attack to prioritize even as he realised the mistake, forcing himself backwards. But too late, and the creature slashed at his side. It did little damage, Marr had a concept of self strong enough to shrug off weaker attacks, but it allowed the chain to wrap around his leg. The notion that the creature shouldn't be able to hurt him at all wasn't worth contemplating. Not right now.
The chain held him in place, the intent taking precious moments to unravel. Moments the soul, and he just now recognized it as Lord Zethix, took to reorient. Reorient and build speed.
Marr braced at the last moment, wrapping himself with the very idea of protection, and found his defences lacking. The hatred and fury crashed through it like a hammer, no grace or subtlety to be found, and smashed him backwards.
It kept digging, the roaring soul of the young sith Lord stripping him of forward momentum. The creature slashed again, Lord Caro taking the opportunity to craft something Marr did not have the time to look at, and a third joined them.
Another soul, burning with the absence of feeling. Cold, utterly focused and seeming to phase closer, skipping the distance rather than cross it. It wielded daggers of righteous rage, driven by the thought of returning to the abyss of loneliness, and Marr felt something in his soul snap.
Something important, Lord Zethix keeping up his attack even after scoring a wound. The moment had passed, their ambush had failed to kill him, and Marr breathed. Slapped the devaronian away, conjuring a shield of contempt to block Lord Caro's attack, and banished the creature again.
Lady Beniko aborted her attack to catch Lord Zethix, and three sith Lords watched him. Noted the wound, the creature still lurking nearby, and grinned in anticipation.
Darth Marr, The Lord of The Sphere of Defense of the Empire, weighed his chances and found them poor. Turned around and left, grunting as he patched up his soul.
The creature laughed with the noise of madness, mocking him, but no one followed.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Vette watched the healer with perhaps a little too much hostility, the old man's posture straightening subconsciously. Three sith Lords were in the room, Lana had claimed that physical proximity to Morgan would help them locate his soul, and the whole wing was blocked off.
Chosen patrolled in groups no smaller than six, a Force using member in each, and Reborn sith where stationed outside the room. And inside, at that, four of them as well as Morgan's apprentices. Who had bowed to her as she entered, which explained why the old man was nervous about someone whom he had never met.
The machine they had her Morgan in was an odd one, half bed half medical droid, and was keeping his body strong. Apparently, without it, some three weeks was enough for even his physique to deteriorate.
Cold, stabbing worry prevented her legs from keeping still, making her stalk back and forth rather than be seen tapping her foot. Two hours it had been, and nothing. Star had come, told Lana something the woman hadn't bothered to explain, and Zethix had arrived shortly after.
At least they were back in Enosis space. Being ambushed in this state meant Morgan couldn't defend himself, and if he die-
Vette blinked as Jaesa snapped her head around, following the woman's gaze to see Morgan stir. He went from near-dead to awake in moments, the monitor displaying his vitals going haywire. Calming soon after, returning to baseline as he took manual control over his body.
An insane sentence, but Vette didn't care as she crossed the room. Her hands touched his face, making him look down and smile, and she was struck by his eyes.
They looked deep. Too deep. She couldn't pull her own gaze away as the room emptied, a shudder going down her spine. Power, focused to a point she could barely understand, and pure. So pure.
"If you are going to jump him, at least allow me to leave the room." Lana said, groaning from where she had slumped in her seat. Her words were scornful, but Vette heard the relief in them anyway. "Or control yourself. Either way."
She ignored the sith, frowning at Morgan. "How long?"
"Months." His smile turned proud, deep fondness overtaking the power. "Months and months. Turns out I was right in being as careful as I was about my future sight. I told him about Tenebrae, Revan and Isotope-5, as well as some lesser stuff, but he knows nothing actionable except isotope-5. Not from me, anyway."
Vette shifted her grip as he stood, swinging his legs to stand. Then he rose, and almost immediately fell to the floor. Flesh turned necrotic on his right arm, climbing up his shoulder. She panicked, looking at his eyes to see if they had turned black again. "The fu-"
"I'm fine." He said, tone more bemused than concerned. "My soul has gone through a risky, painful metamorphosis, which is both accurate and not what happened at all. But it's still rather wounded, especially after forcing two opposite concepts together in an artifact holding a lot of power, and Marr didn't help. The weakened link between it and my body isn't great either."
Lana helped her put him back in bed, Zethix standing to test his own body. The devaronian waved her glance away, approaching. "I can sympathise. Darth Marr does not pull his punches, even if I paid him back in kind. How are you?"
"Bad." Morgan replied, shrugging with his one working shoulder. The damage spread, going down his left leg after infecting the stomach. "But nothing that won't heal. Intent above all, and I've come to see there are no limits to that. Not really."
The word seemed to echo as he said it, Vette feeling another shiver go down her spine. "Like what?"
His eyes locked with hers, and memories not her own suddenly became obvious. Old memories of the first time he met her, quiet moments after dinner and loud ones on battlefields. One after the other, and she understood them all.
"Like the fact that telepathic communication is nothing more than a desire to connect." He replied, the link closing. She blinked. "Or that healing is nothing more than a wish to return to normality. How hard would it be to convince Enosis civilians that a war against the Empire isn't a terrible idea?"
The shift in topic didn't throw her off, though the actual question did. Zethix snorted. "Hard? We told them you had been captured a week ago, since your absence was becoming impossible to conceal. They, as it turned out, took it badly. Very badly. See, when someone comes along and gives you a whole bunch of things, like basic rights and magic healing and reasonable taxes in return for services, they like you. Or the people that aren't used to it, anyway, which is most of them."
"So?"
"So if you declare war on the Empire, all proper with a speech and everything, you won't find a booing crowd. They'll fight for what you represent, not who you are, but all the same. No, Mad Mouse. It won't be an unpopular war."
Vette saw his face shift, something hard and cold flashing to the forefront. "Good. I made Marr a promise, though it took me a while to remember doing so. And I keep to my promises."
"But not yet." She found herself saying, glaring. "First you heal, then you can burn Korriban or whatever."
Morgan relaxed, leaning back as he lost that edge of harshness. "Rest first. Tython will be good for me, as will actual food."
She nodded resolutely, putting her hand on his unhurt shoulder. She could get to the bottom of the who, what and why later, as well as figuring out what exactly had changed, but for now she felt like snuggling.
After that urge was satisfied, she could see about taking over the criminal underworld properly. Her ability to rain fire on those that hurt him was proving insufficient, clearly, and she had a feeling she was going to need it.
War for both of them, then. War and battle, until all that remained was their victory.
War.
End of Arc Two.
Afterword
That's arc two all settled, people. I'll see you next week for the start of the third, and last, arc of this story.
Discord (two chapters ahead for the low, low price of your soul) [Check author profile or pinned comment on the chapter.]