I was weightless. And I meant that literally.
The ghost's spell had done more than just push me backwards. There was no impact as I hit the wall, instead phasing through the stone as though it wasn't there. But I felt that I passed through more than just mundane stone.
All I knew was that something was completely and utterly wrong. In the chamber with the ghost, my danger senses had been screaming near constantly just by him being nearby.
Now, it was just complete and utter silence. Given that Marka Ragnos' tomb had been setting off alarm bells the entire time I'd been in there, it was a bit concerning.
I could still move, but it didn't help. It didn't stop my flight and it didn't change the direction I was going.
I was blind and flailing, completely helpless as I tumbled backwards, seemingly endlessly.
Was I trapped in the stone? No, I could still breathe and I was still moving. What had Graush's spell done, exactly?
Was I even still in the tomb? I didn't know. I'd only find out when I stopped. Magic was capable of a lot of strange things, even when compared to normal uses of the Force.
I didn't…My gut told me no and yes at the same time. But that didn't give me anymore insight into what the hell had just happened.
Because of my musings and my blindness, the only warning I got that I wasn't alone was the feeling of something suddenly wrapping tightly around my right leg.
Jolting, I snapped my hand up and released a burst of lightning in the direction of where I thought whatever it was could be. As the electricity lashed out, I realized I was deaf as well as the bolts crackled silently.
The brief flash of light created by the attack was muted, as though the darkness around me was swallowing it up. But for a brief moment, I saw something with far too many eyes and limbs. Grasping hands ending in rubbery gray tentacles. Multiple mouths that held teeth far too large to fit inside them.
When the lightning danced across its skin, the creature reared back as its many mouths opened and screamed soundlessly in unison. I felt the vibration from its cries of agony through the tentacle wrapped around my ankle just before it jerked free.
The action sent me spinning away far faster than I had been flying before.
Abruptly, my world shifted and the all-encompassing things-man-was-not-meant-to-know Darkness and its hidden horrors vanished, replaced with only regular slightly-spooky darkness.
Once again, I hit the ground hard, the familiar feeling of cold stone pressing through the bodysuit under my armor. I bounced once, twice before finally rolling to a stop against a wall as something clattered beneath me in the darkness. Thankfully, the much-abused plates of my armor took the brunt of the impacts, though my head was still spinning.
A groan escaped my lips as I sat and simply basked in my newly discovered love for solid ground while waiting for Korriban to stop spinning so fast. In that moment, I took some time to try and process just what the hell had happened in the past ten minutes.
In hindsight, it was pretty easy to figure out just who we had been fighting.
I had survived an encounter with Hakagram Graush, the last Sith King. The not-so-impressive relative of the infinitely-more-impressive and terrifying Dathka Graush that actually turned out to be more impressive than first assumed.
Capabilities included lightning strong enough to vaporize most of a room, enough skill with a huge fuck-off sword to fight a Darth, and phasing people through stone and chucking them into whatever the fucking hell that had been just now as a off-hand spell.
That said something about someone. Either the ancient Sith were so stupidly powerful that even their weakest were badasses and the modern Sith just sucked in comparison, present company included, or Graush was a lot more powerful than first assumed.
Then again, he had been king of the ancient Sith, an extremely war-like and stab-happy people that lived by rule of the strongest even before the Exiles showed up.
Either way, I had the sudden urge to go punch a historian, even though I was one. And then maybe have an existential crisis as I tried to figure out what the hell that tentacle thing and the dark dimension it had inhabited had been.
For now however, I'd settle for getting the hell out of this tomb in one piece.
When I finally reoriented myself, I found myself in a pitch-black room, which wasn't unusual given I was in a Sith tomb that no one had been in for nearly two thousand years.
I fumbled for a moment before I found the nightvision function on my helmet. I almost wished I hadn't.
There were bones. A lot of bones. Looking down, I was actually sitting on bones. All of them were huge and had the distinctive spurs jutting out of the cheeks and eyeridges of each skull, indicating they were the bodies of Massassi, the warrior caste of the old Empire. In that moment, I realized three things.
First, I was inside of an ossuary. Second, I was on Korriban. Third, I was inside of the tomb of a Sith named Graush.
Scrambling off the bone pile, I hastily drew one of my blasters. Given the damage it had taken, I wasn't entirely certain how the sword would hold up, but I wanted to keep it on hand.
It was just in time too as the bones started clattering together and moving on their own. Skeletal fingers shook off the dust of ages, clutching rusted swords and axes as their owners slowly stood.
Graush could have killed me fairly easily earlier. I was wondering why he hadn't, but it turned out that he was just being a complete dick before deciding to throw me into the room full of zombies.
I was really starting to despise the Graush family. And zombies.
A hole was burned into the forehead of the nearst zombie before it could get up off the ground. Two more collapsed to blaster fire before they attacked. I didn't have time to count them all, but there were at least three or four dozen in this ossuary alone.
…Wait a minute. The hell was I doing? Was I really planning on engaging several dozen zombies that spread their curse via bite in melee?
I was working with cramped conditions and a lot of enemies. And I was a telekinetic of not insubstantial skill and power, if I do say so myself, that was sitting in the middle of a Force Nexus.
Fuck this melee stuff.
Two seconds of ultra-violence against the laws of physics later, all but a handful of the zombies were rendered into non-ambulatory bone fragments. The ones that weren't were finished off with careful blaster shots from a distance.
I didn't head out immediately, instead taking a few moments to catch my breath in the center of the carnage. My arms and legs ached from fighting for nearly two hours straight against the tu'kata earlier, plus the bruises I'd taken since entering the tomb. That big display of power just now was like taking a long jump on top of it all.
But I knew I wouldn't have time to really rest. The best I could do was continue to soothe the aches with the Force and make sure I didn't have any serious injuries. After that, I left the room of shattered skeletons behind me.
I obviously didn't know where I was going. Graush's tomb had never been explored before, so I had no idea where I had ended up or how large the structure was. But there was only one exit from the ossuary, so it was the path I took.
I don't know how long I wandered in the dark. After leaving the ossuary, I didn't encounter anything else for a long while. However, I couldn't shake the feeling of eyes boring into my back.
Eventually, I came across a large open room. Most of it was bare, save for a single altar at the center, on top of which sat a lit brazier containing a blue flame.
The walls were covered in carvings, mostly of great battles presumeably fought during Graush's lifetime. But the largest one was of a tall Sith Warrior, his hands bound, forced on his knees before twelve cloaked figures. The leader of the shadows held a great sword aloft.
A very familiar sword.
It was the scene of Graush's execution. The Force practically hummed around the images and a moment's examination showed runes burned into its edges.
The Exiles had placed it here, a place that was supposed to honor his life, and ensured that it would remain no matter what.
If Korriban exploded today, I wouldn't be surprised if this carving survived intact. That's how much Magic was pumped into the thing.
"No wonder he was so pissed if he had to look at that constantly and be unable to do anything about it," I muttered, my voice echoing in the empty room.
"Yes, your predecessor's petty cruelty was legendary. It was not enough to slay me as cowards would, but they tormented me even in death," Came a spite-filled reply.
Or not so empty.
I turned to find Graush standing in the doorway I had just walked through. I wasn't really surprised to see him. Given this was his tomb, he could probably appear wherever he wished. Perhaps even in multiple places at the same time. It was entirely possible he was still fighting Scriver and the others in the entryway.
The ancient Sith's eyes were locked on the carving, his lips twisting into an ugly snarl. When they drifted down to me, they were still filled with no less hatred.
"I had hoped to regain some measure of satisfaction by killing you," Graush contined, his voice level, "But I find myself…disappointed. I had expected more from Ajunta's Shadow Hand."
Behind my helmet, I blinked in shock. Did he really think…?
I saw the sheer conviction in his expression. He did.
"I could sense his magics on you from the moment you entered my tomb," He continued speaking, completely ignorant or uncaring of my mind-numbing bafflement, "The stench clings to your armor."
So he could sense the alchemical enchantments on my gear, then? Nobody else had, but then he had good reason to want to figure out how to do that.
"Even your blade is like his," Graush snarled, glaring hatefully at the sparking weapon, "Lesser though it may be."
He glanced dismissively at the blaster in my hand before saying a word. On instinct, I threw it away. That turned out to be the right decision as it sprouted mouths and sharp fangs, which tried to snap at me as it flew.
When it clattered to the ground, the gun-thing squealed like a stuck pig at varying pitches. Just as it started sprouting tiny legs, I used the Force to crush it into its component parts. It was a little disturbing to see blood start pooling out of it though.
"Yet, when you came to me, you hid among the thralls and only faced me when I forced you to," The Sith King taunted, his voice containing contempt thick enough to cut with a knife, "You are as much a coward as your master."
With each word out of his mouth, pressure pushed down on me, nearly forcing me down on my knees.
More spell-words fell from his lips as chains of shadow burst out of the floor, wrapping around my body and constricting painfully. My sword was forced out of my grip, leaving it to clatter and spark on the floor.
"Ajunta Pall and my traitorous Shadow Hand are beyond my reach, so your screams will have to suffice." Graush informed me, "However, I prefer to see my victim's face."
As he raised a hand, the transparasteel visor of my helmet cracked as fingers of Force wrapped around my head, squeezing it painfully in a crushing grip. The metal groaned and deformed before finally shattering, littering the floor with shards of durasteel and revealing my face.
Without the helmet's nightvision, I only had the brazier on the altar to see by. In the blue light, Graush's face went slack-jawed as he took in the slave brands on my face. His mouth slowly closed, the muscles on his jaw bunching as his expression twisted into pure and utter fury.
"So this is what my empire has become? Slaves being taught the secrets of Lords?" He asked quietly, still in shock. Obviously, it was a rhetorical question, so I stayed silent, "What else have the Jen'Jidai done?"
I decided to keep quiet about the whole Sith Genocide thing from a thousand years ago. I liked living, after all.
This wasn't an acolyte in a tomb or an idiot of a Sith Lord. I was alone with the insane ghost of a long dead Sith King that vastly overpowered me. With a few words, he had completely disabled me. I was helpless.
I hated being helpless. But there was little I could do. All the defiance I could muster went into the glare I shot at him.
"No. Torturing a slave brings no honor, nor pleasure."
Graush flashed forward, his hand suddenly wrapped around my throat before he slowly began to squeeze.
"Instead, I will simply kill you, then the rest of your wretched kind. I will tear down your idols and fortresses among the stars. I will rebuild my empire as its eternal ruler and drag the Sith that remain back to glory!"
I didn't pay attention to his ranting as I struggled to breath. His grip was like iron as he quite literally choked the life out of me. Blackness started appearing at the edge of my vision and blood pumped in my ears.
Because of that, I couldn't hear, but I could feel the ground rumble beneath my feet. Suddenly, I could breathe again as Graush let go and jerked back.
As I coughed, I followed his gaze. A wall of the tomb had been blasted inwards. There, standing with his lightsaber ignited in his scorched right hand, was Darth Scriver.
Half of his face was a ruined mess due to an enormous gash having taken his left eye and opened up his cheek.
His robes and armor were torn and battered, with a massive cut across his chest parting flesh nearly to the bone. Blood practically coated him and dripped onto the floor with every step.
But despite all that, he was still standing tall, as though the injuries simply weren't there.
"GRAUSH!" He bellowed, pointing his weapon at the man in question, "I am not yet finished with you!"
For a moment, I swore I saw a flicker of fear dance across the ghost's face. I was barely a threat. But Scriver? He had managed to hurt him.
Behind Scriver, Orten and Tyrene stood, nearly as battered, but ready. And behind them? The soldiers and Gaarurra stood, weapons raised.
'All I need is a single strike.'
And suddenly, I was only bound, not helpless. I smirked as the ghost turned his back on me.
As Graush opened his mouth to begin casting spells again, my ruined blade sprouted from his chest, propelled at subsonic speeds by telekinesis.
And Hakagram Graush screamed. The same blood-red lightning he had thrown at us earlier erupted from the sword, disintegrating his not-flesh wherever it touched. Darth Scriver, Orten, and Tyrene advanced, adding their own lightning into the mixture of power.
Despite the pain, he managed to turn and deliver one last hate-filled glare at me before his form exploded into a wave of red, slamming into all of us like a freight train. The chains binding me to the floor shattered and I was sent flying back into a wall.
This time when my head smacked stone, I didn't go through it.
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The first book of this fanfic has been completed on Patreon, you can look it up in the collection alongside the second book. You can visit Patreon if you want to read in Advance.
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