Fortress Inquisitorius
Nur
Dan barely had the strength left to grunt out an ‘oof’ as he was shoved into his new quarters. He knew his legs would fail him before he even began to stumble. How fitting, that the Force only spoke to him to tell him when he was going to fail. Dan collapsed onto the cold durasteel floor with a muted thud. He caught a glimpse of the Purge Trooper that had escorted him, and couldn’t help but wonder if one of the 411th was underneath the black armor. The entire regiment would be hungry for his blood, Dan figured. After all, he’d cut off their commander’s arm, and left the man disfigured for life. Fat lot of good it had done him.
“You awaken tomorrow for lightsaber construction and armor fitting. If you don’t, you get hurt. If you fail to understand the process, you get hurt. If you try to fight back, you die. Welcome to the Inquisitorius,” The Purge Trooper said. The second the soldier finished talking, the door of Dan’s new quarters slammed shut. He had a feeling that it wouldn’t open if he tried it. Dan braced his hands against the floor and pushed, in an effort to raise his bare torso off of the freezing metal. It felt like an entire Acclamator was resting across his back.
Millimeter by millimeter, Dan hauled himself up. He clutched at the slab of metal that served as a bed, clutching to it like it would give him life. Dan was certain that it took him the better part of an hour to get himself up onto it, but compared to the floor, the thin sheets were heaven. The black pit in his chest had grown heavier in this place, feeding itself on the ambient Dark Side energy that permeated the cruel fortress. It no longer tempted him as it had in Odessen. The torture he’d suffered at Kedoa’s hands had blinded him until he fell into the pit entirely of his own volition. Now, he was in a long freefall, tumbling down into the black pit. Dan didn’t know what would happen if he hit the bottom.
He didn’t move. The jagged patterns of lightning scars patchworked all over his bare torso would only get more painful if he moved. Dan hadn’t expected the Inquisitors to clothe him- the Dark Side offered no comforts. He could tell that the tattered, dirty trousers he wore were the only possession he had left. When he next awoke, he wouldn’t even have that. The Inquisitorius would remake him anew.
Dan Brovil closed his eyes, and spent the last moments of his old life in a silent slumber.
He awoke slowly. Dan’s eyes were too heavy to open, but he could stretch his tired limbs. The bed below him was softer than the one he’d fallen asleep on, and he let himself sink into it. There were sheets over him that hadn’t been there before. He opened his eyes for a brief moment, and saw that they were a plain white. More interestingly, there was another body underneath them, huddled in just a short distance away from him. The other being’s warm Force presence reached him, and it was as though he was wrapped in morning sunlight. Dan let his eyes close again as a rare smile creeped over his face. The presence was familiar to him. He reached his arms out under the sheets, pulling the other being closer until her back was against his chest.
“Finally awake, Dan?” Nuvani purred. She huddled back against Dan, and he responded in kind, leaning in until her hair was tickling his nose.
“Mmm. Barely,” Dan replied. He didn’t need to open his eyes to know what she’d look like right now. Light fur with brown patches and stripes on her face, wavy dark hair that fell down to her shoulders and framed her face, and eyes the color of autumn. He planted a light kiss on the tip of one of her pointed ears, and it made Nuvani squirm. She laughed quietly, and Dan felt a rare sense of belonging. Nuvani began to shift in his arms. Dan could tell she was turning herself so she faced him, and he was proven right when he felt her breath on his throat. Nuvani returned his kiss to him, touching her lips against the tip of his chin, where he still had a faint scar from a bad fall in training.
“Open your eyes, love,” Nuvani murmured, barely above a hoarse whisper. She kissed along his jaw, his cheek, and when she reached his forehead, Dan realized she’d clambered up on top of him. “Dan, look at me,” She said again, in a more serious tone.
“Too tired,” He grumbled. “Let this last a while longer.” Dan felt her head rest down against his chest, and he began to run his fingers through her hair almost instinctively. He could imagine what she looked like right now, staring up at him and trying to look annoyed even as she leaned into his touch. He didn’t need to open his eyes for that.
“Dan. You need to open your eyes.” Nuvani insisted. She was using her Serious Jedi voice now, the one that made her Cathar accent come out. Dan tugged her up to kiss her on the lips before opening his eyes. Nuvani made a small disgruntled noise, but he could tell that she wasn’t complaining. Finally, Dan let his eyes open.
And the entire scene had changed.
Gravity suddenly shifted, and it was Dan on top of Nuvani, but the bed was gone, replaced by wet, muddy ground. He saw his hands, covered by black armor, tightening around Nuvani’s throat. She made only a weak, choked cry, almost pleading. Dan found that his ability to control his own body had faded.
Guided by some other will, Dan drew his lightsaber. The hilt was familiar and not at the same time. Dan held Nuvani down as he pressed the activation switch, and a blade the color of a setting sun hummed forth. He felt his hand bring the blade down against Nuvani’s neck, the crimson glow reflecting in her frightened eyes. Dan’s lightsaber cut across her throat slowly.
He felt her spasm, saw the tears fall from her eyes, heard the sick gargling as she choked on her own blood. A cut from a lightsaber should’ve been instantly cauterized, but Nuvani bled from her neck, and it didn’t stop. Not when she let out a final gasping sob. Not when the light and color drained from her eyes. Not when she finally fell limp and lifeless.
It was only then that Dan was able to control himself again. He recoiled back, standing up, unable to tear his eyes away from the corpse that had been his master. Dan felt sick. He wanted to cry, to scream, to vomit, but none of it happened. The corpse began to sink slowly into the muck, down, down, and down until it was gone from view.
Dan stood, frozen, staring at the empty patch of ground where his master’s body had lain only moments before. He felt a hand on his back, but before he could turn to see who it belonged to, he was shoved forward roughly. Dan stumbled, tripped, and fell to the muddy ground. He tried to push himself up, but every part of him was stuck and sinking, just as Nuvani had. Even when hopelessness began to descend upon him, Dan still tried to rise against it.
Every attempt to free himself just seemed to make him sink further. Soon, his arms were locked in place, and his legs shortly after. Dan’s face went under, and a muffled sound of panic escaped him as he realized he was suffocating. A haughty, almost aristocratic voice came from above him. He recognized the voice of Kedoa.
“Truly worthless, aren’t you?” The Inquisitor taunted him. Dan had no ability to reply, as he fought to keep air in his lungs. He felt his chest begin to burn in agony, and made the mistake of trying to open his mouth. He tasted dirt, blood, and suffocation. The heel of Kedoa’s boot ground into his back, and it was the only thing keeping Dan from unconsciousness. She shoved him down, and he was surrounded only by the weight of the dark.
And then, Dan was in freefall. The heavy, blind blackness gave way to a rush of cool wind, and he knew he was falling from the weightlessness in his stomach. Dan knew what was happening to him now- he’d fallen into the pit. He was falling, held together by the same things that tore him apart, and it made him feel worthless. He wanted to be worthless, in some dark part of himself. When Dan realized that, his fall was interrupted, as he hit solid ground.
The bottom of the pit was coarse sand, like the duelling rings in the Jedi temple. Dan began to push himself back up to his feet, and found himself back in his 11-year old body, marked by hunger, fatigue, and the torture inflicted on him by the Jarvashqiine. He thought he was alone in the sand ring, until he heard rasping, inhuman laughter behind him. Dan turned towards it, and saw Brutus- or, rather, what Brutus had become.
The Clone was barely recognizable as a soldier. His hair fell in ragged, wild curls, darkened by bloodstains. The lower half of his face was skinless, showing only dirty yellow bone and sharpened teeth. Brutus’ eyes were blood-shot and grey-pupilled, making him look even more like a ravenous monster. Where his right hand should’ve been, there was only a twisted mass of metal and blades that vaguely resembled a human appendage. Brutus was covered by the scorched remains of his armor, seemingly embedded into his flesh at points. His skin was covered in Jarvashqiine ritual tattoos, and jagged Zabrak horns ringed the crown of his head.
The nightmare that had once been Brutus lumbered toward Dan with more speed than it should’ve been capable of. Before Dan could attempt to run, the nightmare’s metal hand was around his neck. As he felt the cold edges of blades lighting against his skin, he didn’t dare move. The nightmare lifted him off the ground until his feet dangled, and for a chilling moment, it stared at him. The nightmare’s eyes were those of a blind man, but its gaze pierced through to Dan’s soul.
With a meaty thwack, the nightmare’s organic fist sank into Dan’s gut. He winced at the impact, at the sharp pains in his gut, and the shallowness of his own breath. The nightmare hit him again, and Dan let out a breathless gasp of pain. It hit him a third time, and he tasted bile as he emptied the sparse contents of his stomach. The nightmare dropped Dan at that point, letting him fall unceremoniously into a pool of his own vomit.
Dan felt tears on his face- but he wouldn’t break. Only I will remain. He stood again, finding the courage to fix his gaze on the nightmare that had once been Brutus. Dan repeated his master’s lesson against fear, but instead of a Jedi’s clear-headedness, he felt anger- and that anger began to grow into hate. As soon as Dan’s rage built within him, flames suddenly burst forth all around the edges of the sparring ring. He could see, illuminated by the fire, purge troopers of the 411th, but their armor was gouged, burned, and twisted, marked by the same Jarvashqiine ritual markings that covered Brutus’ mangled body.
The purge troopers broke the silence, breaking into a haunting chant in Mando’a, one Dan had heard many times on Allst Prime, in the holds of gunships as the men had descended into the field. They sang, a chorus of voices that came together in the roar of a Krayt Dragon, as if the language of the Jedi’s ancient enemy would wound him. Dan clenched his fists until they hurt. He wouldn’t let them intimidate him.
Dan swung at the nightmare of Brutus, striking its bare-bone jaw. His knuckles went bloody, and he was certain he’d hurt himself more than the nightmare. It retaliated, cracking the side of his head with its metal limb. The chanting grew louder. Dan kicked out at the nightmare’s leg from the ground, landing a solid hit on the side of its knee. It buckled, and Dan saw an opportunity to scramble up to his feet again- but the nightmare’s hand caught his ankle. When Dan felt blood begin to run down his leg, he knew it was the metal hand.
The nightmare dragged Dan across the ground toward itself. The chanting became more frenzied, as if the shadows outside the flames thirsted for death. Dan was flipped over, and the nightmare’s organic hand clamped around his neck, and it squeezed. He tried to pry its grip loose, but stuck in the form of a child, his efforts were fruitless. The nightmare slowly began to sink its bladed metal fingers into Dan’s chest. The chanting reached a fever pitch. Dan felt the monster tear his heart out, and he screamed.
He awoke with his heartbeat pounding behind his eyes, his teeth clenched, and every muscle in his body tensed up to fight. His frenzied fervor was greeted only by a dark, empty room. It did little to calm him. The whoosh of an automatic door was a welcome distraction, presenting a welcome alternative to being left alone with nothing but his own thoughts.
“Armory, now.” The black-clad figure in his doorway commanded. A purge trooper, he recognized. It was impossible to tell if it was the same one that had brought him to this room. He stood up from his bed, taking the time to eye the trooper’s armor- no familiar unit markings that he could see- and to inspect his own sorry state. The lightning scars were still fresh, but no marks from cybernetic fingers ripping into his heart. He breathed a small sigh of relief.
When the fear is gone, only I will remain.
The nightmare had left him shaken, but as the shakiness passed, a new sense of clarity took its place. He remembered what he’d thought in the torture chamber, before Kedoa had broken him. If he could mend even one of the broken souls that were now his Brothers and Sisters, show them the pointless, self-destructive nature of their ways, he would succeed. It would take time and patience, and a willingness to step further into the dark than he would have believed possible. But he would do it. He would endure, as he always did.
The Fifth Brother looked at the black-armored soldier, and found some piece of the General he’d once been. He straightened his back, squared his jaw, and rolled his shoulders, and for once, the Force seemed to flow through him in the right way. Like the crystal-cold waters of a creek, it washed over his being. There was no anger to it, as there had been when it had rolled off of the other Inquisitors, no belching flames of wrath. It was simply there, as natural as the oceans surrounding the fortress. The Inquisitorius may have been a beacon of the Dark Side, but the Force- the true Force- was still on Nur, in the seas, the birds and the fish, the currents and eddies of life itself. And life was stronger than the dark. It would overtake it, in time- this unnatural construction of durasteel would rust, and be washed away into the waves. Life always found a way.
“I’m ready,” He told the trooper. Life always found a way, and he would do the same.