Chapter Text
Chapter 10 / Suffering, all around
POV Ruby Rose – Frozen Wastes of Atlas
I couldn't feel my legs anymore.
The frozen wastes of Atlas were an endless, deafening void of white. The wind howled like a living monster, carrying sharp, crystalline ice that cut against my exposed skin like tiny knives.
Every breath I took felt like inhaling liquid fire, the sub-zero air burning my throat and lungs until I was coughing up a faint mist of blood that froze before it even hit the snow. My fingers were completely numb, frozen into stiff, pale-blue claws that could barely wrap around the hilt of my weapon. My heavy winter cloak was useless, stiffened by ice and weighed down by the relentless drifts that reached past my knees. Hunger was no longer a dull ache, it was a savage beast tearing at my stomach from the inside, sapping the last remnants of my physical strength.
Just one step, I told myself, my vision blurring as a thick layer of frost built up on my eyelashes. Just move one foot.
My knees gave out. I collapsed heavily into the hard, packed ice beneath the snow drift, the impact sending a jarring shock of pain through my frozen bones. I tried to push myself up, but my arms felt like lead, my face burying into the freezing white powder. The deadening cold began to creep toward my core, whispering to me to just close my eyes. It wanted me to let the numbness take me, to sleep, to stop fighting.
But the wilderness of Atlas never allowed its victims to die in peace.
I forced my head up, my silver eyes bloodshot and trembling as I stared into the blinding white storm. Out of the veil of snow, dark shapes began to materialize. I could feel them before I saw them. The sheer agony, the suffocating isolation, and the primal fear of freezing to death that I was radiating were acting like a blazing beacon in the dark side of the Force.
A pack of Sabyrs prowled out of the blinding white veil. Their skeletal bone masks were jagged and thick, and their long, icy fangs bared in a snarl. Alongside them, massive, armor-plated Megoliaths lumbered through the drifts like colossal glaciers of destruction, their red eyes glowing with a terrifying malice that locked onto me as I lay dying in the snow.
Hovering just behind them, the ghastly, translucent forms of Apathy drifted through the howling winds, their very presence draining whatever warmth and willpower I had left.
My hand trembled as I reached for my weapon. I couldn't even feel the metal beneath my palm. My motor functions were failing, my body shutting down from the extreme hypothermia. A Sabyr raised its massive, frost-rimed paw, letting out a deafening hiss that tore through the sound of the wind as it lunged forward to shred me into thin ribbons.
No.
A spark of pure, unadulterated fury ignited deep within my chest. An ugly, desperate rage. I refused to die like an animal in the dirt. I refused to let the cold break me down.
Move!
With a silent, mental scream, I drew upon the dark side of the Force, pulling the negative energy of my own suffering into myself. It didn't feel like power; it felt like pouring boiling, toxic sludge directly into my veins. The sudden surge of dark energy forced my internal temperature to spike, violently warming my blood just enough to snap my fingers back to life.
I rolled desperately to the side as the Sabyr's claws smashed into the ice where I had just been, shattering the frozen ground into a web of cracks. I scrambled to my feet, my movements clumsy, erratic, and desperate. I couldn’t summon the grace I normally fought with. I was fighting like a cornered beast.
Another tundra predator lunged at my throat. I brought my weapon down in a brutal, heavy arc, utilizing the raw physical power of my rage to cleave the monster in two. Black mist erupted from the wound.
A massive trunk from a nearby Megoliath backhanded me, the impact launching my small body through the air. I crashed heavily into a snowbank, the wind completely knocked from my lungs as my ribs screamed in protest. Before I could recover, the pack was on me again, their jaws snapping inches from my face as the Apathy wailed in the distance.
I let out a raw, guttural scream of pure hatred. I simply gathered every ounce of the dark side I could channel and unleashed it outward in a wave of concussive force. The pressure wave blasted the snow away in a massive ring, sending the surrounding Grimm stumbling backward into the gale.
Gasping for air, my lips chapped and bleeding, I dragged myself up. My body shaking violently as the adrenaline began to fade, leaving me twice as exhausted as before. The remaining monsters circled me in the blinding whiteout, cautious now, but completely aware that I was at my physical limit.
I stood alone in the howling void, bleeding, freezing, and entirely isolated, clinging to nothing but my stubborn refusal to die.
The brief reprieve lasted only as long as it took for the snow to settle back into its relentless, driving rhythm. The concussive blast had bought me space, but it had also acted as a hyper-flared signal fire to every malice-driven creature within kilometers.
The Apathy wailed again. it was a heavy, suffocating wail that vibrated in the center of my skull, trying to force my eyelids closed, trying to make the weapon in my hands feel too heavy to carry. My knees trembled. The temptation to drop, to let the dark mist of these miserable creatures wash over me, was a physical weight.
“Yield,” the wind seemed to whisper. “Let it go.”
"Never," I rasped, the word tearing at my bleeding throat.
From the whiteout, a second wave materialized, far denser than the first. The Sabyrs I had scattered rose from the snow, accompanied by a pack of Centinels whose armor plating clicked together like ice-covered stones. They burrowed through the deep drifts, their jaws dripping with an acidic, smoking saliva that hissed as it struck the frozen ground.
I couldn't fight them with the speed I used to have. ut I had the dark side, and I had the weapon I had stripped from a corpse. I reached down, my numb fingers wrapping around the single, metallic cylindrical hilt.
Pssshhew!
A single, violent crimson blade ignited, its blood-red light casting an eerie, bleeding glow across the untouched snow. The heat of the plasma blade hissed against the falling flakes, creating a small cloud of steam around me.
A Sabyr lunged first, aiming for my exposed shoulder.
I channeled my rage into Form V, using a solid, heavy two-handed grip on the lightsaber to intercept the beast's claws in a brutal parry. The smell of burning fur filled the air as the crimson plasma sheared through its front leg. Before it could crash into the ice, I spun my weight around, driving the blade deep into its chest cavity.
The creature dissolved into black ash, but three more took its place.
A Centinel erupted from the snow directly beneath my feet. I leaped blindly into the air, using a desperate surge of the Force to propel my sluggish body upward. The creature’s armored head snapped shut where my ankles had been. While airborne, the dark side guided my movements. I dropped like a stone, driving the crimson blade downward into the Centinel’s skull plating.
The beast thrashed violently, its armored segments whipping around and striking my thigh. The impact shattered my stance, sending me skidding across the slick ice, the hilt nearly slipping from my frozen palms.
I scrambled to one knee, panting heavily, my vision narrowing to a tunnel. The cold was clawing its way back into my bones the moment my focus wavered. To my left, a Megoliath let out a deafening roar that vibrated the very ice shelf beneath us. It raised its massive, trunk-like front legs, preparing to bring its entire titanic weight down to crush me into space dust.
I couldn't move out of the way in time. My left leg was completely numb from the Centinel’s strike.
“Let your anger guide your strike,” the memory of Darth Decimus’s voice echoed in my mind. “Suffering is a well. Draw from it.”
I stared up at the descending mountain of bone and black hide. I focused on bring out everything I had. I felt an overwhelming, toxic hatred for this planets monsters, for the cold, for the weakness of my own body.
"Die!" I screamed.
I thrust my left hand upward. Instead of the pale, pure light of my past, a jagged, violent arc of Red Lightning erupted from my fingertips. It tore through the blizzard like a cracked crimson fissure, striking the Megoliath squarely in its chest armor. The red electricity cooked it from the inside out, the unholy current arcing through its skeletal plating until the massive creature detonated inward, collapsing into a mountain of dissolving black smoke.
The feedback of the dark power sent a jolt of agony through my own arms, the skin of my hands blistering beneath the sudden, intense heat. I gasped, tumbling onto my side, my lungs burning as I inhaled the ash of the destroyed monster.
But the horde was relentless. The scent of my blood and the sheer density of my negative emotions were acting like an irresistible feast.
I forced myself up, my muscles tearing under the strain. I couldn't breathe. My heart was hammering a frantic, erratic rhythm against my ribs. I held the lightsaber awkwardly in front of me with both hands, my stance shaking, my breath coming in ragged, bloody gasps.
One of the Sabyrs sprang forward, its jaws wide. I deflected the bite with a desperate, clumsy slash, but a second Sabyr caught the edge of my cloak, ripping the heavy fabric away and exposing my back to the freezing gale. The sudden gust of sub-zero wind felt like a sheet of molten iron against my skin, sending a violent shudder through my spine.
With a scream I spun, hacking blindly, the blade slicing through the offending beast’s throat. But the momentum carried me too far, and I tripped over a hidden ridge of ice, falling hard onto my back.
A Nevermore shrieked above me, its massive shadow diving straight down for the kill.
I scrambled to roll away, my hands clawing desperately at the slick, unforgiving surface, but the ice beneath the snow drift gave way entirely.
The ground vanished beneath me.
I fell backward into the throat of the frozen ravine. The howling wind of the storm above instantly warped into a deep, echoing roar as the sheer, vertical walls of blue ice rushed upward past me. The darkness of the chasm swallowed the whiteout in an instant, cutting off the shrieks of the hunting Grimm, leaving nothing but the fast descent.
In the freezing darkness of my plummeting consciousness, my mind didn't cling to old ideals or lost heroism. It clung to a single, consuming face. Weiss. The precision of her posture, the striking blue of her eyes, the way her presence consumed my every thought. An overwhelming, desperate infatuation flared through my shivering core, an agonizing longing to see her again, to have her look at me, to survive long enough to make her mine.
But the void offered no warmth, and my body refused to answer.
lightsaber slipped completely from my unfeeling fingers, its metallic hilt tumbling into the dark ahead of me as the last remaining embers of my energy burned out. I couldn't brace myself. I couldn't call upon the Force. Breathless weightlessness, completely consumed by the agonizing, suffocating torment of the whistling air and the absolute certainty of the impact below.
The floor of the ravine rushed up to meet me, and then, everything went dark.
POV Satele Shan – The Jedi Council Chamber, Jedi Temple on Tython
The tranquil rustle of Tython’s ancient forests usually brought a deep sense of serenity to the high tower of the Jedi Temple, but today, the air inside the Council Chamber felt heavy with anticipation.
I sat with my hands resting calmly on the arms of my seat, maintaining a patient, centered presence despite the enormous weight of the galactic war pressing against my mind. Around the circular chamber, the masters of the Jedi Council sat in quiet contemplation.
To my left, Jaric Kaedan, our fierce Battlemaster, looked over a series of tactical readouts with a characteristically blunt, aggressive scowl, clearly wishing he were on a frontline command deck rather than a meditation cushion. Beside him, the tiny, green and ferocious Grand Admiral Master Oteg rubbed his chin, his large ears twitching as he reviewed the logistics of the Republic's outer defensive networks
"The mid-rim campaigns are holding," Kaedan reported, breaking the silence with his gruff, commanding tone. "The Sith Empire’s offensive has plateaued in three major sectors. Thanks to Admiral Oteg's swift redeployment of our vanguard battle fleets. The war effort is performing within projected parameters.”
"A blessing from the Force," whispered Bela Kiwioks, her kind, compassionate face softening as she offered a gentle smile. "Perhaps this reprieve will allow us to heal the wounds these conflicts have inflicted upon the outer systems."
"Let us not mistake a temporary lull for peace, Master Kiwioks," Kaeden Taun interrupted strictly, adjusting his robes with rigid precision. "The Sith are deceptive, doubly so for those rogue Sith bastions on the Hydian Way and Corellian Run. We must adhere closely to the ancient rules of engagement and remain vigilant against any unconventional strategies they might deploy.”
Before Jaric Kaedan could launch into a heated rebuttal, a profound shift rippled through the Force.
It did not begin with me, nor with the analytical mind of Gnost-Dural or the political awareness of our diplomat, Syyo Bakarn. It began with the woman sitting directly across from me.
Meetra Surik flashed her eyes open.
"Master Surik?" I asked softly, my calm composure instantly shifting to focused concern. . "What do you feel?"
"A tremor," Meetra said, her voice carrying the rugged, pragmatic weight of a general who had survived the worst horrors of War. “It's coming from the outer reaches... far past the mapped borders of the Unknown Regions."
The room fell completely silent. Even Tol Braga, who had been quietly preparing a peaceful petition for the Republic Senate, leaned forward with narrowed eyes.
"The Unknown Regions?" Gnost-Dural asked, his analytical Kel Dor voice sounding distorted through his anti-ox mask. "Our historical archives record nothing but barren space and volatile anomalies in those sectors. There should be no substantial life to generate such a disturbance."
"It isn't just a regular disturbance," Meetra countered, her tone growing sharper as she deciphered the unique echo. "It’s cold. Erratic. And very dark."
"If the Sith are seeking something in the uncharted regions, it can only mean a threat to the Republic," Jaric Kaedan growled, slamming a fist into his palm. "We cannot allow them to secure a foothold or discover some forgotten ancient superweapon. I advocate for an immediate offensive recon group to be dispatched!"
"We must not act rashly out of fear, Master Kaedan," Tol Braga urged gently, raising a hand in plea. "If there are souls lost in the darkness of those outer reaches, we should seek redemption and peace, not open conflict."
I raised my hand, silencing the burgeoning debate before it could fracture the room's focus. I turned back to Meetra, trusting her unique relationship with the force.
"Master Surik, you understand the seductive, twisting nature of the dark side better than any of us," I stated openly, acknowledging the respect she commanded on this council. "With the war effort currently stable, we have the luxury of investigative action. If I authorize a mission, are you prepared to follow this echo into the unknown?"
Meetra stood up, her posture rigid, her presence radiating the quiet, indomitable will of a survivor. "I am, Master Satele. If the Sith are looking for something in the unknown reaches, I intend to find it before they do."
"Then the decision is made," I decreed, letting the soothing light of Tython's energy wash over the room to bind our intents. "May the Force be with you, Meetra."
POV Vaylin – High Justice Tribunal Chamber, Grand Palace of Zakuul
I wanted to rip his tongue out through his throat.
The grand palace of Zakuul was a testament to flawless, pristine luxury. Towering spires of polished white stone and gleaming golden trim stretched toward a perfect, artificially controlled sky. But inside the High Justice’s tribunal chamber, the atmosphere was suffocating.
I sat atop my high, gilded throne, my fingers tightly gripping the ornate armrests. I was dressed in the elegant, dark robes of my station, my face a mask of absolute, rigid control. But beneath that mask, my mind was spinning completely out of control.
Boredom was not a minor inconvenience for me, it was a physical, agonizing torment. My connection to the Force, combined with my fractured mind, demanded stimulation, violence, and chaos. Being forced to sit through a three-hour bureaucratic meeting regarding agricultural trade tariffs and planetary tax disputes was a literal form of torture.
Boredom was not a minor inconvenience for me; it was a physical, agonizing torment. My connection to the Force, combined with my fractured mind, demanded stimulation, violence, and chaos. Being forced to sit through a three-hour bureaucratic meeting regarding agricultural trade tariffs and regional planetary tax disputes was a literal form of torture.
Down in the well of the chamber, a plump, heavily decorated minister was droning on, his voice a monotonous, high-pitched whine. "...and if the grain shipments from the mid-tier sectors are delayed by another solar cycle, the economic fallout for the lower districts will require a formal reallocation of the Eternal Empire's treasury-"
I could snap his neck, I thought, my eyes locking onto the exact spot where the minister’s throat met his collar. It would be so easy. A tiny twitch of my finger, and his windpipe would collapse. I wonder what sound he would make. Would he choke, or would it just be a wet pop? I could set his hair on fire. I could force him to swallow his own flesh.
I traced the lines of his throat with my eyes, I could just imagine it, his golden armor stained a deep dark crimson. My breath hitched slightly with a sudden rush of euphoria at the mental image.
My gaze flicked toward the high dais at the back of the chamber. There sat my brother, Arcann, the Emperor of the Eternal Empire. His heavy, armored form was imposing, his cybernetic eye glowing with a cold, watchful intensity. He didn't look at me, but I could feel his presence in the Force, a heavy, warning weight that hung over me like a leash. He knew exactly how volatile I was. A single move, a single outburst, and Arcann would intervene, shutting me down and locking me back in my quarters.
I felt trapped. Suffocated. The sterile, perfect peace of Zakuul was a cage, and I wanted to burn it to the ground just to see the flames.
POV Darth Mortis – The Dark Council Chamber, Dromund Kaas
The chamber of the Dark Council looked less like the center of a galactic empire and more like a gathering of starved predators waiting to tear each other apart.
High overhead, the heavy stone columns arched upward, throwing long, oppressive shadows over the central floor. As the master of Laws and Justice, my role was not to participate in the petty theater of the councilors, but to ensure that their volatile nature did not tear the fabric of Imperial stability apart. It was an exhausting mandate. Only a handful of us sat in the flesh, the remaining seats were occupied by flickering, blue holographic projections.
Even the central dais remained completely empty, the Emperor Vitiate, as was his custom, was entirely absent from our proceedings, leaving us to govern a fracturing Empire in his shadow.
"I will not tolerate this insolence from the Moff’s!"
Darth Ravage’s holographic form pulsed with an erratic light as he slammed his heavy hand onto the armrest of his distant throne.
As the head of Expansion and Diplomacy, His voice boomed through the chamber, a harsh, aggressive snap that instantly cut through the quiet. “Volrek Sythran hasn’t reported in yet, and you lot sit here counting credits and drawing border lines!"
"Lord Sythran was tracking ghosts, Ravage," Darth Thanaton cut in, his holographic posture perfectly rigid, his hands tucked neatly into the heavy, ceremonial sleeves of his robes. The master of Ancient Knowledge sneered from his remote location, his traditionalist sensibilities deeply offended by the outburst. "He took an imperial ship into uncharted, barren space based on a scrap of unverified information. If your favorite apprentice lacked the competence to survive a simple scouting run, his demise is merely the dark side purging the weak from our hierarchy."
"Watch your tongue, Thanaton!" Ravage snarled, his spectral fingers twitching toward the hilt of his lightsaber. "Volrek was worth ten of your dusty scholars! He was executing a vital strategic mission, under my explicit directive. The Sphere of Expansion requires new worlds, untapped resources, and raw materials to feed our war machine against the Republic. He was securing our future, and to ignore the complete destruction of an Imperial Vanguard vessel is a direct insult to the entire Empire!"
Across the ring of projections, Darth Baras’s hologram let out a low, rumbling chuckle that vibrated with a heavy, dangerous malice. "Oh, let us not hide behind the guise of Imperial duty, Ravage. We all know Volrek was your personal pet. You sent him out into the unknown to hoard whatever pristine resource-rich worlds or ancient relics he could find, hoping to smuggle them back to build your own private enclave and buy your way into leverage. Your ambition was sloppy, and now your asset is space dust."
"You bloated parasite!" Ravage roared, his projection leaning forward so aggressively the holographic static hissed. "My spies have tracked your own hidden operations in the Outer Rim, Baras! Do not speak to me of private enclaves!"
I watched the bickering with a cold, detached disdain. This infighting was a virus. A waste of resources. A violation of Imperial stability.
"Enough."
A single word cut through the argument like an executioner's blade. It was spoken by Darth Marr.
The master of the Sphere of Defense sat in the flesh, his imposing, armor-clad form completely still. His face was hidden behind his featureless metal mask, but the crushing weight of his presence in the force was enough to make even Ravage’s hologram choke back his next insult. Marr did not scream. He did not need to. His voice was a calm, rumble that commanded respect.
"The Galactic Republic is mounting an aggressive offensive across three separate sectors," Marr stated, his gaze sweeping across the gathered lords and flickering projections. "Our border worlds are burning. Our shipyards are straining to match their production. We are locked in a war for the very survival of our Empire, and I will not allow this council to degenerate into a den of squabbling children over a single missing ship."
"But the protocol, Marr-" Ravage’s hologram attempted, his voice tighter, though the arrogance was still clear.
"The protocol is survival," Marr interrupted coldly.
It was the opening I required. The law dictated that during a state of total mobilization, authority must be concentrated to prevent systemic collapse. Ravage’s petty grievance had exhausted the council's patience, creating the perfect opportunity to implement a permanent solution to our fractured command structure.
I adjusted my dark robes, leaning forward slightly so my pale face caught the ambient light of the chamber.
"The Sphere of Laws and Justice recognizes the validity of Lord Marr's assessment," I spoke, my voice smooth and entirely devoid of personal bias. "Internal division during a period of mass mobilization is a violation of Imperial security. The Republic’s advance must be halted immediately, or there will be no Empire left for us to govern." I paused, my dark eyes locking onto the center of the room. "To ensure efficiency and unified command, I propose a formal restructuring of our defensive response. I move that Darth Marr be elevated to Grand Admiral of the Imperial Navy."
Silence fell over the chamber.
Ravage's hologram froze, his mouth half-open as he realized his tirade had just been completely hijacked. Beside him, Darth Baras’s eyes narrowed as his mind began calculating how this shift would affect his own networks. Darth Decimus, the master of Military Strategy, slowly tapped his fingers against his chin, his brilliant tactical mind analyzing the move like an opening layout on a war board. It was efficient. It was necessary.
"A defensive specialist with total naval authority," Decimus's projection murmured, nodding his head in a rare sign of agreement. "It eliminates the bureaucratic friction between local governors and the frontline fleets. I cast my vote in favor."
"As do I," Darth Vowrawn’s hologram offered, his charismatic voice cutting through the tension with an easy, polite charm. The master of Production and Logistics smiled, a mask of luxury and perfect manners hiding the dangerous man beneath. "A unified fleet under Lord Marr’s peerless guidance ensures my supply lines remain intact. It is a delightfully practical solution to our current... friction."
One by one, the holograms flickered in assent. Even Darth Jadus, a reclusive shadow of blue light in the corner who rarely spoke, gave a silent nod of agreement, his presence radiating a terror that I never really got over.
Ravage realized, with a surge of helpless fury, that he had completely lost the floor. He shut his mouth tightly, his projection sinking back into his chair, outvoted and utterly powerless against the unified front of the council.
Darth Marr leaned forward, his dark steel armor catching the dim light. "The appointment is accepted. The defensive fleets will be reorganized immediately." He then turned his masked visage toward the silenced Councilor. "As for your grievance, Ravage, the Empire will not waste a battle group on a blind search for resources in the Unknown Regions while the Republic knocks at our gates. However... I will grant a minor concession to preserve the balance of the Council."
Ravage’s hologram scowled, crossing his arms. "Speak then."
"We will log an official Imperial directive," Marr commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument. "A minor, expendable scout battlegroup will be selected, led by a Darth eager to prove their worth to the council. Once our current defensive campaign secures the mid-rim sectors, a force will be dispatched to Volrek’s last coordinates to investigate the disturbance and evaluate the sector's resource viability. Not a day sooner. Log the order and broadcast the deployment mandate.”
"Done," Darth Thanaton replied smoothly, his hands sweeping across the interface of his terminal to record the decree.
With a soft chime, the encrypted data packet containing the precise star charts and the final coordinates of Volrek’s missing ship was generated.