Post by Deleted on Nov 30, 2014 15:48:54 GMT -8
The sinking feeling was getting worse. It had started in the bar on Coruscant, grown worse as they travelled across the stars to the smugglers run, and then it had settled to the pit of Dante's stomach when they had landed on Bespin. That feeling of...what? Despair? Bleakness? Hopelessness? The thought was ludicrous - he was powerful, with or without the force. So why the hopelessness? Why the despair? It had reached its deepest descent during the talk - fight? - with Xanathane. And for that, Dante didn't know why. Something the old man had said horribly bothered him. Something the old man had said was...disturbing. "You would have to fight your very self" he had said. Dante had first assumed his nature...but, the way Xanathane had practically attacked him...it was HORRIBLY out of character. Xanathane was patient, unemotional, and not prone to such childish displays of power just to get a point across. What was going on that would cause Xanathane himself to act so...strongly?
"You would have to fight your very self."
The phrase chilled Dante to the very core, for reasons he could not explain. Something inside him shied away from examining that phrase too closely. And yet...the only route to take, was Xanathane's route. Dante would have to beat the man at his own game, seize power for itself, and go from there. Even as he thought that though, he almost laughed. He almost laughed because that bleakness was still there. Because that hopelessness was still there...because Xanathane's words..."you would have to fight your very self"...those words were still echoed in his mind. And they terrified him for reasons he didn't understand. He was like this, staring into space, eyes unfocussed, as Jace and Liya barged into the hold. He heard Liya's questions, felt Jace's eyes, but didn't turn to look at them.
"The aerosol gas trap on the Smugglers Run stripped me of my powers. I was...hopeful...that Xanathane could restore them somehow. But...I'm a creature motivated by hate, anger, and vengeance. I've taken many lives. Innocents of every kind: men, women, children, elderly, soldiers, farmers. To use such powers in the name of such emotion, it leads the user into deeper and deeper darkness. My motivations for getting my powers back are for power, and the sake of vengeance. Xanathane, a person whose power is fueled by peace, control, and the help of others...was...appalled for lack of better word, that I would travel all this way to basically ask him for help to kill more innocents."
Dante paused for a second, before turning to his storage module and opening it. Stepping inside, he emerged after briefly rummaging around - this time, holding a backpack, and a...cylinder? No. A lightsaber. In his other hand, was a verpine shatter sniper rifle. Collapsable, smart tracking scope with auto correcting ballistics, airburst flechette sniping rounds - synced to a laser range finder for maximum damage, auto steady gyro gimbals, an external magna coil accelerator for additional projectile speed, spun armosplast and titanium for a light weight yet sturdy frame, audio analyzer and military grade audio pickup to hear and pipe conversations and sounds directly to the sniper at five hundred meters. This...was a very, very, very expensive weapon.
"His anger at me was just and understandable. But I cannot accept his answer. I'm...sick. I need Xanathane to heal me. At the point of a blade if necessary. Additionally, this can't be a drawn out process. I don't have years to do this...so I'm settling this. Today."
Dante tossed the rifle to Jace, and nodded at it.
"Fifty caliber laser synced air burst flechette rounds, fired at super sonic speeds. Set them for detonation two meters from their target. Your target being...me. Aim for my left - I hold the blade in my right, you know that. Fire as fast as you can, the whole clip. Even if looks like I'm down, shoot me again. Make sure I'm dead. Don't let me get close, or..."
Dante trailed off, knowing everyone present understood.
"I'm giving this to you because I need you to stop me in case I lose my head: if I kill Xanathane, that will cause far more problems than any of us would want. I need to beat him into submission. But I cannot give in to my rage and kill him. If you kill me, you, Jace, will get a variety of information via holonet pertaining to our current mission."
There was a pause, as Dante shouldered the pack, and clipped the lightsaber to his belt.
"Jace. I'm counting on you as a fellow solider...and as my single and only, and I truly mean this when I say only, friend. I need you to go to platform 432A, set up in a place I cant see you, and watch for the ensuing fight on platform 432B, about four hundred meters to the south east. Captain Liya. Since we've met, you've been nothing but curious as to me, and the truths and half truths I spin. I would like you to go with Jace. You will learn a great deal of information about me, and perhaps some of your questions will be answered...and an opportunity like this, I truly guarantee you, only comes around every hundred years or so. Should I win, we go on business as usual. Should I lose...I will answer every question you have about this entire affair, truthfully, in exchange for medical recuperation on your ship, and safe passage to a destination of my choice. As this is a chance for you to ascertain the threat level, in person, to your ship and crew...I doubt you'd refuse."
Walking out of the hold, not giving anyone time to answer, Dante just shook his head.
"And, for the Church's sake...don't fight me up close. For all that is holy and good...don't fight me up close."
And then he was gone, walking out of the ship, across the platform, and into cloud city.
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Silently, Dante walked through the halls of cloud city. To say that this was rash, reckless, and stupid on every single level imaginable, was a fracking understatement. There was no doubt that Jace would be freaked out over his behavior as well...Dante, a creature of paranoia, meticulous planning, and overestimating the enemy - to the point of turning the simplest of missions to "assassinating the Emperor himself" proportions...for Dante to simply fly off the handle, and to go after an enemy without a plan, or the bare minimum of a plan...was unheard of. Dante himself didn't even know how successful this was going to be...and to have a very, very dangerous sniper rifle being pointed at him - one of the few long range weapons that Dante had SPECIFICALLY designed for killing force users at long range at that - didn't make Dante's hair stop itself from standing on end.
But why? Why the haste? Why the split second decision? Even Dante couldn't understand, except that it was...the pit. The feeling. The...hopelessness. That feeling was just amplified even more by Xanathane's display. Perhaps this was Dante's way of trying to seize control of a situation that was already so far out of control, that it COULDN'T be controlled. Or maybe...this was the end of the line, and Dante knew it. No powers. No options. Or rather...this WAS the only option. This was the only thing Dante knew how to do: fight, struggle, coerce. For him to warp his very self, to jump through the proverbial hoop to become a JEDI? It wasn't possible. Dante's behavior was so ingrained, so base instinct, that he wasn't even sure that there was anything to fix. And maybe that was the reason for this grandiose exhibition of a fight. Things were coming to a close...one way or another.
Silently, Dante walked out onto platform 432B, after about twenty minutes of walking. An unused platform, it was scattered with cargo modules, pieces of junk, and various spare parts for cloud cars. This had been where Dante had trained on Bespin with Xanathane. This...is where it would all end. After Dante leveled the playing field anyway. Opening his pack, Dante peered at the contents that he had hastily thrown in. Taken from his private stash in the false bottom of his crate, there was a collection of flash bangs, smoke grenades, a few frag grenades, three or four mines, some strange dish looking objects, four antennas, some powerpacks, and...a strange kind of bobble-head of all things.
First were the grenades...he placed them under pieces of junk, just inside cargo module doors, several under loose deck plates, and several in a cluster near the center of the platform. Next were the mines: leaning over the side of the platform, he tossed one after the other against the repulsorlift banks on the platform - the mines having magnetic grip pads, of course. Next came the odd dish looking objects: about the size of dinner plates, there were two in total. Placing them carefully, Dante attached one in a particular long and tube like cargo module, and the other out in the open, camouflaged by a menagerie of junk. Next came the antennas - they were a strange custom made contraption, seemingly four plain cylinders with spring loaded antennae. Dante set one in a pile of junk, the other cleverly just behind a cargo module, the third in the open, and the fourth just underneath a dilapidated cloud car housing. All four were located on the ground though, and all four had a direct line of sight to each other. Next...the power packs. Taking the power packs, Dante visited each antenna, hooking the power packs to the devices, apparently allowing them to charge. One by one, each device emitted a quiet beep once done charging - eliciting a pleased nod from Dante each time. Last...came the weird Bobblehead. Which actually seem to be a mistake as Dante looked at it quizzically. Tossing it over the side of the platform, Dante opened his gauntlet PDA with a voice command...and then set about the tedious process of pairing each and every single device he had just set up with his gauntlets wrist link. Indeed, everything from the grenades to the strange antenna devices were equipped with short range - albeit reliable - antenna. And, one by one, each device registered with the gauntlet, with Dante giving them a vocal designation of A1, A2, A3, down to the last device respectively.
And then...he was done. Sitting cross legged on top of a cargo module, Dante unclipped his saber and held it in his lap. Idly, he glanced at the not too distant platform 432A...wondering if Jace and company had come, or if they had left him to his own devices. Scanning several likely spots - his training kicking in, Dante eventually looked away. Who knew. Dante didn't...and that was the point - Jace was skilled enough and trained well enough to pick a spot Dante wouldn't notice. Dante also hadn't stuck around to hear replies on the off chance they would protest...he needed to, at the VERY least, THINK he was going to get his brains blasted out. Indeed, every instinct screamed for him to duck and cover this very instant. But, he ignored it. Instead, he tapped out a short message to Xanathane via gauntlet, sent it...and then set about the process of waiting.
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He didn't have to wait very long. Indeed, their ship had set down in the midst of a sunset - and that suns rays were still shining across the platform, albeit more feebly now. Xanathane, if anything, was prompt. Strolling out from Bespins interior, walking across the short bridge to the platform, Xanathane stopped just short of the platform, and crossed his arms. A frown on his face, which only served to wrinkle an already wrinkled face, followed by a stern glare, had Dante standing and gripping his lightsaber tightly.
"…Rather unusual Dante. Do you have the answer to my question so readily?"
Asked Xanathane, his mouth set into a firm line. Dante though, simply stood, and ignited his lightsaber. One would imagine the no nonsense Dante to have a blade of generic color, but the brilliant Cyan and Turquoise hybrid blade that snapped out with a hiss was anything but generic; neither green nor blue, it was an almost nauseating blend of the two…and Xanathane smiled slightly at the sight.
"How to fight power without power…it seems I have your answer. I'm afraid I'll have to stop you now, Dante…this madness has gone on far too long. It's up to me to finish Arcturus' job."
Dante's brow furrowed slightly at that comment. But rather than inquire as to what Xanathane meant by it, he simply pointed his blade at Xanathane in a salute. And so it began. Striding forward, Xanathane ignited his own blade, a deep emerald green blade, saluting in kind as he walked, and then wasted no time in throwing the blade straight at Dante. Dante was quick to react though - and as both had fought each other numerous times before, both were familiar with each others tactics to a degree. Taking a few steps backward and dropping off the edge of the cargo module, Dante grinned slightly as the saber buzzed overhead, then arced back towards Xanathanes hand; Dante was already muttering into his gauntlet in preparation for his counter attack. Xanathane, force jumping through the air to land on the top of the cargo module that Dante had just vacated, stumbled and almost fell as a blinding and deafening flash ripped through the air from where Xanathane had just jumped from. He recovered quickly though, albeit looking somewhat dazed…and holding that emerald blade in a guard, sought for Dante with his eyes. Danger sense had Xanathane dancing to the left and then to the right though, as Dante's Cyan blade stabbed through the cargo module, to try and take Xanathanes feet - Dante standing in the interior of the module, stabbing upward.
Xanathane seemed to turn into a blur, his blade stabbing downward into the module and his whole body rotating several times in a force speed; a slab of the cargo module falling into the interior of the module, with Xanathane landing ontop of it. Only to find…that Dante was already at the end of the long tube like module, slamming the door shut. Xanathane strode forward, unconcerned with his ability to cut his way out…it was only the light from the hole he had just cut that revealed the strange looking dish object that had been stuck to the closed door. Eyes widening, Xanathane turned to run…and then was screaming in pain as the dish - in actuality a sonic pulser - screamed focused sound into the tube. The pain blinding, Xanathane slashed several times at the side of the module to escape - the dish droning on for a few seconds before running out of power in its cells. Dante was there to greet him as Xanathane stumbled out from the tube, his saber arcing through the air in an overhanded power attack meant to cleave Xanathane in two from head to toe. Xanathane knew all too well the futility of trying to block Dante's attacks through sheer power alone - cybernetically enhanced muscles meant Dante had the advantage when it came to sheer power. Xanathane's blade was thus quick and deceptive; a simple roll of the wrist had his emerald blade circling left to right in what almost appeared as a lazy flick of the wrist - but it served to shunt Dante's blade to the side several meters, the cyan blade slicing through the module rather than Xanathane.
Xanathane's hand thrust itself out; and that was the only warning Dante had to the telekinetic push leveled at him. He was flying backwards, along with his saber, in a dizzying tumble of limbs and flashes of Cyan blue - his saber turning itself automatically after leaving his hand. Landing heavily on the platform, narrowly missing being impaled on a piece of junk a mere meter to his left, Dante heard running - and could only guess that Xanathane was running towards him to try and finish him off while he was still disoriented. A quick mutter into his gauntlet solved that problem as Dante activated flashbanges A2 through A7; a series of flashes and explosions detonating all around the platform, leaving Dante dazed and confused - though hopefully Xanathane as well. And indeed he was, having been running towards Dante intent on disarming him of his saber, he was caught off guard by the series of explosions, dropping to his knees as his mind reeled in dazed confusion. Vaguely, Xanathane sensed Dante crawling away, and though Xanathane tried to walk after him, he only succeeded in stumbling from side to side. This was a dangerous game. It was true that Dante would be deafened like Xanathane…but Firrerreo nictating membranes protected Dante greatly against the intense light of the flashbangs…meaning Dante was deaf, but not blind.
Several seconds passed, during which Xanathane lost track of Dante. He wasn't under attack though…meaning Dante was also biding his time to recover. Several seconds passed…thirty…a minute. Xanathane eventually straightened, and gripping his saber tightly…his vision returning, he cast about for his opponent. A clearing of a throat had Xanathane turning to look over his shoulder. Dante, his blade held in a low guard, stood just on the edge of the bridge to the platform. Apparently waiting for Xanathane to recover enough to note his presence. Silently, Xanathane eyed the space between Dante and himself…it was essentially an area of clear deck, devoid of places for traps. But, then, why was Dante kneeling? His saber thrust into the deck, as if trying to cut the bridge between he and the platform? Danger sense tingled on end, and Xanathane gathered the force into his body, the world slowed…force speed surged, and Xanathane moved faster than the eye could follow…he moved across the deck, into the empty space on the deck…and then his left leg collided with something intensely solid - blinding pain shot up Xanathane's leg, the force speed ended as concentration was lost. And Xanathane fell to his hands and knees.
Dante smiled tightly form his work. Invisible, intangible, the tanglefoot field - an force field that created higher density, and thus, higher resistance to a sentients movements - was widely used in law enforcement for riot control. Anything that entered the field moved at the speed of molasses…so a limb moving at supernatural speed, striking the field, was essentially the same as kicking a cement pillar. And now, with Xanathane's hands and other leg stuck in the field emitted by the antenna he had set up earlier, was essentially immobilized. For a few seconds at least. Dante, pulling his saber ever so slowly across the bridge, didn't watch Xanathane's inch by inch process of extricating himself. Instead, as his saber finally passed through to the other side of the bridge, Dante activated his very last trap: the series of mines attached to the repulser banks. There was a series of dull thuds from below - the mines built to penetrate, not incinerate - the dull whirring of repulsorbanks stuttered and then stopped altogether. Xanathane looked up from the field, his arms free, but his leg still stuck, and Dante simply grinned. There was a moment as the platform was held up by the short bridge that connected it to cloud city…and then the whole platform bent along the long line that Dante had cut, dangled for a second, and then snapped…the platform falling silently, and somewhat anti-climactically, to the depths below.
Dante hadn't lowered his guard though - and as a shadow passed overhead, Dante turned to raise his blade in a high guard…just as Xanathane landed in a low crouch between Dante and the doors to Cloud city. For a long moment, the two stared at each other…and Xanathane slowly shook his head.
"…Clever, Dante. Always very clever. You've always used traps, but I daresay this one was the most ambitious. Forcing me to wear myself out by injuring me…knowing full well that I would have to use force heal to compensate for your next wave of devices. The energy field was a stroke of genius…you've never used it before, so I wasn't cautious. It seemed a little short lived though…thirty seconds worth of charge isn't very much."
Dante smiled wryly.
"I'm afraid its homemade. The capacitors aren't rated for such an oddly modulated field. Thirty seconds are an improvement over fifteen…but I agree, a little more time would have been nice. I assume this is where things draw to a close..."
For a long moment, Xanathane stared at Dante, and then pointed his blade at the Firrerreo.
"Dante…you are gripped in the throws of Madness. You MUST listen…you are out of traps, your back is to the void of Bespin's clouds…I stand between you and your only exit. You have no choice but to listen. I know of your search. But your obsession has warped your reality Dante…it has bent and broken memories and filled in gaps with insanity where sanity once existed. The darkside permeates your existence so thoroughly that you can't even feel the force anymore."
Dante gripped his blade tighter - and set his mouth into a firm line. Spitting out a retort at Xanathanes pleas.
"Madness? Darkside? Please. Abandon your pretenses, use the force to heal me, and let me be on my way. FCV-454 is within my reach…and YOU are the only thing standing in my way."
Xanathanes left leg was bleeding - no doubt fractured, there was a trickle of blood from his left ear as well, and he blinked far more rapidly than a human should. The barrage of detonations, the force speed, the force heals, the rather impressive force jump…all these things were taking their toll. Xanathane had to be close to out of force power…or so Dante hoped. His concentration had to be focussed on his leg to suppress what had to be enormous pain…his ear was out of commission, but that didn't do Dante a terrible lot of good in a saber fight with nowhere to hide. And then Xanathane took the stance. Left leg back, right leg forward, left foot angled to the left ninety degrees to the leading right foot that pointed straight ahead. Shoulders didn't remain square, but rather the right shoulder pointed forward, the left shoulder back, the right hand held the emerald blade in a low guard, the left arm raised to mid chest level, acting as a counterbalance. This was the Sorrows modified Makashi dueling stance…used almost universally in saber duels by practically anyone in the family - except maybe Jace, who had his own eclectic and unique style. Dante as well, used a variant that took advantage of his enormous strength.
Dante's mouth narrowed, and he assumed a similar stance with a few changes - left foot at forty five degrees rather than ninety, left arm parallel to his chest rather than held out as a counterbalance, right hand gripped his saber tightly near the top rather than loosely closer to the base like Xanathanes. And so they moved - Dante attacked with a straightforward thrust, carefully measured to not overextend. Xanathane shuffled backward slightly, his hand weaving in a parry to Xanathane's right, followed by a slashing riposte right to left. Dante winced inwardly - Makashi was a saber style of finesse, leverage, and economy of movement. In a fair duel, opponents would move forward and backward to battle for better position…but on this bridge, Dante could pretty much only move forward. With nothing but empty space to Dante's back, the duel would be ended and decided when Dante ran out of room to retreat. His opponents riposte spelled trouble as well, as it sent Dante's saber to the extreme left, and with Xanathane's saber slashing left to right; it meant there was little time to intercept the blade. So rather than try and parry, Dante used the parry's momentum to spin in a full circle, bringing his cyan blade vertical in front of his face - the left to right slash being stopped by the vertical blade - and then continued the spin to gain momentum (turning a total of two times).
The first spin served to parry Xanathane's blade to Xanathane's right, and Dante's second spin served to gain momentum for a double handed right to left slash. Neither opponent expected the blade to penetrate defenses of course - but both duelists were of the caliber to know that it was the footwork, not the blades, that were dangerous here. The slash could be stopped by a hard block, or a parry…a hard block would mean a saber lock, in which Dante would win through brute strength. A parry would shunt Dante's blade to the side, but it would still wear down Xanathane's Makashi form in the endurance arena. Quickly, Xanathane switched from a single to a double grip, and catchingDante's blade on his own, performed an overhead parry - sending Dante's blade arcing over Xanathane's head, with Xanathane's own blade remaining on the inside of Dante's guard. Dante's guard open, Xanathane launched a deceptive slash from Dante's upper left, to his lower right. Deceptive, because both combatants knew this wasn't about the blades, but the feet. With Dante's blade to his extreme left, there were only a few options available; step backward to avoid the blade, or kick or punch out at Xanathane to try and interrupt the attack. Dante's shuffle a step and a half backward was far wiser choice than lashing out - Xanathane was good enough to redirect his attack to cut off an arm or leg for such a reckless maneuver.
Dante's guard switched to low, Xanathanes to a high overhead block…the difference in the two obvious; Dante's movement were sharp and economic, Xanathane's flamboyant though effective. Silently, the two held their positions, Xanathane's scowl only deepening. Inwardly though...Dante knew he was far outmatched. Even with both of them without the force, Xanathane's swordsmanship was far superior. The silence was broken by Xanathne, who once again pled to Dante.
"Come to your senses Dante! FCV-454?! How many years have you searched for it? Do you even remember where you heard of it? Do you? Answer me now, and ill drop my blade on the ground! Tell me where you heard of FCV-454, and I'll heal you! On my word as a teacher to the family Sorrows!"
That oath didn't fall on deaf ears, and Dante gripped his blade tighter. Would Xanathane really keep his oath? More than likely - Xanathane didn't say such things idly. But it was a simple affair, he had learned of FCV-454 when he had seen the picture of his wife. And he had seen THAT when…when…when had he seen that picture? His mind drew a blank…and the look must have crossed his face, because Xanathane pressed his point.
"Dante, FCV-454…'Firrerreo Colony Vessel four hundred and fifty four'…when did you learn of it. When?"
Dante, gripping his saber tighter, simply growled at Xanathane.
"What does it matter where I heard!? She's on that ship. SHE is on that ship Xanathane! I have to get to it! It's somewhere out there. Waiting!"
A sad look crossed Xanathane's face, and he slowly shook his head.
"Dante…why did you leave the Serenno special forces. What was the EXACT reason you left. Tell me."
Again, the confused expression, and Dante started out slowly.
"I…I left because I was tired of war. I wanted to see the galaxy."
Dante's words sounded more like he was trying to convince himself more than anyone, and Xanathane extended his hand towards Dante in a pleading gesture.
"Dante…you left the Serenno special forces, you left being a Count…you left everything because Arcturus, and I, wouldn't teach you about the dark side. You were delving into incredibly evil things…not just Dark side powers…but Sith Magic, Alchemy…raising the dead and putting them into false bodies. Things that bent and perverted nature."
Dante sneered openly, and just shook his head in derision.
"I don't remember any of that, old man."
Xanathane snorted, and practically spat out his own retort.
"Please! Arcturus sealed your powers and memory…you're telling me you never figured THAT out? What, the manufactured "you got hit in the head and got amnesia" story really stuck that well? No. You REFUSE to remember Dante. You're telling ME, that YOU, YOU; the most paranoid sentient I have EVER met, didn't do exhaustive research into why a massive chunk of your memory gone? That you didn't figure out the truth…and truth drove you INSANE. Now answer me Dante, where did you first see the picture?!"
Dante didn't answer; at least not with words. A scream, mostly animal, and an overhanded slash at Xanathane was his only retort. Xanathane though, calmly and surely parried each strike, not giving a step. Calmly, evenly, even as he continued to parry Xanathane continued to speak.
"You learned about it some thirty years ago. You realized that a huge chunk of memory was missing, and that it wouldn't come back…before this point, you hadn't even studied medicine." A grunt, another parry. "Arcturus hadn't counted on you taking up medicine to investigate your affliction…and Arcturus died - god's bless his soul - before he could find a solution to his problem. After you learned medicine, you learned the truth of course…you were perfectly fine, medically." A snarl from Dante, another parry by Xanathane. "So being a good espionage agent, you did some digging…a LOT of digging…and you found the file. YOUR file, deep in the Internal Security Agency archives…and there you learned the truth…of how the Firrerreo people had been located already: dozens of ships, and hundreds of thousands relocated to Belderone and Kinooine by the republic while you had been fighting in the Crucible." Dante faltered slightly, his next few blows coming weaker and weaker. "You were desperate to learn of Firrerreo Colony Vessel four fifty four though, the one you knew your wife was on from a security cam snap shot…but you learned that all the pods on that particular ship had deactivated due to age." Dante's blows stopped, and he only stood, staring, eyes wide. "Your powers sealed, the only means of resurrecting your wife out of reach, you went insane. You convinced yourself she was still out there, the reports being falsified for the good of scientific experimentation."
Dante stood, silent, unblinking, his eyes unreadable.
"Dante…does that starship crew you travel with even know? Do they know that the Syndicate…this imperial remnant organization…was envisioned, organized, and then turned into reality by no other than you? Do they know the sheer amount of PEOPLE you've killed…in the name of finding your wife? This covert imperial spy force…who else could organize such a massive covert intelligence network but YOU. And what did you find Dante? What did you find that turned you into a DRUNK. And don't tell ME that was some kind of ploy or some such elaborate plan. Because you would NEVER let yourself get to that point. What did you find."
Dante replied slowly, again, stock still…almost like a frightened animal. He didn't denounce any of Xanathane's claims, but rather answered.
"I formed the Syndicate for the sole purpose of accessing the imperial's latent intelligence networks…as well as the existing imperial remnant archives. According to all sources, all of the FCV's are accounted for…I never found the answer because Gideon Warr was holding it in reserve, so that he could take over the Syndicate and usurp me as Moff.
Xanathane snorted, and looked up to the sky.
"Ha! Gideon Warr! Just the next object in your insanity! Gideon Warr usurped you because you were spending valuable time, credits, and resources not in solidifying your position, but in finding a nonexistent conspiracy! THINK Dante. Why hasn't your body healed itself? Why hasn't your force sensitivity returned?"
Dante looked unsure, and just shrugged.
"The Syndicate used an effective weapon. Very effective."
Again, Xanathane laughed openly.
"Please! You use the DARKSIDE Dante! Even with your years of training and research into the dark arts sealed away, you STILL instinctively reach out to it for power. It's true that you may not use the powers of a Sith. But your anger, your rage, and your hate is what fuels your power. The darkside can't HEAL things Dante…relying on the darkside of the force, means that your bodies midichlorians can't regenerate themselves. That's the realm of the light. And its that same darkness that has driven you insane, its that same darkness that has twisted your perceptions, that has caused you to commit such horrible crimes! It's also the darkside that allowed you to FORGET Dante…to forget the pivotal moment."
Dante remained impassive up to this point, but on hearing those words, that pit…that feeling…deepened and darkened. Nameless…fear? Yes, fear, welled up from deep inside, and suddenly Dante's saber darted up defensively.
"I…stay back Xanathane. Stay back."
"I'm sorry Dante. Forgive me. Forgive me for making you remember. Forgive me."
And then Xanathane fought. Seriously this time. Dante had not been exaggerating when he said that Xanathane's ability far exceeded Dante's own. His saber was everywhere. An emerald flash that darted everywhere, parrying, riposting, feinting - Dante had once fought some of the most talented in the galaxy…and Xanathane made him look like a idiot fool. Double feints, triple feints, deceptions within deceptions. Xanathane advanced…one step…two steps…three steps: Dante refused to step backward, lest he fall off the edge of the bridge, and still Xanathane advanced…forcing Dante to fall backward onto his back, his cyan blade waving wildly to try and fend off the emerald strikes. A deft circular parry that strained the wrist even beyond Dante's ability, and then Dante's saber was falling off the side of the bridge - only to be called to Xanathane's free hand. Shutting the cyan blade off, Xanathane clipped the blade onto his belt, a careful eye on the panicking Dante.
"Dante…I'm not going to kill you unless you force me. And even then I don't intend to. But I have to do something now…which you aren't going to like. I'm going to have to open your memories. You're going to have to fight your true self."
"Stay back! STAY AWAY FROM ME XANATHANE!"
Fear. Terror. For reasons Dante didn't understand. Xanathane slowly advanced, and like a cornered animal, Dante lashed out with his fist.
Only to have the entire arm parried, as Xanathane's hand was suddenly on Dante's forehead. The force flowed through the hand into Dante's mind…parsing through memories…pushing away the haze of forgetfulness and insanity…back…back…back to the day. The day that changed it all...
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The airlock hissed open…and even inside the enviro suit Dante knew it stank of death. Row upon row of what looked like transparent coffins were stacked as far as the eye could see…row upon row of strange coffins were dark, and devoid of life. Himself, a few key Firrerreo leaders, and some new republic representatives had entered Firrerreo Colony Vessel four fifty four. A few key leaders and a Firrerreo Count…that's all that had been allowed onto this last ship. The very last ship on a roster of aging imperial colony ships. Already though, the Firrerreo leaders behind Dante were muttering over the suits comms - linked only between those Firrerreo present of course - various cries of dismay and mourning. It was strange, the sense of camaraderie that had reached across clan lines. With the species near extinction, it was now Firrerreo against the galaxy, rather than clans against the galaxy. Each member found was precious genetic diversity…each ship found dead was an immeasurable loss. Dante didn't pay them any mind, striding forward, he none to gently yanked the scrawny human technician towards a nearby computer, and growled out a command. The ship roster was brought up, and the people of greatest interest - the clan members of those Firrerreo present…perhaps old habits didn't die that easily - were brought up. Dante only had eyes for one name. Selene…Sellena…Serine…any one of these three names could have been given for the Imperials. Then it was found…Seline…number three zero six.
Then he was running…the cries of Firrerreo and Republic technicians disappearing behind him…pod after pod was passed…up a ladder…down a hall…around a corner…and then he stopped dead. Pod three zero six…dark…dead…lifeless. Trembling hands extended…a grip of iron latched onto the pod, the pod was yanked out of its socket and onto the ground. The lid was ripped off…and Dante's eyes were greeted by the incredibly well preserved body of his wife; skin ashen silver, eyes dried in their sockets, auburn hair coarse and straw like. Vaguely he registered that her fingernails had been used to engrave a message into the lid…but he couldn't seem to concentrate over the screaming. Someone was screaming. Someone, somewhere, was screaming…
Why didn't the screaming stop?
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Dante's hand slapped away Xanathane's hand from his forehead. Dante, weeping openly, screamed words at Xanathane incoherently - the words being so mixed up with Firrerre that they were incomprehensible. The general gist begging and pleading for Xanathane not to continue, and questioning Xanathane's mother's parentage to that of a swine in heat. Xanathane though just put his hand back on Dante's forehead, the strength in Dante's arms leaving him as more and more memories opened up.
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Dante laid on his back, on the bunk of his ship, alone in space…no one alive for lightyears in every conceivable direction. In his hand was a holoemitter…displaying the message of his late wife.
"Revenge is an Imperial's game, Dante; and I hate Imperials."
That's all there was. Nothing else…no sentimental love notes…no last words…just blunt facts; it was so very Firrerreo. Dante couldn't take his eyes off of it…the words seemed larger than life…the fact his wife was gone didn't compute…didn't register. The dark of the ship closed in…how long had he been here? Hours? Days? He vaguely remembered traveling every so often to the cargo bay to eat rations…sometimes he slept. The solitude was incredible…it was as if his thoughts themselves could be heard aloud, so quiet was the silence. They were deafening…his thoughts…too loud…so loud…too loud…so loud…too loud…so loud. Revenge is an imperials game? Revenge was a Firrerreo game…Imperials stole it. And who doesn't hate Imperials? Everyone hated imperials.
Something strained in Dante's mind, and laughter bubbled up from somewhere deep inside of Dante. Laughter that couldn't stop…the kind of laughter that wasn't funny. Inwardly, Dante the laughter was horribly inappropriate…in a very cold, clinical, Firrerreo kind of way anyway. But he knew. He didn't really care. Who cared? Nothing to care about. Nothing but the bugs, and the dirt, and the ceiling…and…something else. The flickering in the lights he supposed. Something strained again in the mind…and this time some THING leaked out. He felt…good. Real good. Better than good. Jumping to his feet, Dante ran to the refresher, and stared at himself in the mirror…well, the part of the mirror that was broken into a spiderweb of pieces yet. Keyword! Yet! The face that looked back was…alien. He WAS an alien. Strange. But Dante wanted to see himself - not this alien stranger. Again, something strained in the mind…that FEELING…by the Church, it was AMAZING. It was like being in a desert and then being given water. It was like being a bug and not a can of aerosol spray. Or being a light bulb and not baseball bat. It was…was his hair darker? Dante played with his hair idly, before slowly pulling a handful out - a chunk of flesh and all - so that he could examine it better. Or maybe because he wanted to. It was hard to tell sometimes what the motivation was for self inflicting pain nowadays.
Black and silver hair? He didn't have black and silver hair. And was he crazy, or did his eyes flicker to a deeper gold? Ha. Maybe he was crazy. Maybe. Maybe crazy. Did that rhyme? Focus. He needed to focus. Dante gripped the sink…his hands clenched tight…teeth straining…his mind strained again…some more of whatever that was leaked out. Hair darkened, golden eyes deepened. And Dante suddenly knew…he could become a different person. He could CHANGE everything…he could make his own reality. Through this power…this force…through sheer will he could recreate reality. Or so Dante thought, in his altered state. One more time…Dante strained…and strained…he forced the fabric of his mind to peel back…to separate…to…something. The feeling returned….the feeling grew…Dante screamed in pain as his face seemed to light itself on fire…he felt bones popping, his mind warping, he felt some kind of barrier in his mind releasing…formulas…magic?…alchemy…equations…ratios of ingredients…forbidden techniques. Techniques to change oneself…techniques to recreate oneself. Techniques to change the galaxy…he felt his features reshaping…he felt his mind…changing.
Or so Dante thought. Such was the deception of the darkside…perhaps they would reshape reality…within Dante's own mind. Maybe things would change…within Dante's perspective. The darkside could warp and reshape ones mind through incredible means. Even the most hardened of minds could fold under enough pressure. Dante, who even now was sitting down in the captain's chair of his ship, was no exception. Ignoring the verbal warnings and various klaxons as he keyed the reactor from 2% to 98% reaction, Dante eyed the internal clock on the ships systems. One year, seven months, three weeks, two hours....since the captains console had been powered up last.
Odd. Hadn't he just sat on his bed for a few scant hours to look at his wife? He'd have to get the console fixed at the next stop. But oh, there was so much WORK to do...so much work to find Selene. Smiling, Dante pushed the ship towards a distant star...
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Xanathane removed his hand, and stepped backward as Dante's back arched, his scream piercing the air. Something else was in the air though…the air quivered…the force was heavy and thick. Pitching forward, Dante vomited first bile, and them something…black. Ink? Ichor? Violent coughing, violent hacking…more of the blackness was expelled out of Dante. Popping…crunching…bones broke and reassembled…the black and silver that was classic Dante drained out, leaving behind copper colored hair with streaks of red. Dante screamed, Dante twisted, Dante ranted profanity into the air, until, eventually, he lay on his back in his own vomit…breathing hard. Tenatively, Xanathane cleared his throat, and Dante's eyes slowly focussed on him.
Xanathane deactivated his saber, but kept it handy. Crouching, trying to look as non-threatening as possible, Xanathane spoke slowly.
"…Dante…? Are you with me?"
Dante stared blankly at Xanathane, before his eyes slowly lost focus once more, Dante surrendering himself to unconsciousness. Shaking his head, Xanahane simply bent and picked the unconscious Firrerreo up, carrying him over a shoulder - the old man apparently much stronger than looks would suggest.
It took many minutes, but finally, after a long and exhaustive ordeal, the pair rounded a final corner as Xanathane walked back towards the familiar Lorinar…Xanathane holding a very different looking man. He looked like Dante…though was not Dante at the same time. Two toned maroon and brown hair created what looked like a head full of copper, and topaz eyes (every once and a while opening and closing in confusion and bleariness) made for a striking contrast. Facial features were different as well…not as high, not as aristocratic…far more rough and hard edged, though the sharp nose remained. Golden skin was still incredibly light, though it no longer held the unhealthy pallor of someone who had stayed indoors for too long. Looking about, Xanathane looked for anyone milling around the hangar. Of all the things he was, a healer he was NOT.
"You would have to fight your very self."
The phrase chilled Dante to the very core, for reasons he could not explain. Something inside him shied away from examining that phrase too closely. And yet...the only route to take, was Xanathane's route. Dante would have to beat the man at his own game, seize power for itself, and go from there. Even as he thought that though, he almost laughed. He almost laughed because that bleakness was still there. Because that hopelessness was still there...because Xanathane's words..."you would have to fight your very self"...those words were still echoed in his mind. And they terrified him for reasons he didn't understand. He was like this, staring into space, eyes unfocussed, as Jace and Liya barged into the hold. He heard Liya's questions, felt Jace's eyes, but didn't turn to look at them.
"The aerosol gas trap on the Smugglers Run stripped me of my powers. I was...hopeful...that Xanathane could restore them somehow. But...I'm a creature motivated by hate, anger, and vengeance. I've taken many lives. Innocents of every kind: men, women, children, elderly, soldiers, farmers. To use such powers in the name of such emotion, it leads the user into deeper and deeper darkness. My motivations for getting my powers back are for power, and the sake of vengeance. Xanathane, a person whose power is fueled by peace, control, and the help of others...was...appalled for lack of better word, that I would travel all this way to basically ask him for help to kill more innocents."
Dante paused for a second, before turning to his storage module and opening it. Stepping inside, he emerged after briefly rummaging around - this time, holding a backpack, and a...cylinder? No. A lightsaber. In his other hand, was a verpine shatter sniper rifle. Collapsable, smart tracking scope with auto correcting ballistics, airburst flechette sniping rounds - synced to a laser range finder for maximum damage, auto steady gyro gimbals, an external magna coil accelerator for additional projectile speed, spun armosplast and titanium for a light weight yet sturdy frame, audio analyzer and military grade audio pickup to hear and pipe conversations and sounds directly to the sniper at five hundred meters. This...was a very, very, very expensive weapon.
"His anger at me was just and understandable. But I cannot accept his answer. I'm...sick. I need Xanathane to heal me. At the point of a blade if necessary. Additionally, this can't be a drawn out process. I don't have years to do this...so I'm settling this. Today."
Dante tossed the rifle to Jace, and nodded at it.
"Fifty caliber laser synced air burst flechette rounds, fired at super sonic speeds. Set them for detonation two meters from their target. Your target being...me. Aim for my left - I hold the blade in my right, you know that. Fire as fast as you can, the whole clip. Even if looks like I'm down, shoot me again. Make sure I'm dead. Don't let me get close, or..."
Dante trailed off, knowing everyone present understood.
"I'm giving this to you because I need you to stop me in case I lose my head: if I kill Xanathane, that will cause far more problems than any of us would want. I need to beat him into submission. But I cannot give in to my rage and kill him. If you kill me, you, Jace, will get a variety of information via holonet pertaining to our current mission."
There was a pause, as Dante shouldered the pack, and clipped the lightsaber to his belt.
"Jace. I'm counting on you as a fellow solider...and as my single and only, and I truly mean this when I say only, friend. I need you to go to platform 432A, set up in a place I cant see you, and watch for the ensuing fight on platform 432B, about four hundred meters to the south east. Captain Liya. Since we've met, you've been nothing but curious as to me, and the truths and half truths I spin. I would like you to go with Jace. You will learn a great deal of information about me, and perhaps some of your questions will be answered...and an opportunity like this, I truly guarantee you, only comes around every hundred years or so. Should I win, we go on business as usual. Should I lose...I will answer every question you have about this entire affair, truthfully, in exchange for medical recuperation on your ship, and safe passage to a destination of my choice. As this is a chance for you to ascertain the threat level, in person, to your ship and crew...I doubt you'd refuse."
Walking out of the hold, not giving anyone time to answer, Dante just shook his head.
"And, for the Church's sake...don't fight me up close. For all that is holy and good...don't fight me up close."
And then he was gone, walking out of the ship, across the platform, and into cloud city.
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Silently, Dante walked through the halls of cloud city. To say that this was rash, reckless, and stupid on every single level imaginable, was a fracking understatement. There was no doubt that Jace would be freaked out over his behavior as well...Dante, a creature of paranoia, meticulous planning, and overestimating the enemy - to the point of turning the simplest of missions to "assassinating the Emperor himself" proportions...for Dante to simply fly off the handle, and to go after an enemy without a plan, or the bare minimum of a plan...was unheard of. Dante himself didn't even know how successful this was going to be...and to have a very, very dangerous sniper rifle being pointed at him - one of the few long range weapons that Dante had SPECIFICALLY designed for killing force users at long range at that - didn't make Dante's hair stop itself from standing on end.
But why? Why the haste? Why the split second decision? Even Dante couldn't understand, except that it was...the pit. The feeling. The...hopelessness. That feeling was just amplified even more by Xanathane's display. Perhaps this was Dante's way of trying to seize control of a situation that was already so far out of control, that it COULDN'T be controlled. Or maybe...this was the end of the line, and Dante knew it. No powers. No options. Or rather...this WAS the only option. This was the only thing Dante knew how to do: fight, struggle, coerce. For him to warp his very self, to jump through the proverbial hoop to become a JEDI? It wasn't possible. Dante's behavior was so ingrained, so base instinct, that he wasn't even sure that there was anything to fix. And maybe that was the reason for this grandiose exhibition of a fight. Things were coming to a close...one way or another.
Silently, Dante walked out onto platform 432B, after about twenty minutes of walking. An unused platform, it was scattered with cargo modules, pieces of junk, and various spare parts for cloud cars. This had been where Dante had trained on Bespin with Xanathane. This...is where it would all end. After Dante leveled the playing field anyway. Opening his pack, Dante peered at the contents that he had hastily thrown in. Taken from his private stash in the false bottom of his crate, there was a collection of flash bangs, smoke grenades, a few frag grenades, three or four mines, some strange dish looking objects, four antennas, some powerpacks, and...a strange kind of bobble-head of all things.
First were the grenades...he placed them under pieces of junk, just inside cargo module doors, several under loose deck plates, and several in a cluster near the center of the platform. Next were the mines: leaning over the side of the platform, he tossed one after the other against the repulsorlift banks on the platform - the mines having magnetic grip pads, of course. Next came the odd dish looking objects: about the size of dinner plates, there were two in total. Placing them carefully, Dante attached one in a particular long and tube like cargo module, and the other out in the open, camouflaged by a menagerie of junk. Next came the antennas - they were a strange custom made contraption, seemingly four plain cylinders with spring loaded antennae. Dante set one in a pile of junk, the other cleverly just behind a cargo module, the third in the open, and the fourth just underneath a dilapidated cloud car housing. All four were located on the ground though, and all four had a direct line of sight to each other. Next...the power packs. Taking the power packs, Dante visited each antenna, hooking the power packs to the devices, apparently allowing them to charge. One by one, each device emitted a quiet beep once done charging - eliciting a pleased nod from Dante each time. Last...came the weird Bobblehead. Which actually seem to be a mistake as Dante looked at it quizzically. Tossing it over the side of the platform, Dante opened his gauntlet PDA with a voice command...and then set about the tedious process of pairing each and every single device he had just set up with his gauntlets wrist link. Indeed, everything from the grenades to the strange antenna devices were equipped with short range - albeit reliable - antenna. And, one by one, each device registered with the gauntlet, with Dante giving them a vocal designation of A1, A2, A3, down to the last device respectively.
And then...he was done. Sitting cross legged on top of a cargo module, Dante unclipped his saber and held it in his lap. Idly, he glanced at the not too distant platform 432A...wondering if Jace and company had come, or if they had left him to his own devices. Scanning several likely spots - his training kicking in, Dante eventually looked away. Who knew. Dante didn't...and that was the point - Jace was skilled enough and trained well enough to pick a spot Dante wouldn't notice. Dante also hadn't stuck around to hear replies on the off chance they would protest...he needed to, at the VERY least, THINK he was going to get his brains blasted out. Indeed, every instinct screamed for him to duck and cover this very instant. But, he ignored it. Instead, he tapped out a short message to Xanathane via gauntlet, sent it...and then set about the process of waiting.
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He didn't have to wait very long. Indeed, their ship had set down in the midst of a sunset - and that suns rays were still shining across the platform, albeit more feebly now. Xanathane, if anything, was prompt. Strolling out from Bespins interior, walking across the short bridge to the platform, Xanathane stopped just short of the platform, and crossed his arms. A frown on his face, which only served to wrinkle an already wrinkled face, followed by a stern glare, had Dante standing and gripping his lightsaber tightly.
"…Rather unusual Dante. Do you have the answer to my question so readily?"
Asked Xanathane, his mouth set into a firm line. Dante though, simply stood, and ignited his lightsaber. One would imagine the no nonsense Dante to have a blade of generic color, but the brilliant Cyan and Turquoise hybrid blade that snapped out with a hiss was anything but generic; neither green nor blue, it was an almost nauseating blend of the two…and Xanathane smiled slightly at the sight.
"How to fight power without power…it seems I have your answer. I'm afraid I'll have to stop you now, Dante…this madness has gone on far too long. It's up to me to finish Arcturus' job."
Dante's brow furrowed slightly at that comment. But rather than inquire as to what Xanathane meant by it, he simply pointed his blade at Xanathane in a salute. And so it began. Striding forward, Xanathane ignited his own blade, a deep emerald green blade, saluting in kind as he walked, and then wasted no time in throwing the blade straight at Dante. Dante was quick to react though - and as both had fought each other numerous times before, both were familiar with each others tactics to a degree. Taking a few steps backward and dropping off the edge of the cargo module, Dante grinned slightly as the saber buzzed overhead, then arced back towards Xanathanes hand; Dante was already muttering into his gauntlet in preparation for his counter attack. Xanathane, force jumping through the air to land on the top of the cargo module that Dante had just vacated, stumbled and almost fell as a blinding and deafening flash ripped through the air from where Xanathane had just jumped from. He recovered quickly though, albeit looking somewhat dazed…and holding that emerald blade in a guard, sought for Dante with his eyes. Danger sense had Xanathane dancing to the left and then to the right though, as Dante's Cyan blade stabbed through the cargo module, to try and take Xanathanes feet - Dante standing in the interior of the module, stabbing upward.
Xanathane seemed to turn into a blur, his blade stabbing downward into the module and his whole body rotating several times in a force speed; a slab of the cargo module falling into the interior of the module, with Xanathane landing ontop of it. Only to find…that Dante was already at the end of the long tube like module, slamming the door shut. Xanathane strode forward, unconcerned with his ability to cut his way out…it was only the light from the hole he had just cut that revealed the strange looking dish object that had been stuck to the closed door. Eyes widening, Xanathane turned to run…and then was screaming in pain as the dish - in actuality a sonic pulser - screamed focused sound into the tube. The pain blinding, Xanathane slashed several times at the side of the module to escape - the dish droning on for a few seconds before running out of power in its cells. Dante was there to greet him as Xanathane stumbled out from the tube, his saber arcing through the air in an overhanded power attack meant to cleave Xanathane in two from head to toe. Xanathane knew all too well the futility of trying to block Dante's attacks through sheer power alone - cybernetically enhanced muscles meant Dante had the advantage when it came to sheer power. Xanathane's blade was thus quick and deceptive; a simple roll of the wrist had his emerald blade circling left to right in what almost appeared as a lazy flick of the wrist - but it served to shunt Dante's blade to the side several meters, the cyan blade slicing through the module rather than Xanathane.
Xanathane's hand thrust itself out; and that was the only warning Dante had to the telekinetic push leveled at him. He was flying backwards, along with his saber, in a dizzying tumble of limbs and flashes of Cyan blue - his saber turning itself automatically after leaving his hand. Landing heavily on the platform, narrowly missing being impaled on a piece of junk a mere meter to his left, Dante heard running - and could only guess that Xanathane was running towards him to try and finish him off while he was still disoriented. A quick mutter into his gauntlet solved that problem as Dante activated flashbanges A2 through A7; a series of flashes and explosions detonating all around the platform, leaving Dante dazed and confused - though hopefully Xanathane as well. And indeed he was, having been running towards Dante intent on disarming him of his saber, he was caught off guard by the series of explosions, dropping to his knees as his mind reeled in dazed confusion. Vaguely, Xanathane sensed Dante crawling away, and though Xanathane tried to walk after him, he only succeeded in stumbling from side to side. This was a dangerous game. It was true that Dante would be deafened like Xanathane…but Firrerreo nictating membranes protected Dante greatly against the intense light of the flashbangs…meaning Dante was deaf, but not blind.
Several seconds passed, during which Xanathane lost track of Dante. He wasn't under attack though…meaning Dante was also biding his time to recover. Several seconds passed…thirty…a minute. Xanathane eventually straightened, and gripping his saber tightly…his vision returning, he cast about for his opponent. A clearing of a throat had Xanathane turning to look over his shoulder. Dante, his blade held in a low guard, stood just on the edge of the bridge to the platform. Apparently waiting for Xanathane to recover enough to note his presence. Silently, Xanathane eyed the space between Dante and himself…it was essentially an area of clear deck, devoid of places for traps. But, then, why was Dante kneeling? His saber thrust into the deck, as if trying to cut the bridge between he and the platform? Danger sense tingled on end, and Xanathane gathered the force into his body, the world slowed…force speed surged, and Xanathane moved faster than the eye could follow…he moved across the deck, into the empty space on the deck…and then his left leg collided with something intensely solid - blinding pain shot up Xanathane's leg, the force speed ended as concentration was lost. And Xanathane fell to his hands and knees.
Dante smiled tightly form his work. Invisible, intangible, the tanglefoot field - an force field that created higher density, and thus, higher resistance to a sentients movements - was widely used in law enforcement for riot control. Anything that entered the field moved at the speed of molasses…so a limb moving at supernatural speed, striking the field, was essentially the same as kicking a cement pillar. And now, with Xanathane's hands and other leg stuck in the field emitted by the antenna he had set up earlier, was essentially immobilized. For a few seconds at least. Dante, pulling his saber ever so slowly across the bridge, didn't watch Xanathane's inch by inch process of extricating himself. Instead, as his saber finally passed through to the other side of the bridge, Dante activated his very last trap: the series of mines attached to the repulser banks. There was a series of dull thuds from below - the mines built to penetrate, not incinerate - the dull whirring of repulsorbanks stuttered and then stopped altogether. Xanathane looked up from the field, his arms free, but his leg still stuck, and Dante simply grinned. There was a moment as the platform was held up by the short bridge that connected it to cloud city…and then the whole platform bent along the long line that Dante had cut, dangled for a second, and then snapped…the platform falling silently, and somewhat anti-climactically, to the depths below.
Dante hadn't lowered his guard though - and as a shadow passed overhead, Dante turned to raise his blade in a high guard…just as Xanathane landed in a low crouch between Dante and the doors to Cloud city. For a long moment, the two stared at each other…and Xanathane slowly shook his head.
"…Clever, Dante. Always very clever. You've always used traps, but I daresay this one was the most ambitious. Forcing me to wear myself out by injuring me…knowing full well that I would have to use force heal to compensate for your next wave of devices. The energy field was a stroke of genius…you've never used it before, so I wasn't cautious. It seemed a little short lived though…thirty seconds worth of charge isn't very much."
Dante smiled wryly.
"I'm afraid its homemade. The capacitors aren't rated for such an oddly modulated field. Thirty seconds are an improvement over fifteen…but I agree, a little more time would have been nice. I assume this is where things draw to a close..."
For a long moment, Xanathane stared at Dante, and then pointed his blade at the Firrerreo.
"Dante…you are gripped in the throws of Madness. You MUST listen…you are out of traps, your back is to the void of Bespin's clouds…I stand between you and your only exit. You have no choice but to listen. I know of your search. But your obsession has warped your reality Dante…it has bent and broken memories and filled in gaps with insanity where sanity once existed. The darkside permeates your existence so thoroughly that you can't even feel the force anymore."
Dante gripped his blade tighter - and set his mouth into a firm line. Spitting out a retort at Xanathanes pleas.
"Madness? Darkside? Please. Abandon your pretenses, use the force to heal me, and let me be on my way. FCV-454 is within my reach…and YOU are the only thing standing in my way."
Xanathanes left leg was bleeding - no doubt fractured, there was a trickle of blood from his left ear as well, and he blinked far more rapidly than a human should. The barrage of detonations, the force speed, the force heals, the rather impressive force jump…all these things were taking their toll. Xanathane had to be close to out of force power…or so Dante hoped. His concentration had to be focussed on his leg to suppress what had to be enormous pain…his ear was out of commission, but that didn't do Dante a terrible lot of good in a saber fight with nowhere to hide. And then Xanathane took the stance. Left leg back, right leg forward, left foot angled to the left ninety degrees to the leading right foot that pointed straight ahead. Shoulders didn't remain square, but rather the right shoulder pointed forward, the left shoulder back, the right hand held the emerald blade in a low guard, the left arm raised to mid chest level, acting as a counterbalance. This was the Sorrows modified Makashi dueling stance…used almost universally in saber duels by practically anyone in the family - except maybe Jace, who had his own eclectic and unique style. Dante as well, used a variant that took advantage of his enormous strength.
Dante's mouth narrowed, and he assumed a similar stance with a few changes - left foot at forty five degrees rather than ninety, left arm parallel to his chest rather than held out as a counterbalance, right hand gripped his saber tightly near the top rather than loosely closer to the base like Xanathanes. And so they moved - Dante attacked with a straightforward thrust, carefully measured to not overextend. Xanathane shuffled backward slightly, his hand weaving in a parry to Xanathane's right, followed by a slashing riposte right to left. Dante winced inwardly - Makashi was a saber style of finesse, leverage, and economy of movement. In a fair duel, opponents would move forward and backward to battle for better position…but on this bridge, Dante could pretty much only move forward. With nothing but empty space to Dante's back, the duel would be ended and decided when Dante ran out of room to retreat. His opponents riposte spelled trouble as well, as it sent Dante's saber to the extreme left, and with Xanathane's saber slashing left to right; it meant there was little time to intercept the blade. So rather than try and parry, Dante used the parry's momentum to spin in a full circle, bringing his cyan blade vertical in front of his face - the left to right slash being stopped by the vertical blade - and then continued the spin to gain momentum (turning a total of two times).
The first spin served to parry Xanathane's blade to Xanathane's right, and Dante's second spin served to gain momentum for a double handed right to left slash. Neither opponent expected the blade to penetrate defenses of course - but both duelists were of the caliber to know that it was the footwork, not the blades, that were dangerous here. The slash could be stopped by a hard block, or a parry…a hard block would mean a saber lock, in which Dante would win through brute strength. A parry would shunt Dante's blade to the side, but it would still wear down Xanathane's Makashi form in the endurance arena. Quickly, Xanathane switched from a single to a double grip, and catchingDante's blade on his own, performed an overhead parry - sending Dante's blade arcing over Xanathane's head, with Xanathane's own blade remaining on the inside of Dante's guard. Dante's guard open, Xanathane launched a deceptive slash from Dante's upper left, to his lower right. Deceptive, because both combatants knew this wasn't about the blades, but the feet. With Dante's blade to his extreme left, there were only a few options available; step backward to avoid the blade, or kick or punch out at Xanathane to try and interrupt the attack. Dante's shuffle a step and a half backward was far wiser choice than lashing out - Xanathane was good enough to redirect his attack to cut off an arm or leg for such a reckless maneuver.
Dante's guard switched to low, Xanathanes to a high overhead block…the difference in the two obvious; Dante's movement were sharp and economic, Xanathane's flamboyant though effective. Silently, the two held their positions, Xanathane's scowl only deepening. Inwardly though...Dante knew he was far outmatched. Even with both of them without the force, Xanathane's swordsmanship was far superior. The silence was broken by Xanathne, who once again pled to Dante.
"Come to your senses Dante! FCV-454?! How many years have you searched for it? Do you even remember where you heard of it? Do you? Answer me now, and ill drop my blade on the ground! Tell me where you heard of FCV-454, and I'll heal you! On my word as a teacher to the family Sorrows!"
That oath didn't fall on deaf ears, and Dante gripped his blade tighter. Would Xanathane really keep his oath? More than likely - Xanathane didn't say such things idly. But it was a simple affair, he had learned of FCV-454 when he had seen the picture of his wife. And he had seen THAT when…when…when had he seen that picture? His mind drew a blank…and the look must have crossed his face, because Xanathane pressed his point.
"Dante, FCV-454…'Firrerreo Colony Vessel four hundred and fifty four'…when did you learn of it. When?"
Dante, gripping his saber tighter, simply growled at Xanathane.
"What does it matter where I heard!? She's on that ship. SHE is on that ship Xanathane! I have to get to it! It's somewhere out there. Waiting!"
A sad look crossed Xanathane's face, and he slowly shook his head.
"Dante…why did you leave the Serenno special forces. What was the EXACT reason you left. Tell me."
Again, the confused expression, and Dante started out slowly.
"I…I left because I was tired of war. I wanted to see the galaxy."
Dante's words sounded more like he was trying to convince himself more than anyone, and Xanathane extended his hand towards Dante in a pleading gesture.
"Dante…you left the Serenno special forces, you left being a Count…you left everything because Arcturus, and I, wouldn't teach you about the dark side. You were delving into incredibly evil things…not just Dark side powers…but Sith Magic, Alchemy…raising the dead and putting them into false bodies. Things that bent and perverted nature."
Dante sneered openly, and just shook his head in derision.
"I don't remember any of that, old man."
Xanathane snorted, and practically spat out his own retort.
"Please! Arcturus sealed your powers and memory…you're telling me you never figured THAT out? What, the manufactured "you got hit in the head and got amnesia" story really stuck that well? No. You REFUSE to remember Dante. You're telling ME, that YOU, YOU; the most paranoid sentient I have EVER met, didn't do exhaustive research into why a massive chunk of your memory gone? That you didn't figure out the truth…and truth drove you INSANE. Now answer me Dante, where did you first see the picture?!"
Dante didn't answer; at least not with words. A scream, mostly animal, and an overhanded slash at Xanathane was his only retort. Xanathane though, calmly and surely parried each strike, not giving a step. Calmly, evenly, even as he continued to parry Xanathane continued to speak.
"You learned about it some thirty years ago. You realized that a huge chunk of memory was missing, and that it wouldn't come back…before this point, you hadn't even studied medicine." A grunt, another parry. "Arcturus hadn't counted on you taking up medicine to investigate your affliction…and Arcturus died - god's bless his soul - before he could find a solution to his problem. After you learned medicine, you learned the truth of course…you were perfectly fine, medically." A snarl from Dante, another parry by Xanathane. "So being a good espionage agent, you did some digging…a LOT of digging…and you found the file. YOUR file, deep in the Internal Security Agency archives…and there you learned the truth…of how the Firrerreo people had been located already: dozens of ships, and hundreds of thousands relocated to Belderone and Kinooine by the republic while you had been fighting in the Crucible." Dante faltered slightly, his next few blows coming weaker and weaker. "You were desperate to learn of Firrerreo Colony Vessel four fifty four though, the one you knew your wife was on from a security cam snap shot…but you learned that all the pods on that particular ship had deactivated due to age." Dante's blows stopped, and he only stood, staring, eyes wide. "Your powers sealed, the only means of resurrecting your wife out of reach, you went insane. You convinced yourself she was still out there, the reports being falsified for the good of scientific experimentation."
Dante stood, silent, unblinking, his eyes unreadable.
"Dante…does that starship crew you travel with even know? Do they know that the Syndicate…this imperial remnant organization…was envisioned, organized, and then turned into reality by no other than you? Do they know the sheer amount of PEOPLE you've killed…in the name of finding your wife? This covert imperial spy force…who else could organize such a massive covert intelligence network but YOU. And what did you find Dante? What did you find that turned you into a DRUNK. And don't tell ME that was some kind of ploy or some such elaborate plan. Because you would NEVER let yourself get to that point. What did you find."
Dante replied slowly, again, stock still…almost like a frightened animal. He didn't denounce any of Xanathane's claims, but rather answered.
"I formed the Syndicate for the sole purpose of accessing the imperial's latent intelligence networks…as well as the existing imperial remnant archives. According to all sources, all of the FCV's are accounted for…I never found the answer because Gideon Warr was holding it in reserve, so that he could take over the Syndicate and usurp me as Moff.
Xanathane snorted, and looked up to the sky.
"Ha! Gideon Warr! Just the next object in your insanity! Gideon Warr usurped you because you were spending valuable time, credits, and resources not in solidifying your position, but in finding a nonexistent conspiracy! THINK Dante. Why hasn't your body healed itself? Why hasn't your force sensitivity returned?"
Dante looked unsure, and just shrugged.
"The Syndicate used an effective weapon. Very effective."
Again, Xanathane laughed openly.
"Please! You use the DARKSIDE Dante! Even with your years of training and research into the dark arts sealed away, you STILL instinctively reach out to it for power. It's true that you may not use the powers of a Sith. But your anger, your rage, and your hate is what fuels your power. The darkside can't HEAL things Dante…relying on the darkside of the force, means that your bodies midichlorians can't regenerate themselves. That's the realm of the light. And its that same darkness that has driven you insane, its that same darkness that has twisted your perceptions, that has caused you to commit such horrible crimes! It's also the darkside that allowed you to FORGET Dante…to forget the pivotal moment."
Dante remained impassive up to this point, but on hearing those words, that pit…that feeling…deepened and darkened. Nameless…fear? Yes, fear, welled up from deep inside, and suddenly Dante's saber darted up defensively.
"I…stay back Xanathane. Stay back."
"I'm sorry Dante. Forgive me. Forgive me for making you remember. Forgive me."
And then Xanathane fought. Seriously this time. Dante had not been exaggerating when he said that Xanathane's ability far exceeded Dante's own. His saber was everywhere. An emerald flash that darted everywhere, parrying, riposting, feinting - Dante had once fought some of the most talented in the galaxy…and Xanathane made him look like a idiot fool. Double feints, triple feints, deceptions within deceptions. Xanathane advanced…one step…two steps…three steps: Dante refused to step backward, lest he fall off the edge of the bridge, and still Xanathane advanced…forcing Dante to fall backward onto his back, his cyan blade waving wildly to try and fend off the emerald strikes. A deft circular parry that strained the wrist even beyond Dante's ability, and then Dante's saber was falling off the side of the bridge - only to be called to Xanathane's free hand. Shutting the cyan blade off, Xanathane clipped the blade onto his belt, a careful eye on the panicking Dante.
"Dante…I'm not going to kill you unless you force me. And even then I don't intend to. But I have to do something now…which you aren't going to like. I'm going to have to open your memories. You're going to have to fight your true self."
"Stay back! STAY AWAY FROM ME XANATHANE!"
Fear. Terror. For reasons Dante didn't understand. Xanathane slowly advanced, and like a cornered animal, Dante lashed out with his fist.
Only to have the entire arm parried, as Xanathane's hand was suddenly on Dante's forehead. The force flowed through the hand into Dante's mind…parsing through memories…pushing away the haze of forgetfulness and insanity…back…back…back to the day. The day that changed it all...
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The airlock hissed open…and even inside the enviro suit Dante knew it stank of death. Row upon row of what looked like transparent coffins were stacked as far as the eye could see…row upon row of strange coffins were dark, and devoid of life. Himself, a few key Firrerreo leaders, and some new republic representatives had entered Firrerreo Colony Vessel four fifty four. A few key leaders and a Firrerreo Count…that's all that had been allowed onto this last ship. The very last ship on a roster of aging imperial colony ships. Already though, the Firrerreo leaders behind Dante were muttering over the suits comms - linked only between those Firrerreo present of course - various cries of dismay and mourning. It was strange, the sense of camaraderie that had reached across clan lines. With the species near extinction, it was now Firrerreo against the galaxy, rather than clans against the galaxy. Each member found was precious genetic diversity…each ship found dead was an immeasurable loss. Dante didn't pay them any mind, striding forward, he none to gently yanked the scrawny human technician towards a nearby computer, and growled out a command. The ship roster was brought up, and the people of greatest interest - the clan members of those Firrerreo present…perhaps old habits didn't die that easily - were brought up. Dante only had eyes for one name. Selene…Sellena…Serine…any one of these three names could have been given for the Imperials. Then it was found…Seline…number three zero six.
Then he was running…the cries of Firrerreo and Republic technicians disappearing behind him…pod after pod was passed…up a ladder…down a hall…around a corner…and then he stopped dead. Pod three zero six…dark…dead…lifeless. Trembling hands extended…a grip of iron latched onto the pod, the pod was yanked out of its socket and onto the ground. The lid was ripped off…and Dante's eyes were greeted by the incredibly well preserved body of his wife; skin ashen silver, eyes dried in their sockets, auburn hair coarse and straw like. Vaguely he registered that her fingernails had been used to engrave a message into the lid…but he couldn't seem to concentrate over the screaming. Someone was screaming. Someone, somewhere, was screaming…
Why didn't the screaming stop?
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Dante's hand slapped away Xanathane's hand from his forehead. Dante, weeping openly, screamed words at Xanathane incoherently - the words being so mixed up with Firrerre that they were incomprehensible. The general gist begging and pleading for Xanathane not to continue, and questioning Xanathane's mother's parentage to that of a swine in heat. Xanathane though just put his hand back on Dante's forehead, the strength in Dante's arms leaving him as more and more memories opened up.
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Dante laid on his back, on the bunk of his ship, alone in space…no one alive for lightyears in every conceivable direction. In his hand was a holoemitter…displaying the message of his late wife.
"Revenge is an Imperial's game, Dante; and I hate Imperials."
That's all there was. Nothing else…no sentimental love notes…no last words…just blunt facts; it was so very Firrerreo. Dante couldn't take his eyes off of it…the words seemed larger than life…the fact his wife was gone didn't compute…didn't register. The dark of the ship closed in…how long had he been here? Hours? Days? He vaguely remembered traveling every so often to the cargo bay to eat rations…sometimes he slept. The solitude was incredible…it was as if his thoughts themselves could be heard aloud, so quiet was the silence. They were deafening…his thoughts…too loud…so loud…too loud…so loud…too loud…so loud. Revenge is an imperials game? Revenge was a Firrerreo game…Imperials stole it. And who doesn't hate Imperials? Everyone hated imperials.
Something strained in Dante's mind, and laughter bubbled up from somewhere deep inside of Dante. Laughter that couldn't stop…the kind of laughter that wasn't funny. Inwardly, Dante the laughter was horribly inappropriate…in a very cold, clinical, Firrerreo kind of way anyway. But he knew. He didn't really care. Who cared? Nothing to care about. Nothing but the bugs, and the dirt, and the ceiling…and…something else. The flickering in the lights he supposed. Something strained again in the mind…and this time some THING leaked out. He felt…good. Real good. Better than good. Jumping to his feet, Dante ran to the refresher, and stared at himself in the mirror…well, the part of the mirror that was broken into a spiderweb of pieces yet. Keyword! Yet! The face that looked back was…alien. He WAS an alien. Strange. But Dante wanted to see himself - not this alien stranger. Again, something strained in the mind…that FEELING…by the Church, it was AMAZING. It was like being in a desert and then being given water. It was like being a bug and not a can of aerosol spray. Or being a light bulb and not baseball bat. It was…was his hair darker? Dante played with his hair idly, before slowly pulling a handful out - a chunk of flesh and all - so that he could examine it better. Or maybe because he wanted to. It was hard to tell sometimes what the motivation was for self inflicting pain nowadays.
Black and silver hair? He didn't have black and silver hair. And was he crazy, or did his eyes flicker to a deeper gold? Ha. Maybe he was crazy. Maybe. Maybe crazy. Did that rhyme? Focus. He needed to focus. Dante gripped the sink…his hands clenched tight…teeth straining…his mind strained again…some more of whatever that was leaked out. Hair darkened, golden eyes deepened. And Dante suddenly knew…he could become a different person. He could CHANGE everything…he could make his own reality. Through this power…this force…through sheer will he could recreate reality. Or so Dante thought, in his altered state. One more time…Dante strained…and strained…he forced the fabric of his mind to peel back…to separate…to…something. The feeling returned….the feeling grew…Dante screamed in pain as his face seemed to light itself on fire…he felt bones popping, his mind warping, he felt some kind of barrier in his mind releasing…formulas…magic?…alchemy…equations…ratios of ingredients…forbidden techniques. Techniques to change oneself…techniques to recreate oneself. Techniques to change the galaxy…he felt his features reshaping…he felt his mind…changing.
Or so Dante thought. Such was the deception of the darkside…perhaps they would reshape reality…within Dante's own mind. Maybe things would change…within Dante's perspective. The darkside could warp and reshape ones mind through incredible means. Even the most hardened of minds could fold under enough pressure. Dante, who even now was sitting down in the captain's chair of his ship, was no exception. Ignoring the verbal warnings and various klaxons as he keyed the reactor from 2% to 98% reaction, Dante eyed the internal clock on the ships systems. One year, seven months, three weeks, two hours....since the captains console had been powered up last.
Odd. Hadn't he just sat on his bed for a few scant hours to look at his wife? He'd have to get the console fixed at the next stop. But oh, there was so much WORK to do...so much work to find Selene. Smiling, Dante pushed the ship towards a distant star...
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Xanathane removed his hand, and stepped backward as Dante's back arched, his scream piercing the air. Something else was in the air though…the air quivered…the force was heavy and thick. Pitching forward, Dante vomited first bile, and them something…black. Ink? Ichor? Violent coughing, violent hacking…more of the blackness was expelled out of Dante. Popping…crunching…bones broke and reassembled…the black and silver that was classic Dante drained out, leaving behind copper colored hair with streaks of red. Dante screamed, Dante twisted, Dante ranted profanity into the air, until, eventually, he lay on his back in his own vomit…breathing hard. Tenatively, Xanathane cleared his throat, and Dante's eyes slowly focussed on him.
Xanathane deactivated his saber, but kept it handy. Crouching, trying to look as non-threatening as possible, Xanathane spoke slowly.
"…Dante…? Are you with me?"
Dante stared blankly at Xanathane, before his eyes slowly lost focus once more, Dante surrendering himself to unconsciousness. Shaking his head, Xanahane simply bent and picked the unconscious Firrerreo up, carrying him over a shoulder - the old man apparently much stronger than looks would suggest.
It took many minutes, but finally, after a long and exhaustive ordeal, the pair rounded a final corner as Xanathane walked back towards the familiar Lorinar…Xanathane holding a very different looking man. He looked like Dante…though was not Dante at the same time. Two toned maroon and brown hair created what looked like a head full of copper, and topaz eyes (every once and a while opening and closing in confusion and bleariness) made for a striking contrast. Facial features were different as well…not as high, not as aristocratic…far more rough and hard edged, though the sharp nose remained. Golden skin was still incredibly light, though it no longer held the unhealthy pallor of someone who had stayed indoors for too long. Looking about, Xanathane looked for anyone milling around the hangar. Of all the things he was, a healer he was NOT.
