//------------------------------// // Prologue // Story: Heart of the Force: Gambit of Darkness // by fluttershyfan17 //------------------------------// Corellia, Night The hum of this planet is one which echoes and reverberates everywhere, in Coronet City. There’s always movement, starting at the crack of dawn. The laborers pour into the shipyards, supervised by every human and alien alike. One goal is in every mind: survive the day, get the pay, and sleep knowing the process repeats all over again. The dawn begins with even the sun blocked out by the haze of smoke and pollution which come from the shipyards. Everyone works to get paid, for themselves, their family, or loved ones far and few between. The weight of every ship causes ripples to form out of the ocean below, which forms a dark blue/black layer. Or perhaps it was the giant, hunkering steps of the stripped- down AT-ATs, carrying giant ships to be broken down. All of this to build the new TIE Fighters and Star Destroyers for the Imperial Fleet. The Republic had left a large number of ships needing to be broken down for scrap, and reforged into something new. Sometimes, laborers would steal parts, taking it for their own purposes. Or for the next available buyer. Great care had to be taken with a transaction, as to not alert the supervisors of the shipyards, or the various crime families that littered the underbelly of the city. To the eye of an everyday citizen, the bridge leading to the industrial section of the city was quiet. Just a way for goods and everyone else to get to a transport, but its for more than that. Only the most skillful can go across unnoticed, and it would be common for every smuggler and scoundrel to get across. The figure moved across the bridge quickly, moving away from the transport center. Beneath the streetlights, the cloak would flutter. It moved without hesitation, avoiding the glimpses which Imperial watchtowers would detect. The cloak was a deep black, blending into the surroundings. The cold wind shook the bridge, but before the spotlights of the watchtowers moved, the figure was gone. It moved into the industrial center; a labyrinth of metal and stone full of hidden eyes and blasters. He knew exactly the direction to take. On occasion, he would hide in small crevices and between building to avoid Imperial patrols, who regulated the outside of the district. Their radio chatter was audible as they stepped through the street. It took over an hour to make his way through the complex, but at least he arrived at the warehouse. It was an older place, smaller than any of the buildings in the complex. But keeping low-key was essential to this deal. Moonlight shown through the openings in the walls, creating a dazzled effect. The figure stepped forward into the light, and heard the drawing of over thirty blasters. Every single one aimed at him. The criminals in the rafters held their positions, the sniper scopes mounted. Half of them moved down onto the floor. Many of the criminals were comprised of humans and aliens of various kinds, but also figures in rectangular helmets, the red bars watching him as they would an enemy. They kept their eyes straight on him, moving into a circular position to surround him. The ringleader moved forward, his helmet still except for simple movements. “You are surrounded.” The figure observed the criminals around him, before slowly removing his hood. A unicorn stood, his head held high looking into the crowd. His fur was a dark grey, with his crumpled mane as dark as the black robes. The blue eyes scanned everyone in the room. He responded in a smooth, yet age-experienced tone. “You are not the ones I was expecting.” He pressed further, addressing the ringleader. “Recruiting mercenaries outside of your own Clan? The Pykes have grown desperate since the fall of the Republic.” The ringleader primed his blaster. “That does not matter! There is a bounty on your head, placed by us for stolen cargo.” A false bounty? Interesting. The unicorn shook his head. “I do not want your pathetic spice, and even if I did I would not take it. I have no business with the Pykes. My reasons are beyond your understanding.” The group did not take well to that. The leader called out to his followers. “Do not let him leave. Take him dead or alive. But I prefer dead.” The pony only sighed, realizing this would get messy. His voice sounded smooth as water, but laced with menace. “Have you ever heard the philosophy of the great sage Kujet?” Breathing, he began, walking around with blasters aimed at him. “There was once a civilization who learned to weird a power so unimaginable it could balance the entire galaxy. Or as they called it, ‘Life Wind’. Over time, they prospered, but Kujet realized the true potential of this power.” Little did the Pykes on the ground know that their snipers were now floating above the rafters, choking as the last of air was released from their bodies. The pony continued. “He realized bloodshed would be the only way to lead to true power. So, in the halls of the great temple of Darthomir, he massacred all who stood in his way. Even after his death, and the extinction of his own civilization, his story lives on. As a reminder the only way to true peace is the path of revenge and darkness.” With that, an echoing of cracks was heard as the snipers were dropped, back onto the rafters. The group looked upward, realizing as the moon shone brightly into the warehouse that half was dead, their necks snapped after suffocation. The ringleader looked in anger and horror, as potrayed through his voice. “What are you? Some kind of demon?” The pony walked up to the leader, who stood only ten feet away from his followers. His eyes became red. “No. I am no demon. I am merely one who knows true darkness.” Within less than a second, the unicorn withdrew a hilt, igniting the blade and stabbing the leader, whose helmet flicked as he fell. The lightsaber appeared weathered, as ancient as any relic, but still forged strong. On the blackened hilt appeared to be writing, which could not be read. The red blade crackled in an unstable manner. The rest of the assembled criminals responded. Some ran, while others moved to face their opponent. The unicorn moved swiftly, using a harsh combat technique to strike down the remaining criminals. He pulled his enemies towards him using the Force, striking them down one by one in a quick manner. For those who ran, he cast a spell which blocked all exits, not allowing anyone to leave. Leaping and moving with power, he overwhelmed opponents with a mixture of lightsaber combat and magic. The spells would create bright flashes which would blind them, and in the confusion, the power of the Force reverberated. As the final Pyke ran, the unicorn outreached his hoof, stopping the criminal. Within a few seconds, he pulled with the Force, and stabbed it, pushing his lightsaber upwards. The body hit the ground with a thud. He stared at the criminal cell he had just killed, before taking a breath and deactivated the lightsaber. Walking around, he looked up to the moonlight that bathed the warehouse. They were expecting someone else in my place. Someone who has a knowledge of their trade routes and spice. Perhaps an enemy, or an ally betrayed. We could have been looking for the same enterprise. He turned around suddenly, noticing something strange about the warehouse. Or perhaps this was set-up for another reason. To watch and observe, to spy from the shadows. On the crate pushed against the center of the wall, there lie a holoprojector. Blinking red lights indicated it was recording and transmitting well hidden from the Pykes. “The display is simple,” the Unicorn said. “Small enough to hide from everyone, including me. But unnecessary in the grand scheme. I do not like to be deceived in my dealings.” The holoprojector began to transmit, casting an image of an emblem. Within the circular design was a circle, filled in on the top half and left empty on the bottom. The outside design was filled opposite of the inner design, with the bottom entirely filled in. Once the transmission began, a voice began to speak. “You performed a service. Eliminating the Pyke cell on Corellia. An unexpected display, but it will enhance future dealings on this planet.” The unicorn recognized the symbol. “Who speaks for Crimson Dawn?” A calm menace worked its way through the response. “You have been gathering information this entire time, from tracking our shipments to questioning our associates. Dryden Vos told me much about you. Your ambition, your interest in the ancient and occult. But I had to see your power myself.” He did not back down from the intimidation. “As I’ve said, I do not like being deceived. Reveal yourself.” “Very well, for it appears the rule of two is complete.” Out of the shadows an image emerged, a life-sized projection which looked more realistic than before. The tall figure was seated in a chair, his dark robes covering his body and head. With a movement of the hands, he revealed himself through lowering his hood. The Zabrack had red and black markings all over his skin, with horns protruding from his head. His body was muscular, and his eyes were bloodshot red with yellow pupils. “But you know who I am.” “Maul,” the pony said. “The last I heard of you, you were in power on Mandalore before the siege. I thought you were dead.” “I lived,” he said simply. “And became leader of Crimson Dawn. The Pyke cell you killed were conspiring against me in their desperation to seek power since the formation of the Shadow Collective.” The unicorn nodded. “Dryden Vos mentioned a leader who led from the shadows. And he reported to you my intentions.” “Not completely,” Maul replied. “You have kept yourself in mystery long enough. State who you are, and why you sought out Crimson Dawn.” The pony sighed before speaking. “My name is Nyroc. Long ago, I led an uprising against a leader who exiled my master to the moon. During the battle, the Force awakened inside me and combined with my magic. It nearly destroyed me, but in the midst transported me to this galaxy. Long did I search for the source what combined with my magic, and in doing so brought me to the Dark Side.” “You forged yourself a new identity, in the ways of the Sith Lords,” Maul guessed. “With a lightsaber reflecting your own power.” Nyroc nodded. “In doing so, it brought me to the realization of what caused the Force to awaken. I become intrigued by the Zeffo, traveling to their remaining temples, and studying their writings along with ones from the Ancient Sith. My own lightsaber was forged with their words.” He gazed up at Maul. “You ask for my purpose; I seek revenge against the ruler who exiled my master, and to destroy my world and remake it in the image of eternal night and darkness.” “And so you seek my help in this endeavor.” Maul stood up, walking around Nyroc. It was as if the Sith Lord was actually there. “Yes,” Nyroc answered. “I believe I have found my way back. The writing of the Zeffo spoke of an ancient realm also written in the histories of the Jedi and the Sith: Mortis. Kujet believed in turn this realm was linked to an mystical plane between the Force that was referenced in sacred texts of the Jedi on Ahch-To.” Nyroc looked out towards the moonlight, and spoke the next sentence close to a whisper. “A world between worlds. One spoken in legends to guide through space and time, even dimensions. I believe by using this, combining with my magic, I can go back to Equestria. I seek not your help, but a partnership in my conquest. In exchange, I offer your Crimson Dawn a piece of the fortune I gain in the process.” Maul looked at him for a moment. “And this relies on my trust in the words of legends and myths from long ago. I cannot offer members of my organization based just on this. How do you seek to gain control?” “By manipulating the criminal organizations within Equestria, and using them to my command,” Nyroc explained. “They will fall under me, and I could destroy them in the process. As well, those once loyal to me whose ideas are passed down will follow. With their combined strength, I will plant the seeds of chaos, mistrust, manipulation, and darkness across every government, who will suffocate without light.” “In this case, Crimson Dawn can offer you weapons. In exchange, you will allow us to take half of the profits from your exploits,” Maul decided. “You seek to lead from the shadows, with others sneaking around to carry out your master plan.” Nyroc simply bowed his head. “I want Equestria to live in fear, nobody will be safe.” “You will need a second-in-command, one who keeps everyone in order, to ensure your operation is successful,” Maul spoke, with an idea forming in his head, while sitting back down. “You have been to Darthomir. I’m sure you have heard of the tales of the slaughter of the Nightsisters.” “They say nobody survived, it was a massacre,” Nyroc remembered. “The Clone Wars were long ago, while I still sought out the Zeffo temples.” “There was one who led that attack,” Maul stated. “A fearsome warlord, and military leader in the Seperatist forces known for his hatred and cruelty. Spealizing in warfare and assassination, he killed many and struck fear in the Jedi.” Nyroc’s eyes widened in recognition. “I heard stories of those onslaughts, of blood shed by a cybernetic ghost. But it was said that warrior has been dead for a long time, killed in battle shortly before the fall of the Jedi.” “A well-known theory, but only partially true,” Maul corrected. “I had a personal vendetta against the Jedi responsible for killing him. But after I escaped from Republic forces in the midst of Order 66, my agents tracking him informed me of a different fate. Kenobi, in his ignornance, forgot to finish the job.” “Are you telling me that a trained Jedi Master would just leave his enemy alive rather than killing him?” Nyroc asked with annoyance. “Do you expect me to believe that?” “I believe that Kenobi thought he was finished, and left before confirming,” Maul said. “Nevertheless, his body shut down, with only the life systems of his body barely surviving. My agents tracked down the body, and transported it to a facility. He has been unconscious for years now, his body kept alive only through cryo-stasis in possession of Crimson Dawn.” Nyroc paused. “Are you offering me this along with the weapons?” “I believe it can help you in your cause,” Maul confirmed. “You will need to repair his body, and convince him to not kill you where you stand. But he will be of use to you.” Nyroc nodded in thanks. “If you promise me this, then we are in agreement. Now then, you will need to tell me the locations.” “Within this holoprojector contains coordinates which will lead you to the bunker,” Maul explained. “The weapons will be there. This will also serve as how to communicate with me, if it’s not destroyed in your process to get back to your world. Begone, for I have work to do.” The transmission ended. Nyroc picked up the holoprojector, and putting his hood back on, walked out of the warehouse. Utapau, Days Later Nyroc made his way from the ship through the desert on the surface, the winds battering him with sand. Held with magic, the tracking beacon let off a steady sound, with the compass built in pointing to the coordinates on this planet. Although many had left the planet since the rise of the Empire, there were some who still remained. Many still lived in the large caverns of populated cities, but there were some who still lived on the surface. Loners, outcasts exiled here often as a punishment. Or they seek the soliutude of a quiet grave. Only a few settlements still remain, Nyroc observed looking at the abandoned homesteads. He had left his ship by one, knowing due to the hyperwind storms on the surface that he could only navigate on hoof. Even for the experienced animals which helped to navigate the various underground caverns on the planet, the surface was a treacherous place. No wonder the Pau’ans moved underground. Still, he knew he had to remain focused on getting to his destination. The winds were picking up on the horizon, and there would be a storm hitting within only a few hours. Only the steady beeping of the tracker and the desert would keep him company. Sighing, he began to recite the words of Kujet and ancient prophets of the Sith in his head, long forgotten to many since the days of the Old Republic. Finally, within a few hours, as the hyperwind storm clouds banged on the horizon, threatening to break at any moment, he spotted where the tracker was taking him. A large cave, perhaps an abandoned mine, stuck out in the distance. It was between the plains of sand, made up of the skeletons of animals dead and extinct, and the mountains which held ores and minerals. Perhaps it was a passage leading to the mines themselves. Nyroc shook his head, as he made his way toward the marker. About two hours later, he made his way to the mouth of the cave, just as the storm began to rain down on the desert plains. Walking into darkness, he put the tracker into a pocket, and ignited his lightsaber. The red light lit up a passageway into the mines, as the floor lined with metal and carts which would be filled with salts. He walked slowly, taking in the various life forms which cluttered the old mine, from filth beetles to ginntho. The giant spiders would keep away from the red lightsaber, knowing not to tempt their fate. After a few minutes of walking, he spotted the door leading into the center control room of the mining operations. Now, the door was marked with the marker of Crimson Dawn. He was sure that this spot was first used by smugglers in the chaos of the Clone Wars before it was taken over by the criminal syndicate. Entering the code given to him by Crimson Dawn, the door opened, and closed as he entered. The first thing he observed were the boxes of weapons given to him by the criminal syndicate. Blasters and bombs of every type were packed away, lining the walls just underneath and in-between the décor. Although the number was limited, Nyroc knew that he could produce copies using a simple spell. On the walls, various robotic parts were hanged, and statues lined the walls, telling a story of a warrior’s transformation. Whether more machine than living being, or the other way around, each one told the story, leading to the opposite wall. The wall was lined with a large crypto-statis tank, one which was lined with glass, an icy fog making it nearly impossible to see. However, at one point, the fog cleared for a few seconds just enough to make out a metal exoskeleton. Standing tall, the arms and legs were stretched out, as the heart could be seen just barely through the metal. Just above the tank, a cast of three masks could be seen. And beneath those masks, the head stood, with eyes closed. Here lies the body of the once great General Grievous, Nyroc thought. Preserved with the life systems intact. Going over to the control panels, he started to thaw the tank, slowly raising the temperature. Using this, I must repair the body, so it can be reborn. Indicating a series of commands, the machinery within the tank began to repair the body, starting with the metal exoskeleton surrounding the biological components. The process would only take a few minutes, as it seemed Crimson Dawn was knowledgeable about how the body worked. Nyroc had read files about the warrior, including on who he was before, and his various traits and histories. Because of this, he knew he had an advantage to win over the warrior to his cause. After a few minutes, it was time for the final two repairs. The first would be to replace the metal mask, which had been damaged in the battle against the Jedi. The second would require Nyroc’s magic to help repair the lungs, allowing the warrior to breathe easily and get rid of the cough. Stealth cannot be maintained unless the body is silent. In that moment after the final repairs were completed, the lights in the room went out, with the emergency lights on the walls providing only a small amount. The storm must have taken out the main generator. Nevertheless, the emergency one will provide a small amount of power before it can be repaired. He waited in silence, turning around to observe the weapons. It was close to an hour later as he was observing the weapons, when he heard two sounds. The first was a large banging from the glass, which would echo throughout the room. The second was the another bang, accompanied by the sound of glass cracking. “I would not do that if I were you,” Nyroc called out, turning around. Although the tank was still intact, the impact of the crack was caused by a cybernetic claw rolled into a first. “Your life support systems are still weak. You must allow them to heal for only a few minutes longer.” The fist moved back into the fog. From that point forward, Nyroc counted down as the control panel indicated the life systems and exoskeleton would be fully brought back power soon. In the meantime, he continued to address the recovering warrior. “I know who you are, Qymaen Jai Sheelal of Kalee. A fearsome warlord who would do anything to improve himself, to become the ultimate warrior to enact vengeance against the Republic. Building yourself anew after a crash decimated your body, you looked to droids for inspiration while building your cybernetic enhancements. Trained in the arts of lightsaber combat by the Sith Lord Count Dooku, you led an army to reign terror upon the citizens of the Republic.” There was no sound of broken glass, which he considered to be a good sign. He decided not to mention Crimson Dawn. “The Republic is no more, the Jedi long vanquished by the Empire. But you survived, as a result of your strength and resilience. Rise, Grievous of Kalee, and tell me what it is you seek.” Out of the fog, a metallic claw emerged, moving downward as it scraped the glass. And with the claw, came the mask, with eyes of yellow interlaced with bloodshot red. Only the claw and head were visible before the rest of the body emerged from the fog. And with that, the tank opened. General Grievous walked out of the tank, holding onto a railing for support as he hit the ground. Still standing, the cyborg walked through the fog, staring at the pony. Nyroc had only seconds as Grievous smashed his claw where the pony stood. The impact destroyed the systems of the crypo-stasis chamber, sparks whizzing out of the console. Teleporting, he soon emerged out of the other side of the room. “Your strength is returning, along with the muscle memory of your life systems. But fighting me will get us nowhere.” Finding a box on the ground, he used magic to push it over to the warrior. “In here, you will find your belongings, including the cloak from Kalee and the lightsabers rightfully won by you.” This was all part of Nyroc’s plan, as Grievous put the cloak back on, along with the lightsabers. “Before you attack me again, I believe we can come to an understanding. Listen, while your voice modulator is still healing.” From underneath his robes, he pulled out the hilt of his lightsaber, igniting the red blade. “I am a Sith Lord, having learned from the writings of the Sith scholars of the Old Republic, to the Acolytes of the High Republic. But before that day, I was a warrior like you. I saw my leader betrayed and exiled, and I fought to free her, along with many of the Guards of the Night. But I was cast out from my world, a spell teleporting me across worlds to this place after I attempted to combine my powers.” The cybernetic warrior stared at him, taking in the words. “All I want is to go back to my world, and cast a shadow of darkness and bloodshed where no soul is unafraid. And you want to enact that same shadow onto the Jedi. But they are gone. Which leads you here to me. Tell me, what is it that you want?” Hatred filled Grievous’s eyes as his voice let out only one word. “Revenge.” “Our goals are the same, only separated by different targets. You can have another chance at revenge, and rule as the warlord which made you feared on Kalee. Will you join me in my quest for vengeance, as we act together?” Grievous looked at him. “If you want my service, then we are in agreement. But cross me, and I will kill you where you stand.” “Then we are agreed,” Nyroc said, bowing his head. “Now then, we have much planning to do before the storm passes.” As he opened the doorway going deeper into the mine, Grievous followed him, gripping a lightsaber. This lightsaber, like many others, was won from a slain Jedi. Each hilt in his possession tells of a different story. But this one tells a story of a massacre on Lothal, the master who sacrificed herself, and the apprentice with vengeance in his eyes.