Star Wars: The Old Republic: Revan (39 page)

The Force washed over him in a wave, and a million possible futures flickered through his mind simultaneously. In some the Emperor
was no more; in others he had transformed the entire galaxy into an empty wasteland. He saw both Revan’s triumph and defeat in the throne room; he saw variations of his own life and death played out over and over in every conceivable way, shape, and form.

He had to choose, but there was no way to know which was the most likely outcome, or what actions of his would lead to which results. Revan had said visions could guide the Jedi, but for Scourge they brought nothing but confusion.

The moment passed and the universe began to move again, though everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. Revan and Meetra stepped forward, ready to initiate the final confrontation. Scourge knew he had to act now; he had to make his choice.

In a sudden moment of clarity he saw the Emperor lying defeated at the feet of a powerful Jedi … but that Jedi was neither Revan nor Meetra. And the Sith Lord knew what he had to do.

Instead of advancing with his two companions, Scourge stepped to the side so that he was standing directly behind Meetra. There was a flicker in his consciousness as the universe snapped back to full speed, and he slid the blade of his lightsaber between her shoulders.

Meetra gasped and toppled forward, dead before she hit the floor. Revan’s head snapped to the side, shock and horror emanating from him even though his mask hid his expression. The distraction gave the Emperor the opportunity he needed, and he unleashed another blast of lightning into the Jedi’s chest.

Scourge could smell burning flesh as Revan screamed once then collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

The Emperor turned to face Scourge, and the Sith Lord dropped to one knee, head bowed in supplication.

“Explain yourself,” the Emperor said, and Scourge knew if he chose his words poorly they would be the last he ever spoke.

“The Jedi was working with Nyriss,” he said, speaking quickly. “He claimed he had once been your servant, but that he had returned to destroy you. I knew I was not strong enough to defeat him myself, so I lured him here to face you.”

“Why didn’t you mention this when you told me about Nyriss’s betrayal?”

“I didn’t know,” Scourge lied. “I only found out after the Guard
razed her stronghold. The Jedi sought me out. They knew I worked for Nyriss; they never suspected that I was the one who had betrayed her.”

“So you led them to me.”

“I knew they could never defeat you,” Scourge said. “So I played along, waiting for my chance to turn on them and prove my loyalty to you once more.”

“If this is true,” the Emperor said. “Then you must finish it.”

Scourge nodded, and rose to his feet. He walked over to Revan, bent down, and ripped off his helmet. The Jedi’s face was badly burned, the outline of his mask indelibly seared into his cheeks and forehead. He was still unconscious, his body in shock from his wounds; without medical attention he would die soon anyway.

The Sith Lord raised his lightsaber to deliver the coup de grâce. He brought his arm down, but it suddenly stopped as if an invisible and impossibly strong hand had seized his wrist. He glanced back at the Emperor in surprise.

“Put away your blade. You have passed the test,” the Emperor said. “But Revan can still be of use to me.”

Despite his curiosity, Scourge knew better than to ask how. He couldn’t risk anything that might make it appear he was concerned about the Jedi’s fate. To sell his lie, he had to make it seem as if everything he had done had been for the most obvious and selfish of reasons.

“Twice I have stopped those who sought to defeat you,” he said, extinguishing his blade and bowing before the Emperor. “I trust you will remember this when you select the members of the new Dark Council.”

The Emperor smiled, and Scourge’s entire body went cold.

“I promise you will be given your just reward.”

“THE RITUAL IS ABOUT TO BEGIN,”
the Emperor intoned.

Scourge nodded, though even if he had wanted to refuse it was far too late now.

He was standing in the center of a cylindrical metal platform roughly two meters across. Dozens of wires and IV tubes had been hooked to his body. The wires were connected to several generators arranged in a circle around the platform, the IV tubes ran to clear vats filled with a strange green bubbling liquid.

They were still inside the citadel, but this private chamber was much smaller than the throne room. It was unfurnished and, apart from the Emperor, Scourge, and the infernal machinery he was hooked up to, completely empty.

In the wake of Revan’s defeat, the Emperor hadn’t made him a member of the Dark Council after all. Instead, he had created a new position for Scourge: the Emperor’s Wrath.

The Emperor had believed his explanation about Revan. As a reward Scourge was to become his personal enforcer and executioner, taking his orders directly from the Emperor and answering to no one but him.

That wasn’t the full extent of his reward, however. For his role in
exposing Xedrix, Nyriss, and Revan, the Emperor had promised to grant Scourge the gift of eternal life. He would forever serve at the Emperor’s side, an honor far greater than even that of being selected for the Dark Council.

Scourge had eagerly accepted, knowing his new position would give him both time and opportunity to find another way to stop the Emperor before his madness and hunger consumed the galaxy.

“Open yourself to the dark side,” the Emperor said, and Scourge felt the air around him begin to swirl with power.

Betraying his allies had not altered the inevitable outcome; the Emperor would have won regardless. At least this way Scourge was still alive to carry on their cause.

Revan was still alive, too, but he was as good as dead to Scourge. The Emperor was holding him prisoner in a secret facility, and Scourge knew he could never risk trying to find its location. He couldn’t do anything that might suggest an ongoing connection between him and Revan. Doing so would expose the truth to the Emperor, making his sacrifice of the Jedi pointless.

“Let the spark of eternal life ignite within you!” the Emperor called out.

Scourge felt a sharp burst of heat in his chest. He gritted his teeth in pain as the heat grew more intense.

He felt no guilt or remorse over what he had done. He knew the Jedi would never have chosen this path, of course. They would have felt the price of betrayal was too high.

Scourge knew they were wrong. There was no sense in throwing his life away with theirs. Betrayal was the cost of stopping the Emperor, and he alone had been willing to pay it.

Revan had been right about one thing, however: the attack had made the Emperor step back from his plans to invade the Republic. Instead of looking beyond the borders of the Sith Empire, he had turned his attention inward, focusing on restoring stability and control over Dromund Kaas and the other worlds he ruled.

The Dark Council would have to be rebuilt. It was inevitable there would be infighting and high turnover in the first few years as the new members vied with one another to curry favor with the Emperor. And
he, in turn, would keep a close eye on the actions of the Council until the plots and schemes returned to a more normal and expected level.

It would be several decades, maybe longer, before the Emperor revisited the idea of invading the Republic. In that time, much could happen. Revan had spoken of another champion who would rise; Scourge had seen that champion in his final vision. Blessed with eternal life, Scourge would serve faithfully at the Emperor’s side, biding his time as he waited for that champion to emerge from the mists of time.

While serving, he would study the Emperor. He would learn everything about him. He would come to understand his strengths and weaknesses so that when the time came, he could help Revan’s prophesied champion destroy the Emperor once and for all.

“Feel your mortality as it is stripped away.”

Scourge screamed as invisible claws tore at his insides, seemingly shredding his vital organs.

The heat in his chest had spread to the rest of his body; it felt as if his blood were made of fire. The agony became unbearable, and he shrieked and collapsed to the floor.

“The ritual cannot be undone,” the Emperor said as Scourge writhed and wept at his feet.

Through his torment, Scourge realized with dawning horror what the Emperor was saying. The ritual was over, but the searing heat and the rending of his insides continued unabated.

Focusing his will, he managed to still the convulsions racking his body. He forced himself to his knees, though every movement seemed to amplify the pain. Trembling, he rose to his feet and addressed the Emperor.

“How long will this anguish last?” he asked, his jaw clenched.

“As time passes you will learn to accept and endure your suffering,” the Emperor answered. “Your mind and body will find ways to deal with the pain. After many months you will become accustomed enough to it to function in your role as the Emperor’s Wrath. Eventually you will simply become numb, unable to feel anything at all.”

“Why?” Scourge asked, his voice something between a sob and a moan.

“Everything has a cost,” the Emperor explained. “This is the price of immortality.”

REVAN’S CELL WAS AS MUCH LABORATORY AS PRISON
.
Trapped in a suspended cage of shimmering power, he hovered somewhere between life and death.

His paralyzed body was in some kind of stasis, preserved and protected so that even time itself could not touch him. But his consciousness was fully aware.

Meetra could sense his suffering. When she had died, she had not become one with the Force. Loyal to the end, her spirit had remained with Revan, an invisible presence hovering just outside his cell.

She couldn’t speak with him; whatever arcane Sith sorcery the Emperor had used to bind Revan in his cell made that impossible. She doubted Revan was even aware she was there. Yet even though she couldn’t communicate with him, she was able to offer aid and support, her power trickling through the energy barrier that surrounded him, a lifeline he could cling to in the dark ocean of his imprisonment.

As the Emperor fed off him, Meetra was allowing Revan to feed off her. Her sustenance strengthened his resolve whenever he grew weak, refreshing and restoring him so he could continue his never-ending mental war.

Because of her, Revan was able to do more than just fight to keep the Emperor at bay.

REVAN COULD FEEL THE EMPEROR FEEDING ON HIM
,
drawing on his power to sate his endless hunger. Though the two were physically separated by a dozen parsecs, there was still an unbreakable mental link, fashioned by the Emperor and sustained by the infernal machines powering the cell.

Yet the Emperor wanted more than to leach off his fallen adversary’s power to sustain his own twisted existence. Revan could feel the enemy inside his head. He could sense the unmistakable darkness of the Emperor sifting through his thoughts and memories, seeking, probing, digging for answers.

He wanted information on the Republic and the Jedi. How strong were they? Where were they vulnerable? How much did they know about the Sith and the Emperor himself? He wanted information on Revan. What had happened during his own invasion of the Republic? Why had it failed? How had he freed himself from the Emperor’s control?

The answers were all there, but Revan would not surrender them easily. Though he was physically helpless, mentally he was strong enough to wage war against the Emperor, guarding and protecting his secrets for however long it might take.

And Revan knew something the Emperor did not. The connection between them went both ways. There were brief moments—times when the Emperor was intently focused on something else—when he could subvert their relationship by planting seeds in the Emperor’s thoughts.

He had to be careful, lest his enemy discover what he was doing. But he was able to push and nudge the Emperor’s own thoughts and beliefs, subtly manipulating them in ways that could have profound effects. Revan played on the Emperor’s caution and patience, constantly pushing them to the forefront of his enemy’s mind. He augmented his irrational fear of death. At every opportunity he reinforced the idea that invading the Republic was reckless and dangerous.

It was impossible to know what would have happened if Scourge had not betrayed them in the throne room. They might have lost anyway, but they also might have defeated the Emperor, forever freeing the galaxy from the threat of annihilation at the hands of a madman. There was no way to be sure, and no point in dwelling on the past.

Revan was certain of one thing, though: for however many centuries his body survived in stasis, he would fight to stop the Emperor from invading the Republic.

He clung to this certainty; it gave him hope. He knew there was no chance of escape from his prison. He knew it was inevitable that one day the Emperor would win their endless battle of wills.

But if he managed to delay him for fifty years, Bastila might never have to experience the horrors of another galactic war. A hundred and his son could live his whole life in an era of peace, never knowing the fear of facing utter annihilation.

Whenever his thoughts turned to his wife and son, he tried to reach out to them through the Force, offering comfort and strength from the other side of the galaxy. He didn’t know if they ever felt him, but he liked to imagine that they did.

Even if they couldn’t, just thinking of them gave him strength. Revan was fighting for the future of his wife and child, and it was a fight he did not intend to lose.

“WHY IS YOUR HAIR ALL GRAY?”
Reesa, the youngest of Bastila’s grandchildren, asked.

“Because I’m an old, old woman,” Bastila replied.

“Is that why you’re all wrinkly, too?” her brother Bress asked.