Chapter 44: Darth Scriver

Alchemy-enhanced metal parted scales and tore through flesh and bone. With a yelp, the last Tu'kata collapsed, joining the other twenty scattered on the ground around me. They were the smaller, more common breed, rather than the monsters I had hunted for Renning months ago.

This was the third pack I'd fought today.

It was getting easier. But then again, they were just animals. Smart animals, but barely sapient. Not a challenge, at least when compared to what I had faced recently.

I could have killed them all with lightning or telekinesis, but the blade was more…cathartic. It made my blood pump and let me take my mind off things.

I could almost understand why some Sith lost themselves to the carnage, devoting themselves to slaughter. The adrenaline that rushed through veins was as addicting as any drug, if not more so.

But as the long, oozing cut on my right arm attested, I shouldn't let my mind wander too far. It was a distraction that made my bladework turn sloppy. Despite the size of the wound, the pain was only a pinprick. Once again, Crucitorn had proven to be a worthwhile investment, one that I was getting a great deal of practice with.

Planting the sword in the bleeding wound of the dead Tu'kata, I left it to drink as I concentrated on my own injury.

A shudder ran down my spine as I drew the Dark Side into myself and directed it according to my will. The blood stopped oozing down my arm before it began to fight against gravity as it slowly began crawling back into the wound, not leaving a single drop behind to stain my skin.

As it did, the edges of the injury began to knit themselves back together, as though invisible hands were stitching it closed with a needle and thread. Muscle and skin warped and rejoined like they had never been separated.

I don't know how long I stood there, enraptured by the sight. It was almost like seeing time reverse itself.

When it was done, only a thin line of white scar tissue was left. There was always a scar. Perhaps it was because I was not yet a master of Sith Alchemy. Perhaps a better trained Sith might have been able to avoid leaving a mark.

Either way, it didn't really bother me. I had so many scars now, what was one more?

A chime from my belt snapped me out of my trance and my hand darted for the datapad hanging from it. My other reached out with the Force, snatching my sword up from where it had been drinking. My gaze alternated between the datapad's screen and the desert around me.

Though most of my droids had been lost thanks to him, I still had the probe droids I had acquired from the Second Platoon all those months ago to use for hunting down Castor.

Thankfully, they had not been connected to the network when it was compromised. Now, they were set to follow me around at a distance, alerting me if anyone came near.

While it was effective at preventing ambushes from the local fauna, I also knew he couldn't hide from cameras. Though it wouldn't do much to stop him, I would at least know he was coming.

A's camera feed was displayed on the datapad's screen, showing the sand dunes in the distance, empty save for a single figure. Even with the zoom engaged, it was hard to distinguish features.

My grip on the sword's hilt tightened against my will.

As it got closer, the figure started getting taller and taller. But soon, I could see who it was as a familiar shaggy face came into view.

The tension bled out of me as Gaarurra waved in greeting, his howl reaching my ears seconds later as it cross the distance. Within a few minutes, the Wookiee was once again towering over me. Like me, it seemed that he had been busy as his fur was matted with the now-familiar sight of Tu'kata blood.

"Found another pack?" I asked, despite already knowing the answer, "How many?"

Gaarurra nodded and warbled, "Twenty-six."

Actually, he said "two six" since Wookiees don't have specific words for numbers greater than ten for some reason. Oddly enough, they still understood the concept just fine despite that.

Over the last few days, I'd started attempting to learn Shyriiwook again while we were out in the dunes, both to take my mind off recent events and to actually be able to converse with Gaarurra somewhat without him having to resort to charades.

Normally, I didn't have much talent for learning languages, but the Force could compensate for that weakness. By now, I had learned numbers and a few greetings, as well as how to ask where the refresher was.

You know, important stuff.

But Force or not, I couldn't even attempt to pronounce any of it without sending myself into a coughing fit and Gaarurra into fits of laughter. Shyriiwook was absolutely brutal on vocal cords that hadn't evolved to speak it.

Also, it sounded like I was trying to gargle rock salt.

I frowned. Anywhere else in the valley, they usually numbered fourteen or fifteen at maximum before the "extras" got eaten or chased off by the rest.

Here, they could see numbers nearly double that. But that wasn't where the oddities ended. While Tu'kata became ultra-aggressive when they mutated, the base variant wasn't a ball of friendliness in the first place.

Even normal Tu'kata were incredibly territorial and hostile to everything that wasn't a part of their pack that invaded their territory, even other packs.

Instead, there were dozens of these enormous packs that had congregated in this area…and none of them were fighting. Hell, they were almost docile around each other.

If I hadn't spent so much time around a Tu'kata obsessed Sith Lord, I wouldn't have given much thought to how wrong that was.

There was something here and I wasn't the only one to figure it out. The Second Platoon had been dispatched here to clear the Tu'kata out at the behest of some Sith I'd never heard of before. Despite that, there might still be an opportunity to profit from it.

"Come on, we might as well report back and see if there are any other areas in need of some assistance."

...

Darth Scriver was not what one imagined when they pictured a Sith archaeologist.

With a towering frame that nearly put Gaarurra to shame, the human cut an imposing figure even when bent over a table and reading a datapad. From what I could guess, he was around late forties to early fifties.

Unlike many Sith, he was wearing his age well as there were few wrinkles on his face and his short black hair was only graying at the temples. Though he bore the distinctive red eyes of someone that had delved deeply into the Dark Side, that was the visible extent of the physical degradation.

His black and red robes pooled around him, moved slightly by the wind every now and again, with the darkness only broken up by his tan skin and the silver-and-black lightsaber hilt on his belt. There was a wide, empty area around him, breached only by a few people every now and again to deliver reports.

The rest of the soldiers kept quiet and as far away from him as possible. Most of them were still wary after dealing with Renning.

Scriver didn't even look up when I returned to camp. After all, why would he pay attention to a single soldier?

When I had arrived, I had procured a helmet and bodysuit to wear to cover up my more…distinctive features and used the Force to hide my presence while in his vicinity. I wasn't sure if it had actually worked or if Scriver simply didn't care, but he had yet to so much as glance in my direction.

That was alright with me as I had enough attention from Sith as it was and I didn't want to seem as though I was "poaching" in his territory. To avoid any potential complications, Gaarurra had set up shop in a nearby cave to keep out of his notice. We'd meet up to go hunting again later.

I ducked into Maklan's tent and pulled the helmet off as soon as I was out of Scriver's line of sight. Damn thing was claustrophobic and uncomfortable.

The CO and medic of the Second Platoon was inside, his rifle disassembled as he tried to get as much sand out of it as possible. He only glanced up for a moment when I entered.

"So how'd it go, milord?"

I dropped myself into the camp chair in the corner of the tent, finally allowing my muscles to relax, "Three packs for me, twenty to twenty-five each. Gaarurra got four."

Maklan quickly did the math in his head before cursing under his breath, "Over a hundred fifty Tu'kata dead from just you two today and we've still barely made a dent."

"How many did you guys get?" I asked as I pulled my boots off. I turned one upside down and watched the sand literally pour out of it to form a small mound on the ground.

Anakin had the right idea. Sand sucks.

The older man sighed before starting to reassemble his rifle, "Two packs, same numbers. We can't kill them as quickly as you and your shaggy friend can."

"So many for such a relatively small area. Way too many," I commented quietly, "There's something strong pulling them in and keeping them here."

Due to Korriban's strong connection to the Force, Tu'kata could pretty much subsist indefinitely anywhere on the planet without a source of food or water by feeding on the Force. They didn't eat it like a Force Wound did, rather they were simply sustained by it.

I peered around the tent flaps in Darth Scriver's direction. He probably had an inkling of what was going on. But he was unlikely to tell either Maklan or I.

"At least we're making some progress," Maklan continued, bringing me back to the conversation, "More than we were before you got here."

"Casualties?"

"A few here and there," He reported with a sigh, "Nobody's dead, but some are on the wait list for cyberlimbs. The sheer number of Tu'kata per pack makes it hard to take them down before they can grab someone.

Our armor holds up most of the time, but they occasionally get through the gaps. Thank the stars these are the normal ones and not the monsters Renning went after."

I grimaced, "I'd hate to see packs of those. Dealing with one was enough of a pain."

"No need to tell me that," Maklan retorted with a snort. He sobered quickly, "Got some mixed news. Good for us, maybe not so much for you.

I overheard Scriver talking with someone on holo. He's getting impatient with the slow pace, so we're getting more Sith support down here from the academy to speed up the clearing."

"Acolytes?" I asked. It wasn't like borrowing a small herd of acolytes for clearing out monsters was an unheard-of concept.

Maklan shook his head, "No, higher. An apprentice or two, I think."

"Great, more people to hide from," I huffed, leaning back, "Any idea when they're getting here?"

"Shouldn't be too much longer. Few minutes at most."

The whine of an approaching speeder interrupted him before he could say anything else.

"Looks like you were right," I quipped as I slipped my helmet and boots back on, clamping down on my Force presence as tightly as I could.

Poking my head out, I spied the approaching craft easily enough from the cloud of sand behind it. There were two people in the vehicle, both dressed in robes and armor. Two apprentices then.

The driver was a human, though no one I recognized. The same could not be said for the other.

When the speeder stopped, Tyrene swung her legs over the edge and hopped out.

=========================

The first book has been completed on Patreon, you can look it up in the collection alongside the second book. You can visit Patreon if you want to read in Advance.

 p@treon.com/Rage_moon