GO GHOULS
The echoes of Nar Shaddaa felt like ghosts from another life, their whispers distant and unimportant now. Gavin Vel had been forged in the gutter, a product of the chaos and filth of the Smuggler’s Moon, where every day had been a struggle for dominance, survival, and the fleeting illusion of power. He had been an enforcer, a tool for others, a blunt weapon wielded by those too afraid to bloody their own hands. He had fought, bled, and broken men in the dark alleys of a world that consumed the weak and discarded the dead without a second thought.
But as he sat aboard Reigns personal shuttle, his life had meaning beyond the petty squabbles of criminals and lowlifes. No longer was he just another street brute with no future beyond the next job, the next body, the next drink. He was Gavin Vel, Sith Acolyte—a name that carried weight among his peers, whispered with respect and, more importantly, fear. He had fought, struggled, and earned his place in Kor’ethyr Academy, standing out not as another faceless apprentice, but as a warrior destined for something far greater than the slums of Nar Shaddaa. He was the chosen student of
Diarch Reign
, a man feared and revered in equal measure, a master of the dark side whose will shaped the fate of entire sectors. Gavin was more than just a student—he was being sculpted into something formidable, something lethal.
He clenched his fists, feeling the faint tingling of power coursing through his veins, remnants of his recent lessons. Training under Reign had been a crucible of pain and discovery. Every sparring session left him stronger, sharper—more attuned to the darkness that now flowed through him. He had fought his master in practice duels, actually fought him, pushing himself beyond the limits of what he once thought possible. And though he knew that if Reign truly unleashed, he would be wiped from existence in a single strike, that truth did not deter him. He was improving.
The hum of the ship's engines shifted as the shuttle began its descent. Gavin turned his gaze to the viewport, his expression unreadable as the planet of Corbos came into view. It was a desolation of barren rock and dust, a lifeless expanse of ruin and silence. Winds howled across endless dunes of ash and stone, whispering of the ancient battles that had once raged here—the wars that had shaped the Sith Order itself. Corbos was a graveyard of ambition, a reminder of what happened to those who weren’t strong enough to claim their place in the galaxy.
His lip curled slightly.
"This place is a wasteland," Gavin muttered, his voice carrying no fear, only a hardened curiosity. He turned his gaze toward Reign, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "You really think we can survive out there?"
The question was not one of doubt but of challenge—of expectation. Gavin did not retreat from hardship; he had thrived in it his entire life. And if Corbos wanted to break him, then he would meet it with the same raw defiance that had carried him from the streets of Nar Shaddaa to this very moment.
This was a test.
And Gavin Vel did not intend to fail.
But as he sat aboard Reigns personal shuttle, his life had meaning beyond the petty squabbles of criminals and lowlifes. No longer was he just another street brute with no future beyond the next job, the next body, the next drink. He was Gavin Vel, Sith Acolyte—a name that carried weight among his peers, whispered with respect and, more importantly, fear. He had fought, struggled, and earned his place in Kor’ethyr Academy, standing out not as another faceless apprentice, but as a warrior destined for something far greater than the slums of Nar Shaddaa. He was the chosen student of
Diarch Reign
, a man feared and revered in equal measure, a master of the dark side whose will shaped the fate of entire sectors. Gavin was more than just a student—he was being sculpted into something formidable, something lethal. He clenched his fists, feeling the faint tingling of power coursing through his veins, remnants of his recent lessons. Training under Reign had been a crucible of pain and discovery. Every sparring session left him stronger, sharper—more attuned to the darkness that now flowed through him. He had fought his master in practice duels, actually fought him, pushing himself beyond the limits of what he once thought possible. And though he knew that if Reign truly unleashed, he would be wiped from existence in a single strike, that truth did not deter him. He was improving.
The hum of the ship's engines shifted as the shuttle began its descent. Gavin turned his gaze to the viewport, his expression unreadable as the planet of Corbos came into view. It was a desolation of barren rock and dust, a lifeless expanse of ruin and silence. Winds howled across endless dunes of ash and stone, whispering of the ancient battles that had once raged here—the wars that had shaped the Sith Order itself. Corbos was a graveyard of ambition, a reminder of what happened to those who weren’t strong enough to claim their place in the galaxy.
His lip curled slightly.
"This place is a wasteland," Gavin muttered, his voice carrying no fear, only a hardened curiosity. He turned his gaze toward Reign, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "You really think we can survive out there?"
The question was not one of doubt but of challenge—of expectation. Gavin did not retreat from hardship; he had thrived in it his entire life. And if Corbos wanted to break him, then he would meet it with the same raw defiance that had carried him from the streets of Nar Shaddaa to this very moment.
This was a test.
And Gavin Vel did not intend to fail.
