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Streams of light poured into the solarium glasteel windows of the biodome, the thick dome that separated the upper levels of a Galactic Alliance's outpost from the toxic landscape of Sullust. Their luminescent ribbons crossed the face of the Mirialan as she watched for a ship to descend from the ashen sky. The young Jedi Marshall was waiting for a man, someone she'd met in the Lower City on Taris, in a place the Maker itself seemed to have forgotten. Her thoughts were a matrix of emotions so complex she dared not let her mind rest on one or the other for too long. She let them flow like a river, as taught by Master Oomomo, refraining from letting herself linger on one topic or another for too long. They simply drifted through.
Chevu was suffering from a strange malaise, and was a bit worried that she had picked up that strange illness her former Master was still battling, as it had started with an upset stomach, and she'd recently returned from the Pirin temple where he lay dying a long, agonizing death. His med droid reminded her that what he was presumed to have only affected Sullustans, so it was mostly likely nerves affecting her. The droid was right about that. She was nervous to see Gabriel Sionoma, who was finally scheduled to arrive as planned.
There were other members of the Galactic Alliance here. Commander Coren Starchaser was around here somewhere, too, probably running a training sim with [member="Spark Finn"], and eager to introduce the philanthropist to the organization. Gabriel wasn't as hard-lined about extinguishing the Sith as Coren, but she suspected either way, they'd hit it off. Hopefully.
Absently tracing her own reflection with her small green fingers, she continued to watch shuttles ascend amid the rush of Tiburan flight formations. While below, across the rocky plateau, small geysers of lava bubbled and danced like mad gods.
It was a wonder the pilot was actually on Sullust. With the campaigns stretching them out to the galaxy, between Suarbi and the core, he was spending more and more time helping extend the arm of the Alliance. He needed to get out there, he had heard a message from Chevu had arrived, by way of his astromech, and he would get to it as soon as flight classes were over for some of the new recruits. They were launching a few new fighter designs shortly, and there were pilots already getting qualified on them.
But once that was over, he had received the message. Someone was arriving in the Alliance space? Having the rank of Commander, well, more the position (Starchaser’s actual rank being that of ‘Captain’), he was going to have to represent the GADF. And that meant uniform, and he was starting to keep his lightsaber on his hip at most times now. It gave him another approach to combat against the Sith.
Making his way to the prescribed meeting point, he wasn’t actually in his uniform, but his combat armor, it was light weight, and in a dark gray color, just enough to match the uniform fatigues of Alliance soldiers. Tiburon Squad was working without their commander today, being on a shake down, he had other things to attend to, but all the same, he arrived at the viewing location and saw his apprentice. “Chevu.” He said, nodded at her reflection in the glass.
He felt a pang in his stomach, the sort of twisting that preceded a hard choice. The type of choice that kept him up on the transit, leaving him tossing at the idea of attempting to overcome a powerful betrayal. A mirror overhung the dash, a reflective variety that in certain circumstances might assist him in signaling for help with a flare of light in the mid day sun. He would glance up at it, remind himself that he was murderer. No amount of acceptance, no excuses or reasons would change that truth. His hands were covered in the stains of blood, at least metaphorically. A mind is but an accomplice to the acts, but an accomplice is still punishable. And behind the brown eyes set in sharp features, he wore the face of a monster without a mask. And the thought would leave many restless nights to contend with, a burden that would nearly cripple those who were suddenly faced with this past. But he had had time to accept it, to know that if redemption were possible, it would be the vertical climb of a shear face cliff. It wouldn't be easy and he didn't deserve it to be.
As the ship set down in Sullust Jedi Academy, the wings shifted the direction of the thrusters as it spun against the landing pad. The feet clamped down, metal talons clamping into the landing surface durasteel bars. Like an eagle perched, the Star Viper rested as the former Lord shut down the power. He had used the codes given to him by Chevu Visz, to help ease the transition into the Galactic Alliance. She was under the impression that he was merely a charitable individual, stricken with a case of too much money, and a sort of charm that seemed almost impossible. The truth of the matter was that he deceitful, undeserving of her concern, or really the concern of anyone else. The face, absent the mask, would be greeted by a couple of guides as they met the man.
"I'm here to meet with the Marshall, Chevu Visz." "Yes of course. She is in one of the biodomes. I can show you the way."
He lifted his head, the armorweave robe hanging loosely on his crown. "Thank you. But I believe I can find my way." Her aura was one he was well attuned, the intermingling of emotions that she locked away wouldn't go unnoticed. For his view of her, the one who broke him free from the prison, he would never forget that presence. He couldn't, like an imprint. "Am I free to go see her?" He lifted his hand towards the interconnected path.
"Of course. Please let us know if you need any help." "Thank you, I will."
He strode off, the brown robe hanging over head and trailing behind him, as he walked. The pang in his stomach, like being dropped from a large building, continued to grow without mercy. That was good, he didn't deserve that either.
Bright Starchaser blue eyes stared at her in the glass as Coren approached, and she whirled to face him, her pinched brow betraying her worry. He had to know that she was uneasy, to sense it in the Force, and see it painted all over her face. Those butterflies hadn't stopped since Susesvfi, and in fact, had grown into impatient thrush, beating their wings mercilessly against her torso. There was a lot to be nervous about after taking the fight to Coruscant, the nucleus of the Sith. The Alliance could be traced and targeted at any moment, and while it wasn't always the case, they had a home to lose now. If anyone would understand the cost, it was Starchaser.
"How's the squad coming together, Commander?" she asked but cringed inside. Such mundane small talk. Ugh. Why was she so reluctant to come clean about Taris? She was desperate to know if her feelings towards Gabriel were dangerous. Her old Master would probably have a mouthful to say about it, that much she knew. However, much she craved Coren's advice, in the grand scheme of things, this conundrum over the head and the heart, and how it would affect her Jedi training was a small drop in that churning ocean of concerns.
"Marshall Visz? There's someone here to see you."
The words echoed strangely through the room. Chevu could never get used to that title, and for a moment did not even realize that she was being spoken to.
Ijaat was reeling still, and had just recently came from a stint of time on Yavin, building a small retreat there. It was more of a forge and small sand garden - either for dueling or training students in. The 'living quarters' part of it were simplistic, just a step above crude really if one were honest. But they would do for what he needed the place for. When the chatter in his mind grew too much and too strong, and his 'episodes' got worse, he would hide there. Or so he had planned to do when he had set up there. The lack of technology in the place, the simple nature, would hopefully be a haven to quiet the beast that had begun to form and lurk in his psyche.
However, this day, he was mostly serene and at peace if he were honest. He had taken to walking the Alliance's training centers, helping train the new recruits, and paying special attention to any individuals that showed any particular promise that he might want to tap for the Tiburons or mention to the Commander. Line Sergeants were amazing for training rank and file. But they didn't really work in special operations team formats like the Tiburons, and so often they missed key components or certain aspects that would single out a recruit as one to watch progress or investigate. So far, he hadn't found anything terribly worth noting, but he had to keep at it. Nothing came easy or quick that was worth the doing, so his da said.
Following reports, Ijaat picked up his pace to where Coren was said to be heading. He had intent to pass on the files he had pulled of possibly promising recruits. It was important to him he try and prove he was more than a mindless beast of war to Coren, and events on Vandelhalm had not exactly gone in such a way to secure that, and so he had prepared dossiers on the dataslate he carried, and came directly from training grounds to intercept him. Had he been a less direct man, he might have left it at Coren's place, or with an underling, but that just wasn't really how the Mandalorian operated.
Today's lesson had been intense, teaching the recruits meant for the Armored Infantry how to move, shoot, and fight in armor, and he grinned at the look of relief on the Sergeants face when a Mandalorian of all things, showed up to help with drill. As a consequence, when he caught up to Coren, it wasn't exactly silent, more like a rattle of beskar plates and weaponry as he trundled to the Commanders side from across the dome, he hailed him with a respectful nod and a quasi-salute, grinning a bit at the last part, but still with admiration in his eyes. He may have been Corens senior, but there was an air about the young man he respected, and would follow to hell and back. The other lady he was not familiar with, but gave her a nod of respect as well, a friend of Coren's was a friend of his in a very real way.
So many jobs for the people in the Alliance. They had worked hard to secure Vandelhelm and were currently working on two different fronts, one heading into the Protectorate space, and the other securing more worlds of importance. With Surabi 7, they could possibly secure the Jensaarai, and they would become a boom to the Non-Jedi assembly of Force users in the Alliance ranks. Coren was excited for that, but more so? He was interested in where they were going core-ward. That would get them in striking distance of the One Sith.
Had he known who was going to be here, though…
Still, he looked to his apprentice and nodded. “They’re doing good. Looking to get ready to head into their next campaign. But we’ll see how well that works.” He grinned as he looked over at the assistant that came in. Someone looking for Chevu and calling her Marshal? Someone was getting a bit more attention.
But also, there was an old friend and comrade of his. “What’ve you got for me, Ijaat?”
Worlds had been burned by his disembodied hands, the silhouette of his presence forever shaken by the constant and cruel malice his brother held for all living beings. He stated it was the weak that deserved their reckoning, that the strong could survive him and rise above it. When Chevu has spoken of a fire and the Galactic Alliance, Gabriel had agreed and smiled but ironically enough, Reverance had agreed as well. It was a matter of literal interpretations, the sort that allowed for a lie to become merely complex agreement, benefiting from interpretations. He wished he could go back to that night, as he stood now, and tell Chevu the truth. And hold compassion for Sarah, the child he gripped in his arms for the benefit of appearing sincere. He wanted to take it back, wish he could do everything over again. Because, now, he felt the dread in the idea of acknowledging what he had done. That night and the thousand nights that preceded it. How many families he had destroyed, left fatherless or motherless or childless, or completely nonexistent. A solidarity of the minds, the destruction of his as it was cast into the nothingness behind crimson eye, he had scratched away on the wall for every life taken. And imagining that board, the wall once black and painted white in chalk, he could do nothing but accept it.
Entering the biodome, he heard the echo of the guides, intercommunicating with the Jedi Marshal. She was a prominent figure here, just as she said. At least one of them was being honest, being genuine. Just then, a twinge ran up his side as he felt a familiar presence. Vong sense had been a learned ability by Reverance, but it inherently crossed into the realm of the Revenants stronger inclination. Removed from their tenacity, their hate and culture, it gave him the capacity to impact when he once couldn't, at least not as easily. Some would even argue that his experience with the Yuuzhan Vong, as former Sith Lord, towered above all others. Whispers clamored through the dark, shuttering across the raised edges of his skin. The phantom Voxyn Al'do, it would hunger and he felt an oddity, as if something churning within him within the void. It was then that he cleared whatever obstacles remained, just in time to hear the utterance of that name.
Gabriel locked eyes first with Chevu, a micro expression of a smile. "Chevu..." Brown eyes darted over to Ijaat and he inwardly prepared himself. Among the enemies Gabriel had fostered in his former life, there were none more deserving of vengeance than this specific mandalorian. If he closed his eyes, he could still feel the grip of that mans wife in his hands, ripped from her loved ones. There was an anger in this man, Gabriel knew it, had seen it cast at Yedagon City and beneath the knife of a cruel father figure. "Ijaat...I'm so sorry." He said, holding a low hand out, preparing for what that anger would bring. But in the end, a simple apology wouldn't overcome the torture this man endured.
He knew seeing Chevu, confessing to her his sins would be hard. But he didn't imagine that reflection of his deeds would manifest in such physiology, poignant and to the point. He didn't even have time to introduce himself to Coren, to see if the man Chevu had spoken about would recognize the more youthful and untattered visage of the Wrath. No, this was never fated to go well.
A man entered the room, an unfamiliar soldier with a wide-brimmed hat. The Alliance was growing by the hour it seemed, and new faces were not unusual in new biodomes that made up the bulk of the Alliance's sprawling base. The Mirialan blinked and cocked her head at him, trying to gauge if he was someone she'd shared the battlefield with, turning the tides against the Final Order.
"Hello, I'm Marshall Visz," she told [member="Ijaat Akun"], the words sounding foreign to her. "It's nice to have you with us."
Then came the announcement of a visitor, an eventuality that made the Mirialan instantly spring from her seat. Chevu was untouched by most social and cultural formalities and did not to hide her excitement at seeing [member="The Revenant"]. Her onyx brown eyes drank him in as she moved towards him to throw her arms around him. Yet, she stopped in her tracks. Something about him was different.
For one, the Knight felt a Force signature radiating off the man. Back on Taris, Gabriel had no Force powers, not even a glimmer. Yet, here on Sullust, his aura was strong and distinct. A black brow rose in consternation. Why were his powers concealed on Taris? Was he afraid of Jedi backlash? She could only assume that was the case.
Secondly, he knew one of the Alliance soldiers, Coren's friend. His apology baffled her. What was going on here? She turned to Coren for guidance, as she often did in chaotic times. He didn't quiet her mind like Master Oomomo, but Starchaser had a settling stoicism about him that she found helpful. She did not like what she saw in his eyes. At all.
She panned her gaze back to Gabriel and shook her head, her face the strangest mix of confusion and adoration.
"Gabriel. I've missed you," she admitted almost reluctantly, then looked to the group. "What's going on?"
Devin
Won't go to heaven
She's just another lost soul,
About to be mine again
Leave her
we will receive her
It is beyond your control
will you ever meet again
Devin
One of eleven
Who had been rendered unwhole
As a little child,
she was taken
and then forsaken
you will remember it all
Let it fill your mind again
[Chorus:]
Devin lies beyond this portal
take the word of one immortal
Give your soul to me
For eternity
release your life
to begin another time with her
End your grief with me
there's another way
release your life
take your place inside the fire with her
Sever
Now and forever
you're just another lost soul about to be mine again
see her, you'll never free her
you must surrender it all
If you'd like to meet again
Fire
For your desire
As she begins to turn cold for the final time
you will shiver
till you deliver
you will remember it all
Let it fill your mind again
[Chorus]
Take it away, yeah!
Give your soul to me
For eternity
release your life
to begin another time with her
End your grief with me
there's another way
release your life
take your place inside the fire with her
Devin
One of eleven
Who had been rendered unwhole
As a little child
she was taken,
and then forsaken
you will remember it all
Let it fill your mind again, man
There was no sound for a few moments from Ijaat, as the datapad fell from lifeless hands, his face rather plainly in mute shock. Nightmares clawed at him, screams echoing in his own ears and in his mind. The only movement for a long, drawn out moment was a rather violent tic of the Mandalorians left eye, as if he were suddenly possessed of some convulsive disease that paralyzed all but that one movement. Speech was still beyond him moments later when his hand clenched, audible creaking of the powered armor as if began to hum, servos glowing. The eyes of Ijaat were oddly hollow, and vacant, and even moments later, his face would be consumed by an odd ripple of substance, the adriel ooglith activating almost instinctually as he bounded forward.
Forgotten was the might cannon on his back, left sitting idle and powered down. Forgotten was the hammer clamped next to it, capable of easily crushing a mans skull. The rifle slung across his chest, the pistols at his thighs, the sword at his hip... For all his love of war and weaponry, all his decades of training with it, he had devolved into something base, something wild, as he bounded forward, finally moving freely. In his eyes, the scene before him was not what he saw, but rather another one, one on his former homestead, a simple farm and humble smithy in the distance, as soldiers drug away two twin boys the spitting image of Ijaat, both screaming and pleading for their father, with a woman with flaming red hair being drug the other direction by an exact clone of the man before him, or so it would seem.
Flashes of Selvaris came to him then, unbidden and unwanted, and his mind walked down dark lanes of memory of the Shapers and this man experimenting upon him, forcing his bones and flesh apart in the name of curiosity and science, as his body moved as if all on its' own. There was no thought, no grace, and if any could feel his emotions through the Vongforming wrought on him in that dark place of Reverance and the Shapers, the result would cause them horror. Few could ever be so single minded in this moment as Ijaat. So cold that without a word they would rush forth with such black murder and vengeance in their heart, yet their eyes and lips betrayed not a single hint nor trace of what beat with the fury of a life ruined and in tatters. Never was he the most stable of men since his family had been taken, but in this moment he had came truly unhinged. At this moment, to call him man would be a grace not many would deign to give.
There was no mystical energy field to blur his speed and lend flight to his muscles, or empower his strike. But beyond even the power of the Force was the rage and grief that a father and husband could feel. The two mingled together in his blood like the most potent of drugs, and in the the short gap between them, Ijaat took one bounding step and then literally came off the ground, repulsors whining and flaring as he swung a single, massive punch clearly intended to level the object of torment and terror that had somehow came before him. As he did, for the first time, any sort of reaction occured to him physically. With a feral like snarl, his lips came back in a rictus, and the armored super-commando focused, every strength enhanced synth-muscle fiber in the suit and every cell in his body intent on slamming his fist into the mans face and then pummeling him into a bloody pulp on the ground. Whatever the others intended, there was no intent for a duel here like last time. There was an intent only to maim, to hurt, to bring pain and suffering in spades to the bane of his existence.
Too many things were going on for a shakedown cruise. Coren understood that he had a task to complete, he represented the Supreme Commander of the Galactic Alliance, and that was only one part of the Triumvirate. Without Xen providing Chief Governors, a Marshal and a Commander were just enough to make decisions based on the treatment of members of the Alliance, or hopeful members. Three would be needed to put someone to make permanent decisions, but a Marshal and Commander definitely held enough clout.
With Chevu introducing herself to Ijaat, Coren nodded. The Mando was on Coren’s team and would be vouched for by the Corellian, up until the most extreme crimes, but Akun was one who helped keep the Underground moving. But the one thing that confused the pilot was that this newcomer seemed to know Ijaat.
And his apprentice.
What had he walked in to?
The next thing he knew, though, was that Ijaat was on his feet, off the ground, and on the war path. Reaching out to the Force, Coren looked around. A few seconds to act, and only a small bit of focus. See, if he was anyone that wasn’t a Starchaser, he could use his typical ability to move everyone out of the way, at least the targets, Chevu and this Gabriel. Coren was a student of the Aing Tii, and that meant he was able to fold space, he could, for all intents, take Gabriel and Chevu and move them to the other side of the room. But now? He wasn’t even thinking about the Force.
“Down!” He shouted. In a blur, the man had his pistol up in his hand and the Force started to jolt through his body. He knew the face of the man Akun was attacking, it was the Wrath of the Dark Lord and it was here on Sullust. Blaster was set for stun, pointed at the one known as Gabriel, and the biologic hand was up, pacing between Akun and the Wrath.
A new body, his heart ached for this man. Having a wife taken away, having two children killed by the same man. In a sense, they were alike but where they differed was that Ijaat could kill Reverance. Gabriel remained unsure. The transfer from haggard war torn body to souless clone had had unusual impact, largely that he was incapable of using the force in respect to the darkside. He had no more anger, he had no more hate or fixation upon pain. Only remorse and acceptance but time spent in the star viper re-acquainted him, as he needed, with what really mattered. It was hope and it was peace and it was the will to move forward, even when he shouldn't have had any future. Before, Reverance would have called on the force like a dog beaten into submission. But here, in the face of this clamoring man, Gabriel would plead with the force. To prove to it that the current path wasn't the right one, that he had wrongs that needed to be made right. And it started with this man, running towards him.
A culling came forth in the likeness of an inhuman speed, muscles tightening and body perceiving what it normally could not. In this life and the life he left, decades would have been spent on the mind learning to render this advantage in the physical realm. And it would assist him here, now, with the capacity to reconfigure the controls. To learn to polarize the force differently, to beckon it as ally and master, instead of downtrodden slave. There are many roads that lead to the force and while one had be bulldozed and condemned for all eternity, another remained untouched and fresh for his treading. And he did so with the knowledge that this Mandalorian, this man he considered son for more reasons than capable of listing, would not be harmed by his own hands. As the man charged, Gabriel called that power to his body and strafed to his left with a turn of his body, the power armored fist cutting ragged holes through his armorweave robe.
"Ijaat...stop!" He didn't have the secondary mind as he used to, or better yet, Reverance no longer had his. But vongsense came so natural to him now, so ingrained into the culture, that it was as if he was breathing. It would be the same as Jedi sensing an aura, the likes of which Coren and Chevu might now perceive as an unmolested nature of goodness and light. Either way, Gabriel would mentally crawl into the Adriel Ooglith, a product of his own creation. Ijaat might feel the beast stiffening against his body, might feel the connection to his armor slowly shutting down, and might feel the squirm of the ooglith as it ceased to function properly. All because Gabriel had long ago learned to foster that communication, to bridge the gap between the force and what could not feasibly be touched by it. As it turns out, one merely needs to know the language.
With an acceptable distance between him and Ijaat, garnered by a backpedaled enhanced by the use of the force, Gabriel knelt down on both knees, placing his hands behind his head. Breathing heavy, the use of the two powers together depleting for a body so unused to expenditure, Gabriel looked towards Chevu. "I missed you Chevu..." He spoke quietly, hoping that Ijaat wouldn't attack again. He didn't want to have to go any further with the Yuuzhan Vong creation. Looking towards the man with the blaster, Gabriel acknowledged his presence. "Coren...Chevu spoke highly of you. I can see why." He pulled hard on the air, jutting out his jaw.
The Force told Chevu in screaming stereo that something was very, very wrong here in this little this extension of the Sullust base. And sure enough, like a fortune-teller, its predictions came true as the soldier, now known to be Ijaat threw himself at Gabriel, with the rage of a caged and beaten beast just released from its force field. Coren's training also kicked in, and his blaster was aimed. He yelled for them to hit the deck, but Chevu did not move. She wasn't afraid of Gabriel like the other men in the room. It was he who was in danger. The Mirialan cried out frantically, gathering the Force around her so that she could be ready to subdue the soldier, her command almost a hysterical shriek.
"STOP!"
Somehow Gabriel managed to stave off Ijaat's attacks. Her emotions were as raw as sinewy flaps of muscle under flayed skin. Unlike most in the New Jedi Order, she hadn't learned how to control them yet, and was too proud to ask for help even though she knew she needed it. Gabriel. They knew him! He was some sort of enemy of the Galactic Alliance. Had she brought a fox into the nuna house?
"Will someone please explain just what the frell is going on?" she sputtered. Chevu ran her hand along her light saber pommel, her desire for a non-peaceful resolution rearing its ugly head. Panning her angry onyx eyes to each man, the green alien girl stared in disbelief.
Gabriel was such a kind and giving man. This had to be some sort of mistake.
Ijaat, mid leap, felt as if his body was shutting down almost. The armor itself lost power, disconnected from the biot and his mind as Gabriel spoke. Senses he had honestly forgotten the thing provided him with were shockingly gone as he soared through the armorweave of the garment his target wore and in a rather stupendous fashion clattered to the ground in a massive heap of armor, rolling and bouncing before landing in a flop on his back. As he tried to move, he sensed the armor responding as it would to anyone else when it was powered down. Whilst he could move, it was painful, and terribly slow and awkward, but he managed to climb to his feet and face the man.
Standing, he moved his arm up to a panel on the underside of the left shoulder. With a hiss of released mechanics, plating began to fall off of him in massive clangs and gong sounds. In moments, he stood in little more than a pair of long shorts, his hand gripping a naked blade that shone with the scintillating light flaring from the corsuca gems inlaid down the fuller. The beast, for the moment, had been beaten back into a semblance of control. But such coherency teetered on the brink of wild abandon as soon as his eyes locked to Gabriels', and the blade twitched up into a high guard, an aggressive stance yearning to attack. The sword he held would make him damn near even the Sith Lords match in speed, and he grinned ferally as he nodded to Coren.
"You.... How.... I should..."
Sputtering, he gripped the blade, glancing at Coren and then at Chevu, seeming unsure. Just to even stand cause him pain, and he could feel several injuries from the armor just shutting down on him like that. Likely he had one single burst left in him, one strike to make. And he hesitated, holding back just a moment from using it. Gabriel and Ijaat, or the man he thought Gabriel was, had crossed blades before... And he knew a missed stroke would easily mean death.
"Do.. Not... Move... Or I will make what you did to my wife seem a paradise, Sith..."
The way the Force entered this room, there wasn’t anything that was giving Coren the need to worry, no worry on the Sith, just… the Force. Light side, and peaceful. Maybe that was why he didn’t immediately go for the Wrath when he saw the one that Chevu keeps calling Gabriel. The Corellian shook his head. Something was wrong, clearly. Still, the gun was up, and so was his hand. Coren was starting to pull on the Force. Anyone in the room could start to feel that, he was pulling the living Force around him and into him.
It wasn’t unlike charging a battery. The pilot was ready for whatever would come around, but there was clearly something going on here. Gabriel and Ijaat, they knew one another. And yes, Coren knew of the latter’s issues, the family, a little, but the Vong, definitely. Eyes keyed back in on Ijaat and Coren nodded.
“Its fine, Ijaat. He’s not going anywhere right now.” Coren slowly lowered the blaster, and his own defenses. Chevu had spoken of this newcomer, and if his apprentice, a Marshal of the New Jedi Order, was vouching for him? He was willing to hear what this was all about. “My apprentice is vouching for this man, to me, that gives him the chance to speak for himself.”
Should Gabriel have been reaching to the dark side, yeah, that would void the word of his apprentice. Holstering his pistol, he looked towards the table. “Let’s all have a seat. Ijaat, you’ll be able to explain yourself. But first I want to know why this man looks like the Wrath, but… doesn’t feel the part.”
Coren Starchaser, intergalactic warrior was now going to... talk?
He didn't like seeing this side of Chevu. It didn't upset him as much just remind him of the issues he had caused. He looked towards Ijaat, now stripped of his armor, and released control on the Vong Biot. Pain would minimize though it would take some time for the conversation to return to normal. He breathed in heavily and looked back towards Coren, standing slowly. Looking at Ijaat, he tilted his head. "I'm gonna grab something off the small of my back. Please don't attack me." He stated quietly, bracing for the off chance that the warrior would make good on the words of causing more pain. Pulling the rancor tooth lightsaber from his hip, he knelt and rolled the device to the Commander of the Galactic Alliance. "That's the lightsaber of the Wrath of the Dark Lord, called Roecnar. Built specifically for form II. He now uses a biological lightsaber called the Chom-Huun, made by the Vong Shapers of the Legion Yun'Do."
He looked towards Chevu and exhaled. "I know that because I am the twin of the Wrath. Transferred to this body. Up until recently...I shared housing with him as a quiet caretaker, silenced into near non-existence. If not for recent events, I wouldn't be here." He looked towards Coren. "Ijaat is justified in his attack against me. I was present when his wife and children were killed. I was present when he was broken at Yegadon City. And I was present when the Shapers of the Shai domain replaced his bones with Yuuzhan Vong biots. Not the best way for a father to treat his child..." He jutted out his jaw, looking towards the floor, not really sure if that was the best time to drop that bomb. But in a life past, he was a murderer and a lier. And he promised that in this existence, he would only wear one of those titles. "I bear the weight of those acts along with the other thousands that lie in the wake." He looked towards Chevu, apologetically. "And I have betrayed every one I have ever known or cared for."
"I look like Reverance because I was Reverance. I was the Wrath of the Dark Lord." He could have explained that he was never in control. From the days of being a mercenary to being taken to the slave pits all the way to being trained by Sinistra to be the Sith Lord that now reigned in the One Sith. He could have made excuses for why he had never tried to stop Reverance, he could have denigrated his presence to near insignificance. But someone needed to claim responsibility for those acts and since his brother wouldn't likely own up to the importance of snuffing out so many lives, it was left to Gabriel to shoulder that burden. "And I'm here because I want to help the Galactic Alliance put an end to the Sith." He looked back towards Chevu. "I want to make things right."
Chevu's heart sped out of control, her body racing with a panic. What had Gabriel done to Ijaat's wife? Was her lover not the man she thought he was? She didn't want to doubt him, but then again, the pair had only spent one night together. Her blood ran cold. She'd been lied to and manipulated by the handsome Kiffar hybrid. Shaking, her eyes cut sideways to Coren who had lowered his weapon. The Force began to flood the room as Starchaser reached out, ready for a surprise attack. Although he wasn't aiming, he was still wary enough of a surprise attack. Ijaat and Coren were still transfixed by Gabriel, and clearly still distrustful. Blinking ferociously, she turned back to Gabriel, her eyes wide and full of confusion.
Gabriel spoke, a subtle pain in his voice. He handed his weapon, announced to be the lightsaber of the Wrath of Dark Lord, to Coren. How did he get the one of the most powerful Sith Lord's weapons? His next words, spoken gravely and with aching remorse, chilled her to the bone. Gabriel owned the saber because he was the Wrath of the Dark Lord, the shadowy figure she'd heard so much about and seen briefly in Holos of military operations. He looked so different on Taris, but now she could see it as clearly as a glassteel. The mangled whorl over his eye. The snarl on his face. She'd caught a glimpse of the monster on Coruscant, skulking away from the battlefield, and here he was, breaching their territory. Invading their safety. Her safety. Had she known, she never would have...
The klaxons in her head made it impossible for her think clearly, much less digest the details of his explanation. She didn't understand. How could you live inside of that...that thing, that pestilence on the galaxy, and do nothing? There were no words that could express how livid she was, and how afraid.
Her feet moved on their own, body involuntarily backing up against the wall, chest huffing. The Marshall felt cornered and dangerously close to letting the Dark Side in. She pulled Master Oomomo's saber from her belt and ignited it in fury. In a very low growl she finally spoke.
"Why?" she asked through gritted teeth. "Why did you keep this from me?"
"Not the best way for a father to treat his child..."
Whatever was said afterwards was lost on the Mandalorian warrior, as he stood there in a heap of his own discarded armor, sword in hand, and gaze in revilement at the beast before him. There was no movement, not even the stirring of his chest to breathe. Something was innately wrong with the man, as it seemed his very grasp on sanity had just snapped. It was true, his 'father' and 'mother' he had grown up with were not his by blood. But such was not at all uncommon amongst the Mando'ade, family was more than blood and genetics. It was less who you shared blood with and more who you would shed blood with and for. A concept that had led him time and time again to wander the Galaxy fighting, often on the loosing end, for causes he had no earthly reason to care or be a part of. Truth be told, that feeling of kinship with the young Starchaser was why he was here with the Alliance. But... This? The Wrath of the Darklord was his progenitor, his biological ancestor?
It was too much, and as he eyes went slack, the blade from ancient smiths, forged on Tython when the Force was just being explored, slipped from his grasp and buried itself point down into the polished floor like a hot-knife through butter. There was no dramatic collapse to his knees, but there was a sudden, ragged inhalation of breath as a full-bodied tremor shook the man. Had Reverance known? Is that why his escape from Selvaris seemed so easy? Why none had pursued him from the One Sith since then? Could it be possible? The ideas whirred through him, flickering through his mind at a speed faster than most could ever handle information, thanks to the trauma Coruscant had wrought on his mind. The further question was, as he tried to fit the pieces together, should he even trust the man before him saying this?
Questions surfaced, but for the moment the supercommando remained fixed in position, sword inches from his grasp, to all outward appearances just... Comatose and still standing somehow.... Such was his catatonia, he didn't even react to the hiss of Chevu's blade igniting, merely staring at Gabriel with sightless eyes.
"I..." His words trembled from his lips as he felt the recourse of his actions and inactions swell through her, anger rapping gently upon the door. Always so tempting at first, so freeing, he shook his head apologetically. "I wanted to tell you Chevu, I came here today to confess to you everything." He focused in on her, the presence of the commander in front of him, the warrior to his side, it was all for not for the focus he bore down on the Mirialan. And then, just like that, it would falter against the tempest of the truth. That she had given him nothing but that and in return, he had fed her half truths and lies that ran the gambit. "I have no excuses for what I did or didn't do...sinful in it's entirety and context. I acted when I shouldn't have, and stood by when I should have done something." He spoke quietly, searching the floor, and he eyed the lightsaber in her hand.
It sung a hum and symphony, the likes of which would afford him the easy way out instead of dealing with this, enduring it. He jutted his chin out, rolling it back and forth as clicked in and out of place. Squinting at it, he looked back up to Chevu. Coren and Ijaat might as well have not been here in that moment, the likes of which felt would last an eternity. "You are the reason I exist, Chevu. You are the reason I have a chance to make right...all the wrongs I've sat by and watched." He gesticulated with a palm towards the ground, as if sweeping away the debris of a life spent in willful comatose. "You have given me life and hope...and breath." He turned his head to Coren, things coming back into view. "When I deserve none."
He paused before looking back at Chevu. "If I could offer you my life to make up for these crimes, I would in a heartbeat." It pained him to state that, but it was the truth. As much as he cared for her and welcomed the idea that her destroying him might dull the pain of this truth, he wouldn't be the catalyst that led her down this path of darkness. "I kept this from you because I didn't have the strength to utter the words. And feared I would lose control, again." His mind drifted back to Arkania, to his own wife and children, and his hands covered in blood. "I was let out briefly from the cage, the rattle of it's bar ever reminding of my fate in the foreground. Temporary reprieve exactly that...temporary." He didn't expect her to understand, she couldn't. But hundreds of years spent in the same body as your captor will turn any sane mind demented. And he accepted the weakness of his acquiescence. While he may not have killed the thousands that lie in the wake of Reverance, his inaction didn't help. "I kept this from you because I feared this moment. And I still do." He spoke quietly, turning his attention to Coren. "My fate rests in your hands. Do what you will, I hold no blame or hostility towards you. I am accountable for my crimes."
There was a lot to consider here. Coren was going to keep himself quiet for a little bit. If it didn’t have anything to do directly with the military? Well, that was his area of expertise. The Wrath, that was what he was seeing here, but if his eyes were deceiving him? That could be true, and this wasn’t the Wrath. Still, nothing was adding up. Coren wasn’t quite sure what to make of this, but he would listen.
The lightsaber of the Wrath, because like all One Sith members, they had communed with the Vong, as disgusting as that was, but then again, there was the situation with Audrey and him heading to Zonama Sekot. But this whole sharing housing, that was some biology chat right there, and Coren wasn’t really going to be following. Ships, guns, and insurgency were his tools of trade. Well, and exploration. That one, so lucrative, but damned him, for following the need to save the galaxy.
This man before them was the Wrath? He wasn’t sure what that was all about. It didn’t make sense, but then again, there was man out there with snake arms. Maybe the Sith and Vong cross breeding was just being a terrible idea all around and confusing everything that made sense to the galaxy.
But the next thing that happened, his attention was dragged right back to Chevu. Reaching out to her in the Force, he tried to push calm at her, but really, this was Coren. He could only do so much. He was going to let the Wrath speak, this Gabriel Gray, AKA Sylar. When the being turned back to Coren, the commander took a second, looking from the gathered. “Having someone with an inside knowledge of the One Sith could be invaluable…” Strategically thinking, a shock collar and ‘honor guard’ and controlled armor may not be a bad thing. Enough freedom to do what he could, but enough control to stop the man in his tracks.
Every asset on the field, after all.
“Chev, Ijaat, weigh in. Can we trust me? Can I trust you?”
Father? Child? More details to be thoroughly perplexed about. Shaking hands tightly clutched the hilt of her humming cerulean blade. Coal-black eyes locked onto his. Chevu studied Gabriel intensely as he implored her to forgive him, but she made no move to lower her weapon. The Wrath of the Dark Lord had been the arbiter of untold atrocities. Even if he was not responsible for them himself the men and women he commanded were. He was the root from which the twisted tree grew. Of course, the devil himself would have the sweetest voice. Yet, this wasn't the devil, but his brother. She badly wanted to trust in Gabriel's words. Her heart was dangerously close to breaking. To disbelieve his story might just shatter it.
It was only when Coren poured a calming energy into her mind, that the Mirialan thumbed the activation switch, extinguishing her blade. Clipping it to her belt, she took a few deep breaths and then ran a hand absently across her churning stomach. Was she able to forgive him? Or was it that there was nothing else viable at the moment? Her gaze panned to Coren and Ijaat, then back to Gabriel. There was still an edge of hurt behind her dark eyes. She didn't know whether she wanted to run to him or flee from him, and it didn't help that there was an audience present. The alien girls' brain and heart were on different pages, so she threw the book away.
"I- I don't think we have a choice but to trust him," she said begrudgingly. Her mind flew to a more analytical place. Facts. Get the facts. Push those feelings down, Chevu. Bludgeon them. When she addressed him again, her voice was calm, but the fact that she spoke of him in third person betrayed her emotions.
"Unless there's some other way to verify his story."
Dun worry, Reveant will know where my off switch is...
