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Intro:
Background story explaining how Khameir earned his Darth Maul title.
As always, all characters, settings and props are the properties of George Lucas and Lucasfilm, Ltd. Original material falls under my copyright.

"Darth Maul: Deathspar"
By Ray Van Horn, Jr.
Original Material Copyright 1999

Khameir counted meticulously as he completed the final ten of his set of 200 push-ups. His rippling biceps bulged and flexed as he repetitiously performed each drop with his stomach perfectly parallel to the ground. Even this deep into his exercise, Khameir's propulsions were still vigorous as dust puffed out in little clouds to the one-second intervaled rhythm he paced for himself. He felt strong, as if he could throw down another 200, but there was no need; the push-ups were mere warming applications for the more strenuous activity required of him.

As he finished, Khameir shoved off with his bare hands to propel himself directly to his feet. He quickly rolled his head around, loosening the tendons in his neck, and then clapped his hands together with elongated arms, stretching the tight musculature. He then assumed an attack stance by shifting his posture slightly, and executed a series of crescent kicks. He pivoted and delivered more of the same with his other leg. The breeze from each thrust whipped his floppy black pants against his thighs, breaking the silence of the subterranean combat arena located in the caverns below the Sith temple on Coruscant.

The dimly lit arena shadowed the sleek, dark form of Khameir. The scant flickering torches cast his briskly moving shadows on the walls as if fingerpointing his continuously shifting location. The only traces of the actual man could be discerned ever-so-slightly as he quietly transferred himself from one end of the arena to the other. His bare torso whirred like a blur through the dark arena, as did the serpentine red tattoos that countered the black jagged marks all over his face. The pale, rounded horns enlarging from his smooth, black cranium could be discerned only if he slowed down. However, he moved with the stealth of a jaguar and the predatory silence of a shark. An outside observer would have to have extremely sharp eyes and ears to determine Khameir's features in the tenebrous, murky arena.

"Very good," came a crackled, approving voice, followed by three sharp raps of applause.

Khameir ceased his workout and genuflected on the dirty soil of the arena.

"Please rise, my apprentice," the voice spoke again, "There is no need for formalities here."

"As you wish, master," Khameir said, standing erect in the same spot in which he'd knelt. As dank and musty as the arena was, he could feel the close, foreboding presence of his teacher, Darth Sidious.

"Today is special, young Khameir," Sidious announced, in a boastful, proud tone. "Today, you will put everything you have learned to the test."

Khameir bowed, not knowing where Darth Sidious was, but acting as if his master was directly in front of him.

"I am ready, master."

"We will see," came Sidious' voice, and then he was mute.

Khameir steeled himself in anxious preparation, unsure of what awaited him. He tried to loosen his mind, to allow The Force to trickle in. He attempted to employ a Sith form of extra-sensory perception, sending out probes of The Force to find any lifeforce besides himself in the arena.

Khameir paced back and forth a few feet in both directions, his building appetite growing ravenous. He knew there was supposed to be another being down here with him. The Sith combat arena was designed in width and circumference to accomodate two warriors--three or four, if need be. All of the training, the effort, the honing of his body and brain...it would all come down to this moment in the arena.

But what of his opponent?

Darth Sidious had promised his pupil a fighting partner to duel against, a being of considerable prowess to test Khameir to his full ability.

As if in response, a form materialized from the pitch black gradation on the opposite side of the arena. Khameir flinched for just a second; why had he not been able to detect the other's arrival? Was he correctly attuned to The Force? How disturbing.

Khameir's opponent, a Javinian, if he was correct, was clad in tight-fitting leather pants. Bare chested, the Javinian wore an amethyst pendant draped around his neck from a long, thick nylon rope. His equally long, dark hair was jerked back into a whip-like ponytail. His facial features were hidden by the few fluttering rays of light from the wavering torches. For Khameir, it certainly appeared to grow darker down here.

Immediately, the Javinian attacked, his meaty leg hunting out Khameir. The dim arena clouded Khameir's judgment--that, and his apparent loss of control of The Force, allowed the Javinian to connect onto Khameir's chest. Khameir stumbled backwards, and his legs capsized beneath him. As he smacked the cold dirt, a minor pain shocked his elbow as it absorbed the brunt of his fall. He tried to tap into the resources of The Force once again, secretly praying that he was successful.

To his pleasure, he rejoined his mind with The Force and channeled his pain through his foream and into his hand, thusly creating a reverse effect and giving him the ability to thwart the Javinian's forward lunge. As the Javinian stamped down with his dirty bare foot, Khameir grasped his opponent's heel and reverted the strength of the stomp against him. With an exertion of The Force, Khameir propelled the Javinian about ten feet away from him.

As the Javinian thudded to the hard ground, Khameir seized the advantage and smoothly tumbled over to his surprised foe. Just as the Javinian was getting to his feet, Khameir sprang up and released a midair whirl kick that crunched the Javinian's jaw. Exerting his leg muscles, Khameir placed his left foot flat to the dirt, shifted his stance and placed a turning kick that caught the Javinian on his left cheekbone.

The Javinian reeled back from the consecutive strikes, but he recuperated enough to sidestep Khameir's ensuing back kick by deflecting it with his dipped left forearm.

However, the Javinian's position was compromised, as Khameir amazingly twisted his hip in time with his leg vault, catching the Javinian on the other cheek. The Javinian topppled to the ground and Khameir pushed himself off of it as quickly as he'd hit it. Those push-ups earlier had proven fruitful.

The combatants rose to their feet and traded flurries of mutually blocked punches, thrusts and forearms, their appendages cracking noisily in the dense chamber. The Javinian attempted a leg sweep, which Khameir easily leaped over. The Javinian rolled out of the path of Khameir's deadly fist, which was directed in a downwards punch.

They performed their dance of violent bloodsport, shadow warriors gamboling in the dark while waiting for the other to miscue. The Javinian sent a burst of jabs at Khameir's face, which were all blocked by the circular twists of the would-be Sith's arms, with the exception of one that landed square on Khameir's mouth.

The young Sith apprentice tasted a coppery fluid building in his saliva, which only enraged him. Summoning The Force, Khameir focused his anger on Javinian's temples, squeezing on them with all the pressure he could muster.

The Javinian unleashed a guttural roar that echoed through the otherwise empty arena and sank to his knees as he clasped both hands to the sides of his head to alleviate the pain. Sensing victory, Khameir flashed a hideous set of fanged teeth, as well as the hateful yellows of his pupils that glowed in time to his plying of The Force. He took perverse pleasure as blood trickled out of the nostrils of the crumbling Javinian.

Other opponents would have shattered from such torture, but the Javinian was apparently made of sterner stuff. Khameir displayed an expression of confusion as he suddenly felt a mysterious clamping around his throat. The Javinian still had both of his hands pressed to head, which meant only one thing...

The Javinian, like Khameir, was gifted with The Force!

Khameir's esophagus throbbed as it sank painfully into his trachea. Precious oxygen was rapidly slipping from him. He knew that the Javinian would crush his windpipe if he didn't focus The Force with a defensive-minded strategy. Whoever this Javinian was, he had Khameir's respect.

Khameir released his grip on the Javinian and redirected The Force unto himself, pinpointing the stranglehold the Javinian was beginning to lose. He saw the Javinian slump to all fours as his concentration on Khameir had been broken. Air funneled down Khameir's throat, re-energizing his punished lungs. He wheezed and gagged, awaiting the next move by the Javinian.

The Javinian, whose face was barely highlighted by a nearby flickering torch, actually smirked up at Khameir.

"I'd say we've reached a stalemate," he brashly spoke for the first time, but wincing from the obvious pain still lingering in his head.

Whatever respect Khameir had gained for his adversary was quickly lost in those few disparaging words. Stalemate? His anger bubbled, and despite the rawness scratching his throat as if he'd swallowed glass shards, Khameir grittily responded, "I think not."

Khameir once again called upon The Force and dislodged the adjacent torch from its holder on the wall, and sent it twirling towards the Javinian. The Javinian was quick to avoid getting scorched by the magically cast torch as it plopped harmlessly to the dirt. The flames from the torches rose high from the ground, as if fearful of the life-snuffing dirt beneath it. The Javinian then did something Khameir was unprepared for.

There was a snap-hiss sound that Khameir was all-too-familiar with. The darkness was suddenly penetrated by an elongated, shimmering silver beam. The deep hum it made only confirmed what Khameir had suspected--a lightsaber.

"What now, my friend?" the Javinian asked snidely, and lunged in for the kill.

Khameir ejected himself into a backflip, narrowly dodging the hungry swish of the Javinian's lightsaber. He yielded his self-control to The Force, allowing it to guide him away from each murderous swing the Javinian lashed at him.

Khameir detected that he was running out of immediate space behind his back. Only the rabid sibilate of the vibrating lightsaber illuminated the dank pit, and Khameir knew he would have to make his move now.

The Javinian chopped the saber in a diagonal slash that was meant to cleave Khameir from chest to spleen. Khameir escaped by dropping to a crouch, and he felt the heat of the blade just miss the horns on his pate.

"Damn you!" the Javinian cursed. The momentary hesitance on his part was all that Khameir needed. He launched a fierce side kick into the Javinian's knee, feeling the cap bone splinter.

The Javinian yelped in excruciation, but he still maintained enough presence of mind to wildly sweep the blade down, once again coming close to his quarry, but missing by mere inches.

Using The Force, Khameir snatched the smoldering torch from the other end of the arena, grasping the splintery wood with an invisible hand and catapaulting it across the length of the arena. The orange swirls of the flames created a circle of light that spun and arced insanely through the darkness. The torch smacked the back of the Javinian's neck, singing him.

The Javinian screamed in agony and dropped the lightsaber into the dirt as he swatted hysterically at his charred skin.

With the benevolent grant of opportunity having presented itself, Khameir snatched the still activated lightsaber, and with a triumphant sneer, swung the blade in a perpendicular uppercut that decapitated the Javinian.

As Khameir stood over his slain opponent, he could feel his blood course hotly and energetically throughout his worn frame. His heart jackhammered as he panted heavily, still holding the thrumming lightsaber. He licked the sweat clean from his black lips, savoring the taste of victory, and enjoying the sight of blood spewing from the severed arterial cordons of the dead Javinian.

His death trance was broken as he spotted a new flame floating in the air, gliding towards him slowly as if dangling.

"Excellent, my apprentice," came the reassuring, pleased voice of Darth Sidious. "Your skills are complete. I need but know the answer to one question, young Khameir."

Kneeling before his mentor, Khameir responded in between breaths, "I shall answer honestly, my master."

"When you struck the Javinian down, did you feel remorse?"

"No, master," Khameir replied with no reluctance.

"Gooood," Sidious purred gleefully, dragging out the syllable. His grin showed through the folds of his flowing black robes. The torch he carried cast flickers of yellowish light that accentuated his evil facade. "You have earned your place amongst the Sith. You are no longer known as Khameir. From here forth, you shall be known as Darth Maul, Sith Lord."

Khameir displayed an excited smile. "Thank you, master."

"Arise, Lord Maul," Sidious beckoned, gesturing with his bony hand.

As student and master exited the arena, Darth Maul kept a diligent stride next to Darth Sidious.

"Master?" he queried, "was the Javinian a Jedi?"

Sidious stopped and cackled. "Lord Maul, the Javinian was nothing but a facsimile."

"What?" Maul quipped incredulously, whirling around to see if the corpse was still there. Even through the darkness, however, Maul realized the answer. "No wonder I couldn't detect him through The Force."

"You have learned much, my apprentice," Sidious told him. "This was a simulation, but one day, I assure you, you will face the real thing."

"Yes, master," Maul smirked. "One day..."


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