Chapter V - Acquisition


VC Deception - Acquisition


    The trusty Marauder Corvette rocked back and forth as its weight eased its way through the shimmering veil of hyperspace, the course set for the secret location of Versai Tech only know to the highest of staff, and led of course by its CEO, Valaryc W. Versai. As the strange woman, Adna constantly cross referenced the navacomputer to make sure their route could not be traced by even the advanced, known equipment, she gazed over towards the bruised, and battered fighter, resting beside her.

Since her employment into the Versai Tech ranks, Adna as she insisted on being called, held her own secrets. It seems that just about anywhere Val turned, deception was waiting in those he knew, and those he did not. He clearly couldn’t escape the barrage of personal inflictions upon his physical and mental prowess. By sheer instinct, he had managed to single handedly end the terrorizing career of the dreaded Lord Efface, although he admits deep down in the bowels of his psyche, he had to succumb, if only for a moment to the darker wells of the Dark Side, this would most likely explain why his body became so weak…his hold over the Dark Side’s draining effects slipped momentarily and with the poison, it gripped him like a vice…sapping as much as it could from his frame, before being halted by his semi-control and the anti-venom injected into his bloodstream….

The fact remains that if fate had not sent Adna to his rescue, Valaryc would have won the battle, but lost the war…even the strongest of Force users could not completely counter The Killian’s blend of poisoning, it was used quite often in various assassinations, bringing down the mightiest of modern day warriors, especially force sensitive ones.

Her eyes trailed over his body, as her mind reflected back to ten hours prior…how helpless he seemed just collapsing before her. Yes, one might find a sense of pride standing over the single most known master of the lightsaber at her feet, but Adna knew more then she let on, she knew Val on a more personal level even though business forbid her from revealing that fact just yet. She also wondered why he felt so outraged over the loss of a lightsaber, after all Val had one already, did he really need to worry about the other missing? You see Adna didn’t realize the history attached to Gen Zeridian’s saber, to Val it was his most prized possession, and to lose it was as bad as a samurai who had failed his mission…

An utter disgrace…

Not wanting to deal with the loss just yet, still aching from the intense battle with Lord Efface, Val had slipped into a deep sleep, his body still screaming for healing time, despite his outright stubborn urges to remain conscious. As he sleeps, in another chamber, a few decks down there lies the slumbering form of the mysterious girl named Isis Surul.

As the blue lights flicker around her slumbering form, she is like a princess cast into a deep, unyielding sleep…completely unaware of her location, she knew only that the last face she saw was Efface, screaming in utter agony as he was cleaved in to symmetrical halves, before darkness washed over her. She also did not realize the mental walls that were erected by her former Master, walls that kept back the keys to more of her past, more then she was led to believe. Isis was loyal to The Obsidian Order; she despised Quillion and his untrustworthy band of new trainees called The Killian. For Isis, her family died with The Leader, the sole figure who led The Obsidian Order to glory, though not as rich and prosperous as The Killian, the Obsidian Order was still a family as much as a guild of skilled warriors.

Isis was poisoned, whether she knew it or not. Her force skills, and not even Val’s himself could detoxify the venom coursing through her veins, and yet she wasn’t dying, she didn’t feel her life ebbing away from her; she was merely contained in a sea of darkness…

From the castle of her mind, new doors slide open, and within Val’s, reflections upon the deeds of his past, people he had encountered began to play…each leading a new journey into secrets unknown, or overlooked…leading to a spectrum of discovery in the realms of time….

Into new aspects of…




VC Deception – Chapter V - Acquisition


Within the walls of the Killian throne room, sitting upon the dais lays the recognizable figure of Quillion. His hands are clasped upon the extended armrests of his highly polished, black throne, glaring to the twin pits of fire, roaring below his feet. His eyes are transfixed in a almost meditative stare as visions flash through the annuls of his memory, pictures of battles he had fought, of buildings rising as high as the eye could see, lush forest scenery wiped clean, turned into Imperial regiments, of the darkness…the darkness always remaining the same to him. It was from the darkness that he was born, his former name still unclear was no longer important to him, he felt who he once was, was weak…feeble, and most importantly incompetent of his true potential, the very moment Quillion had decided to take destiny by the throat and force the cards in his favor has flashed through his soul night after night, giving him his power and prestige with a legacy built on a foundation of betrayal, lust, and corruption.  He remembered the inner chambers of the infamous Imperial Star Destroyers, and how dull their colors were to his eyes each time he gazed upon them…

Now of course, in his new Empire, he found great comfort in embracing the birth of his new lifestyle, making sure always that the darkness was worshiped like his own personal god, found everywhere he could see, found upon his own body, found upon his servants, in the hallways, along the shiny onyx black floors, and in the embers of the dying flames at his feet, always darkness was there, it was darkness that created him and darkness that watched over him. Still in this room alone, he allowed the light to challenge his power. His eyes through his silver mask, glaring to the lit torches surrounding his throne, to the two pits below, seeing memories of his former self flicker within them…but through the Force he had also sensed the darkness wrap around another figure, another who served it…also betrayed it.

It was no surprise to Quillion that the weak fall before him, he knew his most trusted advisor WOULD complete his task…but from the time Quillion sent him to confront the one known as Valaryc Versai, Quillion also knew his second in command lacked the proper respect in a real battle. It of course was one thing to slaughter a Jedi, children…or some other innocent soul, but to take on a legend and even think you could defeat him on skill alone was laughable. What Quillion had foreseen in his dreams the night before he had sent Lord Efface to his task was darkness….

Darkness for Lord Efface, for such foolishness the darkness that had protected the fool, also ended him. Quillion had not one shred of sympathy for the service Lord Efface had given him, he dismissed Efface from his graces, the second he heard the phrase come from Efface’s own lips…


Quillion dug his fingers into the base of the twin armrests, into the steel as the words played in his mind over and over again…how dare he was his first inclination. How dare Efface show such ingratitude? How could Efface be so arrogant as to damn his own master?

He glared towards the surface below him, clenching his teeth as his fist rolled tightly into a ball, his anger swelling through his veins as he looked to the floor below him, suddenly casting his hand out towards the reflective ground, as an energy burst shot forth, impacting into the floor sending bits and pieces of the material spiraling in different directions, leaving a rather unattractive blemish in the floor’s surface.

Quillion didn’t care though, his impatience was beginning to overflow as his eyes flashed, his balled fist swelling with a purple hue…then as he cast his hand forth again, he suddenly stopped his second strike, the glowing radiance subsiding, clasping his fingers along his chin arching back in his throne…

He could sense the arrival, even know closing his eyes he could hear the two warriors pacing down the hidden entranceway towards the throne room, a black and silver box in one of the figure’s hand, while the other strode with pride down the narrow hallway of torches, along the wall…each fire streaming past with their competent strides towards the massive double doors leading to the main Throne Room itself.

Before the figures could even open the door, they burst open, outward from them…Quillion’s figure from high above his dais, made out by the silver marking along his robe, and the shimmering lightsaber along his belt, last but not least the hint of silver from within the darkness of his hood…like a vulture brooding in the trees of a dark and stormy night, waiting…stalking.

QUILLON – Approach…

The first of the two figures steps forth. His attire matches that of all the other lower ranked Killian warriors…the only difference was two rings of crimson red symbols along the cuffs of his robe, the lettering that of Lord Efface’s name…marking him as one of his apprentices.

The other figure, holding the same box Quillion had previously envisioned, stands quietly as a few other individuals stand behind him…The figure with red markings stands before the dais, glancing towards the floor, not daring to look into the eyes of the master, or his mask unless given the right to do so.

QUILLION – Stand before me.

Quillion motions to one of his elite Killian guardians, draped in blood red robes with black symbolic lettering along their shoulders to descend the throne and retrieve the box, while glaring through the two warriors below him, with their hands along their sides, as the guardian takes the box and walks back up the steps, sets the container at the foot of his throne and walks back up to his right side, standing like a statue, unified with his other half to Quillion’s left side.

As Quillion glances to the box at his feet, he steps over it, descending the throne himself, walking down the dark steps closing his distance from the two warriors, who step back five steps from his approach, in respect of his personal space. Quillion drapes his arms behind his back as he paces back and forth very slowly like a lion stalking his prey.

Quillion stops in front of the first figure, looking from his feet, up along the same outfits as all the other Killian wear, aside from his symbolic red patterns surrounding the cuffs of his robe, towards his eyes then steps alongside the figure, speaking but not looking at him.

QUILLION – You are the number one apprentice of Lord Efface?

FIGURE – (looks towards Quillion) That is correct…

With a flick of his wrist, Quillion removes his lightsaber, igniting the shimmering green blade, then with lightning fast efficiency, sends a horizontal arch swing, the edge severing clear through the figure’s hood, taking his head clean off, as his body tumbles back, falling to the ground, while his head rolls along the floor. Quillion standing still with his saber humming, craning his neck towards the other warrior who was holding the box, striding with graceful steps towards him.

Quillion walks away from the severed carcass, extinguishing his lightsaber.

QUILLION - Not anymore…

The figure still left standing, says nothing staying silent.

QUILLION – His thoughts betray him, while yours have spared you.

The figure nods slowly.

QUILLION – Congratulations on the success of your mission Quentin.

FIGURE – (nods slowly) Are you aware of Lord E… (cut off by Quillion)


FIGURE – But he was your….(cut off again)


QUENTIN – (nods slowly) Your will is my command.

QUILLION – Excellent…

QUILLION – You are now the number one student in this academy, go…celebrate your victory. I am pleased with your performance…I will watch your progress with great interest.

Quillion turns to the others in the room, resting a hand on the number one student in his fold of assassins and thieves, named Quentin.


Quillion points down to the fallen corpse of Efface’s number one apprentice at his feet.


The figures within the room, bowing upon one knee tip their heads forward in respect, as Quillion singles out one figure from the crowd, beckoning him to come forward. Quentin strides from the room with a renewed sense of morality, to Quillion it wasn’t that he was truly impressed, he knows quite well that to properly motivate his flock to carry out their missions with the highest level of perfection, even in his dark ways must allow them to feel SOME degree of pride, for allowing just that small amount of pride to surface, Quillion gains their respect and most importantly their unquestioned loyalty as he was about to prove to the other figure he finds genuine interest within.

QUIILLION – YOU! (narrows his eyes) YES YOU! APPROACH!

The lone figure paces its way through the crowd, slowly closing the distance between Quillion and himself, coming to stop in front of him.

Quillion again clutches his lightsaber in the middle of his hand, looking up towards the stronger, more developed warrior bowing to one knee at his feet. Quillion strides towards the man, gazing down, the surface of his silver mask reflecting from the torches surrounding the room.

QUILLION – I have heard of your successes as well. Correct me if I am wrong but you are the best-known wielder of the blade within The Killian ranks?

The figure nods its head, but learning from the mistake of the decapitated body to his left, replies with carefully thought out words.

FIGURE –I am as great as you wish me to be, and far below your skill.

QUILLION – I see, and which of your hands is your strongest? Which do you wield the blade with the greatest?

FIGURE – I am skilled in both hands Milord, but my right is my strongest factor.

QUILLION – Is that so…and by your thoughts I can hear your desires. What is your name?

FIGURE – (blinks) My name is Jenner. How do you know my? (cut off by Quillion)

Quillion strides over to the side of Jenner, moving his mask to his ear, whispering into it.

QUILLION - Your desires are clear boy…I see and hear everything, every thought in this room is a symphony to me…it can either please me, or anger me. Yours is neither…it intrigues me.

JENNER – I understand Master.

QUILLION – Speak freely; tell me your desire from your own lips.

JENNER – Ever since I have learned of the dark arts, and mastery of the force and the blade, I have craved to accomplish higher standards of servitude and respect. I am known as the best because of sheer determination and willpower to crush anyone, besides yourself of course that would stand in my way of achieving the rank of “Lord” such as your former guardian had accomplished.

QUILLION – I see…and you realize that he suffered greatly for his place at my side, as well as my trust. To be a Lord is more then skill and loyalty, it is to be the best at everything you do, unquestionable loyalty, highly efficient combat skills, accepting any challenge that is asked of you. It requires…. training.

Quillion steps in front of Jenner, glaring through his mask as his mechanical words echo from the bowels of his hood, from the darkness…lit only by the rapid extension of his lightsaber blade. The forest green streak of light illuminated Jenner’s typical Killian attire in shades of green as Quillion watched him, holding his lightsaber in both hands, vertical along his face.

QUILLION – Individuals who serve me in the highest regard must give ANYTHING to earn my trust, tell me Jenner, are you loyal to me?

JENNER – (nods) Yes.

QUILLION – Will you prove your loyalty to me?

JENNER – Without question.

QUILLION – Hold out your right arm, ball your hand into a fist and await further instruction.

Jenner extends out his arm, not showing any fear or intimidation from the request, in almost a trance like manner, willing to give anything to achieve his ultimate goal of becoming a Lord.

QUILLION – How much are you willing to lose to attain this desire Jenner?

JENNER – Everything and anything.

QUILLION – Then we are in agreement.

Jenner shows undying loyalty towards Lord Quillion and does not move, as Quillion’s blade streaks down in a path of forest green light, cleaving right through his wrist. Jenner falls to his knees, feeling the pain engulf his body in a wave of agonizing pain, yet through his anger and rage over the pain…he feeds into an eerie level of control, and this was what Quillion was testing from the persistent one before him.

Quillion looks down to Jenner’s severed hand then kicks it aside, turning back to him whispering in his ear.

QUILLION – Your right hand is your strongest element, it is now gone. Your strength is sheared from you, you now will unlearn what you have learned under my study, my young apprentice. You will master your skills with your new hand when I have deemed you worthy of the task, until then you will remember always that I am above you and I am your strength, to betray me, to damn my name is to lose your strength and if you are weak you are of no use to me…is that clear?

JENNER – (nods clutching his right arm)

QUILLION – You wish is granted…rise Lord Jenner.

Jenner slowly, using the force to control his pain, stands up knowing that showing any weakness in Quillion’s presence would make the leader change his mind in a heartbeat Even though the pain was immense, Jenner was indeed the best The Killian currently had to offer, besides Crymson Vachon and Quillion himself, able to sustain great damage and still remain focused enough to follow orders. This is what pleased Quillion, that TRULY pleased him…not just an act or a show to gain loyalty, this proved to him a individual could be trusted with certain secrets, certain tasks having given to he alone, having given their greatest strength and not complained, or even flashed one thought of remorse for their choice.

Quillion extinguishes his lightsaber as he looks with pride through his mask to the replacement of Lord Efface, seeing much more respect in this figure…or so it seemed because unlike Efface, Jenner did not possess the level of pride that toppled Efface to Val. A part of Quillion was balanced now and his anger towards Efface’ damning him was washed away, having avenged his wrongdoing…Quillion saw to it that whatever Lord Efface had accomplished while he lived, was quickly forgotten and replaced.

NO ONE in The Killian was too valuable to replace, as Quillion pat Lord Jenner’s shoulder, he bid him to leave the room along with everyone else, motioning his usual gesture of flicking his outstretched finger.


The other warriors in the room rose to their feet, following each other one after the other out the double doors, as the two guards standing alongside Quillion’s throne too headed for the door, picking up the remains of Efface’s number one apprentice, and his head…pacing out with their crimson red and black symbolic lettered robes swaying through the twin doorways, as the two massive halves became one, extinguishing the light from the Throne Room aside from the various torches and twin fire pits within.

Quillion was at last alone, alone to open his “gift” to savor the touch of it in his hands, where it had never been before. He slowly strode up the steps of his throne, with a grin spread across his lips through the mask, turning around to rest his back against the smooth contours of his chair, picking up the ornamented box, setting the object in the center of his lap, as his fingers slide over the Killian emblem along the surface and the runic text, feeling the bevels of the silvery curves of them, closing his eyes absorbing the power he had obtained…all those years as a servant to The Empire’s needs, now gone…having taken with blood, sweat, and deception what was rightfully his…his OWN Empire was formed, with his loyal subjects bowing at HIS feet, he was no longer the one who had to keep this mouth shut…oh no, the Imperials were puppets as were his subjects but the difference between his “Inner Circle” and the past one was that HIS subjects were LOYAL, they were scared stiff of his wrath, and most importantly nothing could be hidden from his views, Quillion had achieved a level of perfection in his force skills that he could read anyone’s mind with just a sideward glance, their passions, their lusts, their desires, their anger, their complaints, their fears were ALL known to him and not even Versai himself could prevent his entry into his psyche.

Having this kind of power made Quillion quite satisfied with his new life. His former self was meant only to kiss anyone who had power’s ass but his former self having reached a breaking point…eventually gave birth to the finely tuned machine he was today, calculative and deadly. Quillion found every day of his new life a joy to wake to…and the addition of this object within the box was only the icing on the cake, a small part of a greater recipe.

As Quillion slide his fingers over the base of the box, he unlatched two fasteners, tipping the top of the container back, gazing deep into the darkness, seeing the hues of red velvet encased within, but in the center of the vacuum formed shell was the object he had only dreamed of adding to his collection of Versai merchandise…

Gen Zeridian’s personal lightsaber…

Quillion could hardly contain himself, stroking along the sharp triangular pieces of metal, grafted to the bottom of the hilt, up along the base to the signature claw that surrounded the emitter shroud. Quillion sliding a finger under his chin, his lips parting with utter pleasure as he stroked the feminine weapon, the elegance of the curves of the device could only have been fashioned by a woman’s touch, such attention to detail. Not as clumsy or masculine as the lightsaber hanging from his belt. It too was elegant in its own right from the base of fin like structures that directly mimicked the design of Darth Vader’s lightsaber hilt, while the midsection more resembled the discs of Luke Skywalker’s second lightsaber, this saber having ten discs in number while having a division down the middle of them, akin to the grooves in Obi Wan’s second lightsaber. The emitter shroud however was something entirely different.

As Quillion stared down to Gen’s lightsaber and held it against his own, he knew that both shared their own histories as he compared the emitter shrouds. While Gen’s lightsaber was designed to be lethal even without the blade extended, his lightsaber shroud had a more symbolic reference to it, something he wanted his enemies to see and understand…especially The Jedi.

For from the center emitter stretching above a series of other, smaller structures. The shroud in a distinct manner could easily resemble the Jedi Council building on Coruscaunt. The main emitter being the source of power for his deadly lightsaber, while the other six spires served as lesser, decorative designs though the temple itself only had four. They had no real use, except for being part of the greater whole, a focusing pattern towards the middle where the top members of the Jedi Council once stood. This clever bit of irony always amused Quillion, for it was Jedi he had hunted at one time, and the irony lay in the fact that it was this pattern they saw, and often recognized before they were struck down…a Jedi struck down by a weapon designed after the thing they served most.

Quillion’s lips grinned from behind his mask, still sliding his fingers along the base of Gen’s lightsaber as if it were a pet in his lap, every fiber of his being feeling every perfection, closing his eyes then slowly opening them, craning his head to the left to a figure standing in the corner.

QUILLION – Approach…

The figure walking from the shadows is Crymson Vachon, garbed in her traditional attire as the torches reflected the red and black fire patterns that extended from her breasts down along her legs, her crimson red eyes shining in the darkness as she stops by Quillion’s side and bows solemnly.

QUILLION – Ah yes, the elusive Crymson Vachon…you know why I have summoned you?

CRYMSON – Indeed Milord, I have heard your telepathic summons and I know the purpose of your call.

QUILLION – Good, you know that is it absolutely imperative that this be THE AUTHENTIC lightsaber of Gen Zeridian. You know that with all those galaxy net auctions out there, people have forged their own replicas trying to mimic its unique design then sell them for a few hundred credits to the highest bidder.

CRYMSON – I am aware…

QUILLION – Good…tell me then, is this object the REAL lightsaber of Gen Zeridian that has been wielded by Mr. Versai for over twenty years?

Crymson takes the lightsaber from Quillion’s lap, running her fingers over the base of the shaft, along to the hilt and up around the emitter shroud turning her gaze towards Quillion.

CRYMSON – You cannot judge a lightsaber by its cover…I will need to see inside it.

QUILLION – No…surely you have heard of post cognition…use it.

Crymson closes her eyes, visualizing the interior components of Gen Zeridian’s lightsaber, gazing along the circuitry, the superconductor, and the focusing lenses, down through the metallic core, beyond the dithum power source to the adegen crystals themselves, her lips parting in concentrated efforts as she reaches through the force, gazing into the crystals themselves, into the surface and beyond, opening her eyes suddenly with gasp.

CRYMSON – (voice trembles) It is…it is…authentic!

QUILLION – A tad dramatic are we Crymson? Still, this is delightful news indeed. You know what to do with it now, do you not?

Crymson was still shocked that this lightsaber out of literally hundreds of other impressive fakes was the original lightsaber of Gen, she remembers briefly her and Gen standing side by side on a vast table with instruments spread upon it like a dinner’s place setting, from crystals to crucial parts and their shimmering saber halves, the empty shells sitting upon the table in two sections…as they worked on the inner puzzle to breath life into the devices…the scene suddenly shifting to a flash of silver, then drops of blood falling before she returns back to the present, opening her eyes.

CRYMSON – Huh what? Oh… oh yes Lord Quillion forgive my lapse of concentration.

QUILLION – You know that I allow only you certain…liberties, as long as you see that my needs are met. You are forgiven for your latent reply. Again I ask you, you do know then what must be done?

CRYMSON – (nods her head slowly) Yes Lord Quillion I am fully aware of your instructions.

QUILLION – (slides a finger along his chin) Excellent, then go now…let it begin.

CRYMSON – (nods) As you wish Lord Quillion, the procedure will begin as soon as we are properly prepared.

QUILLION – Good…now leave me, I wish to be alone with my thoughts.

Crymson bows slowly, taking Gen’s lightsaber in her hand, leaving through the opening to the right of the throne, out a series of steps towards the lower bowels of The Killian Citadel. The Killian were more then they appeared, only the most trusted knew what lay beyond the gothic levels of the Citadel. For below the surface, miles down in the ground was a more updated environment, full of the most advanced equipment known to man, stolen from Imperial research facilities and other locations, The Killian were quite adept in the ways of scientific development, this explained how they could have concocted forms of poisons that were known and often unknown such as the strand injected into Isis’s body.

Along with weapons development and genetic research, The Killian also developed new armor technologies and attribute enhancing devices, that gave them swifter movements when the force was blocked by ysalamiri, or devices that they wore on their wrist that send out a signal to silence their movements, their footsteps…even their breathing. This was one factor that made The Killian much more deadly then the other guilds out there. Their tech allowed them to be as silent as ghosts, which made them all the more feared and sought after…their mission success rate aside from the incident with Crymson and Isis was flawless and their targets rarely ever escaped with their lives and if one were to escape he or she was soon found and instantly executed. This was The Killian’s way, this is what made them so dangerous to whomever they were involved against and this is what Quillion loved about his job…perfection, dedication, intimidation, and absolution.

Quillion glanced to a massive tapestry hanging above the doorway of the Throne Room, curling his lips as he gazed upon his creation, the symbolic insignia of The Killian themselves, a oval, turned upside down resembling an eye, for The Killian were the watchers of their prey…always aware of what was going on around them and for the most part on guard to defend, while above it a shape resembling a sword pieced through the thinner portion of the eye, the blade emerging out through the bottom of the eye, symbolizing that to cross The Killian would mean to backstab them and they themselves were the masters of deception, as Devon and his family had the unfortunate honor of finding out first hand. Then there was the horns, curved and elegant, resembling the amount of honing Quillion did through his ranks on a constant basis, to eradicate the questionable and the commend the loyal, to hone the Killian ranks like a razor sharp Sith sword, elegant and deadly. Moving his fingers along the armrests glancing to the “iris” of the eye, a crescent moon turned to face down, as if the darkness of the moon were rising to snuff out the light of the sun…so true was Quillion, a individual who worshiped the darkness, and used its voiding aspects to snuff out the light of The Jedi or his enemies, the darkness was there for him when he emerged from his former self, it nursed him and led him down the path of glory he has tread upon today, over years of servitude to darker, higher ranked individuals, he had finally taken his place at the HEAD of his table.

So then with Gen Zeridian’s lightsaber in his possession, he knew he dealt a critical blow to his prey, to Valaryc Versai…he had known that Gen’s saber was his most precious, most valuable possession and to Quillion robbing him of such joy was an exhilarating feeling, about as much as knowing his family was DEAD, gone and buried. Val being the last of the Versai to hold on to the name, Quillion wanted to make sure Val had suffered the most painful of torture though, because death itself was too easy.

QUILLION – (mumbling to himself) You will wait Versai, you WILL live and you will suffer, your living is my reward…your suffering nourishes my soul, revitalizes my body with every fiber of your pain.

Quillion clasps his hands in front of him, as memories stream through his mind, glaring to the Killian insignia as if watching some mental imagery played upon it like a screen.

QUILLION – Commander Versai…you are not the only one who can premeditate the ultimate form of revenge, this you will learn boy…only at the end will you possible understand.

QUILLION – You think you know everything now Val? You have yet to learn the FULL range of my scheme…but you will know it in the sequence of time. If you only knew that things are connected much more then they appear, if you knew the mental, physical, and emotional pain I have planned for you…

You would have stayed away…

But no, you wanted to inflict your revenge, you wanted to set up your grand scheme, so now I will do the same, only this time…you won’t be the one walking away unscathed.

QUILLION – (clasps his hands along his armrests) All things come to those who wait…




Two months have passed since the incident at Tibannopolis, Isis Surul still lies dormant within the medical wing of the massive, heavily defended structure known as Versai Tech Headquarters. Since their arrival Val has had to make his presence known with the board of directors within his vast organization as many years of neglection on his part resulted in a loss of performance that when he had ran the company in the publics view never occurred. It took several documents, scans, and cross-examinations before his loyal subjects within his company finally accepted that he was the real, authentic Valaryc Versai.

Within the two months of eerie “peace” all Killain activity has strangely ceased. Val visits Isis’s medical quarters often as he consults several specially hired specialists in poison affairs, sparing no expense in his conquest of a cure for the girl. Val feels that he owes such things to Isis, even though they only met briefly; he was indebted to her for finding himself again. If not for his vow to prove Lord Efface wrong in this claims that everyone Val comes in contact with or tries to defend dies, he swore as he severed the fallen Lord in two symmetrical halves that Devon Troy was the LAST person he would endure the loss of, fighting against the odds to discover the strange version of toxin that kept Isis immobile, but oddly enough was not designed to kill but rather sedate.

She had been fed intravenously through a series of IVs, her body hooked up to various scanners and monitoring equipment, on constant watch by cameras and other surveillance equipment. Val constantly wondered as he sat within his luxuriously decorated office, why The Killian had seemed to disappear from the public’s eye. After a string of random assassinations…they went oddly silent.

Val glanced along the smooth contours of his desk, thumbing through various papers and files, information gathered through his more properly motivated investigative team. Apparently the words “Janitor Work” and “Women’s Restroom” was all his crew needed to pull their resources and supply Val with further information on his shadowy assassins.

The following files were on his desk, neatly stacked:


Val had extensive connections all of the galaxy through his corporation, who supplied the universe with everything from ships to weapons and equipment, there was no other way to obtain good, high quality equipment except through his unified facilities scattered throughout the galaxy in different portions, sans the four damaged buildings from the VT raid, now under construction slowly being rebuilt like so many other things in his life.

As Val thumbed through each of the files one by one, he had insisted on having these four, because these four didn’t make sense to him. He needed to put the pieces of a greater puzzle together because deep down his deductive skills deduced that each of the files were connected to one another.

He started first with Troy’s file. He had been an outstanding worker, earned several company awards and for the most part had a clean record. It was only the last few days where he traveled to the four buildings that his file became marked on the “at risk” list. Val wondered though, if his company KNEW that he was a risk why did they STILL admit him into the buildings? In respect for the loss of his family, knowing in some way, by some strange feeling Crymson was behind their demise, the thought of that black haired wench executing a helpless little girl, ending her journey so quickly burned deep in his soul. Apparently Devon’s story checked out as he had explained before hand. He also discovered as he thumbed through the pages that Devon had contacted him out of fear of his life, seeing surveillance photos of him dashing through various public places, with the signature black and gray fatigues of The Killian close behind him, in every shot of them…the figures were there like an angel of death, always there always watching their targets well.

Closing the file, Val pushed it to the side, still burning inside from his lack of concentration to save Devon’s life, perhaps in some small measure it was fate that dealt him the joker in the deck. Val had ALWAYS protected whom he vowed to watch over; no one ever managed to get close enough to execute his clients. Yet these Killian were more evolved then the typical Bounty Hunter guilds, or assassins trained under The Black Sun or even The Hutt Cartel. These warriors were fiercely loyal to their missions, and if Val had only known how rigorous of a life it was to keep Quillion pleased, to avoid being “cut” from the sect, he would have understood why these people would die to see their missions carried out.

Moving to the next file, unwinding the red cord that secured the accordion like manila folder together, he slide his hands inside and withdrew a stack of papers, separating them by subject.

He had ordered a full scale investigation of The Killian, from their known weapons, technology, and even the materials of their outfits, of their history, their fighting styles, ANYTHING he could find on them. Spread out on his desk from technical readouts of known Killain technology, to samples of cloth taken from those Killain who were not fast enough to avoid detection and were shot down, a timeline of Killian activity, and lastly two severed halves of an amulet worn by the recently deceased Lord Efface and a patch baring the insignia of The Killian order itself.

VAL – (talking to himself) – What are you up to…what are you trying to show me, why did you want Gen’s saber…there must be a motive, there must be some sort of connection…all of these people are involved with one another in some sort of manner, I know it.

Val fumbled through the various items on his desk, reading the timeline of Killain activity, noting that until five years ago they had not existed. They had appeared, starting to gather in number and increase in activity shortly after Val had gone into seclusion. He read a dossier on their known structure, Quillion topping the list as the known “leader” of the sect. Val’s thoughts thinking…

VAL – (sarcastic) Oh yeah now they tell me.

As Val read on, he saw several references to the “Obsidian Order”. It appeared that many of VT’s intelligence operators had perished to supply this information, both the “Leader” of the Obsidian Order and Quillion were adept at removing moles in their organizations. What Val did discover by reading on is that prior to his drawback into seclusion, The Killain was known as the “Obsidian Order” it wasn’t until his disappearance that The Killain emerged three days after he withdrew from VT. This revealed to Val that SOMEONE in his company had to have been playing for the other team. Someone had informed this “Quillion” of when Val had officially took his five year “vacation”, this intrigued him because Val knew the only person who claimed to know about The Killian before him was….


Quirking a brow, Val pushed the objects found in The Killian folder aside, thumbing through the file on the mysterious “Adna” who apparently had no last name. Val wondered why in the blue hell his company would hire someone who didn’t supply all the information that he demanded from his employees, information was power and in this day and age, one cannot be too careful…then it dawned on him as he read on to the following section in her profile…



Val raised an eyebrow as he dwelled upon the words, he had wondered what the connection was between her coincidental appearance right at the exact moment that he needed her, when his ship was blown up and not more then a few minutes after, there she was…Adna, in the Marauder Corvette, who just happened to know to carry the EXACT anti-toxin to cure his poisoning, and happened to know THE EXACT moment to arrive, just in the knick of time.

Questions started to race through Val’s mind, he wanted to know why the CEO of Versai Tech, the friggin FOUNDER of it was denied access to her work history and why her work status was “active”. Something didn’t connect as he pondered over the recent chain of events. He didn’t know who she was, all he knew was what she told him, and she seemed to know more then she let on about Isis as well. Val leaned back in his chair, running his fingers through his medium length hair, trying to put the pieces together, to try and gain some progress on this mystery he was thrust into, from the destruction of the VT facilities to the series of events on Tibannopolis.

As Val takes out a pad of paper, he scribes down on it with a pen to further keep a closer watch on this “Adna” and find out more of what she knows, but making a small note as well to keep her in the dark with his mental “ways” of getting information out of someone, Val was quite the master of the mind game, he knew interrogation skills well beyond torture and pain. Val had usually been able to tell things about people, it was a gift. When he was the main source of interviews for his company, he could see right through the corporate spies hoping to plant themselves in his company and steal secrets, he could see right through the con artists trying to score a few bucks off him, and he took great joy in showing them the door.

Since he established Versai Tech, Val had forged his corporation on a foundation of his Versai Creed.

“Truth, Honor, Respect, and Loyalty.”

Most of his employers knew this policy well and those who showed exceptional promise in handling this often-difficult request were often rewarded, unlike other corporations where employees FEARED the boss, Val tried to instill the image that he was not their enemy until they chose to make him one. He had dealt with some problem cases but to the date of his last day within the premises, not one employer ever quit on negative terms, nor was anyone fired. That was when HE was in control. His new board of directors over the years had changed policies so dramatically, that the squeaky clean record he had once prided his company upon was tarnished by records of dispute and misconduct.

Val closed his eyes slowly, and then reopened them making another note on his pad to have a very long talk with the current board of directors of VT, to give them a very…informative “pep” talk. Val’s lips smirking as he knows his form of “motivation” was both intimidating, and highly effective. Sliding his fingers over the next file, the most elusive file of the stack…the one on Isis Surul, Val took the papers in his hand and arched his back in his chair, kicking his boots up on the desk, a perk he loved when he was the BOSS, doing whatever he pleased as long as it didn’t effect the performance of his business ordeals.

He read on through only a few pages on the girl, from her physical parameters gathered from the medical procedures performed on her since her admittance into the medical facilities of VT, to what was known of her sketchy past with The Killian and the Obsidian Order.

She had been raised within the den of thieves and assassins, noble or not still it broke interstellar laws. Apparently however any information on her parents, her place of birth, and her relatives were unavailable in the dossier gathered on her. She was trained in several forms of combat from weapons to hand-to-hand, intelligence, to remedial force abilities. Val found this quite interesting but not unusual, for she was in a band of assassins after all, self-defense was a must in the business.

What stuck out to Val most as he continued reading through the report was that her father’s name was unknown but he was known to have direct connections with The Empire, this of course was her adopted father whom through various forms of intelligence gathered was also the Leader of the Obsidian Order. Isis was a strange girl though, she was fiercely loyal to the organization she served and yet Val wondered just why if she had such a high degree of loyalty, The Killian had decided to hunt her down. Like many things in the last two months, it didn’t make any sense.

All Val could say for sure was that The Killian had to be waiting for something he’s yet to discover, if there was one thing Val had learned from his battles with them it was to expect the unexpected. Val made another note on his pad to have his team further investigate the Leader of the Obsidian Order and what became of it. The more Val could discover about these people, the more he could prepare for their eventual return from whatever deeds they were scheming. His thoughts reflected upon the ironic circumstances of the events though, especially their timing. The dreams, the words, the formations, the threats, the attacks all centered around something from his past. Something he just couldn’t put his finger on, but nonetheless Val was still outraged as he slide his finger along the vacant lightsaber clip along the right side of his belt…most importantly above all he wanted to know what in the hell they wanted with Gen Zeridian’s lightsaber.

The bastards had already succeeded in stripping him of his privacy, his friends, his morality, and now it seems even his heritage. Gen’s lightsaber was his most prized possession, he guarded it fiercely, and when he felt that the piece of his past was in jeopardy so many years ago, he sealed it in his Trophy Room back at his mansion. Again the irony was there, the irony that the instant he reintroduced Gen’s saber back into the present again that it wasn’t too long before it was stolen from him for some greater purpose then to possess it, yet to be known to him.

Val narrowed his eyes clenching his teeth as he pictured the thought of some other person holding the very weapon that belonged to his one and only love. To him Gen’s saber was his constant reminder that even long after her brutal death, she could still protect him. Val had used both Obi Wan’s and Gen’s sabers in combat as living proof that the past would not die as long as he lived within the present, he wanted those who would try to end his life to understand this…as his weapons of survival, of destiny struck down his enemies one by one. His past you see, secured his future.

Flipping through Adna’s file again, more and more doubt entered his mind about her, she was hiding way too much, she knew more then she had let on and for some odd reason she had also known him on a more then a business level. He could see it in her eyes when she shifted them away, as if she KNEW Val could seen through her if given enough time to focus, as if she was trying to protect some other identity he had yet to decipher, but he knew behind the new features…her eyes were the windows to her soul and if given enough time to stare within them, he would find the truth…

Suddenly, Val’s intercom buzzes to life as he flips the switch.

VOICE – Sir? You have a guest.

VAL – (raises an eyebrow) Oh? I find that highly unlikely, not many know of this facilities location.

VOICE – Understood Sir, but this person claims to know you…something about sensing your signature?

VAL – My what?

VOICE – I don’t know Sir, he’s rather insistent on meeting you personally, shall I have security escort him off the grounds?

VAL – (closes his eyes for a moment) No, first describe his appearance to me.

The security guard on the other line looks up and down the figure standing over his desk, the man was as tall as Val was a height of 6’1, blue eyes and dirty blonde hair. He had a full-grown beard along his face and his hair was long, and frizzled as if neglected. Along his belt were two blaster holsters; the weapons were no longer there however as the security guard described these things to Val as he looked the stranger over. His clothing was elegant, and yet horribly out of date, torn and faded. If not for Val’s insistence of a full description, the guard would have passed him off as a homeless vagrant, looking for a hand out.

It was the next description that caught Val’s ear though.

VOICE – Well sir he has some sort of cylinder shaped device in his belt, kinda dangling from it. I’d say roughly about eleven inches long, it has some rather complex patterns about it, like a big flashlight I think but more detailed then I’ve seen.

Val closed his eyes, trying to envision the figure from way up on the hundredth floor, creating the image of the living being, based on the guard’s description, using his imagination to shear away the longer hair and beard, adding blasters into the vacant holsters, the “flashlight” structure and lastly, removing the beard and adding more vibrant colors to the faded attire drawing a match…

Captain of the former Rebel Alliance, Lance Jade…

Val took a deep, soothing breath then spoke into the intercom to the guard with a silent anticipation.

VAL – Send him up right away…

GUARD – Are you sure sir? He’s less then properly dressed.

VAL – When I want your opinion, I’ll give it to you…SEND HIM UP…NOW.

GUARD – (stutters) Yes…. yes sir right away, sorry sir.

VAL – You are forgiven, do NOT question my orders in the future.

Val clicks off the intercom before the guard can reply, definably convinced now that he needs to hold a massive “moral workshop” within the facility; it appears that his years of neglect had created what he hated most in his company…contradiction.

If his staff could not follow his orders without question, it would cost him in the long run to explain everything in detail, like it or not Val had to extend some “tough love” on his stronghold if he wanted to earn his employees respect and their dedication, making another note on his pad he scribed down to review the company records and see who has been “naughty” and “nice”.


As Val waits for Lance Jade to arrive, the scene shifts to the slumber form of Isis Surul down in the lower decks of the VT medical facility, her body is still in its deep slumber, the poison still very much a factor in keeping her body isolated, again odd as it was it was evident that The Killian were not seeking to end her life just yet, despite the attack on her at Tibannopolis it didn’t make sense, but would inevitably be revealed as time moved on.

Within the girl’s psyche, her sleeping state on the outside, calm and relaxed did not match the seemingly eternal nightmares of her own past flashing through her mental theater in a marathon of imagery, gazing within we see not the soul of a girl who is angered at being cast out of The Killian flock or even haunted by the image Quillion had revealed to her, but the setting of another time, unknown to anyone within the building, even Val himself.



As her mental images come into focus, we are immersed in the same Throne Room that Quillion sits upon, but it is not lit by the gothic darkness of torches, or the twin fire pits sitting at the base of the raised dais. Along the walls are not dark emblems, or cursed symbolic lettering. Instead the chamber is beautifully decorated in lavish hues of red, royal blue, and bronze fixtures…namely colors of luxury and prestige as this room was clearly much more elegant then its current state, the tapestry hanging over the intricately decorated floral pattern of the double doors to the room bared a different insignia then the current Killian logo.

This symbolic structure was comprised of a perfect circular pattern of at first appeared to be a spiral of thorns, but upon closer inspection along the upper left and lower right you can make out the distinct details of a creature, the head of a Arkanian dragon, two of them gazing out to the left and to the right. While the circle of thorns then revealed on a closer examination to be the unity of the two beasts, the thorns were the spikes long their backs and from the center, their bodies emerged from a sea of white, disappearing into it.

This was the insignia of the Obsidian Order, in all its glory at the height of its luxurious life. Perched upon the throne was an older man, wrapped in black, silver, and crimson red robes. Not as menacing as the Killian attire of Quillion, but more elegant in design like that of a King in a vast, rich kingdom surrounding him as his loyal subjects were all clad in a steel blue uniform, wearing right gloves with gold buttons running down the right side of their suits, while a single pinstripe of gold ran down the right. Their pants matching the steel bluish gray hues of the suits, capped off by black boots and a black belt, upon with hung several elegantly designed lightsaber hilts. Even though they were dressed in matching uniform attire, you could tell by the looks in their eyes they were darker then any Jedi.

As the scene pans up from the Leader’s jet black boots, towards his right there is the figure of a younger male, obviously from his matching attire, the lightsaber upon his belt matches that of the one he uses today…but his face was covered with a different mask that was gold in color with ruby red eyes, no doubt from the grin visible where the mask was cut away to show his lips, it was Quillion. Moving to the left, another figure stood tall with her blonde hair spilling about the tops of her shoulders, down to the mid center of her back, her emerald eyes shimmering as she watched the proceedings around her, a lightsaber clipped to her belt as well.

Moving deeper into the picture, closer to her features, her eyes look over to Quillion, who flashes a sadistic grin with a slight nod, her eyes shifting back as she steps closer to the Leader of the Obsidian Order further to her right, resting her long slender fingers upon the back of the throne. Slowly panning up towards her eyes and the formation of her hair we can conclude that this figure is none other then Isis Surul and that the man sitting on the throne must be her adopted Father, though his name was unknown at the time being it was Isis’s mind we are delving into, it was HER past this time, not Val’s that began to unfold, with the approach of another figure, strutting through the double doors, enraged.


The body in the chair perks an eyebrow, sliding his finger under his chin.

LEADER – What is it this time Drax? Money again? Rank?


LEADER – (rubs his head) Drax, Drax, Drax, have you not learned by now we are not a society of barbarians? We strike with purpose and with something to gain, if you want to go slaughter innocents, go join The Sith.



DRAX – (lowers his voice) My most humble apologizes Lord Krueger, you must understand that when I joined the ranks of this wonderful lil club of your I was interested in THE HUNT, though I respect your ways I find error in your reasonable logic.

LEADER –Error? Are you QUESTIONING my leadership Drax? Explain now…

Lord Kruger as he is revealed to be turns towards Isis and smiles slightly, then brings his eyes to bear on Drax again. Drax is a 6’2 “freak” of nature to his Aridus heritage, a member of the race of Chibbits, having left their ways, he studied under various instructors in the force, to gain a medium mastery over the force, leading his path to Lord Kruger’s door and eventually after rigorous tests of loyalty and trails of skill, he was accepted and soon gain both rank and favor with the Obsidian Order, but over the years his persistence of power, his quest to fulfill his bloodlust, a drawback of his emersion into the powers of the Dark Side grew more and more. Drax was fiercely loyal to his leader, Lord Krueger but as the dark side consumed his morality and corrupted his ethical conduct, he grew more impatient with Kruger’s way of leadership, deep down he wanted to turn the Obsidian Order into the most feared organization in the galaxy and after years of torment, years of temptation he had finally decided to break his silence and directly oppose Kruger’s views and be heard…no matter the cost.

Drax as an impressive specimen, a true credit to his race but not too bright in the realms of logic, for questioning a superior in such a manner was easily met with early “dismissal” in a wooden box, several SMALL wooden boxes. Still the dark side swelled through his veins, feeding to him words to boost his ego and lead him down the road of blatant overconfidence. Of course the talks with Quillion didn’t help matters, it appeared that Quillion shared his views as well, meeting with him on a periodic basis even slipping Drax hints to Kruger’s weaknesses, only those closest to the Master would know. These thoughts raced through his head as he gazed up to Lord Krueger sitting upon the raised throne. So tired was Drax of being UNDER him, at the BOTTOM of the chain, sure he had attained high ranking status This day, combined with the sessions with Quillion, what Lord Kruger didn’t know was that this was a setup, forged after months of preparation.

You see as great as Lord Krueger was at his skills, reading others minds was not his strong point, he rather relied on his weapons skills and normal skills of manipulation rather then rely on the force to guide him, to Lord Krueger, relying on the force was as bad as Jedi relying on their pitiful code.

If he only knew how much his own overconfidence would shift the balance of power though, as the events began to unfold and take shape.


Drax searches for the respectful words to say, but the dark side corrupts his ability to be patient and respectful, the lies it spreads through his head fuel his rage, his fists balling as he glares towards his superior.

DRAX – When I joined this den of thieves I expected to have a THRILLING career here! Lately all we have done is sit back, get drunk, and enjoy the damned scenery! I WANT THRILLS I DEMAND SATISFACTION! I WANT BLOOD!

Lord Krueger narrows his eyes, resting his head back against the throne, moving his fingers along the armrests as he listens to Drax’s ravings. On one hand Krueger agrees that times have changed as of late…the business has died down, but then again what did he have to worry about? After three years of plotting, training, and sending his subjects on dangerous and successful missions, they all had deserved a break from the pressures of survival and detection. To Krueger, this flock was his source of peace…they all did his bidding and those who failed were removed, the motivation was enough to hone The Obsidian Order into an elite band of highly efficient thieves, spies, and assassins. However the one thing that set apart this band from others, was they were the opposite of what Drax wanted to introduce into their fold, they were not bloodthirsty, they struck with purpose, with reason. To go on a blind rampage, a fierce blood soaked trail of murder and pillaging was too barbaric for his order, he had served The Sith and most importantly Emperor Palpatine for several years prior, before taking his leave…placed on active duty to eliminate the Emperor’s enemies through his order, having been personally appointed for the job.

Palpatine was more focused on other projects though, he soon forgot about his hidden order, as Lord Krueger began to change the purpose of its original formation to his own “family”. He was the father and they were his children, as such he demanded respect on a consistent basis, he rewarded those who found favor in his eyes, while punishing those who displeased him without so much as a second thought. His family was perfect…but not all appeared as he had thought, for within his “family” his own trusted second in command Quillion had other objectives, as his eyes peered through his shimmering gold mask towards Drax, proud of his handiwork as the events unraveled.




DRAX – (calms) Aye, I remember taking their heads and bringing both those and their lightsabers to you, to gain favor in your eyes, and where has it got me? WHERE HAS YOUR FAVOR GOT ME LORD KRUEGER! AT THE BOTTOM LOOKING UP!

KRUEGER – (rubs his temples) Drax, you are not by my side because you are barbaric, there was a time you could have been in higher command, but you traveled down a darker path of insubordination, you began to question my orders, and YOU UNGREATFUL FOOL! OTHERS HAVE DIED FOR SUCH INSULTS! YOU KNOW THE RULES! THERE IS ONLY ONE WAY OUT OF THIS FAMILY!

DRAX – I don’t care….as a matter a fact I welcome it, no…better yet I have a better idea in mind.

Drax boldly approaches the throne; defiantly glaring up the steps towards Lord Krueger, a blatant violation of the codes Krueger has set down, further displaying his seduction deeper and deeper into the manipulative path of the dark side, playing him like a puppet.

Who was the puppet master though? Quillion? The Dark Side itself? The answer laid in the meetings Quillion had had with Drax, how easily he befriended the man. Quillion was a master of the mind game, he had wrapped high-ranking Imperials around his finger on occasion, even the highest of personnel could be played like a harp if given the proper motivation. Quillion smiled to his “creation” that was the shell of Drax but not the original, for you see the young, eager, and loyal warrior that gladly followed Lord Krueger’s orders without question was long gone to the more bolder, stronger, and defiant psyche that was Drax today and Quillion had planned from day one to one day seize power and overthrow his Master, meticulously paying attention to his leader’s flaws and weaknesses, while masking his true objectives behind a veil of lies and deceit.

His tactics were quite effective as he had managed to gain so much confidence in Lord Krueger’s eyes that he stood beside him an advisor and a guardian…the perfect vulnerable position that Quillion had sought to attain…right where only three people stood in his way, Isis Surul and two guardians.

KRUEGER – Explain…

DRAX – (sliding his fingers along his lightsaber) You are aware of the one rule you said was in effect on a CONSTANT basis are you not? Aware of the one request any of your “family” are allowed to ask of you? That you are DUTY BOUND to FULFILL!

KREUGER – (narrows his eyes, knowing where this is leading) I am aware…

DRAX – Good because I’m calling in that right I…(cut off by Krueger)

Lord Krueger quickly stands from his throne, anger flashing through his eyes as his brows lower, the pupils of his angered stare locked dead on with Drax below him, as his finger extends out furiously, the red hues of his robe billowing out.


DRAX – I’m well aware of it FOOL, I have no intentions of losing.


DRAX – I am WELL aware of that fact Lord Krueger.




Ras narrows his eyes, flashing rage within them.


DRAX – (nods) You are correct Ras, your leadership is pathetic. I tire of serving a weak minded fool who has let his age make him go SOFT, IF YOU USED TO SERVE THE EMPEROR THEN I SPIT ON HIS POWER AND HIS EMPIRE! ENGAME FAILED BECAUSE YOU ARE AN IDIOT! AN INCOMPETENT OLD MAN WHO’S PURPOSE HAS LONG BEEN EXPIRED!

Quillion’s lips part in a sinister grin as the top row of his teeth glisten in the light of the room, the situation evolving just as he has planned out, feeding the boy’s ego, giving him to tools he needed to bring about his own demise. Quillion didn’t care at all for Drax, he posed as his friend for the sheer purpose of gaining power through is arrogant sacrifice, knowing full well that the escalating circumstances was drawing his plan closer and closer to completion and his role in his deadly “play” was vast approaching.

KREUGER – (middle of the steps) I give you one last chance to redeem your actions, I still see potential in you Drax, you could have been one of my greatest students but you lack CONTROL, show some intelligence boy, think about what you’re doing and the consequences of your actions...This is your FINAL WARNING…if you utter the challenge, I will withhold my wrath from you no longer.


Drax pulls a lightsaber hilt from his belt, igniting a vibrant crimson red blade, standing defensively waiting for Lord Krueger to react, knowing that with the information acquired from certain…sources, flashing his eyes towards Quillion, he awaited the his leader’s next move.


As Drax expects Krueger to draw his lightsaber and begin the attack, while Ras’s was silent, he was secretly gathering the dark side within him, channeling the energy into his palms and through his mind, focusing the power for just the right moment to unleash it’s fury upon the challenger…

Then it began to happen…

As crimson light swirled around Ras’s hand, his eyes glared towards Drax, without having to draw his hand even to this belt to grab his lightsaber. Ras’s display began to manifest itself, as his fingers slowly began to curl inward. Drax’s eyes went wide as he feel a slight tug, then another wrenching tear along his trachea. His grip over his lightsaber began to tighten as pain riddled through his body, feeling something tugging at his muscles, something was reaching around his throat, Drax taking a swing, as Ras stepped aside easily avoiding the path of the searing red saber trail, keeping his focus on Drax’s body as Drax dropped his lightsaber with a clang on the floor, wrapping his hands around his throat, trying to breath. Ras’s outstretched hand was joined by a second, casting an energy ribbon as his fingers spread and flung forth. As Drax hit dropped to his knees a manifestation of energy from the ribbon began to multiply and grow larger until the net completely surrounded Drax’s body, the dark side web hammering its draining effects on Drax’s fallen form.

Ras steps down to the floor, circling Drax at his feet, glaring into this eyes as his fingers controlled clench the air, cutting off more and more of the supply of oxygen to Drax’s brain, the boy was filled with fear and anger as he was barely able to shout out…


Ras raises an eyebrow, then releases the hold finding the challenge appealing, not wanting to appear weak in front of his subjects, the deeper animalistic part of him succumbed to the temptation of real combat, sliding his fingers behind his back, along the handle of something long, and razor sharp.

Drax slowly lurched up to his feet as the dark side web dissipated, scowling at his humiliation from Ras’s force attacks fueling his anger further snapping back to his feet calling his lightsaber in his hand, back in his former defensive position with his saber blade screaming its howl of combat readiness.

RAS – Are you ready Drax? Are you ready to know what it means to fight a FEEBLE OLD MAN! THEN LET THE CHALLENGE BEGIN!

As Drax brings his saber blade up, and the a flash of silver fills the screen, the next image that shows is obviously the outcome of the duel, having been fast forwarded as dreams often do, like a record skipping lines of track, on the floor was what remained of Drax, the once strong and arrogant figure was now in a bloody heap on the floor, crimson trails streaming from Ras’s weapon held in his grasp.

Ras didn’t rely on a lightsaber however, no his weapon was not as kind as a quick to sever and cauterized a wound. What Drax and even Quillion didn’t understand is that when Ras was truly ready to unleash the beast inside him, he relied on the agonizing pain inflicted from his razor sharp, and jagged bladed Sith sword. Drax’s body was strewn about the floor of the Throne Room, his head severed from his body, while not too far away his arm had been cleaved clean off at the shoulder, still clutching his prized lightsaber…obviously Lord Krueger was far more powerful then he let on, his feeble skills only a shadow of his true potential, having only sustained a heavy burn along his right arm, and one across his midsection, where he had evaded Drax’s last desperate swing to cleave him in two, two seconds before Ras removed his right leg, causing him to lose his aim, and distance, grazing Ras across his now singed robes, scoring a hit but not getting the job done.

Drax was good…Ras was better.

As Ras heads back up the steps of his throne, time is again flashed forward again to another sequence, Isis watches Lord Krueger approach his seat, but Quillion steps in front of him, extending his hand to congratulate his boss. It is only then does Isis realize the fact as her Father’s hand is gripped suddenly, then yanked forward into a deadly “embrace” with Quillion does she notice his lightsaber is not clipped to his belt, Ras and Quillion exchanging words, as she slides her fingers towards her own saber, unclipping it from her belt.

RAS – (shocked) WHAT IS THE MEANING OF?????

QUILLION – (sadistic, cold tone) I challenge you…Lord Krueger.

No sooner are the words spoken, then Quillion’s forest blue blade emerges through Ras’s chest and out his back, having laid the challenge it was his right to start the duel at a moments notice, but even the most skilled of warriors had honor enough to give his opponent a chance, Quillion however…

Had none…

As Isis screamed in horror, Quillion drew his saber cleanly back through the hole in Ras’s chest, before swiftly sending a kick towards his stomach, Ras’s shocked, and injured body flew down and impacted the steps, shattering his neck like glass, as his form barreled down the flight of steps, hurling towards the lower surface in a smoking, bloody heap on the floor.

Isis ignited her saber instantaneously as a deep lime blade extended, her swing caught by the Obsidian Guardians who intervened as her blade and their own crossed in front of a very pleased Quillion as a hush fell over the room, Quillion craning his golden mask slowly over towards Isis, grinning from ear to ear.

QUILLION – You know the law Isis, “Two may duel, one may leave.” I challenged him…he was…unprepared.


Isis slides her blade under the guardian’s deep crimson cutting edge, getting close enough to Quillion to deliver a thunderous slap across his face, Quillion’s head jerking to the side, slowly turning back with the same sadistic smile on his lips.

QUILLION – Is that a challenge?


Quillion’s eyes narrow behind his mask as he knows he can quite easily slaughter the girl just as swiftly as he did her father, but finding a small bit of satisfaction knowing by keeping the girl alive, she will have to face each and every day as his slave was much more rewarding.

Quillion quickly slams his ignited forest green blade into Isis’s blade in a spray of sparks as he channels the force and extends out his free hand hurling her back with a massive Force Push, enough to launch her body across the room and send it spiraling down into a stack of crates, her body laying limp as the sudden creak of wooden boxes being shattered fills the room, splinters of wood flying from the impact of her figure crashing into the structure, while Quillion smiles with his hand still extended from the top of the throne.

He knew that his action would not kill Isis, but would rather leave her body…temporarily damaged.

QUILLION – You lose…

The Guardians stand in front of Quillion with their sabers drawn once more, scowling to him that he knows the rules and as long as she still breaths the challenge is not answered. Quillion flares his ruby red eyes towards the guards and calmly replies to them…

QUILLION – She didn’t speak the proper words…it is not an official challenge! BACK OFF!

The guards quickly extinguish their blades and bow their heads in respect knowing this fact to be true, standing along the left and right of the throne once more as the horrified remainder of the Obsidian Order members stare in shock at Ras Krueger’s lifeless body. Quillion stands before the throne, walking down the steps stopping in front of them, a more relaxed look on his face as he clips his extinguished saber to his belt.

QUILLION – Friends, colleagues…and acquaintances. You might think me a tyrant but allow me to settle your fears. He knew the risks when he made that ridiculous law; he had to accept the possibility that in a faction of assassins, and thieves…trust is not an issue. His ways have died with his weakness.

The figures standing around listen intently, but stay silent in each of their heads they scream obscenities to their new “leader”, finding his methods barbaric and with the their loyalty to their fallen leader, they all made a silent vow to stay loyal to Lord Krueger, even in his traumatic demise.

What they did not realize is that from Drax’s death, to the death of Ras, Quillion had planned for every little detail including their silent betrayal, he could hear their thoughts, each one of them making him more angered, signaling out any of them who would live by their oath and serve the master of the Obsidian Order, no matter how he claimed the position.

His eyes searched into the souls of the thirty people standing before him, still awestruck in shock and disbelief for Ras though he had his more barbaric sides, he was their father. He had taken them in when the Imperial Academy, The Jedi, The Sith, all turned them away. Ras Krueger had defied Palpatine to a point; he had forged his own dark guild of force users. He trained them to use their powers for efficiency and survival, not for bloodlust. Ras had learned from his younger years that the effects of Project Endgame were unnecessary, and so many men were lost and other potential students, but at that time all he cared about was power…greed, control. His fear led him to hunt down and destroy all the known Dark Jedi Academies within the Emperor’s secret facilities. His dealings with the Inner Circle only proved to him that The Empire could never deliver the results he could have achieved with his own “flock”.

Ras was a changed man and perhaps that is what led to his downfall, his trust. He knew he could never atone for the suffering that people like Val and Gen went through because of his actions, and he quite frankly didn’t care because what was done was done. The only purpose Ras found himself worrying about was to be his own “Lord” of his faction, to not take orders from Palpatine or his corrupted, pathetic Moffs, Admirals, or other high ranking personnel.

Change had given him all he had achieved, power, fame, fortune, money…all the roots of evil and along with it change had also stripped him of it, in a blink of an eye…in that one moment of letting his guard down…it was stolen.

Quillion looked down to his “flock” curling his lip in a frown, searching for any of the members of the Obsidian Order loyal to his new vision and yet as he glanced from face to face and listened to their thoughts.

He found none…

QUILLION – (sarcastic) What’s the matter? Don’t like your new Daddy?

The crowd stays silent…channeling their anger, their hate towards Quillion, a man who Ras trusted with undying loyalty, now seeing him for the snake he truly was under the veil of manipulation.

QUILLION – That’s perfectly fine because you see…

Quillion slides his hand behind his back, drawing out a tiny box from his belt.

QUILLION – My new family…doesn’t include…

Quillion presses a button on the tiny box as the twin doors burst open. Swarms of what we know from their clothing as “Killian” warriors rush in, their lightsabers ablaze as they viciously begin to engage the Obsidian Order members, striking them down one after the other with far more brutal fighting strategies, clutching their instruments of destruction, hacking and cleaving everything that does not bare their attire of jet black jumpsuits, jagged gray gloves and gray boots colliding along the floor as various lightsabers clash with one another, the screams of the more noble dying at the hands of the more aggressive.

QUILLION – (smiling sadistically) Children…

Isis, barely conscious stares in horror as her friends and colleges fight for their survival, being left unprepared against the more sadistic forces invading the Throne Room, she witnesses the slaughter unfold before her eyes, body racked with agonizing pain and several cuts and bruises.

QUILLION –  (head tipped down, arms behind his back)

Out with the old…the noble, the weak, the innocent…In with the corrupt, the powerful, the sadistic, and the strong….

Quillion walks over towards Isis, standing by her.

QUILLION – (points to the slaughter) Watch your past end. Your Obsidian Order “family” perish….

Quillion leans up, as Isis’s body begins to pass out, catching his words before darkness washes over her.

QUILLION – When you awake, your future will begin Isis…Welcome to the dawn of a new order...The Killain Order.

Isis’s dimmed green orbs close, as the scene shifts to black…and the dream sequence within the immobile, poison racked body of Isis comes to a close.



As the scene opens again, we are back on the hundredth floor of VT Headquarters, back inside the office of Valaryc Versai and a guest, matching the same description as the man he had called up to meet with him, the man known as Lance Jade, former Captain of the Rebel Alliance.

VAL – Jeez Lance what the hell happened to you man? You look like crap!

LANCE – (smiles slowly) Well Val, times have been tough for the ol pirate, things haven’t been the same since Leia Organa Solo reformed the Rebel Alliance.

VAL – Aye, I can understand that my friend. Been out of work?

LANCE – (smirks) What gave me away?

VAL – Your threads are about ten years old.

LANCE – (snickers) This coming from a guy who has been living in the middle of nowhere for the last five years?

VAL – (quirks a brow) Things change, I had issues to work out and some soul searching to do.

LANCE – What was it Val? What made you leave the RA let alone the whole blasted universe? I heard you had returned after your incidents on Mos Espa and Tabannoplois, Why do you always cut them in HALF!

VAL – Showmanship…

Val closes his eyes, then reopens them trying to find the right words to tell his friend over his choices to wade in the darkness for the five year period he was away.

VAL – Lance my friend, you know damn well why I left the RA. Remember? They ordered that unprovoked attack on The Krath, and with my strict codes of conduct and my Versai Creed, you know I couldn’t stand by and be a part of it.

LANCE – (nods slowly) Damn, why didn’t I remember that! Ugh! Must be old age or something, the ol noggin ain’t what it used to be.

VAL – (laughs slightly)

VAL – As for my disappearance, at the time I was told so many times I was useless, old, beyond my use, and a “relic” that eventually my desire to serve and protect, to watch over the innocent and save strangers who I’ve never seen forget my deeds in a matter of moments. I was taken for granted, the universe wanted a word without a hero…and I gave it to them.

LANCE – So that was it? You lost your faith?

VAL – Yes…I lost my faith in society, in this cesspool of new faces we have now, who don’t care about honor and respect, just money, power, and regulations. With this whole new attack on my friends by The Killian, I’ve since retraced my steps, my mistakes, and have returned to the Versai Creed I had five years ago, turned my back on. I found…found direction, purpose, and usefulness again. Basically in short Lance

I found myself…

LANCE – (nods slowly) That’s great to hear man, times have been tough for me as of late as you can tell by my overabundance of facial hair and neglected hair style. The close I have a torn and faded because I have no other place to go anymore, The RA put me out to pasture…I figured if you were still around this crazy universe again, the least I could do was come by and say hi to my former Superior.

VAL – Oh come now Lance o boy, you and I could still go out in the galaxy and whoop ol Ulic’s butt like the old days? But then again isn’t it just ironic how his own Krath killed him? I tell ya I bet the old egotistical bastard never saw that one coming.

LANCE – Oh? Do tell. This I didn’t know.

Val kicks his feet up on the desk, arching back in his chair, sliding his hands behind his head in a relaxing pose, as his purple suit coat curls around his slender form, having shed the combat and medical clothing for a fresh VT uniform, his distinguished by the gold trim down one side, buttons on the other and metallic ranking collars affixed to his shoulders, and of course the shiny “VT” CEO nameplate on his lift breast below the Versai Tech insignia.

VAL – (takes a deep breath) Well the ol womanizer was caught with his pants down, and a disrupter pointed to his most prized possession then reduced to ashes. I always told the old shark that women would be the death of him…I suppose I was right.

Lance bursts out laughing, hardly able to contain himself, having seen Krath Ulic use the ol charm on the females of The Krath in his presence and his blatant sexual advances both public and private during meetings brought back memories of how much Lance wanted to smack the taste out of his mouth, especially around his good friend Salla and Atera. To him it was sweet revenge to know that Ulic finally got it in the end.

LANCE – Are you serious? Is there proof?

VAL – (smirks) Trust me, I acquired the surveillance tape from some good friends of mine.

Val flashes a grin, like the joy he had in the good ol days when he and Lance would kick back during dinner and exchange war stories and combat techniques back and forth, discussing how pathetic the Imperials training was as well as The Black Sun, and other extensions of the galaxy, as he slides his finger along a switch, a holoscreen popping up with static flickering upon it.

VAL – Watch this…

The tape begins in a luxurious suite, as the figure of Krath Ulic in his less then formal Krath attire sits inside a Jacuzzi, smiling to a rather voluptuous vixen pacing towards him, dipping into the water next to him, seconds later sliding her hands all over his body and he inside her curves and crevasses, as the tape plays through she whispers something in his ear, as he smiles and gets out of the water wrapping a robe about his body, watching the girl with ample, curved breasts trot out into another room. The picture going blank then opening inside a lush bedroom setting complete with a roaring fireplace, bantha skin rug, and huge black silk sheet bed, upon which the blonde bombshell is completely nude, her hand dipping behind the pillow as if she were using it to support her head high enough to watch Ulic approach in his navy blue and violet robe, a big skull along the left breast being that of The Krath insignia the girl smiling in all her curvaceous glory towards her mate for the evening.

GIRL – OH my Lord Ulic! You look absolutely stunning in that robe, Oooommm baby, come closer to your love bunny.

ULIC – Gladly…I’ve always admired my taste in color, you know the Krath insignia is perfect in every way I’m such a well-endowed designer you know. I understand all the physics of objects in motion…how to place them in certain positions and how to arrange them for the perfect “entry” into my…plans.

GIRL – Ooo I love it when you use that big, throbbing…brain of yours Ulic.

ULIC – Oh let’s just say when you are Lord of The Krath, you know how to wield your equipment well and appease the needs of other female…acquaintances.

GIRL – Ooo and I bet you know how to rub my lamp just the right way don’t you Lord Ulic?

ULIC – I’ve shined many lamps in my time girl, none I have touched have forgotten the experience.

GIRL – Ooo Lord Ulic you make me soooooooo hot! I just love a man with a big, bulging, head on his body! Oooh give it to me prosperously daddy!

ULIC – Oh don’t worry child…I will.

Lance quirks a brow wondering where this video tape footage is heading already knowing the outcome, finding it hilarious that Ulic was talking like a damn priest, snickering as he discovers just what really did go on behind closed doors, watching the footage with great interest.

As the footage continues, the girl begins to pleasure herself in front of Ulic’s eyes making his lust all the more heightened, her fingers dipping into her warm core heating his blood and ultimately letting his guard down as he slipped off his robe, dropping it to the floor, then did the same with his boxers, the material of his “swimsuit” dangling around his ankles, revealing him in all this glory.

VAL – (grins) Thank god we can’t see that angle huh? Keep watching, here comes the good part.

As Lance turns his eyes back towards the screen, admiring the beauty nestled within the confides of the silky black sheets of the bed revealed in all HER glory, his lips parted with a wicked smirk as he watched the girl continue to arouse the so called Lord of the Krath.

GIRL – Oooo Milord, by the force I’ve never seen such an endowed man.

ULIC – I’m not a man, I’m a Krath Lord…

GIRL – Oooo yes I know and I know what the big bad Krath Lord needs too…

The girl slowly uses her free hand to slide her fingertips along her inner thighs, slowly dabbing her fingertips over the entrance to her shaved temple, knowing that Ulic is highly aroused by his raised stature and his narrowed, lusfilled eyes. She slides her other hand forward, closing her legs, lifting her feet back, pressing them flat against the bedspread, her tight, curved backside raising to tease him as she coos to him with her seductive undertones like a siren enchanting the innocent sailor from the seas.

GIRL – Ooo Ooo Oooooooooo god I can’t stand it Lord Ulic I must have you inside me!

ULIC – Ask and you shall receive child.

GIRL – (rubs her fingers over her twin female attributes) Ooo you want this don’t you baby? You want what’s between my legs?

ULIC – But of course, why else would you be in my private quarters, naked, willing, and wet for me?

GIRL – Are you SURE you want what’s between my legs oh Master?

ULIC – Quite Sure…

GIRL -  Oooh you’re such a bad boy Lord Ulic, demand it Daddy!…make me your love slave.


The girl’s playful expression suddenly drops to a straight lined, emotionless look, seconds before she parts her legs and fires off a direct shot from a disrupter, as her legs part to the right and left as he so demanded. His eyes widened only seconds before his most valued possession was vaporized first, then the rest of his body shortly after.

GIRL – (serious, low tone) You got it baby…

Lance can hardly believe his eyes as he and Val both drop to the floor laughing their butts off, as the girl walks from the room and calls for a service droid to pick up the “mess”. Val clutching his chest in utter splendor as Lance tries to get back in his chair, finding himself dropping back down again, convulsing from waves of laugher. Each warrior, each forgotten legend sharing a moment of freedom and happiness to a common foe that truly got it in the end.



Val bursts out laughing again, trying to get back into his chair, finally able to stop laughing long enough to settle himself back into his seat, waiting for Lance to do the same. As the moment passes, each of them adjust their attire and put on a straight face…only to think about the image of Ulic’s “pants” around his ankles bursting out laughing again but this time remaining in their chairs, less effective then before.

As Val and Lance let the last of their laughter subside, the holoscreen retuning back into his compartment, Val clasps his hands together back in his “business” mode, lifting his deep brown orbs up with the most serious of gazes.

VAL – Lance, In all seriousness man…you do look awful these days. You happen to have come at just the right moment my friend; I do not forget those who do not forget me and I have a proposition for you.

LANCE – (raises an eyebrow) Times have been tough…I’ve got nothing to lose…shoot.

Val leans forward, placing his elbows on his desk, locking eye to eye with Lance, clasping his fingers under his chin in deep thought.

VAL – How would you like a job?

LANCE – Huh? Sure!

VAL – Well hmm let’s fill in your resume first.


VAL – Years of service within the RA ranks, unquestionable loyalty to Valaryc Versai, extensive combat training, extensive intelligence skills, a snappy dresser, a skilled marksman, and in his former years quite the lazy man but with the long hair and beard, scares the hell out the female species.

LANCE – Hey!

VAL – (flashes a grin) Just kidding. Sounds like a good resume to me though. What do you suppose you’re fit for?

LANCE – I excel at leadership and combat strategies and scenarios, I can whip up a mean game of sabbacc too.

Val smiles to Lance, knowing this to be true having lost many a hand to Lance’s card sharking skills, knowing exactly what position to give his friend, down on his luck.

VAL – No no…That will never do.

LANCE – What?

VAL – You’re clothes man! You can’t waltz around my squeaky clean facility in those rags!

LANCE – But I already explai……..oh I get ya.

Val opens his desk drawer, withdrawing a golden rank plate and tosses it to Lance, as he catches it and read the inscription along it.

VAL – I can’t have my new Vice President walking around looking like a homeless jawa now can I?

LANCE – (shocked) Vic……….Vice President? But Val I don’t know it I can…(cut off by Val)

VAL – Oh Lance, you’re perfect for the job. All you really need to know is how to motivate the other workers check up on business ordeals, and occasionally go play battleship with some fleets now and then.

Val leans closer towards Lance.

VAL – You DO like to play with fleets still don’t you?

LANCE – (grins) But of course I do.

VAL – You DO know how to properly motivate staff don’t cha?

LANCE – Yes, quite adept at whipping people into line. Comes from all that Krath training.

VAL – Good then, its settled. From now on you will not be known as Lance Jade the pirate, the wanderer, the vagrant, the relic, the former Captain of the RA. You will be known as my most trusted empoyee Lance Jade, Vice President of Versai Tech.

Lance smiles to Val, recalling the imagery of Ulic’s face over and over again before his lil jimmy was vaporized after his body snickering but remaining focused to his duty, nodding in respect standing up out of his chair giving a brisk salute to Val.

LANCE – YES SIR! God that feels good to do again.

VAL – (flashes a smile) At ease soldier…(snickers)

LANCE – Thank you so much Val you don’t know how much this means to me, to have a life again after The Krath disbanded and the RA put me out to pasture…to feel wanted again, I won’t let you down my friend!

VAL – I know what it is like to feel like a relic Lance, I know what pain you have endured and what stress you’ve been put under to life in a world where no one cares about your deeds anymore, tells you to disappear and expire…NEVER AGAIN WILL I LISTENTO IT…IT TOOK ME FIVE YEARS TO REALIZE THAT MY DESTINY IS WHAT I MAKE OF IT…. and so is yours.

LANCE – Exactly Val, that’s how I feel about it…you’ve given me a fresh start and a new position I’ve VERY grateful for my friend, I am truly in your debt.

VAL – (nods slowly) Consider it payment for services rendered.

LANCE – (nods) Duly noted Sir.

VAL – (smiles to Lance) You’re a VP, you can call me Val, there are no formalities between us, were practically brothers.

LANCE – Understood Val! Thanks.

VAL – I’m not done with you yet, get your little Vice President butt down to the clothing department and pick out a shiny new Versai Tech uniform and for god sakes man get yourself some new blasters! You look naked without them. That’s an order mister!

LANCE – Yes sir!

Lance spins on one heel after giving a brisk salute to Val, smiling brightly walking with more pride then he did coming into the building with a new purpose to live, to serve a greater cause and with it, find direction and people who again appreciated him for who he was and didn’t take him for granted or hold him back like he had experienced in The Krath. He found a new home and he was happy to settle right on in. The first thought that popped into his mind was…a nice long shower and a much overdue shave.

As Lance makes his exit, Val’s intercom buzzes again. Val flips the switch and awaits a response.

VOICE – Sir?

VAL – Yes? This is the CEO.

VOICE – Well I have news for you Sir, Good news in fact.

VAL – Splendid I can use some good news about now. Proceed.

VOICE – Well this is Adam down here in research, after several hours of tests we think we have found the antidote to The Killian toxin.

VAL – Oh? Excellent keep me informed.

ADAM – Well there is one more thing I have to address on it though.

VAL – Yes? Continue.

ADAM – You see in order to prepare the antidote we will need you to come down to the medical lab.

VAL – I see…what for?

ADAM – We need testing, and our research has uncovered that the key to creating the antitoxin…involves you.

VAL – Me? Hmmm…I see. I will be down momentarily. Val out.


As Val flips off the intercom, his mind buzzes with even more questions now. The newest being what in the world does curing Isis have to do with him? Why is he the “key” to the antitoxin, he doesn’t even know the girl, never has laid eyes on her until his first meeting with her on Tibannopolis. Other questions raced through his mind as well, he still wanted to know what The Killian wanted with Gen Zeridian’s lightsaber, and who Quillion was. As Val stood from his desk and gazed out the window of his office the sunlight streamed along his facial features, as he set his priorities in order.

He paced down the halls towards the medical deck, exiting from a turbolift as he gathered his thoughts.
Number one on his list was to get to the medical lab; number two on his list was to wait for Isis to recover so he could speak with her…

And number three?

Find out who Adna really was…

And most importantly…

What was she hiding?

(what does this mean?)


Why is Val the key to Isis's recovery?  What is Adna REALLY hiding?
Why have The Killian stayed silent? What are they waiting for?

stay tuned...


[ Back to Main Story Page I To Chapter VI ]


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