STAR WARS/PREDATOR: DARK APPRENTICE SAGA (PART ONE)

  

 

In a universe where the children of Anakin Skywalker never realized their destiny before being struck down by emperor Palpatine's powerful, outstretched hand.

In a universe where Palpatine's apprentice, Skywalker as his dark persona Vader, did as all Sith eventually do and struck down his master Darth Sidious, thus becoming the emperor himself.

In a universe where no Rebel Alliance took root and a vast New Galactic Empire has arisen...

...our story unfolds. 

 

Far into the outer reaches of space, between galaxies in an area devoid of all light, a shimmering bronze hulk of a vessel floats like a lone predator in a sea of night. This ship belongs to a clan of Yautja, great hunters of the universe. A race so ancient and storied that none of their prey can truly be certain when and where they came from. They exist only to stalk and claim trophies from those worthy of the honour. They are as essential to the universe as is a dying star, a terrible sort of beauty that can only be appreciated by those whom have survived their hunts.

 

 Just before the bow an opening forms in the emptiness before the ship. It's expanse is greater than their craft by three fold stretching several hundred kilometres across. It's circumference snaps and snarls with crimson arcs of electrical energy and begins to envelope the ship.

 

Like the tentacles of some great fabled sea creature, the arcs lash against the hull and seem to pull the ship further and further toward its epicenter.



The Yautja ship has no way of compensating for the spatial anomaly it has encountered, its crew of hunters brace for the rough ride while most of their trophies come loose from their mounting hooks, rolling around the bulkheads of the vast craft.

Tense, but feeling no fear, a youthful male Yautja sits beside his shipmates, clasped like them into place by an emergency harnesses.

His name is Gr'rit'Xol, known to his fellow crew members as simply Xol. He is a Youngblood, just a few trials away from becoming a true hunter worthy of his father's name. His father, also being his clan leader and mentor, is especially hard on him, made visible by the various scars and cuts, old and new, decorating his body.

The ship begins to shudder and rock violently, its frame moaning with pain from the stress it is undergoing. A great feeling of dread washes over the face of Xol; he senses death approaching, far more than he has ever sensed anything before.

In a blink, the crew quarters splits in two, opening up to space; the rush of air escaping makes Xol's ear canal hum to a deafening level. He now questions leaving his helmet in his room, knowing that the breathing apparatus could preserve his life just a little longer.

The dark void of space before him pulls on his safety harness. Xol strains to hold the harness in place but not even the strength of a queen of their favoured hard meat prey could hold it in position. With a snap, the harness flies loose, colliding with Xol's head as he and it are pulled into the star-filled vastness.

Xol falls unconscious from the blow to the head, all the while certain that he will never awake.

"No one survives the blackness," he says, as the cold emptiness takes him.

Piercing the veil of his subconscious mind, Xol hears a voice calling to him that sounds as if it comes from everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

"Warrior, you have fallen. I can resurrect you."

"But...” Xol inquires, "How is that so? I have died, my father's ship was taken and the blackness took us with it. How is it that you can make such claims?"

"I have powers you cannot even fathom, boy. Now do you accept my offer or not?" the voice darkly insists.

Xol, clearly mulling over the offer, stammers, "What of my comrades and my father? Can you bring them back too?"

"No, I regretfully cannot, my dear boy. It is not within my power to do so. However, I can give you the tools necessary to avenge their unfortunate deaths," the voice explains.

"Someone has done this to us and you know their identity?!" Xol asks, enraged.

With a moan of satiated approval the voice replies, "Your anger is good, child. Never lose it. As for your assassin, I know him as well as I know my own face. Do you accept my offer and choose to be born anew as an instrument of vengeance against this new enemy?"

"I sense you have great power, and you must, if you can reach so deep that death itself is no obstacle. I gladly accept your offer stranger. My father shall be avenged!" The tormented Yautja warrior answers with a frothy zeal.

"Then arise, warrior. Arise from the slumber of the great beyond!" the dark voice booms loudly, its echoing reverberations trailing off into the distance of Xol's mind.

The cool sting of the breeze snaps Xol's eyes open; he cranes his head up just enough to see that he lies on a beach- a shimmering silvery beach, caressed by obsidian black waves of a lake only a short distance away from him. To his surprise his father’s helm and hunting gear lie next to him; his heart quickens at the thought that he might be there too, but it soon sinks at the remembrance of his reality.

His father, his friends, all his fellow hunters are dead and gone. He is alone, resurrected by some unseen force and promised vengeance as a consolation for his ordeal.

Donning his father's equipment, he scans his surroundings, discovering just behind him past the beach is the edge of a sub-tropical forest. Xol pauses for a moment as he gazes at the inside of his father's helm, as if it were the window into the patriarch’s soul itself, its internal systems and HUD flashing and blinking with activity. Ceasing his nostalgia he places the battle ravaged, sturdy helmet upon his head and with a hiss, its air filtration systems begin to activate, allowing him to breathe easier in the alien atmosphere. Proceeding at quickened pace, spear collapsed in hand, Xol heads toward the tree line, his mind occupied with one thought only.

“Who has brought me back?”

As if to be an answer to his question, a cold, tingling sensation, not of the wind's doing, runs down his spine. His fist clenches as he senses the approach of someone or something quite powerful.

"So, I see you have found my gifts. Your father must have been a formidable warrior to have required such equipment; it rivals some of the more prominent bounty hunters in the galaxy," a familiar voice says from behind the armour clad warrior.

Xol reels around, his spear drawn and unfolded in a single motion, his shoulder cannon and targeting laser whining with power, ready, like him, to make the first strike. Before him in the shadows of a grove of swaying trees, a cloaked figure stands. His black cloak's uniformity is only offset by the brilliant red skull-like mask that conforms to his face. Like a distant rumble of thunder, the cloaked figure begins to speak, "Stay your hand, young one. I am the one who has given you life. Be thankful you breathe again."

Questioning, Xol replies arrogantly, “You are the one who spoke in my mind? But, you are so small! How can something so weak and frail possibly have done what you have done?"

With a firm, angered tone to his voice, the cloaked figure exclaims “My name to you is Lord and Master and we shall see who is weak and frail!" With the dark figure's outstretched metal-clad hand closing into a fist, Xol begins to feel his airways close off, his heart slows and his vitality seeps from his body like water. The acrid taste of his own blood begins to fill his mouth and he can feel it trickle down his mandibles behind his helmet.

With a gurgle, the debilitated warrior manages to choke the words, "Master... Stop... Please..."

"As you wish, young one" the dark figure says with an air of condescension. Pacing around the now near-collapsed Xol, the figure continues, "Let this be a lesson to you. I brought you back and I can undo what I have done just as easy as you put on that helmet! I sensed a power in you, not present in this galaxy, and the Dark Side of the Force allowed me to bring you here, to me."

Still coughing from his new master's attack, Xol fights back the pain, and asks " My lord, my master, I apologize for my ungratefulness and I will do whatever it takes to fulfill your wishes so that I may receive the necessary tools, the very tools I require to seek revenge."

"The tools of which I spoke" the figure explains, "will take the form of trials, trials that will teach you the ways of the Dark Side."

"Master, if I may," Xol submissively inquires, "what is the Force? let alone the Dark Side of it?"

"My young apprentice," Xol's master says with a sense of pride, "the Force is you. It lives inside of you, its true potential only realized by those who take a more enlightened path, the very same path you must take to avenge your father's death, and your own. You will combine your warrior skills with the very power of the universe and, like me, you will do incredible things and accomplish everything you have ever desired."

Now fully recovered, standing up straight, his arms at his side, glowing green blood sliding down his torso and chest plate from under his helmet, Xol says with a strong and affirmative tone, "I will do as you ask, master. I am your student."

The figure now moving closer, his gaze examines the sizeable warrior thoroughly as if looking for Xol's weakest points. After completing his initial inspection, the figure stands in front of his two-meter-tall pupil. Gazing up, his eyes remain hollow, devoid of emotion as he utters, "From now on, I am master, and as I said I am your lord, but to those who have come to know me and my skills in the Force, I am simply regarded as the Dark Lord of Blades, or more informally, Blades. This, you may call me, as others have, as the gap between teacher and student becomes filled with training and friendship." With a light pat on the tall Yautja's shoulder armour, Master Blades jovially continues, "Now, come my boy, we have training to do. We shall begin after we have had some nourishment; remember, you died today, and you must be starving."

A great many years pass as Master Blades teaches young Xol the ways of the Dark Side. Xol learns many aspects of the Force quite easily, superceding even his master's expectations. Now, as an adult Yautja, his scars of youth are replaced with scars of his new training, as well as ornate tattoos covering his face and a large portion of his body, a testament to his determination and prowess.

One day, after a rigorous day of training, as Master Blades slowly stirs a pot atop the campfire they both sit beside, Xol hears the words he has been waiting to hear for a long time.

"This day, before your final test, I will tell you the name of your assassin," Blades says as he stares down into the pot, slowly stirring the contents. "Your training will be complete once you have taken your revenge and ended their life. Nothing will remain that I can teach you. You are a gifted pupil and your strength within the Force rivals that of Emperor Vader himself."

"Thankyou, Master Blades. You have taught me well." Xol says in gratitude, hanging his head in respect.

"Don't thank me yet, my apprentice, for your assassin..." Blades pauses to sup some of the pot's contents from the wooden spoon in his hand. With a look of disappointment he resumes his speech. "My boy, your assassin is me."

With a look of utter disbelief on his face, Xol jokingly replies, "Master, that is lunacy! You are no more my assassin than I am a Kowakian monkey lizard!"

"It is the truth, boy," the dark master states, this time his voice devoid of play or humour of any sort. "I am the one who, through my communion with the Dark Side, saw your craft at the edge of this galaxy, and upon sensing you, I did what I had to do to to bring you to me."

Aghast at the seriousness of his master's tone, Xol stands up and angrily shouts, "How dare you, soft meat! I trusted you; you are my saviour, my master, my friend! You killed me! You killed my father! You killed my whole clan, and you tell me so calmly over a pot of stew like it was idle chatter to pass the time? Why, master? I will cut you down where you stand and wear your red skull on my belt for doing this to me!" Xol ignites his lightsabers, the deep red glow erupting from their forearm emitter.

"Just as I had foreseen!" Master Blades says with a laugh, "Strike me down, and you will have completed your training. Your transition will be complete."

With a "snick" Xol's forearm sabers retract, his shoulders slump, his voice now sounding defeated, "Master, I will not destroy you, though every fiber of me says I should do it."

"Then..." Blades quietly says as he stands up from his spot round the fire, "...you are the-how did you put it? Ah yes-you, my apprentice..." his hands now outstretched at the sides "...are the soft meat!"

Blue-gray lightning arcs begin to flare from Master Blades’ hands, his face a reflection of pure malice. With a crack of thunder, the lightning turns its fury against Xol, bringing him to his knees, a shrill shriek of pain exploding from his lungs.

Suddenly, Xol's screams stop, the lightning still crackling across his body, he stands up seemingly unaffected, his gaze empty and fixed upon his teacher turned attacker.

"Master," Xol's voice reverberates.

Lightning still streaming from his hands, Blades his voice calm and at ease, replies "Yes, my student?"

Xol's eyes become enveloped with bright green blood. Streaks like tears run down his face. His voice saddens again as it rises like a distant thunderclap "You have trained me well."

His master, seeming to know the true meaning of his pupil's words, lowers his arms, the lightning subsiding as they drop, and again in a sated, almost happy tone, he whispers, "good".

With a violent jut, Master Blades' chest sticks out, the fiery hot tip of his own lightsaber protruding from it. With a final release of breath, he falls to his knees, then to his front, falling limp on the leaf litter below his feet, his lightsaber still ignited hovering in mid-air. In the stillness of the forest, the sound of Master Blades' lightsaber retracting is deafening. Guided by Xol's hand, it floats down next to his dead master’s body on the ground.

Wiping the streams of bloody tears from his face, Xol sits next to Blades' body, comtemplating to himself what it is he should do now. He is avenged; his master is dead, and with him a piece of Xol’s own morality.

Quietly huddled over the camp's fire, Xol picks at the stew, still simmering in the pot, when he hears a sound that makes his blood run cold.

From behind a voice harkens, "Well done, Xol. If you are hearing this I am quite dead and have become one with the Force itself."

Xol turns to see who is talking, and sees that Master Blades’ lightsaber has opened up a small compartment that now functions as a holographic projector, a small, translucent, figure looking like his former master standing atop it.

"Go ahead, you tusk-toothed abomination, now is not the time to be squeamish. You have killed me already; to ignore me would just be bad manners," the blue hologram states. "Don't worry; I am not back from the dead. I foresaw my death at your hands; this is merely a program I designed before your arrival. I have installed a few Sith technologies into the hilt of my lightsaber as well as a protocol droid's processor. How else did you think I understood that sub-Tusken gibberish language you speak? All these things that have been done to you, they have purpose and so do you."

"And what purpose is that, master?" Xol asks mockingly.

"An important one that you would learn about if you wouldn't interrupt!" the image sternly replies.

Surprised, the Yautja exclaims, "You can understand me?"

"Yes, Xol, this program can, everything that made up my personality and knowledge was placed inside the Sith Holocron that I have linked to this HoloNet receiver in my saber. Now, if you wouldn't mind, I may be your dead teacher, but as a live student you should still listen when you are being told something important."

"I am sorry, my master." Xol's voice now subdued.

"Stop apologizing to a teaching tool, and listen carefully, Xol," Master Blades' image continues, taking a seat in a chair that materializes within the projection. "My former pupil, the galaxy is filled with individuals just like myself. With Emperor Vader personally exterminating every last Jedi some twenty years ago, there is a great imbalance in the Force. I had no fondness for the Jedi, but their existence in some form or another was necessary. Vader has changed that. His New Galactic Empire upsets the natural order and you can change that. Now, you can choose to accept my final request, your true trial, the one which I turned your life upside down to complete or you can leave this place to rot like Bantha poodoo."

"I have much hatred for you, Dark Lord Blades, my master," Xol says, his mandibles clenched. "However, I can no more undo what you have done and return home than you can come back from the dead. So I am listening, soft meat; what is your proposal?"

With a cough to clear his throat, Blades replies, "I propose that you bring balance by eliminating all those that disrupt the flow of the Force, Emperor Vader especially. Only you can do this. Your Midichlorian levels are like a fissure in the universe. It has opened up into your soul. Find every last one and destroy them as you have me."

"Oh, is that all? No problem." Xol responds sarcastically.

"Regrettably, no." the image tersely retorts, "The Jedi still live on, in the form of Holocrons scattered throughout the galaxy. As much as I despise them, their fire must be re-ignited. Without conflict there is no progress. I have sacrificed my life and torn yours asunder for this very principle. You must find those with sufficient ability and drive to leave the Holocrons with once you find them."

"As your last request, I will do this; I may cross the path of something that may bring me back home. You brought me here in the first place using the Force; logically, it should carry me back," Xol replies, a sense of purpose garnishing his words.

"Xol, it was not I, but your Midichlorians that brought you across such a great distance, I simply contacted them through the Force and they fulfilled my request but only would do so if you had ceased to live. Only then could I will you here to train under me and fulfill your destiny."

"One problem Master Blades," the Yautja says brashly. "How am I supposed to leave this planet? I have no ship and I haven't even seen one fly over or land on this primitive world since you brought me here."

"Do not fear, young Sith Lord, I had one stashed away, , here a long time before your arrival. A SoroSuub Patrol Fighter, to be more precise. Knowledge of this might have made you leave prematurely and I couldn't have that." Blades' flickering visage says smugly, "Bring this lightsaber as well, the knowledge stored inside as well as a few other bits of Sith gadgetry will aid you in this galaxy; remember, although you have been my pupil for many years, you are still very much a stranger to this corner of the universe."

"As you wish, my master." Xol says respectfully before closing the emitter and placing the large hilted lightsaber on his belt. He then proceeds to gather his possessions and hunting gear, shadows of his former life that he must make manifest again. Before breaking camp for the last time, Xol kneels next to his master's body, pausing in reflection of current events for just a moment. In a deep voice, from behind his helmet, he speaks an ancient Yautja burial prayer and says "I know it is your custom to be burned in effigy, so that you may fully rejoin the force, but we among my clan do things differently so as not to leave a trace."

Xol reaches into a belt compartment and pulls out a vial of blue liquid, then proceeds to pour it over the still remains. The liquid disintegrates the body almost instantaneously leaving only a wisp of mist as it activates.

Gear in hand, and purpose in mind, Xol heads in the direction of the hidden starfighter, and from there he starts the greatest hunt a Yautja could ask for: the hunt for the Dark Lord of the Sith.

TO BE CONTINUED...?