Dark Resurrection

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 3

The Resurrection, Lord Sorran’s immense ship, resembled a black dot projected onto the sun it was orbiting.

Inside his octagonal cabin, the Dark Lord meditated, surrounded by inconsistent shadows. His closed eyes only sometimes opened, looking for something that existed, perhaps, in his mind alone.

“...all this, to what end, Master?” The face of a young man seemed to gain substance near Sorran’s ear. The ghost of Thor, his former disciple, continued, “You left us there to die, and for what? Nothing of what you hoped for has come to fruition.”

The ravaged body of beautiful Nilah materialized right before him. Her once-white tunic dripped blood from the deep wounds in her chest. “It was an honor for me to serve you, but you’ve forsaken me. You let me die a horrible death so that you could live forever,” she said with resentment. The girl moved closer to Sorran’s face as he struggled to ignore the voices. He was keeping his eyes tightly shut for fear of seeing, but he couldn’t avoid it much longer. When he opened them again, Nilah started wailing horribly, tormented by the pain from the s***h in her chest which led to her death.

“Enough!” the Dark Lord shouted in exasperation.

The shadows of his remorse dissolved, swept away by his fury, leaving him alone again in the room.

Sorran’s gaze was lost in the spectacular eruptions from the dying sun. His ship, built according to ancient Eronian specifications, was still capable of recharging its weapons and part of its engine power by merely orbiting a star. This was a procedure they had to periodically undergo. Nevertheless, he always enjoyed watching the long incandescent plumes of energy that flailed up from the star, lapping at the dark space beyond. Observing a sun was not unlike observing oneself. An infinite potential about to burst forth but devoid of any purpose. His purpose had been stolen from him by the fugitives, by the Seer. He had devoted his entire life in pursuit of Eron. The prophecy he found inside a ruin on Tikhal when he was still a young student told of a temple erected on Eron by an ancient civilization. The Chosen One will return one day and break its seal, becoming the Living Force.

He recalled his fingertips lightly brushing against the inscriptions, murmuring as he translated them. The vision that had overcome him in that instant - when his body had fragmented, and his floating essence permeated the galaxy - would go on to haunt him for the rest of his life. And, indeed, he perceived it. He perceived every atom, as if it had become part of his very being. He had become the Force itself.

In an instant, it was clear to him. That message was for him and him alone. So he took a path that would lead him to finding Eron one day and make that vision come true. “To become the Living Force.” But something didn’t work out quite as planned. He had found Eron, after many lives lived, after losing his men, his disciple, after having turned into an enemy of the Republic. He had managed to discover the secret for cheating death and had used it to come back to life dozens of times, to continue his quest. Resolute and doubtless, he had exterminated the entire Council, for his goal was above everything and allowed for no interferences. Yet, when he finally reached the planet, when he lowered himself into the very fulcrum of the Force that the temple led to, the vision did not come true. An incredible power had surged through him, but nothing else happened.

It was like something had altered his destiny, and that something had to do with Organa - the witch seer of the Order of Akiah - and the man she had sent to Eron to stop him. Yet, there was more. A faint echo, an elusive perception he had when he was already far from that ancient planet. As if a part of him had stayed behind, inside the temple, to then vanish forever. The obsession that drove him to annihilate his own world had not solved anything. It was the fault of all those accursed people. Of this he was certain!

A panel on the floor slid open, and a holo-projector on a swiveling arm timidly poked out. With a chirp, it announced its presence, awaiting permission to transmit.

“Speak!”

A life-sized, human-like figure hovered above the metal floor. It showed the ungainly crooked figure of an old man. He was garbed in a black uniform lined in red. His face appeared gaunt with fear. The man’s name was Daeda. The only member of the Resurrection’s meager crew allowed to speak to Lord Sorran. His job was to keep the humans on the crew alive, maintain the ship, and handle contacts with the Empire, filtering any and all communication. The task he dreaded the most, however, was having to speak to Lord Sorran in person. Several years back, the Dark Lord had taken to spending most of his time meditating or interrogating Nevar’s holo-cron. He enjoyed keeping the ship stationary in the orbit of a star, even when the accumulators were fully charged, and he hated being interrupted for futile reasons. Daeda was convinced this was a more than valid one. He lowered his head slightly, averting his eyes in an obsequious manner.

“My lord, a message from the Emperor. They seem to have news about the fugitives.”

“Futile news and irrelevant clues, like every other time,” Sorran said to himself.

Since he didn’t appear bothered by the call, Daeda felt less tense.

“This time they do seem to be more relevant. A spy recorded two individuals with swords of light. We have scans of one of their faces, and he was confirmed as being Zui Mar, Master of the Order of Akiah.”

Sorran was utterly bewildered. Since time immemorial, they had never been that close to the fugitives, and now he had proof that Zui Mar had survived.

He clearly recalled piercing him with his sword, yet something on Eron spared him. It was very likely that he and the Seer - the reason his mission had failed - were together. If only had Daeda dared to look at his Dark Lord’s face, he might have noticed a faint smile.

“Alert Lord Drown and ready my ship.”

The old man stood up and nodded slowly.

“As you wish, my lord.”

Lord Drown was resting on a bed surrounded by the bodies of gorgeous women. n***d, sweat-streaked arms and legs held him as his chest rose and fell with each heavy breath.

The projector started pulsing and buzzing, signaling that someone on the ship was attempting communication.

Drown got up reluctantly and abruptly disentangled himself from entwined limbs. Kneeling, he waited for the communication to start. Daeda’s hologram appeared before him, obscuring the stellar landscape behind it.

“Lord Drown, your ship has been readied. Lord Sorran has demanded your assistance in this… hunting trip.”

He jumped to his feet, stroking his bald head with both hands. Sweat ran down the back of his skull and onto his neck.

“Have they found them?” he eagerly asked.

“It would appear so, my lord...”

Drown bared his lower teeth like a fierce beast about to pounce and rip open a prey’s throat. It had been a long time since there were any developments. Not even the flesh of his slaves satisfied him like it used to. But now, finally…

He outstretched his arm towards his hilt, which hung on a polymer stand on the wall. The weapon flew to his hand, lighting up in a bright fiery red. Drown’s face contracted into a perverted sneer.