Extra chapter for you :3
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The place that had the greatest significance to what was happening was located northeast of the Great Temple.
The laser cannons of the Lambda-class shuttle that Ysanne was piloting had burned enough space among the jungle and dense undergrowth for her ship to land without risk of damaging anything.
The touchdown was fairly hard, but the landing gear compensation system didn't let her down, and even on uneven ground the shuttle felt comfortable enough after landing.
The scanners, which the Iceheart glanced at, registered no energy manifestations or large predators: the reconnaissance teams that had reached this Temple had done an excellent job.
And if they'd also prepared a landing pad, they'd be priceless.
Well, if even the hypersensitive scanners weren't showing the desired "picture," then everything was going as it should.
Or not.
Either way, she'd soon find out for herself.
Unfortunately for her, the scouts traveled through the moon's forests exclusively on speeder bikes, covering significant distances in a short time.
Larger transports were used only when it was necessary to deliver bulky equipment.
But this ancient structure wasn't one of them.
At least, that's what the scout troopers and those the Grand Admiral had sent to the moon to destroy the ghost of the ancient Sith thought.
Isard stretched her neck, then left the cockpit, adjusting her landing jumpsuit as she went.
The speckled garment, covering her body from her ankles to her throat, was designed specifically for such sorties — "into the green," as the field agents' professional slang had it.
The dense but breathable fabric didn't tear on strong branches, didn't snag on plant needles, but at the same time didn't let the body "stew in its own juice" during long hikes.
Reaching the troop bay, Isard lowered the ramp, while she herself began pushing anti-grav platforms with precious cargo outside.
Once on the shore, she noted that her high combat boots had sunk to the very sole in the soggy soil.
This made movement a bit difficult, but not too much.
Bringing the first grav platform to the shallows, Isard, in complete silence, activated the unpacking of the first container.
The compressor immediately sucked in liters of moist, yet wonderfully fragrant air, untainted by the gases of large worlds.
The opening cube spat out a wad of fabric connected to the compressor by a flexible reinforced hose.
Some ten seconds passed, and an inflatable boat, designed for ten people in heavy armor and full combat loadout, stood before her in all its glory, its camouflage color reflecting dully on the sea surface.
Ysanne Isard checked how easily the blaster came out of the hip holster, then began carrying one blast-proof box after another to the boat's stern.
She worked quickly, not distracted by the animal cries coming from the jungle.
Only once did she pay attention to them — and only because three MagnaGuard-type droids emerged from the cargo hold, drawn by excessive noise near the ship.
But the mechanical guards found nothing that could command their attention, so they switched to patrol mode around the shuttle.
The final stage of loading was Isard placing a container with detonators into the boat, then donning light armor and positioning a cage with a pair of ysalamiri on the boat.
Both of them together were enough to cover the vehicle from the Force, so, taking up the oars, the Director of Intelligence for the Dominion went to work with her back, carrying her craft toward the target.
According to reports from the gifted, almost every ancient structure on Yavin IV had a strong Dark Side Force emission.
Every one except this one.
Here the background was so insignificant, unassuming, and unimpressive that only the highly experienced Master Windu had made a noteworthy remark in his report.
"It's unnaturally calm here. So much so that my inner anxiety grew with every minute spent in the Temple."
The non-gifted scouts, for their part, had found nothing here that was worth noting.
No surprise.
They had completely different tasks — to reconnoiter the terrain and find structures, not to analyze their importance.
The latter fell on the shoulders of the gifted sent by Thrawn.
The boat bumped its raised bow into a rocky shore, where her target stood.
The Temple of Exar Kun.
Cross-referencing various data had given Isard a wealth of useful information about the past and present of this architectural object.
The volcanic island on which the complex of pyramidal structures stood was called Kun Island.
It was located exactly in the center, and could only be reached on foot, stepping on stones.
This peculiarity had been discovered by Master Windu.
He had also noted that the placement of the stone path was not accidental — the boulders on which those wishing to enter the Temple had to step were located a few centimeters underwater, invisible from a distance, almost blending with the darkness of the bottom.
If the one walking to Kun Temple didn't want to take an unplanned bath in freezing water, they had to watch their step carefully — otherwise, a swim awaited them.
This trick forced everyone moving along the stones to approach Kun Temple with their heads down, so they could watch every step.
A trick forcing everyone to bow their heads before the ruler of these lands.
A cheap trick.
Real power replaced by gimmicks.
Isard's memory reminded her clone that Palpatine wouldn't have stooped to such trifles to make all his subjects love and revere him, to bow their heads.
He simply destroyed those who showed defiance and elevated his supporters.
True, like all Sith, he didn't notice (or preferred not to notice) that among the loyal followers, the majority were sycophants, hangers-on, incompetent idiots.
Intelligence reported that the material used to build the temple was polished obsidian containing inclusions of the precious stone corusca, which Yavin Prime's atmosphere was rich in.
Consequently, the obsidian was from there as well.
And the scanner data confirmed this.
Therefore, the Dominion had gained another source of obsidian — not as extensive as the asteroid belt of the planet Lok in the Karthakk sector, nor as "pure" as that one.
Offhand, the large precious stones in this monument to his own vanity would fetch significant sums.
Isard's gaze swept over the numerous inscriptions on the obsidian structures.
From Master Windu's records, she knew that the temple's walls were engraved with Sith hieroglyphs and pictograms, which translated as magical spells designed to protect the temple and doom its defilers to death.
Interesting, but the Sullustan from the Rebel Alliance who had surveyed the planet for suitability as a base before the Battle of Yavin had come to the same conclusions.
Interesting, how did a Sullustan know the Sith language?
Judging by the fact that the Temple was indeed notably more presentable in appearance and free of damage, perhaps it had worked.
Even the Rebel Alliance, which had set up a base here ten years ago and needed money, hadn't plundered the structure for its jewels.
At the top of the Temple stood a large statue of the Sith Lord Exar Kun, made from gem-impregnated obsidian, and outside there was a small inner courtyard.
Scout Droids inspected the interior of the Jedi Temple, and compared to the luxury with which Palpatine furnished his residences and sanctuaries, Exar Kun could be considered a model of asceticism.
Inside, the Jedi Temple contained only a single chamber and catacombs beneath it.
They consisted of several chambers connected by tunnels.
In the last chamber was a sarcophagus, clearly intended for the burial of Exar Kun's body.
Opening the sarcophagus revealed it was empty.
Unlike the reservoir, which accumulated a significant amount of drinking water from the lake.
Not simply a pit, but an engineering structure—the volume of water within, upon reaching a certain level, did not overflow and flood the Jedi Temple's chambers, but instead drained through a network of pipes back into the lake.
Interestingly, according to the scouts and architects, no advanced technical tools typical of that era were used in the construction of the temples on Yavin IV.
Nearly everything was built using primitive hand tools and manual labor.
This aligns with that part of history where Exar Kun, still a fugitive Jedi, arrived on Yavin IV and enslaved the local Massassi, who saw him as a god.
Since the Jedi had fled with his tail between his legs from his own comrades, his financial and technical resources were limited.
Master Windu suggested that Exar Kun used this particular Jedi Temple as his private refuge, a residence where he delved into the mysteries of the Force from stolen holocrons or sources of Dark Side knowledge found on the planet.
Ysanne Isard crossed the massive entrance arch, stepping inside the main building of the complex.
The interior was strikingly different from the outward brilliance and eye-catching luxury.
The floor and walls were paved with simple polished stone, laid level without the slightest unevenness.
Without construction technology, this would be long and painstaking work that surely cost many lives.
Given that Kun's existence as a Sith Lord did not span centuries, it was easy to understand that the temples on the planet were not built sequentially—otherwise, with such an approach, they would still be under construction.
Such a large-scale construction required millions, if not billions, of workers.
For the development of Byss and the Deep Core worlds, Palpatine orchestrated a "relocation" of billions of sentients, but even they, with modern construction technology and composite materials, needed long, long years.
It seemed that Exar Kun forced the entire Massassi race to labor—from young to old.
Ysanne Isard moved forward along the long-unvisited corridor, and behind her, a gravity platform floated with a barely audible hum.
Ysanne Isard did not suffer from sentimentality or wild imagination, preferring cold calculation over emotions, but even she began to feel that beneath the arched vaults of the high ceilings, silent figures in dark, hooded cloaks kept flickering.
And the massive lighting bowls, permanently embedded in the walls, seemed to still radiate warmth from the barely extinguished torches.
Main Corridor of Kun's Temple.
Interestingly, she experienced these sensations while within the safety radius of the ysalamiri.
Therefore, one could conclude that the very architecture was designed to make a sentient panic.
To distract herself from the unpleasant sensations, Ysanne Isard began mentally constructing historical chronicles, filled with a mixture of data from various sources.
After Exar Kun's defeat, the Jedi did everything possible to ensure the planet was forgotten.
And so it happened—for four thousand long years.
The Jedi Temple was rediscovered shortly before the Battle of Yavin by a Rebel scout.
He immediately realized it was a Sith temple and was intrigued by the fact that while all other temples on Yavin IV were worn and ruined, this temple showed no signs of aging at all.
Although he was killed, the Rebels found and catalogued the data from his research.
A year after the destruction of the first Death Star, a professor from the University of Corellia led his own expedition to Kun's Temple and discovered a number of rare artifacts.
According to unconfirmed data, for some reason they decided to form the Cult of Exar Kun.
The cultists settled in the catacombs until they were slaughtered by mercenaries sent to clean them out by the mad professor's colleagues.
The Rebel Alliance also encountered cases of "possession" among their soldiers who were near this Jedi Temple or served there.
Ysanne Isard found this information in the Republic intelligence archives stolen during the Battle of Coruscant.
The highest encryption and access level indicated that these documents would never receive wide distribution or publicity.
And the Democrats certainly wouldn't tell anyone that they had executed their own soldiers who had gone insane.
But it was this factor that gave her the understanding that Kun communicates not only with those gifted in the Force.
Or perhaps he completely ignores the latter, fearing they are stronger than his current self.
Ysanne Isard reached the heart of the Jedi Temple and surveyed it with a critical eye.
Throne Hall of Kun's Temple (and no, this is not the previously mentioned fresco).
A gloomy chamber in the shape of a truncated pyramid, in the far corner of which, flanked by massive columns, stood a podium.
At its top sat a monumental throne, decorated with ornamental elements resembling curved horns, which served as a backdrop for a massive triptych depicting Exar Kun.
The mosaic, set in a frame, made it look like a painting or an ornate fresco, but by Ysanne Isard's standards, it was nothing more than cheap tastelessness, throwing dust in the eyes.
Climbing the steps leading to the top of the podium, she saw a stone sarcophagus, its lid shifted off the box and laid nearby.
The Principal, busily unpacking a box of detonators, pulled out several blocks of maranium-marked explosives from the crate, then lovingly, with a passion for demolition work, placed them inside the sarcophagus and secured several on the triptych, after which she set up one of the ysalamiri cages in the center.
Meeting eyes with the little lizard, which seemed to understand that its abilities were powerless against Her Majesty Explosives, Ysanne Isard coldly installed the detonators and checked their operation using a demolition diagnostic console.
Stable connection ensured.
Satisfied that the explosives were in places where they could not be dislodged by a thrown straight object, the woman proceeded to the exit with her explosive cargo.
Emerging outside, Ysanne Isard moved to the edge of the inner courtyard, looking at the massive human figure visible even from the lake shore.
Black obsidian with precious stone inlays literally devoured the rays of the sun at its zenith.
The statue's facial features had not suffered from time, and even the wind with its trapped microparticles had not damaged the appearance.
The statue almost completely replicated Exar Kun's appearance as recorded in one of the archival Jedi holographs.
Perhaps with more sharp, authoritative features of unquestioning dominance, a mask of superiority.
The information found in the recordings of the Alliance scout stated that he saw this statue, took it for an image of some ancient god, and noted that the place gave him an oppressive impression.
Ysanne Isard noted that indeed some unease was present, and again—she was under the protection of ysalamiri.
The oppressive impression was created by the peculiarities of the architecture and the gloominess of the obsidian, sharply contrasting against the distant greenery and blue sky.
And the optical effect of the shadows cast by all these pyramids also added its own ostentatious flair.
The fact that the pyramids and even the statue at their center had escaped the destructive effects of time indicated that it was a focal point of Exar Kun's power.
Ysanne Isard climbed onto one of the pyramids with little effort, using only her hands, legs, and understanding of physics, then, bracing her feet and back against the nearest pyramid "teeth," looked at the surrounding space.
Exar Kun had chosen a picturesque location for his gloomy, ostentatious residence.
Volcanic islands at the geometric center of the lakes, as well as boulders several meters high placed at the same level beneath the water's surface, do not form naturally.
The water surrounding the island reflected the orange glints of the gas giant, but the dying sun of this system still tried with all its might to add a golden tint to its glow.
Apart from her own actions, Ysanne Isard noticed no other activity on the island.
This was highly suspicious, because few narcissistic proud people would like having their crypt mined.
Well, this was only the beginning.
Ysanne, encountering no countermeasures, descended into the inner courtyard and continued her work.
Placing packages with maranium markings time and again, she followed one simple rule—the less explosive on open surfaces, the better the result.
The calculation was that the energy of the blast waves would not only demolish the structures but also cause them to collapse in such a way that everything left of this Jedi Temple could only be sent for recycling.
This took her several hours, after which, noting that no manifestations of the Ghost had occurred, she moved to the final stage.
She had a dozen maranium blocks left, which she placed at the base and midway up the towering statue, again using nothing but a safety cable.
But the Ghost didn't even try to attack her.
Descending to the ground, she counted the remaining charges on her datapad, noting that with simultaneous detonation, only dust and a hole in the structure would remain at the site of the statue crowning the main temple building.
True, that building would also be unfit for further use—the temple's rubble would leave only a small mound concealing a crater as deep as the catacombs.
The final touch was installing the second and last ysalamiri cage at the base of the statue so that it couldn't be knocked off and most of the explosives remained protected.
Stepping back to the center of the inner courtyard, Ysanne Isard sat down on the antigravity cargo platform, pulled a package of sandwiches and a bottle of water from the container.
After a few seconds, she noticed in the darkness cast beside her by one of the pyramids a ghostly figure, the spitting image of the personality depicted in the statue and triptych.
Except at a normal human scale.
Tall, sturdy build, long dark hair tied back at the nape of the neck, Jedi robes, and a black cloak.
"You did a good job," Exar Kun noted with a hint of respect in his voice. "I was waiting for you to get bored."
"I don't back down from assigned tasks," Ysanne Isard replied, taking a bite of her sandwich and washing it down with cold water.
"Determination," Kun nodded. "That's what most sentients lack. But, as I see, not you. I could give you great power to rise above all those ignoramuses who don't understand your true greatness."
Ysanne Isard, finishing the first sandwich, wiped her lips with a napkin, took a couple of sips of water, rinsed her mouth, and spat the liquid directly onto the stones of the inner courtyard.
The ghost's jaw tightened, but Exar Kun remained silent, enduring the insult.
Good.
Soon you won't be this calm.
Ysanne put the food packaging back into the container, applying a little extra force so that the bottom of the bottle hit the corner of the box.
The mechanism hidden inside started working.
Excellent.
Now it's time to talk.
"I am aware of that. I know everything you're capable of and what you're worth. But I'm not here for that."
Kun sharply raised his head, his face twisting into a malicious grimace:
"Then why did you desecrate my sanctuary, appearing here and luring me out after your predecessors failed?"
"Negotiations," Ysanne Isard calmly stated her position.
Kun approached her, and in the daylight his figure became almost transparent.
"It was extremely imprudent of you to get rid of the protection of those interesting creatures," he looked at her as if his eyes contained computerized microscopes. "I am stunned... You really want to talk to me. And yet there is not an ounce of the Force in you. What do you want?"
"A reasonable question," Ysanne agreed, pulling out a second bottle of water.
She poured it over her hands, then washed the droplets of sweat from her face and fearlessly looked into the dead man's eyes.
"Don't even try," she nodded toward the remote detonator hanging on her belt, which was barely moving. "A tag system is used here. If you move it a certain distance away from me, everything here will explode. The same will happen if my heart or brain activity stops. Or if my body position changes abruptly. There are a dozen other conditions, by the way."
"You're lying!" Kun barked. "I saw you use it, holding it in your hands."
Hmm.
He offered no other arguments.
Which means he doesn't know them.
Not with his temperament for weaving long-term intrigues.
"Correct. Because it wasn't armed and was useless. Now it is. But you don't have to believe me. I imagine a demonstration will be enough for you to acknowledge my correctness posthumously."
"But you'll die!"
"And everyone and their brother will flock here and won't rest until they find out why the Director of Intelligence of the Dominion, the best operative of her kind and a master of demolition, blew herself up along with an unremarkable ancient Jedi Temple," Ysanne Isard explained. "Given that I am not indifferent to the commander of the Dominion's armed forces, who also happens to be its ruler, you certainly won't get off the hook."
"What are you getting at, insolent woman?"
"You should choose your words," Ysanne Isard noted coldly. "When I persuade someone to something, I don't stop until I break them completely."
"You have no power to oppose me!" Kun abruptly reappeared in the shadow of the pyramid and spread his arms, woven from shadow, as if wanting to seem larger. "You babble nonsense, as if your words can protect you from my might."
"And do you have that might?" Ysanne Isard clarified, taking a sip. "I have some knowledge of the Sith of the present. And the Sith of the past. No offense to the Force, but compared to most figures, you look like a teenager with a god complex combined with a hormonal explosion of puberty."
"You are playing with forces more powerful than you can even imagine, woman," Kun rumbled.
"Don't waste your energy on empty threats," Ysanne Isard advised him. "I've studied you. And I know perfectly well that you won't do anything to me—because otherwise the sanctuary that is the pinnacle of your vanity will blow up."
Kun's face turned completely black:
"Decided to blackmail me, woman?"
Ysanne Isard shook her head:
"Oh, no," her voice carried a hint of care and maternal warmth. "How could I, a weak woman, fly to the heart of your power and threaten you with something?"
"But you did it!"
"Oh," Ysanne Isard, whose face expressed not a single emotion, theatrically covered her mouth with her palm. "Wasn't such a common phenomenon as sarcasm known in your time?"
The Ghost literally trembled with rage.
"I will make you suffer!" he snarled. "Your mind is firm, cold, and practical. You are insignificant in the Force, but strong in self-control. But I see your fears. I see your weaknesses. They will make you kneel before me! Just like hundreds of other worthless beings before you! Bravado and loyalty have never saved anyone!"
His face twisted into a mask of unbridled anger, which he restrained only because Ysanne Isard could not be harmed—otherwise his Jedi Temple would be destroyed.
But she had not yet crossed the line where the desire to destroy her would outweigh Kun's attachment to this place.
"I thought better of you!"
The voice came from the opposite side of the courtyard, and a triumphant expression appeared on Kun's face.
Ysanne Isard raised her hand, wagging a finger at the Ghost.
"Don't go anywhere, transparent one," she asked. "I need to chat with someone significant here. But, you know."
Turning to the source of the voice, she smiled barely perceptibly.
Before her stood a tall, sturdy man with strong features and a square jaw.
One hand was behind his back, and with the other he habitually gestured while speaking.
His feet set shoulder-width apart indicated his dominance over the interlocutor, and his raised head was a symbol of his own unbroken spirit.
His black hair shone with a streak of gray, and his scarlet uniform evoked thoughts of the blood of hundreds of thousands who had died because of him.
"You are simply vile," he said, as if spitting.
"Thank you for taking the time to assess me, Mr. Deceased Director," Ysanne answered Ysanne Isard. "How is the afterlife? Not too cold?"
The face of Iceheart's father remained impassive.
Ysanne Isard.
"You talk like her, parody her behavior, bend over backward to prove that you are her," Ysanne continued. "But it's all in vain. You are just a puppet created to perform a single task. However, you didn't even manage that."
"As if I regret it," Ysanne Isard yawned, elegantly covering her mouth with her hand. "And yes," she turned to Kun. "You're making me bored. Isn't there anything more interesting?"
"The words of your own father mean nothing to you?" he grimaced in surprise. "You are nothing in his words."
"Sorry," Ysanne Isard spread her hands. "I understand how disappointing it is when you dig around in someone else's head, but instead of a way to influence them, you run into a trifle. You see, things aren't as you think in the Isard family. Him," she pointed over her shoulder at the illusion, "is a dead man. A hundred percent guarantee. I know because he was killed by his own daughter, whose clone I am. You could show some respect to what you're broadcasting from my memories, huh? I'm trying, pulling the most psychologically traumatic things from the corners of my memory, and you're not even attentive to the details."
"You... a clone?" Kun was taken aback.
"Believe it or not," Ysanne Isard feigned sadness on her face. "You even messed up here. Were you really a Sith Lord, or just a backup dancer?"
The Ghost literally shook with rage, and the illusion of Ysanne Isard dissolved in the air.
"You see," Ysanne continued. "To a certain extent, one could say I was acquainted with the Sith Lords of the present. What did you achieve? Blew up a star cluster? Enslaved a race of feral mutants and ordered them to build temples? Lured a couple of Jedi to the dark side? Faked your death and stayed here for four thousand years until local regime fighters woke you up, and later forced a sect of Corellian scientists and their staff to form around you?"
The last words were her conclusion based on known and consistent facts.
"You are a coward," she continued. "Oh, I admit, I'm even ashamed that for a moment I thought you could rival Darth Sidious. But apparently I overestimated you. You see, I tested you. Analyzed you. Dissected you alive. And I believe you are worthless trash."
Discharges of lightning began to appear around the Ghost, striking the cobblestones of the inner courtyard.
"The real Ysanne Isard's memories give me an idea of what those Sith Lords she served with would have done to you," the clone said. "Darth Vader might have found something amusing, caricature-like in you. And decrepit. Something not worth attention. Emperor Palpatine, on the other hand," Ysanne Isard's voice became merciless, "he exterminated the Jedi without any superweapon. By the sheer power of his mind. His ability to set traps and weave webs of intrigue. He was killed but preserved his spirit..."
"Just like me!" Exar Kun pronounced triumphantly.
"Weeell," Ysanne Isard looked at him condescendingly. "You can console yourself with that. But, unlike you, the Emperor's spirit found a way to leave the place of his death. He learned how to continue his existence and how to reclaim what he considers his by right of the strong. I am not going to recruit you to fight him."
"I am more powerful than any Sith! And any Jedi!"
"Really?" Iceheart asked in a bored tone. "Is that why you tremble with rage but can't even step on your ego, smother it, and kill me by destroying your Jedi Temple, a vivid example of your wounded pride? Don't disappoint me more than you already have. You are a perfect example of failure, megalomania, and wounded self-esteem. I read your history. You, like a child who wet himself in public, cried and ran away from Ossus, thinking you had killed your master. Oh, you are so useless that you didn't even check whether he was alive or not. Fear—that's what drives you. Fear of death. Fear of punishment. Fear," each word sounded like a hammer blow driving nails into the coffin lid, "of being forgotten."
Exar Kun looked at her as if seeing her for the first time.
The lightning around his body vanished.
And his figure seemed to shrink.
The gaze of his ghostly eyes darted from side to side, and his mouth opened and closed soundlessly as he could not find suitable words.
"A truly great intelligent being is defined by their deeds," Isard said. "Good or cruel, but deeds — not words and promises. Emperor Palpatine will be remembered for centuries because he immortalized his name in his lifetime. About Darth Vader, they'll tell scary stories to frighten children. And what is known about Exar Kun now? Nothing, except a couple of lines in the Jedi archives. In the Jedi archives, Kun!" she said emphatically. "A couple of lines! You are a useless thing that has been forgotten. And struck from history so that younglings and schoolchildren wouldn't waste time studying your legend. From your life, no lesson can be drawn except as an example of failure. But why drag examples through millennia when even the story of Darth Vader's fall is bloodier, fuller of drama, and makes many people want to either pity him or hate him? Hundreds of Jedi, falling to the Dark Side, looked to him as an example, the standard of a Sith. Who takes an example from Exar Kun? Unfortunately, history has not preserved the names of those petty and useless failures. The Emperor's black bones," she exclaimed. "You didn't even come up with a decent nickname for yourself! You kept your name, kept your sword with Jedi crystals! You are not a Sith — you are a disgrace, Exar Kun! I spit on your grave, and you can't do a thing about it, you useless waste of my precious time!"
Isard carried out her threat.
A glob of saliva, a translucent mass, imprinted itself on the cobblestones between them.
The figure of the Ghost looked at her with the gaze of a cornered animal.
"No one has insulted me with impunity, foolish woman!" he said quietly. "You will die! Here and now! I am mighty! I am inevitability itself! You will know all my power!"
Isard fanned her palm in front of her face, creating a little man-made breeze, and shook her head.
"Forgive me, defective one, but the real Isard has already heard such promises alone with a more powerful being. I'll let you in on a terrible secret — he lasted less time than he spent delivering that same promising phrase. Sorry, I'm not impressed. Neither by you, nor by your colossal temples. But you can entertain me with stories about what and what size you were trying to compensate for by building such monstrosities…"
Exar Kun shook as if struck by Force Lightning.
"You… You… You!" He extended his hand forward, pointing a finger at her. "I… I don't know what to do with you!"
"Even here, no imagination," Isard said, disappointed. "Let me come back tomorrow, and you think about your behavior in the meantime, hmm? Just don't cry, please. I can't stand it when children get upset. Well, do you want me to call you a big, strong Lord of the Sith?"
Kun looked at her warily.
But he didn't have time to answer.
A booming, cheerful laugh rang out over the island, smoothly turning into a roar of laughter.
So infectious that even Isard's lips twitched into a smile.
Beside her, almost hovering, descended the not-unknown Togruta, literally choking with laughter.
"Promise me you'll give me lessons in verbal abuse," she said, wiping away tears, elbowing Isard in a friendly way. "I thought I'd fall out of the drop pod listening to you. Great Force, you ground him into bantha poodoo right up to the top of his head. That's powerful!"
The Ghost spun his head around, starting to back away, as figures in black armor began jumping down from the tops of the pyramidal buildings into the inner courtyard.
"Who are you?!" Kun cried out. "By what right do you come into my sanctuary?"
"Shut your mouth," Darth Maul commanded him, igniting his lightsaber blade. "You are nothing before me."
"My blade!" Exar Kun recognized the construction and looked at Isard, beside whom the cage with ysalamiri now rested. "I… I remained in history, witch!"
"I'm afraid," Master Windu's voice sounded, lighting his lightsaber pike behind the Ghost, "that's the least of your concerns right now, relic of the past."
"I… I will make you fear me!" Exar Kun shouted loudly, his figure becoming covered in lightning.
"Hold my caf," Isard asked yet another Shadow Guard in armor unlike the others.
The Director silently took a metal thermos from his hands and just as silently watched as the figure in black cracked his neck and walked toward the ancient Sith.
"I am Darth Deimos," he introduced himself, becoming, with each second, seemingly darker, as if light itself was being absorbed by his figure. "Shadow Guard of the Dominion. Lord of Terror. And now, ob-morok, you will know what true fear is!"
* * *
The flamethrowers built into the wall ignited, and the first streams of flame licked the fabric armor of the Dark Apprentice.
The prisoner, covering his face with the folds of his robe, leaned forward.
He had only a couple of seconds to resist the oxygen burning out of the chamber.
And he used them in a way I hadn't even anticipated.
"Darth Ziilenlos is an enemy of my master!" he shouted, pressing his face against the front wall of the energy dome of the beam-inhibitor.
And he tried hard.
Used all the power of his lungs to shout over the roar of the flame raging around him.
And thereby made my interest awaken.
Well then.
Let's assume the demonstration wasn't in vain and this guy really does have something to say.
Admittedly, I was expecting a more standard story about a student who went against his master.
"Let's assume," I said, turning off the flamethrowers from the control panel and increasing the oxygen supply to the chamber.
Simultaneously, the shackles holding him suspended disengaged, and the singeing clone crashed to the floor, immediately starting to roll around on the metal.
It took the Dark Apprentice only a few seconds to extinguish his clothes and get up, looking me in the eye.
"You have a second, which is also a last, chance," I said. "Give me something that won't make me press the button a second time."
And, I must admit, the Dark Apprentice did not disappoint.
"Darth Ziilenlos is an enemy of my master," he repeated. "And therefore, my enemy as well."
"And your master's name is…"
"His name is Darth Glovoc."
Hmm… It seems my actions have triggered a mechanism for the earlier revelation of old secrets that the galaxy holds.
Any day now, Celeste Morne will step out of the shadows.
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