Well, here it is, my Tales entry. There didn't end being quite as much time to polish as I'd have liked, but at least it wasn't written in under an hour or at 2 AM which is a minor miracle for me. ^_^
Many thanks to Jae for the beta, too!
* * * *
The stone hallway looked as old as her prison, though unlike it, this place had long since fallen into disrepair. She noticed many of the once finely-built walls and pillars had long since collapsed, and rubble was scattered across the ground – along with, to her shock, a headless Twi'lek corpse. A polished pair of black boots stepped over the body, their wearer paying it not even a glance.
The man wearing them was clothed in a black leather tunic with a similarly dark floor-length robe. His head was covered by a hood, but his deathly pale face could be seen beneath, his skull-like features waxen and red-yellow eyes sunken deep. His expression was gleeful, and she didn't need the Force to tell why – he was holding a datapad containing the coordinates retrieved from the nearby Star Map, the fifth and final one needed to find the fabled Star Forge.
It had all been worth it, he was thinking. Some of the acts he had committed along the course of his journey had been unsavory, but they were all justified, of course. They were all for the greater good – what was a silenced receptionist here and there to stop an alarm from being raised, what were a few less credits in the pocket of an Ithorian to acquiring a droid that proved extremely useful throughout the mission? Nothing, the actions were justified by his inarguably pure intent – to save the Republic, to prevent billions of innocent people from being crushed beneath Malak's heel. What were a few dozen suffering in order to prevent that, or even a few million? His points were inarguable and she had differed to them.
She saw his eyes gleam again at the Map, and the scarlet flecks around the edges brightened. The search was over, the Star Forge was his! But the light did not travel to his pupils. They remained as dead and as lifeless as ever, pits of blackness as black as the ones she had seen on Malak. Simply gazing into the darkness in his eyes swallowed her whole and she felt herself falling, dragged ever deeper into them. She no longer recognized where they ended and the light began. She shrieked, repeating his mantras to herself, “it's for the greater good!” but the darkness wrapped around and enveloped her ever still.
Bastila awoke screaming.
she shuddered. What's just happened? Where's Revan? Where am I?
Bastila took several deep breaths to compose herself before opening her eyes. Slowly they adjusted to the dim lighting of a room devoid of any furnishings, built of an old grayish-brown stone with no distinguishing features.
It looks deserted... Is there even anyone here?
She concentrated, reaching out through the Force to feel the planet around her, the life, or at least the time. Even younglings could detect the latter, simply by attuning themselves to a planet's gravitational rhythms.
There was nothing. Bastila could not sense any life around her, or even the time. That meant her connection to the Force was dampened – which in turn meant she was inn the hands of the Sith.
The sharp pain in her shoulder pushed such thoughts from her mind. Glancing over at it, she remembered that was where a trooper aboard the Leviathan had been able to land a blaster shot. The wound was bandaged, cleaned and mostly healed but the pain from it was as sharp as when she had first been shot. In fact, all the other injuries she had suffered were gone, but the pain was still there. So whoever lived here wanted her healthy, but not comfortable.
Torture – the
Leviathan – Oh, Force I was captured by Malak! I have to get out of here!
Bastila tried to move; it was only then she noticed she was bound. She was suspended in midair with her arms stretched out to keep her up, while her legs were pulled back and shackled to the wall behind her. It provided maximum disorientation, keeping her in an uncomfortable position and not even giving the comfort of solid ground beneath her feet. It also left her entire body exposed, giving a torturer more areas to inflict pain.
Her wrists and ankles felt the all-too familiar feel of a stun-cuff around them, and a neural disruptor collar was clamped around her neck. That would explain why her connection to the Force felt dampened. The blasted things disrupted her brain's impulses to use the Force from traveling to her body, as she'd found out with Brejik. Although she hadn't been gagged and would be able to use a mind trick if she wanted, she doubted it would be of any use. Her interrogator would likely be a Dark Jedi, if not Darth Malak himself.
Interrogation... Yes, that was what this room was for indeed. The room's contents was now clear. While there were no state-of-the art torture devices like Saul Karath had used on the Leviathan
and only the standard interrogator's chair was present, this felt much more eerie. Her heartbeat quickened; this meant torture would be done through the Force, and she knew all too well what it could do to someone. As Carth had all too truthfully said, it could wipe away one's memories and destroy their very identity. A fate worse than death, the utter obliteration of one's consciousness. Would that be what awaited her? The irony of destroying her mind would not be lost to Malak, and would make it ever so much easier to turn her to the Sith...
A Jedi know no fear, Bastila. There is no emotion. There is peace. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. There is no passion – there is serenity.
“Through passion you gain strength,” rasped a metallic voice. It was mechanical and detached, with a sadistic malice that not even HK-47 at his most bloodthirsty ever came close to.
Darth Malak strode into the room and lights flooded on as a gaudy black cape billowed behind him. Bastila squinted at the near-painful shift in the lighting, but she could still make out his form. He was at least seven feet tall and had muscles that looked powerful enough to bend durasteel. His head was bald and had several simple tattoos running across his pale skin, though his jaw was missing completely. In its place was a large metallic voicebox that was skin-colored but only seemed to further detract from his humanity.
Malak chuckled as he stared at Bastila's helpless form, his eyes gleaming. “Even the Jedi do not deny the extra power granted by the dark side. To deny strength for serenity is to become helpless and weak. And to forsake such things leads inevitably to fear. Or should you stay serene knowing your weakness and ignorance? It is amusing how the Code contradicts itself at every turn, is it not?”
Bastila sniffed. “If your preferred method of turning Jedi to the dark side is through childish taunts, it's a wonder so many of us have joined you.”
Malak stayed silent for a moment, looming over her. Even while suspended in the air, he was still far taller than she was.
“Do you have any idea of the tortures I could inflict upon you should I wish it? The agonies I could make you go through? I've made Masters four times your age cry out and beg for death at my feet.”
“Either torture me or don't, Malak, but don't waste your breath with threats.”
Malak's eyes burned. Abruptly lightning flashed from his hands and cascaded over her suspended form, making her scream as the electricity worked its way across her body, singing her hair, burning her flesh, and filling her muscles with agony. Her body writhed and convulsed in pain, but then as abruptly as it started it stopped.
“You went through so much trying to escape my ship, I should save the physical tortures for another time. But the mental ones would be fitting now, I think.”
Bastila stared coldly at him. “The mind of a Jedi is the strongest part of us, free of all passions, fears and emotions. Do whatever you like, you might as well try to move the stars.”
He snorted. “Such pride in yourself. Such arrogance. You lie.”
Malak produced a holorecorder from what seemed like thin air. It was dinged in a few places, covered in dents and was clearly worn, but the image floating on the screen of it could still be made out – a crude child's drawing of two stick figures, one small one with pigtails for its hair hugging a large smiling one. A drawing she'd made for her father at four. The recognition in her eyes was not lost to Malak. “So you are familiar with this. Admiral Karath was right about you wanting to hold onto the last shred of your dear, dead father.”
The flesh around his artificial metal jaw tugged upwards in a smile. He absentmindedly crushed the holorecorder between his fingers. It sparked and fizzled for a moment before dying completely. Bastila stared at him and Malak sneered, savoring her shock. “Oh, I am sorry, but it was such an un-Jedi-like thing to have. After all, you do
have no attachments. I've just helped you follow your Code.”
“In addition to taunting your prisoners like a child, do you also insist on breaking their possessions like one?” Bastila flared.
Malak smiled. “You wouldn't have saved that holorecorder if it was of no value to you. Deny it all you want, but you also are angry. At me for destroying your attachment and yourself for having it.” He snorted. “Pathetic. Too undisciplined to control your anger yet too fearful to embrace it. What kind of Jedi are you?”
“You of all people are the last one who could tell me how well I follow the Code!”
“Then you must be adhering to it terribly if even I can see how poorly you're following it.” Malak shrugged. “But I can see why you would chase under its rules, being as attached as you are to your father... Or to Revan.” He laughed at the flush creeping into Bastila's cheeks. “Rather ironic the Jedi's worst enemy is the first you wanted to drag into your bed, isn't it? You truly do lack discipline, allowing a physical attraction to soften you as it did for the enemy. To let your mind be ruled by your passions... You are nothing but a common whore.”
Bastila's face grew redder and she poured out a string of excuses, more to herself than Malak who deftly brushed them aside like cobwebs that would obscure his vision. “All lies. You are no less impulsive and enslaved to your desires than I am.”
am the one enslaved to my whims? You are the one who has ordered millions of innocents to their deaths, not me!”
“Spare me your hypocrisy!” Malak roared. “The Jedi are no more noble than the Sith are!”
“ The Sith are willing to slaughter anyone who stands in the way of their selfish--”
Malak laughed. “How different is that from the Jedi? Why is it that children are taken screaming from their mothers' arms, turned into mindless, emotionless drones that are slaves to the will of the Council? Why do you think it is they forbid the love you showed for your father?”
“Because a Jedi's life is one of sacrifice to others, unlike a Sith's!” She glared. “We give those up to better--”
“So the ends justifies the means?” Malak interrupted. “Sacrifice the few for the sake of the many?”
“You are no different from the Sith..”
“Are you mad? Have your forgotten who started the war we're in?”
“Simply the bitter medicine,” Malak shrugged. “How many lives is that compared to what would be lost if the Mandalorians or someone else conquered the Republic? Or to how many that would've died underneath the continued corruption and bureaucracy of the Senate? A few now, but my empire will endure longer than the Republic ever could and have none of its faults. I'm saving the galaxy from itself, even it brings ruin in the short term.”
Bastila blinked at him. “You can't expect anyone to believe that! You don't even believe you own words, all you've shown you care for is power!”
“Perhaps I do,” shrugged Malak. “Or perhaps I don't. But regardless of what I think of my words, you cannot deny their truth.”
“Truth? Truth when the peace you seek to achieve is built of the bodies of innocents and their blood is used as the cement?”
“The very same principle applies to the Jedi's lack of attachments,” retorted Malak. “Sacrifice something small to benefit the whole. Or their indecisiveness during the Mandalorian Wars.Let the Republic and its people burn now so they can help even more later. That is no different from what the Sith do. Regardless of what is sacrificed, the principle is the same.”
“You murder those you wish to save. That is a completely different--”
“It is murder to turn a blind eye to a butcher when you have the power to stop him? Whether you are the one who wields the executioner's axe or not, you are still the executioner. Through your decision, innocents die when you could make it not so. The hand that lands the killing blow is irrelevant when the results are the same because of your decision.”
“The only thing that separates the Jedi from the Sith is their hypocrisy, at least we are honest about what we do.”
“Those are easily the most foul, untrue, despicable lies--”
“Think it over. Perhaps you will think differently the next day.” With an abrupt swish of his cloak the lights dimmed and he was gone from the room.
* * * *
“Bastila,” Malak said the next day. “Before we begin what I have in mind for you today, you should be aware your freedom is just a use of the Force away.”
She attempted to stare at him indifferently, but her curiosity was obvious. “The neural disruptor collar you have on? This is a newer, more specific model. Calm thoughts it disrupts as normal, but angry ones it doesn't. It would take but a wave of your hand to make those cuffs around your limbs fall off.”
“But enough of that. The dilemma.” Malak clapped his hands the door to the room opened. Two archaic spider-shaped droids like the models she'd seen in the Dantooine ruins ambled in, with a black-haired and middle-aged man bound with paralysis cord and held between their thin metallic legs. He was in a stupor,eyes glazed.He did not attempt to struggle. The droids unfurled their legs from him and he was unceremoniously dumped onto the stone floor before they departed.
Bastila thought. Jon, the man Canderous and Carth killed the Mandalorian raiders for on Dantooine! What the Force is he doing here?
Malak answered her unspoken question. “When I invaded Dantooine, we captured what Jedi we could to convert them, but the civilians? They can be used as slave labor, true, but they also have far more...” he smiled darkly, “immediate benefits.”
Bastila's eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”
“Remember what I said about the collar? I am going to kill this man, and once I have, I'll bring in another and kill him next. And another. And another. And I won't stop unless you make me... a simple thing to do with how that collars works, or I will have ended up killing...” he paused for a moment to recall the number. “All three hundred and forty-eight of them.”
“You coward!” Bastila screeched. “Of all the vile things to stoop to, murdering people with your own hands and then placing--”
“Words won't do them any good.” Lifting the man up by his hair Malak held his face in front of Bastila's. “Before each of them dies I want you to look into their eyes. I want you to know the lives that you are snuffing out. You might even recognize some of them.”
“You are nothing more than a common bully!”
“Ah well, you should've taken it.” Malak wrapped his hands around the man's neck and tore it from his body with a single swift motion. Scarlet blood spattered over his dark clothing and dirtied his polished armor, but he didn't seem to mind. Running his pale hands over the blood on his legs he walked to Bastila and wiped it off on her. “Their blood is as much on your hands as it is on mine. It is only fitting you should be covered in it in the literal sense as well.”
“I don't know how you can rationalize-- ”
Malak smirked. “Oh, but I can. The ends, getting you to join the Sith, to help end the war sooner and save more lives, more than justifies the means. I'm sacrificing a few civilians, a few nobodies. What are their lives to the millions that will perish as the war continues? But if you truly find what I am doing so objectionable...” he leaned close to her and spoke softly. “Come and stop it.”
Seeing nothing from her, the droids brought in the next prisoner,a sobbing young woman with s. She was similarly bound but not stunned or gagged. She shrieked in agony as Malak tore off her limbs, starting with her legs, then her arms, and finally once he was merciful enough to remove it, her head. The blood-soaked remains were dumped at Bastila's feet. As before, Malak dipped his hand in the blood and wiped it across her left cheek as she stared at the corpse in shock. “You are truly no different from Revan...” he murmured. “Always thinking of the greater good, being willing to sacrifice anything for it.”
The next to be brought in was a crippled old man with snow-white hair, who was slowly cut and bled to death with a knife amidst his soft pleas to make it stop. WhenMalak finished, he lifted the corpse above her and let the blood from a thousand cuts sprinkle over her body in a gruesome rainfall. Bastila would normally have recoiled but the shock had made her completely numb.
“You apathy is remarkable. It would just take a wave of your hand, and you could stop this evil....”
An endless procession of men, women and children, old, young, strong, and weak alike were all brought in and killed in more perverse ways than anything Bastila had yet seen. Children had their heads cracked like eggshells, women were stripped and drowned in a pool of blood-soaked water, men had the flesh peeled off their skeletons. A focused enough push with the Force could sever someone's arteries from the inside or crush their bones to powder, turning them into flailing and screaming sacks of immobile flesh that Malak could then explode like balloons.
Regardless of the method used, the blood of each prisoner was wiped over Bastila. Within a short time she was stained crimson with the blood of the three hundred and forty-eight people Malak had executed.
Malak leered as he wiped the last of the blood through her hair. “Congratulations, Bastila. You are well onto your way to becoming just like Revan, just like me – you have made sacrifices to advance your goals in the name of the greater good. You have inarguably accepted, whether you are light or dark - that the ends justify the means. Just as Revan did. This act would have made him proud.”
She was hysterical. “These deaths... I won't... give you the satisfaction of saying they were in vain...the cause...it's...noble....”
“If you are saying the deaths are justified, then the answer in yes. But they have been justified for the wrong goal.” Malak smiled darkly. “You have accepted that the ends justify the means. You are no different from Revan and me, killing the few to save the many. You are every bit the monster I am, and I am every bit the savior you are. The only difference now are the causes we might for, not how we fight for them.”
“Think it over, Bastila. The Jedi, the Sith – they all willing to attain their goals at any cost, no matter what the price – both are evil and both are good, as you just demonstrated. The only thing you have to judge them by are those end goals, the means are no longer a factor. Now, you have the Republic, which simply seeks to line the pockets of its Senators – or the Sith, who seek to bring about a new order. One of strength, one without corruption, one where the galaxy will be safe from anything that would ever assail it. The Republic has been willing to let the galaxy burn and its people die and its strength fade to achieve its goal, keeping its rulers comfortable – a perfect example of an autocracy, really. The Sith are willing to overthrow this autocracy to achieve our goal. Both sides will do whatever it takes to accomplish what it thinks is the greater good – so ask yourself, if both sides will use the same means to achieve their ends, which end would you rather have? Corruption and weakness built off the bones of the galaxy's people or a new era of order and strength built off those same bones? Think it over....”
With a swish of his cape Malak departed from the room.
* * * *
Oh Force.... The Masters never prepared me for anything like this! I shouldn't even have to make decisions like this in the first place, these are matters that should be decided the Council – after all, if I were fit enough to think of them I would be on the Council, would I? Yes, of course – this is all over my head, I'm not at fault if I can't see Malak's lies for what they are or know what to do. I am no Master. Yes, of course...
She recalled a specific instance during their journey, when on Manaan they had infiltrated the Sith base disguised as prospective Dark Jedi. The receptionist there had spotted a hole in their disguise, and had rushed to call the alarm – or at least would have if Revan had not Force-choked and then shot her to death. The girl was only sixteen, likely the daughter of one of the Sith at the base and proud to be working her first job there.
Bastila had been appalled the action. When she had confronted him on the murder of a child, he had slyly replied that the death of one youth was preferable to the girl raising the base's alarm and getting them shot dead by two dozen squads of soldiers.
“The Republic depends on us and our companions—should we waste that to spare a teenager who would just become another Sith? Her death was regrettable, yes, but it was the lesser of two evils. What else could I have done?”
She had been unable to think of anything, and he had assured her the death was not in vain and that it was demanded by the greater good. That damnable greater good of his! The ends justified the means there, they had justified the means here – where did it end, where did she draw the line?!
That's another reason for me to damn you, Revan! She thought bitterly. He should have done something to help her here, it was all his fault she didn't have any line to stand back on! And damn it, she was angry! Angry at herself for being apathetic enough to allow the deaths of those people, and Revan and Malak for being born so they could show her why it was justified!
* * * *
“Good morning, Bastila.” Malak loomed over her the next day, his presence seeming to swell and fill the entire room. “I've come to you with a proposition.” There was no response. He continued. “Yesterday you accepted that the ends justify the means – that the few may be killed to save the many. But surely you understand already that a Jedi's life is sacrifice? That the only importance of your own fate is to benefit the greater good you are willing to achieve?”
She stiffly nodded and he smiled, producing a double-bladed lightsaber. He extended it to her. “Your weapon.”
“What do you want?” she asked bluntly.
“Strike me down.”
Of all the choices, fall to the dark side and preserve the galaxy or remain on the light and let Malak destroy it! Oh Force, this is worse than last time.
“I am unarmed...”
But her life was sacrifice... What would a brush or even conversion the dark side matter as long as this monster was dead? What would falling to it matter if he was dead?
It wouldn't! Her life was insignificant without her battle meditation, and there would be no need for it once Malak was dead. Light or dark, for the greater good!
The chains holding her to the wall and her collar flew off. Her lightsaber soared through the air to land in her outstretched hand. She ignited the weapon and lunged forward at Malak with it – only to be met by the blood-red blade of his lightsaber.
Bastila snarled at the treachery. Pushing her lightsaber against his, she tried to force his saber down to the side to run him through the stomach with the other end of her blade. He was too fast and whipped his weapon up to meet the blow just as it twirled down to meet the blow from the other end of her lightsaber. Their blades locked and with a flick of his wrist Malak sent her saber flying out of her hands. Rather than striking her down he ran through the doorway, and beckoned at her to give him chase.
Growling out of anger, Bastila called the weapon to her again and charged through the doorway. He stood at the end of a hallway, his lightsaber kept casually low – defenselessly low – to the ground.
Leaping at him with her blade, she delivered a swipe that would have severed his head had his lightsaber not flicked up to block hers. Howling at the miss, Bastila pressed forward in a frenzy of blows, showering him above and below with both ends of her lightsaber while driving him back. Malak blocked but made no attempt to return any blows as he steadily walked backwards, keeping the defense up for several minutes before blasting her against a wall with the Force and running up a set of nearby stairs. Bastila gave chase and followed him up to the open-aired roof the building. Pressing forward again, she delivered anger-powered strikes. Force, she had to kill him! She wanted to kill him! She relished the idea of seeing his corpse at her feet!
Malak still made no attempt to fight back, choosing to block all her attacks bemusedly, almost disdainfully. His form was obviously far more advanced than hers, and how she hated it! Bastila's strikes became faster as the duel wore on, her lightsaber turning into a solid circle of yellow light. Her attacks grew more and more vicious, fueled by her thoughts that he was the Dark Lord of the Sith, he had to die! He had to PAY for everything he had done, and the horrors he'd put her through when he'd been killing those prisoners!
But she was inept at it, he wasn't even fighting back and she couldn't kill him! It was beyond disgraceful, beyond weak that she couldn't simply run her lightsaber through his body and save the galaxy through that act. How she despised her own weakness, it was completely unacceptable! Tapping further into her her own frustration the whirling of her blades picked up speed as they danced back and forth with Malak's, sparks and lights flying in all directions as Bastila poured every bit of herself, every ounce of strength she had into the weapon. She hammered at that monster again, again, again. The frustration, anger and hatred flowed through her, empowered her, made her attacks stronger. There was no thought of any defense in her style, it was pure attack that would have left Malak a charred and eviscerated corpse if he wasn't so damnably deft with a lightsaber! Seeing the new frustration on her face Malak chuckled.
Howling in anger, Bastila lashed out with the Force, sending Malak flying backwards and slamming into one of the low walls at the roof's edge. He hit the stones with enough force to make the ruined pillar above him collapse. Stones rained down on his body. Bastila smiled when she heard the sickening cracks of bones and his grunts. Yes, he was in pain! He was weakened, he was pausing! And now he would DIE!
Pressing at him with a renewed vigor, her attacks drove Malak to a corner where he could retreat no further, where he could not dodge her lightsaber blade as it flecked downwards across his leg. It wasn't deep enough to sever his limb but it caused him to howl out in pain and sink down to his knees. He would die screaming at her feet! Bastila's face was a demonic mask of pleasure, cruelty and satisfaction as her lightsaber rained down upon his, driving him further and further towards defeat. As she feinted an attack at his neck their blades locked, and Bastila pushed her own weapon downwards ready to bring the other end of it across Malak's hand to disarm him – until his lightsaber twirled upwards faster than she could react, slicing through her lightsaber and making the twin yellow blades sputter for a second before fizzling out completely.
The thought of being disarmed barely fazing her, Bastila screamed and threw herself onto Malak, bringing her mouth down onto the hand holding his lightsaber. She heard him cry out as her teeth sunk into his flesh, his blood deliciously smearing against her lips as her teeth ground against the bones in his fingers, fracturing them. She distantly felt blows powerful enough to injure a rancor raining down on her back from his other first, but she didn't care; she was in a completely different world now, her pain was completely irrelevant and could be thought of later. Her only thought was fighting him, hurting him, destroying
him. Blood from his hand spilled across the temple's floor as her teeth ground and gnashed at his finger bones, if she was lucky she might bite one off and cause him to pause for a moment from the pain, maybe then she could could try tearing open his throat -
All thoughts of that washed from her mind as his other hand wrapped around her neck and squeezed. Bastila felt faint as her vision dimmed, despite how hard she was clawing and biting at his fingers – his grip was like an iron vice. Her vision soon blacked out completely and she slipped into darkness.
* * * *
Awaking, Bastila found herself chained onto a stone slab, with another neural disruptor collar fastened around her neck – try as she did, apparently this one also disrupted angry thoughts in addition to passive ones.
Malak strode in, his hand healed and the rest of him otherwise unaffected by their duel. How much time had passed since then? She didn't care. Nothing except killing him mattered. Malak sensed the rage emanating from her, and he smiled.
“Excellent work, Bastila. You fight with the dark side, you can sacrifice the few for the sake of the many, you're willing to do whatever it takes to achieve victory – you are as much a Sith as I am.”
Bastila snarled at him and struggled to break free of her restraints. Her cries came out in a feral voice that was not her own. “Release me and prepare to fight! Or leave! But don't waste my time with your prattle or I'll have another reason to tear open your throat!”
Malak chuckled again. “Prattle? Oh, I assure you, my dear Bastila, you will be very
receptive towards what I have to say now. Very
* * * *
Revan strode through the doorway onto the sun-drenched steps of the temple summit, the cool breezes of the planet making his robes flutter as he walked. Jolee followed, a satisfied smile appeared on his face. “About damn time we had some fresh air.That temple was full of dust and smelled awful – how in the Force could those Sith stay in that musty place when they could've been sunbathing up here? Probably afraid their masters would chop them into bite-sized pieces and feed them to rancors for it, but all the same that dust is awful for your sinuses! If you ask me I'd rather get chopped to pieces as long as I could get some fresh air before I was rancor food. Heh heh, rancor food. Y'know, that reminds me of a guy I knew some years ago...”
The old man's prattle. Revan is here now.
Jolee's story about the hook-handed Devaronian trailed off and died as Bastila stepped towards the duo from behind a pillar, her now-red lightsaber casually ignited by her black-robed form. Those things all said 'Sith apprentice' well enough, but it was her eyes that truly revealed it – no longer that clear ocean blue of endless depths, they were every bit as yellow as Revan's were, their centers now ravines of absolute darkness. And at the bottom of those pits, Revan could see the same words that had driven them both, in past and present -
It's for the greater good.