Every step was a new curiosity.
Malfrost had long intended to explore some of the more famous nexuses of the Dark and Light, to judge for himself how different they were at all from any other. Places strong in the Force were full of potential, but Malfrost knew what many tended to confuse: that ideologies and philosophies were too narrow, that schools of thought and vapid cults had taught so many generations incorrectly. The Force was Dark and Light and neither, whether a scholar called it Living or Unifying. And there was so much more to learn and explore in the bones of civilizations lost, to look at anew and teach now, so that they could question rather than follow…
This was an affirmation.
Mustafar was his newest survey, now that more freedom in his rising of ranks allowed the time. He intended to explore its entirety, eventually, but for the moment his first stop was the once hidden interrogation facility that had been so well-user during and after the Clone Wars. Darths and Moffs had walked these halls. His research indicated so much, and the facility sung to him like a symphony. Even if it had all been picked over like carrion, there would be something for him to find.
Malfrost paused just outside the entrance, the single bridge behind him, rubbing at his tired eyes. He longer for more caf, but the current excitement of promise would keep him awake. He turned to his droid.
"You go scout ahead first, Herf-Krill." If there were any traps or the like, the droid would trigger them, which was fine by him.
HK merely saluted, saying something about apprehending ruffians, which made Malfrost sigh. Nevertheless, the droid loyally proceeded onward into the facility's darkest bowels, both pistols drawn and ready, one matte black, one shiny like new.
The new Equite waited a few minutes, then followed.
Every step felt like walking over graves.
Every wall and floor panel was steeped in pain, in echoes. The air was all sulfur and carbon and suffering. He hadn't thought it could get much worse than when they'd touched down and the presence of the very planet had leeched into him like some living, parasitic thing, but he'd been wrong. The castle nearby, the scattered mining facilities, the volcanoes, all of it was haunted. The whole of it felt awful. But this one, this place he walked in now...he'd followed his senses to the cruelest heart of darkness on Mustafar and it had led him here, a drumbeat in his veins like a requiem.
But that was the point: to feel it. Like suffocating. Like freezing. A shiver that spread from his spine across his shoulder blades like an overlarge, unwanted hand that he couldn't stop from spreading fingers over his skin. He had to remind himself like this, just like the bands on his arms, bracers and shackles both, had to remember that if he slips for even one second with all the power he holds, he could—
A brownish stain on the floor caught his eye, and he shuddered, swallowed bile, kept making his legs move forward, deeper into the hidden halls.
Cora thought it was hurtful of him, an unnecessary self-inflicted cruelty. And Cora...wasn't wrong, exactly. But Ruka couldn't shake the conviction that it was necessary; things had been going well enough lately for him and them, personally, that something had to be wrong, it just had to be. He couldn't stand correcting one more time to himself, "it's not that I don't deserve good things, I just don't think I do," or think about how Eilen and Sera said he was a good person and how Qyreia said he needed to stop martyring himself or how Cora believed in him and his control and not feel like screaming, not feel like he was doing something horrible and deliberately shortsighted.
This was a reminder.
But to be mindful, he'd accepted that Cora come with him, and have his droid bring the ship back to pick him up in an hour at most. He could still sense his husband, a steadying beacon of light up in the atmosphere, a star all his own that even the darkness here couldn't smother.
But Ashla and Bogan, if it wasn't coming close.
The Mirialan passed yet more offices and barracks, corridors twisting off in a maze, pitted with slab-like cells. He was putting off going deeper, towards whatever was there, and was instead pacing the corridors like a trapped nexu. But it was just so...the pain and hate there...he needed a moment, to know he could face that and walk back out still himself.
Ruka turned another of what had to be a hundred hallways, glimpsed what looked like control rooms, wide, thick windows overlooking the lava flows. Dark screens and disturbingly immaculate metal appliances were everywhere, machines humming with electric power despite the dust on them. The pristine look compared to the scuffs and stains elsewhere made his stomach clench again. He retreated, taking another direction, turned another hall into an intersection—
Movement.
The Mirialan froze, muscles tensing, saber flying from belt to hand as he summoned it but not yet lit. He hadn't sensed anyone, his instincts didn't scream of threat, so who was it?
His gaze caught on metal, passed over it, then darted back when the metal moved. It was a droid, an HK-model, stepping from the opposite direction, armed with guns in each grip. The mechanical paused too when its gleaming optics landed on him.
For a few heartbeats they stood, perhaps ten paces apart and weapons raised, at a standoff. Then, the droid spoke.
[WITH INFLECTION SUBSET 'TWANG': HOWDY, PARTNER.]
What the kriff? Ruka thought. It...it sounds like one of Qyreia's awful Besh-rate holoflicks... They'd watched one with some "ranger" sort of character once in a break from the normal catalogue of cheesy horror, which he spent protesting her comparison of him to some guy that wore way too much black for a desert and she spent stealing all the popcorn and critiquing the bad shooting techniques going on.
"What the kriff?" he repeated aloud. The droid swerved its arm servos as if shrugging off a cloak or the like and raised its pistols an inch higher, lining up with his center-mass.
[GRUFF WARNING: HOLD IT RIGHT THERE, LAWBREAKER. YOU ARE TRESPASSING, PARTNER.]
Ruka tilted his head. "Uh...ay...so are you? Ain't nobody owns this place I don't think, or the old Empire does, so pretty sure it's not either of us."
The droid seemed to be processing that while the Mirialan wondered who owned it and where the hell they were, or if it had been left here by someone. He didn't want to take focus away from the armed robot, however, in order to search the Dark-drenched complex with his weak senses.
[BEGRUDGING BUT SLY ADMITTANCE INDICATING HARD-WON RESPECT: SEEMS YOU MIGHT BE RIGHT, PARTNER.]
It lowered its guns. Ruka already felt a headache coming on.
"Droid, where's your programmer?" he asked, keeping one eye on the HK-unit while scanning the halls. "Owner, master, whatever. Are they here?"
[SUSPICIOUS TWANG: THAT THERE'S NONE OF YOUR BEESWAX, PARTNER.]
"Oh, for kriff's sake...look, I'm not breakin' no law, right? I'm not some ganger or criminal or anything. I'm just here exploring. So tell me if your owner is gonna be a problem and wanna kill me or not."
Loud, tromping footsteps growing louder still dragged, scratching, over the metal plating of the opposite hallway where the droid had emerged from. Ruka's head snapped back in that direction, and not a moment later, someone spoke.
"Well, that sort of depends on you," came a new voice.
The slim Human that stepped up just behind the assassin droid was taller than him and had swathes of shadows under his eyes that Ruka had seen in the mirror countless times growing up after double and triple shifts, days and nights without sleep. His expression was intense, uncomfortably dissecting, and his long, tan fingers bore caf and ink stains where they poked out from his robe sleeves. A lightsaber was on his sash, and his hand was already palming it.
Oh, no.
"What about me?" Ruka asked, already feeling tired. He really hadn't expected to run into anyone else on his crucible here, and now he had an armed assassin unit and this man already talking half-threats.
"On the kind of person you are," the stranger continued cryptically. He squinted in visible concentration. "I sense...power in you. Not many would come to Mustafar, and fewer still to the interrogation facilities of the Empire."
Interrogation facility? That explained a lot. All the pain here, it was from torture.
"I'm just exploring," the Mirialan repeated, shifting his balance ever so slightly so that he'd be able to dive if he needed to. "I don't want any trouble. We can just pretend the other isn't here."
"Are you a Sith?" the Human pressed, watching him, shifting just like he did.
Ruka sighed, because it seemed every time he answered that question, nothing went well for him. "Yes. But that don't have to mean anything 'cept what it does to me. I'm not going to hurt you, I'm not looking for power or relics or evil nothing, okay, I'm just exploring."
"...interesting," hummed the man. He tilted his head, and unclipped his saber, lifting it. Ruka's grip on his own tightened. "I find Sith to be extremely disappointing, and you cannot claim the label without following the failing ideology. It means something to be a Sith, even if what it means is irresponsible and arrogant. If you claim you are different, then you are not Sith. And there is only one way for me to know what you really are."
"Please, don't," Ruka plead, exasperation and desperation in his tone. "Don't say it—"
"Let us duel, you and I, Sith, and discover who you are."
"I don't want to fight you."
The Human actually snorted. "Who said anything about fighting? This is not a fight. This is a crucible, and either you will live...or you'll die."
This time, Ruka's senses did scream.
His body moved moments before the Human's own weapon ignited, moments before the man barked, "Herf-Krill, fire at will." He pivoted, kicking off the ground and twisting up over the volley of blaster bolts long before they passed under him, landing just as the last screeched by and taking off at a dead sprint. The droid and its master both called after him, but Ruka kept running, skidding and darting back down another corridor, hoping it lead to more open offices he remembered. Instead, he found himself passing tight barracks, bursting back into the control room he'd originally avoided.
Again, his instincts howled. Again he turned about and lifted his lightsaber, blue blade igniting to catch the pinwheeling violet one that smashed into his and sprayed sparks. The Mirialan snarled, feeling the give as the other saber was summoned back, returning to his opponent's hold further down the hall. The Human was advancing fast, and his droid was nowhere in sight.
There wasn't a lot of time to think about how bad that probably was. The other was upon him, rushing right at him with a style all too familiar, saber swinging ferociously. Their blades clashed and sparked, over and over, a sudden, relentless barrage of mirrored slashes and vicious, chaotic jabs.
"A Juyo practitioner!" exclaimed his attacker. "More proof of a Sith."
"So are you!"
The Human pivoted and parried in a manner that definitely wasn't known to Juyo, reversing Ruka's blade back towards him and forcing the Mirialan to lurch back before he got skewered. The other man chased after him, pressing the offensive, leaping up onto the command consoles and using the height to give each of his strikes more power from the higher ground. The regrettably self-proclaimed Sith stumbled yet again and nearly lost his grip trying to keep up with the sheer volume of attacks, especially when the Human gripped a stripped office chair and hurled it at him telekinetically without even pausing in his assault. Only his own amplified speed kept him moving quick enough to dodge out of the way of the furniture and then get a guard up in time to catch the two-handed death blow that would've bisected him when his opponent leapt off the consoles.
For a moment, they locked, the other still intent and curious, Ruka baring his teeth. Then the Mirialan focused his will and, crooking two fingers off his saber hilt, all he dared, sent his emerald dagger out of its sheath and slicing towards the Human's abdomen. He got the satisfaction of watching those brown eyes widen with warning up close, the other disengaging and throwing himself aside before he could be eviscerated.
"You're a User too," Ruka spat, retreating quickly to regain some breathing room, wishing he didn't feel trapped in a metal box while his attacker seemed to be using it like a playground. His dagger floated after him, saber white-knuckled in his left hand. "You sensed that."
"I did. I am. But talking won't tell me what I want to know, Sith. Only this will."
The Human came at him again, vaulting over a fallen cabinet and pinwheeling in midair. Ruka dove away, somersaulting back to his feet and clenching both hands, directing his saber and the emerald kris at the other. He blocked the lightsaber on his own and snapped the dagger aside with a quick jerk of his elbow, but had to move back when it jabbed at him again. A red line streaked along his side where the dagger cut, not so deep as to kill, more a warning. When Ruka called his weapons back to him, the Human grimaced.
"Back off," Ruka warned, watching the blood bloom. "Please, already. No kriffing death matches."
His attacker just charged, telekinetically tearing down a piece of paneling from the ceiling this time. The Sith dodged around it and blocked another violent violet strike, dancing away, and still the Human kept coming, his heavy boots grinding against the floor, each chop and slice and swing harder and harder to avoid than the last.
Ruka was faster but damned if this man wasn't better.
The Mirialan swore again and, channeling the Force, launched himself clear over his opponent, landing in a roll that put him near the viewing windows and the opposite entrance to the chamber. The Human glared at him, seeming irritated now with his running from the fight. But the glare didn't last long— it slid past Ruka, brightening on something behind him.
"Herf-Krill! Activate your generator! Now!"
[AFFIRMATION: YOU GOT IT, PARTNER.]
"Oh, kriff—" Ruka began, the sudden klaxons of danger pounding in his pulse even as he twisted around, expecting to be shot at. But the droid wasn't shooting. It hunkered low, and the danger—
That was still behind him.
He tried to turn, to get his blade up, but it felt like moving through water. His limbs dragged. He gaped, confused, wobbled in place as suddenly everything felt heavier.
The world tilted.
Ruka looked back at the droid. It was humming violently, like some mechanical part of it was working in overdrive. Activate the generator, the Human had said. What generator?
His soles squealed on the ground as he was pulled back, nearly going down to one knee, feeling like his coal cloak was choking him where it pulled at the collar. Was it telekinesis? No. No, it was the droid reeling him in, weighing him down, it had to be.
His eyes clocked back. The Human was coming towards him with his saber lit. Ruka's arms felt almost too heavy to lift. He slid another few inches towards the HK-unit's metal embrace. Could he push them both away? Was the robot going to be even heavier?
The red light of the volcano outside washed over all of them like blood, darkening his opponent's violet blade. Ruka focused on the droid, felt muscles strain for him to swing his shaking fist, and pushed.
Gravity be damned, it went flying, launched like a massive cannonball through the transparisteel windows beside them.
Unfortunately, Ruka went with it.
The Mirialan yelled as he was pulled along, caught in artificial gravity's thrall, scattered tools and shards of glass following with him, the whole lot a comet tail to the descending droid as it plunged into the bright, burning sea below.
There wasn't time to think, just react. The droid's chassis hit the lava and stuck, not sinking far in the thick viscous liquid, immediately hissing and sizzling. Hoses ruptured and bolts zipped away like bullets as steam boiled inside it, one tearing through Ruka's arm even as he threw his palm out and used another telekinetic push to shove off the molten rock and redirect his flight. He wobbled and barely managed to land with his feet on the droid, lava spraying up around him from the impact of his weight, catching on his clothes and skin and Bogan it burned, so fast and deep that he didn't even feel it after a second. What he did feel was the heat all around him, suffocating, the burn of his clothes catching fire, and the horrifying, sinking give of the droid's body and the gravity generator still pulling on his boots, on the lava, sucking them deeper and making a pit. Panic raced up his nerves, clogging his throat, and Ruka channeled the Force into his legs on sheer instinct as the generator finally died and leapt.
He had seconds. He stared dubiously through the air, aiming for the nearest shore of black rock. His feet touched down, his melting boots stuck, and he jumped again, arcing high up to a jut of obsidian and then again, sailing through the broken windows from whence they'd come. Even the slightly cooler air felt like a wall he was slamming into, like a physical thing. He dropped to the bloodstained metal floor and gasped, feeling seared in his lungs, his skin, everything.
The smell of stinking smoke reaching his nose was the only thing that had him moving again so quickly, yelping when he realized the prickling along his nerves was his cloak turning to ash on his back. The whole thing was in flames. He screeched again and rolled back and forth, scrabbling to tear the garment off and toss it away, to douse any other fires. Finally he flopped onto his back and watched the ceiling spin dizzyingly for a minute, gasping, trying to take inventory of how hurt he really was and how much was just plain terror and shock.
A slow, mocking clap broke the monotone of his ragged breathing. Ruka glanced over to see the man who'd attacked him still very much there and watching.
"Well, that was almost exciting," the Human commented, expression still intent, eyes tired, but a little more openly intrigued and more than a little miffed. "That droid was expensive. Shame. Do you still have your saber? I'm not done testing you yet, Sith."
For a moment, Ruka just closed his eyes. Tried to count to ten and got halfway there before he tightened his grip on the weapon he did still have and opened them again. He focused the Force through his body, muffling the pained crying and the panic, though not his seemingly ever present migraine, and sat up, glaring at the other with golden eyes.
"My name," he hissed, because his throat was too wrecked to do anything else, "is Ruka. Not Sith. And you need to back off already."
The guy only smiled a little, more a sneer and lifted his blade.
"Make me recognize you," he bid, and kicked off the floor, saber held high.
