You enter one of the dozens of sparring chambers within the Shadow Academy of Lyspair, the simple square room utilized mostly by those learning the ways of the lightsaber. This five hundred square-foot room, rectangular in shape, is nearly barren. The floor is lined with simple padding, while the walls are made of dull, grey durasteel, gauged by innumerable lightsaber strikes, scarring the metal permanently.

The ceiling towers above you, nearly twenty feet in height, allowing for plenty of movement from the more acrobatic of Force users. There are no other adornments within the room, save for the entrance and lighting that bathes the entire room, yet seems to come from nowhere. All corners of the room are perfectly lit, with no visible shadows to speak of. There is nowhere for you to hide within the room, but… there's no room for your opponent to hide either.

As she walked down the hallways of Shadow Academy, she re-read the letter discovered at her door over again. It was from Cyris Oscura, the maniac that Scholae Palatinae just rescued from Vanir II. The Half-Sephi was at attention upon his arrival, and mandated the scene, just as the other younglings did. When the Sith stepped off of the shuttle, it was as if the whole room grew colder. He intimidated everyone with every glance, every breath, and every step. Yet, with this letter, this man requested Alara Deathbane’s presence.

What am I getting myself into? Alara shivered slightly. With a gulp, she rejected her fears, and read over the words again.

Alara Deathbane,

Meet me at the sparring chambers of shadow academy when the clock strikes 1 o’clock AM. I have much to discuss with you.

-Cyris Oscura

“What does he want with me?” Alara spoke quietly to herself, scratching her head. The Hunter glanced at her wrist-chrono. On the display, it showed that she was running out of time.

She stepped carefully into the halls and made her way to meet the Adept. The Half-Sephi wore her normal black jumpsuit, but also had her cloak tied back and draped across her shoulders, hiding her braided hair. She pat the lightsaber attached to her belt reassuringly and pressed on. Scenarios poured into her mind. With each step the Hunter grew more and more cautious about her situation. Was this really such a good idea? Would I meet my death here?

She continued into the darkness until she came to the sparring room as Cyris requested. When she stepped into the open entrance, Alara caught sight of the Sith standing in the middle of the room. His back was towards her, and he seemed to be chanting slightly. She tip-toed into the room, trying her best to hear what he was whispering.

“You know, lass, you should really work on your sneaking capabilities. It may have worked in the jungles of Onderan, where foolish Jedi scampered about, but it won’t work here,” the man spoke with a raspy tone as he turned to look at Alara. She stared for a moment, gaping at the towering figure before her. The Hunter’s eyes flickered with curiosity as well as nervousness.

“Well,” he faced her completely, revealing his wounded arm and his scarred face, “Come closer, child.” Alara nodded, and stepped forward as commanded. She walked until they were but an arms-width apart. She looked up at the menacing figure before her. The Dark Jedi suddenly felt the freezing sharpness of terror with unexplainable reasoning. She furrowed her eyebrows at the man before her, and attempted to gulp down her fear as well as she could.

“There.. there… no reason to be frightened,” the man’s mouth bent into a smirk, “I have great things in store for you.” He picked up Alara’s long braid and observed it closely to his face.

“..Wh...What is it…” Alara seemed to be in some sort of shriveled trance.

“I will be your Master now. Forget about Shadow Nighthunter. I will teach you the ways of the Force,” Cyris dropped the braid softly, and backed up to observe the woman before him.

“Do I seem lacking in your eyes?” Alara asked truthfully. Her gut twisted and churned with frustration as she tried to shake off this feeling she was being forced to feel.

“Perhaps not, but you can be better. Shadow won’t get you there. But first…” Cyris’ face morphed into a menacing grin, “I must test your skill. Show me. Your fate depends on it.”

Two flashes of scarlet light suddenly brightened the room with the sound of plasma ejecting from its power source. Cyris’ deep crimson blades on his saber-staff rose quickly over Alara’s head, making her feel as if she were the size of an insect. This was it. This was the chance she was looking for. She was finally able to prove herself worthy.

So he had been right. There was potential in this Alara. Cyris had sensed something flare within her the moment his twin crimson blades had come to life. Immediately she dropped in a combat-ready stance, hand shooting to the lightsaber on her belt. He backed away slowly with meticulous steps. His one eye measured her. She was an athlete and a killer, such was clear in the way she held herself. The young woman’s yellow blade spat to life but she held her position. When there was enough distance, the Adept shifted his focus from his adversary’s emotions to the weapon in his hand. Channelling the Force, he tossed the the ignited lightstaff with a backhand. The Hunter visibly tensed but stayed her ground as he guided the weapon in a wide spiralling arc with his one hand. Around him it spun until it slipped back into his grasp. One blade died out as he coiled low, knees bent, the saber held in a reverse grip. Enough with the show of force, he thought.

He wished to see her fight and she was quick to grant him his desire.

She closed her eyes for only a moment. When they opened again, she launched forward with inhuman speed. She closed the gap between them in an instant. Lightsabers clashed. One. Two. Three. She swung for Oscura again and again with disjointed, predictable strikes. His crimson blade blocked every attack but there was some strength to the girl! Each time their blades met, his was knocked back. She was far too aggressive for a novice and an adherent of Banlanth. Yet, her intensity was promising. To train her in the relentless Juyo would make her a force to be reckoned with. Again she came at him. The humming and clashing of lightsabers gnawed at Oscura’s primal instincts. Though he sought only to test her mettle, when their blades met, fury and bloodthirst stirred inside him. She swung up. He dashed backwards and the yellow blade cut the air before him. Immediately he rebounded, darting forward with a flurry of his own. He pushed into her, the blood-colored plasma hacking at yellow. The sheer voracity of his onslaught forced her back on her heels as she tried to defend herself. All she could do was defend herself. He was a whirlwind, spinning this way and that, angling attacks high and low, again and again without pause. He pressed on until she staggered. He finally spun into her and cracked his elbow to the back of her skull. She stumbled forward with a cry. To his surprise, she retained her footing.

Again, they faced off. He could have stabbed her through the shoulder blades then, and he realized that he had wanted to. He giggled, giving off a raspy, snarling sound. The way Alara shook her head, she too had obviously recognized her mistake. With a deep breath, she closed her eyes once more. This time he would not allow her to reach out to the Force. With greater handling of the Dark Side than his potential apprentice, Oscura weaved a sphere that engulfed both he and Alara, nullifying the effects of the Force within. If only temporary, the effect had the desired outcome. The Hunter’s eyes went wide when she realized that she could no longer count on her powers. She screamed and threw herself at the Adept, braid flailing behind, lightsaber swinging wildly ahead. He blocked and dodged and the sphere around them dissipated as he turned his attention elsewhere. She was mid-swing when she realized it, and before she could capitalize on the situation, he was lifting her up through use of the Force. He then threw her several paces backwards to her back with one swift motion of his fingers. She slid across the padded floor several more paces before screeching to a halt. He was laughing; a vicious laugh that echoed through the empty chamber.

“Yes,” he hissed, “Give into despair. Give into your fear. Become worthy of my teachings!”

But suddenly, he took notice of another person at his side. It was his apprentice, Sariss. She stood next to him, hands on her hips, her features hidden beneath a cloak. Glowing yellow eyes peered from the darkness of her hood. She spoke with honeyed mirth in her voice, “My, my, you’ve been going easy on the poor girl. Why you think this feeble, little creature is worthy of you is beyond even me!”

Oscura snarled and swung for the newcomer. The blade passed through her without causing so much as a scratch. He shook his head in a futile attempt to clear his mind. He knew Sariss was not truly present. She was long, long dead. In truth, she was one of many people from his past that still appeared to him. He had wondered for many years how this had come to be. What artefact manifested such hallucinations? Yet, the answer had been all too simple. They were the embodiment of his very thoughts; giving voice to the turmoil in his mind. Because of this, he had long embraced their presence.

“Focus,” the vision of Sariss ordered!

He felt it in the Force a split second before it went off. Alara had recovered and snatched up her blaster rifle. She fired once, twice. He arced his blade in time to deflect both bolts, if just barely. She unleashed another volley but he was now prepared. With sufficient reaction time, he concentrated and threw his hands up to summon a protective barrier. The barrage exploded mid-air as it hammered the invisible dome.

Perhaps he had been a fool to summon this Alara Deathblade so soon. He wondered if truly he had control over himself, control enough to train a new apprentice. Yet, to ignore the potential he had sensed in her on Vanir II, it was absolutely unbearable. The taint of the Dark Side inside her was yet but a seed. He had felt the restraints in her. She held back in a bid to control her emotions. He would teach her, in his own sadistic ways, to give into these feelings. He would free the Hunter from her shackles and see the Dark Side flourish within her. As Combat Master, he had trained many a student in chambers not unlike the one he currently stood in. There he was once again, ready to begin another’s training. But long gone was the refined, arrogant Combat Master of old. All that remained there and then was nothing but a broken shell of a man.

“Fret not, my master,” whispered the apprentice, Sariss, as she circled him, trailing one long finger along his cloak-draped shoulders. “You are stronger now than you ever were before.”

He ignored the vision and instead lectured Alara, “Let anger flow through you, young Huntress.”

The Adept was growing distracted. Alara could see this in the way he would glance to the left and then mumble under his breath to himself. Something was not quite right about him. Perhaps he was just as insane as the clans’ gossip made him out to be.

“Let anger flow through you, young Huntress,” Cyris demanded.

“Is that it? You’re trying to make me angry just to see what I can do?” the half-Sephi furrowed her brow at the man before her.

“I’m trying to help you unlock your inner self. You are powerful, but you are suppressing yourself. Your Master knows this, the Clan knows this, I know this, yet you seem to be oblivious to the fact,” Cyris scowled. In frustration, he threw his lightstaff down to the ground and pulled his bone dagger out from its sheath. Exerting his Dark Side capabilities, Cyris snatched Alara’s saber from her hand and crushed it in mid air. He lunged at the Hunter and pushed her to the floor, holding his bone dagger against her pale neck.

“Your life is at risk. Your primal instinct is kicking in. Stop me!” the madman growled. Alara eyed the bone dagger carefully, and decided to humour the Adept. She focused all of her energy into her arm muscles and shoved him away with an augmented push. Cyris staggered back a few feet, dropping his bone dagger, and shook his head in efforts to refresh himself.

“There. That’s better. You channel the Force well, young one. Keep going,” he edged her on.

“I’m not foolish. I know you can best me. There is no need to prove that you can. You want something else. What is it?” the Hunter pried her opponent.

Cyris sneered devilishly, “Your pointy ears give you credit, don’t they? You’re not all strength.”

“Go on, old man,” Alara rolled her eyes, still laying on the ground.

“I can show you the way to honoring your soul’s needs. Shadow is failing in this, and you’re failing yourself by staying with her. Allow me to unlock your full potential,” Cyris offered his hand to the young Marauder. She hesitated for a moment, skeptical of the kindness before her, but eventually took it and was lifted from the ground.

“Why do my soul’s needs matter to you? There has to be more to your story than being a savior,” she paused for a moment, and then began to laugh. “Wait a minute! I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to prove that you can do it; that you are not completely crazy, and that you can still train an apprentice. Do you really expect others to believe that?”

With those words, Cyris bounded in fury and charged at the Marauder. His roar resonated throughout the small sparring chamber. He blasted Alara with a short surge of electrical fury, then shoved her up against the chamber’s wall. The Adept held her throat telekinetically, and called his bone dagger to his hand. The dagger flew across the room rather quickly and obeyed, returning to Cyris’ commanding palm. He placed it again at an angle across the half-Sephi’s neck.

“You’re pushing your luck, girl. You’re making me change my mind...” he spat in her face, his mouth practically frothing with anger.

Despite the pain emanating in her breast, Alara couldn’t help but let a grin slide across her face, “I’m right! I’m definitely right! You’re strong in the Force, Cyris, I’ll give you that. You’re strong and you’re experienced. However, there is one thing you seem to be forgetting.”

“Go ahead, enlighten me before I lose my patience, and cause this breath to be your last,” Cyris threatened. The insanity swirling within his mind flickered within the fiery colors of his irises.

“You’re old, Cyris. You’re old and frail. You are past your prime. Whatever is left of you that we retrieved from Vanir II is slowly fading. And from the anger in your eyes I can tell it’s happening rather quickly.”

With the hard facts before him, Cyris threw his bone dagger to the ground and let out a curse from his once heavily-pursed lips. He glared furiously at Alara. With his next few words, he raised the half-Sephi in the air with the Force, squeezing her neck.

“Alara Deathbane, you’ve run out of chances. I could’ve brought you to greater power and greater connection with the Dark Side. Instead, you chose to insult me! You will rue this day, Alara; the day that you caused your doom!”

The girl began to realize how serious Cyris was about this. The terror within her mind violently pulsed louder until she let out a cry with tears streaming down her face. She knew she couldn’t persuade him to stop. No matter what she said she knew the beast wouldn’t listen. These thoughts, however, could not stop her from whispering “Stop...” with whatever breath remained in her lungs. The man’s crooked smile returned once more as he focused on squeezing out whatever life she had left. The Force obeyed Cyris’ wishes and enveloped the Hunter’s throat with further strain. Alara held her neck and let out her last gasp. Her once fiery amber-colored eyes grew dark, and were closed as her head swung low.

“CYRIS! STOP!” His hallucinatory ghost appeared again by his left side and placed her arm upon his shoulder. “Don’t kill her yet. She insulted you, but she is right. Let this be your chance. Prove to her that it is good for you to pass on your knowledge. Let her exhibit the strength you have left: the strength of your knowledge… do not kill her and embrace the animal you are becoming.” Sariss moved her hand from Cyris’ shoulder, and held his cheek gently. Tears flowed from her eyes, as she let out a breath from her half-hearted smile, “Don’t miss the chance of bringing greatness to your life. Don’t miss the chance that you missed with me.”

“Sariss…I...” Cyris became overwhelmed with a mixture of emotion. The Adept released his grip on the Hunter and allowed her limp body to drop to the ground. Alara made no sound other than her body’s impact upon the ground. The Sorcerer clenched his fists, and let out a cry of anguish. He held his skull firmly with his left hand, and fell to his knees. There he sat, and allowed the realization of his ever-changing mental state flow over him. His eyes grew damp with tears of bitterness, anger, frustration, contempt, and perhaps even slight sorrow.

“You win this time, Sariss,” Cyris bowed his head as the ghost disintegrated from its position. He glanced back at the fallen Hunter in annoyance.

“Goodbye, Alara. Perhaps next time we meet you will have obtained some enlightenment, and will be more willing to obtain knowledge from an experienced forbearer.” He pushed himself up from the ground and sheathed his dagger to his side. He called upon his telekinetic powers once again and summoned his lightstaff to his hand. With a sharpened brow, Cyris observed that the girl didn’t seem to be moving. Fortunately, he knew that she wasn’t upon hell’s gate quite yet. The sorcerer walked out of the room, his cloak flowing behind him. In a cold and unoriginated gust of wind, he disappeared into the blackness of night.

Let anger flow through you, he repeated in his mind.

He could not quite tell if she did so to satisfy him, to prove herself to him, or because she truly wanted to end him. Alara threw her blaster aside with a shriek and just charged straight for him. No feints, no ruses, she just charged. He could sense the rage in her. Fury stoked by fear, by hopeless abandon, but also by something far deeper. A hatred so entrenched that it had to stem back to her youth. Not a hatred for him, no. Whatever, whomever the underlying source was, it drove her very emotions.

Good.

The clash of blades was an explosive one. She roared and shrieked and hissed as she slammed her weapon into Oscura’s. There was no form, no grace in her attacks. The lightsaber might as well have been a sledgehammer. She might as well have been a rampaging wampa. She lunged. She tackled him. She kicked him. Anything she could do to somehow gain the upper hand against Cyris, she would do. That much was clear. But it would not be enough. He met her mid-swing with an attack of his own. He launched into the air. Contorting his body in an horizontal spin, he brought his crimson lightsaber down directly into her’s. The reverse grip, doubled with his momentum, caused his blade to slide free and graze at her shoulder with a sizzling hiss. She cried out and tumbled forward, her weapon clattering out of her grasp and across the floor. She slipped. She fell to her knees and rolled to her back. One hand went to wounded shoulder as she tried to crawl backwards on elbows and heels. Genuine fear shimmered in her watering eyes.

“Please,” she begged meekly.

He barely heard her. His ears were throbbing. It was as if a thousand incomprehensible voices were screaming at him all at once. He shambled towards her, one slow step at a time, his lightsaber low, grazing the ground and leaving a molten trail across the floor in its wake. He did not realize that he was visibly shaking as he hissed air and spit through clenched teeth. Kill her. Tear her apart. And he wanted to. She is worthless. Destroy her! In that moment, it was all that he longed to do, to tear the young Hunter limb from limb and ravel in her agonizing wail.

He growled.

“Please,” she asked again.

This only enticed him further. He threw the lightsaber aside. She looked to the weapon, then back to him. She clearly saw an opening and tried for it. She rolled towards the discarded hilt but before she could grasp it, she was yanked up by an invisible force. She gasped but nothing came out. Oscura held his one hand up, half clenched. He moved towards her slowly, his mind swarming with what he could do to her. What he might do with the petty bony knife hanging from his belt. What he could achieve through the dark power of the Force alone. The voices offered countless ways to induce pain, to quarter her, to obliterate her while maintaining her shrieking, agonizing life force. But he squeezed. Harder and harder. Alara’s skin had begun to change color. Her struggling movements were growing sluggish.

A hand settle on Cyris’ rattling arm. It was as if the storm in his mind died instantly. Silence. For a single moment—one that felt like an eternity—there was only silence.

The ghost of Sariss stepped into his line of sight and slipped her hand off free of him.

“You have use for her yet. If you kill her… you squander her potential,” she whispered and suddenly, she seemed to plead him, “Spare her!”

He so he did. He realized then that he had clenched his hand down to a fist. He could have shattered Alara’s neck. He released her. There was a thumb some ways to the side where the girl crashed to the floor. She gasped for breath; a long, drawn-out raspy drag of air.

The vision of Oscura’s past apprentice strode over to the downed Hunter. Sariss circled her at a slow, deliberate pace, studying her. She finally shrugged her shoulders and turned to face Oscura, a smile over her full lips. She said, “She fought better than I would have expected. For all her inexperience, she stood her grounds to face an Elder of the Dark Brotherhood. Many in her shoes would have fled.”

He did not respond. It did not matter to him whether Sariss spoke the truth or not. Some would have fled. Some would have fallen to their knees only to be struck down. Was it truly bravery to stand before the Black Hand tonight? He snorted. To stand before and entertain a crippled, old madman.

Breathing heavily as he recovered from his own overwhelming emotions, Oscura advanced on Alara. She saw him coming and whimpered. He stopped abruptly over her. Their gaze met and lingered for some time. In her eyes, there was pure, unabated terror. The Adept finally offered his hand. She licked her lips as she eyed it. He thought she was about to reach for it when she instead swatted it aside. To his surprise and his pleasure, she pushed herself off the ground. She moved weakly, but she moved of her own volition. Indeed, he half-expected her to attack him again. Thankfully for her own sake, she proved smarter than that.

“You have much to learn, young one,” he uttered, his voice a rumble.

She dropped to her knees, hands to the ground, “Teach me, master.”

She will be spared, he thought in answer to Sariss’ plea.

For now…