His Greatest Creation

[Darth Malice]

Wayland - Several months ago

The durasteel door of a spaarti cylindar popped open, a shrill hiss heralding the completion of its occupant. Sitting across from the pod, the Jedi Master's eyes opened as well, staring at the billowing chemical vapor with a gleeful expression.

The aging Jedi rose, wading into the cloud of gases still escaping from the open tube. With a wave of his hand, the haze began to clear even faster, and he grabbed the door handle with the other. His wide-eyed stare now raced between giddy anticipation, worry, and elation.

He caught his breath as he took his first look at what he had wrought. It had taken him years to find the very special genetic sample hidden in the labyrinth of data and treasures of Mount Tantiss. From that sample, he forged the sandy-haired human now slowly crawling toward self-awareness. A silly part of his psyche berated him for playing God like that. But it mattered not, for he was a god.

The newborn's blue eyes fluttered open. As a child who had napped for too long, his expression turned to confusion as he sought his bearings. The two men stared at each other for quite some time. "Who are you?" he asked at length.

"Who are you," the old man gasped, stifling a giggle. "Who am I? Of course. I am Joruus C'Boath, my young apprentice. And you ... you are my greatest creation."

The young man considered that a moment. He knew he was 21. But this old man created him? That did not jibe with his memories at all. But come to think of it, his memories were a bit fuzzy at the moment. "Then who am I?" was the next logical question.

"There is only one name fit for you, my apprentice. Malice. And when I have completed your training, you will have earned the right to be called Darth Malice."

The man now known as Malice looked into the other man's eyes with a new spark. Yes. Completing his training. Now that made more sense. But something was still not right.

"You say you created me ... but you are not my father. I know that."

C'Boath reached a hand in and caressed the man's face, as if coddling a newborn. His dancing eyes were now definitely filled with unmistakable pride. "Rather insightful of you young man. No I am not."

"Then--"

"Shh. No more questions." C'Boath took Malice's arm and helped him to his feet. As an afterthought he reached for a robe he had set next to the spaarti cylindar.

The crinkled white edges of C'Boath's beard turned up as he grinned excitedly. He took a deep breath and said, "Let me tell you a story of deception, murder, and betrayal."

[Darth Malice]

Malice stooped over the workbench, completing the final adjustment to his work. With a smirk growing across his boyish face, he lifted the black cylindar and closed a panel along the bottom.

He stood hesitantly, a hint of apprehension taking hold of him for just a moment. But this was what he was meant to do. He couldn't have possibly made a mistake. Not on this.

Malice considered the black and silver rod in his gloved hand, took a deep breath, and hit the switch. With an angry snap-hiss, the room was lit by a brilliant beam of red. He thumbed a dial. The slender, 133 centimeter length of cohesive energy suddenly grew to 3 meters.

It was complete. A perfect replica of his father's lightsabre. In time, the next step in his ascension would begin.

[Darth Malice]

Joruus C'Baoth leaned forward on his throne, studying the hologram before him. The image of the Star Destroyer that hung suspended before him was of such massive proportions that he wondered if something was wrong with the sensors. For the first time in his life, the Jedi Master was worried.

His training of young Malice had barely begun, and now a tryrant claiming to be leader of the Empire was about to invade his sanctuary. But on reading his mind, he knew full well that this fool could never have known about this complex. Even upon entering his chaotic, delusion-ridden mind, how he found Wayland at all was still unclear. Unless it was pure random chance... But this isn't supposed to happen. He wasn't the one!

C'Baoth shot out of his throne and marched purposfully down the corridors of the massive mountain citadel. How was this possible!? Joruus gritted his teeth and composed himself. No matter how this frightening turn of fate came to pass, it did not change the reality he now faced. A madman with far more ships than he could hope to defeat was about to take away all he had accomplished here.

[Darth Malice]

Several sections away, the clone called Malice turned away from his studies. He rose to greet his master well before he entered the room. "What is it?" he asked in a cautious tone. Malice had never seen the old man like this.

C'Baoth opened a case and started packing datapads and texts from the shelves. "A warlord seeking to claim the legacy of the Empire for his own hangs in orbit. But ... he's not the one! He's not the one of the glowing eyes I saw in my vision."

The mad Jedi continued rambling, 'Not the one,' until Malice cut him off. "I don't know who you're talking about. But who is here?"

Joruus looked up, confused. His exrepssion contorted, as if uttering the name tasted like rancid vinegar. "Goo ... gooey. No matter. He must have known I was here for him to bring so many ships, enough to block out the sun."

Malice ignored the ranting that continued. "Master. If I am who you say I am, then whoever these usurpers are cannot be allowed to know of my existance."

C'Boath turned toward him wildly, grabbing him by the shoulder. "Exactly!" he cried. Just as suddenly he let go and started toward the door. "Which is why we must hur--"

The strike came so suddenly that he didn't even hear the ignition of the lightsabre. The mad Jedi looked down in utter shock at the shaft of red light sticking out of his chest.

He slumped to his knees, causing more ribs to sever and the gaping hole in his lung to widen. Joruus C'Baoth's eyes grew from shock to rage. They then melted from anger to approval.

Malice extinguished the lightsabre. With that support removed, the old man's body slumped to the ground, a smile immortalized on his corpse.

[Darth Malice]

Malice looked around quickly, then continued packing what his master had started. He placed several texts, datapads, and datacards containing terrabytes of Sith knowledge into the carrying case. On top of that, he gently placed The Book of Hate.

With a quick brush to wipe off some dust from the sacred book, he snapped the case closed and hurried off toward the hangar. Soon he walked among rows of TIE fighters, gunboats, shuttles, and light cruisers. Quickly surveying what was at his disposal, he beelined for the pilot's locker room.

After a few minutes he exited, wearing a black flightsuit and helmet. All I've ever needed was a starfighter, he thought to himself. No reason to change that now. I'll have to modify the transponder, though. He climbed up into one of the TIE/Ad fighters Palpatine had planned as the next generation during the war, tossing his case into the small rear cargo bin.

Five minutes later he was airborne. Noting a line of pursuit ships coming over the horizon behind him, he punched the drives and rocketed toward escape velocity.

As he broke through the atmosphere on the far side of the planet as the approaching Star Destroyers, the young man called Malice considered his options. One thing was clear. He needed to complete his training. Remnants of the Empire -- the real Empire -- were still out there, scattered across the galaxy. But he could never hope to lead them without strength.

He called up a file from his onboard computer and plotted a course. The Sith ... Empire. Has a certain ironic ring to it. Once the navcomp completed the calculations, Darth Malice disappeared into hyperspace.