The black outline of Princep Murith Severan’s shuttle appeared over Umbara, the Princep was prepared and had been briefed on the pair of Dark Jedi who had arrived prior to his remote facility on Umbara. After the occupation of Umbara, Murith’s loyal cabal of archeologists, turned Dark Side cultists, had sealed off the compound.

As the shuttle screeched towards a landing pad outside the ancient Sith Temple, patrols of black clad Umbara soldiers, those loyal only to Murith, patrolled along its perimeter. Electrified fencing and walls enclosed the wilderness deep in the forest that contained the Academy. Murith dressed from head to toe in black, felt the rush of wind as the ramp descended and his shadowy cape flowed behind him as he disembarked.

Unlike previous occasions the Princep had no guards, his shuttle driven by a droid pilot. The Plascrete landing pad was empty, save for the dark figure of the Princep and his shuttle. He strolled leisurely towards a gathering of three individuals along the pathway. He recognised them all, beings he had served with on Ossus during that glorious and pathetic campaign. He could still remember the beautiful carnage as he tore into the Jedi ranks, he remembered each kill. What a day. While he had practiced with droids, and trainers, he had not engaged in a proper duel with a force user since that day.

“ I believe you all know why I have called you here. The Jedi are onto our operations. “

Murith said, followed by the trio of black robed individuals as he casually walked towards the Academy.

“ At the battle of Zeltros my usage of Battle Meditation proved decisive, I could use the raw power of the Dark Side to utterly crush the wills of the Alliance. Their feeble commander even attempted a futile ramming maneuver after sacrificing scores of his forces trying to destroy the second Bellator. The fools had the wrong ship. Such was their vision clouded. Yet at the height of my triumph I detected a presence I had not felt since those glory days on Ossus. The Jedi. The Alliance has deployed Jedi along with their invasion fleets. By now you have most likely heard of the death of the Lord Protector of Fondor. While I cannot be sure, the surgical nature of the strike could not have been carried out by any mere group of rebels like the Rae Coalition. There are powerful forces at play, arrayed against us. I do not intend to allow the Alliance to simply dispatch a strike force of their Jedi masters to kill me like some wild animal. I will not perish like a dog. I have set the wheels in motion to prepare myself for the inevitable arrival of Jedi interlopers. That is why I have brought you three here to Umbara. I have been slowly and meticulously gathering the best candidates possible for training my own army of Force Users. An army trained in the most powerful uses of the Dark Side. We will finally utilise our superiority to utterly dominate the mundane lifeforms. I ask you to join me, my Empire will make you part of the new ruling class of a New Order. Power, Wealth, Influence, whatever you desire, it awaits if you join me. “

Murith outstretched his hand. But he felt something was wrong. He felt something, the presence of the Light Side. He was too blinded by his enthusiasm at the construction of a new Sith Order to notice it.

One man, a Twi'Lek, stepped out of the group and ignited a blue Lightsaber. He addressed Murith, his voice full of disdain and anger.

“ I followed Maskar and the Enlightenment to oppose the tyranny of the Jedi, to spread knowledge, truth and understanding. Now I see it was people like your Master, like Grall, who corrupted our movement, who planted this seed of Darkness. I will not allow you to establish a new Tyranny more all encompassing and evil than any the Jedi has ever wrought.”

As he pointed his lightsaber at the Princep, something in Murith snapped. Murith said nothing, letting violence and tension hang in the air as he stared at the Enlightenment loyalist. He noticed the other two drawing their blades pointing them at him. It appeared this one was the ringleader, but the others followed his lead. Although their sabers were red, perhaps indicating they coveted, more than they sought righteous retribution.

In one movement Murith leapt through the air dodging the swing of the Twi’Lek while splitting his saber in two and igniting one in each hand. Murith never believed in defensive fighting, and this fight would only be won by absolute offensive action. He struck at the two in the front knocking them backwards, then followed up his strike by parrying a blow from the third. He then attacked the third as the other two tried to regain their footing. Murith’s eyes were now glowing the sickly colours of Dark Side corruption. He channelled his anger into each swing each attack, as he forced them to retreat, to regroup, never allowing the three of them to link up and overwhelm him. Perhaps this was a metaphor for how he must parry and knock off balance his multitude of enemies, divide them in order to conquer.

Yet still they persisted, increasingly desperate the combat became, kicks and blunt force saber hilt hits being exchanged. Murith felt these but he, so consumed was he by the raw viciousness, the primeval nature of this intimate duel to the death, he cared not for any minor wounds. In this conflict either he would prevail, or he would die, there was no need to think about anything else.

He focused on the weakest, pressing the attack, continuously advancing, wave after wave of blows forcing the third amongst them to retreat, till he hit an obstacle and stumbled. This small opening in his defences was all Murith needed, he pressed home and cut off the man’s hands. One down. Two to go the Princep thought as the man entered shock on the ground.

Murith now diverted all his attention to the pair, attacking the Twi’Lek with the most violent of his blows. He parried and they parried and the fight dragged on this way for minutes. Attack and counterattack. Tedious. Murith decided to play dirty, he clicked his heels and a vibroblade appeared from the front of his boot. His opponents so focused on his whirlwind of sabers, paid it no heed. The first and final mistake. Murith locked them both in a deadly push of blades, each side trying to overcome the strength of the other as the blades clashed. While each side poured all their effort into this clash, Murith struck. He swung up his left foot and stabbed the second in the abdomen. The being staggered back, bleeding profusely and Murith then kicked his other opponent and force pushed the bleeding entity into a rock, rendering him incapacitated.

The foolish Jedi wannabe had now realised his mistake. Murith, given completely over to hatred, to bloodlust, to his raw and base emotions, was far more powerful. The Enlightenment loyalist thought as he was driven back, and back, maybe he had made a mistake. It was too late to consider such things, however.

Murith broke his guard and stabbed him through the torso. He crumpled to the ground and Murith stood atop his now broken body and gloated.

“ I want you to know “ His face a mixture of contempt and glee at the violence, his foot resting on his ribcage, still dripping blood. “ This does not end here. You will not be the last to try and kill me, but this is the beginning of the end. Soon your demise will mirror those of every Jedi. Unlike Palpatine I will utterly snuff out the Order and I will extinguish its corruption forever from this galaxy. Be thankful you will not live to see my ascension to total dominion of all known space. “ As Murith gloated he stared up into the sky, his eyes manic and obsessed, distracted with his sheer feeling of triumph at having once again bested his opponents. The crumbled form of the turncoat shifted and with all the strength he could muster thrust at the Sith. Murith felt the sharp burning pain enter his torso, he instantly realised his error and cried out, more in anger then pain, so consumed by burning rage was he. He kicked the broken Twi’Lek in the ribs with his Vibroknife spiked boot then pulled it out of the wound and repeated, over and over until he and then ground were coated in blood and all movement had ceased. It was then the Princep, his immediate anger and danger leaving him, collapsed onto the ground, covered in viscera and blood, but smiling.

Another glorious bloody victory to his name, another trophy. He passed into unconsciousness as a team of medics rushed to his side and opened up a telescopic hover stretcher.