Purple lightning surged forth from the Emperor's hands, a cascade of power seeking to shatter the Jedi's indomitable will. In all things, the Emperor sought subjugation. Another puppet on a string. A visage to splinter and reshape to his image, his agenda. Scourge's gaze did not falter, watching dispassionately as bolts danced across the Jedi's lithe form. The Emperor was meticulous, methodical. This was not his first victim or his last, but one of the few who had the subconscious resilience to withstand such a mental assault. To bend but not break.

Scourge knew this Jedi; their paths had intersected before. On Quesh. Now here, in the dark heart of the Emperor's Fortress. An infinite galaxy filled with infinite possibilities, yet their destinies had crossed more than once. And even then, it went deeper. This was the Jedi from his vision. Or at the very least, remarkably similar. A creeping sense of something akin to doubt stirred in the recesses of his mind. A prophecy three hundred years in the making. The Jedi was the one foretold to slay the Emperor. She had to be. Scourge had been certain of this. Yet that certainty eroded away with every electric bolt lashed. Every scream torn from her lips. Her body was strong - she endured the assault, her will unbending. Yet Scourge recognized the subtle shifts in the Emperor's tactics. Physical torment would bring most to their knees. But the Emperor refined his approach, probing the Jedi's mind, her soul, seeking a different weakness.

Scourge watched silently as the lightning finally ceased. Thoughts of ifs, whos, and whys snuffed out. Perhaps destiny. Perhaps coincidence. Scourge cared little for mysticism or philosophy at the moment. Logic and reason were his guides, cold and hard. Emperor Vitiate lowered his hands, a subtle furrow creasing his brow. Scourge waited expectantly, aware of the Emperor's prying eyes. Searching. Reading the Sith like an open book.

"She endures," Scourge said.

"For now," came the Emperor's intruding response. Scourge did not flinch. The Emperor's intrusions were expected. Intended.

"Her pain amuses me. For the moment. Yet I tire of these games," the Emperor continued, flicking his wrist in dismissal.

Scourge did not wait to receive further acknowledgment; he knew his role. He strode forward, halting beside the Jedi's limp form. Her red skin charred, welts seared into flesh. She was barely awake. Conscious. But Scourge knew she would offer no struggle. She had none left to give. Scourge stooped, lifting her weakened body with ease. She slumped against him, head lulled to his shoulder, her shallow breathing a labored rasp against his armor. Scourge paid her no heed. No acknowledgment. This was his role. Nothing more.

Scourge carried the Jedi toward the kolto tanks reserved specifically for Vitiate's pets. The Emperor cared little for healing them fully - enough to keep them alive, functioning to a point until they could be repurposed. Scourge understood this tactic well, hastening back to his days spent in the torture chambers. It was his specialty, as was his master's. Pain, the Emperor's favored tool, one of many at his disposal. Yet even one could grow used to pain until even the very sensations of life grew dull. A sentiment Scourge understood very well. The Emperor, too, was privy to this familiarity. He treated each victim like his own pupil, taking the time to instruct and train, in his own twisted way. To master an art. To give his victim an understanding of their place. If they did not die to fuel his power, then they learned how to endure and persevere. If only to better serve him when the time came. Scourge placed the Jedi within the kolto tank carefully. She did not stir. Without his assistance, she was sealed within, encapsulated within the murky green waters that would aid her recovery. Then her light amber eyes opened, searching his face. Scourge did not falter. He could not help her. Not now. Even so, Scourge wanted her to have something. An assurance that even this was part of his grand design. The Jedi stared at him, her presence in the Force muted for the moment.

Silent. Gleaming eyes reflecting him, speaking something he did not understand. Comfort? Trust? Or even just an image for her comfort. A face that she could anchor upon, if only as a crutch. Another force of habit that would see her through the harrowing times ahead. Scourge supposed there was wisdom in the notion. Cling to what gave hope, even in its faintest guises. Had the Force granted her an incentive notion to trust in him? To recognize him as a means of salvation, as his prophecy foretold. Or was it simply her feeble attempt to seek an oasis amidst the desert that was her life now, to somehow find the slightest glimmer of reassurance? Or perhaps she is simply recognizing that she is alive, and therefore she must find some measure of hope in that fact?

Scourge knew well how powerful a weapon the mind could become when faced with agonizing despair and prolonged suffering. Hope was a vicious creature. It was a cunning trait that could lead to the deepest pits of desire, to inflict agony on an untold scale. Desperation drove others to extremes. Even the darkest of Sith could not ignore the power of hope. Scourge clenched his jaw. Not the time or place. So instead he remained silent, his words gone unsaid. His message known only to him. The Jedi watched him as her eyes drew closed. She seemed to acknowledge it or could do so only on a baser conscious level. A muted connection formed in the Force. Something just beyond Scourge's own comprehension. Either way, Scourge turned away. He had done his part. His Jedi needed rest.

---

Vitiate was gone. He had already departed. Gone to no doubt meddle in other matters. Scourge would leave her as well. Yet he would come again. Eventually, for the inevitable would come. Time would prove otherwise, but all he needed was to trust. Trust in his vision. Time was a seemingly meaningless interval while in the Emperor's fortress. Once it had proven a burden, an enemy. Too swift, too long. Hours had felt like years in a cell; an endless test. Days creeping like molasses. An enemy turned to an idle observer of the affairs of mortals. It was an ambiguous concept at best. His only perception came through in the progress he observed in the Jedi before him.

Wounds regenerated, skin knitted back together. Flesh and bone grew anew. Scourge studied her progress through the green waters of the kolto tank. Subtle changes occurred each day, with incremental and steady steps toward recovery. When she succumbed to the final phase of the Emperor's tortures, she sought shelter within the sanctity of her own mind, at least while awake. Scourge returned in the hours of twilight and realized this with a careful probing in the Force. She had no control in slumber.

Scourge recognized a festering despair radiating from her, with nightmarish images he was far too familiar with. He did not allow himself to witness her dreams, regardless of his morbid curiosity, but instead, he sensed her torment, fear, fury, and hatred. Their combined influences in the Force manifested visceral horrors behind her closed eyes. Her subconscious was at the whim of a maelstrom, raging uncontrollably and mirroring her pain. It was no better in the waking hours as the malignant forces of the dark side nipped at her heels like blood-starved hounds, eager to snuff out any recollection of the light side.

So he watched, his gaze always upon her, his looming presence a reassurance as well. She acknowledged him then, numb and distant, seeking a beacon in the shadows that was the Sith Lord, always there to lead her onwards to her next training session, her next instruction, her next step in her personal "evolution." It was a ritual that never changed, a circuit of her life spinning in a vortex, her will recoiling as everything she held sacred was stripped away. Scourge feigned ignorance, replying in cold, curt replies. Any indication of his role was a revelation that could spell her end. Despite the reservations he bore as her unwelcome protector, he reasoned that it was better this way. Still, something prompted her, urged her onward.

Scourge thought on the concept, taking the time to ponder and evaluate his own mind. What was it? Was it his obligation to carry her to her future of impending death? Duty to another he had served? Or was it merely in the name of his own survival? He dwelled long and hard on the implications, delving into the matter as the days dragged on. Questions sought answers that evaded him, forcing him to search deeper, only to reach dead ends. Revelations aside, no answer was forthcoming.

In the moments when he was not shadowing his Jedi or performing tasks set upon him by Vitiate, he checked on the Jedi's crew. They were proving resilient in their own way, trapped as they were. It was a diversion from his contemplations, to occupy himself in matters beyond watching progress. The Chagrian stood resolute with a scowl, the doctor miserable in the corner of his cage, and the astromech droid dysfunctional for the time being. And from what he had overheard from discussions between the advisors that oversaw their dark training, the Padawan had been proving difficult as of late. Perhaps change was among them after all. Were the chains of his Lord Emperor slipping away?

Some days later, Scourge observed the spectacle for himself, the final push she had within her. He and his Jedi had come to the center of the fortress, where it all began for her. He gestured to the war droids with the slightest incline of his hand. At his silent command, the silver and black hulks started forward, unleashing a barrage of stun bolts at the woman. At the last second, the Jedi's lightsaber sprung to life, sending up a spray of sparks in her wake. An arc of purple, the hum of her blade ringing clear, and three metallic sentinels parted asunder. It was magnificent. She leapt into the battle in turn, flinging herself forward, stroke after stroke, relentless in her onslaught. And then she was done, disengaging her saber with a simple flourish and returning it to her hip. She bowed lightly and stood there, awaiting his order.

Submissive, she was a complete rejection of herself and all she stood for, like every time before, he assumed he would dismiss her with a silent glance that would send her back to her meditations. Their meetings were routine and orderly despite the connection. But then his focus shifted to something she did. The dullness of her eyes flickered, shifting to hold a fraction of clarity. She stared past him, her head shaking. Tiny movements, subtle, and one sign she showed, outwardly at least, of her will. A hint of fire, not in words, but in her actions. This was different, she had resisted more than what he had expected. On the edges of his vision, an anomaly danced, a haze, darkening at first and then flashing with the brilliance of the light side. It held the silhouette of a man, aged with weathered fissures in his face. He nodded.

"Master Orgus," his Jedi spoke.

Scourge raised an eyebrow at the declaration. The notion that the Jedi Knight's Master had sought an audience at such a place as this, at a time like this, gave him pause. Was it mere coincidence, or did the Force allow the apparition's intervention? Then, without warning, the apparition disappeared, and the Jedi before him collapsed into an unconscious heap on the floor, a frail shell once again, nothing more than what the Emperor had created. He stood over her, silent, pondering what he had seen. Then he took hold of her body and placed her within the chambers she had called her quarters over the duration of her stay.

Change was upon them. For the one he would mentor and instruct would escape soon. There was no uncertainty anymore. This fact was only confirmed later in the following week when he received a message of his own from the apparition, voicing a simple line that spurred him to action.

He would serve her. He would assist her. He would walk along the path to his destiny and do what should have been done long ago.

---

In the dimly lit corridors of polished obsidian and scarlet hued sconces a figure stalked. Elongated shadows chased along his silouette, stretching out like the very echoes of time itself. The air hung heavy with the weight of the darkside, each step resonating through the silence as if adding another layer to the countless footfalls that had preceded beforehand. For three centuries, the halls of this fortress had been traversed by a shell, the ghost of a man locked in a cycle of monotony. But today, a palpable shift was in the air, an atmosphere electric with the promise of change, as charged as the storms that ravaged the Sith homeworld of Dromund Kaas.

Today was the day. He would make his move. Lord Scourge, however, did not hurry. To rush would be indicative of anticipation, an emotion that had long since been purged from his being. Instead, he stalked, his measured gait predatorial, not hurried, but purposeful.

Amongst the recesses of his mind, the raspy voice of Orgus Din echoed: "It is time." Scourge had dedicated three centuries to what appeared to be a futile mission: betraying the Sith Emperor and realizing a vision that held not only the destiny of the galaxy but also the tantalizing prospect of breaking free from the eternal torment of immortality. It was a fate he had embraced on the eve of a fateful vision, a series of sacrifices made in a desperate bid for self-preservation. These were necessary sacrifices, ones that shattered the bonds of cautious trust, severing the very essence of an unlikely alliance formed with Meetra Surik and Revan, two individuals brought together for the sole purpose of confronting the Sith Emperor. Yet, for Scourge, his motivations ran deeper, veiled in shadows darker than the Force itself.

In the process, he had severed the ties of trust and life, his crimson saber cauterizing the wound it inflicted upon Meetra, rendering her one with the Force. A fatal blow that marked the beginning of a long journey.

As if summoned, two imperial guards clad in ornamental red armor appeared around the corner, marching in perfect unison. Each fell into a crisp salute as he swept passed, wordlessly falling into his shadow, cape billowing out from behind his massive frame. Their synchronized footsteps echoed down the hallway and into the docking bay beyond. The doors opening with swift efficiency as they were greeted by the haggard sight of the prisoners who had been confined in cages.

Upon their arrival, Scourge came to an abrupt halt. With a simple flick of his hand, he dismissed the guards, his deep voice resonating through the silence as he commanded, "Leave us."

Without so much as a nod, the guards obeyed, pivoting in place before disappearing back into the corridor. His business was not theirs to know, not even the Emperor, who would come to eventually learn of his machinations too late.

He turned, his sharp gaze carefully assessing each captive. His scrutiny paused, lingering for a fleeting moment upon the whole crew of the Jedi Knight. The rest of the prisoners were comprised of what he considered little more than fodder—a doctor, a Chagrian, and an astromech droid. They were inconsequential.

However, there had been another prisoner, the Padawan, who had remarkably shattered the Emperor's chains upon her mind not long before her own master. She was conspicuously absent from her designated cell. Scourge reached out through the Force, seeking her presence. His senses revealed her confined in an arrangement he was well too familiar with- a torturer's slab. She was not alone. Accompanied by a lesser and the Jedi. His Jedi.

In the grand scheme of things, the extra who had broken free of his master's influence was neither here nor there. They would be freed. By him or the Jedi.

Scourge's gloved hand tightened over the hilt of his saber with the same mechanical precision that defined every facet of his existence. Something shifted, though it manifested not in sentiment but in a subtle, almost imperceptible change in his unyielding determination. With a hiss that cut through the silence like a serpent's kiss, a crimson blade ignited, casting the cages and walls in a sinister light. The glare bounced off the mirror like surfaces, creating an eerie resemblance to splattered blood, a sinister proclamation of the slaughter to come.

He moved purposefully toward the first cage, the crimson tip of his saber angled downward, its searing heat making contact with the durasteel bars. The resulting ear-splitting hiss echoed through the chamber. The imprisoned doctor inside shouted something in desperation, but he paid it no mind. He executed a swift slash, the bars crumpled and fell away, rendering the enclosure obsolete.

Turning his attention to the second cage, which contained the chagrian, he applied the same precision. The chagrian met his circumstances with hardened resolve, a bitter scowl etched on his face. The human looked over to his companion. No words passed between them—only a pair of bewildered glances when Scourge walked away.

As the dust settled, only the astromech droid remained. Scourge, his hand outstretched, drew upon the dark side, channeling his power to crush the restraints that had held the droid captive. The droid's metallic frame quivered with relief and vitality as a series of appreciative beeps emanated from it as Scourge disengaged his saber and placed it back on his hip. With newfound freedom, the droid wheeled its way toward the others, joining them on their path to escape.

Scourge pivoted on his heel, turning to the remaining occupants of the room. Lessers watching the scene unfold with varying degrees of concern. Their fear prickled Scourge's senses, the sensation akin to an errant insect. Irritating. Scourge extended his hand once more, exerting a fraction of his will. Like an insect, they would die. A plot three centuries in the making would not be compromised by errant filth and stray blaster fire. Scourge needed no witnesses, no loose threads.

As their fear continued to escalate, it manifested in misplaced bursts of gunfire and frenzied, albeit futile, attempts at organizing themselves. Scourge's hand clenched, and with it, a series of sickening cracks reverberated throughout the chamber. Scourge released his hold, bodies collapsing to the ground in a grotesque heap by the docking bay doors, their weapons clattering to the floor in an unsightly pile. It had been a quick and efficient display of the Force choke. Scourge did not savor it. Nor revel in the violence. It was necessary. A means to an end.

They were coming. His Jedi was coming.

Scourge did not await their arrival idly. He strode back toward the cages, snuffing out the last flames of any remaining lessers in the room with the flick of his spared not a glance for the lifeless forms strewn across the floor, nor did he acknowledge the Jedi crew's frantic scrambling. Especially the human male that attempted to stabilize one of his casualties. The last vestiges of life slipping through her semi-crushed wind pipe. Instead, his attention honed as he sensed their arrival, his deep connection to the Force enabling him to detect their gradual approach, their presence like ripples in a pond of energy.

The Jedi Knight and her companion.

The first emanated an aura touched by darkness—the unmistakable signature of a Sith. It sent shivers down his spine, for it was a touch of darkness he recognized all too well. His Jedi.

The second presence was weaker in the Force, a youngling by comparison. However, there was a spark about her, a tenacity that could prove troublesome. Scourge's curiosity piqued.

Around the corner, they appeared side by side. Their footsteps were guarded, a subconscious hesitation in their physical gait that was mirrored in their Force presence. Scourge stood statuesque, his face revealing nothing. The human companion held no weapon. Her hands outstretched in a defensive stance, her aura was wary, a quiet vigilance at the ready. His Jedi had her saber drawn, her face drawn in a snarl. Her expression alight with a mixture of anger and suspicion. Scourge met her gaze, her fresh visage burned in his memory since Quesh, now tainted with a potent rage leashed by Jedi philosophy. What a shame. Scourge allowed himself the briefest indulgence to lament her current disposition. The Jedi Knight would have proven a formidable Sith. A worthy rival.

"Step away from my ship and my crew. We're leaving," she commanded, her voice carrying an edge of authority.

Scourge chose to disregard her demand, maintaining his stoic demeanor. His intense gaze remained unwavering as he ignited his crimson lightsaber. He extended it towards her, a symbol of defiance. Their eyes locked in a silent standoff, and she continued to approach him, her own lightsaber held firmly in her grip, exuding an unwavering urge to confront the Sith Lord who stood before her. The audacity.

"If I wished to fight, I would not have freed your crew or killed these guards," Scourge retorted, his voice calm and measured, a stark contrast to the Jedi's hostile tone. He maintained his saber's position between them, not as a direct threat but as a clear deterrent, a silent message to dissuade her from impulsively engaging in combat.

The tense atmosphere was disrupted by the astromech droid that had been hanging back in the shadows. Scourge recalled its name—T7—and watched as it rolled forward, emitting a series of electronic chirps, "Sith = telling truth / / Sith = freed us + secured hangar". Her expression faltered, briefly shifting to acknowledge the astromech's words.

A moment's hesitation from the Jedi served as confirmation enough for Scourge to deactivate his lightsaber and return it to his hip. It was a gesture intended to convey goodwill, but not an invitation for unwarranted trust. "More guards will come. Shall we go before they arrive?"

His Jedi still hesitated, her lightsaber held at the ready, her contemplative gaze scanning the chamber as she weighed her options. Scourge observed her shift her stance, taking a cautious step forward. "Where are the other Jedi I came with? Free them, and I'll consider it."

"If they were here, I would have liberated them as well," Scourge replied. He adjusted his stance, a slow and deliberate approach, not as a menacing advance, but rather an attempt to bridge the gap between them. "I could've killed you on Quesh, had I wanted. Did you never wonder why I hesitated?"

His response seemed to elicit a reaction of doubt. Yet she had no time to respond as his red eyes bore into her own. Despite the gray of the world, the orange of them was etched into memory, as fiery as the volcanic fields of Mustafar. "I have waited over three hundred years to see the face that came to me in a vision. Your face."

All emotion drained from her face—confusion, recognition, doubt—replaced by incredulousness. Finally, something clicked, and her saber deactivated with a mechanical hiss. She hung back a moment, folding her arms over her chest, measured him, lingering as she struggled with the revelation.

"Why didn't you help me before? If you saw the vision," she challenged. An accusation. "You could have told me on Quesh- or in your masters fortress!"

Scourge shook his head. "It was vital that you help yourself first," he replied. Her brow knitted, clearly annoyed with his opaque answer. Before she could object, Scourge continued, "Had I intervened, you might never have escaped the Emperor. But today, you will. I needed to make sure the time had a few beings have ever broken the Emperor's domination. You and that girl are special."

"Kira and I have the power to destroy your master." Her confidence was so assured but Scourge knew well that they were not potent enough in their power to destroy Vitiate. He would not have efforts wasted by over eager Jedi.

"Not yet. Not without my help." Scourge had expected this to be an uphill battle, yet he had no alternatives to offer, nor indeed the time to cultivate a sufficient one. "Though the Emperor seeks to conceal his true plans, I have seen them. That vision has driven me to this..."

Then he fell to one knee, head lowered in the ultimate form of subjugation. It was an act of complete necessity, of absolute capitulation, a gesture he had not made in centuries. Not since he knelt before the Emperor and became his Wrath. He required the Jedi Knight to recognize what he sacrificed today, what could cost him more than everything. Even the galaxy. A heavy moment hung in the air as she stared, disbelieving. Had Scourge had any inclination to the slightest hint of sentiment, he might have grinned. Or grimaced.

He offered himself as the hand who would serve. No longer the Emperor's Wrath. A servant pledging his undying loyalty and unflinching resolve to his Jedi. A bond sealed not in blood, but in an oath. There was no doubt. His choice was unwavering. The future, which hinged upon the Jedi Knight's actions, had been cemented. Their course weaved into the very tapestry of the Force. Whether their fate would be salvation or ruin, neither knew.

"I pledge my loyalty to you. Take me to your Jedi Council on Tython, and I'll reveal why."

His proposal was met with pause, a front hiding the skepticism. She looked away, deep in thought.

"We're not actually considering this? I mean, he's obviously full of awful." Came an objection from Doc.

Kira scoffed beside him, "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm with Doc. This is a trap."

Her gaze snapped back to his own, the faintest hint of resignation as the silence beckoned. His Jedi. How curious. Perhaps she saw past the veil of his stoic mask, heard the desperate truth spoken in a subtext of deceit. Or perhaps not. She furrowed her brow, her fingers tightening into a fist. A quickening pulse that signaled an involuntary response in a fight or flight scenario. Scourge would have sighed, if he so inclined. For one accustomed to manipulating the Force, she was being rather transparent.

"I seek to save this galaxy from annihilation. Without my help, your ship will never escape. I can guide you to freedom."

Her eyes drifted briefly to her crew, assessing, then flicked back to meet his again. He tilted his chin, wordlessly awaiting her answer as he rose from his kneeling position. "I believe him," she said finally, "An old friend told me I'd find a dark ally here. He meant you, didn't he?"

If Scourge were capable of amusement, he would have smiled, but of course he did no such thing. Instead, he nodded, "I will always be Sith- but that does not mean we can't work together."

His response seemed to appease her for the most part. She peered over his shoulder toward the hangar entrance, aware of the time their exchange had consumed. With the absence of reinforcements, it wouldn't be long before someone eventually took notice of their commotion.

"Time is a luxury we no longer possess. We must go- now. I will navigate us through the defense grid."

Scourge received no verbal answer, only an affirmative nod from his Jedi, and he immediately headed to the turbolift, toward her light corvette. She followed close behind, the pair maneuvering around her crew who had been understandably reluctant to voice their opinions further. Nonetheless, they had to leave- there was no other alternative.

From this moment, the die was cast.