Vader Unleashed 005

Deep within the tallest mountain, upon the lowest dungeon, an ancient being made her nest. From this vantage point, ash fell around her like snow across the black expanse of the Mustafarian wastes. What once was a mighty castle now served as an edifice marking a grand defeat. Mustafar had been on the verge of matching the Sith or Je'daii of old, yet had made enemies of both, and suffered for it. Within the underground darkness, inside the ruins of this blighted fortress, lit only by faint glows from cracked stone veins and dim Force-forged braziers, the Witch-Queen stood alone in her throne chamber.

Her robes hung to her weathered-sand paper like skin-like tattered shadows. Her crown, a rusted lattice of fused bone, metal, and obsidian, tilted slightly forward as she lowered herself to sit-not on a throne of gold or stone, but on a sloped, half-melted slab of volcanic glass. The slab pulsed as she lay herself on it. Countless ancient runes marked this relic, and it once thrummed with unmatched power. Now, upon greeting this fallen monarch, the slab only lit up with a rune or two. The rest of the words of power had long faded to obscurity, lost in the annals of time. What once had been her greatest weapon, her testament to the Great Dark, and key to immortality, had now become her most burdensome shackle. 

Staring blankly in a certain direction, she traced her fingers idly over an inert rune as she muttered to herself. “He comes wielding their power… but not their grief. His hatred is like a simmering pool of magma, yet his control is much grander. Perhaps he is the one who will set me…”

Her voice grew softer in tone, no longer was it as dominant or verbose as when she had confronted the metal man. Now? Now her voice carries with it the weight, and weariness of eons. Her hand hovers above a fragmented stone mask, its design eerily similar to that of the hateful child's. Partially buried in black sand at her feet, she brushed it off slowly, reverently. Holding the broken mask in her hands, old memories came to the fore. 

“They called me Kavatha Vol… before the fires claimed this wretched world. Before the Sith and the Je'daii took it from me." Kavatha said to herself in melancholy. 

Lifting the mask, she held it close to her face, but it was too big to fit on her head. Cracked obsidian, inscribed with glyphs that no longer had meaning in modern tongues spurted to life. What was dead had returned. It was impossible, yet her own two eyes told it to be truth. The armor that had been crafted by her Lord had come back to life. 

Painful memories made her hiss, and toss the broken mask to the black sand once more. It was as if the stone were a hot coal, and had burnt her hand. 

“We did not worship the Force. We bargained with it. It was a tide. A beast to be fed, not followed. Mechu-deru was not a tool… it was the sacrament of our pact. He paid the ultimate price, while I gained eternal life. Only for our ancient enemies to invade as soon as my betrayal had reached culmination." Kavatha stared emptily at the mask, as regret suffused her veins. An image of a dark cloaked, strong man came to mind, superimposed over the image of her leader, causing her to frown. 

As she recalled this mighty man, ghostly images of: armored warriors bowing before metal-clad idols, great engines powered by ritual sacrifice, and skies darkened by machines that bled smoke & song, the potency of their army had been legendary! 

“Then the first Sith came here seeking weapons. They found me. I gave them power, and they gave me war."

The memories flickered to scenes of battle, Force imbued weapons clashing with ancient, scythe-like blades; the screams of innocents echoed endlessly across the planet. The great volcanoes, and dark places that once were sacred, and rare, erupted across the entire world as Mustafar bled. Lava swallowed entire cities, bringing endless suffering, and woe as the Great Dark enveloped her universe. Then… the darkening happened. Clouds of ash relentlessly covered the sky, preventing any hope of agriculture. The plants were choked of life, and with them, the people, her subjects, nearly lost it all. 

For a hundred years, silence reigned supreme. 

“And when the Je'daii came, furious at the weapons & knowledge that the Sith had plundered from her world, they buried me alive in stone and fire. The agony, the suffering...I almost forgot who I was."

Her eyes closed as she tried to shoo these thoughts away, to some dusty corner, yet the fragmented mask's glow seemed to pierce her eyelids, and she couldn't help but shudder. 

For a moment, she seemed frail. All her schemes, all her rituals, they seemed to hold no substance in the face of the combined terror that were the Sith, and the Je'daii. 

Then, the weakness faded away, the air tightened around her, and using the focus that was her throne, Kavatha Vol forcibly buried the mask, and the heat of passion once more entered her veins. Her eyes snapped open, two orbs of literal fire formed in her eye sockets. Spilling some of her blood on a dimly lit rune, it flickered, then came to life. 

“But so what if they were Je'daii or Sith? I remember. I remember the shape of the Force before their codes. Before their dogma. And I shall be the one who stands well after their demise!”

The shadows in her throne room, created by the eerily glowing runes on her slab rose around her, as if they were sentient beings. Whispering in long-dead tongues, they howled and jeered for blood, for revenge! 

“He thinks himself darkness. But he carries light like a shard in the gut." Kavatha smirked. 

Turning south, towards Vader’s direction, she began to grin in a predatory fashion. 

“Let him come. Let him dig. The deep does not fear the shallow. An empire has come to die in my cradle once before. Let’s see how many graves I still have left to offer."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mobilizing his forces to seek revenge, Vader moved in pursuit of the ancient Witch-Queen, and had followed her signature in the Force to a mountain spire. 

Looming towards the heavens, a jagged spike shaded a wide valley from the sun, and was covered in dark clouds. Yet the dim glow of a nearby lava river provided an eerie light, revealing the Imperial forces that had gathered for this war. 

Assembled at his behest, was a makeshift army of primitive Mustafarians standing in a loose formation. Tribal warriors from the southern wastes stood in scorched armor, and scavenged weapons were slung over their shoulders. Black sand coated their red skin, and ventilators covered the faces of the rich, whilst the rest breathed in poisonous fumes, shortening their already bleak lifespans to less than three decades. Some rode crude, lava-bred beasts, the insectoid creatures were hulking, chitin-plated things bred for siege.

At the front of this horde, rising from the heat-mirage like an obsidian god, stood Darth Vader. Cloak billowing in the wind he observed a squadron of Tie-Fighters screeching overhead. The garrison force stood around him, and a handful of AT-ST's prowled around the perimeter on their two legs, like birds of prey inspecting their territory. 

Vader gazed towards the mountain, toward the shifting ash, and rising columns of black smoke that were constantly billowing out, red lightning arced around the tip of the peak, and thunder boomed as mystic forces attempted to unsettle his troops. An invisible wall of pressure-invisible to all those who couldn’t sense the Force-swept down the hillside, and infected the men with the urge to flee. 

Quivering in their boots, the Mustafarians were about to turn around, and even the Empire's elite-the Stormtroopers-appeared uneasy. Vader quashed this feeling with a raised fist. Clenching his hand tight, he gripped ahold of this attack, and crushed it with the Force like he had done to hundreds of necks. Like that, the tether holding the men snapped, freeing them from the psychic corruption that had infiltrated their minds. 

No sooner had Vader made his move, than another catastrophe had struck. The ground trembled, and an earthquake saw rocks from the mountain collapse. Dozens of Mustafarian tribal soldiers were too slow to get out of the way, and were crushed to death. Their screams right before they were struck served only to feed the Darkside in the local area. Yet Vader did not pay attention to this gruesome scene, nor were their deaths any of his concern. 

She had arrived. 

From beneath the earth, a circle of rusted pylons erupted all around them. Long like two school buses stacked on top of one another, and wide like your average vehicle, these weather worn objects began to levitate. They twisted into a ritual formation, and at the pylons’ center was Kavatha Vol. Her crown gleamed with oil-slick hues, and her leathery skin had seemingly reversed in age, revealing a striking, mature woman who didn't appear to be any older than 35. 

“You march with fire, young dark lord. But fire forgets its cradle." Her voice projected into his mind. 

Wielding a staff in hand, she slammed it into the earth. A second later, runes etched deep beneath the surface ignited with ghostly blue fire.

The ground split open. From the fractures, her army rose.

Ancient cybernetic warriors, long lost beneath Mustafar’s lava crust emerged. They were metal-clad husks with the musculature of the dead, powered by forbidden mechu-deru sorcery. Part machine, part flesh, their circuits housed the spirits of ancient beings, trapped in an endless loop of 101010101010101. They pulled themselves out of the obsidian ashlands with cold metal hands. Moving in unnatural synchrony, violet flame flickering in their hollow sockets.

Darth Vader stood before the Mustafarians, and ignited his crimson blade. 

“Hold your ground,” He commanded.

He then raised both hands, and the Force churned around him.

The wind shifted.

Then it accelerated.

A whirling sandstorm began to take shape, as if the land itself answered his will. Dust, ash, and sparks surged to life, a cyclone of fury churned behind him like a black halo.

The rusted warriors of the Witch-Queen advanced, unflinching, unafraid.

Vader stepped forward, ahead of his forces. The air screamed between the two armies, and the storm behind him rose to a deafening howl.

“You command relics,” Vader’s voice boomed over the tempest. “I am the future." His newly formed dark armor ominously gleamed in the afterglow of Mustafar’s lava lakes. 

Across the battlefield, Kavatha Vol stood tall.

“No." she answered. “You are the last breath of a story already buried. A past I have no need of." 

Vader sensed a small connection with this woman, but he didn't know how. 

‘No matter. She shall become like the dust that coats my boots when I am through with her.’ He mused. 

Upon finishing her statement, Kavatha Vol thrust her arms outward. The pylons surrounding her flared to life. Magnetized tendrils of the Force arced between them, surging into her warriors and igniting the spears they held in their hands with an eyeball-piercing sick, neon-orange glow. The cyborg droids charged at Vader, their spears unleashed jets of plasma no less fearsome than that of a Tie-Fighter's turbolasers. 

Native Mustafarians fell all around him as the epic blast rocked the land. His lightsaber moved with unerring precision as he deflected beam after beam back into their ranks. Metal monstrosities collapsed one after another, only for Kavatha Vol to resurrect them with her strange pylons. 

Stormtroopers began to return fire, but the power of their blasters was barely strong enough. It took 8 shots before a cyborg was temporarily felled. The only weapons doing any good, were the Tie-Bombers, and AT-ST's. These technological terrors unleashed an amount of firepower that completely destroyed the cyborgs, leaving nothing for Kavatha to bring back. 

At the same time, the overwhelming numbers of Mustafarians came into play, and they began to throw themselves into the frey. Although they took heavy casualties, their lava fleas and other beasts smashed into the enemy line, disrupting their firing arcs. 

All these combined attacks drew attention away from Vader, giving him enough breathing room to enact his grand attack. 

Vader raised a clenched fist, and pulled upon his hatred. The embrace of the Darkside came easily to him. This was his planet, the place of his fiery baptism, the sight where he had thought he killed Padme. It was his strongest fortress, and most enduring prison. It was his: 

Mustafar. 

The cyclone grew in size, lashing out in a wall of shrapnel and sand. A dozen cyber-warriors were torn apart, but the others advanced, their limbs bending unnaturally, then resetting as they pushed forward. Vader pressed even harder. Metal began to strip away at an ever increasing rate, it was like watching water wash over grains of sand. One second metal monstrosities were advancing forward, the next, the cyclone had blown them away. 

Kavatha lifted her staff in response. 

A low hum began to build. It was deep, and harmonic. It resonated with the metal of her army.

The machines began to sing. A pulse-like wave spread from her as the world shook.

Vader faltered for a split second. The frequencies interfered with his cybernetics, his right leg spasmed violently, and his breath hitched as one of his mechanical lungs began to malfunction. This was why he wished to master mechu-deru, to overcome this weakness. Palpatine had taunted him with his suit's shortcomings, but he was no longer his master! 

“Enough." Vader growled.

He slammed his fists together and unleashed a focused burst of Force energy from the eye of the storm. It was not lightning, not a simple push of air, no, it was something colder, heavier, and filled with raw intent. It was Force Repulse! 

The front ranks of Kavatha’s army were flattened beneath the blast, and were instantly disintegrated. The pylons flickered, before falling to the ground, more than half of the cyborgs had vanished. Kavatha was forced to raise her staff in defense, and let the wave of unadulterated power wash over her. 

The Mustafarians roared in triumph and charged into the chaos, whilst his Stormtroopers-ever the professionals-continued to snipe at the Witch-Queen with excellent precision. 

“I ruled when the Force had no name!” Kavatha shouted. “You cannot break what has endured the shaping of the stars!”

She raised both hands. The battlefield responded. Twisted metal tore from broken droids, ancient pylons, even the remains of Vader’s troops. It fused mid-air, assembling into towering golems of rust and bone, animated by her will alone.

The giants stomped forward, shaking the ground with each step. Similar in height to an AT-ST, one golem ran forward, tanking a concussive missile to the chest, and then tackled the ‘chicken-walker’ to the ground. Pounding into the armored chassis, the golem pulped the AT-ST into a mess of sanguine blood, and black oil. Several more scenes of carnage rocked the battlefield as Kavatha's counterattack saw tens of thousands of Mustafarians smashed into smithereens. 

When a Tie-Bomber came low, and scored a hit on one golem, destroying it, another pointed its hand at the flying craft. Its fingers-under the power of dark sorceries-transmuted into a cannon. A beam of orange light-reminiscent of the cyborgs’ spears-launched forth, and exploded the fragile starfighter. 

Morale was lagging, and the tribal Mustafarians began to flee in terror. 

“Submit to your Queen!” Kavatha psychically pressed her will upon all those present. 

Many of the natives bowed, and even a handful of Stormtroopers almost took a knee. However, one look at Vader's dark countenance was enough! 

Vader responded to the witch's provocation with another attack. 

The storm surrounding him turned horizontal, becoming a hurricane that screamed across the ashen valley. He vanished into it, a dark silhouette within the gale.

From the storm, his voice echoed, calm, and cold. 

“I kneel to no one."

The storm tightened into a spiraling vortex of ash, heat, and fury, centered on the golems. The sandstorm became a blade, slicing at the constructs, peeling rust like skin.

Kavatha staggered for the first time, stepping back as her army began to buckle beneath the storm’s edge.

But she did not yield.

“Vaul’teth zharam nah’kaar…” Her voice rose in incantation. “I name you storm, I unname your form…Let the circuit remember the blood!” 

The cracked and peeling pylons ignited again, and began to tremble as they slowly rose into the air. Kavatha bled an endless sanguine stream from her eyes as the Great Dark took its toll on her body. The Darkside granted unlimited power, but to those unfavored by fate, the cost was something unholy. Her beautiful red skin once more reverted to an aged appearance. Yet for all her apparent suffering and weakness, she had never been stronger during this fight. Right now, she was at her zenith! 

The ground trembled.

Something stirred beneath the surface.

The battle paused.

Every soldier, machine, and beast felt it: a presence awakening beneath Mustafar.

Vader’s gaze locked with hers across the field.

“You want mechu-deru?” Kavatha called. “Then come take it from the womb that birthed it."

She turned and levitated herself toward a widening fissure. Smoke rose from this wound in the Force like breath from a slumbering god.

Vader lowered his hand. The storm settled yet had not withered, the cries of the wounded met his ears, reports flooded his consciousness, yet they were insignificant compared to the truth that awaited him.  

He moved forward.

Towards her.

Towards the deep.

Without any hesitation, he jumped. 

Engaging the rocket boosters in his boots, Vader landed with a mighty thump. His built in scanners surveyed the land, and thanks to the enhancements he had installed, he saw it all. 

Darkness. Metal. Fire.

That is what he beheld. 

Massive gears, drive shafts, and other machinery turned in the depths, driven by lava-veins coursing through the stone like arteries. The air crackled with static and ancient power entered rune coated rocks with feelings of agony. 

This place. It almost resembled a factory and a temple mixed into one grim mausoleum. 

During his fall into the abyss, his armor had become scorched by superheated vapors, and his cape was tattered and smoldering. Sparks flew from exposed joints; his right leg dragged, slowed by the damage Kavatha during their duel.

Despite this, Vader confidently advanced into this vast chamber. As he trekked deeper into the premises, a trail of crushed golems and cybernetic corpses marked his path.

Ahead stood Kavatha Vol, poised atop a dark slab. Her arms were raised before a massive conduit of pulsing red energy. Archaic symbols burned in the air around her, and if he looked at any one of them for too long, he would feel his eyes strain. 

She turned slowly, and clicked her tongue as some complex emotion passed over her weatherbeaten face. Kavatha glanced at a pile of black sand, scowled, then met his gaze. 

“You’ve bled more than I thought you could, metal man. Your fire dims."

Vader’s voice rasped from his damaged respirator. “I have enough left…to end you."

She gestured, and crimson lightning pulsed from her fingertips through the floor, and up the ceiling. 

Colossal constructs pulled themselves from the walls one after another. The tortured souls were half-machine, half-spirit, bound by ritual and wire. They lurched toward him, their cores glowing with unnatural light.

Vader did not hesitate.

He raised both hands and drew the storm that had been idling, and brought down the hammer. A shockwave of raw Force power slammed into the first giant, sending it crashing into molten metal. The wave of pyroclastic soot continued to rush forth, barreling machines aside in its pursuit of Kavatha's life. 

Responding in kind, the Witch-Queen unleashed her torrent of red Force Lightning, meeting power with power. 

Whilst he was locked in this battle of wills, two more golems-each the size of an AT-ST-emerged from his flank. The AI model in his armor warned him, but Vader had no time to react. 

One golem transformed its hand into a cannon, and unloaded several powerful turbolaser-like orange blasts into his newly upgraded armor. 

Warning screens were blaring, urging him to move as the suit integrity began to deteriorate. The hellishly hot conditions of this chamber, as well as the repeated heavy hits were doing him no favors. Yet he could not move, as the crimson lightning threatened him more than anything else! 

The other golem reached forth with a massive glowing fist, and struck him in the helmet causing an explosion no less powerful in strength than a dozen thermal detonators going off at once. Hurling through the air, Vader placed his attention on these two golems, and tripped them up with the Force, making them fall into a lava pit. By the time he had done this, a jagged wall broke his momentum, and he nearly fell to one knee before catching himself. 

His bacta injectors quickly got to work to mitigate any internal damage. 

“You are nothing." Kavatha said, yet her eyes repeatedly glanced at a specific place on the ground. A spot that just so happened to be beneath Vader’s armored boot. 

Vader slowly rose, his foot crunching on something, grinding it into powder. His helmet was fractured, revealing a burned, bloodshot eye. His breathing was hoarse due to the damaged lung, and the heat of this place burned his lung, and yet…

“I'm still standing." He growled in challenge. 

Kavatha seemed to be stunned, then unleashed another barrage of lightning. 

With a roar, Vader ripped one construct out of the lava, and used it as a shield. 

Vader then pushed it towards her position, and squeezed his fist. Pulling upon his nascent understanding of mechu-deru, Vader pulled upon the one thing he had learned without a shadow of a doubt. 

Destruction. 

An explosion rocked her position, and the great gears that had been funneling power into the runestone rocks collapsed. Dust and debris fell everywhere, and it felt as if Mustafar itself was thanking Vader. 

Only Vader remained upright, but just barely.

He limped forward, relentless in his pursuit of victory. 

Kavatha was lying on her back, blood gushed onto the black slab beneath her. As fast as the wounds donated plasma to the glowing slab, they knit themselves whole. Yet for all her healing, her power waned. 

“So,” she said, defiant but weary, “you’ve come to take my secrets. To shackle the mysteries of Mustafar like the Sith before you."

Vader's slow, hobbled form looked over Kavatha. His breaths were ragged, his one visible eye squinted in hate. His saber ignited, casting both figures in blood-red light.

She did not resist. She knelt down and bowed her head. Not in submission, but in acceptance.

“Then finish it, metal-lord,” she said quietly. “Strike, and inherit the throne of ash & blood." Kavatha lovingly stroked the metal slab beneath her, then met his eyes. 

Vader raised his blade.

And held it there.

His mind calculated. Assessed. The fight had cost him more than expected. His knowledge of mechu-deru remained incomplete. His resources were strained. His vision of the future demanded more than strength, it demanded servants.

He lowered the blade.

“You will serve.” He said.

Kavatha stared up at him, disbelief flickering in her burning eyes.

“Serve? Me?” She asked.

“Not by choice. But by usefulness." Vader replied, his voice carrying a hint of finality to it.

She would submit.

He stepped closer, looming over her.

“You’ve lost your war. Your kingdom sleeps. But your knowledge lives. You can rot with it, or wield it under my will. You will obey."

She narrowed her eyes.

“You do not spare me out of mercy. There are no other feelings involved?” Kavatha asked, a hint of hope entered her voice as she once more glanced at the spot beneath Vader's boots. 

“No."

A long silence passed between the two as their wills clashed. 

Then, she softly chuckled. The sound was like rusty gears attempting to work after years of neglect. 

“Then let us see if a queen can serve… without breaking." She said with some amusement. 

As she spoke, the slab underneath her glowed again, and her aged, haggard appearance reverted to her more attractive, younger looking self. 

“Come." 

He then turned away.

Behind him, the emptiness within this temple dedicated to the Great Dark began to stir. His mere presence began to reshape it to his will, bending under his command. 

As it should be. 

~~~~~~

AN: Ancient Force Adepts DO NOT PLAY. She would've won if she knew how to construct additional pylons (if you know, you know xD).

Hopefully I can get you guys ch1 of Jedi Artisan sometime next week or if I write on my day off, maybe Sunday.