Chapter 21 : Fushshraded

In the end, it had taken three days to make my way out of the tomb. Most of that time was spent pulling myself back together mentally and physically. The rest was wandering around until I found an exit. I didn't find any obstacles besides leftover zombies and wandering k'lor'slugs, all easily disposed of with telekinesis. Ragnos' doing, most likely.

Treating my injuries was difficult, though it wasn't due to a lack of supplies. During my rage, my hands had been scorched black by my own lightning and barely responded to my mental commands. I had to use telekinesis to apply bacta and bandages. If nothing else, it was practice for fine manipulation.

My face was another matter. With so little feeling in my fingers and no mirror on hand, I had a difficult time probing the extent of the injury. I awkwardly bandaged what I could in the meantime. Between the bacta and the damaged nerves, I couldn't feel much pain, though the heat was another matter.

After a day of healing, my fingers finally had enough sensation to tell me the damage.

Half of my right ear was gone. Most of the exterior cartilage had melted from the heat, leaving a nub of melted flesh. Thankfully my hearing wasn't noticeably affected.

As for my cheek, Castor had managed to miss any major bones, like my jaw or cheekbone. Because of how much weight I'd lost over the past year, I had very little fat left on my face. However, I noticed some difficulty with opening and closing my jaw, indicating some damage to the muscles that controlled the action, meaning that the left side of my face had to compensate for it.

Thankfully, there wasn't a hole in my cheek as the heat had fused what skin was left together, so I wasn't in danger of food, drink, or spit spilling out.

All the same, I wasn't looking forward to finding a mirror anytime soon. I had a feeling that Jonah Hex would be staring right back at me.

Unfortunately, I came out a different passage than the one I went in from. It took another day to trek back and retrieve my swoop bike. I had to squint the whole way back to camp, as I'd lost my helmet and goggles sometime during my rage.

The private who was on perimeter guard at the camp stared at my face when I tried to ask him where Maklan was. When he didn't answer, I had to shove down my initial rage. I didn't want to start killing people. Not right now.

Though I wanted to speak as little as possible, I asked again. This time, the soldier realized what he was doing, went pale, and stammered out directions before getting on his comm. Maklan quickly found me before I got too far and practically threw me into the medical tent, swearing profusely at the ramshackle job I had done treating my own wounds.

Hence, how I found myself sitting on the edge of a cot as he poked and prodded my face with all manner of instruments. Somehow, I sincerely doubt this was the first lightsaber wound he'd ever treated. As he examined me, I sent a report of my success to Iren in text format.

"Well, the good news is your eye is fine, as is your hearing," He reported after a few scans, "Most of the damage to your face is cosmetic."

I gave him a glare, indicating that I wanted the bad news without speaking. Maklan answered with one of his own at my impatience. Say what you will, but the man apparently had balls of steel. At least in his "office."

"Bad news is that while that lightsaber managed to miss your jaw, it didn't miss the muscles connected to it. As you've no doubt noticed, you're having a bit of difficulty talking, chewing…anything related to actually moving your mouth, really."

"Treatment?" I managed to get out. Talking clearly without moving half your jaw was difficult.

The medic thought about it for a moment before shaking his head.

"I could slap some synth-skin on to cover the worst of it, but it won't do anything for your severed muscles. You'd need cybernetics to regain full functionality, but I don't have the supplies here. There's probably some Sith thing that could fix that, but I can't say for sure."

I knew that Sith Alchemy was perfectly capable of healing wounds, but there were a few problems. First, I wasn't versed in that particular aspect of the discipline. I knew more about modifying metal than flesh, which was something I needed to rectify later.

Even if I did, most Alchemical rituals required precise pronunciation of the spoken parts. With me slurring like a drunkard, I was going to have trouble with that.

So my options were to either go under the knife or find someone to heal my face. Honestly, cybernetics were looking to be the best option at the moment, since I sure as hell wasn't trusting Renning with it and I didn't know any other Alchemists. I could always look into the rituals later, but I needed to regain my ability to speak clearly first.

"Shybernetics," I managed to slur. At least I wasn't drooling.

Maklan nodded, "Right. I'll hold off on the synth-skin then, at least on your cheek and jaw. They'd just be removing it anyway. I can still fix up your ear, though. After I wrap you back up, I'll let my colleagues at the academy know you'll be heading their direction so they can prep a surgery suite."

My comm chimed as he started work. I wanted to ignore it and save myself from having to speak more, but I knew who was on the other end. Only one person would bother.

"Oversheer," I greeted as best I could when the Sith Pureblood's face appeared.

Iren examined my face for a moment, seeing the damage that had been done to it, "Ah, now I understand why you sent a written report as opposed to using your comm." He grimaced, no doubt dreading having to interpret my slurred speech, "Unfortunately, I do have some questions on the matter that I need answered sooner rather than later."

Maklan paused his work on my ear, "Err…perhaps I should step out for a moment, milords. This sounds above my paygrade."

The Overseer raised a hand to forestall him, "No, you may stay. Actually, it is fortunate you are here..." Iren glanced at the man's rank insignia, "Lieutenant. I was going to speak with the garrison commander, but you may be able answer the question I would have directed to him and save me some time."

"I'm…not sure what I can contribute, milord," Maklan replied hesitantly, "But I will stay if you wish it."

At Iren's nod, the medic got back to work until he was called upon. There was a pinch, followed by a cooling numbness around my ear. After that, all I felt were pinpricks of pressure as he started stitching the patch of synth-skin to my head.

I turned my attention back to the overseer as he began speaking, "In your report, you mentioned that you were unable to interrogate Castor Vol."

Castor's horrified face was screaming at me again. Blood dripped down from my hands. I blinked it away, "Yes."

"Based on your descriptions of the battle, it is understandable, though not the desired result. Were you able to recover anything from his body?"

Wordlessly, I unclipped the lightsaber from my belt and held it up for him to see. Red flashed across my vision and for a moment, the burning returned. With a mental growl, I suppressed it. After the battle and my glowrod failed, I had to use it to light by path out.

"Ah," Iren nodded, "Overseer Miral's lightsaber. When you come back to the Academy, I will see that it is…returned to her. I trust that there was nothing else?"

I wanted to yell at him, scream at him for not warning me. But I wasn't going to get any sympathy from him. Admittedly, I should have expected it when he told me that Castor had wounded an Overseer.

"No," I said instead. I would have shaken my head, but Maklan was still working on my ear.

"Pity," He frowned, "Regardless, perhaps we might still gain more information from your observations." Iren typed something into his datapad and read, "When you discovered his location, he was in the process of creating Tsaiwinokka Hoyakut," He glanced at Maklan before clarifying, "Korriban Zombies."

The soldier paused for a moment before continuing his work.

"Do you have something to add, Lieutenant?" Iren inquired, yellow eyes shifting to him.

"Not much, milord," Maklan replied, "Just had a few bad encounters with 'em while I've been here. They're hard to put down."

"Elaborate," That was an order, rather than a suggestion.

Gulping, Maklan explained, "The second squad of Fifth Platoon got ambushed by three of them about a year ago while out on night patrol. We lost seven men: three to the zombies, four more to the ones that turned. We're trained to shoot for the chest, not the head, and they move fast. It got worse when they got weapons. The only reason we got out of that were a few lucky shots."

"So, three nearly overtook a squad…" Iren muttered, stroking one of his facial tendrils.

"Only by surprise, milord," the medic added, "Had we seen them coming, we likely would have fared better. More if we had had designated sharpshooters in position."

"True," The Overseer agreed, "However, you did not and the Korriban Regiment does not have enough sharpshooters to stem the tide if they had attacked in numbers."

If I had been Castor, I would have had them ambush squads out in the desert, bolstering my numbers with stragglers. With the tombs and centuries worth of dead dotting Korriban, he would have had no shortage of bodies to use. Iren was likely seeing the same picture.

"Acolyte," Iren's voice snapped me out of my thoughts, "What was your target's disposition? Desperate? Frightened?"

"Neither," I replied, "Fushshraded." I growled as I fumbled over the word. Setting my jaw with my hand, I managed to speak more clearly this time, "Frustrated."

"Then whatever plan he had was merely accelerated, rather than disrupted, by our discovery. An inconvenience at best. Gathering those corpses would have taken more time than he had following his escape from the academy."

Discovery? I raised an eyebrow but didn't voice my question.

"You're thinking he was going to overrun the garrison," Maklan observed. By now, he had finished with my ear and had started binding my cheek again, "But why?"

Iren didn't reply immediately. He stared at the soldier for a moment before speaking, "Are you finished treating his wounds?"

Seeing the dismissal for what it was, the medic tied off the last bit of the bandages before nodding to me, "I'll be outside when you're done."

As he turned to leave, the overseer stopped him, "Lieutenant. I trust you know to keep what you have heard to yourself, correct?"

I watched a few emotions run across Maklan's face before it hardened into a scowl and he nodded, "Aye, milord."

Iren watched him leave the tent before turning back to me, "Do you understand the extent of what we are discussing?"

"Invashon," I muttered, though I didn't bother to correct myself this time.

If Castor was going to use the Korriban Zombies to overrun the garrison, what was his reason?

"Precisely," Iren confirmed, "But we both know the undead alone would not be enough. They might be able to kill the normal soldiers, but only the most foolish or inexperienced Sith would fall to them. A Dark Council member would be able to annihilate the whole host single-handed. As you have shown, not even a creative acolyte would have been threatened by them."

"Two-prong," I slurred.

"Indeed," The Pureblood sighed, massaging a chin tendril in thought, "However, we have no way of knowing what the other half would have consisted of. Still, the until now unknown hole in Korriban's defense screen is…worrying."

Wait, the hole? That was something the smuggler captain told Gaarurra and I about.

I shot Iren an inquisitive look.

He smiled in approval, "Yes, it seems that Castor was involved with the looters in Ajunta Pall's tomb. However, he was merely the planetside contact, not the coordinator. The leader's datapad indicated there was someone else, but they remain unknown."

I must have expressed some annoyance on my face, as he continued.

"Why did I not inform you of the connection?" Iren's smiled widened, "You still required a trial. Castor needed to be eliminated and I wished to see how you would fare when dropped in cold. I merely solved two issues with one solution. Had you failed, more would have been sent the next time." The smile shrank down into a frown, "Still, Castor Vol's repertoire of spells is concerning."

I raised an eyebrow.

"While the Tsaiwinokka Hoyakut are described in many of the history texts in the archives, the instructions on how to carry out the ritual to make them are not available to acolytes," He explained, "The same applies to the Dark Tendrils."

"Oh," I replied intelligently.

"I find "oh" to be a vast understatement in the face of this," Iren shot back with the closest I've ever heard to sarcasm coming from him, "Those texts are only found in the holocrons and scrolls contained within the higher levels of the Archives.

The parts protected by the Imperial Guardsmen. That means he was aided by someone with access to such places."

Oh. Oh.

"Return to the Academy as soon as you are able. Restore yourself in whatever manner you see fit. But know this, you will be called upon again.

Your usefulness in this matter has not yet been spent, but it may be some time until the moment comes.

Until then, keep quiet on what you have learned and keep a wary eye on your fellows."

At that, the commlink shut off.

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