The captain's cabin of the Dawn's Eagle held the silence habitual to its occupant. The light was dimmed, and a pleasant semi-darkness filled the space.
Revan sat on his bunk in a meditation pose, a partially disassembled lightsaber suspended in the air before him. The main focusing crystal hovered apart from a cloud of tiny components, slowly rotating on its axis. It was on this crystal that the former Jedi was focused.
In the Council chamber during the duel with the dark-skinned Master, Revan had distinctly felt resistance from the crystal in his own saber's hilt. The stone he had once received from Master Zhar was no longer suited to the reborn ancient knight and required a "recalibration." This had happened in the past. For a crystal to resonate harmoniously with its wielder's Force power, it needed a kind of "faceting." Sessions of meditation and saturating the mineral with the Force channeled by the Force-sensitive helped the stone to "remember" its owner and attune to them. However, as the owner's power and experience grew, the crystal also required adjustment.
Opening his eyes and examining the facets of the nearly transparent, green-veined stone, Revan smiled warmly. The crystal once again felt like a part of his own body. Over the millennia the mineral had spent in the Star Map cave on Tatooine, it had changed greatly, including shifting its color from emerald green to its current translucent state. Yet, Revan felt a strong connection to it. The very bond established during his years of fighting for the Order during his "atonement." It was a pity this was not the crystal the former Jedi had worn in his blade's hilt during the Mandalorian Wars. Still, it would not have suited the reborn knight now, as he was no longer a Jedi. Nor would the crimson crystal given to him by the Emperor and lost aboard the flagship, for Revan was no longer a Sith, either.
At his owner's will, the blade reassembled and smoothly settled into his outstretched hand.
"You even monitor your weapons using this Force of yours?" Tira's voice rang out from the captain's cabin doorway.
Revan, who had sensed her approach minutes earlier, merely turned his head slightly toward the Mandalorian and, with a mental command, lifted his second lightsaber into the air.
"A Jedi's weapon cannot be properly assembled without the use of the Force," he replied.
"Nonsense," the young woman dismissed. "I've seen those toys assembled plenty of times. The design is quite primitive: a power cell, an emitter, and a lens. Plus a crystal shard instead of a prism. Nothing complicated."
The former Jedi merely smirked at the mercenary's ignorance. The uninitiated could not understand all the subtleties of the process. After all, the design of the saber had not changed in centuries. And the pair of blades he himself used were over four thousand years old.
"The processing and bonding of every detail occur on a molecular level," Revan tried to explain nonetheless. "The crystal is cut in the exact same manner. The arrangement of the internal components demands immense precision. A deviation of even a single nanometer is unacceptable. Incorrect placement of the focusing element or an unstable bond will lead to the destabilization of the plasma loop and a power source explosion."
"And why all that complexity for a sword that doesn't even have weight?" Nomad snorted.
"As you must know, a lightsaber blade easily deflects blaster bolts." Tira nodded at this. "However, that is far from its limit. A standard saber in the hands of a skilled Jedi can deflect even a blast from a heavy laser turret on a tank like an AAT. And theoretically, even a shot from a small-caliber cruiser cannon.
"Now, imagine the strain on the plasma loop, the emitter, and the reception coil? Even ignoring the gyroscopic effect from the cyclical movement of the loop, the kinetic energy from the collision does not simply vanish. Even the best tools cannot ensure sufficient bond strength. Essentially, the hilt must be a monolithic structure, which is impossible to achieve, since the materials of the joined elements are often fundamentally different. However, with the aid of the Force, such an effect is perfectly achievable."
The Mandalorian stood, tilting her head slightly, listening to the Jedi's explanation. Her face was hidden by her helmet, but Revan was certain his impromptu lecture had sparked genuine interest.
"The properties of a material saturated with the Force are significantly enhanced, lending the entire construction additional strength and longevity."
"That sounds too…" the Mandalorian searched for a word. "Too much, in general. I don't like all this magic and mysticism."
"Like all Mandalorians," Revan chuckled, recalling his acquaintances from Clan Ordo.
"But not all Mandalorians have encountered the Dathomiri Witches," the young woman shrugged.
"Dathomiri Witches?" the former Jedi repeated.
"Yes," the mercenary nodded. "It's a cult on the planet Dathomir. The women, whom they call Witches, use strange magic. They like to employ illusions and curses that don't kill instantly. And they recruit their servants from the Zabrak who live in a few settlements on the planet.
Revan mused. Every manifestation of mystical abilities he had encountered until now had proven to be some form of the Force. In the case of the Dathomiri Witches, it was most likely also connected to the Great Force.
'Wait, Zabrak?' a thought suddenly flashed in the ancient one's mind. 'Isn't my old acquaintance Maul one of them?'
"I once took a contract to recover some trinket that a senator unwisely promised to give the cult leader, Mother Talzin," Tira continued in the meantime. "He gave it to her, but then immediately wanted it back. Six mercenaries took the job. Only I returned. But the job was done."
"Was it difficult?"
The young woman nodded.
"They didn't train us to fight ghosts," she said after a moment.
'Canderous would have answered differently,' Revan mused to himself with a smirk.
"How is Anakin?" the former Jedi decided to change the subject, making a mental note to learn more about the Dathomiri Witches.
The question was superfluous, as the ancient one knew perfectly well where the boy was. The connection between them was growing stronger. And it was simply impossible for a Force-sensitive person to miss such a bright concentration of the Force.
"Sleeping in the adjacent cabin," Nomad replied in a displeased tone. "And I didn't hire myself out as a babysitter!"
"But you didn't strongly object," the Jedi smiled, receiving a volley of curses in Mando'a in return.
Tira had indeed agreed without any argument to help the boy settle onto the ship, where she herself was a guest. Revan wasn't sure what prompted this behavior from the mercenary, but he could guess. Several factors played a role, the first of which was a maternal instinct, heightened by Mandalorian upbringing, which dedicates great attention to the Clan and the care of its future—the next generation.
Furthermore, as Revan had noted earlier, Tira was not a native Mando'ade but had been adopted and raised by a Clan. The young woman could, in fact, be a native of any planet in the galaxy and from any humanoid species. It was impossible to tell under the helmet and full armor set. It could only be said with certainty that her body structure was quite close to human. Otherwise, montrals, lekku, and other exotic body parts would not have allowed her to wear a standard set of Mandalorian armor.
"Where are you from, Tira?" Revan suddenly asked, realizing he had been silently examining his interlocutor's helmet for a minute.
The mercenary tilted her head slightly, showing the surprise caused by the unexpected question.
"Dxun," she replied dryly.
"The one near Onderon?" the Jedi clarified.
The mercenary nodded.
"My Clan has many ties to that planet," she added. "It's a legacy of which every member of Clan Nomad is proud."
From what Revan had managed to learn about the Clan that sheltered his interlocutor, Nomad was an offshoot of Clan Ordo that had split off about three thousand years ago. Therefore, the legacy the young woman spoke of was most likely the outpost of Mandalore the Preserver.
'Truly, the galaxy is small,' the former Jedi thought. 'Or is it because of me? The Force is bringing me into contact with Clan Ordo for the second time.'
However, there would be time later to ponder this. Especially since Revan now owed Tira a debt. And the favor Nomad had asked for promised quite interesting events.
"But where are you originally from?" the former Jedi clarified. "Where did you live before you became one of the Mandalorians?"
"It doesn't matter," the young woman brushed off, then finished with a slight stammer. "My… my home disowned me. Now, I am Nomad of the Mando'ade."
"You won't even name your species?"
"No," Tira said, crossing her arms over her chest.
Revan wanted to continue the conversation and try to learn details of the young woman's past, but this had to be postponed until a more suitable time, as HK-47 entered the cabin with unexpected news.
"Statement: Responsible Observation: Master, you requested to be notified if a signal came from your communicator, the one given to that meatbag on Naboo," the droid stated.
Revan tensed. He hadn't expected Maul to contact him so quickly. The timing, however, was quite convenient for meeting the "other" side.
"What was the message?"
"Quotation: Indifferent: He agrees to the meeting. Today. 20:00 Coruscant standard time. Level 1321, Sector A-733, Block H-22, abandoned cantina. Come alone," the droid replied, reading the message aloud.
Revan stretched his lips into a slightly ominous smirk. A part of his consciousness, hidden deep within, anticipated the meeting with the one who dared to walk the path of the Dark Side. The spirit of competition, inherent to all Sith, suddenly reasserted itself, urging him to test the upstart who had presumed the title of Darth. But most of all, the ancient Force-sensitive person wanted to see the one who had managed to raise an apprentice right under the noses of the Jedi. And to orchestrate the near-successful takeover of Naboo. And there was no doubt that this was the work of Maul's former master.
"Any invitation that ends with the phrase "come alone" is a trap," Tira chuckled, interrupting the former Jedi's thoughts.
"Meeting a Sith is always a trap," Revan replied in kind. "And if the one invited to that meeting is someone the Sith considers a rival, the probability of an ambush becomes one hundred percent."
"And why do I have a feeling you're going to go there alone anyway?" the young woman asked in a slightly stricter tone. "You haven't forgotten you still owe me a favor, have you? Who's going to pay off that debt?"
"Oh, such touching concern from a Mandalorian," the former Sith smirked.
"Commentary: Disgusted: Sentiment. I may vomit now," HK-47 muttered barely audibly.
A sharp whistle and something resembling laughter were heard from R2 as he rolled past the cabin.
"Threat: Warning: Learn to walk first, you undersized scrap-heap, and then you may comment on the limitations of my design," the assassin droid nearly growled at the astromech.
The little mechanic quickly opted to leave the forty-seven's line of sight.
"Statement: Instructive: However, the meatbag female is correct, you should not go alone."
"Hey!" Nomad protested, displeased with the dismissive reference to her person.
"Suggestion: Take me with you. Droids are much harder for a Force user to detect," HK continued, ignoring Tira's threatening posture.
"No, I will go alone," Revan shook his head. "This meeting will be a mutual test. And I wouldn't want to disappoint my potential opponent. However, you will both wait nearby and organize a safe retreat if everything spirals out of control."
"Query: Permissible degree of destruction when preparing the 'retreat'?" the assassin droid asked hopefully.
"Moderate," Revan answered.
"Query: Is the use of combat weapons and explosives permitted in addition to stunners?" HK cautiously clarified.
The former Jedi considered.
"Well, it's nothing but scum living on that level anyway!" Nomad interjected.
The young woman shook her head in surprise, as it seemed to her that the droid had nodded gratefully in her direction.
"I permit it," Revan finally replied.
The forty-seven transformed in the blink of an eye, straightening its shoulders and clicking its servos.
"Observation: Joyful: Thank you, Master! I shall begin preparations immediately."
"Good."
The droid, practically sparking with anticipation, departed the cabin, leaving Revan alone with Tira.
"What will you require of me?" the Mandalorian asked. "I assume I shouldn't get too close to the meeting place?"
"That is correct," Revan nodded. "Even a weak Force-sensitive person has a fair chance of sensing a threat directed at them. I don't even know what to expect from the one who invited me to the meeting. So it's best to be overly cautious."
"And?"
"And I will ask you to organize our cover. HK is good in a fight, but he can't be everywhere at once. I know we have little time, but it would be good to recruit some mercenaries. Ones who don't ask questions. Their help on the lower levels would be useful."
"Hmm, I have a couple of debtors in mind," Nomad said, rubbing the lower part of her helmet thoughtfully. "They work for the Black Sun, though. So they'll still demand payment."
"Within reasonable limits and exclusively in credits," Revan warned. "The limit on favors has been exceeded."
"I'll see what I can do."
Revan nodded, and the mercenary hurried out of the cabin to get to work.
The former Sith himself began preparing for the upcoming meeting. The experience of his past life taught him never to underestimate an opponent. And so, Revan regarded the unknown dark Force-user as more than serious.
For the meeting, he decided to wear the full set of Mandalorian armor he had acquired earlier and a light, woven cloak with a hood. The mask also took its rightful place. After all, appearance and mise-en-scène were always important to the Sith. The first impression was crucial, and Revan decided to recall the image he had cultivated during his time ruling the Sith Empire. A grim appearance, dark clothing, and the terrifying aura of the Dark Side.
The former Sith took a deep breath, releasing a portion of his suppressed power. The almost forgotten, intoxicating feeling of his own might surged over him, like waves of a refreshing mountain stream. The Force. Power. License.
"An illusion," Revan whispered softly, habitually bringing his emotions under control and banishing the delusion caused by the Dark Side's influence.
Someone weaker would have been intoxicated by their power and become a slave to their desires, as often happened with unprepared "light-siders" who unconsciously crossed to the "other" side. The Jedi were quick to label such beings a Sith. But those who had fallen to the Dark Side had little in common with the true Adepts of the Dark Side. Those who subordinate the Force to their will, not the other way around.
The storm of Darkness around the ancient Force-sensitive person gradually subsided, leaving only a subtle shroud that wrapped the man's figure like a second cloak. Nevertheless, any Force-sensitive person would understand at a glance that he was not a mere upstart with a couple of tricks up his sleeve, but a Sith Lord. One who had once borne both the title of Master of the Jedi Order and the rank of Darth.
Revan spent the rest of the time before the meeting in meditation, striving to peer into the future or at least catch some hint from the Great Force.
However, he could not sense anything specific. A feeling of danger lingered, but it was too vague. The images the Force sent were blurry, as if something had destroyed all the most probable variants of the future, and the path ahead was yet to be determined. The former Jedi even thought that he himself might be the cause of this. Logically, the Force had not simply brought Revan back to life for no reason. It was only natural that he would be at the center of the change.
Visions related to Anakin that had appeared to the former Jedi earlier resurfaced in his memory. Now he had no doubt that they were variants of a possible future. But which one was he heading toward by taking Skywalker as his apprentice? What would this boy become? And what threat did it pose to the balance?
Lost in these thoughts, time flew by unnoticed. The awakened Anakin tried to sneak into Revan's cabin but was stopped by the vigilant HK-47, who, in his usual manner, explained to the boy that his master should not be disturbed by various "potential sources of problems" right now. In the process, the droid evaluated Skywalker's physical and mental abilities and predicted his imminent demise. Or, as an alternative, the demise of anyone who became his master. And since the "favorite master" of the iron maniac had volunteered to be his master, the promise of a swift execution was added to the droid's already "cheerful" monologue.
Due to the assassin droid's almost polite dismissal, the former Jedi had to break his meditation and leave the cabin to calm the child, who was on the verge of tears. This, however, was quite easily accomplished. All it took was giving the boy something to do. A concentration exercise was perfectly suited for the task. The young restless one first needed to learn to focus on the task at hand before proper training could begin. For the next three hours, the boy built a giant pyramid out of Pazaak cards. R2 was assigned the role of caretaker this time, much to HK's silent delight.
At the appointed time, Revan walked unhurriedly through the deserted streets of the not-so-prosperous Sector A-733. Though the ancient one would have called the place a genuine dump. Even the Undercity on Taris was cleaner! The stench that filled the air constantly made the former Jedi consider sealing his mask and switching to the suit's reserve air.
The dim illumination from the soot-blackened lamps, which hung from the high ceiling that served as the sky for the residents of this block, barely allowed him to see his surroundings. The burned-out husks of speeders, like monuments to a civilization long gone, were arranged along both sides of what could generously be called a street. Scuffed walls streaked with rust and black-green patches of mold completed the scene of decay. How anyone could live here remained a mystery.
The relatively intact building of the abandoned cantina, where the meeting was scheduled, had just come into view when a burst from a blaster carbine struck the steel plating beneath Revan's feet. The ancient one stopped.
He had sensed the surveillance three blocks ago. It was then that he had dropped his concealment, anticipating that a "welcome delegation" would be sent to meet him. After all, failing to probe an opponent before a meeting would be the height of foolishness for a Sith, if not a sign of disrespect.
The ancient one smirked under his mask, watching as a motley group of young people surrounded him. By all appearances, they were a local gang, hired by the meeting's organizer to entertain the guest. Rabble, whose emotions and faint thought-echoes caused the former Jedi a wave of nausea.
'Seven, nine... eleven sentients,' Revan counted mentally, probing his surroundings with the Force.
"Take off the armor!" roared a man in filthy, heavily worn gear, which vaguely resembled Senate Guard armor. "Hand over your credit chips and cough up your account numbers! Then we'll consider whether or not to let you live."
'A retiree or a deserter?' the former Jedi wondered. 'Or did he just strip this off a corpse?'
"Are you deaf?!" the same representative of the local criminal underworld bellowed.
One of his gang members tried to rush Revan and strike the back of his head with a blaster stock. But the man froze a step from his potential victim, dropped his weapon, and clutched his throat.
"Scum," the ancient Sith quietly pronounced, closing his eyes.
A blaster shot rang out. However, the bolt flew harmlessly toward the ceiling, as the shooter suddenly lost the ability to breathe.
Revan had neither the time nor the desire to play games with these failures. And so, mere moments later, eleven figures hung a meter above the ground around Revan, held suspended by the Force. The ancient one clenched his fist, and an unpleasant cracking sound announced the end of the line for the group of criminals who had the misfortune of accepting the offer of a strange man in a black cloak. The job was supposed to be simple: scare the masked strut, rob him, and, if desired, kill him. But everything had gone terribly wrong.
'An interesting test,' Revan thought, stepping over the gang leader's body. 'A Jedi certainly wouldn't have passed it.'
In the next moment, the former Sith felt the powerful aura of an Adept of the Dark Side, located somewhere inside the cantina building. It seemed the host was inviting his guest inside.
Finding the room where he was expected was not difficult. The Force clearly pointed the way to the source of the sinister nexus of Darkness, in which the essence of a Sith was easily discernible. A true Sith. Cold hatred, caged by self-control. A ruthless predator, obsessed with the craving for personal power, might, and authority, but hidden beneath the mask of a rational being. This was how the members of the Dark Council on Dromund Kaas once felt. This was what Vitiate was like.
Memories of the Sith Emperor caused Revan to shudder. The most dangerous opponent he had ever encountered.
Listening to his sensations, the ancient one corrected himself. The one waiting ahead was more restrained than the lunatic who had turned Nathema into a dead world, devoid of even a trace of the living Force. But he couldn't read him in detail. The unknown Sith expertly shielded his consciousness.
Finally, Revan reached the right door and, listening to his feelings, entered the room. No trap was sensed anywhere.
At the far end of the hall, which was apparently once a VIP lounge for the most "generous" patrons, was a long oval table. At one end, a figure sat in a black robe with a deep hood that concealed the face up to the lips. The stranger demonstrably kept his hands on the table, showing he wasn't hiding a weapon. However, Revan felt the wave of the Force that swept through the room the moment the former Jedi entered—he was being tested again.
In response to the "greeting," the ancient one released the Force slightly, allowing the raging Dark Side to shroud his figure, blocking the opponent's influence.
The stranger shifted slightly, clearly surprised by the reaction. But the presence of someone else was suddenly felt in the room. The ancient one focused and reached out to the Great Force for help. The outline of the familiar Zabrak's figure emerged in the dark corner.
Revan mentally complimented Maul. His concealment was indeed excellent. Almost on the level of the Assassins from the Old Republic era.
However, someone else was still felt. A third presence. But he was not located here… At least, the sensation felt more like observation than presence. As if someone was watching the meeting from afar.
The fact that the unknown Sith would not come alone was never in doubt, so Maul's presence was expected.
"Why have you stopped?" a deep voice broke the absolute silence.
"As a good guest, I await an invitation from the host of the meeting," Revan replied, without taking his gaze from the hooded face.
"Well, first, I think we should introduce ourselves," the person in the black robe said, leaning slightly forward. "After all, it's not often one meets a Sith on Coruscant."
Revan chose to remain silent at this remark. To renounce the title of Sith now would be foolish. The ancient one intended to draw as much information as possible from his interlocutor, which would be much easier to do if he was also considered an Adept of the Dark Side.
"So?" the unknown one asked impatiently. "What is your name, young Sith?"
'Oh, he could even calculate the age of the body? Or was it a lucky guess?' the former Jedi thought.
"I would first like to know who I am speaking with?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
The interlocutor flared with irritation. However, he quickly brought his emotions under control.
"I am Darth Sidious," the Sith pronounced, straightening his shoulders and displaying a proud posture.
Following his words, a wave of Darkness rolled through the room, chilling Revan to the bone. The ancient one noted with surprise that his interlocutor fully deserved the title of Lord. The power that Sidious concealed was truly immense. He was the first Force-sensitive whom the former Jedi could compare to his contemporaries without laughing out loud. The question of training level remained. However, Revan preferred not to find that out yet. As the "small training session" with the Masters had shown, the former Republic Army General was a bit rusty, or perhaps his new body was simply not yet ready for his old capabilities.
A new flash of dissatisfaction, mixed with impatience, came from the interlocutor.
"Revan," the ancient one introduced himself.
"Revan?" Sidious repeated with unconcealed sarcasm in his voice. "Not Master Revan or Darth Revan?"
"No, just Revan."
The Sith suddenly broke into a rasping laugh, without taking his eyes off his interlocutor.
"I expected to meet an equal," he said through his laughter. "Instead, I receive a visit from another unqualified youth who decided to appropriate the name of an ancient Lord?"
Revan tilted his head slightly, waiting for his interlocutor to finish speaking.
"Call yourself Rivan, or Revan, or even Bane himself!" the Sith continued. "Your essence will not change!"
'I wonder what you are leading to?' the ancient one pondered in the meantime.
"The knowledge you likely gleaned from a holocron is not enough to comprehend the full might of the Dark Side," Sidious slowly rose from the table.
'So he thinks I found my own holocron?'
"But I can show you the path to greatness and power!" the Sith continued his speech. "Become my servant."
Revan felt his interlocutor begin to concentrate the Force and was quickly able to identify the technique.
"Bow before your Lord!"
By the time the branching Force Lightning erupted from Sidious's fingertips, the former Jedi had long been ready to deflect the attack. Deciding not to risk it, as in the fight with Vitiate, by taking the blow on an open palm, Revan released his own lightning to meet the opponent's attack. The discharges collided in the center of the hall, causing an explosion that blew a wide hole in the floor and the ceiling. The opponents themselves had to quickly shield themselves from the blast wave, but both managed to remain standing.
If Sidious was surprised by such a repulsion, he didn't show it. Instead, he calmly moved the overturned table back into place and settled into the comfortable chair he had stood up from just a minute earlier.
"I suppose we are done with the pleasantries?" the former Jedi smirked.
"Yes," the Sith nodded. "Please, have a seat, Lord Revan."
"Darth Revan," the ancient Lord of his own Empire corrected him automatically.
"As you wish," Sidious replied with a barely noticeable smile.
For several minutes of tense silence, the interlocutors studied each other. Revan clearly sensed the increasing pressure of the Force caused by his opponent's concentration, as well as his own. Each sought to learn as much as possible about the potential adversary, but they encountered skillful barriers and concealing shrouds.
The sudden shift in his interlocutor's behavior was alarming. Though Sith were always known for their eccentricity. But there was something else here. It was as if someone had ordered Sidious to stop… Or perhaps, on the contrary, he had sensed the presence of another, for the invisible third was still present on the edge of sensitivity, and he decided to ascertain the level of threat.
"So, you wished to speak with me?" Revan broke the silence first.
"Amusing. I was under the impression that you were the one seeking an audience with me," Sidious replied. "Otherwise, why did you leave my apprentice alive?"
"Out of curiosity," the former Jedi explained.
"I had considered something of the sort. But still, what could a fallen Jedi who vanished millennia ago possibly want from me?"
'Subtle,' Revan thought. 'A perfect jab at any Sith's ego. To imply he is merely a Jedi playing the villain and wait for a reaction. A 'light-sider' with a fractured mind would have already lashed out, like Juhani, who genuinely believed herself to be the embodiment of Darkness until we met.'
"Our meeting is merely the result of chance," the ancient one tried to explain. "I simply happened to be in the right place at the right time."
"Chance or not, it matters little. But you would be wise not to interfere with the coming events, " Sidious replied, his tone slightly altered.
Revan seized upon the meaning of the message. A larger game was being played. And the target, with high probability, would be the Senate or the Jedi. The presence of a Sith on Coruscant clearly hinted at this. Given the long-standing hatred of the Adept of Darkness for the Knights of Light and the Republic they protected, the conclusion was obvious.
However, Revan also had certain goals. And the Force was setting them more and more clearly before the ancient one. Which meant it was time to establish the boundaries right now.
"I have my own interests on Coruscant," Revan said thoughtfully. "And it is possible they will intersect with yours."
"That is unacceptable," Sidious hissed.
"Then we are at an impasse."
"Not necessarily."
Sidious made a barely perceptible gesture with his hand, and the next moment, the figure of the Zabrak materialized seemingly out of thin air before Revan.
The ancient one did not twitch a single muscle, though he inwardly prepared for a fight. However, one question still remained open. To whom was Maul loyal?
"Command me, my Lord," the red-skinned Zabrak sank to one knee before Revan.
"So, you've made your choice after all," Sidious smirked, apparently having anticipated his apprentice's betrayal. "Well, two problems can be solved at once."
The room filled with the sound of assassin droids dropping from the ceiling and activating in mid-air. No fewer than fifty iron soldiers, strikingly different from the mindless B1 Battle Droids Revan had encountered on Naboo, formed a tight ring around the former Jedi and his now-confirmed apprentice.
"My Lord?" Maul hissed, dropping into a stance with his activated lightsaber staff and preparing to defend his master.
"To the battle," Revan stated dryly, accelerating his consciousness and body.
And on the other side of the galaxy, in a fortified bunker, a Muun with a mad glint in his eyes watched the image transmitted from numerous hidden cameras in the abandoned cantina on Coruscant.
"It worked!" he exhaled, examining the fruit of his experiments as he rushed into battle against the horde of droids.
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