KOTOR 2 - Betrayals: Boss Fight

It was not a good night for Edar Kran, owner and operator of the Blind Alley Cantina. There hadn't been a lot of business, but the patrons that had braved the roaring rainstorm had tipped well and hadn't caused any trouble. Edar had spent years pouring drinks and mopping up blood in the spaceport city of Desprar. He'd worked one dive after another, and then finally, through hard work, a little luck, and a few less-than-legal deals, gotten his own place. Desprar wasn't a huge city, even by Wild Space standards, but it wasn't small either. There were upscale neighborhoods where local security maintained order and the well-to-do could pretend that the rest of the city didn't exist. Edar's establishment, however, was not in one of those areas. The Blind Alley wasn't in the roughest part of Desprar, to be sure. But when trouble arose, as it did more often than he'd have liked, Edar didn't have the luxury of security officers restoring the peace. He'd replaced more furniture than he could remember, and even tossed more than one body out the back door after a particularly rough night. Tonight, however, had been calm and reasonably profitable, and Edar had learned to appreciate such things. But none of that was what made tonight awful.

No, tonight Edar expected to die.

One of the realities of operating a cantina in this part of Desprar was that you had to make choices. While Edar would have loved to be an independent businessman, strictly focused on selling booze and under-the-counter spice, things just didn't work that way in Wild Space. Organized crime was a fact of life. You had allies, and you had enemies. Trying to remain unaligned meant that you quickly found that everyone considered you an enemy. So when Edar had acquired the Blind Alley some sevenish years ago, he'd assessed his options. There were various local factions, and some established multiplanet clans. Most of the latter were loose, ever-shifting coalitions that changed leadership even more often than the corrupt planetary governments. But there had been one newer guild, recently created but quickly growing, that felt different, like it had a vision to be more than just the next set of greedy thugs. So Edar had taken a chance, and thrown in with The Revanchists. The name had never made much sense to Edar, but the guild had been everything he could have hoped for. It was well run, uncompromising but fair, and the Revanchists had exploded in influence, systematically either absorbing or eliminating most of their major competition, until only they and The Legion remained as major players.

Edar had a reputation as a man who could keep his mouth shut, which had made The Blind Alley attractive as a meeting place for the leader of The Revanchists, a mysterious man named Surik. Edar had carefully asked around, and no one seemed to know where Surik had come from, or how he had managed to gain enough influence to start The Revanchists. All anyone seemed to know was that Surik was capable, intelligent, meticulous, and driven, with no apparent weaknesses or vices. And he was perhaps the best damn fighter that this part of Wild Space had ever seen. Most of Surik's meetings at The Blind Alley had gone smoothly. But on the few occasions they'd ended in violence, Edar had never seen anything like Surik in action. Tonight, though ... tonight that was all going to end. Because right now, Surik was leaning against Edar's bar, sipping his drink, as relaxed as if he were in his own home. And in Edar's estimation Surik, like Edar himself, had less than five minutes to live.

The instruments of their impending demises were three men sitting at a corner table. They'd come in much earlier in the evening, and had patiently waited as customers arrived and departed. Perhaps they'd hoped the rain would drive away the rest of the clientele, or perhaps they were using the time to size up their quarry. Either way, they were in no hurry. Edar was certain they thought him unaware of their identities. These were men who lived by their own anonymity, and died at its loss. But Edar was exceptionally well-informed, as benefited a barkeep who did a lot more listening than talking, and he had recognized them the moment they'd walked in. He'd served them without comment, trying to give no indication of his awareness. Maybe they were simply scouting the bar for a future assignment, and would leave uneventfully. Edar wasn't sure what he would have done if they had. Perhaps he would have left as well, taking with him whatever funds he could withdraw from his official accounts, along with as many of the unlisted ones as he could quickly manage. There were other planets, other bars he could tend, even if in the employ of someone else. He would have regretted giving up his own, but that would have been better than dying.

But then Surik had arrived, and spoken to Edar as if to a confidante, thereby marking Edar for death. Any hope he'd had of playing the dumb barkeeper was lost. It was only a matter of time.

---

Surik could barely contain his enthusiasm. He wasn't a man given to emotional outbursts. He was a planner, a long-game thinker, an almost emotionless cold calculator. He supposed that's part of why the Jedi had been interested him in the first place. His innate Force Sensitivity aside, his emotional makeup, or lack thereof, must have appealed to the Jedi's stale sense of stifled repression. They hadn't understood. And at first, Revan hadn't either. Surik had faithfully executed every order that Revan had given him in the Mandalorian Wars, but he could sense that Revan found him lesser, a tier below, a useful lackey of low potential, without the emotional drive required to effectively wield the Dark Side. It was one of the few times Revan had been wrong. Over a span of years, Surik had shown Revan that he not only had the drive, the willpower, the determination, but also the emotional explosiveness required to be a true apprentice of the greatest Sith Master that had ever lived. Surik just picked his moments, holding it all in for a glorious, luxurious, indulgent release. Revan had finally understood that, and had elevated Surik to the highest of levels, higher even than that fool Malak, although Malak could never be allowed to realize it. And tonight, finally, after a decade of waiting, all Surik's patience would be rewarded.

Taking a moment to contemplate Edar Kran, Surik made his decision. It was clear that Edar knew what was about to happen, and that, based on all Edar's information, he and Surik had no chance. That was not to say that Edar underestimated Surik, but to Edar's credit he recognized Surik's innate limitations. And unfortunately, Edar was correct. Once, the three men at the corner table would not have even been an annoyance for Surik. With full command of the Dark Side of the Force, Surik could have dispatched them with little more than a thought. But now, the Force was lost to him, and even with the benefit of his Jedi physical training, these three men were far more than his equal. But Edar hadn't bolted. It would have been easy for Edar to, under the guise of getting more liquor from the supply room, slip out the back and taken his chances. But Edar had not, and that had required both a certain kind of courage, and a certain kind of awareness. Surik suspected that Edar was an unrecognized Force Sensitive. If he'd been born on a Core World, he likely would have been identified and drafted into the Jedi Order as an infant or toddler. But that had not been Edar's fate, and even Surik could not be sure of his evaluation. Once he could have sensed it, but no longer. The one who was coming could, though. So Edar would live, and might prove to be far more useful than he could currently imagine.

Surik considered all the moving pieces, the state of affairs. Was everything in order? Was there any way in which his Master would be disappointed? Without use of the Force, fulfilling Revan's orders had been an incredible challenge. He was to establish a criminal enterprise in Wild Space whose scope would rival the Exchange from the Core. He was to cultivate a mercenary army on the scale of the Mandalorians who would do Revan's bidding without question. Even with Surik's full abilities, this would have been a difficult task. But he had been obligated to achieve it both blind and deaf, with only his natural senses, having been abandoned by that most special ability granted to only the smallest handful of the galaxy's inhabitants. And yet, even without the Force, somehow Surik had done it. Drawing on every lesson he'd learned as both Jedi and Sith, he had created an organization meeting every one of his Master's requirements. And now, finally, he could remove the mask he'd worn since before the end of the Mandalorian wars, since before the time that he and Revan had carefully planned the events of Malachor V as both the pinnacle of their victory and the instrument of conversion for the many Jedi that would become part of Revan's new Sith Order. Surik would finally be free to reveal himself as the most true servant of the Dark Lord.

But not quite yet.

Surik watched as the last of the other patrons left the bar. With the storm and the late hour, it was unlikely that any more would arrive. He looked at the mirror behind Edar, using it to steal a glance at the three men at the table. He wondered if they suspected they had less than five minutes to live.

Edar, observant as always, noticed the glance.

"You know they're going to kill us, right?" Edar said.

"I know they intend to," Surik said calmly.

"And you know who they are? These aren't run-of-the-mill enforcers. These are the best of the best. In a way, you should be honored. I don't think all three of them have ever been in the same room together. I don't think they've ever had a target that required it. I can't imagine what this is costing The Legion, but I suppose killing you is worth it to them."

Surik merely nodded and took another sip of his drink.

"So .... you don't seem worried. Did you buy them off? Do you have a team of reinforcements on the way? What's your plan?"

"Did I ever tell you I'm not the real leader of The Revanchists?" Surik said.

"No," Edar said, confused how this was relevant right now. If there were another leader that Surik was working for, that might help The Revanchists after Surik was dead. But Edar couldn't see how it did him and Surik any good tonight.

"Tonight you will meet the real boss," Surik said. "He'll be here soon. I have decided to recommend you to him. Serve him well."

"I hope the boss can fight," Edar muttered.

Surik smiled, checked the chronometer on his wrist, finished his drink, and marched to the center of the room.

"Gentlemen," Surik said loudly, facing the three men at the table. "Thank you for coming tonight. When I allowed my whereabouts to be known I was hoping to attract attention from one or two of you. I never imagined I would have the pleasure of meeting all three."

The men glanced at each other. This was unexpected. They stood and spread out, one stepping directly towards Surik, the other two fanning out to the edges of the room.

"You have no backup," the center man said. "We've been preparing for this for days. We have active surveillance for three blocks in every direction. You are formidable, but you have no help coming, and you alone are no match for us. You know this. What's your play?"

"I give you an opportunity," Surik said. "Switch your loyalty to The Revanchists now, and you will live. Refuse, and your death is all but assured. I will not repeat this offer."

"Are those your last words?" the center man said.

"I doubt it," Surik said, the faintest hint of a grin at the corners of his mouth. Even without the Force, he could feel that it was time.

"Your call," the man said. As one, all three men drew their weapons and prepared to fire.

And then everything changed.

The temperature in the room seemed to plummet. The oxygen level seemed to fall, as if the very air were being sucked from the room, leaving its occupants breathless. The lights seemed to dim as if dampened by an ominous presence that would not tolerate the light.

The bar's door swung open and a monster entered the room.

He was neither tall nor short. His build was athletic, but otherwise unimpressive. His face was hidden behind a red and black mask, but one had the sense that his features were not particularly notable. Physically speaking, this ordinary human would not have stood out in a crowd. The Blind Alley was a spaceport cantina. Edar Kran had served innumerable species of aliens from uncountable worlds. On any given night, his clientele ranged from the hideous to the sublime, and no one raised an eyebrow. And yet, this man was unlike anything that Edar had ever even heard of. His presence inspired awe and terror, disbelief and reverance. Waves of almost palpable evil flowed from him, thick, dizzying, and suffocating. Though no larger than an ordinary man, the building seemed unable to contain him, as if it would burst from the effort.

Darth Revan.

The three men reacted as one, turning their weapons on the newcomer, their hands shaking only slightly from terror. Their ability to overcome their animal instinct to flee was impressive. But it didn't matter.

The three men fired, plasma bolts hurtling towards the dark presence, true to aim. A red blade sprang to life in his hand, and all three bolts were deflected into floor, wall, and ceiling, where they left smoking burns. Behind his mask, Darth Revan grinned, and Edar Kran had the strangest sense that this supernatural demon who had burst into his bar was enjoying this.

Again the men fired. This time, the red blade deflected the plasma bolt from the man on the far left back into the face of its originator. The man's head exploded in a burst of fire and gore that covered the wall of the bar. The second bolt was caught by a black gloved hand, somehow suspended in flight. He held it for a moment, as if caressing it, then closed his fist on it, snuffing it out. Revan had allowed the third bolt to extinguish itself harmlessly on his chest, as if it were beneath his notice.

Unsure what to do against this new opponent's mystical powers, the remaining two men changed tactic and drew the vibroblades at their belts. The dark figure extended its left hand, palm raised, and gestured upwards. The center man flew from his feet and smashed into the ceiling where he hung suspended, arms and legs flailing, gasping, crushed by an unseen power.

The man on the right advanced, swinging his sword. The robed figure extinguished its glowing red blade and casually leaned to the side, the sword missing by millimeters. Quickly recovering from the overswing, the man thrust at the robed figure's abdomen. But when the blade arrived, its target was no longer there, having turned and taken a step towards the attacker, stepping inside the thrust. The red blade sprang to life and, in a blindingly fast strike, severed both the man's arms above the wrists. The vibroblade clattered to the floor, still gripped by amputated hands. The man tried to step back, tried to run, but there was no hope, nowhere to go. A swift stroke of the red blade separated the man's head from his body.

Darth Revan turned to Surik, who dropped to one knee and bowed his head.

"Welcome, Lord Revan. It is good to see you, after so long."

Revan, Edar Kran thought. I guess that explains 'The Revanchists'.

Revan looked at Edar, and Edar had the strangest sense that this dark wizard could hear his thoughts. He tried to open his mouth to welcome Revan to his establishment, tried to pour a drink to offer to this malevolent spirit, if indeed it was interested in such things, but found himself unable to speak or move. Edar was afraid, no doubt, but this was more than fright. With a glance, Revan had somehow petrified him. What sort of man was this? Revan, however, had returned his attention to Surik.

"You have done well, my faithful servant, as I knew you would. Rise. I would speak with you."

Surik stood to his feet, took an object from his belt, and handed it to Revan. "This datapad contains everything you will need to know about your organization. The captains are expecting you. I will introduce you at your convenience."

"I will introduce myself," Revan said. "I have a new mission for you, one of greatest urgency. You will leave immediately."

"As always, I am yours to command, Master."

"You will return to the Core," Revan said. "You have two objectives, of equal importance, and you must not fail at either."

"I will perform any task you ask of me."

"Do you recall the Iridonian?" Revan asked. "The one who created the Mass Shadow Generator for you?"

"Bao-Dur," Surik said. "Yes I do. He played his part well, although of course he never knew the full extent of our plans, the full purpose of Malachor V."

"He did well indeed," Revan said. "And in the aftermath, I never had the opportunity to compliment you on your finesse in that confrontation. You achieved virtually complete annihilation of those who would be opposed to our plans, almost no casualties among those who would support us, and victory over the Mandalorians. I confess that I doubted if even you could achieve all of these simultaneously, but your performance was flawless."

"Thank you Master. I simply executed your strategy," Surik said. "But what of the Iridonian?

"I again require his talents," Revan said. "And this time he must knowingly serve us. Return to the Core and recruit him to our cause, and to the Dark Side of the Force. You must bring him to me as one of my Sith. On this much depends."

"As you wish," Surik said. "But surely you can sense that my connection to the Force was taken from me. I am not what I once was."

"I am aware," Revan said. "Which brings me to your second task. An enemy has arisen in the Core, one born from Malachor V. He is a Wound in the Force, constantly in hunger. He must consume life to survive, feeding on the death he causes. It is possible that he could consume all life in the galaxy, and he is virtually unstoppable. I am not certain that I could defeat him. But you can."

"Me? How could I succeed where you could not?"

"Your condition and his are more similar than you know," Revan said, "and that gives you a unique advantage. I have surreptitiously circulated rumors in the Core that you will soon be traveling in the Outer Rim. Certain parties have already taken the bait and have placed spies in the area to alert them to your presence. Unknown to them, there are also those who watch the watchers. When you return to the Core, you will be sought out by one of these, an elderly woman, an old Master of mine. She also desires this enemy defeated, for reasons of her own, and will recognize your special ability in this regard. She will teach you to reconnect to the Force in a different way, one suited to who you have become. She will also attempt to use you for her purposes. Allow this, as long as it is to your benefit. Learn all you can from her. And then kill her."

"Yes, Master", Surik said. He could not deny that the prospect of reconnecting to the Force, in any manner, was enticing. "What else should I know?"

"Beyond those primary tasks, it would be helpful to me if the remaining Jedi Masters perished, and the Republic remained in a weakened state. It may be necessary, especially until you reach the fullness of your new powers, to lean on beings you may encounter, and to present yourself as an ally of the Jedi and the Republic. You have my endorsement of any subterfuge you may wish to employ. In fact, I have implanted false memories in my astromech droid, T3-M4, that may help legitimize any such efforts. It will bring my ship, the Ebon Hawk, to you under the false impression that it is seeking help for me. As astromechs are notoriously unstable, you may wish to confirm at some point that these memories do not become corrupted. Do so without alerting the droid to your knowledge. Finally, consider whatever allies you may acquire in your travels to be disposable. Bring only the Iridonian to me, and kill the rest before you return. I wish to leave no loose ends."

"It will be done," Surik said. "Also, the owner of this bar has been loyal to me, and if you desire, he will serve you well."

"Very good," Revan said. "A woman waits outside the bar for you. She will escort you to the spaceport, where I have arranged nondescript transport for your return to the Outer Rim. Your escort believes herself to be my true apprentice. Do not disabuse her of this notion, as she is still useful to me. Upon your successful return, I will allow you to kill her and take your rightful place at my side."

Surik inclined his head and walked to the door. As he did so, Revan turned to the almost-forgotten assassin who still struggled against the ceiling, limbs twitching, face an alarming shade of purple. Revan released the man, who fell heavily to the floor in a heap. Revan walked to him and, with a gesture, turned the man onto his back, where he lay panting. Placing a black boot on the man's chest, Revan looked directly down at him.

"You will take me to the leadership of The Legion," Revan said. "There, I will inform them that they now serve me." The would-be assassin nodded vigorously in agreement.

Surik had almost forgotten his Master's transendence. Surik had expected that, even with his extensive and careful preparations, it would take Revan weeks or months to defeat or absorb The Legion and secure his hold on Wild Space. Instead, Revan would own all criminal activity in Wild Space by the end of the night. Truly, Surik served the greatest Sith Master of all time.

Surik donned his cloak, opened the bar door and found a dark-haired woman waiting for him on the covered porch. She was young and pale, with the telltale bright yellow eyes and prominent facial veins that accompanied total committment to the Dark Side. She looked at him carefully, unimpressed.

"Wait here," Bastila Shan said. She entered the bar and closed the door behind her. Surik waited patiently, considering his good fortune. He was grateful to have a new mission from Revan.

---

"Him?" Bastila said to Revan, ignoring the assassin on the floor and the paralyzed barkeep. "He's what we came all this way for? I sense nothing special from him. In fact, I sense nothing at all - a void. You trust whatever he has become with something so critical to our plans?"

"I do, my apprentice," Revan said, emphasizing the last word. "He will accomplish what I have asked. And when he returns, I will allow you to kill him and remove any doubts you have about who rightfully stands by my side."

Bastila huffed, but accepted both the decision and the reprimand. She exited the bar, and Revan turned to Edar, who found himself once again able to move.

"Edar Kran, at your service," he managed.

"Indeed you are, Mr. Kran," Revan said. "And in serving me, you will learn things about yourself that you never suspected."

KOTOR 1 - Betrayals: Boss Fight