“Please, keep your helmet close, Asvraal,” Aphotis’s voice was cordial as a long, sharp nail pointed toward the small holes at the base of each wall in direct sight.
The Kessurian inclined his head at the Sith, his treasure hunts had taught him to expect traps in just about any corner they could squeeze them in.
“Do not mind the crew, most are still in training, but their loyalty is absolute. Do not hesitate to test their resolve for yourself.”
The already loud heel clicks were amplified by the minimalist-tiled hallways of Osasdii’s Scythe. When the Sith halted in front of a crew member she had but to breathe louder to get a salute in return for both Malfearak and herself.
“Some doors will refuse to open without the right genetic code, I have updated them with yours temporarily, I hope you do not mind. Feel free to explore the vessel, just be careful of what you touch, some ‘items’ may want to return a tactile sensation.”
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Malfearak could certainly appreciate the minimalistic design of the Osasdii’s Scythe, though what truly fascinated him was the overabundance of reflective surfaces. It was a bold design choice, one that spoke to the owner’s self-confidence. Indeed, it was one thing amongst many the Sith Mistress had in abundance. He had come to find her presence quite intoxicating in the way one prized the company of an exotic predator.
The flight through hyperspace took them into the furthest regions of the Outer Rim, deeper than the likes of Tatooine to the very edge of Wild Space. It was a long trip, part of which he spent in the solitude of his appointed cabin, locked in meditation. Much had troubled him these past months. The disappearance of his master, Kereban Zolar, had weighed on his shoulders for many years. The resurgence of the artifact he had now entrusted in Alaisy’s care had provided him with a new lead, perhaps the most significant one yet. The prospect of unraveling the mysteries that linked Zolar—and now Alaisy—to the mythical Black Hand was nothing short of exhilerating. Yet, the artifact’s influence, coupled with the Sith’s own aura, had begun to take their toll. He felt stretched, on the brink of snapping, his judgment clouded. When he reconvened with his host, they exchanged pleasantries, shared meals, as he entertained her with the historical tid-bits concerning Cyris Oscura. He found he enjoyed her company more than he would have expected. She was a strange creature indeed, but an interesting one, quite unlike any other he had met in the Brotherhood.
It was during once such meeting with Alaisy that he suddenly fell quiet mid-sentence. A strange sensation had washed over him… as if…
The Shadow had foreseen this moment. Its twisted lips curled into the mockery of a smile, rotten teeth laid bare for the universe. It breathed deep, a thralling gasp, as it recalled the stench of sulfure and brimstone. It could feel the dry heat of Velrahn wash upon its crackled skin, welcomed it as an old friend. It reached out, long, bony fingers outstretched. It clenched its fist, the claw-like nails digging into its palm.
The Osasdii’s Scythe was ripped out of hyperspace, taking crew and pilot by surprise.
The coordinates were wrong, and yet, sure enough, before them sat the volcanic world of Velrahn, the long forgotten home of the Black Hand.
.
The low hum of the ion engines reverberated through the cockpit as the hyperdrive systems reset themselves, preventing a complete shutdown. The swift takeover from Zaagnika Umangi ensured that the corvette did not float too close to the atmosphere. The crew next to her seemed to let out a collective sigh of relief.
The ships’s viewport gave them a great overview of the planet’s molten surface
Aphotis could feel the pull at her twin fused souls—much like the corvette under her command—from the very planet itself, although instead of being surprised—similar to her crew as they were ripped from hyperspace—she felt a great longing darkness between the everlasting hell-fires down there. The tales of the Blackhand warped from merely interesting towards essential and Malfaerak’s company was viewed by her as an ingredient to a diabolical recipe.
A great weariness washed over Asvraal, as if his vigor was being siphoned towards a great black void. The ebbing of his energy obfuscated the danger ahead.
They both knew this was it—Velrahn—no words had to be spilled about it.
“Zaagnika, you are the Commanding Officer of the Scythe, is the shuttle ready?” The imposing Sith held a claw in front of the Zygerrian’s path.
“Yes Mistress, I was just getting my things. Sickle Three is prepared for you in the hangar, bay two,” Zag’s voice switched from silvery to high-pitched screeching and back as she began to realise how much responsibility was placed on her shoulders.
“Alright, imma need the Senior Officer here! Rookies, please go to the simulation rooms and get a bite to eat, if your stomachs can handle this dread,” Zag kept her voice steady this time as she tossed around sympathetic, yet assertive commands.
“Excellent, Asvraal, let us descend,” the Sith’s claws toyed with the artifact as her demanding voice mentally dragged the Kessurian with her.
. Malfaerak had a quiet intensity about him as he double checked his gear and followed the loud click, clacking of the tall woman’s heels and the aggressive swinging of her slick tail. The corvette’s cockpit blast door slid open with a hiss not dissimilar from her mask’s. They crossed into the bridge, the crew almost diving away from the duo, eyes darting between the blinking lights of the consoles they had to focus on and the two prominent figures.
Tir’eivra halted as someone with a grime and grease-covered overall came running at her.
“All of Sickle Three’s systems nominal, Mistress,” one brave crew-member reached for the Sith’s attention.
“Spare me, are the heat-shields installed?” Aphotis replied in a cold tone.
“Working as inten- ahem yes, they are installed as you had commanded, sir, ma’am,” his voice was coarse and laced with insecurity as he met the imposing Sith for the first time in person.
Aphotis stared at the man for a second and could sense a chill running down his spine. She knew he understood, even if the ‘addressing’ needed readjustment, and continued toward the hangar bays without uttering a single word.
Upon entering bay two, they saw the T-2c standing at the ready under the blue flicker of overhead lights. Its engines were primed and the shuttle hatch stood opened, the matt black paint-job only interrupted by the silvery heat-shields that had been installed last minute. Heavy boots clanged against the ramp as the duo entered. The doors shut with a mechanical crunch.
. The Sith paused and gestured towards Malfearak to strap himself into the main pilot seat. He obliged, feeling somewhat more confident and energetic in a piece of technology that he had been familiar with. Aphotis joined him as co-pilot, albeit with some acrobatics—she had to twist her ankles just to cram the bladed boots in.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” the Kessurian said with a hint of anxiety and enthusiasm in his voice.
“Indeed, no turning back now,” Alaisy’s voice was determined, despite her mind trying desperately to run every scenario in front of her.
The blue laser-shield of the hangar bay blinked off. Asvraal had lowered it with the press of a button, familiar with being trusted by the permissions granted to him.
As the ship left the hangar, a wave of emotion washed over Malfearak. His hands were steady on the yolk but his spirits were anything but. His expectations were high, his anticipation keen, but he could not shake the sense of dread that had festered within him like tendrils of rot entangling his very soul. He could feel a dark hand guiding their path forward. The very notion went against the teachings of the Wayfarers, who taught that the Force was their one true guide.
The blackened, magma-veined surface of Velrahn looming over them, overtaking their vision, a thousand questions swarmed his mind. He took a deep breath, turned to peer at his companion only to find eerie blue eyes staring back at him. His gaze fell upon the venomous smirk hanging on her lustrous, black lips. Clearly, she could feel his turmoil in the Force.
Was she… savoring it?
He shuddered as he took a deep breath and turned his eyes back towards their destination.
Towards the lair of the Black Hand.