Combat Master’s Note: This battle takes on a unique format, as it is the conclusion of ACC: Fading Light. You will be encountering two NPCs with another player. The two NPCs present are Darth Necren and Lanis (one of the three bounty hunters mentioned in his character sheet). How you wish to deal with the other player combatant is up to you entirely, but all three characters should be reflected according to their character sheets in your writing.

A deadly storm now rages over the skies of Begeren, so massive in size that it has spread across the horizon from the Valley of Monuments. The fury of the storm has torn asunder buildings and monuments alike as it has spread across the face of the planet. The terrible storm’s destructive purpose may be unknown, but there can be no doubt that it originates from the palace at the center of the Valley of Monuments. Even the palace itself has not done well in the storm; ancient stones haven yielded to the incredible power of the storm, ripping holes in the once glorious building. Now, with the storm seeming to grow ever stronger with each passing moment, a small number of the Brotherhood’s best have found themselves square in the center of it.

You’ve maneuvered your way through the palace so far with little problem, narrowly avoiding gaping holes in the palace itself and ascending one of many narrow staircases upwards, undoubtedly towards the origin of Begeren’s most recent devastation. The One Sith have been an ever-present harassment, but the underlings you have come across were far more worried about the storm – and their own survival – than you. Whatever quest has led you here, you realize that your only hope lies atop this palace. Early in your climb up these stairs, you could see others in the distance making their way upwards, but it has been some time now since you have seen another living soul.

After a significant climb, the stairs end atop a large platform, four separate stairways snaking down from here. The platform has two, large, wrought-iron doors – both ajar. A bright glow emanates from the room, and you can hear the faint sound of two people conversing – a man and a woman.

As you slip inside the door, you immediately notice this room is out of place in the otherwise ancient palace. Advanced computers, holoprojectors, and displays cover every inch of floor and ceiling. In the center of the room, seated around a holoprojector, is an Iktochi female, Darth Necren. Across from her is a seated male Mandalorian with three yellow stripes on his shoulder – Lanis. In Lanis’ hands is a small, glowing datapad.

“The master will not be joining us – their breaching the palace changes everything,” Necren says, addressing the Mandalorian. For someone so loyal to the Council, she seems oddly at ease with the bounty hunter – a known associate of the One Sith.

“Not that it matters,” Lanis replies, shrugging his shoulders. He glances down at the datapad, and taps a few buttons. “We’ve got to get out of here, anyway. His handiwork will level this place – and everything around it. Nothing will remain of his work here. The ritual will remain – Wait!” Both your attention and Lanis’ turn immediately to a figure entering from the right, but it is Necren that notices you. Throwing her hands towards you, the doors behind you slam shut.

In a blur, Necren is on her feet, her lightsaber snapping to life. Lanis slips the datapad into a pocket in his suit and pulls himself to his feet, drawing his sword. As you prepare to fight, you glance to your right and notice the newcomer, too, is readying for a fight.

Senseless.

Timeros was used to sacrifice. Every breath he took, every waking moment was permeated with duty to a greater cause. He had known, for decades, the path of his life. He would serve loyally, fight efficiently, and someday die for his Clan.

Now, however, the Entar stood dumbfounded as the shrouded figure drew a saber and filled the room with an amber glow. He did not follow suit. There was no prize at the end of the trail. No fabled treasure or One Sith ruler atop the palace, for all that its approach had demanded a toll of blood. Over twenty Arconans had set out to war. He was the only one that remained, and all of his efforts would be for nothing.

With no purpose, what use was there in sacrifice?

Movement startled the Adept, jolting him out of his reverie as Darth Necren hurtled through the chamber in a frantic whirl of robes and light. The diminutive Iktotchi moved with impossible grace, her entire attack a single sinuous movement through the air. By the time Timeros saw her leap, her saber was already corkscrewing for his heart.

Some deep-seated impulse stirred the Arconae to action, the Iktotchi’s murderous intent carved upon his soul. His lightsabers jumped from his belt and he snatched them from the air. Their electric cracks preceded his intended death by instants, Necren’s headlong strike dying as it met one still-extending blade while the other stabbed low. The Prophet juked wildly, sidestepping one gleaming edge and vaulting over the other, spinning backwards into the command center.

On the other side of the room, the unknown Dark Jedi dissolved into motion. His figure rearranged into a grey blur shot through with radiant amber as he dashed towards Lanis, saber leaping up in a vicious cross. The bounty hunter parried with cool professionalism, guiding the gleaming streak of light along his beskad sword. He riposted immediately, stabbing at the Dark Jedi’s gut, but his anonymous enemy had already darted past him, saber flicking for an armor-clad heel. Lanis threw himself away just in time, landing in a roll and springing back to his feet before setting off in pursuit as the Dark Jedi backed away.

Timeros struck at Necren’s mind almost by reflex, suffusing her with a miasma of dread. The Prophet gasped at the sudden assault, staggering for an instant as she fought off the terror-backed asphyxiation of her soul. By the time she had recovered, he was already bearing down on her, lightsabers scything down from either side.

The minute alien backpedaled just in time, sabers crossing like gleaming pincers just inches from baleful ochre eyes. She responded with a retaliatory lunge, trying to force him away. The Arconae skipped backwards adroitly, letting the Assassin’s momentum extend until she nearly overbalanced, then abruptly reversing course. He hopped forwards, his sabers once again lashing in at her from both sides.

The Iktotchi narrowly avoided the attack by jumping backwards once, and then again as he repeated the maneuver, blades uncrossing. At the third attack, however, she leapt, springing over Timeros’ blades as they sizzled underneath her.

A flash of movement across the room heralded Lanis smacking against a wall near the holoprojector command console, hurled by an unseen force. The machine bleeped and sparked in protest as the disoriented bounty hunter grasped at its sides in an attempt to pull himself up, succeeding only at tearing the metal casing with his crushgaunts. The hooded Dark Jedi surged forward, an amber sheath of light angling for the kill.

The dark side flared with sudden power, presaging a whipcord of lightning from Necren’s outstretched hand as tendrils of power twisted across her form. The shrouded Jedi flung himself away just in time as his senses warned him that something was terribly amiss. Instead, the lightning tore into the console, reducing it to wreckage as its intended target sailed to safety.

In doing so, the assailant’s hood fell away, revealing the gaunt and angular features of Aidan Kincaid, Dark Jedi Master of Clan Taldryan. He offered Necren a cold glance before turning back towards Lanis, but the bounty hunter had already recovered, climbing to his feet.

There was no mistaking the flare of hatred emanating from Kincaid. Hatred, tightly leashed and carefully controlled, but hatred nonetheless. Pure and undiluted, strong enough to halt Timeros in his tracks.

“Tell me, Necren,” the Dark Jedi Master said, voice soft and dangerous, his sight never wavering from the bounty hunter. “Has the Council just now begun supporting the One Sith, or has it been compromised from the start?”

The One Sith reeled as though slapped, whipping up her hand again and pouring lightning across the command center until the room was filled with frenetic gleams of white-blue current, spiraling for the Taldryanite. Kincaid’s blade arced deftly as he caught the glowing barbs on his lightsaber, but the momentary distraction almost proved fatal. A sudden fusillade of crimson tore across the room, bolts exploding across the command center as Timeros’ Westar whined to life, one of his lightsabers lying discarded at his feet.

Moments later, Lanis was up and running, seizing the distraction as he bolted between strands of lightning. The armored soldier bowled into his adversary, grasping him tightly as the pair fell over, tumbling down the stairs that Kincaid had originally ascended.

Necren turned towards Timeros as his assault concluded. He returned her stare with glacial cool, holstering his blaster and retrieving his lightsaber with a glance. The Council’s betrayal and its terrifying implications were banished from his mind, replaced with only a single emotion.

Hatred. Cold, controlled and pure.

His own contempt for Council and lesser Clans, Aidan’s manifest hate for the One Sith, even Necren’s overpowering rage. In the end, it had brought all of them here, guided like missiles to meet in a single place.

If he could not fight for purpose, perhaps he could fight for hatred’s sake.

Hate was all they had left.

Kincaid fell backwards down the stairs, driven by the Mandalorian’s hulking mass into the stone floor below. As he slid to a stop, he instinctively raised his lightsaber in hopes of impaling his opponent, but it appeared the Mandalorian was sheathed in true beskar’gam as the amber blade glanced harmlessly off the side of his green-plated chest. Unable to swing his own sword in close quarters, the Mandalorian simply began raining down blow after blow with his gauntleted fists. Kincaid raised his left arm to fend off the attacks, but left himself open to a crushing punch to his kidneys.

Pain seared through Kincaid’s abdomen, but he forced it down, shoving it to the back of his mind. Rather than allowing the pain to control him, he channeled it inward. Drawing in strength from the Force, Kincaid unleashed a telekinetic blast at his opponent. The wave of power struck the Mandalorian head-on, sending him flying up wildly into the air. Free of the weight, Kincaid quickly regained his feet and jumped back a dozen feet.

Despite the surprise attack, the Mandalorian was quick to react. Before falling back to the ground, he activated the boosters of his jetpack and landed unsteadily back on his feet. Dropping down to one knee, he managed to draw his blaster from its holster and fire randomly in Kincaid's direction.

Under the effects of the telekinetic wave, it would take time for the Mandalorian to fully recover his senses, so the blind firing was simply a stall tactic. To be expected from such a seasoned fighter. Kincaid raised his lightsaber and deflected the few bolts that managed to target him. Raising his left hand, he reached out with the Force and jerked the blaster from the Mandalorian's grip. It hit the ground with a soft clatter, skittering off into the distance. Shaking off the effects of Kincaid's earlier attack, the Mandalorian returned to his feet and launched himself down the flight of stairs.

Kincaid's eyes narrowed as he stared down his opponent. The Mandalorian was skilled and obviously trained to handle Jedi opponents—which made sense, considering whom he worked for. Kincaid's mind raced as he evaluated what he had learned fighting the Mandalorian thus far. He was fast and skilled with a blade, but in the limited space they had, the jetpack was practically useless, as was the grappling hook. Moreover, given the standard kit of a bounty hunter, his gauntlets were most likely hiding a flamethrower, which could prove dangerous.

Unwilling to risk such an attack, Kincaid struck first. He instantly closed the gap between them with a burst of preternatural speed, forcing the Mandalorian into a defensive position. The Mandalorian dodged the first strike, relying on his instincts and impeccable reflexes, then engaged Kincaid with a flurry of heavy blows. His weapon was heavier, but much slower, and Kincaid was able to swiftly avoid the attacks, pushing the Mandalorian back a few steps. Their blades slammed into each other, the rare Mandalorian iron holding steady against the glowing blade of the lightsaber.

The two were almost evenly matched for strength, but Kincaid didn't need to win the lock. His allowed his blade to waver for an instant and the Mandalorian pressed the unexpected advantage, eager to end the fight. Instead, a flash of pure white exploded into his HUD-enhanced vision as Kincaid's assassin lightsaber thrust out from his right arm and stabbed into the t-shaped visor. The Mandalorian instantly backed off, ripping the damaged helmet from his head to reveal a rugged, battle-scarred face with short-cropped black hair. His black eyes glared at Kincaid as he roared in rage and defiance.

Above them, the ceiling suddenly shook and bits of plaster and stone rained down forcing them to dodge out of the way. At the edge of his senses, Kincaid could feel the exchange of power between Necren and the Arconan. Neither was holding anything back as each fought to kill. The assassin should have the edge when it came to power, but the Arconan was more than holding his own. The room they fought in had been utterly decimated by the back and forth Force and lightsaber attacks. Kincaid tried to keep part of his awareness on the battle above, but was forced to return to his own fight as the Mandalorian raised a gauntlet at him.

An inferno erupted from the Mandalorian's flamethrower, blanketing the area before him with fire. Kincaid leapt backwards, moving out of range, but the flames managed to catch his cloak. Twisting his body around, Kincaid whirled out of it and used the Force to hurl it at the Mandalorian.

The flames disappeared for a moment as the Mandalorian sliced through the cloak with his sword. A moment was all that was needed. Kincaid suddenly appeared beside the Mandalorian. With a deft, powerful slash, his lightsaber severed the Mandalorian's right arm at the elbow joint, eliciting a surprised shout of pain.

The Mandalorian fell back a step, stumbling slightly. Despite the agony and shock, he attempted to gain some distance and regroup, but never got the chance. Kincaid kicked off the ground and leapt. He sailed through the air in a graceful arc, his amber blade slashing effortlessly straight through the Mandalorian's neck. As Kincaid landed, his opponent's head fell to the ground. The body dropped an instant later.

It was finished.

Kincaid bent down over the corpse and reached into one of the pockets. His fingers clasped the datapad and withdrew it. Hopefully it would help to identify the traitor on the Dark Council. Above him, the tremors of battle still raged, but Kincaid's objective was complete. He would leave the Arconan to his fate… and deal with Necren at some future point in time. For now, he had to report to his master.

However, before he could head back towards the entrance of the palace, a voice called out to him, stopping Kincaid in his tracks.

"I'll need that back."

It was always going to be like this.

Timeros flung himself backwards through the room, narrowly avoiding Necren’s wide-angled swipe. He touched down lithely upon a broken console then pushed off, propelling himself further away as the Iktotchi Prophet flew at him in pursuit.

The Adept landed on broken stone, grace encumbered only by the seeping hints of exhaustion tingling along his limbs. The command center looked like the site of an explosion, doors ripped off their hinges and displays shattered. Darth Necren’s power crashed through the room like a tsunami against sandcastles. Timeros saturated the air with crimson bolts until the Prophet had finally managed to destroy his blasters. Together, they had transformed the room into a scrap heap.

Ironic then, that the only things left untouched by the contesting twisters of destruction were their intended targets.

The diminutive contortionist thrust herself forward, using the shattered console to vault herself at the Arconae. He shifted positions immediately, intersecting the Iktotchi’s saber as she sailed overhead. She struck at him once, twice, thrice before twisting in midair, planting her feet firmly against one of the ruined displays adorning the wall. The amber-skinned female launched herself towards him again, her improbably large lightsaber held straight ahead as if to spear him. He hammered at the massive weapon, forcing its blade against the floor. Timeros’ saber blurred forward, but the Iktotchi managed to weave away from the amethyst flash in another spectacular leap, jarring her saber loose as she soared out of his reach.

Something changed.

It almost escaped the Entar’s attention. He had been too submerged in the battle, so engrossed in hatred that even the Force had seemed to fade from his mind. He only realized the difference when Necren swerved from her incipient charge, turning towards one of the exits.

Where four people had previously fought, there were now only three. The battle below had ceased, replaced with calm triumph.

The Prophet tore out of the room in a haze of amber. The Arconae moved to follow, but unhinged doors tumbled over in the telekinetic wake of her escape. Reflexively, Timeros sent a sense-blanketing torrent of dread through the room, filling it with the terrifying din of battle it now lacked, but it failed to so much as slow the alien. The Entar skidded to a halt with a frustrated hiss, glancing at the other exits. Escape, if desired, was within easy reach.

He tore into the door, sabers shredding at the heavy stone.

We are Dark Jedi. We choose our paths and do not stray. What other choice is there?

Ahead, he could hear Necren speak.

“I’ll need that back.”

The Arconae could hear no answer save the sudden crack of colliding sabers as he broke through the rock and flew down the stairs, sabers gleaming amethyst. Beneath, Necren and Kincaid were already battling, crimson and amethyst flashing back and forth in a furious whirl.

The Arconae bolted towards them, the dark side raging through his veins as he crashed into the battle.

It was like diving into multicolored sleet. The instant Timeros came within reach, an amber sheath of light rose up to meet him. He sidestepped, riposting with his right hand even as crimson tore in from the side. This, he vaulted, even as Kincaid deftly parried his first assault. Necren made use of the distraction, lightsaber arcing impossibly fast as she converted slash to stab, forcing the Taldryanite out of reach.

The Arconae landed with sinuous grace, both sabers stabbing at the Prophet. Necren twisted immediately, flowing through his attacks with savage grace, then backflipping as Aidan swung at her from behind.

Aidan stepped forward as he swung, one thwarted attack exchanged seamlessly for a wide sweep at Timeros’ legs. The Adept parried with Force-fueled prowess, pushing him back, and Kincaid was forced to leap aside. Necren retaliated with a crimson sweep that Timeros barely intersected.

Twin blades scythed at Necren from either side, and she hurriedly retracted her weapon, vaulting over one attack even as she blocked the second. Her aerial pirouette, however, was cut short; Aidan seized the opportunity to stab the Iktotchi in midair.

The diminutive woman let loose a furious scream as the blade pierced her side, face deforming into an enraged rictus. Timeros was already swinging again, ready to end her should she not dodge.

Instead, Necren chose to kill. She whipped up her free hand, barbed arcs of power ripping into the man who had dared to wound her. Aidan was caught in the blast, captured in ribbons of light and thrown across the room. In his hand, a small device sputtered, then died - the datapad.

The next instant, an amethyst pillar buried itself in her gut, met with another shriek as Necren slumped to the floor.

Timeros stood, dazed, as he watched his fallen foes. Oddly, there was no triumph, only an odd deflation.

“You are...too late.”

He glanced down, watching the speared Iktotchi. Necren was obviously dying, but her eyes were still burning, and she looked up at him defiantly.

“The datapad is gone, Arconan.”

The Entar remained silent and impassive, watching her laborious breaths. “The Brotherhood won’t believe a single man,” the woman continued to rasp, face alight with a mad sense of triumph.

“They’ll believe two.”

Timeros started, head turning.

Kincaid was lying not far away, electricity streaming off his form. He, too, was obviously incapacitated, but he seemed oddly calm as he watched Necren.

“Two people, from two Clans that never agree. They will believe us.”

Necren sputtered furiously. “You think he’ll let you live, Taldryanite?” The Prophet’s lips curved into a cruel smile.

“My Master already knows,” Aidan replied, words slow but measured.

Necren’s face twisted, but a flash of amethyst pre-empted any retort. Timeros turned towards Kincaid, saber still in his hands.

We choose our paths and do not stray.

Wordlessly, the Arconan holstered his sabers and turned away, towards the palace exit.

Perhaps we should start.

Kincaid slowly turned towards the voice, his fists clenching with his annoyance. Before him stood Necren who appeared fatigued and battle-worn, but as fierce as ever. Her robes were torn in various places and had blaster holes in others. The soot and sweat on her face helped paint a picture of her battle with the Arconan. The outcome was obvious. At her side, and slightly elevated, was her opponent's still form, caught in her telekinetic grasp. Kincaid stared at the Arconan's prostrated appearance, before regarding Necren with a cold glare.

"We both know that's not going to happen," Kincaid said, tightening his grip on the datapad.

Necren's mouth split into a grin, revealing a row of sharp, pointed teeth. "Well then. I'll just have to pry it from your cold, dead hands."

Kincaid responded to those words with a telekinetic blast. Kinetic energy slammed into both Necren and her floating puppet, sending them flying backwards. With the datapad in hand, there was no need to waste time in battle; Kincaid only had to escape.

Without waiting to see the outcome of his attack, he turned and dashed into a nearby corridor. With each step, Kincaid increased his speed, until he was nothing more than an indistinct blur, retracing his earlier steps to find an exit. A massive explosion shook the entire palace, as if hit by a devastating strike from the storm outside. Before he could react, an entire section of the wall beside him disappeared, splintering with a resounding crack as ancient stone and metal were torn asunder.

The floor beneath his feet suddenly crumbled, upending Kincaid. The entire section of palace he was in had become unstable. Spying a large window in the opposite building, he willed power into his legs and leapt through the air. Glass exploded around him as he smashed through the window and moments later he hit the ground hard and rolled.

Bruised and battered, Kincaid forced himself to his feet and looked around. His eyes fell upon a shuttle—he had found his way into a small hangar bay. On his left, a bay door stood open, protected by a glowing particle shield, which was holding off the effects of the storm. It would be dangerous, but the shuttle would be the quickest, most efficient means of escape available to him.

The soft thud of feet hitting the ground came from behind him, forcing a weary sigh from Kincaid's mouth. Necren. Her rage nearly blinded Kincaid's overly attuned senses. She leapt at him, thrusting her blade forward in a flurry of attacks. Kincaid managed to roughly parry, but he couldn't stand against the onslaught and continued to give ground. Fatigue threatened to overwhelm him, as he struggled just to keep up.

Sensing the opening, Necren released bolts of lightning from her fingertips. The raw power of the Force slammed into Kincaid's lightsaber and tore it from his grasp. Defenseless, the arcs lightning enveloped him, wracking him with unrelenting pain. A ragged scream ripped from Kincaid's mouth and he was thrown backwards as Necren pumped all her strength into the vicious attack.

Kincaid lay unmoving, jolts of electricity coursing through his body. Visibly exhausted from her attack, Necren still managed to stand above Kincaid with her lightsaber ready to strike. She looked down into Kincaid's face, expecting to see resignation or fear, but instead found that his eyes weren't on her. Instead, they were directed behind her—at the Arconan, who was barely holding himself together through sheer, unbendable will.

Despite her exhaustion, Necren instantly turned to meet the surprise attack, parrying a shallow blow from the Arconan's blade. To Kincaid’s eyes, it seemed as though the attack had only been a means to close the distance between them. The Arconan reached out and touched his left hand, almost tenderly, to Necren's head.

Necren shrieked in both horror and pain as the Arconan's power smashed through her weary mental defenses. Terror invaded her mind, leaving her utterly defenseless. The Arconan's blade descended like a burning trail of light and sliced through the Prophet’s chest.

As Necren fell, Kincaid warily returned to his feet, his eyes narrowed at the Arconan. It was impossible for Kincaid to discern the man's intent… his mind was dark, filled only with pure, unadulterated hatred. The hate had no target or purpose, it simply was.

Filled by nothing but that cold, desperate hate, the Arconan blindly rushed forward with his lightsaber held high. Before Kincaid had a chance to react, an amber blade suddenly blossomed from the Arconan's chest. A brief look of surprise flashed across his face, before he fell forward. Jutting from his back was Kincaid's fallen lightsaber. Kincaid turned at this new, unexpected threat. However, he could not see the attacker.

A moment later, bodies started pouring into the hangar—soldiers in black and silver armor, proudly displaying the emblem of the Dark Jedi Brotherhood. They were the Grand Master’s fabled Nephilim. They took one look at the tableau before them. Both Necren, the Dark Council assassin, and an Arconan Dark Jedi were dead. Only Kincaid was still standing. Immediately, the soldiers fanned out and surrounded Kincaid with weapons drawn.

"What is this?" Kincaid demanded.

“You’re under arrest,” a maddeningly familiar voice answered from the dark. “For treason against the Brotherhood.”

A chill swept through him. An aura of power he had felt before was among the guardsmen. Impossible… No, it wasn't impossible. The datapad held information on the traitor within the Dark Council. Necren's betrayal was further proof of corruption. Somehow, the traitor had learned about the assault on the palace and managed to turn the situation to his advantage. He had found a scapegoat... one tied directly to a former Grand Master.

With a crimson blade held to his neck, Kincaid was forced into a pair of stun cuffs and marched towards the waiting shuttle. Echoing through his mind was one thought: He had failed.