The library was designed to look ancient. Old architecture. Cold, grey brick. High arches and a vaulted, domed ceiling. Wrought-iron sconces hang from the walls to provide light, flickering with real flames. It had all been crafted to hide the fact that the Academy was less than two decades old. The lower level is rectangular, twice as long as it is wide. The middle is filled with chairs and tables, where students study. On either side, large wooden bookshelves hold tomes of knowledge accessible to all members of the Brotherhood. In the center of the floor stands a monument to Jedgar Octavius Paladin, the founder of the first Shadow Academy.

By taking one of the two main staircases on the North and South sides of the library, one can access the second floor. The two sides of the upper level are connected by stone pathways, and the first floor was completely visible below. The upper level held fewer tomes, but contained more advanced knowledge. Often, it's used by students who required silence and introspection for their studies.

Despite the solemn purpose of the library, fights still break out between the students, who always seek to prove themselves against their peers. Punishment awaits those who damage the library, but rarely do instructors step in to stop the fights. Students usually watch in interest, or place bets on the combatants, glad for the show to break up the monotony of their studies.

When he entered the Central Library, even the normally uncultured Zakath had to admit that the architecture of the chamber was impressive. As he made his way toward the southern staircase, the Barabel slowed down to admire the shadows that danced away from the flickering flames of the torches that lined the cold, grey walls of the large room. Ascending the iron black staircase that led to the upper levels, he reflected that the library was so much more peaceful now, since all of the would-be students were either deployed to hunt down the Undesirables or were in hiding, if not already dead.

A shame my time here will be brief, the Barabel thought to himself as he stepped onto the second level and headed toward a computer terminal. He would’ve liked an opportunity to examine some of the more advanced information available around him.

As he began to access the computer, Zakath found himself in a bitterly reflective mood as he considered the reasons that had brought him here.The purging of the Dark Brotherhood was well underway, with the Inquisitorius sweeping through primary Brotherhood locations to find and eliminate those that the Grand Master deemed “Undesirables.” With Arcona’s Consul, Atyiru Caesura Entar, being undesirable herself, her reaction was swift. Those loyal to her were dispatched to ascertain the Inquisitorius presence in various locations and find out the reasons behind their missions.

The former Sith was entrusted with one of the more sensitive missions; to investigate the ruined Shadow Academy. Now he found himself in the library, enroute to the administration offices. He was hoping that one of the computers would have a copy of the last updated roster of the Shadow Academy students, and therefore not need to go even deeper, where the most dangerous of Pravus’ agents were working.

His heavy talons tapping at the the terminal, Zakath’s eyes narrowed slightly as he worked. Bringing up the administration menu, he was soon facing a blinking phrase of, ’PASSWORD REQUIRED’ displayed in dull, green text on the screen.

Ugh, where is my wayward apprentice when I need he- Zakath’s thoughts were cut off by strong footfalls slowly crashing in like an approaching thunderstorm, coming from the level below. Hissing softly to himself, the Dark Jedi cautiously moved toward a railing and peeked down toward the first floor. A trio of what appeared to be low-ranked Inquisitorius soldiers, two female and one male, had entered the room, followed by a tall and lithe ochre-hued woman in a brown cloak that resembled an outer Jedi robe. His attention was instantly diverted toward the cloaked figure, nostrils flaring and eyes narrowing to small slits as he stared hard at her. The woman was certainly beautiful by most species’ standards, and the earthly yellow armor she wore underneath her cloak did little to hide her shapely curves. Her hair appeared to be moving, as if alive, writhing slowly around the sides of her head.

Zakath was not looking at her through his eyes alone, however. He was peering at her through the lens of the Force. The feeling that his sixth sense was conveying to him was something he had only felt in certain people a few times before… usually right before killing them.

Jedi, he snarled internally to himself.

There was only one Clan within the Brotherhood that claimed to follow the Jedi teachings, but for this Jedi to walk with Inquisitorius soldiers… There was only one such being who could command the infamous zealots that swore fealty to the Grand Master. None other than V’yr Vorsa, the Dark Council’s Herald.

An Undesirable leading a purge of Undesirables? Zakath’s eyes began to take on an amethyst glow as fury stoked within him at the thought of one of their own kind leading a betrayal.

And she is Jedi. She represents Odan-Urr, even if she sits on the Dark Council. Which means she is breaking the treaty with Arcona.

Zakath bared his razor sharp teeth as his anger grew. He would report this news to Atyiru - and he knew she would not be pleased. First, however, this betrayal needed to be punished… starting with the death of the Inquisitorius soldiers.

Taking stock of the soldiers marching into the center of the library floor, Zakath growled softly to himself as he noted the pattern of their movements - a search patrol. Judging from the slightly casual way they moved, they were not anticipating trouble.

Zakath’s lips peeled back into a wicked grin as he brought out the toothy hilt of his lightsaber. The soldiers had not yet bothered to look up since they had first entered the lower floor, and Zakath was perfectly positioned to leap onto one of them. His deadly claws would make short work of the woman’s throat.

Which left two.

Carefully scaling the railing that protected people from falling down to the lower levels, Zakath held onto it with one hand and took aim with his lightsaber, his thumb brushing over the ignition switch. The rancor tooth hilt hummed to life as a blood red blade extended out, its deadly tip pointed directly at the male’s head. A heartbeat later, he threw it, using the Force to give the lightsaber a slight nudge. The crimson blade shot forward and impaled itself into the back of the male’s head.

At the exact same time, Zakath let himself fall.

Letting loose a roar, the Barabel crashed into the female soldier positioned right below him, his heavy talons already out. One hard swipe later, her throat was ripped out.

One remaining.

Scrambling to his feet, Zakath’s fiery violet eyes were already seeking out the remaining soldier. A burst of blaster fire erupted from the northern staircase, and the Barabel threw himself sideways, ducking behind one of the tall bookcases that lined the sides of the vast library. Taking a deep breath, he reached out with the Force and probed behind him for the remaining female soldier. Finding her easily, Zakath tensed up as he flexed his hand.

Two heartbeats later, he sprang from cover, his claws suddenly blasting dark lightning at the unprepared woman. She shrieked as the lurid energy poured into her, her blaster crashing to the floor and skidding away. An instant later, she dropped to her hands and knees, wailing out her pain as the electrocution intensified. Just as suddenly it stopped as Zakath shot forward, launching himself onto the collapsed woman, his claws seeking her exposed throat.

Now the Jedi.

Zakath was somewhat surprised to see that the Neti hadn’t moved throughout the brief slaughter of her soldiers, instead simply observing quietly with furrowed eyebrows, her lips pressed into a thin line as one hand gripped the obsidian hilt of her lightsaber. Letting a disdainful sneer touch his lips, he glanced around for his own weapon. Spotting it still embedded in the skull of the male soldier, he reached out with the Force and summoned it, sending the rancor-tooth hilt flying back into his hand. Thumbing it on, Zakath let a small growl leave him as he approached the waiting Jedi, who answered in kind, a fiery, flame-colored blade igniting into existence as she raised it before her, pointing it directly at the Barabel.

“So, the first of the Jeedai falls to the Grand Mazter’s will and now aidz his purge of her own kind,” he hissed as he drew close, raising his blade into an offensive stance, his feet spreading out.”My miztrezz will be very dizpleazed when she learnz of thiz. You, traitor, must anzwer for it.”

Vorsa took a step forward, purposefully kicking aside the shock-binders that bound her wrists only moments ago. A well timed distraction from the krayt-man and she was free from her captors. Though the deaths of the three soldiers were not unforeseen, she still dreaded the outcome, as she always did. They were good men; loyal, albeit to the wrong side. She doubted they even knew what exactly they were doing in the library to begin with. The Council had very effective ways of manipulating information and swaying their troops, and these were mere casualties of war — a war that has been raging for millennia.

The Neti felt pity, for them and for the creature that murdered them, now blocking her way. The Barabel was imposing and intimidating. His scaly skin seemed to glimmer in the torchlight, giving him an almost other-worldly appearance. A pair of green slits stared her down, as warm breath filtered through his nostrils into the brisk air.

She had never seen a creature of his species before, let alone fought one. Rumors knew that Barabel were fierce warriors and brutal adversaries. What little she actually knew, and whatever else she felt through the Force, warned her to prepare for a hard fought battle. So engrossed in the Dark Side was he, so menacing and dangerous, that his very essence bled its black ichor like a fountain. As if he were a mythical monster only told of in children’s stories.

Vorsa’s sixth sense made the conclusion all too easily, yet she was unmoved. As intimidating as he was, she had fought worse, and survived. “I know not who you are creature, nor who your mistress is, but I have little time for games.”

The Barabel huffed and hissed through his nostrils once more as he stretched his neck towards the Neti. His body tensed, head bobbing down, feet angled for an attack. The charge was brutally swift and powerful, but not unanticipated. The Force gave him the speed and strength to launch himself head-first towards the Neti in one mighty leap. His saber came down like a sledge hammer, more than a sword, as he charged the unmoving Herald. She met the slash with a sidestep, her blade angled away in a defensive posture. It twirled it in her grasp, moving Zakath’s own weapon awkwardly away and opening his defense.

With a grunt she yanked the Barabel’s chest belt and, using his own momentum, launched him into the wall behind her with enough force to crack the brick and mortar. Only Zakath’s sturdy scales saved him from a fierce blow to the skull and a damaged spine as he fell head-first on the ruined, cobbled floor.

Vorsa deactivated her blade and sprung from her place onto the staircase and beyond, into the second floor library. “Do not follow me, lizard. I have little time.” She spoke loudly enough for him to hear her and disappeared among the shelves.

Regaining his composure, the Barabel followed closely behind, but soon lost the Neti from sight. The multitudes of shelves holding data-chips, holo-terminals and datacrons lined the massive open space of the second floor, though the more lavish and comfortable armchairs and wroshyr tables, now all but destroyed, made for a glaring contrast to the simple, utilitarian tables and chairs on the floor below. The tall ceiling, invisible in the gloom, shook numerous times as explosions rumbled in the depths of the library. Dust and stone tumbled down every so often, tugging at his heightened senses, pulling his attention momentarily away from his prey.

He needed no eyes to know where she was. His sixth sense was finely attuned to finding whomever he sought, and the Herald was no different from any other target.

She was a warrior, he knew, not a rogue. She would not hide from him, and she seemed to be in a hurry. As he followed her presence, the Force warned him of more creatures in the room beyond the shelves, a small group, and she was moving straight for them.

Something in the Barabel skipped, some miniscule manifestation of panic made good use of his subconscious need to follow his mistress’ orders as his body gave chase on its own.

He left the relative safety of the shelves behind in one mighty bound and landed on a sofa not far away. The group of aliens, now running for one of several exits out of the library, seemed to flee from the towering Neti following them in an almost marching step. His blood boiled as his tongue slithered out of his mouth, saliva drenching the ruined sofa underfoot.

The Barabel’s mighty roar snapped the Neti to attention. She glanced at him and without looking away yanked at the support beam above the exit with the Force. The beam, already damaged from the ordeal that nearly destroyed Antei and Lyspair both, crumbled and caved in. Brick and mortar tumbled over wood and metal, as the whole front face of the doorway collapsed in on itself, blocking the small groups path and covering them in a layer of dirt and dust. They coughed and choked on the particles but, somehow, found their way out and away from the destruction, and the combatants.

Zakath leaped again, this time directly for the Neti. Saber met saber with a thunderous clap as the massive Barabel pushed the Neti back with his momentum and strength. As plasma fizzled and screeched under the pressure, Zakath thundered a warning. “RUN! NOW!” The group of choking, defenseless aliens quickly scurried away towards another exit.

Realization struck the Neti as suddenly as the Barabel’s next strike. She loosened the pressure on the lock just enough for Zakath to notice. On instinct his elbow made a sweeping curve into her jaw. The blow made Vorsa’s head spin as she fell on one knee and received a swift kick to the chest. The blow made her tumble head over heels, her saber clattering aside like a discarded toy. She hit the nearby table with enough force to turn it over and bend the plasteel plate in the back.

The Barabel gave her little time to recuperate. She pushed herself to the right just as his blade melted the metal where her head uses to be. A swift slash made short work of the rest if the table and of her chest plate, burning it to cinder mere millimeters from her undersuit.

The Neti groaned and grit her teeth as she somersaulted backwards and on top of another table. Another saber hilt, hidden in a holster on her belt, came to life with a hiss. It's lime-blue blade giving the Neti an eerie appearance.

“Why do you fight me, creature?” She backtracked away from him, across the tables and floor. It was apparent to her that his intent was to help the same people she defended.

“We fight for the same people. Why do you attack me?” she asked again, still keeping him at a distance.

“Your liez won't work on me, traitor,” he replied with spite an annoyance at her foolish attempt to sway him. Another leap brought him face to face again, but this time she was ready.

The Force was with her, washing over her senses and her core, rejuvenating and strengthening her body and spirit. And just as the Barabel leaped she readied herself. Firmly rooted in place, she took his leaping charge head on. Like a monorail crashing into a durasteel wall, his body slammed into hers. Sabers flew through the air from the force of the blow as the Barabel pushed his adversary back once more. Her boots ground against the cobbled stone and left skid marks in the dust underfoot. Soon they locked fists, pushing against each other with all their might.

Slowly she began pushing him back, twisting his massive hands and maintaining eye contact. The warm, orange flames around them burned like a thousand suns in her golden eyes and the look she gave him made all of Zakaths warning bells ring at once. The Force echoed his instinct, all too late. With a hard yank back, Vorsa pulled the Barabel off balance. Planting one foot firmly into his gut, she rolled back and pushed vigorously. Once again Zakath flew through the air like a ragdoll and slammed into a nearby shelf with a hard clang.

Vorsa picked herself up and rubbed her painful jaw, still observing the ruined chest plate. It had a large gash where the saber burned across its surface. Even her general’s insignia was burned off.

“You have drawn blood, lizard, and until now I was reluctant to harm you. Your motives were unclear.” She spat out yellow sap and wiped her chin. “But now I know what you seek. You are confused. I will teach you some sense.”

Zakath hissed angrily as he slowly rose to his feet. The base of his tail felt as if every movement promised fire. A slight twitch delivered exactly that. Dislocated, then. Allowing the Force to wash over him, he dampened the pain being transmitted along his nerves and shot a glare at the Neti that was rapidly advancing on him, her burning teal blade sweeping down at a high angle of attack.

“I require no senze from you,” the Dark Jedi snarled as he intercepted the woman’s attack with a solid block from his crimson blade. The lightsabers locked as the two warriors struggled to gain dominance, leaving them glaring at each other across their burning swords. “What good iz wizdom from a corrupted Jeedai?”

“Corrupted? That lesson will have to wait for another time, boy,” Vorsa replied, her eyes almost appearing to shimmer under the scarlet glare of the Barabel’s lightsaber. “I will teach you restraint. Pray you live to learn.”

Zakath’s eyelids narrowed to slits as his emerald eyes vanished under a demonic violet glow as the Jedi’s words hit home.

“Jeedai, any lezzon I learn from you will be flawed,” he hissed as he drew upon the Force, gathering its energy and slowly stretching it across the scattered and loose objects in the room. Zakath maintained the saber lock with Vorsa as he spoke, “You have fallen under the Grand Mazter’z sway. Atyiru will not be happy.”

Vorsa’s fiery eyes widened slightly at the last of the Barabel’s words, but before she could respond in kind, the Savant made his move, pulling the Force inward. From all directions, datapads, holocrons, and loose rubble flung themselves at the Vanguard. As soon as the objects shot themselves forward, the Neti reacted almost instantly, whirling herself away and freeing her off-hand from her saber by thrusting it forward, keeping her weapon in a defensive guard. Before the improvised projectiles could smash into her, they bounced off an invisible shield and scattered away.

But Vorsa’s action was exactly what the Dark Jedi was hoping for, as the barrier was wide enough to encompass them both, unintentionally trapping Zakath in with the Neti woman.

The Barabel quickly took advantage, flinging his off hand forward and seizing the woman by her left shoulder, lucrid energy crackling in his palm. The indigo lightning discharged into her exposed joint, sparking embers that began to smolder on her dry, bark-like flesh, eliciting a sharp cry of pained surprise from the woman. Zakath threw himself backwards before Vorsa could react and cut him down, noticing with slight surprise that the shield that Vorsa had initially thrown up unintentionally around the two were gone, as he passed through unhindered.

Before he could turn around, he felt a surge within the Force coming from behind him and found himself suddenly being shoved violently forward by an invisible force. He let out a rumbling growl as he caught himself after a few steps, whirling around to see Vorsa’s attention now directed at the burning sparks on her shoulder, whispers of the Force being snuffing them out before they could turn her into a living torch.

Snarling again, Zakath thrust his free hand forward, his eyes closing in instinctive reaction as he drew in the Force before letting it out again in a searing display of blinding white light. A few seconds later, his eyes snapped open and he swept forward, his crimson blade smashing into the briefly disoriented Neti’s lightsaber with strong force. Another strong blow, and the lightsaber was violently knocked out of her grip, her fingers narrowly avoiding being sliced off.

But before Zakath could finish off the Jedi, Vorsa had drawn upon the Force and dropped into a crouch, her fist clenched. As soon as it hit the stone floor, invisible energy exploded out of her, sending the Barabel crashing back onto the floor. Grunting at the impact, he quickly sprang back onto his feet, his lightsaber miraculously still clutched in his hand.

Vorsa used the distraction to tug at the Force, and before Zakath could even blink, a thin black object flew into the Neti’s hand and ignited. The fiery flame of her primary lightsaber spilled out. Vorsa’s face was grim as she began to speak, her eyes burning with determination as she pointed the blade at the Barabel. “You fight well, lizard. But there are others in need of my help.”

She still persists with the lies. Why?

“In need of death, you mean,” Zakath snarled as he closed in again on the Jedi, his blade sweeping forward to slice her in half. Vorsa easily deflected the blow. “Why keep lying, Jeedai? Admit that you are here to kill your own Undezirable kind, and I will make sure your body iz delivered to Odan-Urr intact.”

That elicited a tight grin from Vorsa.

“A kind offer, but unnecessary.”

Zakath growled softly as he cast out for any nearby objects to mentally hurl at the Neti — but before he could do more than look, Zakath felt the Force surge and swell, building up within the Jedi, attracting his complete attention. He began to feel the first stirrings of genuine fear and unease take root within him as Vorsa’s eyes flashed, her grin vanishing as the energy continued to intensify around her.

He had the uncomfortable sense he was about to encounter Vorsa — the real Vorsa — for the first time in this battle.

Why did he have the feeling he was about to get a taste of Hell?

It took a mere blink of an eye for the Neti general to strike — a blink Zakath had readied himself for. A slash to the legs, a stab to the ribs, all deflected or evaded with relative ease, at first. But while the initial moment that usually held the most energy had passed, the attacks continued. The speed at which her legs pushed her, the force of her strikes, and the overwhelming presence she commended all sent the Barabel into a frenzy of dodges and tight saber arcs, his blood chilled to the bone. Vorsa’s metaphorical chains, much like the shackles that had bound her earlier, had been well and truly broken.

He felt her ferocity through the Force with every strike that, little by little, whittled his defenses, each mighty blow aimed at a specific area to make him overextend and tire out more easily. She commanded each stroke of the blade like a well-orchestrated instrument, and though his skill in the art was more advanced, her speed and precision tipped the scales.

A slash to his ankles made the Barabel hop in place, avoiding the deadly blade, only to reward him with a straight punch to the snout. Another backhand followed moments after, briefly disorienting the massive Arconan. He swung wildly at her, forcing her to step aside and evade, giving him enough time to compose himself. He swung again, an overhead slash with enough strength to pass clean through the Neti’s wooden frame and the adjacent support columns, all in one — yet she stopped it without even breaking a beat.

Her strength was unlike any Zakath had faced before; her command of the Force flawless; and yet her light shone in the Force all the more brightly the more she fought. He could sense it, and slowly, his misconception dawned on him.

An angry slash at her feet made Vorsa somersault over the tall and muscular lizard, landing deftly behind his back. Using his own tail as a lead and a weight, Zakath swung mightily at the Neti. The force of the blow sent her orange blade flying away before she could react, leaving her weaponless, but she still had her body.

Vorsa pushed off the marble floor and rammed her free shoulder into Zakath’s solar plexus, expelling the air from his lungs. His grip left his saber before a massive claw slammed into Vorsa’s back, prompting a large grunt. The sharp talons dug into her body as she pushed him further. Zakath felt a pressure as her free arms grabbed his leg and torso, lifting him and his three hundred pounds of muscle above her head. With a yell she sent the beast flying at a nearby pillar, slamming his back against stone.

Zakath rose up, clutching his chest and back in pain as his purple eyes focused on the sentient plant. She ripped the torn, black and gold robe off of her, revealing armor and sinew underneath. Her muscles seemed to ripple with energy as she ripped one of the heavy wooden tables from the floor and lobbed it at the Barabel. He evaded to the side moments before the well-made table burst into a thousand fragments against the heavy pillar.

Vorsa rubbed her lip with her free hand, swiping at the sap and spitting it out. “Enough games!” she yelled. “Come at me as if you want to kill me, lizard. By the Force, I will smash your head in if you do not.”

Zakath paused as his sixth sense measured his enemy in full. She wasn’t angry, no; she wasn’t filled with hate or malice or any other negative emotion. What drove her confounded him. Vorsa shone like a beacon — as if Atyiru herself stood before him — yet he could sense aggression. She was unlike anyone he had ever fought, and slowly the Barabel started to doubt his own choice to face this calamity of a woman in combat.

His senses tingled with the anticipation of attack. His eyes darted from her tensed up leg to her coiled finger. He could see her attack, where she would strike first, and he lashed forward to counter. With a thunderous clap, their palms connected in midair, one forcing the other with brute strength. His claws dug into her fists, prompting a squeal of pain and anguish as he pushed her back and down. He’d have crushed her but for the Force that guided her every step — brute strength was the her domain.

The Jedi clutched his hands with her own, curling her fingers with Force-fueled might and determination. She took a step and pushed him back just as much, then another, and another, all the while pressing his palms down until his claws uncurled from her hands and she had the upper hand. Sap flowed from her wounds but she ignored the pain, all her intent focused on finishing the fight.

The general took one more step before violently jerking the Barabel’s wrists forward, forcing him to bend the knee. Her head dashed towards him, brow connecting to snout, once again bruising it and disorienting him. The last blow came to the chest. With a sickening crackle, bone and cartilage broke under the impact as Vorsa’s booted sole connected with Zakath’s rib cage, sending him back into the column with Force-enhanced strength.

The Barabel gasped for air as he stood up, enraged to the brink. His claws extended again as he charged her with a mighty roar. His violet eyes burned like torches in the dark as the Force strained under the pressure of his rage. Claws slashed and arms flailed as Vorsa dodged every strike with expert alacrity. She blocked a slash from the left before landing a punch on the Barabel’s chest. He reeled back, clutching it in pain, and slammed his massive tail across the Neti’s face. The appendage snapped back, right into her arms, before she grasped it firmly and yanked, pulling the Barabel off the ground and into an uncontrollable spin.

Like a common lizard’s defensive mechanism, the tail snapped off, sending the Neti back onto the floor and the Barabel flying head first into a nearby bookshelf. The metal and wood creaked and cracked under the impact as Zakath passed through two full bookshelves before stopping and tumbling to the floor.

Like dominos, the rest of the bookshelves fell over, one by one in a line until the very last one fell with an audible bang at the end of the row. Vorsa picked herself up, reoriented, and clutched her bleeding hands before approaching her downed opponent. She could see no movement from him. Wooden shelves, datapads and books crunched under her boots as she reached the Barabel’s head and knelt down, calming herself. He was, indeed, alive. That voice in the back of her head screamed out a warning moments before the Barabel’s massive jaw snapped at her. She moved her hand just in time, clamped closed her fist and punched him right between the eyes with enough force to knock him out. The Arconan limped, finally out of it.

“You,” she started slowly, standing up and finally realizing how hurt and tired she was. “You are certainly a worthy opponent.” She smirked slightly before picking up her tattered robes and passing over the rubble she had created earlier — the rubble that led to the main Inquisitorius camp. She had more lessons to teach.