Hou-Jo Poleb

Anyone who might be interested in reading my book, The Kramei Insurrection - A Fatal Vendetta, can download the Kindle version for free until 11:59pm PDT June 14. Thanks again for everyone's support!

Thanks. I'll try to be less of a stranger.

It's been a while since I've logged in to the ol' Jnet. Glad to see this place is still going strong. I once posted a story in this forum that won best action story in the fan fiction awards called Fatal Vendetta. I asked the moderators to delete the thread entirely because I had aspirations of publishing the story. I know I haven't been an involved member of this community for a long time, but this is where my story was born. I got a lot of feedback and learned a lot about writing from the members of this forum and I can't express how thankful I am. There's a lot of changes to the original story and is much larger than what I originally posted here back in the day. For anyone who might be interested, The Kramei Insurrection - A Fatal Vendetta is now available on Amazon.com. I've been doing a lot of promoting on social media, but I didn't want to post anything here until after I had the Kindle eBook ready as well as the paperback. There's a preview you can read on Kindle and I also have the Prologue on my website http://www.afatalvendetta.com. I won't say that I'm back here just to plug the book (because, well, I am). But I know people here read a very rough and admittedly, poorly written, version. I wanted to make sure they had the opportunity to see what it has become. This is a realization of a dream for me to become a published author. To everyone who read Fatal Vendetta and provided feedback and encouragement, thank you! I see that Amidala Skywalker has also announced that she's published. When I logged on I didn't expect to see someone else would have announced that they published a book. I want to offer my congratulations. It's a great accomplishment and I'm glad to see that this community of writers are chasing their dreams.

The Fallen One finished reviewing the clash between acolytes. Nothing definite, but he sensed that potential lie with the wampa-man. Though he lost track of where the being had gone following the scuffle. His head turned to make 'eye contact' with a droid. "Fetch me a scotch. On the rocks." He pulled up a dossier of registered Sith aboard Spite Station. Some were of the 'Warrior Caste'. Some were not. He reached his hand out and pulled the glass of Scotch from the droid. It had only just readied the drink, but he would not wait for the return trip. He put the glass up to his lips, savoring the smell of the drink briefly before taking a sip. He pressed his thumb on the tablet he was holding. "Give me access to the PA." The device scanned his thumbprint. <Requesting Credentials... Access to system-wide Public Address system granted to Darth Cadivus, also known as CLASSIFIED... You may now begin broadcast, my Lord.//>> "May I please have your attention. This is Lord Cadivus. At this time I would like all members of the Warrior class to meet me in the hangar bay to discuss our plan of action. If you are currently performing deeds for our Master Furion, you are excused. If not, your immediate presence is required. I look forward to meeting you all." He lifted his thumb from the tablet. <Transmission ended... Logging you out, Lord Cadivus...//> He laid the tablet down where he found it and made his way to the hangar, taking another small sip of his drink a few steps into his stride.

"Ah, yes. I never had the opportunity to meet your parents in person, though I had made it a point to know as much about them as possible. I appreciate what they did for our brotherhood during their time in this world." Cadivus focused his attention to the other he was speaking with, unconcerned with the kiffar (at the moment, at least). "My affairs never led me to deal with them personally, as Lord Shadowlord is seemingly aware. Though I do not know the difference between what he knows and what he thinks he knows, my suggestion to him is all the same. He should keep it to himself or speak with myself or the Dark Lord about it privately. Unless he wants to compromise a colossal advantage the Dark Lord and I will press against the Jedi. Though undoubtedly proud of yourself, and you should be, more of my 'brothers', as you put it, fell to me than you." He tugged at his mask, adjusting the leather as it was irritating his face in its current placement. To his memory, he never encountered Shadowlord in person, yet he somehow recognized Cadivus' from his past life. Whether through the Force or by seeing through the mask, Shadowlord may have stumbled upon privileged information. "As much as I would love to see where this conversation might have ended, I grow weary of this jockeying. I shall leave you two to the lady. Besides, some of us have more to do than drag our heels rather than swim with the current. My responsibilities as a Triad are numerous and time-consuming and I must get to work. Enjoy the luxuries of the Maw, Lord Shadowlord." He directed an ever-so-subtle nod to Lucifer, relaying no hostility, "Kiffar." With a smile and a bow of his head, he made ready his retreat. "Mi'lady. Until we meet again." The Fallen One boldly turned. Not sharply on his heel, but as nonchalantly as possible without appearing deliberately so. He made his way over to a monitor. He made instructions to the computer to replay the fight of the two acolytes he had missed, catching up on the carnage. Perhaps one of these individuals could be useful to him.

Cadivus chuckled. "I will offer a bit of advice, brother. I would recommend not questioning Lord Furion's actions behind his back in hushed voices. Powerful men tend to have a way of discovering dissenters among their ranks. As for wasting resources, I've seen previous Dark Lords expend much more on their seat of power. Hell, the Jedi have a mobile space station that nearly rivals this facility. It is of the Sith's nature; making displays of power. Par for the course. If you'd rather have the Sith scratching their existence from rocks in poverty until the Jedi are cut down to size, I'd suggest pitching your more fiscally responsible tactics to our Dark Lord." He bit his lower lip. He never met Shadowlord in combat, but he knew of him. This girl, however, was unknown to him. She asked him a question, a question that his words demanded be asked. "There's so much going on right now. There is so much splendor in actions and scenery that you almost forget that the very ground on which we stand is being constantly pulled. Pulled in every direction by massive gravitational force of multiple black holes. Maybe it's due to my time away, but I was uncertain of many of the Sith of this day. It is something to be said, however, that everyone can go about their business seemingly ignoring the fact that with one tiny flux in position or gravity will bring everyone here to an event horizon. It's very much encouraging that everyone is either unafraid or able to remain willingfully ignorant to, pardon my pun, the gravity of our situation. I did not, however, come over to impose my particular brand of ideology. Though I know of many of the Sith here, I am largely unacquainted. I know of you, Darth Shadowlord. You, Miss, there is something faintly familiar about your presence, but it is not you. If you don't mind me asking, are you somebody's daughter? And before you answer, I will introduce myself. Darth Cadivus, of the Dark Lord's Trinity, at your service."

Cadivus rose to his feet at the result of Furion's display. He watched the cloud expand among shattered glass in the sky. The display was only long lasting in the eyes of those who could observe the breadth and detail of it all. The Fallen One keenly watched every minute detail, making the showing last longer than it actually did. It was in actuality, quite quick in time. Before most anyone could truly appreciate the beauty and intricacy of it all, the "attack" began. An almost indistinguishable number of shards descended upon everyone in the room. A device largely unused by Sith in this generation, the brand was administered by the will of the Dark Lord; but it was ever so slightly influenced by each individual person. The mental anguish was probably uniform, but those less receptive received their mark in less painful placements on their body. Those who held more lofty aspirations and true iron will, allowed more severe physical scarring. Cadivus' stomach was shielded by his robes. His face was covered with hood and mask. In fact, the only real available target was the front of his neck. The glass needles converged on the former Jedi's throat, introducing a toxin that induced much pain. Perhaps it wasn't his own subconscious that drew the "attack" toward a specific target, though. Perhaps Furion felt that the man once known as Hou-Jo Poleb required more pain. To be properly baptized as a Sith, having been spared the tribulations of training under a Sith's tutelage. The pain was excruciating. While some may have fought it, Cadivus let it all in. Something deep in his mind wanted to feel all the pain that was to be offered. Something foreign that had become a part of his psyche. The shards of glass stung his throat much like the feeling of forgotten words in his mind; fighting for dominance. A low growl escaped from his throat, allowing himself to be crippled by the pain. Saliva dripped from his mouth, as the pain was intensified. He did not fight it, his mind sought it out. At the end of the branding, the needles were allowed to fall to the ground. Not for Cadivus. Sensing the completion of their work he pulled them all in, keeping them lodged in his throat. He stood up straight, having been leaning forward from the pain. He slowly moved his right hand to his throat. His index and thumb began to bleed as he grasped the first piece of glass and carefully extracted it. One by one each piece of glass fell harmlessly to the ground. Blood spilling from both his neck and hand, staining his benevolent white robe. He pressed his hand up against his throat. The alchemy in the ink burned the blood, trying to seal the wound on his neck, it also cauterized his fingers. He gazed upon his hand, seeing a mirror image of his mark for a split second before it faded from his palm. Free from his temporary torment he looked up to see a display at work. Two acolytes in battle. He looked around to see the ants mingle. He had observed from a distance before, but he decided it wise to enter the fray. He didn't know what Furion's plan was specifically in regards to him, or when he would act. Perhaps it were time he met more of his enemy's enemy. He approached two of the beings he was watching earlier. His hand open and wide, a glass of wine found its way into his grasp. The man appeared to be on his way out of the ballroom. He wished the lady a good evening, but it did not appear he was in the mood (or stride) of exchanging pleasantries. The girl began to make conversation, however. Perhaps he was wrong. The Fallen One took a sip of the wine as his presence was no doubt close enough for the girl to know he was approaching. Not as fine a wine that a Hutt might enjoy from a day-to-day basis, but certainly better than the best the Jedi ever kept on stock. "What a display," he said, to draw the combined attention of Emily and Shadowlord. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything. It's just that... the majesty of this room combined with the theatrics of our Dark Lord are almost enough to make you forget."

The Fallen One's time for shadow dwelling had reached it's end. The Dark Lord had called for fealty and all had knelt (at least those physically capable of kneeling). The only way to not step out into the light would be not to kneel. But if he didn't kneel, he felt that he and Furion would come to blows again. Though he felt it almost degrading being forced to kneel to Furion again; he understood the need to show his loyalty in front of the rest of the Sith, rather than in private. The man in white pushed off the back wall and made his way toward the throne. He produced a cane from his robes to assist his walking. The Dark Side was most certainly with him, as was the Force, that much most could tell. As far as he could guess, however, Furion and Exodus were the only ones in attendance who would recognize him from his past life. More perhaps might recognize his face, were it not for the plasma burns, leather mask, and hood concealing his face. He gave a subtle nod toward Exodus, hoping that Exodus would guess his intentions and not out his prior life as the Jedi Grandmaster. The problem, however, would be convincing these people that he was some great and powerful Sith that almost no one had ever heard of. But that would be a trial for another time. He carried himself well for a man using a cane. It was almost for effect and appearances, as he could use the Force to eliminate the need for it. He had drained himself considerably leading up to his defeat at Furion's hands. Combined with the fact that he foresaw much before him, his intention was to limit his use of the Force outside of combat and meditation. He reached the base of the staircase underneath the throne. He lifted the cane from the ground and gracefully dropped to one knee. There was still contempt toward the Dark Lord over the physical and mental bruising. He made a note to compensate for such so that he didn't sound disingenuous. "You have my blade, My Lord. I foresee a new period of Sith prosperity stemming from today."

The Fallen One watched from the shadows, observing these Sith. People he once knew as enemies. Well, for the most, not specifically anyone present. The Sith as a people. Most of this collection was unknown to the former Grandmaster. If his birth name were to be revealed... would they know him? As subtly as possible he observed a few of them. For the most part he was ignored. He could feel one probe out through the Force. Not many women appeared to be aboard, aside from a cadre of witches. It was no surprise that she found herself the object of attention. It roused his curiosity that when surrounded by others that she could look beyond and sense his presence; superior though it was. He sensed indifference from her. That was fine. Let the girl live in that moment. A moment where the Sith were on the verge of extinction. With this Jen'ari, the Jedi would face a darkness in their past. One of the Jedi's greatest failures would follow a new creed and a new leader. Ambition enough to rival Vader's destruction to the Order. Perhaps to destroy the Jedi once and for all. Only time would tell. He watched as the message was delivered. Like bees fleeing to their queen, they scurried to their Master on a moment's notice. No so much the frailty of their will, but the fear imposed by their Lord, Furion. His gaze strong enough to down the armored tanks that once roamed Hoth, he watched them leave. Only once all had left did he continue, remaining anonymous as could be - until he was called upon. He made his way to the ballroom, as requested. Immediately his attention was caught by an unlikely party (as far as he was concerned). A Hutt. A Sith Hutt. Feasting with... Lord Exodus. Finally! A being he recognized as a Sith Master. He knew now that Furion was deserving of rank, but did not know at first glance. Exodus would have once been considered one of the chief rivals to Hou-Jo Poleb. A cancer to the peace and order he had sworn to uphold. This wasn't a Sith like Quietus or Barabbas, whom, while potent, never quite reached the upper echelon of Sith lore. Exodus was a name that resonated along the likes of Havoc, Mortis Diabolus, Luciferian, Heretic, Lascivious, and on and on. A lone white cloak stood behind the crowd, leaning against the back wall. He observed as the new Dark Lord chastised his new subject. Finally, among the ruckus and splendor, the Dark Lord echoed a mighty question. He called for any who would oppose him. Some of these people would not know the privilege of making such a challenge. To know who was the strongest. All stood in attendance unprepared to defy. Whether they were too afraid, unambitious, or too weak. For the sake of the Sith's eventual victory, each Sith Lord in this room should at some point in their life usurp the Dark Lord... or die trying. Just as Hou-Jo Poleb died trying. The Fallen One let the hunger fester. Perhaps one day this soul would drop from the highest heaven to the most awesome hell. But not for the foreseeable future. .:At least you can't foresee it:. Spared in the form of Darth Cadivus, the former Jedi wondered if the Dark Lord would utilize such potential. If he would use the power of one with the strength of will to have challenged him. He stood in silence. White robes worn ironically and as a symbol of power. He adjusted the leather mask that hid his face, still unaccustomed to wearing it. In the presence of the Dark Lord the afterpain of his scars left the back of his mind and into his waking thoughts. A pain that he chose to keep as a reminder. Though as powerful as he thought he was (and actually was), it was important to remember that his place among the Sith had not yet been earned.

The Corusca Gem had landed some time ago, but Cadivus remained in his room. Blindly staring into the distance as the corpse of the reporter lie on the ground. He had trouble thinking back about the Maw. Was he ever here before? His past life was truly a lifetime ago. He was unsure about what happened to him, but many of his memories from his past life were lost to him. Certain key details he could remember. Vividly, even, but some of the more minute details were absent from his mind. His eyes shifted to the dead boy on the deck. The visage of Rajah was gone. He felt something deep in his stomach - at first. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to reflect. He stood from the floor, looking down on the poor young woman who was dealt a bad hand. Though speaking toward the dead, his words were meant for Rajah. There was an eruption in his mind; suggestion and feelings impacting. "Liake shairal msaisal," he muttered. He didn't know where the words of the ancient Sith language came from, or even the meaning of the words, but he knew in his soul that they were true. He peeled his old clothing from his skin. Though perhaps no longer a Jedi when he first dawned these clothes, he had not yet embraced his new destiny. The burns and scars over his body at the hands of Lord Furion throbbed as the cloth tore away from his skin. He put on a pair of white slacks for modesty's sake. He didn't put on the rest of the outfit, skipping straight to the outer white robe. His chest was exposed, revealing the damaged and burned skin. He picked up the brown leather mask he found and covered his face. His eyes could be seen, as well as bits of flesh, but there was enough covered to hide any distinguishing features. He lifted his hood and covered more of his face. Darth Cadivus walked off the ship. He chose not to explore his quarters. There were many new faces among the Sith. There was a vague similarity with Lord Furion, but none of these others were familiar to him. He wondered around Spite Station, taking in the massive glory of the Maw. He walked along a room with a viewport of the black holes. He didn't recognize any of these Sith, but they spoke of Sith he did know. Namely Lord Ar-Pharazon and Lord Quietus. A dying breed. Though powerful in the Force in their own respect, he felt nothing from these beings on the level of Sith Lords gone by. He didn't openly present himself to these people, but he didn't especially conceal himself either. Let them exchange their words. He would await Lord Furion to return and hear his grand scheme. While he waited for the Dark Lord, however, he would eavesdrop on these young Sith. Perhaps he could gain some foresight on these pissants, in case any of them showed promise.

White robes. The fallen one had sampled the wears of the liner's clothing stores. He had removed his mask now that he was away from the others. Though he required anonymity among the Sith, without Lord Furion's illusion, the mask would draw attention to his person. He had cleverly pick pocketed a few of the other patrons to pay for his collection, as he did not have any money on him. The clerk placed the items in the bag and wished him farewell. He kept himself alert, to break anyone's mind who recognized him. But none did. He continued on throughout the lower decks. Kids. Mostly humans had populated the ship, all in their teen years. That he could observe, anyway. He combed the crowds carefully for those who could stand to organize any type of resistance. None that he saw. Quite uneventful. It appeared that the brats of money had migrated to the lower part of the ship to mingle with their own. He felt a thumping in his head. A passing ache as he pushed it away, unaware of the suggestion placed in his mind. The promise made by Daben Celt. .:I foresee more after you fail to defeat Furion. You will become Cadivus, Lord of the Sith. You will learn the shocking truth of your time away. Your heart will sink:. He didn't remember the words, but there was a lingering feeling. He heard a woman's voice call out to him. "Hou-Jo? Is that really you?" He burrowed his frow. Someone finally recognized him. He turned to face them, ready to strike. He was about to lift his hand, but he stopped cold in his tracks. He couldn't quite make out all of her features, but what he did see must have truly been a deception. Perhaps another of Furion's illusions, testing his resolve and commitment. Long slender legs. Shapely figure. Dark hair with streaks of red. She was passing under some maintenance equipment that shadowed her. Something in her voice. It couldn't be. "Rajah??" He stammered in disbelief. Could it be, that after abandoning him without so much as an explanation, that fate would reunite the two on this luxury liner? "No," she giggled. "My name is Treistina. Is this Rajah aboard with you?" As she came into the light he could see her for what she was. Not who he thought it was. A mistake. A mistake whose life would be cut short. "No, she's not," he said. He took a moment to clear his mind. He hated this woman instantly, for having him believe she was Rajah. He flexed his hand, ready to choke the life out of her. "When I heard that Master Starlisk rented a luxury ship I was a bit suspicious, even considering the recent victory over the Sith. But I see that there's much to celebrate. The Sith have been forced from Coruscant, at least for the time being. But having found the former Grandmaster after all these years, the Order must be affording themselves some R&R before driving the Sith out further." His hand fell limp. This woman was seconds from death, but she said something that spared her. For now, at least. He cleared his throat. "I beg your pardon. Treistina, is it? What do you mean... years?" Her smile vanished. She realized that he was being serious. "No one has seen or heard from you in about half a decade. I'm a journalist for the Holonet, I specialize in Jedi affairs." She handed him her tablet. "To be honest I thought you were dead. Given the fact you were last seen with Darth Ar-Pharazon and Geki, most assumed the Jedi killed you." Cadivus looked at the tablet. Along with the briefest of credentials, it contained the current date. He handed it back to her, dumbfounded. "I was deep in meditation. I put myself into self exile. I guess I didn't realize how long I was away." "I'd love an exclusive, if you don't mind, that is. The first statement in so long from Master Poleb would really help my career." He smiled with evil intent. Intent she might have seen were she not starstruck. "I would love too. My chamber is this way." *** She activated the recorder on her tablet and set it on the table in front of her. "The tide is in the favor of the Jedi right now, but even with the Sith's destruction being sought after by CoreSec, your return might prove to make this development more withstanding. How exactly did you come back into the Jedi? Did you speak with Grandmaster Trevelian or did Master Starlisk find you just now?" Darex Trevelian? The Grandmaster? The thought of that was mind boggling to him. "No, I just met up with Master Starlisk here on Coruscant. We conversed extensively. I was angry for a while, but it turned out to just be temporary insanity. I'm eager to see where the Jedi Temple is. Onderin neglected to bring that up. As your primary focus, I'm sure you know where it is, though." She giggled. Always giggling, it seemed, a coy girl. "You flatter me, Master Poleb. The Jedi don't make the location of their temples public knowledge these days. The time and cost of rebuilding after Sith raids is too counterproductive to the work the Jedi does." That would have been too easy, Cadivus mused. He could have hoped this civilian would have known the location, but he was not surprised that she didn't. Despite touting herself as an expert, it was clear to him that she couldn't provide him with any more information that wasn't a matter of public record. "Now that you're back, perhaps you can get your brother back to fighting the good fight." His eyes lit up. "What about Xen-Que? Is he not still liaising with the Council?" Her expression became serious again. Whatever she was about to say must not have been good news. "Your brother hasn't been working with the Jedi since you disappeared. I tried to get an interview with him a few times at the Last Call, but he was usually inebriated. He disappeared for good about three years ago. No one's seen or heard from him at all." He smiled. "Don't worry, child. I'm sure that once I put myself in the eye of galactic affairs again, he won't be able to come back fast enough." She nodded. "Fair enough. Next question, do you--" Cadivus lifted his hand, cutting her off. "No more questions, miss. I grow weary of this conversation. Brief, though it was." The reporter grasped her throat. "Master Poleb, what are you doing? I can't breath," she whimpered. "Yes, that's the idea." "Please, stop. You're hurting me. Hou-Jo..." "Hou-Jo Poleb died years ago. His name with it on Cardia. I am Lord Cadivus. And I will not be aiding the Jedi in beating the Sith back for good. I will be destroying everything it is that they stand for. A shame you will not get to write of it." The woman fell from her chair. She clutched at her throat in vain, trying to loosen a grip she had no power over. Her neck was getting red, as she tried clawing away at the invisible hand crushing her windpipe. This was a being that truly cherished her existence. Even as her face turned blue and the veins in her eyes bulged, she resisted. He lifted his index finger of his free hand, pointing at her skull. Through the Force he sliced open her skull. Blood poured down her face as bone and scalp fell to the ground. He separated the brain slightly, to allow oxygen to enter, to keep it alive. A small jolt of Force lightning resuscitated her heart that had failed. He wanted her to live through this as long as possible. This woman who broke his heart. He saw Rajah again. This woman left him without saying a word. This woman that loved him and told him as much. She tried to beg for mercy, but her windpipe was totally crushed, feeling every agonizing moment. "Goodbye... bitch." With the flick of his wrist her neck snapped. He lifted his hood over his head, observed the corpse tumble to the ground. Xen-Que would be so devastated to know what his brother had become. "So devastated."

Even when dueling southpaw, Hou-Jo's Vaapad form was not to be trifled with. Furion thought himself capable of going toe-to-toe against an injured swordsman. At best it gave him a fighting chance for survival. Whether or not he could pull through and win, however, was by no means written in stone. As a Jedi, Hou-Jo was held in high regard as one of the all-time greats. He led the Order at one point, both spiritually and in battle. Something that was lost in his legend was that he wasn't necessarily successful in direct combat against Sith. Whether he was facing Kakuto Ryu directly, or fell to Geki because his troops failed him, he didn't have the strength to overcome. However drastically his priorities may have changed, there was one thing about him that differed most about him. He possessed, now, the strength and conviction to carry out what he sought. He was weak as a Jedi. Perhaps it wasn't his falling out with the Order. Perhaps it wasn't Rajah. Not even the path the universe had set out for him. Maybe he was just built to play by a different set of rules. Maybe he found himself on this road not from a few moments of time, but from the sum of all his parts. He was trying to kill the Dark Lord of the Sith not to end his reign of terror, but be the successor who was more brutal than his predecessor. Hou-Jo did not fight with the dominance of lightsaber that he knew he possessed. While he did not believe himself brought down far enough to be an equal sword fighter to Furion, he wasn't necessarily in his element. He was capable of dueling with his off hand. He pushed the pain away from his ribs, but that didn't undo the damage done. Even to maintain proper balance wasn't a guarantee. He was taken surprise by Furion's offense, not merely content to play Hou-Jo's hand, but to beat him with it. This Dark-Lord-to-be was still out of his element. He tried to be quick, moving his lightsaber in and put it somewhere else before his opponent had a chance to react. Vaapad-like, even if amateur and a mimicry. Furion did not possess the discipline, nor state of mind, to fight in such a way, however. He thought himself in control. Hou-Jo saw that he was hurt. While covered up by his parlor tricks, Furion had been hit with Hou-Jo's barrages of lightning. As he let go of his illusions to stand up to a master swordsman, there was truth to finally be seen. Force lightning had become the staple of Sith Masters in the galaxy. A thing that was thought unoriginal. It was not regarded as proof of a great Sith, but merely a luxury allowed to soldiers lucky enough to kill a Jedi or two. To those who bolstered the ranks just enough. There was no elegance or class left for it. It was a throwaway. An entry level maneuver to lead people to throwing fire or whatever perceived next greatest bastardization of the Force was. Dozens could learn it, but few mastered it. Many could reign in its awesome power, but far less made an art of it. As simple and contrite it seemed, it was effective. Extremely so, in the proper hands. Effective even against Furion, who showed signs of damage. For his many tricks, Hou-Jo was able to see what Furion would try and prove otherwise; just a man. Hou-Jo moved to the offensive, bringing on what might Vaapad offered with his compromised state. Blades appeared to come from many directions. Awe-inspiring to a spectator and fear-inducing to a recipient, Hou-Jo channeled his reaffirmed confidence and rage. He drew on the anger and contempt of his adversary. Bodies flew around in a spectacle. To a passerby a violent and random series of blows, but to the trained eye it was two masters of their respective craft fighting not just for their lives. They fought for the ruin of the other man. Hou-Jo did not let up in his assault as the ship neared the atmosphere. The zero gravity of space would quickly shift to gravity heavier than the norm. The planet Cardia would not even render the duel to standard gravity. He readied a strike with both hands grasping his lightsaber. He would undoubtedly suffer the consequences should he survive the duel, but broken ribs never threatened anyone's life. Not for centuries, anyway. He was leading up to a crescendo weaved elegantly into his symphonic sword display. Evidence of a promise made by a Dark Jedi was to be seen in Furion's eyes. A promise made to man who did not remember it. The fate of one man and entire galaxy would forever change. Hou-Jo brought down a hammer-stroke against Furion's blade, bringing down his weight, natural and unnatural strength down against this sorcerer in one carefully timed blow. There would be time to recover for both as the ship crashed into the sky. Even if the fallen Jedi failed, Furion would only partially succeed. As Hou-Jo's rage and ambition reached a new height, something happened. Something was born on Cardia that would forever change life everywhere. The culmination of events of one life reached a climax. A man stood against Furion, but he knew nothing about him. Whatever was left of the man stranded in Midsengard was gone. Hou-Jo Poleb was dead. ((5))

Hou-Jo, by enveloping his forearms and hands in lightning, had hoped to engage Furion's lightsaber, trying to catch the Sith in an unfamiliar arena of combat. Not without ingenuity, Furion reacted unpredictably yet again. He had no desire to prove himself in zero gravity, as two Sith would in the past. A somewhat famous story, from what Hou-Jo had heard of it. He couldn't quite remember the aggressors, but if he had to guess, it was Faust and Barohm Zar. Hou-Jo wanted to leave proof in the mind of his opponent that it was he who was the strongest. Strong enough to command the Sith. Furion was only trying to survive. Hou-Jo was left relatively vulnerable to Furion's counter. Abandoning any appearance of elegance or class, a primitive firearm was his answer. Not even a blaster, but a slugthrower; as primitive as they came. A man who used his foe's mind as his own weapon, this Sith lapsed into a common gunslinger. Hou-Jo saw flash after flash emanating from Furion as he released round after round of explosive metal shards. He screamed in anger as he fired, depriving himself of precious oxygen that had been lost with life support. The fallen Grand Master contracted, quite nimbly and with haste with no gravity. Floating in what was essentially the fetal position, he used his arms and legs to cover his chest and head, trying to use lightning and Force to defend against the bullets. Several impacted against the lightning, but several tiny bits embedded themselves in his arms. He couldn't defend against them all. Several bullets grazed his thighs and shoulders. One bullet he could not deviate and he was shot in the left leg. It went clean through right below his knee and embedded itself in the back of his upper leg. He grunted in pain, letting precious air go free. His anger hit a fever pitch. He had intended to wait out the assault, until the clip was empty, but his rage towards Furion's cowardice had reached its pinnacle. Even more frustrating was the fact that his tactics were relatively effective. Hou-Jo threw the lightning off his arms as he fully expanded his body. Having been sustained as a cycling pseudo-storm, his makeshift gauntlets flew at the source of the bullets like a net. The force sent him backward toward the ceiling. He activated his lightsaber and slashed upward into the ceiling toward his rear. Slash after slash, he gained momentum toward his target, as if rowing a boat. Would Furion stand his ground and face Hou-Jo face-to-face or would his cowardice persist? Hou-Jo had some advantage in the form of having undoubtedly more oxygen in his system. He didn't know how long this would be true; the ship maybe had a minute or two left outside of the atmosphere. He closed in on his target, lightsaber ready to strike. With any luck, Hou-Jo would finally get to engage this "man" more directly. He feared, though, that this Sith would pass out from foolishly screaming out. He didn't want to win; to merely survive. He wanted the world to know who was the strongest. He wanted the Sith to know what a Dark Lord was capable of. He wanted Furion to know that Hou-Jo Poleb was more than just a fallen Jedi. Much, much more. ((4))

Hou-Jo felt a rush of sensation flood the entire right side of his body. Some force carried him off his feet and across the bridge. He had realized previously that he was being subjected to some illusion and was now beginning to understand that he chose the wrong target. He crashed into a control panel, damaging it significantly, though it didn't seem to noticeably effect the running of ship. The burning cold feeling under his right arm was beginning to fade into pain. He quickly began to try and send the pain below. He took his lightsaber in his right hand. It hurt to move his arm. He felt around with his left hand. He may have had broken ribs, but he couldn't quite tell. He had already played into this man's hand too much. It was obvious that this contest could not be negotiated with the skill of a lightsaber, but rather their knowledge of the Force. Furion seemed content not to fight, but to rather play chess against an opponent he viewed as a lesser Sith (due to his Jedi beginnings). Furion was being allowed to draw significantly on the Force in order to combat Hou-Jo in the way he was. A flicker of light flashed in Hou-Jo's yellow eyes. He was drawing on the pain to induce a sort of combat nirvana. He clenched his fists, and with a wince, shoved his hands into the control panel behind him. The panel began to spark. Electricity shot from the panel and spread throughout the system, though with no specific precision. Sparks shot from various panels in the bridge. Lights flickered. Remaining crew were either electrocuted or fleeing the scene. The Force lightning began to fry circuit-breakers inside the system, deactivating select systems in the ship. The siren for red alert began to blare over the intercom. The ship rocked violently. The engines seized up. The ship couldn't hold it's approach vector and began to speed toward the gravitational pull of the planet. Hou-Jo took a deep breath. One last violent burst came from a panel of systems near the pilot's station. The lights and life support shut down. Hou-Jo's body began to float toward the ceiling, quickly being stopped by his arms stuck in the control panel. He ripped his hands out of the station to reveal his hands and forearms to be covered with Force lightning. Almost as if a miniature Force Storm engulfing his limbs. Theoretically capable of shielding his forearms from a lightsaber blow, as a lightsaber would absorb a barrage of Force lightning. He floated into the air about halfway toward the ceiling, as did all the dead bodies and those few lucky enough to survive, frantically trying to get off the bridge. The only thing that illuminated the room was light from the nearest star, Hou-Jo's emblazed limbs, and Furion's lightsaber. He put his left arm in front, to defend, and left his right arm hang. Though the pain was out of his mind, he didn't want to risk losing the ability to use it. He would rely on his left as much as possible. He stared Furion down, switching to defense, to see if the Dark Lord's heir-apparent was capable of fighting on someone else's terms. ((3))

The single bolt of energy escaped Hou-Jo's hand and consumed one of his prior victims. His assault with traditional Force lightning left all incapacitated, near the brink of death. Furion wisely sacrificed one to save himself. He had felt pain like his comrades before, but his sacrifice was without pain, as the concentrated blast undoubtedly killed him immediately. Such a massive blow downed an AT-ST instantly, blasting through its armor like a laser cutting through butter. This flesh and blood was able to withstand the blast much more effectively, some wizardry involved on the part of Furion, no doubt. In one instant the bright light illuminated the entire bridge. In seconds Hou-Jo activated his lightsaber for the Sith's reprisal. He could see as much that the charred skeleton was being hurled in his direction and he guessed this was a ploy to cover an assault. He might have used the Force to succeed where his natural vision failed, but drawing more on the Force for such a purpose after his previous display would leave him vulnerable. He could only intercept one, but the consequences would be dire if he chose the wrong target. He could not sidestep the assault; the catwalk was too narrow. Taking to the air was not an option. One body flew along a straight path while the other was lobbed over. He could fall back to wait for the higher target to come back down, but if the lower was Furion, his momentum would continue until it either met Hou-Jo or the back wall. Poleb flipped his body to the left, turning has back on the assault while dropping to his back. With his unarmed hand he used the Force to push against the wall in order to propel himself toward Furion. He held his lightsaber above his body, for in case Furion could see past the plume of smoke, he would be able to parry the one shot he'd have time for. Passing underneath his opponent, he put the palm of his unarmed hand on the ground above his head. Pushing against the ground he flipped onto his feet. A relatively safe response. As Furion quickly took the air before the fight could begin proper, there was no way he could alter his course mid-flight to halt his passing nemesis. Not safely, at least. Hou-Jo may have had failings as a Jedi. His application of the Force may not have always rendered him the preferable results. Some of his skills as a Jedi were lost to him in the darkness. Much was different about him in this stage of his life, but one thing was constant throughout. Vaapad. The Way of the Vornskr. No sooner that he was on his feet did he rush his opponent. There were two possible targets, only one was true; this much he knew. Furion was employing some type of wizardry foreign to Hou-Jo in combat. He did not have time for diligence in his decision. He had to choose and hope he chose true. He engaged the form that Vaapad told him to be the source. He could feel one more strongly than the other, but maybe only in his subconscious did he doubt, unsure of the complexity of the illusion. Nevertheless, he latched onto the one that was the most vivid. Hou-Jo swung his blade through the air in a magnificent display. The staccato assortment of light would quickly overwhelm an opponent unskilled in the ways of the Force. His assault reminiscent of the Jedi Sly Stevenson, seemingly wielding several lightsabers at once. Fluid and nigh unpredictable, Hou-Jo was confident that Furion would not be able to last long on the merits of lightsaber combat alone. Not without quickly falling to Poleb's blade. Not as elegant as Makashi, the pure-duelist strikes were art in combat. Predictable, even, though difficult to best in its own right. If there were an ideal form to withstand Form VII, it would be Soresu, but the defender could only cope for so long. The acrobatics of Ataru shared the flare of Juyo, but at the expense of the user's stamina. Shien, or Djem So, was a Jedi's perspective of peace through superior fire power. All of them potent against masters of their respective craft, Vaapad surpassed them as a state of mind. Only a true warrior could overcome the entrancing display of light and might combined. Not all of his strikes were meant to make contact. Some flew by with no threat of harm to add to the disorientation. While there were many blades by appearance, Furion would have difficulty judging where a true strike was coming from. Like the light left behind from a dead star, the light of his blade hung in various spots, as if striking from many places at once. This was what made the form dangerous to an opponent. He pressed his assault onto Furion. While Hou-Jo believed himself superior and the clear favorite in any arena, he knew that his perception of time was skewed. Though he could tell this Furion was a member of a new breed, Hou-Jo felt it lacked the preeminence of Sith Lords of yesteryear. Though perhaps not a challenge, if this was the best the Sith to oppose him, he would leave nothing to chance. Free of carelessness. Overconfident? Maybe. If cities would fall before the Jedi, his current foe was no match for the Sith. This was the opportunity Hou-Jo was waiting for. This was the path to realizing his destiny. His senses filled with excitement and rage. And he channeled these emotions into his blade, waiting for Furion to break off to recuperate. ((2))