Murder on Level 1313: A Life Cut Short
Posted on Tue Feb 4th, 2020 @ 11:48pm by Loren†& Thurius
Edited on on Wed Jun 8th, 2022 @ 2:02pm
2,751 words; about a 14 minute read
Chapter:
Additional Stories
Location: Sewer System, Level 1313, Coruscant
Timeline: After "War Beneath their Feet", New Year Fete Week, 1,199 ABY
OLD
The boards splattered filthy water against the walls like froth from a rabid beast's jaws as the Cathar's strong feet pounded along, weaving through the dark pipe-ways until he eventually came out into a more open room. It was some kind of shallow cesspool, with various other entrances spilling the level's waste into this spot. He saw the man immediately, leaning up against another sewer grate across the far side of the water. He had no weapon but the gaping smirk he wore across his face that seemed to invite his capture.
Barely pausing, Mykles leapt forwards, darting across various scraps of waste material that had found their way down here and prepared to leap forwards and grasp the man with his clawed grip. He propelled himself upwards, but found something held him back. A slimy appendage had grasped his ankle and nullified his effort to jump. Instead, it pulled him down: down through the heaps of refuse, down below the water level. The last thing he saw was that satisfied smirk bearing down on him as all his hopeful energy transformed into fear.
NEW
This post takes place in 1,199 ABY, only four years after the Second Outer Rim Conflict, and follows Jedi Master Thurius and his former padawan Mykles as they journey into the Coruscant undercity.
Gasping for air found only rancid water spilling into Mykles lungs as he clawed at whatever debris he could find as he was dragged into the sewer reservoir. The smile of the human that had led him down below the streets and into this place was burned into his mind like his own arrogance and failure taunting him as he descended.
His body thudded down as it reached the floor of the pool, kicking up heavier filth and further obscuring his blurry underwater sight. There was another tug against his leg and the Cathar felt himself being dragged along the floor, presumably towards the owner of the appendage that had grabbed him. The thought of meeting whatever creature held him was not a welcome one and he shook away enough fear to fight his arms down to his ankle and blindly scratch at whatever was wrapped about it with his usually-redundant claws.
The response to his scratching was a sudden release of the grip upon him. It was enough for Mykles to wrench free and begin propelling himself hastily upwards, towards the dim light of the surface. His fear gave him a strength in his motions, but he was lost and unfocused; he could not tell what awaited him above but he knew he had to get away and get out. He only wanted to return to Loren and to Master Thurius and never stray again.
His sodden hand finally grasped something solid and the Cathar hauled himself up, coughing and spluttering onto solid ground. He inhaled what air he could, while trying to adjust his eyes back to his surroundings. There was someone close by that he could sense, but he simply wanted to run back the way he had come before he had been lured into this trap.
A sudden sensation of alarm shot its way through the felinoid Jedi Padawan, the Force offering the briefest of warnings to Mykles of impending danger. However, from barely just recovering from the underwater assault and the speed by which it happened, he did not have the chance to respond. Searing white-hot pain lanced from Mykles' offhand paw and straight up his arm, causing the Cathar to roar in pain. A rusted metal spear had impaled his hand at its centre, its unseen point having penetrated through Mykles straight into the artificial ground of the sewer, pinning the Jedi in place. From the speed of the attack and the sheer agony, he had neither seen its origin nor heard the impact of the pole.
Blood immediately began welling up and pooling around the wound, its dark claret colour diluted by the sewage water that still saturated the bulky warrior's filthy fury. From further above, the goon Mykles had been pursuing cackled, a rough and dirty sound that echoed around the chamber, joining the sickening sound of sloshing, viscous fluid in the basin behind the young Jedi.
"You pafetic cub-scum," he said between laughs, his sick amusement palpable. "Are all Jedi as fick as you, or are you a special case?"
Mykles then got a clear view of the Human again, as he jumped down from one level, having been standing in the circular opening of one of the inactive run-offs positioned high above the basin, assuming a position just above and in front of the Jedi, now so close that Mykle's could see the dirt encrusted on the man's ageing leather boots, as well as an old metal bucket that seemed to be hanging from his hip. In one hand, the man also held a blaster, trained on Mykles, whilst he suddenly gripped the end of the spear that had impaled the padawan with his other hand, twisting it forwards with a cruel glee.
The pain in the Cathar's hand was intense and his sharp teeth were gritted together tightly as he fought to revitalise himself as much as he was able. Even in this dank place, the Force flowed but he was struggling to focus his powers. With his other hand, he wrenched at the pole and retracted the sharp spear end. with another surge of pain and fresh welling of blood, his hand was free but it was clear his damaged digits would be useless for at least the time being.
He watched the Human twitch his blaster in reaction to Mykles' attempt to recover himself. He remained hunched over for a moment, heaving and pretending to be woozy until the man dared to come closer. At which point, Mykles burst upright like a pouncing Nexu and with a thrust of his arms, the Human's weapon flew out of his hands and the thug stumbled backwards onto the ground. Now he was at the mercy of the padawan, crawling backwards towards the wall of the reservoir chamber.
Pacing forwards, now holding his bloodied hand tight within his jacket, Mykles growled, "You know nothing of the Jedi! Nothing about me!"
His other arm reached around and unfastened his lightsaber from its previously-concealed location and began to draw it out. As it ignited, the bright sunlight-coloured glow began to sap away his fears and the darkness of the sewer's depths were already fading away.
As he pointed the blade at the man, he heard the sound of a whistle ringing out across the far side of the water. The sharp sound bounced around the walls as though a chorus of fellow whistlers were responding. Mykles began to turn to see who had originated the sound, but was met instead with the horrible sight of a thick reddish-pink tentacle writhing up from the waters before sweeping towards him and grasping his arm, loosening the grip on his weapon, which clattered to the ground before fizzling out.
Another appendage grabbed his body and wrapped around him, hoisting him into the air above the water. He squirmed and shouted but the creature below seemed not to be affected as it continued to pull him away from the Human and towards a huge, glaring red eye with a yellow pupil that had emerged from the centre of the reservoir.
The sound of laughter could be heard all around: multiple voices of different species mocking him as he found himself trapped again, staring into the face of this beast that lived in the sewer. Its eye darted around him, taking in his form like a jeweller appraising a rare stone, before the tentacle began to slowly deliver him back towards the edge of the water, where a group of thuggish individuals now awaited him.
It did not release him after it completed the journey to the others. As well as the Human, who was now recovered and ambling towards the front of the newly-assembled group, there were several members from different species. Some of those present Mykles had already seen, earlier on during the brawl that had separated him from Loren, and drawn him into the pursuit of the Human into the 1313 sewage system. Like that Human, many of the others had the same tattoo that signified their membership of the Dark Star gang on their varying appendages or limbs. A few even wore articles of clothing with the symbol, or had it physically carved into their flesh.
Of particular note, there was a lumbering Rodian specimen, far larger than was typical for his species, wearing garb that revealed his impressive musculature, which easily rivalled that of Mykles'. In his hand was a large broken off piece of pipe, presumably from some dark corner of the sewer, jagged at one end and rusted throughout. As the creature dangled him close enough to the Rodian, the goon wasted no time in swinging the pipe straight into Mykles' upside-down bulk, several ribs cracking from the sheer force.
The Human's cackling, louder than his colleagues' and loud enough to almost drown out Mykles' howl, carried about the chamber. "She's a beauty, ain't she?" He whistled, scooping up the Cathar's fallen lightsaber and using the stolen hilt to point at the tentacled beast grasping the Jedi. "Took monfs to tame 'er. Dianoga ain't known for their trustin' nature, but like you, they just can't resist the bait. Heh."
Mykles coughed, a faint trace of blood splattered out of his throat and stained the fur around his mouth a rusty colour. He was not sure if he had ever felt such blunt, uncensored pain; he had been injured both during his Jedi duties and through simple mishaps but, this time, the pain lingered and stained him more than anything ever before. Perhaps the Force had always provided a shield for him or perhaps this time his suffering was made all the bitter by his defeat and failure in this moment.
He took in a breath of stale air and began to speak, "What do you..."
A Zabrak member of the gang then rushed at the dangling Jedi with his head down, horns pointed straight at the Cathar's gut. The pointed tips of the man's cranial growths punctured Mykles' skin, interrupting him and causing all of the wind to be knocked out of him. Before he or anyone could say anything, a few of the gang members jumped forward, swinging so many blows at the padawan, he was unable to keep track of which ones were actually attacking him, as hit after hit was rained down upon their helpless victim. A few rogue knocks collided with his head, which was already heavy from blood rushing to it in his current position, leaving a ringing sound clambering about his beaten skull.
Although it was hard for Mykles to tell, it felt as though several small blades were slipped into his bulk, sliding past bone to slice into flesh and muscle, although it was impossible to tell if any organs were nicked. At the same time, a few of the others did make use of broken pipes and other blunt objects they had found, smacking and jabbing their unwelcome guest with a malicious enthusiasm that the Force was also awash with, tainting all that the Jedi could sense in that time and place. Every punch, every stab, every whack brought some sort of pleasure or satisfaction to his attackers, being either a sense of vindication, revenge or petty enjoyment for each of them.
And then, just as suddenly, as Mykles neared unconsciousness, they all stopped.
The Human ringleader had raised his fist, and they all stepped back from Mykles, blood now dripping rapidly from his wounds to the floor beneath. One of the dianoga's other tentacles had found its way out from the pool, its suckers rolling unpleasantly over the gathering crimson puddle, gorging itself. With a unique, sharp double whistle from the Human, the dianoga dropped Mykles clumsily to the floor, and joined the other nearby tentacle in its feast.
"I do know sumfing about you," the Human said menacingly. His boots were beside Mykles' face, caked as it was in blood, grime and sewage, the Jedi's laboured breathing causing his hold body to shift with each thrust of his struggling lungs. The Human knelt down to be close by his victim, Mykles' lightsaber still held in his hands, being twisted and turned in some mocking fashion. "Yer gonna die down 'ere, Jedi. Pointless. And weak."
Mykles barely heard the man's words as he contorted slowly on the ground, finding every position he tried brought him pain but he was not yet ready to lie still and be consumed his injuries. But he heard the Coruscanti twang in the man's accent and began to imagine it was Loren standing over him. Those last two words began to sink in and it seemed as though Loren was speaking them: "Pointless and weak." He felt judged, he felt ashamed and Sotah's star pupil, now a brilliant Shadow, now burned into his mind like one more stab into his flesh.
He felt unable to speak; it felt as though his throat had closed up and he could only breath in short rapid breaths that seemed to make him dizzier with every intake. Again, he was close to passing out, when he felt a new external pressure around his upper arms and a sharp increase in pain as he was hauled upright by individuals he was too weak to register anymore.
The lead Human could just about be registered in front of Mykles, the Cathar's blurred vision variously focusing on the man's gruff visage. As before, his crackled lips were twisted into a peculiar upturned expression that just about passed for a smile, but he suddenly brought them in close to Mykles' left ear, whilst the Jedi could feel the pressure of something cylindrical and metal pushing into his beaten abdomen.
"I've 'eard stories... of how Jedi could disappear when they die," the gross man growled quietly, his rancid breath still detectable over the combined stench of sewage and blood. "I've always liked me a magic trick."
The brief trademark snap-hiss of a lightsaber activation was followed by a golden shaft of plasma erupting through Mykles' torso, the brilliant blade of the stolen Jedi weapon only momentarily lighting up the chamber and the horrified expression of its young owner-turned-victim, before it withdrew back through his body and once more into the pilfered hilt.
The Cathar's mortally-wounded body was released and he fell to the ground, with the attackers stepping back simply to observe for a moment. Mykles did not disappear as the Human had speculated; there were still too many corporeal thoughts whizzing around his mind for him to slip into the embrace of the Force just yet.
With the searing plasma having carved up and then cauterised his abdomen, the mix of experiences were all too much for his mind to process and instead he felt a numbness. His eyelids flickered like the last light of a candle burned down to the wick and, as his mind slipped away, it thought of his home: the Jedi Order and his Master.
He considered all the teachings and warnings he had ignored as he set himself upon this fated course. The time and personal exertion that Thurius and the other Jedi who had raised him had gifted to him in the hopes of seeing him flourish. He had failed them and given into the very basic vices of their order: pride, anger, jealousy all led to the dark side. Had he been led astray by the darkness? What would he have become if he were not stopped here?
As if in final consolation to his dying thoughts, something made him let go of his fears about becoming a great Jedi, realising that nothing mattered any more. It had all been cut short; that great future planned for him would not come to pass and all that was left to experience was these last moments of numb relief from pain and whatever would become of his essence as it returned to the Cosmic Force.
As he passed into it, he felt Master Thurius once again, wherever he was and projected his thoughts:
I'm sorry, Master. Live on.
Mykles left his body behind in the dirt and gave into death.
TBC
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