The Birth of Rebellion

Chapter X - The Inquisition

The stench of grease and burnt metal clung to Krieger like a second skin. Since Nutu's disappearance, the workload at his workshop had ballooned. He'd cobbled together a makeshift crew of a foreman and two green mechanics, but the backlog kept growing. Krieger slammed down his welding torch, the clang echoing through the cavernous shop. Even with his respirator, the air felt thick and stale, a stark contrast to the clean, crisp air he could barely remember.

"Break time, everyone!" he barked, his voice hoarse over the din.

He stepped out of the workshop and into the harsh sunlight. Squinting, he surveyed the familiar dusty landscape – a stark reminder of his exile. A lifetime ago, it seemed. A lifetime spent repairing droids and suppressing memories.

A whisper, faint yet distinct, drifted on the wind. "Your journey is not done." It sent a shiver down his spine, a tremor of recognition he couldn't quite place. Like the echo of a long-lost friend, a fragment of a forgotten life. His gaze snapped upwards, drawn to the distant glint of the river reflecting the sun.

Hesitantly, Krieger started towards the water, an inexplicable pull tugging at his core. As he neared the riverbank, the pull intensified, an irresistible force urging him forward. He found himself wading into the cool water, the current unexpectedly strong, leading him deeper, further from the familiar, dusty plains.

The river culminated in a gaping maw of a cave, its entrance shadowed and foreboding. A thousand whispers, a cacophony of unintelligible voices, seemed to emanate from within. Their meaning was lost on him, yet the urge to delve deeper, to unravel the source of the call, was undeniable.

Cautiously, Krieger navigated the darkness. Glimmering braziers cast an eerie glow on a circular stone structure, seemingly an entrance to an ancient temple. His mechanical hand brushed the cool, worn stone, a jolt coursing through him. He pressed his remaining hand against the smooth surface of the doorway.

The clamorous whispers ceased. Like a symphony interrupted, a deafening silence descended. In that absolute quiet, Krieger stood alone, the weight of the unknown pressing down on him. He had carved out a life here, a life of solitude and self-imposed penance. But the beckoning voice, the silent pleas, had shattered the fragile peace he'd built. The choice before him was stark – retreat back to the familiar drudgery of his workshop, or step into the darkness and confront the mysteries that called to him.

"These are your next steps," the whisper echoed once more, closer this time, laced with a power that sent shivers down Krieger's spine. He hesitantly reached for the doorway, his hand trembling slightly. With a deep breath, he closed his eyes, focusing on the unexpected sense of peace that had settled within him. A low rumble echoed through the cavern as the door groaned open, revealing... nothing.

Blackness. Absolute, suffocating darkness. Krieger took a tentative step forward, the cold seeping into his bones, chilling him to the core. It was the same soul-numbing cold that had gripped him years ago, during his final confrontation with the Sixteenth Inquisitor.

A flicker of movement in the inky depths sent a jolt of adrenaline through him. Fear, long-suppressed, clawed its way back up his throat. There, rising from the abyss like a phantom, was the unmistakable silhouette of the Inquisitor, its crimson lightsaber igniting in the darkness.

The hiss of the ignited blade cut through the silence. The Inquisitor approached, a silent predator in the void. Krieger's hand instinctively reached for his K19 Bryar pistol, the familiar weight a source of meagre comfort. He fired two desperate shots, the blaster bolts streaking through the darkness, only to be deflected effortlessly by the crimson blade.

Panic surged through him. Before he could react, an unseen force slammed into him, a telekinetic blow that sent him flying through the air. He crashed back against the cold stone of the doorway, the taste of blood metallic on his tongue. Disoriented, he struggled to his feet, his vision blurred.