SWTOR smuggler Fanfiction

The Wrong Person

This timeline contains the events that lead up to the creation of Nova's alliance. It follows events in the game pretty closely, but I took some liberties because otherwise the fic would be too long.
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I walked towards the room for the meeting with our potential allies, the scions, former protectors of Zakuul. They used to guard it alongside the knights, but they called it quits and now i'm supposed to gain their favor so they'll help us instead of attending to their own interests.

As I turned the corner and walked into the large circular room, I saw Heskall, the leader of the Scions and the man i'm supposed to meet, floating in air, with his head thrown back and arms spread wide. Alarmed, I glanced over at Lana, who's accompanying me. I knew instantly from the scowl on her face and her drawn lightsabor that something was gravely wrong.

I heard the thump of a body hitting the floor and turned, seeing not Heskall floating, but instead the face of emperor Arcann. Heskall's body was at his feet until Arcann flicked his wrist and pushed him to the edge of the room with no more thought than swatting away a fly. He then faced me, standing upright, with shoulders back, not even bothering to draw the lightsabor at his side, even though Lana and I both had our weapons drawn. He moved his hands behind his back.

I felt my eyes become slits and my lips press solidly together into a thin line. The alarm from seeing Heskall in the air gave way to hatred. It was a white-hot rage that burned, but not quite like a fire; it was more similar to when you place a metal object atop a fire and it gradually raises in tempature. It doesn't look like that object is burning, but it'll hurt like hell once you touch it. Just because something doesn't look dangerous doesn't mean it isn't.

Arcann interupted my thoughts as he spoke with all the arrogance of one who believes they cannot die. "Outlander..."

Hearing the deep voice of this man flared my anger. In a flash, I raised my blaster and pulled the trigger. Arcann waved one hand, pushing the bolt to the side using the force. He returned his hand behind his back.

"Now, now, that's no way to have a friendly discussion, is it?" He smiled (not a pretty sight with his cyborg face) almost sounding amused.

Oh, i'll show you funny, pal. "We have nothing to discuss" I snarled.

"Nova, we need to get out of here. We're not ready for this" I heard Lana whisper.

I didn't take my eyes off of the bastard in front of me, already running through battle maneuvers in my head. The fire in my chest burned fiercer at the thought of running. "No Lana. This is my chance to kill him"

Arcann, apparently able to overhear our conversation, drew his lightsabor. "If you won't surrender, i'm going to burn everything you've ever known, leaving you with nothing, outlander"

I almost laughed. He thinks he can do the same thing twice.

I responded to his "offer" by rushing forwards, yelling a battle cry.

~~time skip~~

Arcann was kneeling at my feet, clutching his stomach, breathing heavily. He looked up at me, hatred in his eyes. I looked down at him with a disdainful expression. Now all I had to do was pull the trigger, kill the... thing that took everything from me. Some people think the best way to get revenge against a villan is to pay them back in kind; make them suffer by putting them in jail for years, leaving them wallowing in their failure until they die or have a change of heart. I had always agreed, had always believed in second chances for even the worst of criminals.

But there's always exceptions.

I narrowed my eyes, raised my chin, and attempted to pull the trigger. And yet suddenly I couldn't move. I heard laughter. Arcann's laughter.

"You honestly thought" he spoke, rising slowly from where he was kneeling, "that you could defeat me?" He towered over me, snarling defiantly in my face as I heard the hum of a deadly weapon being turned on.

And then everything was pain as I felt a lightsabor pierce through my body.

~~time skip~~

I mulled over the events of the past few days in my head as I watched the alliance build up the new base. They all worked hard to build the place up; sith working with jedi, a republic commando with an imperial agent, Zakuulans who were thrown out for questioning Arcann, or who had watched their homes burn down. People who were all, very, very, angry. People who wanted revenge.

As I watched, I felt that dark, fierce anger, this time mixed with pride, rise up within me. I looked up at the sky and pictured Arcann's face. The face of the man who had taken my life. My family. My other half. My home.

Do you see this? These people are all going to come after you. They will not cease, they will not stop, and they will not show mercy for you.

I focused back on the alliance. The size of this base would be dwarfed in size by the bases i've seen on Balmora, Quesh, and other worlds, but it would be technologically rivaled by only Zakuul's military. It had blasters. It had elite squads, scientests, and fighters. It had everything you need to start a war. And it was all for me to command, to spearhead as we used everything we had to take him down. I had been given command of the second biggest army in the galaxy.

I laughed quietly. But don't mistake it for a kind laugh. It was the laugh of a merciful person who had been made furious enough to kill. And I was furious; I want Arcann dead.

It's funny how he probabally thinks that by removing my life from me, he's broken me. And in a way, he has. I still cry myself to sleep and wish I could be held by a certain pair of arms. But the thing is, he's only sharpened a blade. With nothing to distract me, I have a focus so sharp it could cut through a lightsabor. In front of it was his death, and behind it was an army.

Arcann has chosen the wrong person to piss off.