Saga - ST Down (Evil Unfinished)

Published for the Evil Author Day

I have a number of chapters.
I will put up a new one every few hours, until the story awkwardly comes to a stop at an inconvenient place.
If anyone wants to finish this silliness, then go for it.

So, we are on Exegol. The Second Incarnation of the Emperor is dead. His fleet of planet busting Star Destroyers is destroyed. But down below the surface of Exegol the story isn't quite over.

-----

Down
Chapter One

Down.
Down below the storm driven surface of Exegol, where a thousand Star Destroyers fell to their destruction. A ruined landscape of bare rock and twisted metal.

Down below the blasted remains of the underground cities where a million had strived for the return of the Ancient and Mighty Sith Empire. The Eternals who died in the flames and chaos of those crashing ships, and the survivors who found themselves hunted down and slaughtered by the troops from a hundred worlds. A genocidal spree killing women, children all by a vengeful army determined to erase the Sith Cult from the Galaxy forever.

So downwards the few surviving Sith Eternal ran. Down into the Industrial Caves, where the Great Machines had built the fleet. Ever deeper miles down below they ran. To the deepest power stations that generated energy from the heat of the core.

But the enemy followed, the troops of the New Republic and the Resistance, murdering and destroying with a fury that would have impressed the old Darth Lords. There was no corner to hide in and no mercy offered. After months of lost battles, this starving rabble we see here were the only remaining Sith Eternal alive.



The large industrial door slammed down shut with a solid clunk.

The last of the Sith crowded into what appeared to be a cloning laboratory. A few dozen Stormtroopers wearing remnants of their deep red armour knelt and aimed their blasters at the door, most with just a few laser bolts left and some completely empty. They awaited for the enemy to inevitably cut through. Behind them were perhaps two hundred Acolytes, in their black robes made of harsh fabric designed to irritate the skin. They listened to the cries of abuse from their too slow fellow brethren still caught on the other side of the door as they thumped their fists on the thick metal.

“Swinia!”
“Scurkwielu Pryik!”

The abandoned ones swore with the most filthy language they could manage.
For it was not the nature of a Sith to beg or plead. Fear is for the weak. Only solid Hate was the right emotion for this moment. So they screamed defiant abuse at the ones who had locked them out.

Inside, despite the desperate situation they found themselves in, the Acolytes could not help look around this laboratory they were entombed in. Around the walls were glass tanks of some foul yellow liquid in which floated unconscious humans of varying degrees of completeness. Developing Clones. And if they looked at them long enough, they would see the faces of people they knew. Fellow workers in the shipyards. For some of them came the shock of seeing their own faces floating mindlessly in the chemicals.

And starving after months of constant running, some fantasised smashing the glass and feasting on the moist flesh within.

...more soon...

 

Awesome, never thought about what happened to the Sith on Exegol after TRoS. I look forward to the next chapter

 

Chapter Two

“I think this is the place Clonemeister Dravyn talked about.”
Uczony Piotr was a slight man seemingly engulfed by his oversized white robe of the Science Cult.
“So deep underground. This must be it.” he muttered to himself.
He placed his palm on the cool glass of a tank of bubbling yellow juices.
“This is the Hall of the Seed Clones.”
His eyes darted about the room, searching for a secret that the Clonemeister had told him one drunken evening. If his story was true, Poitr just might stave off death a little longer.

On the other side of the door came the sound of running boots, and roars of blind fury from the Faithful trapped outside. The Enemy was here. They listened to a final rage by the locked out Acolytes, but their screaming and rants of abuse were quickly cut short by laser blasts, and all inside knew they were indeed the very last of the Sith. Now only the Republic Troops were on the other side of that door.

The Eternal screamed vengeance, yelling abuse at the door.
“Ja Jebe! Ja Kutas!”
Most just screaming wordlessly all the rage they could pour out of their lungs.

“Brethren! My people! Pray with me.”
The Pious Jakub was a short stocky bald block of a man. The last remaining Priest of the Sith.
“Listen to me!”
Their fury was beautiful, but it was unfocused.
“My People! Give me your Rage! Me!”
He took out his curved ceremonial knife.
“SUFFERING IS POWER! Raghh!” and he sliced at a black robe in arms reach, blood flying as the Acolyte dropped to the ground with a gargle.
“You know the Ritual! If you want your vengeance, give me your Hate!”
And one and all focused their rage. They screamed at Jakub, and scratched at their own faces and at the flesh of anyone within reach.

The Door began to glow in one spot with the crackle of an applied energy weapon. The Republic troops had begun to cut their way through.
Maybe she was out there. The traitorous Granddaughter who had murdered their dream.

“Remember her! Think of her! Think of what you would do to her with your bare hands!”

Jakob was no Dark Lord, but he accepted their hate, drew it in and concentrated it. He embraced their pain and twisted the Force around it within his gut. And he threw it at the door.
“DIE! DIE!” he screamed.
A wave of visible red hate smashed forth, momentarily bulging the door outwards. The crackling of the armor piercing laser stopped, and muffled cries of pain and fear came from the enemy on the other side.

“More!”
The room heaved with the robed mass raving and beating and scratching and gouging at each other.
Over and over Jakob absorbed his brethrens’ Dark Energy and threw it at the door.

Uczony Piotr kept away from the raving madness, though the physical insanity in the air infected him somewhat, heightening his feeling of panic. He scampered about examining the walls of the laboratory, rubbing his hands on the bare panels between the Bacta tanks.

“You’re here. I know it. I know it. Be here! Be here!”
He felt in corners and under tables for hidden switches.
“Show yourself you dupu cudj!”

And there it was. It was so obvious. The thin indented rectangle of a shut and sealed elevator door with a palm security pad awaiting a hand with the right security clearance. He placed his palm against it. It glowed red for a moment and the door stayed firmly closed. Of course. No one here would have the right security. No one alive.

He looked at a nearby clone mindlessly bubbling in its juices and recognised the face of his Clonemeister. Looking about, he found a good solid metal stool.

 

Chapter Three

The energy in the room was fading. One can only maintain such an intense hate for so long. Some in the crowd had taken to slicing at people with their curved ceremonial knives, which helped a little, but suddenly with a loud whomp and buzz and crackle the enemy’s cutting energy weapon started up again. A molten red line crackled across the top of the door.
The Stormtroopers prepared themselves once more, ready to fight and die.



With a scream, Poitr gave the stool a good swing at the clone tank, making for a loud smash and a crack. His Clonemiester’s clone inside the tank ignored this and continued to stare off into nothingness. Other Acolytes saw this new madness and picked up whatever objects they could and joined in smashing at the other glass tubes.

“Yes! Destroy it all my people!” Pious Jakob yelled, seeing a new source of rage.

And so the tanks began to smash, sending yellow fluids and glass splashing about, and limp twisted clone bodies thumping to the floor. Madness. Glorious gruesome madness.

Finally, with the help of other lunatics beating at the glass with their bare fists, the tank containing the Clonemeister cracked and smashed. The gush of water knocked Piotr over into the glass. He scrambled over and grabbed his meister’s unfinished wrist with both hands, kicking at the other Acolytes who were clawing at the clones legs.
“He’s mine!”
He dragged the slippery wet body with great effort towards the elevator.
“Do you want to live? Then give me the body!” he yelled at the Acolytes.
But they were too far gone in their mania. There was only one thing to do.
He leaped at them with his ceremonial knife.


The Pious Jakob tried to absorb this new madness around him, but it was too unfocused. He just watched the Faithful scrambling about on the floor, knowing that they were lost. The industrial door was glowing. The enemy would be through in a few moments. It was time to die.

But suddenly a new door slid upwards on the other side of the room. A freight elevator door! Wide eyed with surprise he ran, stepping over living, dead and otherwise inert bodies. And then more people noticed and abandoned whatever piece of gruesome cannibalism they were indulging in, got up and ran at it too.

Inside the elevator, Piotr found himself quickly crushed against the back wall by the crowds, quite unable to move.

“Hit the Down Button! Someone has to hit the Down Button!”

But the crowds kept pushing in, desperate for their lives. It was impossible for the elevator door to slide shut.

Outside there was a mighty explosion. The laboratory’s door blasted inwards, throwing hot shards of metal into the Stormtroopers and Acolytes. The enemy came running in blasting.

The screams made it clear the Eternal would not live long.
“Close the door! Or we all die right NOW!” squealed Poitr.

Pious Jakob watched his brethren dying before him. He opened himself and accepted their pain and death. And with it he gave one last push of Pain at the people before him, and they stumbled forwards just a few feet out to their deaths and momentarily clearing the doorway. He hit-hit-hit the CLOSE (>|<) button over and over, and clunk, the door dropped shut. There were about 30 people crammed into the elevator. Immediately there was the thump of fists by those outside.

The final two hundred Eternals were now thirty.

“So going down, are we? How far do we go?” Jakob asked.
“Does it matter?” said Piotr.
Jakob hit the DOWN ( v ) button, and the elevator dropped.

 

Chapter Four


The elevator dropped down and down and down. They did not know it but it was to be a journey of hundreds of miles down into the molten mantle of Exegol, where The Force is dense and strange. These few scientists, priests, acolytes and soldiers were taking a final desperate journey with no hope of escape.

Some squatted on the floor or leaned against the walls or against each other. People coughed as the air grew stale, but after all they had been through this was something they were accustomed to. Their cage rattled and hummed as they watched a red dot on the control panel gradually move downwards towards some deep, deep destination.

“Where are we going?” Jakob asked.
“To see our Emperor, I think.”

Down.

After some hours, the Pious Jakob shook himself out of this stupor and stood up straight, took a breath, and chanted.

“From Suffering Comes Anger”

The Eternals woke from their internal ruminations. Some looked at Jakob, some kept their eyes closed and let their entire body fill with holy belief in the Dark Side.

“Anger” they responded, as they always had.

Down they dropped to where the rock melts.

“From Anger Comes Hate”

“Hate”

Down where the weight of the planet crushes with unbelievable pressure.

“From Hate Comes POWER”

“POWER!”

Tears filled Jakob’s eyes, and he could see them in the eyes of those around him. He could feel their emotion in this tiny coffin, buried so deep.
Their belief was unshakeable. It was everything.

“Suffering is Power.” he chanted.
“Suffering is Power.” they droned back.
“Suffering is Power.”
“Suffering is Power.”
“Suffering is Power.”

Piotr muttered in response with the rest of them with. He sat at the back of the elevator, enveloped in his white robes, deep in thought.

Down.

After a couple more hours, they felt weight on their feet. Their cage was slowing. Some people were panting heavily, unable to breathe properly. They could not survive much longer in here.

After perhaps another half an hour, the red dot on the control panel touched the line at the bottom.

With a small jolt, the elevator came to a halt.

Jakob hesitated before hitting the Open [<|>] button. This could be their instant death. But then again, did that really matter?

A simple press, and the door slid open and fresh air rushed in.

 

I figured I'll end this. Last Chapter. It's kind of depressing, which is partly why I stopped writing it to be honest.

Chapter Five

Clonepracownik Zofia sat on the floor in the dim light.

She had been alone down here, deep in the magma, for how long? Sunlight and unfiltered air were a distant memory. There was no night or day. Only a second, then another second, then another. It seemed endless. Eternal.

Zofia sat on the floor beside a bubbling horizontal clone tank. Screens scrolled numbers, displayed graphs. Now and again she convinced herself to get up and look at them. Inside the tank floated a barely formed foetus. Curled up as if it was a small seafood snack bubbling in a pot. Sometimes she would stare at it, willing it to grow under her gaze.

“Grow some fingers! Hurry up!”

Fingers were most important. The elevator up to the surface required the handprint of someone with authority, and when it was obvious that no-one upstairs was going to respond to her ever more desperate calls, she decided that she had to grow her own key to freedom.

Then one day, the elevator door made a quiet “ding”.
“It’s moving!” she said to the foetus, and scurried over to the control panel.
She placed her fingers on the glowing red indication dot, willing it to descend. But as always, every path to freedom for her was achingly slow.



.... and that's as far as I got. In the spoilers is the "todo" list of where it might have headed.

Spoiler

• At this point Zofia meets Poitr and Jakob and the 30 Acolytes.
• Conflict at the sudden crowd arrival.
• Explanation of Zofia's plan.
• The elevator shaft is crushed as shields fail.
• No way back up.
• The claustrophobia of being hundreds of miles below ground.
• How to survive 300 days until the foetus grows.
• Not enough food.
• Implied cannibalism.
• His Awakening.
• The vague idea of Rey at the surface, knowing who is buried below.
• How the escape actually works and who, if any, survives. (Yeah, that's the toughest bit.)
• Rey and Sheev Meet. Finally Redemption?

 

Very nice. A lot of this was like poetry and really unite beautiful even if it’s subject matter was a bit dark and gory.


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Allow me to preface what I am about to say by making it clear that this is no judgement against you as a human being.

That said, I am thoroughly disgusted by the fact that you actually had me rooting for the lunatic followers of His Sheeviness!

But I guess that just proves what a good writer you are, so....Well done? I guess. As you've probably figured out by now, my feelings about this are very mixed.