Jedi Insurgency 222 (Interlude 30)

Five days had passed since Revan's departure from Nar Shaddaa. In that time, the Hutts had pushed Vader's invasion back, and commerce once more returned to this moon that hundreds of billions called home. 

Amongst the many residents keeping themselves busy was the tenth richest man in the galaxy, Prince Xizor. Strolling down the central hallway of the Black Sun headquarters upon Nar Shaddaa, countless gangsters had lined up to parade his victory. Yet in this moment, when he should be basking in the afterglow of victory, he was deep in thought.

Owner of the largest shipping company in the galaxy, he had been the envy of many of his contemporaries back home on Falleen. And yet, for all his influence, all his money, the reptilian humanoid craved a different form of power. That is:

Violence. 

Pure. Naked. Unadulterated. Violence. 

To make someone else do his bidding, not because of a lawsuit, or because of appearances. No! To force them to bend to his will because he said so! A man could be drowned in money, yet refuse the Prince's order due to pride. But threaten his daughter, and the man would work for free! As a man who sat at the top of the food chain, Xizor saw the need for this power, that without it, he would be like the Separatists; weak and at the mercy of corrupt politicians. 

Therefore, to satisfy this craving, he had made inroads with the Black Sun crime syndicate. An organization typically run by members of his own race, his entry was a mere formality. His vast wealth bought him a seat as a Sub-Vigo, just one step below that of a Vigo. 

The taste of violence had been seductive. Once upon a time, when a trade dispute was working against him, his newfound lackeys had muscled their way in, fixing a problem in less than a week that would've taken two years to resolve in the courts. This sample had been the catalyst for his ambitions. Why sit on the council of Vigos, when he could be ruler of all? 

Initially, he had planned to go through the motions. To bribe, murder, and connive his way to the top through an intricate web of connections, intimidations, and assassinations. This plan of his was due to culminate in a total victory ten years from now. A project forecasted to cost him well over 5 trillion credits had been completed in less than six months, and the totality of his credits spent on this venture was less than 500,000. 

Needless to say, Xizor was both wroth that he did not have the opportunity to execute this most masterful of plans, and giddy at the thought that the day of his ascension was finally at hand. That the one who was most responsible for this radical change was none other than the second most wanted man in the galaxy. 

Revan. 

The masked man ordered him around as if he were some Huttese slut. Demanding Xizor take action in safeguarding Jedi survivors, passing along information, and providing transportation whenever, and wherever Revan wished it. As minor an inconvenience as this was, it paled in comparison to the apocalyptic rage he experienced each time the mystery man contacted him. To Xizor, this relationship only served to accentuate his need for violence. Because it was violence that so firmly clamped the collar of submission around Xizor's neck. It was violence that even now, placed him upon the throne of the second largest criminal organization in the galaxy. 

How it irked him to be beholden to that man. And yet, for all his hatred, and his desire to lock Revan up in a cell for all eternity as nothing more than a dispenser for immortality…he couldn't help but respect him. Despite his infamy, and the high price on his head, Revan managed to alter the trajectory of the galaxy, despite only playing the game for less than 6 months. Deep down, Xizor was jealous of Revan. Jealous of his immortality, and the constant limelight. Even he, in all his contempt for these so-called mystics, had to admit that the aquification of Tatooine was something out of a fantasy novel. 

But of course, by leveraging a superior being such as himself, it was no wonder Revan had accomplished so much! Stroking his chin at the thought, Xizor composed himself, and finally cast away these burdensome thoughts as he arrived at his destination. 

The council chamber of the Black Sun’s Nar Shaddaa headquarters glittered like a den of jewels buried in shadow. Suspended high within a spire that overlooked the Smuggler’s Moon, the chamber was a circular amphitheater of black glass and polished obsidian. The room's walls were veined with slow-pulsing amber light, and hanging from the rafters was a great black circle rimmed by a crown of thorns-the symbol of the Black Suns. Beyond the transparisteel windows, Nar Shaddaa still smoldered due to the aftermath between Revan & Vader's conflict. Entire districts bore the scars of the battle from five days prior. Great gouges carved into the skyline where starfighters had come crashing down into towers, and many downed capital ships were surrounded by security personnel, preventing scavengers from taking a single scrap. 

Prince Xizor stood at the center the chamber, and posed in such a way, that he was bathed in a cone of golden light.

His Falleen features were immaculate, and sculpted to perfection. Xizor's emerald skin was smooth, and he wore a voluminous blue robe made from the rarest of materials. Glancing at his contemporaries, Xizor made a note of their features. The last council had all been of Falleen stock. After Maul's slaughter, and subsequently Revan’s new wave of assassinations, a fresh wave of Vigos-ones sympathetic to his cause-had been installed. 

Some were human, others were not. Rodians with mottled green scales, a towering Whiphid draped in ceremonial armor, a Nikto whose cybernetic eye flickered with cold light. Each wore the sigil of their station, many of whom even bore scars, showcasing their tough upbringings. None of them were stupid, each one had been a top earner. But most importantly, they were all accustomed to: violence. 

At the far end of the chamber, a pair of Twi’lek attendants ignited braziers filled with fragrant spice. Smoke coiled upward in elegant spirals, filling the air with a heady, intoxicating aroma. 

Xizor inhaled it slowly, and released his pheromones into the air, mixing it with the smoke to assert his dominance. It was a subtle scent, but the chemical nature would ensure that these ingrates saw him as the leader that he was. 

Bought & paid for, they had been Sub-Vigos before, and were cowed by Revan's string of assassinations. Now it was time for Xizor to impress upon them his power. To sway them with his gravitas and the power of ritual. 

A low, resonant chime echoed through the chamber, signaling the beginning of the ceremony. One by one, the newly christened Vigos stepped forward.

The first-a human woman clad in crimson-knelt before him. She produced a slender dagger of obsidian, its edge shimmering with a toxin known only to the Black Sun. Without hesitation, she pressed it to her palm, drawing blood. The crimson droplets hissed as they struck the polished floor.

“For power.” She intoned, her voice steady, “For profit, for the shadow that binds us, I swear fealty to Prince Xizor, rightful master of Black Sun.”

Xizor smiled faintly, extending two fingers onto a nearby pad, faint scratches drew blood. Pressing these bloody prints onto her forehead, he regarded his servant with an intense stare. 

“Rise, and prosper beneath me.” Xizor said, his voice as smooth as silk. 

Before long, each Vigo repeated the process with him. Accepting the allegiance of so many killers made Xizor's ambitions begin to soar. 

Above them, the amber lights dimmed slightly, and the chamber’s central dais rose a fraction higher, lifting him, subtly, above the rest.

As the ceremony continued, his thoughts drifted once more to five days ago. 

Revan and Vader had torn through the moon like rival gods, their conflict shaking the very foundations of the underworld. Entire sectors had gone dark. Fleets had been annihilated. Power-real power-had been on display.

And in that chaos…the feared Shadow Syndicate, the one ruled by the fearsome Darth Maul, had been forced back. 

In one month, entire cells of Black Sun leadership had vanished. Sub-Vigos who had ruled for decades were found dead in their chambers, or not found at all. Accounts had been seized. Networks disrupted. Rivals…erased. And it was all thanks to a group of commandos, and one scary, bloodthirsty short Jedi teenager. 

The servants of Revan, he thought, the name forming with equal parts admiration and irritation.

Outwardly, he had pledged his loyalty, but now that he had achieved ascension…perhaps it was worth attempting to play both sides? For one dangerous moment, Xizor very seriously considered leveraging Palpatine against the ancient Sith Lord, but the thought of losing his source of immortality had the cold blooded Falleen clenching his fists so tight, he drew blood. 

‘I will not kneel.’ Xizor thought, his expression never faltering as another Vigo cut their palm and swore their oath.

The final Vigo approached. This one was an aged Falleen, his scales dulled with time, his eyes sharp with ancient cunning. He did not kneel immediately. Instead, he regarded Xizor for a long moment, measuring him.

“For dominion.” The elder said, in a gravelly voice. “For the eternal shadow, we name you what you have already become.”

Then as one, all the Vigos spoke together: 

“Dark Prince of Black Sun.”

The words echoed in the chamber, and a low, thunderous hum resonated through the headquarters, as though the very foundations of Nar Shaddaa acknowledged the title.

The other Vigos began to repeat themselves, as if they were cultists chanting a phrase: 

“Dark Prince of Black Sun.”

“Dark Prince of Black Sun.”

“DARK PRINCE OF BLACK SUN.”

Xizor closed his eyes for the briefest of moments, savoring the moment. When he opened them again, they gleamed. 

“My friends.” He began, his voice carrying effortlessly through the chamber, rich with charisma. “My partners.”

A faint smile touched his lips as he paused to regard his servants. 

“We stand at the edge of a new era.”

Xizor gestured toward the windows, toward the wounded skyline of Nar Shaddaa, specifically at the wounded Hutt ships limping across the atmosphere, and those that had crash landed.

“Five days ago, this moon bore witness to power beyond comprehension. Titans clashed, and in their wake, they left opportunity. And we must seize it.” 

A murmur of approval rippled through the chamber. Xizor clasped his hands behind his back, pacing slowly, deliberately around the room. 

“The galaxy believes the Black Sun to be fractured, weak, and under the dominion of some deranged Zabrak.” He chuckled softly. “Let them.”

He stopped pacing, and sharply stared into each and every pair of eyes. 

“Because while they look elsewhere…we will rebuild. Stronger. Smarter. We shall once more become the shadow that they fear.”

He paused for a moment, letting the words settle.

“And I, will ensure that Black Sun does not merely survive this new galaxy…”

Xizor said, clenching his fist with a predatory look upon his face. 

“…but rules within it.”

Polite applause followed his declaration, and he knew he had them. As the ceremony concluded, and the Vigos had left after a small party, Xizor sat alone upon a throne. 

His gaze drifted once more to the distant skyline, to the scars left behind by Revan and Vader.

His benefactor.

His…rival.

“Enjoy your victory, Jedi.” Xizor murmured under his breath, too soft for any to hear.

His ambitions were only just beginning. Pulling up a dataslate, he wondered what message he should compose to His Majesty. 

“Statement: Master Revan is always victorious.”

“Mournful Scrutiny: Woe is me, for we have become the meatbag's babysitters.” 

Xizor crushed the wine glass in his hand in a fit of uncontrollable rage. Revan's latest killbots had been all over the news. Although no one had any concrete evidence, Xizor-with his connections-knew better. 

Eying the pair of HK-51's, the Falleen Prince took a deep breath, then deleted the message he was going to send to Palpatine. Instead, he tapped away, informing several Jedi-who had been rescued & kept away from the media for safety purposes-about Windu's trial. 

‘Hmph. This loyalty test is too transparent, Revan. How naive.’ Xizor silently sneered to himself. 

“Disappointed Commentary: Detected 5% increase in zabtoid pheromone, are you in heat?” 

“Perfunctory Exclamation: The alien must have fallen in love with Master. He thinks too highly of himself.” 

“Agreement: Xizor never stood a chance.” 

Xizor, Dark Prince of the Black Sun, and tenth richest man in the galaxy silently glared at the pair of uninvited guests, and ground his teeth. 

“Statement: Teeth grinding is unhealthy behavior for a meatbag. Should you experience anger, depression, or general sadness, we would be more than happy to solve your problem.” The HK-51 unit raised a blaster. 

‘....REVAAAAN!!!!!!’ 

~~~~~~~

AN: It's funny, I had guys asking about HK-47 since like day one. But going to Mustafar to fish his ass out of some lava seemed like a pain in the ass side quest. Sooo, now we have a million of these bastards out roaming the galaxy! What could possibly go wrong?~~~

And damn, I'm happy to FINALLY “finish” this plot thread. Fucking Corvus pormised this asshole he'd make him the leader of the Black Suns in like, chapter 8. Imagine reading a story in 2026, where dangling plot threads actually get fleshed out. 

We have maybe 4 to 9 more interludes to get through. Another Obi-Wan/Jedi, Vader/Thrawn, Imperial hierarchy, maaaybe CIS leadership, and maaaaybe Plagueis, one (spoiler) to tie things up, and that should probably be it (unless I think of something funny again like the GNN massacre). Is there ANYONE else you guys want to see the POV of before this Jedi Party on Coruscant goes down?