Lightside Sith 043

For a moment after Grakkus went still, it was as if the universe had held its breath. Those in the audience could not believe what they were seeing. Centuries, that was how long Grakkus the Hutt had been conducting these gladiatorial games. 

A time so long that generations worth of slaves had grown underneath the slug's shadow never knowing a life any different than one of servitude. For them, they blankly blinked their eyes, still processing what had happened. 

Meanwhile, the crowd erupted in shocked uproar. Many people were laughing full of shchadenfreud, the public execution of a Hutt in such a grand spectacle hadn't been seen in decades. This was a once in a lifetime performance, and it was all thanks to none other than Kaine Renstar! 

The roar from the crowd rolled down from the nosebleed section and struck the broken barge like a wave. Spectators pounded the rails screamed Kaine’s name, Grakkus’s, the Jedi’s. Anything that could be shouted, was being exclaimed. A rain of cups, beer cans, and other trash flowed into the arena as many people expressed their shock. Ordinarily, the guards keeping order would have shot stun rounds into the crowd or killed a few people to make an example, but even they were too dazed to act. 

It was to this cacophony of noise that the red skinned Sith Pureblood awoke from his blood raged frenzy induced by the [Blood Etching] rune of [Hatred]. The Sith sorcery had given him that extra oomph needed to triumph over the massively muscular slug. 

Kaine stood over the Hutt, chest heaving. Blood ran from his nose and disappeared into the dents of his ancient golden armor. The severed chain lay across Grakkus like a dead thing, and his warblade sang in the Force, drunk on the mighty warrior's blood. Practically moving on its own accord, the sword flew out of the alien's shriveled tail, and landed snugly into his resting palm. 

He lifted his warblade high on instinct, and roared out his dominance. The gold plates on his chest caught the arena lights, and for one blazing instant, he looked less like a battered gladiator than a conqueror from some buried age, returned to claim a kingdom by the edge of his sword.

The crowd answered with another deafening cheer, meeting his intensity, and unknowingly being influenced by the Force. 

He turned towards each part of the stands, giving each member of the audience a chance to get a good look, and farm some final points of LP. He let them see the blood, and carnage in all their glory. Letting the entire galaxy drink their fill of the Legend of Renstar. 

As he was busy showboating, Kaine sensed a slight disturbance in the Force, and turned his head. Locking eyes with the Jedi, Nahdar Vebb, he felt that something was amiss. Although they had teamed up to vanquish a greater foe, he would not put it beyond Jedi hypocrisy to find a trident suddenly stabbing at his back. 

The orange skinned Mon Calamari had risen beside the mast. His robes were soaked, his trident still in hand. He watched Grakkus’s body, then Kaine, and the grip on his handle tightened. 

“Go on, Jedi.” Kaine called out, shouting to be heard above the noise. “You’ve had your fill of the arena. I’ll spare you the indignity of losing to me twice in one day.”

“You are a curious one, Sith. Is it not in your nature to slay every last Jedi you lay your eyes upon?” Nahdar questioned, tilting his head to the side in confusion. 

Kaine glanced at Grakkus, then offered a demure smile. When he spoke next, he adopted that arrogant noble tone that he had picked up whilst imitating Dooku. 

“Why, Master Jedi, you wound me. Did I not inform you that I wish the Jedi to improve? In your current state, you are hardly worth my time. A duel so soon would be a stain not only on my honor, but yours as well.” Kaine stated, looking at the Jedi with pity in his eyes. 

“A Sith speaking of honor, this is strange. The histories claim that it was the Sith who sacked the Jedi Temple on Coruscant whilst negotiations were being held on Alderaan. I must confess, a fight now is not what I seek, but what guarantee do I have that you will not stab me as soon as my back is turned?” Nahdar asked, refusing to yield. 

Kaine maintained a bright smile, whilst inwardly cussing out his ancestors. Literally 90% of the time that a Sith could lie, cheat or steal…he would. It was pretty tough for him to dodge the allegations when the fact of the matter was, most Sith were indeed generic asshole scum. But there were some who held honor. 

“Ahem, an event that occurred well over three millennia ago. I can see that trust is difficult to achieve, and I myself have many misgivings regarding Jedi hypocrisy. How about this. To foster trust, I toss you my warblade, and you pass me your trident. Then, at a later date, we can exchange the items, proving the bond of friendship forged through battle. As one warrior to another.” Kaine stated earnestly. 

Nahdar looked conflicted, and remained silent for some time, then shook his head. “I fear that the High Council would confiscate this warblade, and either destroy it, or lock it away with similar artifacts. I apologize, Renstar, but I cannot reciprocate this show of friendship. Although I can sense your good intentions, and believe in your sincerity.” For now. 

Kaine sighed, and looked off to the side. 

“Such a pity, and to think I risked being electrocuted by my own Master for suggesting such a proposal. It appears that we Sith & Jedi are to be at loggerheads until the end of time…or until you truly genocide us from the face of the galaxy.” Kaine said, putting on a melancholic act. 

Nahdar sighed, closed his eyes in pain, and then took a step forward. 

“I apologize for being so short sighted. I…I agree to this proposal. When next we meet, may it be as warriors who forged a bond together in battle.” Nahdar said, his voice full of resolve. 

Instead of tossing his trident to Kaine, the Mon Calamari took one step after another across the broken barge with the intent of handing it over personally. 

Kaine, meanwhile, raised an eyebrow. The Jedi was incredibly open right now, seemingly swayed by his words. Now, if it were Anakin or even Obi-Wan, he could very easily see them attack as soon as they drew near for a surprise ambush. However, not all Jedi were as low class as those two, and Nahdar seemed to truly mean what he said. 

“A Jedi with honor. I never thought I would see the day.” Kaine muttered, and reversed the grip on his warblade, fully intent on trading it with the trident. 

He dipped his head in a mock bow, the gesture grand enough to draw fresh laughter from the stands, and just as the Jedi had made it half way across the deck, the clone troopers blocked his path. 

During all of the chaos, the Republic soldiers had managed to wrestle some blasters away from Grakkus’s men, and were now pointing them at the big bad scary Sith clad in golden armor. 

“Stand down.” Nahdar ordered. “We have already come to an agreement.” 

“Can't do that, sir. Kaine Renstar is wanted in more than a dozen systems, and is noted as the key instigator for the loss of Ryloth. As Count Dooku's apprentice, the knowledge he possesses might be enough to tilt the scales of the war. Dead or alive, he is leaving Nar Shaddaa with us.” The clone Commander gruffly stated, his loyalty to the Chancellor & the Republic unquestionable. 

Kaine looked from the clones to Nahdar, and softly chuckled. 

“Your friends truly are eager to die. Did they think that just because they have picked up a few blasters that the calculus has changed? All they saw was a raging berserker, but they have no clue how awesome the power of the Force is.” Kaine mocked, flourishing his rune coated blade. 

“They are not part of the Jedi Order…but I am responsible for their lives. I ask that you spare them as much as you can. I shall not take part in any of this.” Nahdar shook his head once again, then took a step back. 

The Commander spat to the side, muttering something about cowardice, then gave a signal to his men. Two troopers rushed the barge from opposite sides, one aiming a stun baton at Kaine’s sword arm, the other aiming at his knees waiting for the perfect time to shoot his blaster. 

Just as a big fight was about to break out, a small hovercar came roaring onto the scene. 

Durge jumped off the side falling dozens of feet through the air like a falling siege engine. He hit the deck in a crouch that cracked the boards, sending fragments of wood into the air. The plate armored Gen'Dai stood tall like a tree. Kicking out a leg, he snapped a gunner's knee at a sickening angle, and then picked up two other troopers, and tossed them against the far arena wall making a crunching sound. 

Krrsantan dropped after him. The Wookiee landed heavily, snarled, and drove a shoulder into the next pair. They toppled over the rail in a clatter of armor and shouted curses, landing in a heap against the now drained arena floor. The Wookiee beat his chest, then ripped an arm off, and beat a trooper half to death with his own limb. 

Ferus Olin-driving the hover car-didn't want to be left out, so he jumped too. 

Landing soft as a cat, the Jedi flicked back his white-brown hair, and ignited his blue lightsaber just as the vehicle crash landed behind the barge. The resulting explosion occurred just as he diced through several weapons, and stunned five clone troopers by setting his weapon to training mode. 

“Enough!” Ferus shouted. “No one else needs to die here.”

One clone charged him anyway. Ferus caught the man’s rifle with the flat of his blade and twisted it from his hands. Krrsantan seized another by the back of his armor and threw him into a stack of empty cages. Durge simply kept coming, ramming the enemy down like a bowling ball striking tall white pins. The clones broke around him, losing consciousness at every turn. 

Nahdar thrust himself between the last troopers and Kaine's possie. “Stop! That’s an order.”

The clone Commander hesitated, Ferus lowered his saber, and Krrsantan’s claws flexed, but he held his ground.

Kaine rested the warblade against one shoulder, and offered a mocking smile. 

“This round belongs to Team Renstar, now go. We can exchange weapons next time. If you're worthy.” 

Nahdar frowned, but ultimately decided not to press the issue. Leading his injured men towards one of the arena gates, he departed without another word. 

+50LP. 

The crowd laughed and cheered again, hungry for another round. Kaine raised his free hand, and the noise gradually fell away. His gaze traveled up through the many rows, of audience members, and spotted his target. 

A woman stood behind a brass lattice, her pale veil caught in the wind. It had slipped just enough to reveal the dark hair and familiar face the galaxy knew as Padmé Amidala.

The crowd recognized her due to Kaine's previous antics, and a fresh wave of shouting accompanied by gossip swept through the arena.

She shook her head once, warning him not to do something reckless again. 

Kaine reached for her with [Telekinesis], ignoring her silent protest. He caught her around the waist before her boots touched the deck and held her against the battered gold of his breastplate, like a barbarian king displaying the prize he had carried home.

“Kaine.” She said through her teeth. “Put me down. Now.” 

He kissed her on the lips, silencing any further protest. It was a hard, wet press of lips, reckless and full of desire. Dormé’s hands weakly struck his breastplate in protest. For a brief, furious heartbeat, she clutched the edge of his collar and kissed him back, then she tore away, breathing fast, and planted her palm against his chest to hold him at a distance.

The crowd went wild at the sight of this. Their cameras caught the face they believed was Padmé’s. 

“You don’t get to drag me around like a trophy.” She hissed, poking him hard in a section of armor that had been torn off & had only recently healed. 

“Easy, now, easy, that hurts.” Kaine hissed. He then adopted a rogueish smile. 

“I don't like the look of this. Renstar…what, what do you have planned?” Dormé whispered, hung her head, and looked shiftily to the left & right. 

Kaine's smile deepened. 

“Your Queen is pregnant with Anakin Skywalker's spawn. If I made that announcement right now~~~” Kaine teased, then looked up at his image on a jumbotron. 

Right now tens of thousands of people were watching in person, with hundreds of thousands watching the live stream, and perhaps tens of millions might watch the replay…such explosive news might even reach several billion.

“No! No, please do not do this!” Dormé pleaded, her heart gripped in sorrow & fright. 

“Then you must go along with this next part. Whatever I say next, you must agree too. After all, it is to protect your Queen's reputation, and in fact, might be a marker for peace.” Kaine murmured. 

Dormé stared at him, yet hesitated to speak. 

“Tick tock, my dear.” Kaine said, then turned to the audience, raising his voice: “Everyone!!! I have an announcement to make!”

“I promise!” Dormé rushed to say. 

Kaine looked past her, toward the reporters and the live-feed droids. He raised his sword again, and the noise thinned to a hush as everyone strained to listen to this mighty warrior. 

“Let the HoloNet carry this message from one end of the galaxy to the other: Padmé Amidala is pregnant with my child!”

+10,000 LP 

~~~~~

AN: Of course, it's still too early in the war for Padmé to actually be pregnant. But that still makes Renstar quite the sneak~