The Dark Side was everywhere. Every inch of snow felt like acid sulphur as Moroku Taiemo, Jedi Knight, marched through the unrelenting snowstorm. An attack on the Jedi outpost on Ilum was the last thing anyone expected, but these were dark times. To many, this felt like the Great Sith War all over again, and now more than ever, life was full of surprises, many which were unwelcome. Moroku had lost many of his friends in the struggle against the Sith, most dying, but others, turning to the Dark Side, becoming demons with no feelings. Moroku had met some of them, barely escaping with his life more than once. What he saw they had become would torment him for the rest of his days, like a parasite eating him away organ after organ. It pained him to know that the only way to cure himself would be to destroy the evil that had taken them without hesitation, snatched them as if it were a beggar and Moroku’s friends, coins scattered on the ground. The only way to purify them was to kill them, for Moroku knew that once the Dark Side had you, it would never let you go, one way or another. They were family, and they didn’t deserve to suffer under the Dark Pall that had spread throughout the galaxy like a virus, feeding itself on a body and then moving to another once the first body’s resources were depleted. Moroku wondered if this was ever going to end. He never believed he would have to suffer so. Not for a long, long time, Master Tonyur Bekt had told him with regret. He was now the Grand Master of the Order after Luke Skywalker’s passing, all those years ago. Moroku hadn’t even been born at the time, but the young Jedi Knight didn’t bother to think about Master Skywalker. The past was gone, and there was no way to bring the dead ones back for help or advice. This brought Moroku back to his assignment.

Before he even knew it, Moroku had already reached the outpost, so entrenched in his thoughts his legs had worked without automatically. The putrid smell of decaying flesh and the strong tang of ozone flushed through the air at the entrance to the outpost, swirling all around like insects around a hive. Moroku could have puked at the sight he beheld inside. Bodies lay everywhere, corpses of fallen Jedi Knights and Masters who had failed to protect one of the most valuable sanctuaries to the Jedi. Who could have done this? Thought Moroku, horrified. He had never seen such butchering, such violence, such chaos, death to such a grand scale. Yet he only felt one person in the area, one dark and evil presence. It was powerful, so powerful it seemed as if a giant had awaken from a distant cave. Somehow, it felt colder here than it did outside, the death he found here making Moroku’s heart freeze. The Jedi walked into the grand entrance hall of the outpost, the only hall that maked the place look like a small temple. Jagged rocks lay on the floor next to the bodies and some had even pierced through their flesh. Picking up one of them, Moroku noticed that these were no ordinary rocks, for they were sharp as the edge of a knife. So many were on the ground that it made the Jedi wonder where the Sith Lord who had done this could have gotten all of these weapons. Moroku raised his head to face the cieling, his eyes closed and mouth exhaling, trying to make the pain of the death of many go away. Opening his eyes, he noticed the entire roof had gone missing, snow falling down slowly through the huge fissure. Now Moroku knew where the rocks had come from, and this answer only reinforced his belief of how powerful the darkness inside was.

Footsteps echoed through the hall and Moroku looked to find the last person he ever thought he would find here, walking down the steps slowly, pride shining from his face like a bright, incandescent fire. His expression of horror  fused with one of utter disbelief. Soru Lomenak, another of his friends. His robes and tunic were black as the deep vacuum of space. His soul was drenched in the Dark Side. Of all the shock he felt when he saw his friends turned, none had shocked Moroku more than this one. Soru had treaded on the edge of darkness many times, but Riko Fultyre, a Jedi Master who was said to be the second after Master Bekt himself, had saved him, and Soru seemed eternally grateful when that happened. Riko had seemed like a father to Soru and Moroku, for he had taught them both. The shock Moroku felt now, to see someone who essentially wanted to do good and protect those who needed safety turned to be such a monster, had left the Jedi speechless. In those first moments of recognition, Moroku refused to take in the image of Soru in a dark avatar, refused to see what he had become.

“So you have come,” Soru said in a deep, condescending voice. Moroku knew Soru expected a reply, and the words that came out of his mouth were barely a whisper. “How could you have done this?” Soru smiled grimly, and Moroku knew at that instant that Soru was no longer the Soru he had known long before now. Looking at him, memories of his previous meetings with him surfaced to his brain like bubbles rising to the surface of a pond. Once, he had asked for advice on what to do on his first mission, how to prepare. Moroku had smiled to him, telling that he had to trust the Force to lead him to best course of action. Riko had spoken highly of Soru’s skills, and had also said that in time, he would become a powerful Jedi. Moroku suddenly felt as if he had failed this boy who had asked him for help so long ago, who had shown promise to the father he never had. So bowed down by grief was Moroku that he didn’t hear Soru’s answer. The only thing he heard was the sound of thrumming energy as brilliant red light glowed and hissed like a serpent. Moroku looked at the lightsaber Soru held. The hilt hadn’t changed, only the color of the blade, reflecting the hatred and fury that made Soru’s new soul. The next thing Moroku saw was the sizzling energy of the fiery sword slash to his chest in a blur of red light.

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