The twin suns of Serenno hung low on the horizon, painting the sprawling estate in shades of amber and blood-red. Count Dooku stood alone at the edge of the manor's grand terrace, his silhouette sharp against the fading light. Behind him, servants moved in practiced silence, their footsteps barely disturbing the evening's stillness. All waited with the same tense anticipation—for the arrival of Dathomir's dark envoy.
Higher up, positioned on the manor's eastern balcony, Sora Bulq and Sev'rance Tann surveyed the grounds below with the keen scrutiny of predators. Flanking them stood the rest of Dooku's inner circle: Kadrian Sey, Tol Skorr, Prosette Dibs and the newest addition—Masana Ted, a savage warrior plucked from obscurity after Ima Gun Di's death on Kamino.
The woman was a paradox—primitive in demeanor yet formidable in power. The Jedi Order had overlooked her. The Republic had ignored her. But when her master fell, something darker had taken root in her heart. Resentment. Dooku had recognized it immediately. Resentment was a currency he understood well.
Now they all waited for the replacement the Nightsisters had promised after Ventress's supposed "death"—a new assassin to fill the void.
The hum of engines broke the silence. A sleek transport descended from orbit, its hull catching the last rays of sunlight as it glided toward the landing platform. The acolytes stirred.
"I don't trust them." Kadrian Sey's voice cut through the quiet, sharp with suspicion.
"Now is not the time." Sev'rance Tann's tone was ice—calm, controlled, brooking no argument. "Pay attention."
The transport's landing struts kissed the platform with barely a whisper. Hydraulics hissed as the gangway extended, and the hatch yawned open like a mouth revealing secrets. Count Dooku's fingers flexed once at his sides. "Finally."
The Nightsisters emerged first—three robed figures moving with predatory grace, their energy bows clutched in pale hands. The weapons gleamed with an unnatural luminescence, and through the Force, Dooku felt the pulse of ancient power emanating from them. These were no ordinary armaments.
A ripple of awareness passed through the assembled acolytes. Something else was aboard that ship. Something powerful.
Then Mother Talzin descended the ramp, her smile sharp as a blade.
"Mother Talzin." Dooku's greeting was warm, layered with diplomatic courtesy. He inclined his head respectfully.
She returned the gesture with measured elegance before turning to gesture back toward the ship's darkened interior. "Allow me to introduce..." Her smile widened. "Savage Opress."
The figure that emerged stole the breath from the very air.
Massive. That was the first word that came to mind. The Zabrak stood nearly seven feet tall, his body a sculpted mass of muscle and raw power. Intricate tattoos covered his yellow-red skin—tribal markings that spoke of Dathomir's brutal traditions. His eyes burned with a sickly yellow luminescence as they fixed on Count Dooku with predatory intensity.
Savage Opress descended the ramp with measured, heavy steps. Each footfall resonated with barely contained violence. He stopped before the Sith Lord, those burning eyes never wavering.
"Magnificent." The word escaped Dooku with genuine appreciation. "Truly magnificent."
"He is the strongest of the Nightbrothers," Talzin said, her voice dripping with sadistic pride. "Forged through ritual and pain. He will serve you with unwavering loyalty."
"Yes." Dooku's smile could have cut glass. "He will. You have my gratitude, Mother Talzin. This alliance proves most... fruitful."
"Of course, Count." Talzin bowed with practiced grace.
Their eyes met—two apex predators recognizing each other across a chessboard of schemes and shadows. An understanding passed between them, unspoken but absolute. If everything proceeded according to plan, their partnership would reshape the galaxy itself.
Then, without warning, Savage Opress dropped to one knee. His massive frame folded with surprising fluidity, head bowed, one fist pressed against the ground. When he spoke, his voice rumbled like distant thunder. "I live to serve, my lord."
Satisfaction flickered across Dooku's aristocratic features. He turned to his new acquisition with the air of a connoisseur examining a prized weapon. "Come, Savage Opress. I will teach you the true depths of the dark side. The power that sleeps within you is raw, unfocused. We shall see if Mother Talzin's confidence in you is justified."
The Nightsisters returned to their vessel with practiced efficiency. Engines flared to life, and the transport lifted skyward, banking toward the stars. Savage Opress remained, falling into step behind the acolytes as they filed back into the manor.
Sora Bulq's voice was low, pitched for Dooku's ears alone. "I cannot place full faith in Dathomir's assessment. The Nightsisters are neither Sith nor Jedi. Their ways are ancient, alien. We know nothing of their true agenda."
"Noted, Master Bulq." Dooku's tone remained measured. "Nevertheless, we begin his training immediately. I understand your skepticism, but do not underestimate what stands before us." His eyes hardened. "If he fails to meet our standards, there will be no mercy. The training ground suffers no weakness."
"He's raw." Bulq's observation was clinical. "But raw can be refined."
"Indeed, Sora." Dooku's lips curved slightly. "I foresee significant changes on the horizon."
They reconvened in the manor's central chamber—a vast space dominated by high ceilings and ancient tapestries depicting Serenno's storied history. The acolytes arrayed themselves along the walls, postures respectful but alert. Savage Opress stood at the base of the steps leading to Dooku's ornate desk, isolated, evaluated.
"Mother Talzin speaks highly of your abilities." Dooku remained behind his desk, elevated, imposing. He studied the Zabrak with the detached interest of a scientist examining a specimen. "But words mean nothing without proof. I must witness your strength firsthand before determining your role in the trials ahead."
He descended the steps with deliberate slowness, each footfall echoing. "You possess considerable power, Savage Opress. Dormant. Volatile. Now we discover if you can harness it." He glanced toward Bulq. "Are the preparations complete?"
"They are, Count." Bulq inclined his head.
"Then let us begin your first test." Dooku's voice resonated with finality. "Prove that you are everything Mother Talzin claims."
Savage Opress lifted his head, yellow eyes blazing with confidence. "I will not disappoint you, my master."
"We shall see."
The training ground sprawled beyond the manor's walls—a circular arena of packed earth bordered by natural rock formations. Several stone pillars rose from the ground like ancient sentinels, their surfaces scarred from countless duels. Sev'rance Tann, Kadrian Sey, Tol Skorr, and Masana Ted gathered along the perimeter, their gazes fixed on the massive Zabrak warrior who stood at the arena's center.
Those yellow eyes blazed in the afternoon sun, inhuman and pitiless.
"Tol Skorr." Dooku's command cut through the tension. "You will test him first."
Tol Skorr stepped forward, his gray features impassive. He was no stranger to combat—his body bore the scars of decades spent honing his craft. He took his position opposite Savage Opress, muscles coiling, ready.
For a heartbeat, neither moved. Two warriors measuring each other across a dozen paces of empty ground.
"Begin."
The word had barely left Dooku's lips when Tol Skorr exploded into motion. He closed the distance in a blur, arm cocked back for a devastating strike—
Savage Opress roared.
The sound was primal, something dragged up from the depths of Dathomir's nightmare jungles. He surged forward to meet Tol Skorr's charge, and when the gray warrior's fist came whistling through the air, Savage caught his wrist in one massive hand.
Tol Skorr's eyes widened. He had a fraction of a second to register his mistake before Savage lifted him bodily off the ground and hurled him toward one of the stone pillars.
The impact should have been bone-shattering. Instead, Tol Skorr punched through the solid rock as if it were paper, the pillar exploding in a shower of debris. He hit the ground beyond in a tumbling sprawl, groaning.
Stunned silence blanketed the arena.
Then Dooku laughed—a cold, delighted sound. "Impressive. Most impressive. He has Darth Maul's blood, without question."
"He's an animal." Kadrian Sey's voice was tight, controlled. "Nothing more than a rabid beast."
"Perhaps that is precisely the kind of beast we require." Sev'rance Tann's eyes never left Savage Opress. "Something that can match the Republic's champions. Match Ultron." She paused. "Though which threat is greater remains unclear."
Tann stepped into the arena with fluid grace, her gaze locking onto Savage Opress. "I'll be your next test, warrior. Don't disappoint me."
Savage charged.
He came at her like a landslide—all unstoppable momentum and raw power. His fists became blurs, hammering toward her with enough force to pulverize bone.
But Sev'rance Tann was smoke and shadow. She weaved between his strikes with balletic precision, her body bending and twisting in ways that seemed to defy physics. She countered in the gaps between his attacks—rapid strikes to vulnerable points that would have felled most opponents.
Savage Opress blocked half of them. Absorbed the rest.
Tann's eyebrows rose fractionally. "Oh. You do have some skill."
She launched herself into the air, her leg whipping around in a devastating spinning kick aimed at his head. Savage's eyes tracked her movement. He reached for her throat with his right hand, fingers splayed—
Tann reacted in mid-flight. Her knee snapped up, deflecting his wrist aside. She caught his extended arm, and using his own momentum combined with a surge of Force-enhanced strength, she flipped him over her shoulder.
Savage Opress hit the ground hard enough to crack the packed earth. Dust exploded outward in a wave.
He rolled, came up to his feet without pause.
The fight intensified. No longer just physical—both combatants began drawing on the Force, their movements accelerating, their strikes carrying supernatural weight.
"Flexible," Sora Bulq observed from the sidelines.
"Speed over strength." Kadrian Sey nodded slowly. "In this case, at least."
Dooku said nothing. He watched with the intensity of a predator, his eyes tracking every movement, analyzing every exchange. Savage Opress was crude, yes. Untrained in any formal discipline. But beneath that raw exterior, something else simmered—something dark and violent and growing stronger with every passing second.
Frustration. Anger. The dark side was feeding on Savage's emotions, amplifying them, turning them into fuel.
In the arena, Savage suddenly caught one of Tann's strikes mid-motion. His massive hand engulfed her fist completely. Before she could react, his boot slammed into her abdomen with crushing force.
Sev'rance Tann flew backward, airborne for three full seconds before crashing to the ground. She curled around her midsection, coughing violently, eyes wide with shock.
"One hit." Bulq's voice carried notes of surprise. "He only needed one clean hit."
"His strength is undeniable." Kadrian Sey's frown deepened as he watched Tann struggle to her feet, still gasping.
"Strength?" Masana Ted's snort carried across the arena. She stepped forward, cracking her knuckles. "Let's truly test his strength."
What followed was a clash of titans—two warriors built for raw, brutal combat. Masana had experience, technique honed over years of savage conflict. But Savage Opress had the Force whispering in his bones, guiding his instincts.
Masana strode toward him with confidence bordering on arrogance, her massive frame moving with surprising grace. She planted her feet shoulder-width apart, a predatory grin spreading across her scarred features.
Savage Opress stared at her without expression. Then he roared—a sound that rattled teeth and shook dust from stone.
"Should we stop this?" Kadrian Sey's voice carried a thread of concern. "They're going to tear the entire arena apart."
"Masana is our newest member," Bulq replied calmly. "As is Savage Opress. Perhaps they need to establish their hierarchy. It will build... mutual understanding."
In the arena, the two warriors circled each other like wild beasts, the air thick with violent anticipation.
Savage Opress struck first.
His fist cut through the air like a meteor, but Masana slipped the punch with practiced ease. She ducked under his follow-up, bobbed outside his third strike, her movements economical and precise. When Savage overextended and stumbled, Masana's grin widened.
"Frustrated already?" Her voice dripped mockery. "Come on, show me what you've got!"
Savage Opress bellowed in rage and lashed out with a sweeping kick. Masana evaded effortlessly, and then she went on the offensive.
Her first punch landed square in his chest with a meaty thud. Savage barely flinched. Masana's eyes narrowed fractionally before her elbow pistoned into his stomach like a jackhammer, followed immediately by a brutal strike to his jaw. "Lesson one—never let your guard down!"
Savage Opress's fury ignited. He threw a wild haymaker that would have decapitated most beings—
"Oh, you missed me." Masana's voice was sing-song as she ducked. Her foot lashed out in a thunderous kick.
"That trick again." Savage caught her ankle with his forearm, blocked with his knee, his movements suddenly sharper, more focused. When Masana tried another combination, he deflected her strikes with contemptuous ease.
"You're not even trying," Masana sneered.
Something in Savage Opress snapped.
His hand shot out, and for the first time, he consciously drew on the Force. It surged through him like wildfire, raw and untamed but there—tangible, undeniable.
Masana's sneer transformed into shock as invisible pressure seized her body. Her feet left the ground. She hung suspended for one frozen heartbeat before Savage Opress slammed her into the earth with bone-jarring force.
Then lifted her again. Slammed her down. Again. And again.
When he finally released his Force grip, Masana lay gasping on the cracked ground. Before she could rise, Savage loomed over her, his fists falling like hammers. She coughed blood, tried to cover up, but his assault was relentless—fists, elbows, knees, each blow delivered with mechanical precision and savage satisfaction.
Finally, he stepped back, leaving Masana broken and groaning on the ground.
She forced herself upright on trembling arms, pride refusing to let her stay down. When she finally staggered to her feet, Savage Opress stood watching her with those burning yellow eyes.
"Is that your limit?" His voice was a rumbling taunt.
Now he was the predator. He held the power.
"We're not finished!" Masana roared, charging forward despite her injuries—
"Enough!"
Dooku's command cracked across the arena like a whip. Savage Opress immediately dropped to one knee, head bowed in submission. Masana froze mid-charge, chest heaving, her eyes burning with barely contained rage as she stared at the kneeling Zabrak.
"Masana." Sora Bulq's voice carried warning.
Count Dooku approached Savage Opress with measured steps, his aristocratic features betraying satisfaction. "You possess tremendous power, warrior. Just as Mother Talzin predicted—raw, unfocused, but vast. We will guide you in harnessing that strength, refining it into something truly formidable." He paused. "You have proven you can fight. Now we discover if you can serve."
Dooku withdrew a small holo-transmitter from within his robes. With a touch, a miniature hologram flickered to life—the image of an ancient temple shrouded in jungle foliage.
"What is that, my lord?" Savage Opress asked, still kneeling.
"A temple, warrior. Your proving ground." Dooku's voice carried the weight of command. "As chaos spreads across the galaxy, the Republic has been forced to stretch its forces thin. Many outposts now stand lightly defended—vulnerable. We will exploit this weakness." The hologram rotated slowly. "This temple on the jungle world of Devaron holds strategic value."
"What would you have me do?"
"Seize it." Dooku's eyes gleamed. "Eliminate the Republic forces guarding the temple. Claim it for the Separatist cause. Master Bulq will oversee your mission until all objectives are complete." His voice hardened. "You will not return until the temple is ours. Do you understand?"
Savage Opress raised his head, those yellow eyes blazing with dark purpose. "Yes, my master."
He rose to his full, imposing height and was led away to prepare for his first true test—not against fellow warriors in a controlled arena, but against the Republic itself.
His baptism in blood was about to begin.