Intro:
Background story explaining how Khameir earned his Darth Maul title.
As always, all characters, settings and props are the properties of George
Lucas and Lucasfilm, Ltd. Original material falls under my copyright.
"Darth Maul: Deathspar"
By Ray Van Horn, Jr.
Original Material Copyright 1999
Khameir counted meticulously as he completed the final ten of his set of
200 push-ups. His rippling biceps bulged and flexed as he repetitiously
performed each drop with his stomach perfectly parallel to the ground. Even
this deep into his exercise, Khameir's propulsions were still vigorous as
dust puffed out in little clouds to the one-second intervaled rhythm he paced
for himself. He felt strong, as if he could throw down another 200, but
there was no need; the push-ups were mere warming applications for the more
strenuous activity required of him.
As he finished, Khameir shoved off with his bare hands to propel himself
directly to his feet. He quickly rolled his head around, loosening the
tendons in his neck, and then clapped his hands together with elongated arms,
stretching the tight musculature. He then assumed an attack stance by
shifting his posture slightly, and executed a series of crescent kicks. He
pivoted and delivered more of the same with his other leg. The breeze from
each thrust whipped his floppy black pants against his thighs, breaking the
silence of the subterranean combat arena located in the caverns below the
Sith temple on Coruscant.
The dimly lit arena shadowed the sleek, dark form of Khameir. The scant
flickering torches cast his briskly moving shadows on the walls as if
fingerpointing his continuously shifting location. The only traces of the
actual man could be discerned ever-so-slightly as he quietly transferred
himself from one end of the arena to the other. His bare torso whirred like
a blur through the dark arena, as did the serpentine red tattoos that
countered the black jagged marks all over his face. The pale, rounded horns
enlarging from his smooth, black cranium could be discerned only if he slowed
down. However, he moved with the stealth of a jaguar and the predatory
silence of a shark. An outside observer would have to have extremely sharp
eyes and ears to determine Khameir's features in the tenebrous, murky arena.
"Very good," came a crackled, approving voice, followed by three sharp
raps of applause.
Khameir ceased his workout and genuflected on the dirty soil of the
arena.
"Please rise, my apprentice," the voice spoke again, "There is no need
for formalities here."
"As you wish, master," Khameir said, standing erect in the same spot in
which he'd knelt. As dank and musty as the arena was, he could feel the
close, foreboding presence of his teacher, Darth Sidious.
"Today is special, young Khameir," Sidious announced, in a boastful,
proud tone. "Today, you will put everything you have learned to the test."
Khameir bowed, not knowing where Darth Sidious was, but acting as if his
master was directly in front of him.
"I am ready, master."
"We will see," came Sidious' voice, and then he was mute.
Khameir steeled himself in anxious preparation, unsure of what awaited
him. He tried to loosen his mind, to allow The Force to trickle in. He
attempted to employ a Sith form of extra-sensory perception, sending out
probes of The Force to find any lifeforce besides himself in the arena.
Khameir paced back and forth a few feet in both directions, his building
appetite growing ravenous. He knew there was supposed to be another being
down here with him. The Sith combat arena was designed in width and
circumference to accomodate two warriors--three or four, if need be. All of
the training, the effort, the honing of his body and brain...it would all
come down to this moment in the arena.
But what of his opponent?
Darth Sidious had promised his pupil a fighting partner to duel against,
a being of considerable prowess to test Khameir to his full ability.
As if in response, a form materialized from the pitch black gradation on
the opposite side of the arena. Khameir flinched for just a second; why had
he not been able to detect the other's arrival? Was he correctly attuned to
The Force? How disturbing.
Khameir's opponent, a Javinian, if he was correct, was clad in
tight-fitting leather pants. Bare chested, the Javinian wore an amethyst
pendant draped around his neck from a long, thick nylon rope. His equally
long, dark hair was jerked back into a whip-like ponytail. His facial
features were hidden by the few fluttering rays of light from the wavering
torches. For Khameir, it certainly appeared to grow darker down here.
Immediately, the Javinian attacked, his meaty leg hunting out Khameir.
The dim arena clouded Khameir's judgment--that, and his apparent loss of
control of The Force, allowed the Javinian to connect onto Khameir's chest.
Khameir stumbled backwards, and his legs capsized beneath him. As he smacked
the cold dirt, a minor pain shocked his elbow as it absorbed the brunt of his
fall. He tried to tap into the resources of The Force once again, secretly
praying that he was successful.
To his pleasure, he rejoined his mind with The Force and channeled his
pain through his foream and into his hand, thusly creating a reverse effect
and giving him the ability to thwart the Javinian's forward lunge. As the
Javinian stamped down with his dirty bare foot, Khameir grasped his
opponent's heel and reverted the strength of the stomp against him. With an
exertion of The Force, Khameir propelled the Javinian about ten feet away
from him.
As the Javinian thudded to the hard ground, Khameir seized the advantage
and smoothly tumbled over to his surprised foe. Just as the Javinian was
getting to his feet, Khameir sprang up and released a midair whirl kick that
crunched the Javinian's jaw. Exerting his leg muscles, Khameir placed his
left foot flat to the dirt, shifted his stance and placed a turning kick that
caught the Javinian on his left cheekbone.
The Javinian reeled back from the consecutive strikes, but he
recuperated enough to sidestep Khameir's ensuing back kick by deflecting it
with his dipped left forearm.
However, the Javinian's position was compromised, as Khameir amazingly
twisted his hip in time with his leg vault, catching the Javinian on the
other cheek. The Javinian topppled to the ground and Khameir pushed himself
off of it as quickly as he'd hit it. Those push-ups earlier had proven
fruitful.
The combatants rose to their feet and traded flurries of mutually
blocked punches, thrusts and forearms, their appendages cracking noisily in
the dense chamber. The Javinian attempted a leg sweep, which Khameir easily
leaped over. The Javinian rolled out of the path of Khameir's deadly fist,
which was directed in a downwards punch.
They performed their dance of violent bloodsport, shadow warriors
gamboling in the dark while waiting for the other to miscue. The Javinian
sent a burst of jabs at Khameir's face, which were all blocked by the
circular twists of the would-be Sith's arms, with the exception of one that
landed square on Khameir's mouth.
The young Sith apprentice tasted a coppery fluid building in his saliva,
which only enraged him. Summoning The Force, Khameir focused his anger on
Javinian's temples, squeezing on them with all the pressure he could muster.
The Javinian unleashed a guttural roar that echoed through the otherwise
empty arena and sank to his knees as he clasped both hands to the sides of
his head to alleviate the pain. Sensing victory, Khameir flashed a hideous
set of fanged teeth, as well as the hateful yellows of his pupils that glowed
in time to his plying of The Force. He took perverse pleasure as blood
trickled out of the nostrils of the crumbling Javinian.
Other opponents would have shattered from such torture, but the Javinian
was apparently made of sterner stuff. Khameir displayed an expression of
confusion as he suddenly felt a mysterious clamping around his throat. The
Javinian still had both of his hands pressed to head, which meant only one
thing...
The Javinian, like Khameir, was gifted with The Force!
Khameir's esophagus throbbed as it sank painfully into his trachea.
Precious oxygen was rapidly slipping from him. He knew that the Javinian
would crush his windpipe if he didn't focus The Force with a defensive-minded
strategy. Whoever this Javinian was, he had Khameir's respect.
Khameir released his grip on the Javinian and redirected The Force unto
himself, pinpointing the stranglehold the Javinian was beginning to lose. He
saw the Javinian slump to all fours as his concentration on Khameir had been
broken. Air funneled down Khameir's throat, re-energizing his punished
lungs. He wheezed and gagged, awaiting the next move by the Javinian.
The Javinian, whose face was barely highlighted by a nearby flickering
torch, actually smirked up at Khameir.
"I'd say we've reached a stalemate," he brashly spoke for the first
time, but wincing from the obvious pain still lingering in his head.
Whatever respect Khameir had gained for his adversary was quickly lost
in those few disparaging words. Stalemate? His anger bubbled, and despite
the rawness scratching his throat as if he'd swallowed glass shards, Khameir
grittily responded, "I think not."
Khameir once again called upon The Force and dislodged the adjacent
torch from its holder on the wall, and sent it twirling towards the Javinian.
The Javinian was quick to avoid getting scorched by the magically cast torch
as it plopped harmlessly to the dirt. The flames from the torches rose high
from the ground, as if fearful of the life-snuffing dirt beneath it. The
Javinian then did something Khameir was unprepared for.
There was a snap-hiss sound that Khameir was all-too-familiar with. The
darkness was suddenly penetrated by an elongated, shimmering silver beam.
The deep hum it made only confirmed what Khameir had suspected--a lightsaber.
"What now, my friend?" the Javinian asked snidely, and lunged in for the
kill.
Khameir ejected himself into a backflip, narrowly dodging the hungry
swish of the Javinian's lightsaber. He yielded his self-control to The
Force, allowing it to guide him away from each murderous swing the Javinian
lashed at him.
Khameir detected that he was running out of immediate space behind his
back. Only the rabid sibilate of the vibrating lightsaber illuminated the
dank pit, and Khameir knew he would have to make his move now.
The Javinian chopped the saber in a diagonal slash that was meant to
cleave Khameir from chest to spleen. Khameir escaped by dropping to a
crouch, and he felt the heat of the blade just miss the horns on his pate.
"Damn you!" the Javinian cursed. The momentary hesitance on his part
was all that Khameir needed. He launched a fierce side kick into the
Javinian's knee, feeling the cap bone splinter.
The Javinian yelped in excruciation, but he still maintained enough
presence of mind to wildly sweep the blade down, once again coming close to
his quarry, but missing by mere inches.
Using The Force, Khameir snatched the smoldering torch from the other
end of the arena, grasping the splintery wood with an invisible hand and
catapaulting it across the length of the arena. The orange swirls of the
flames created a circle of light that spun and arced insanely through the
darkness. The torch smacked the back of the Javinian's neck, singing him.
The Javinian screamed in agony and dropped the lightsaber into the dirt
as he swatted hysterically at his charred skin.
With the benevolent grant of opportunity having presented itself,
Khameir snatched the still activated lightsaber, and with a triumphant sneer,
swung the blade in a perpendicular uppercut that decapitated the Javinian.
As Khameir stood over his slain opponent, he could feel his blood course
hotly and energetically throughout his worn frame. His heart jackhammered as
he panted heavily, still holding the thrumming lightsaber. He licked the
sweat clean from his black lips, savoring the taste of victory, and enjoying
the sight of blood spewing from the severed arterial cordons of the dead
Javinian.
His death trance was broken as he spotted a new flame floating in the
air, gliding towards him slowly as if dangling.
"Excellent, my apprentice," came the reassuring, pleased voice of Darth
Sidious. "Your skills are complete. I need but know the answer to one
question, young Khameir."
Kneeling before his mentor, Khameir responded in between breaths, "I
shall answer honestly, my master."
"When you struck the Javinian down, did you feel remorse?"
"No, master," Khameir replied with no reluctance.
"Gooood," Sidious purred gleefully, dragging out the syllable. His grin
showed through the folds of his flowing black robes. The torch he carried
cast flickers of yellowish light that accentuated his evil facade. "You have
earned your place amongst the Sith. You are no longer known as Khameir.
From here forth, you shall be known as Darth Maul, Sith Lord."
Khameir displayed an excited smile. "Thank you, master."
"Arise, Lord Maul," Sidious beckoned, gesturing with his bony hand.
As student and master exited the arena, Darth Maul kept a diligent
stride next to Darth Sidious.
"Master?" he queried, "was the Javinian a Jedi?"
Sidious stopped and cackled. "Lord Maul, the Javinian was nothing but a
facsimile."
"What?" Maul quipped incredulously, whirling around to see if the corpse
was still there. Even through the darkness, however, Maul realized the
answer. "No wonder I couldn't detect him through The Force."
"You have learned much, my apprentice," Sidious told him. "This was a
simulation, but one day, I assure you, you will face the real thing."
"Yes, master," Maul smirked. "One day..."
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