The Multiverse Hunter

On the ship, Ali sat in the seat adjacent to the pilot, methodically strapping himself in with the safety harness. The quiet hum of the engines was a distant thrum.

Behind him, on the main deck of the ship, Drogath sat comfortably next to Reka. The enormous apprentice, clad in his lighter traveling attire, looked like a mountain compared to the young girl beside him. Reka, in stark contrast, was animated—her wide brown eyes sparkled with curiosity as she leaned forward, examining every panel and blinking light in the ship with childlike wonder.

Drogath's voice rumbled in a quiet, uncharacteristically gentle tone as he spoke to her, explaining what he knew about their journey and likely trying to put her at ease. Reka nodded excitedly, her smile brightening as she listened intently. She seemed entirely out of place amidst the harsh realities of Sith apprenticeships.

'It's surprising,' Ali thought to himself, his gaze flickering toward the pair through the reflection in the cockpit's polished surface. 'Drogath's actually opening up to her… Maybe she reminds him of his little sister.'

Ali's sharp gaze then focused on Reka again. 'She doesn't belong here. You don't see happiness like that on Korriban.' Ali thought looking at the teen.

The pilot's voice broke the silence. "We're ready to take off"

Ali gave him a nod, settling into his seat and looking straight ahead through the cockpit window. Beyond the reinforced glass lay the vast expanse of Korriban's hangar, framed by the red glow of the planet's atmosphere. It would be a while before he laid eyes on this barren, hostile world again. The thought didn't bother him.

Ali observed the pilot's hands as they worked the controls, flipping switches and guiding the ship's trajectory. Something about watching the process fascinated him. A spaceship—an actual vessel capable of breaking through atmospheres and leaping through star systems—seemed like something that should have remained firmly in the realm of fiction. And yet here he was, aboard one, living the impossible.

The ship lifted off with a smooth grace, its engines humming louder as they ascended through Korriban's oppressive skies. The red haze of the atmosphere soon gave way to the infinite darkness of space, a vast and endless void dotted with glowing stars.

"Tartek isn't too far, so we should be there in about seven hours," the pilot said as he punched in coordinates and activated the hyperspace systems.

Ali turned his masked face toward the young pilot, mildly curious. "Have you been flying long?" he asked, his tone neutral but with an edge of curiosity.

The pilot smiled sheepishly, his hands never leaving the controls. "Actually, I've just recently left the academy. This is my first solo flight."

Ali's brows lifted beneath the mask, though the pilot couldn't see. "Next time, just say you've got ten years of experience," he said dryly.

The pilot chuckled at that, clearly appreciative of the advice, and gripped the controls tighter as the ship's thrusters engaged fully. In an instant, the stars outside stretched into streaks of white light as the ship surged into hyperspace, leaving Korriban behind.

Meanwhile, on the industrial planet of Tartek, its capital city buzzed with nocturnal life. Though the planet's skies were dark, its streets remained alive with movement—flying cars whizzed by in sharp neon streaks, and the hum of machinery blended seamlessly with the distant echoes of laughter and music.

Inside one of the city's modest hotels, a five-foot-eight black-haired man stood stark naked in his cramped bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror.

His sharp, Asian features were focused, eyes narrowing as they traced the ancient amulet hanging around his neck. The artifact glowed faintly with an eerie green hue, subtle tendrils of energy spiralling across its surface. It exuded a presence, something otherworldly, something powerful—and utterly incomprehensible to him.

He brushed his fingertips across it, feeling the strange pulse under his skin. "Doesn't matter what it is," he muttered to himself. A satisfied grin spread across his face as he turned away. "I'll sell it, make a fortune, and buy whatever I want. After that, I'll wrap up a few Imperial dogs on Kaelthar finishing my missions, then bring back everything with me to Paradise."

He stepped into the bedroom where a neatly laid-out set of sleek blue armour awaited him, accompanied by an impressive collection of blasters—two pistols, a shotgun, and a sniper rifle, all polished and primed for use. The man grinned, running a hand along the weaponry as anticipation coursed through him.

Elsewhere in Tartek's capital, the heart of the city beat loud and hot inside "The Veil", one of its most infamous and luxurious nightclubs. The building pulsed with life, its upper floors filled with the rich and powerful—lords draped in silk and their entitled children sipping exotic drinks, gang leaders lounging with their entourages, and Empire officials brokering quiet deals under the glare of neon lights.

On the main floor, Veronica—one of the club's favoured hostesses—strode back to the bar, a sour expression on her pretty face. Her short skirt and form-fitting top were practically a uniform, designed to showcase curves and invite gazes. Unfortunately, it also invited the wrong kind of attention.

SLAP.

Veronica froze momentarily as a rough hand smacked her backside. Her knuckles turned white as she clenched her fist, spinning sharply to face the culprit. The drunk patron barely had time to react before Veronica's open palm cracked across his face with a satisfying snap, loud enough to draw the attention of nearby tables.

"Watch your hands," she hissed venomously before turning on her heel and walking away. The man blinked stupidly, holding his stinging cheek, and suddenly realised the severity of his mistake. Veronica was a VIP's favourite…

"I'm so screwed," he muttered, grabbing his coat and making a hasty exit before any of the club's VIPs—or their guards—caught wind of the incident.

Shaking off her annoyance, Veronica slipped into the kitchen area, where chefs worked frantically to keep up with the high demand for food orders. She spotted one of her coworkers, a heavily made-up brunette balancing a tray of steaming dishes.

"Is that for the VIP section?" Veronica asked, nodding at the tray.

"Yeah, table seven," the other girl replied, barely looking up.

"I'll take it," Veronica said quickly, swapping her empty tray for the new one. Her coworker shrugged, already moving on to her next task.

Balancing the tray expertly on one hand, Veronica wove through the crowded dance floor, where patrons swayed to the bass-heavy music. Coloured lights flashed across their faces, the energy almost electric. She approached the staircase at the far end of the club, where two massive alien bouncers stood like statues. They glanced at her, recognition flickering in their beady eyes.

"Veronica!" one of them greeted with a toothy grin, stepping aside to let her pass.

Veronica climbed the stairs, the noise below fading as she entered the VIP section. Here, the atmosphere was calmer but far more dangerous. The air was thick with the smell of expensive cigars and rich alcohol. Guards stood watch at every door—mercenaries, thugs, and even Imperial soldiers. Veronica kept her composure, walking with a practiced confidence that masked her nerves.

The largest private room sat at the end of the hallway. She pushed through the curtain, her smile fixed in place. A tall Chiss man with glowing red eyes looked up and grinned as she approached.

"Veronica, baby! Where have you been?" he drawled, clearly pleased to see her.

Veronica set the tray down and slid into the seat beside him, hugging his arm playfully. "I missed you too," she purred.

The Chiss smiled, but their conversation was interrupted when another guest—an older human in an expensive suit—spoke up. His voice was rough, but his posture was languid as a woman knelt beneath the table, servicing him. "So, are you going to the auction?"

The Chiss leaned back in his seat, swirling his glass of deep amber liquid lazily, a smirk playing at the edges of his sharp features. "Of course I'm going," he replied, his red eyes glinting under the dim, pulsating lights.

"An artifact like that doesn't just appear out of nowhere. If the rumours are true, then this relic could be priceless—or powerful. Either way, I can't pass up the opportunity."

The older man took a deep drag of his cigar, the smoke curling around his face in a lazy haze as the woman under the table kept working, her presence ignored like she was part of the furniture.

"I think it's all a damn waste of time," a voice said, his voice gruff and filled with disinterest. "If I wanted it, I'd burn the auction house to the ground and take the relic for myself", shouted a large trandoshian male who had two whores sitting on his laps naked kissing him all over, he was clearly involved in the rougher side of the capital city.

"If you do that I'll have my men arrest you and execute you publicly", the older human said.

"Let's see you try…", the trandoshian responded as he pushed off the girls and stood up.

"Sit down, you brute," the Chiss cut in sharply, his tone cool and dripping with authority. He didn't even bother looking at the Trandoshian as he sipped his drink. "Save your posturing for someone who cares. We're here to enjoy ourselves, not listen to empty threats."

The Trandoshian let out a low, threatening growl but grudgingly sank back into his seat. The two women hesitantly returned to his lap, though their smiles were now thin and nervous. The tension lingered in the air for a moment before it was drowned out by the heavy bass thudding through the club's walls.

Veronica smiled sweetly beside the Chiss as she poured him another drink, her fingers steady despite the volatility of the room. She leaned in closer to him, her voice low and inviting. "It sounds like this auction is the place to be," she purred, tracing a soft line on his forearm with her fingertip. "Do you think you'll win the relic?"

The Chiss chuckled, clearly enjoying her attention. "Oh, I don't think anyone else stands a chance," he said arrogantly. "I've got the credits and the connections. The relic will be mine..."

Hours later, Veronica finally left The Veil, her shift long over. The streets of Tartek's capital were quieter now, though still far from empty. The glow of neon signs illuminated the wet pavement, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow as she walked briskly down a series of alleyways. Her heels clicked rhythmically, a steady counterpoint to the distant hum of machinery.

After weaving her way through a maze of alleys and deserted side streets, she stopped in front of a nondescript metal door with no markings. She knocked four times, her hand trembling slightly as it hit the cold surface.

The door opened just enough for her to slip inside, shutting firmly behind her. The room she entered was dim and sparsely furnished—bare walls, a single flickering light overhead, and an atmosphere that reeked of stale air. At the centre stood a tall figure, his face obscured by the deep hood of his cloak. He turned to face her, his presence exuding quiet menace.

"You're late," the man said, his voice low and unnervingly calm.

Veronica swallowed hard, though she fought to keep her voice steady. "It wasn't easy," she replied, pulling the paper from her pocket. "I got what you wanted."

She handed it over, her fingers brushing against the rough texture of his glove as he took it. The hooded man unfolded the paper and began reading, his gaze methodically scanning each name. A slight, satisfied nod was the only sign of approval.

"Not bad," he murmured, the faintest edge of praise in his voice.

Veronica stepped back slightly, wringing her hands together. "You'll keep your word, right?" she demanded, her voice tinged with desperation. "You promised to get my sister and me out of here. If they find out I'm spying for you, they'll—"

"Patience, Veronica," the man interrupted, cutting her off mid-sentence. He didn't look up from the list as he spoke. "When this is done, you and your sister will be safe. I always keep my promises."

Something about the way he said it sent a chill down Veronica's spine, but she forced herself to nod. "Fine," she said quietly, turning back toward the door. The sooner she was away from this place, the better.

She had just reached for the handle when the man's voice stopped her cold.

"Of course," he said casually, his tone almost thoughtful, "if things don't go as planned…"

Before Veronica could react, she felt it—a sudden, crushing pressure around her throat. Her eyes bulged as she clawed at her neck, gasping for breath. She floated off the ground, her feet kicking helplessly in the air as the invisible grip tightened.

Her vision swam, stars bursting behind her eyes as the hooded man's voice echoed in her ears. "Failure has consequences."

Suddenly, the pressure released, and Veronica fell to the ground in a crumpled heap. She gasped for air, coughing violently as her throat burned. She turned to glare at the man, her eyes brimming with anger and fear.

"Don't disappoint me."

The door clicked open behind her, and Veronica scrambled to her feet, stumbling out into the night. The door slammed shut with an ominous thud as she leaned against the wall, her entire body trembling. She sucked in deep, shaky breaths, trying to steady herself. The chill of the night air did little to calm her racing heart.

As she stumbled down the alley, her thoughts swirled in a chaotic storm. "Just a little longer," she whispered to herself, her voice hoarse. "We're getting out of here."

She pulled her coat tighter around her shoulders and vanished into the darkness, the distant glow of the capital's lights reflected in her tear-streaked eyes.

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