Prompt #6

Prompt for today: *Long way from where we started*

Write a scene with your protagonist at the end of a significant story arc in which they have grown considerably, include them displaying their power or skills in some way and have them reminisce on what they were like at the beginning, pointing out the flaws they've ironed out as well as things they can still improve upon, this can be with a mentor, an ally, or both.

Bonus: If you choose to, include foreshadowing for 'the next arc' in your work, a statement or inclusion of a moment showing the potential for something to follow, whatever works for you.

You know how this works, no real limits, just write, have fun.

The structure before Zar was meant to inspire awe and envy. It was to be a display of the Empire’s finest and wealthiest, the best that the credits could buy, and a celebration of the trading union’s newest board member. Like a exquisite chandelier carrying a hundred lit candles, the station hung in imperial space, several parsecs from any planet or space station, its multitude of lights threatening to outshine the distant stars, its arms stretching out as if to grasp and claim the surround universe for its own. A future home for business and debauchery, where everything and all could be sold or bought. Only the blessed emperor himself knew of greater decadence.

Zar scoffed at the sight. His disgust came from the utter waste of resources the structure must have costed and at his own pity toward the pathetic fool who had the useless monument to money commissioned.

A soft buzz rang through the vessel’s cockpit, breaking the long and oppressive silence of space.

“They’re hailing you, boss,” the pilot announced. The man pressed his knuckles against each other until they made a popping sound. He leaned back in his chair and allowed a smirk to creep over his features, his best attempts to freshen up for the occasion having done little to hide the innate wild ruggedness of the former pirate. “We’re clear to dock. Kind of hoping they wouldn’t.”

Zar and the man shared a chuckle. “I can the headlines now,” Zar said, gesturing with his hands as he directed an imaginary news ticker. “Heir rebuffs High Council seat Dread Lord Occulus after sending him an invitation. The Dread Lord responded appropriately and left no survivors.”

“Yeah, if only.” Revel cracked his knuckles again before tugging at the collar of his dress jacket. “Give me a shootout any day. In all our years together, this is the worst bloodbath I’ve ever followed you into.”

“How’s Talo’s old suit fitting?”

“It’s tight and smells like dusty old books and dead mummies. No wonder he acts the way he does.”

“I heard that!”

Another chuckle filled the cockpit at the archeologist’s indignant outburst. Zar clasped a hand around Revel’s shoulder. “We’re already fashionable late. Bring us is, and do try to have a little fun.”

“Not exactly sure how much fun I can really have,” Revel grumbled as he turned back to the controls. “Unless you’re volunteering to fly us back home when this is over.”

“But of course. After all, I fly better drunk.”

Zar couldn’t see Revel’s eyes roll, but it was obvious. Still smiling to himself, he reach over to a panel on the wall and pressed down upon it to produce a microphone. “Alright everyone, we are approaching our destination. Meet me in the ship’s main deck,” he announced, the message echoing through the vessel as he released the panel, causing the receiver to retreat, then left Revel and the cockpit, stopping only to check himself in the reflection of the ship’s window pane.

Waiting for him outside was a group of mostly well dressed individuals. It was admittedly an odd company for a Dread Lord of the High Council to keep, consisting of only one other human. Said human, Talo the fanatic archeologist, stood at attention at Zar’s approach, clicking the heels of his polished shoes together as he pressed his arms against his side. Like Revel, he wore a dark suit jacket, but his attire also included a ruffled white shirt and a high collar, no doubt a callback to some old fashion of a bygone era, and unlike Revel, this fancy attire suited Talo well.

“My lord! A pleasure to be joining you tonight. I’m not usually one for parties and the like, but I hear they’ll be displaying some rare artifacts tonight. Replicas and forgeries in all likelihood, probably a few preserved bodies on loan from one of the more desperate museums, but there’s always a chance of finding something truly new and satisfying.”

Zar fought the urge to roll his eyes. Even after all these years, Talo’s enthusiasm was a bit much to handle, but if it weren’t for the man’s genius and curiosity, Zar wasn’t quite sure he’d be in his current position.

He turned to the creature next to him. There was no way of describing Klem as anything but a monster. He towered over the rest of them, with muscles and veins rippling all across his ash white body. Fangs protruded from his blood red lips, and his sloped forehead narrowed his eyes into a permanent scowl. A massive two handed electroblade was strapped to his back, the only visible weapon in the open at the moment, and the old article of clothing he wore besides a thick loincloth was a black bow tie around his neck.

“Master,” Klem growled in that alien tongue of his. “Once again I have underestimated you and this era. You are crueler than those of old could have ever hoped to be.”

“Quit complaining. We won’t be here long, just to make an appearance, leave a lasting impression.” A dark look briefly fell upon Zar’s face. “Remind the universe who’s truly in power. Just, ah, if you do have to hunt, be discrete.”

“There is nothing in there worth eating,” Klem hissed. “I sense nothing but weak flesh aboard that pathetic affront to the gods.”

“Always the picky eater.” Zar shook his head before turning to the next member of his crew. His artificial eyes, orbs constructed with layers of metal and wires to the point where they barely resembled eyes at all, ran down the length of her gown, lingering on her bare shoulder beneath the dress’s thin strap before meeting Asha’s gaze.

“My lord,” she said, bowing.

Zar tucked a finger under her chin and gently lifted her head so that their eyes once again met. “You look good, my apprentice,” he said. “Perhaps tonight won’t be an entire bore.” He reached down for Asha’s hand and brought it to his lips. Her reaction made him smile. After all these years, he could still make her blush oh so madly, the orange of her face now painted blue as she bashfully stroked one of the long white tendril extending from her head.

“We, that is, I, I mean, maybe, after tonight’s party we could find somewhere private and—“

A forceful cough interjected itself though Asha’s flustered proposal, forcing Zar to reluctantly turn his attention to the final member of his group. Xaldro was leaned against the wall, his arms folded across his chest, wrinkling his dress shirt. If Kevel looked out of place in his dress attire, Xaldro was in an entirely separate plane of existence. No amount of grooming could reduce the horrific effect the skull shaped carapace covering much of his face had, no makeup could take away the discomfort that those sickly, bloodshot yellow eyes gave with every stare. His short beard of tentacles writhed and wiggled as he grimaced. His hand hovered over the hilt of his hidden saber.

“Why am I here?” Xaldro demanded. “You promised me training, Master. This is no battlefield. My time is wasted.”

Zar sighed. “I have told you before. Strength comes in multiple ways. There are some scenarios where the power to strike down your foes isn’t applicable.”

Xaldro snorted. “It just means you weren’t powerful enough.”

The deck went still as Zar began to frown. Every breath was held as the Dread Lord slowly clenched his fists, and as he opened them, the tips of his fingers were lit with the bursts of purple sparks. Xaldro lowered his arms and dropped his gaze as he straightened his back. “I, I didn’t mean to suggest anything, Master.”

“Of course.” Zar’s smile returned as he patted his second apprentice’s shoulder. “Now, as I said, there is a reason why you in particular are here. This is a test of sorts, and I’m interested to see just how you’ll react.”

Even with the skull like carapace over his features, Xaldro’s doubt was apparent. Still, he gave a respectful nod, and as the ship shuddered to a complete stop, he followed the rest of the group to the back of the vessel and waited for the door to open.

Kevel let out a low whistle as he stepped off the ship’s ramp. “This is a hanger?” he said in a low whisper. “Can’t imagine what the rest of the place is like.” There was a hungry glint in his eye as he examined the gold plated walls. The oil slicks and spare parts strewn about they normally associated with a space dock were absent, and in their place were decorative silver statues and carved images on marble pillars. Even the simple servobots that immediately got to work on securing the vessel screamed of wealth, their outer chassis gleaming with a shine that no standard metal could achieve no matter how much polish was applied.

“Such pointlessness,” Klem growled.

The chance for any additional commentary was interrupted as a thin golden construct shaped in the form of a humanoid approached. “Valued guests,” the bot exclaimed, throwing its arms in the air. “The Staliks Family and Incorporated, on the behalf of the trading union, bids you welcome. Please enjoy your stay. You’ll find the rest of your fellow guests and our most esteemed hosts in the main parlor. If you would follow me, please.”

The bot started to walk away, but the group stood in place. “How very strange,” Talo hummed. “Imperial tradition suggests that a guest of your lofty position would be met with the host of this shindig himself.”

“Maybe he’s not too big on tradition.” Kevel said, glancing over to Zar. “Still, not showing a member of the High Council due respect? That’s just suicide.”

Zar’s smile was hidden beneath the dark veil he had adorn prior to leaving the ship. Most members of the High Council kept their identities hidden from the public and even from each other, but addition to the veil, Zar had on an old silver mask shaped to look like a weeping face. The mask had belonged to his ancestor, one of many gifts the ghost of a begone era, of a long forgottten dynasty, had personally provide him, and for many Republic knights, it was the last face they saw before their lives came to an abrupt and violent end.

“I may or may not have forgotten to send in my RSVP,” Zar said, the mask giving his chuckle a sinister echo. “Ah.” Zar’s grin grew wider. “Looks like news of my arrival has reached our host’s ears.”

A plump egg of a man dressed in a silk purple suit was stumbling toward the group. The circlet around his head threatened to tear out his coiffure implants with each lumbering step. His sash, pinned to his chest by a jewel encrusted medallion, threatened to become undone as he nearly tripped over himself in haste and all but threw himself at Zar’s feet. “My lord!” the man cried out with his forehead pressed against the floor. “A thousand, no, a million apologies for this transgression. I swear to you, on my life and all my wealth, I meant you no disrespect. That invitation, I had no right to assume that I could ask of you such a matter. My secretary bots, there must have been a bug, they must have missed—“

“Save your excuses.”

The man shuddered at Zar’s cold rebuke, his face visibly paling even beneath so many layers of makeup. His body stiffened, readying itself for inevitable torment.

“See that you and yours remember your place. You were lucky, Executor Staliks. The next High Council member you request for so brazenly will most certainly see that their wasted time is repaid. In blood.”

The shaking man lifted his head an inch off the ground before slamming it back down. “T-t-thank you, D-Dread Lord Occulus. You are as merciful and wise as they say.”

“Yes, yes, I really am the best.” Zar made a grand show of gesturing to the largely empty hanger. “Now, I believe we have a party to get to.”

The man leapt to his feet. “O-of course, my lord,” he said, nodding furiously. “Please, this way, my lord. And may I be so bold as to compliment your outfit. Truly, a picture of the Empire’s might and majesty. I dare say, only the blessed eternal emperor himself could have looked better.”

There was a collective eye roll as Zar and his companions followed the rotund sycophant out into a long hallway lined with humanoid serving bots that bowed as they passed. The hard slick tiled floor gave way to a plush red carpet that continued to a waiting elevator. The fool finally held his tongue to the relief of all on board when Klem let out a growl and reached for his weapon, and the rest of the trip in the packed transport went in blissful silence.

The elevator doors slide open, and they all stepped into a grand, massive parlor that extended into what appeared to be a great ballroom. The decorations had some similarities to what had adorned the hangers, only more. More statues, more pillars, more gold and jewels. Silk curtains flanked portraits of famed imperial figures and paintings of victories over the Empire’s enemies. Maid and butler bots of the most current model patrolled serving drinks and hors d'oeuvres as they weaves between display cases with weapons, pottery, masks, and other ancient artifacts. Ladies in the finest, fanciest dresses and men in their best suits and accessories loitered around, chatting about as the holographic band projected in the parlor’s center played a soft, slow ballad while the hints of a much livelier waltz could be heard from the ballroom. Save for the image of the band which appeared to be an inter-species group, the only non humans in the room were Asha and Xaldro.

Zar took a step forward, and the room went still. He felt every eye fall upon him as well as the surprise and horror behind every gaze. Hints of disgust could be felt directed at his apprentices, but a short glance in their general direction turned that disgust into dread.

Staliks cleared his throat nervously. “P-p-presenting Dread Lord Occulus of the High Council a-and his entourage, w-who has graced us all with his luminous presence.”

Slowly, uncertainly, the guests bowed. These men and women who had been laughing and enjoying themselves a mere minute ago now acted like cautious prey navigating a snare. “As you were,” Zar ordered with a dismissive wave. “Much like the rest of you, I am here to enjoy what the Staliks Family has to offer.” He turned to the man who had made the grave mistaking of inviting him here. “I trust you won’t disappoint.”

“I-I aim to please,” Staliks stammered. He pointed to the band. “L-let’s have something more lively. Ah, that is, if that is to your taste, my lord.”

Zar motioned the band to continue, and music returned to the room. He followed Staliks deeper into the parlor, and as he passed, the other guests slowly returned to their original conversation, albeit with a continued air of apprehension as they kept an eye on him.

“As I thought,” Talo could be heard muttering. “Nothing genuine. Some rather faithful reproductions, but it’s all rather obvious. Except, hm, is that real Londor armor from the Malek era? My goodness, yes, it even has an intact clan marking. I wonder if I can decipher its meaning.”

The group came to a stop as Staliks clapped his hands together. “You, ah, must all be thirsty,” he said with a weak smile. He clapped his hands together, and one of the serving bots approached. “The good stuff, the very best,” he ordered, and the bot retreated. “Um, where did your, ah.” Staliks winced as he struggled to come up with an appropriate descriptor. Servant? Archivist? Dare he say friend? Zar watched as the gears in the business man’s head creak and threaten to pop.

“Don’t mind Talo,” said Zar. A quick glance confirmed that the history enthusiast was already busy indulging in his passions, taking holos with a portable archiver. “Now, what was this about good stuff?”

“Oh, yes.” Staliks turned to the returning bot which now carried a sealed container in its arms. Staliks pressed a thumb on the container’s panel, and the container responded with a low hiss. The lid slid aside, and out flowed white cold vapors that quickly dissipated to reveal a wine bottle, its lips corked shut and its glass frosted.

“Ah, here we are. Eromuline milkfruit wine,” Staliks declared proudly, holding the bottle for the growing crowd around them to stare enviously at. “A pity we couldn’t recover more of their supply before the planet’s destruction, but, but I suppose it was the inhabitants’s own fault for resisting our Empire,” he quickly added with a forced chuckle as he directed the serving bot to pour out the drink.

Zar and each of his present companions was present a fluted glass filled with a sparkling rose-white liquid. Staliks held up his own glass, his shaking hand threatening to spill the drink. “T-to the Empire, forever and always.”

The other guests raised their glasses and quietly chimed in their own toasts as Zar brought the wine to the lips of his mask. A small, nigh invisible slit opened up, giving him access to the drink. He couldn’t say he knew much about wine, but the cool, bubbly beverage was certainly pleasant. The sweet milky flavor with its hints of citrus was pleasing to the tongue and went down rather easily, and it left a nice warmth in his belly as the alcohol entered his blood.

“Hey, that’s not bad.” Revel snatched the bottle out of server’s hand. “Milkfruit, eh? We’ll have to keep an eye out for more, huh boss?”

Staliks’s painted lips pursed as he watched Revel tear out the recently replaced cork with his teeth and take a long draft directly from the bottle before letting out a loud belch. He turned to Zar, no doubt looking for him to rein in the disruptive ruffian. If only he could see the smile on Zar’s face.

Swirling the drink in his hand, Zar turned to the crowd. “Why don’t you introduce some of your other guests, Executor? I’m afraid I haven’t had much opportunity to familiarize myself with the trading union and its associates.”

“O-of course, my lord. Well, that there is Duchess Teoply, of Seo Pharmaceuticals, leading the Empire’s efforts in medical research, and with her tonight is her husband, Admiral Lipdoval. Military man, imperial navy, perhaps you’ve worked with, no? Well, over there is the head of MBO, larger manufacturer of the Empire’s combat bot, and next to him is media mogul Rudok, he maintains a tight control over what the Empire’s citizens can view over the holonet. And there is—“

“Master,” came a low growl. Zar turned to follow Xaldro’s glare, and his grin widened.

Staliks must have noticed the shift in attention, and he cleared his throat. “Ah, that would be Sir Crimjoy Low. One of the Empire’s fastest growing suppliers of manual labor. The Empire’s expansion has certainly been a boon for his business. I do prefer bots myself, but even I can’t dispute the usefulness of a good slave.”

Xaldro’s tentacles curled at the final word. His hands balled into fists and shook. Zar quickly finished his drink then took away Xaldro’s own glass. “It will do you no good just standing there Xaldro. Go on, mingle. Perhaps you would like to say something to your former owner? Show him just how far you’ve come?”

Xaldro looked to Zar, and slowly his face split into the closest thing he had to a smile. He gave a quick bow then stalked over to the man he so recognized, nearly knocking over a couple in his path without so much a word.

“Master,” Asha whispered, “what’s going on here?”

“Nothing that concerns you, dear. As I said, tonight is a test for Xaldro.” Zar set his empty glass on a passing tray. “Recall that there was a time when he was powerless and at the mercy of the merciless. Now that his and his oppressor’s roles are reversed, I wonder how he will react.”

“This doesn’t sound like a good idea.” Asha’s hand hovered over her handbag where her blade was stored. “You know that Xaldro is too emotional. That might be his biggest source of power, but what if he can’t control himself.”

“Calm down,” Zar said with a sigh. “If things get messy, we’ll intervene. But until then, let’s just stand back and—“

Zar’s body suddenly stiffened, turning Asha’s attention away from her fellow apprentice and to her master and the approaching newcomer. The man slowly making his way toward them was dressed in a white suit with gold tassels dangling from his shoulders, and beneath his suit was a sleek black vest. His left eye was partially obscured by a red display panel attached to the front of his head by a metal insertion, and lines of wiring could be seen running from his chin down the length of his neck. Similar wiring to the ones embedded into her master face.

The man came to a halt when it became apparent to him that his approach had been noticed. He bowed to the Dread Lord before giving Staliks a nod. Staliks hesitated before responding to the nod with one of his own.

“My lord, I apologize for my boldness,” said the man. “I simply wished to personally welcome you here and to thank our gracious host for organizing this wonderful party.” When Zar did not response, the man continued, saying, “My name is Oreap Daltok of—“

“Of Derafrap Cybernetics.”

The man’s visible eye blinked. “Well, actually we’ve been going by Derafrap and Sonjon Corporation ever since our merger almost a decade ago. But I am surprised and truly flattered that my lord recognized me and mine when we were but a humble startup.”

“You could say I’m familiar with your earlier work.” Zar’s grip around Xaldro’s glass tightened. “I have to say, I can’t help be somewhat impressed by your progression. It must have been difficult to break into the cybernetics business. It was to my understanding that product testing is rather regulated, not to mention extremely expensive. Unless, of course, you were to use slave labor for such purposes.”

“Ah, well, yes, we all have to start where and work with what you have.” The man chuckled. “Starting out is rarely glamorous.”

“You have my empathies.” Zar’s cold, sardonic tone could be heard even through his mask. For a brief second, his optics suffered a malfunction, causing them to twitch involuntarily. “I imagine slaves aren’t the most easiest subjects to work with. So easily broken if you’re not careful. Can’t ever be trusted even when properly collared, a revolt is always possible if you aren’t vigilant. And should they ever show signs of being arcanely gifted, they’re immediately surrendered into the Empire’s custody for training.” A hairline crack formed in the glass. “Tell me, Daltok, have you ever had to turn in a gifted slave?”

“Er, perhaps once or twice. I would be forgiven for not remembering, it was so many years ago, and they’re most certainly dead by now. To think, a lowly slave could survive the same trials that my lord here had to—“

The glass in Zar’s hand shattered, but it was a woman’s shrilled hair raising scream that drew the room’s attention. Sir Crimjoy Low was on the floor, grabbing at the front of his neck, and standing over him was Xaldro with his hand bloodied as it crushed down on a piece of torn flesh. Immediately from the lofty roof descended several combat bots. Like the servers, they were designed to resemble humanoids, but their frames were far bulkier and covered in durasteel plating that was noticeably duller than the sleek gold and silver casings of their civilian counterparts. Their targeting optics glowed a dark red as they pointed their armaments at Xaldro, heavy bolt pistols, particle beam carbines, stun batons, and wrist mounted flame shots.

Zar could feel the hum and heat of Klem’s blade. He saw that Revel had his own pistol drawn and pointed at the nearest bot, and no doubt Talo and Asha were prepared to do the same, ready for a fight to break out.

It wouldn’t come to that. Zar sighed deeply as he called upon his frustration and anger. Some was directed at the sniveling host, some at his master from another life, some at Xaldro, but much was directed at himself for his loss of control over the situation. Purple light beamed through the eye holes of the mask as lightning arced out of his hands and struck the nearest combatant. The lightning branched off the now twisted and melted bot and jumped to its closest comrades before continuing around the room until each threatening construct was left a smoldering mess of burnt metal and sparking circuits.

The crowd parted as he silently made his way over to Xaldro and the dying man. Zar pushed aside the man’s feeble hand and pressed his own against his open throat. The man began to choke and gasp, and his face contorted in pain as a sickly pale light formed over his neck. Suddenly, his eyes rolled over into the back of his head, and the slaver went still. Zar removed his hand, revealing to the crowd a dark and ghastly scar in the place of the previous grievous wound.

“That will hold until he receives proper medical attention.” Zar looked to each of his companions. “Come. We are done here.”

None of the guests made a move outside of quickly stepping out of the Zar and his group’s path. The greeter bot waiting for them at the hanger was ignored as they brushed past it and wordlessly boarded their ship.

“Are you good to fly?” Zar said, breaking the silence.

Revel closed his eyes and shook his head with a groan. “Give me, a stim and a short nap first, boss.”

“Very well.” Zar removed his mask and veil and plopped himself in the pilot seat. “I’ll start us off,” he said as he initiated the take off sequence and plotted course.

Revel nodded and left the cockpit. One by one, the others stepped out as well until only Zar and Xaldro remained.

“You should have let him die.”

“And what exactly would that accomplish, Apprentice?” Zar questioned, not taking his eyes off the controls. “A spark of pleasure, perhaps, but it would have eventually faded. The moment he died, all your anger and hate toward him would have been spent, gone. But his fear, that would have lasted. It would have been yours to feed upon.” Zar paused. “Return to your quarters. We will discuss your training further tomorrow.”

There was a moment of silence, then: “Yes, Master.”

The cockpit door closed shut behind Xaldro, leaving Zar alone with the darkness of space and his own thoughts. His fingers drummed against the controls as he gazed into the infinite void, each second feeling like a minute, each minute an hour. Relief washed over him as the door opened, but to his surprise, it wasn’t Revel who entered.

“Master,” Asha greeted with a polite nod that Zar returned. Her gown had been replaced with her more casual attire. “I’m not bothering you, am I?”

Zar shook his head and gestures to one of the copilots’s seats. “I don’t suppose you’re here to make good of that proposal you were suggesting before we had left,” he teased.

Asha shook her head and gave a small smile. “I’m sorry, but I’m not exactly in the mood after all that.”

“A pity,” Zar said with an exaggerated sigh. “Well, your company is still appreciated.”

“How are you feeling?”

Zar pressed his lips together, and for a good long moment he was quiet. “Contemplative, I suppose. Going there may have been a mistake,” he admitted with a more genuine sigh. “It certainly won’t do my reputation much good, especially among the rest of the High Council. A Dread Lord unable to control his apprentice, how very shameful.”

“What happened back there? I thought you said you—“

“I know what I said,” Zar suddenly snapped. He sucked in a deep breath through his clenched teeth. “I was distracted. I let my own emotions get the better of me. The one thing you had warned me regarding Xaldro.” He chuckled bitterly. “The irony is not lost upon me.”

Asha opened her mouth to speak, but a soft chime rang from the controls. “What was that?”

“Looks like a message,” Zar stated. “Based on the encryption, it looks like it’s from the High Council.”

“It can’t be about the party, can it? We just left from there.”

“The High Council has eyes everywhere.” Zar frowned as he skimmed through the body of the message. “But it doesn’t seem to be about that. Hm.”

Zar pulled up the navigator. “Change of plans. We’re needed at the capital along with the rest of the High Council. Emergency meeting, of the highest priority.”

“Why, what’s going on?”

“It appears the blessed emperor is finally awakening.”