Chapter Forty
Maul

Before me loomed the lifelike holographic projection of the bounty hunter, Bane, whose treacherous incompetence had so grievously failed to live up to the expectations I had set for him as a Sith Lord of unquestionable authority. The very air in the room seemed to crackle with my seething fury as I glared into the depths of the shimmering image, my eyes burning with the intensity of a dying star. Every fiber of my being quivered with rage, each syllable of my accusation a dagger thrown at the heart of his pride.

The hologram of Bane, captured in a moment of what was likely feigned contrition, hovered before me in a display of his full height and armored figure. His posture was stoic, yet the subtle tremor in his stance and the tightness of his jaw betrayed the fear that undeniably gripped him. His armor, once gleaming and intimidating, now appeared tarnished by his failure—a reflection of the disdain I held for his ineptitude.

"You'll want to know this," I began, my voice a low growl that seemed to resonate through the very fabric of the chamber, "I shall grant you this one final opportunity to redeem yourself, Bane." My words were a warning, a promise wrapped in the dark embrace of the Force, "Should you fail me once more, should you not deliver to me the Queen of Lothal, breathing and unharmed, your fate will be sealed."

I paused, allowing the weight of my threat to sink in before continuing, "You will not simply die, for that would be a mercy you do not deserve. Instead, your head will adorn the tip of my lightsaber, a trophy of your failure for all to see."

Bane's digital eyes flickered with a brief spark of defiance before he dipped his head in a stiff, jerky movement that could hardly be considered a bow. "Yes, my Lord," he murmured, his synthetic voice barely audible.

The hologram wavered and vanished, leaving behind only the cold emptiness of the space it had occupied. I remained standing, my fists clenched at my sides, the echoes of my wrath lingering in the air. With deliberate steps, I approached the chair that had been the throne of my patience during our conversation and lowered myself into it, the leather creaking slightly under my weight. The chair was an ancient artifact, a symbol of power and dominance, and its very presence served as a stark reminder of the consequences that awaited those who dared to disappoint me.

My twin brother, Savage, emerged from the shadows, his own holographic form a silent sentinel beside me. He studied my expression with a knowing smile, the scar that marred the left side of his face stretching taut with his amusement. "You seem... troubled, brother," he said, his voice a sly caress. "What is it about this Queen of Lothal that you seek so fervently?"

I turned my gaze upon him, my eyes narrowing slightly as I considered his question. "She will serve a purpose," I replied, my tone as cold and unyielding as the metal of my lightsaber. "A purpose that even you cannot yet fathom."

Savage's smirk grew broader, his eyes glinting with curiosity. "And what might that purpose be?" he pressed, his tone playful yet cautious.

"She will be," I said simply, the words dropping like the final piece of a cosmic puzzle falling into place. Savage blinked, the smirk slowly fading from his features.

"If you say so, brother," he conceded, his voice filled with a mix of skepticism and respect. The unspoken understanding between us was clear—I had spoken with the finality of one who held the power of life and death in his hand.