“My name is Ozymandias, king of kings;
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”​


700 YEARS AGO​

NABOO​


https://soundcloud.com/8dawn/01-lost-angels-by-8dawn-troels-folmann​


Artemis Obauldi stood on the steppes overlooking the invasion, dressed in the formal oblique armor of the Supreme Overlord of the Yuuzhan Vong in all of his glory. His giant amphistaff, the Sceptre of Power, coiled around one arm as he held a small villip in his opposite hand. Red eyes stared down at the horizon as the cities of Naboo began to endure the first stages of the siege by the Sith Empire. A river of steel swept down on the cobblestone roads, beskar boots striking rock as sparks were sent flying amid the massed battalions of the war machine they had summoned.​

Naboo was being invaded by the largest force to ever land on the planet... the Knightfall Alliance.​

A concoction of the leaders of the Galaxy opposed to the Jedi Council, only hours before had they all stood in the tent together. Malice Draclau, Sky Kerberos, Marcus Gray to name a few... men and women from all over, all with a singular mind, all with a single plan. A plan devised by the Dread Lord.​

Artemis began to march down to the river bank where his Vangaak was docked and awaiting his arrival. They would soon be heading to Otoh Gunga.​

He turned to his prefect, pocketing his villip and pulling from the folds of his armor a single, massive, bloody organism.​

The Simulacra. A creature devised by Artemis a month prior, designed to house the blood of the leaders of the Knightfall Alliance. For their terms of agreement, each leader had pricked their finger and swore their blood oath to the Knightfall. Little had they suspected that Artemis would be keeping this specific construct for a reason.​

Blinded by their ambition for the total destruction of the Jedi Council and their most beloved homeworld.​

"Take it to the Obelisk."​

His words shook with gravel as the Prefect gathered the Simulacra in a silk blanket, placing it in a glass case. The Prefect performed a ceremonial bow by placing each hand to his opposing shoulders, a gesture that also performed as a salute.​

The Simulacra would be taken and stored for safe keeping.​

***​

NOW​

Tsavong wrestled with sleep. Artemis's voice echoed in his dreams.​

"Converge in blood.... and smoke."​

This riddle. It was infuriating. Tsavong was apparently one of the last remaining heirs in a long line of heirs to even be able to open the Qah'sa; the voice had said so. Why did the riddles continue? What secret was so important that it had to be this protected?​

What secret was so dark that in his dying days, a merciless Dread Lord experienced regret?​

Tsavong lay on his side in the dark of the merchant's vessel, toying with the small qah'sa between his massive fingers, staring at it.​

"Blood... and smoke."​

He replayed the riddle for the 100th time.​

"Night resonates once more," Tsavong repeated. "After the gong of the Obelisk... starlit moon..."​

He began to drift back into a haze, becoming entangled with the lure of dreams once more.​

"Past... and... present."​

And then his eyes opened wide, and Tsavong suddenly became aware.​

"...Zonama Sekot."​