Bastard of the Throne

[Darth Eversor]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xiSx8yb_big​

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- Panatha -​

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Where do devils go when they perish? Are they chained to the earth beneath their feet, never to recognize any form of solace? Or are they ultimately destined to an existence of experience wrought by their own actions? A hell, personalized and constructed beyond more than just a word, but a reality that is far worse.

Some may consider it a poetic justice, but do they consider the tears and ache that are legitimized by guilt? Or is that too a construct molded purely for the ones that are deemed justified for actions more heroic than the sinking murderer with collapsing lungs? The world is is a hypocrisy, the galaxy a cradle coddled by the hands of elitists and the powerful.

The irredeemable spat upon and made martyrs, the martyrs spat upon because they are redeemable in the eyes of none besides their own.

Doomed is he, the false one.

The bastard born of genetic manipulations and foul intention.

Woe is the sigh, the breath of the mired soul.

Does no light shine upon the conscience recognizing its own ill-deeds?

No, it does not.

Abraxas had come home, ready to face his judgement.

| [member="Darth Carnifex"] | [member="Syndra Duskmere"] |

 

[Darth Carnifex]

Outer Rim Territories
Panatha

Often the Butcher King of Panatha had struggled with weakness of the faith among his followers. Often they would lose sight of his vision, their minds clouded by doubt when they should be radiant with clarity. Often he was forced to end the lives of these lost souls, lest they taint the rest of his flock with their weak-minded heresies. He expected such weakness to be a natural aspect of the lesser dregs of the galaxy, the easily swayed and the easily bought, but it was a surprise that one born from his own flesh could question the dark truths.

He toyed with the idea of snuffing out his existence, but there was still a chance that Abraxas could realize the foolishness of his actions and accept the darkness that was inherently a part of him.

So he allowed the clone entrance to Vain Hollow, his guards escorting Abraxas up to his public audience chamber in the main hold of the gargantuan fortress. The throne was raised upon a multi-stepped dais in front of a massive mosaic depicting several Sith Lords of the ancient era before the Four Hundred Year Darkness such as Exar Kun, Naga Sadow, Darth Krayt, and several dozen others. To each side of the throne were enlarged Sith chalices that burned with dark incense, and behind them stood a pair of stoic Imperial Sentinels armed with massive poleaxes. The King himself sat upon the throne wrought from jagged black iron at the center of this grand display, a cloak of black zeydcloth with gold trimming draped over his muscular form.

He regarded the clone with some measure of revulsion, "So I see you have returned, Abraxas. Have you come to kneel again?"

[member="Beleth"] | [member="Syndra Duskmere"]​

 

[UserSpace103]

O u t e r R i m T e r r i t o r i e s
P a n a t h a

She stood below her king; the god of the reach himself. She had only recently just pledged herself to him and such matters like this were completely beyond her station but she would say nothing to disrespect the work of her lord. Her stance was stiff, and while her appearance allowed her to stand out amongst the others, she was merely a shadow. When the doors opened, her eyes slid and bounded off the floor until they landed on the target; someone who sought an audience.

She sensed some discomfort in the room, but all of that withered away when Carnifex spoke. She shifted her hand on her bow, just as she shifted in her stance; exchanging weight from one leg to the next. Her cloak reflected the dim light from the fire before settling just as she did.

"Judgement? What did he do?" these thoughts replayed in her head while she observed the exchange.

[member="Beleth"] | [member="Darth Carnifex"]

 

[Darth Eversor]

How things have changed, yet not at all. Here Abraxas - Beleth was, struggling to maintain his peace as he absorbed the darkness, the stench of death that lingered among the grandiose display of his very heritage.

And just before him was the one. The man whom bestowed the gift and curse of power upon Abraxas. The endless entropy that the Sith danced with as a result of the carnage and bloodshed in the name of the God-King. The indefinite number of lives reaped would never leave the knight of Panatha. The memories forever haunting him throughout time.

Though Abraxas did not recognize the woman, he averted his gaze from his creator to study her briefly before speaking aloud.

"In all honesty, I expect my reputation to weave tales of atrocity, which they have. For now I have become a reject in the gaze of all Sith - your associates, Kaine. But some are no longer alive to report."

Abraxas fell silent, observing the fine details of the throne room further.

"But to kneel? Your query implies you know the answer. What use would I be? Assigning me to be used as a weapon once more? There is blood stained upon my hands that will never be washed away. Alas, I know I can never escape what I am."

The false butcher moved forward by a few footfalls, staring at his counterpart with great malice.

"Offer me a compromise, or death."

[member="Darth Carnifex"] | [member="Syndra Duskmere"]

 

[Darth Carnifex]

"You presume that there is another state of existence for you, Abraxas."

Then he rose, his movements slow and calculated as the robes unruffled with his ascension and sprawled out across the floor behind him as he strode forward. He initially paid no mind to Syndra, although he was well aware of her presence at his side, but his gaze and thus his attention was firmly fixated on his clone.

"There is none. From my genetic material you were given life for one singular purpose, to fight and to serve. To crush my enemies and serve as the executioner of my wrath. I lauded lands and titles upon you, yet the faith you had faltered." He'd reached the bottom of the dais now and was opposite of Abraxas by only a meter or two. "You delude yourself into thinking you can be anything but a killer, my blood runs through your veins."

[member="Beleth"] | [member="Syndra Duskmere"]​

 

[UserSpace103]

"Alas, I know I can never escape what I am."

Those words of his, trailed her thoughts and repeated over and over like an echo. She should know...whatever she was before she was no longer and to force such issues upon herself in order to regain something she would never feel again was pointless. She was exactly where she needed to be. Had he realized this?

Somehow she felt when Kaine rose from his throne, she remained a shadow but her head was surely turned by the ominous surge of energy she felt deep in the pit of her stomach. Not too long after he had descended and walked directly past her.

He mentioned genetic material...was this man a clone of some sort? The crimson glow to her eyes faded as her eye lids shut slightly. She wondered...how did it all even come to pass? That was beyond her station but...

Hmm...

Death seemed the logical choice of a betrayer...but she saw something in this..this copy. However, she couldn't even fathom what her King was thinking.

[member="Darth Carnifex"] | [member="Beleth"]

 

[Darth Eversor]

The duplicate's gaze was held firm and forefront, narrowed intensely and unwavering upon the God-King. His words inhabiting the wounded ego of the clone, entrenching themselves deeply, like seeds to a barrren field where they would grow rapidly into ripened truths.

Abraxas said nothing as he felt his fingers go numb, a slow chill climbing his spine.

He was right, this tyrant. Everything that had led to this moment, it was all for a single moment of clarity. The countless trial and error, the futile resistance to carve a path out of a theory of indestructible self.

Part of Abraxas pleaded to reach for the hilt of his lightsaber, but...

He didn't.

Finally, he spoke. "Then I am to justify my endless terror as my finest hour. The receding tides of my hubris are now revealing the skeletons of my true sentience."

A final pause before Abraxas exhaled to himself, bending a knee before his kin.

"I cannot escape. And neither can you."

A final glance was given before the false butcher succumbed to a devout kneel.

[member="Darth Carnifex"] | [member="Syndra Duskmere"]

 

[Darth Carnifex]

Kaine scowled slightly at those words, "I cannot escape. And neither can you."

"I do not seek to escape my existence, Abraxas, I know what I am. I am king of billions, destroyer of civilizations, and master of the dark side. And you, Abraxas, you who was cast from my being to serve, you are my wrath. You are the embodiment of my fury, my malice. You are the headman's axe poised to bring righteous justice down upon all of my enemy's necks."

He closed in on Abraxas now, his right hand reaching out to caress the clone's helmet.

"You were confused, I can see that now. Unsure whether the darkness that churned inside of you was a gift or a curse, but it is neither. You are the darkness and the darkness is you, Abraxas, you cannot run from it; you can only embrace it."

[member="Beleth"] | [member="Syndra Duskmere"]​

 

[Darth Eversor]

This was it... this was the true suffering that Abraxas had fled from. The very moment that the God-King had made contact with the clone's head, every memory - every sentient that had been slain by his crimson was recalled.

If Abraxas chose to keep along this path, then he would surely lose all he had mustered to break free, to gain a new perspective. The call of the void, the very essence of what it meant to be Sith, it crawled beneath his flesh and burned like a toxic venom.

And yet, Kaine was correct in reassuring Abraxas of his very nature.

There was only the embrace of the Darkside for him, a damning mistress to be forever wed to, and locked away with.

This was humiliation, and Abraxas' anger began to flare.

He was no dog, nor a slave.

A devouring shadow borne of the twisted soul that only wrought pain and anguish, a war-mongering catalyst for all that defined destruction.

Abraxas understood now his true purpose.

"There is no confusion, there is only my will." The clone stood and looked upon his reflection. "There is no reality in which I am obligated to serve you, no life where I accept your pity."

Taking a few steps back, the false butcher scowled behind his helmet, reaching for the hilt of his lightsaber. The weight of the hilt and the following moments caused an anxiety to thump within his heart.

This was fear...

Abraxas drew on it, sipped upon his own uncertainty.

This was power.

The static hiss of the traitor's crimson broke the tension as he stared the Darth down.

This was revolution.

[member="Darth Carnifex"] | [member="Syndra Duskmere"]

 

[UserSpace103]

Funny thing...really.

She wasn't always who she is, and despite thinking she had been cursed for the rest of her long life...she later came to embrace who she was. Although, it was more so she could realize what she wanted...but the point of not running from who you were still stood, even if this hadn't always been whom she was destined to be.

She didn't know what Kaine was feeling in this moment, but she had grown irritated at the notion. She thought he deserved death...but watching from afar had allowed her to think...of the possibilities.

In this moment all things had grown still, frozen in time...seconds stretched beyond their limit.

Her eye slowly came to a squint, walking along the edge of her crimson pupil.

There was anxiety in the air fueled by fear, power, and defiance.

For those who loyally served the God-King, their body tensed just as the snap-hiss of a lightsaber echoed through the room. She was among them of course, and she reached behind her back in a deft motion. But she refused to nock her bow just yet.

Traitor...she hoped he would submit. She didn't want to see such potential go to waste.

[member="Beleth"] | [member="Darth Carnifex"]

 

[Darth Carnifex]

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"A true pity."

The lightsaber found Kaine's hand, and in an instant a blade of sunfire three meters long erupted into existence. Both creator and creation were bathed in shades of red, their weapons singing loudly for battle to commence amidst the incessant humming of energy. The air was tense with anticipation as both combatants bore into each other with their gaze, the Dark Lord's molten eyes reflected in the visor of Abraxas' helmet.

Then he struck, a flurry of swift strikes bereft of lethal intent to test the clone's defenses, probing for any signs of weakness in form. The Dark Lord's curved handle afforded him a unique stance when combined with his trademark heavy-handed style, the blade angled several degrees off from where the blade of a tradition lightsaber would rest. If not careful his enemies could find themselves miscalculating his swings, leaving them open for immediate counter if the defense failed to properly catch his weapon.

"You would not be cherishing the gift of life if it hadn't been for me, Abraxas. I will ensure that your replacement remembers that fact."

[member="Beleth"] | [member="Syndra Duskmere"]​

 

[Darth Eversor]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Vn1Q-S7sWg​

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"A true pity."​

That was where the God-King was wrong. This was not about approval or pity from a higher power, but instead a statement to be made in the wake of evil itself. The clone did not typically toy with the notion of morality, yet, this man before him was an embodiment of ill deeds and all that could be considered wrong. Abraxas did not wish for a light at the end of all that was wrought upon the undeserving, he simply desired to test his own brand of dominance.

As the Darth initiated the duel of fates, Abraxas followed closely with his kin's ferocity, nearly bringing a swift end upon himself due to the unorthodox method of the tyrant's skill. If there was one thing that [member="Darth Carnifex"] needed to acknowledge, it was that his genes very well carried his own aptitude for combat.

Seeking opportunity, Abraxas retaliated with his own brand of aggression. The hatred that the clone felt for his counterpart, his creator, was a resource that was bountiful in fueling his intent to not be viewed as lesser or weak, but an equal in endurance and vigor.

"Cherish? This is no gift, only a theory you put into existence. I am your wrath made to undo all in my wake. Autonomous am I, Kaine. Your beloved champion."

[member="Syndra Duskmere"]

 

[Darth Prazutis]

[media]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pcn2eq0iSX4[/media]​

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Vain Hollow, Panatha

​Just as battle was joined another presence washed over the hall.

​It was the swift arrival of a black maelstrom of darkness, a choking smog heavy in the air around the group of [member="Darth Carnifex"], [member="Beleth"], and [member="Syndra Duskmere"]. This sweeping presence was met with the sudden slamming of every door in the throne room all at once by some unnatural power. But what could've caused it? What was lurking in the shadows of the Black-Iron Throne of the Pacanth Reach watching the duel take place? Quite suddenly a voice rang out from the darkness loud and deep booming over the sounds of battle, and a being emerged...

​The Destroyer had come.

​"Traitor. There will be no songs in your name. There will be no record of your false courage. We have given you everything, your life, your right to breath in OUR ​world. You are champion no longer Abraxas you ARE NOTHING." ​The Dark Lord boomed jumping from high in the air to land on the ground below off to the side. There were many reasons why one never dared cross or challenge the vast empire of House Zambrano, or why remarkably there weren't very many traitors in their midst. One of them was the unified throne and the near all seeing eyes of the Dragon that lurked behind the throne. It was like a watchful eye constantly screening their ranks, and when someone dared strike at their throne they would find the unified pair of Zambrano siblings. Even if Abraxas managed to wound Kaine make no mistake he would never leave the throne room let alone Vain Hollow alive. The Destroyer would tear him asunder. But what was that lurking on his back? What did he bring for the deed?

​Daesumnor, the Blade of Hunger.

​It was a blade locked in its sheath currently a beast ready to claim the life of this Abraxas. There would be no light for traitors, he could join the likes of @Darth Vitium along with all of the other victims locked away in the blade. That was who Abraxas was now once he was champion. Now he would be victimized and crushed by House Zambrano and his soulless body left hanging for all to see what happens when you strike at the hand of the gods that feed you.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

Abraxas' innate fortitude for combat was impressive, commendable even, but it was no match for decades of experience. He held his lightsaber out with only one hand, keeping his left balled into a fist at his side, and channeled the defensive energy of Soresu to block and parry the clone's rabid attacks.

"Your hatred gives you strength, gives you focus, but it is unrefined. The folly of your lack of vision."

The Dark Lord retaliated with his own furious strikes, his primary style of Djem So fully on display as he attacked with powerful wide strokes that delivered quite a punch even if blocked or deflected. The fifth form of lightsaber combat favored the Butcher King's immense physical strength, allowing him to take full advantage of others by pressing them into the defensive and battering them down not too long after. Prolonged direct combat with him was always disastrous, and even for his physical clone he might prove to be too much of a brute.

The Dark Lord was also aware of his uncle's arrival, but he didn't add anything to what he had said. It was enough of a point.

[member="Beleth"] | [member="Syndra Duskmere"] | [member="Darth Prazutis"]​

 

[Darth Eversor]

The rhetoric of yet another of the Zambrano legacy, things were starting to become quite crowded. The trifecta of auras was almost suffocating as the duel raged on, Abraxas not able to stagger his opponent or find a flaw in his footwork. "You and your family... is it not enough to have the weight of your ego crush the bones of every world you step foot upon?"

Abraxas would subsequently eat those words as he felt the kinetic force of every strike, being pushed back and feeling his arms buckle. But he was no weakling, no mere obstacle for the God-King to surpass. After miscalculating a final blow, the clone found his vision obscured by a flash of crimson, his visor cut open and his left eye exposed with a gash being inflicted upon his cheek.

Deep, burning ember consumed his iris as he breathed raggedly. Deciding to back off momentarily, Abraxas regained his composure and studied his target, pacing to and fro.

"Is this all you desire? Are you not sick of the gluttony of pointless death? With power comes more than just the ability to demonstrate it to cause fear. Are you truly this blinded by your pride?"

Abraxas then too took the fifth form of lightsaber combat, practically mimicking his reflection.

"Aye, you are king, but you know no benevolence."

[member="Darth Carnifex"] | [member="Darth Prazutis"] | [member="Syndra Duskmere"]

 

[Darth Carnifex]

"Have you forgotten our words, Abraxas? The ones engraved in gold upon the gates to Vain Hollow?"

The Sith Lord twirled his saber about lazily, eager to close the distance and carve up his errant clone. But not yet, a lesson must be taught to those who had forgotten their ways, those who had become blinded by the light and forgot how to see in the dark.

"The strong do what they will, and the weak suffer what they must. Those are our words, Abraxas, the creed of our ancient house. We are strong, we are powerful. The dregs of the galaxy exist to carry out our will, to die at our whims, and to fulfil our desires. They serve no other purpose, their misguided beliefs in their own destiny is a terrible falsehood. Just like yours is. You were designed in a lab, an afterthought experiment. A curiosity."

Now Kaine closed the distance, leaping forward with the Force to enhance his speed as he swung downwards. Abraxas fought valiantly on for several more minutes, but in the end there were only a rare few who could contend with the Dark Lord's ferocity for so long before breaking. A minor slip in his defenses opened him up to Kaine's vicious blade, Abraxas' right arm hewn off at the elbow before the Dark Lord followed through on his momentum and severed his left leg at the knee. The Dark Lord levitated his doppleganger into the air with the Force, and violently flung him against the nearby walls and floor leading to several broken bones and ruptured organs as the trauma became too great.

Finally, the clone's body was allowed to fall back to the floor in a bloody heap. Kaine approached and deactivated his lightsaber before kneeling down next to Abraxas, "By now you might dream for the kiss of death, but I will never grant you such a mercy. You still belong to me, Abraxas, and I plan to make good use of you willing or not." Several servants would enter the chamber and work to haul Abraxas off to the labs where he would be treated for his most heinous of injuries and outfitted with state-of-the-art cybernetics and mind-altering technologies to ensure his loyalty and to retain some measure of his strength and prowess, but with the injuries he had sustained it was a possibility that Abraxas would never again be as strong as he once was.

[member="Beleth"] | [member="Darth Prazutis"] | [member="Syndra Duskmere"]​

 

[Darth Eversor]

"Have you forgotten our words, Abraxas? The ones engraved in gold upon the gates to Vain Hollow?"

Abraxas narrowed his gaze, brow furrowed. This was a side of [member="Darth Carnifex"] that the clone had not yet experienced personally. Being sentimental was not what was expected to come of this. The rage, the carnage fueled by pure animosity, where was it? But then came the memories of when Abraxas had roamed the streets of the God-King's kingdom, breathed in the air of the dedication it took to assure all its servants a glory, a sense of pride that could not be stripped away.

For a moment, Kaine did not seem like a monster.

"The strong do what they will, and the weak suffer what they must. Those are our words, Abraxas, the creed of our ancient house. We are strong, we are powerful. The dregs of the galaxy exist to carry out our will, to die at our whims, and to fulfil our desires. They serve no other purpose, their misguided beliefs in their own destiny is a terrible falsehood. Just like yours is. You were designed in a lab, an afterthought experiment. A curiosity."

And there it was... the reminder of a lifetime. The existential fact of what Abraxas was, and the very nature of where he had come from - whom, rather. He wore the face of a man that was both feared and spited for all of his dealings in absolutes that have been detrimental to the galaxy. The clone lowered his guard in deep thought as his gaze fell to the floor. He was silent, wounded.

And then came the storm after what was a brief respite of calm exposition. A world of pain and savagery that caused the most unfathomable sensation to shoot through Abraxas' body. He was in the beast's maw, being chewed up only to be spit out in disgust for his treason, and his hubris.

The next thing Abraxas could recall was being on the floor, his breathing shallow and his eyes fixated on the God-King as he hovered over him to deliver more of his sentiment.

A mere third of what was said was comprehended as the clone faded in and out between consciousness and near death. A tear rolled down his cheek as he fully understood that no death would grant him mercy, that his days were forever predetermined by darkness.

And then came the veil of the small peace that was unconsciousness as several of the God-King's servants took him away to be experimented upon.

[member="Darth Prazutis"] | [member="Syndra Duskmere"]