Faction Cut Off One Head, Two More Shall Arise | Sith Order

[Veradun Sharr]

The smile - if one could call it that - that Veradun received from his master was coupled with a tightened squeeze on his shoulder that was just slightly uncomfortable, no doubt a response to the words he had said. Or more than likely, to the attitude in which he had said them. He really didn’t know if there would be repercussions but as the moments ticked by and nothing else happened he relaxed a bit. It appeared that he would not face any immediate consequences for his attitude. Still, he was guarded for the time being; he knew that Sith could be rather unpredictable at times, and he didn’t know this Dark Lord very well. Yet.

To hear that he had exceeded his master’s expectations brought a slight hint of color to the boy’s cheekbones. He wasn’t used to hearing such things from others outside of his family, and he really didn’t know how to take it - though he supposed he should feel relief that this Sith Lord was pleased with him thus far, even though his apprenticeship had only just begun. He’d seen what happened to other acolytes who had displeased their Sith overlords. Some disappeared forever, and it didn’t take a genius to know what happened to them.

The more he heard, the more he began to wonder if what the Dark Lord had said to him had been a test, to see if the young teen would fall for such ideas, such ego-inflating words like being called an emperor or even a god. Test or not, he seemed to have passed whatever it was and perhaps this was the reason why Veradun had been able to get away with his disrespectful comment.

Could he perhaps get away with more?

Did he really want to test that theory?

The withered hand dropping away from his shoulder allowed Veradun a moment to breathe in relief, though he almost spoke up to correct the Sith when he assumed that Veradun had learned such history from the Academy. However, he thought better of it at the last moment, and kept his mouth shut. He had already misstepped once, there was no need for him to do so again - though a part of him did wonder what would happen if he did so.

His attention was pulled away when his master said he would provide the boy a demonstration of what he was talking about, and this piqued the teen’s curiosity. He watched as the Sith Lord turned to regard the two guards posted at the entryway into their private viewing box, seeming to consider something before settling on one and ordered them to step inside and kneel. Veradun paid very close attention as his master spoke - despite the drama going on outside of their viewing platform. It was a test of the boy’s focus, but he had been raised and taught well. He pondered on what Darth Nefaron had to say, noting the emphasis on loyalty and how Sidious hadn’t managed such totality from his own servants, an issue that his master had solved or so he said.

And to prove his point, he ordered his soldier to kill himself - an order that was carried out without hesitation, much to the young Nagai’s shock and surprise.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t seen death before; Veradun had taken a dozen lives himself already. But what elicited his surprise was the fact that such a command was obeyed, without argument, without questioning. As the young man watched the lifeblood splatter against the floor, he wondered if this was loyalty or simply blind obedience to an overlord.

Did it really matter in the end however, if the goal was achieved either way?

When his master paused in speaking, Veradun lifted his gaze to stare at the robed Sith, understanding what he was being told, what was being taught. It sent a chill over his youthful skin, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. He knew Sith used others for their own gain, he had done this himself while at the Academy; some were clearly more ruthless than others.

His attention returned to the body at their feet as Darth Nefaron continued, explaining to his apprentice that he would mold him into someone that would draw in others, make him into a beacon. A soft scoff escaped the boy’s chest upon hearing the truth - he had a feeling that he wouldn’t truly be the one with the power in the end, should this future truly come to pass.

But to hear that he may be cast aside sobered him somewhat. He really didn’t want to end up like this bloodless corpse, his usefulness having run its course. He was meant for more than that. He would have to make sure his master found him useful, then.

“I…understand, Master.” He said quietly as the Sith Lord turned back to watch the fight. He would follow the path laid out before him by Darth Nefaron - for now. That pathway may prove very beneficial for the boy as the future unfolded, if he played his cards right and didn’t find himself on the wrong side of his master.

After a few moments, Veradun returned to the rail beside the Dark Lord as the body was finally removed, leaving behind a slickened blood trail to mark its departure. He watched on as the fight seemed to be nearing a crescendo, though he felt a pang of anxiousness as blood was drawn against his High Priest - the two combatants now seemed to be locked together, neither giving ground before the other for the time being. The scene made the boy’s heart race faster, and the crowd itself seemed to grow more and more bloodthirsty. The atmosphere and energy that was rising was strong enough now for the young boy to feel it, pressing in on all sides and near suffocating.

His eyes reflected the inferno that was unleashed moments later by the Dark Councilor, Darth Malum. It forced his High Priest away, forced him to give up such an advantageous position - though Veradun didn’t know why, other than the fact that Darth Strosius seemed fearful of the fire, though this did not dissuade the Sith Lord from continuing the fight, merely adjusting to deal with it in his own way. His attention remained fixated upon the arena, awe filling his face and eyes as the tremendous display of raw power - until the combatants within were obscured by the great wall of flame. Even from a distance, he could feel its heat.

“...such power.” The young man murmured, almost lost in the moment, before he once more looked upon the cowled visage of his own master, a hungry glint in his icy eyes. “Do you think I could wield power like that one day?”

Darth Nefaron ​

 

[Xander Blackmoore]

WEARING: xxx
WEAPONS: Lightsaber
TAG: Velda Nar-Donna | Open for Interaction

Xander smirked as a familiar voice found its way to his thoughts. It was a welcome distraction from the fight which took place below. From his place in the rafters, Xander looked on at what had become of the Sith. There were familiar faces, those that had seen the past several empires rise and fall only to remain in this version. New faces littered the crowd as well, like the ones fighting below.

The White Assassin still did not understand how his counterpart, Darth Ophidia, had fallen to them. Even more, he did not understand how this spectacle came about in the first place. Xander should have remained among the Sith.

He sighed.

<< “I cannot remain away forever.” >>

Xander chuckled to himself. His eyes fell to the booth from where she watched the commotion below. They shifted to the boy she seemed lost in conversation with.

<< “The contest is wasteful,” >> his thoughts finally answered the woman’s question.

It was his opinion without the context of why they fought. Had Xander known, perhaps he would have been more supportive of the Kaggath. It was something he simply did not understand. The politics of the order as of late seemed to be fragile, more than they had been in some time. Instead, Xander turned his attention to the future.

<< “A new student?” >>

He spoke of the Sith he was still observing.

 

[Jonah]

As the flurry of combat consumed the battlefield, the whispers continued within the man's ears. Soon, his head moved slowly as he accepted the answer to his question about how the title of Darth is conferred. At times, the Master will recognize the rise of the Apprentice directly. At others, the Master will be prompted by the abyss to utter the recognition. It seemed that, in both cases, if one has risen from the abyss, the Dark Side would not stand for their triumph to be ignored. Jonah was satisfied in this regard.

Yet there was more to come. Though the man had accepted that the road ahead would be costly, his enigmatic guide painted a picture of what more there was to come. There would be cost, yes, but also a great reward. A great reward that he would take. "And if it was easy, it would hardly be worthy doing." he remarked, slipping in the age-old idiom that he had heard several times before. In this regard, it seemed fitting. For, if anyone could snatch true power from the Darkness, everyone would be a deity in their own right.

From that point, there was a pause - for Jonah provided his name. And given the fact that he could hear the mysterious woman but not see her, he honestly expected to hear an alias. However, what greeted his ears was the title earned from rising from the abyss. He smiled. There was a pang of excitement in his stomach as she introduced herself. It was becoming...more real. Vexanis. He mouthed her name, careful not to mutter it aloud lest someone see or hear. The silent acknowledgement was enough for now.

After all, there was fire consuming the battlefield. Jonah stiffened in his seat momentarily, eyeing the heat as it advanced - but for the moment he was in no immediate danger. It was then that Darth Vexanis graced the man with a lesson. Oh he could absolutely see that emotions are quite powerful. Hell, he had a holocron's Gatekeeper spell that out for him in recent history. However, he didn't expect to hear that mastering his emotions was part of the equation. That in of itself showed that Jonah had a lot to learn, but fortunately he had found one quite capable of passing along truths.

<< "I've learned that emotions are the basis for sorcery." >> he began, telepathically acknowledging the lesson. << And given what you've said, I can only imagine that, if you don't manage the fuel source correctly, things can blow up in your face right? Hell, that probably applies everywhere, not just magic. >> The man chuckled to himself before continuing. << I'll admit, I'm feeling eager to get started. To learn more - about you, about everything. Is there somewhere you'd like to meet when all this settles down? >>

Tag: Velda Nar-Donna

 

[Velda Nar-Donna]

WEARING: Black Cherry colored sith robes
WEAPONS: 2x Lightsabers and The Dark Side
TAG: Jonah | Xander Blackmoore

The arena roared with bloodlust, the cacophony of the Kaggath. Yet within her seat, Velda remained motionless, a poised figure, a silent observer among the noise of the crowd. Her gaze, sharp and calculated, flickered across the battlefield below, but her true focus was elsewhere. With Xander.

<< "Far too long, indeed," >> her voice echoed within the void between them, touching Xander's thoughts with a soft, intimate cadence. << "There's a particular pleasure in your company, you know." >> Her words held a tone both playful and dangerous, like the veiled promise of something withheld.

She let the battle continue beneath her, the Kaggath swirling like a storm on the horizon.

<< "Yes, quite wasteful, isn't it?" >> she mused, her voice a whisper threading through the tangled noise of the Sith conflict. << "Our Order is so... fragmented, chasing after echoes of the past." >>

In the silence that followed, her mind lingered against his, an intimate brush of thought as she let the moment stretch between them.

<< "A student, yes, perhaps." >> she answered Xander's unspoken question. << "Endearing, in his own way, wouldn't you say? Untested to me... but that's part of the appeal. An experiment. A passion project of sorts." >> There was something cold in her assessment, a calculated detachment, though laced with a thread of indulgence.

Jonah was a curiosity to her, someone to be tested, and molded.

<< "He will learn... as all do, eventually. The cost of true power is always steep, but that's the price we pay." >>

The faintest glimmer of amusement danced in her eyes as her attention found Jonah again, and she responded. "Precisely," she murmured, her whispers measured. "It's the struggle, the risk, that makes it all worthwhile. Power that comes without pain is fleeting... hollow..."

She paused, letting the weight of her thoughts linger between them, almost daring him to push deeper.

"That's what makes us different, isn't it?" Her tone softened, teasing the edge of something more profound. "We don't shy away from the cost. We revel in it."

His would be a brutal education, there was no other kind in the Sith Order. And if he couldn't survive it... well, that too would be a lesson. A final lesson perhaps, but a lesson nevertheless.

"Not just in sorcery, but in battle as well," she continued, her whispers shifting to one of instruction, the voice of a master passing down another truth. "Emotions, unbridled, are weapons waiting to be turned against you. That is why Dun Möch is so... devastating. It preys on the emotionally undisciplined."

"I have places I keep," she offered, her voice softening. "Some you'll find easily... others, well, let's say they're better left undiscovered. But if you are so curious, my contacts can help you find a suitable place that I frequent often." And just the place she has chosen to properly begin his training.

Velda was always the enigma, shrouded in secrecy and shadows. The number of people who truly knew both sides of her, the public and the hidden, could be counted on one hand. Yet, perhaps, in time, Jonah might earn the privilege of that knowledge, eventually.

 

[Darth Nefaron]

Much like his young apprentice, Darth Nefaron also felt the flames that bathed the arena. With such raw power on display, it was so easy to be enraptured by the Dark Lords who battled to the death. But all this was little more than pageantry, two Sith cloaking themselves in raw power while attempting to hide their failure. To be sure, an open battle with either was certain to lead to a quick death. But what the boy needed to understand was that this Kaggath would mark the end of an age where Sith battled for sport before the Empire, an utter embarrassment as the Galatic Alliance and the Jedi recovered and prepared for battle as a united front. But such things were lost on the modern Sith, so focused on their own cults of personality rather than submitting to one who maintained clarity of vision.

"Oh yes, you will wield the full power of the Dark Side. If you do not, you will most certainly perish. There is no place for those who fail to embrace the darkness fully, Apprentice."

A stark warning, but entirely true. Nefaron would employ those who failed to reach their full potential as mere servants, but a true apprentice? No, for the plans that were in place would require one of great skill, but raw force potential and a dark cunning that must be learned over time. A warrior who lacked the intellect to wield their power fully would be used as a tool and then cast aside when it finally broke.

"But do not think you will find yourself in this area, battling with some rival for what scraps of power are for the taking. Malum and your High Preist share a history, one that I admit is not fully known even to me. This contest is akin to that of two brothers trying to prove who is strongest. The simplest solution to this conflict would have been more... covert."

As they watched on, Nefaron turned to glance at his apprentice once more, taking note of the apparent awe he found in the battle below. While this was understandable for one so young, Nefaron knew there was more to being a SIth than prowess in battle.

"I find a knife in the dark to be far more effective. Malum might have dispatched his agents to kill Strosius when least expected, then he could have turned his attention to more pressing matters instead of bothering with this contest. I know you cling to your personal honor, but there will come a time when I will test your ability to operate from the shadows, eliminating my enemies before they can move against me."

Nefaron let that thought sit for a moment before fully turning to face his apprentice once again, leaning forward as if to ensure the boy's attention was fully on him rather than the battle in the area.

"Could you cut a sleeping man's throat? Or perhaps poison a feast? These tasks will be asked of you. Can I rely on you to carry them out?"

Tags: Veradun Sharr
​

 

[Kadann]

OOC/ Sorry for the delay, was on holiday and had less posting time than planned!

“The duel outside is but a prelude to the fate that awaits you–traitors in the making, unworthy of the power your new master possesses." His voice remained calm, barely above a murmur.

As Kasir shifted his weight, he took a single step forward. The long hilt of his saberstaff extended, propelling a single blade forward at her midsection

Her lip curled at his words and she let out a low hiss, her eeighting shifting as his did as she brought her own saber up to intercept the searching strike sweeping it to the side she twisted away leaving space for Kadann to move in beside her.

A single blade from the tempest at her back shot forward aiming for an eye.

Kadann strode across the floor, orange blade held high. The ageing battle aster had once been a delicate fencer. He had adapted over the years and his style was direct and forceful.

As he breathed out, he imagined the last of the tension escaping his body. He needed to be fluid, balanced. As his body settled, so did his mind. The Force connected all things and as his concentration slipped into the spaces between heartbeats, his consciousness expanded out into his surroundings: past present and future. He had fallen to the dark, but the Force was still a guide.

The assassin sent out a probing strike with his staff. He'd seen a greater variety of weapons amongst the sith. Whips and staffs, dual sabers and saberstaffs that could snap into two weapons. Kadann held faith in a single blade, in keeping his balance and adapting.

Ansisa stepped aside and Kadann set his stance and advanced. He kept himself just beyond ninety degrees from Ansisa, trying to stretch the assassin's defences.

He opened his account with a simple downwards slash. There was venom in the strike, aiming to force the sith to raise one blade high and expose his left flank to Ansisa.

 

[Veradun Sharr]

The warning in his master’s words was not lost on the boy, and even in his dazzled state of mind he reflected upon that statement: if he did not fully embrace the power that made Sith what they were…then he would die. It was as simple as that.

Veradun listened as he watched, shielding his face from the glare of the flames and heat, as his master continued. The young man knew that his High Priest and Darth Malum had a history together, but just how deep and far it ran was not really known to the boy. He knew that his sister was close to both, and neither Lord Strosius nor Lord Malum had any issue when both agreed to sponsor Veradun for the Academy.

He really didn’t know why they were down there in the arena, fighting against one another.

Had it really been so bad to cause them both to issue this ancient challenge against one another? And was his master correct in saying that the issues could have been handled in a more covert manner? For some reason, Veradun did not really believe either of the two Sith Lords would have done such a thing against the other. But again, what did he really know?

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Darth Nefaron glance at him, and his gaze shifted ever so slightly to acknowledge that movement, though he himself did not move at all. He went back to watching the arena, eager to see what was happening beyond. But as his master continued to speak, the boy found himself paying closer attention. He couldn’t deny the truth of the matter: it would have been wiser for Malum to “deal with” a supposed rival like Darth Strosius in a more quiet manner - but that thought alone brought a dark frown to Veradun’s face. Betrayal of those closest to one’s self was unthinkable, and such an act would certainly go unpunished.

As if almost sensing the boy’s thoughts, Darth Nefaron mentioned the boy’s honor, and how he clung to it. That statement alone was enough to finally pull the boy’s attention from the fight as he regarded the Dark Lord with a wariness as the words fell over him, and he was told that he would be tested on his ability to operate from the shadows, to cut down any perceived threat to the Dark Lord before they could move against him. When his master turned fully to face him directly - the young man could sense the silent demand for his complete attention as the Sith Lord leaned towards him. The Nagai tore his gaze away from the fight, away from his thoughts, to gaze upon the ominous presence of his master.

He was asked if he could cut a man’s throat while they slept, or poison a feast for a gathered crowd. Then he was told that these things would be expected and asked of him…and if Darth Nefaron could rely on him to carry out such tasks.

The weight of what was being asked of him fell over Veradun then, along with the weight of his choices…in wanting to become a Sith, like his sister. Of agreeing to accept this apprenticeship. He became unsettled, a nervous prickle tingling over his skin. The moments ticked by, with Veradun remaining silent before the Dark Lord. In his mind, he waged an internal war: could he do such things? He needed to provide an answer, but he needed to be careful with what he said. He had a feeling that the wrong answer could see him end up like the corpse that had been dragged away.

After a few moments of careful thought and consideration, Veradun felt he had a satisfactory answer. One that would keep him alive, or so he hoped.

“If they are your enemy, then they are my enemy. And the only honor my enemies will have from me is a swift death.” he said quietly to the one before him, keeping his expression as emotionless as possible. “...Unless you make those I am closest to your enemies. I can’t move against them…not unless they move against you. And if they did…”

Veradun lowered his gaze briefly, his mind running with the possible scenarios and outcomes if such a thing were to occur - if he was forced to fight against his sister, or his High Priest should he live through this Kaggath. Even Kasir, with whom the boy had found common ground with. As hard as he tried to hide the truth, such thoughts brought forth turmoil within him.

“...then I suppose that would change things.”

He lifted his pale blue eyes back to the Dark Lord, the barest glint of challenge in them. He was willing to strike against anyone Darth Nefaron sent him after - but not against those he was closest to without due reason. “Is that a sufficient enough answer for you?”

Darth Nefaron​

 

[Kasir Dorran]

Tags: Ansisa | Kadann

Every twitch, even the slightest shift of movement, nothing would escape Kasir’s keen orbs that scanned the VIP box, for he was the hunter, and Chiss was but helpless game within this small space, ripe for the taking. The interception of the blade was mere child's play for one such as the Darkseeker. It was to be expected; they were just beginning their dance of death. Nothing changed in that instant, as he was facing her down all the same with a calm demeanor that covered his cold and calculating mind.

With a cognitive pull of the Force that others undoubtedly had possession of as well, his senses were honed to the most minor of details. It was with fluidity that he retrieved his weapon with both hands, bracing for the next attack. With only a short distance between them, and limited on options, he sidestepped to his right, allowing the blade to hurtle past him and into the wall.

He then welcomed the challenge of another foe joining the fray, his corrupt mind reveling in the chaos brewing that had begun to consume more of room. It was also an opportunity to prove his mastery of combat. Whether this new enemy would be a mere appetizer, or a worthy opponent before the full course, was still uncertain.

His weight began shifting to his front foot as the man brought his lightsaber down in a deadly arc, surely a testament of his years and expertise; yet in a heartbeat, Kasir reacted instinctively, raising the saberstaff high to meet the powerful strike with a single blade. With a flick of his wrist, he twisted his lean frame, redirecting the downward force.

As if anticipating his original target, he then positioned himself back to the left, not wanting to leave an opportunity to strike while he could have been distracted. He would waste no time in unleashing his counterattack, spinning the staff low and sweeping it towards the Chiss’ legs, aiming to disrupt her stance and any footwork that may follow. In the midst of executing the maneuver, his movements pulsed with primal rage and pure hatred, a well that he often tapped into with ease. As the energy coursed through his veins, his pace only intensified.

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

Darth Strosius was not dead.

Considering that was one of Malum's paramount objectives, he was unsure why that so disappointed him. Yet, that was certainly the feeling that pervaded across his skin, as the heat of the flames licked erect hairs, continuing to smash themselves against the barrier which his co-apprentice had built. Malum had not been so arrogant to believe that the Lord Inquisitor would have no answer to the flames, they might have been the weakness of the Sangnir.

But only if they hit.

And a common and well-known enough weakness that he was not surprised that the cultist had a countermeasure prepared. Still, that did not make it any less frustration, to witness the flames whip against the barrier, seeing not a single crack form, as the flames cooled in front of his eyes, squinting as the pale blue fell away to a shining white, down to a raging orange.

He could pull more, from himself, and the man before him, but it was evident enough that he would not break it.

And as Darth Strosius' voice fluttered across the arena, Malum knew the opportunity was lost, just as unknown to the Scion of Darth Marr, his co-apprentice had exploited his flair for the dramatics, Malum knew exactly how to exploit the Lord Inquisitor's flairs.

Specifically his penchant for not knowing when to shut up.

His inky invisible tendrils felt the change within his foe, the darkness coalescing and making itself manifest before him, yet, even identifying what exactly that was...

...There was the question of what that was. The first thought that it was Ophidia was cleared away, it was... alive, but not in the way a person was, simply alive in the way which... life was prevalent.

He had little more time to consider it as the darkshears broke out from the barrier and through the flames, his red lightsabre igniting, as he breathed through his nostrils, a bull about to charge. The first fell under his arm, the wind pushing around it as it withered away, as the second was cut in half by his sword, what was born of the darkside made as physical as any spear, the third met its fate broken in two by the lightsabre.

Each was a strain, for the difference between this spear and a real one, though broken.

Held the weight of the darkside in every precipice of its being, struggling, as even extended out from Darth Strosius' hand... he could feel him keenly.

He held the last two at bay, the Force swelling around the grip of both hilts, as he stared at both pushing still desperately against his power, as if powered by engines, and with wheels still struggling to find purchase and crash into him. To think that his co-apprentice was capable of all this...

...So why did he always let himself fail?

"If only you showed me any of this capability, if only before you fought to win rather than lose," Malum felt it quake in the earth through his Consume Essence, his flames were draining away, yet what was left still pressed against the barrier, he had some time left, "Yet on Geonosis, you made some half-brained plot to kill Kaine without any of this power! On the day of the wedding, you let your theatrics win over, lost control of your fleet and had to flee like the fool you are!"

"You pulled ahead in every action, so sure of yourself when all you have done is be defeated!" The flames pulled away from the barrier, a thin veneer still burning, as caught up in words he wished to say for so long brought the flames to surround his environs, covering in a makeshift shield, as his eyes blazed a bloody glow, "You think you are entitled to everything just because you suffered! But suffering is not enough! You can't just be strong, you have to be smart! You can't just be deserving, you have to be worthy! BUT ALL YOU HAVE EVER BEEN IS A PARASITE CLAWING AT MY KNEES!"

The explosion overtook him, as the flames pressed against. He felt himself flying, destined to smash his head against the arena walls.

All but for the wind that flung him upwards, his eyes widened, as he felt the power protruding out of Darth Strosius, gazing down from him, from even this height, levitating desperately, as the flames fell away, as the winds held him in place.

Somehow it was he, who felt like the ant.

Darth Strosius

 

[Darth Strosius]

​

"You know, for once I must say that I agree with you Malum."

Darth Strosius stretched out the arm that wielded his sword and with it his presence seemed to lengthen as well, a chilling and domineering thing that seemed to fill the air like a flood. Much like whenever Ophidia's influence crept to the forefront of Malum's mind, the presence was fuller and more potent. But not diluted. There was most certainly something other than just the masked Sith roiling about within him but all that could be felt was simply himself.

Something present but either so deeply hidden that it couldn't be seen or so in tune with the Sith that it was indistinguishable. "I got ahead of myself, I assumed that because my cause was so righteous and necessary that victory was simply natural, that I only need arrange the pieces and the rest would fall in place." He sounded almost wistful as he slowly strode forward, his gaze fixed upon his airborne opponent. "For all my critiques of you, I have also been guilty of not aiming for the throat of my foes. For hesitating when decisive action was required."

Each step seemed to echo with a heavy yet somehow hollow noise, drowning out the wind and flames almost in their entirety. "But I'm afraid you have the role of the clawing parasite reversed, Heir of Marr." Darth Strosius stopped a short distance away from Malum, gazing up at him but seeming no less on top of the situation despite their height difference and the previous swirling flames that had backed him into a corner.

"While you were born an inheritor, I made myself a destiny of my own. I had to suffer to get where I am, I had to grow stronger, to become smarter, I had to earn where I am. But you?" He let out a hollow chuckle as his repulsorboots activated. "You chose the path of reconstruction rather than rebirth, reform rather than revolution, to wriggle and writhe beneath those above you instead of throwing them down."

The Lord Inquisitor was steadily carried up into the air as he spoke, gesturing out with his blades as though he was entirely unconcerned about preparing himself for an incoming attack. "But your reforms have stalled and your reconstruction of the Tsis'Kaar has yet to yield any good results. You may berate me for my shortcomings all you'd like, but you've been handed everything you need for success and have still resolved to play second fiddle to the ambitions of those who have long since passed their prime and usefulness."

Finally he would arise to where they stood across from one another again as they had before, albeit this time hovering in the air above their usual battleground. "You had the deck stacked in your favor and you still faltered. But me? I had to drag myself a chair at the table, but now..." He chuckled as his hands lit up with arcs of lightning, still velvet in their color, and danced across his blades. "Now I'm flipping the table over! All bets are off, the dealer is gone, and all that's left to do is secure my victory!"

His lightsaber would be leveled at Malum as his upbeat tone turned deadly cold once more. "A victory without you in it. I spared you from the first culling of the Tsis'Kaar, but I see now that you've grown into a thorn in my side that I can no longer ignore. It's time to finish what we started on Fiviune, don't you think? Brother?" The title was hissed mockingly before the masked man suddenly shot forward, bringing both of his blades to bear in a slash as the lightning dancing across them arced out like a twin set of whips lashing at him.

Darth Malum of House Marr

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

With every heartbeat, he felt Darth Strosius' voice grow louder, the blood hot and viscous filled his ears with the strum of war drums that did not allow him a moment to think. Malum was forced to listen, forced to listen as his co-apprentice levelled accusations and falsehoods, that in this moment, he could do nought but allow to spill forth from masked lips.

Instead, he was found grinding his teeth, with such tenacity that they might crack and spill right open, that with every motion of bone against bone all would be born was dust, as the low sound became entirely lost in the miasma of all the noises surrounding their environs. As Darth Strosius made his advance forward.

Even from here, Malum could see the ignition of his repulsorboots begin.

"Even now you misunderstand entirely your faults," He shook his head, even as he felt a daze take command of his mind as breath grew harder and harder to come, as he felt a frustration mounting across his skull that would have resulted in twitches across his entire body if the situation was not so dire, "You think just because you are a measure of strong, a measure of smart, that you were ready to lead your revolution," The Lord Inquisitor was found climbing higher, and higher, almost by instinct, gazing into that mask that seemed to be overflowing with a golden hue, he wished to fall away.

Instead, a will commanded him to stand strong, gazing down coldly, a juxtaposing icey flame taking hold of his eyes. By how Darth Strosius spoke... Malum knew there was an entirely new dimension to this newborn confidence.

If Kasir Dorran was bold enough to attack... attack the Tsis'Kaar box, then the rest of the Inquisition would not be far behind in their tenacity of action especially if they had a victor to crown.

A victor that would lead them to utter annihilation.

Both lightsabre and Sith Sword were ready, matching the pair opposite them, as he rose higher and higher, almost level, as the last of his words concluded, "Did you not ever think that there was logic to the madness? Did you not ever think others saw the galaxy exactly as you did but saw different methods to correct it? Or did your arrogance so blind you to that notion? Did your arrogance make you blind to the possibility that could be wrong? Did your arrogance make you blind enough to believe you were some prophet?"

Malum narrowed his eyes at the lightsabre pointed his way, a threat made, a mocking title... that he saw as once so...

It mattered little now, he knew that Darth Strosius was baiting him, he knew that he should not even be considering taking a challenge so openly given on his terms, when even the winds had turned against him, he was still certainly in this fight. But gazing upon that mask, through the glow that protruded through them, that threatened to be unleashed...

His plan could not come about unless he broke through.

So he would, never having fought like this as Darth Strosius charged through the air, Malum matched the speed and intensity, as though his Sith Sword, lightning pulsed and coiled along its blade, as one of his eyes turned bright gold, the world spinned around them, as the wind thrashed against his face as all resisted this oncoming clash.

But none could deny the will of the Sith for long.

The four blades of different make and function clashed with an intensity that threw wind out from them, lightning dancing in the air between them, as they stood locked. It had been his objective to lock them, and it would be Darth Strosius' to break it. He only had a few moments.

His head barreled forward like a battering ram. His objective? A mask he had only seen broken once.

Darth Strosius

 

[Darth Strosius]

​

It was a rather jarring collision when their blades met in a tight lock, their momentum halting one another's charge in midair. It was somewhat disorienting given the ever-present pull of gravity as well as their own struggles against one another but Darth Strosius was quick to shake off the initial clash. Not quite quick enough however. He attempted to pull his blades back in order to launch into a flurry of blows but in doing so he left himself wide open for the sudden ram to his face by Malum's own.

A crack could be heard as the Lord Inquisitor faltered in the air, his feet kicking wildly for a moment as he fell a short distance before recovering. His gaze snapped back up at the Heir of Marr, his reflective black visor now cracked down the center in a small spiderweb fracture right in its center. A flash of gold from his eyes illuminated the now damaged visor before his repulsorlifts fired off once more and shot him back up towards his opponent with a frustrated growl.

"There is no other way! No alternatives, no other methods, no one else willing to do what must be done!" He had to cock his head to the side slightly in order to fix Malum with a glare as he attained the same height once more and gestured towards the other Sith. "Look around you for once in your miserable little life! We are surrounded by the complacent masses and those that know how to wield them to their advantage, they who would cement themselves so deeply in our empire and squash any competition. There is no bargaining or half-measures for such things, only death can solve it!"

Another burst from his repulorboots sent the masked man flying forwards Malum in a blur of movement and blades, seemingly intent on lashing out and battering the other Sith from the air. The sooner that he could return the fight to the ground the better. Not only was the ground more familiar territory but he would fall far quicker if they were both to wind up losing control of how they kept themselves in the air, and being the first on the ground wouldn't be the position of advantage.

"You have the gall to label me as 'arrogant' or 'foolish' when everyone else would play the part of an arrogant fool themselves!" Each word was a strike, each punctuation a slice, a barrage of blade and barbs. "Thinking they can worm their way into the good graces of their 'betters' and secure themselves a little slice of power with their submission, it disgusts me! There is no room left for those not already aligned with the powers that be, to think otherwise is a delusion. They are stagnant failures keeping one another in power and I have lost my patience for it!"

Venom, somewhat directed at Malum but mostly just using him as an outlet, flowed easily from Darth Strosius as he struck and slashed. The earlier odd serenity to his presence had faded and been engulfed by the usual wrath that exemplified his being, his ferocity burning bright even as the glow from his eyes faded from filling the cracks in his visor. "The Sith deserve better! We deserve better! I deserve better! Better than a coalition of tyrants keeping themselves in power, better than hesitant and spineless Lords that only want their own positions secured, better than blueblooded pretenders like you!"

His blades would be swarmed and channel lightning once more, still retaining a purple hue, as he attempted to carve his way through Malum's defenses with one strike after another. Attrition was difficult given the conditions but it was no less a strategy that could pull through if he could keep himself level in the air as he had thus far. "If I am the only one that is willing to go as far as is needed then so be it! I will cast down Eternalist and Kainite alike, I will give no mercy to those that deserve none, the wicked and sinful must fall and it must be me that culls them!"

"Success or Death Malum! And I cannot fail!"

Darth Malum of House Marr

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

Malum let out a hiss as he felt the bruise rapidly grow on his nose, time seeming to stop as the cracks of the mask rained down in front of his sight. He knew he had not missed, the pain sprouting out of his face was enough evidence of that, but gazing into the damaged visor, with mask still placed prominently upon face...

...He had not succeeded.

He should have pressed his advantage, watching as Darth Strosius' legs kicked wildly in the air, caught seemingly so off-guard that the prim and proper noble would have done that... admittedly it had caught Malum off-guard as well, so caught off-guard that he simply gazed down upon his co-apprentice, recovering, glaring up at him through an angle he had forced him to take, golden glimmers burning through the cracks, as he rose himself back upon his level, a growl as animalistic as it seemed to... change the pace of their battle.

Constant back and forths had slowed, yet the emotion brimmed between them ever still, the words that were brought out of the Lord Inquisitor's hidden lips as much a vaunted emotional charge... as were they preperation for all that would come next.

The Force flowed as easily as blood through his veins, while even from this advancing distance, ironic for all the fire which Malum had thrown, out from his co-apprentice the Force seemed to splutter and smoke, barely kept together only by the force of will of its wielder... but Darth Strosius had never seen himself as so wielding the Force had he?

More that he was a vessel for it.

The only question now was if the armoured robes and broken mask wielding form before him could hold such power, and unfortunately, despite all the times he might have thought otherwise... it seemed he could. There was an uncharacteristic calm to Malum's brow at such realisation, such a whirlwind of emotions had been born this day already, from even before he walked into this arena.

It was entirely too apt that he would now feel such... nothing, it had not been the first time that despite all that he knew Ali- Darth Strosius' words were false, that there was enough inkling of truth there, that he understood how though his co-apprentice had few followers, they were so entirely devoted to him. How the Inquisition who knew that they had little chance of victory in any instance of war with the rest of the empire, would have followed their Lord Inquisitor without doubt in their heart.

Maybe that was the true danger of his Ali- Da- Alisteri Haxim. How despite all his failures, all his foolhardiness, all his bravado.

He might actually convince a people to burn an empire down.

"That is at the end of the day, the crux of the matter is it not?" Malum countered, raising his Sith Sword into the air, pointing at his levitating chest, a challenge cutting through the air, "You cannot kill them." Malum said nothing, his lips parsing as the repulsorboots shot the Lord Inquisitor towards him with all the force of a comet, every strike held the strength of a hammer, every prong struck with the precision of a dagger, every motion the speed of an arrow, as the Scion of Darth Marr began what was most alien to him.

A fighting retreat.

Every movement of his blades was met with his own, as close as he was, Malum's was closer, the sound of plasma and steel battling through the air, the wind breaking at every collision sounded the arena environs, even as with their position in the sky the sound travelled less and less, "If only you knew how many shared your views," Malum hissed out, even as a hint of sombreness broke the voice, bending his elbow in a particularly awkward angle as the swordplay grew more and more complex, the reality of fighting without firm foundations beneath your feet making themselves evident as swings after swings were answered by blocks and parries, "If only you realised that you are no visionary, simply one who is so desperate to martyr himself that he has lost all other sense!" The sombre quality was gone, replaced with the frustration that had long ago mounted lines across his forehead, "Yes! Success or Death! And I intended for US TO SUCCEED!"

The voice broke along with the clash of their blades, the air around them growing slower, as the wave of the darkness shot forth out of his lips towards a mask that was growing more and more golden, as by Malum's shoulders, what he had set up moments ago came to fruition, the two Darkshears levelled at him appearing, betraying their master, as they shot forth.

As Malum knew his chance was here and now.

Darth Strosius

 

[Darth Strosius]

​

Neither Sith was used to such odd aerial combat and as such no amount of quick strikes or precise slashes were easily landed amidst the constantly shifting positions of the pair, each block and parry that Malum performed just as stalwart as the strike it halted was intent to land. Darth Strosius himself very quickly decided that he hated this particular method of dueling. Every missed strike or turned blade was slightly more laborious to pull back than the last, a soreness that was only kept at bay by determination and adrenaline.

Fluid movements weren't unfamiliar to him of course but this duel in the sky was on another level entirely. It was akin to a river fighting the wind, neither gaining much ground or progress but both able to move and shift around one another with blows that would never be quite as effective as they should have been. Neither blades seemed to make good contact even when blocking, lacking the heavy impacts that he was used to relying upon to feel his opponent's resolve. Each attempt had too much weight and not enough force, yet at the same time no real method of accounting for either issue.

He despised how it felt in truth but he had little choice but to keep raining strikes down on Malum. Eventually the luck and defensive capability of the Heir of Marr would be found lacking and he would be able to land a hit, either forcing him down to the ground so that they could fight properly or simply ending the duel in one fell strike. Anything would be better than the constant back and forth that did little but exhaust both parties while at the same time leaving them no closer to victory over the other.

"I killed Ophidia lest you forget!" Of course the final blow was a shared one but that wasn't what he was referring to, and Malum knew that. "No one is safe from me! The Lady of Assassins herself, my own master, couldn't defend herself from me in the end! Empyrean, Carnifex, Raaf, none of them are above my capabilities Malum! Not before and certainly not now!" The frustrated words of the Lord Inquisitor were answered in kind it seemed, an argument accompanying their dangerous yet indecisive aerial duel.

But it wouldn't be indecisive for long.

Malum let out a scream through the Force that simply couldn't be avoided at such close range, not when the two had been blade to blade for the past few moments without respite. Darth Strosius winced as the already cracked visor fractured ever so slightly more, himself pushed back with his head lolling back a bit from the sudden force of it. He was quicker to catch himself in the air this time, only falling about a head or two lower rather than the short distance before, but shooting back towards Malum wasn't an option at the moment.

Two Darkshears, his own oddly enough, were heading his way and far too quickly to be avoided in any meaningful sense. The masked man felt his fangs ground together as he threw his weight to the side while at the same time managing to keep his feet beneath him, a rather awkward pose but one that proved valuable. One of the spears would be just barely deflected in time, his sword's blade managed to be placed between his body and the tip of the spear just enough to deflect it and send it hurtling upwards away from his neck where it had previously been aimed.

The other was redirected in a more grandiose manner however. His lightsaber flew from his hand and hovered in the air just out of reach, freeing one hand to intercept the Darkshear coming at his side while his sword occupied the other. The pitch black spear skated along the claws of the gauntlet, thankfully on the already dulled ones, before his fingers wrapped around the 'handle' of it before it flew past him entirely. With another twist he flung the Darkshear right back at it's original target in Malum, summoning his lightsaber back to his grasp the moment the spear left it.

With one spear out of the way and the other leading the charge, Darth Strosius shot up again to engage Malum once more. This time however he wouldn't fly to be on equal level with his opponent, instead he bared his blades once more as he sped towards the other Sith's lower half while the spear hurtled to his upper. An assault on two fronts it seemed, one that he hoped would break their little stalemate one way or the other.

Darth Malum of House Marr

 

[Ansisa]

She had not truly expected the shikkar to find its mark, the glass blade shattering against the barrier behind Kasir as Kadann stepped into the fray, Anasisa drew on the dark side, removing the cork from her carefully bottled anger and letting it flow through her. Kasir turned Kadann's blade away with ease before returning to his intended target.

She was the source of his ire, the potential problem to be eradicated, Kadann was merely a distraction. Her sabre twisted into a low guard, her feet shift to brace as his blade came sweeping for her legs to be parried away as lightning crackled between the fingers of her free hand.

"Your faith in your Lord Inquisitor is misplaced." she hissed.

Lightning leapt forth from her fingers, its target a widespread. She didn't intend to hit just him, but also the barrier at his back.

Kasir Dorran Kadann

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

He felt his heartbeat in his eardrums.

He felt the blood pound in his ears as the proclamation echoed. The rest of his words, the rest of his boasts mattered little, what did lies and deceits matter in the face of the singular truth that he flung in front of his face? The lie which Darth Strosius had told him, which had been Malum's original sin.

The revelation which had almost had Malum kill him so long ago. There was never a moment before now which he truly regretted that he had not finished what had started on Fiviune all that time ago.

Fiviune, where it had all started.

Fiviune, where it had all ended.

Fiviune, where it had all started once again.

His breathing hitched, and he felt one eye smoulder away to the flames of another's presence, that original sin... which now bound him in this curse even now. That lie which had brought about a civil war. That lie which in one act had made him traitor... and in the next had made him betrayer.

All the mistakes which Darth Strosius made again, and again, over, and over, for one moment, one golden opportunity, had succeeded.

And they were both left accursed, yet, what curse did Darth Strosius ever display as he actively fought the taint that had been pushed into both of them, torturing himself against what was granted to them, when it had been his actions which had made it inevitable. What accursed existence did he live in beyond the one of his own choosing? His anger! His rage! His hatred!

When it had been Malum who each and everytime had to pick up the pieces.

It was the truth... he had killed their Mistress.

It was the lie... that had killed their Mistress.

"Traitor."

"Betrayer."

"Turncloak."

She whispered again, in the back of his mind. The fundamental truths which had haunted him all this time, the fundamental truths which were the waves that crashed into the beachfront that was his psyche, again, and again, each motion, more, and more of his sense of self dragged away kicking and screaming in utter and full desperation.

To be replaced.

"No... No... No..." The voice was a quiet moan, as his vision blurred, and he felt his entire form shake, as he felt her presence protrude out as if the webs spun that trapped his mind, trapped his heart, and trapped his soul could ever find the freedom which he had so sought. The freedom which had been stolen away from him so long ago, that he had deceived himself into believing his rise upwards had been anything but the chains which bound him further.

The chains which would drag him away into the depths of darkness leaving nothing to be found.

"Conspirator."

"Deserter."

"Apostate."

Peripherals saw through the haze, one of the darkshears thrown aside, the other... "...Please..." It was barely more than a whimper, as the darkshear was turned against him, and through the aching pain that broke his mind, he saw Darth Strosius' advance coming. The advancing coming, as Malum succumbed further, and further into the darkness that coalesced into his mind, succumbed further, and further into the voice which whispered so familiarly into the forefront of his mind.

This was it.

The last chance.

He grasped onto his amulet, even as its blazing heat was near enough to burn his skin, a moment of clarity burning through his mind as an infection burned through skin, as he felt the band so far inert, suddenly burst alive. As time seemed to slow around them, the darkshear launched, and the launcher not far behind, he had little time.

Nothing new.

He disappeared into nothingness, hidden from eyes naked and unnaked, yet within a blink he was back. A figure that was undeniably of his visage, tall, proud, of blackened locks, and arms and armours which he wore with the confidence that befitted the heir of Darth Marr, yet in his hands, the Sith Sword had disappeared, replaced with a second red lightsabre.

And his face.

Once sweating and contorted, parse lipped, and caught in agony.

Now... calm, measured, and having caught the opponent's blades with his own, and the eyes... the eyes burning with a yellow satisfaction that even as the darkshear shot straight through the heart of the figure, seemed without the slightest care in the world.

All apart from singular focus upon her once apprentice.

"Did you really kill me?" The voice simply intoned, yellow orbs gazing upon the darkshear caught upon her smoking form with the barest disinterest, "...Because I still feel myself very much alive within us both.”

A shadow emerged above them both, red eyes glimmering with a presence familiar to them both, as the wind brought his sails forward. Disappeared and now returned, exploiting the high ground which he had taken before, to rise even higher, the blade burned with the pale blue flames which was his measure, as with all the agony of arms having fought for too long, he swung down.

So why, gazing into a cracked and breaking mask, why, gazing through to the glowing citrines lying beneath...

Why were his arms so slow?

Darth Strosius

 

[Darth Strosius]

​

The strike seemed almost inevitable. Malum hadn't made any move to dodge or even counter neither himself nor the Darkshear which were both rapidly approaching. Had he accepted his fate? Was his mind simply working to try and figure out an escape? Was he waiting until the strike came to counter? So many possibilities yet in the end Darth Strosius quickly decided that none of them mattered, because Malum's defense wouldn't matter. There was no stopping him now, not when he was so close to his victory.

Yet when Malum briefly seemed to vanish, that victory seemed to slip away with him. It was but a moment yet so much changed about the man that he was about to slay. Confidence and composure had replaced tension and anxiety, looking more like a triumphant conqueror than a Sith on the precipice of his demise. The sight only made the masked man's eyes narrow as he shifted his grip on his sword slightly to a more looser hold, one that would maim rather than kill when it hit. Now he wanted to make him hurt just a bit longer before he ended this little 'Kaggath' of theirs.

But when the Darkshear met his opponent first, the result wasn't what he had been expecting.

The spear seemed completely useless and before he had any time to react a flaming blade was heading right for his head, the other Sith having gained the upper hand and caught him off-guard. His eyes widened at the sight and he reared back despite his momentum, throwing his legs forward to try and push himself away from the blue flames that shone through the cracks in his visor. However he wasn't quite fast enough in his reaction, not even as time seemed to slow to a crawl.

The licking flames reached his mask first but the blade that followed was what did the damage as it were. cutting into his mask along his cheek. Just shy of his throat. With his repulsorboots now facing the opposite direction due to his own folly, Darth Strosius fell with a new burning gash in his mask that his hands quickly threw his weapons aside to try and tend to. He twisted and flailed in the air during the whole descent, his movements split between attempts to recover his altitude and the new wound on his face. The Sith Lord crashed to the ground in a cloud of dust and rubble, leaving a small crater that he now laid in.

His eyes cracked open as he breathed out a shaking exhale, sitting up and wincing at once. His masked gaze shifted to his left arm, the one that had evidently been underneath him when he landed. It hung limp and useless at his side, bringing spikes of pain up his body as he attempted to move it. With a hiss of pain he hauled himself out of the crater with his other arm, clawed gauntlets digging into the ground as he tried to even out his breathing pattern and rise to his feet. He faltered for but a moment before regaining his footing and steadying his breaths.

Darth Strosius looked up at where Malum was when he had fallen but he could hardly see anything between the new cracks in his visor, leaving it more akin to a spider's web than a window. His cheek stung with a burn and he was one arm down, but he'd be damned if he was blind too. Out of frustration and necessity both he reached up and sunk his claws into the edges of his ruined mask, the brief sound of metal rending metal being audible before the mask was ripped off and tossed aside.

His hood remained in place, no doubt held up by the remaining helmet that had yet to fail him, but his previously hidden visage was put on full display as he raised his head to face Malum again.

His features were startlingly young, indeed even younger than some of the Acolytes in attendance, but to describe his face as 'youthful' in any sense of the word would be a bold claim. His skin looked as though it had never seen the rays of a sun at all, an ivory complexion that seemed entirely unnatural on him and one that was sharply contrasted by his short but messy dark hair. But for those who had caught glimpses of a certain Rattataki Sith Lord, the skin tone would look oddly familiar. There was a certain gauntness to his face and were it not for the dark tattoos beneath his eyes one would suspect deep circles there.

Those tattoos were perhaps the second most striking thing about his visage, they were deep and textured yet too dark to discern detail. They almost made the pale flesh around them appear as though it were the mask, as though his face was simply another disguise and the tattoos were a hint at his true self. By far his most eye-catching features would be his eyes themselves however. They were pools of pale gold that glowed with such intensity that the sockets around his eyes were tinted slightly yellow by them, but most disturbingly of all was how full they were. Full of hatred.

A single look in them would be enough to engulf one in that emotion, for they seemed to burn hotter and brighter than any flame that could be conjured into being. And at the moment every bit of that raw emotion seemed directed right at Malum as he fixed the other Sith with a glare that was almost too bright and intense to be looked at straight on. His lips peeled back in a snarl to reveal a mouth full of fangs, giving him an almost feral appearance that seemed out of place when compared to the usual expressionless mask.

"You know," His voice held an odd yet subtle reverb to it, one that must have been hidden by the usual slight modulation of his mask. "I really liked that mask." His broken arm suddenly flexed out and the fingers formed into a fist, right before the burn mark on his cheek healed and faded as though it had never been there at all. "I believe I'm done entertaining this little struggle of yours Malum. You want to see my power so badly, then by all means, don't look away."

He took in a breath and with it he inhaled not only air, free from the usual filter that his mask offered, but also power. His followers, members of the Inquisition and Wonosa alike, around the arena would feel a tug on their very souls. An unmistakable draw that didn't become apparent at first until the presence of the unmasked man began to swell and grow. Unseen lines of power, devotion, faith, loyalty, worship, all flowed easily into the Lord Inquisitor from his followers without their knowledge or active participation. It was here that the draw of power into himself would also reveal that which Malum had been seeking since the battle began, the ghost of Ophidia present within him. She was being used just as the rest of the power flowing into him was however, as fuel.

Typhojem

He began to levitate into the air, His repulsorboots noticeably still inactive even as He rose up and spread His arms wide to welcome the new strength now filling His being. A shadow seemed to descend over His features as He climbed into the air, only the golden glow of His eyes being visible from the now dark confines of His hood.

Bogan

A chilling wind ripped through the arena, making his robes flare as he rose higher. Tendrils of darkness erupted from below and surrounded the rising Sith, forming around His back in what appeared to be some grim simulacrum of wings. They spread out in a grand ‘wingspan’ that framed Him as some sort of divine being, the man of faith now an icon of it.

The Son

Lightning arced between the tendrils and their summoner, the earlier royal purple now crimson red in coloration that rivaled the lightsaber He wielded. His sword would rise above His head from the ground below, His lightsaber coming with it as well as the other one that had adorned His belt during the duel. His two blades and the blade of Ophidia. The two lightsabers would come to rest by His outstretched hands as His gaze turned to regard Malum properly once more.

Darth Strosius

He was resplendent in His power, with many of His followers and even some of the common folk in the audience kneeling or bowing in awe and reverence of the sight now gracing them. A subtle new flow of worship that only helped empower Him even further. His glowing gaze, before seeming feral and predatory, now seemed so above such mortal notions. Not unlike the intense but emotionless eyes of a statue or painting. Pitiless eyes that were now fixed on Malum.

For those in the audience that were more familiar with power, for those that understood it well and had a keen enough eye power, the ‘divine’ display was not without flaw. His fingers twitched and curled at times, the glow of his eyes occasionally flickering, the tendrils and lightning weren't some display of power but rather ventilations of it. He couldn't handle it. He couldn't control the new strength that now flowed through Him. And yet He wielded it, for now at least.

“Rejoice, Malum of House Marr, for you shall be the first death before Rebirth. The first to fall by my hands, by the hands of your new Emperor!” A gust of chilling wind ripped the banners from the walls of the arena, some falling down slowly while others were all but thrown into the audience stands. “With the Rebirth I bring, there shall be no more Eternalists, no more Kainites, and no more Tsis’Kaar. Beneath me there are only Sith and above me there is only the Force!” The tendrils and their master leapt up then, rushing at Malum as a wave rushed at the shore. And just like a great tide the advance was inevitable, undeniable, pride and wrath and power all made incarnate now plunged towards the Heir of Marr.

Darth Malum of House Marr

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

Hesitation had cost him victory, the blade had met its target, and with a force enough to break against the wind, and sending his co-apprentice plummeting to the earth. Even now as he was filled with such hatred for him, even now as this was fast becoming a battle of life and death, as his idealistic notions that this could end in any way other than that, were fast disappearing. His hesitation had cost him his life, and it had cost him his brother's death.

As the contradictory feeling still swirled within him, as his doppelganger took away the presence from his mind, who still stared down unemotionally towards the large crater that his strike had been, the strike that he knew had not yet finished this, for the contradiction... the affection... the love... he still bore Alisteri, sitting at the pit of his heart, despite all his failings.

Despite all the frustration, and pain that the Sangnir had given him all these years, that hesitation... he swallowed the protrusion in his throat, the feature bobbing up and down like an apple sitting in a crate of water. His blade had broken steel and met flesh, that much Malum was certain of, yet he was equally certain that bitten flesh was not scorched flesh.

And he well remembered what had happened the last time he had broken the Lord Inquisitor's mask. He was growing weaker, softer, on Fiviune his failing will to do what was necessary had only been born after the mask was broken... what excuse did he have now to fail even before the mask broke?

The armour was heavy on his form, lightsabre and the sword even more on his arms, how he was able to hold up both with a wind that was growing more and more chaotic he could not quite say, as his breaths were laboured, and growing even more so, even as his vision cleared by every breath, every part of him had wanted to kill Alisteri on Fiviune, all until the surprise, the shock of his face.

So what would he do now?

He did not have to wait long to find out, through the fog of war, there he stood. As defiant, as strong, as powerful as ever, yet, as red eyes for the first time in... so long, met yellow, he felt... he felt...

Nothing.

There he was, the face which had launched the civil war that had determined the direction of both their lives, the face which had stopped him from committing a murder that to this day Malum could not say for certain if he regretted or not, the face which had haunted his dreams every night since, along with the nightmares of every battlefield he had fought, the vision of the one inhabiting his mind, visiting where she held supreme power.

And he felt... nothing.

Even as his face was different, even as it was so familiar, despite... or perhaps beyond, the familiarity of his memory... indeed, it was familiar to two sets of different memories. Alisteri had always said... he had so confidently and blithely pronounced that he had taken nothing from their Mistress, that he had fought her to the bitterest of ends no matter if it was on Fiviune, or if it was to torture himself to make sure that she held no influence over him or his mind. Yet, now stood the living example of how much that had all been false.

Gazing into those glimmering citrine orbs, those eyes filled with hate that with a single look might have withered him away if he at this moment could feel anything at all... there she was. Her power protruded out of him, as her face donned on his, how much had Malum miscalculated? How much of Alisteri had remained within a form that more and more resembled the Rattaki rather than the Sangnir? Malum had always thought his boldness was an arrogance born out of the confidence gained from their shared victory... but now... had he been too quick to judge for his face had not shifted as Alisteri's had? For Alisteri had so hidden this change from him?

How much did she control even as he had actively fought against her? How much of his boldness had been his own, and how much of it had been her subtle manipulations? How much of his quest for victory been his own, when all it would lead to was martyrdom... and how much of it had been her design?

Malum's eyes turned towards his doppelganger, turned towards her, citrine orbs still stared down without emotion, yet, for only one who was familiar enough in their own skin, he perceived the imperceptible narrowing of her eyes... was she surprised? Was he? Both fragments might have wanted to act in a condominium, but split as they were, unable to communicate with the other, how could they possibly do so?

And in an order of Sith, how could you trust another... let alone yourself?

Yet, gazing upon her his vision was lost to the memory of her final moments, the coldness that had filled the darkened room that black day, as a heart was pierced, and a head fell, when exhausted limbs had frayed and begged to break, when the full truth of what they had done had struck Malum with the force of a thousand suns, as all that would come after had not yet come.

As he had turned towards his battlebrother, needing revenge, needing justice.

Her voice...

"This is my last lesson for you two; this is the truth, whole and unfiltered:"

"Two there shall be, and only two. A master and an apprentice; one to embody the power, and one to crave it."

"Everything else is an illusion."

...Every day both had lived they had lived heresy, one of them actively fought against her teachings, and the other had accepted them as truth but had done nothing to bring about her vision, believing his vision to adjust it... two branches of the Tsis'Kaar had formed, even if only one of them held their command, Malum had believed that they together could bring about the evolution of the Sith.

But had she not been right all this time later, where had two apprentices turned masters gone apart from a battle between themselves? A battle that now played itself out to its natural conclusion...

...A battle which he could now not help but wonder if she had intended from the very beginning when he had refused her call when he had not done what was necessary all those different disparate times.

He could not say for certain, he could not know for certain, one of the few times he might have appreciated her voice in the back of his mind, there was nought but silence, if they were playing into her hand, even when she was nothing but a ghost split in two... not much had changed, had it?

He would still have to be the one who had to do what was necessary.

As his gaze settled back onto who by circumstances that had not been his choice, was his untractable foe, though if his foe was the figure who stood before him, or the one who was within his mind, he could not quite tell... and at this point, as everything felt lighter, as his breathing narrowed and mended themselves to the barest state of control and centre, he realised.

The possibility of battling them both was so utterly... satisfying.

Even as her voice, changed from how it was through the mask broke across the sky to him, even as the wound to his cheek burned away into nothingness, even as his arm snapped back into place, a reminder that even now, for all the injuries Malum bore, as minor as they might be, still bled, while the Sangnir for all the harm caused to him, mended without concern or worry.

Malum knew, in all the moments that would come next, as the human form tired, that there would be no holding back. That, as he felt the very Force around him shift, Darth Strosius' pronouncement, his boast, signalling the very shift in the dynamic between them, as the Force coalesced from figures all across the arena, figures of make signalling allegiance to the once masked, now puerile Lord Inquisitor before him, those of the Inquisitorius, and those of the Wonosa, and those of other ilk began to bow, began to fall upon their knees as their essence, their limited power, but brought together, represented something so powerful, that it might have been beyond them both, filling up a vessel that was altogether too ready to sink.

Still, Malum knew, it was a power that would sooner break him, than break the Sangnir, and as Malum's body wavered, any hesitation, any weakness. Would promise his own doom.

Yet, it was impossible still not to stare, to gaze in awe of what was occuring, watching as his brother, so... so mocked by those powers that be, that they both so hated, at this moment, proved them all so wrong. As he rose higher, rose without the propulsion of his boots, his face darkening beneath his hood, all apart from the glow of his eyes, a wind ripping through the arena sending shivers down his spine, though the sight of this dark angel, was more than enough for that, his robes rippling through the waves, as his wings sprouted out of his back, as the voices around the arena, having long lost Malum's attention was now so clear.

Worship.

They were worshipping him.

A god was being born right before their eyes.

The lightning coiled around his form, purple now red, as red as the blades which once abandoned now were returned to his hands, yet, with the addition of a third.

One which only filled him with ever more confirmation.

Malum’s lightsabre deactivated returned to the unending depths of his robes hidden by his armour, a second lightsabre found, one which caught the peripheral attention of his doppelgänger. The barest hint of a smirk spraying upon the copy of his lips.

He had not ever used it.

Fear of so much had kept it from his hands, even as he could not help but carry it all this time later. The fear of what it was, the fear of who had wielded it, the fear of what would happen to him.

The fear of what this represented.

But he held no other choice now did he? As he felt the supreme power and aura that now stood against him, what choice did he have? He had accepted his mortality, he knew that the moment he entered this arena there were only two possible outcomes, and one of them… would result in him laying dead in the dirt, cold, broken, crumpled.

And the other… was the other even possible now?

He gazed at the bronze drake wrapping the black hilt, the pulses of power that travelled up his arm, the power that he held in his hand, whose whispers begged him to unleash it.

A tear trailed his eye…

…As a blade of deep violent ignited, red sparks flying off its structure, as flames of a campfire sparked and spluttered….

…As he felt the power overtake his entire form, as every emotion which he had so long kept controlled and simmering, boiled over with an intensity that he could not command nor control, yet, stood together with him regardless. To cry, to scream, to rage, to laugh, to break, his body pulled onto him in all directions as they coalesced into singular purpose, as his mind centred and settled.

The Soulsabre was alive.

As the new Emperor rose, primal, animalistic, and needing to be put down like the dog he was. The Soulsabre filling him further, pointed to his heart, the Blade of Storm and Flame crackling with white lightning and blue flames directed at his head.

The final clash. Only one permissible outcome.

For all who relied upon him, for all who served him, for a family who loved him, for a family he had yet to know.

For the Sith.

“There is only one punishment for treason,” Malum growled out, so much more he wanted to say, so much still whispered in his ears, pride, avarice, cruelty, he wanted it all, whispers broke against the shore of an impenetrable fortress of a mind, a fortress that would only hold as long as battle did.

The black tendrils burst out of him with the speed of a thousand blaster bolts, each promising to pierce him into a hundred different pieces, each of them promising to crush them beneath an impossible weight, the Force in this moment having chosen its champion, a champion of fate and destiny, as history wrote itself before him.

The doppelgänger rose in front of him, where Malum had always imagined that it would be him and his brother who would be each other’s sword and shield, what then when a sword and shield battled? The very image of him served as shield, in seconds the tentacles would strike.

As flaming red eyes closed themselves from the world.

As his own darkness burst out of him, the sun above blotted out. The entire arena with broken flags long clattering to the ground, as the sound of a thousand voices became ephemeral covered under waves after waves of pitch black.

As Malum sailed through the darkness, rapidly falling for the ground, ready to become a godslayer.

Ready to save a slave to god.

Darth Strosius