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

[Darth Strosius]

​

When Darth Strosius and Malum reached one another to resume their duel, the unmasked man was noticeably more intent than before. Whether it was simply another subconscious manifestation of His overflowing power or a purposeful manipulation was unclear, but it was very prevalent to both His opponent and for those watching. Each strike and slash echoed with a thunderclap, independent of the lightning above, and brought with it a gust of wind that served to add an otherworldly quality to His strength.

Both crimson blades were thrown into a series of attacks that seemed just as intent on trying to break Malum's wrists from the sheer force of blocking them as they were aimed to cleave him apart. Despite hovering in the air He seemed perfectly capable of putting full force into every single movement of His arms. Perhaps He intended to smash Malum into the ground first before going for the killing blow, or perhaps it was simply a side effect of His enraged mood.

Regardless His assault was unforgiving and ruthless yet not completely lacking in strategy. Much like before He seemed to be testing for weakness in His opponent's guard, each strike being just different enough to force a new movement yet not drastic enough that the entire guard had to be shifted to counter. Not yet at least. Unlike before however He seemed eager to make new weaknesses and gaps in the defense instead of simply attempting to find them. It was like He was trying to dissect Malum without ever drawing blood, yet it was no less deadly given the hissing crimson blades that He had chosen as His tools for such a procedure.

His sword was not idle either, mostly being used for His own defense in order to keep His lightsabers free to attack. All three blades were wielded with such a familiarity and efficiency that it seemed almost pedantic for one to remember that one of the blades was that of His master's. Given the speed that they were moving and with how tightly they were clasped in His hands it wasn't as though any physical differences between them could be seen at the moment anyway.

For as seamless and fluid as His movements were in their bruising assault against the Heir of Marr though, after a few moments there did appear to be some issues within them. It started with His 'wings', when they began to shiver and jerk around uncontrollably whereas before they were simply arrayed behind Him. They weren't being used to attack though nor did it even appear that they would be given how intense His focus clearly was on His blade work, instead they just flailed and battered into one another as though they too were engaging in some frantic duel.

For the keen eyed in the audience they would notice that the tendrils were just the first of His 'limbs' to falter.

Every now and then as the duel wore on, He would twitch. One of His arms jerking in an odd and unnecessary manner, a foot suddenly slamming down to halt or hinder a shift of His hovering stance, even one or two of His fingers would suddenly splay wide open as though intending to throw away the hilt still grasped in the rest of them. These little motions were easy to miss and too quick for most to catch but no matter how quickly they were reigned in they were slowly starting to effect His performance.

His sword was forced to dive in more and more to defend Him as He started to slip up in His relentless assault, His glowing amber eyes starting to flicker and His head occasionally shaking as though He were debating Himself internally. To some extent He was. He was seeing flashes of another duel with Malum and himself, on Fiviune. Through eyes that weren't his own. Through the eyes of a dead woman, one that had lost the duel that now flashed in His vision each time He tried to strike down His opponent.

Frustration pooled in His mind as He attempted to force away the unbidden and unwanted memories, to banish them as He had so many times before. Thus far His attempts were bearing little fruit however, instead only seeming to embolden the foreign flashes and the jerking of His movements even as He knew He was closing in on a killing blow. He was right on the edge of victory and no ghost from the past nor Sith of the present could stop Him. He was the Ascendant Emperor of the Sith Order and He could not fail.

Darth Malum of House Marr

 

[Darth Caedes]

Outer Rim Territories
Jutrand
c. 902 ABY
Tags— Revna

Is your power simply an illusion for me to perceive then? Perhaps you are no more than the common rabble beyond this box, clinging to scraps of power from others?

Caedes spread his hands magnanimously, grinning as if to say your guess is as good as mine, Revna Sharr. His gaze lingered momentarily, eyes scathing even as internal rebuke began melting away—replaced by something... less clear. A kind of contented passivity, pleased by the girl's challenge, intrigued by her rebellious fire. He nodded, simply, then turned back to face the two dueling Sith below.
"The first step to being in control is to see yourself as capable of being in control," he agreed, a voice sounding of snake flesh slithering through dried leaves.

One by one, cold fingers wrapped back around the guard rails of his viewing box, constricting there again until his knuckles became pale.
"Yet mistake me not, young Revna. Some kinds of power are real—power to command armies, power over the Force. Yet these come into play far less often than you would think. On an individual basis, in most interactions, this thing we call power—authority—exists only as it is perceived."

Hesitating, he glanced sidelong at Revna, expression amused and sharp.
"You think I have authority as a Lord of the Sith, though you have never seen me wield it. Many assume I have wealth and power as the King of Korriban, though they have not seen me spending it. I do. And yet, those gathered here would treat me exactly the same way were I indeed a beggar who had merely convinced them of my role as King. And so we can see, my authority is not a real thing. It is mere vapors—an illusion. I can create that illusion for them, for you, and benefit from the real power it offers—as can you."​

 

[Revna]

The Sith Lord’s reaction to her boldness was…not what she expected, to her admitted relief. He remained non-hostile towards her, though his gaze remained harsh and piercing. Still, there was no further rebuke, and through that shared mental link, as fragile as it was, she sensed something else before it evaporated like smoke in the wind. You intrigue me - came her thought, more of a mental muse than a direct response to him.

Revna was on guard when the still unnamed Sith Lord returned to watching the arena as she had, and she watched him from the corner of her eye as he was closer now than he was before, while also trying to watch Malum and Strosius beyond. Her heart rate was still elevated as she still sensed the conclusion of this fight, this ‘Kaggath’, was drawing ever closer. Never before had she been so ping-ponged between emotions for both of them. Anger at her Master for trying to kill her flesh and blood, anger at her cousin for trying to kill her Master when he promised her he would do no such thing, and further fury and betrayal when her cousin struck down individuals within the crowd who had been empowering Strosius, people she knew, just to give himself a better chance at killing his battle brother. She wanted to beat them both senselessly, and give them both a piece of her mind - titles and ranking etiquette be damned.

But right now, she could do nothing but watch and wait for the end to come for one of them. Whoever survived this, would face her wrath one day for this stupidity, if she ever saw the survivor face to face again.

Revna was a bit surprised to hear the richly robed Sith Lord beside her actually speak to her. It was enough to pull her attention and her thoughts from the fight. She had mixed feelings about this; on one hand, she was somewhat thankful for the distraction from what was occurring beyond, but on the other hand the more grumpy side of her wanted to be left alone.

Still, she listened to what he had to say to her, and her head tilted slightly with piqued interest when she heard his hint about how some powers were indeed real, and her eyes narrowed at the way he worded his statement. It was almost like he was dangling a delicious morsel in front of her nose, enticing her to reach for it. The hunger that swirled within her soul like some dark beast, raised its head briefly as the thoughts of wanting to know more took over her mind for a few moments, until she was able to refocus her attention. But undoubtedly, that flash of hunger, of deepened curiosity, would be noticed.

She knew he was right; power that came from authority was a delicate thing. It only existed so long as others believed it to be so, and once that belief was gone - so was the power of authority one thought they possessed over others. Revna was mulling over this thought, when she heard him announce almost casually that he was the King of Korriban, using his own title and perceived authority as an example of what he was trying to explain to her. The woman’s pale face colored up slightly at the cheeks when she realized that she had been a bit fiery towards a king.

Truthfully, this Sith Lord wasn’t the only king she knew, or had been sassy towards - one was her own flesh and blood, and her fiery eyes traced his movements within the arena beyond. But the words of the Sith beside her rang true. He, and her own cousin, were only kings over their people so long as their people believed them to be king. Revna found herself nodding in understanding of what she was being told, before she found her voice enough to respond back to the Sith.

“...No, I have not seen you wield your authority as a Dark Lord. But I can feel your power - what little you choose to reveal here anyway - and I know that power and authority go hand in hand, especially for us Sith. It is hard to deny one’s authority when they wield the power to back it.” she replied, her voice low but there was a slight edge to her tone.

For a moment, she was lost in a memory from her recent past, where she faced azure flames conjured from the heart of death and wrath itself, and inevitably that memory led to others, and a bitter hatred trickled through her veins like acidic fire. That was all she could feel at times, even in the quiet solitude of her apartment cell on the Malsheem. Even now, as she looked upon the fighting forms of the two Sith Lords below, what she felt beyond her pain was her hatred. She hated him for forcing her to come and watch this. And no doubt, should her Master fall, he would hold it in front of her and never let her forget it.

Revna blinked a couple of times as she returned to the present, her eyes watching the fight beyond for a few moments longer, before speaking to the one standing beside her in the same low tone of voice as before: “You hinted at this supposed ‘real’ power; in fact, you dangled it in front of my face enough to capture my curiosity.” The raven haired woman turned her gaze back to the King of Korriban, a small glare on her face. “But you already knew saying such things would do that…didn’t you?”

Tag: Darth Caedes​

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

It was by powers far beyond him that he was charging forward, that he was standing at all, that much he knew so keenly, yet, he was hardly certain if it constituted himself a weakness, or simply the ability to gather unto his possession exactly the right tools necessary for... the outcome flashed before his eyes in increasing frequency, as if the fates themselves dallied in circular dance, unsure in what regard this would all end.

No doubt that question would be one that the Sith that he knew, that he had known, would have their opinions on, and beyond the insults and threats, would have wished to make certain their stance felt. For once, Malum could not help but admit he wished he had the time to ask those questions, as his own life flashed before his eyes, as time slowed, and each agonising step had him race forward towards destiny's embrace, he wished for so many different things...

He might have even entertained a conversation with Kaine, rather than this utter weight that rested upon his soul.

The Soulsabre filled his mind with an ease that was as much impossible as absolutely needed, not a single one of his questions could be answered in the face of the sheer focus that it brought to his fore, the feeling of the burns and wounds across his form faded as if they had not been there at all, his broken foot pulsed angrily in every step he took, a warning of utter agony befalling him if not for his vice grip, as he pulled himself ever forward, disconnecting soul from all apart from the singular focus.

Another mind analysed all, a mind honed in the fires of three different empires, a mind sharpened in a thousand battles, it was rare that this ghost had been bested, yet facing the one who had accomplished that fate, facing against herself in some regard, even as her double was unknown to both of them, already planting the seeds of their opposition's downfall. Two different minds, two separate minds, so often at war, so often distant and actively harming the other, for this one moment, for a threat to dual mortality, were made one.

The amulet burned hotly against his chest, another ghost, yet this one far more like a fragment of an essence, a memory of a bygone age whose heir continued to dare live when the minutia of existence wanted him dead and gone. As the rat scurrying from danger, as the snake dangerous and deceitful, as the raven... a scavenger, a survivor. All that was left of their legacy were broken and lost artefacts. All that was left of their legacy was those of their blood that still survived, and still thrived all these millennia later. All that was left of the legacy of the great Darth Marr, was the memory of his unending will even in the face of impossible odds, kept in the fragment of his being left on this plain, a will now shining through the soul of his heir.

His lips moulded about agony as the great warcry burst out of his throat, all which he held in trust, all which he held in promise, guiding him to this moment, even as feeling in wrist disappeared, the vice grip upon beskar and dragon hilts remained resolute, with the speed of a wraith he exploited the height between Sangnir and ground, lunging forward beneath the first strike, pulling both blades forward for a decisive blow, only for the thunder to boom between them, as the tremors travelled up his arms, and his breath hitched. He faced three different blades, all of different make and nature, a great advantage against two, yet, that mattered little now, he had committed himself to this course.

He took his first step back, as the two red lightsabres lunged back for the counterattack, gritting his teeth as Sith Steel and plasma burned hot against each other, as lightning and flames strummed through the air in an unnatural melody, another booming thunderclap as the blades connected and burned, only for him to again take another withdrawing step, Darth Strosius' Sith sword, floating more than willing to take advantage of the engaged nature of his own, forcing him back, lest he lose the feeling in his wrist permanently.

He was fast, and even as Malum could see the edges fraying, there were few species with the prodigal strength of a Sangnir, there were even fewer species with the ability to recover from wounds, while even if his mind was unable to fully feel the truly agonising pain that was breaking out across his body, as exhaustion, wound and ails wore down a mortal body, it did not mean he was not slowing down, it did not mean that he could not see the possibility of victory, let alone survival, fading away with every second that passed.

He grunted again as his eyes flashed with visions of all the different ways he could die in the second moment, only for his blades to batter them away, no matter how Darth Strosius swung, in whatever pattern, in whatever motion, in whatever quantity, Malum held his nerve and held firm. Even as his body protested, he moved as if he was fresh, dodging and pulling away from stabs, parrying and guiding away strikes, blocking if absolutely necessary swings. He looked for an opening, even as his wings began to jerk away, even as moments of hesitance seemed to cross the once masked Lord's brow, yet, despite it all, the speed and power of a seemingly unending assault continued ever still, forcing him back, step by step. Sweat dripped down his brow, mixing with the burns and blood of stray nicks and cuts. He knew as well as anyone, that victory did not come from being on the defensive.

And it would only take one mistake.

His breathing was heavy, even if desperation attempted to control it. For all that he had claimed to walk here accepting death, for all which he had thought himself resigned to it, he...

...He could not... not yet...

...But to do what was necessary, to survive... to win...

Would he not do anything? For them, for all of them, for all he knew.

And for those he had not yet known.

The Soulsabre grew quiet in his hands, as red eyes shined in a golden glow, and the ghost of a long-dead ancestor watched, Malum let out a shallow breath, he was not afforded perfect opportunities, yet as another strike was warned off, his arms shaking at the pressure to still hold on, he knew he needed a perfect opportunity.

And as the boyish face in front of him shook his head, as the gold in his orbs faded. As time itself seemed to freeze... his heart stopped, as they were mere inches apart with clashing blades, golden eyes met golden, without the mask, even if Malum had seen him like this before... it was difficult to see this... boyish figure as the man he had so trusted, the man he had... a bitter tear formed in his eyes, was this the moment? Was this the moment it all changed?

None answered.

He lunged forward, the Force propelling him upwards, as he exposed his chest plate, a tantalising target that he knew Darth Strosius could not ignore. His arms reached above his own head, holding both Soulsabre and Sith Sword as if they were Shikkars. His entire form launched towards his query seemed the open maw, and his teeth held only singular purpose, to tear into his heart.

It might cost him everything.

But it could also gain him everything.

Darth Strosius
Mentioned: Darth Carnifex

 

[Darth Strosius]

​

Each clash and parry was heavy and unwieldy despite the skill of both involved, fatigue starting to wear on the both of them even as ferocity and speed seemed to diminish little. Normally such things rarely bothered Him, but this time they did. A particular influence was making herself known with each strike, displaying a flash of a previous duel against Malum. One just as quick, just as deadly, and one that He knew the end of already. The flashes were like a pulse almost, consistent and pounding against His mind as He attempted to focus everything on the task at hand.

He was gaining ground but pushing His opponent back wasn't the goal so it hardly mattered. Malum was clever enough to give up space in order to ward Him off, knowing better than to allow Him to get in his defenses too close and thus strip him of the ability to properly block Him. Keeping just out of reach in order to force Him to move forward, placing Him in the position of slight disadvantage. Anything to level the playing field at this point was viable He supposed. Even if it did infuriate Him to watch.

If anything it was just another symptom of Malum being himself, too scared to stand and fight. Too unwilling to take a hit if it meant scoring a kill in return. Too focused on himself and not on the future that could be brought with one simple swing of the blade. A future with one of them not in it, and unfortunately for Malum it seemed like only one of them was intent on chasing that future.

Were it not for the visions and memories clouding His vision and jerking at His muscles then He'd have already dispatched the Heir of Marr, of that He was certain. But soon enough the chance presented itself when Malum launched himself at Him, both blades raised high as though to tear Him down in one fell strike. A grin spread across His features as He dove forward in turn, His sword coming down to block the lightsaber while one of His crimson blades moved in to parry away the sword of his opponent. All a prelude to skewering him with His other lightsaber, the perfect end.

But then He saw a new memory. A flash of the same duel in the same place but this time with a different opponent. It was not Malum lunging for her heart, but Himself doing so instead. The blade that moved to strike the sword suddenly shook and twisted to the side as He gasped, feeling first in memory and then in reality as the blade of His enemy dug beneath His collarbone and down through His body.

His lightsabers fell from His grasp as His sword dropped from the sky and clattered to the ground, a hand moving to grab hold of Malum's wrist that held the sword now lodged in His upper body. His eyes were wild, flickering between the usual hatred as He looked at Malum and then surprisingly blooming with fear when He glanced down at the sword embedded in His chest. Another breath escaped him, this one choked with blood and signifying that a lung had indeed been caught in the strike. Black spots filled his vision as he glanced between Malum and the blade before gritting his fangs together.

He wasn't so easily put down, for the Heir of Marr had still missed his heart.

With a firm grip on Malum's wrist, Darth Strosius lunged up with his fangs bared and aimed to tear into his enemy's throat. Although given the circumstances and the velocity it would be more accurate to say that he intended to rip his head off with his teeth alone. Something that he had done plenty of times before, a desperate move that nonetheless always seemed to pay off. An execution that not only ended a fight but also kickstarted his regeneration. Exactly what he would need for the fight to come after he had dispatched Malum.

Darth Malum of House Marr

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

It was a sensation that he knew well, yet, a sensation that no matter how familiar never filled him with a moment of revulsion, and then paradoxically that of sick joy. Time seemed to make a jockey out of him these seconds, in some occasions, it felt as if time rushed about him with him none the wiser, but now, at this juncture, as he committed an act that he knew would define him as much as Fiviune had, time seemed to...

...Freeze.

Ali- Dart- Alisteri had saved himself from the agony of the Soulsabre, his Sith Sword deflecting it away before it could make mortal purchase. It was for the best for them both, Malum had never used the weapon... as much as it looked the regular lightsabre, as much as it felt as much when one swung. No normal lightsabre could speak, no normal lightsabre could make you feel at both ease and crazed, no normal lightsabre could be rumoured to make both wounded and wounder fall into the deepest crevice of the Darkside.

It was the tiniest mercy afforded to him, as Malum's own Sith Sword as milliseconds passed, as motion returned, was guiding itself through the query of its target. The Sith Steel ever sharp, ever burning with the currents of the Force pierced through skin, tore through flesh, broke bone. He had hit a lung, Malum idly realised, gazing into golden orbs reflected in his own. His peripheral vision gave him every indication that he needed that his gamble had indeed succeeded, finger spluttering, twitching, trying to hold desperately onto the red plasma blade which had been once destined to parry away his sword.

The other lightsabre, had not even the chance to exploit the weakness that Malum had presented in sacrifice for the chance of this last attempt.

Time caught up to them as the lightsabres and Sith Sword clattered onto the ground, lying on the sand. As they themselves fell from the air, finding their feet, struggling for their own reasons. Malum felt the pressure on his wrist, a last desperate bid for his appre- co-apprentice to avoid defeat. Even defeated, the Sangnir strength kept him from finishing what he knew he had to. For all that he had come here thinking he could once again make it all right, save them all, after all, which had been said...

...For as much as they had both been survivors, how could they survive this? For he who had always wished to do what was right, what was necessary, beyond the will of the powers that be, who even in submission, could never truly bow to their whims and desires, whoever subtly or not so subtly acted out in rebellion.

He could not think of a way out of this.

Malum hated that look in his eyes, he hated the fear which his brother gazed upon him, he hated the fear in which he looked upon him. If only he had listened, if only...

...He had spent too much of his life in regret.

So why did he simply push against Alisteri's hold, why did he not swing the Soulsabre and end this? Fear of what it would do to himself? Fear of what it would do to him? Blood spilled out of the Sangnir's lips, as easily as the bitter tear spilled out of the human's eyes. Even now, Alisteri could not make this easy for him.

He never had.

"Give up. Rest. It is over," Words he wished to say out loud, yet quivering lips hardly made him able. Alisteri still struggled, Malum knew he would to the bitterest of ends, "...All I will do, I will do for the both of us." A revolutionary, a martyr, cast down, a fire burning in the darkness snuffed out, but the smoke would be forever remembered.

Silence was the answer, as Malum well expected, his struggle was weakening, ironically the blade caught in his chest was the only reason he had not already collapsed from the blood loss. Yet, even if Alisteri would make this difficult for himself, making it agonising for himself, as the light in his eyes faded, it was ending, whether he liked it or not.

Malum's own hesitance cost him.

Malum's eyes widened as time seemed to slow around him again, the grip on his wrist turned vice, as his life flashed before his eyes, a gaping wide monstrous maw, more the depiction of a monstrous beast, than a man, flashing forward with widened sharpened teeth, ready to bite down deeply into an exposed neck.

The Sith Sword was caught.

The Soulsabre was too far.

They were too close.

Of course, he would go out, underestimating him, one last time. Of course, Malum had thought he was fighting a man, to then thinking he was fighting a divine, battles he knew well, battles against peers, and battles against those supreme, yet never... never had he seen his brother as the thing, that he had so rarely ever shown himself as.

An animal, desperate to live.

He closed his eyes, a final thought passing in his mind, "I'm sorry."

Ansisa

​

A great explosion filled the ground where they stood, a great light that blinded spectators, an energy born out of the Force contained in the amulet worn around the neck of one of the participants. Around the site lay ash and glass, the heat of the blast instantly turning the environs into their next form of matter. An explosion designed to fling the danger and endangered away from each other, stopped as the parry hooks of the Sith Sword embedded deep into flesh, as the vice grip of the Sangnir upon wrist, kept them in resolute place.

For the Lord Inquisitor, the wide open maw was shattered, teeth fragmented and broken, as the jaw itself was dislocated and teetering out of place, the skin and flesh and bone necessary to keep it stable long since burned and annihilated. His neck flung back, threatening to tear itself from the rest of the body.

For the Lord of the Tsis'Kaar, who once was so certain of death, was now very much alive, a gauntlet by pure reflex shielding himself from a blast that once had led to his own defeat, so long ago.

And now by pure instinct.

A sword embedded deep into lung, and chest, a blade born of black steel, burst into blue flames.

Darth Strosius

 

[Darth Strosius]

​

One moment his fangs were ready to pierce through to Malum's throat and empty every vein he could find there, to rend flesh from bone and tear off the head of his opponent, ready to take what was rightfully his in order to regenerate from the grievous wound in his chest. But that was one moment. The next everything had lit up with pain, his head recoiling back as his whole face seemed ablaze with agonizing pain. Everything except for his lower jaw oddly enough.

His vision swam with dark spots as he blinked rapidly in an attempt to see his opponent, his golden gaze flickering as the glow faded and each closing of his eyes seemed all the harder to reopen again. His 'wings' frayed and dissipated as he swayed and was forced to put his full weight, ironically enough, on the blade piercing him in order to stand up at all. Everything was sore and aching, painful and trembling in agony. Yet somehow the pain only got worse as suddenly blue flames lit up the blade buried in his chest.

An unholy screech rang across the arena, echoing like the death cry of a great beast. Said beast grabbed at the sword's hilt and attempted to pull it out, his other hand lashing out and raking the claws of his gauntlet across the mask of his foe. Both were futile gestures however. Flame spread from the blade like an insidious poison, his robes and the flesh beneath them catching alight within moments as his life replayed in his swimming vision. He jerked and spasmed out of sheer reflex, the efforts to tear into Malum's mask bearing little fruit and the attempt at drawing the blade out even less.

It was like watching a holofilm almost. Memories flickered through his darkening gaze and filled what little of his senses weren't already overtaken by agony. A lifetime in chains, then the blessing of freedom. Swearing his service to a master, and then finding himself in a war far beyond his comprehension. Across dozens of worlds and hundreds of battlefields his memories shifted, sometimes he was running into battle as soldiers were cut down around him by the masses and other times he was in the aftermath attempting to drag the wounded to safety.

For a brief moment his blood curdled in his veins as he saw a small shanty town on the edges of Dromund Kaas, ruined and ravaged. He watched in horror as the scene replayed, him walking up to the scene of carnage. Blood covered the street and the ramshackle housing, the source being obvious as the hollow feral gaze of a handful of Sangnir turned to him. Their faces were oh so familiar, and so were those of their loved ones lying cold and torn open at their fate. Despite the burning across his body, the tears pricking at the edges of his eyes as he ignited his lightsaber still seemed more prominent in their heat.

Then there was the Pilgrimage, where the faith of his followers was tested and his ability to lead them was challenged in turn. Hard choices were made, sacrifices that he could hardly sleep with at the time were done, and all dissidents were put down for the good of them all. No matter how reasonable or justifiable their gripes may have been. But the Pilgrimage ended with Formos, ended with his people finally finding a home after so long wandering about the stars.

Rage filled his being as he recalled watching the 'great Sith' gather beneath the Worm once more, even his master adhering to its rule. The sight disgusted him even now. To see the parasites and enemies of the Sith all gathered in one place on Odavessa, and him powerless to stop it. They did skirmish and war with one another eventually but it wasn't enough. It wouldn't be enough, something he realized when his master aligned with Empyrean as he declared himself emperor. The day that his master became his enemy.

He choked on his own blood as he remembered holding his old friend and lost love in his arms, peering down at her silent and lifeless face. A death that he had caused and one that tore at his soul. The death of his master passed by like a flicker in a candle by comparison, years of planning leading to a less than satisfying result even if he had come out the victor. The victory had been hard won but even harder secured, now Lord Inquisitor in a realm of Sith that were all his foes it seemed.

A spark of relief washed over him as the painful memories were banished for a moment as he watched his first meeting with his apprentice. She was so eager, so strong in will and the Force, so ready to see her brothers and sisters in binds set free just as she had been. She had been so much like him when he was younger. And he had failed her. The memory twisted to the report that he had received weeks ago of her ship disappearing, he remembered how his fingers dug grooves into the console. How he had lashed out and smashed every terminal in his office, how he had cursed the Kainites and their wretched Zambrano leadership in both Basic and Ancient Sith alike.

What would become of her now? What would become of his people? They that had followed him, they that had trusted him, they that had laid down their lives in his service. In service to a better future. One where Sith were not ruled by tyrants and failures of the past, but instead guided by the Dark Side as they brought order to a crumbling and chaotic galaxy. He wasn't sure when his vision had grown entirely black, when his pulse had stopped, or even when the last feeling on his skin had been burnt away.

But as his form collapsed and fell into dust, he hardly had the time to worry about it as everything faded away.

-

A silence rang out over the audience as a whole, shock and horror written across the faces of the Inquisition and Wonosan members that had just watched their High Priest succumb to his foe. Some stumbled away in fear, others simply seemed to slip into the shadows and leave unseen, but a handful quickly turned their sorrow to wrath and began hurling insults as they attempted to storm down into the arena to face the murderer of their Lord. Of course they were quickly halted before they could get very far, but the effect was no less palpable.

The Lord Inquisitor, High Priest of the Order of Wonosa, Darth Strosius the New Emperor, had fallen for all of his cultists and soldiers to see. Broadcast on the Holonet live as his ashes colored the ground a sickly grey.

Darth Malum of House Marr

 

[Darth Malum of House Marr]

He sat at the precipice of fate and destiny, the prescient force in this world was watching him, and determining what all would come next. It was the only explanation he held for why, for how, time had once again come to a stop. Is this what those great men and women of old felt? Is this what the greats of his current felt at the moment of their triumphs?

Did it always taste so of ash?

Even protected from the blast as he was, the ringing in his ears would not relent, and neither would the haziness of his vision. As stumbling deaf and blind, with a broken foot, there was little more he could do, but simply hold on, as he gazed up into the sky, the force that had pressed against him, had once the power to through him through multiple layers of a Mori- Mandalorian dreadnought, to attempt to keep your place, when a force acted against you with such intensity.

If not for the gauntlet, he was unsure if he would still be breathing.

His breath hitched, as he pulled himself forward, he knew even still, even seconds ago, though seemingly impossible, his brother still had tried to break through his defences, when he was facing a power far beyond both of them. That even then, that even after pierced fully, that even when facing the spectre of a power so great, he still, fought...

...He did not know by what will he had survived.

His lips were dry, his mouth was dry, his throat was dry, he was certain enough of that, yet, he could not be entirely sure, to feel anything at all in this moment was a difficulty that seemed impossible. Yet, as he blinked the light from his eyes, as his breathing flowed sensation back into skin and limb, as the sound of the crowd became audible, and as red eyes stared forward.

It was a ghastly sight that faced him. A maw already stretched far beyond the limits of most humanoids, hung even more slack... as if the connective bone and sinew between upper and lower had been entirely destroyed. Parts of a boyish face, a familiar voice, burned and caved in, as his eyes seemed only shielded by will, struggling to stay open, as every tooth was crushed underfoot, roots remaining as the top layer seemed almost... cleaved off. His neck outstretched, beyond any real limit, a neck... a neck was not meant to look like that...

Breath still came out of a nostril, broken, yet still air flowed.

He was alive.

Of course.

Of course, he was fucking still alive.

Surviving battle against Sith that by all rights should have executed him where he stood, filled with a power that was far beyond him and which his body could hardly hold let alone control, defeated by one who he always thought himself so superior to, who even in defeat was filled with such spite that he would sacrifice them both, sacrifice their dream, all because he could not imagine a galaxy without himself helming the charge.

It was done. Even if he could not accept it, it was done.

Malum gripped the beskar hilt as one with a singular purpose, breathing out softly, as the Force drew around him, a beacon in the darkness, flowed along his limbs as blood flowed veins, it crackled and popped, the one who issued command upon their final legs, yet still, by a will honed in a lifetime of war, he persisted, even as every breath was promised to be his last, only for new breath to be forced out of him.

It was done. Even if he could not accept it, it was done.

The Force flowed freely across the blackened Sith Steel, the weapon made by his apprentice was a conductor of two of his specialities, two elements of such power and sting, that could annihilate anything in his path. His blade had already made purchase against flesh, yet still, it was not a blow that ended things. The Sangnir were weak to flames, it was knowledge he had learned very early in his time as an acolyte, knowledge gained by... trying to learn more about a crush.

Now he was to use it to kill his own brother?

It was done. Even if he could not accept it, it was done.

And Malum could hardly even tell who that 'he' was anymore. He knew what he was meant to do, he knew what a Sith Lord was meant to do. But he had known what a Sith Lord was meant to do, knew what he was meant to do, back at that fucking wedding which had begun this whole spiral of events which had led them to this point.

He had not done it then. Why now?

He had killed one who was mentor to him before, pushed to the edge of annihilation in a war that they could not possibly win, all of them guided into a web of lies by this very man, forcing him into action to kill the only woman who... perhaps she had never cared for them... but part of Malum still, in the time he had spent with his Mistress, could only give barest hope, to wonder, to think... just maybe... at the very least she protected them from greater powers than they could handle.

He had killed her, for all it might have been necessary, for all it was a lie. Left him entirely with regret.

The three heads of the hydra, once ascendant... now he was left alone, as the singular head.

Three...

...Three...

...Three.

Of what he was meant to do.

Of what he had to do.

Of what he wanted to do.

Time-pressed forward, the Force rushing forward.

And now by pure instinct.

A sword embedded deep into lung, and chest, a blade born of black steel, burst into blue flames.

An unholy screech rang across the arena, echoing like the death cry of a great beast. Said beast grabbed at the sword's hilt and attempted to pull it out, his other hand lashing out and raking the claws of his gauntlet across the mask of his foe. Both were futile gestures however. Flame spread from the blade like an insidious poison, his robes and the flesh beneath them catching alight within moments as his life replayed in his swimming vision. He jerked and spasmed out of sheer reflex, the efforts to tear into Malum's mask bearing little fruit and the attempt at drawing the blade out even less.

Silent apologies whistled as bitter tears fell, agony tearing through a body aflame, of a screech of such magnitude, of such nature beyond that of the mortal coil, that if it was possible his ears might have bled. It was all useless, it was all in vain. Alisteri grabbed onto his wrist, and Malum only pressed deeper, the sound of flesh sizzling, as the blade cut deeper, filling the air, as in further desperation, claws came to scratch something upon a face that did not exist.

He wished to comfort him, wished to tell him it would all be over soon, wished to shush him gently into slumber, but all those things failed him, all which he was meant to do, all of which he had to do, all went by the wayside. All that remained, all that mattered, was what he wanted, was what they both wanted.

For all that would come, for all which they had pledged to themselves they would accomplish, for all that was good, for all that was right, for the Sith, for themselves.

The Soulsabre fell to the ground, as utter agony rippled across his mind, the battlemind wearing away rapidly, as the now free hand pressed itself against his forehead, he could hardly feel it, even burning his skin was clammy, his eyes barely opened, and a pulse rapidly fading. He had little time, closing red eyes to the world, he found himself amid a mind at war with itself.

And as the last of the yellow faded from his brother's eyes.

Reds opened, twinged with citrine charm. Their Mistress was whole. Her teachings, her lessons, her philosophy would live on, in her truest apprentice.

"And you... will rest."

But as his form collapsed and fell into dust, he hardly had the time to worry about it as everything faded away.

The tears continued to spill, even as in his hands, he... his... brother...

The blade acted as a makeshift stand, for a body that was fast becoming incapable of that. The ash spilt away into the wind, as Malum crouched down, a silence dawning upon the arena, as his hands desperately found themselves looking for the draconic hilt of the Soulsabre, adrenaline alone kept him from screaming.

Without the Soulsabre, he could not do what came next.

​

The battered, the bruised, the wounded Sith Lord, the member of the Dark Council, trudged along the sands of the arena, an obvious limp hidden as best as he could. As the audience surrounding him, could only watch. Much had happened in the last few minutes, much had happened that had the potential to change everything. Even beyond that, the display would never be forgotten by those who had witnessed it.

Yet in the end, there could always only ever be one victor.

And as he trudged along, as throughout the periphery of the arena, a ruckus was caused by those remaining loyalists of Darth Strosius, the spectators baying their fill for blood, could only witness in rapt attention.

He stopped outside the Inquisition box. It was a skeletal thing now, some having long since fled, others wrestled down as their potential rebellions were snuffed out before they could even be considered. The terms of the Kaggath had been clear, though in all the chaos, in all the drama, in all the struggle, it had been forgotten.

"Kneel." His voice boomed with the volume of a hurricane, winds snapping against all too close, and as if in a trance, out of fear, out of duty, aisle by aisle, lord by lord, the lieutenants of the Inquisition dipped their heads, and fell upon their knees. Even those, moments before, so enraptured in their emotions, had dropped their heads.

His armour was dented and broken, pieces of it lost in the sands, wounds littered his form, bleeding, the sensation of the viscous red liquid making its mark across his form. as he trudged ever further, as breathing hitched, and he struggled with steps, yet, ever, he continued forward. Ever forward. Bones might be broken, flesh torn, skin split, but he could not stop now, even if every step, forced him an ever tighter grip on the Soulsabre, even as every step promised yet another day in recovery.

He had to do this.

For them.

He fell to his knees in front of the Imperial box. Gazing up hazily at a corpse and his empress.

"...I have dispatched the traitor... and as Lord Inquisitor... I pledge to dispatch all traitors." He struggled, with every word, yet as hoarse as his voice was, as much as blood filled his mouth, he pushed forward still.

His gaze wandered to one of the many cameras made to capture this event. A smirk slowly reached his lips. As the Force whipped about him, and for where once knelt Darth Malum of House Marr, now knelt nothing but the sands on which had laid.

It was done. Even if he could not accept it, it was done.

Darth Strosius Ansisa Revna Darth Nefaron Veradun Sharr Kasir Dorran Darth Caedes Velda Nar-Donna Jonah Kadann Darth Prazutis Darth Empyrean Zarava Dekki Kaila Irons Lina Ovmar Pom Stych Tivé Xander Blackmoore Leven Jeyd Firrerreo Avel Som Lily Rhodes Darth Carnifex Srina Talon Gerwald Lechner Quinn Varanin Akhuul Sautra Corazona von Ascania Madrona A’Mia Jarek Voss Darth Ultramar Taeli Raaf

 

[Alina Tremiru]

She hadn't paid attention. Malum and Alisteri fighting, she expected nothing to truly come of it. They were thick as thieves in her mind, too close and too unwilling to kill one another. It was a show of force, a ploy to get the Sith watching to think they were at odds so they could further their agenda and finish what Alisteri had started. Kill the Sith languishing at the top and usher in the new age of Sith.

So Alina didn't watch. So sure of this, she didn't even look for the results. Alisteri and his frustrating attitude would go back to doing what he did. Malum would continue to try and play the big dog amongst wolves, and eventually they'd usurp the whole system. She felt it. A weight on her heart. Over where she'd been stabbed, been killed. A sudden, hollow feeling as if she'd been stabbed again, a thousand times over.

Her butler arrived, already speaking of the news she felt in her heart. Hollow and rage. No words reached her ears as the room around her scattered in a burst of the Force. For all their differences, for the fact that it was Alisteri that had killed her, he was her first friend. When she lost her arms, he acted her hands. They shed their humanity together. He helped her kill her mother and shed the fate she was bound for.

He was the first she'd actually let her heart open to. He devolved into his madness as a Sith, but he was still her best friend in this galaxy. Alina took a breath as she closed her eyes. The room stopped shaking. ".. You killed me on your quest and you died fighting your brother, not even those you sought to kill? .. You fucking idiot." She wiped her eyes before she looked about the room, then sighed. She'd need to clean it up now.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

The Dark Lord watched the fight from behind His blackened veil, molten eyes following every movement made by both of the fighters. He remained steadfast to His earlier proclamation, that it did not matter who of the two would prove victorious, the outcome would remain the same. He could see the end before it came.

So when Malum finally delivered the killing blow to Strosius, Carnifex did not movement or react in any meaningful capacity.

"It is finished." His voice carried across the private booth. "The Lord Alisteri Haxim is dead, struck by the hand of his brother Malum Marr. In death, he accomplished as much as he had in life." A sharper edge came into His voice. "Nothing. Let all that he was fade into the abyss. The future he envisioned will never come to pass. All is as willed." Undoubtedly, Alisteri's followers would not give up their belief even in the face of their Lord's demise. In fact, death may transform Alisteri into something he could never quite grasp in life.

A symbol.

Carnifex's eyes swept over to where Revna was standing, now truly masterless. He could see what was coming.

Darth Strosius | Darth Malum of House Marr | Revna ​

 

[Darth Prazutis]

Even before the ending came, several moments before he spoke to the woman standing beside him. "Don't try to look away. Remember this moment." The Dark Lord announced, his eyes locked on the confrontation. Shortly after it came to a sudden, violent close that saw Darth Strosius fall, cast into oblivion by one who once stood beside him. There was no visible reaction from the Mortarch as he savored the final moment made manifest, a cold apathy as he watched another fall. "Darth Strosius is where he belongs. Nothing more than ash on the wind. Perhaps he will prove more useful as a memory. Do you feel that child? Swelling up within you? Let it out."

Revna | Darth Carnifex





​

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: Darth Strosius //: Alina Tremiru //: Darth Malum of House Marr //:

Death favored no one. It comes swiftly or takes its time, but Death always allows you one thing. Death allows you one final moment, one final chance to watch your defining moments once more. Happy, Sad, painful, or joyous, each memory plays ceremoniously like a gift before you cease to exist on the mortal plane.

Alisteri was no different. The blade pierced his flesh, and his life flashed before his eyes. Unfortunately for Quinn, she hadn't prepared herself to feel the sudden rush from the man who stoically stood on the sidelines. The young woman's attention had been pulled from her conversations with the others, both men brilliantly displaying their powers like two peacocks. She couldn't take her eyes off of them; she could take her eyes off of him.

It felt like she had first seen Alisteri for what he was. She finally understood why Alina stood by him despite everything between them. For once, she felt inferior to the man and his ambitions. Everything around her swelled and dissipated; all that was left was her and him. As silence rang in her ears, his memories flooded her mind. She watched everything - memories of their youth and other pieces of his life that he had cherished.

Images played faster and faster as her psyche became overwhelmed. Every face he had seen hit her harder until the memories of a shared love made her pause.

Alina.

Quinn knew the two had been involved, but how involved was something she wasn't privy to. Moreover, she knew but didn't want to know she was second to him. Alina had chosen her, had picked her instead of him, but their history would always link him to her. Quinn clutched her chest; the fabric of her uniform was the only thing that kept her grounded in the floodgates of Alisteri's last moments. She wanted to scream, to somehow stop Malum, or to be anywhere but here. Why had she come to the Kaggath? Questions continued the replay under the memories. She could only look at him as tears welled in her eyes as they finished.

She felt his last breath escape as her mind returned to her. A tear caressed her cheek as she stared wide-eyed at what had happened. Seconds felt like hours, and Quinn stared at Malum as he paraded his victory. His brother, his sole confidant, was gone, murdered by his own hand, and yet the boy king's first act is to gloat to his brother's followers. Did Alisteri mean nothing to him? Quinn realized the worth of others to Malum at that moment. He would murder anyone to use their corpses as steps to his rise to power.

Frustrated by her realization, Quinn quickly wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand while the other straightened her attire. Stepping away from the small group, Quinn watched the woman known as Alisteri's apprentice. The woman had lost more than anyone here, and Quinn felt her unimaginable pain. Like Alina, Alisteri was more than what he claimed to be.

Looking down at what was left of him, Quinn continued to hold onto the fabric over her heart. Your Death, was it planned, Alisteri? Was this your final move in this deadly game of Dejarik? Her eyes glanced towards the members of the Inquisition, bowing down to their new 'master.' She could feel the fire burning in their chests, the hate they felt for the man claiming to be the new Lord Inquisitor.

Alisteri, may your Death ignite the flames of your revolution.

Quinn sighed softly, looking away from the arena, and nodded to the man who had come to rest his hand on her shoulder. "Yes, send word to Ms. Tremiru. I should go be with her -"

Alisteri, forgive me.

 

[Revna]

They couldn’t keep going like this.

One side, maybe both…would have to give.

She knew how fights like this ended. She knew in the depths of her soul, her spirit - that despite all the hope she carried within, there would be only one outcome to this. She had tried to prepare herself for it, since she learned that the Kaggath was to take place.

Her hope, so fragile, lay in her trust that her cousin Malum would honor his word, his promise, to her. But dark whispers warned her that he was a snake, and he would do what he wanted in the end. Her Master’s words had whispered through her mind, a reminder that even those closest to her would betray her, fail her.

Hurt her.

As the fight reached its peak, Revna lost awareness of those around her. Her eyes were locked onto the two figures beyond, to the arena that had become a battlefield of desperation, of power, of all the desires and hopes and dreams of two Sith Lords, two brothers.

But even with the dark truth sitting in the back of her mind, Revna still held tight to her hope that she would get to see her High Priest face to face again one day, stronger from her trials, her experiences, her suffering. And she’d finally get to tell him her secret.

But that all faded away like the last glimmer of daylight before darkness fell, when Malum’s sword found purchase and buried itself deep within the chest of Darth Strosius. A tightness constricted around her own chest as a flash of heat - then an icy chill - flashed over her skin. For a moment, she felt like she was bathing in the fires of the dark side once more, and in the next as if she had plunged into the coldest, most frozen lake in the galaxy.

Still, her Master refused to go down without a fight, and He still tried to take Malum with Him. A flash of light forced her to avert her gaze, as the amulet around her cousin’s neck did exactly what it was supposed to do: protect its bearer from harm. The crack of the explosion rippled across the arena, and those gathered bore witness to its terrifying power. Revna blinked as she lifted her head to look back into the arena, unsure of what she would find. Of what she would see. Dread filled every part of her...

The sight that she bore witness to next, destroyed what remained of the hope she held within her heart.

She should have known better than to have any hope at all anyway.

Not only did she hear His pained screech fill the arena, filling her mind to the brim - that death cry filled her very soul, and though she wanted to tear her eyes away…she couldn’t. And the more her Master’s body ignited and turned to ash, the more pain she began to feel - starting in her chest and spreading out with each pulse of her heart, as if acid was being pushed through her veins.

Until she stopped feeling that pulse - and all that was left behind was a sense of loss, of emptiness - a gaping void that was so cold, threatening to consume her entirely. Would it matter now if it did? Would she care?

There was only one other time Revna had ever felt this way…and that was the moment she heard the blaster shot that had ended her mother’s life, the moment she saw life leave her mother’s eyes, and heard her last breath.

The world faded from around the young Sith, and she lost sensation to her body. Revna did not hear the voices of those around her, indeed it was as if all her senses ceased to be all at once. She was unaware as she collapsed to her knees, the moment of Darth Strosius’s death - and her mother’s death - replaying in her mind and intermingling together, over and over again. She was unaware as she lowered her face to the floor of the viewing box she was in, but she was acutely aware of the coldness within that began to draw in everything to feed the black hole that had formed within her very soul.

She drew it all in, and it was the only warning others around her would get - before she unleashed a scream that embodied all of her pain and her grief and her rage. It exploded from her in a wave, akin to a bomb, manifested as pure dark side energy, utterly devastating and rending anything around her that was not protected. She did not care at that moment what happened to those around her or to her environment, and indeed she ceased caring what even happened to her in that moment. A part of her hoped she would die too…just so that the coldness that was consuming her would go away.

Her scream of soul rending pain would rip across the arena like a blast wave, perhaps a final herald that announced the death of Darth Strosius. She never even got the chance to tell Him how she truly saw Him, who He truly had become to her.

He had been more than just her High Priest.

More than just her Master.

He had become her Father.

And now, just like her mother before Him...He too was gone.

 

[Lina Ovmar]

Lina stood at the front of the Kainite box, hands resting on the rails, transfixed by the battle below, her heart in her throat. She had no wish for either of them to die. Difficult as Strosius was, he was useful and one way or another she'd every intention of making him her ally. Beyond that…her eyes drifted to the raven haired girl, her own gaze fixed on the fight. Revna reminded her so much of herself.

She had promised them both, she would find a way to free Revna from the clutches of the Kainites. For the girls sake, she needed him to survive, her devotion to him was what held her fast.

As for Malum, no one would call their relationship simple, but she could at least confidently say she cared about him. The moments they had shared were a complex tangle of emotions that she had no intention of exploring further, yet they were growing to trust one another, united by the same cause.

Lina's chest tightened, as did her grip on the rail as Darth Strosius death scream rattled through the arena, her mouth falling open in horror as the light from the blast faded, as she watched the man who had declared himself the New Emperor, crumbled into ash.

"Shit."

Darth Carnifex words reached her ears first as she turned slowly to regard him, her lips a thin line, hatred burning in her gaze as it shifted to Revna, as Darth Prazutis spoke. One way or another, they had brought her here to suffer, to see either her master or her cousin die. They had brought her here to break her.

Throwing caution into the wind, she opened her mind to the girl, reaching out as she had done when they met on the Malsheem and she took a step towards her collapsed form, uncaring of the betrayal it would unveil.

"Revna…."

But it was too late. The scream erupted from her with the force of a bomb, slamming into Lina's chest and throwing her back, the wall of the box exploding as Lina was launched through it.

She was falling, wind rushing past her ears, pain exploding across her body. Lina delved into the pain, twisting as she fell towards the arena grounds unleashing her own darkness as her form shifted, shadows erupting from within her as great black wings spread behind her as she let go of solid form.

She had one chance to do this.

The winged shadow swept over the arena floor almost unnoticed amidst the chaos that erupted following Alisteri Haxim's death. As it passed over the point at which he had died it vanished.

As did his broken mask.

And a portion of his ashes.

 

[Darth Caedes]

<<Pain can blind the broken. When it does, they will follow whatever offers them sight.>>
—Darth Caedes, ruminations​

Outer Rim Territories
Jutrand
c. 902 ABY

Caedes held his breath and watched as Darth Strosius passed. Watched his shock—that of donning defeat, the denial on his face. The vacancy, the resignation, that encompassing feebleness. Watched the way Darth Malum of House Marr sagged in the doing, as if beneath some great weight. Leaning over the rails, he watched the collapse; both of Strosius' people and of their leader—their... New Emperor. Silence wracked an arena full of dissociative viewers, stunned into speechlessness. Wonosan faithfuls seemed to break as they too watched; just staring, not yet believing, retreating like wounded animals with their tails tucked. Loyal Inquisitors stood rigid, averting their gazes, all of a sudden feeling outnumbered, caught in the paralyzing grey area between shifting political loyalties in a fragile and brutal Empire.

And when he was finished watching, he closed his eyes. Opening to the Force, he reached out, let himself float on its currents like leaves in the wind. It all swelled around him. Panic, terror, victory, disdain, Caedes felt it all—breathing it in. Awe and shame, rage and contempt, betrayal and...

He hesitated, cocking his head to one side as if listening.
And... grief!

Revna struck like a spear of ice—sudden and slippery-cold. She screamed and the Force lashed out to obey, becoming an unwitting weapon in her mindless command. Like a physical thing, the sheer emotional outpour bludgeoned Lina Ovmar from the viewing stands and sent her careening toward the arena's sandy floor. It washed over him too, broke around him—and with their minds joined as they were Caedes could almost feel that pain too, as a distant thing. A pain in someone else's body. The metal rail buckled in Caedes' grip, wrenching away from Revna, stretching. He let go with easy fingers and stepped away, watching in a muted fascination. The floor groaned and the air grew thick and hard to breathe—but Caedes remained before her, steadfast. Glass shattered nearby, tinkling and scraping against the box's metal flooring, casting shards about their feet. Something hissed and popped, and soon the air smelled acrid like smoke and melting plastic wire casings.

The scream died as quickly as it had begun, yet its echoes reverberated within the Force, lingering in the thick air. Revna crumpled to her knees, shaking with the remnants of her own violent storm, her hands clawing at the floor beneath her. It was a primal gesture—one of desperation, of loss, of fear barely contained within the fragile armor of a Sith.

Caedes stood above her, unmoved by the chaos she had unleashed, a figure of unshaken calm amidst the shrieking hurricane. His face, sharp and angular, might have been a statue's—chiseled and unmoved—baring a steady, quiet intensity which radiated from his eyes.

He raised a hand, not in condemnation, but in acknowledgment. Fingers spread, palm open, he offered it to her—as if offering an absolution from the agony. Such a small, fragile thing, he mused, his gaze fixed upon her bent form. He could feel it all: the trembling, the guilt, the pain which stretched like fraying threads throughout her being. The anger—the fury of a wounded animal, trapped and alone—was familiar to him. Yet it was the grief, that deep, hollow well of grief which tugged at her heart, that drew his interest. She had lost something. Someone precious. And now, standing on the precipice of betrayal and hopelessness, she had nothing left but her scream.

Caedes stepped forward with a slow, deliberate grace, each movement measured, his gaze never leaving her. There was no pity in his eyes, yet no judgment either—only the cold acceptance of a harsh and bitter reality. He knelt before her, and for a moment, the two of them existed in a silent world of their own making.

"Revna," his voice was deep, low, laced with something ancient and immutable, as if the Force itself spoke through him in a base undertone.​

"It is finished." The shadow of a smile ghosted across his face, cold but not unkind.​

"You sought power," he continued, his voice unwavering.​

"And now you stand in its wake. But this—" he gestured, a slow wave of his hand encompassing the ruin around them, the broken glass, the smokey air.​

"This was never about power. Not for you."​

He reached out, and this time his hand found her cheek, the touch gentle but firm, the weight of his presence undeniable. His fingers were cold against her fevered skin, but beneath that coldness, there was something more—something that felt like understanding.

"Do not fight it," he whispered, his voice now soft as if meant for her ears alone.​

"Let it fall away, let it all fall away. The grief. The rage. You have already carried it long enough, do not let it break you."​

For a moment, time seemed to stop. The arena, the battle, the shifting tides of Empire—they all became distant, meaningless. There was only Revna and Caedes, the apprentice and a master, the storm and the calm.

"You will rise again," Caedes foretold, a promise not of hope, but of inevitability.​

"You will rise as something more."​

His hand lingered for a moment longer, a final gift of presence, before he stood again, the motion fluid and unbroken. He looked down upon her, and for a moment, he allowed himself to see her—not as a tool or a weapon, but as what she truly was: a soul, fragile and powerful in equal measure, teetering on the edge of ruin and rebirth.

"Rise, Revna Sharr," he commanded, his voice now firm.​

"And take your place at my side."​

​

 

[Avel Som]

"So, this is what the Sith are capable of." It had definitely been a sight to behold, both combatant wielding powers he never could have even dreamed of. But in the end, only one could come away victorious. As if thinking along the same lines, Darkwing gave a soft shriek. "What do you mean 'is he really dead'?" Avel Som asked the ebonhawk. "You can see he turned to ash. How's he supposed to come back from that?" Darkwing just stared at him. "Good point, but I'm not exactly like everyone else..." He looked around. "Well, I guess these people aren't exactly common either. Still, I'm sure he's really dead." The hawk gave a flutter of his wings that was an avian way of shrugging. Avel Som reached up to pet the bird as he perched on his shoulder. "Intelligent as you are, I often forget you're still only an animal -- ow!" Darkwing had pecked his hand with his razor-sharp beak. The bleeding cut immediately absorbed the blood and sealed itself. "Okay, yeah, I guess we're all technically animals. Sorry." Content with the apology, Darkwing took off to survey the remains of the battlefield. Avel Som just leaned on the railing, absentmindedly watching the other commotions still going on while lost in thought.

 

[Kadann]

The wheel turned again.

To his relief, Malum had not been crushed beneath it. It took a moment of reflection by the old man - still catching his breath from the assassination attempt - to realise that he felt some genuine relief.

In his prime he has fought against the One Sith and been chased into exile. It hadn't been the rag-tag alliance that had started their downfall; the rot had come from within. Always struggling for power, always strife. Everyone ended up caught beneath the turning wheel eventually.

"Kneel." His voice boomed with the volume of a hurricane, winds snapping against all too close, and as if in a trance, out of fear, out of duty, aisle by aisle, lord by lord, the lieutenants of the Inquisition dipped their heads, and fell upon their knees. Even those, moments before, so enraptured in their emotions, had dropped their heads.

There was work to be done now. No rest for the old. They had bowed, but he needed to route out those who would step out of the shadows over the next few months to try and take Malum's place. That was inevitable and it would be a fool who waited for the knife to arrive.

 

[Revna]

The cry of unfathomable pain, of present and past grief, echoed in the material and through the Force…then faded like smoke in a gentle breeze. What was left in its wake within the bowed form of the little Disciple was an abyssal void that exuded a grave-like chill, but it was almost something that seemed to draw in that which was around her. A black hole, trying to pull in anything to fill the space left behind.

Silence fell over her form, and she was as still as a corpse; the slow movements of her sides was the only indication she even had life left in her. Her eyes were closed as her forehead rested against her clenched fists. Strangely, there were no tears staining her cheeks. But they would surely come the next time she was alone with just her thoughts and her inner demons. But for now, she simply existed within the darkness of her own making, a place in which she had retreated to like the wounded creature that she was. She wanted to stay there, in that unending darkness, and let the coldness that was in her heart consume her entirely. It was so tempting…

Somewhere close to her, yet somehow beyond her, came a voice that called her name. A deep voice that reverberated through her and pierced into her dark place. She physically reacted to it, her head twitching slightly in the direction the voice had come from. It was certainly not the voice she wanted to hear, but nevertheless it became an anchor for her in the void.

She heard the voice say that it was finished; that she had sought power, and she could be found in its wake. Revna didn’t quite understand what it meant, for she truly had no idea of the utter havoc she had wreaked upon the viewing box she and others had been in. But something about the words spoken to her, brought a stab of icy pain into her chest as reality sought to assert itself into her mind. Her thoughts whirled as they focused on the cold, harsh truth that was death. She was no stranger to it, as it was a part of her chosen path in life. Yet this hurt, and far more than she truly cared to admit.

A cold, undeniable, yet gentle touch of a hand against her cheek forced her further from her darkness and into the present. Her eyes snapped open, clarity returning slowly before they shifted and settled upon the one who had spoken to her. Around Revna lay the devastation wrought by her release of pain, but all she noticed was the black robed King in front of her, kneeled and on the same level as she was, and all she heard was his whispery voice, a tether pulling her back from the abyss.

After what felt like an eternity, Revna lifted herself up into a hunched but still kneeled position, her focus solely on him as his voice continued through and into her mind. She recognized what he seemed to be saying, yet all she could do was blink at him as a numbness settled over her. The pain, the anger, the grief, all the emotions that a person could feel in such a moment - it all bled into the dark void that returned back to fill her being was a cold numbness. She wanted warmth, but found nothing within herself to manifest it.

The King told her that she would rise again from this, to become something more. She tilted her head to the left slightly as she ruminated on that statement. She could tell by the tone in which he spoke to her, that nothing he had said thus far was some fluffy pep talk to make her feel better. No, there was weight, purpose, to this. A promise of a future filled with endless possibilities; she had only to move from where she was at.

She needed to accept the truth of what had just happened. Revna couldn’t change it - but she could decide how it shaped her and her future.

Internally, she seemed to ponder one more time what would happen if she leapt into the eternal depths of the abyss, before she turned away from that temptation. She knew that He would not desire her to crumble under the weight of her trial, her crucible. He had taught her better than that, pushed her to become greater than what she had been. He had helped shape who she was now, and He would continue to do so, even if He wouldn’t be around to see it.

For now, Revna needed to gather herself and carry onward; she had a Legacy to uphold, and she couldn’t fail Him now. But the Sith King was right; she needed to rise, and she would.

The Sith Lord’s hand pulled away from her cheek and he rose to his feet with grace, and gazed down upon her in silence for a few moments before he issued her the command to rise and take her place at his side. There was a moment of silent reflection on her part, her gaze flickering towards the other Dark Lords who held her leash - before she pushed herself up to her feet and bowed her head in acceptance to his command, uncaring if the others would object to such a thing. He was one of their Lords anyway, was he not?

The little woman then looked around herself, seeing the destruction she had wrought for the first time. She was somewhat stunned that she had caused this, though she felt nothing for those within who might have been affected by it.

Her attention then turned back out into the arena beyond, her eyes lingering on the place of death - before shifting to drink in the chaos that had been unleashed by the fall of her High Priest, and the ghost of a smile graced her ivory face.

But the smile vanished as her gaze settled on Darth Malum’s back - the victor of the Kaggath, on his knees before the Emperor’s viewing box. She knew he was saying something to the Corpse, but what that was she didn’t know. The sight of it though caused something within her to flicker to life, ever so briefly, before disappearing again.

All that had belonged to Darth Strosius, now rightfully belonged to her cousin. All of her fallen Master’s assets, His bases of power, and His people - both the Inquisition and the Order of Wonosa. But she knew that the faithful Wonosans would not bend the knee to their Lord’s slayer.

And neither would she.

EXIT POST

Darth Strosius // Darth Malum of House Marr // Darth Caedes​

 

[Darth Nefaron]

Unfortunate
​

Darth Nefaron had little affection for the fallen Strosius. His death was a setback to his plans, but they would carry on without him. But with this death, another could benefit from the raw emotion that came when one's most valued teacher was cut down. Nefaron was silent as the crowd reacted to the end of one so mighty, but only long enough to see just how his Apprentice would respond. Even in this he was to be tested, to see what emotion might be displayed. This was a pivotal moment for the boy, and the Corpse Lord would not have it wasted with tears.

"With the death of one tyrant, another shall rise."

A reality of the Sith. Malum had proven his point, and the Emperor must be pleased with the outcome of the Kaggath, but even now a greater threat has been born out of this contest. Malum's power only grew, soon it would be far too difficult to contain, even for one so mighty as the Emperor.

"Apprentice, this is your moment. Diverging paths lay before you, one to propel you to the greatest of glories and the other-"

A pale hand extended out to the area, to the ash and dust that remained of the boy's former prophet.

"You will be little more than a footnote. Dust that is swept away with time."

Nefaron moved then, standing behind his apprentice to place both his hands on his shoulders. He had seen enough of this performance and he would need time to process the darkness that now brewed within him. He had only just been introduced to his new home before they arrived and now it was time for him to begin his training properly, the death of one so respected the kindling for the chance at avenging the fallen. Would he ever be strong enough to challenge Darth Malum? Perhaps not, but it was a goal to work towards, an enemy to picture in the darkest nightmares. Veradun would be a dagger in the dark, a weapon perfectly wielded to eliminate those who would stand in Nefaron's way.

But first, this blade must be sharpened.

"It is time, child. I sense that this death has wounded you, but you will overcome. We will retreat into darkness and prepare for our revenge."

With a guiding hand, Nefaron all but pulled the boy away from the balcony and toward the balcony's exit, the awaiting Legionnaires kneeling before their masters as they prepared to depart. But even as they neared the landing pad, Nefaron had one final piece of wisdom to impart to his Apprentice, a dark promise that was sure to stir fury within the boy.

"The High Preist was powerful, but he is little more than a failed Sith. Those you once respected will only continue to fail you unless you are ready to give yourself fully to the Dark Side. That day is not today, but one day you must decide what matters more to you. Past loyalties or your own ambition."

Veradun Sharr ​

 

[Krinear Malseren]

The holonet projection flickered in Krinear's study, casting an ethereal blue glow across the pristine white walls of his Eliad estate. He sat motionless in his high-backed chair, watching with the same calculating precision he applied to all matters of significance. The first Kaggath in recent memory demanded nothing less than his complete attention. Though he maintained his usual composed demeanor, his jaw tightened imperceptibly as the duel between Darth Malum and his master intensified.

A servant silently approached with a fresh glass of Corellian wine, but Krinear's dark eyes remained fixed on the projection. He should have been there, standing among the other disciples, but ongoing matters in Eliad had demanded his presence.

When Strosius declared himself the New Emperor, Krinear's breath caught in his throat. The transformation that followed was magnificent in its horror – his master's form wreathed in otherworldly power as wing-like tendrils manifested around him. But beneath the spectacle, cold realization crept into Krinear's thoughts. Such a proclamation was more than mere rebellion; it was madness. Though this new form proved powerful, such a bold declaration would draw the wrath of the Emperor and his supporters themselves, foes far more terrifying than the force Malum presented before his master.

At the climax of the fight, right as Malum's blade pierced Strosius's chest, something shattered in Krinear's carefully maintained composure. With a primal roar, he hurled the ornate table across the room with such violence that it splintered against the wall. Crystal decanters exploded in a shower of glass and expensive spirits, the crash echoing through the chamber. His perfectly styled black hair fell in disarray across his face as he stood breathing heavily, hands clenched at his sides. The servants who had been hovering at the edges of the room fled in terror, having never witnessed their young master's iron control fracture so violently.

Minutes passed as Krinear stood amid the wreckage, reality crashing down around him. Disgust and anger warred within him – not just at the situation, but at Strosius himself. How dare he make such grandiose proclamations about reshaping the Sith Order, only to fall in single combat? Had Krinear pledged himself to a mere fool drunk on delusions of godhood? The thought that he might have blindly followed a madman into the grave made his jaw clench tight enough to ache.

His mind turned to his fellow apprentices – Revna and Raxus Thul . If he acted swiftly enough, he could strike at the pair now, consolidating what remained of Strosius's powerbase before they had the chance to do the same. The calculation was a natural one for any Sith apprentice, but ultimately futile – he had been separated from them for too long and knew nothing of their current situations or potential allies. Such a hasty move would more likely end with his own death than his ascension.

Yet even as these bitter thoughts threatened to overwhelm him, Krinear's pragmatic nature reasserted itself. Strosius had been unpopular among the Sith, his unconventional methods and maverick status earning him far more enemies than allies. Those enemies would now be circling the remnants of Strosius's support base, eager to eliminate any trace of his influence – including his disciples. The protection Krinear had enjoyed as Disciple of Purpose vanished with his master's final breath.

Slowly, deliberately, Krinear forced his breathing to steady. Only the slight narrowing of his eyes and the barely perceptible tension in his shoulders remained as evidence of the storm brewing beneath his carefully maintained exterior.

"Prepare my ship," he commanded, his voice carrying the same measured tone he always employed, though there was an edge to it now that made his servants move with unusual haste. "And have my formal robes readied."

The estate burst into activity as his orders were carried out. Within the hour, his personal starship awaited, engines humming with anticipation. As Krinear strode up the boarding ramp, his dark robes flowing behind him, he cast one final glance at the mountainous landscape of Eliad. When he returned, it would be under very different circumstances.

In the cockpit, he input the coordinates for Jutrand with steady hands. The obvious path would be to lie low, to watch from afar as the aftermath of his master's death unfolded. But Krinear knew better. The truly dangerous move would be to appear weak or uncertain now, when everything hung in precarious balance.

The stars stretched into streaks of light as his ship jumped to hyperspace, carrying him toward whatever fate awaited on Jutrand. His master's final lesson, it seemed, would be in survival – and Krinear had calculated his odds carefully. Survival meant being present when the power shifted, ready to secure his new position in whatever order emerged from his master's demise.