Private Dangerous Desperation [Kahlil]

[Darth Carnifex]

He was being brought in chains.

The manacles around his ankles cut into his skin whenever the guards mishandled him too roughly, the apathetic grunts the only acquiescence that they had caused him any pain. Through dark corridors they moved, the stale sterile while luminance strips the only source of light in the black basalt tunnels. There was sparingly little to break the monotony of their surroundings; a branching corridor that loomed into distant darkness, a closed door, a maintenance panel. None of the splendid opulence which typically adorned the walls of the former Emperor had permeated this far deep into His domain.

Ahead leered a massive doorway, arched with ur-Kittât inscriptions and framed by bas-reliefs of history both ancient and modern. At their approach, the doors hissed open on hydraulic rails to reveal a cavernous room lit only by faint red light situated around a monolithic throne. The guards shoved the boy forward, who tumbled onto his knees and chest. Instinctively the boy willed his arms to catch him, but the cauterized stumps where those arms had once been could only flail helplessly as he had made to kneel.

Before him was the Butcher King, perched atop His throne like a bird of prey. With a wave of His hand, the Butcher dismissed His guards and they obeyed. Once they were alone, the Dark Lord looked down upon His wayward son with crushing impassivity. He made no mention of the boy's maiming, the thought never even entering His mind.

Instead, all He would say was this.

"It was always destined to come to this, my son."

Kaine Zambrano stared down at Kahlil Zambrano, His son and now His captive.

The boy's fate balancing on the edge of a knife.

Kahlil Noble ​

 

[Kahlil Noble]

No resistance. No fight. His sister had seen to that, or maybe it was just a surrender to the inevitable. Zambrano were Sith. His father, his siblings, uncles and aunts. The family tree rarely had one that wasn't part of the Sith. His silver gaze stayed on the floor as he was dragged, wincing as the steel that bound his legs cut into flesh. He stayed prone as he was shoved to the ground. He was tired. Ever since he left he'd fought against this. The fall. Letting the dark grip at his heart.

"Son?"

He laughed. A bitter, angry laugh. Had he ever truly been considered a son? Or was what Darth Carnifex considered a son more akin to the literal definition? It mattered little. Hate filled eyes stared up towards the Butcher King. His eyes reacted. Even now, the Dark was easily pulled by his emotions, flooding his body. His mind. Silver eyes quickly took a hue of yellow. No, there was no fighting this destiny.

But there were few things he would accept.

"One day, I will kill you, 'father'." His body hurt. He couldn't just stand up, not without his arms. But even on his knees he glared. No matter what, that was a promise he planned to keep.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

Slowly He rose and descended the steps, each footfall a thunderclap in Kahlil's ears.

Every bit of the Dark Lord's person was carefully arranged to establish authority, His every surrounding positioned to entice fear, and His every word sharpened to a precision point to drive as deeply as possible. Everything was meticulously constructed theater, effective at dazzling the senses of the weak-willed and the gullible. But behind that latticework of dramaturgy was danger, for the Dark Lord could as easily break your neck without a moment's afterthought.

Kahlil understood the danger and he could see through his father's shroud of skewed optics but in this moment of naked truth, he did not fear. Fear would have broken him as it had on Panatha, stripped him bare in the cold, and left him to suffer. But something more powerful coursed through his veins, something far more potent.

Hate.

Had the Dark Lord been capable of it, He would have smiled. But instead, all that greeted Kahlil's sulfuric eyes were the eyes of a murderer. The Dark Lord's face was relaxed, not a tensed muscle to be found, and His mouth set into a thin line between the coarse hairs of His beard. He slowly descended to squat on His haunches, looking down at His son's kneeling form face-to-face.

The boy had been beaten ragged, that much was obvious. Joycelyn had done her duty to subdue her wayward brother. "Had you the strength you would have made the attempt long ago." The Dark Lord had taken His own father's life when He had only been a few years a man. Kahlil had passed that point in life, shackled by lesser pursuits.

The Dark Lord studied His son's face, cold analytic eyes wafting over the stark emotion that snarled back at Him.

"Strength that can yet be unlocked. But you know what lies at the end of that path, it turns your stomach even now."

Kahlil Noble ​

 

[Kahlil Noble]

It was an odd sensation to be face to face with the figure of death. How many had been in a similar stance? Beaten and rendered helpless before Darth Carnifex ? Likely countless. And yet, the constant fear he had before. The trembling from when he came face to face with Carnifex on Panatha. With Prazius. Any mention of his father filled him with fear. It was gone. The realization brought a new anger into the man's gaze.

He was never afraid of his father. He'd been afraid of his own hate and anger.

Strength that can be unlocked. Kahlil's eyes narrowed. It wasn't hard to guess what Carnifex meant. The Dark. The path he'd shunned for so long. Facing down his sister had shown him the futility of the struggle. If he was going to end up in the Dark, then he might as well try to end his father. Dive into the Dark, and save those he cared about. He closed his eyes for a moment.

Valery.

His eyes opened, still filled with that same hate. Determination. What he felt didn't need to be said. There were no limits on what he'd do to end his father's life.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

"Good, then you have accepted the truth."

The Dark Lord had sensed His son's intentions, for all the determination the lad possessed it could not protect him from his father's perception. He would make no mention of His foreknowledge, no need to tip His hand early and spoil the game. Father and Son would duel, not with sabers, but with wits and wills. The Shah-tezh board had already been set and several of the pieces maneuvered across the board. The Dark Lord was interested to see just how far His son would sink into the darkness for love.

His finger twitched and the manacles clasped around Kahlil's ankles clattered to the floor. The Dark Lord rose to stand at His full height, peering down at His armless son with calculating red-in-black eyes. "In time you will find that there is no escape, not from me and not from who you truly are."

"Until then, you must unlearn what you have learned. You will be remade."

Kahlil Noble ​

 

[Kahlil Noble]

No escape. It's why he was here. If there was anything the Sith taught him, it was to never be limited by what others said. Breaking chains. Kahlil struggled, forcing himself to his feet. Without his arms it was an obvious struggle. Embarrassing even as he fell flat on his face with nothing to catch him on. But he stood none the less once the manacles were off his legs. His full height, weary and unbalanced from the beatings of his sister and those guards. The falls and tumbles without his arms.

Even then, Darth Carnifex still towered over him. His angry gaze stared back into the hard gaze of his father. "I don't plan on escaping. I'll kill you and destroy this destiny."

 

[Darth Carnifex]

"Then let that be suitable motivation."

The Dark Lord was unphased by His son's declaration, He had heard those words countless times by thousands of enemies and friends alike. It was a boon, in a certain way. Had Kahlil submitted and become engulfed by his self-loathing resignation, that hate that now grew strong and ripe in his heart might've withered on the vine. As long as he had something, someone, to direct that hatred towards then it would continue to fester and grow with each passing moment that desire of his went unachieved.

Drawing him deeper into his father's trap.

"If you are to one day destroy me, then you will need arms to do so. Come with me, we will go see Doctor Vain." Without any other option presented before him, Kahlil had no choice but to follow behind his father on their way to the medical labs. As the Dark Lord emerged from the throne room, the shadows came alive and four black-robed Crownguard emerged from coffers previously unseen in the gloom. They had always been there, silently watching and ready to spring forth at a moment's notice.

Together, the entourage made their way through Malsheem's winding innards until they, at last, reached the medical labs. The journey was made entirely in silence, giving Kahlil the opportunity to gather his thoughts and to observe his surroundings. The door opened to reveal stark sterile white walls, the very air smelling of disinfectant, the sudden shift in vibrancy almost blinding to those unaccustomed to the sudden shift.

Ahead was a woman, although her appearance was completely androgynous under her stainless medical smock, wearing a distinctive metal mask fashioned to resemble an avian beak. She appeared to be waiting for them, obviously informed of her Lord's arrival sometime during the journey to the labs, though Kahlil would not have heard when that moment occurred.

She bowed respectfully as the Dark Lord approached, although she made no such efforts in Kahlil's direction.

"Your command?"

"He will need new arms, ensure that they are functional. The sample from the database will suffice."

The Doctor slowly walked towards Kahlil, visored eyes whirring as she looked him up and down. Her movements were rather dainty, almost like the bird she mimicked, but there was a clear apathetic malevolence lurking behind the mask she wore. She appeared to be sizing him up, calculating the missing flesh from the flesh that remained. It was clear that if she had to inspect him physically, she would make no effort to factor in his comfort. Fortunately, she only had to eyeball his measurements.

"It will be a trivial task, my Lord. I will begin immediately."

Doctor Vain turned and walked towards the machinery at the far end of the room and began to operate it, punching in a myriad of data she had accumulated just from looking Kahlil over. Within the machinery, advanced technology began to fabricate new arms with biomechanical material. Once they had finished, the arms would resemble natural flesh in virtually every way except for perhaps the atomic structure.

The Dark Lord did not make small talk with His son, He simply watched the machines work in silence.

Kahlil Noble ​

 

[Kahlil Noble]

A Sith needed motivation. It'd been a lesson when he was a child, one that still stung in the back of his mind. The only thing he'd wanted to do as a boy was be worth something to his father. Something more than a runted vessel. To be recognized as something, anything, than a face Darth Carnifex could use if the need ever arrived. What came next was a surprise. Though, should it of been? He heard what happened to his sister, how it broke her mind. How many times her arms had been replaced. Inwardly he grimaced. Perhaps even outwardly, though he did his best to stifle such emotions.

Kahlil knew what was coming next. Perhaps not the how, but the why.

His fists tightened. Or, would have. For a moment he felt it, the tension of his knuckles cracking as his fingertips dug into his palms. Phantom limb, as it was called. A horrifying and somber sensation. And yet, he still fought to keep that back. He'd never truly finished his training as a Sith, or gotten much farther than learning the code, the basics. But even now he knew. Defeat, sadness. Weakness. They would be punished where they were seen. Kahlil couldn't accept that. Death was a punishment. No, he needed to kill his father before he died.

Now expressionless he watched the guards. They were the cause of his phantom limb. The frustration of futility was a powerful thing. Even with his arms and all his training as a Jedi, he'd never of been able to defeat Carnifex here. Let alone the other half. All this did was further solidify his choice. If his father would sharpen the blade that wanted to kill him, why would the blade argue?

He watched untrustingly as they entered the doctors room. As the doctor looked him over and began to set off on her creation of his new arms. He made no attempt to speak to his father either. The void between the boy who wanted His approval and the man who wanted him dead was too vast for him to even think of something to say. Repeating himself, his desires, that'd lead no where. He made his intentions clear. Perhaps, with these new arms, he'd make it a reality.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

Doctor Vain worked in relative silence, muttering to herself as the machine continued to fabricate Kahlil's replacement arms. The repeated trauma of death and resurrection had taken its toll on Doctor Vain, phantom memories sporadically intruding upon her thoughts. It was said that the flesh could contain the memories of a previous life, but despite how much stress and pain was inflicted upon a cloned individual they appeared incapable of regaining the memories of who they originally were. Doctor Vain was not the only one who had been experiencing these phantom memories, but she did so more frequently than the other ghouls that the Dark Lord revived into His service.

Fortunately, it had not yet diminished her work for the Dark Lord yet, the only noticeable attributes being a disposition to conversing with one's self and habitual neurological quirks. The Doctor knew that she walked a knife's edge, much like the boy whose arms she was reconstructed. The moment she fell out of use to the Dark Lord, He would terminate her and replace her with another of her ghoul-kin. Doctor Jain and Doctor Bain immediately came to mind, the most intimate of her many 'siblings'.

With such a sword of Damocles hanging over her head, it spurred her to make herself indisposable to the Dark Lord whenever she could.

The machine indicated that it had finished, and Doctor Vain moved to extract the fresh limbs. They were immaculate, completely unblemished, and were of perfect dimension in relation to the rest of Kahlil's body. She moved them from the machine to an ancillary table next to the operating slab.

"Hop up," Doctor Vain indicated towards the slab, "And we'll get started." From the equipment sparsed around the slab, it was clear that Doctor Vain was not going to operate with any anesthetic. Such was the way in the Sith, especially under Kahlil's father. Pain was the scalpel of creation, and through pain, the Dark Lord pushed those under Him to achieve greater ends. Kahlil would suffer the agony of searing flesh and mending bone to regain the use of his arms.

He only had to step forward.

Kahlil Noble ​

 

[Kahlil Noble]

This was the moment he'd been dreading the most. He knew what was to come. Worse, he knew it wasn't intended to be a punishment. Pain was the scalpel of creation. Kahlil said nothing as he stepped forward and did his best to get onto the table, as directed. There had been no turning back from the moment his sister had stepped foot onto his ship. No, long before that. Since he decided he wanted to spend his life with Valery.

The only future that was possible in was one without his father.

That was the thought his mind focused on as he was strapped down. Why he was doing this. Why he let himself submit to the darkness after all this time. At first he'd been determined not to scream. A paltry desire, truly. As the process began all there was was pain. He knew it was going to hurt, but how much it did was beyond what he expected. Nerves were forcefully brought to new connections. The burns from how his arms had been lopped off needed to be cut back, exposing him to all the pain he'd been so blissfully unaware of.

His mind struggled. Pain constantly left him numb, his thoughts unable to focus. The happy memory of his love that he wanted to use as a buffer to distract crumbled away. By the time the first arm had been connected, he realized it. The further futility of him trying to cling to the past. In that pained haze he stared blankly at the ceiling. He would survive. But the pain would always be there.

So why not focus it.

As the pain renewed as Doctor Vain started on the other, his gaze snapped towards Darth Carnifex . No part of him felt that his father would care. But if that monster that created him could feel anything still, he wanted Him to see it. Pain ripped through his body and mind again. His form tensed, but he didn't writhe around this time. He didn't scream. Instead his burning orange eyes stayed on the man responsible for this pain and so much more.

This would be the day He crafted the blade that would one day kill Him.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

The stink of burning flesh rose to assault His nostrils, the smell acrid despite how muted His sense of smell had grown over the years. Doctor Vain moved quickly, acting with precision as she cut away the cauterized flesh and began to attach fresh nerves to traumatized endings. Sharp instruments poked and prodded his new flesh to test the newly fused nerve connectors, Kahlil's limbs involuntarily moving whenever the sharp instrument pressed against tender skin.

All the while, the Dark Lord watched dispassionately as His son was plunged into the depths of pain and suffering. Through this pain, the Dark Lord saw that His son had begun to grapple with his hate and even begin to wield it. That hate was directed at Him, but it mattered not where it was directed so long as it was directed. His eyes, red-in-black, stared back at Kahlil's shining copper eyes without wavering, a brief battle of wills that saw father and son pass an understanding between them.

Kahlil would never stop in his desire to kill his father, and Carnifex would remain ceaseless in His desire to see His son fall completely.

But the Dark Lord knew, as well as any true Sith, that you could not coerce one into the Dark Side. They had to fall willingly, of their own volition, seduced into embracing the Dark Side. His son had already made that first step, surrendering himself to his father's mercy to take hold of the opportunity to disrupt and destroy what his father had built. The ultimate goal was to kill his father, ending the cycle of hatred that bound father to son and son to father.

But Carnifex had anticipated many things, His mind always turned towards the future and the horizon. As long as Kahlil was under the power of his father's darkness, he would never truly escape his father's gaze.

At last, the instruments quieted down as Doctor Vain looked over the fused flesh. "It is done, the arms should be just as functional as the original were. Perhaps even better." The Doctor dismissively waved Kahlil off the table and walked away towards a nearby door. "If you require any more medical assistance, don't be afraid to ask Jain. I'm on caf break." Then the Doctor disappeared through the doors, which snapped shut behind her. That left father and son alone together.

The Dark Lord walked towards Kahlil, His eyes bearing down on him with the same intensity that Kahlil had suffered all his life.

"They will need to be tested."

Kahlil Noble ​

 

[Kahlil Noble]

New pain stopped, but the raw pain brought from the procedure lingered. Kahlil forced himself to sit up, his gaze shifting from Darth Carnifex to stare at his arms. No, copies. Fake. A price paid for this path. A renewed rage flooded his mind as he tensed his new fingers. It was easy to blame his father. It was he who had him born. He who sired him. He never knew his mother, so why not blame him?

"They will need to be tested."

Kahlil blinked. He didn't look up from the mockery of flesh that now belonged to him. "Test?" He understood the word. Understood the intention behind it. Like anything freshly bought or made, they needed to be looked over. If he didn't want to loose them again, or have something worse happen, they needed to work right. But was it just the arms that were being tested?

It was so, so easy for him to channel his hate towards his father. The lingering pain from where the arms were connected, the fresh hell the arms themselves had as his body tried to make sense of not having arms to having arms again. There was a brief crackle of lightning between his fingers. Not long ago he'd nearly unleashed his hate this way under the wrong assumption his love had died. Now?

His eyes snapped towards his father. He couldn't kill him now. Especially fresh from this surgery. But he could get an idea of just how strong Carnifex really was. How far Kahlil needed to go to kill him. He raised his hand, letting loose the pain and fear born from decades of self loathing, of running away. Of this new hell he'd been plunged into. Lightning blackened his new fingertips as he put his mind on one, simple thought.

Kill Him.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

The lightning surged forth to collide with the open palm of the Dark Lord's outstretched left hand, the movement so quick that it appeared to be instantaneous to the untrained eye. Long ago, the Dark Lord had attuned His body to react immediately to external stimuli without waiting for His brain to send the electrical command signals. His body, having been trained to react faster than His synapses could fire, moved to place His hand between Himself and the torrential lightning.

Bolts of electricity danced across an invisible barrier, sparks of pure energy fighting vainly against a power that significantly dwarfed it. The energy that struck the Dark Lord's hand head-on disappeared the moment it made contact, harmlessly absorbed into the Dark Lord's body. When the electricity had subsided, all that remained to remind either of the two that it had even existed at all was the acrid smell of ozone and the blackened points on the floor where errant bolts had struck.

"Your skills have diminished."

The Dark Lord reached out with the same hand that had caught the crackling energy, and in the span of a single breath, unleashed bolts of blood-red energy from His fingertips. The power that was reserved within the Dark Lord was far beyond what Kahlil ever could have anticipated, but He too held back His full strength and merely imposed as much power onto Kahlil as would cause him tremendous pain. It only lasted for a few moments, but the cascading incandescent energy was enough to melt the metal bearings of the operating table; causing it to collapse down to the floor with Kahlil potentially still writhing atop it.

"That is the result of your truancy. You neglect power and so you find yourself powerless, an error you will strive to correct."

An invisible power reached out to grasp Kahlil, like a great and mighty hand stretching forth to seize him around the torso, and forcibly yank him up onto his feet.

Kahlil Noble ​

 

[Kahlil Noble]

He knew his skill had diminished over the years of fearing the dark, but to see just how helpless he was to actually harm his father brought a chuckle of defeat to his lips. By the time the stream cut off Kahlil was already preparing himself for what came next. Even as a test to see how far away he was from his goal the punishment would be swift, one sided, and brutal. It didn't stop him from trying to defend himself from Darth Carnifex 's retaliation, no matter how useless it would be.

The shimmering field was immediately shattered under the hateful red lightning. More pain. God he hated this pain. That was the point, though. Right, Father? He'd ask if he wasn't screaming in pain, flailing atop the table as he tried everything to stop it. There wasn't anything but accepting it, but he needed to try and think of something. There was no laying down and dying here.

By the time pain faded from his body he felt numb. His mind was a haze as he was lifted to his feet. Right. His eyes glared at Him, refocused. Reminded of where he was and what he was dealing with. Using that pain, that hate, he'd try to break the grip around him so he could stand on his own. There were so many things he wanted to say. Spit in his father's face. Speak his hate. But that would get them no where. It would get him no where.

".. And how will I correct it?"

 

[Darth Carnifex]

The Dark Lord allowed His hold over Kahlil to slough off of him like water, not caring whether or not it was maintained so long as the boy stood. That was the careful micromanagement that the Dark Lord exerted over His children, meticulously grooming them to adhere to His strict vision of what they should be rather than what they were or wanted to become. This extended to every aspect of those who followed and obeyed Him, everything straightened and streamlined down to the last detail.

It had long been made clear that deviancy from the Dark Lord's vision was intolerable, and there were few remaining who had the ability to break that mold. Kahlil had been one of the more notable examples, but even now that was being sorted out with caution and careful manipulation.

"Through the breaking of your chains," despite the lack of intonation in the Dark Lord it was clear that His words were delivered very matter-of-fact as if the answer was extremely obvious. And it was for the Dark Lord, as He had spent many years pouring over ancient lore and traditions to synthesize something greater than the sum of their parts. "The Chains of the Body, the Mind, the Spirit, the Heart, and Faith. To break these chains is to unburden yourself from weakness, to grow stronger in yourself and in the Dark Side."

The Dark Lord's gaze was steely now, staring directly at Kahlil with unflinching resolve.

"And to commit yourself to something greater."

Kahlil Noble ​

 

[Kahlil Noble]

For once, Kahlil wasn't surprised. Honestly, he knew the answer once the question left his lips. Darth Carnifex was and always would be a Sith. Breaking his chains was the only and obvious answer. Yet.. The specific chains had him simmer in silence. Was it something he'd forgotten, or was it lessons he had yet to learn before he ran away? The first brought a chill. Body. He didn't need to know what it actually was to know what it'd likely involve.

Pain. And lots of it.

"The only thing I'm committed to is killing you." Well, no. It wasn't the only thing, but it was a necessary step. The reason behind this all. His mind still dipped towards Valery, even as he tried his best to push those thoughts away to focus on the figure before him. "Where do I begin?"

 

[Darth Carnifex]

"Your teacher will decide that," the Dark Lord cryptically answered.

Just at that moment, Doctor Vain returned from the adjacent room and silently swiveled her head from left to right. She then, with great emphasis, threw both of her arms up in exasperation and promptly scuttled over to the nearest holo-terminal. Gloved finger depressed the call button and she waited for a few seconds, visibly fuming despite the heavy clothes, until the machine responded by extending a single servo-arm out from the metal box. Shielding herself from the gaze of both the Dark Lord and His son, Doctor Vain removed her mask and allowed the device to scan her retina before slipping back into the wall.

Then a mechanical voice answered, "Acknowledge, Doctor Vain Jar'He."

Doctor Vain, with seething annoyance in her voice, replied, "Dispatch a maintenance crew." She didn't provide any further details than that, the mechano-serfs hardwired into Malsheem's communications grid could easily ascertain their location through various biometric sensors permeating every level of the station. Doctor Vain then turned to face the two Sith, glowering at them both as the Dark Lord turned to leave with Kahlil in tow.

Deeper they traveled through the massive station, passing by training yards filled with thousands of newly born strand-cast warriors, assembly lines as large as cities manufacturing everything from battle droids to starship parts, and towering gestation pillars lined with exo-wombs each harboring a developing strand-cast. Though baffling in scale, it was hinted by sheer presentation alone that this was but a fraction of the Dark Lord's resources that were at His disposal.

Like before, the Dark Lord did not speak. He allowed Kahlil's eyes to make His point for Him.

When they reached their destination, the Dark Lord stood aside to let Kahlil pass through the gateway. Beyond was a long hallway lit only by lights that responded to Kahlil's passage, leaving both his path forward and the path he had taken shrouded in darkness. It was clear that Kahlil's time with Carnifex had passed, and now he would meet the one that would teach him the way of the Dark Side. Ahead was a rotunda, lined with statues and murals of ancient Sith and their vast history.

Standing at the center of it all was a hooded figure who removed their hood at Kahlil's approach.

The face of his father stared back at him, the very same face that had fought and taunted him on Panatha.

"Welcome, my young apprentice."

Kahlil Noble ​

 

[Kahlil Noble]

Maintenance crew?

He'd ignored the doctors reappearance for the most part. Her frustration was obviously directed at him and his father, but the urgency and cryptic nature of the request none the less pulled his gaze over. His new arms still ached. He still wanted to kill his father, but that wasn't all there was to it. The memory clicked into place. He wasn't just here to kill Darth Carnifex . He was going to destroy it all.

A bafflingly difficult task, as was quickly revealed.

The Empire had fallen, but the former Emperor's military might was virtually untouched. An Empire that had been cast aside. There was a greater plan here, one he would figure out. But only if he succeeded. Only if he survived.

Darkness was his path forward. Alone. The atmosphere was certainly fitting for what was coming. Kept in the dark, literally, until the reveal? Any other time and Kahlil would of laughed. Instead, all he felt was dread. Just for a moment, as he walked in that darkness, he let his mind drift. Just for a moment he allowed himself to feel the bond he shared, tugging it just to get a glimpse of her again.

I love you.

The distortion of space was brief and closed off all the same as he stepped into the next room. His path forward had been sealed. "The two who were one." He echoed the words of the child that had given him Demiurge's mask when last they met. Time had been spent learning what that meant. On who this figure that was his father but not truly was. And, sure enough, it was his father. But also not.

"What do I call you?"

 

[Darth Carnifex]

"I have taken the name Demiurge," replied the figure.

It was a word from ancient times, a word that denoted creation and darkness. It was a fitting moniker for him, although Kahlil could not fully grasp exactly why at this moment, but the word would feel strangely right.

As Demiurge approached Kahlil, the similarities and differences between him and the father he had known were all the more striking. Demiurge was slimmer than Carnifex, their hair was arranged differently, and there was a notable absence of tattoos on Demiurge's face. The eyes were the most noticeable difference, Demiurge lacked the demonic red-in-black of his counterpart. His eyes were more akin to Kahlil's own, bright sulfuric yellow pupils in the white sclera.

"For a long time, I maintained the name we were once known by, Vornskr. But when I returned I discovered that Joycelyn had taken up our old moniker, so I allowed her to retain the name and chose a different one for myself." Prolonged conversation with Demiurge highlighted even more differences. Whereas Carnifex's voice was even and emotionless, there was something far more emotional about Demiurge's voice that would led Kahlil to believe that he did not suffer the same malady as Carnifex.

"I am glad that you've returned, Kahlil. Your destiny did not lie with destruction, it lies with rebirth. Your mind will try to convince you otherwise, but your heart knows the truth. In time I will help you understand what your heart has to say."

He reached out to touch Kahlil's shoulder, a far more fatherly gesture than anything Carnifex had ever shown him in a very, very long time.

Kahlil Noble ​

 

[Kahlil Noble]

Confusion. Mistrust. Darth Carnifex wasn't some cultist as he assumed before. He realized that when the mask had been removed. But even then he hadn't been able to wrap his mind around the saying that child spoke. The two who were one. Did that mean this man was once part of Carnifex? That they were the same person? Did that make Demiurge his father as well? When they were one, was that when Kahlil was born?

The cold, unloving image of his father twisted as he listened to Demiurge. Had this man come around when Kahlil was younger, there was no doubt in his heart that he'd of believed every word. The desire to be of worth to Carnifex would have gone to this man. To be worthy of him. He wasn't that boy any more. A hardened gaze stayed on the near mirrored image of his father. He didn't trust any word that was spoken.

No, he did. Rebirth. That actually had him smile. He laughed, even. How could he not? "Rebirth. That's literally what I was made for, wasn't it? So if you- no. If Carnifex died, he could reform in a new body. My mind, my heart. They both agree that he needs to die."