Arrogance. Such a simple word that so many threw about without truly stopping to understand its meaning and effects. Arrogance came in many forms, from simple overconfidence in some random aspect of life to something far more grander and deadlier. Indeed, as time marched on within the galaxy and the seeds of chaos that had been sown so long ago began to bloom, arrogance was becoming more and more prevalent as the cause of death and failure. And yet, so many were blind to this fact, casting the blame not upon themselves, unwilling to admit that they were the propagator of their own downfall, they cast the blame instead upon everything that surrounded them, taking solace in excuses such as their foes, be they living beings or unattained goals, being simply too much for them or that it was the will of the Force that worked against them. They huddled up within their cocoons of denial, allowing the arrogance within their minds to further fester and grow, weakening them all the more as it passed unnoticed and never confronted. And as much as he was loath to admit it, Xavka too had fallen into the trap of denial and he too had written his downfall long before it had truly started. He had believed himself to be more capable than he truly was, stronger, more resilient and, in the end, it had been nothing more than a self-cast illusion that had crumpled in on itself at a time where the chaos inhabiting the galaxy, when the rolls and waves that ran through the Force were beginning to reach their crescendo, and Xavka had fallen to his knees, forced to miss out on the pivotal moments as they happened before him, forced to witness them as a bystander instead of participate.
His failure had been to believe that his body could carry a stronger burden than it actually could. The pain and stress of thousands of miss-healed or not fully healed injuries obtained over the many years he had been under the label of Sith had eventually become too big a strain for him body to handle and it had begun to shut down, failing him as he fell into illness and fervor induced delusions. In the end, the Zabrak had sequestered himself away within the Wild Plains of his homeplanet of Iridonia, the place where he always felt the most invigorated despite the barren and acrid landscape that fought against any life that tried to grow and thrive within it reach, and fell into a routine of healing born of both physical healing through Kolto and the Force through liberal uses of Force Trances. During the time where he fell into his Trances, his mind would escape the limitations of his physical body and reach out into the wider galaxy. This was how he had borne witness to the sacking of Coruscant, watching as the Light struck a resounding blow against the Dark by striking directly at the heart of the behemoth that was the One Sith. He watched and observed from his isolation, knowing that to interfere would be to push his body to a point too far, as many a Sith fled in the aftermath of the chaos and it was in those moments that he had his revelations on arrogance. The cursed emotion had not just infected he, it had infected and poisoned the One Sith as a whole, spelling out its inevitable downfall unless things were to change.
With one revelation soon came another biting at its heels. His new found understanding on arrogance and how it had ultimately been the architect of his downfall coupled with his self-imposed isolation had lead to Xavka taking a deeper look at his own recent actions and in doing so he had caused his stomach to figuratively churn in disgust at the incompetence he had witnessed himself commit. He had been allowing himself to fall into a pit of apathy, letting himself be lead around by others as if he were nothing more than a simple slave that possessed the illusion of freedom, shackled by invisible chains. He had begun to dance to the tune of others, willing to bow and scrape where before he would stand tall as he tried to distance himself from the galaxy around him, losing the passion that had so defined him. When he had been a slave, he had never lowered his head and bared his neck. No. When they had brought the harsh bite of a whip against his skin, he had not cowered away, he had embraced the pain and for every lash that tore open a new laceration and spilt even more of his blood, Xavka had spat at his so called Master. When they had wrapped burning shackles around his arms, searing and branding him with permanent marks of his time in slavery, he had laughed even as the foul scent of burnt flesh stung at his nose, hurling curses and promises of violence against his so called Masters. When they had stolen the sight in his now lost right eye, robbing him of half of his sight, he had not allowed his spirits to be broken, instead whispering promises of retribution in blood. It had been the passion in his hearts that had carried him through the pain and punishment he suffered, never allowing him to bow his head in servitude, and, in the end, that passion had lead to him claiming his freedom at the cost of the lives of the ones that had tried to chain him in forced servitude.
Passion had been the driving force in his life and yet, in recent times, he had allowed apathy to steal it away when the going had gotten too tough. Sure, he had whispered false platitude to himself, but they had just been as false as the lies born of his arrogance. Now, though. Now that he had returned from his self imposed exile, his body and mind stronger than when his isolation had started, Xavka promised himself that this time it would be different, that he would burn down the image of who he had once been and, from those ashes, a new Xavka Duquo; Ul'Jath of Ru Rakama, Darth Lykos and shadow-hidden leader of the Sith Assassins, would be forged anew, born of the passion and desire that he had been lacking in recent time. A new man. A new Zabrak. A new Sith.
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A single, burnt orange eye glowed as the Darkness that inhabited and infected the world of Mindabaal, propagated by the fact that the weakened remnants of the One Sith had retreated to the planet so as to begin attempting to heal themselves, was slowly pulled into the body of Darth Lykos as he prepared himself for his own entrance into the battle that raged on beneath the transport shuttle that he rode in. Standing as he was right in front of the open ramp, a harsh wind was being whipped up around him, tugging fiercely at the dark, almost pitch black, robes that he wore as it tried to tear Xavka from where he stood and fling him out into the open air even as he watched over the clashing of armies with a blood thirsty smile stretched across his lips. The task of standing still within the wrath of the winds around him was made none the easier by the constant shaking of the shuttle as it came under a constant barrage of blaster fire from the ground forces.
Reaching out with his mind, Xavka checked once more that the illusion he had woven around the pilots mind, one which subjugated the human officer's will to Xavka's and which was the only reason that the man was willing to pilot the shuttle over the battlefield in the first place. The man, a former Officer within the One Sith had actually been Xavka's target. The man, seeing the weakening of the One Sith, had been planning on selling the information contained within classified files that he had access to, an act of treason that lead to Xavka almost ending his life. However, news of the new conflict had stayed the hand of Darth Lykos and, instead, the Zabrak had reached out into the Force to bend and mold the man's mind so that he would embark on the suicidal mission of escorting Xavka to the field of battle. After all, either way, the man would end up dead for his act of treason.
Feeling an even stronger vibration rock through the shuttle, Xavka rolled his neck, sighing in satisfaction at the loud crack that rang out from the action as he prepared to briefly indulge his sense of drama by exiting the shuttle in the manner he planned on. Turning to face the weak minded Officer that had ferried him from safety to the midst of battle against his will, Xavka once more reached out into the Force. This time, he embedded a new command within the man's mind and, sure enough, not even a scant few seconds after the Darkness surrounding the pair minutely flared, the shuttle entered a steep dive as it began its rapid decent to land, engines screaming in protest as they were pushed to full power and the already damaged hull shedding chunks of Durasteel.
Turning his attention away from the soon to be dead Officer, Darth Lykos took a steadying breath as he reaffirmed to himself that his efforts in reinforcing his body through the Force had been successful before releasing his grip from the netting that lined the side of the shuttle and letting the rushing winds that swirled around him pick him up and carry him out of the open doors into the open air. For a few seconds, Xavka seemed to hang in place before he began to join the shuttle in plummeting to the ground, robes whipping around him, as he mused to himself on whether or not it had truly been a good idea to allow himself to indulge his sense of dramatics.
