| Quietus |

[Naedira Darcrath]

​

___________________________________________​

​

Everything was silent.

The war had been fought. The skies had settled…The victor? No one was quite sure yet. There were too many bodies. Too much destruction, pieces of metal, and space trash floating around that no one could tell which corpse belonged to which nation. It was an ugly affair that saw maintenance droids roping off areas of the Fortressa that had been damaged and destroyed. Repairs were being made. Slowly, but surely, full power was returning to the hangar.

The lights came on. Organic workers paused, almost blinded, before they focused on their tasks again. The hangar wasn’t filled with chatter or orders. Everyone just worked. Silently. There was a bantha in the room that no one was talking about. A straight line of Knight Obsidians ran through the back half of the sector, nearest to the bulkhead, and for once, they had their hexagonal patterned hoods removed.

One of them was holding onto a uniform that had been torn to shreds. The edges were rough as if it had been physically ripped away, while parts of it, were missing. None of them knew what to think. The security strips in the area had been damaged when something had driven its way through a dozen durasteel deck walls. Inquiries had been made. No answers were satisfactory. All they had to go off of was a trail of blood that had long since coagulated—And vivid imagination. Some that were most sensitive to the Force seemed as if they might be sick. They could feel her.

They could feel her strength, her fear, the pain. It lingered in malicious whispers.

A few of the Knights appeared paler than usual. It took time to verify the identity of the charred, mutilated, corpse that had been left behind. Part of her face was visible….But it wasn’t enough. The Flagship of the Confederacy had borne many secrets. This one was the darkest. What, exactly, had torn apart one of their Sisters? There was a survivor but he was tied up reporting to the Exarch what had taken place. The rest of them could only stare. The stench was almost unbearable.

The body lay flat on its side with a sprinkling of what appeared to be once auburn hair. If they closed their eyes and hid their noses they could almost imagine the Knight that this had once been. She had been fierce, strong, and protective. Toward all of them. She pushed them. She drove them. And now? She was gone. Gone—And her murderer was in the wind.

It was a war. There were always casualties. But this one? It hit home. It hit hard.

The dead bodies of two members of the Crownguard of the Sith Empire were mysteriously missing. They'd been on the security feed, but, when searched for? Nothing. Even still the soldiers could see some of the fight. A hulking mass that ripped through Magnaguard as if they were made of wet tissue paper. The Knight fighting, swiftly, to dispatch some of the crimson-clad warriors that accompanied their giant of a Lord. They could see her attack him. See him seize her by her throat…Watch her spit in his face.

Then—Nothing.

After everything they had endured when the alarms went off. Panic, hundreds, of thousands of X-Wings that had appeared from nowhere—This was a brutal awakening. They’d thought that the worst was over. The battle had ended, it seemed, but the worst? That had only just begun.

Death that lingered. Loss that pervaded. The air in the hangar was slowly turning from somber to hostile. The Knights who were able, capable, turned their emotions into weapons. Passion and hate made those that followed the Darkside strong. Those that were neutral, or less attuned, allowed themselves a moment to breathe in the horror. To see the scorch marks.

To know that this woman had suffered. For them. What other reason could there be?

“She should have run.”, one Knight began, teeth, grinding.

“Shut up, coward.”, another chimed in—And the two wound up glaring at each other.

A young female spoke up, “Stop it. Both of you.”

“We’ll stop—”

“—When we have his head.”

“You couldn’t beat her on her worst day. You think you can take that thing on?”

“Are you trying to call me weak?”

“No. You’re karkin’ pathetic. Just shove off!”

No one would be sure who took the first shot. No one would know who swung, who, or for what reason. But in the moment of seconds what should have been a murder scene, quickly, became a Force Imbued brawl. Lightning crashed into starfighters and lightsabers ignited. They were all so angry. The emotion blurred and killed the judgment that they’d been trained for while the stress of recent war blew away their sensible faculties.

Showers of sparks from colliding purple blades caused one of the maintenance droids to back away. He had a job to do. There was so much organic fluid. It needed to be mopped up.

Briefly, he sent a missive through the comm system, and alerted the Knight Commanders to a situation that was worsening by the seconds. ‘Hangar. Level 9. Disorderly conduct. Requesting assistance.’

___________

[member="Alkor Centaris"]

 

[Alkor Centaris]

The battle on the ground had come and gone without much incident. Mandalorians held up in entrenched positions on Tanaab required surgical precision to extract but much of it was done by the Confederate Defense Force. Their Dauntless Legion had done much of the coordination on the ground and but for his own work in securing safe passage for Confederate Dropships, little was done in Pandath Spaceport itself.

The skies had been a hellish endeavor, and Alkor had underestimated the allies of the Mandalorian Clans. Wreckage upon the Fortressa itself- more security should have been allocated. They could have lost someone important-

He stopped when the tape came into view, but not because of it. There were Knights Obsidian surrounding him on all sides, hovering over the scene like ghasts at their haunting. The mood was somber, and in some places, outright morose. He had been called to shut down a bout of disorderly conduct, but what he came upon was a mockery of the discipline that the Obsidian Knights were supposed to display.

It wasn't enough that one among them was dead.

The cool headed Knight Commander was bereft of his combat uniform, stripped away of his armor and only covered by bandages as he applied salves to the few wounds he did receive while extracting from the Command Tower. A critical lapse in judgement. He should have sent these knights to the ground.

Alkor should have been here.

"Quiet," he murmured as he waded through the crowd of Knights. At first, none of them heard. Those who did hear, did not listen. The world was upside down. Such a power existed? Such a monstrous thing had secreted itself into the heart of a Confederate Warship?

Panic crept into their senses. Terror gripped their hearts. What they saw shook them to their core.

"I said, be quiet." Alkor repeated himself, brutally calm. He was in the thick of them now, and understood the emotions that formed the links of this chain. Grief. Overwhelming loss. Unified defiance. If they railed against it, perhaps it would become false.

In their fragile realities, that false hope had grown wings and taken flight. Now they were at odds, fighting against one another for an unattainable prize. Alkor saw something in this room he had not seen in full blown glory since the day the Dark Jedi had torn themselves apart.

The depravity of the Dark Side, seeping into the minds of those who thought themselves above corruption.

His fists tightened. His heart turned cold. Alkor closed his eyes, exhaled slowly, and raised his voice.

"Clear the area."

It was time for his personal investigation of the scene. They could be assigned penalties and fines at a later time. He could feel the evil that lingered here, and all of these Knights needed to be separated from it.

[member="Naedira Darcrath"]

 

[Naedira Darcrath]

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​

The Knights were usually well-disciplined. They prided themselves on staying above things that would bring civilians to their knees, and yet, here they were. Bodies moved with the weight of the Force behind them, shadows trembled, and little flickers of orange light gave color to the dark masses of soldiers that fell prey to grief. There was no other outlet. Their enemies had temporarily been subdued and the monster that was responsible for this atrocity was long gone.

“Everyone—Please!”

It was the feminine voice of the young Knight that had spoken up before. They didn’t hear her. They didn’t hear anything but the rolling, beating, pounding desire to do something about the gruesome scene they had witnessed. The Darkside pulled on their psyche, twisting, whispering, and urging them forward. To fight—To add to the damage of this place. To take the ichor of pain and suffering and make it real, once more, through their own deeds. It was almost as if something in the hangar, something unseen, and unheard, craved agony. Craved blood and renewed depravity.

What happened here?

The immersion in chaos and rage was so intense for some of the Knights that they didn’t even realize that their Commander had entered. The Force Order had users from all spectrums which led to some simply watching on or trying to calm down the fight. Others…Others were too tired to fight, too incensed, and simply let their inner demons take control. Those that were spiraling did not pull their punches. Frustration grew with every heartbeat.

Every fist that connected, ever blur of a saber, rang through the air like a storm untamed. It was deafening. The pain, the loss, the confusion…It was all deafening.

When the Knight Commander spoke again, his voice raised, it seemed that the coldness held the desired effect. [member="Alkor Centaris"] was not known for losing his temper. He was similar to Exarch Talon in that way. He didn’t waste breath. He didn’t waste words, and he certainly, wasn’t used to having to tell anyone something twice. The Knights froze in mid-motion. His glacier tone was like a bucket of ice rolling down their spine. They seemed…Confused. Disoriented. Clear the area?

Slowly, lightsabers disengaged. The subtle sound of buzzing and clashing died while amethyst blades disappeared. One by one, they filtered out, still bothered, but at lease separated from that which sought to steal their sanity. Some of them seemed a little apologetic but no one had the gumption to get in the way of the Knight Commander. Not today. It was mere hours after the Confederacy had launched a full-scale war effort.

The only one that did stop, wasn’t for his own sake, but because he held evidence that had been discovered some distance away. Not everyone was an investigator and thus he wouldn’t realize that he had contaminated the scene…But it was still relevant. “Sir. On the way in we found her…uniform. What was left of it.”

The Knight offered it to the Commander. If he didn’t take it, it would be set off to the side, atop a tool cart—While the soldier scurried away. There was still work to be done. They couldn’t rest, not yet, when victory was not yet assured. There were weapons to check and repairs to be made. Orders to follow.

The hangar eventually cleared of all personnel but droids. The steady sound of one of the maintenance droids trying to stop some parts of the Fortressa from catching fire would be the only thing to break the silence. The one in charge of cleaning paused, looked at the Knight Commander, and began to continue it’s duty since the disruption had ended. “Should the floor be returned to a high gloss, Commander? Or matte finish?”

It was such an innocuous question that the soft laugh that spilled out from behind [member="Alkor Centaris"] might have been startling. It was familiar, velvet, and full of confidence. “Droids. Am I right?”

A low whistle followed. The Knight Commander would feel a brush of energy while something moved through him. It was translucent, not enough to obscure his view, but enough that he could see the outline of a woman. The longer he watched—The more clear she became. Auburn hair fell past her shoulders in waves. She wore black leathers with a high waist and a red blouse that was professionally tucked in. “Geeze…What a mess.”

Hands-on her hips, the Force Ghost turned and smiled at the Knight Commander. Her expression softened a moment later. He looked…Angry. Like someone had died. Well..It was war. When her voice came next her visage flickered. It was hollow, sweet, but sounded as if she were a little girl speaking alone in an orchestra hall. "Hey. Are you all right?"

 

[Alkor Centaris]

They were ignorant of the invisible toxin that seeped into them and tore abruptly at every heartstring. It was as though whatever passed through had left its ichor everywhere, and the colorless, odorless miasma ruined the precise, disciplined order instilled in even the most staunch Knight. They were trained to remain above corruption, but when corruption came for them, when it came for their hearts and minds...

...how completely have you failed them, all of them?

It was a menagerie of carnage. Bodies heaved against one another, fist and blade colliding with reckless abandon. Brother turned on bloodied brother, teeth bared, snarling like beasts. They ravaged one another as though they had never been friends, as if they had nothing in their hearts but despair and inevitable violence.

Then they heard him, and confusion reigned. It had always been the rule, here. Now it simply changed its form, and they recognized something that they respected. Alkor spoke, and in silence, they abandoned the room in droves. Some spared looks back over their shoulders. Some whispered curses, some questions. Alkor did not look up for any of them.

What did you think you could do?

Sir. On the way in we found her... uniform. What was left of it.

Embers still tore loose from ruined sections of the Fortressa and shivered upward all around. The familiar, acrid aroma of charred flesh- it was distant enough not to induce vomit, but more than evident to tell the tale of what happened there. What destroyed this area, and what killed the Knight, this was beyond anything the Mandalorians were capable of.

Something was absolutely pulling at strings.

Alkor knew from the time he had heard of the Mand'alor's dealings with Kaine Zambrano. He had known of the Sith Emperor's machinations when he worked as a blade, cutting out resistance to their control of the Stygian cadera. But he had not known that the virulence extended this far. He had not known to what lengths they would go to subtly, silently squeeze tight their control over the Galaxy.

Did you think if you tried, you could help them resist it?

He glanced over at the ruined uniform, laid atop a stranded tool cart. Alkor turned to the Droid as it queried, and they exchanged deadpan expressions. For a moment, he almost considered laughing. How utterly poetic. When the Droid realized it would receive no answer, he knew it would default to its base programming. Efficient things, Droids. They never tried to do anything they didn't already know.

Everything was coming together. He remained there long enough to saturate in the scene, to get a feel for the living Force, to pull all the threads together in hand and learn how they were interwoven.

To learn where they were cut.

Her voice was uneasy at first. Dissonant, wavering, like on a frequency not quite tuned to clarity. As her spirit grew closer, her words grew clearer. Her face took form. In that instant, [member="Naedira Darcrath"] would understand just what kind of things Alkor could see.

And why he seldom spoke of them.

His gaze moved to Naedira, the one person he had hoped he would not see. The laughter in his mind became thunderous. The single person he attempted to save- utterly destroyed. His lips tightened, and he took a shallow breath.

"I told him," he said quietly. "I was not fit to lead."

 

[Naedira Darcrath]

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High gloss it was then. The Knight Commander was a very busy man, the Maintenance Droid assumed, and the unit went about cleaning up pieces of shrapnel, glass, and broken electronics. It would take a long time before it could really see to ensuring that this part of the hangar gleamed as effectively as the rest of the Fortressa—But it would not let the Confederacy down. Everything had a place, a purpose, and a function.

The droid just needed to put the pieces of the puzzle back together.

When the woman appeared the Maintenance Droid didn’t really seem to react. It just kept sweeping and cataloging pieces of durasteel that seemed to have come from nearby walls. The spirit moved closed to the Knight Commander. Her head tilted, softly, and chocolate eyes moved over his features with quiet questions. This wasn’t the [member="Alkor Centaris"] that she knew. He was designed to push through. To win. To remain, mostly, unphased—As long as the work was done. “…Why would you say that…?”

Her tone was a whisper. It was thin, delicate, like the spun silk of a spider web. A strong breeze could tear it down. Somehow, though, it remained. Her translucent being flickered. Something about this scenario seemed to be going completely over her head. The Force Ghost had glanced at the charred body on the floor of the Fortressa but she had only acknowledged it in the vaguest of ways. It was a corpse. Whomever it had been wasn’t who they were anymore. The soul had fled—It was the living that held her focus.

It deserved no more attention or concern than a table. A chair.

The auburn-haired female stepped forward. She breached his personal space as she rarely had before. There was just something about the way he spoke, the way he breathed, that made her want to settle whatever it was that bothered him. He could do this. He could be the Knight Commander that she could never be. She was too emotional by half. Beyond that, he was a dozen times more powerful. A hundred times. “We went to war…”

Naedira held his gaze. There was no accusation. Nothing but a quiet, untouched, sense of support. She could remember bits and pieces of conversations that they’d had in the past. They’d often disagreed, but, aside from occasionally using their interactions to sass him—She’d never thought badly about the former Mandalorian. He was frightening for others to behold. But, had she actually feared him?

No, no.

Slender fingers reached for him. They stopped a fraction of an inch before they would have touched his face. The apparition held the desire to smooth away the difficulties that she could not see. His mind had always been his worst enemy. She remembered the story he told, of his mother, of his namesake, and couldn’t help wanting…Something. To do something. But, what could she do? She hadn’t been strong enough. She knew. Somewhere. Somehow—Even if she didn’t recognize the scene of her own brutal murder.

This was her fault.

“Acceptable losses, Alkor. We do what we must.”, she intoned fleetingly, though, not without truth. The walls that she often hid her true self behind seemed to have crumbled when she crossed from one state to the next. Her words weren’t colored by the pain of the past. Within the distortion of light, the Knight Commander would find perfect patience. Endless, capacity for understanding. As if she had all the time in the world. “…Don’t doubt yourself. You were right. I wasn’t strong enough.”

She appeared to be a human cut out of colors that weren’t quite right. When she moved the items behind her appeared to bow, as if, he were peering at them through some sort of fish-eye lens. The effect was brief. It left as quickly as it came. But it would return. Again, and again, if he tried to focus on any one of her features too hard.

Suddenly, her expression changed, and the peace that had persisted with her presence shattered. There was visible apprehension and abruptly her hand pulled away. Chocolate orbs darted this way and that. Looking for things that he wouldn’t be able to see. She stepped back. Her eyes became large. Rounded. Her pupils had blown in response to some sort of stimuli. At first, he might think she was afraid of him, that something about him was filling her spirit with terror.

Only when her eyes re-focused wold he realize that she was looking through him.

They were not alone.

Rather, she was not alone.

A sharp crack rang through the air. It was sharper than her voice. More real than the Fortressa beneath his feet. Something appeared from nothing and a whip, lined with spikes and flame, slapped unforgivingly against the unprotected body of the specter. Naedira fell. He would hear her body hit the floor. See her raise her hand while her eyes lifted in defiance. There was the passion, the intense, stubborn, and unforgiving glare she was known for.

The whip struck again. Again. There was a distant roar—Coupled, with the soul-shattering sense of a spirit fighting back. He would feel it like a metaphysical blow to his chest.

Suddenly, Naedira was gone. The darkness that had appeared without preamble had dissipated and in the blink of an eye—It was as if she had never been. A trick of the light. A trick from the Darkside for a grieving or guilty mind.

[SIZE=11pt]—Or was it?[/SIZE]

 

[Alkor Centaris]

He was told to protect them. He was given a task, explicit, with good faith from the leader of their Order to help guide the Knights Obsidian along the right path. He could see her spirit in front of him, something apart from the dismal, grisly display some several meters distant, and he could tell he had done wrong.

He believed keeping her from his path, would protect her from becoming more like him. He forced distance between them to protect her from seeing him as an icon or a hero. He kept her from the most violent theater, thinking it would retain her focus and her morality in a way that benefitted the Knighthood as a whole. Instead, what he saw before him unraveled like a ball of yarn.

He could taste the darkness that struggled against her in silence. He felt her pain resonate in the Force. He shivered as each strand was plucked like a guitar string, and in the Living Force, a melancholic melody accompanied the strife of Knight Darcrath. She had been made to die, but not allowed to fade. He had seen this unkindness before, a vile twist of the Nether only a Sorceror could lay claim to.

She writhed, fought, flailed, and dissipated.

His gaze moved across the scene, dead. Where was the anchor? Sounds and sensations tore at his senses as he stepped past the disjointed image of the woman, carefully moving closer to the corpse. This was a more normal interaction for him.

This didn't evoke the emptiness in his heart, or the soul-crushing churn in his stomach. "When you get to the point where people call you Demon," he said, "your own people, the ones who grew up around you and knew you when you were a child- then, every loss becomes acceptable."

He crouched close to her unrecognizable form and watched her, the stillness like a peace he almost envied. "The real loss is when you start accepting that any loss is acceptable. I failed you, Knight Darcrath," he murmured quietly, more to himself as his fingers brushed across her broken body, more intimately than he would ever touch the living. He never felt her touch in life. He never touched anyone. Alkor committed it to memory.

Coarse. Ashen. Smoky, burnt scent. This was failure. "No, that's wrong," he said as he glanced back over his shoulder. "I failed you, Naedira."

He remained quiet for several moments longer. What would an apology do now? What was done, was done.

[member="Naedira Darcrath"]

 

[Naedira Darcrath]

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The Knight Commander stepped through her and the apparition scarcely seemed to notice. Light moved, changed, and the small woman reformed behind him. Naedira found herself orbiting around him. As often as she’d tried to understand him in the past, it seemed, that some things never changed. She still couldn’t read him as well as she would have liked. He moved toward the corpse. Was that easier for him than speaking to her? To look at something that had no face?

As he spoke—She listened.

It was a familiar habit. He so infrequently brought up what was actually on his mind unless she prodded that it was all she could do. It was the only way to learn, to get to know him, if ever, she had the smallest of chances. For anything else he seemed to shut her out. Why? She didn’t know. The Nabooian woman had always known that she could be a little brash, a little opinionated, but that didn’t seem to be the reason for the exclusion. “…You’re not a Demon.”

No.

Her voice was firm in that. Sharp. He wasn’t. She had seen taurine eyes that glittered with unbidden hostility. They’d been wild, fearsome, while the body they belonged to seemed to wish for little more than cleaving flesh from bone. It wasn’t out of self-defense; it was a form of pleasure. One demented act after another that was heralded by a honeyed-tongue echoing with brutality. Her eyes grew distant while a flash of memory stole her focus. “He watched. Watched the pool of blood grow while the Knight grew pale. Her skin, so white. Tick tock. He wanted her to feel her own heart stop. Wanted to see her eyes turn glossy and vacant…Wanted to see them melt. Wanted her to remember it.”

“Forever.”

Naedira blinked. She felt compassion for the charred Knight that had endured what seemed to be a violent hellstorm, but, it felt far away. There was a stronger connection for her to the darkness that permeated the area. As she followed [member="Alkor Centaris"] to the body noted that she couldn’t actually feel pain. Not in the traditional sense. But, she could sense it. He shivered…Was he cold?

It was cold.

She disappeared when something came from nothing. She wasn’t alone in the darkness, that much she knew, but she hadn’t expected that it would find her. Why would it? She was nothing in the grand scheme of things. Just a little fading light. Distantly she could hear the dark-haired man claim that he had failed her. Her lips parted to disagree, but she had to withdraw for a moment, lest the beast catch her again. He wouldn’t hear her anyway… Not here. This was a pit, an ether, from which no one would ever hear her scream—Let alone whisper.

Running through invisible shadows, Naedira never saw the Knight Commander touch the corpse, but she did snap back to real world at one thing: Her name. It gave her strength.

The ghost stared down at the Knight Commander for a short moment. She could feel the darkness calling. Feel the flame, that would ravage her psyche, just as easily as it would flesh. The monster roared. The demon snarled. And it was—A demon. Not this man that knelt so quietly as he took the weight of the universe upon his shoulders. “…You never call me by my name.”

She didn’t exactly understand what was happening. Her memories were fragmented. Broken. The only thing that remained was the threat of the thing that chased her. It wanted to keep her down. Swallow her whole, devour her, spit her back up, and do it all over again.

“…I’m not alone. It's going to catch me. I...I don't know how to fight it.”

 

[Alkor Centaris]

For as long as he could remember, Alkor Centaris had seen the Galaxy through weary eyes.

Childhood had quickly ended for him, swallowed up and domineered by the unforgiving need to survive. He never understood the intentions that hid behind people's masks, because he was never taught to watch. It was too late when he started to understand the threads that nitpicked at the fringes of his gaze, or the whispers that sometimes tried to warn him.

But those things evolved with him. They adapted to his understanding, and learned to reflect the world in the same way he did. As Alkor slowly sank into enmity and his contempt for mankind grew, his innate distrust- and therefore, the warnings and whisperings of the Force- grew more distinct. The things he saw sharpened, grew focused, and his birthright took form in the most cynical manner possible.

Causality.

There were millions of choices in the Galaxy, made by millions of individuals every second. Each of those had fleeting effects, from whether or not a door opened in time, or if all out war would be averted. How these things came together, the exact point at which one could intervene to alter the course of human history- that was a power one or two in a thousand years were born with.

Because of it, Alkor could see the frail curtain between the worlds. He could perceive the essence of Naedira, tied to something on his side, lingering and locked in conflict. And because of it, if he wanted, he could find the cracks- apply pressure...

No.

Alkor had broken the wall before. He had seen what happened when the Netherworld of the Force had been allowed to seep out and poison reality, unchecked by the commanding magicks of the Sith or Nightsisters, anything that might offer a chance at stabilizing what came through. To pull Naedira back that way- as a spirit, a being without a proper body, there would be ramifications.

No, Alkor did not have the powers of Plaga. He lacked the Mastery of Death. He knew better than anyone else what happened to a being who tried to cheat death.

He reached up with his left hand, unhooking the bandage that covered his right arm, and he began to unwravel it. As hideous as it was to behold, flayed, burnt, misshapen, blackened beyond belief-

To someone who could see the Force as it was, or someone who had become part of the Force, it was far more unspeakable.

Black wisps of energy roiled off of it like smoke, and the appendage itself appeared wreathed in a miasma that was born of the Dark Side of the Force itself. Alchemy, crafted by the hands of Necromancers and Masters of Murder, spells cast to turn man into more.

Binding his human form forever to the twisted, unforgiving darkness.

He wore the bandages to hide it, but the uneasiness was always prominent. Now, [member="Naedira Darcrath"] would know why.

Alkor reached out with that arm and touched the shimmering seam between worlds. "I need you to tell me," he said at last, "where is the tether?"

It began to actualize at his touch, the gilded, albeit faint light like a dog's leash that floated uncertainly between the domain of the living and that of the dead. If Darcrath could remember, perhaps... perhaps that would make it easier to find?

 

[Naedira Darcrath]

___________________________________________​

It was hard to stay.

All she wanted to do was stay.

Her vision flickered as her ghostly body occasionally seemed to fail itself. Like an old holo-projector that was on its last legs. Her companion in this hell wasn’t far behind her. Chasing, ever clinging, like shadow made of oil slick, dark as pitch, and something she couldn’t shake. There was heat on the back of her neck that she shouldn’t feel. Wind. A rank breath. Teeth…

So many, many teeth.

“Alkor…”, she breathed, trying to focus, while swallowing a partial sense of panic. Naedira couldn’t even see what it was that bothered her so. It was his arm that held her attention now. She had never seen him without some sort of bandages or coverings. Now, she knew why. It was unlike anything else she had witnessed. She could not sense it, not as she once had, but it called to her.

Just like the beast that chased her.

She came nearer, as if lulled by the twisting smoke, and followed the solidified line he made for her. It was a bridge. Naedira couldn’t crossover but she could stand on it. She could hear him. See him. He was asking her for a tether? The young woman shook her head at first in confusion. She had no idea what he was talking about or why it would be in the hangar of the Fortressa.

Naedira felt a pull. Somewhere between her sternum and the middle of her lungs. Her eyes shot back down to Alkor. Pupils blown. She couldn’t breathe. Wait. She shouldn’t need to? Her expression gave way to the strangeness of what was happening to her but slowly, slowly, she settled. Lavender lids closed over chestnut colored orbs and she tried to focus. Tried to follow the line that Alkor drew—Letting it lead her back to a place…

Back to a place she didn’t want to be.

Impact. Breaking, bleeding, and nothing but flashes of carnage. Red. So much red—Rolling down the side of a Mountain. Her eyes snapped open. “I can’t—”

Can’t what? Can’t remember? Exactly what had she forgotten that was so terrible, so awful, that just trying to press against mental blocks caused psychic agony? She reached for him, for that blackened, burned arm and found that her hand passed straight through him. Her face contorted. It kept coming back. Electricity racing through her capillaries. Fire. Turning her skin dark. Peeling. Melting. Turning her into—

That. The broken, burned, dead thing. The body she had ignored. Her lips trembled while she searched for words to make sense of it all. How could that be possible? “…The Mountain…”

Had crushed her. Wholly, and completely.

She moved slowly and came to kneel next to her own corpse. Her eyes stung. It took Naedira long moment to realize that she couldn’t actually feel herself tear up. Suddenly, she identified with this thing. Her heart broke for this blackened stain on the floor. She knew what was left of the jaw. What was left of the hair and the small artifacts that remained. “She…She is me. Alkor…She was me.”

But he already knew that.

Her gaze slipped. There was a touch of something that pulled on her being. It made her feel stronger. Almost connected. What he was looking for? The tether?

Gingerly, she pointed.

The ring of the Knights Obsidian on her ring finger was what he was looking for. Kneeling on her haunches, so close, and yet so far from reality…She knew. “I don’t want to be here anymore.”

“I can’t be here.”

[member="Alkor Centaris"]

 

[Alkor Centaris]

The pain washed away in an instant.

I always knew this moment would come.

The image of Plaga loomed over like his shadow always had, only now in that place between worlds, he substantiated himself. The massive figure looked down at Alkor, watching. He peered at the thread Alkor held delicately between two fingers, shaking his head.

Always trying to do things by yourself. Your own way. No room for anyone else. Your Pride was bound to bring you here, and I expected it. Even beyond my own life. So I waited, and here you are.

"Waited just for me," Alkor murmured quietly. "To what do I owe the pleasure, Master Plaga?"

You hid it. You wore those wrappings all of these years to suspend any need to accept or even look at my gifts. Do you understand that the suffering has been of your own making? Your selfish pride, your inability to accept-

The flesh of his arm had already withered and rotted in the realm of visibility, swallowed up by the eager darkness. Bogan had come to take His due, and under the watchful eyes of a fallen Dark Jedi Master, the Price was Paid. Alkor looked on as organic materials were hewn away from his mortal form by the Force itself, and for a moment, naught but bone held fast to the strand that connected Naedira between this life and the next.

They were so close together, the body and the gilded spirit, juxtaposed blasphemously next to one another. A single, ill advised moment could breach the distance between them. Could she inhabit that body, even for an instant?

No.

What kind of thought was that?

You've ever struggled with the darkness, even in your greatest moments of triumph. It whispers to you in a way it does not to anyone else.

He opened his mouth to speak. Nothing came out.

No. What you seek can't be found at the end of this road. I haven't left you with any answers. You chose the path that you wanted for yourself. In the end, I made my own decisions. I met the fate that was due to me for years of evading Death.

Alkor moved slowly toward [member="Naedira Darcrath"], then crouched down and carefully, slowly, delicately removed the ring from her broken form.

His arm had been swallowed up by the darkness that writhed around him, all too eager to latch on and pervert whatever it could. It twisted and writhed, washed over and laid claim to what had been his.

He was left with an ashen, gray, black appendage that lacked for any feeling of life.

No, none of my spells could make a Necromancer of you. Your place has always been on that side, taking life, sending it onward. I can't help you, nor can I give you an answer. There may be those in your time who have the power to save her, but I will leave you with this warning, Alkor.

She does not have an abundance of time. Her soul is fragmented. It resists the sentence placed upon it. It would rather rip itself apart than submit to this fate. And it will, unless you find someone who can undo what has been done.

He wanted to scream at that.

But he relented.

He glanced to Naedira as the wispy form of C'thulu Plaga dissipated. "Then, let's go," he told her quietly. "I need to think on this."

Alkor pocketed the ring and put in a command to the datapad. The Knights would have their orders. Heads would be clearer. Clearer minds would prevail.

 

[Naedira Darcrath]

___________________________________________​

Naedira blinked.

She could feel something, not unlike the wind on her skin, but that was impossible. She couldn’t feel through this window. This small, secret place, where she could keep one foot in the world that she had been summarily thrown out of. A figure flashed. She could see it in her minds eye. It felt like she was twisting in the wind, dangling, where the softest breeze might have stolen her away. Swept her along, as if she were nothing more than dust, inconsiderable, and small...

A large figure loomed over the Knight Commander. Naedira tensed. There and not there—He flickered as the tether between worlds proved itself to be both stable and unstable. Right for him. Wrong for her.

“Who are you…?”

Her whisper was lost. Alone, in the dark, she felt overcome when she watched flesh disappear from Alkor. As if it had never been, hewn down, brought to little more than gnarled bone. What sacrifice had he made? What pact with the Darkside had left him this way? Disfigured, but still, so strong. She suddenly felt drawn to the corpse. It was inexplicable, where she had regarded it as a thing, she now felt a lure that was almost impossible to deny. She was drawn to it in the way that a newborn kitten searched for its mother. Home. She wanted to go home. Her breath caught when the dawning truth made itself known. The awful, horrible, debilitating truth.

‘No. Not me. No, no.’

Denial.

‘It is me. That thing—Is me.’

Shaken acceptance. Awareness.

‘What is left of me...’

Bitterness.

Alkor took the ring from her remains and she felt a scream well, bubbling beneath her sternum, and she only barely managed to swallow it. She wanted to wail. She wanted to fight. Her eyes, once warm, and alive had become hollowed. How could this be? How could she have become this husk? Her horror became buried while she internally tried to deny what it was that she saw. She knew it. Her mind knew—But the rest of her?

No, no. It couldn’t be.

But it was. It was.

Naedira had not heard the words, nor the advice, of the mysterious shade that hovered around the Knight Commander. The auburn-haired ghost darted forward when he called her. He pulled her now. Not the corpse, and for that, she felt a modicum of relief. She would rather be anywhere, with anything, than the charred remains of her physical form. She reached for the Knight Commander but found that her hand only passed through him. Bitterness. So much, bitterness.

“Anywhere but here.”

Anywhere.

She couldn’t look at her own dead eye-sockets any longer. She couldn’t stand the sight of her hair, burned, and crisping to the point of resembling melted plastic. More than anything, the further they got, the more she felt distance between herself and the shadowed flame that was burrowing up from the deep dreaming dark. Even still. It felt inevitable. The beast would come. It would chase her, furious, that she had moved and would attempt to devour what was left. “…It will come back for me. It..Could hurt you too. I am not alone here, Alkor.”

While he thought—She would struggle. It would come. The Abomination that the Mountain had left would crush her. Just as he had. She could feel the flame. Feel the whip lash against her psyche. Just like before…She would break. She would, break.

“I…I am not alone.”

[member="Alkor Centaris"]