The Pain of Permanence

[Ellie Mors]

How many times must one die before they forget who they are?

She had been thirty-eight years old, known to her family and associates as Irina Volkov. The thick-accented woman had been born, supposedly, on the world of Yaga Minor to a coven of witches, witches that had somehow evaded the recordings of history for as long as time itself had sewn through the fabric of space. There had been mild surprise when her employers had not looked into her past, trusting her at her word - but it mattered little as that face was dead. Seven days had passed since the destruction of the Firedrake over Charros IV. When she was torn limb from limb, skin flaked from flesh, muscle stripped from bone, and incinerated upon the explosion that rippled above the atmosphere of the Silver Jedi world there was another that felt her passing the moment that it happened.

[member="Darth Carnifex"], Dark Lord of the Sith, had been bound with the witch through rituals forgotten to the common era, by a woman as enigmatic and mysterious as the circumstances of how she had originally been able to be captured. Through the tethering of her soul to his, a bond in the force had held her to him, and he to her. As long as he lived she would have still been able to draw breath, and as long as she still experienced life she was bound to his fate - to die with him or not at all. And yet, all the same, the sharp sensation of a frozen dagger sinking through his ribs spoke to the Sith Lord of her death. Had she failed? Perhaps he had put too much stock into a woman that had been so easily captured by slavers, and so easily overwhelmed by a number of soldiers that required her to stage a collision to ensure her death was not without cost.

All signs pointed to her being gone, all except the memory of the power that the words she had spoke during the ritual of bonding carried with them.

But who was this woman? Any real inquiring into her past would have found that there never had been a coven of witches on the world of Yaga Minor, and, though it was to be expected of one who claimed to live beyond civilization, there was no record of any Irina Volkov having lived on any world. Witnesses to her capture by slavers the day before she met the Dark Lord were unable to recall seeing the short woman before that day, and the slaves that shared her cell found it odd that she seemed content with her capture except when in the company of the slavers and those whose thoughts and opinions mattered.

And, though her death should have sent her over, the realm of the Netherworld and Chaos alike did not hold her departed soul, not even a shade, in their merciless halls and mazes.

-

Nearly six months ago, on the world of Barkhesh, a similarly mysterious woman disappeared without a trace in the midst of a duel with a shaper while fighting for the First Order. There was, perhaps, little to no connection between the two incidents, aside from the culture of the two women bearing incredible similarity in their dress and manner of speak. And, yet, the feeling of the witch that had called herself Irina was felt by more than just one - awakening one from an exile that was intended to last until their death.

She, too, was of rather short stature, and wore her dark hair at a similar length - hailing from a period of time long before the Sith was known by the greater galaxy some ten thousand years ago. Although she rarely practiced the art, she, too, knew of how to move the souls of one into another or to even devour those souls for sustenance. Named at birth by her elders as Braith Ma'at Achlys, there should have been no reason for her to feel the echo of the Yagan witch's death, were she truly who she said she was.

But it was that feeling that brought the Alunrovaan to the Dark Lord of the Sith in the dead of night, arriving unseen and unheard. Her pale skin was nearly translucent, she appeared sickly - but her expression was of raw fear, and not simply for the feeling of loss that the tearing at her soul imparted.

No, it was of the knowledge of who still lived.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

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​

Cold winds blew hard across the frost-tipped mountains of Bastion, a swirling dervish of snow and ice that blanketed the highest peaks and caused the Dark Lord's guards to bunker down against the frigid melee. The guards were often lax at his private estate, there was no way you could access the structure through conventional means. There were no roads, no special lifts, the only way anyone could reasonably reach the structure was by air and the complex was littered with all manners of anti-air weapon systems and defensive emplacements. So they often needn't worry about intruders, so the arrival of the witch went unnoticed by so many.

Except, perhaps, one.

His chamber was a dazzling display of wealth, the finest curtains, the softest silks, the most extravagant works of art hung from every wall or raised upon exquisitely crafted marble pedestals. He himself laid still upon his bed next to the snoozing form of one of his many wives, the blanket coiled around her curvaceous form as her heavy chest rose with each breath. Carnifex never truly slept, he had found methods of inducing himself into a relaxed meditative state in which he could replenish his energy reserves in preparation for the next week or two of restless activity. Yet even when immersed in meditation, his mind expanded outward to survey his home as an instinctive precaution.

His eyes opened at the slightest disturbance, and gently he swung his legs over the edge and rose from the bed to investigate. He didn't bother to dress himself as he strode out into the antechamber separating his sleeping quarters from the general living space, his body naked and chiseled with silver-scarred muscles. His hair was unbound and flowed around his shoulders and chest like rivers of black, partially obscuring his face except for the pinpricks of molten iris.

He called out, "Who goes there?" in a hushed yet authoritative whisper in an effort to not wake those who still yet slept.

The air felt... familiar, on this night. It reminded him of the ache he had felt deep in his breast after his companion Irina had perished at the hands of the Silver Jedi over Charros IV. Anger had replaced any notions of grieving ever since, she had not yet returned to him despite the connection they both had shared between their souls. Was this her? Carnifex wasn't entirely sure, she surely would've revealed herself by now if it was?

"Is that you, Irina?"

[member="Darth Ananta"]​

 

[Ellie Mors]

What do the gods fear that they have left us? Are they truly divine if there is something that can threaten even them?

For ten thousand years Braith had believed she was divine, that her abilities to affect the world around her was because of a link with an entity that she called the source. She had been raised to believe that she was the avatar of a goddess that presided over the night, explaining her inability to walk in the light as a consequence of her sibling's jealousy over her beauty and her might, and that her aptitude for pulling on the source was because she was born from it - and yet for the last decade she had been taught that this was all an elaborate lie, a fanatic cult following that were simply unable to explain her abilities in any rational way due to their distance from the rest of the galaxy.

But in less than five minutes she felt a tug on her very soul that turned everything she had believed, all that she had learned, on its head - an entity that she was supposedly related to, outside of the mortal coil, had touched her in much the same way that a bond in the force had once told her that those she cared about were in danger or in pain. An entity, that if she was to believe those of the common era, was only a myth, or at best an exaggeration of someone that had existed long before she had - an entity that somehow had slithered not only back into her mind as a cautionary tale, but back into this page of history as if it had just awoken from a slumber and was on the hunt. With the resurgence of the Sith, and the rise of the newly christened Sith Empire, it was clear where the snake would make its nest, and it was clear by the Sith Lord's reaction to her presence, so similar to its own, that she was right to have sought out [member="Darth Carnifex"].

"No, Kaine." She said as she stepped closer, her violet eyes shimmering in the moonlight. She paused to gather her thoughts, uncertain if her sudden arrival would bring him to anger, nearly giving thought to Braxus' feelings regarding her disappearance. "Who I am is of little importance - there is a danger that you need to be aware of, one which has already stolen your trust." Braith explained, deciding that he would likely realize who she was without needing to waste her time with that information. "You must destroy it, whatever it has called itself - whatever face it has taken to seduce you - or it will lead you, your people, to ruin." She said.

-

Lost.

Or that was what those that saw the destruction of the Firedrake believed of Irina Volkov, a witch that had made herself more important than she was capable of handling.

Anger.

She was happy that her toy had felt such rage, although she wasn't entirely certain if it was directed at her or those that had made it so difficult for her to manifest as whole. His wrath fed her, nurtured her, while she clung to him like a parasite biding her time. She wondered if he had ever realized that the bond between their souls was more than a mere tethering of his life to hers, or if he had ever realized that her presence being felt so near, even when she was so far gone from his side, had much more to do than some bond in the force. Would he have lashed out at her if he had realized she had tricked him - leaving only a meager portion of her talent in the doll that wore the face of Irina Volkov, while the vast majority of her consciousness, of her soul, coexisted with his?

Yes, even as the little girl - foolish in the eyes of the dark entity - made her attempt to warn the Dark Lord of the Sith of the threat that it posed. So prodigious she had been, and yet Braith hadn't even realized how close she was to the entity that put such great fear into her that she traveled across the stars to warn the brother of the man that she had never returned from war to. A disappointment, like the rest. And, like the rest, she would be consumed to start the cycle anew - to serve the purpose that she had been born for, raised for.

To feed the snake.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

His eyes narrowed as the woman made herself known, but it was not who he had been hoping for.

Not who he had been hungering for.

The face and the eyes were familiar, he had seen them once before long ago. Was it with his uncle? Passing faces made no impact upon the Dark Lord's mind, he often forgot them as quickly as they left his sight. Only those who truly made an impact upon him were allowed to be reserved within the confines of his memories. Somehow this person of half-familiarity had made their way into his private abode without alerting the guards and without alerting him until she was already well within his personal sanctum, a worrying prospect and one that caused anger to bubble up from within his belly. But with that anger came a curious revelation, that perhaps he had been too willing to let Irina Volkov bind themselves together and that perhaps he had been made a fool of.

"You speak of Irina." He reached up to unconsciously grasp his left breast behind which his black heart continued to slowly beat, a spiritual ache swelling at his deepest core. "From the beginning I knew that her existence was dubious, she hadn't even existed before my slavers carted her off to Panatha. Yet from the moment my eyes fell upon her I knew only a feverish desire to possess her, to make her mine, and to keep her close at hand. Whatever ritual she performed on me has only made that desire more achievable, but ever since her demise over Charros IV I have felt a keen hollow hunger in my soul."

A part of him railed against this behavior, scolded him about the last time he had let someone get so close to his heart. That had ended in tragedy and had destroyed any chance the Sith Lord would have at love and compassion for another, and even with this he felt only a fierce need to covet. And even though she had not yet materialized physically, he could feel her touching his soul and, perhaps unwittingly, giving him nourishment in return. "Immortality has taken much from me, but her? She and I exist perpetually."

[member="Darth Ananta"]​

 

[Ellie Mors]

She was exasperated - her expression of disbelief. Tired and worn violet eyes took in the Zambrano's features, dulled from the passage of time. For a man whose own brother had sworn would kill his own wives if it meant preserving the Sith Order and its fledgling tendrils of strength, he was far more willing to put faith into something that may not even be what he was so attracted to - even if power was potentially part of that. "You're grasping at something that doesn't exist." The witch declared with a dismissive wave of her hand, taking another step towards the Sith lord. "And bound? Were you foolish enough to give it something to latch onto? Do you even realize what it is?" She said incredulously, bringing both of her hands to her face, wiping away dirt and grass. "Look at you - trusting some.. thing.. in the shape of a woman, a woman that has been killed, rather than heeding my warning. If you still feel her presence, whatever meager thing that might be," Braith said, pausing for emphasis to let it sink in that he still had a chance to right whatever mistake he'd made - assuming she was correct in her assessment.
'So, she thinks me but a whelp. Cute.'
'A pity the rest of her people aren't here to weigh in their opinions.'

"You need to find it, you need to kill it, before it comes back - before it comes back for you, and takes away everything you've worked so hard for." She explained. She took another step forward, triggering something like a murmur in the wind - a shift, perhaps, but nothing too noticeable. Outside a cloud, perhaps, seemed to float over the moon, or at least that was how it appeared within the chambers of the Dark Lord as the light slowly dimmed and the gap between the two masters thinned. "I do not particularly care for you, nor do I care for this empire built on the corpses you've created in your pointless wars - but I care for your brother, and though I will not survive long enough to see him again, it is important that I at least do this to make certain this snake does not lash out when it is least expected." Braith said. In all honesty, she was, more or less, pleading for the Epicanthix to listen to her warning. She didn't seem to think she was getting through to him, however, and she took another hesitant step closer.

'I suppose that's enough talking for now.'

It wasn't the Alua'an's fault that she hadn't realized what the entity she had came to warn about was capable of laying such an intricate trap - and it probably wasn't the Dark Lord's fault that he hadn't known Braith was one of the few beings that the woman he'd known as Irina had actively been hunting for. But, the thing is, life and death don't care about who is at fault or who deserves anything - when someone dies, that's life. Reversing its effects, while wholly possible, generally happens after death has been experienced - and the tendril that found itself embedded from behind the ancient witch was ensuring that experience would be felt first-hand. It came without pain, at least initially, and she truly only realized what was happening when it was far too late.

Outside the sky was clear, or at least the moon was clearly visible. It was the structure itself that appeared devoid of light, as though it had been smothered. The being that had latched itself onto the Sith lord, keeping him company like a parasite - one which kept him nurtured enough to ensure his survival wouldn't be compromised by bursts of rage or acts of pointless vengeance - had been silently making her move while the two inside spoke at length of the predicament. It had been something like the waves of darkness so many sith so fondly made use of in the past, though it made no target of those within - intent only on smothering the visible light. Braith, of course, reached for her chest, her hand going through the tendril that had pierced her like a spike only to find it sapped of strength, of life. "W..what is this?" She croaked, finding it as hard to speak as it was to breathe.

"Relax, child; I have come."

The look of horror on the witch's face was, to the faceless voice, quite priceless. "I must say, I am impressed that you came to me rather than kept in hiding - the rest of your brothers and sisters operated quite the opposite, each buying far more time than you did with your silly stunt, trying to warn a Sith of a being that cares little for the silly political games of the galaxy." It said, clearly feminine - recognizable, if only due to their closeness for the duration of his unknowing partnership with her, to the Sith lord playing witness. "And I do apologize, Master, but she is the last morsel to make me whole again." She said, her voice becoming more present - less detached - as Braith slowly went limp, her body drained and dying of its strength. "She eluded me for quite some time, disappearing at the height of her power."

And then, as the darkness began to recede into the dark spike that the Alua'an was impaled upon, the witch's body crumbled like dust. Dead. However, as though it had acted as a cocoon of sorts, from within emerged a being with vaguely human features. Her eyes were narrowed, slits, like a snake's - pitch-black, as though they were pools of darkness themselves - and her face was marked and contoured like a beast that had stepped from the sea. There was little one could call beautiful in the human sense of the word, but there was a vaguely dangerous elegance to her appearance.

"You knew my puppet as Irina Volkov," She explained, deciding that reintroducing herself was the better way to move forward. "I suppose the Sith knew me as Darth Ananta, eternal and vicious. I must apologize for deceiving you - it seemed the best way to execute my plan."

[member="Darth Carnifex"]

 

[Darth Carnifex]

He listened to every word she said, his face still inquisitive yet hard. She may as well have been right on every account, perhaps Kaine was a fool for putting so much faith into something that was obviously wrong and otherworldly.

It didn't matter to him though, he craved it more than anyone besides himself could understand.

"You deride me for trusting the witch, yet here you stand... Offering up divisive words and expecting me to believe every scrap of what tumbles from your pretty mouth? It is you who are a fool, Braith, for coming here on this night." He had finally recognized the woman now, she had so clearly given herself away by trying to appeal to the Dark Lord. He could not memorize all those who had gone out of their way to truly care for his uncle, who she erroneously called brother, but he remembered the woman who had disappeared in war never to return. He also remembered the fervor that Braxus had thrown himself into trying to scour the galaxy for her, only to end up empty handed time and time again.

How damning would it be for him to know that she was here now, standing before his nakedness in his own home. Kaine resolved that for the sake of unity he would never divulge this meeting to his uncle, let the man believe that she had left or had died on some forgotten backwater.

It would be easier that way.

There was a darkness stirring, the light from outside the palace waned and faded as the air grew thick with morose anticipation. She was here, right now. He could feel her. He could almost taste her, such a delicacy dancing on the tip of his tongue.

It happened all at once, the darkness surging forth to spear Braith straight through her chest with a suddenness that caught the smaller woman completely off guard. She hadn't even realized what had transpired until the full brevity of the situation descended upon her, and she reached out to caress the vile protrusion that sundered her being. The Dark Lord's expression was passive, he hadn't moved or reacted in any way that conveyed shock or horror, his eyes falling down to look at what had befallen her before they rose again to stare the dying woman in her eyes and spat venomously as the life ebbed from her body. "Your end, woman. But the beginning of something grand."

He let his other elaborate further, gorging herself on the impaled witch's suffering until it at last crumbled away to nothing. In its place emerged a new being, resplendent and grotesque features clashing violently all along its form. He reached out to gingerly touch this new edifice of flesh, enraptured by the power he felt vibrating through his soul at being so close to the one who had tied herself to him. He barely suppressed a shudder of joyous pleasure as his hunger was momentarily sated, "Ananta." He rolled the name around in his mouth, savoring its meaning before finally inquiring, "In some manner I knew that you would return to me, I didn't know when... but when that woman revealed herself to me I knew that the hour was at hand. But do not mistake me... I do not enjoy deception, you and I are tied together beyond physical comprehension."

"There needn't be dishonesty between us."

[member="Darth Ananta"]​