The Prophet's Hand is endless (ask)

[Darth Abyss]

Malachor V, The Tainted City

The irony of being forced to smuggle himself into his own city was not lost on Darth Abyss. But there was no room to waste his energy by being annoyed about it. Chaos was the natural state of the galaxy, and because of it everything was a constant, ever changing flux. His ability to manipulate this chaos was what made Abyss the temporary ruler of Malachor, and it had taught him to play the cards he had been dealt instead of trying to change the game up from the ground.

Hidden under multiple layers he had traveled to the edges of his city into an abandoned warehouse, obscured both by the force and conventional means. He still had enough pull throughout the cities to get in an out unseen, even if he couldn't control them anymore. It wasn't the safest location, but the combination of hiding almost in plain sight yet beyond the eyes of the common populace should be enough to momentarily keep the enemy from detecting him.

Through his comm the sith lord had transmitted a signal, not much more than noise to anyone besides those loyal to him. Then he simply waited, legs crossed and immersed in his mediation while the remnants of his network began their work as well as their path to his current location. The last step was another message, not to someone loyal to him but to the man he suspected to control his world currently, [member="Antherion"]. While it still angered him, Abyss had to admit to himself that the man was by far his best bet to keep is cities up and running, and while his control might had faded he still had his hands deeply in many very profitable ventures on Malachor. The message contained a navpoint of his current location, as well as the word "Prophet" but nothing more. Hopefully the cripple was wise enough to come alone and not force his hand again.

Slowly more and more men and women entered the warehouse, humans and near humans, twi'lek, droids and even a few more exotic species. They still were his eyes and ears around the city, and they would be the same to Malachors new ruler if he played along instead of throwing this opportunity away. Abyss remained on the ground while those loyal to him gathered and began to compare and analyze their Intel. The cities where in a better shape than he had expected but there was still much work to do.

 

[Ras'kala'han]

"Although the Unchained delegation was concerned that the Treaty of Malachor would not be honored by a superior military force, the Sith Empire's statement that it would be 'a waste of time and energy' to pacify the cities seems to be something they're willing to stand by. Surprising the Galactic community by honoring their agreement to not maintain a standing, onworld military force, the repairs to the Spires of Light are nearly complete, and the people of Malachor easily await what they describe as a 'major update' to the infrastructure of the planet."

"I'm telling you, this new 'free development' policy is exactly the sort of conquest we've been worrying about! Letting these corporations get their claws on Malachor just means that before long our cities will be divvied up for skyscraper land plots and we'll all be forced out to the fringes!" "What, you mean the corporations don't already own half the Lowers?" "It just ain't right!"

"This is Kemta News with a breaking announcement: local enforcement groups have called off the search for popular political critic and anti-Treaty holdout Veemer Lesk, who was found dead not far from his apartment in the City four hours ago, where he vanished. Autopsy reports suggest an overdose of Glitterstim, something corroborated by the discovery of several containers of the drug in his residence. While legal, the drug tends to avoided outside of the most desperate areas of the city due to its highly addictive properties..."

At the center of the web, there sat the spider. The Panopticon was the secret objective of the restoration of the spire, and electric center for all forms of surveillance and management at the height of the structure. The previous leader had believed in the spreading of power across numerous structures and facilities, but Antherion would concentrate it into a single, undetectable, and mobile facility.

The traps, security measures, and what had been deleted and destroyed had left him with little to work with, mostly solid records that were out of date, or safe deposit boxes filled with early-iteration alchemical prototypes discarded for superior alternatives. What subordinates he could capture knew little, and guarded it fiercely. Progress was slow.

But it was progress.

In meditation, he listened to the whispering of the screens. The strings of information, the stock market brokers, the analysts. His hidden forces had been established with the help of the Imperial military, his farcical treaty being waved in his face as though any of the concessions he had made were meaningful, and he seemed to be growing his influence. He was especially looking forwards to his little 'gentrification' project. A stark class conflict was to his advantage for cultivating the criminal culture he wanted, and was very much looking forwards to a beautiful city. He may be a 'crime boss' by virtue of inheritance, and a GenoHaradan, but he would rule over no ugly world. Everything would be full of flowers and gleaming silver, and it all was moving smoothly...

"Prophet."​

​

He pursed his lips.

When he arrived at the location, he was flanked by a duo of guards, unfamiliar to [member="Darth Abyss"]. He walked upright, unlike their prior encounter, but it was clear that he was using a melded mesh of Force powers to reinforce his legs. Even then, he walked slowly, barely raising his legs or bending his knees, a low shuffle. He wore a black brocart tunic, highlighting his skin's stark pallor. The only splash of color was a Korriban bloodflower, preservatives making it look as fresh as the day it was plucked and giving it a sharp, anodyne smell.

He was flanked by a duo of bodyguards, cyborgs in concealing, heavy robes. Their presence in the Force was nigh identical to their ward, and their faces were smoothed-over plates of reflective metal, mirroring their surroundings. They each carried a sword, and kept silent.

"Lord Abyss. I expected you to not return to this world in person, not this soon... but there is no profit in conforming to the expected, is there? To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?" He gave a hollow smile.

 

[Darth Abyss]

"This is simply a matter of business."

Abyss body made no move, his face showed absolutely no reaction when [member="Antherion"] and his bodyguards entered the room. Even his eyes remained closed, the sith lord a still image of the cold and calculating calmness that he found in mediation. A part of him wondered if the man's attempt to walk and stand had been born out of the many times he had mocked him as cripple during their last encounter.

"You have potential. Malachor has not yet burned down. But there are still many things happening that you can not see, enemies out of your reach."

The sith lord lifted his right slightly, gesturing to one of his agents, who made his way to the two with a datapad in his hand. After another move of the Prophet's hand, the datapad was given to Abyss former opponent, on it collected intel as proof for his next words. The sith knight had done well enough, but there where places on Malachor so well hidden and obscure that it was impossible to find them without deep insight into the happenings of the city.

"You are a acceptable temporary ruler, so I will not waste my energy to erase you from the cities. There are still enough credits for me to earn here to make this a profitable venture. I want it to stay that way, so I have decided to share some of my insight with you."

He hadn't been gone for long, and yet there already had been several shifts in power. Many of the smaller and baldy organised groups had felt little of the change of leadership, some even believed that their Prophet was still the one pulling the strings in the shadows. But there were other players in the game, and some already tested the boundaries of this new opponent. They knew how to act in the shadows as well, and they would try to rise if given time.

"My agents have localized multiple cells throughout the cities that intend to challenge your power. I can help you to stop them, if you allow me to."

The exact details could be found on the datapad. First of was a group that called itself "The Knights of Firewall", a collective of highly talented anarchist slicers that had empires and megacorps on top of their target list. They operated from a not exactly known location in Firewall's Blue Light District. Then came the "Purple Jewels", formerly a low level street gang that inhabited the underground tunnels in the Spheres, which now operated under a fairly wealthy Hutt. In a handful days they conquered large parts of the tunnels and meant to expand even further. Last of were "The Enlightened", a small collection of dark side fanatics that had been deemed unworthy to enter his academy. Since Abyss disappearance a handful of his acolytes had joined them and they became a unpredictable force of chaos since then.

 

[Ras'kala'han]

| [member="Darth Abyss"] |​

As altruistic as I could expect you to be. The primary efforts of Antherion had been directed towards the erasure and commandeering of Lord Abyss's powerbase, and the transition was still partial. Moreover, the roots he had cast down were still shallow, and only time could make it otherwise. He knew that, with the funding and backing he was receiving and could wring out of other potential allies, he had the tide of inevitability on his side -- but weeding the garden after the strangling vines took root had been likely to be a messy, lengthy effort that would detract from his attempts to expand and recreate Malachor.

However, Abyss was on his side as much as the man thought Antherion was but a caretaker holding on to it, his power inextricably linked to the government of the Resurgent Empire. Someone as perceptive as him would have to know, or would soon find out, that he was planting the seeds of a very tightly-wound powerbase.

Does he simply not believe that I can become a threat? No matter. Underestimated or not, Malachor was now his world, and he would need to give full effort in creating the systems to wring profit from it.

"As tempted," the frail being said, "As I am to simply go about murdering these individuals one by one, that seems almost like a waste.

"The 'Knights' are skilled, but have ideals and thus would never cooperate with what they believe to be a centralized authority. And I strongly suspect your academy rejects are bitter and insane. The Purple Jewels are the most promising... but if they betray their Hutt for credits, they might yet betray me, so they must first be broken and know fear.

Antherion motioned to the bodyguard to his left. "This is Eleven." Any attempts to sense into its mind would yield nothing. The utter absence of any sort of thought, or even the trace of a presence beyond the impenetrable veil of its silver mask. "Please direct it to be briefed on the Knights, so that it may deliver the information across the closed network. It is the most secure method of transfer that I possess.

"I have already been working on the infrastructure of Malachor. Given the lack of governance, I have been using the Empire as a provider of low-skill construction and reconstruction work to repair and refurbish, the so-called 'Imperial Service Commission'.

"Assuming we know nothing else of the Purple Jewels, I can use them as an interesting demonstration of the municipal suppressants that I have been working on. Care to watch?"

 

[Darth Abyss]

"Well boy, I do assume you know nothing more about them."

Very, very slowly the sith lord rose from the ground for the first time of this meeting. It was painfully clear that he had not given away everything at once. If [member="Antherion"] had truly believed that, than he might should join up with the Enlightened. They were always looking for those with the gift of the force that were either stupid or dumb enough to join them in their crusade of chaos.

"I am not here to tell you how to rule "your" cities. Do as you please with the intel I gave you, my hands are tied anyway."

The laugh that followed was probably more mocking than any words that he could think up, despite the fact that almost all he said to him was a taunt in itself. Even the word "boy" was one, even more than the other sith was aware of. Under the mask Abyss wasn't an old man, not even one in the middle of his life. With his 22 years he was probably as old or even younger than Antherion. Yet it was still fitting. Abyss was one step from ascending to the sith equivalent of godhood, while the cripple could barely stand on his own feet.

"You think to highly of yourself. The second you realized that two strings are attached to each other, and that one falls if you pull the other, you believed yourself to be a player in this game. And because of it two strings are all you see."

Abyss made a step forward, the bright yellow of his eyes burning below the mask, looking straight at the slightly smaller man. There was no arrogance in this. One day in the future Antherion could stand as a lord for himself, but right now Abyss stood far above him, he was nothing to him but a bug he would crush if he had to.

"I on the other hand see the whole net. I pull a single string and it falls apart. It is a very easy decision. You can continue to see the fools of the resurgent empire as your allies, and me as an enemy in disguise or you start to see them as threat to your own personal power that they are and me as the only help you will get if you want your position to be more than a temporary solution."

 

[Ras'kala'han]

| [member="Darth Abyss"] |​

The young, waifish Sith pursed his lips. "Darth. Abyss." He rolled each word over as they proceeded from his mouth, as though a spider was crawling on the tip of his tongue, before proceeding in his usual, sanguine tone. "I pray your fortunes reverse soon, if you are always this... unbecoming in your moments of defeat, or even simple frustration."

With a curt gesture, he sent his bodyguards to the Dark Lord's personnel, their understanding of his implicit instruction perfect — they made immediate motion to gather the intel that the man had provided and send it to the appropriate personnel. "You immediately say that I serve, at your will, as a temporary ruler for the sake of sheer convenience, suggesting intent to reclaim the planet. Yet at the same moment, you claim that my acceptance of you as an ally would give me a chance at permanent stewardship of Malachor. You departed when we last crossed paths claiming that you would wreak vengeance on me, but now you say that you are truly my ally, and not the Empire that gave me freely the clout necessary to take this planet?"

"I do not wish to live in ignorance forever, you must understand. I cannot claim the breadth of knowledge you have, so share your perspective. Are you my ally, as you say? What need I offer to you, for your help in securing rule of this bauble, or your confidence and support?"

Antherion tilted his head slightly. His face was as expressionless as the Sith Lord's mask, his gaze expectant.

 

[Darth Abyss]

"What do you want me to do? Make you a compliment for your ability to stand?"

Again the sith lord laughed. Normally this form of mockery was simply a tactic to break an opponents spirit, but this was different. It was personal, the man had stolen his world, or rather an empire stole his worlds for him. If he expected respect or nice words from Abyss than he could wait until his death. Malachor was his legacy to the sith and to the galaxy, and frustration was a great understatement.

"Are sith ever truly allies? Would not each and every one of us kill the other if there would be something to gain? I would kill you here and now if it would serve my plans, and I hope for your sake that you would do the same."

The answer was cryptic as ever, but it got the point across. Be an asset and I see you as one, be a thread and I will erase you. Underworld, Order or Empire, a few things stayed the same everywhere, at least for the sith. In the end the sith had to survive each other, they were their only true enemy.

"I can offer you neither friendship nor friendliness, but I want to see these cities standing even more than you do. The deal is simple: My agents will remain, but they will refrain from acting on their own. Their intel will be shared between both of us, and in return you simply have to accept the wisdom I have to offer on the matters of Malachor. You can be this world's ruler, but I will remain its Prophet until the day that all becomes dust."

It was a pretty good deal, compared to what Abyss offered to most others. [member="Antherion"] could do as he pleased for the most part, Abyss would only intervene when his foresight was needed to to resolve a problem. Well obviously the decision when it was needed was up to Abyss and not the lesser sith, but the cripple probably knew that the Mindeater preferred to let things flow freely instead of forcing something into a set direction.

 

[Ras'kala'han]

| [member="Darth Abyss"] |​

​

"I see." The young Sith paused, turning askance slightly, his bodyguards lingering as they ensured that every last drop of information was transmitted clearly over the strange means that connected them. "And I understand. Please, for a moment walk with me. I imagine you'll have no trouble keeping pace."

Straightening himself slightly, Antherion dusted off his matte tunic, a small smile on his face. Beckoning to the Mindeater, he strode out of the warehouse for a moment, gazing from the edges of the city to look inwards. The buildings jutted up at what seemed to Antherion to be jagged angles. The smoke of a degree of unregulated pollution blocked out the stars, but highlighted the flickering sea of candles that were the windows, the speeders, the moving things. Noise filtered through from the center to the outer reaches where the two figures remained, like a tide lapping at their feet.

"Anarchy. A rare thing in a Galaxy of conflicting visions, to see someone leave the vision up to the clamoring will of the lower beings. When I first laid eyes on this place, from orbit, it was dead. Now, I see the desperation of those who cling to life.

"You were willing to summon the Silver Jedi to this world if you believed it would save the planet's freedom. You were willing to cede it to an upstart stranger in contempt when you realized that it was the one way, the one uncertain way, to preserve what you had created. If all this were indeed laid waste, I would be displeased, yes, but for the power I lost.

"When the fleet loomed large, you did not try to ingratiate yourself with the Resurgent Empire, in spite of the fact that it would have welcomed a Lord of your power. You did not evacuate your resources, credit, and intel, salvage what you could and depart. You have risked your own strength, resources, and influence to save cities built out of garbage on the bones of a war zone.

"You have formed an attachment. You have let yourself become corrupted by sentiment."

Antherion turned to the Dark Lord, slightly shorter than him, lifting a shaking hand to remove the Bloodflower on his chest. "I grow these on my ship or let my protocol droid tend them, and preserve them at the height of their beauty that they might enhance my own, and never wilt or fade." He crushed it in his hand, and scattered the petals in the air. "But never will they cloud my sight."

"You are lost, Darth Abyss, and now I must save you from yourself. I banish you from the planet Malachor, to leave and never return. Withdraw your agents, or they will be executed or broken. Yield the locations of what you have built and hidden, for if not then they will eventually be found. Muster sufficient power to retake this city, and I scour the surface of the planet clean and you will see the day all this returns to dust. Kill me, and neither of us leave alive and the Empire will be notified to fulfill what promises I could not keep... but killing me will not be as easy as you believe."

"Go amongst this city freely and be gone before the sun rises. Say goodbye to that which you loved, and know that this love was what made the wise Prophet blind." From inside the warehouse, the sounds of violence could be heard as the bodyguards drew their shining swords. Antherion smiled, a portrait of saintlike innocence.

 

[Darth Abyss]

Spoiler

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SpvI70J14Mc

"You banish me from my world?"

Abyss raised an eyebrow under his mask, and a slight grin danced over his face. He had accepted that Malachor was out of his hands, but if he couldn't keep his cities than he would at least get his revenge. If this fool truly believed that he had neither the means to beat him and to survive whatever he had in store for him besides his crippled body and force abilities than he was as unfit for this world than he had thought right from the start. In his time with the one sith he had enacted many scorched earth tactics, and he would do it again before someone like this man profited from his work.

"I am sorry to tell you, but I am not the one that is blind. You force my hand here, and My HandMy HandMy Hand is EndlessEndlessEndless."

Like during their last encounter the crown on his head light up in a bright read, and each of his words was followed by the echo of a hundred voices speaking as one. The left hand of the Mindeater extended, and a speeder that traveled above them suddenly changed course only to fall down on the city below them, leaving only fire where it crashed. If [member="Antherion"] wanted Malachor to burn, than it would burn. He had build a world out of nothing once, and he would do it again. This was nothing but a minor setback when looking at the bigger picture.

"FireFireFire will cleanse Malachor from the cancer of the Resurgant Empire, until only DustDustDust remains. And so the ProphecyProphecyProphecy ends at last."

A second later two weapons jumped into the hands of the Mindeater. A handheld scattergun into his left and his lightsaber into his right, the crimson red reminiscent of the blood that would taint the Tainted City today. This was the end, but like every end it was also a new beginning. At least for Abyss. For the cripple it would be the day that he died so his weak flesh stopped to damage the strength of the sith.

"Call your friends then CrippleCrippleCripple. There is not enough SithSithSith in you to face me AloneAloneAlone anyway. I will wait for them."

The trigger of the gun was pulled but Abyss didn't cared enough to really aim at his foe. The way he expected this to go it wouldn't be the cripple who would stop him. Mainly because the chances of the cripple weren't to good when trying to.

 

[Ras'kala'han]

| [member="Darth Abyss"] |​

The soft face of the Sith hardened as battle was joined. He, in a way, had underestimated the man's attachment, and in a way he had overestimated it. The resolve of the Darth was such that if he could not have it, no one could. The vain hope that Abyss had clung to, that what he had built would willingly or easily pass back into his hands, had clearly faded. Now, he was on the warpath — no silver tongue would bring victory today, only steel.

The stray spray of the scattergun's careless shot were repelled with a burst of concentrate, telekinetic force from Antherion's outstretched, left hand. With his right, he pressed the comlink on his collar to send a secure message to his guard in whispered Cerean. Malachor is under attack. Launch the Panopticon. Deploy the Street Devils and all available Aeviternal Guard. Notify the GenoHaradan.

Then, he turned to face Abyss, keeping his left hand outstretched as though it held a shield. The GenoHaradan were the type . "Your reach is long, but you have at last exceeded your grasp, prophet of lies."

A pause. "And now, I have power to face you." And with that, he lowered the barriers around the shard of Force within him that he, above all else, had walled off for his own protection and sanity's sake. The piece that belonged to the being called [member="Dredge"], that deific and hateful being who had anointed him an 'angel'. He feared being called to serve... but he did not fear it more than death. He embraced its corruption.

Spoiler

[video]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NlQcKBUcgmA[/video]

His hands did not shake. His veins rushed through with ink. Power gathered around him, until the Force could be felt with palpable keen, like a halo. His halo. His divine right, the sigil of his authority, etched into him by the blossoming power of his most glorious master. The wall between his thoughts and the whispers of what tainted him began to crumble.

"Behold. In mercy and exaltation, God's angel of death has come unto you." The words fell from his lips dripping with a genuine passion that he otherwise could not have mustered -- not his own, but the keening choir of minds that he had opened himself to. He spread his arms wide like wings, and opened his eyes: mirrors of his Master's eyes, voids of empty white.

He only now could hope that what was left of him at the end of this battle was close enough to what came before that it could still be called him... or that he could survive channeling this energy for as long as it took to beat the adversary back.

Misgivings. No. Unbecoming of an anointed servant of the One.

"Oh you, hollow demon, black in spirit and empty of heart... redemption is at hand. Rejoice."

Extending a hand, he unleashed a blast of kinetic Force, a destructive impulse that would reduce any lesser man to pulped bone. This was no lesser man... so he loosed a full salvo of such attacks, a relentless rain of oppressive, warped space. His smile had softened to the face of serenity. Peace was not a lie. It was all that would remain at the end.

| [member="Darth Imperia"] | [member="Tai Fa"] | [member="Thengil Ri'Shajirr"] |

 

[TB-705]

Space,
Unmarked, Unregistered Vessel

Hate built upon anger. Anger built upon fear. Fear built upon suffering.

My foundations are pain.

Pain was a powerful motivator. Strength beget strength. Weakness only saw anguish, of self... of others. Ri'Shajirr learned as a cub what happened to those too pathetic to protect themselves. There were only two types of beings in the galaxy: the hunter and the hunted.

Deprived of everything, even the Force itself, Thengil knew what it was like to be powerless.

Never again.

The self-disgust of those years swung like a millstone around his neck, against which he ground the edge of his anger, chipping away mercy until he could feel a cruel emptiness focused solely upon self-preservation.

A chime broke the meditation, like a sudden crack appearing in a mirror. Claws extended with near-silent snicks. Yellow orbs swiveled down to glance at a blinking data pad.

[member="Antherion"] calls for help. Weakness. Perhaps I erred in bringing him into the fold.

He activated his commlink.

"Chart a course for Malachor."

 

[Darth Abyss]

"So you meet the Flase GodFalse GodFlase God then? It seems that FateFateFate has meant for you to be nothing but another foolish SlaveSlaveSlave until your DeathDeathDeath."

There was no god, only a flawed and misguided spirit, so blind by power and arrogance that it wasn't able to see what it truly was. No wonder it and [member="Antherion"] got along so well. He could pull his allies and tricks all he wanted, this was still Malachor, and the unchained wouldn't go without a glorious last stand. The second sith forces would make their appearance in the city the people would rally, knowing that they had been deceived. Or well deceived more than any other day.

Instead of even trying to block the man's attacks made a run for cover, dropping to the ground right behind a makeshift wall that once belonged to a long gone structure of the Tainted City. It wouldn't hold long but it gave him time to plan his next move. His best bet would be to take away the thing that made him dangerous in the first place, the force and whatever "gift" he had been given by Dredge. The throwing knifes he carried could do exactly that, but he needed a distraction, something that would allow him to stop his opponent from simply stopping them mid air. Well time for a firework. The two weapons in his hand returned to their places, while Abyss got ready both in body and mind. Pull the pins, then brace for impact. This would hurt, but pain was nothing compared to defeat. Before moving out he pushed on his comm, whispering quickly into it: "Glory, Initialize Black Flag protocol."

"Your EndEndEnd and that of your new MasterMasterMaster will come. I have ForeseenForeseenForeseen it."

With his eyes closed Abyss stepped out of his cover, ready to take the first wave of telekinetic blasts. He had suffered worse and stood up when others would've been dead for days. Each of his hands released a grenade at the other sith, his left a cryoban, his right a flashbang, both spaced out to divert his enemies focus. The next move was more a test of faith in the force than actual skill. Not even he was that good with throwing his little knifes to make this one a 100% thing. He felt a single rip breaking under the pressure of the attack of his adversary, while again both his hands hurled an object at the other. Knifes with enough poison in them to knock the force out of anyone, at least for a short time.

While the fight happend, Abyss AI got to work, making sure anyone with a weapon knew what to do. There would never be peace between the two, for a simple reason. Peace was a lie.

[member="Thengil Ri'Shajirr"]

 

[Ras'kala'han]

Antherion laughed, a genuine laugh for the first time in what felt like an age. It was full of passion, the true sort of passion, what he had never been able to truly touch since his father butchered him into an alchemical monster devoid of compassion. Compassion, his heart sang with compassion, he felt sorry for all the hurts he had ever done, and he had done every hurt that their was to be done in the Galaxy, because he was everyone, because he was one with the One.

Merrily, he chased after the Dark Lord as the shadowy figure darted to and fro, his blasts of power leaving rubble-filled craters and crevices in the ground as the wreaked havoc. "You cannot hide from the light of the divine. Your jealous love for what you have created will not destroy it, for it shall be made a monument to the New Order."

While Antherion was busy using nothing but the power of his idle, divinely connected mind to disassemble and the wall Darth Abyss his himself behind and hurl the pieces over the horizon line, his senses alerted him to grenades. Two grenades.

"Toys, for children." Focusing his whole attention on those two attacks, he gestured with his hands as they halted in the spots where they exploded, the explosions themselves being contained by sheer telekinetic power, being pressed into two fist-sized orbs of tightly-bound, compressed energy that he then unleashed directly at the Dark Lord.

Then he looked down and saw one knife had made a deep cut in his left shin, tearing the fabric of his outfit. The other had lodged itself in his right shoulder. It mattered not. With the power he had access to, he could simply fling them away and seal up the wounds with the Mindeater's own life energy as he made a feast of his soul.

Then, he had no access to the energy. Instead, he had two knives sticking out of him, and a mild headache.

"Oh no." This poison, whatever it was, was unbelievably potent. All the energy the shard of power in him could muster was sealed away by it, and he had no doubt that his own power would be gone entirely if it weren't for that. The choir of voices in his head ceased. The corruption faded, but he... he felt horrible. His whole body ached with the strain of the power he had channeled.

"No, no, no!" Grimacing, he motioned to the pair of guardsmen -- his deadly, elite Aeviternal Warriors, trained at the feet of the Sith Assassins in melee combat and subterfuge in exchange for some alchemical services. "Kill him -- kill him now! Panopticon, I want every operative you have working censorship, disinfo, false flag... anything! I will not lose." He had kept from ripping the blade out of his shoulder to avoid bleeding, but he felt the red trickling down his leg. He wouldn't be able to stay standing for long like this.

His face contorted with rage and pain, Antherion raised his shaking hands and unleashed twin streams of cyan lightning from his fingertips towards Darth Abyss as the warriors, swords bloodied with Abyss's servants, assumed Ataru stances and charged, masks gleaming in the light.

As this took place, the shadow war in Malachor ignited. Invisible, the fist of Antherion's power began to ignite its climate disruption array, clouds gathering to spit forth heavy rainfall. Under cover of the storm, a war of assassins against assassins, cartels against cartels, and puppets against puppets began, while the Panopticon itself began to reach into the network, unleashing hitherto unseen levels of one-way jamming. The official records would put this down as an "ionic-barometric phenomenon," but those who know the truth would remember it as the day they took Malachor. That is to say, the survivors.

| [member="Darth Abyss"] | [member="Thengil Ri'Shajirr"] |

 

[Darth Abyss]

Again Abyss made no effort to defend himself from his redirected grenades, instead making a jump to his right followed by a roll over the ground that allowed him to end his evade in a half upright stance, one foot and one knee on the ground. Before he even saw his knifes sticking out of the body of [member="Antherion"], he could feel as the power around the man faded, followed by words of anger and frustration. That was what happened when you decided to force one the galaxy's greatest assassins to fight you in the open.

The second Abyss came to his feet again, he already caught sight of the two new attackers that the cripple had send against him to balance out his own weakness, followed by the burst of cyan lightning. His saber jumped from his belt into his right hand, but the concentrated blast of dark side energy still left a nasty burn on his arm before the crimson blade came to live to block out any further damage.

"What a WeakWeakWeak little CowardCowardCoward you are."

Abyss got ready to defend himself from the two assassins that approached him. That had to be a joke. His master, Darth Ophidia, was the greatest assassin of this age, and he had learned much from her. They would suffer for their heresy as well. His stance, the saber hanging loosely on his side and only held with one hand, was somewhat based on Form two, but years of experience and training had developed it into a unique style that only he and a few of those he trained had knowledge of.

A cruel grin danced over the face of the sith lord, as a finger on his right triggered a small device build into his weapon. Light absorbing cells, electromagnetic generators that could drain almost all light from an area. The fight between him and the enemies was shrouded in darkness, but after the sound of sabers clashing with each other was heard a few times, another grenade was thrown out of the field of black, aimed once again at the real enemy.

He didn't had the time to cook the small weapon, armed with a payload of smoke and position gas, but it wasn't meant to truly hurt the cripple aynway. Instead he simply wanted to further disrupt his balance, forcing him to move until his body would fail him. Knowing your enemies weaknesses was more lethal than any strength he possessed.

[member="Thengil Ri'Shajirr"]

 

[Acaleus Thorn]

Acaleus was waiting in the hangar room with at least five thousand of Enryu Corp mercenaries manipulating the whole ship. Venus was waiting in the pilot sit to get out of hyperspace with the assassin sleeping in the AT-120 sofa, with a backpack as a pillow "So...what are we doing?" "Assisting a guy that is friend of Thraxis in Malachor V named Abyss from the empirial remnant" "And do you need to be in the site?" "Always" the cruiser got out from hyperspace with everyone sitting on the turrets or waiting to fly away on the hammerhead gunship waiting for a signal to fly away

After standing up, he used the comm to order everyone their jobs "Drop ships, make a line on Abyss GPS and create a front line where everyone will advance. Air support will stay close to the cruised, as i want everyone to return home if possible. Cruiser fire on the enemy lines. Everyone dismiss" with that being say he stretched his arms, already gear up.

Somke was coming out from certains district of the Tainted City. The battle could become a large scale war so he would had to wrap things up quickly "Hello? 1, 2, 3. Abyss? If this chet works?" said standing in the open hangar bay of the AT-120, grabbing a strap on the ceiling and having a dozen of lighted armored soldiers with black outfits behind him. They had blaster guns and machine guns on hand, ready to engage. His small militia position themself on the first and second building near Abyss, using the walls as cover

"Hi. My name is Acaleus" said pointing his arm forward, creating a personal force shield resistance enough to receive bolts from blaster. The smell of burned meat would fill his nose in any second.

[member='Thengil Ri'Shajirr'] [member='Antherion'] [member='Darth Abyss']

 

[Natalie LaForte]

"What are we test-firing anyway?" an uninformed gang member spoke. Ignoring her, they continued the slow walk into the desert wasteland, far away from the city, yet it was still within their sights. "What-.." "You talk too much." Not looking at the girl, who turned her head in dismay. "If you must know, it's something that could level a skyscraper if we tried." "Cool."

She began to recite the poem that the very weapon was built upon, or at least she tried to.
"See my destruction,
My Weapon of truth,
Witness me in my glory,"

"Do you remember the last line?" the other girl merely shook her head in response. "So, what're we firing it at?" At that point, they had finally reached the destination, the tracker beeped and the sandstorm started to shift around a large, large caracas of a ship. No less a behemoth, a downed star destroyer, completely out of commission and beyond any form of repair; yet the perfect target for the prototype prepared by [member="Darth Abyss"] scientists. Her communicator beeped, and it was one of them. "Hello Miss For-.. Serenity. We're currently in the process of transporting the Alpha testing product to Site Z, although I would not be surprised if we are currently being tracked by Antherion and his swarms. Keep a look out, we have a security detail assigned to us but we cannot say the same for you."

Surprisingly, they were heavily armed, a juggernaut, 4 anti-aircraft tanks, along with 3 vehicle transporters, each carrying one of the mysterious weapons.

"ETA?"

"Well... we have run into... complications, negotiations seemed to have failed and we are currently attempting to run jamming on the Empire's communications to stop them from interfering. 2 hours should be suffice, we have already departed from the main city and are well out of reach of any weapons."

"Good good, ciao."

The transmission ended, the two now stood in silence, now beginning to explore the abandoned destroyer.

[member="Acaleus Thorn"] I [member="Antherion"] I [member="Thengil Ri'Shajirr"]

 

[Ras'kala'han]

The grenade was, at this point, expected. Antherion's patience was far, far past whatever sort of limit it had. The pain was a distraction, yes, but he had discipline. His focus was not yet broken, and he had one thing on his mind: Kill Darth Abyss. Sweeping his hand outwards, the grenade veered far off course, skittering well away from its destination. It failed to erupt, but in honesty, Antherion had returned his attention to the Dark Lord the moment he had passed out of the tool's threat range.

"For all your power, what have you done?"His face was filled with unmasked contempt, his voice with scorn. He had nothing more to hide. "You built a playground out of trash for criminals to spraypaint slogans over, complained bitterly when a 'crippled boy' took it all away from you, and take up an unwinnable battle out of petty spite. You are a child."

His Aeviternal Guard's masks hummed with the whirr of constant technology. The nose had been removed, as had the ears, the eyes, the tongue. Wires and synthesizers and workings of the Force etched into the inside of the mask's surface sufficed, creating a body of linked awareness, their destroyed minds mere fragments of Antherion's own, twisted personality. And they, too, could fight in the shadows. By no means the swordmasters the likes of Abyss, Krest, or Ophidia were, they took what advantage they could of their numbers. They struck as swiftly as they could, a flurry of acrobatic, simultaneous blows.

The Sith himself raised his hand, seeking to attack from another plane. Working to assault in the mental while his guards kept physical pressure, he reached out to the Dark Lord's mind to plant his own body's sensations... that is to say, share his weakness, if he would. Show the mighty one what it would be like to feel the weight and weakness of the world as he did.

Overhead the tainted city, the storm began to rise. Heavy rain fell, and the wind howled. Far above the Spire of Light, hanging a few kilometers into the lower atmosphere, the climate disruption array thrummed and the jamming signals raged.

| [member="Darth Abyss"] | [member="Thengil Ri'Shajirr"] |

~​

​

The mistake was transmitting it. The Panopticon was not a combat craft, though it did have its one weapon of mass destruction as its last resort. It existed for the benefit of hearing all, seeing all, knowing all. Military force did not appear on the planet out of a vacuum, nor superweapons, nor Sith Apprentices. And all of these things were red flags. Right now, the women whose code designation in Antherion's private network was 'bittersweet' had more red flags than a First Order rally.

The dispatch was simple. Mangle the transmission, leak it. The "Enlightened," the Force-Sensitive rejects of the Abyss Academy, would know that 'the enemy' (though in the end, it was doubtful if they cared which one it was) was transporting a powerful weapon of terror. They were just the types to seize the opportunity, and a cadre of hooded figures soon departed the city on speeders.

Meanwhile, the man who tried to pilot an armed cruiser around the Caldera would run into the problem of the Resurgent Imperial navy. His broadcast down to the city was likely blocked and intercepted by the Panopticon's constant burst of jamming signals, the same reason Antherion had yet to call for extraction in face of impossible odds.

The Imperial Cruiser in orbit of the system would offer a simple ultimatum. "You are trespassing in Imperial space in violation of the laws of the Council. Identify yourselves and power down weapon systems for inspection."

| [member="Serenity Loveheart"] | [member="Acaleus Thorn"] | [member="Vrak Nashar"] |

 

[Vrak Nashar]

Hyperspace
The Tyrant

Vrak stood quietly on the bridge of his Harrower, his eyes closed, hands clasped behind the small of his back. The mask that he had taken to wearing now that he sat on the Council rested on a small command chair to his left, a Lieutenant stood behind him, steadfastly awaiting a command. Vrak focused upon the flow of the force, the ebb and movement of the darkside through the Caldera. He wore no expression, though a slight twitch of his face told that he wasn't completely out of it.

The thin lines of hyperspace drifted before them, slashing across the viewport with incessant speed. There was no telling where they were exactly, though they had departed Athiss not too long ago. A few more minutes passed, and then finally something happened. The loud tromp of boots could be heard, and Ensign urgently crossing the deck of the Bridge.

"My Lord."

The Ensign came up behind him, bowing as Vrak slowly opened his eyes.

For a moment the Sith Lord considered the view before him, the thin blue stands of hyperspace lingering within his gaze. Then slowly The Pureblood turned back towards the man, his eyes falling on the Ensign who was still half bowing. A slight twitch of disdain pulled across his lips as he saw that the man was human, though The Councilor would not hold it against him, not yet anyway. It wasn't that he instantly despised humans, just in general they proved to be incompetent. "Speak."

Vrak said finally.

"Malachor is under attack, my Lord."

The Pureblood tilted his head for a moment, lips thinning. The defense fleet could very likely handle such a thing, but they were close enough.

"Change our course." He told the Lieutenant that had been lingering behind him. "Take us to Malachor and prepare for combat."

He had some time to kill.

 

[Darth Abyss]

He had done far more than [member="Antherion"] would ever know. Malachor was just a single point in the picture of Abyss life. Leader of the sith assassins, last remaining member of the One Sith High command, major figure in the underworld and a whole lot of other less important things had all been steps he had taken during his rise to Darth Abyss, the Mindeater. The taunt left him utterly cold, the game of words was one he had learned to play before he could even properly lift his saber.

Krest was a blademaster through and through, his body honed into a deadly weapon, Ophidia was quick, agile and acrobatic. The last line of this small sith dynasty was Abyss, how had traded both strength and speed for quick wits and unrivaled ruthlessness. He was neither the best nor the strongest when it came to the art of blades, but he was a battlefield tactician that had something up his sleeve for almost any situation.

As the blades of the two warriors came down, the crimson saber lifted to block the one on his right, while the his left pulled for the cortosis knife on his back to not only block, but short out the other weapon that moved towards him. Then he followed up with a quick, efficient swipe of is saber, aiming at the throat of the man left from him, while the knife in his left crossed below his sword arm, meant to push the cold steel into the man's stomach.

The he felt as the mind of the cripple touched his own, feeling as the other sith tried to place his own curse upon him, his own pain and weakness. If it came down to a battle of mind, that it wouldn't be impossible for Abyss to simply block the enemy's mind out completely, by a mix of his mental fortitude, his state as the Mindeater and a few other tricks, but he decided against it. A little pain would not hinder him, he had felt pain far beyond that of being crippled countless times. His own lost leg was a constant reminder of that.

For the boy on the other hand this link would turn out as a mistake. To touch his mind he had to slightly open his own, and that was more than enough for Abyss to work with. Like in their last battle Abyss channeled memories stored on his crown into a mental blast, while he slowly felt weakness and pain crawling over his body. Yet other than the last time he didn't used remnants of pain and fear, emotions that could fuel the dark side, instead picking a seemingly unending flow of happiness, love, calm and last of all peace, stolen from the minds of jedi. If he had calculated right this would help to further weaken the man's ability to connect to the darkness, while also draining his focus to work though the sheer amount of thoughts and memories thrown at him.

[member="Vrak Nashar"] [member="Serenity Loveheart"] [member="Thengil Ri'Shajirr"] [member="Acaleus Thorn"]

 

[Acaleus Thorn]

"Wait what?" said retreating behind a wall, while he threw his soldier from that cover "Capt.Regina?" "We are trying to find the location of that signal, but nothing" "Venus, try to find it" "Like looking a needle in a haystack" "Well it must be in the same district" the assassin finalized the call. The five squadron were surrounding Abyss and that other guy, but would engage only if Abyss lose. And, as he expected coming from two sith lords fighting, rage and fear came to the minds of his militia and even him

Instead of faliing through that hole, he meditated, sitting at the floor with the leg crossed and his palms stick, trying to get those feelings away and succeding. He used the things he learned from the Obsidian Order back on the days of the Techno Union. It was hard, but better than having a militia that would be in complete disorder. They would freak out and start shooting at themself if he didnt help out. If he survived this, not the battle or wounds. He had an experience where a Sith lord would pass through an entire squadron without any sort of weapon, but every member started to killing their companions or themself.

If he survived the mental game being play in the present time. Thats why Acaleus didnt liked the dark or light side, because you let yourself be carried away by emotions "Someone notice me when allies arrive on the planet" right now, they didnt had any advantage and at least the hammerhead gunships werent affected

[member='Darth Abyss'] [member='Vrak Nashar'] [member='Serenity Loveheart'] [member='Antherion']