The Wolf and the Dragon [Yasha]

[Darth Carnifex]

The stars distort as a ship emerges out of hyperspace above a cloud-wreathed desert world, its blackened hull a speck of darkness against the blazing brightness of the nearby star. Gracefully the starship moved through the emptiness of space, its magnificent wingspan gliding down through the planet's atmosphere and across endless desert plains and mountainous plateaus. Its passing cast a wide shadow over the land it traversed, causing many native Er'Kit to glance up in concern as the noticeable wrongness of the shuttle's occupant washed over them.

A single settlement rose up to meet the shuttle as it crested a sandy hill bank, perimeter guns trained on the dark ship before a series of authorization codes dissuaded them from taking action. The ship turned towards the starport, kicking up dust and small bits of debris as it idled down to land. Its wings rotated up to minimize the space it took up while at rest, while a single boarding ramp lowered from the main fuselage with a hiss of hydraulic steam.

One man emerged from the shuttle, his muscular body clasped in rich silk and non-ornate black armor. A curved lightsaber hung from his left hip, light glinting off of its metallic parts whenever the sun caught it at the right angle.

A pair of Mandalorians approached him, weapons held tightly across their chest as they demanded that he stand and answer as to why he had come to this remote desert world. "Simple," the Dark Lord of the Sith replied, "I have come to meet with your Mand'alor, I know she still lingers on this world. You will take me to her so that she and I may discuss matters of great importance. She would share my annoyance if you kept me waiting, Mandalorians."

After a moment of tense silence, the Mandalorians relaxed their weapons, "The Mand'alor accepts your audience request, Emperor. Follow us."

[member="Yasha Mantis"]​

 

[Yasha Cadera]

Er’kit spread before the Zambrano Emperor in vast prefabricated bulbous shapes and rows of neatly Risen war tents housing the Mandalorian Relief Contingent. Clan Mantis, Clan Raxis, Clan Australis and Skirata and Solus flooded through, medical tents giving thorough check ups and services to each of the hundreds of thousands of slaves the Mandalorian Empire freed from the Thallassian Slavers.

In the centre of the tight rows of thermal tents, an identical tent gilded with the standards of the Infernal sat with Death Watch Guards on the surround. The Beskar’kandar of [member="Ambrose Mantis"] appeared from the tent, the gurlanin barking orders in Mando’a to the vode who brought [member="Darth Carnifex"] thusly.

Inside the war tent, an armoured young woman with long raven hair, gauntlets and helm set aside as she cupped water from a wide bowl in her hands and splashed it upon her face. Rubbing the grime of days on Er’kit with a towel, Yasha turned to view the Dark Lord’s entrance, her lithe back to the tent flaps.

“I would beg pardon for the indelicate nature in which your arrival finds me, but you too are used to the grime of campaigns, and would not fault a warrior to take a moment for appropriate ablutions.” Yasha’s clipped Panathan accent tempered through her words in their native tongue. Four Death Watch guards stood inside the tent, Ambrose following Kaine in.

Deft fingers brushed through thick raven hair, braiding it up in a quick crown braid atop her proud olive skinned head. Fresh of face and freshly washed, Yasha was the bearer of tender freckles across her elegant brow and nose. Amber eyes burned and sparked, as if possessed of an inner inferno many never saw for the mask of cold command and wolf-helm usually upon her brow.

“Hello, Kaine. Water? I can make some tea, if you like.” Ambrose silently handed Kaine a data pad with a list of names, standing back as the rest of the guards vacated with a glance from the Infernal. “Your wives are well, I trust? Your... children?”

A quirk to young lips, full and pouted as Yasha applied the black lipstick which some wondered was tattooed upon her. This close, without helm or precious cosmetics, one could see thin black line work tattooed on her lower lip and chin, spilling down past her collar. Lines of grief for the dead. “Have a seat, if you care for one.”

 

[Darth Carnifex]

The Emperor paid little heed to the city of tents that stretched out as far as the eye could see, his movements meticulous and purposeful as he kept pace with the Mandalorians who escorted him. Still, he could feel the glares of scorn many of those who occupied the refuge on his back, their derision palpable through the Force as they struggled to keep down their explosive inclination to lash out against a visible symbol of galactic oppression.

He inwardly dared them to try.

But none took the bait, and the Emperor returned their hateful gazes with a scowl born of apathetic disappointment.

Yasha's tent loomed before him, his entrance granted by the watch hound [member="Ambrose Mantis"]. The Mand'alor herself had her back turned towards him, her helmet and gauntlets removed as she doused her face with water and dried them with a dirt-stained cloth. The faintest visage of a smirk curled the corners of his mouth, "No stranger indeed, Mand'alor. And might I say you look positively radiant marked by the filth of the battlefield." The Emperor had always found an abstract beauty in the muck and grime of war, how filthy it left worlds ravaged by it. To see such a fit and alluring warrior-queen in her natural habitat, face smeared with the chaos of battle, was something he found more majestic than any dolled up holostar.

He took the datapad with one hand, his baleful eyes glancing over its contents before he responded, "No thank you, I prefer to stand. And tea will be adequate, Yasha. My wives are happy and content and my children are still alive, so that is all I can ask of the Force. I do believe Rex has tried his hand at painting, something that surprised his mother." There was a faint glimmer in his eyes, "He found the right muse, I suppose. But, enough about my children. How is Adara? How are you, for that matter? The last I saw you were with my son at the ball, you two looked rather picturesque I must say."

[member="Yasha Mantis"]​

 

[Yasha Cadera]

Whispers through the Camp. Some shouts further back, but a sense of hushed calm spread through the former slaves, as they and their Mandalorian relief workers helped regain some sense of permanency in their lives. It was an image Yasha did not expect [member="Darth Carnifex"] to understand. He was vocal about Yasha’s Panathan heritage, and the cultural association with the oppression of weaker forms too minuscule to reign on their own.

Where he and Yasha differed, was in what one as a ruler did with the lesser beings around them. Kaine Zambrano saw them as a force to be utilized, foundational stones to hew and build his domain upon. Fodder and chaff, hands roughened with labours. Yasha Mantis saw the ability to extol them, to bring them up to an equalized level, through education, training, nutrition and pride. The honour and pride in the eyes of a freed slave, given to the Mando’ade and entranced by their continued new gifts was worth the expense, and ultimately created loyal vode, where Kaine’s way created the infamy of a heavy and hardened hand.

He would crush, where she would entice. And how enticing she was, an Epicanthix in the flower of youth, rubbing the chaff of battle off her face and hands, armour stained by her days upon that desert world. Yasha huffed out a smile at the compliment, tucking her braid into her hair with a pin and catching the hint of a smirk in her eyes.

“This campaign is a long one. Thelassians thinking they can take entire cities to capture and trade. Disgusting creatures, I’ve been killing them since Ploo and Hela. And was that a compliment, oh Nefarious King? Careful, you might spoil me. Mando’ade do not say such things.” The most timid upturn of a corner of her lips displayed as she turned to face the beast of nightmares for the first time since he returned Adara and Bethany over Commenor’s burning husk.

“As you prefer. It was beautiful to see Salara and Invicta so in love. Those two are an example to us all, for their passions and their taste in music… painting? Rex?” Yasha’s lips quirked, a slow growing flush to her cheeks at the mention of the elder Zambrano boy. She busied to pour water from a canteen into the kettle attached to the glowing embers of the hearth-fire in the middle of the tent, taking a locked tin and with a flick of her wrist, opening its’ contents. Bringing the tin up to her nose, Yasha inhaled the scent of the tea leaves, unconfined delight surging across her at the one luxury she allowed herself while on campaign. “I wonder what his muse was. Landscape, perhaps? Abstract historical painting? Enough about him, eh? Why, I'd think you'd want to sing Alvarex's praises.”

A well manicured eyebrow raised. She dolled out loose tea leaves with a small spoon into a teapot left warming by the fire. All was done with the ease and practice of a Panathan noblewoman, measured. Concise.

“Adara misses her ‘Glomkhoduil’, and has every day these past weeks, tried to wear that cupcake of a dress Aiya got her for the Ball. Its’ the strangest thing to see the Mand’alor’s child running through her schooling firing practice blasters and flouncing around in more layers of fabric than Bastion has battleships. Bethany mourns. Sabarene and Commenor hit her terribly, and I remain vigilant to ensure her maternal genome does not complicate her growth as a warrior-healer. The elven are so easily destroyed through emotions. I…” Taking her towel, Yasha wrapped it around the handle of the hissing kettle, dispensing the water to the warm tea pot and stoppering the lid. Setting the empty kettle back on its’ stand, Yasha turned to take three teacups and set them on the table between four chairs.

A pause. The knitting of a brow too young to carry such woes.

“Picturesque. Yes, I’ve seen the HoloNet feeds. Mand’alor Enchanted by Sith Prince. Holos of [member="Alvarex Zambrano"] and I dancing, the… kiss.” Yasha cleared her throat, eyes cast off Kaine’s face as a gentle flush of pink stole her cheeks. “Made quite the stir, I suppose you put him up to it. Something to make an impression.”

“The boy was enthralled, Yash’ika. Not even the Dark Lord can force a man to act that dumb with affection without there being a legitimate cause.” Ambrose’s growling voice rumbled from behind his buy’ce, which he removed and set aside, swatting at Yasha’s hand to pour the tea himself. “Stop doubting yourself, little one.”

“It was still a shock! And not an entirely welcome one in the eyes of the Vode.” Yasha glared at Ambrose, her good natured mood soured by the realities created by the Ball.

“Maybe if you let yourself be kissed more than once in half a decade, it wouldn’t have surprised you.” Ambrose grunted, handing Yasha a cup of tea, and holding the other out for Darth Carnifex.

“A widow does not do such things, Ba'vodu.” A heaviness stole across her as Yasha sat in her chair by the fire. It was not the grandeur of Zambrano’s throne, but this domain was hers alone, and she its’ Master.

“There are those of the Vode, who desire I take no lover but a Mando’ad. I see their logic, I can accept it. If I am to lead the way for the Mando’ade, I should do so with a proper riduur. One of Manda’s children. Not some… unproven foreign prince. Those who saw Alvarex and I at the ball assumed a betrothal which has not taken place, and after the events on Commenor, they remain sceptical of any friendship between us. The freedom of those slaves on your list would be a welcome start to repairing relations. All of them have family here on Er’kit, parents, siblings, spouses and children who desire reunion with their aliit. What is the loss of a few thousand to your billions? Especially when it decreases the ire still boiling in Mandalorian blood for [member="Lady Kay"]’s sake? I have a… potential solution to their doubts.”

 

[Darth Carnifex]

"They are blinded by tradition," spoke the Emperor in a matter-of-factly tone, "They lack vision."

He took his tea from Ambrose, immediately taking a drink of the scalding liquid with little regard for its intensity. If it discomforted him in any manner, he did not show it. "Sometimes I wonder if you let the clans steer you too greatly, Yasha. Then I am reminded of your fierceness when I see that glimmer in your eye, one who has seen the deepest depravities, the most abominable atrocities of the universe's fabric that no being, Mandalorian or otherwise, could compel you to do their bidding. But I have no doubt that their mewling does grow tiresome, I would have smitten them upon the earth if I were in your position." The Emperor's own advisors did what their position demanded of them, they advised and counseled the Emperor in matters of state and war, but they did not complain, they did not throw tantrums, or speak to their leader as if only their desires mattered over the good of the Empire's.

These lesser clans left a sour taste in his mouth, which he quickly washed away with another drink of tea. He looked again to the datapad, the scrolling list of names filling his vision as the wheels of his mind turned in thought and contemplation. "Releasing these slaves would be a trivial matter, their quantity a negligible factor. Their current owners will, of course, be compensated our of my own pocket, and they will be allowed to return to their home if they so wished."

But that line of thought brought the Emperor's mind to Queen Arenais, the stubborn thorn in the side of his legal occupation of Commenor. Every act of defiance, every gesture of treachery vexed him. He would conspire to turn her own will against her, her stubborn into a weapon to bring pain and misery to the people she falsely claimed to stand for. Let her own actions be the guillotine upon which her head is severed, her people would be grateful for such a respite. "And speaking of Queen Arenais, I doubt you know that she conspired with the treasonous Sith Lord Krest to organize an armed rebellion on Commenor against my soldiers, she does not possess the capacity for honesty when it comes to you, Yasha Mantis."

The Emperor's eyes hardened, "I have been forced to send [member="Ronan Vizsla"] to quell any insurrection that may spring up from her deceit."

[member="Yasha Mantis"]​

 

[Yasha Cadera]

“They desire distinction from the Sith, after rumours of Ra, and my inaction at Commenor continue to plague the Mando’ade. The Jetise call us your puppets, and it sits ill on my people. Funny how the Jetise insult the ones they hoped to entice. Your boots might be gigantic, but we Mando’ade are not under them. You have your own Clans for that.” Yasha went to sip her tea and stopped to blow on the scalding liquid. Kaine’s policies with dissension notwithstanding, he could exercise a firm hand, where Yasha had to be gracious.

“I am no Emperor or Queen, with a vast central bureaucracy. I am a warlord, whose self-governing Clans allow to speak on their behalf. If I were a monarch, I would slay the next person who points and tells me where I should spear my own womb. It’s my body. They would not dare demand the same of a man, but a woman... she must breed for Mandalore like a sow. Baiko would have told me to take the politically advantageous outlet. To find some willing Alor and feth him till I swell... I confess the thought makes me ill.

Two compliments? Shall I continue to count them, Kaine? I suppose it’s a peculiar thing, to be reminded of my agency.” The teacup in her hand was again blown on, before Yasha tasted of the blessed liquid inside.

“You married those who came to your bed for political means... didn’t you? I suppose it’s different for a man.” A stray strand of raven hair fell across Yasha’s brow. She brushed it back, calloused fingers managing a modicum of dainty behaviour. Well trained, for a killer.

“Thank you, Kaine. The security of Er’kit will help staunch the flow. I would not separate families on either side of the proverbial wall. I am continuing to destroy the Thelassians, they may breach close to your space, if they do... your ships will turn them away, I expect? No one will make slaves of Mando’ade and I shall make an example of them.” The standing behemoth loomed within the war tent, thermal walls rustling in the desert wind. Bustling clanks of armour, the rush of fire in forges, the milling voices of thousands peppered to their ears, the life of Mand’alor the Infernal.

“Are you sure it’s Kay and not Veiere who is acting with such brazen violence? The former King of Commenor is a stubborn and vindictive man, he has no love of you, which… after what he suffered at your hands, I cannot blame. Is it not the way of conflict to bite the hand, which slapped you?” Once in her youth, Yasha thought a balancing of the scales would take reason’s road to the Emperor’s bower. She planned and calculated, bringing the financial bounties which could be, and received instead the diminishing of excitement in Kaine Zambrano’s eyes. Yasha thought him more man than monster, forgetting the years they spent in equal torment for their own survival and devastating desires.

“Ronan.” Yasha slammed the teacup down on the table and rose to her feet. “He’s a butcher! He won’t fulfill your law, he’ll murder her! Kaine, you cannot send Vizsla to my Aunt. Why is Commenor worth this level of animosity? Why not leave it as it lies, you already conquered and plundered it. Are you so hungry for the bowing knees of reticent defeat that you would bring that level of terror upon the world!? The Republic Remnant is now thoroughly entrenched in Balmorra. Commenor is the next logical choice for their military to liberate. The Jetise will also mount behind the Commenori, until the war created is too costly to continue.

What makes Commenor worth a full Galactic war? Help me understand. Why is that little system so important to you? Or is it the fight itself, which brings passion to your blood?”

 

[Darth Carnifex]

"Yes, Ronan is a butcher. But I am the King of Butchers."

He gently dragged the tip of his right index finger around the rim of his teacup, his dark eyes fixated upon the swirling water within. "And what does Commenor mean to you, Mand'alor? A world so far beyond the borders of what your people consider their home, filled with inconsequential faceless fodder. One woman anchors you to claw so desperately to save men and woman who wouldn't bat an eye at your own misery, those who view your followers with fear and scorn. Their lives are meaningless, kill them all down to the very last child and the galaxy will continue to spin, the universe apathetic to what you would call a tragedy." He stopped, taking another sip of tea before he gingerly sat the cup down on the nearby table.

"What would you drag your people into to save the lives of a few foreigners, Yasha Mantis?" It was accusatory, flipping her question on her and probing deeply for her own desires and intentions when it came to the Commenori. He had kept up his end of the bargain and spared Kay Arenais during the attack on her world, at a great disadvantage to himself and his Empire as she had continued to conspire behind both of their backs to antagonize her handlers. "How many defensive wars would you drag the Mandalorians through before they disowned you? The Mandalorians who you and your ilk have scorned have been biding their time, watching like circling wolves for the right moment to sink their teeth in. Compassion for others is a weakness, one that cripples you utterly and leaves you vulnerable."

He took a step towards her, his eyes now firmly set upon her. "Are you vulnerable, Mand'alor? The Undying wouldn't bat an eye at raiding Commenor himself if he ever had the opportunity. They call you the Hell Wolf, but where are your teeth?"

[member="Yasha Mantis"]​

 

[Yasha Cadera]

“Test me further where my family is concerned and you will find that King of Butchers is too lowly a title.” The thick-mouthed snarl broke Yasha’s serene face with the growling beauty of a predator in her challenged domain. [member="Darth Carnifex"] would call her courage to question, proclaim for her the unsaid and widely proclaimed lies of Jetise and Commenori alike. The truth lingered ill in her tense muscles. Should the roles be reversed, would [member="Veiere Arenais"] step in to aide the Mandalorians?

“I am not the Undying! You did not bring me back to life, I crawled out of the Netherworld without your infringement. Nor am I a petulant wall flower. Commenor is not meaningless to us, and when the cries of my people call for the heads of those infringing on our space lanes to commit acts of war, I listen. Just as I listen when good Mandalorians expend their dying breaths to give me evidence of your aide to the very enemies of my state you warn me of.” Should Yasha embroil the Mandalorian Empire in a war with the Sith over foreign powers, would she be doing a service to her People?

All for those, who would hardly consider an equal exchange? Did loyalty to her Mandalorian duty mean selling [member="Lady Kay"] and her people for scrap?

“Do not confuse prudence for fear. I have yet to cleanse the Galaxy of my enemies for the sole purpose of preserving Mandalorian lives. You would have me watch the only family I have be burned, for your hubris! Their homeland scorched to glass. If they are meaningless, why bother slaughtering them at all!? I am not the only leader with enemies, and yours continue to yell in my ear.”

Are you vulnerable, Mand’alor?​

​

Where are your teeth?​

“Here.” Wheeling her gaunt-clad fist back, Yasha slammed it into Carnifex’s jaw. Snarling back, Yasha launched at the Dark Lord of the Sith.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

Yasha's fist clocked the Sith Lord square in the jaw, though by his unwavering expression one could hardly deduce that he had even been punched at all. The sensation was lost upon the Black Iron Tyrant, as were all other sensations rent onto his mortal flesh; the price he had paid for what passed for immortality in this galaxy.

A worthy price, he had always thought.

She launched herself at him, a seven-foot-tall ball of fury that collided with the over eight-foot-tall Emperor. Her body slammed into his gut, the sheer force of her attack causing him to slide back several feet along the ground before both of his hands lashed out to grasp the Mand'alor on both of her sides. He would then attempt to lift her up, perhaps even over his head if he managed to keep his grip for that long, and slam her back down onto the dirt floor of her tent.

"Ah, that's the rub! There's that fire and fury that burns deep in your belly, Yasha! Don't disappoint me, give me a good show!"

[member="Yasha Mantis"]​

 

[Yasha Cadera]

“You killed my mother!!”

Grabbed at and lifted, Yasha roared a loose bellow and snaked her legs around his waist. Too late to tether herself to his leg, with how quickly he lifted her, Yasha locked her ankles behind his back, holding herself up with her abdominal muscles. Yanking her right arm around his neck, Yasha grabbed his braided hair and lifted her left elbow.

It crashed down, armoured spikes and all toward his face. Yasha lifted her elbow and slammed it back down.

Again. A roar from snarling feminine lips.

Again. Another barking roar. [member="Darth Carnifex"] slammed her down, she would take him with her, right arm still clinging to his neck.


Chaotic clashing of armoured boots rumbled in the background, the Mando’ade alerted by the Infernal’s roars. [member="Ambrose Mantis"] skipped backward, ordering to push the Mando’ade back, keeping the tent sealed.

Yasha felt nothing of the confusion, her focus bent on her opponent. This unholy Emperor treated her bounds, pushed until he saw for his own what it took to turn prudence to force. Anger, beloved and virile, bristled across the usually dour faced Epicanthix. Yet, it was no void as Kaine was accustomed. Pain seared across her back. Yasha continued to attempt to elbow him across his face.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

He could sense the impact, but he couldn't feel it.

Even as blood rushed down like a waterfall over his left eye and obscured his vision, the Emperor of the Sith felt nothing. Even when bone cracked beneath pulped flesh and more blood splattered out to stain the ground with scarlet streaks of violence. One fist, clenched and swirling with fury, slammed down towards Yasha's unprotected face in response.

Once.

Twice.

Then it fell against her torso, fist unclenching and fingers grasping for purchase as the Sith Emperor attempted to pick her up by the belt and fling her across the tent into the table where the tea kettle and cups sat precariously. "Yes, I killed your mother. She was weak, lacked vision! She tried to take your own child away from you and destroy her nature, changing her into something she was never meant to be. I saved her from that fate, a fate worse than death."

He smiled, spitting out a glob of blood. "And I sense something different about you, young Yasha. You've changed, haven't you? No longer mute in the siren song of the Force, do you now see me as the Jedi see me?"

[member="Yasha Mantis"]​

 

[Yasha Cadera]

His fist collided with her cheek, a deep gash opening over her orbital bone. Yasha raised her right shoulder, cushioning the next blow, which struck further up to her forehead where the bone was harder.

She spat crimson sputum into Carnifex’s wounded face, elbow raised to crash down again. Hand on her belt, Carnifex tossed the woman sack-like into the table. Tea sloshed around her, Baiko’s broken teapot staring the Infernal in her rapidly swelling eye.

“Adara was never meant to die! The Jetise caused Adara’s predicament, not Baiko! I trusted her with my life! She was the only one… the only person I had for years!” Yasha pushed onto her elbows and knees, lungs panting as she raised to her feet and squared off her fists. “My daughter’s a child! She doesn’t belong to galactic machinations, she’s a five year old girl! Her hardest day should be playing with the right toy, not being courted into supernatural powers by forces I don't understand! I refuse to let her grow up like me!”

He could bleed. He might not feel it, and was far larger in proportion than she, but his bones broke, blood flowed. Go for the joints, her mind tested possible placement… if she could get within reach, keep close so he couldn’t use his leverage or more powerful strikes…

​

And then he saw the unthinkable, in the little wolf. ​

“I am no Jetii!” Yasha bellowed, an infilling of the pangs of anger, rope-like binds of a terrifying young life rocking through her skin. Since Ithor, Yasha Mantis’ soul reconnected to her bodily form, a steeping of her natures into the Infernal before the draconic Dark Lord.

​

Yet [member="Darth Carnifex"] pushed. And pushed. ​

​

And with the stab of a lightsaber on Sabarene… ​

​

… with the glassing of Munto City on Commenor… ​

​

… with the whisper of an empty bedchamber for his son to claim her… ​

​

… broke the restraints within her. ​

Blood bathed her face, cheek split with his strikes to her orbital bone. The plump, full lips were split, blood of the Dark Lord pooling in spatters in her own lacerations, and likewise hers on his bleeding face.

Amber eyes went wide, plunging down the causeway of the Dark Lord’s horrific pitch-and-ruby gaze. The Infernal tumbled into the sight of him, an expansive reach of the purest evil she’d witnessed. The calculations and declarations of love for his wives and children made the evil present all the worse; a man once born to humanity stripping layer upon layer like dragon scale off a corpse to reach the perilous onslaught before her.

“I see a once great man broken before the temple of immortality mortared by fear of his family’s end.” Yasha’s panting voice shook from within her, as unsettled as the increasing expanse of Darth Carnifex. Her footing staggered forward, as the immense proportion of his power came known to her soul, winding around with the spidersilk of his dotage. More and more of it, opening as a predator tears loose the skin of its’ kill for consumption of the inner flesh.

Yasha’s raised fists went to her forehead, teeth clanked shut as the stress of the altercation broke her inner mind open… open before him.

​

The Dark Inconceivable. ​

A curdling scream echoed from within her, bursting out of tense lungs and throat as the fledgeling-healed Yasha discovered the Force’s depths in this, her once-redeemer, for the first time. She staggered backward.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

The Emperor watched as Yasha crashed into the table, wood splintering and fine ceramic shattering across the hard ground. He listened to her words, his face apathetic decried all of the injustices of fate that had been heaped upon her only true child.

He didn't bother to reply, instead, he reached up with his right hand to gingerly touched the broken and bruised flesh of his face. The Dark Side flowed from his body like water from a pressure hose, surging up through his arm, his hand, and then leeching out of his fingers as the miraculous began to take form. Broken bones painfully reknit themselves, sundered flesh suturing back together as the blood flow relented and eventually ceased altogether.

When the Emperor removed his hand, his face had practically healed to its former appearance, but there was obvious tissue scarring to serve as a reminder of what had happened. All along the left side of his face, like spider-webs, ran distinct silver scars. He would wear the memories of Yasha's fury for as long as his current body remained operational and would attempt no effort in hiding them. He wore them proudly, as any true blooded warrior should. His body was likewise covered with an innumerable amount of them, each dozen of them gathered from one battle or another, all of which had been discovered only after it had ended by his personal doctors.

Then he finally spoke, "Perhaps if Adara was an ordinary child, but she is not. She was born like us, shares similarities with the both of us. She cannot have a normal childhood, Yasha, that is not what the Force has intended for her." He walked up to her as she stumbled back in sheer shock from finally peering into the magnificent and unfathomable darkness that seethed behind his skin, her reaction to his true unabashed nature. "She is special, you and I know that. She is destined for greatness." He placed a hand on Yasha's shoulders, the darkness that shone around his physical being reeling back into a more subdued state as to alleviate the intensity upon Yasha's psyche.

"And I can help you, Yasha Mantis, to channel the darkness that is so integral to all of us. I can teach you to not drown."

[member="Yasha Mantis"]​

 

[Yasha Cadera]

The sensations crashing as a dim ocean around her thrummed into the air, changing oxygen to acid and muscles to lead. [member="Darth Carnifex"] was speaking, his thick voice brought deeper through a series of vibrations Yasha could finally hear. Her feet stumbled again, this time Ambrose moved to her side, staying silent behind the girl he raised since she was a pup in his eyes.

Yasha swung a loose right hook too far to make its’ mark, eyes stinging as Amber irises grew hot. The power cooling through his hand to heal his face sent shivers down Yasha’s spine. It quivered around her, container but resolute, a new and overwhelming sensation.

“Adara is not a weapon! I will not turn her into the same thing others made of me.” Wrenching her hands from her throbbing skull, Yasha brought them once more into fists.

Carnifex loomed over her, hand ready to touch upon her shoulder. A growl rocketed through Yasha’s clenched teeth and she punched him again on the jaw.

“The Force can wait it’s turn! I outrank it, in the concern of my ad’ika. Adara needs love and joy, I won’t have the next generation fighting monsters so young and if you even think about showing Adara anything that doesn’t have a child’s entertainment as the end goal, I’ll shove you across the table and show you a different sort of force.” Pulling her fist back again, Yasha’s vision blurred, her foot crumbling on the remains of Baiko’s tea set. By the time she righted her foot, Kaine Zambrano anchored her with his hands. Strong fingers held her steady, eyes the colour of midnight peering through ruby irises in a way Yasha never expected.

Kaine was... tender. There was a warmth to the Dark Lord Yasha felt for the primordial time.

“Special.” Yasha croaked, her palms connecting with his chest. The black clad fabric over his form crinkled as she pushed. And pushed. “Special? Like I was Special? Slinking through ducting to eliminate targets, before puberty?! Destiny can wait for her to grow up before imposing its’ will. Kaden wouldn’t have settled for it, and even as a dead man, his desires for his daughter guide my path.”

Pain slicing through her forehead, Yasha shoved against him again, shaking her head.

“I’m still mad at you! I’ll beat your face in again for every breath you stole from my family… dr-down?” One hand grasping her head, the other grabbed the fabric of Carnifex’s chest as the tent spun like a top turned by an arthritic hand.

 

[Darth Carnifex]

Again, he took the punch to his jaw acting as if it hadn't even happened. He reached out to hold her, to prop her up against him when she faltered and nearly fell from the combination of her injuries and of the Dark Side flooding her senses. "Your anger is misdirected, Yasha. At this moment it controls you, makes you irrational and dangerous to those you care for." Through the Force he summoned one of the chairs that had not been demolished in the brawl, sliding it across the ground as he lifted Yasha up and proceeded to sit her down in its seat. And to prevent any further physical outbursts, he exerted his will on her armor to keep it anchored down where she sat.

"Like it or not, this is the path you and your child have been set upon. Those who attempt to turn away or deny their fates often find the rest of their lives wrought with misery and misfortune, you would do well to heed my words."

He extended a small connector from his wrist-computer and plugged it into the datapad that he retrieved from where it had fallen, uploading the names of all the individuals that Yasha wished to see freed and returned to their homes. Once the information was safely transferred to him, he discarded the datapad to the ground. "I will be leaving now, Yasha. Rest and recuperate, and then in a week's time come and meet me on Dromund Kaas if you wish to master the Dark Side instead of wallowing in agony like you are now. I will be waiting."

The Emperor then moved to leave if not stopped by Ambrose or any last lingering word of Yasha.

[member="Yasha Mantis"]​

 

[Yasha Cadera]

Yasha’s cheek collided with [member="Darth Carnifex"]’s chest. Mighty arms held her aloft, protecting her against an enemy she could never defeat. Perhaps it was like Ember said, the Force was inescapable and daunting, the unlimited energy of the universe which would never end.

She felt a twinge in her palm, and opened it to see with blurring eyes, tendrils of energies never before noticed. Deaf, dumb, and blind she’d been, raised beyond it by necessity. And there, the energies sparked and swelled.

​

Eternity in the palm of their hands. ​

“Stop killing the ones I care for and I won’t be so upset. You’re backing my people into a corner, then commenting how odd it is we load our guns.” Her body shook at its’ first sensation of outpouring, guided into the chest of a monster, who refused to let her fall. Control your anger, Yasha, his inner chiding an attempt at calm. Level set, Kaine Zambrano was as serene as the eye of the chaos around them, as far reaching as the stars of Sabarene. She grit her teeth and grunted out, her forehead against his chest as he lifted her. He was warm, in a way no fire nor body had been warm. When was the last time someone was capable of lifting the Epicanthix? How mammoth was this man, who picked up a giant by human standards, swaddled her in his arms to sit her down, the constant basso of his voice thrumming into the air in harmonies rich and melodious with the dark energies she’d previously never felt.

“I will always protect her. Nobody protected me but Kaden, and he too was a child. I won’t let my daughter become a weapon. You saw her, Kaine… you saw how happy she was with a fluffy red dress and the opportunity to dance. Someday, when she’s older I know she’ll need to learn… not now. I won’t let it happen now. Nnngh… my head… I don’t like this… I can’t… I’m not finished with this, Kaine!” A young woman went to get out of a chair, and found her armour overbearingly heavy. [member="Ambrose Mantis"] stood in silent vigil, his rifle in his hands, angled down.

“KAINE!” Yasha struggled against her armour, locked in the chair. She thrashed and snarled, spittle eliminating from her mouth as Yasha worked to get out of the chair. “Kaine come back and fight! I’m not finished! You killed my mother! You slaughtered Commenor!”

Yasha’s hand opened, a blur in the air as the Rekr Karyatesa, that infamous war hammer veered into Yasha’s grasp. Hissing out gasping breaths, Yasha bellowed a raw and howling roar. Her arm, held down by the will of the Sith Emperor, moved.

An inch at first, another. No more.

The animal-bellows of a furious and newly tainted young woman shook the ground under his feet, as the Emperor walked away with face still stained in his own blood.

“Kaine!”

‘Dromund Kaas.

The place where my father took his only child for a walk in the sands. How childish I felt then, stumbling through the sands with Preliat. He walked the dunes like the man he was, raised upon the desert world Ordo. We walked the ruins, and he taught me of power. The true power of the Mando’ade, our immortality is our prize. Our culture will never be extinguished, and thus we shall all live forever. I remember listening so intently, repeating what he said while madly trying to impress him enough to stay… enough to love me. His only child.

This past week, I’ve barely been able to breathe. It feels like an unending weight is crushing my lungs, and I can’t eat a thing without it vacating my mouth. Something must have gone terribly wrong.

Kaden warned me, and I should have listened. I let my pride define my role, and my fear turn words of reconciliation into those of a dar’riduur. I wish [member="Kaden Mantis"] was alive. I wish he cuddled Adara at night, taught her how to shoot and trap animals, how to read and speak Mando’a. Every day I miss him.

Give my love to Gray, Zelen and Kay, and Lori, she’s so innocent, she won’t understand. And… tell Alvarex… I… I’m sorry. You have been my companion and my friend. My bulwark in troubling times. You’re the best of us, and the most frustrating man I’ve ever met. Take care of our children, and know that I love you, my aliit.

Thank you, Kaine.

It’s time for the girl you saw standing before a kneeling Emperor to finish the job. Stay with our People and prepare them… for whatever happens next. This task is mine alone.

Yash’ika’

Agony. Yasha’s finger paused over the transmission, watching the still hologram of her own face. A week spent writhing under the uncontrolled energies she’d spent a lifetime denied. Between the barks of pain, Yasha concluded as much of her business as she could, reaching out to her father [member="Gray Raxis"] for help in her spiritual predicament. Shuddering in her quarters aboard the Defiant Mantis, Yasha doffed her sweater as [member="Ambrose Mantis"] helped dress her in her armour. He stayed by her side through it all, spending the week transformed mostly into the wolf of her childhood, the being who kept her from the cold.

Yasha did not know what would occur in the bowels of Dromund Kaas, but that inner consciousness of a warrior played her heart like a harp. Whatever occurred between the Dragon and the Wolf’s daughter, neither would be the same. Their associated peoples would never know of the pause in this storm, but the conclusion of it?

​

Would shake the Galaxy. ​

Ambrose finished dressing Yasha in her armour, placing a single chaste kiss on her forehead, as he set the Wolf-Helm upon her brow. “I am proud of you, Yash’ika. My little rekr.”

The proper channels had been chimed, permissions sent and none but Ambrose and Yasha on the shuttle to the surface. Who else would stand beside her in such times? The Silver Jedi? The Republic? The Royal House Arenais? The Ghost of the Undying, whose mother's necklace hung round her neck?

None but a loyal gurlanin, and the confidence Yasha had to know those words left unsaid between Kaine Zambrano and Yasha Mantis had to be expelled, brought forth to the open…

​

… for the good of her People. ​

​

And for once, the good of herself. ​

 

[Darth Carnifex]

In the months since the Sith had retaken the former throneworld of their empire, it had been elevated to magnificence by those who yearned to see the once lush jungle world return to some semblance of its former glory. The scars of the Mandalorians' attack on the world had healed, tropical jungles now dominated the majority of the planet's surface save for vast oceans filled with exotic sealife imported from various oceanic worlds across the galaxy.

But they paled in comparison to the grandeur of New Kaas City.

What the Resurgent Empire had begun, the New Sith Empire had finished. Kaas City had been fully rebuilt, larger and more magnificent than ever before. More of the surrounding jungle had been leveled to make way for several kilometers of city sprawl, with ancient monuments like the Dark Temple beings incorporated into the city itself as it expanded to encompass it. Most striking of all was the rebuilt Imperial Citadel at the city's heart, which was now a massive tower rising several kilometers into the air and was capped by an oblong structure which housed the Sith Emperor's personal retreat, clone laboratories, and war room. So much work had gone into the improvement of Dromund Kaas that it had been officially designated as the Sith Empire's co-capital, second only to the Imperial capital of Bastion.

It was this mighty citadel that the Mand'alor found herself drawn to, her ship escorted by several TIE fighters into a hangar bay half-way up the monolithic structure. Waiting for her on the hangar deck was the Emperor himself, flanked by two of his crimson Nerean Crownguard.

"I am pleased that you came, Yasha. I have something to show you."

[member="Yasha Mantis"]​

 

[Yasha Cadera]

Transmission Sent.

“Easy, rekr’ika.” The temple, the citadel and city was rebuilt. The power her birth father warned her always faded once more pushed forth at the vacuum of space, instilling the landscape with reconstructive energies. Just as Mandalore had been rebuilt, so too Dromund Kaas.

A cyclical becoming, eternal in its’ scope.

Only the energy expended was permanent, the people mere parts of the orchestrator’s hold. The Emperor stood as tall as the citadel was to the city, flanked by crimson and scarred of face from her elbow. Her shuttle landed, Yasha stood and pulled her shoulders back until she felt a ‘pop’ along her shoulder blades.

Two figures in Beskar’gam walked down the shuttle’s hatch. Yasha and Ambrose. In the end, the elder gurlanin was all she kept. Her brow tilted in the wolf-helm, and for some time Yasha stood in silent thought.

The planet beneath their feet was willed to life, dominated into becoming the beautiful jungle recreated. A warm shiver slunk down her spine, lulled by the energy around her.

“There was too much left unsaid, Kaine. Thus, I am here.” Motioning to herself, Mand’alor the Infernal took the space beside the Dark Lord as her own, walking beside him. “The jungle, perhaps? The flora growth is magnificent, where did you get all the trees? The stabilizing nutrients? How is it their root systems have developed to carry their height so quickly? I suppose it is only the botanist's fancy to make note of such things.”

 

[Darth Carnifex]

"We have teams of dedicated botanists in service to the Empire, many of them being Sith themselves. Mastery of the ancient alchemies and sciences of the Sith have produced this paradise over the ruins of our past failures, perhaps I can refer you to some of our best?" A coy smile crossed his lips, "Compare notes, and all that."

They passed beyond the hangar, entering the winding pathways of the Emperor's Citadel that were lined with stark and cold durasteel walls illuminated by white and red electroluminescent strips that cast wicked shadows on the walls as they passed. The air inside was far more foreboding than the warm humid air that blew in from the jungle back at the hangar, far colder and much more malignant. Some sounds were muffled while others were amplified, perceptions slightly altering as they delved deeper into the malign structure. Then it all disappeared as if the Emperor just snapped his fingers and swept aside the uncomfortable presence that seemed to radiate out from the tower's very foundation.

And they stood before a massive lift elevator, designed to hold tonnes upon tonnes of building materials and transport them throughout the tower. It was a remnant from the citadel's construction, one that the Emperor had commanded to be left intact to serve an ulterior purpose once his citadel had been completed. "You and I will travel below, Yasha. Your guardian can wait here with my Crownguard until we return, this is something only for your eyes to witness. No one else."

[member="Yasha Mantis"]​

 

[Yasha Cadera]

“Perhaps that would do me quite well. [member="Taeli Raaf"] has lent me the use of her library, and I have found quite the amount of information, but practical botanists? There is no substitute for green thumbs.” Beneath the Wolf-Helm, Yasha smiled, yes. Let this be the lingering thought in her mind. The delight of her days. Winding paths made her stomach churn, if not for the intricately calibrated HUD controlling how much light passed through to Yasha’s sensitive eyes. This place seemed impossible to navigate without the appropriate schematics, and the temperature continued to drop stiffly in the corner gauge of her HUD.

Ambrose shouldered his rifle to its’ webbing, helm peering left and right, scanning the Crownguard like a wolf to a potential meal. This place… he would wait in this place? Yes. Ambrose would hold the line here, in the Citadel, and wait his cub. His Infernal.

“Mand’alor.” Ambrose stepped in front of Yasha, his fist clenched across his chest in salute. Dipping his buy’ce, hand on Yasha’s arm, Ambrose gave his adopted cub a gentle Keldabe Kiss, and whispered one last word in her ear. Yasha clung to the syllables, her saviour-buoys in this, the drowning day.

“My eyes? These ones, right here?” A coy lilt to Yasha’s voice struck the air between them, as if to settle the nerve. Her eyes were hidden under her helmet, as the rest of her was hidden from [member="Darth Carnifex"]. Yet, could she truly be secret to him anymore? Could he unravel her, the Dark Insatiable, and inspect every piece of her pride and glory?

Her feet grew heavy as Mand’alor the Infernal stepped onto the elevator to the unholy below. Body beside its Keeper. The lift clanked and shuddered, beginning the final descent.

“What are you bringing me to see, Kaine? What would have the Emperor take the Mand’alor alone in the Dark?” Red robotic eyes shone into the Dark Lord’s, a moment of temperate tension stretching down, far down, toward the hidden ruins of Kaas City.

“Hurry Luis, they’re in the elevator.”

“Maybe if you stopped giving me a running commentary, Stephan, I’d be done already.” A man dressed in the garments of an Imperial Engineer stood bouncing on the balls of his feet, watching Luis with his body under the lift elevator’s mechanics.

“We’ve got to blow this, and run in… dang they didn’t talk long at the top… they’re descending.”

“Oh is that why this thing keeps churning? The cables and the screeching metal? Nussyn's Knickers, Steph. Arenais hired us to blow this thing and when’re we going to get a better… there. I’ve got it. You ready?” Luis placed the last charge, and held the detonator in his hand. Stephan grinned and sighed, flicking the holo-recorder on.

“We did it, your majesty. We caught Carnifex unawares and got a bonus prize for you… that Niece of your Wife won’t stop your plans any time soon… cause she’ll be dead.

Just… just like Kaine Zampregnator-brano Heh. Been saving that line. Anyway. By the time any of the Sith or Mandalorians realize their rulers aren’t on a merry jaunt in a chasm, it’ll be too late. We did it. We’ve killed Kaine Zambrano and Yasha Mantis!

Free Commenor!!!”

Luis punched the detonators, and the entire mechanical lift wheezed, radiant noise cacophonously thundering into Carnifex and Yasha’s ears, as with a groaning series of pops…

… the Infernal Dragon of the Sith… ​

… the Hell Wolf of the Mando’ade… ​

​

fell to their ‘deaths’.​

Luis and Stephan’s holo-recording would not be delivered to [member="Veiere Arenais"] for five days, as the Imperial Cohort, who wished to usurp the Zambrano’s throne, designed. All would be silent, for a while.

All would be silent so no help could come to the Emperor or Mand’alor.