To Be Free

[Valae Heavenshield]

The shovel had only left her hands long enough to attempt wiping sweat from her brow and tears from her cheeks. Darth Immortus didn’t care if she cried while she dug, so long as she got the job done. Though his words were few, the Sith’s dark presence was relentless – he was there, even if she tried to push him to the back of her mind. The hours seemed to drag; each plunge of the spade to the ground was exhausting. She was but a moment away from collapsing entirely.

At long last, a final crack of her shovel against a locked box.

Bending forward, she took in a few gasping breaths of stagnant air. Tipping the lid off the chest, she looked down at the items inside, still trying to catch her breath. Though not immediately visible Zora, Immortus had found his treasure, it was there inside the chest, tucked away with other items. The spirit could feel the presence of this weapon… and so could she.

Images flashed before her eyes, memories of the saber’s past. The words found her; she needed only to lift the weapon from its resting place. Only then could she be free of Darth Immortus, her mind would be her own once more. No more darkness, no more whispers…

“N-no,” She stammered out, surprising even herself. After all this work, after all the time spent digging… she stubbornly refused. “What if… you weren’t meant to have it back,” Zora winced, “What if the dead… should stay dead?”

She was a collector; she adored the ancient artifacts that came across her desk. But never before had she imagined that she would release a dark presence like Immortus. What if she was doing the galaxy a terrible disservice? And now, she was frightened.

Before she knew it, her fingers were already flexing… reaching.

[member="Darth Immortus"]

 

[Darth Immortus]

A maelstrom of rage filled the spirit, and thus filled [member="Zora Djo"]'s body, as the young archaeologist resisted. At the moment of truth, the archivist found her courage, but the Sith spirit responded in kind. At first surprised by her refusal, Immortus' retribution came in the form of feelings that he attempted to push into her mind in an endless assault. The toil of the last two hours would be nothing compared to an eternity shackled to his ghost. She would never escape his haunting presence if he was not let out. He would be present in the back of her mind forever; her thoughts would never be her own.

"Death cannot kill what never dies," Immortus responded to Zora, a faint whisper as feelings of fear stabbed at her mind.

In truth, Immortus would have welcomed death long ago, for it was favorable to what he received at the hands of the Jedi. In the end, he had been given a fate worse than death. He had been given mere existence by itself, to live on without truly living. For hundreds of years he lingered without communication, action, joy or pain, toil or accomplishment. He merely was, nothing more. Immortus had been given the worst of all fates - to forget himself in the abyss of nothingness.

It was a crime he could never forgive.

And now that he was this close to transcendence from his prison, nothing would stop him.

Dust whipped up angrily from the ground, stinging Zora in the face. Just a grasp of his lightsaber would end it all, and they could both be free.

 

[Valae Heavenshield]

A storm within, it felt like it would tear through her very being. The rage would consume her; it was agony that she could hardly bear. Her eyes welled with tears; Zora shook her head and placed her hands flat against her temples in a fruitless attempt to guard against the onslaught of darkness. But truly, she could not fight what had already taken her body prisoner.

Zora fought as best she could, but it was a losing battle for her tired mind. The presence of Immortus was growing stronger now, perhaps due to the proximity of his ancient weapon and his desire to claim it once more. Sobbing, Zora fell to her knees, sand stinging as it pelted against her skin.

Is this the end?

The thought crossed her mind. She was so very tired, she wanted to give up. Perhaps death would come swiftly, perhaps it would have mercy. Immortus’ attack was seemingly endless; Zora felt the ground beneath her hands as she began to crawl. Desperately, she pulled herself along the ground, until her hand was close to the lock box. Zora swallowed hard. Dry, parched lips whispered words that were lost on the wind “Forgive me,”

The last thing she saw was the saber hilt – wrapped in her palm.

[member="Darth Immortus"]

 

[Darth Immortus]

A surge of Force energy came through [member="Zora Djo"]'s palm as she gripped the ancient hilt. That energy carried the ancestral memories directly to the malignant spirit. The storied weapon in her palm was more than just metal and crystal; it had been with Lord Immortus since his days as an Apprentice to the fabled Darth Midian, though blood, sweat, and near-death, right up until his final days. So long had he wielded the weapon that the item itself had become a nexus of his own Force energy, a house for his very essence, right down to microscopic genetic remnants left on the grip. The weapon was Darth Immortus, and now that it was in his hands once again, his past life returned to the present.

He would once again become himself, reborn as himself.

Dust continued to swirl violently around Zora as pure Force energy whipped itself into a maelstrom, the energy of Darth Immortus beginning to take shape. His spiritual energy clasped onto his DNA imprints, woven together by his genetic memories, to begin to take corporeal form amidst the whirling storm of dust that formed a dark cloud. But the sorcerers' machinations came at a price, exacted upon the poor young archivist. For it was her own life essence and signature in the Force that fueled the entire process; Immortus fed from her body's energy to create his own. The cruel act of energy vampirism would no doubt be exceedingly painful, but for Immortus, it was blissful. For the first time in centuries he felt the kiss of life enveloping him, as it pumped through veins like rivers. For the first time, he held up a hand and saw fingers, reached towards himself and touched hair. He had recreated himself in the purest image he remembered, that of his young body as an Apprentice. The chaotic dust began to settle around him. He could remember almost everything now. His first cruel training session with Midian in the stabbing winds of Hoth, his downfall in the collapsing, fiery spire on Coruscant. He remembered his father and his lineage, his first wife and his second. His child, [member="Quietus"]. His young son, deprived of life by the Jedi.

Immortus stepped forward. There was Zora, laying unmoving on the ground before him, caked in dust. She was alive but in body only; after having been sapped of her essence, there was nothing left to animate her body.

"I am sorry, Zora Djo." The reborn Sith Lord spoke his first living words to her, and strangely, he meant it. She was but an unwitting actor in all of this, a poor substitute for revenge against his true enemies. She was not the one who deserved to suffer.

Darth Immortus held up his hand and saw that it still contained his lightsaber. He leaned over Zora's body and pointed the hilt down, pressing the activator. The blade sputtered and coughed red sparks, but finally groaned to life, piercing Zora through the heart. It then retreated weakly back into the hilt as it released Zora's spirit to the Force, spewing a final round of sparks. Darth Immortus turned and exited the temple and took his first steps into the world.